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Whatever beauty is, it is always there for the taking. She will give you the shirt off her back if you'll let her.


Curious this topic is being discussed now--could it be spring that fully wakes us up?

Anyway, here's a list of things that stimulate my sense of beauty--and the list could be one that would keep me here at this keyboard all day, but I'll just jot down a few that have been constant sources of that sense of beauty being aroused:

Jacqueline DuPré's recordings of the Elgar cello concerto...and nearly anything else she's recorded;
Milstein's recordings--anything he plays--sublime beauty;
Beethoven's late string quartets especially;
Brahms' symphonies;
Mozart's Linz symphony and his Requiem;
The 2nd Rachmaninov piano concerto;
The Bruch g minor violin concerto;
The Mendelssohn violin concerto;
The Prokofiev violin concertos;
The Beethoven violin concerto--so beautiful it was, one time when I heard it at a live performance, I had to stuff my tears into a handkerchief because I felt I would weep aloud with great sobs;
The 7th of Beethoven's symphonies holds a special place in my heart for sheer beauty;
Beethoven's Emperor piano concerto--again, hard to hold back tears in live performance...

...many, many more great works of music

Practicing piano in Rocky Run church alone and hearing the pure sound move through that accoustically near-perfect old country church--watching the light come through the stained glass windows--feeling the blessed silence and peace in the place there...

Nature itself in all its seasons, though spring does hold special power--but even in winter, even beyond first fall of snow, just examining the great variety of winter bud shapes on branches brings about both a sense of beauty and wonder at the variety...

Early leaves--watching the first shapes of baby leaves--ah!--the white oaks in early stages are tiny red leaves covered in fine white hair, and soon after turn lime-colored. I used to freeze samples of early spring leaves--freezer was filled with leaf samples--and no food in it--just leaves. My daughter thought this was normal as a child and wondered that other people didn't have leaves in their freezers.

Dayliles--all types--the extraordinary ways they propogate themselves--hi, Helen!

Creeks, ponds, rivers, the ocean, waterfalls--the water on our planet, still, moving, thundererously falling, rain, storms, and, yes, snow...

The sun on my face, the wind through my hair, the grass beanth my bare feet, the farm, the grove...

A dear friend taking me somewhere new to see in the great outdoors--having that friend show me a place of beauty known to him or her unknown to me till then--that act of kindness itself is a moment of beauty as well as the place..

The works of Dickinson and Frost...

Finishing a poem, sending it to a dear friend, and receiving words of having moved the friend--that is eau de vie to me...

Speaking of, sharing a glass of brandy with an old man--that is beauty, too...

The faces of children in wonder and joy...especially dear to me those times of live performance before their parents--what joy!

Hearing Grandma Etta still laugh in these her final days...

Lots more specifics I could mention, but the whole of beauty is that which awakens a sense of wonder and joy in my too often too busy soul and causes me to stop and be happy to be alive--and so grateful that I still breathe.

Beatific regards,
WW

PS: Must add: Preparing either whole duck cooked in a kettle of peanut oil or sauerbraten marinated for five days with gingersnap gravy and red cabbage for beloved ones...acts of beauty that stimulate anticipation...


#66803 04/22/02 01:33 PM
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Spring in England.

My morning commute from Sussex to London starts in the countryside and now the sun is up before me. Blossom, daffodils, leaves of so fresh a green just appearing. Blackthorn hedgerows, noisy birds, thatched half-timbered cottages, spires of village churches against a blue sky (We're lucky with the weather just now), a late fox scurrying out of sight while a bright pheasant struts across the road.
After some 35 miles of motorway I enter Richmond Park - opening earlier as the day does now. Giant old trees, jackdaws open to the main chance, herds of Red and Fallow deer. Out of the Park and still more blossom in the gardens of wealthy households until crossing the fine old bridge at Hammersmith, with crews of eight and single scullers passing beneath, I finally drive into London fumes and yelling traffic.

Pretentious nonsense, but I love it all. Can't wait to go home again this evening! London and Edinburgh are good, but come and drive through our springtime countryside!

dxb


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hmmmm, seems everyone's commenting on the ubiquity of beauty - but on the other hand...
"Why should you think that beauty, which is the most precious thing in the world, lies like a stone on the beach for the careless passer-by to pick up idly? Beauty is something wonderful and strange that the artist fashions out of the chaos of the world in the torment of his soul. And whern he has made it, it is not given to all to know it. To recognise it you must repeat the adventure of the artist. It is a melody that he sings to you, and to hear it again in your heart, you want knowledge and sensitiveness and imagination."

But of course he (Somerset Maugham) is talking about man-made (/woman-made) art, not the beauty of nature


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After last night's storm, here in Central Kentucky the weather is a bit like the British isles. The sky is clear blue blue blue, with puffs of clouds scooting across the sky in squadrons, the grass is brilliant green, the air is cool (about 59 degrees) and it's quite blustery. A good day for Pooh and Piglet to be out, although Piglet should be careful he doesn't fly away like a kite.


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I think, beauty is everywhere. Each of us see it elsewhere.More than one is remain at your beauty but others look for sometingh else. I come to a conclusion that world is beauty.


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beauty is everywhere ... word is beauty

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.
-- John 1:1-2 (New King James Version)




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"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Hallow the body as a temple to comeliness and sanctify the heart as a sacrifice to love; love recompenses the adorers."
-Kahlil Gibran, "Beauty"

"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart."
-Hellen Keller

"Remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of God and be immortal, if mortal man may."
-Plato, Symposium

"The definition of a beautiful woman is one who loves me."
-Sloan Wilson






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Kahlil Gibran on Beauty:

http://www.weddings.co.uk/info/beauty.htm

The Only WO'N!

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Wordwind: An extremely talented music student attending college in Vancouver, Canada told me once that when she hears live classical music being played with complete perfection, it gives her "music shivers". She can tell she has experienced a celestial moment in music when she gets her shivers. She says other people have, upon hearing her speak of it, acknowledged it in themselves, unrecognized until they heard it described.

I have music shivers when I hear live an operatic piece sung perfectly, particularly the most well-known ones for tenors, such as Nessun Dorma, Celeste Aida, and the Tenor's Song from Der Rosenkavalier.


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talltales: I haven't ever had what I would call "shivers" when experiencing those celestial moments you write of here--but I've had those in which my face flushes, heart beat increases...and, if a divine performance, I have to hold back sobbing. I sure canno prevent the tears from streaming down my face, but I do all I can to hold back the sobbing. My dad has told me that when I was a babe in arms I'd do the same thing, but without holding back: I'd simply weep when I heard music that moved me, and often it was my dad's rich baritone voice.


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