L’empire des lumieres (1961) 

One of René Magritte’s “Empire of Light” paintings fetched nearly $80 million, the second-most valuable painting ever sold at auction in Europe. Click here.

Letter from Ralph Waldo Emerson to his daughter, April 8, 1854: 

“Finish every day and be done with it. For manners and for wise living it is a vice to remember. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it well and serenely, and with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This day for all that is good and fair. It is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the rotten yesterdays.”

On the opening day of the Norway Winter Olympics in 994, thieves broke into Oslo’s National Gallery and stole Edvard Munch’s The Scream. They left behind a note reading “Thanks for the poor security.”

One of the most famous paintings in the world, The Scream is considered one of the great examples of Expressionist art. It’s the visual inspiration behind the popular “Scream” movie character, and the emoji for “scream” in the digital lexicon.

Back to our story… Three months after The Scream was stolen, the thieves were caught and the painting was recovered in Ågårdstrand, a town 40 miles south of Oslo, where, by coincidence, Munch had lived and painted for many years.

Le Violin, the photograph above, which was taken by Man Ray of his muse Kiki de Montparnasse in 1924, is expected to fetch between $5 million and $7 million at auction next month. If it sells in that range, it will be the most expensive photograph ever sold.

From Letters of Note:  Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera, 1953, awaiting the amputation of her leg

“I’m writing to let you know I’m releasing you. I’m amputating you. Be happy and never seek me again. I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want you to hear from me. If there is anything I’d enjoy before I die, it’d be not having to see your fucking horrible bastard face wandering around my garden.

“That is all, I can now go to be chopped up in peace. Good bye from somebody who is crazy and vehemently in love with you.”

It’s been 20 years since the September 11 attacks. This was taken from the book Letters of Note: New York…

Uhuru Houston was born in Brooklyn in 1969. He joined the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey Police Department in 1993, and three years later married Sonya, whom he had met when they were both students at Norfolk State University. In 1999, he was assigned to the World Trade Center. On the morning of September 11, 2001, Uhuru Houston was one of 72 officers to die when terrorists hijacked four planes and flew them into the Twin Towers in New York City, the Pentagon building in Virginia, and a field in Pennsylvania. He left behind Sonya and their two children, Hasani and Hannah. A decade after his death, Sonya wrote him the following letter.

Dear Bee,

Yet another gorgeous early fall day, with the temps in the high 70s to low 80s, warm, only a few fluffy cumulus clouds in the sky. The perfect day to be outside.

Ten years earlier, the weather was the same. The day our lives would change forever.

By now, we all know the events of that horrific day that would change America and my life forever. No need to go all the way back right now.

I want to fast-forward you to the page we are on now. The book that is still being written, the lives that are still being lived and the pain that still exists. This is just a reality check of a life that was changed in a blink of an eye. An angel that was taken too soon and his legacy that must continue on through his children.

People ask us, “How are you doing?” with that sad, head-tilted-to-the-side, and somber look of pain and anguish.

“We are good,” I respond, with the same tilt, and somber smile that holds a lot of pain.

“The kids are fine, getting big. Hasani is in his first year of high school now; Hannah is in the fifth grade and enjoys doing flips and is a social butterfly. And the baby, Haven, who is almost three years old. Wow, time sure does move quickly.”

They usually continue on and I go about my life. This new, rebuilt life minus you, my beloved husband.

You were a great man, with a contagious smile that lit up the room as soon as you walked in. Everyone loved you. You were a man who truly came into his own, a wonderful, creative, funny man who loved his family. You were a great provider and as sweet as sweet potato pie that you enjoyed eating at Thanksgiving. I can’t sing the praises of you enough. Not enough words in the English dictionary to describe you and do you justice, so I will stop here.

So with three children now and living in New York City, there is always something going on. Needless to say, my life is always moving and shaking. The kids keep me extremely busy and their schedules are crazy. They have auditions, basketball, dance, tutoring, music class and education, which is still so high on our list of priorities. Studying and homework becomes a huge part of our day.

You never know where your help will come from. We take it as it comes. I’ve learned to not question things-why and where “help” comes from. Just take it. We have learned to be very independent and do things on our own, so to accept help can be difficult at times.

Mom is your biggest cheerleader. She always wears her PAPD T-shirts, and with the same tilted head and somber look explains to EVERYONE how she lost her son on 9/11. She tells her friends in Maryland, “You know, I gotta go to New York ‘cause of 9/11.”

She almost brags about it. Not in a gloating way but because she really misses you. I try not to let everyone know. She does the opposite. I believe this is her way of dealing with her grief as well. She is so strong.

The children keep me young, and they remind me every day of you. You live on through them. Hasani’s disposition and mannerisms are all you. Hannah looks like you but is very feminine and girly. They both are kind and compassionate children. I can’t wait to see who they become as they grow up. I know you are looking down on them and smiling. You would be so proud.

Love always and forever,

Sonya

The Captivating Impressionism of Giorgio Morandi 

The culture and business of art is largely chauvinistic. Ninety-eight percent of the art that is made in one country stays in one country.

But there is a class of art that crosses borders: the work of artists that – for a variety of reasons – become known and coveted all over the world.

This is especially true for Modern art – the output of artists from the late 19th to the third quarter of the 20th century. Walk into any mid-sized museum of art in America and you will see, in the Modern section, the works of artists you will recognize from the US, but also from France, Holland, Belgium, Spain, Germany, and England.

But there is one European country that is sparsely represented: Italy. I don’t know why that is. But until I began to visit Rome’s Museum of Modern Art about 20 years ago, I had no idea how many fantastic Italian Modernists there are – every bit as great as their European and American contemporaries.

I’ve been back there almost every year, and I always have the same thought: How come I never heard of these artists? I mean, everyone knows Giorgio De Chirico and Amedeo Modigliani. But what other Italian Modern masters can you name?

De Chirico and Modigliani are way out of my price range. But even the less famous but no less brilliant Italian Modern masters are highly coveted and hard to come by.

Two of those I most coveted were Gisberto Ceracchini (1899-1982) and Giorgio Morandi (1890-1964). About 20 years ago, I could have bought a good-sized painting by either one of them for less than $50,000. About 15 years ago, I came across a fantastic Ceracchini in a Roman gallery and got it for a bit more than that. And I’m glad I did. Not only do I get to look at it every day, its value has increased by many multiples.

But Morandi was the Italian Modernist I coveted the most.

Morandi was an Impressionist with a minimalist approach to his subjects, which were primarily still lifes. As Andy Battaglia said in a recent issue of ARTnews:

“His still lifes of bottles arranged against neutral backgrounds – his favored mode of expression – strike some as boring but others as boundless in their charms. They’re the kind of paintings you can look at for ages while regaling in their quietude. And they’re the kind of paintings that make the pleasure of doing so feel like you’re looking at painting itself – the act, the result, the mysterious means of communication that can exude from a canvas.”

When I first spotted Morandi about 20 years ago, I could have afforded to buy one of his paintings. I don’t usually rue what might have been. But in this case, every time I see one of his still lifes go on auction, I think, “Damn! I could have had that in my living room.”