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major exhibition devoted to
the radical Rossetti generation
in Tate Britain
from 6 April until 24 September 2023
This exhibition follows the romance and radicalism of the Rossetti generation, through and beyond the Pre-Raphaelite years: Dante Gabriel, Christina and Elizabeth (née Siddal). Visitors will get to experience world-renowned works from their boundary-pushing careers.
The Rossettis’ approach to art, love and lifestyles are considered revolutionary, and this will be thoroughly explored in an immersive show, using spoken poetry, drawings, paintings, photography, design and more.
This is the first retrospective of Dante Gabriel Rossetti at Tate and the largest exhibition of his iconic pictures in two decades.
It will also be the most comprehensive exhibition of Elizabeth Siddal’s work for 30 years, featuring rare surviving watercolours and important drawings.
The Rossettis will take a fresh look at the fascinating myths surrounding the unconventional relationships between Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Elizabeth Siddal, Fanny Cornforth and Jane Morris.
The Rossettis exhibition book
by Carol Jacobi and James Finch
hardback
Dimensions 27.5 x 23 cm
Material FSC certified paper and card
ISBN 9781849768412
£40
This visually captivating hardback exhibition book is devoted to the radical Rossetti generation.
Explore the Rossettis’ revolutionary approach to art, love and lifestyles through a collection of thematic essays containing fresh and surprising research, accompanied by beautiful Pre-Raphaelite illustrations.
The Rossettis takes a fresh look at the fascinating myths surrounding the unconventional relationships between Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Elizabeth Siddal, Fanny Cornforth and Jane Morris. Featuring artworks and writings by Dante Gabriel, Christina and Elizabeth (née Siddal), the book distinguishes the Rossettis and foregrounds their countercultural roles.
The catalogue accompanies the first retrospective of Dante Gabriel Rossetti at Tate and the largest exhibition of his iconic pictures in two decades, and what will also be the most comprehensive exhibition of Elizabeth Siddal’s work for 30 years, featuring rare surviving watercolours and important drawings.
The publication is edited by Carol Jacobi, Curator, British Art 1850—1915 at Tate and James Finch, Assistant Curator, Nineteenth Century Art at Tate. It features contributions by:
– Chiedza Mhondoro, Assistant Curator, Historic British Art at Tate – Dinah Roe, Reader in Nineteenth Century Literature at Oxford Brookes University – Glenda Youde, a writer and researcher based at University of York – Liz Prettejohn, Professor of Art History at University of York – Jan Marsh, a writer, curator and specialist in the Pre-Raphaelite period – Gursimran Oberoi, an associate teaching fellow at University of Surrey – Margaretta S. Frederick, the former Annette Woolard-Provine Curator of the Bancroft Collection of Pre-Raphaelite Art at Delaware Art Museum – Wendy Parkins, Professor of Victorian Literature and the Director of the Centre for Victorian Literature and Culture at the University of Kent
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More in: *The Pre-Raphaelites Archive, - Book News, - Bookstores, Archive Q-R, Archive Q-R, Art & Literature News, Exhibition Archive, FDM in London, History of Britain, Illustrators, Illustration, Morris, William, Rossetti, Christina, Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, Siddal, Lizzy
De kunstenaar en zijn muze: liefde, begeerte, desillusie en onontkoombare verbondenheid
Een onconventionele relatie tussen twee bijzondere mensen leidt hen naar de toppen van de roem, maar ook naar afgronden van ellende en vertwijfeling: van drank, opium en vooral wederzijdse afhankelijkheid. Het is de symbiotische relatie van een gedreven kunstenaar die alles – ook zijn eigen geluk en dat van anderen – opoffert voor de kunst, en een vrouw die haar bestaansrecht ontleent aan haar uitzonderlijke schoonheid, terwijl ze faalt in haar eigen artistieke ambities.
Lizzie geeft een levendig en panoramisch beeld van het bruisende Londen van de 19de eeuw, met zijn culturele elite, zijn bohémiens en zijn zelfkant. Hij biedt zowel kostuumdrama en ‘Gothic horror’ als erotische en indringende psychologische scènes. Het is een groots opgezet drama, van de allereerste ontmoeting in 1849 tussen het onbekende naaistertje en het aanstormende genie, tot aan diens dood als beroemde, maar eenzame weduwnaar in 1882.
Lizzie is een boeiende roman, die alle facetten van een man-vrouwrelatie toont, van prille liefde en begeerte, via wederzijdse ontrouw, vervreemding en desillusie tot aan het besef van absolute lotsverbondenheid.
Eva Wanjek is het pseudoniem waaronder twee auteurs van Uitgeverij Wereldbibliotheek hun krachten hebben gebundeld: de romanschrijver Martin Michael Driessen en de dichteres Liesbeth Lagemaat.
De pers over Lizzie:
‘Een samenwerkingsverband tussen Martin Michael Driessen en Liesbeth Lagemaat leidt tot een historische roman waarin kunstzinnige verhevenheid en de liefde het pijnlijk afleggen tegen de zelfdestructie. ****’ NRC Handelsblad
‘De auteurs hebben dit tranentrekkende, vuistdikke verhaal schittering opgebouwd. beelden trekken als een film aan je voorbij en laten je niet los. En al ben je broodnuchter, raak je door hun liefdesgeschiedenis die gedoemd is te mislukken, bedwelmd, en leest die in één gelukzalige roes uit.’ Baarnsche Courant
Een fragment uit: ‘Lizzie’
En als Miss Siddall maar lang genoeg in dit water ligt terwijl ik schilder, en vergeet waar ze is, dan krijg ik misschien juist de uitdrukking die ik zoek. Die van vergetelheid, van opgave, alsof ze op de wateren van de Lethe drijft. Misschien helpt een beetje laudanum. En ze is mooi genoeg om ook dan nog begeerlijk te zijn. Want dat is waarom het gaat. Ophelia moet in haar dood begeerlijk zijn. Want alleen dan is het tragisch dat niemand haar ooit zal beminnen.
Hij vroeg zich af wie van hen Miss Siddall als eerste bezitten zou. Ik niet, dacht hij, ze is zo kwetsbaar, daar zit je voor de rest van je leven aan vast. Hunt was te rechtschapen, die zou alleen met zijn wettige echtgenote naar bed gaan. En Deverell ook niet. Walter was idolaat van haar, maar hij was een ziek man. Het zou Dante wel zijn. Lizzie was Dante’s meisje.
Nog een fragment uit: ‘Lizzie’
Ik ben Rossetti,’ zegt hij en ik hoor zijn stem vertraagd, alsof hij weerkaatst wordt door een gewelf. ‘Mijn naam is Dante Gabriel Rossetti, u zult wel nooit van mij gehoord hebben. Ik ben dichter en schilder.
Er is een beweging, de Prerafaëlitische Broederschap… zo noemen we ons… waarvan ik de leider ben. En nu ik u heb gezien, wil ik u vragen…’
Als een mens ooit werd opgetild van de aarde, dan werd ik het, nu. Ik wist niet wat me overkwam. Maar ik wist wel wat ik nu wilde zeggen…
Ze glimlachte en reciteerde – bevangen, als iemand die onwennig op een bruiloft of uitvaart spreekt en bang is iets verkeerds te zeggen – twee van zijn eigen verzen, uit ‘The Blessed Damozel’:
I’ll take his hand and go with him
To the deep wells of light…
Hij knielde voor haar en kuste haar hand. Het was voor het eerst in haar leven dat een man voor haar knielde. Nu mocht en kon er niets meer gezegd worden.
In de deuropening draaide hij zich om. Ze zat nog steeds op haar stoel, haar ene hand op het tafelblad, blank en haast doorschijnend, als door een Hollandse meester geschilderd. Ze keek over haar schouder naar het beroete raam, dat nauwelijks licht doorliet, en scheen weer onbereikbaar, in haar eigen gedachten verzonken. Was ze zo, of poseerde ze? Wat het ook was, ze deed het goed.
Voordat Dante de deur weer sloot, maakte hij met zachte stem de strofe af:
As unto a stream we will step down,
And bathe there in God’s sight
Eva Wanjek:
Lizzie
paperback met flappen
15×23 cm.
464 pagina’s
ISBN 9789028426160
prijs € 24,95
Uitgeverij Wereldbibliotheek
Johannes Vermeerstraat 63, 1071 DN Amsterdam
Tel: 020 570 61 00
Fax: 020 570 61 99
E-mail: info@wereldbibliotheek.nl
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More in: *The Pre-Raphaelites Archive, - Book News, Archive W-X, Lizzy Siddal, Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, Siddal, Lizzy
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
At Last
O mother, open the window wide
And let the daylight in;
The hills grow darker to my sight
And thoughts begin to swim.
And mother dear, take my young son,
(Since I was born of thee)
And care for all his little ways
And nurse him on thy knee.
And mother, wash my pale pale hands
And then bind up my feet;
My body may no longer rest
Out of its winding sheet.
And mother dear, take a sapling twig
And green grass newly mown,
And lay them on my empty bed
That my sorrow be not known.
And mother, find three berries red
And pluck them from the stalk,
And burn them at the first cockcrow
That my spirit may not walk.
And mother dear, break a willow wand,
And if the sap be even,
Then save it for sweet Robert’s sake
And he’ ll know my sou’s in heaven.
And mother, when the big tears fall,
(And fall, God knows, they may)
Tell him I died of my great love
And my dying heart was gay.
And mother dear, when the sun has set
And the pale kirk grass waves,
Then carry me through the dim twilight
And hide me among the graves.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
He and She and Angels Three
Ruthless hands have torn her
From one that loved her well;
Angels have upborn her,
Christ her grief to tell.
She shall stand to listen,
She shall stand and sing,
Till three winged angels
Her lover’s soul shall bring.
He and she and the angels three
Before God’s face shall stand;
There they shall pray among themselves
And sing at His right hand.
Elizabeth Siddal poetry
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
Lord May I Come?
Life and night are falling from me,
Death and day are opening on me,
Wherever my footsteps come and go,
Life is a stony way of woe.
Lord, have I long to go?
Hallow hearts are ever near me,
Soulless eyes have ceased to cheer me:
Lord may I come to thee?
Life and youth and summer weather
To my heart no joy can gather.
Lord, lift me from life’s stony way!
Loved eyes long closed in death watch for me:
Holy death is waiting for me
Lord, may I come to-day?
My outward life feels sad and still
Like lilies in a frozen rill;
I am gazing upwards to the sun,
Lord, Lord, remembering my lost one.
O Lord, remember me!
How is it in the unknown land?
Do the dead wander hand in hand?
God, give me trust in thee.
Do we clasp dead hands and quiver
With an endless joy for ever?
Do tall white angels gaze and wend
Along the banks where lilies bend?
Lord, we know not how this may be:
Good Lord we put our faith in thee
O God, remember me.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
A Year and a Day
Slow days have passed that make a year,
Slow hours that make a day,
Since I could take my first dear love
And kiss him the old way;
Yet the green leaves touch me on the cheek,
Dear Christ, this month of May.
I lie among the tall green grass
That bends above my head
And covers up my wasted face
And folds me in its bed
Tenderly and lovingly
Like grass above the dead.
Dim phantoms of an unknown ill
Float through my tired brain;
The unformed visions of my life
Pass by in ghostly train;
Some pause to touch me on the cheek,
Some scatter tears like rain.
A shadow falls along the grass
And lingers at my feet;
A new face lies between my hands –
Dear Christ, if I could weep
Tears to shut out the summer leaves
When this new face I greet.
Still it is but the memory
Of something I have seen
In the dreamy summer weather
When the green leaves came between:
The shadow of my dear love’s face –
So far and strange it seems.
The river ever running down
Between its grassy bed,
The voices of a thousand birds
That clang above my head,
Shall bring to me a sadder dream
When this sad dream is dead.
A silence falls upon my heart
And hushes all its pain.
I stretch my hands in the long grass
And fall to sleep again,
There to lie empty of all love
Like beaten corn of grain.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
fleursdumal.nl magazine
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddall
(1829-1862)
Worn Out
Thy strong arms are around me, love
My head is on thy breast;
Low words of comfort come from thee
Yet my soul has no rest.
For I am but a startled thing
Nor can I ever be
Aught save a bird whose broken wing
Must fly away from thee.
I cannot give to thee the love
I gave so long ago,
The love that turned and struck me down
Amid the blinding snow.
I can but give a failing heart
And weary eyes of pain,
A faded mouth that cannot smile
And may not laugh again.
Yet keep thine arms around me, love,
Until I fall to sleep;
Then leave me, saying no goodbye
Lest I might wake, and weep.
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
The Lust of the Eyes
I care not for my Lady’s soul
Though I worship before her smile;
I care not where be my Lady’s goal
When her beauty shall lose its wile.
Low sit I down at my Lady’s feet
Gazing through her wild eyes
Smiling to think how my love will fleet
When their starlike beauty dies.
I care not if my Lady pray
To our Father which is in Heaven
But for joy my heart’s quick pulses play
For to me her love is given.
Then who shall close my Lady’s eyes
And who shall fold her hands?
Will any hearken if she cries
Up to the unknown lands?
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
fleursdumal.nl magazine for art & literature
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
Love and Hate
Ope not thy lips, thou foolish one,
Nor turn to me thy face;
The blasts of heaven shall strike thee down
Ere I will give thee grace.
Take thou thy shadow from my path,
Nor turn to me and pray;
The wild wild winds thy dirge may sing
Ere I will bid thee stay.
Turn thou away thy false dark eyes,
Nor gaze upon my face;
Great love I bore thee: now great hate
Sits grimly in its place.
All changes pass me like a dream,
I neither sing nor pray;
And thou art like the poisonous tree
That stole my life away.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
Four Poems
A Silent Wood
O silent wood, I enter thee
With a heart so full of misery
For all the voices from the trees
And the ferns that cling about my knees.
In thy darkest shadow let me sit
When the grey owls about thee flit;
There will I ask of thee a boon,
That I may not faint or die or swoon.
Gazing through the gloom like one
Whose life and hopes are also done,
Frozen like a thing of stone
I sit in thy shadow but not alone.
Can God bring back the day when we two stood
Beneath the clinging trees in that dark wood?
He and She and Angels Three
Ruthless hands have torn her
From one that loved her well;
Angels have upborn her,
Christ her grief to tell.
She shall stand to listen,
She shall stand and sing,
Till three winged angels
Her lover’s soul shall bring.
He and she and the angels three
Before God’s face shall stand;
There they shall pray among themselves
And sing at His right hand.
Early Death
Oh grieve not with thy bitter tears
The life that passes fast;
The gates of heaven will open wide
And take me in at last.
Then sit down meekly at my side
And watch my young life flee;
Then solemn peace of holy death
Come quickly unto thee.
But true love, seek me in the throng
Of spirits floating past,
And I will take thee by the hands
And know thee mine at last.
Dead Love
Oh never weep for love that’s dead
Since love is seldom true
But changes his fashion from blue to red,
From brightest red to blue,
And love was born to an early death
And is so seldom true.
Then harbour no smile on your bonny face
To win the deepest sigh.
The fairest words on truest lips
Pass on and surely die,
And you will stand alone, my dear,
When wintry winds draw nigh.
Sweet, never weep for what cannot be,
For this God has not given.
If the merest dream of love were true
Then, sweet, we should be in heaven,
And this is only earth, my dear,
Where true love is not given.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal – poetry
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
The Passing of Love
O God, forgive me that I ranged
My live into a dream of love!
Will tears of anguish never wash
The passion from my blood?
Love kept my heart in a song of joy,
My pulses quivered to the tune;
The coldest blasts of winter blew
Upon me like sweet airs in June.
Love floated on the mists of morn
And rested on the sunset’s rays;
He calmed the thunder of the storm
And lighted all my ways.
Love held me joyful through the day
And dreaming ever through the night;
No evil thing could come to me,
My spirit was so light.
O Heaven help my foolish heart
Which heeded not the passing time
That dragged my idol from its place
And shattered all its shrine.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
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Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal
(1829-1862)
True Love
Farewell, Earl Richard,
Tender and brave;
Kneeling I kiss
The dust from thy grave.
Pray for me, Richard,
Lying alone
With hands pleading earnestly,
All in white stone.
Soon must I leave thee
This sweet summer tide;
That other is waiting
To claim his pale bride.
Soon I’ll return to thee
Hopeful and brave,
When the dead leaves
Blow over thy grave.
Then shall they find me
Close at thy head
Watching or fainting,
Sleeping or dead.
Elizabeth (Lizzie) Siddal poems
kempis.nl poetry magazine
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