, , , , ,

{Silver apples of the moon} a watercolor by Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh

My husband has been extremely inspired by the work of Glasgow architect Charles Mackintosh since visiting the Glasgow School of Art in Scotland of  ago. He’s working on designing our someday-soon kitchen table (those woodworkers; so crafty!) and wanted to show me a few of his designs tonight. Art Nouveau is by far one of my absolute favorite time periods of art history, so we had a lot of fun oohing and aahing over this genius mind that was Mr. Mackintosh. What Joel wanted to show me tonight, however was the works of his lovely wife, Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh Charles said, reportedly, “Margaret has genius, I have only talent.” Well…I think they were both being modest. Can you imagine! Being a husband/wife design team of their magnitude and influence?? We couldn’t help but pull out pencil and paper and try to emulate some of their flavor…my attempt was laughable. I would love to take a design class studying Art Nouveau illustration. Definitely on my “bucket list.” Here are a few more examples of their work….

Look at his lines! So pretty...{Glasgow School of Art}

His design for a nursery, Margaret's idea for the panel

{The Opera of the Sea} Gesso panel

I read that the first piece, Silver Apples of the Moon, was inspired by the following poem… enjoy!

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire aflame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.


                                                          William Butler Yeats