hospital window

Dr. Henri Vaquez and his Assistant Dr. Parvu at the Hôpital de la Pieié, Édouard Vuillard. 1921
Distemper on canvas, 142 cm (55.91 in.) x 132 cm (51.97 in.)




deadly windows

Rebel sniper's nest in the Karmel Jabl neighborhood of Aleppo 
Javier Manzano



the silence was complete

She set one in the front room, one in the back room. Then she went, creaking in her cheap
shoes, to the window and drew the curtains. They slid with a familiar
click along the brass rod, and soon the windows were obscured by thick
sculptured folds of claret-coloured plush. When she had drawn the curtains
in both rooms, a profound silence seemed to fall upon the drawingroom.
The world outside seemed thickly and entirely cut off. Far away
down the next street they heard the voice of a street hawker droning; the
heavy hooves of van horses clopped slowly down the road. For a moment
wheels ground on the road; then they died out and the silence was

from V. Woolf, The Years


healing window

The Convalescent, Ambrose McEvoy (1878-1927)



radioactive windows

A Soviet stained-glass mural at the Pripyat riverside cafe
Guy Corbishley



don't be caught looking

She got up as if she were going somewhere. But she stopped. Then she
strolled over to the window that looked out onto the street. The houses
opposite all had the same little front gardens; the same steps; the same
pillars; the same bow windows. But now dusk was falling and they
looked spectral and insubstantial in the dim light. Lamps were being lit;
a light glowed in the drawing-room opposite; then the curtains were
drawn, and the room was blotted out. Delia stood looking down at the
street. A woman of the lower classes was wheeling a perambulator; an
old man tottered along with his hands behind his back. Then the street
was empty; there was a pause. Here came a hansom jingling down the
road. Delia was momentarily interested. Was it going to stop at their
door or not? She gazed more intently. But then, to her regret, the cabman
jerked his reins, the horse stumbled on; the cab stopped two doors lower
"Someone's calling on the Stapletons," she called back, holding apart
the muslin blind. Milly came and stood beside her sister, and together,
through the slit, they watched a young man in a top-hat get out of the
cab. He stretched his hand up to pay the driver.
"Don't be caught looking," said Eleanor warningly. The young man ran
up the steps into the house; the door shut upon him and the cab drove
But for the moment the two girls stood at the window looking into the
street. The crocuses were yellow and purple in the front gardens. The almond
trees and privets were tipped with green. A sudden gust of wind
tore down the street, blowing a piece of paper along the pavement; and a
little swirl of dry dust followed after. Above the roofs was one of those
red and fitful London sunsets that make window after window burn
gold. There was a wildness in the spring evening; even here, in Abercorn
Terrace the light was changing from gold to black, from black to gold.
Dropping the blind, Delia turned, and coming back into the drawingroom,
said suddenly:
"Oh my God!"

from V. Woolf, The Years



in response to Sally Mann's "Family"

Rinko Kawauchi, 1992


La Fenêtre Ouverte - Le Breau

Walter Gray, 1910
watercolour, 14 x 10.5 inches


resting at my open window

Resting at my open window I gaze out at the mountains
A thousand peaks of blue and purple rise above the pines
Without a thought or care white clouds come and go
So utterly accepting.... so totally relaxed

Hanshan Deqing
tr. Red Pine


Fenêtre ouverte sur la mer

Pierre Bonnard



two children looking out a window

Helen Levitt, 1940
silver gelatin print



Autunm eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.

In the mirror it's Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.

My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.

We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from
the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time.

It is time.

Paul Celan
tr. Michael Hamburger


Chagall's atelier

Lithograph, L'Atelier à Saint Paul (The Studio in Saint Paul), 1974

Window in Artist's Studio