Bethesda Art Festival.

12th Annual Bethesda Row Arts Festival, Maryland
Saturday, October 17th from 11am – 6pm
Sunday, October 18th from 11am – 5pm

My booth is # E6 (on Elm Street)

Each October, the streets of Bethesda Row are transformed into an outdoor art gallery of spectacular fine arts and crafts. More than 200,000 people have enjoyed the Bethesda Row Arts Festival in the heart of Bethesda’s designated Arts & Entertainment District since it began in 1997. This year many of the world's finest arts and crafts will be presented.

The Festival, underwritten by Federal Realty Investment Trust, features the work of 180 leading artists and crafters from the Mid-Atlantic and around the country. On display will be the finest in: ceramics, drawings, fabrics, glass, graphics, jewelry, metalwork, paintings, pastels, photography, printmaking, sculpture, wood and mixed media.

The outdoor event is held rain or shine on Bethesda Row located on Woodmont and Bethesda Avenues, and Elm Street, east of Arlington Road. The festival is in easy walking distance from the Bethesda Metro station and 15 minutes from downtown Metrorail stops.

Image: Ex libris (etching/aquatint) I made for Ilona Gargajina in 1996. This bookplate was a part of exhibit dedicated to Paul Verlaine, French Poet.

Here is very interesting page about translating Verlaine.

ОСЕННЯЯ ПЕСНЯ

Долгие песни

Скрипки осенней
Зов неотвязный,
Сердце мне ранят,
Думы туманят,
Однообразно.

Сплю, холодею,
Вздрогнув, бледнею
С боем полночи.
Вспомнится что-то.
Все без отчета
Выплачут очи.

Выйду я в поле.
Ветер на воле
Мечется, смелый.
Схватит он, бросит,
Словно уносит
Лист пожелтелый.

(Перевод В. Брюсов)

Autumn Song, By Paul Verlaine                   Translation by Eli Siegel

The long sighs  Of the violins  Of autumn  Hurt my heart  With a languor  Of sameness. All stifling  And pale, when  The hour sounds,  I remember  Days of once  And I weep. And I let myself go  With the evil wind  Which carries me  Here, beyond,  Like the leaf  Which has died. Paul-Marie Verlaine Chanson d’Automne Les sanglots longs Des violons De l’automne Blessent mon cœur D’une langueur Monotone. Tout suffocant Et blême, quand Sonne l’heure, Je me souviens Des jours anciens Et je pleure; Et je m’en vais Au vent mauvais Qui m’emporte Deçà, delà, Pareil à la Feuille morte.