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The Art of Mort Künstler / The American Spirit / A New Nation
Here you will find a pictorial chronicle of the drama and excitement of American History. These paintings give the viewer an insight into the tumultuous life of this young nation that mere words cannot achieve.
Sally's Valentine - limited edition print Oyster Bay, New York, 1779 |
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Custom framing is available for this print. Please call 800-850-1776 or email info@mortkunstler.com for more information.
LIMITED EDITION PRINTS
Giclée Canvas Prints
Reproduction technique: Giclées are printed with the finest archival pigmented inks on canvas.
Each print is numbered and signed by the artist and accompanied by a Certificate of Authenticity.
Signature Edition 18” x 24”
Signed & Numbered • Edition Size: 100
Signed Artist’s Proof • Edition Size: 10
Classic Edition 21” x 28”
Signed & Numbered • Edition Size: 50
Signed Artist’s Proof • Edition Size: 10
Premier Edition 27” x 36”
Signed & Numbered • Edition Size: 15
Signed Artist’s Proof • Edition Size: 5
Collector's Edition 36” x 48”
Signed & Numbered • Edition Size: 5
Signed Artist’s Proof • Edition Size: 2
Historical Information
Long Island brimmed over with information – and danger – for spies and patriot sympathizers. British and Loyalist troops prowled there regularly, suppressing patriots and fighting off whaleboat raiders from Connecticut. In the winter of 1778-79, a loyalist unit called the Queen’s Rangers under Lieutenant Colonel John Graves Simcoe camped in Oyster Bay. Simcoe took up quarters in Samuel Townsend’s house, the Homestead. The accommodations provided an additional attraction in the form of Townsend’s nineteen-year-old daughter Sarah or “Sally.”
Many officers courted her, but of course the tall and handsome Simcoe stood foremost. He fell hard for the young damsel. Some time that winter, it is said, Simcoe penned a valentine to Sally, adding to it a pair of hearts with their initials pierced by an arrow, along with a poem. “Fairest Maid where all are fair,” it began, “Beauty’s pride and Nature’s care; To you my heart I must resign; O choose me for your Valentine!” Whether disgusted by such doggerel or (as legend states) irritated at Simcoe’s decision to cut down her father’s apple orchard, Sally spurned her suitor and sent him packing. As an avowed patriot, she might well also have passed on intelligence of the Queen’s Rangers to any of the American spies who were plentiful in the area. It is believed that she remembered the incident so fondly, however, that she kept Simcoe’s valentine until the end of her life in 1842.
Mort Künstler's Comments
Having lived in Oyster Bay for over fifty years, I was very much aware of the role Oyster Bay played in the American Revolution. We are fortunate to have in our village the historical house museum Raynham Hall, which was the home of the Townsend family during the revolution. When planning my book The New Nation – The Paintings of Mort Künstler I used it as an opportunity to paint Sally Townsend in front of the Homestead (Raynham Hall) receiving the very first recorded Valentine in America. I was able to do research minutes from my home in this beautifully restored house.
To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine!
Love, Mighty God! Thou know’st full well, where all thy Mother’s graces dwell,
Where they inhabit and combine to fix thy power with spells divine;
Thou know’st what powerful magick lies within the round of Sarah’s eyes,
Or darted thence like lightning fires, and Heaven’s own joys around inspires;
Thou know’st my heart will always prove the shrine of pure unchanging love!
Say; awful God! Since to thy throne two ways that lead are only known—
Here gay Variety presides, and many a youthful circle guides
Through paths where lilies, roses sweet, bloom and decay beneath their feet;
Here constancy with sober mien regardless of the flowery Scene
With Myrtle crowned that never fades, in silence seeks the Cypress Shades,
Or fixed near Contemplation’s cell, chief with the Muses loves to dwell,
Leads those who inward feel and burn and often clasp the abandon’d urn,–
Say, awful God! Did’st thou not prove my heart was formed for Constant love?
Thou saw’st me once on every plain to Delia pour the artless strain—
Thou wept’sd her death and bad’st me change my happier days no more to range
O’er hill, o’er dale, in sweet Employ, of singing Delia, Nature’s joy;
Thou bad’st me change the pastoral scene forget my Crook; with haughty mien
To raise the iron Spear of War, victim of Grief and deep Despair:
Say, must I all my joys forego and still maintain this outward show?
Say, shall this breast that’s pained to feel be ever clad in horrid steel?
Nor swell with other joys than those of conquest o’er unworthy foes?
Shall no fair maid with equal fire awake the flames of soft desire:
My bosom born, for transport, burn and raise my thoughts from Delia’s urn?
“Fond Youth,” the God of Love replies, “Your answer take from Sarah’s eyes.”
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