Classic Art Video Games

Worth 1000 recently had a photoshop contest mashing classic works of Western art with video games. Pictured above is Link from Bouguereau's "The Little Knitter." The horse in the background is a nice touch. (via technabob)

Art Blogging: Isabel Samaras

Isabel Samaras, a native of New York City, attended the Parsons School of Design, where she studied illustration. She lives and works in San Francisco, and is noted for her juxtapositions of Baby Boomer pop culture and iconic images from Western art. A fine example is the painting The Birth of Ginger, a reflection of Gilligan's Island and Sandro Botticelli's The Birth of Venus.

Wish, which is modeled on La Grande Odalisque by Jean-Auguste-Dominque Ingres. In an interview, Samaras said:

So I hope people looking at the paintings enjoy them as objects of beauty, mystery and humor. How many onion layers they can peel is sort of up to them but I hope they work for people who have no TV/pop culture or art history background just as something interesting, intriguing and lovely. (Even if you knew nothing of Batman or mythology, it should be a compelling image. Who are these people? What are they doing? And why?)

The Judgment of Batman, featuring all three women who played Catwoman on the 1960s TV show. It's modeled on The Judgment of Paris by Peter Paul Rubens. This is one of Samaras' works of oil on a metal tray -- one of her common media.

Art Blogging: Antonio Canova

Antonio Canova (1757-1822) was an Italian Academic sculptor. He was born in the foothills of the Venetian Alps, but soon moved to Rome after the death of his father. There, his grandfather taught him stone cutting, which was the family profession. Canova showed prodigious talent for carving devotional statuary and acquired a wealthy patron in Venice. This enabled him to seek further formal training. Archaeological studies captivated him, launching his Neoclassical focus that would dominate his life's work. Canova became the most sought-after sculptor of his age and attracted offers from across the Continent.
Theseus and the Centaur (marble, Kunsthistor- isches Museum in Vienna). A product of the Enlightenment, Canova rendered perfect versions of an idealized human form. He could capture a single moment in time and make it look like a moving scene. Look at the centaur's body -- you can almost see his legs collapse under him.
Cupid and Psyche (marble, the Hermitage at St. Petersburg). Jealous of the beauty of mortal girl Psyche, Venus ordered her son Cupid to cause her to fall in love with the most vile creature on earth. Cupid tried to do as his mother wished, but fell in love with Psyche upon seeing her for the first time. Distracted by her beauty, he accidentally pierced himself with his own arrows. Canova captured this romantic icon magnificently.
Letizia Ramolino Bonaparte (marble, private collection). Canova was in high demand for portraits and sarcophogal sculptures, such as this one of Napoleon Bonapatre's mother. Bonapatre was an admirer of Canova and patronized his services heavily.

Art Blogging: George Clausen

George Clausen (1852-1944) was a British Academic painter. Born in London, he was educated at the Royal College of Art. Affiliated with the Naturalist movement, Clausen became most famous for his depictions of British rural life. Like the Impressionists, Clausen used light to magnify his images, but true to his Academic training, he did not abandon the integrity of form.






Girl at the Gate (oil on canvas, 1889, Tate Gallery). Here is an example of what I mean. The spotty background of this painting is Impressionistic in its construction, but the central figure and her draping is traditionally Academic through crisp, clean lines.







The Mowers (watercolor, 1885).





Head of a Peasant Woman (oil on canvas, 1882).

Art Blogging: Ivan Aivazovsky

Ivan Aivazovsky (1817-1900) was a Russian-Armenian Academic painter. Born in poverty in Crimea, he studied at a prestigious academy in St. Petersburg. He became commercially successful in 1837 after exhibiting an award-winning seascape. Aivazovsky then travelled throughout the Continent and developed a free-flowing style of painting seascapes that required very little preliminary work.

He was a very prolific artist, and produced over 6,000 works during his lifetime. Under long-term a commissions by Russian Navy, he produced many works glorifying naval warfare and travel.

The Great Roads at Kronstadt (oil on canvas, 1836, the Russian Museum). Seascapes make up the vast majority of Aivazovsky's corpus, and are noteworthy for their romantic (rather than realistic) depiction of motion.

View of Tblisi. Although Aivazovsky is not well-known for his landscapes, my favorite work of his is this depiction of the Georgian capital city for its careful perspective and vibrant colors. I can't locate any provenantial information about this work, but I am reasonably confident that it is his.

Art Blogging: Vasily Surikov

Vasily Surikov (1848-1916) was a Russian Academic painter. He was raised in Siberia and descended from its Cossack conquerors, who provided inspiration for many of his historical works. He studied at the Academy in St. Petersburg, after which he settled in Moscow. Early success allowed him to travel to Italy, France, Germany, and Austria, which widened his perspective. Yet his focus returned to scenes from Russian and particularly Siberian history, and after the death of his wife, he moved his family back there.

The Conquest of Siberia by Yermak (oil on canvas, 1895, Russian Museum in St. Petersburg) depicts the 16th Century conquest of Siberia for Russia by the Cossack leader Yermak.

Russian Troops Under Suvorov Crossing the Alps (oil on canvas, 1899, Russian Museum in St. Petersburg) recounts the disastrous Russian invasion of Switzerland during the Napoleonic Wars.

The Taking of a Snow Fortress is a scene from everyday Siberian life, depicting a traditional equestrian challenge of the region (oil on canvas, 1891, Russian Museum in St. Petersburg). This is my favorite Surikov, due to its vigorous energy.

Reblogged: Sermon On Canvas: The View from the Cross

Click on the picture for a larger view. It's worth it.

This painting is What Our Savior Saw from the Cross by Tissot.

What did he see? A Pharisee giggling. His own mother mourning. Women adoring him. A Roman soldier wondering. A Zealot jeering. But all eyes are on he who died for the sake of the world. They look at him with varied expressions; he looks at them only with love.

I am, at times, the Pharisee, the mother, the women, the soldier, and the Zealot. But regardless of whether I honor or mock his sacrifice, he unfailingly returns my gaze with love.

And can it be that I should gain
an interest in the Savior's blood!
Died he for me? who caused his pain!
For me? who him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
-Charles Wesley


[reblogged]

Art and the Reduction of Women

This past weekend, Katherine and I visited the Harn Museum of Art in Gainesville. It's a fine, eclectic mix of various periods and origins in the visual arts. We especially enjoyed the fin-de-siecle collection of American painting and the special exhibit of historic American photography.

But one work annoyed me: Seated Figure (terra cotta, 1927) by John Bradley Storrs. Visiting various museums, I've noticed that there's almost always at least one headless, armless female nude by a Modern (by that I mean broadly post-Academic) artist. I find these works dehumanizing and degrading to women by eliminating the the female's ability to think and communicate (head) and her ability to work and be independent (arms). Although these figures are never presented in an erotic manner, they reduce the female to little more than a sexual object.

I'm having trouble remembering which other artists created such works, although I vividly recall one Botero work like this at the San Antonio Museum of Art. It is odd that although the post-Academic period liberated women politically, elements of it seemed to futher subjugate and objectify them.

Art Blogging: Émile Friant

Emile Friant (1863-1932) was a French Realist painter. My biographical information about him is limited by my extremely rusty French. But as much as I can discern, he studied at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Nancy, and then later in Paris under the great Alexandre Cabanel. As a true Academician, he stressed photographic realism and found critical success at the Universal Exposition at 1889, as well as won second place in the Prix de Rome. His refined craftsmanship can be clearly seen in the works below.

Political Discussion (oil on canvas, 1889).









Wrestling (oil on canvas, 1889, at the Musée Fabre in Montpellier).









Childhood Grief (oil on canvas, 1897).

Art Blogging: Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (1780-1867) was a French Neoclassical and Orientalist Academic painter. He was the son of an unsuccessful artist and studied at an academy in Toulouse before joining the atelier of Jacques-Louis David. Awarded the Prix de Rome, he journeyed there and remained for twenty years, long after his stipend was expended. There, Ingres was heavily influenced by the Italian masters, particularly Raphael. He returned to Paris without critical acclaim, but was given the post of director of the French Academy in Rome. Ingres' reputation steady rose to the first rank of artists, and his portrait work was highly sought-after throughout Western Europe.
Jupiter and Thetis (oil on canvas, 1811, Musee Granet). In Roman mythology, Jupiter pursued the maiden Thetis, only to learn that it was prophesied that the son that she bore would become greater than his father. He then forsook her and arranged her marriage to a mortal. Thetis then gave birth to the great hero Achilles.
Napoloen I on His Imperial Throne (oil on canvas, 1806, Musee de L'Armee). Notice that Napoleon's pose resembles that of Jupiter in the previous painting. But more importantly, Ingres broke with tradition in his composition of the Emperor. In an effort to normalize his seizure of power, most (favorable) depictions of Napoleon referred to Baroque portraits of contemporary European royalty. Ingres, however, poses Napoleon as an emperor and surrounds him with symbols of the 9th Century Charlemagne.

Portait of Princesse Albert de Broglie, nee Josephine-Eleonore-Marie-Pauline de Galard de Brassac de Bearn (oil on canvas, 1853, at the Met). Ingres' portrait work was renowned for its detail in every part, such as the precise folds in the Princess' chair back. His paintings are revered by historians of fashion for being attentive to the precise depiction of fashion design.

Ingres' most famous work today is La Grand Odalisque (oil on canvas, 1814, private collection), which initiated the Orientalist movement -- a time of European fascination with Islamic culture. This painting is most popularly known for the distorted back of its model, suggesting that she has several extra vertebrae. It is true that although Ingres was a product of Academic training and a late disciple of Raphael, his lines often rebelled against Academic figure methods.

Art Blogging: Thomas Couture

Thomas Couture (1815-1879) was a French historical and portrait painter. He studied under Antoine-Jean Gros and Paul Delaroche. Despite his early recognition as a prodigy, he never won the Prix de Rome. Sensing rejection by the internal politics of the Parisian art world, he became a staunch critic of Academic training, particularly that of the Ecole des Beaux Arts. Couture nevertheless remained a part of the Academic movement and eventually won the Salon prize in 1847. His reputation has declined since his death and he is often seen by art historians as a near-parody of Academic pomposity. Couture nevertheless impacted future generations as a teacher and counted Eduard Manet, Eastman Johnson and John LaFarge among his pupils.
The Romans of the Decadance (oil on canvas, 1847, Musee D'Orsay). Couture was and is most famous for this one painting. In a sense, Couture can be classed as a 'one-hit wonder'. This massive 15 by 25-foot painting dominated the 1847 Salon competition and won him the grand prize. Beyond its astonishingly rich detail, what was unique about this painting is that it did not hold up the Classical world as a paragon of civilization, but of corruption and moral decay. In this, Couture can be said to be an artistic equivalent to King Louis-Phillippe's call for a more austere, unpretentious, and moral lifestyle by the wealthy.

Pierrot the Politician (oil on canvas, 1857, in the Wallace Collection). Pierrot was a stock character in European theatre for centuries. He was usually depicted as a playful, idealistic fool always cheated and swindled by others. He was a favorite subject matter for Couture.
The Kiss of Judas (oil on canvas, private collection). This is one of Couture's handful of religiously-themed works. The lighting and draping in this work are excellent. Christ stares off into the distance, mentally separated from the events around him. He crosses his hands in preparation to be bound, and waits his ordeal to begin.

Art Blogging: Jean-Antoine Watteau

Jean-Antoine Watteau (1684-1721) was a French Rococo painter. He was born in Valenciennes to an impoverished tiler who used what little money he earned to educate his son. Watteau was apprenticed to Gerin, a local painter in Valenciennes. When Gerin died in 1702, Watteau went to Paris and gained employment as a scene painter, and later in a factory that mass produced devotional art. He worked in the ateliers of various masters, and his reputation grew until he attracted the attention of painter Charles de la Fosse, who ensured his admission into the Academy. There Watteau's fame reached meteoric heights, and he exerted a commanding influence on on the next generations of the French Rococo style. Most notably, he created the genre of depicting wealthy people relaxing in Edenic splendor.

The Venetian Festival. (oil on canvas, National Galleries of Scotland)

The Festival of Love. (oil on canvas, at the Gemäldegalerie in Desden)

The Music Party. (Oil on canvas, at the Wallace)

Art Blogging: Peter Paul Rubens

Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640) was a Flemish Baroque painter. His greatest achievement was to merge the realism of Dutch painting with the classicism of the Italian Renaissance. His father, a highly-educated Calvinist, was forced to flee the Spanish-occupied Netherlands for Germany before Rubens was born. When Rubens' father died in 1587, he and his family settled in Antwerp. He was apprenticed to various painters in that city and came under the influence of the Romanists -- Dutch painters who imitated the style of the Italian Renaissance. Rubens himself later went to Italy and worked in Mantua for eight years, drinking deep from the well of Italian painting. In the ensuing years, he gained commissions for devotional works and portraits throughout Italy. Upon his mother's death he returned to Antwerp, intending to stay only briefly, only to find the expensive commissions offered to him so enticing that he settled there permanently. In Antwerp, with Hapsburg backing, he sold works throughout all of the great courts of Europe and became fabulously wealthy. In short, he translated Italian Renaissance painting into ways that all of Europe could understand it.

The Fall of the Rebel Angels (1620, oil on canvas, at the Alte Pinakothek in Munich). The swirling, tempestuous violence of this scene almost pours off of the canvas.









The Martyrdom of St. Stephen (oil on canvas, at the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Valenciennes).











Portrait of Helena Forment (1630, oil on canvas, at the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts in Brussels). This was Rubens' second wife.

Art Blogging: Paul Delaroche

Paul Delaroche (1797-1856) was a French Academic painter. He was born in Paris, the son of a prosperous art dealer, and studied at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, and later in the studio of Antoine-Jean Gros. From his master he learned the craft of history painting, for which Delaroche was to become famous. He composed enormous canvases depicting scenes from popular (but not necessarily factually precise) historical memories. His success acquired the British attention, leading to the commissioning of several episodes from that nation's history. Delaroche was also commissioned by the Bourbons to create religious works as a countermeasure to Revolutionary France's prior abandonment of that subject matter.

The Execution of Lady Jane Grey (oil on canvas, 1834, at the National Gallery).

Young Christian Marytr (oil on canvas, 1855, at the Louvre). This image, often mistaken for an Ophelia, demonstrates Delaroche's remarkable luminescence, such as the ethereal halo floating over the pallid body of this martyr.














Virgin and Child (oil on canvas, 1844).

Sermon on Canvas: The Burial Of Christ

This is Pieta by William Adolphe Bouguereau.

I saw this work once at the Dallas Museum of Art. I was not yet a Christian, but I was staggered by the agony on Mary's face. She held the pallid, lifeless body of her son. The angels, too, mourn. They they do not have Mary's despair. It is the wailing, exhausted anguish of a mother who has lost a child. The angels that surround her and the dead Christ know of the great victory that will come on the third day. To them, having heavenly knowledge, Christ was not a defeated savior, but the victor in the final struggle over sin and its inevitable consequence, death.

The time of rejoicing draws near....

Thou didst lie in the grave for me;
Grant, Lord, when I interred may be,
Peace and tranquility may reign,
Until I see Thy face again.

A source of holy joy I find,
That He was to a grave consigned.
He sanctified the tomb for us
And made its shadows glorious.

He made the tomb a resting place
For those who know His saving grace.
No terrors now the grave can hold
For those whom His strong arms enfold.

Blessed Lord Jesus, grant my prayer,
That I may die without a care,
That I may take my last long rest
By Thy sweet presence ever blessed!
--Hallgrimur Petursson in the Passiusalmar

Reblogged: Sermon on Canvas -- The View from the Cross

Click on the picture for a larger view. It's worth it.

This painting is What Our Savior Saw from the Cross by Tissot.

What did he see? A Pharisee giggling. His own mother mourning. Women adoring him. A Roman soldier wondering. A Zealot jeering. But all eyes are on he who died for the sake of the world. They look at him with varied expressions; he looks at them only with love.

I am, at times, the Pharisee, the mother, the women, the soldier, and the Zealot. But regardless of whether I honor or mock his sacrifice, he unfailingly returns my gaze with love.

And can it be that I should gain
an interest in the Savior's blood!
Died he for me? who caused his pain!
For me? who him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
-Charles Wesley


[reblogged]

Art Appreciation and Christian Values

I have no formal training in art theory, so readers will forgive me for these erratic thoughts as I try to piece together a coherent thesis.

I have, of late, developed an appreciation for the Art Deco period of illustration, design, painting, and sculpture. I have described it as "a geometry of clean, crisp lines drawn in broad, sweeping gestures" that makes no pretense of subtlety or attempt to mask its aesthetic yearnings. It is not in any way ashamed of being beautiful. But there are many different kinds of beauty, and Art Deco (and to a large extent its parent movement, Art Nouveau) is one in particular: elegance. Elegance is the glorification of the elite -- of refinement, poise, and finesse -- and seen as qualities of the upper tier of society.

As I've developed this appreciation for the Art Deco and Art Nouveau movements, I have at the same time been bothered by certain values conveyed by them. They glorify and even deify science and technology as the saviors of humanity. And perhaps most disturbingly, they idealize wealth -- that to be rich is the best of all possible worlds. This idea, of course, stands in sharp contrast to Christian values. One cannot be both wealthy and a Christian. 'Wealthy' is a subjective term, and I suppose that as a Christian grows richer, s/he tends to define the term ever upward. But whatever we may definitively nail down as 'wealthy' is alien to Christianity. And yet Art Deco glorifies wealth, suggesting that one should not be ashamed of being rich.

Let me provide an example of the contrasting concepts of beauty in Art Deco and Academicism. This is Young Shepherdess Standing by the Academic Neoclassical master William Adolphe Bouguereau. Depictions of barefoot peasant girls were among Bouguereau's most common subjects. He idealized the lifestyle of the poor rural Frenchman, attributing Edenic qualities to the agrarian lifestyle. This shepherdess is not an icon of beauty for her splendor and grace, but for her simplicity. The fact that she smells like sheep and will lose most of her teeth by the age of 30 is unmentioned. Bouguereau suggests that true beauty is found not in wealth, but in poverty.







Now a contrasting image: This is Dancers by Art Deco sculptor Demetre Chiparus. These are not peasants, but the wealthy elite of society. The woman is not dressed in a converted flower sack as the peasant girl above is, but a carefully designed and tailored gown. She wears high heels, an item of fashion which prevents a person from engaging in manual labor (and is therefore a conspicuous display of wealth). The couple is engaged not in an effort to create food and clothing, but an economically useless activity: dancing. This sculpture is a rejection of Bouguereau's concept of beauty, and instead replaces that definition with one of wealth and high social class. Both images express beauty; both define them very differently.

So am I moving away from Christian values by appreciating a movement which highly esteems wealth (Art Deco, Art Nouveau) instead of one that highly esteems poverty (Academic Neoclassicism)? Ah, but here is where the ethical formulation gets complex! The Bouguereau in question was produced once and is worth millions of dollars, whereas the Chiparus was mass produced and is worth thousands of dollars.

So a century ago, a profoundly wealthy person might have had one of Bouguereau's peasant girls hanging on his wall. He might think to himself "If only I were a simple peasant, without a care in the world, instead of having to worry about my many investments all hours of the day!" And a middle-class person might have a Chiparus knock-off (or maybe an original) on his mantle and say to himself "If only I were rich, dancing without a care in the world, instead worrying about the mortgage all hours of the day!" The rich glorify the poor, the poorer (comparatively, but not absolutely) glorify being rich. To each, the grass is always greener on the other side.

So even though Art Deco glorified wealth, its decisive element was not a particular concept of line and form or color, but mass production. What makes Art Deco Art Deco is that it was produced in vast quantities by machines. There are exceptions, of course, such as painters whose work could not mass produced (until the advent of clever businessmen like Thomas Kinkade). Whereas once art was the sole possession of the very wealthy, thanks to the tools of capitalism, it is now available to everyone. Art Nouveau and Art Deco represented the new Age of Capitalism -- when the rising tide lifted the boats of all people, most especially the poor. Capitalism invented the middle class, which took advantage of its newfound wealth to access the arts once restricted to the elites. And that's a good thing, because being poor sucks.

Still, these movements glorify wealth, though they make art accessible to the non-wealthy. Its predecessor did not glorify wealth, but was only accessible to the wealthy. Here is a reflection of one of the ironies of Christian ethics. We are told to give our resources to the poor so that they may no longer be poor. But what if we succeed and the poor become rich men stuck in the eyes of needles? We are told that greed is evil, but greed is the essential motive of capitalism, which among all economic systems does the most good for the poor. Christian objectives and the means to achieve them seem to be in conflict.

Now I've written myself into a corner as my attempt to synthesize my faith and my aesthetics is still fuzzy. This is a work in progress. What do you think of the ideas that I have put forth here?