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1928 Boué Soeurs Court Presentation Dress Study photos belonging to Sacheverelle
(Source : ornamentedbeing)
Artists’ Palettes, L-R: Delacroix, Van Gogh, Monet, Seurat, Renoir, Gauguin
my palette looks like monet’s
i want it to look like delacroix’s
“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
-Michelangelo
(Source : weissesrauschen, via dirtyovercoats)
Valente Celle Tomb, 1893, The Staglieno Cemetery, Genoa - Italy
Sculptor: Giulio Monteverde (Bistagno, Alessandria, 1837 - Roma 1917)
The funeral monument called “Eternal Drama” represents a real Dans macabre, the futile attempt of life to escape the inevitable embrace of death. The sculptor Giulio Monteverde underlines, in this sculpture, the contrast between the sensuality of the beautiful young woman who personifies Life (caught in the moment in which , wearied by the vain struggle, she is about to surrender herself to the terrible spectre who has chosen her as his prey) and the rigid impassiveness of Death which seizes her.
(Source : grabschonheiten.diary.ru, via jawdust)
“Foreign friends should come to China to appreciate Chinese art objects, yet too often we end up going overseas to see them in foreign museums. Our national treasures should not be flowing beyond our borders. They are ours, part of our roots.” - spokesman from China Poly Group Corporation, Beijing
Who owns culture? Are China’s protective cultural property laws justified?
NO, NO, NO, I CAN’T. NO. ಥ_ಥ this also reminds me of all the times when i go to museums and get weepy and emotional and everyone’s like, “miss, are you alright? you’re sobbing.” and i’m just like, “I AM HAVING A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE WITH THIS BERNINI MASTERPIECE, P-P-PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE RIGHT NOW I CAN’T-“
THAT EPISODE OF DOCTOR WHO ENDED ME. ENDED ME.
(Source : snapeisavirgin, via valjeanvaljean)
I would not mind having to write the description panel that introduces an exhibit/gallery/work of art.
These are my favourite things.
Guardian Angels
1946
Oil on canvas
48 1/8 x 35 in.
damn straight.
“One morning in the spring of 1970, I went into the Tate Gallery and took a wrong, right turn and there they were, lying in wait. No it wasn’t love at first site. Rothko had insisted that the lighting be kept almost pretentiously low. It was like going into the cinema, expectation in the dimness.
Something in there was throbbing steadily, pulsing like the inside of a body part, all crimson and purple. I felt I was being pulled through those black lines to some mysterious place in the universe.
Rothko said his paintings begin an unknown adventure into an unknown space. I wasn’t sure where that was and whether I wanted to go. I only know I had no choice and that the destination might not exactly be a picnic, but I got it all wrong that morning in 1970. I thought a visit to the Seagram Paintings would be like a trip to the cemetary of abstraction - all dutiful reverence, a dead end.
Everything Rothko did to these paintings - the column-like forms suggested rather than drawn and the loose stainings - were all meant to make the surface ambiguous, porous, perhaps softly penetrable. A space that might be where we came from or where we will end up.
They’re not meant to keep us out, but to embrace us; from an artist whose highest compliment was to call you a human being.”
“Pablo Picasso’s Guernica is so familiar, so large, so present. It’s physically bigger than a movie screen. But what is the painting about? Is it an account of the Spanish town obliterated by Nazi warplanes - a piece of reportage? Is that why it’s in black and white?
This is the reason why the painting has such an impact. Instead of a laboured literal commentary on German warplanes, Basque civilians and incendiary bombs, Picasso connects with our worst nightmares. He’s saying here’s where the world’s horror comes from; the dark pit of our psyche.”
“Vincent’s passionate belief was that people wouldn’t just see his pictures, but would feel the rush of life in them; that by the force of his brush and dazzling colour they’d experience those fields, faces and flowers in ways that nothing more polite or literal could ever convey.
His art would reclaim what had once belonged to religion - consolation for our mortality through the relish of the gift of life. It wasn’t the art crowd he was after; he wanted was to open the eyes and the hearts of everyone who saw his paintings. I feel he got what he wanted.
So what are we looking at with this painting? There’s suffocation, but elation too. The crows might be coming at us, but equally they might be flying away, demons gone as we immerse ourselves in the power of nature. It’s a massive wall of writhing brilliant paint, in which the colour itself seems to tremble and pulse and sway.”
