#Easel and canvas

[portrait-paintings]

Self-Portrait

Artist: Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (French, 1755-1842)

Date: 1790

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Uffizi Galleries, Florence, Italy

Description

Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (16 April 1755 – 30 March 1842), also known as Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun or simply as Madame Le Brun, was a French painter who mostly specialized in portrait painting, in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

Her artistic style is generally considered part of the aftermath of Rococo with elements of an adopted Neoclassical style. Her subject matter and color palette can be classified as Rococo, but her style is aligned with the emergence of Neoclassicism.

[ravinoforre]

It's a little bit late, but Happy Anniversary to Pokémon Colosseum! This took the best part of a month to complete (working on and off). Likes and reblogs heavily appreciated! Acrylic on canvas, 30 x 40

The two paintings side by side on my wall (as a side note, both of these were signed digitally on their solo photos for me to show online, since I didn't want to risk messing them up with my inconsistent squiggly signature or have the pen misfire horrifically ^^' )

[iowacitypast]

Art studio, The University of Iowa, 1950s

Creator: Kent, Frederick Wallace

[allegorypaintings]

Allegory of the Arts

Artist: Pompeo Girolamo Batoni (Italian, 1708–1787)

Date: 1740

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Städel Museum, Frankfurt, Germany

Description

The painting shows five women who embody the arts. Painting is sitting by the easel at the centre of the composition. She has turned towards Poetry, who is standing behind and who provides her with inspiration. Sculpture is sitting at front left and gazes admiringly up at Painting. Architecture and Music have retreated into the background. The Roman artist Batoni also illustrates the supremacy of Painting within the arts with his refined, almost classical-looking style, which disguises every brushstroke.

[pandora-books]

From Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur, Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2015.

[mijuki]

Frog wearing a raincoat. Acrylics on wood panel

[hisbunny-baby]

practicing on my new easel

[historypaintings]

Raphael at the Vatican

Artist: Horace Vernet (French, 1789–1863)

Date: 1832

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Louvre Museum, Paris, France

Depicted People:

Julius II 

Raphael

Raphael at the Vatican

Raphael at the Vatican (French: Raphaël au Vatican) is an 1832 history painting by the French artist Horace Vernet. It depicts an encounter in Rome between the Renaissance artists Raphael and Michelangelo. It is in the collection of the Louvre, in Paris.

It was inspired by a passage in the biography of Raphael written by Quatremère de Quincy. Raphael is shown at a makeshift easel drawing a peasant woman with her child and surrounded by a crowd of attentive students while Michelangelo is shown in the bottom left corner. Above them are Pope Julius II and Leonardo da Vinci.

Vernet produced the work while he was director of the French Academy in Rome. It was exhibited at the Salon of 1833.

[the-mighty-mittens]

I definitely did not accidentally drink paint water while making this :)

Sorry if the colors look weird my dining room literally has orange lights lmao

[galleryofart]

The Ear-Ring

Artist: Ambrose McEvoy (English, 1877–1927)

Date: Exhibited 1911

Medium: Oil paint on canvas

Collection: Tate Britain, London, United Kingdom

Description

McEvoy presents a moment of quiet and intense self-scrutiny. Lost in contemplation of her image, the model’s assessment of her ear ring also suggests a narcissistic appraisal of her own beauty. McEvoy heightens the mood of intimacy by contrasting deep shadows behind the figure with a stronger light falling on the mirror’s reflection, thus heightening attention on the woman’s face. A pupil of artist James Abott McNeill Whistler, McEvoy also painted scenes which replaced narrative with atmosphere and suggestion.

[portrait-paintings]

Self-Portrait

Artist: Judith Leyster (Dutch, 1609-1660)

Date: ca. 1630

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, United States

Description

Judith Leyster’s Self-Portrait exudes self-confidence in her abilities, and it has become one of the National Gallery of Art’s most popular Dutch paintings. Leyster has depicted herself at her easel, briefly interrupting work on a painting of a violin player to interact with the viewer. The momentary quality of the portrait and the vigorous brushwork echo the work of Frans Hals (c. 1582/1583–1666), Haarlem’s most celebrated portrait painter and Leyster’s colleague. By juxtaposing her hand holding a brush with the hand and bow of the violin player, Leyster cleverly compares the art of creating ephemeral music with the art of creating timeless paintings. She holds the tools of her trade—a palette, a cloth, and no fewer than eighteen brushes. In reality she would not have worn the elegant dress and lace-trimmed collar while at work in her studio.

[kulemireloaded]

so, i know in the past on my old blog i've talking about my headcanon/ss lore bit for nishiki is that he's a really good artist (though he would never call himself that bc he downplays his talent all the time and says that it's lame) and how since surviving the explosion, he spends alot of time painting pictures of his recurring nightmares.

before i promised myself i would get a commission for that, but now that i'm drawing, i can try to do it!!!! the only thing is, dude is a REAALLY good artist and i am just a dweeb with a hyperfixation....i'll figure something out eventually... hopefully

[softquietsteadylove]

I just spent the last 5 hours painting and it gave me an idea. Canon movie universe, Thena using art as therapy (like we see in the film), and some cute romantic fluff

Gilgamesh snorted as he woke from his nap. He'd been perfecting his ale recipe, adapting it from the brew he had developed with Odin. Between that, and a lunch of roast ostrich leftover from Thena's last hunt, he had fallen right asleep.

He could tell she was there, but he blinked up at the ceiling. She was always telling him not to doze on the couch. He turned his head.

"Back."

He smiled reflexively, hearing the siren song of his darling Thena's voice. He moved just his eyes, but instead of seeing her in his chair, all he saw was an easel and the back of a canvas. "Can I-"

"Still."

He sighed, although he was nothing if not amused. She usually took her art therapy outside, drew with charcoal on paper weighted down by stones. When she did paint, she still preferred to set up under that old and dried tree that was hers.

He called it her tree from the moment he saw it, pale and stately against the rest of the desert.

Thena would lean every once in a while, just to check on her reference before disappearing again. He could hear the sounds of the stool under her, the swish of her dress as she moved. Her legs were crossed and he could see her bare toes bent against the rug.

Seeing Thena at feeling at home always put his heart at ease.

It seemed simple, but they had come a long way from bare stone and clay slip and a piece of driftwood as a door. They could eat together at the table, nap together in the hammock; he'd built them a water tower with his bare hands so they could have a running tap.

He would have built her a mansion if she'd asked. A temple to rival that of Babylon.

"Stop smiling."

"Wouldn't it be nicer if I was smiling?" he chuckled, letting his eyes remain closed.

"Unnatural."

He did his best not to, but smiling came naturally to him where Thena was involved. He loved that she had found an outlet for her mind in art. And he loved that she didn't need to over-explain herself to him. One or two words were all she needed, and he treasured even those.

"You were dreaming."

He tried to recall it. In the moment he woke up, he knew he had, but it was already beyond him what had been happening. Must have been pleasant enough that he felt good waking up, but not so pleasant that he wanted to go back to sleep.

He adjusted his head on the couch's throw pillow, despite the artist's strict instruction. "Aren't you supposed to angle it, or something?"

She leaned just to frown at him for moving.

"So you can see me and the canvas without having to lean?"

"Hm," she remarked, in her own way. She looked at her work in progress in question, and then at him again. "Then it wouldn't look right."

"Yeah?" he asked with a smile, going back to his previous position of facing the ceiling. He inhaled deeply. He would be in this position for a while; maybe going back to sleep wouldn't be so bad.

"I want exactly this image," the Warrior Eternal clarified with sudden firmness. "Forever."

There were plenty of images of her he wanted forever. But he wasn't the artist. He had tried here and there, but everything he did always just ended up making her laugh. And he didn't mind; if anything, he liked her laugh more than he liked whatever he had drawn or painted or sculpted. But he just wasn't meant to be the creative one.

He had managed to embroider his apron! Well, after she had drawn the little flowers on with her fingers covered in paint remnants. That was an effort of his to preserve something forever.

He heard her put her brush down. She truly was moved if she had gone to the trouble of bringing the easel and her brushes and all her jars and everything inside with her. "Done?"

"For now."

He opened his eyes again, "can I move?"

"Fine."

He grinned, turning and reaching a hand out for her. He made a grabby hand, flexing his fingers to ask her to come over to him. "Hey."

His Thena emerged from behind the canvas. She dusted the skirt of her dress off. She had gotten better, too; in the beginning she would occasionally emerge covered in charcoal or chalky dust or sometimes even paint. But now, she was as spotless as always.

"Hey," Thena purred as she laid down on the sofa with him, tucking herself into his side. She nestled her head under his chin, happily melting into him after all her hard work. "You look at peace."

"I am," he assured her, relishing in the feeling of just being near her. Their breathing fell into the same rhythm, like two trees swaying in the same wind. Thena was the artist but he thought he could be decently poetic, at times.

"And me."

He smiled against her forehead, pressing his lips there. Sometimes moments like these would make him think of the days when they would be fighting. Dodging and throwing punches and weapons. He would throw her up in the air at the enemies and catch her before she could fall.

Now they liked to cuddle on the couch in the afternoons before he started dinner.

He blinked as Thena nudged his jaw. "Your thoughts are loud."

He chuckled, which bounced her against his chest. "Sorry, just thinking this is nice."

"Hm?" she prompted him, still needing no more than a syllable.

"This," he summarized poorly. "Being at home, no Deviants, no mission. Just my wife and a couch and the sun."

Thena pulled herself to be able to look at him. There was no white in her eyes, at least not now. They were green and sparkling, as always. "Forever."

He smiled. It was hard not to take that word lightly, given the nature of their very existence. The word 'eternity' borderline meant nothing to them.

But days out here were different. Each was faced with a new set of eyes and he was grateful for every single one of them. Even the days when his Thena was far, far away from him. Even when she turned around and started swinging a spear to fight against nothing, railing about the destruction of the world and how they were all going to burn.

Forever had a different definition than it did before. He had no thoughts of missions, or Arishem, or far away galaxies. He didn't even think of Olympia. He had better things to think about, like the herb garden, and eggs, and expanding the clay oven outside the house so maybe he could bake two pies at once.

He could think of things like fixing the drip the kitchen tap had, and making sure to sweep the floor so his barefooted Goddess of War wouldn't step on any errant rocks. There was garden tending and roof checking and homemaking to be done.

"Gilgamesh."

"Huh?" he blinked. He must have been closer to sleep than he had thought, finding himself on the other end of one of Thena's more inquisitive looks.

"Sleep," she whispered, her hands touching his cheeks the way rain lovingly ran down a flower stem. "If you're so close to it."

He chuckled again; he liked it when she teased him. "Okay, okay, I'm up. You know what you want for dinner?"

Then pursed her lips in thought as he brought her hand up to kiss her palm. She smelled like paint, and summer air. "Is the ostrich gone?"

He nodded, continuing his mission to kiss more of her. He made it to her shoulder and finally past the collar of her dress before she came up with anything.

"Stew?" she asked, as if he would ever - in a million years - say no. Her hands toyed with his shirt as well. "It goes so well with pie."

He grinned, leaving a kiss on her cheek. "Is this your way of asking for pie for dessert?"

She just stared at him. "Were you not thinking of expanding the oven for just that purpose?"

She knew him a little too well. But she was right, because of course she was. And he was happy to oblige her wishes. "I guess I could whip something up. What kind?"

"Any."

One word, and it was so heavy, soaked through with love and devotion. He kissed her.

And she kissed him back. Her hand found his cheek again and her eyes took on a new light. "Strawberry?"

He should have known; she did mean any, but if it was going to be any, why not her favourite? He inhaled, preparing to rise from their little nest of luxury. "Will you go and pick some?"

Of course she would. That was how things worked for them, now. There were no Deviants, no missions. There was a garden, and she would go out with a little basket and pick the berries they were growing in what shade they could provide. And she would bring them in to him, and then sit and watch him cook.

Gil didn't know what was romantic for humans, but he was pretty sure this would be considered the height of it.

Thena also inhaled, revealing her reluctance to move as well. But she left him with one last kiss before rolling off the couch. "Of course."

He followed, although he took a peek at her work in progress. It really was a perfect angle, looking exactly like what was in front of the canvas. He was sleeping. And whatever made her want to paint that so badly, it looked pretty accurate to him. He was no thing of beauty like she was, but if she wanted to paint him, then so be it.

"Dinner, Gilgamesh."

He laughed. "Coming, dear."

[allegorypaintings]

The Art of Painting

Artist: Johannes Vermeer van Delft (Durch, 1632-1675)

Date: 1666-1668

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna, Austria

Description

With his depiction of the painter in his studio, Vermeer turns this genre painting into an allegory of the art of painting. His model is posing as Clio, the Muse of history, who inspires the painter and proclaims the glory of painting in the old Netherlands, which she has immortalised in the book of history. The unity of the arts is reflected in the sculpture model, sketchbook and the work in progress on the easel. The map with the 17 provinces of the Netherlands before they were divided into north and south is a reference to a land that had always owed its fame to the art of painting.

[mmelpomenes]

whats he thinking ....

[son-of-avraham]

There are very few things that I retained from my previous religion, however, I will retain one thing: g-d paints the clouds in the sky.

Look at these clouds and tell me it's evaporation and not divine intervention