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Randalf Dilla: Tribute to Luna: The Parisian Life

I just stumbled upon this painting on one of my art feeds on Facebook:

The painting is by Randalf Dilla and entitled [I]Tribute to Luna: The Parisian Life[/I]. I feel the same about this painting as the artist who posted the reproduction of this on Facebook suggesting he was immediately enthralled in spite of being unsure as to what the intended meaning of the painting was.

Dilla's painting was featured in the 13th International ARC Salon Competition where it received three awards. In the artist's statement on the ARC Website Dilla says of the painting:

[I]“This painting is my tribute to Juan Luna's artwork The Parisian Life. (You can see it in the left side of my work.) This is one of the most famous and controversial of Luna's artworks, not only because of the meaning of the work where you find three significant personas of the Philippine history but also because of the purchase of this artwork at an auction for a high price by Government Service Insurance System. At that time this Government agency was not in a good situation. In my painting, I created an illusion, bringing you back in history, to the past, as you look at Luna's painting. The floating figures are the characters in Luna's painting and the tied male figure in the bottom symbolizes the Philippines in the Spanish Colonial period (1521 to 1898). Juan Luna is our national artist, he is a Filipino painter and was a revolutionary activist in the 1890's.” – [/I]

For reference, here is the painting referenced by Dilla, Juan Luna's "The Parisian Life":

This painting was completed in 1892 during the time at which Luna was living  in Paris and enjoying the "decadent" Parisian lifestyle. In the painting, Luna and two friends are seen looking toward an attractive courtesan/prostitute... symbolic of the "fallen woman".  It was also a period of marital tensions for Luna.  Luna was fond of his wife. However, the jealous Luna frequently accused her of having an affair with a certain Monsieur Dussaq. Finally, in a fit of jealousy, he killed his wife and mother-in-law and wounded his brother-in-law, Felix, on September 22, 1892. He was arrested and murder charges were filed against him. Luna was acquitted of charges on February 8, 1893, on the grounds of a crime of passion. Temporary insanity; the "unwritten law" at the time forgave men for killing unfaithful wives.

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ps. I must say, I have used tumblr for years... both as a means of publishing my own blogs, and in reading the blogs of others. After having the most innocuous nudes by William Blake, Degas, Renoir, and others deleted as a result of complaints made by Neo-Puritans at a number of other image hosts, I greatly appreciated the freedom from censorship at tumblr. Unfortunately, nothing good can last. A large percentage of my blogs can no longer be accessed by others (or even searched for by myself). Posts on Michelangelo’s studies for the Sistine, the paintings of Bonnard, Egyptian sculpture, and so much more have been tagged as potentially offensive... and undoubtedly will eventually be deleted for good. I am currently seeking out another possible host, but my efforts as an artist and my “day job” take priority. 

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I just stumbled on this lovely little oil sketch by the Hungarian painter, Philip Alexius de László. I really don't find myself drawn to any of his other paintings... at least none that I've seen on the Net... but this painting has a fluidity and freshness that recalls Giovanni Boldini.

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Attributed to near the Theseus Painter (Greek (Attic), active about 510 - about 490 B.C.) Attic Black-Figure Kyathos (Ladle) with Perseus chasing Gorgons, 510–500 B.C., Terracotta 14.7 × 7.9 × 11 cm (5 13/16 × 3 1/8 × 4 5/16 in.) The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles

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I remember one of the directors of the Cleveland Museum of Art citing this as the one work he would most want to save if the museum were on fire. This tapestry is indeed in amazing shape considering the age of the work.

~ Icon of the Virgin and Child. Place of origin: Egypt Period: Byzantine Date: A.D. 6th century Medium: Slit-and dovetailed-tapestry weave; wool.

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Julian Stanczak | Concealing

executed 1973 acrylic on canvas 44 1/8 by 44 1/8 in; 112.1 by 112.1 cm

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Theatre of Hierapolis

Hierapolis, Phrygia, Turkey

206 CE

12,000 seats

The theatre at Hierapolis was built in the second century AD under the Roman Emperor Hadrian during a period of extensive rebuilding following a devastating earthquake in 60 AD. It was later renovated under Septimus Severus (193-211 AD). At this time, the scaenae frons was modified and decorated with elaborate limestone and marble carvings. Although the exterior is relatively unassuming as viewed from the front, the interior contains one of Anatolia’s most complete and best-preserved collection of Greco-Roman theatre decorations. In 343 AD the scaenae was renovated and the orchestra was altered so that it could hold aquatic displays. In the later years of the Roman Empire the orchestra was converted into a cellar. Renovation work since 1977 has restored many of the arches and a portion of the stage floor. Prior to this date, the stage as well as its arched support system lay in ruins. Recent archaeological evidence shows that the theatre was in use through the 5th and into the 6th century AD. In 532 AD the scaenae, which had been weakened by seismic activity, was repaired.

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007: James Bond

Illustrator Mike Mahle created an intriguing series of posters in which the 007 James Bond films were reimagined:

Bond: “I always enjoyed learning a new tongue.”

Moneypenny: “You always were a cunning linguist, James.” 

Bond: “Miss Anders! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

Bond: “I’ll do anything for a woman with a knife.”

Largo: “Do you lose as gracefully as you win?” James Bond: “I don’t know, I’ve never lost.”

“History is moving pretty quickly these days, and the heroes and villains keep on changing parts.” -Ian Fleming

Fatima Blush: “Oh, how reckless of me. I made you all wet.” Bond: “Yes, but my martini is still dry.

Bond: “Mmm, maybe I misjudged Stromberg. Any man who drinks Dom Perignon ’52 can’t be all bad.”

Bond: “Which bullet has my name on it? The first or the last?” Agent XXX: “I have never failed on a mission, Commander. Any mission.” Bond: “In that case, Major, one of us is bound to end up gravely disappointed, because neither have I.”

Miss Moneypenny- You've never taken me to dinner... James Bond- I would, you know. Only "M" would have me court-martialed for... illegal use of government equipment.

Tatiana- [Trying on dresses] I will wear this one in Piccadilly. James Bond- You won't. They've just passed some new laws there.

Pussy Galore- My name is Pussy Galore. James Bond- I must be dreaming.

James Bond- Weren't you a blonde when I came in? Tiffany Case- Could be. James Bond- I tend to notice little things like that - whether a girl is a blonde or a brunette. Tiffany Case- Which do you prefer? James Bond- Well, as long as the collar and cuffs match...

James Bond- Good morning. How's the water? Chew Mee- Why don't you come in and find out? James Bond- Sounds very tempting, Miss...? Chew Mee- Chew Mee. James Bond- Really? Well, there's only one small problem. I have no swimming trunks. Chew Mee- Neither have I.

James Bond- Well my dear, I take it you spend quite a lot of time in the saddle. Jenny Flex- Yes, I love an early morning ride. James Bond- Well, I'm an early riser myself.

James Bond- [In bed with Christmas Jones] I was wrong about you. Dr. Christmas Jones- Yeah, how so? James Bond- I thought Christmas only comes once a year.

Elektra King: “I could have given you the world.” Bond: “The world is not enough.” Elektra King: “Foolish sentiment.” Bond: “Family motto.”

The Cigar Girl- Would you like to check my figures? James Bond- Oh, I'm sure they're perfectly rounded.

Verity- I see you handle your weapon well. James Bond- I have been known to keep my tip up.

Raoul Silva- “Well, first time for everything.” Bond- “What makes you think this is my first time?”

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Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible. I think it’s in my basement… let me go upstairs and check. - M.C. Escher

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Willem De Kooning- Pink Angels

I think I'm painting a picture of two women, but it may turn out to be a landscape. -De Kooning

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Patricia Watwood

I paint a lot of naked women. It’s sometimes hard to explain all these naked ladies to my 10-year-old daughter, but she has grown up to know that the body is amazing, powerful, and to be honored. Your clothing is just what gets you through the day?—?your body is the real miracle. From the point of view of feminist artists in the latter 20th century, this practice is outmoded. I should know better than to be interested in the female form as a subject, or objectify her in a work of art that makes it permanently available for gazing. On the other hand, the most closely held tenet of art-school hallways is “Be free to follow your heart.” So, I confess that despite my own feminist principles, I find the nude in art to be an endless well of inspiration and mystery.

Kenneth Clark asserts, “The nude is not a subject of art, it is a form of art.” This sums up my attitude toward my field. I love art of all kinds, but figurative work casts a powerful spell for my own making and investigation. Who am I? What are you? How are you made?

I am obsessed with the way the skin folds itself like an upholstered cushion when it tucks into the underarm. I love the way the slips of the trapezius swirl around each other as they gather and travel up the nape of the neck, then sweep up along the sternocleidomastoid muscle and disappear behind the ear. The pit of a woman’s neck is mesmerizing?—?there you can see the tender translucence of thin skin, the fragility, the breath, the miracle of blood and energy. I don’t know how many hours I’ve spent erasing and redrawing the line of a woman’s shoulder.

Beauty, to me, is a weapon of power. When I paint a breast, it is one of the most holy parts of a woman’s body. Shame about the body does not make you stronger. The people I admire and find appealing are those who have grown to be fully alive in both their bodies and minds. Creating a work of art that illuminates a woman’s duality of sensuality and intelligent consciousness is the holy grail of my dogged repetitive act of painting her body. When I paint her, I’m not trying to create an object so much as a force.

Now, talking about beauty is a double-edged sword for women. Beauty is commodified, sold to us in little bottles, and sales play on our sense of less-than and not-enough. We have learned not to trust it. For me “Beauty” is something much bigger than what you might find in a fashion magazine?—?which feels like a masquerade in a layer of pancake make-up and some uncomfortable shoes.

Our world is in desperate need of transformation. Sometimes when I sit in my studio, I wonder if making aesthetic images of women is really serving the pressing need to turn to a sustainable way of life. What is the point of painting a torso when the glaciers are melting? Then I remember that art can create a vision that helps people sustain one’s hope. The road is going to be long and inspiration is essential. I think beauty matters because it reminds us of what is worth struggling for, and what is possible. Idealism is a wonderful, fragile, underappreciated thing. We must visualize the world we want to create before we create it, and the role of an artist is to be a part of that action through conceptualization and world-making. The imagination is an underused part of our intelligence?—?thought to be best left behind on the playground or kept tidily on stage. Really, our imagination is one of our magic super-powers. It is vital component to transformation?—?nothing can be created without it. Not paintings, smartphones, Mars rovers or access to clean water.

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A sad day for education…

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21st Century Realism at the Delaware Art Museum

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Gary Bunt

I just stumbled upon the work of Gary Bunt... that I find absolutely marvelous. There’s very little by way of a biography of Bunt. Perhaps the best introduction to his work and his artistic vision is this lovely little video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWhJcOIMoiY

On the other hand, Bunt’s biography as found on the website of the Portland Gallery, London might offer just as much of an insight into his unpretentiousness and sense of humor:

Born 1957, East Peckham, Kent 1962-67 Studied at East Peckham Primary 1967-72 Studied at Hugh Christie Secondary

Bunt's work is inspired by Christopher Wood, Ben Nicholson, Winifred Nicholson, Alan Lowndes, Mary Fedden, Mary Newcombe, many more but don't like to name drop!

AWARDS

1964 My Yellow Book for good conduct and helpfulness 1965 Tunbridge Wells Recorder Festival 1967 20 yards Swimming Certificate - Doggy paddle 1968 Cycling Proficiency 1970 1 Gold Award for House points 1972 Mr Howard, 6 strokes 1977 Awarded caution for possession of cannabis 1978 3 points for speeding 1983 Wedding Certificate (No1) 1983 Son 7lb, 12oz 1986 Decree Nisi 1987 Absolute discharge from Bankruptcy 1989 Wedding Certificate (No 2) 1994 Daughter 6lb, 2oz 2001 Reiki Master 2003 Baptism and Confirmation Certificate 2005 Parking Ticket Tonbridge & Malling District Council

Bunt goes on to list patrons who have purchased his paintings including:

Dave the Butcher Bill - Dad's cousin Ex Bond Girl Anne from the Chemist Mum & Dad Rosemary Langford - Wife's friend and a lady of good stock from Yorkshire

Bunt is largely a self-taught painter/poet/musician whose work would likely be labeled “naive”, yet he is not wholly unaware of the work of other artists. He cites Christopher Wood...

... Ben Nicholson...

...Winifred Nicholson...

... and Alan Lowndes...

... among others, as influences upon his work. 

Bunt’s began working with his father a builder. He admits that others would laugh at his habit of reading poetry during breaks on the construction sites, but maintained his dream of becoming a poet and painter. His love of music, however, had a more powerful influence, luring him into a career as a professional guitarist.It brought him a rock and roll lifestyle, but one that led him along a path to self-destruction.He was soon indulging in all the trappings of the music business, both good and bad.He said: "I loved the life, everything about it."Playing guitar and drinking and drugs and the fun that went with it."He stopped playing guitar professionally when he hit 30 and realized he was out of control."I stopped playing to get away from all the drink and drugs," he said candidly.

At his peak, he was knocking back about 15 pints a day. Combine this with 20 cigarettes a night while playing gigs... on top of those he had smoked during the day... and encounters with marijuana, cocaine and speed... and it is easy to see how his life was spinning out of control. When he tried to give up, he had a "complete mental breakdown".

His doctor put him in touch with a hypnotist, who over the course of two years, weaned him off the demon drugs and alcohol. He had been clean for about 16 years, but continued to smoke, thinking it was less destructive. However, it is the most likely cause of cancer of the vocal chords that was diagnosed when he was in his mid-40s.

By the time he saw a specialist, the cancer had spread to his lymph glands, which meant major surgery and a course of radio and chemotherapy. "They cut from the back of my neck, round the back of my ear and down to my chin, past my jugular vein, down the side of my neck and down to my shoulder. All the lymph glands were removed on the right hand side."

This was his wake-up call.The smoking was abandoned and he re-discovered art "big time". "I decided I wanted to do painting full time," he said. He had turned to art for "therapeutic" reasons after he came off the drugs and booze, but now he was really involved. He said: "I found when I was painting I wouldn't think about anything else and that was how it helped me get through the cancer."

His enthusiasm was so strong that he decided to risk everything, giving up the picture framing business he had established after quitting music, to turn to art as a full time occupation. It paid off and he now has art dealer Nick Bowlby, a descendant of London's Tate Gallery founder Sir Henry Tate, promoting his work. Gary said his earlier work was "safe", figurative painting for the commercial market, of, for example, scenes of Paris and Venice. But he has since branched out and become more expressive, channelling his life experiences into his paintbrush.

Bunt suggests "Cancer gave me the freedom to break out of the mould and paint what I wanted to paint, rather than being dictated to by what people were buying. I am now doing exclusively my own style. It all comes from my emotions. When I got cancer, it dawned on me that 'it doesn't matter any more'. I lost all those tormented feelings I'd had before - when I was drinking - and I could be free. I'm making a living from my painting and it has gone beyond my wildest dreams."

While Gary was receiving cancer treatment, he met a counsellor at his local hospital in Maidstone, Kent, who was organising weekend art and creative writing workshops for cancer patients. She asked Gary to help out and for the last couple of years he has been giving art workshops for cancer patients at the hospital. Bunt, who has been free of cancer for three years, says he can see how beneficial the classes are to the patients: "They all say that while they're painting they're not thinking about the cancer and my thinking is that the less energy I waste thinking about cancer the more energy I can use staying alive."

Bunt's paintings... in spite of their "naive" style... reveal a sophisticated use of subdued color harmonies and textural variety. The subject matter of his paintings is quite wide-ranging. The themes of his paintings include friendship (including a man and his dog and old married couples), mortality, religion and spirituality, small town life in rural villages and fishing towns... and certainly humor. In spite of the "simplicity" of the paintings, Bunt's work exhibits a surprising amount of observational realism in the details. The paintings also evoke a strong emotional undercurrent... melancholy as often as humor. 

Oscar Wilde suggested that the worst poetry springs forth from genuine feeling. In the case of Bunt, this criticism doesn't apply. For all their lack of pretense and apparent lack of artifice and aesthetic sophistication, Bunt's paintings are quite marvelous.

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Beloved Local Favorite: The “Atalanta Lekythos”

-The so-called "Atlanta Lekythos" a ceramic funerary oil jug, c. 500-490 BC, Greek, Attic, attributed to Douris

Even as a freshman in art school... a good number of years ago... only just beginning to seriously explore art and art history, I found this lovely vase to be absolutely exquisite. The elegant linear patterns and delicate figures recall Minoan paintings... 

... and seem a precursor... if not a premonition of Matisse’ and Picasso's "classical" linear works... 

The “Atalanta Lekythos” alludes to the tale of Atalanta and Hippomenes (or Meilanion): Atalanta was the daughter of King Iasus of Argos, and a Boeotian (or Arcadian) princess. King Iasus wanted a son, and so when Atalanta was born, he left her on a mountaintop to die. Some stories say that a she-bear suckled and cared for Atalanta until hunters found and raised her, and she learned to fight and hunt as a bear would. She was later reunited with her father.

-The Barberini Atalanta, Greek Original or Roman Copy

Having grown up in the wilderness, Atalanta became a fierce hunter and was always happy. She took an oath of virginity to the goddess Artemis.

When Artemis was forgotten at a sacrifice by King Oineus, she was angered and sent the Calydonian Boar, a wild boar that ravaged the land, men, and cattle and prevented crops from being sown. Atalanta joined Meleager and many other famous heroes on a hunt for the boar. Many of the men were angry that a woman was joining them, but Meleager, though married, lusted for Atalanta, and so he persuaded them to include her. Several of the men were killed before Atalanta became the first to hit the boar and draw blood. After Meleager finally killed the boar with his spear, he awarded the hide to Atalanta. Meleager’s uncles, Plexippus and Toxeus, were angry and tried to take the skin from her. In revenge, Meleager killed his uncles. Wild with grief, Meleager's mother Althaea threw a charmed log on the fire, which consumed Meleager's life as it burned. It kindled at once, and she watched it as it blazed up brightly. Then it began to turn into ashes, and as the last spark died out, the noble Meleager, who was walking by the side of Atalanta, dropped to the ground dead. When they carried the news to Althea she said not a word, for then she knew what she had done, and her heart was broken. She turned silently away and went to her own room. When the king came home a few minutes later, he found her dead.

- Death of Meleager, Roman, 2nd century AD

Atalanta went back to her old home among the mountains of Arcadia. She was still the swift-footed huntress, and she was never so happy as when in the green woods wandering among the trees or chasing the wild deer. All the world had heard about her, however; and the young heroes in the lands nearest to Arcadia did nothing else but talk about her beauty and her grace and her swiftness of foot and her courage. Of course every one of these young fellows wanted her to become his wife; and she might have been a queen any day if she had only said the word, for the richest king in Greece would have been glad to marry her. But she cared nothing for any of the young men, and she liked the freedom of the green woods better than all the fine things she might have had in a palace. Atalanta's father wanted her to be married, but Atalanta, uninterested in marriage, agreed to marry only if her suitors could outrun her in a footrace. Those who lost would lose their heads. Many suitors turned away... yet many more still died in the attempt... until Hippomenes came along. Hippomenes asked the goddess Aphrodite for help, and she gave him three golden apples in order to slow Atalanta down. The apples were irresistible. When all was ready for the race, Atalanta tried again to persuade Hippomenes not to run, for she also took pity on him. “I’ll be sure to overtake you,” she said. “All right!” said Hippomenes, and away he sped; but he had the three golden apples in his pocket. Atalanta gave him a good start, and then she followed after, as swift as an arrow shot from the bow. Hippomenes was not a very fast runner, and it would not be hard for her to overtake him. She thought that she would let him get almost to the goal, for she really pitied him. He heard her coming close behind him; he heard her quick breath as she gained on him very fast. Then he threw one of the golden apples over his shoulder. If there was anything in the world that Atalanta admired, it was a bright stone or a pretty piece of yellow gold. As the first apple fell to the ground she saw how beautiful it was, and she stopped to pick it up; and while she was doing this, Hippomenes gained a good many paces. But what of that? In a minute she was as close behind him as ever. And yet, she really did pity him.

“I’ll be sure to overtake you,” she said. “All right!” said Hippomenes, and away he sped; but he had the three golden apples in his pocket. Atalanta gave him a good start, and then she followed after, as swift as an arrow shot from the bow. Hippomenes was not a very fast runner, and it would not be hard for her to overtake him. She thought that she would let him get almost to the goal, for she really pitied him. He heard her coming close behind him; he heard her quick breath as she gained on him very fast. Then he threw one of the golden apples over his shoulder. If there was anything in the world that Atalanta admired, it was a bright stone or a pretty piece of yellow gold. As the first apple fell to the ground she saw how beautiful it was, and she stopped to pick it up...

-Guido Reni- Atalanta and Hippomenes, 1612 

... and while she was doing this, Hippomenes gained a good many paces. But what of that? In a minute she was as close behind him as ever. And yet, she really did pity him. Just then Hippomenes threw the second apple over his shoulder. It was handsomer and larger than the first, and Atalanta could not bear the thought of allowing some one else to get it. So she stopped to pick it up from among the long grass, where it had fallen. It took somewhat longer to find it than she had expected, and when she looked up again Hippomenes was a hundred feet ahead of her. But that was no matter. She could easily overtake him. And yet, how she did pity the foolish young man! Hippomenes heard her speeding like the wind behind him. He took the third apple and threw it over to one side of the path where the ground sloped towards the river. Atalanta’s quick eye saw that it was far more beautiful than either of the others. If it were not picked up at once it would roll down into the deep water and be lost, and that would never do. She turned aside from her course and ran after it. It was easy enough to overtake the apple, but while she was doing so Hippomenes gained upon her again. He was almost to the goal. How she strained every muscle now to overtake him! But, after all, she felt that she did not care very much. He was the handsomest young man that she had ever seen, and he had given her three golden apples. It would be a great pity if he should have to die. And so she let him reach the goal first. In this way, Hippomenes won the footrace and came to marry Atalanta.

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In the “Atalanta Lekythos”, Atalanta wears a long, transparent but beautifully bordered robe, the hem of which she daintily lifts with her left hand to facilitate her running. She is chased by three individualized Erotes... winged gods associated with love and sex... each carrying ornate tendrils and one a garland as well. Atalanta glances back over her shoulder toward the well-muscled Eros, who stretches to overtake her. Eros is taunting Atalanta with the alternatives of Love should she decide to lose her race. Perhaps the Erotes allude to the three apples that will spell her "downfall" in her race with Hippomenes.

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I have long associated the Atalanta Lekythos with Keat's Ode to a Grecian Urn... which I was likely first introduced to around the same time in my college World Lit Survey courses: Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." Keats' poem and the “Atlanta Lekythos” both seem ever linked in my mind... and ever in the back of my mind as an example of the Latin aphorism , Ars longa, vita brevis. The final two lines of Keats' poem... after all... are in many ways... among the central foundation of my aesthetic views... my embrace of beauty.