Franz Xavier Winterhalter

Self Portrait of the Artist with his Brother, Hermann, 1840

Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, 1846 

Portrait of a Young Architect, 1830

Pretty

"Artwork by Erin O'Malley" Photography from a curious eye and an uncharted mind. Exploring the interaction of light with macro photography, this blog documents the artist’s journey of translating impressions from altered states to normalcy.

René Gruau

Humber River in Autumn

Jean-François Millet, The Angelus, c. 1857-59

From the Musée d’Orsay:
A man and a woman are reciting the Angelus, a prayer which commemorates the annunciation made to Mary by the angel Gabriel. They have stopped digging potatoes and all the tools used for this task – the potato fork, the basket, the sacks and the wheelbarrow – are strewn around them. In 1865, Millet said: “The idea for The Angelus came to me because I remembered that my grandmother, hearing the church bell ringing while we were working in the fields, always made us stop work to say the Angelus prayer for the poor departed”. So it was a childhood memory which was behind the painting and not the desire to glorify some religious feeling; besides Millet was not a church-goer. He wanted to catch the immutable rhythms of peasant life in a simple scene. Here he has focused on a short break, a moment of respite.
Alone in the foreground in a huge empty plain, the two peasants take on a monumental quality, despite the small size of the canvas. Their faces are left in shadow, while the light underlines their gestures and posture. The canvas expresses a deep feeling of meditation and Millet goes beyond the anecdote to the archetype.
Perhaps that explains the extraordinary destiny ofThe Angelus: it triggered an unbelievable rush of patriotic fervour when the Louvre tried to buy it in 1889, was venerated by Salvador Dali, lacerated by a madman in 1932 and became a world-famous icon in the 20th century.

Jean-François Millet, Dandelions, 1867-68

Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, Woman with an Umbrella

Beyond "So what?"

Greetings! Last night, Catherine Stock of Rignac, France wrote, "I wonder if you could write a letter on how to elevate one's work beyond the 'So what?' level. That's where I'm stuck. I can draw and paint pretty well, but--so what? I would imagine there are a few of us out there with this problem." Thanks, Catherine. You're right. "So what?" is universal and as insidious as studio termites. Here are a few thoughts: Deus ex machina, according to Wikipedia, means "God from the machine." It's a literary and theatrical plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly solved with the contrived and unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability, or object. Roughly translated as "God made it happen," it's primarily used to move the story forward when a writer has "painted himself into a corner." Using this concept, you need to ask yourself what extraordinary thing could be made to happen in your picture. It could be, among many things, a burst of light or an unlikely inclusion. You need to think of something just a bit magical. An engagement of imagination brings a shot of emotion, drama or surprise. This visual epiphany, devised or not, is key to entering the sensibilities of others. Artists who merely rest on their drawing or other facility are forever condemned to the back room. Another valuable blah-reducing ploy is to do inventive things with your surfaces. This might include adding crusty impasto (a la Lucien Freud), flinty fidges of gradation and zip, (a la Paul Cezanne) or smears and smudges (a la Francis Bacon). But it's the nuances you invent and make yourself--embedded in your processes--that neutralize creative boredom and give energy to carry on. "This is mine" chisels out your claim. Your embellishment may not even be very good, but it will be yours. "A poor thing, but my own," is a line attributed to Shakespeare. A unique design, mannerism, or touch of your own is worth more than any rich thing that belongs to someone else. Best regards, Robert PS: "A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is." (Oscar Wilde) "Common objects become strangely uncommon when removed from their context and ordinary ways of being seen." (Wayne Thiebaud) Esoterica: There's a natural human tendency to lean on and repeat that which we do well. This is okay if we're cranking out donuts or widgets. But as self-anointed creative artists, our daily joy and progress rest on our ability to jump beyond our safety. Look steadily and imaginatively at the blah in front of you. Given time and contemplation, your new level will stealthily appear. When "So what?" strikes, we ask ourselves "What now?"

Fascinating!

I have just returned to the Namibian desert.

What if through interspecies collaboration we could explore our shared imagination? We are accustomed to seeing stories through the eyes of human beings. That is why, in many of these images, the human eyes continue to be closed and the animals’ eyes are open. It is the animals that gaze out at the world and tell us their stories.
Gregory Colbert