Fine Art that You Like - show off your good taste

Furina

Centerfold
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I love this piece because of the look on Jesus' face. The rising sun in the background, the chilliness of the whole image... it's very contemplative. I think all of us had a moments like this.

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This one gets me because of the absolute look of horror on Ivan the Terrible's face here. That combination of terror, regret, anguish, and fear all perfectly captured in one expression. I just cuts right to the heart of me. Interesting note, it's been seriously attacked and damaged twice, in 1913 and 2018, and had to be restored.
 

Strine

It had become a glimmering gorl,
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It's a widely printed artwork for good reason, but I feel that too few understand its magical appeal:

Circe Invidiosa
images (13).jpeg


"Envious Circe". Circe was a witch in Greek mythology, and she was in love with the sea god Glaucus. But Glaucus didn't love her; as we see, she is not beautiful, and the water nymph Scylla was very much so. Circe, driven by furious envy, brewed a potion and poured it into Scylla's pool, turning her into the hideous monster visible beneath Circe's feet.

The painting is probably the greatest physical depiction of the psychology of envy in the history of art. The lurid, glowing green of the water is the first thing we notice: the green of envy has poisoned the water. Everything about the painting points down, down towards Scylla; the target of envy: Circe's nose, elbows, chin, and the stream of her poisonously green potion all form downward arrows directing the eye to Scylla. The upper part of the painting is the same dull, hateful brown as Circe's hair. Intent, anger, despair and guilt are all magnificently evident in Circe's face; she was not a being of total malice, but psychotic envy bested her judgement.

She wears a peacock robe; the masculine beauty of the peacock a metaphor for Glaucus, whom she so covets, and it casts a hideous green pall on her skin; her jealousy rendering her very body. Circe, using magic to stand on the water, thinks herself immune to her own poison. But her dress is a huge, verdant hand, reaching from the atrocity below her and consuming her with its black eyes and undulating venomous green. In a final mockery, Scylla's serpentine coils match the round, dark eyes of Circe's dress. Circe is poisoning herself with envy as surely as she poisons Scylla; in this picture, they are both monsters.
 
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Positron

Subconsciously Suberogatory
True & Honest Fan
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The painting is probably the greatest physical depiction of the psychology of envy in the history of art.
Let me present a challenger, from another Preraphelite.

Pandora by Dante Gabriel Rosetti.
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This Pandora is no ignorant ditz. She knows full well what is in the box and what she is doing. The slightest flick of her hand, and vengeance is done, her fixed gaze lost in the reverie of the suffering she is to cause.
 

Abortions4All

Can't complain (but sometimes I still do)
kiwifarms.net
It's a widely printed artwork for good reason, but I feel that too few understand its magical appeal:

Circe Invidiosa
View attachment 824156

"Envious Circe". Circe was a witch in Greek mythology, and she was in love with the sea god Glaucus. But Glaucus didn't love her; as we see, she is not beautiful, and the water nymph Scylla was very much so. Circe, driven by furious envy, brewed a potion and poured it into Scylla's pool, turning her into the hideous monster visible beneath Circe's feet.

The painting is probably the greatest physical depiction of the psychology of envy in the history of art. The lurid, glowing green of the water is the first thing we notice: the green of envy has poisoned the water. Everything about the painting points down, down towards Scylla; the target of envy: Circe's nose, elbows, chin, and the stream of her poisonously green potion all form downward arrows directing the eye to Scylla. The upper part of the painting is the same dull, hateful brown as Circe's hair. Intent, anger, despair and guilt are all magnificently evident in Circe's face; she was not a being of total malice, but psychotic envy bested her judgement.

She wears a peacock robe; the masculine beauty of the peacock a metaphor for Glaucus, whom she so covets, and it casts a hideous green pall on her skin; her jealousy rendering her very body. Circe, using magic to stand on the water, thinks herself immune to her own poison. But her dress is a huge, verdant hand, reaching from the atrocity below her and consuming her with its black eyes and undulating venomous green. In a final mockery, Scylla's serpentine coils match the round, dark eyes of Circe's dress. Circe is poisoning herself with envy as surely as she poisons Scylla; in this picture, they are both monsters.
That Circe's in my foyer.

As for me, I'll gladly promote Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh for anyone who likes Klimt and other nouveau stylings.
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For emotion and the type of romantic setting favored by the Pre-Raphaelites, for me, there's nothing that beats Meteyard's Lady of Shallott. He didn't just name his "The Lady of Shallott," like he might have. He picked instead a specific line from the poem: "I am half-sick of shadows," said the Lady of Shallott.

The context of the line, in the poem, is that the Lady is under a curse that keeps her weaving in a tower, unable to even look outside of it except in a mirror (which, at the time, would have likely just been a polished silver piece of some sort). She watches through the window often to see the world, but the place where she is captured by Meteyard is after she has just seen "two young lovers, lately wed." Here, we have a painter showing the Lady not after she's cursed (Waterhouse did this, the Lady in her boat), or as she weaves.

Here, the mirror is large, overwhelming, almost a crystal ball. She is overcome by the cruelty of the curse, her eyes closed to block out the images of happiness she is forever denied. In a few stanzas, her lust and loneliness will drive her to look out her window at Sir Lancelot, and the curse will lead to her death.

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Man vs persistent rat

A good egg is a nice person
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I love the PRB-posting, a favourite of mine -

Mariana (1851) by John Everett Millais

Mariana (Millais).jpg


She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'


A depiction of Mariana from Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. Spurned by her fiance, she yearns for him, the context of the scene aided by numerous allusions to the passage of time in the details: scattered leaves, her physical discomfort, and near-completed embroidery.
 

FitBitch

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Lot's Wife by Anselm Kiefer
KIEFER_1.jpg

"This work by Anselm Kiefer is very reminiscent of his style. He used some very unconventional materials in this painting that was made up of "Oil paint, ash, stucco, chalk, linseed oil, polymer emulsion, salt and applied elements (e.g., copper heating coil), on canvas, attached to lead foil, on plywood panels." (The Cleveland Museum of Art). It is 11 by 14 feet and weighs 1,200 pounds. Most of this weight is from sheets of lead foil that were treated and then glued to a wooden structure underneath made of pine and plywood. On the top of the painting Kiefer poured a salt water mixture over sodium chloride that left white/yellow crystal layers. Before the canvas was mounted over a lead structure Kiefer let it age outdoors and covered it with stucco and then ash. He also burnt it with a blowtorch and on the bottom section painted over fabric and added more canvas to the corners. (The Cleveland Museum of Art). The use of these materials has allowed the painting to deteriorate and change overtime."
-The Cleveland Museum of Art
This thing is hung in it's own room in the Cleveland Museum of Art (or it was last time I was there) and when I entered I was immediately intimidated by the work and my first reaction was to turn away, but then I turned back and was mezmerized by this hollow, muddy, bleak wasteland. The piece is very large and I just sat on the floor for a while and stared at it until my class partner found me and dragged me off to finish our worksheet. It gives off a very dry, salty smell but not like ocean air, it's actually very unpleasant. I have been drawn to it ever since for reasons I can't explain. It fills me with a sorrowful kind of dread and longing for more innocent times. Kiefer was a German artist whose work focused on the brutality of the holocaust and the devistation of Germany post WWII.

Edit: I also know that this painting was made to deteriorate and won't be around someday, this brings me immense grief.
 
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Clown College

Soulless minion of orthodoxy
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Glad to see there's other Mucha, Beksinski, Bosch, and Giger fans in this thread.
After seeing Waterlilies in person it became one of my personal faves.
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I did a pointillism in high school art class and it was just as hard as it sounds so Seurat has my utmost respect.
a-sunday-afternoon-on-the-island-of-la-grande-jatte-james-carroll.jpg
And speaking of Beksinski here are two of my personal faves.
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Strine

It had become a glimmering gorl,
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Michelangelo's Pietà...

I could go on and on about this; about how the Christ is weak and ephebic with a beautiful twink body and the maternal Madonna is imposing and severe (Michelangelo was gay, and projected his psychology) or about the Madonna having the shoulders of a man, but I think the most remarkable thing is the Madonna's face. Art, including religious art, after the Baroque, featured humanised figures, with piete often depicting a loving or grieving Madonna, such as in the (very beautiful) Bouguereau:

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But Renaissance and Baroque art was about ideas, not emotion. The Madonna of Michelangelo's face does register love, and grief. But more than either, her expression is of transcendence and divine ecstacy.

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Her face bespeaks immense epiphany and acceptance; the grief of a mother, though evident in her features, is only the personal, the individual. The Madonna of Michelangelo is not a human, or not a single human: she is humanity itself; the immeasurable glory of God channeled through a human instrument.
 
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