arthipstory

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec presents just about every predicament I find myself in when I’m just trying to play Drag Bingo, and someone thinks they get to talk to us.

A lot of people disliked May Milton, a dancer featured in this lithograph by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (the IMA website reports she was “short on talent and physical beauty”…ouch).

Fortunately for May, however, a private collector in Indiana inherited this particular lithograph in 1978. (Note: a lithograph is a painting made on a flat limestone surface…there’s a lot of ink-and-water-repelling-positive-and-negative-space-type conversations to have, but all you really need to know is paint’s repelled throughout the surface and makes a print, and water clears the rest.)

Anyway, the print that you see here is a version of one featured in Picasso’s “The Blue Room” from 1901. This one has since been restored and is in private hands. Lucky bastards. Like, I can barely justify flights to my best friend’s wedding, and these people are just waving money and Lautrec work around like it’s nothing.

Let me tell you, this outfit? This stance?! I’m not crazy for the company kept on the left of this chick, nor her hat, but hellooooo everything else!

Slap those hat boxes with Amazon Prime tape, and it’s like we are one and the same. 

So there’s not really much to say other than Louis Anquetin’s “Avenue de Clichy” is a big, fat phony of an artwork.

Is that too much? Fine. I’ll utilize appropriated here.

Louis Anquetin’s “Avenue de Clichy” is a raging example of appropriation.

Let’s start with composition: Vincent van Gogh’s “Cafe Terrace at Night” is almost exact in both style, layout, and color.

How about characters: Pretty apparent Anquetin studied Georges Seurat’s “Afternoon on the Grande Jatte” because hello, look at that woman facing the left of the painting! They’re like twins.

No, but really, more characters: No surprise, either, Anquetin’s lookin’ to Toulouse-Lautrec, either. I say this for two reasons: One, he’s totally pulling from a Moulin Rouge dancer with that chick hiking her dress up in the rain, and two, that cropped face in the bottom right?? Couldn’t be more blatantly borrowed from Henri if we tried.

At least we know now who was the science nerd doing all the homework for the Post-Impressionist jocks, amirite? Raise your hand, Louis. And stop trying so hard.

Caillebotte, you’re such a downer to be painting these rainy days all the time.

Spoiler: This is going to require like, a four piece series on Botticelli because I have just learned TOO MUCH and I need to break it all down.

So. some quick facts:

1. Sandro Botticelli was a wicked Florentine painter best known for careless, lost gazes under incredible hair.

2. His main squeeze muse was a chick named Simonette, who was apparently a bonafide babe (see above). And like every sad romantic movie, she was totally unavailable and floated miles outta Botticelli’s league (she married a distant cousin of cartographer Amerigo Vespucci).

3. Renaissance painters were cool, yet essential, additions to the royal courts…think of the kids that’d make your group project look super awesome while still being able to party. They were responsible for producing commissioned works by patrons, either royals/dignitaries/super rich folk that wanted to look good and pious in a public realm.

I mention all this because Simonetta died in 1476. Does she look familiar?! She’s just about every gf Botticelli painted, including Venus in The Birth of Venus. (Note: Scholarship LOVES to argue just who modeled for what, but it is what it is). Botticelli asked to be buried at her feet, and WAS (!!!), almost 40 years later, in 1510….so yeah, Imma go with he painted her a lot.

Like, boo, Botticelli, come on! My heart goes out to you like this Saint Augustine guy’s.

“Oh, thank God, an actual post that suggests scholarly knowledge, not just a meme praying for the weekend.”
“Christ, Alice, that’s not what it says. Can’t you read?!“

You know all those bloggers that have reached a measly 314K following, and they all suggest, “Oh, just write about what you love! The masses and Madewell sponsorships will magically accrue!”

Well, a.) I’m still waiting, Madewell…and I can totally rock denim better than weighted down mothers…and b.) these women all have a point. Kind of.

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted about the visual interpretation of a work, and I really miss doing that. To be honest, I think I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of really cool, quippy one liners (thx, thefatjewish and daddyissues_!) and while funny sporatically, it’s not what drove this blog to its fruition and inevitable success.

I digress. Let’s get to the artwork.

The presentation of Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Izard in John Copley’s over-sized portrait is…overstated, to say the least. I mean the lush tapestry, references to Rome (the Colosseum, the sculpture) all suggest not only *total* well-traveled luxury, but also total nonchalant airs of intelligence and culture. Read: Sophisticated AF.

What strikes me as odd in this image, however, is this sculpture sittin’ pretty right smack in the middle of the table. Scholarship suggests it’s of Orestes and Electra, which (HELLO?!!) is the weirdest couple to present between husband and wife.

Orestes and Electra were brother and sister, and plotted to kill their mom and her lover to avenge the death of their father, King Agamemnon. Seems like a pretty messed up relationship to put in between ’em, no? Like, we can’t get a more nurturing couple in Greek mythology to suggest fidelity and love?

I mean, the answer is clearly no. It’s Greek mythology, after all. Everything’s like, rape and shower sex.

Anyway, after all this staging, the Izards didn’t even own the painting! They continued their travels, Copley kept the work, and then exhibited it under the bland title “A Conversation.” Copley’s widow then sold the work to the Izards’ grandson in 1824. It remained in the family ’til the MFA in Boston bought it in the early twentieth century.

Manet’s Lady with Fans knows what’s up between now and Pay Day.

That feeling when you asked someone how their weekend was out of courtesy, and wish you hadn’t.

Yeah, Sharon, no one cares about your “first pilates, then brunch” shirt, let alone it being your actual weekend agenda.

God, those people are the worst.