Trying to recreate this look for my first date tonight. Fine, I’ll go without the flowers and nip slip, but in this humidity, playing up the frizzy hair with a distracting neckline is a must.
I have a new artist crush, and his name is David Inshaw.
Lovers at Kew Gardens is up for auction and is expected to fetch up to $6K. I’d like to think it’s out of my price range right now, but uh, I’m sure I spent that much on spin last month…I won’t say no to it as a gift, though.
Kew Gardens boasts both the largest collection of living plants AND one of the largest greenhouses in the world. If you want to visit, it’s in the London Borough of Richmond.
Girlfriend seems more interested in getting handsy than learning about boroughs, so I won’t bore you with it either.
The Rondel was exhibited in 1893 at the Centennial Exposition. The same year, the artist Louise Cox was admitted to the Society of American Artists.
Rightfully so! I don’t understand how an artist can render every facet of me at a bar so perfectly.
…the only one missing is the one where I go home at like, 9:10.
To answer: Yes, I would love to know what you did without me this weekend.
I can’t guarantee I’m listening, but maybe my dog is.
Give me everything–yep, everything–about this look.
Alright, fellas, take note.
This is Louise Howland King Cox in a full portrait by Kenyan Cox. We have a little bit of a Celine Dion/Rene thing, in that Kenyan was older (but only by 9 years, not 24!), as well as her art teacher/mentor.
Of Louise, Kenyan wrote:
“Long before I felt the thrill of love, I knew that she would make the best wife in the world for me if I should love her . . . When love came to add to the friendship and confidence, I felt safe and so we mean to marry as soon as we can.”
Well, go ahead and melt my heart, why don’t you!? AGE IS JUST A NUMBER.
Believe it or not, this is an allegory of “Modesty.” It was carved by Antonio Corradini in 1750, two years before his death. People aren’t sure about his exact birthday, so I’ll guess he was in his sixties at the time of this work.
GOOD. I was really getting tired of seeing exceptional sculptures created by BABY BOYS (Michelangelo was like, six, when he carved Pieta; Bernini was maybe a toddler when he carved the Rape of Europa, here).
Though I will most certainly applaud Corradini’s take on modesty. Gives a good argument to anyone trying to challenge business casual with short skirts and high boots.
Any time I hear “I trade your broken wings for mine” in Beyonce’s “All Night” from Lemonade, I just imagine the Winged Nike of Samothrace.
It’s no known secret that being an adolescent sucks. I’m no stranger to that: My seventh grade school picture prominently displays a middle part (secured with heart-shaped bobby pins from Claire’s) above a big ol’ set of braces.
So it goes without saying that my heart breaks for you too, Infanta Margarita because you were just darling in Las Meninas, and well…here, you are…like me, in seventh grade.
But, at least you grew out of it? (or did you? Debatable, honestly…). Whatever; if you get the title of Holy Roman Empress, you can look go ahead and just live your life.
Top: Portrait of the Infanta from 1659.
Above: Portrait of the Infanta from 1667.
Edward Hopper brilliantly captures my Sunday mornings: just swap that book for all the texts I sent last night to people I shouldn’t.