The Flower Book

I've taken an unexpected and rather prolonged blogging break! Things got rather busy all of a sudden - some of it planned but most of it unexpected. I thought I ought to pop by with a post, albeit a small one, just to keep things ticking over here...

A couple of weeks ago, I finished reading a biography of Edward Burne-Jones called The Last Pre-Raphaelite by Fiona McCarthy. As you may know from one of my posts a while ago, Burne-Jones is one of my favourite artists and so I thought it was worth sitting down and finding up a bit more about him.

The book mentioned this series of small paintings he did for The Flower Book, begun in 1882. He did the watercolours for his own enjoyment, rather than as a commission, using the common names of flowers as the inspiration for each scene. This concept definitely spoke to my imagination and, thanks to the wonders of the internet, I was able to find all the images when I got home from reading in the park.

So I thought I would share just a few of them here in a post. It seemed appropriate with spring having arrived, with flowers and trees all coming back to life, and with Easter just around the corner. As well, it's a harbinger of next weekend, when I'm off to see Burne-Jones' Briar Rose series at Buscot Park in Oxfordshire with a couple of my best friends. I've wanted to see those paintings for quite some time so I'm very excited! Expect to read about it all soon...

Thelma Goes to Hollywood

This is rather a special post, even if I do say so myself... Something both inspiring and full of glamour for the first day of the working week.

The background story is that my mother is friends with an amazing lady named Thelma, who lives just down the street in their town. Back in the 1930s and 1940s, she worked for the art department of Hoyts, a big cinema chain in Australia. Her job was to watch the new films and then visit the different cinemas to paint a relevant and inviting picture to entice the audiences in.

Recently, when my mother went to visit, Thelma pulled out some of her old sketch books, filled with her wonderful drawings. My mother was thrilled and asked if she could take photographs of them, which she then shared with me. Equally thrilled, I asked if I could share them with my readers on my blog, to which Thelma gave her blessing.

See if you can spot some of the glamorous stars from Hollywood's golden era:

I'm sure Thelma didn't always see her job as particularly glamorous, when she was rushing from cinema to cinema to meet deadlines and covered in paint, with aching arms and back. But to me, it's like the next best thing to my mother being friends with a Hollywood starlet from the period. And when you think about what other young women were doing at that time, if they were even working at all and not stuck at home while the men went out to earn a living, it is pretty damn awesome and inspiring.

Love Letter to an Artist #3

Last weekend, I went to the current Manet exhibition at the Royal Academy. To be honest, I had been prepared to let this one pass me by. Though I do like Impressionism, I can't say that I have ever been particularly drawn in by Manet. I suppose that I haven't been exposed to that much of his work in the flesh and none of his most reproduced and lauded paintings have really spoken to me. In addition, the focus of the exhibition was portraiture and, unless it's the work of an artist I particularly love, I am generally less inclined towards straight portraiture than other subjects.

However, I was enticed into going by one of my friends, as his enthusiasm made me think again about my readiness to dismiss the exhibition. And I am so glad I allowed myself to be enticed because it was truly wonderful. It encouraged me to do some reassessment, it amused and surprised me, it presented some revelations and impressed me with its variety. It helped me to place Manet within the course of art history, particularly with regard to the hints of modernist techniques and style in his paintings. And, always a sign of a good exhibition, I was just stunned and overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.

One of the paintings which particularly captured my fancy was The Amazon:

Manet's The Amazon, c.1882 (Image source: Wikimedia Commons)

The painting shows a young female horse rider and I just thought her wonderful. Her androgyny particularly appealed to me - she could almost be a beautiful young man. Someone else might see it differently but, to me, it's rather an empowering female portrait. She feels very modern, she's dressed for action (perhaps it helps that she is cut off just below her waist, so you can't see the ridiculously impractical skirt she was probably wearing...). She looks like she knows what she's doing and you can imagine this young lady keeping up with the boys. And this all made me rather fond of her.

So, sure, I might let Manet paint me, if de Lempicka and Burne-Jones weren't available.

I'll leave you with a couple of more favourites from the exhibition.

In the Garden, 1870 (Image source: WikiPaintings)

Berthe Morisot, 1870-71 (Image source)

O, Neville

The Google doodle for today is celebrating Edward Gorey's birthday. In my own nod to him, I decided to share my favourite Gashleycrumb Tiny...

For those who don't know, Edward Gorey is a wonderfully strange and macabre American illustrator. Young Neville above is taken from his book The Gashleycrumb Tinies, published in 1963, which recounts the tragically comical deaths of 26 children - one for each letter of the alphabet - in rhyming couplets. If you've not come across it, and you like your humour dark, I'd definitely recommend looking it up.

It's funny that Edward Gorey popped up today as I was just thinking of The Gashleycrumb Tinies the other day. I'd been listening to the Dresden Dolls and picked up my sketch book and a pencil to have a go at drawing up the image brought into my head by the song Mrs O off their album, Yes, Virginia.

Oh, Mrs O

Will you tell us where the naughty children go

Will you show

How the sky turned white and everybody froze

Heaven knows how they got into the fireplace

But everybody's saying grace

And trying to keep a happy face

And oh, Mrs O

Can you teach us how to keep from getting cold

Out we go and you watch us as we face the falling snow

What a show with our hairdryers aimed heavenwards

And fifty-foot extension cords

You really have a way with words...

The end result made me think of Edward Gorey's children, with their Victorian Gothic appearance and dark air.

Obviously, my drawing is a mere scribble of an amateur but I was pleased by the feel of it. Oh, and for the record, I have actually mastered the ability to draw decent faces but I ended up preferring the effect of the blank face on this occasion... Really, it's true!

And for those who don't know the Dresden Dolls, they're a duo from Boston who describe themselves as Brechtian cabaret punk. If that doesn't intrigue you enough to look into them, then probably nothing I say will. 

Image source: www.dresdendolls.com

But if you are intrigued, then Girl Anachronism is a fine place to start. I'll even help you on your way:

Coming Soon to a Gallery Near You...

 I just found out about this exhibition which is about to open at the National Portrait Gallery...

Well, that'll certainly be a worthy distraction as I expectantly wait for this to open at the Tate Modern later in February... 

And then I still have this to look forward to the following month...

Oh, London, you know just how to treat a girl, don't you? Indulging me with all this wonderful 20th-Century art and design...

Keep an eye out for posts about all of the above over the coming months!

Love Letter to an Artist #2

Last year, I dedicated a love letter to Tamara de Lempicka. Having been to the Pre-Raphaelites exhibition at the Tate Britain twice recently, I feel compelled to follow this up with another love letter to an artist, this time to Edward Burne-Jones.

The incomplete Tristram and Iseult, abandoned by Edward Burne-Jones in 1872 (Image source)

His works were stand outs for me in an utterly wonderful exhibition. Until this, I had really only been familiar with his work as a stained glass artist (such as the windows seen in my recent post). His paintings were a revelation though. They were so incredibly beautiful, I felt rather emotional and overwhelmed. I was entranced by their exquisite detail and wonderfully rich colours.

Love Among the Ruins, Edward Burne-Jones, 1894 (Image source)

I think the Burne-Jones paintings particularly stood out because they felt, stylistically, like a breath of fresh air at their first appearance more than halfway into the exhibition. By that point, the work of some of the prevalent artists who had been with us from the beginning had begun to feel slightly hazy around the edges, too familiar and safe and sentimental. Even though Burne-Jones's most striking paintings didn't come until the last room, the appearance of his first painting caught the eye with its distinct palette and lines, which felt somehow different and bolder.

Georgiana Burne Jones, Edward Burne-Jones, 1884 (Image source)

To me, Burne-Jones seems to be heralding the beginning of Art Noveau with his figures and with the delicate and exquisite facial features of his subjects, verging towards an angularity which Rossetti would not even dare consider. His ever so slightly sinister but compellingly beautiful paintings feel almost like a whisper of things to come, a prelude to artists such as Harry Clarke and Aubrey Beardsley.

The Rock of Doom, from the Perseus Cycle, Burne Jones, c.1885-8 (Image source)

But there was, of course, more to the exhibition than just Burne-Jones. The angle the Tate went for was to illustrate how the Pre-Raphaelites were avant garde in their time, young upstarts rebelling against the conventions that had come to dominate the Victorian art world, bringing "a new beauty and intensity of vision to British art". That they caused a stir amongst their contemporaries is easily forgotten when their famous works have been reproduced a million times over and feel so quintessentially English and polite today. (And, in fact, it is even disheartening looking at the reproductions I am including in this post, as they distinctly lack the punch of the originals, as details are lost and colours muted).

The Death of Chatterton, Henry Wallis, 1856 (Image source)

As happened in architecture, the Pre-Raphaelites turned back to medievalism in an age that was being overtaken by the ugliness and dehumanising effects of industrialisation. The flatness of their paintings, sharp outlines and bright colours harked back to the style of past ages, but they embraced more wide ranging subjects. So wide, in fact, that it is sometimes hard to grasp their purpose or understand them as a coherent movement. Given that the Pre-Raphaelites seem to be so innocuous and simple at first glance, they are somehow surprisingly hard to fathom...

An English Autumn Afternoon, Hampstead - Scenery in 1853, Ford Madox Brown, 1852-5 (Image source)

The exhibition commentary does pick up the main ideas of the movement though, how these flew in the face of convention and reacted to changes in society. It takes a vaguely chronological approach, beginning with the origins and then devoting the next few rooms to different themes. It traces the gradual move into the Aesthetic movement ("art for art's sake") including the appearance of Morris and his decorative arts, before finishing with the diverging paths of the Pre-Raphaelites in the last decades of the nineteenth century.

Autumn Leaves, John Everett Millais, 1856 (Image source)

What I found most interesting about the exhibition was actually identifying the different styles of the artists that come under the umbrella of the Pre-Raphaelites, and the different directions the individual artists went in over the course of their careers. Aside from the revelation of Burne-Jones's paintings, Millais was confirmed as a favourite - from his deservedly famous Ophelia with its tragic beauty and astounding level of detail, to the wild, wide, unpopulated Scottish landscape of Chill October, via the simple beauty and natural richness of an everyday scene such as Autumn Leaves.

Chill October, John Everett Millais, 1870 (Image source)

I also confirmed that I'm really not particularly a fan of Rossetti, though he sometimes surprises me, and I discovered that Holman Hunt leaves me cold and occasionally mildly disturbed by the almost grostesque visages of the characters in his strangely cartoonish, hyper-coloured paintings. Probably the only exception to this was the lovely Isabella and the Pot of Basil. 

Isabella and the Pot of Basil, William Holman Hunt, 1866-8 (Image source)

Overall, though, a wonderful exhibition. I've come out with a better grasp of my individual Pre-Raphaelite artists, and it is a marvellously indulgent and aesthetically satisfying way to spend several hours. 

Summer Personified

Today is the final installment of Eugene Grasset's seasonal ladies, begun nine long months ago.  My favourite here has to be the current month, June.  What do you all think?  Who's your favourite?

And which has been your favourite season?  Autumn, where it all began?  Rugged up Winter?  Bright Spring?  Or the current season of Summer?

Spring Personified

The spring months are upon us!  And once again, as promised, I bring you Eugene Grasset's representations of the months for this season.  I can never, ever decide my favourite!  I love that March is sowing seeds with the proper tools, I love April's river and blossom trees, I love May's hat and her red locks under it with the shockingly bright background.  But I think Miss April and her tranquil, idyllic country scene just might win it for me, largely because I would love to be lying in a fresh, green meadow right now...  

What do you think, who's your favourite Spring lady?

Winter Personified

Happy December!  As promised in this previous post, I'm returning with Eugene Grasset's Winter months.  December and January are lovely indeed, but I think February might have my heart, personally.  Only in terms of the images below though because in terms of real months, I'm very much looking forward to lots of things December has in store...

So, which is your favourite lady this time round?  

Love Letter to an Artist

If I could have my portrait painted by any artist in history, I think Tamara de Lempicka (1898-1980) would be very high on my shortlist.

Portrait de Madame Allan Bott (source)

I've been obsessing over the above painting in particular recently.  Beyond finding her painting style fabulous, I love the sitter in this picture - her pose, her dress, her makeup - and I love the background of the dark city.  It's so incredibly beautiful.

A lot of people are probably familiar with her famous self-portrait...

Autoportrait (1925)

... but perhaps know her other work less well.  Let me share some of my other favourites I came across.

La Dormeuse (1932)

Young Lady with Gloves (1930)

The Girls (c.1930)

I love the way she paints curls in those pictures above, don't you?  Like beautiful, silky ribbons.

Saint Moritz (1929)

Blue Scarf (1930)

Calla Lillies (1931)

She looked pretty fabulous herself too...

(Source)

...had a beautiful studio...

(Source)

...and had an appropriately jazz age lifestyle.  Born into a wealthy family in Poland, boarding school in Switzerland, to Italy and the French Riveria at a young age, parents divorced when she was 12, went to live with her aunt in St Petersburg.  Her husband arrested by the Bolsheviks during the Russian Revolution, she secured his release and they ended up in Paris via Copenhagen and London.  In France, she became part of the bohemian set in 1920s Paris, where she had affairs with men and women alike.  She had a daughter who she painted often but neglected due to her obsession with her art and her debauched lifestyle.  Etc, etc, etc.

But most importantly, what an amazing artist.