Art, music, whatever
Normally, I change the wallpaper on my laptop about every week. This one, from Alan Fearnley, has been there for nearly two because I find the whole tableau incredibly appealing: restful, old-fashioned, a beautiful car and a pretty lady… what more could one ask for?
Right-click to embiggen.
Wasting time over at C.W.’s place there’s this little bit of nostalgia, with his comment:
Certainly, my Gran’s did, except her tabletop was covered with a single sheet of green linoleum (don’t ask).
Also at C.W.’s: he’s been on a tear about the wonderful Alfa Romeo Tipo 105 sports cars of the late 1960s and early 70s, like this one:
This might be my favorite model of them all: the Giulia GT Junior, with Alfa’s extraordinary 1300cc engine which performed completely out of its weight class.
Want.
Finally, and I hesitate to even say this, he has no business posting pictures of terrible things like this on his website:
Doubleplus want.
I’d call that a Texas BLT, but the bread’s a little on the thin side.
Those who saw Ricky Gervais’s outstanding Netflix show After Life may have noticed one of the co-stars, a youngin who comes on board the newspaper as a cub reporter. In real life, her name is Mandeep Dhillon, and she’s a hottie.
And yes, the eyes have it.
I don’t know when I developed my fascination for the human form when it’s been contorted or twisted, for whatever reason or by whatever force.
Maybe it was at the Rodin Museum on an icy late-December day in Paris, where I saw this:
It depicts the fate of Ugolino the Count of Gherardesca, who while immured in Pisa’s Muda Tower, was driven mad by hunger and ended up eating his own children to survive. I remember standing there, frozen to the bone, but unable to escape the tragedy. (Nice story, but pure fiction. When Ugolino’s bones were exhumed and examined for DNA traces of cannibalism, none were found.) Of the Burghers Of Calais, we will not speak:
In warmer climes (Vienna, also in December but indoors), I saw a couple of paintings by Austrian Egon Schiele, who after WWI was unable to see any kind of future for mankind, and his artistic vision was distorted thereby in his depictions of people:
That’s The Lovers’ Embrace, and one has to have pity on them — which was his intention. Even his own wife Edith wasn’t spared:
…nor his mistress, Wally [sic] :
And so to the modern day, where others — perhaps sharing Schiele’s attitude, or maybe just having their own mordant view of the human form, have produced works such as this:
I don’t know who the artists are, but their work fascinates me still.
I was not familiar with 19th-century artist Giovanni Segantini, but I like his story, for obvious reasons:
In the spring of 1865, his mother died after spending the past seven years in increasingly poor health. His father left Giovanni under the care of Irene, his second child from a previous marriage, and again traveled in search of work. He died a year later without returning home and leaving his family nothing. Without money from her father, Irene lived in extreme poverty. She was forced to spend most of her time working menial jobs while leaving Giovanni to maintain on his own.
Irene hoped to better her life by moving to Milan, and in late 1865 she submitted an application to relinquish Austrian citizenship for both her brother and her. She either misunderstood the process or simply did not have enough time to follow through, and although their Austrian citizenship was revoked she neglected to apply for Italian citizenship. As a result, both Segantini and his sister remained stateless for the rest of their lives.
Segantini met Bugatti’s sister, Luigia Pierina Bugatti (1862–1938), known as “Bice”, and they began a life-long romance. Although Segantini tried to marry Bice the next year, due to his stateless status he could not be granted the proper legal papers. In opposition to this bureaucratic technicality, they decided to live together as an unmarried couple. This arrangement led to frequent conflicts with the Catholic church that dominated the region at this time, and they were forced to relocate every few years to avoid local condemnation.
And they stayed together for life — and the hell with both the Church and the bureaucracy. As for his paintings, I like these ones the best:
Lovely stuff. And like Delacroix (two weeks ago), Segantini’s work proved to be a bridge, only this time between Divisionism and Impressionism. I get the idea, though, that style or “school” was unimportant to him: he painted according to his own mood and feeling, blazing his own path.
My kinda guy.
