Don't question my song choice!
I realize I'm writing this post a few days late, but I've been busy. But I'm back. See? You could never escape me. Muahaha.
Ahem.
I am one of the most inappropriate art students of all time. Upon seeing this portrait, I was like, "Is that Eugene Delacroix? He's hot!" (It turns out it's not him. Sigh.)
I totally freaked out over this painting. It's Dante and Virgil on a boat in the Styx. Dante is in the funny red cape-hat-thing. Virgil looks more...Roman. I mean, he has a laurel on his head. The other figures are just dead souls trying to climb onto the boat because, I mean, if you were a dead soul and saw a living guy coming through Hell, you'd be pissed too.
So the two paintings above fascinate me because they're Eugene Delacroix AND they feature scenes from Hamlet. I love geeky crossovers. Anyway, the first picture is Hamlet and Horatio in the cemetery--you know, the "Alas, poor Yorick" scene. Well, it's the scene, but that particular picture doesn't feature the infamous skull. The second painting is Ophelia drowning. It's lovely, but still not as lovely as the one in London, which is at a museum called the Tate--although that's confusing, as there's a Tate Modern and Tate Britain. Then there's the fact that the Tate it's at used to be called the National Gallery, so I thought it was the National Gallery that currently exists... Ugh, so much exhaustion into finding one painting.
British "natives" (not natives actually: pretentious study abroad students) sneered at my ignorance, but I blame Wikipedia! Plus, I don't live there. Good luck with them trying to get around Paris on the Metro.
NOW here we have Hamlet and the Yorick skull. Glad Delacroix appreciated his Shakespeare.
As a side note, in class, we watched a fantastic presentation about Romeo and Juliet: one of my classmates had gone to Verona over break, but that's not even the best part. She wrote a song set to Taylor Swift's infuriatingly catchy but totally inaccurate "Love Story," except she changed the lyrics to be more accurate. It's delightful and hilarious. I hope she puts it up on YouTube.
Here's a real self-portrait of Monsieur Delacroix. He's still rather attractive. Also, now I know how to say James Joyce's novel in French: Portrait de L'artise Comme un Jeun Homme.
And here we have Chopin. I know too many music people to NOT take a picture of Chopin, but since I lack any knowledge, I'm left to my superficial observations: He kind of looks like Severus Snape, right? Well, then, by extension, I guess he also looks like Alan Rickman.
I was all excited to see a cat, but the title of the painting is, in fact, The Dead Cat. Géricault, of all the things you could paint--especially cats--you pick a dead cat?! For shame! The kitties will come and haunt you.
I find this painting much more satisfying, as it features a live cat. Unfortunately, the supposed "subject" is the creepy-looking girl. Um, let's get rid of the girl and then we have a contender for Greatest Piece of Art.
Sad, but I can't look away in the morbidly curious fashion.
A.) Fragonard is the name of the perfume company that my mother loved. (Our school group visited there during my first time in France, and I brought her back a bottle.) B.) Diane de Poitiers--now there's so much I have to say here.
So King Henry II of France was married to the awesome Catherine de' Medici, who was awesome because her name was Catherine (even if it is with a "C") and because she came from the family of the rich Italian patrons who basically funded the Renaissance. So what thanks does she get for being married off to a French king? He gets manipulated by a Mrs. Robinson figure--the one and ony Diane de Poitiers. Oh, and Diane was Catherine's cousin. That's definitely a violation of the Girl Code in all 50 states.
Anyway, long story short, Henry gets impaled by a jousting implement, he is attended but still dies, and Catherine lets two proto-neurosurgeons dissect her husband. Go girl! Taking a big leap for science. Things ended up working out better after her husband died; she helped jump start neuroscience, and she even got to kick Diane out the chateau that Henry was letting Diane stay in and make it her own favorite residence. It's called the Château de Chenonceau, and I personally plan to make a pilgrimage there. Exciting stuff, I know.
Now, the painting above gets to be extra big because it features Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry the Crazy VIII, one of the reasons England is not Catholic, and a personal family ancestor! Seriously. Okay, snarky commenters, I'm fully aware that I am not directly related to Anne Boleyn; I didn't just fall off the turnip truck. But my mother's family is. I think the relation comes from my grandmother's (my mother's mother) side of the family, but I'm not sure. I'm not the family chronicler, but now I can't remember who is. Anyway, this is our claim to fame. Well, besides Uncle John. But that's a story for another time. (To pique everyone's interest, I'll just say that someone in the family owns a Christmas card signed by Bing Crosby because of my grand-uncle.)
I just find it quite hilarious that this picture of Pysche and Cupid is the famous one--it's featured on their Wikipedia page--but it's so boring. Even the butterfly can't save its blandness. Sorry, Gérard, but I guess there always has to be a dud once in a while.
Am I back in your good graces? No. Dammit! I'll try harder.
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