The Decameron and The Last Communion of St. Jerome

Botticelli, The Last Communion of St. Jerome, 1494

“Practically all of them from the highest to the lowest were flagrantly given to the sin of lust, not only of the natural variety, but also of the sodomitic, without the slightest display of remorse… In addition to this, he clearly saw that they were all gluttons, winebibbers, and drunkards without exception” - Giovanni Boccaccio, The Decameron 

In one of the very first tales of The Decameron, Boccaccio puts forth social commentary pertaining to the spread of Catholicism, veiled by humor and irony. “First Day, Second Story” begins with Jehannot de Chevigny working to convert his close friend Abraham from Judaism to Christianity. Abraham refuses to abandon his upbringing and faith, but he puts an end to his comrade’s ceaseless insisting by traveling from Paris to Rome to “observe the behaviour of the Pope, the cardinals, the other Church dignitaries, and all of the courtiers” (39).

Being familiar with the conduct of Catholic figures in Rome, Jehannot understands that Abraham will not only return to Paris a Jewish man, but will be more secure than ever in his choice of faith. As the passage describes, Abraham witnesses behavior unthinkable to a man of his morality. Upon returning home, he recounts his experiences to Jehannot and, remarkably, announces his conversion. He states that if a religion so depraved can spread the way that Christianity has, it must have God’s blessing.

Botticelli portrays an entirely contrasting clergy in The Last Communion of St. Jerome. He depicts the image that people most associate with Catholic dignitaries of the time -- spiritual, well-behaved Disciples of Christ. He presents us with robed men tending diligently to the ill and aged.

The disparity between these works begs the question of which representation accurately captures Catholic clergymen. Does Botticelli illustrate the idyllic and Boccaccio the actual? Does either of them have adequate exposure to know for themselves whether these figures practice piousness or debauchery? Regardless, the contrast provokes thought concerning religion today, and whether we should regard religious figures as blessed links between Heaven and Earth, or simply as flawed, imperfect, and human.

  • 7:00 AM

Summer Scene

Frédéric Bazille, Summer Scene, 1869

I’ve looked at this painting a lot of times, yet the hilarity of it never fails to amuse me. If you weren’t aware, or if the thought hadn’t already crossed your mind - Frederic Bazille was, most likely, gay.  What really gave it away for me was the blatant eroticism of a bunch of pale guys swimming together on a summer day. In a world dominated by female nudes and the male gaze, one could say Bazille’s Summer Scene was a breath of fresh air.

This painting is reminiscent of many bathing scenes (Manet, Cezanne, and Matisse) yet so different from all of them. The first difference: the men in Bazille’s painting aren’t naked. The act of bathing as ritual insists that participants must be fully unclothed in order to become clean. However, Bazille seems to have painted swimming trunks on his bathers almost like an afterthought. Perhaps he thought the Salon just wasn’t ready for casual male nudity yet, or perhaps he felt like the scene was just too suggestive. Bazille’s figures are appropriately covered, but the lack of nudity isn’t what gets me about this painting.

For me, the best (read: raunchiest) part of this painting is the poses of the men. The “sky’s out, thighs out” attitude of this painting makes it playful, yet beneath the playfulness is a seductive undertone. I’m sure you’ve noticed Mr. “Paint-Me-Like-One-Of-Your-French-Girls” in the center of the painting, carefully watching two strapping young men partake in a manly display of romping. And then there’s our friend leaning against the tree on the left, à la Calvin Klein advertisement. There’s something open, flamboyant and just fierce about these men. For now we can just enjoy the summer air on our bare backs and the cool water on our skin with these guys. 

  • 7:00 AM

Rouen Cathedral Facade and Tour d'Albane

Claude Monet, Rouen Cathedral Facade and Tour d'Albane, 1894

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about repetition. Such as: what good is it? What does it do? What's it's purpose? Most of all I've been asking myself why I have this odd affinity towards it. This could be, simply, that I'm a creature of habit in the truest sense of the phrase, but recently I've found that that answer doesn't satisfy me. I am currently, as I write this, a week into my senior year at Barstow. This is also my fifteenth year at this school. In essence, I have gone and spent my entire life here. Willingly? Only sometimes, but I have found myself returning again and again, making my yearly Mecca-like pilgrimage to the overly air-conditioned building. Repeatedly, I have sat in the same classes and walked down the same halls thousands of times. So, why is it that I find myself coming back?

Claude Monet must have asked himself this question everyday as he went out to paint the Cathedral Rouen. He found himself obsessed with the way the light would rest on the cathedral, but was never quite happy with the way he painted it. Well, that may be an understatement. Monet eventually became so obsessed with the cathedral and its light that he could never pin down that he began to have nightmares about it. Eventually, Monet found himself in a rut, haunted by his subject, and had to leave Paris for a while. This is one of my favorite art history stories, and I had previously mentioned it in my post about Pissaro's obsession with the Boulevard Montmartre. Pissaro's experience with his subject was much better. In fact, I deduced that Pissaro, instead, had more of a love affair with the boulevard. Monet may have loved the cathedral - I've never been sure - but something about drew him towards it and made him want to come back after each failure.

In this instance, I so empathize with Monet. Even after all of the failures and disappointments, Basrtow has been a second home to me where I have been fortunate to meet some fantastic people. This year, I am one of only two returning students in my Art History class, and I remember how nerve wracking my first blog post was. Now, after writing one analysis after another, I feel rather seasoned and sure of myself. I repeated the same actions over and over, but I have never found it boring. Repetition is comfort. It means that you are comfortable with something or love it enough to return. For me, that's Barstow.

  • 8:10 AM

Dead Christ and His Angels

Édouard Manet, The Dead Christ and the Angels, 1864

My god what a mess.

The first of Manet’s only two religious paintings, The Dead Christ and the Angels was perhaps one of the most controversial of his body of work. Displayed in 1864, during the era of Realism, Neoclassicism and the new emergence of Impressionism, Manet’s The Dead Christ and the Angels represents both the passion of Impressionism and the tone of Neoclassicism.

Unlike the idealistic paintings of the time, Christ’s infamous cross-bearing posture has been diminished to a withered, powerless and overall just plain awkward slumping state. Reclining with his hands flopped to his sides, legs spread unceremoniously apart, and the look of just plain futility and angst, this version of the great and powerful Jesus Christ does not bode well for the countless devotees of our Lord and Savior. Manet’s representation of Christ depicts him as vulnerable, unheroic and overall... well, human. Additionally, the two angels behind him look too much like peasant women with huge elegant wings strapped onto their backs. A scene most certainly not worthy of worship.

Oh but wait - there’s more.

Known as the “bridge between realism and impressionism,” Manet’s ability to find the right balance became quite difficult, especially in this painting. It was almost as if Manet’s Neoclassicism side said “let’s paint a religious painting, and make it realistic,” and his young, enthusiastic Impressionistic side went on hyperdrive and went a bit too far with the realism. The lighting of the painting is dour by standards of both Impressionistic and Realistic paintings of the time. A soft light focuses only on Christ and the angel on the right. The shadows, paired with the mournful blacks, browns and whites, really highlight the bruises and transparency of Christ’s corpse. The Angel, positioned slightly behind Christ, holds him up as if he wasn’t strong enough to do so himself. Critics of the Salon felt the painting lacked any sort of “holiness and spirituality,” and, in general, Christ looked just “too dead” for their tastes. Although, Manet did include a thin halo, one of the only details to suggest any sort of divinity. Of course, this wasn’t the only mistake made by Monsieur Manet.

On a rock in the the lower right side of the painting, there is a small inscription that reads “Gospel according to Saint John, Chapter 20, Verse 12.” In that particular passage, Mary Magdalene has found Jesus’ tomb empty except for the two angels. In the painting, however, the two angels are with Christ instead of in his tomb waiting to greet Mary Magdalene. Furthermore, while on its way to the 1864 Salon Exhibition, Manet realizes that he had painted the wound on the right side, instead of the left. Frantically, he contacts Baudelaire confessing his inaccuracy. Baudelaire instructs him to fix his mistake so as to not “ give the malicious something to laugh at.” Unfortunately, Manet stubbornly kept the wound on the right and the critics, indubitably, had a field day.

When asked to pick a single painting off a wall almost 30 times my size, I chose this one. Not the Lichtenstein, not any of the Magrittes, nor the numerous paintings of naked ladies. I chose this one. When I looked at the title and the man who painted it, I was somewhat stunned at my own subconscious. I am not religious, nor am I a huge fan of Impressionism, especially Manet...but I’d follow this painting to hell and back if I had to. Manet’s jab at both religion and realism, and the softness and beauty created by the curved lines and muted color palette serves as a good reminder for me of how gloriously amusing and stunning art can be.

  • 7:00 AM

The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning

Camille Pissarro, The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning, 1897

The Impressionist style and soothing color palette used by Pissarro initially drew me to this piece. After considering the painting further, I realized that the work combines some of the most comforting memories of the past years of my life, somehow bringing me back to my own time in Paris on this boulevard. I place myself in this winter scene a few years ago, walking down the only lively street of Hanover, New Hampshire in the snow, getting a feel of college communities for the first time and realizing that I should not fear the future, but look forward to new and different phases of life. Staring at this work for a prolonged period of time, I act as though I am analyzing every line (and getting it, too), when really I simply watch the movement, how the snow seems to actually fall upon the busy Parisians on loop. I think about how Pissarro found a way to capture a moment and keep it alive as long as the canvas holds up. The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning is far more than paint on cloth, because it encompasses so much emotion and memory for whoever has the pleasure of spending some time with it.

Pissarro’s multiple depictions of Paris’s famous Boulevard Montmartre highlight everyday life using numerous human subjects represented in a realistic manner. The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning features the distinctive Impressionist texture, which adds to the work’s niveous atmosphere. Pissarro uses hues of orange and blue to complement one another and contrast the frosted winter environment, ultimately creating an aesthetically pleasing palette. The streetlights dividing the boulevard draw attention to the center of the painting and provide a balanced base. They also provide scale, emphasizing the pedestrians’ diminutive nature. Detailed buildings bring focus to the windows and roofs on the upper half of the canvas and lead the eye from the far right to the street’s vanishing point. Pissarro’s depiction of the boulevard, continuing to the horizon, not only adds depth and space, but it reinforces perspective. By making the street seem to fade away higher on the canvas, he creates an aerial view of the Boulevard Montmartre that allows viewers of the painting to seemingly look down upon the pedestrians, dramatically changing interpretive perception from that of an eye-level point of view.

  • 7:00 AM


Marcel Duchamp, Bride, 1912

To me (an art history noob,if you will), modern art has always been strange to say the least. Upon seeing Marcel Duchamp's breed of "conceptual art" through his series of paintings (The Bride, The Bride and Her Bachelors, The Transition of Virgin into Bride, and Nude Descending a Staircase), I did not appreciate the art at all. I berated the work, labeling it as nothing more than a strange assortment of pipes and bottles painted onto a canvas. However, upon further inspection, I stopped seeing the mechanical parts making up the artwork; instead I saw a woman.

Although I cannot distinguish the woman clearly, Marcel Duchamp does a wonderful job at drawing the viewer’s eyes towards a feint outline of a woman’s figure. He accomplishes this by using multiple diagonal pipes which lead the viewer’s eye to the center of the painting (if the color scheme did not already). Duchamp also omitted the use of a detailed foreground and instead used a darker palette to color the background in his painting. His conceptual art also completely recreated the existing boundaries of art. He used mechanical elements and created them into living life forms.

Subtle beauty is a main theme in this painting. Upon first encounter, I saw a bunch of pipes and jars oddly assorted on a canvas with the words "Bride, Duchamp" underneath it. However, after a long period of looking at the painting, I spotted the bride and I realized that the painter was not a nut job after all. He knew what he was painting and he masterfully executed it in a way that made me think about the painting. In Renaissance art, the painting is straight forward and one can easily spot the subject of the painting (usually a man or woman) and any kind of symbolism surrounding it. In Modern art and specifically "conceptual art" require a lot more thought to determine the focus of the painting.

  • 7:00 AM

Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette

Vincent Van Gogh, Head of Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette, 1886

The connection I established with this painting began long ago, as sweaty, shorter and shaggier- haired version of myself walked into the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. As I walked around at a rather quick pace than that of my parents, I stumbled across this painting. Although I didn't really think about it as much as I have recently, I feel that I was drawn to it by similar reasons that still hold relevant to me. 

The idea of mortality and constant close proximity to death caught my eye. It really made me wonder what it meant to die and at what point that truly happened. The painting represents what we really are, just a set of bones and parts assembled into one, and the fact that it is truly up to the person to make more of that simple composition and determine what we mean and who we are. As I continue my course through high-school, I have had to think about what I will have to make of myself, and how to avoid being more than just a skeleton to not only others but also, most importantly, myself. 

Regardless of determining this, the bleak coloration and rigid skeleton and use of the burning cigarette make death feel omnipresent, and it is up to one's self to resolve what it means to avoid this end. Despite this, I feel that the presence of death should be approached as motivation and provide aspirations, rather than be painful and take away life long before it is over.

  • 7:00 AM

The Calling of Saint Matthew

Caravaggio, The Calling of Saint Matthew, 1600
I've always liked art. In fact, at 10 years old, I wanted to be just like Raphael. As a 5th grader I looked forward to my art classes every day, when I would become the artist/Ninja Turtle that I always wanted to be. But what 10 year-old me didn't understand, besides the fact that I wasn't a radioactive turtle, was that art isn't just about be able to draw well and throw ninja stars. Possibly more important is the way the scene looks. The way the light is cast, the shadows and the lines.

The main thing that attracted me to this particular painting was the realism. The shadows are perfectly done, and the line on the wall from shadow contrasts with Jesus's face, putting it in sharp relief. The two characters in the middle add balance while framing the man with the amazing beard, who may or may not be Saint Matthew. Art historians argue about which of them is Saint Matthew. I personally subscribe to the school of thought that a Saint should have a really cool beard. The bearded man may be pointing at himself as if to say "You mean me?" or he may be pointing at the young man with his head down. However, in the other two paintings done in this series, Saint Matthew is depicted with a really cool beard, lending credence to the former theory.While it was a religious painting, this painting was disliked by many members of the church for showing both Jesus and Saint Matthew in a bar.

The painting was commissioned by Cardinal Matteo Contarelli, who wanted art done about his namesake. Caravaggio stepped in to create a series of paintings of Saint Matthew, the other two being The Inspiration of Saint Matthew and The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew.

  • 7:00 AM

Attirement of the Bride

Max Ernst, Attirement of the Bride, 1940

Drawn to this painting by its whimsical, slightly jaded tone, I felt I was doing an injustice not to keep it on the wall. Originally, it was Ernst’s clever use of surrealism that held my attention. Surrealism has always been a technique I wanted to be good at in my own paintings, and because of that I really admire the absurdity Max Ernst creates. That being said, Max Ernst dabbled often in the absurdity as he claims in 1930. "Ernst was visited nearly every day by the Bird Superior, named Loplop, an extraordinary phantom of model fidelity who attached himself to [his] person. He presented [him] with a heart in a cage, two petals, three leaves, a flower and a young girl." This bit of information inclines me to feel overwhelmed with the symbolism behind these characters and this painting.

Not knowing where to begin in this absurd conundrum I resort to analysing the title, leading my attention to the attire of the bride in the center. Her get-up could be seen as a luxurious cloak transformed to look like a bird. Fashioning this bird cloak, the bride's nakedness peeks through, mirroring the picture on the wall. However, the fantasy characters around her fail to appear in the picture. Almost as if Ernst is taking a "normal" picture in the background, and inserting his own surrealist twist, proving to the world his possible verge on insanity.

  • 7:00 AM

The Kill

 Andre Masson, The Kill, 1944

There’s a certain impression a picture can establish into one’s mind the split second they see it for the first time. For The Kill, that impression was frenzied. Perhaps that was the reason I chose this picture, in my hurried attempt to find a picture I could write at length about. So why not something abstract? That's fancy, right?

Truthfully, there's only a little known about Andre Masson. However, you can infer a lot about him through his art. For Masson, an ex-soldier, feelings of distress and hysteria are known well. Enlisting in the military during the first World War, Masson craved the "ecstasy of death" that he would surely experience on the battlefield. Whatever satisfaction or ecstasy Masson had hoped for was null after truly participating in the fray. Later in life, Masson was far from a pleasant man. He had erratic and violent tendencies that were often reflected through his gory and/or erotic art. His gruesome surrealistic style was hardly appreciated by the aesthetically-challenged Nazis.

The painting is defined by the red streaks that are scattered throughout the canvas that are joined by the various organic shapes of yellow, green, and blue. This creates a busy, abstract piece of art that can easily confuse you. The middle allows for some breathing room between the shapes, while the sides become more clustered. The more one looks at it, the more jarring the piece becomes. Taking the title in context, this picture illustrates an act of violence.

The Kill is most certainly one of Masson’s lighter pieces. The pale background, bright colors, and free shapes, allows us to perceive this picture as more lighthearted than it actually is. Perhaps the contrast between The Kill and Masson’s other artwork is to illustrate his earlier perception of war and death to his current understanding.
  • 7:00 AM

Garbhadhatu (Taizōkai) Mandala- Womb World

Unknown, Garbhadhatu (Taizōkai) mandala, 9th Century

On the first day of Art History class, the students were told to walk across the room towards a wall consumed by pictures of art and tear off all the pictures except one that caught our attention the most. Initially, as I tore at the pages taped to the classroom wall, I was caught by the rich reds and cobalt blues that echo the repetition within the Garbhadhatu (Taizōkai) mandala -  translated as Womb World. However as I looked closer at the 9th century art piece, it became strangely familiar, drawing me back to my childhood memories.

From what I can recall, my mother had dragged me along to what seemed like the fifteenth furniture store as she tried to satisfy her obsessive redecorating phase. We stepped into a local oriental shop overwhelmed by Buddhist statues and golden gongs, and before I knew it I was scrambling for my mother whom I had lost a few seconds before hand. While I was searching, my eye caught this Womb World mandala that stretched from ceiling to floor. Alone, I stared at the piece in confusion and awe, trailing the shift in colors and interactive pattern until I was awoken by the familiar sound of my mother's scolding as she bargained with the owner for a cheaper price on a Buddha head.

The Womb World mandala represents a metaphysical space within Vajrayana Buddhism. In the center sits the Vaicrocana Buddha, and surrounding him are eight buddhas and bodhisattvas. Within the Buddhist ideologies, the Vaicrocana Buddha represents a concept of emptiness, more commonly known as selflessness and the act of liberation by learning from one's surroundings. While this piece meant nothing to my childhood-self, the Buddhist ideologies illustrated in the Womb World mandala now resonate with the start of my last year of high school. As I catch glances of the light at the end of this tunnel, I find myself looking at this ending the way I looked at the artwork when I first saw it: in confused and awe. Conclusively, I don't want to be awoken by the sounds of familiarity. Instead, I hope to achieve as the Vaicrocana Buddha does by becoming enlightened with selflessness, and rather opening myself up to unknown perspectives, people, and experiences in this finale.
  • 7:00 AM

La Rue Mosnier aux Drapeaux

Edouard Manet, La Rue Mosnier aux Drapeaux,  1878

While searching the cluttered wall of Mr. Luce’s room, a certain painting caught my eye. The painting, primarily light colors, had blues and reds that almost forced you to pay attention to it. I did not believe this was any exceptional painting so I kept looking. However, the only painting that my eyes were drawn to was this one.

Edouard Manet’s painting, La Rue Mosnier aux Drapeaux, was painted in 1878 in Paris, France during the Fête de la Paix. The Fête de la Paix is a holiday to commemorate the recovery from The Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871. Manet painted the celebration from his apartment on Rue Mosnier. The crippled man on the left side reflects Manet's view against the war. This man, a war veteran, is crippled from his time serving to protect his country. The man looks down wistfully. Avoiding the flags and the celebration, the crippled man knows no one should glorify this war. At first, I did not realize this man only had one leg. A splotch covered this man’s lower half on The Wall. After seeing the full painting, I know Manet used this man to show his disapproval of war.

The family getting out of their carriage on the right side goes on to the celebration without noticing the man. They go on with their fancy lives and only care about themselves. The streetlights are bright and act as a spotlight for the rich family. The family is a symbol for the negligence during the war, from civilians and from the government.

Edouard Manet’s La Rue Mosnier aux Drapeaux shows two conflicting views of the war, the people who are against the war and the people who are too ignorant to pay attention.

  • 7:00 AM

The Lovers

Rene Magritte, The Lovers, 1928

When first observing the two lovers, one might wonder what sort of fetish they share,  but without fully understanding Rene Magritte’s past we cannot fully comprehend the importance of the sacks. Magritte lost his mother at the young age of fourteen when she committed suicide by drowning in a river. He observed her being pulled out of the river with her dress covering her face which translates into many of his pieces. His mother lost her identity with her face covered and so Magritte paints several faceless people, such as the two lovers.

The love the two lovers share goes deeper than the visual.  They go beyond the social norm of "loving with the eyes." They do not have to see each other, but they only hold in each other's arms to show that love, making the connection more real and intimate than that of society.  The lack of visual identity allows the couple to create their own perfect image of how the other looks in their mind which binds them closer together and makes their love purer and unblemished.
  • 7:00 AM

Water and Wine

Francisco Clemente, Water and Wine, 1981

Almost immediately, this painting caught my eye for obvious reasons. How could it not? When asked to find a strange, captivating or confusing painting, a beheaded Ox beside two bizarre naked people would not be an improbable choice. But it wasn’t just the erotic aspects of the photo that made it so unique. The rope extended from the Ox’s stomach also baffled me. Further, the two-dimensional aspect of this painting along with the lack of color variation and depth caught my attention. This simplicity seemed to me to be deceiving. Clemente had to have had more meaning behind this painting, and I wanted to uncover the story behind it. When I saw the title, Water and Wine, I was unsure and curious as to why Clemente would title it this, as there was neither water nor wine in the painting.

Francisco Clemente’s work is expressionist and surrealist. The Italian painter was self taught, often using psychedelics, which seems likely in regards to this painting. Clemente finds inspiration in Indian culture and many of his paintings capture mythology, symbolism and spiritualism of India. This painting illustrates Clemente as the man who has bound the Ox and holding its head, portraying his masculinity, and the hand gesture he makes above his head imitates the Ox’s horns, showing Clemente to be not only masculine, but animalistic as well. Another main focus of this painting, which I did not notice before researching it, is the Ox is both a cow and a bull, which symbolizes both nourishment and paternal power. Finally, I found that Clemente was fond of tying different religions together, believing all religions to be one, and the title confirms this fondness when he named this mythological Indian piece Water and Wine, which refers to when Christ turned water into wine.

  • 7:00 AM

Tughra of Sultan Suleiman

Unknown artist, Tughra of Sultan Soleiman, 1520

This 16th century piece is interesting both for its composition and its purpose. Created for the exaltation of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent (1494-1566), the piece is a clear standout in the tughra style itself, using a more ornate and colorful arrangement than other tughras of the time. While the picture's a bit heavy on the left, it’s balanced slightly by the long tail of the script. The specific makeup of the script, its massive curves and stacked writing, are all emblematic of the tughra form and carry specific meaning: the loops on the left represent the extent of the Sultan’s control, while the three risen strokes near to the center represent the flags of the Ottoman empire, as well as their independence. Interestingly enough, the script is written in Turkish, not Arabic, a more common language in Islamic art. As striking as the art may be, no artist is credited with it as the tughra was meant to be the official seal of the Ottoman sultan. 

For me, this painting is striking not in its reservations, but in its relative bombast. As opposed to allegories or compositional symbolism, the tughra art form, and this artist in particular, eschew any kind of pretense and use script as the main factor for portraying the grandeur of its subject. It's showy, it's gorgeous and it's clearly made with imperial aspirations in mind. It's both religiously reserved and boastful, representing clearly a sultan who was larger than life, but still beneath God. Much like more Western pieces, this tughra communicates the core tenets of empire without feeling over-the-top or superficial. Upon further analysis I was surprised that this work, like a minimalist portrait, conveys all we need to know about the Sultan but does so in a way that still falls within the tughra style. 

To me, the piece carries a distinct and stately feel to it, undoubtedly because of its complex design. The large calligraphy and ornate patterns feel luxurious, especially when juxtaposed with the bare off-white background. The color scheme too seems to carry an air of royalty, with the mostly blue and gold patterns and scripts evoking other royal seals from other preeminent empires (the English coat of arms comes to mind). During the reign of Suleiman he undoubtedly wanted to put the Ottomans on par with other mostly Western imperial powers like the English and Spanish, and this seal gets that message across quite concisely. 

  • 7:00 AM