My Kid Could Paint That

*Curator’s Note: The paintings within this collection were taken by the author to be artwork for the album covers of a fictional metal band called Instadeath. The following is Instadeath fan mail.

Dear Instadeath,

I cried out in sheer joy when I heard your new album Cloister was being released soon. I then almost sacrificed a goat to your new nihilist god when I heard you were using Caspar David Friedrich’s Cloister Graveyard in the Snow. You’re gonna think I’m odd, but if there are two things I love in this world they are good metal and a good Friedrich painting.

I know you probably won’t read my letter read because its fan mail. You get thousands of letters a day, but I am writing with purpose. Your career has mimicked my high school career in art history. Your career has also produced great metal, which I love any day of the week. You see, I have been on this two year journey to combine the art history and metal (completely against my art history teacher’s wishes) in our class blog site. The first blog post I ever did was on Friedrich’s Cloister Ruins at Eldena. The reason I picked Cloister Ruins at Eldena was because I thought the house below the ruins looked like the shack on the cover of Black Sabbath’s debut album, Black Sabbath (1970). The color scheme certainly looks the same. Since that blog post, Friedrich has been my favorite painter. Maybe it’s because he was the first painter I ever looked at, maybe it’s because I like solitude and nature, but, nonetheless, no other painter has captivated me like Friedrich has.

I mentioned in that first blog post how Friedrich inserted the edifice of an old monastery into three of his paintings (Cloister Ruins at Eldena, Abbey in an Oak Grove, and Cloister Graveyard in the Snow). This was his favorite building to paint and these have been my favorite paintings to discuss. As of now, I have written posts on all three of the monastery pieces (this letter will be published on the blog, if the band wants to check it out). The first blog on Eldena held little more than biographical information on Friedrich while the Abbey post I did earlier this year spoke of the wonderful time I’d had so far studying art history at Barstow. It’s funny to look back on earlier times and see how much my approach to these posts have changed. I would never have even dared to mention metal in that first post (much less be funny), but look at me now. So for all those who will be new to art history blogging next year, be adventurous. Find the fun in this. It makes homework entertainment.

As for the Cloister Graveyard, I love the whiteness to it. White covers the floor, outlines the tree branches, highlights the monastery edifice, and engulfs the sky. This white looks pure, despite being the death delivering winter Friedrich was in the midst of when he painted this. My first post mentions he finished this piece while battling a severe illness that would eventually claim his life. The dead trees offset the white’s purity. These dead trunks make the piece eerie (along with the tombstones) and perfect for the latest Instadeath album cover. But the two trees in the foreground frame the edifice perfectly. The funeral procession heads right through the doorway towards the ruined monastery. I want to say the monastery represented something to Friedrich, something that he thought of at all stages in his life. Something that he finally achieved in his old age, or possibly the monastery is death; a force always lingering in the background of his art and in the back of his mind. This force probably now seemed like a real possibility for Friedrich in his old age.

So that’s the end… of this letter, of the Instadeath discography, and of my art history blog posts. Instadeath, I hope you liked this letter. You guys seem to have an appreciation for art along with a creative spark that makes your metal so awesome. To all my readers, I hoped I made you laugh and think once in a while. Hopefully I taught you something (be it about metal or art, in my opinion the two are synonymous). To my art history class, thank you for teaching me new ways of looking at art, and consequently the world. I’ll never be an art historian, but there is power in being able to stop, look at a painting, and tell yourself how it makes you feel and why. This power allows you to know yourself better.

Sincerely,
Alex McDonald

*Curator’s Note: The paintings within this collection were taken by the author to be artwork for the album covers of a fictional metal band called Instadeath. The following is a press release from Instadeath guitarist Tony Koontz on the band’s new album Giotto’s Tongue.

Critics associate Instadeath with rash, judgmental buzzwords like angry, trash, and Satanism. With Giotto’s Tongue, I truly believe that, as a band, we are outgrowing these labels. So let’s go in order.

1) Angry: Okay, you got us. We are angry. I can find no argument against that. Oddly, I am alright with this.

2) Trash: This one I take the most offense to. Metal bands are not trashy, they are down to earth. We tell the truth when others are too scared to. People are disgusting pieces of meat who need to be more in touch with their animalistic nature. We have been trying to show people our opinions on this subject in an educated manner by using famous paintings as artwork for our album covers. Most recently, we have used Sam Messer’s Giotto’s Tongue. This painting may be more obscure than our other choices (which have included such artists as Giotto, Durer, and Titian), but Messer, being an art professor at Yale, holds just as much artistic merit as the ancient masters. Also, Yale. Can anyone argue that’s trashy?

Examine Messer’s Giotto’s Tongue. Here’s a head, whose tongue’s a snake, with its brain hanging out the back. This portrait shows that slab of meat I spoke of earlier. The face screams in agony at its pitiful, natural state. The snake represents the devil inside him. As for the brain, let me explain that in my next point.

3) Satanism: Just to make the point clear, no one in Instadeath worships the Dark Lord… except our drummer, but he’s weird and doesn’t talk much. We use Satan to attract the kids because kids love Satan. Why else would they go to exorcist movies or buy our CDs? Kids outgrow Santa Claus and start believing in Satan. It’s the natural order of things, but recently Satan has not sold as much as he should be. So after much talk and argument from the drummer, we are breaking up with Satan. He’s a fad our fans have outgrown. We are now Nihilists because that’s selling. If you don’t believe me, just look at Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson. Nihilism is the new Satanism.

Giotto’s Tongue brings Instadeath’s new nihilism into our album cover. No spiritual entity embodies evil. The serpent in the garden was not Lucifer (or Lilith if you are well-educated). He was not even in the garden. The serpent lies within us. We are evil and all evil in the world originates with us.

Then there’s the matter of the abstract brain. It has an eye painted onto the top of it. This puts the all seeing eye of God within our own minds. Also, notice how the brain stem and skull kind of looks like another face. The self can be found in the mind, not the soul. Then the brown colors surrounding the head represent the nothingness of life. No heavenly light or hellish reds or even blackness; just a brown that represents Earthly dirt, because that’s all that exists. So, say goodbye Satan because we’re nihilists now. We don’t believe in anything.

Instadeath

Study after Velazquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X

Curated by Alex McDonald

*Curator’s Note: The paintings within this collection were taken by the author to be artwork for the album covers of a fictional metal band called Instadeath. The following is a press release from the Pope concerning Instadeath’s latest album Vile Popery.

I have yet another condemnation to make today. It has come to my attention that forces within the music industry have spoken out against the Papacy. Therefore, it is my sacred duty to warn all Catholics to avoid a band called Instadeath. They are blasphemous Satan worshipers who will burn in Hell for their heathen lifestyle, and you will meet them there if you hazard a bite of their tainted fruit.

Their latest record, entitled Vile Popery, portrays the Holy Roman Catholic Church as a power hungry entity who pleasures themselves by exerting control over its followers. Instadeath then goes on to say the only true salvation comes from offering a blood sacrifice to the Dark Lord. Catholics should not have to stomach these filthy lies being hurdled at them over the radio.

To cap it all off, Instadeath mocks the holy office of the pope with the use of Francis Bacon’s Study after Velazquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X. Just look at this piece (but not for too long as it may cause instant damnation)! It is a perversion of Velazquez’s Pope Innocent X. Bacon has portrayed one of our holy fathers as maniacal. The faithful can tell by that devilish scream upon his face. Then the rays of light emitting from his chair obscure his figure and expression. This speaks to the Pope’s distance between himself and the viewer. And what does the Pope do in reply to this distance? He laughs.

Focus on the throne. All light emits from it, representing the power of the Pope’s office. Too bad Bacon looks upon this power as a corrupting and dehumanizing force. Innocent does not even have legs. They are gone, making the Pope ghostly (and dare I say demonic?!). Though at the same time, Innocent seems trapped behind the rays of light and the stage set up by the yellow lines emitting from his chair. So as powerful as he seems, the Pope does not actually have any sway over your life.

*Curator’s Note: The paintings within this collection were taken by the author to be artwork for the album covers of a fictional metal band called Instadeath. The following is Rolling Stone’s review of their 4^th album, Heroes Always Die.

            

“1/2 Stars out of 4” –Instadeath has yet to produce a song that differs from their self-prescribed norm of satanic overtures and thrash-root sound. You could record the sound of an angry baboon throwing his own feces and pass it off for a new Instadeath record. Heroes Always Die is no exception. After listening to five seconds of the first track, I desired to pour gasoline down my ear cavities and stick a lit match in them. If you buy Heroes Always Die, consider yourself damned, regardless of your religious preference and even if you have none.

Instead of wasting my readers’ time by talking more about how badly Instadeath sucks, I will entertain them with a review of Rubens’ Hero and Leander. This painting, unlike Heroes Always Die, actually possesses artistic merit. Rubens based this piece off the story of Hero and Leander, who were lovers separated by the sea. Leander would swim the sea every night in order to be with Hero. One night, a storm made the waters violent. The waves sucked Leander below where he drowned. Hero witnessed this and became what doctors would now dub “clinically depressed.” Lacking the medication she needed, she drowned herself in the same sea her lover drowned in.

That all being said, I cannot help but wonder who all the other people are in the painting? Maybe Leander founded a swim team to accompany him every night. I imagine the trip would get lonely after a while. But wait, here’s a better question. Why in God’s name is Instadeath using a Peter Paul Rubens painting for their new album cover? The people in this band can’t be that cultured, can they? Oh well, I better put aside my biases for a short while in order to stay on track.

The waves act as an imprisoning force in Hero and Leander. The single large wave to the right prevents all the bodies from drifting off that side of the painting. Then this curve exists at the bottom that flows into the wave I just spoke of. Follow this curve to the left and you see it goes straight up, creating another barrier for the bodies in the middle. Then one large wave behind them imprisons the drowning people within the middle ground of the painting. Instadeath has once again picked a painting where the subject is trapped by his surroundings. I believe they might be going for a “WE’RE IMPRISONING YOUR SOUL… with art” motif.

One last thing I’d like to say about this painting: I do not know if Hero and Leander are actually the subjects of this painting. There may be more to the story I don’t know, but if you look closely you can see angels above the waves and to the right. They appear to be coming to the rescue of the drowning people. Though, they look like the storm might be overpowering them. Then there’s the matter of the extra bodies besides Hero and Leander. So, what is this painting actually about? I doubt Instadeath knows the answer to my question.

Overall, I give Rubens’ Hero and Leander a “2½ stars out of 4.” It would have been three, but the shifty subject matter really gets to me.

*Curator’s Note: The paintings within this collection were taken by the author to be artwork for the album covers of a fictional metal band called Instadeath. The following is an excerpt from the script to Instadeath’s music video for their hit single, “The Good Thief.” This single can be found on their third studio album of the same name, which features Titian’s Jesus Christ and the Good Thief as the cover art.

Titian’s The Good Thief consumes the screen. Fog emits from the grey in Titian’s painting that connects CHRIST and THE GOOD THIEF, showing their connected suffering. The fog also makes the sweeping motion of the sky behind the crosses more noticeable. The motion brings the force of the painting down from the Good Thief’s legs, towards Christ’s feet, and finally upwards into the sky; symbolizing their ascension to come. Though, Titian shows Christ’s three-day descent into Hell by having this sweeping motion lead into a pitch-black sky and by having Christ’s gaze fixed downward.

PAN OUT: The whole hillside of Golgotha can be seen now. Thousands of people celebrate the death of Christ as a select few weep at the feet of his crucifix. Suddenly the Good Thief starts moving his mouth.

CLOSE UP: His mouth whispering inaudible words.

The fog drifts between Christ and the Good Thief, transporting the Thief’s message to Christ.

CLOSE UP: Christ’s ears, the inaudible whispering echoes through them. Suddenly, a slow eerie melody begins.

WIDE: Golgotha. The crowds roars as Instadeath front man JACQUES PADAVONA, dressed in a brown robe, steps in between Christ’s and the Good Thief’s crosses. He sings.

PADAVONA (singing)

He stole for fame and wealth
with a sense of shame and stealth.
To hide his sinner’s eyes
he constructs the keenest lies
until the night he was found
to be one of Satan’s hounds.

Lightning cracks the sky, coinciding with the beginning of a hellish guitar riff. In the brief second of darkness, the rest of the band appears around the feet of the crucifixes. All are dressed in brown robes and play their instruments.

PADAVONA (screaming)

They say he fostered remorse
rotting in his cell,
but he had to pay, of course,
for the sea of wrong he could not quell.

CU: The Good Thief,  writing in pain on his cross.

PADAVONA (screaming)

So they hung him on the cross
next to his new boss.
Who was feeling weak
and trying to stay meek.

CU: Another cross on the opposite side of Christ’s. THE BAD THIEF hangs there. He has devil horns protruding from his curly hair and scars and deformities cover his body.

PADAVONA (screaming)

While a devil told him no.
You don’t have to die here.
You could free us.
The end doesn’t have to be near.

The shot mimics Titian’s painting like the opening shot. The Good Thief, now screaming unintelligible sounds, stares intently at Christ.

PADAVONA (screaming)

But Christ cut His losses.
Watch their blood seethe
on the crosses.
For even Christ listened to a good thief.

*Curator’s Note: The paintings within this collection were taken by the author to be the artwork for the album covers of a fictional metal band called Instadeath. The following is a fictionalized interview with Instadeath front man Jacques Padavona on the release of their first album, titled Invidia.

            

Padavona’s dressing room reeked of rock n’ roll: dirty socks, sweaty leather jackets, and incense of the illegal nature. Clothes, empty bottles, and fast food wrappers littered the floor. And there he sat, legs crossed, atop his unmade bed. Black hair, black shirt, black jeans, and black aviators. It was amazing, the Reporter thought, that one could have so much money and still live like an animal.

            

“Should we get started, Mr. Padavona?”

           

“Fire when ready.”

            

“Well, do you have a place for me to sit?”

           

“The floors my usual spot.”

           

The Reporter looked down at his feet, which had disappeared under Whopper and McRib wrappers. “I think I’ll elect to stand. Now, I understand your first album, Invidia, will be released next week and it features a rather interesting choice for the album cover. Would you mind explaining your use of Giotto’s Envy?”

            

“You mean gee-o-toe.”

           

“What?”

           

“It’s pronounced gee-o-toe.”

          

“Uh, I’m pretty certain it’s Giotto.”

            

“Whatever. If you want to look like an idiot in your own interview be my guest.”

            

“That’s completely alright with me.”

            

“You know, I see what you’re doing. The worlds full of stupid people, right? Well the amount of smart people has been increasing, which, believe it or not, is a bad thing. The number of smart people needs to be low for them to still be able to call themselves smart. If the everyday man could understand quantum physics imagine what one would have to do in order to be considered above average intelligence. So, I respect what you’re doing. Taking one for the team in order to let the smarties of the world feel good and the idiots-”

            

“Giotto. I asked about Giotto. Let’s stick with Giotto, if you please.”

            

“Kay…” Jacques took out his smart phone and looked at it. “I like Gee-o-toe. He’s the man, but not the man. Just the man, in the good way. For me, he started art. I mean, what was there before him? Cave paintings and pyramids! He practically discovered the paintbrush, much like how Led Zepplin discovered music. He created perspective, for God’s sake! I know Envy isn’t a good example of that so you’ll have to take my word as an expert art historian. Now let’s take a closer look at Envy. You know why I love Gee-o-toe, but why this fresco? Personally, I like the cosmic feel to it. You ever see Castagno’s Last Supper? There’s this abstract storm of energy in the windows behind the table that transports you to this otherworldly realm. It heightens the importance of the event for me. Envy works like that too if you pay attention to the border and background. I know that’s what marble usually looks like, but for me it places Gee-o-toe’s human personification of envy in this incredibly modern take on Hell.

            

“At the same time though, Envy still is a product of its time. The flames coming up to consume the figure are of a conventional Catholic interpretation of Hell. Then the snake slithering out his mouth to blind him shows how his own envy will inhibit his judgment. Also, I think he may somehow be cuckolding himself with these feelings of envy, which explains his horns. That or this figure is just a straight up demonic disciple of Satan. Finally, Invidia, Italian for envy, etched in stone above the disciple’s head channels old testament punishment, which is the only kind of punishment worthwhile.”

            

The Reporter looked up from his notebook. “You know, that wasn’t all that bad. You had a pretty decent interpretation of that fresco.”

            

“Thanks,” Jacques said, putting his phone away. “I just read that all off the internet.”

            

“What?”

            

“Yeah, check out the My Kid Could Paint That blog site sometime. It comes in handy.”

           

“If you just read that off your phone, why did you really pick this painting?”

            

“Dude, the guy’s puking a snake. How cool is that?”

German Expressionism: Hitler labeled it as degenerate art, but Hollywood adored it. Kirchner and his ilk painted scenes that would define German cinema and later come to influence film noir in the United States. Kirchner’s Kiss practically looks like an artist’s rendition of a scene from Fritz Lang’s M or Curtiz’s Casablanca.

Do you remember reels of film? Or the clicking sound projectors would make? For a moment, lose yourself. Lean back in your seat and relax. You can hear the clicking now. Newspaper headlines soar onto the screen. They are constantly changing, telling the story of a crowded town full of crime and loneliness. Suddenly, paint drips onto the ever changing headlines. The outlines of buildings, a man, and a woman appear. The couple leans towards each other. Then the title of the movie appears in the sky: Kiss.

Works such as Kirchner’s Kiss give off this old Hollywood vibe because they gave birth to old Hollywood, but I love German Expressionism for reasons beyond this. German Expressionism acts as the gap between Romanticism and film. Many German Expressionists were inspired by the German landscape artists of the Romantic period, which happens to be my favorite period of art (besides German Expressionism). In fact, some of Kirchner’s own work looks to be inspired by such artists as Caspar David Friedrich, painter of Wanderer above the Sea of Mist.

German Expressionism takes Romanticism’s focus on nature, solitude, and the individual and updates them for modern times. These feelings where then captured on film by Fritz Lang, who brought them to Hollywood as he fled persecution by the Nazi party. The Romantics’ focus on the individual can be seen in how cold the city looks. Kirchner paints with a blue that reflects the coldness of the town. There are no other people in the portrait besides the couple. So despite being around masses of people, the growing city lifestyle actually swallows the couple. The canvas being covered in newspapers also reinforces this motif. Here are actual images and stories of people living in this town, but they are nothing more than ink on paper. Kirchner then paints the woman yellow, making her this warming and comforting force for the man. Kirchner only outlined the man, making him empty and waiting for the woman to give him comfort and life again.

My family has fallen away from many of the Catholic traditions, but I will never leave behind the medal around my neck. My Grandfather gave it to me on my first communion. And after he died, I was trusted with his own from the war.

“Alex, you don’t go to church. You don’t celebrate Lent. And you don’t read the Bible. Why stick with the medal?”

Well, have you ever heard of St. Christopher? He carried the weight and light of the world on his shoulder. This task may seem impossible for one man to perform, or at least the Church thought so. That’s why they revoked his canonization. St. Christopher was determined to be based off fictitious legends that were spread in Greece to popularize Christianity. So knowing this story never happened, do you want to hear it?

Christopher, a literal giant among men, served God by carrying people across a river that was too dangerous to cross alone. One day, a child came to Christopher. He wanted to be taken across the river, but with this child came the weight of the world. Ribera captures the scene well. Darkness closes in around saint in an almost Caravaggio-esque manner, especially in the bottom of the painting. Notice then how Christopher’s body acts as a shield between the child and the darkness at the bottom of the painting. Light floods in from the top right corner, drawing attention towards the child and the globe that he holds. Though, that ray of light is not the primary light source in the painting. The child radiates his own light for he is Christ. Once Christopher put the child on his back and set off into the river, the saint felt the burden of the child grow until it equaled the literal weight of the world. Christopher strained under this weight and almost failed, but in the end his faith allowed him to successfully reach the other side with the child still on his back. Once the child descended, he aged into the figure of Christ himself who said, “You had on your shoulders not only the whole world, but Him who made it.”

So why do I continue to put my faith and find comfort in this fictitious tale? Well look at Ribera’s Saint Christopher. He presents the story of man protecting God no matter the cost. Notice the vein popping in Christopher’s bicep and his bending under Christ’s weight. The force of the light ray also sends Christopher down, but he will not fall. He continues with his task and completes it. His perseverance tells of humanity’s will and what one can do with it if only they have a little faith. So I must have faith that where I am going will be right and that this pain in my heart will only be temporary. As long as I carry this light I have developed in the last four years upon my shoulders, it will be all right. I imagine my Grandfather thinking similar thoughts while waiting on a boat and hearing the sounds of approaching war. God can protect you, you can protect Him, and we both have the power to protect and be ourselves.

My faith in Christopher’s story and the values I glean from it come hand in hand, but a foolish few need proof in order to find merit in this story. I now introduce St. Menas, an Egyptian saint who had been martyred in Antioch. Historical documents tell of the Roman conscription of an enormous North African named Menas. Menas’ military service brought him to Antioch where he learned of Christianity. Thus, Menas became a Christian among Roman soldiers, so the saint left the military in order to be a hermit and preach. In his hermitage, Menas helped travelers cross a violent river. Eventually, the Romans caught up to him, resulting in Menas’ martyrdom. The local Christian groups in the area, not knowing Menas’ true name, took to calling him the bearer of Christ, or Christopher. These Christians then sent his body home to Egypt where the locals recognized him as Menas. The Catholic Church celebrates Menas’s feast day on November 11th.

Persevere. It’s the hardest part.

One of my oldest friends once told me his philosophy about life. The world doesn’t seem balanced, but it is. A good thing will come along that makes you happy. Then other good things follow. You all of a sudden have this feeling of superiority. This elated state prevents you from feeling bad about the less than thrilling parts of life. Nothing can bring you down until something actually does. The safety net breaks and you fall hard. Your peace shatters. One event or several that simultaneously occur will begin this downfall. As you drop to the floor, all the tiny things matter. They sting and bruise. And nothing can bring you back up again, until you let it. You find the strength to climb back up and find the good again. When you start climbing, the good comes. The cycle begins again. Good days pass followed by bad ones. Karma, fate, random happenstance; they all achieve balance in the end.

How do we persevere through our hardships? My friend and I are still working on that. We’re two young adults who have no idea what we want from the world. Did you expect our philosophy to be flawless? In fact, we both recently had troubles persevering. Hell, maybe I should not have used the past tense in the preceding sentence. We, being young, get stuck on things.

As I rebuild past moments in my head and kick myself, I can look at Bernini’s David to get a good idea of what I should actually be doing. Bernini creates movement. He forges action out of motionless rock. Sitting alone in my room will not help. I must move. David and I both stand in the middle of a storm, but you cannot see a physical cloud hovering over us. Bernini did not sculpt the giant David must slay. Instead he focused on the hero’s internal struggle. David stands hunched over, readying his slingshot. This hunching brings the weight of the world down upon him. The strain can be seen on his face and in his physique, but does it look like this will stop David? No. His left foot pushes off the ground, canceling the downward force. He can hold himself up. He sucks in his lips. Nostrils flare. Eyebrows scrunch. David will not stop. He will move towards the giant. He will slay the giant.

Triumph comes to those who try. David moves against the problems facing him. My friend and I must do that. Rolling over and dying simply isn’t our style. And I refuse to let it become us. I feel secure in our philosophy. Good days will be good if you let them, and if you do not dwell on the preceding bad one.

Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre, Utagawa Kuniyoshi, 1844

While browsing the internet, I came upon this beauty of a painting. My initial thought was, “God, this is a cool Metallica shirt.” But then I became saddened when I realized this painting was not a promotion of one of my favorite metal bands. Instead, Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre by Utagawa Kuniyoshi happens to be a cultural landmark for Japanese art. Though for the record, I personally would head bang in a shirt with this Skeleton Spectre on it. He stands up there alongside Iron Maiden’s Eddie or Megadeth’s Vic Rattlehead. 

Utagawa Kuniyoshi’s art embodied the last great moment of the Ukiyo-e movement in Japanese art. Ukiyo-e translates to “pictures of the floating world.” The idea behind the movement seems rather abstract, but I believe it would not be a stretch to compare Ukiyo-e to European Romanticism. In Kuniyoshi’s time, many of the paintings or woodcuts tried to capture the spirit of Japan, so they focused on landscapes and cultural icons. In Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre, the samurai Mitsukuni has been sent by the Emperor of Japan to bring the Witch Takiyasha to justice. Takiyasha’s father, who had already been slain in combat, had led a rebellion against the emperor. The Witch then continued on her father’s crusade. Mitsukuni confronts her only to find she has the magical ability to summon a gigantic Skeleton Spectre who will do anything she says. Kuniyoshi illustrates the final confrontation between the Witch and Mitsukuni. This tale had captivated Japan for around nine hundred years when Kuniyoshi’s painting finally came out.

The Skeleton Spectre, much like Murray on a Dio album cover, takes up a majority of the painting. In fact, one could say he consumes half of the whole painting. The abstract yellow hay that separates Mitsukuni and the Spectre diagonally divides the painting in two. Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre also is a triptych (as Kuniyoshi was very much inspired by European paintings he had seen since the opening up of Japan), which divides the painting vertically into threes. The Witch gets her own panel on the left. Notice the zigzag bars coming down on her head and how her gaze creates a dent in the yellow hay. This mimics the downward force of the Skeleton Spectre looming over the Mitsukuni. Though the Skeleton’s hand peeling back the hay takes the Witch’s piercing gaze a couple steps farther.

While I may not have gotten the metal band I wanted when I first looked at this painting, I can certainly say that I did receive a new appreciation for Japanese art. To be honest (and this may come as a shock to you), our Renaissance Art History class does not put much emphasis on Japanese artwork. So I can proudly say I am all the more cultured in my art history studies thanks to Kuniyoshi’s painting… and my love for intense metal music.

Call Munch’s Amor and Psyche a representation of myth without the myth. Amor, more commonly known as Cupid, lacks any sense of godliness. He has no wings, no bow, and no arrow. Munch has also taken Psyche’s astounding beauty that gave her the ability to seduce a god. She merely looks tired and deformed.

Munch attacks his subject matter in an entirely different way than all other painters our class has examined this year. His post-impressionism seeks to represent more abstract ideas than the Renaissance styles. These painters focused on literal representation and their symbolism extended only so far as to include halos and chimeras. Now, you may say I am overlooking very important and big exceptions, but guess what? This is my blog post, and I am tired of looking at angels, saints, and Jesus. Now, you know your class has looked at way too many religious paintings when the Catholic kid says something like this. So buckle up and ride along with my gross, untruthful generalization. I miss my Munch, and I want him back for a day.

Metamorphoses describes the tale of Psyche and Cupid as thus. A princess named Psyche possesses such beauty that the goddess Venus becomes jealous. So she sends her son Cupid down to take care of the problem. Cupid’s mission is simple: make Psyche fall in love with the ugliest dude he can find. There’s only one problem. Cupid has kind of a soft spot for beautiful princesses. So instead he secretly marries Psyche, but does not allow her to know his true identity. Henceforth, Cupid only visits her in the dead of night. Finally, she gets fed up with this arrangement and lights a lamp. She then discovers Cupid’s godhood. Needless to say this causes some complications for their relationship, but it all works out in the end.

I’d call this a rather peachy story, but Munch rejects that interpretation. Instead he plays with the idea of darkness and the fragile structure of the mind within these godlike figures. Notice the heavy, black brush strokes over Amor. These are prison bars. They are on Psyche’s face as well. The background has similar brush strokes, but they are white. I imagine the whiteness represents Psyche’s turning on of the light. The light then begins to illuminate the two figures. It has reached all of Psyche’s body and Amor’s shoulders. In the myth, Psyche discovers Cupid’s godliness. In Munch’s painting, she discovers a lonely, naked man. Also, the beauty Psyche supposedly possesses does not seem apparent. She looks blurred and delicate. These two bigger than life figures are really fleeting ideas that can be repressed. Amor, or love, and Psyche, the mind, are illogical. Munch did not want these things in his life, along with God. I believe I have already written a blog post talking about Munch’s atheism, but to reiterate Munch thought the world too ugly of a place to be created by a perfect all-knowing entity. There are only people, and they create myths in order to explain the things they cannot understand, such as the mind and emotions. However in Munch’s time, Freud had dissected the mind. Myths were no longer needed and to Munch, neither was love or rationality.

         
I want to throw a rock through this painting and watch it shatter like the cruddy stained glass window it reminds me of. Give me a straight edge and canvas, and I could make this same exact painting. This says a lot since my mother has never been proud of a single one of my art projects (but of course she hangs up everything my little brothers bring home, not jealous… okay, a little jealous). I will admit, with my art handicap, it would take me a significant amount of time to reproduce Mondrian’s Composition with Red, Blue, and Yellow, but I would be able to get it done eventually.

I get what Mondrian’s game is. He’s a harbinger for what Rothko would do. Here are a bunch of shapes and colors that are meant to be abstractions of the human condition. The viewer is supposed to feel an emotion from Composition, but all I get is sterility. One then could argue that the painting is supposed to be a clean, organized color-wash of bareness, but most of the Mondrian paintings I have examined are exactly that. I feel no emotion or strong feelings when looking at this painting, which makes me feel it shouldn’t be studied unless you want to go to sleep.

Sigh… I have just thoroughly bashed this painting. I feel like the professional art historians in the room are collectively judging me as an ignorant punk who knows nothing about art. I would then confirm their beliefs by showing them my third grade art project.

All my quibbling aside though, why is Piet Mondrian’s Composition up on a museum wall? First off, Mondrian’s work launched a new movement in modern art called De Stijl. This basically consists of abstraction at its most basic form. Mondrian believed he could break every object down to simple shapes, foreshadowing how science would soon be able to break down matter to its simplest form: atoms. A little time after that, scientists could even split those. Composition embodies a very modern form of thought that predicted many absurd impossibilities passing into the realm of possible. The idea of being able to break things down into the smallest building blocks of life was far beyond Mondrian’s years and incredibly brilliant. I just believed it failed in the execution.

If you realized she had no head, then you are a genius. Da Vinci appears to have forgotten to give his kneeling lady more than an outline of a head, torso, and arms, but this plays into our artistic viewing of the piece perfectly. Now we can make a triangle out of the lower portion of her body. Follow the slanting line of her back up until the point where da Vinci stopped painting. Then follow that line to where the fabric hits the ground. A ha! Triangle! Da Vinci, you have done it again. Your half-finished studies will never cease to amaze the easily amused public. Soon, there will be a whole room in the Louvre dedicated to this piece. Every day people will line up by the thousands to see it. And the scene will remind me of something that happened to me earlier in the week.

While at a music festival for my younger brother’s school, a group of student performers where getting ready to perform Pink Floyd’s “Speak to Me/Breath” (for you uneducated lot, that is off of Dark Side of the Moon. You know, the album cover with the glass triangle revealing a beam of light’s electromagnetic spectrum. If you still don't know, look left.) As soon as the band started playing the song, my brother’s friend yelled, “This is one of the best songs from the greatest albums of all time!” As the room applauded my brother’s friend, signaling their agreement, I looked inside myself and came upon a startling realization. I suddenly yelled, “I think it’s overrated!” The room went silent. I was lucky to escape with my life, but that aside, da Vinci is overrated.

Even though I believe Masaccio, Caravaggio, and Donatello are better Renaissance Era artists, I can still find the artistic merit in da Vinci’s sketches and studies. During the Renaissance, a desire to paint naturally people and places became very popular. This was called Scientific Naturalism, and no one committed to Scientific Naturalism like Leonardo da Vinci. His sketchbooks are full of notes, sketches, ideas, and inventions. Da Vinci even went so far as to dissect human bodies to better understand them. He believed that with a better understanding of the body one could more accurately present and paint it. This study of a woman kneeling accurately represents da Vinci’s method and desire to further Scientific Naturalism. A painter cannot understand how to paint drapery without practicing and looking at how the shadows behave within the clothing’s folds.

This being said, I still think da Vinci and Dark Side of the Moon are overrated. Everyone knows Pink Floyd’s best album is The Wall. 

Hypothetical situation: Your hair reaches your waist. Sweat dribbles down your forehead as you air guitar along to Iron Maiden’s “Number of the Beast.”  Suddenly, your Catholic mother bursts through the door. She begins to yell at you to turn down the music when she looks to the side and sees an upside down cross nailed to your wall. She flips out, assuming you have been trying to summon the Dark Lord with the hidden messages in your music. Right now, you have the opportunity of being a better Catholic than your mother and get out of this situation scot free. This is what you do.

Calmly, log on to ArtStor and look up Masaccio’s Pisa Altarpiece: Crucifixion of Peter. Then tell her the story behind the painting. St. Peter, one of Jesus’ twelve apostles and often regarded as the first pope, preached for the last years of his life in Rome. At this time, the Roman Empire was still thoroughly pagan and killed Christians on a regular basis. Peter ended up being one of these numerous early Christians to be martyred. The Romans, wanting Peter’s death to be as memorable as his Leader’s, ordered Peter to be nailed to a cross and crucified. Usually, criminals were merely tied to a cross and had to carry only half of the cross on their backs. Jesus and Peter were special in that they felt the nails punch through ligament and bone and carried the full weight of their crosses to the site of their crucifixions. But Peter had made mistakes in his life. His faith had wavered when he attempted to walk on water with his Lord. And, on the night of Jesus’ arrest, Peter denied being Jesus’ apostle three times in order to avoid being crucified along with his Messiah. Bearing his guilt on top of his cross, Peter announced he was not worthy of dying in the same way the Son of God had. The Romans obliged Peter’s wishes and crucified him upside down. Henceforth, the upside down cross is recognized as the symbol for St. Peter, not the devil.

Now you have convinced your Mother that, while being a fervent supporter of St. Peter, you are also a well rounded bible scholar. But then she asks why you were listening to Iron Maiden’s “Number of the Beast?”  Not having a convincing reason why, you decide to wow her with your art history knowledge instead. Masaccio constructs St. Peter entirely out of triangles. A strai8ht line runs through his arms. Trace diagonal lines up to the top of the cross. Triangle one accounted for. Then his torso up to his crotch, call it triangle two. These triangles point up, referring to St. Peter’s coming ascension into Heaven. Triangles three and four refer to another one of St. Peter’s roles in Christianity. Triangle three can be found between Peter’s legs and the top of the cross. This downward pressure of the third triangle draws attention to the final triangle, which is located underneath Peter’s arms. Draw two very narrow lines from St. Peter’s hands to his head. Triangle four reminds the viewer how St. Peter was the foundation of Christ’s church. Jesus called St. Peter the rock on which He would build His Church. St. Peter’s head, contained in the final triangle, appears to be the rock on which this painting was built on. This triangle holds the other triangles up, along with the people nailing St. Peter’s hands to the cross and the spectators. All their weight lies on Peter’s arms. Then the diagonal lines running parallel to Peter’s legs force the weight of the painting’s settings onto Peter. Mom, Masaccio paints St. Peter carrying way more than just a wooden cross on his back.

That’s all fine and dandy, she says. But why have you not stopped listening to your devil music? Cue Bruce Dickinson screaming, “666, the number of the beast, Hell and fire were spawned to be released!”