My Kid Could Paint That

Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus, 1485

By SARAH XU

Alexandre Cabanel, The Birth of Venus, 1863

By SARAH XU

Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus, 1432

The assignment said three minutes. Three minutes to talk about our assigned painting. You could hope your classmates would ask you-time sucking questions, or that you’d be charming enough that one would need to hold for laughs, and suck up the three minutes that way, but you can never count on it. So I prepared to speak for three minutes. Myth of the characters, symbolism of the colors, and division in the composition all were supposed to take about a minute, with each bullet point to mention carefully selected. So my name was called, and up I went. Not intimidated or nervous, but cautious. Speak too quickly and end to early, or speak too slowly and sound clinical. Three minutes. Go.

I spoke like I read the painting, left to right, pausing to notice quirks and brilliant details. I had hardly reached Venus when I heard the timer sound, but the “keep going” nod of approval was relieving, not intimidating. On I went. I had spent enough time with this work to get not just the bullet points, but the… stuff. The fun stuff. The art stuff. I noticed new things as I went, and it was a thrill to continue. It wasn’t scary anymore, or presentational anymore. It was fun. I learned as I spoke. Myths are fun, art is fun. And when a visitor came, and one person needed to present again for them to observe our class structure, it was fun even a second time. Seeing The Birth of Venus doesn’t fill me with the stress of having to rack my brain for the artist or title, because I know that painting. I have a comfort with it. Now every time I see it I am reminded of three things: the comfort that comes with preparation, the connection one can have with story even if it is not their own, and how convenient Venus’ hair length is. And if that isn’t artistic observation...

Editor's Note: The students were assigned to write about the painting that has impacted them the most. These pieces will run for  about two weeks. 

Sandro Botticelli, Birth of Venus, 1482

Depicting the myth of the creation of the Goddess of Love, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus explores - in one of the first non-biblical female nudes - the use of body language in a work. A fresco technique on canvas, Botticelli’s methods resulted in brighter colors than seen in this time. The gold of Venus’ hair and radiant blues of waves and drapery highlight the achievement of Botticelli through an alternate approach. Contrasts in lighting depict movement, led by Venus’ nude body.

From the God of wind on the left to the Goddess of seasons on the right, Venus begins her transition from the divine to the worldly. Naked and with delicate force, Zepherus uses his wind to push Venus toward earth. Separation between the two places is created by Venus, appearing upright. On the left, blue vastness symbolizes the divinity Venus came from, contrasting the fertility and fruitulness of the earth on the right. At first glance, Venus stands firmly, creating a distinct separation between the two spheres. However, with closer examination as we follow the line of her legs, we see her sway more toward the right, already accepting and embracing her arrival in the natural world. A nude body, without the disruption of clothing and drapery made so popular in the Rennisance, more clearly accentuates the action of a body than did the flow and pattern of drapery in a work. For the first time, the flow of a body could be used to show movement.

Female nudity in this work, deemed sufficiently tasteful for a church setting, draws attention to Venus’ innocence and freshness upon being newly born. Pale skin, closely mirroring that of her "father" on the left, as well as a covering hand and elongated neck, assists the image of purity in the newborn. Sharp contrast between movement in Venus’ body and movement in Horae’s dress shows variation in methods of achieving movement and flow in a painting. The scantily clad bodies on the left, with arms, legs, and hair, behind the figure, show Venus’ transcendence to earth. On the right, with outstretched arms, and presenting a floral tapestry with which to swaddle her kin, the body of Horae welcomes and receives.

Born from a shell, Venus still manages to humanize her innocence, even being fully grown. The language of the figures, though without much support from detailed facial expressions, presents clear motion. Newfound accentuation of body lauguage through nudity allowed Botticelli to enhance motion and myth, while still allowing for enough modesty in his subjects to be displayed in a church for all of Italy to see.