Trouble in Paradise

The story of Adam and Eve appears in art a lot.  There’s just something about this particular story of the first humans’ fall from grace that strikes a chord with artists.  I tend to think it’s a combination of human nature wanting to have a scapegoat or two for all of its problems, plus artists loving any excuse to paint people naked.  But whatever. 

This particular rendition is by 15^th century Italian artist Giovanni di Paolo.  It’s actually called “The Creation and the Expulsion from the Paradise,” but I like to imagine it all as a more creative take on the expulsion bit.

We’ll start with God.

He swoops in, surrounded by winged angel heads.  Were all those angels strangulated before they were beheaded, giving them that attractive purplish tint?  Also, why is God always old in paintings?  Here he just created the universe, but he’s already literally trying to chase the kids off his lawn.  WITH THE UNIVERSE.  To me, it looks like he’s rolling the universe right back up, Katamari Damacy style.  “You kids don’t like my rules?  FINE.  NO UNIVERSE FOR YOU.”

Before the whole fruit issue, it kind of looks like there were problems in the garden already.

Are these demonic groundhog holes, burrowing up through the Orchard of the Lord?  See if you can tell when spring arrives in a vacuous abyss, Punxsutawney Satan.

Evidently Adam and Eve weren’t the only ones on restrictive diets in the universe.  It is possible that the reason we can’t see angels is because they are always turned sideways to our line of sight.  I have to say that the angel doesn’t look very fearsome as he chases the humans out.  Really he looks more like he’s telling them, “Please…go now…find some food, before it’s too laaaaate…”

I think the best part, though, is Adam.  Here he is, being kicked out of Paradise, the universe being sucked up behind him, and he takes the time to cop a feel as he strolls out. 

And thus, priorities for mankind were set forever.

Sexy Ladies, Hallucinatory Babies, and Megalomaniacs with Feelers

Here at SARFT, we have seen many times that nothing inspires artists like naked ladies.  We have also seen that Belgians are weird.  This week we combine these two themes as we look at the work of the 19th century Belgian painter Félicien Rops.  I’ve looked at one of his works before, but it seems that was only the tip of the kinky iceberg.  WikiPaintings claims that his style is “symbolism.”  I think that “women wearing nothing but stockings” only goes so far as a symbol, but then what do I know?

It started when the title of this painting caught my eye: “Pornocrates.”  Uhh…porn for people who get off to Greek philosophers?

A blindfolded lady takes her pet pig for a walk.  She has accessorized well, but seems to have forgotten her dress.  In the background, baby angels make disturbingly ecstatic poses in the air.  I guess they like pigs?

Continuing the stockinged-lady-with-baby-angels theme, here is “Cythera’s Toilet.” 

I suppose they are supposed to be bearing her grooming tools and makeup, but frankly I have to assume that anything in tiny angel-borne vials are drugs.  Also one baby is bringing a breast on a plate?  Maybe it’s Jell-o made with a novelty mold.

This is the technically accurately named “Woman on a Rocking Horse.”

A Dominatrix rides with impunity, spurred onward by a band of grooving demons.  Beside her, a monkey dressed like Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother is forced to perch on a pole.  I think that Rops’ childhood nanny may have had some serious issues. 

But not as serious as those that Rops himself developed.  I debated for a while whether to include “The Satanic Removal,” part of a Satanic threesome of paintings.  If you’re curious but (rightfully) terrified of clicking links around here, it involves a naked lady, a frisky broomstick, and a demon so well hung he could actually hang himself.

Instead, I’ll conclude with the significantly tamer “Behind the Scenes.”

Compared to come of the others, this one is fairly unremarkable...except for the dude who is a cross between a smarmy Emperor Ming and the Monarch.  

SYMBOLISM!!

Hungry Hungry Demigods

Buddhism has a rich body of mythology, which is often expressed through intricate art.  This makes it a prime target for ignoramuses such as myself to use as fodder for a humor blog.  Thus I present to you a 19^th century work, “Rahula and his Assembly.”

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I should note that if you do a Google search for “Rahula,” you will find that this is the name of Siddhartha Gautama (the Buddha)’s biological son.  Although I thought at first that there must have been something freaky in the water his mother was drinking while pregnant, a little further searching revealed that it is also the name of “the horrific Nyingma protector deity, wrathful, with nine heads and a giant face on the belly.”  So plus side, the Buddha’s son didn’t have faces all over his body.  Probably, anyway.  On the other hand, his parents probably should have used a better Baby Name book.

Rahula is the centerpiece of all this, so we’ll start with him.  But where to begin? 

We’ll go with the head(s).  Really this is a very impressive tower of heads, tastefully adorned with little bonus skulls.  He must pay his eyebrow groomer very well to maintain that highly manicured look over all of those eyes – even the tapered look over the third eyes!  Very stylish.  Almost as stylish as his mustache and beard, carefully shaved and waxed into individual curls.  It must take him hours to get ready in the morning.  And when he finally gets ready, he’s got a lot of hungry mouths waiting for breakfast! 

The one directly in his stomach being perhaps the most voracious of these.  I mean, his stomach-mouth is at least twice the size of his main face-mouth.  Imagine how many Pop-Tarts it would take to keep it satisfied!  Especially as the food would just keep falling out, since the stomach is a face.  Brings new meaning to the idea of being stuffed to the eyeballs. 

In addition to his impressive ginger stomach-beard, he also has eyes on his hands and arms, presumably to allow him to aim his bow, arrow, and sword better.  I don’t want to know what the nipple-eyes’ main purpose is.

Moving down to his legs, we find that he doesn’t have legs so much as terrifying tentacles protruding from his torso, tipped with even more faces.  We find he is sitting on a couple of uncomfortable-looking people, in a setup for one of the stranger examples of hentai to grace the 19^th century. 

Rahula’s entourage has some interesting entries, as well.  First, above his heads we find this trio.

Just a couple of normal enlightened deities, chillin’ on their standard-issue lotus-blossom clouds.  And this guy.

He’s all like, “RAAAAAGHHHHH!  MERE MORTAL!  I SHALL STOMP ON YOUR FACE WITH MY STUMPY LEGS FOR ATTEMPTING TO STEAL MY SACRED CHEESE STICK!”

Then there are a couple of invisible naked androgynous-types, pretending to be birds as they chase after a giggling flaming skull.

I think this guy is my favorite, though.

His many faces twist in rage, hair standing on end, shaking his rage-snake at the heavens.  I assume his anger is related to the bowl of what appears to be noodles in his other hand.  I pale to think of how the divine noodle-shop messed up his order.  “I said no spring onions!  PREPARE FOR VENGEANCE!!!”

Triumph of the Citrus Prince

I thought I would try to steer away from “Bare Boobs and Breastfeeding” as a primary theme this week, and instead return to another much-loved theme in art, “Hubris.”

This is Frederick Henry, 17^th century Prince of Orange, seen here after a tragic accident involving a pencil sharpener, his face, and severe neck trauma requiring use of a Lace Brace.

And this is the “Triumph of Frederik Henrik,” by Jacob Jordaens.

It was a modest triumph, really.

I should note that this was commissioned by Frederick Henry’s consort after his death, to show how awesome he was.  But really it goes to show that he couldn’t triumph over death.  I assume that that is why Skeletor here is about to stab that pansy angel in the face before moving on to Freddy. 

Elsewhere in the heights the Baby Vine crop is literally dripping with fruit, ripe and ready for plucking.  Mmm, plump, juicy babies.

Back down on the ground, a naked Father-Son duo practice for their entry to the Hawkeye Initiative.  Curve those spines and pop out those tushies, boys!

The son looks like he’s getting up to some mischief, inciting a stampede in the middle of a crowded plaza.  This guy has already been trampled to death by overexcited horses. 

This is why you should always adhere to the maximum capacity warnings for public spaces.  Here it was 100 people OR 50 horses OR 2 hungry lions.

At least the dead trampled guy’s body won’t go to waste.

A few men apparently have a brilliant scheme to steal this life-sized golden statue while no one is paying attention.  HEEEEAVE!

Finally, we have the center of attention himself, His Godliness Frederick Henry.  He lounges casually on his golden chariot, serene in the middle of all the chaos.  Beside him is his trusty staff.  He has apparently taken the Anime approach to weaponry, with the assumption that the bigger the sword the better.  Or maybe it’s just his consort’s wishful thinking.

No Thanks, I Quit Drinking (Breastmilk)

Dear readers, I apologize for being remiss here.  These are hectic times, and at the end of the day I've been tired and uninspired.  But for the sake of keeping on the sporadic blogging bandwagon, I present you with this, which is vaguely in line with the theme from last time.

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This is "St. Nicholas Refusing His Mother’s Milk,” by an unknown artist.  Apparently St. Nicholas' mother has vases for breasts.  Either that, or she's pointing a flesh-colored water balloon at her son.

St. Nicholas himself appears to have been cross-bred with a caterpillar.

And this is the conversation they are having, apparently having been locked in a battle of wills for about 3 days straight.

Mother: DRINK IT.  DRINK THE MILK.  RIGHT NOW.
St Nicholas: NOOOOOOO.  STOP POINTING THAT THING AT ME.  
Mother: I'VE BEEN TAKING LESSONS FROM MARY.  YOU CANNOT ESCAPE MY LASER LACTATION DEVICE. 

St. Bernard Milks It For All It's Worth

This week, not one, but two people sent me images for this blog.  It made me happy that some people think of me when they see art.  Then I realized this means that people see drawings of semi-nude women and butt jokes and think “Oh yeah, that’ll be up her alley.”  But I digress. 

This week we look at depictions of St. Bernard’s vision of Mary.  I was unaware of this story, but having now looked into it apparently it was quite a popular vignette in paintings.  The story goes that St. Bernard was praying before a statue of the Virgin Mary, and he asked her to “show herself to be a mother.”  The statue then came to life, gave the breasticle a bit of a squeeze, and shot virgin-milk directly into his mouth.  Apparently this was supposed to represent either the gift of life, or the “wisdom of God.” 

So without further ado, here is the painting that got the ball rolling here.  I can’t find the artist, but “La Vision de San Bernardo de Claraval” appears at the Museo Palacio Arzobispal de Lima.

Looks like your typical man holding a Roman torture implement to kneel before a woman surrounded by winged and un-winged babies.  But upon closer inspection…

Really she’s got pretty good range.  Baby Jesus is standing there going, “Well, I guess I can share.  It’s better direct from the source, though.”

Sometimes Mary’s aim is less good (or precise).

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Although that’s probably what I would do if someone asked me to prove myself a mother by breastfeeding them.  In your EYE, disbeliever!

Of course, there are simpler ways of getting at those who question you.  Here Bernard looks like he might be in the middle of a stroke and about to drown in a stream of fresh milk. 

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Sometimes the scene doesn’t show the milk-bestowal proper, instead showing him trying to persuade Mary to just let him have a bit of her sweet, sweet baby food.

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Here there’s the bonus of baby angels everywhere, including Mary standing on baby angel heads.

Then there’s this one, where he’s not so much ready for a drink, as he looks like he might burn a hole in her breast with his Intense Stare. 

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I’m not so sure it’s “proof of motherhood” he’s looking for there….

I leave you with perhaps the most famous image, by Alonzo Cano.

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Clearly Mary has been practicing for that carnival game with the squirtgun and the little targets.  I think she’ll win the giant teddy bear.

It's Tough to Be the Queen - Part 9

Dear readers, this week we turn again to the ongoing Medici Cycle saga.  And this one is a doozy.  Last time, after like nine other paintings, Marie was finally coronated as the Queen of France.  There were angels and it rained gold coins and everything.  Marie was crowned on 13 May, 1610. 

Then, her husband, Henry, was tragically assassinated.  This happened…on 14 May, 1610.

TOTALLY A COINCIDENCE.  And Marie was of course quite reluctant to take full control of the regency.  Sorry, did I say reluctant?  I meant that she took it up the same day her husband was murdered.  Out of a sense of duty to the country, I am sure.

This painting is called the “Death of Henry IV and the Proclamation of the Regency.”  And it is the best representation of an assassination, ever.

Henry is spirited away to the skies, looking understandably concerned at being dragged bodily by two men clothed only in sheets while being harassed by an eagle armed with lightning bolts. 

Back on earth, there is an effort to keep him in the mortal realm.  Not by his wife, of course, but rather by a fire-breathing snake grabbing his ankle.

His wife is already seated on the throne beneath a triumphal arch, “reluctantly” receiving the orb of power from France, whose bosom is dangling all over the place, because it is France.

Meanwhile, Marie has suddenly become a very eligible bachelorette, judging by the throngs of drooling men suddenly clawing at her throne.

Somehow it seems the menfolk weren’t coming a-knocking in quite such numbers BEFORE she was Queen of France, but I am sure this is entirely related to her womanly charms.  Although I would recommend that they all should take a close look at her dead hubby’s obituary in relation to her coronation before getting too amorous.

As a final note, what is going on with this guy??

This appears to be a disembodied zombie head protruding from a shiny shield.  Which I like think is really the message we should take away from this.  “If your husband is coincidentally assassinated one day after you come into a position to get a lot of power from his death, beware the zombie hordes that will come for you from another dimension out of all reflective surfaces.”