Sweet Summer (1912) by John William Waterhouse

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@pacified-requiem
Sweet Summer (1912) by John William Waterhouse
Gustave Caillebotte, The Floor Planers, 1875
All hail Gustave Caillebotte, the only Impressionist who bothered to say “You know what this art movement doesn’t have enough of? Shirtless rough trade, that’s what!” And then he became the change he wanted to see in the world, and I think that’s beautiful.
i saw this in a museum once and i gotta go off on this for a second– not only is it a gorgeous display of technical mastery over light, darkness, composition, form. it’s also a slap in the face to artistic conventions at the time. at the time, you could have nudes but they had to be heroic. they had to be virtuous. 1875, paris– art was supposed to be elevating. it was for the wealthy, it was to be uplifting, it was so everyone who commissioned the pictures could flex their classics education. okay?
so here’s the floor planers. they’re workmen. they’re workmen. they’re not some rent boy you dolled up with a helmet to be achilles or adonis. artists have been hornily painting working-class models (and sex-worker boyfriends) into their portraits forever, but you’re supposed to frame your appreciation for the male form as an intellectually irreproachable appreciation for the heroic body from literature, or, conversely you could depict the humble beauty of peasants, if you must, but it had to be a sort of ode to nature and the simple life. peasants could be art, as long as they were… out there, you know. in a field. being a metaphor. so there’s your options for looking at a shirtless guy: he’s got to be mythic.
but no. look, here, at the workmen. the floor planers. the workmen’s bodies not dressed up in sandals and helmet, in flowers, on a pedestal. the workmen not employed as some distant paean to an arcadian countryside, not stacking sheaves or holding a lamb or elevating the beauty of nature. they’re here, they’re urban, they’re in a room just like you might have. the workers of your world, in your home, in this reality. the male body as a very real, very nonfigurative tool, humble and employed, but still gorgeous. the beauty of the men that the patrician class pays not to see. the men who come into your mansion through the back door and work unseen and leave unseen. those men. there, right there, this painting, glowing and beautiful.
not adonis. but beautiful.
anyway at the time everyone fucking hated this picture because it’s a direct slap across the classist chops. they were BIG MAD, this was filthy, it was an affront. they hated it. the paris salon rejected it. established intellectuals didn’t want anything to do with this kind of confrontation. it wasn’t art.
i just love that.
like, look at those hot guys go. look at the shine on the floor and the way their arms are. no virtuous framing, no classic allusions. just some regular guys making the floors nice for a rich fucker who never laid eyes on them at all. but here they are: look at them.
they’re still beautiful.
#if youd ever walked barefoot on a floor that isnt planed youd think this is heroic too
Oil painting by Ivana Zivić
Jose Royo
The Blue Hour - Max Klinger
Self-Portrait with Death Playing the Fiddle - Arnold Böcklin
The Letter - Franz von Defregger
Reading Lessons by Franz von Defregger
This was my art school’s water fountain. Drink from them wolf tiddies
Assignment misunderstood. I have now built a city.
Give it a day
We took the drunk train home.
They were all absolutely infatuated with him and whispering about how much they wanted to pet him and then shushing each other saying “no that’s rude you can’t! just leave him alone!” so I told them they can pet him if they want and they were absolutely overwhelmed with happiness, while simultaneously being very concerned for his well-being, continually asking if I was very sure that it was okay and that I should please please tell them if I need them to leave him alone.
Basically, it was a great ending to a VERY long day. Sometimes people are really great.
the composition here is honestly close enough to a medieval painting, and just fuckin beautiful in 2138908 ways, that i think we can go ahead and hang this in a museum, thanks
Photograph by Gemmy Woud Binnendijk
Maria Luisa Bartual
Artists who know how to draw armors or very detailed clothing are powerful
oh to draw embroidery like Alexander Roslin does
See it’s stuff like this that makes me believe that selling your soul to the devil in exchange for talent was a real career track in the 1700s.
Helene Beland - Un capteur de lumière, 2012
Garden of Hope - James Gurney (detail)
oh my god, but what is this painting without the dinosaur?
why would you crop the dinosaur
John Salt (British, 1937-2021), Black Ford in Field, 1972. Oil on canvas, 48 x 72 in.