A Macabre View of Paris Part Four

 The paintings in Paris are not always of beautiful scenery with soft, impressionistic vistas.  This time around, we'll look at a few of the more macabre images you will find around the City of Light.
Right away, as you enter the Pantheon, you'll be treated to this larger than life mural of the patron Saint of Paris--Saint Denis.  As we've mentioned in earlier posts, after his martyrdom, he is said to have picked up his head and walked with it, preaching the gospel for ten miles before finally dying.
You can't keep a good man down.

 Okay, this takes some explaining.  These next two are from the Louvre, details from Mantegna's Pallas and the Vices (aka Minerva Expelling the Vices from the Garden of Virtues).
Here we see two figures helping a third, drunken figure.  Their Latin headbands are translated as (left to right) Ingratitude, Ignorance, Avarice/Greed.

 This detail from the same painting has some rather creepy little owl cupids who seem to be helping Athena, though it is hard to tell.  Are they instead, perhaps,the classic precursors to Batman and Hawkeye?

 I know we covered this guy before, but he offered a hand in order to demonstrate the more ghoulish images you'll find in Paris.  This detail, from Salvator Rosa's Heroic Battle.  A picture that seems to be an inspiration for Hammer Horror films.

This detail is from a mural on the walls of the Pantheon--Joseph Paul Blanc's The Vow of Clovis at the Battle of Tolbiac.










Finally, we get this great shot, which is not a a scene from the latest Scarlett Johansson tough girl action flick.  It is, in fact, from Jacques-Louis David's 1799 oil painting The Intervention of the Sabine Women, which is in fact a far more moving story than a Hollywood action movie would be.  The Romans, denied a chance to marry women from the Sabine tribe, attack the Sabines at a festival in order to steal away the women.  In order to prevent further bloodshed, the women intervene, offering themselves as a sort of living sacrifice.  Of interest here is the woman in yellow holding up her baby, which I imagine is her way of attempting to keep it out of the melee all around her.  Even more moving is the old woman, in the center, just beginning to bare her breast in a sacrificial gesture.  And of course, what parent cannot be moved by the little pile of babies endangered by the warring men as the women hover over them in an attempt to protect them?

A Macabre View of Paris Part Two

When I think of the opera, I think of big Viking women singing like there’s no tomorrow.  And maybe a chorus made up of peasants, singing about their happy little lives—just before they storm the castle.  Basically, something dramatic is always going down.  So why shouldn't the décor at the Opera Garnier be just as dramatic?

We start with this happy looking fella, who I noticed staring down at me from the ceiling of the outdoor balcony overlooking Place de l'Opera.  Is he crying because spears are sticking out of his head?  Or is he just sad that no one notices him as they stand at the railing and watch all the brightly colored buses zoom by?  As drama masks go, this face, much like the face of a two-year-old who has been told no when he tries to stick his finger in the light socket, is pretty standard.  If I had spent more time searching I’m sure I would have found his counterpart—a happy face.

I’m pretty proud of this find.  It wasn't easy to see, being in a fairly darkened anteroom off the main staircase.  I've increased the light to it so you can see the wild bats and owls painted above the lights.  This is great detail.  Very imaginative.

This little dragon was slinking his way around the base of the main staircase.  He wasn’t easy to spot, since his color blended in with the stairs, and he was really, really still.  Why would a dragon be sneaking around the hems of all those overdressed opera socialites?

Every Opera needs a ghost.  And this one looks deliciously spooky.  Even better, she has a companion ghost.  What was so great about them was the fact that they were lit from below, surrounded mostly by the dark.

On the front corner of the Opera, you can see this fun-loving group.  The only thing better than an angel that destroys its foe?  One who takes the time to step on him after she’s done so.  Whoever this guy is, she is really infuriated with him.  I get the idea she’s about to use that stick to bash in his head.  She does not like the guy.  It’s a safe bet.

A bonus picture for today.  From the Musee D’Orsay, we see this depiction of hell in William Bouguereau's Dante and Virgil.  This demon is pleased to see Redhead tearing into his wrestling partner—with both his teeth and with his hand.  I was impressed that my fourteen-year-old son knew right away who these guys were.  Anybody else know?  I’ll give you a hint—just off to the side we can see Dante and Virgil observing the scene.

  Bouguereau painted this terrible scene in an effort to win the Prix de Rome from the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture, which he had failed to win the previous two years.  It was said Jacques-Louis David nearly attempted suicide after failing to win in three attempts.  Bouguereau's Dante and Virgil won him the prize.  (A feat even Degas and Manet never accomplished.)  You can see the full painting here, a site with the complete list of his paintings.  Despite this intense, violent scene, 29 years later, Bouguereau would give the world his most famous and more beautiful work: The Birth of Venus, which won the Grand Prix de Rome at the 1879 Paris Salon.  Botticelli's The Birth of Venus is by far the more famous, but I always liked Bouguereau's more.

  Amazingly, Bouguereau went from being one of the most popular artists of his time to near eradication from the world of art after Degas and many others singled him out and derided his work.  His staunch opposition to the Impressionists seems have been a major factor in this.  At one point, his name was not even listed in encyclopedias.  Oppose newly popular artists at your own risk!

A Macabre View of Paris Part One

Well, I've shown you so many beautiful things from our Paris adventure, I thought I would add a few of the more macabre, darker images I noticed while in the City of Light.  This more sinister side does not always mean there is less beauty here.  Often, this means just the opposite.  The artists rendered many powerful and bizarre images in quite beautiful ways.
This first batch if from Versailles, the apex of Beauty in that city.  Yet in all this beauty, there is often an odd little detail that makes you sort of wonder what was going on.

 This odd little scene is near the entrance to one of the main courtyards, over the gilded iron fence.  I don't know if this statue was in place at the time, but if there's a revolution fomenting in the streets, it is probably not the best thing to have your goddesses and Royalty depicted as sitting on the backs of the downtrodden.
  I could be wrong.

 I actually hurried over to this statue, which is quite large, overlooking the Water Parterre, because I thought it would be a touching scene of a father holding his infant.
  Is there anything touching about this father?  I'm thinking this child needs to be placed in Protective Services, sooner rather than later!

 I'm not always the best resource for the Greek Myths and Roman Myths, and German Myths, and Urban Myths.  So this might not be as odd as it looks, if you know the story.  Okay, I suppose this guy is really feeling guilty for having killed his lover in a hasty moment and decided to stick the sharp end of his sword into the breast pocket of his shirt for safe keeping.  Of course, being a warrior, and not a geek, he was not wearing his pocket protector, and so he has inadvertently stuck his sword into his breast.
  Anyone have any better ideas?

 This is just a great, decrepit scene from Marie Antoinette's play village.  I imagine this spiral staircase, made of wood with what was more than likely great skill hundreds of years ago, was something Marie was proud to show off to friends.  And so was everyone else, which is why they have trouble admitting the old staircase needs to be torn down and an escalator installed for all the lazy, huge American tourists who visit daily.

 In the Hall of Mirrors, this odd little scene was staring down over us from on high.  I'm pretty sure that's Boromir staring out from the top center, probably saying "One Does Not Simply Paint the Hall of Mirrors with Dutch Boy Flat Black."  (If you look close enough, you'll see this Boromir look-a-like is actually someone from Holland, according to the French inscription.)
  I really like the shades on either side of the lower painting.  They've got to be ghosts.  I'm gonna be disappointed if the chief curator of Versailles comes on this blog and leaves a snarky comment that they are not ghosts but simply faded images that have not yet been restored to their original color.

Here's my favorite guy at Versailles.  When you enter the War Room, from the diplomatic rooms, this guy is on your immediate left, just inches from you.  He's a startling sight to behold.  He is, in fact, a prisoner of war, who, along with his buddy on the other side, pull the chains that secure the great relief you see just behind him of King Louis the Some-Such (XIV, I'd guess, but I can't recall off hand and I'm too lazy to go look,) as he parades in the war room on his horse, gloating over his conquests and spoils.
  The prisoner's expression is priceless.