French artists on twitter take a bare room template, and turn it into a comfy room to be quarantined in. I’ll post a few below.
Ok voici le template que @acupoftim nous a fait pour la #Coronamaison ! On dessine l‘étage/la déco/la compagnie/les animaux/la bouffe/les fenêtres, enfin l’endroit idéal pour être confiné(e)! Et si on fait du noir et blanc, que les coloristes n’hésitent pas à reprendre les images pic.twitter.com/7BvqQOA9GU
Voilà ma #Coronamaison avec un peu de déco, un petit bureau, une table à dessin avec mon dessin en cours (la carte de Paris), une pitite TV pour jouer et regarder des films, et une petite bibliothèque… pic.twitter.com/zqALxKcYWE
What a delight it must have been to have been one of Edward Gorey’s correspondents, or even a postal worker charged with handling his outgoing mail.
The late author and illustrator had a penchant for embellishing envelopes with the hairy beasts, poker-faced children, and cats who are the mainstays of his darkly humorous aesthetic.
(A number of these envelopes and some 60 postcards and sketches are included in Floating Worlds: The Letters of Edward Gorey and Peter F. Neumeyer, which documents the correspondence-based friendship between Gorey and the author with whom he collaborated on three children’s books, including the delightfully macabre Donald Has a Difficulty.)
The Edward Gorey House, a beloved Cape Cod residence turned museum, has been keeping the tradition alive with its annual Halloween Envelope Art Contest.
Competitors of all ages vie for the opportunity to have their winning (and runners up and “very-close-to-being-runners-up”) Gorey-inspired entries displayed in the Gorey House and its digital extensions.
Although the museum had known since the 1970s that there was more to The Last Drop (The Gay Cavalier) (around 1639), by the Dutch artist Judith Leyster, its conservators only recently were able to remove overpaint, revealing a skeleton that Leyster had included as a moralising tale of what happens to those who drink to excess. “We didn’t know enough about the painting’s condition to determine if the overpaint could be removed without causing any damage,” says the museum’s director of conservation Mark Tucker. He suspects that the skeleton was removed before Johnson bought it in 1908 to make it more marketable.
Poe also had a tremendous influence on the visual arts in France. Illustrating the text was none other than Édouard Manet, the painter credited with the genesis of impressionism. The resulting engravings, rendered in dark, heavy smudges, give us the poem’s unnamed, bereaved speaker as the young Mallarmé, unmistakable with his pushbroom mustache. Sadly, the New York Public Library tells us, “the publication was not a commercial success.” (See Manet’s design for a poster and the book cover at the top of the post.)
Seven million copies of Aqualung have been sold over the last five-odd decades and the cover has become one of the most recognizable in rock and roll history, migrating from vinyl albums to cassettes, CDs, and iTunes art, plus an unending supply of Aqualung-embossed merchandise. But dad’s earnings had a hard cap. In 1971, Terry Ellis, the co-founder of Chrysalis Records, paid him a flat $1,500 fee for the three paintings which would comprise the album’s artwork, consummating the deal with nothing more than a handshake. No written contractual agreement was drawn up, and, much to his eventual dismay, nor was any determination made about future use.
Pictures of the beguiling queen – who is played by a steely Claire Foy in the hit BBC historical drama Wolf Hall – were roundly destroyed after her death in 1536. The concerted effort to erase her from history was thorough, leaving only a battered lead disc as a contemporary likeness, the Moost Happi medal in the British Museum in London.
But another portrait from the late 16th century has emerged as a likely painting of the queen. Researchers in California used state-of-the-art face recognition to compare the face on the Moost Happi medal with a number of paintings and found a close match with the privately owned Nidd Hall portrait, held at the Bradford Art Galleries and Museums.
The Nidd Hall artwork shows a woman wearing jewellery long thought to be Boleyn’s. But scholars have been divided on the figure’s identity. Some claim the woman is Boleyn’s successor, Jane Seymour, the third wife of King Henry VIII.