Areopagus: The People's Paintings

Welcome one and all to another special volume of the Areopagus. Last week I asked you to send me your favourite paintings and so this week I share with you a little selection of these submissions. The usual seven lessons will return, of course, next week.

Where to begin? With Robert Browning, I think:

That comes from Andrea del Sarto, published in 1855, a dramatic monologue inspired by the eponymous Renaissance painter. Browning, through the figure of del Sarto, explores religion, love, and art. For now we shall focus on the third of these three things alone — though, perhaps, they are interminably intertwined and ineluctably inseparable. Well, it is not my place to ponder that question right now; 'tis yours. So I hand the proverbial microphone over to you, my Gentle Readers. These are some of your favourite paintings...

J.D.

An obscure painting by an obscure artist - “The Shining Plain” by Tom Lea (1907-2001). The first piece of “art” I ever got!

A native of El Paso, Texas, Lea first worked as a painter and muralist, and later as a novelist and historian. During WWII, he served as an artist correspondent for LIFE magazine, embedded with the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps. He was witness to some of the most tragic and bloody days of the war–the sinking of the aircraft carrier Wasp by a Japanese submarine, and the bloody (and strategically questionable) battle of Peleliu, from which came his most well-known paintings, “The Two-Thousand Yard Stare” and “The Price”.

After his return from war, Lea returned to painting real and imagined scenes of his native Texas, perhaps as healing. “The Shining Plain” (1947) was one of these. It is a sparse painting, a field of knee-high grass under an overcast sky, likely inspired by similar plains that still cover much of central and northern Texas. A buckskin-clad man in a coonskin cap, perhaps a settler or trader, rides a horse, and is followed by a pack-carrying burro. Small details–the man’s expressionless, bearded face, the long gun, the conspicuously large knife in his belt–note that this is a man who has seen hardship, war, and death. But other details cast the scene in a more peaceful light. The man and his animals are facing left–westward, perhaps? The man carries his rifle comfortably, barrel facing to the rear. Both horse and burro are in mid-stride, and their ears are perked up and forward–a fearful animal would have their ears flat and lowered. Is there something of interest ahead? A water source? A destination? A place to call home? And above them all, the overcast skies are breaking, and sunlight is pouring through.

Sabine P

My answer surprises myself: I’ve always thought I had a soft spot for painting. Now, reflecting on the question, I find that my absolute favourites are no paintings, but sculptures/installations. There are two: Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party, and Niki de Saint-Phalle’s Tarot Garden. I have never seen the ‘Dinner Party’ in real life, unfortunately. The images were enough, though, to make me feel a deep inner bond to the ideas, the arts, and the crafts that went into it. It was a milestone for the feminism of my generation. I was fortunate enough to visit the Tarot Garden, and it felt like coming home. - Can one say anything more about a work of art?

Both are works by women artists. Women in art were eclipsed for many centuries… Women (in the arts and elsewhere) have made a great step forward in the 20th century. And yet, both my favourites for me are only premonitions of women’s potential to make another world.

Jane L

I hope this isn’t cheating as it’s a print of a drawing which hangs on my wall. It’s a festive dinner at the Seamen’s Hospital in Greenwich (which is close to where I live) and signed WS. The Seamen’s hospital was paid for by Queen Mary wife of King William as she thought that disabled seamen should have a hospital the same as the Chelsea one for soldiers. In the event it proved to be far too grand for the seamen and the wonderful Painted Hall and other buildings were used by the trustees. The rules were strict, but in general life was a great deal better than having to fend for themselves.
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This image is clearly a good deal later than the original foundation (probably mid Victorian) but the dinner looks like a good one and the mugs of ale are cheering. The artist has caught the expressions on the faces of the seamen wonderfully but they all seem much more focussed on eating than on conviviality. Perhaps that’s because such a feast was rare and because they would not have wished the female serving maids to hear what they were saying. It’s also good to see a black seaman in the company and a reminder that we have always been a diverse community. The diners are reminded to be loyal and religious by the texts on the wall and we, the viewers are reminded about the dreadful injuries sustained in the many wars in which so many of them were constrained to fight.

Ghadeer A

One of my favourite paintings is The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanal. Everything about this painting is so beautifully haunting, from the angel's body pose to the emotions depicted in his face and EYES; Sadness, anger, humiliation, and defiance.

Jon S​
I don’t like using the term favourite when asked about a particular work of art, however I have never forgotten stumbling across the magnificent oil painting ‘The Sun Had Closed the Winter Day’ by Joseph Farquharson (1846–1935). I was reading the works of Thomas Hardy and had obtained a copy of his exemplary classic ‘Far From The Madding Crowd’ which so happened to have a print of this oil painting as the books front cover, at the time I was so taken by this snowy winter landscape that shortly after I began investigating the origins of this particular work of art and its painter. During this research I became so inspired that within just a few short days I purchased a train ticket and travelled from London to Manchester just to see the original oil painting hanging in all its splendour at the Manchester Art Gallery.

Rafael W

This one, "Retirantes" by Candido Portinari, one of the most iconic paintings from Brazil, my country.

Here's what it is all about:

The painting shows a family of migrants who are moving from their land in the poor northeastern region of the country to São Paulo, in order to escape drought, hunger, misery and lack of perspective.

The painter portrays the group (four adults and five children in all) in a dark and sad manner. The chosen color palette displays earthy tones, which emphasizes the funereal atmosphere that surrounds the scene. People take up most of the composition and in the background we have a dry and lifeless landscape full of vultures awaiting for their death. The bodies, very thin, reveal the hunger of that people and the expressions on the faces expose the despair of those who fight for survival in such an unequal country.

Sue H

My favourite painting is in the Norton Museum of Art in Palm Beach Florida.

Ruby Greene by James Chapin, 1928. She was an American singer who appeared on Broadway in plays like Porgy and Bess. My husband and I were in this museum and split up to wander on our own. When we reunited, we both said we had a painting we wanted the other to see. And of all the paintings in the Norton, we both went to the same painting, this portrait of Ruby. We have a copy in our den. Great minds……

Peter C

My favorite painting is "Isle of the Dead" by Arnold Böcklin. When I saw this picture I was shocked by it. I felt admiration, fear, peace, sadness. I saw my mother in the boat. I saw all the symbols in it and found commonalities with some of my dreams. It inspired me and I made a series of drawings related to it. At the same time I also discovered Erik Satie and his Gymnopédies. Since then, for me, they are a common whole.

Susan A

1) Mary Wollstonecraft by John Opie, circa 1797 National Portrait Gallery, London

I first saw this painting in 2009 when it was displayed in a room full of portraits of many of the leading writers, artists, thinkers etc of late 18th century/early 19th century Britain. I remember feeling the force of their youthful, radical energy in a period when it must have seemed that it really was possible to create a new kind of society, right now!

It was Mary’s quite small portrait, showing her simply dressed and so very much alive, that I was most drawn to, with limited knowledge of who she was, but a very strong sense that she was someone I’d have crossed the room in a heartbeat to meet, talk with and listen to. She is so radiant and warm and compelling. Then I learned that the painting was done while she was pregnant with the future Mary Shelley, that Mary W. died soon after her birth and John Godwin had this painting above his desk for the rest of his life.

I visited the Gallery again in 2019 where she was hung high up on a wall with what seemed to be a random collection of paintings - still compelling but not where I think she should have been, with all her brilliant & restless contemporaries. And I think John Opie deserves more respect too!

2) The Shipbuilder & his Wife by Rembrandt, 1633 The Royal Collection, UK

I saw this painting in an exhibition of The Queen’s Pictures at the National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, in the mid-1990s. Curiously, I can’t find a record of that exhibition in the otherwise excellent archive on the Gallery’s website - or perhaps I have remembered the details wrongly. It’s a large painting but I recall it as huge, possibly because I just couldn’t take my eyes off it for most of the two hours I was in the Gallery!

What is it that made such an impression upon me? I think it is the weight that Rembrandt gives to such an everyday moment in the lives of his subjects and the connection between them despite the demands of their busy lives. It’s a radically different kind of double portrait of the couple now known to be master shipbuilder Jans Rijcksen and his wife Griet.

The man is deeply engaged with his work of designing a ship, who lifts his hand to take the note from his wife while he looks into the distance, still thinking about his work. His wife is equally distracted, handing the note to her husband but not looking at him – already thinking about her next task, or returning to what she was doing – evident in the firm hold she has of the door handle, ready to swing out of the room.

I think it seemed to me then, and again now, a depiction of much what a marriage consists of in daily life – not remotely romantic in the conventional sense, yet deeply connected with each other in the here and now. I find it very moving because this kind of moment is one of thousands or millions that make up a life and a marriage, and is so easily taken for granted, as if we’re immortal. But we’re not – one day the moments end and we are left with memories – and this incomparable painting.

Hunter F

My favorite painting is Monet's Camille Monet on Her Deathbed. I had the pleasure of seeing this for the first time in the Musé D'Orsay in Paris. I had no idea that this painting existed, and it is (or at least was) rather tucked away in a corner. It caught my eye as I was walking through the room, first drawn to the larger, centerpiece painting in the gallery room. Once I began to walk toward this Monet painting, I first noticed the overall image of his wife. Then, as I got closer and closer, I saw Monet's grief physically implanted into the painting: its brushstrokes were so heavy and vivid. It struck me, decisively. Never before had I seen grief so beautifully transcribed. Monet captures both the elegance of his wife along with the tragedy of her loss. And yet, there is something more about this painting that draws me in still, something that I cannot describe. To me, a combination of what can be described and what is indescribable is the sign of masterful art, of what we may deem great art. Seeing both these qualities in this painting, along with the joy of discovering this painting for myself by mere chance, make this my favorite painting to date.

Ella A

I always think of Cymon and Iphigenia as my favourite painting because of how the light glows. Every time I visit this painting in the gallery the luminosity captivates me.

Question of the Week

For this week's question to test your critical thinking...

What, if any, should be the limits to freedom of speech?

Email me your answers and I'll share them in next week's newsletter.

And that's all

Only a little more than two thousand years ago the Roman Senate agreed to rename the month of Quintilis in honour of Julius Caesar. And this is the month into which we have recently entered: July. Strange to think that in writing the word and saying it - July - we are invoking the name of that ancient general. A reminder, I suppose, of how history shapes our lives, even in what seem like the mundanest of ways. And, it being the case that a decision made by a group of politicians two thousand years ago continues to dictate the words we use to describe time... well, one can only begin to wonder at all the unseen ways in which we are, without even realising it, acting under the direct influence of the past.

Alas, history is always happening now, and the future ever beckons! What does it hold? Back to a little Robert Browning for me. For you? I can only hope that, wherever you are in this three nook'd world, the night and the day shall treat you well. Until next week; adieu, adieu!

Yours,

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