A Wayfaring Chocolate Guided Tour of Florence’s Art Hot Spots

My dearest fellow art junkies, I feel it’s about time we finish up our European gallerying with a peek and a poke around some of Florence’s art-world hot spots. Over the following minutes (or hours, if you’re a terribly slow reader), I shall show you works from the Palazzo Strozzi (the “De Chirico, Magritte, Max Ernst and Balthus” exhibition, to be precise), the Uffizi Gallery, and the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo. Yes I just switched from English to Italian. What can I say? I’m a talented tour guide. 

Please take a moment to turn your mobiles to silent, pick a tour-buddy so that you don’t get lost amongst the paint and alabaster, and make sure you’ve got a chocolate bar on hand. We might need some sustenance along the way. 

Edipo Re, by Max Ernst. At the Palazzo Strozzi.

Now, my tour-ees, what do you think of when you see two birds’ heads (one of which has a string attached to its horns), a hot air balloon, a walnut, and fingers that are not only threaded through with metal spikes but are coming out of a building? 

The first thing I think of is the Oedipus myth. 

Well, what do you know? I’m right. This painting by Max Ernst is a depiction of the tale of Oedipus. It’s really all very clear, once you stop and think about it. What else would birds and balloons and walnuts signify but a man who sleeps with his mother and kills his father? 

(Don’t fret if you can’t make the connection as easily as I. This simply shows why I’m the tour guide and you’re not.) 

La Plage, by Pierre Roy. At the Palazzo Strozzi.

Next up we have a painting called “The Beach”. In my wise and expert Art Whisperer opinion, I firmly believe that a more apt title would be “Enormous Clown Shoe Made of Woven Plastic That Will Never Biodegrade You Evil Anti-Environment Shoe Company You”. Feel free to write my alternate title down in your notes. It’s a keeper. 

Adoration of Camaldoli, by Filippo Lippi. At the Uffizi Gallery.

I believe I’ve mentioned that, in my non tour-guide hours, I am a PhD student in the field of Sociology. What I haven’t mentioned is that I seriously considered switching to Art History so that I could investigate why the majority of depictions of Baby Jesus make him look like an incredibly ugly half-man-half-child creature. Surprisingly, the above is one of the better depictions, so long as you ignore the strangely bulbous and elongated head. 

Madonna and Child in the Glory of the Cherubs, by Alessandro Filipepi. At the Uffizi Gallery.

Now do you see what I mean? 

La Vierge et l’Enfant, by Giovanni da Modena. At the Louvre (yes, I just space-time-continuum-jumped our tour to Paris and back).

And again. Poor Jesus. 

Annuncio ai pastori, by Arnolfo e collaboratore. At the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo.

Beware! Alien cows! Don’t let them hit you with their radioactive udders of doom! (Hmm. How did I get from Jesus to dangerous udders?) 

Unknown, at the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo.

And here we have the original Side Show Alley Clown. Win a free Virgin Madonna painting if the ball you pop in his mouth rolls out and hits a Gates of Paradise gold panel! 

Maddalena, by Donatello. At the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo.

And last but not least, the scariest Mary Magdalene you ever have seen. Moral of this statue-story: Become a prostitute, and you’ll start to look like a corpse. If there’s one thing I want you to remember from this tour, it’s that simple fact. 

The End. 

(The exit is to your left, people. But do come back someday soon. I might just have some Australian art to interpret for you in the future.)

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The Second Wayfaring Chocolate Tour of the Louvre

It’s been far too long since one of my Art Whisperer tours appeared on this blog. I think it’s time we took another wander through the corridors of Paris’ Louvre, don’t you?

The Winged Victory of Samothrace

From an aesthetic point of view, I like how the clarity, precision, and permanence of this statue contrast with the blurred-in-motion crowd ascending towards it. From a Life Lesson point of view, however, the forward-facing nature of the ascending crowd calms me. For if there’s one thing the re-jiggered Dr. Who has taught me, it’s that we humans should never turn our backs on any statues that look like angels. (And that no one can replace David Tennant in my deepest heart of hearts.)

Vénus et les Trois Grâces offrant des presents à une jeune fille, by Alessandro Filipepi, better known as Sandro Botticelli.

Venus (on right): Not one single person has told me how beautiful I am today. Not one. What’s the point of living if no one will tell me I’m beautiful? Look at how the light has gone out of my eyes.

One of the Graces (on left): That is the single most entrancing lock of hair I’ve ever seen cascade down someone’s forehead. Look but don’t touch. Look but don’t touch. Look. But. Don’t. Touch.

Scènes de la vie de saint Jérôme, by Sano di Pietro.

Have you ever wanted to know what a lion looks like when it finds out about the seven deadly sins and realises it will never get to heaven? Now you do.

Though it hardly seems fair, seeing as lions are born into their pride.

Les Enfants d’Ascoyghe Boucherett, by Sir Thomas Lawrence.

Oldest Girl in Painting: “Then I bought a Chihuahua this big, so that it would fit comfortably in my handbag and we could be together for always. But then it defecated on the brocade lining and I, erm, sent it to the happy farm in the countryside.”

Middle Girl in Painting: “This is what Jesus looked like, right? Right?” (Editor’s Note: Too far? My sincerest apologies if it is.)

Youngest Girl in Painting: “And this is how I orchestrate the crazy singing voices in my head.”

Part of L’Enlèvement d’Héléne, by Guido Reni

So I’m a big fan of cute puppies in paintings, but dear holy bucket what is that thing on the left? I fear its tail is sentient.

It’s like a real-life painting version of a Babushka doll! Except not at all like that.

You know, if I tried to do this, I’d end up standing in front of an easel with a stick figure drawn meticulously upon it. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. After all, Van Gogh’s artistic talents weren’t appreciated in his own lifetime…

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From the Mouths of Statue Babes (in Florence)

Once upon a time, I very generously shared with you the inner monologues of four female portraits. You’ve all heard of horse whisperers, and dog whisperers, and even baby whisperers, right? Well, I guess my secret is out. I’m an Art Whisperer.

And because you can’t keep a good Art Whisperer down, today I’m bringing you the inner thoughts of several statues abiding in Florence. Buckle up, folks, it just might be a bumpy (i.e. cranky) ride.

This is not what I signed up for. I was promised eternal glory and throngs of admiring tourists for centuries on end. Where was the small print about avian faeces on my head? I am not okay with this. There are Faeces. Congealing. On. My. Head.

Amen, brother. Amen.

Standing Man: Get a look at this, Twi-Hards. You think your Jacob has abs of glory? I CREATED abs of glory. / Crouching Man: Don't look up. Don't look up. I must not ever look up.

Speaking of Twilight, does anyone else think I look like Robert Pattinson during the filming of New Moon, when the film-makers were preparing my body for the (ridiculous-looking) sparkly special effects?

For those who don’t know instinctively what I’m referring to (lucky you), see this photo of Robert Pattinson*.

Statues in front: Come join us! We’re playing Human Jenga, and it’s super fun! Sure, it looks like we’re in pain, but whoever falls off first has to tell everyone who their first kiss was. Oh, what fun! / Statues behind: Oh, we is just playin’ too. Uh-huh. Playin’ with the big hurty beating stick. Yes siree!

My ball. My ball my ball my ball! Myyyyyyyy ball. My ball. My ball! (Editor’s note: Also known as “Why Simba Should Have Said No To Hard Drugs”)

Candy Mountain, Charlie! Chaaaaarlie... We’re going to Candy Mountain! ...Shun the non-believer...

* Want to know how I feel after posting that link? Unclean. UNCLEAN. It’s like I’m feeding the Twilight monster. And yet… Robert Pattinson is currently filming Water for Elephants, which is the best book I’ve read this year. Dear everyone, I am conflicted inside.

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A Wayfaring Chocolate Guided Tour of the Louvre

We’ve had stories, we’ve had chocolate, we’ve had a first attempt at macaron reviewing… you know what that means, right? It’s time for an art post. Welcome, my friends, to the Louvre…

I can’t help feeling that if I’d been shot with several arrows, my face would express something a little more intense than “Oh, look at the sky... what shall I have for lunch today? Doo-de-doo...” (“Saint Sébastien” by Pietro Vannucci dit Pérugin)

I’m posting this because I like the way you almost can’t tell where the real people end and the painting begins. (“Les Noces de Cana” by Paolo Veronese.)

Each to their own, I guess? (“La Mort de Cléopâtre” by Giovanni Pietro Rizzoli dit Giampetrino)

You know what sustains a girl through many hours at the Louvre? Delicious handmade truffles by Camille. This was the “gingembre” truffle. I was a little scared going into it as I don’t like crystallised ginger, but hurrah! This was a smooth and luscious chocolate ganache with just a hint of ginger heat coming in at the end. Score!

Girl, I feel your pain and crankiness. I too once had the misfortune of getting a haircut that made me look like Patty and Selma. Did you also have a brother who teased you mercilessly about it? (“La Reine Marie-Anne d’Autriche” by Diego Velazquez)

A woman after my own heart – halfway through a pomegranate and going for the figs. Chuck in some raspberries and a fuyu persimmon and you’ve got all my favourite fruits right there. (“Femme Prenant des Fruits” by Abraham Brueghel)

I seem to be taking lots of photos of horse statues and paintings. Parents, it’s my birthday in a few months. I WANT A PONY. (“Tête de Cheval Blanc” by Théodore Gericault.)

This is for Shellie and Fiona, because they got so excited about David’s, erm, bits... (“The Turkish Bath”, by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres)

And a coconut truffle, which had honest-to-goodness the silkiest ganache I’ve ever come across. Camille, you’re a magician. But even this couldn’t compare to your praline truffle wonders, particularly the ones that had nothing but crispy-crackly-nutty goodness inside. Anyone in the Paris vicinity – get thee to Camille’s place of work and go crazy!

(Also, I should mention that it’s forbidden to eat in the Louvre. So yes, I was the girl darting into the nooks and crannies between rooms to sneak illegal truffles. That’s not addict behaviour, is it?)

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More Art and Its Reception In My Head.

We seemed to have a little success with my last art/art commentary post, so I thought a repeat might work. But first, an update to last night’s update…

Dutiful as always, I got up bright and early this morning to take myself back to the hospital where I had been instructed, yesterday, to come every day starting today, for nurses to take care of my toe. So imagine my surprise when, upon arrival, I discovered that the clinic I was to go to was, well, you know, closed on Sundays.

Yep. This is the France I’ve heard about on David Lebovitz’ blog. Ah well, tomorrow then. The funny thing is that I can read the French on the medical papers given me by the nurse, and I also got a pharmacist to talk me through it, and it says “without urgency”.

In addition, all the papers instruct the nurse to do is apply Betadine, which I can easily do myself. In fact, the pharmacist didn’t think I needed to go to hospital at all, and neither did the Australian and Canadian girls who took me under their wing last night. Those two amazing women honest-to-goodness giftwrapped a packet of hope and happiness and calm for me, and on top of that got my mind off things by taking me out for a drink. (Yes, Australian friends. I actually imbibed alcomahol.)

Anyway, I’m still unsure as to what to do about my travels, as the foot is still swelling at inopportune moments and providing discomfort. I’m considering booking extra time in Paris and taking it easy here. We’ll see what tomorrow brings. Now…

To the Art with Us!

View from underneath the chandelier in the Throne Room of Neuschwanstein Castle in Munich. Yes, you aren't allowed to take photos. Yes, I took a photo. I blame my naughtiness on the Americans in my tour group, who took multiple photos in every room. I shall now go sit in the corner and think about what I did.

Looking up in The Garden of Exile at the Jüdisches Museum in Berlin. I also really recommend this museum, for while it covered the horrific events of the Holocaust in a gets-into-your-bones way (entering the Holocaust Tower was physically and psychologically chilling), it also celebrated Jewish culture and conveyed so much about the Jewish faith, music, history, and art.

Yes, it's the mother-child bond again. No, I don't have a bun in the oven. Probably I'm just missing my own family a little bit. (This is a section of "Adam and Eve with their First-Born" by Lesser Ury, 1896, at the Jüdisches Museum, Berlin.)

Now that's a shifty-looking fellow if ever I saw one. ("British Empire Panel 1925-1930" by Frank Brangwyn, at Bruges' Arentshuis Museum.)

And now, a series I like to call “Hannah tells you the inner thoughts of four ye olden day women”:

“I ought to be prancing through tulips right now, not wasting my time sitting here with you. I’m considering stabbing you with my tapestry needle.” (Portrait of Miss Kinsoen, by Franciscus Josephus Kinsoen, at Bruges' Groeninge Museum.)

“I shall stare at you with my dead fish eyes until you fear me. Fear me! Also, my pug is not the ugly-cute kind of pug that Hannah likes. It is just ugly.” (Portrait of Sylvie de la Rue, by Joseph Octave van der Donckt, at Bruges’ Groeninge Museum.)

“I have arsenic hidden under my collar. However, I have also invented the first headwear that doubles as a pillow, so the jury may let me off.” (Portrait of Jeanne Bauwens-van Peteghem, by Franciscus Josephus Kinsoen, at Bruges’ Groeinge Museum.)

“I like opium.” (Portrait of Marie Josephine Lafont-Porcher, by Franciscus Josephus Kinsoen, at Bruges’ Groeinge Museum.)

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In Which Museums and Galleries Make Me Giggle or Feel Something More Significant

Despite what this blog might suggest, I do actually take part in tourist activities that have nothing to do with grocery stores and food. And seeing as food is currently nothing more to me than bland sustenance (fie on you cold! Fie!), it seems fitting to share some of the museum-related sights that have moved me to… well, that have moved me in some way. 

(You know what else has moved me? You lovely people. Thank you so much for your get-well wishes over the past few days. You have no idea how much your comments have meant to me, for being sick made me feel less like a solo traveller than a lonely traveller. I am now in Berlin, and this afternoon experienced a moment of being able to smell cigarette smoke, without even having to stalk anyone. There may be hope for delicious German cake yet.) 

Now, the art and its paraphernalia!

Mirror case, Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool.

I took this photo because I was so excited to see something that wasn’t a religious scene. Don’t get me wrong; there’s nothing wrong with depictions of the life of Christ, and many were fascinating and all that good stuff… It’s just that sometimes a girl likes to see two lovers being serenaded while embracing in a boat, rather than a lot of men hanging around with looks of gravitas upon their bearded faces. 

Informative card thingamajig describing the painting of "Christ discovered in the temple". Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool.

Three words: 

Best. Excuse. Ever. 

"Maternal Affection", by Edward Hodges Baily, dated 1837. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

I just love this. I really, really do. Lacking an art history background, I don’t have the words in me to describe this, except to say that it truly shows the bond (“affection”) between parent and child. (Oooh, see what I did there with the PC-replacement of “mother” with “parent”?) 

In fact, let’s look at it again, closer up… 

Aww.

Yep. Now, from the sublime to the ridiculous (in terms of my reaction, not the artist’s work itself…) 

An installation from Ludmila Pawlowska's exhibition "Icons in Transformation". Liverpool Cathedral, Liverpool.

I’m not sure what Freud would have made of this particular piece, what with the faces on the …spear… and all, but we could probably (oh, so many jokes I can’t let myself make… well, just one) take a whack at it. 

Guys! Guys!

Guess who this is! Guess! *giggles* Oh, I love art and its ability to highlight the diversity of ideals of beauty throughout history. This is Helen of Troy. You know, the face that launched a thousand ships? Super beautiful and all that? 

Dear dear deario, she looks like a petulant teenager who’s just been banned from facebook for, like, omigod, like, two days, omigod worst parents EVER. Frederick Sandys, Mr. Artist Man, I don’t know what you and your Victorian friends would make of Jennifer Garner, or Ginnifer Goodwin, or Emma Lung (when brunette), but methinks you would not find them quite as attractive as I do… 

Whole Foods, Kensington, London

Now this, friends, is my kind of art.

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