Ebook Gallery

It is at dusk that our imaginations and fears start to play tricks on our minds. The sun-filled, logical part of the day is over. Twilight deepens. Looming shadows, the scuttling of animals, and eerie, indiscernible shapes; the witching hour approaches. This is the time, walking home from work on a cold winter’s night, when your brain conjures up all those things that go bump in the night. You walk faster, trying to get ahead of the possible footsteps behind you, jump at the tree branch when it brushes your shoulder, and peer ahead into the gloom, trying desperately to make out what the troll-like shape is in front of you (it’s a wheelie bin).

Now, transfer those feelings of wintery evening walks back to a time when people still actually believed in the creatures of the night, to a time when such mythological creatures were symbols of doom, and to a time when they were used as warnings; to frighten and warn people away from religious and moral transgressions. In the 15^th, 16^th, and 17^th centuries, witch-hunts were a prevalent issue. Folk-stories about wolves and other predators waiting in the depths of forests were used to frighten small children into being good. Tales such as these, which the Brothers Grimm were so good as to collect for us, were allegories for good and evil. The unknown and the unexplained were evil, the known and explainable were good.

Leonardo da Vinci. Study for the Fight against the Dragon, c. 1480. Pen and ink, grey wash, 19 x 12.5 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

Artists of these time periods were able to use these stories and their own imaginations to create works to frighten, intrigue, and instruct. Leonardo da Vinci was one such artist. Perhaps best-known for the Mona Lisa, the Virgin of the Rocks etc., it is also true that he composed many studies using mythological creatures. In one such, his study of a knight killing a dragon is both fantastical and allegorical; the dragon being the symbol of evil, and the knight-in-shining-armour… well, being the knight-in-shining-armour.

Hieronymus Bosch. The Garden of Earthly Delights, c. 1500-1505. Oil on panel, 220 x 389 cm (triptych). Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.

Artists such as Hieronymus Bosch understood the human fascination with the fantastic, and the mythical. A fascination we retain today. (Think Twilight, the Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter…) This understanding of the human mindset led to Bosch’s work ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’ to becoming one of the single most well-known pieces of art to come out of the 16^th century. The creatures which sprung out of his imagination and onto the canvas in the central panel also serve as allegories. The fictional creatures such as mermaids and mutated unicorns (no longer the pure white of the Garden of Eden panel, and no longer pure horse) serve to portray the indulgences and excesses of mankind, initially fun and exciting, but in the end , they lead to creations far out of the realms of my ‘bump in the night’ imagined creatures. (See the third panel.)

So, it seems that every century has had a creepy, winter’s night walk feeling. But the best part about experiencing it in this century? For me, it’s getting into my warm, well-lit hallway, and laughing at myself for all the stories I’ve been making up in my head. I’ll take the walk over a witch-hunt any day!

To experience the mythical and the monstrous, without having to endure the feeling that ghouls and ghosties are on your trail, check out the Beautiful Monsters exhibition at the Art Gallery of Alberta, Edmonton(Canada). Being held until the 3^rd March 2013, banish your winter blues by taking a walk on the mythological wild side with artists such as Dürer, Callot, and Beham. For a perhaps more local night in (and what could be more local than your own sitting room?) try cosying up to a copy of John Bascom’s Beauty of the Beast.

I grew up about an hour outside of Philadelphia – a hub of culture, art, and United States history. Being introduced to the arts and science (I still, in my late twenties, love to touch things in the Franklin Institute) at a young age, Auguste Rodin’s sculptures are amongst my earlier memories. I always stared at them the longest and hardest, waiting for them to breathe. You should also know I stood quite a distance away because works like Adam (bronze, modelled 1880-1881) are fairly frightening for a ten year old.

It’s said that marble is the most flesh-like material; naturally cold and hard, it needs to be warm and supple to produce the desired effect. An effect which Rodin always managed to take a bit further in all of his works, whether marble, bronze, or plaster. Viewing the lovers of Eternal Springtime (Philadelphia Art Museum, plaster, modelled 1884), it appears as if they are simply holding their breath for passers-by because they’ve been caught in a private moment and hope to be ignored so they can continue with their business.

(Okay, not the one in the Philadelphia Art Museum of which I boasted, but equally good!)
August Rodin, Eternal Spring, or Eternal Springtime, probably modelled 1881, executed 1906-1907.
Marble, 71.1 cm.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Greatly admiring Michelangelo, Rodin strove to equal his mastery of the human body so far as giving life to his statues. I would argue that Rodin accomplished this goal many times over, before even travelling to Italy to better study Michelangelo’s works. Depending on the piece, sadness, happiness, strength, despair, or love exudes from Rodin’s masterpieces.

The Danaïd daughters, subsequent to murdering their husbands after betrothal (49 of the 50 girls), were sentenced to the Underworld and forced to carry a jug of water to fill a bottomless bath to wash away their sins. In Rodin’s recreation, the back is beautifully rendered, as is the nape of her neck, but most of all she oozes despair at the profound error of her sin.

Auguste Rodin, Danaïd, 1889.
Marble, 36 x 71 x 53 cm.
Musée Rodin, Paris.

The Musée Rodin, already a breeding ground for magnificence and splendour, is exhibiting Rodin, flesh and marble now through 1 September 2013. You’ve got plenty of time to go and experience all of the emotions and see the intricacies of Rodin’s masterworks. Also, Auguste Rodin by Rilke is sure to be a much appreciated gift this holiday season! Wonderfully written and breathtakingly illustrated, don’t miss out on these books (Rodin by Rilke) about nearly-modern day Rodin!

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Imagine you’re Dorothy. You have just escaped Auntie Em and a life of rusticated farm-life. You step out of your house, and no more black-and-white, but BOOM! It’s a colour explosion, where you are literally on the other side of the rainbow. And never mind those Munchkins…
What would you think, honestly? That you are in some strange kind of fever-dream? Or that you have accidentally ingested a potent hallucinogenic (let’s forget for the moment that Dorothy probably doesn’t know what that is)? Or, simply, that you’ve just gone crazy?

Henri Matisse. 1869–1954, Portrait of Lydia Delectorskaya, 1947. Oil on canvas, 64.5 x 49.5 cm. The State Hermitage Museum, Saint-Petersburg.

I think it fair enough to say that these feelings may be eerily similar to those experienced by Matisse and co. upon their first discoveries of the Impressionists, and the likes of van Gogh and John Peter Russell. Whilst initially taken aback by the liberal use of colour and the breaking of the rules in their painting, Matisse, Munch, and the Fauves (which literally means “The Wild Ones”), went even further. They broke into abstraction, broke the subject down and simplified it, and colour: bold, unadulterated colour was the basis of all their work.
Do you think that if Dorothy knew what lay in wait for her on the other side of the rainbow that she would have been as eager to go? Unlike Dorothy, as the Fauves opened up a bright, shiny, new Technicolour world with their artwork, it is impossible for us to go back. The age of suppressed and reserved art, the era of black-and-white, has gone. The question is, do we behave like the Scarecrow and the Tin-Man, ready to face this new and exciting world (albeit one tinged with a few flying monkeys), or do we cower like the Cowardly Lion? I leave it to you to decide… Remember, there’s no place like home but it’s up to you how you decorate it!

Henri Matisse, The Dance, 1909-1910. Oil on canvas, 260 x 391 cm. The State Hermitage Museum, Saint-Petersburg.

The Museum Folkwang in Germany is giving visitors a chance to step into their very own version of Oz, with the help of the Fauves and the Expressionists. I promise that you will not encounter a single Wicked Witch of the West…and no, mother-in-laws do not count. The Ecstasy of Colour exhibition is ongoing until the 13^th January 2013, so if you are in the area, make sure to pencil it into your diary! If you can’t quite make it before January, not to worry. You’ll be able to catch up with Parkstone International’s very own Munch, by Elizabeth Ingles, or Expressionism, written by Ashley Bassie.

Michelangelo da Caravaggio – what a drunken, jealous, hot-headed mess. I’m sure if psychiatric hospitals existed in the late 1500s, he would have spent time in one – and probably lived a bit longer because of it. Today it seems artists (mostly actors and singers) encourage us commoners to “feel our crazy”, you know, to see where it takes us. But Caravaggio wouldn’t have even made it to even 39 were he alive today if he kept up his shenanigans. Fun to party with, perhaps, but no one you could possibly (read: should) take too seriously.

Caravaggio, Judith Beheading Holofernes, c. 1598.
Oil on canvas, 145 x 195 cm.
Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica di Palazzo Barberini, Rome.

Upon discovering Caravaggio, you generally learn about his tumultuous behaviour and mis-behaviour. We’re all aware that he wasn’t a very well-liked person, yet we manage to appreciate his major contribution to the art world – even if he only had 15 years to pull it off. We also all know that his art and name essentially dropped off of the face of the earth after his death until the 20^th century. BUT! There were people from before and after his death that greatly admired his strong contrast between light and dark – chiaroscuro – and quickly followed suit – copycats.

Caravaggio, Christ at the Column, c. 1607.
Oil on canvas, 134.5 x 175.5 cm.
Musée des Beaux-Arts, Rouen.

Highlighting the face, hands, ::cough:: bosom, of the characters in a painting draws viewers in. It’s dark, it’s sexy, it’s alluring – okay, maybe not Caravaggio’s The Tooth Puller (1608-1610). It’s almost like anyone in a chiaroscuro-styled painting is up to something that we may not want to see in the light – which, face it, Caravaggio probably was. Viewing one of these paintings is like being in on a dark secret, and who doesn’t like gossip?

Georges de La Tour, The Magdalen with the Smoking Flame, c. 1638-1640.
Oil on canvas, 117 x 91.76 cm.
Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles.

I wouldn’t suggest following your crazy too far (cue in my strong distaste for Lady Gaga). Rather, see eight of Caravaggio’s darkest and most alluring paintings along with 48 others by artists whom he inspired now through 10 February 2013 at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Can’t get to LA? Order this equally dark, but well-illustrated, ebook and learn more of his secrets: Caravaggio by Felix Witting and M.L. Patrizi.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Let me steer you away from the realm of art for a moment, and instead let me ask you to consider the many love/hate relationships that we so often have. Take chocolate for instance; LOVE chocolate, HATE myself afterwards (for all those who have consumed an entire large Galaxy bar in one sitting, you know what I mean….). And then there’s Reality Television. You know it’s wasting your life, minute by minute, and yet it can be so voyeuristically compelling. And finally: marmite. Of course, the old ‘you love it or you hate it’ phrase was seemingly created for this food product. Personally, I fall into the ‘love’ category, but I won’t judge if you don’t like it. To each their own. This leads me to… Paul Klee.
Apologies for the (apparent) abrupt change in topic, but bear with me. If Klee were to create his paintings today, would he still be given all the acclaim that he received in the past?

Camel in Rhythmic Wooded Landscape, 1920. Oil on gauze with chalk, 48 x 42 cm. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein Westfalen, Düsseldorf

Klee deals with the abstract. This is all well and good, but abstract art, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is much like marmite. Ergo, Paul Klee is much like marmite. Within the ‘pro-Klee’ camp, there will be abounding arguments such as ‘his work was groundbreaking’, ‘he offered a cuttingly sharp perspective on the events of his time’, ‘he was a creative genius, none of his works are the same’, and ‘his works almost talk to us, through them we can see his humour, his moods, and his beliefs’. In the ‘anti-Klee’ camp, counter-arguments may well follow to include; ‘the “childlike simplicity” in his art is pretentious’, ‘he couldn’t decide which medium to work with, so he tried them all’, and ‘he couldn’t paint what he wanted to communicate straight out, he often hides his true meaning so it requires a fine toothcomb to uncover it’.

Departure of the Ships, 1927. Oil on canvas, 50 x 60 cm. Private Collection, Switzerland

Of course, if Klee were to paint today, his work would no longer be groundbreaking. Strike one. On first impression, his work is simplistic to the point of that of a childish amateur. It requires deeper understanding and analysis to see the depth that is actually in his work. In today’s society, do we have the patience required to do this or have we become a ‘Banksy’ culture, where we require a message to be painted on a wall in order to appreciate it? …Strike two.

Thirdly and finally, are we still capable of appreciating abstract art in its pure form? Having been to the Tate Modern and seen the nearly blank canvasses with squares of colour, and Dali’s lobster on the telephone, I have to concede. Yes, the abstract is alive and well and living among us. Welcome to the 21^st Century Paul Klee, it seems your art will always have a place within society.

For any Klee sceptics out there, allow me to point you in the direction of Dusseldorf’s Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, where the exhibition 100 x Paul Klee is ongoing until the 10^th February 2013. You may find yourselves acquiring a new taste for this particular artist, and as I always say to my non-English compatriots about marmite, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it! Paul Klee aficionados will love the Klee eBook by Donald Wigal, or alternatively discover Klee in Beauty of the Beast, written by John Bascom.

Picture this: it’s 1876 and you’re a dapper young heir to the Guinness name, fortune, and business – beer! You recently turned 29 years old, just bought your brothers’ shares of the company because you’ve got big plans for it, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. When it comes to culture and art, you’ve ensured that you are just as important as the Rothschilds, J.P. Morgan, and Henry Clay Frick. However, rather than collect a harem of courtesans and countesses, you’ve chosen to collect paintings of such ladies from the Belle Époque.

Sir Anthony van Dyck, Princess Henrietta of Lorraine Attended by a Page, 1634.
Oil on canvas, 213.4 x 127 cm.
Kenwood House, The Iveagh Bequest, London.

Is it because you’re an Irishman in England and long to feel closer to your neighbours? Is it honestly because you love your third cousin more than anyone else out there? (Did I mention that you married her three years ago and she mothers your three sons?)

Thomas Gainsborough, Lady Brisco, c. 1776.
Oil on canvas, 235.2 x 148.5 cm.
Kenwood House, The Iveagh Bequest, London.

I think that many a woman would have doted on you, especially after considering your immense fortune (though, we’re not all gold diggers), your heartfelt donations to urban renewal and medical research, and your keen eye for art and skill in Gainsborough, Rembrandt, and Van Dyck (amongst many others). The Guinness brand isn’t especially my cup of tea (or beer, har har), but any man that takes value in art and its history could definitely have a shot at courting me, or any other self-respecting, well-cultured woman.

For the first time ever, Edward Guinness, 1st Earl of Iveagh’s Kenwood House collection has crossed the pond! See Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Gainsborough: The Treasures of Kenwood House, London now through 13 January 2013 in the Milwaukee Art Museum. Find yourself infatuated with his collection? Check out Anthony van Dyck by Victoria Charles and Harmensz van Rijn Rembrandt by Émile Michel today!

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Everyone is an artist in some way or another, wouldn’t you agree? Whether it’s with words on a page, musical stylings, in the kitchen, or paint/pencil/chalk on a board/canvas – everyone has their own unique way of expressing themselves. Many of us do it in the privacy of our own homes, never daring to show it to anyone for fear of rejection, being misunderstood, or simply not caring that the rest of the world learn to value our talent. “My momma thinks I’m special and that’s enough for me.”

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Top of the Mountain, 1918.
Oil on canvas, 79.5 x 90 cm.
Private collection.

If you were, however, to venture out of your comfort zone and introduce your talent to the world, wouldn’t it be nice to already have a critic in your corner? That’s exactly how it went down for Altenbourg, Bacon, Braque, Kandinsky, Kirchner, and Klee. These men, members of Die Brücke through Art Informel (a branch of Bauhaus) and everything in between, were tirelessly supported by the one and only Will Grohmann – a German art critic and enthusiast – for over fifty years. That’s a long time to say nice things about a person, friend or not.

Paul Klee, Engulfed Landscape, 1918.
Watercolour, gouache and ink on paper on cardboard, top and bottom borders in satiny paper, 17.6 x 16.3 cm.
Museum Folkwang, Essen.

And while I do find Grohmann rather biased in his shameless support of his mates, I greatly admire his collection of correspondence. Having over 2500 pen-pals, I imagine Grohmann was quite busy writing letters, post cards, and, of course, his artistic criticisms. It’s really a pity that our own generation has found it nearly impossible to hold on to the beauty of the hand-written letter.

Feel free to sit down and write me a hand-written letter anytime, and I promise to respond in the same form. However, in the meantime, head over to the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, now through 6 January 2013, to see In the Network of Modernism and admire the same works that captivated one of the most influential art critics of the 20^th century. When that’s not enough, order these colourfully illustrated ebooks: Kirchner by Klaus Carl, Klee by Donald Wigal, and Kandinsky by Victoria Charles.

-Le Lorrain Andrews

The place: Mexico. The year: Post-1910. Viva la revolución! Mexico was on the verge of change. Political instability, the blight of dictatorship, a peasants’ revolt. If Margaret Mitchell had penned a novel in the midst of such a setting, surely a turbulent love story to equal that of ‘Gone with the Wind’ would have ensued.

We need only look to those well-known Mexican painters Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera for reference. I could argue that with events such as the Mexican Revolution fresh in everyone’s minds, passions must have run high. Actions were no longer as restrained. The freedoms of speech and desire were rife.

Despite the volatile relationship shared by the painters (both of whom had several extra-marital affairs during their time together), I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Kahlo lived in an isolated world. A pain-filled existence was all she ever knew from the age of 6, when she contracted polio, leaving her left leg crippled. At 18 she was left with life-long injuries following a severe bus accident, including a perforated abdomen and uterus, which led to three terminated pregnancies in later life.

These experiences, and the pain that followed, must undoubtedly have trapped her in a separate universe from her contemporaries. What solace she may have been looking for in her relationships and affairs, she truly found in her art. In her art, she was able to express herself. In her art, she was able to share her suffering. In her art, she was able to heal.

The Two Fridas, 1939. Oil on canvas, 173.5 x 173 cm, Museo de Arte Moderno, Mexico City

Many of her paintings are self-portraits, symbolising the solitude that she felt; her own figure and visage being the one that she was most familiar with. However, in several of her paintings she also references Diego, either as a symbol of love or of pain.

One painting which perhaps best characterises the depth of her feelings for Rivera is ‘The two Fridas’. A double portrait of herself, it shows the Frida that was rejected by Diego at the time of their divorce. Her heart has been broken, and is bleeding. The Frida on the right is the Frida that Diego still loves; her heart is whole, and she is holding a small portrait of Diego in her hand.

Amongst her self-portraits, monkeys are a common feature. In Mexico, the monkey is a symbol of lust. Kahlo transformed this conception into one of tenderness. In her painting ‘Self-portrait with monkeys’ she places four monkeys directly around herself, all with tender expression. Two of the monkeys have their paws over her heart. We may be able to interpret this as her desire for love, not lust. She is expressing heartache and a desire for a single commitment of love, most probably from Diego, as this was painted during her second marriage to the artist.

Self-Portrait with Monkeys, 1943. Oil on canvas, 81.5 x 63 cm, Jacques and Natasha Gelman Collection, Mexico City

Whilst perhaps it is a good thing that not all scorned, lovesick, hurting women are artists, or have the ability to pen songs – hello, Taylor Swift – (the world would be left reeling at the amount of pent up angst unleashed!), I for one am grateful for the artistic talents of Frida Kahlo. Her honesty is touching, her emotions relatable, and her story compelling. I read it as inspirational that the solitary pain of one woman has the potential ability to affect and heal the lives of others; through her art, it is possible to understand and come to terms with the realms of human emotion.

For a closer look at the turbulent life of Kahlo and Rivera in painting, Canadians rejoice! The Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto is hosting an exhibition of their works, as well as several photographs of the couple, from the 20^th October 2012 – 20^th January 2013. As well as showing their lives together, these combined works also reflect the couple’s interest in the changing values of post-revolutionary Mexico. For those living a little too far away from the Canadian border, these paintings can also be found in the works by Gerry Souter: Frida Kahlo and Rivera.

Francisco de Goya: 18^th Century Spanish bad boy? Overlooked Political Commentator? A sufferer for his art? Yes, yes, and yes. Goya is all of the above.

Ok, let’s start with the ‘Bad Boy’ charge. This aspect of his personality may be tracked back to his time studying under a master popular with Spanish Royalty of the time. It’s fair to say that he and his teacher didn’t exactly see eye to eye, which resulted in his receiving poor results in his examinations. Later on, he experienced further disappointment when he submitted entries to the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in San Fernando. These were rejected, not once, but twice, in 1763 and 1766. His ensuing fame and popularity could perhaps be taken as a lesson for rejected X-Factor auditionees… or anyone really who has been rejected/rebuffed/had the door slammed in their face. It can still happen!

The Family of Charles IV, 1800, oil on canvas, 280 x 336 cm, Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid

However, this initial period of rejection and disappointment shaped Goya, I believe, to be very independent and perhaps outspoken. Exhibit A: the very daring portrait of Charles IV of Spain and his family. Daring, not in the sense that it was risqué, but rather that it was very politically indiscreet. Art historians today believe that this is an extremely satirical work, as it is thought that this particular portrait was intended to reveal the corruption of the country under the rule of Charles IV. Rumours have abounded that, during his reign, it was actually Charles’ wife Louisa who held the real power. Goya’s portrait seems to confirm this, as he centres Louisa in the middle of the group portrait, instead of the norm of focusing on the King. Such flagrant disregard for rules and etiquette was no doubt intentional, and almost certainly provided some amusement to those dissatisfied with the monarchy of the time.

As for suffering for his art, Francisco de Goya suffered acute hearing loss – and in fact became fully deaf – during the period of 1792-1793. There is much speculation surrounding the reason for this, some say that it was due to a series of small strokes, and others blame the lead in the pigments he used – saying that it poisoned him and caused his deafness. Whatever the reason, it is true that Goya’s temperament changed, and his work became a lot darker. We can date ‘Yard With Lunatics’ to around 1794, directly after he began to experience his deafness, and the difference in the work and the themes are striking. No longer satirical or politically motivated, the work takes on a bleaker atmosphere, channelling the introspective feelings of fear and social alienation of the artist himself. Despite his growing sense of isolation, Goya continued to produce several important masterpieces, including the ‘Black Paintings’ series.

Yard with Lunatics, 1793-1794, oil on canvas, 43.8 x 32.7 cm, Meadows Museum, Dallas, Texas

So, key lessons to be learnt here: if at first you don’t succeed, try try again. If you do succeed, don’t be afraid of saying what you believe…even if it isn’t popular with the Royal court. You never know, it could well survive and become a talking point centuries later. When met with adversity, face it head on – even if you are a bit more surly than usual, it’s ok, it’s good to express yourself. After all, you may end up like Goya and have a film award named after you (the Goya Awards anyone?). And last, but definitely not least, stay away from lead! Lead poisoning generally doesn’t bode well for anyone.

To discover a long line of Spanish artistic genius, you need go no further than the British Museum in London. The exhibition (from the 20th September 2012-6^th January 2013) focuses on the Renaissance to Goya, so why not discover the inspiration that is Diego Velazquez; an inspiration for artists everywhere, including Francisco de Goya. Take in the changing Spanish style, from Vicente Carduchio to José de Ribera. Discover the thematic differences in the prints and drawings over two centuries. Alternatively, check out ‘Goya’ in Mega Square, written by Jp. A. Calosse.

Bear with me here. The Baroque movement is a combination of beauty and grotesque; high drama with intense focus on every element. It started under the influence of the Roman Catholic Church in Italy during the 1600s. A century later, during the late 1720s in France, Rococo was invented – was this a backhanded attempt at a war between the Romance languages and arts?

Meant to create imagery for those unable to read, Baroque set out to be a symbol of unity among the masses. In light of the most recent events in the US, a country that claims to want unity while ceaselessly coming up short, I can’t help but connect the two concepts. Actually, I probably very well could and should help it, but where’s the fun in that?

Peter Paul Rubens, The Rape of the Daughters of Leucippus, 1617/1618.
Oil on canvas, 224 x 210.5 cm.
Alte Pinakothek, Munich.

In my experience and observation of many citizens of the United States, Baroque is the furthest comparable movement to the way politics are viewed in this large and (once) globally influential country. The atmosphere is more in line with the Rococo style – flowery, jocular, and exhibiting blind faith in what comes out of the talking heads’ mouths. A citizen deeply entrenched in the Baroque-ness of the political scene knows each argument, from all sides, down to the most minute details. This citizen can make informed and intellectual decisions that may ultimately affect his/her whole country and the future.

Guido Reni, The Massacre of the Innocents, 1611/1612.
Oil on canvas, 268 x 170 cm.
Pinacoteca Nazionale di Bologna, Bologna.

The “Rococoans” (self-invented), those that follow the crowd and do as they are told – whether it’s their televisions, parents, friends, or spouses – are at a great risk of being forgotten, much in the same way that I feel the artistic movement hardly existed despite its strong push to overtake Baroque. Trying to make everyone happy for the sake of happiness is not the answer; to quote my favourite comedian: “Everything is amazing and nobody is happy.” (Louis C.K.)

Interestingly, Baroque is actually considered to be politically focused – grandiose, symmetrical, and strictly regulated. And I’ve said all of this to say: pay attention to the details, in art, in politics, in life. Ready? Go!

It’s easy to get lost in the details of life, but try and avoid that here – enjoy them, but also take a step back and see the whole image. Visit the Art Gallery of Alberta now through 6 January 2013 to see modern (and probably not political) Baroque art at its best: Misled by Nature: Contemporary Art and the Baroque. Don’t forget to appreciate the origins of Baroque in this colourfully illustrated ebook:Baroque Art by Victoria Charles and Klaus H. Carl.

-Le Lorrain Andrews