I created a few computer desktop/wallpapers from the art that I did for Brian Keene's Scratch. Here they are below:



Download here



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I don't always get to just experiment and have fun with Photoshop, and tonight I had a chance to so I ran with it. This takes the place for tonight's sketching, something I've been trying to do every day.

The images below are for possible use with the great site The Big Adios (or at least their MySpace). Visit there if you haven't been yet.

Someone asked me the other day which art technique books I would recommend, and it's not necessarily an easy answer.  I'm very picky with those kinds of books, and there are so many out there that what works for you might not work for me.  But I thought I'd at least throw out a few that are almost always on my desk, open or otherwise. All of these are available everywhere, maybe even in your favorite bookstore.

First off, a series of books by Burne Hogarth.  Dynamic Anatomy, Drawing Dynamic Hands, Drawing The Human Head, and Dynamic Wrinkles and Drapery. They are not only great learning books, but great reference as well.  Hogarth has a great way of simplifying the techniques, and chooses many angles for showing how to work with human anatomy.  I'm surprised that the book I use the most is Dynamic Wrinkles, it's great to flip through and really helps me figure out how a characters clothes should look and act.

Next up, especially for the graphic novel ideas that I have, is Visual Storytelling by Tony Caputo.  This one's a perfect reference for graphic novel work, perspective in art, technique and style, and a lot more.  It really lays a good foundation for working on graphic novels, and I've picked up quite a few good habits and ideas after reading it.

Another one that I use quite a bit is Superheroes: Joe Kubert's Wonderful World of Comics.  Part explanation of how to create a comic, and part drawing techniques, it's a great book that simplifles the often complex methods of creating art and stories.  It's a bit of a catch-all book (as is Visual Storytelling), but it comes across as a nice overview of how to create art and comics.  Don't let the title fool you either, it's useful for all kinds of art techniques, especially as a place to start.

Lastly (for today anyway), is Facial Expression by Gary Faigin.  This one is a great reference to have on the many different facial expressions there are.  Faigin not only simplifies things, but he adds so many references in the book that it's often useful just to crack open and make sure I have something right.  The book shows what parts of the face work together for each expression, as well as photos and other artwork as examples.

There are a number of other books that float around on my desk from time to time (and I mean float, you should see my desk).  Comics and Sequential Art, Making Comics, Anatomy for the Artist, Atlas of Anatomy for Artists, Cyclopedia Anatomicae, and so on.  These above though are the ones most often on my desk (they are right now actually for a project).  Flip through them in the bookstore, and see if they are as much help to you as they are to me.

Good luck.

While we were in Yellowstone, the Tetons and Montana for vacation I snapped a few pics. Here are a few selections below for your enjoyment.

The first one here is an abandoned attraction near Casper, Wyoming, that I visited as a kid. Hell's Half Acre was always a cool stop (the "planet" in Starship Troopers was filmed on location there). A little sad, and I ran a few Photoshop techniques on it. They gave it a look like a "model" almost.



This next one I just used Photoshop's Black and White adjustment on, which I thought turned out nice.



These (and the above) are from Little Bighorn National Battlefield, a place I'd always read about and finally was able to stop at.





These below are from the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone, in no particular order:















Whether I'm a good photographer or not is up to everyone else (and probably depends on getting a new camera), but I don't think I'm too awful. Unless there are other opinions...

My good friend Kirk Alberts suggested making my blog partly about design and art techniques, so I thought I'd give it a try. This one's on Photoshop's Warp abilities.

One thing I missed from using Corel PhotoPaint all the time was the warp abilities that Photopaint had. There were certainly ways around that in Photoshop, and maybe I just missed other easier ways. It might have been that I didn't like how they worked. But I use it quite a bit in CS3, and it's fantastic.

One thing I do a lot is use textures. More often than not, those textures are further manipulated into whatever I need them to be, and often that's on a flat (looking) surface. But I find that sometimes that I need to texture a curved object, and make it look like the pattern is actually following the way it should. That's where warp comes in.

Let's say I have a shape like this, that is really a snake (believe it or not) :



Now, that's not really an exciting snake, but let's grab a skin I created and see what I can do:



This is kind of a square peg in a round hole sort of problem, since the skin is a flat texture and the object is round. We can overlay it and mask it and do all sorts of fun things, but it'll still look like a flat paste on a curved object. Whatever shall we do?

Warp to the rescue. All you have to do is put the skin layer over the black shape layer, and select the skin layer to transform it (CTRL T) like you normally would when you are resizing something.

[Note from the cheap seats: drop the layer opacity on the skin layer just a little, maybe to 90%. Then you can see the underlying layer a little better.]

While it's still in transform mode (in which you can still see the tiny box handles at the corners and sides), right click on the object. A new menu pops out, and one of the choices is "Chicken-Hair-Pulling".

Ok, obviously it's not, but since you thought I was going to say "warp" it's funny anyway. Once you select warp/chicken-hair-pulling, a new framework appears around the skin layer, like so:



Each line and each dot on the grid can be grabbed, and pulled any which way you want. Wait, that sounds a bit... harassing. Note to you people, no going out and grabbing things and pulling them which way you want.

Maybe I should say, the grid allows you to manipulate the layer freely, pulling it in any direction you want. In the case of the snake shape, it allows us to match the curve of the snake with a flat texture:



Now, in my case, I decided to use the texture multiple times over the whole shape to give it a better sense, but your mileage may vary. You can manipulate one texture until you like what you see, or you can use multiple layers and either clone, heal or smooth them out to match later. After entirely too much work for an animal that's mostly covered by water (yeah, I am silly sometimes and far too anal retentive on art) mine looks like this:



It gives a nice, wrapped sort of feeling to the texture, and makes it look much less like just a slapped on, taped on paste job and more like a realistic animal. This is a curvy, organic creature, and any sort of flatness would throw the whole thing off.

The technique works pretty slick for any sort of round or organic object, and it's easy enough to finish it off with shading (freehand or otherwise), mask and layer tricks or even just by itself if that's what you need. I combined it with a different shot, and darkened for effect (from a story it's based on).



Happy photoshopping.

Russ

I don't get to art museums and galleries enough, but it can really give you a different impression of a piece of art.  In this case, last week I was at the Phoenix Art Museum and saw the piece here, Pollice Verso (Thumbs Down) by Jean Leon Gerome (oil, 1872, 38" x 59").

First off, I do like the piece overall.  I think it has a good use of color, a very nice balance in composition and a good use of the light and dark shades to create a good contrast.  But I've always been a big fan of really detailed paintings, and this one offers that up by the boatload.  Even with the smaller image above of the full version, you can see where Gerome spent alot of time creating a detailed, realistic scene.  

In real life, in the art museum, you get to appreciate that detail far more than you can in a small 600 pixel wide image on the screen, or even a 4 inch wide version in a book.  When you can stand in front of a piece that's almost five feet across in front of you, you can see details that you could never see in the book.

At the bottom of the page here I've tried to give you an idea of some of the details you miss normally.  You see the intricate design of the victor's arm mesh.  You see the representative designs on the gladiators' helmets, very difficult to see in the full image onscreen.  You can see the humanity in the crowd, the the lack thereof of those who deciding the fate of those in the arena.  You also get to see history, and not just what's represented.

When you are at a museum looking at a piece, more often than not you can literally put your nose inches away from the painting.  You get to see the age in the painting, the cracks that are obvious in the coppery helmet of the man on the ground, and those less obvious on his skin.  

You can also see the artist's individual, painstaking brushstrokes, and you realize that he stood in front of this very painting 136 years ago and put that brush on the canvas. The curve of the paint swath, the gentle rise and fall of the texture in the paint still visible after a century, and then you see history itself, alive right in front of you, you see that it's not just a picture, but something a person laid to canvas in another time.

Opinions?

Russ

We're back on a single piece of art this week (since I couldn't decide on a different topic), this time it's John Everett Millais' The Blind Girl (Oil on canvas, 1854-1856, 32 1/2" x 24 1/2"). It's one of those pieces where the title really does impact what you see in the image, or at least makes it clear.

It's an image of duality, of great beauty but of disturbing meaning.  A first glance is a visual feast, showing the beauty of nature, the unusual double rainbow that's hard to come by in real life, and even the beautiful butterfly on the girl's shoulder.  But it's there that you start to realize that the girl in the orange dress can, cruelly, never enjoy the beauty around her. She is blind, and will never know the wonder that it around her. Even the smaller girl in her lap is a cruel twist, as she is fascinated by the environment, alone in her wonder.

Millais really uses a nice color palette and the contrast of the art to set a gorgeous scene.  Bright blue skies, ever flowing fields of green, even the brighter (if worn) blue dress of the smaller girl give such a bright sense to the art that you can't help but think of a perfect day.  Even the blind girl's dress is a soft shade of orange, almost teasing her with the brightness she will never see.

For me, Millais' work always has wonderful detail work, and usually in natural settings. This one is no different, as Millais offers not only great details in the foreground, but a nice, even detail through the background as well. It's not overpowering, but gives a sense of reality to the work.  What works best is that Millais knew where to soften that detail, knowing that the lack of details in the right areas will enhance the piece.

What I like most in the piece is just the idea that a second look at it, with more information, really sets it apart.  Many might just walk right on by it, noting the beauty of it and moving along.  It's only on further thought, on further knowledge, that we find out that sometimes even the most beautiful things can really be dark.

Opinions?

Russ

This week, I'm talking about artist Gregory Manchess (www.manchess.com), one of those artists who seems to be able to fit into any genre. Whether it's work for movies or television, books or magazines, or even just fine art, Manchess has a great ability to capture different ideas in interesting and exciting ways.

If you happen to see the latest National Geographic Magazine in the store (February 2008), you're getting a look at Manchess' work.  Along with the cover, Manchess created artwork for the lead story, on the black pharaohs of Egypt.

 Which leads me to my first point about Manchess' art, his ability to capture historical accuracy within an otherwise loose palette.  Manchess' art has a certain "impressionistic" sense to it, with looser brush strokes and the idea that the viewer can fill in some of the details themselves.  But within that, he is able to add enough fine detail (or the hint of it) that you get the feeling of the art being complete, as if this were just a painted version of reality by an artist right on the spot.

Manchess also is able to give nearly any scene the idea of action, of the scene being just a split second of whatever is happening.  Part of that is in the brush style, but much of it is in the way that Manchess uses composition, color and lighting to give the sense that this scene is a moment from life, that life is in progress here and we're getting a glimpse at it.  Even in his still life work, it feels that there is action, and thus emotion, at play.

For me, Manchess reminds me every day that there are different ways to approach art. The image at the bottom here (from the Spectrum poster, "Something Wicked This Way Comes") sits above my desk at work, and tells me that not only should I always explore different styles, but that with just a flick of the brush here or there any image can become fascinating.  Manchess is a true artist, and one of my personal favorites.

Opinions?

Russ

This week we're back to a piece of art, in this case Franklin Booth's War on the Tiger (ink, 1908). I'm a huge fan of ink and engraved works, and Booth was a master of the pen.  He is one of the most influential ink artists ever, and his techniques and styles can easily be seen among the best of today's pen and ink artists.

I happened upon a book about Booth last week, called Franklin Booth: Painter with a Pen, and I think that's a perfect way to describe his work.  This piece, War on the Tiger, really stood out as soon as I saw it.  It's a great exercise for ink artists to examine, a wonderful piece that defines perfection in inkwork.

One of the toughest things about doing inkwork is the balance between the detail work and the contrast of the overall image.  Often inked works will suffer from too much detail, and the overall idea or image that was intended is lost in the process.  In this image, Booth shows how to work with the dark and light images of the overall work, and yet not lose detail where it matters.  The lightness in the lower left corner compliments the darkness of the upper right, and both converge right where the action is, at the tiger.  

In fact, all of the action in this piece is aimed squarely at the tiger.  The people and animals are all pointed towards it.  The inkwork is designed to lead your eye to it.  Even the strong details and areas of light details all converge at the same spot.  This is actually where Booth succeeds, his greatest idea of all.  He's built tension in the image, mostly in your subconscious, and his techniques give you a sense of urgency and of swift action that is difficult to pull off.

For me, again a big fan of inkwork, his draftsmanship is beautiful.  From the delicate linework in the character's clothing, to the detailed look of the far off forest, to the intricately balanced but clean grasses in the foreground, Booth shows a masterful control of the ink and line.  That's certainly an artist's sight, looking at the linework and technique.  But I think Booth gives a nice, clean look to the whole piece, which anyone can appreciate over a messier, but maybe even further detailed piece.

Above all, Booth gives you a sense of the scene and of the action long before you start noticing technique.  This is a moment of truth, the men against the tiger, and within the grasses and natural environment seemingly against nature itself.  You get the excitement of the scene, the tension of the story within, and you can ask nothing more from a great artist.

Opinions?

Russ

On the road of the new and improved (or at least different) "This Week's Art" posts, this week I thought I'd talk about an art term.  Partly for those who may not know what it means, and partly because I get to learn a little too.  This week's art term/word is "Trompe l'oeil".  No, I can't pronounce it either.  But as an effect in art I think it can be dazzling, and when used in combination with real life objects can be fascinating to behold.

Well, what is it?  Trompe l'oeil is, to me anyway, bringing an alternate reality to our own real setting. The french term itself means, "trick the eye," which is exactly what it does using perspective and other artistic trickery. It can take many forms, from small paintings on canvas to the largest buildings, and is created to give the realistic illusion of some other reality. 

For example, in the rather ornate church image (at right/above; Jesuitenkirche, Vienna, Austria), the beautiful and ornate dome doesn't really exist at all.  In 1703, Andrea Pozzo created the painting of just the interior of the dome on a nearly flat section of the ceiling. Pozzo created a number of works using the technique, including several more churches in Europe.

Even recently, the effect is being used to enhance what would be otherwise drab walls and other areas.  Artist John Pugh (www.illusion-art.com) has created a number of monumental designs, including several of my favorites.  The one I have here at the bottom of the post, with the columns behind the seemingly broken wall, is on the side of Taylor Hall on California State University's campus (1981).  On this page here, you can see a final image of the "Cafe Trompe L'oeil" in San Jose, California, and an image right below it of the work in progress.

Trompe l'oeil doesn't necessarily have to be enormous either.  Henry Fuseli (aka Johann Heinrich Füssli) created a piece only 49 cm x 37 cm, called, of course, "Trompe l'oeil" (oil, 1750). The image is of a piece of paper with a sketch on it, hanging on a board.  Much like the larger works of the technique, the smaller image can really force a double take in real-life, and make someone stop and look at the art.

There are many more examples of the technique, and for me they are not only fun to look at, but also really make me think about perspective and how it can work in a two dimensional medium.  Many of the Trompe l'oeil artists pull off what many other artists are looking for: getting the viewer to forget for a moment about the technique and getting them to focus willingly on the art, and how it makes them feel when they see it.

Opinions?

Russ

As I mentioned last week, I'm hoping to change things up a little with the art blogs, and offer more than just a "piece of the week".  I'll be featuring artists sometimes that you may be familiar with, if not in name than in work. 

This week, I'm going to talk about Michael Deas (www.michaeldeas.com), an artist who has done some fantastic work.  Many of those in the horror community have seen his cover of Richard Matheson's Hell House, or of one of the editions of Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire. Nearly everyone has seen his iconic Columbia Pictures logo as well.

Deas has been featured in many of the award compenums, including Spectrum and the Society of Illustrators.  One of my personal favorite images is the Hell House cover, which is striking.  It has a certain darkness to it that's hard to capture, and the chills it invokes are just what an artist is looking for in such a cover.  At the same time, Deas is able to convey lightness in a work, almost an iconic imagery at times that's truly opposite of the darkness he can also create.

His work has been featured in many different types of projects, not just in genre work. Many of his portraits can be seen on U.S. Stamps, including Hollywood stars, former presidents, historical characters and more.  He brings each character to life, seemingly not just a picture of a moment in time, but of the essence of the person.

Deas also has an eye for humor, as can be seen in some of his magazine work.  He also worked on a calendar for restaurant chain Chick-Fila, featuring "Cows in History". 

Overall, I think Deas brings a heart to his work, and offers many pieces that just need to be seen to be appreciated.

Opinions?

Russ


 


 


 

After a busy (and depressing) holiday season, I'm attempting to restart the art blog idea.  This time though, I'm going to work things a little differently. Instead of just a piece of art each week, I'm going to alternate on artistic ideas.  Some weeks will still be about a certain piece, other weeks about artists or books/graphic novels, and other various art-related themes.  Hopefully people will still tune in.



For the first of the new year, I'm talking about Frank E. Schoonover's "Assault on Belleau Wood", also known as "How Twenty Marines Took Bouresches" (oil, early 20th century). Schoonover was one of the great illustrators of the early 20th century, a student and friend of Howard Pyle.

In this piece, Schoonover shows a battle from World War I (information on the battle can be seen at http://www.worldwar1.com/dbc/ct_bw2eng.htm), and also showcases his wonderful abilities at realism and storytelling. There is a sense of action and tension in the art, as if we are seeing a certain moment in the story. The men all seem to be waiting for the next shot, the one that might have their name on it.

Schoonover does however give the scene almost a moment of pause to reflect on the dead at the front of the scene.  The body towards the left seems to have been there before, but the one in the foreground (right) seems to have just fallen, as indicated by the man directly above him.  Schoonover has succeeded in giving us a realistic moment of time, and includes the complexity that a real moment would have.

I like the composition of this piece quite a bit, I think Schoonover really draws in the story with it.  The open area between the lines of men is almost the line between life and death. The open, lighter area gives way to the dark figure in the center, one that we assume is either hanging on or has died right as the moment happened. The composition also curves in all respects towards the left, as if saying that the men are all moving forward, regardless of what's about to happen.

I can't speak to the color too much unfortunately, there are several versions online and the colors are slightly different in each.  In each though (especially in this version) there seems to be a brightness to the grasses and flowers, to me saying that horror and darkness can invade anywhere.  Even in the beauty of nature, the darkness of war can come.

Opinions?

Russ

I wanted to mention supporting a friend in the genre who's become ill (and also mention a mag that I have art in)

I've worked with Midnight Street magazine for quite awhile now, and even back before with editor Trevor Denyer on Roadworks and Legend magazines (all UK).  I wanted to get the word out on Midnight Street, not only because I did artwork for the upcoming 10th issue, but because Trevor has had a few health problems.  I think he's done great work with his magazines, and I wanted to get any support for his work as I could.  He's getting better now, but I thought support for the great magazine would help.

Check out the cover below (by yours truly), and consider buying it when it comes out in January. Thanks all!

Russ

This is Franz Von Stuck's Sin (1893, Oil on canvas, 35" x 21"), which may get my vote for having perhaps the most accurate title of an art piece I've seen. 

I like the color choices and palette here that Von Stuck used, or rather a lack thereof.  He keeps the colors simple, nearly a duotone.  What he does use for color throughout, due to it's similarity, is a feeling of almost looking at the woman's skin even when you're not.  The colors around the outside are similar in shade and tone to the woman's body, and it's a temptation woven into the image. Even when you aren't taking a look at her body, you still get the sense you're looking into something seductive or even dark.

Von Stuck uses the composition well, though it's a simple piece. In many pieces, the artist (any artist) would be tempted to make the woman's head or even the snake's head be the center of attention. The higher contrast would normally be there with the faces, and it would be set in a more accessible place.  But Von Stuck's idea held simply to the inner thoughts of man, that when it comes to sin, you're going to look at the body and damn the consequences.  By placing the more ominous, even the more intelligent parts, to the darkness, and highlighting so brightly the body, the viewer is led to give into the very title of the piece.

The menacing snake (the extra bright closeup to the right) would be a bit much in some scenes, but I think in this one Von Stuck did well by placing it in the shadows.  The woman's face is still of the temptress, but the snake's face is all about evil.

I think that in this piece, Von Stuck has done something that can be very difficult in art: to (nearly) perfectly capture a human emotion.  You (ok, mostly men here I'd bet) are drawn right to woman's body, to the promise of lust, and to the seduction in the darkness of her face.  Von Stuck made it difficult to look away, even with the darkness and the evil so obviously present.  In that effect, he captured sin perfectly.  You know it's wrong, but not even the snake's going to stop you.

Opinions?

Russ

Ok, so my "little break" was more like a couple of weeks.  Add "extreme coughing from the lungs" to "Post-Las Vegas" and there you go. But I'm back, and this one is an interesting one for me.  It's one of the first art pieces that I really took something from, especially in the extreme emotion.

This is Il'ya Repin's Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on November 16, 1581 (1885, oil on canvas, 79" x 100"). The artist based it on a real event, involving (natch) Ivan the Terrible.  In the heat of an argument, Ivan stuck his son with his staff, mortally wounding him.

Repin used a very nice composition here, with very little in the background to steal your attention.  The foreground is a fairly nondescript rug, with little furniture in the room either. The only furniture that you can really see is knocked over, adding to the drama of the moment.  I like is the posing of the characters too, there's little life left in the son, but he hasn't passed on just yet.  Ivan is holding his son tightly, and holding his hand across the wound, as if trying to hold his son here on earth as long as he can. 

Along with the composition, Repin brought the contrast into only the center of the piece, leaving the rest of the image to fall off into the darkness or into similarly colored areas.  There's a strong sense to me that the light is actually knocked over, as the shadows that are being cast seem to come from a low spot.  It adds to the drama of the scene, and to the desperation in it.

The palette of colors he uses works well, and he put it in just the right spots.  Red is quite primary in the image, but it sits mostly around the exterior of the image. It's almost a frame of red, surrounding and even highlighting the blood on the younger Ivan's face. Your eye is brought right to the blood in the center, and right to the shock on Ivan's face, a face of madness and horror.

Though certainly, without an actual photograph of the event, there's no real way to know what happened in that moment.  But Repin has captured a believable emotion perfectly, as Ivan is hit full bore with the realization that in his uncontrollable rampage he has killed his own son. Ivan's face shows the full horror of his actions, a perfect rendition of going too far, and realizing that you can never take it back.

Opinions?

Russ

If you're looking for This Week's Art, I wimped out and decided I had too many things to do this week.  I am heading to Las Vegas early in the morning for Photoshop World, which should be quite fun.  Wish me luck!

Here's another of the images that I posted on the Message Board of the Damned so long ago.  This is Rene Magritte's The Lovers (1928, oil, 21" x 29", aka Les Amants), a piece which I've had ready to post for some time, but decided to hold onto. It's just such an interesting, disturbing piece (maybe) that I had to finally write about it (well, again).

Magritte's image is probably one of the most open to interpretation that I've ever seen.  It can really be taken in just about any context, and the experiences of the viewer play a great part in that.  Think about it for a second.  Take a good, long look at the art.  Once you've had your good long look, close your eyes and imagine the art again, and imagine what just happened before the scene and after.

I'll give you a moment.

I'll bet that the ideas you had in your head are fairly different from mine, and from everyone else's.  Magritte's magic here is that the meaning behind the image is completely left up to us, and whether those ideas are light, have meaning, or are even dark.  Are the lovers just goofing around in front of the camera?  Is it a message about anonymity?  Are these lovers about to be pushed off the train, and this is their last goodbye?  It's a fantastic work of the idea and of the content of the piece to keep everyone seeing their own stories.

What Magritte did beautifully too was to keep it simple.  The color palette is subdued, so no one color is distracting.  The detail is kept simple, even the background could be anywhere at nearly anytime. It's level on the contrast, even the highlights on the shrouds aren't fully white. Magritte made sure that none of the other elements of the art were distracting, they all work together so smoothly.

Magritte often had unusual, strange visions in his art.  He created ideas and worlds that were odd, and yet somehow approachable.  The Lovers is a great example of that, a work that anyone can make up their own mind on themselves.  Is it dark?  Is there a message? Is it all in fun? 

It's all up to you.

Opinions?

Russ

I know these have been posted before, I'm just behind on the times.

Your results:
You are Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)

Malcolm Reynolds (Captain) 70% Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command) 65% Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic) 65% Wash (Ship Pilot) 60% Jayne Cobb (Mercenary) 50% Alliance 50% Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic) 45% River (Stowaway) 45% Derrial Book (Shepherd) 30% Inara Serra (Companion) 25% A Reaver (Cannibal) 20%

Honest and a defender of the innocent. You sometimes make mistakes in judgment but you are generally good and would protect your crew from harm.

Click here to take the Serenity Personality Quiz

The fans of Edgar Allan Poe out there should like this one (not that they are probably reading my blog, but it's worth a try). This is Antoine Wiertz's The Premature Burial (1854, media/size unknown, aka The Hasty Burial), a piece I first saw many years ago accompanying Poe's work by the same name (which was painted several years after Poe's death).

Wiertz's work often treaded on dark, horrific imagery, as a number of artistic and literary works of the time did.  This one actually is fairly light for him, compared to graphic images like Last Thoughts and Visions of a Decapitated Head or The Outrage of a Belgian Woman. There was quite a bit of concern in the mid-19th Century about premature burial, and this one certainly shows the horror of the event well.

In this image, the victim is a cholera victim (as evidenced by the text on the coffin) that doctors were seemingly unwilling to get close enough to really test. The content of Wiertz's piece really shows an idea of story here, and that this person probably isn't going to go anywhere.  The skeletons on the floor, the dilapidated coffins around him, and the coffin on top of his all give a sense of not only the terror of such a moment, but of the idea that no one is coming back to help.

Wiertz used a nice composition to highlight where your eye should be drawn.  The stone arch, the coffin on top of the victim's, even the broken coffin to the left all lead your eye back to the man desperately trying to escape.

I also like the use of light here, and actually the lack thereof where it matters.  You are drawn to the arm coming out of the coffin, but that's just the drama of the moment.  It's in the subtle darkness of the rising coffin lid that the real meaning of this piece is shown.  With the most horrifying part of the image well within the darkness, the viewer's eye is drawn into the interior of the coffin, forcing you to not just look at the horror, but to examine it thoroughly.

Of course the image reminds me of the great EC comics of the 50's, and of much of the ideas of horror that I've seen in various works.  Wiertz's powerful image is one of horror and desperation, and is a reminder that we may wake up to an unexpected horror at any time, when we least imagined it possible.

Opinions?

Russ

This is Jean-Léon Gérôme's The Duel After the Masquerade (1857, Oil, 20" x 28"), a piece I came across when I was actually looking for another of his works (this one, which may come up again in the future).  It struck me as an interesting piece, and a much different palette than many of Gérôme's other works.

The setting is pretty much explained in the title, we are seeing the aftermath of the duel. The man's shocked friends hold him helplessly, and it's one of the more interesting and eye-catching poses I've seen.  Gérôme has plenty of choices in the way he sets the characters, but (as in many of his pieces) he chooses a very unique, almost startling pose.  We don't need the title of the piece at all to tell us what has happened, and that this man is in the last seconds of his life.

Gérôme almost removes all of the vibrant colors he normally uses, save for the stark red.  In an otherwise neutrally toned piece, the red of the man's jacket stands out strongly, and leads your eye perfectly into the small red slash on the dying man's outfit.  Gérôme uses the palette brilliantly, and even though there are the men walking away and the dark jacket and robe standing out to the right, your eye is immediately drawn to the drama on the left through that bright red and the brighter contrasts and colors.

Gérôme's composition is the final addition to a nice piece.  The characters to the left are larger, and more highlighted, while the men on the right, the victors, almost pass into nothingness. The drama to the right has passed, and we are here to bear witness to the final dying drama of the man on the left.

Opinions?

Russ