I am usually a course, fartsy sorta guy, devoid of the ability to appreciate art, a reason why I have been in Montreal 15 years and it was only last week that I ventured into the Museum of Fine Arts. Now I’ve become both, fartsy and artsy.
Actually I’ll level with you. I went there to see tits. Come on, where there’s gothic and impressionist art, there will be boobs. Lots and lots of perfectly hemispherical, gravity-defying boobs that stick straight out, with saucy, aroused nipples, surrounded by cheeky areolae.
Remember Delacroix’s famous 1830 Joan of Arc oil on canvas, “Liberty leading the people”? Simple physics tells me that such fulsome bubblyboos are bound ta sag by the force of at least one of Newton’s ‘G’s. Delacroix obviously didn’t think so. Here it is, see for yourself (took it off the net)…..
Level-1 at the Museum is where all the boobs are. I tarried there so long, you could begin carbon dating me. The most striking of them all was a series of oils and acrylics on canvas housed inside a single room dedicated to the artist, Luis Ricardo Falero. This was a temporary exhibit and I happened to be there on the last day, before they were going to be shipped back to Europe.
A Falero is a veritable boob-fest. A man cannot be faulted for spending an hour and a half on just the six paintings shown below. Just as Dali let’s loose the what-if of the surrealist, Falero celebrates nudes with not lust, but abandon. The nipples he draws are not meant to be devoured lasciviously but flicked lightly with the tongue, over and over, all around. A Falero is not pornography. It won’t give you a hard on – it will fill you with wonderment.
What’s striking about Falero’s work (other than his obsession with the nude female shape) is the detail. Every inch of a Falero is rich in detail. The clouds, the folds of the robes and the hair – luscious hair, blowing in the wind or cascading down creamy white shoulders, every strand distinct from the next. All in all, Luis Ricardo Falero is an unbelievable feast to the eyes.
A lifelong bachelor, Luis Ricardo Falero (1851-1896) was a Spanish nobleman who specialized in painting nudes, sometimes in settings that were sheer orgiastic and mythical. He had scores of ravishing models who lived with him on his vast estate and they pranced around stark naked, posing at his bidding. On weekdays, he would paint them whenever he wanted ta and on weekends he held orgies.
I guess every century has had it’s Hugh Heffner.
Level-2, the mezzanine, is filled with crucifixions. Jesus H on the cross, his richard barely hidden by a strip of cloth, JH just before and JH just after crucifixion, even one with Mary Magdalene and her would-be mom-in-law hugging each other in grief at the foot of the cross, surrounded by cherubim fluttering around furiously like busy bees, blowing tiny bugles. The look on Mary Mag’s face says it all…”Someone tell these little shits ta shut up, we’re mourning here.”
Level-1 and 2 are filled with lots and lots of cherubim, chubby toddlers with unkempt flaxen hair and little wings. I understand cherubs are like God’s body servants, messengers and valets, powerful in the hierarchy but too tiny to pose God any threat if there ever is an insurrection. I am an aerospace guy and I can tell you those wings wouldn’t provide any aerodynamic lift, they are so tiny. Still, they can at least fly up and buzz around the corners of paintings.
And then there are the richards. For the love of me I have never understood why painters always paint the richards of adult males peanut-sized. Seen Michelangelo’s David? The first time I saw the statue I actually felt sorry for Bathsheba and her fellow wives.
I apologize for not posting any pictures of JH and his crucifixion. I didn’t want ta stray from my booby message. Neither have I made a mention of the other halls of the museum in this post, even though I visited them. This is my blog and if I want ta restrict the context of this post to just boobs, I will.