The above image depicts the Roman Emperor Nero, standing over his dying mother, Agrippina the Younger, his arms outstretched. Like wow, look at mom’s jugs!
It’s more likely that the painter intended to show Nero appear grief-stricken, even though 1st century AD Roman grapevine said he actually had had her assassinated by a hired Libyan assassin.
Let’s look at Agrippina’s two jigglipoos with a critical eye – no sag, no hand grenade-sized nipples, no overt heaviness. Pure and virtuous, not naughty and seductive. They’re just not enough of a palmful. That painting is a disgrace.
A 19th Century oil, ‘Liberty Leading the People’, (Delacroix 1830), depicting liberty in the form of a bare breasted woman leading the charge against the French King Charles X’s forces. Certainly not the recommended outfit for hand to hand combat. But she won. The French monarch abdicated.
No wonder King Chuck lost. If I were there, facing off with this woman, would I give a fuck about fighting? Look at the breasts. Musta spilled out when a bayonet accidentally snipped a blouse strap. Again, no sag, no obscene bulge, no plum nipples, armpits shaved – just runa-the-mill plain and guileless, not saucy. The “Oops, sorry they just fell out” kind, not the “Come and get it, Tiger” kind. The men around her don’t seem aroused at all. They appear to be saying matter-of-factly,” Cover yoreself, Libby honey and let’s go kick some butt”.
Faust, lying spent after a night of pleasure with multiple nymphs, with the Satan standing over him (Falero 1880). No, Satan isn’t saying, “Now, Fausti-boy, remember the deal”. The Satan is actually apologetic, his head bowed in shame as Faust falls asleep in sheer boredom. And Satan is saying, “Sorry bud, they’re all I had. If you wanted real tits, didn’t you know all broads with big tits go ta heaven?”
Again, the breasts Falero has painted are helter skelter, disorganized and plain. Rogers and Hammerstein would have observed, “They are flibbertigibits, they are willow-the-wisps, they are lambs.”
Yawwwn. I’ve never been so bored writing a post. Tennis anyone?
And don’t even get me started on paintings of Aphrodite, or Penthesilia, the queen of the Amazons or Venus or Helen of Troy. Tits, tits and more tits. All less than ordinary. Personally I like tits so large that they give me a crick in my jaws when I try to orally stimulate ’em.
Then there’s the male nudity thing in art, where the obsession is with penises, little penises. Muscular men with tiny richards.
Michelangelo’s “David”. Just take a look at his tiddlytoo. So tiny. If you held up your pinkie in front of it, you’d block the view totally. Of course, it can be inspiring to a certain demographic – men who have tiny penises. Like “look, you can have wee little richards and still be able ta slay Goliaths.
Michelangelo’s famous fresco “The Creation of Adam”. If I had had a richard like Adam’s, I would be bullied outa boarding school.
Classical painters insisted on painting tiny richards. Maybe they didn’t want dick-envy so they painted richards that were smaller than theirs’. I am willing to bet you never saw a renaissance painting that had a hunk with a 12-inch boner.
I recently visited the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts and I really think they should name the joint “Montreal Museum of unimpressive tit and dick pics”.
But honestly, what’s with all this nudity thing that early impressionists were so obsessed with? Please, I know all that crap about symbolism, aesthetics and the ethereal beauty of the human body. So go ahead and paint tits and dicks all you like – even in unusual settings like the battlefield, I don’t care. But please paint ’em big is all I ask, with nipples that can ring a doorbell and crack your skull if you bump into them.