Keep It Simple, Stupid

Although Valentine’s Day is not in the near future, it appears that love is in the air. Last Saturday, 6 July, the UK celebrated its National Kissing Day.

As an American, can you imagine my surprise to learn that Brits dedicate an entire day to snogging (that’s British for kissing)? For my fellow non-Brits who don’t know how to celebrate this holiday, I browsed the Internet for helpful tips, and I compiled a list of what apparently are the worst kisses:

1. The Chicken Peck: attack of the little pecks, no further action


2. The Washing Machine: tongue rolls around uncontrollably like a spin cycle


3. The Biter: when the other person bites you so much, that you walk away with bloody and pained lips

Klimt, to love him, or leave him alone

Don’t get me wrong, Gustav Klimt was inherently remarkable at all of his accomplishments and I am fond of his work as well as those he influenced (even if they were on the brink of lunacy, Egon Schiele). However, to be quite honest, I’d never heard of him until approximately seventeen months ago – his impact on art history itself was miniscule in comparison with more notable greats. But suddenly he was all I read about and pieces of his art were unexpectedly in the strangest places. In celebration of his 150^th birthday (this past Saturday, to be exact), museums the world over are head-over-feet presenting his works to the public. Who is this man and why can’t I get away from him?

Not the first, and certainly not the last, truly erotic painter, I often find myself entranced by his pieces. The bright, glittery gold and patterns that would normally do in my neutral and solid coloured brain are unforgettable. Nevertheless, I find it difficult to separate the artist in the smock/robe/dress/thing from the philanderer (he had fourteen children, two also named Gustav, by different women!) who seems to have been in love with his muse. That he could be so lucky for her to love him back! Did she?


Gustav Klimt, The Kiss, 1907-1908.
Oil, silver, and gold on canvas, 180 x 180 cm.
Österreichische Galerie Belvedere, Vienna.


Gustav Klimt, Portrait of Emilie Flöge, 1902.
Oil on canvas, 181 x 84 cm.
Historisches Museum, Vienna.

What woman wouldn’t love a man that painted beautiful, timeless portraits of her? That referred to her as his treasure and life? The fact of the matter is that unless science finds some way to bring people back from the dead, not that I think Emilie Flöge and Gustav Klimt would be first on the list, her secret is dead and buried. I hope I have enough wherewithal to destroy all of my love letters before I die – it seems she’s certainly more interesting to talk about because of it, rather than women whose names I can’t pull from the recesses of my brain that wrote for pages and days of their undying love for their own philanderers. Thank you for being a role model for young women everywhere, Emilie; I hope you were happy.

If celebrating birthdays of long-dead people is something you’re in to, go to the Neue Galerie before 27 August to see Gustav Klimt: 150^th Anniversary, they are pulling out all of the stops – cakes AND cufflinks! But if you’re more like me and find celebrating the birth of a dead person morbid and disconcerting, enjoy his work in the privacy of your own home with these print and ebook collections: Klimt and Gustav Klimt. (I won’t judge you too harshly if you toast to him, I promise.)

-Le Lorrain Andrews

Love and Passion in Their Time and Place

What is your least favourite thing about Facebook – the most popular social networking tool in existence? I would have to say, just barely beating the 12 engagements a week which are really just a reminder of how lonely I might be someday, it is undoubtedly the mushy, gushy, self-taken photos of a lip-locked couple. That’s nice, I’m happy for you, but do you really need to plaster it all over my newsfeed?

But when did a couple in love start to produce this shuttering, nearly vomit inducing feeling? Certainly artists from the 15^th century and beyond were able to find beauty and romance in such imagery. How many of us have fawned over Rodin’s Eternal Idol (1889), Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss (1787-1793), and basically any reproduction of Paolo and Francesca (I’m so glad those two crazy kids got together even if their tryst put them in Dante’s second circle of Hell)?


Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, 1867.
Watercolour, gouache, and gum Arabic over pencil on two sheets of paper, 43.7 x 36.1 cm.
National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.

Looking at Rosetti’s Paolo and Francesca, I am both happy and nervous for them. I know Gianciotto is just waiting to catch them and that their lives will be cut short. But I feel the passion of their stolen kiss, the desire in their intertwined hands.


Francesco Hayez, The Kiss, 1859.
Oil on canvas, 110 x 88 cm.
Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan.

This Risorgimento patriot says goodbye to his wife before going to war, they cannot be sure to see each other again. I want to look away, not because it makes me sick, but because I feel as though I’m intruding on a beautiful, tender moment shared between lovers.

Head over to the Nationalmuseum’s exhibition of Passions – Five Centuries of Art and the Emotions, on through 12 Aug 2012, to see romance at its best. And while you’re at it, pick up Love so the next time you feel the need to display your affection publicly you can first make sure it lives up to the standards of the greatest love imagery there is.

 

If physical passion is more your forte, check out these titles: The Encyclopaedia of Erotica, Erotic Fantasy, and In Praise of the Backside – all guaranteed to stir your imagination and tickle fancy.

-Le Lorrain Andrews