While I go on doing prep work for future projects and thoroughly enjoy my holidays, I thought I would tell you a short art story.
Have you ever seen a painting that totally rocked your world? That once you saw it, it changed your life? You don't have to have necessarily seen it when you were young and impressionable, but once you saw it, you couldn't stop thinking about it? Maybe it was when a loan of Renaissance paintings came to town and you got to seen an original Titian up close for the first time. Maybe it was getting to see how thick the oil paint was slathered on a Francis Bacon.
The painting that changed my life was
Slovane v pravlasti by Alphonse Mucha.
First, a little background. When people think of Alphonse Mucha, they think of this:
Hot Art Nouveau women shilling cigarettes and dancing on the covers of theatre playbills. Mucha's style is incredibly iconic, especially considering that he didn't limit himself to just creating posters. Over the course of his lifetime, Mucha illustrated books, designed jewelry, and even experimented in early photography. The fact that you could still discern Mucha's flowy, flowery style regardless of medium is pretty impressive.
In the twilight of his years, Mucha undertook the most ambitious project of his life -
The Slav Epic. This was a series of dozens of paintings that occupy an entire building in Moravsky Krumlov in the Czech Republic. I went there a couple of years ago.
Look closely at that picture. You see that tiny thing in front of the painting there? That is a
guy.
So let's go back to
Slovane v pravlasti.
When you are standing in front of this thing, you're about the same size as the two figures on the bottom there. Yeah.
But this painting is moving to me for more than just the sheer enormity of it.
The Slav Epic told a story over a sequence of images - the story of the collective Slavic race, Mucha's ancestors.
Slovane v pravlasti, or "The Slavs in their Original Homeland," is the first in that series. It depicts the murderous rampage of the Goths, who overran Slavic lands and drove the original inhabitants out. Superimposed over the image are native gods, who seem to be aware of the scene but can't do anything about it. But I was fascinated by the two Slavic youths at my eye level, hiding in terror from the rampaging Goths.
(that is not me, BTW)
Especially the one that looks.
Right.
At you.
Maybe it was the wide eyes with the blue opaque irises. Maybe it was the incredible expression and pose, which seemed like Mucha was channeling the unborn ghost of Frank Frazetta. But I was
haunted by that face.
All it takes to sell me on a comic, or a painting, or a movie, is one memorable image. And the most memorable images to me are faces. And the weird thing is, as much as I love happy and goofy faces, I really connect to faces that are sad, scared, or really intense. Maybe because it's harder to do, or at least effectively. The reason I love Pixar movies as much as I do is that they understand this really well, and they have character expressions in there that make you
feel.
The face Hopper makes when he intimidates the other grasshoppers into returning to Ant Island.
The face Marlin makes when he sees Nemo floating upside down in a bag.
The face Buzz Lightyear makes when he realizes he's just a toy.
It's the face. Or more accurately, it's the eyes.
Mucha understood this, and this is why I love him. Because he was the first "fine" artist who made me feel the same way as my favorite movies about bugs and robots.
Time to celebrate my 21st birthday. Happy birthday to me.
The bad feeling so bad makes the good so good
