… and love is in the air, or so they say. Even as a converted pragmatist toward romantic things, I’m afraid it may be true. Every day I fall madly for a new work of art and a new artist. My 50 something heart can hardly bear such passion.
Meet my latest crush. Sandro Botticelli. [Sorry Michaelangelo, I was enamoured with how marble was butter in your hands, how you painted with such genius, vision and passion – but your volatile temperament, rumored preference for men and disregard for hygiene has finished it for me. I will always hold your art in the highest regard though.]
Now I’ve met Sandro Botticelli, the Florentine, apprenticed to Filippo Lippi, influenced by Massacio, esteemed by Lorenzo the Magnificent Medici, part of the Florentine Platonic Academy [because smart is an essential – dead or alive] …and painter of the beautiful, sensual, mythological account of the Birth of Venus.
I’m lost in the magic of this piece. The golden highlights, brilliant light, soothing colours, luxurious garden, wind nymphs, floating roses, beautiful nudes… What’s not to love?
Things might have been perfect Sandro – me admiring your classic Italian profile, intellect, and the delicacy and mystery with which you paint; you finding a catch in a 514 year younger woman. But damn, you gave up your mind and art to follow that puritanical, power hungry religious freak, Savonarola, whom I despise. So move on I must.
Thank you Art History 102. You’ve strengthened my determination to visit the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, and alerted me to a peculiar appreciation of dead artists. Self discovery comes in many unexpected forms…