I have so many paintings that I love and return to but this one is my deepest personal relationship. It is SO dark visually and thematically that each time you look at it, it feels like you finally see something new. It’s bizarre and haunting and there are these absolutely gargantuan naked male figures weeping in the middle ground.
In the research I’ve done, stunned scholars have theorized that it’s a reference to Michelangelo’s Ignudi’s or large naked male figures featured in a lot of his frescoes. But why are they at a Quaker meeting? Why are they so despairing? Quaker worship is characterized by a lot of internal prayer and silence followed by explosive fits of revelation and outcrying. It is a fascinating branch of Christianity and this painting depicts their private worship so well.
In all my research I have found no conclusive answer to the question of the giant nudes, but the question itself bring me back to this piece every time I visit this museum. Dark, haunting, a forever unraveling mystery to me.
Nov 2, 2024
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This painting is called Kneeling Nun, by Martin Von Meytens, an Austrian painter who happened to be a protestant. The front of the portrait is the one of a seemingly pious nun who seems to be taking up her duties on prayer, with another nun behind her looking very fixated on...what if we turn the portrait and see what she's looking at?...Oh! Good heavens!
Yep. If you actually look at the reverse of this portrait, you'll see a complete image exposing another perspective that suddenly parodies the catholic devotion, having the painting turn into a sapphic tale. As a catholic, I gravitate naturally towards everything that's ironic and this was just too delicious to ignore.
Jan 6, 2025
Peter Paul Rubens (1609)
The dark counterpart to my other rec, beloved for the same fundamental reason— Ruben’s treatment of light in this painting has moved me to tears every time I’ve looked at it. Can’t go to London without a national gallery visit because of it. Chiaroscuro majesty!!!!
Feb 8, 2024
Milton Avery, Bathers, Coney Island, 1934, oil on canvas
the first time i saw this painting in the Portland art museum, walking through the American art section with my free student ticket, i think i hated it a little. it was weird and the colors were queasy and i probably could have painted it myself.
well, i guess it grew on me over the next dozen of visits, because now i have to pay $20 to enter the museum and this is one of my favorite paintings ever. there’s something so unconsciously skillful about it to me, and extremely funny, as if the painter put me in on a joke. i even bought a museum postcard of it from eBay and framed it on my wall. on a particularly bad day in San Francisco i found myself in the de Young museum in Golden Gate Park, and the sight of another Milton Avery painting brought me to tears like i had encountered a close friend. Avery lived a fairly quiet life; he didn’t find success as a painter until later in life. when he did, he wasn’t particularly financially successful. but he created art every day and taught his daughter to do the same, he used color and shape in strange and oddly transformative ways, and he had a friendship with Mark Rothko, a fellow Portland native who i admire very much, that consisted of long nights of tea and talking.
how does any of this relate to how much i love this painting? maybe i just saw it enough times during a transformative period of my life. but i love it for its vague impressions of hot dog vendors, and tough but tender hearted italian dudes, and a working class new-york dream, and imperfect people enjoying themselves at the beach regardless of the queasiness and horrors of everyday life, regardless of strange shadows and monkey people. i love it for being so weird and progressive for 1930 and kind of goth and surreal. i hope you love strange paintings too, but if you don’t, that’s alright.
Jan 30, 2025
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