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John Mallord William Turner (1775-1851)
Jun. 16th, 2008 09:16 pmI saw some of William Turner's paintings while we were at the Getty, and I thought to myself: how beautiful they are, look at the light, look how everything glows. I fell in love with him, with the lights and the brightness of his work.
Here || Here || Here
I love the water, love the massive intensity of both water and air that seems to take over every single part of the painting. Everything is engulfed in it, wrapped up in the light and the waves. They are pure power, pure might, the ships are held up by the massive waves, they destroy the light as well as they uplift it. It is beautiful as well frightening. How could something so beautiful be so deadly, so horrible? What kind of man could see life in such a way? It seemed too bright, to ethereal.
Until I figured out who he really was.
The gritty horror, the black, wretched horridness that he captured and made . . . beautiful. It's death, but death that has been defeated, look at the skeleton on the horse, it lays limp against the back of the white steed. Turner has seemingly triumphed over death, and brings back the hope of a bright new future.
I understand him, this bright light over shadowed by a need for change and relief. To be so full of light, to see it everywhere, but to tear it all down, to put up a new picture, a new life. Turner draws you in, attacks you and then push you back. He is enthralling and he is appalling, because as much as you fear what you are seeing: (drowning slaves, plagues upon Egypt, death on a pale horse) you can't help but find it beautiful.
Because when you stare at the magnificent angel, in all it's grace and majesty, you know that it brings judgment and damnation.
Deep down, isn't that what life is, what art is? The horror and the glory all rolled up into one package. Light and darkness, heaven and hell, you are forced to deal with what is set before you. That's why I love him, why I love my life, and the art that I want to surround myself with. It's not always welcoming and warm, but its real and it engulfs you and drags you under.
This is all there is. Liquid calm, raging chaos, love, hate, bitterness and such sweetness that it makes your soul ache.
I only wish, sometimes, that I had his talent. What skill, what amazing passion can two hands make!
Here || Here || Here
I love the water, love the massive intensity of both water and air that seems to take over every single part of the painting. Everything is engulfed in it, wrapped up in the light and the waves. They are pure power, pure might, the ships are held up by the massive waves, they destroy the light as well as they uplift it. It is beautiful as well frightening. How could something so beautiful be so deadly, so horrible? What kind of man could see life in such a way? It seemed too bright, to ethereal.
Until I figured out who he really was.
The gritty horror, the black, wretched horridness that he captured and made . . . beautiful. It's death, but death that has been defeated, look at the skeleton on the horse, it lays limp against the back of the white steed. Turner has seemingly triumphed over death, and brings back the hope of a bright new future.
I understand him, this bright light over shadowed by a need for change and relief. To be so full of light, to see it everywhere, but to tear it all down, to put up a new picture, a new life. Turner draws you in, attacks you and then push you back. He is enthralling and he is appalling, because as much as you fear what you are seeing: (drowning slaves, plagues upon Egypt, death on a pale horse) you can't help but find it beautiful.
Because when you stare at the magnificent angel, in all it's grace and majesty, you know that it brings judgment and damnation.
Deep down, isn't that what life is, what art is? The horror and the glory all rolled up into one package. Light and darkness, heaven and hell, you are forced to deal with what is set before you. That's why I love him, why I love my life, and the art that I want to surround myself with. It's not always welcoming and warm, but its real and it engulfs you and drags you under.
This is all there is. Liquid calm, raging chaos, love, hate, bitterness and such sweetness that it makes your soul ache.
I only wish, sometimes, that I had his talent. What skill, what amazing passion can two hands make!
