portrait-photo

The Wunderkammer of the Mild Colonial Boy, Esq., a Reactionary Tory Gentleman, who armed only with a Steampowered Babbage Engine and Pure Intentions, wanders the Time Streams and Aetheric Plane gathering an Eccentric Hodgepodge of Curiousities, Frivolities, Whimsicalities and Nonsense.

Q. Why is your Tumblelog called "My Ear-Trumpet Has Been Struck by Lightning"?

A. Because "My Grandmother's Ear-Trumpet Has Been Struck by Lightning" wouldn't fit in the available space.

books0977: Self-portrait with a Harp (c.1791). Rose-Adélaïde Ducreux (French, 1761–1802). Oil on canvas. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ducreux exhibited this self-portrait at the 1791 Salon. She depicts herself testing the tuning of a contemporary single-action harp. A book of sheet music, pictured on the table at left, is open to a song honoring “tender love.” By portraying her musical talents along with her considerable painting skills, Ducreux presents herself as an exemplar of feminine refinement, able to shift gracefully between art and music.

books0977:

Self-portrait with a Harp (c.1791). Rose-Adélaïde Ducreux (French, 1761–1802). Oil on canvas. Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Ducreux exhibited this self-portrait at the 1791 Salon. She depicts herself testing the tuning of a contemporary single-action harp. A book of sheet music, pictured on the table at left, is open to a song honoring “tender love.” By portraying her musical talents along with her considerable painting skills, Ducreux presents herself as an exemplar of feminine refinement, able to shift gracefully between art and music.

mmeguillotine: The Comte de Bourcet and his family by Charles-Paul Landon, 1791. At first glance this is a charming family group but then when you look more closely, it becomes much more complicated. The Comte was the Officier de Maison for the household of the Dauphin and here, he makes no secret of his royalist loyalties as busts of the imprisoned Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette are prominently displayed beside the family along with a white lily, the symbol of the monarchy, which presumably represents the Dauphin. The dead specimen on the table represents his dead brother, the ‘first’ Dauphin who died in 1789 and whose portrait hangs prominently on the wall above the family. There are signs of tragedy in the Comte’s family as well. By the table, there rests a portrait of a man, who is possibly a brother of the Comte while on the wall, an empty ominous frame is waiting for someone but who?

mmeguillotine:

The Comte de Bourcet and his family by Charles-Paul Landon, 1791.

At first glance this is a charming family group but then when you look more closely, it becomes much more complicated. The Comte was the Officier de Maison for the household of the Dauphin and here, he makes no secret of his royalist loyalties as busts of the imprisoned Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette are prominently displayed beside the family along with a white lily, the symbol of the monarchy, which presumably represents the Dauphin. The dead specimen on the table represents his dead brother, the ‘first’ Dauphin who died in 1789 and whose portrait hangs prominently on the wall above the family.

There are signs of tragedy in the Comte’s family as well. By the table, there rests a portrait of a man, who is possibly a brother of the Comte while on the wall, an empty ominous frame is waiting for someone but who?

vivelareine: “French democrats surprising the royal runaways.” French Democrats surprizing the Royal Runaways. Published June 27, 1791. By James Gillray Barbara Day-Hickman. An Interpretive Study of Prints on the French Revolution : Gillray produces another vivid caricature of revolutionary France in his depiction of “French Democrats Surprising the Royal Runaways.” [Image 9] As in “French Liberty British Slavery,” Gillray emphasizes a physio-psychological contrast between the sinuous (starving) and emaciated bodies of the French revolutionaries who invade the French royal quarters on June 20, 1791 and the pompous, ample, and lethargic physique of the king and queen. But Gillray also indicts the corpulent king (decked out in a red vest, blue jacket, and yellow pants) and queen (wearing an elegant British hat with pink ribbons) who raise their hands in dismay at the unexpected invasion by a revolutionary hoard wearing tricolor cockades. The invaders’ elongated faces and enraged expressions bear close resemblance to the distracted figure of “French Liberty” [Image 23] in the previous Gillray print. Carrying brooms, mallets, muskets, pistols, bayonets, knives, and swords, the unruly band threatens the king and queen, and points a bayonet toward the bottom of the indisposed dauphin, who is having a tantrum on the floor. While the leader of the troop, sporting aristocratic culottes, directs his sword and musket toward the head of the king, a frantic gunner behind him sticks out his tongue and points his “provocative” weapon directly at the queen. Another figure in the center background appears about to decapitate himself with two knives during the frenzied capture of the royal truants. Though the invading troops address their unrestrained rage toward the king and queen, the royal couple appears to respond with perplexity to the unexpected furor of their captors. The British satirist thereby pokes bitter fun at the irrationality and violence of the revolutionary hooligans, while at the same time underscoring the indolence, ineptitude, and cowardice of the beleaguered royal family. Through both political and gender satire, Gillray poses British prosperity as a preferred alternative to a cowardly French monarchy beset by a deranged band of starving revolutionaries.

vivelareine:

“French democrats surprising the royal runaways.”

French Democrats surprizing the Royal Runaways. Published June 27, 1791. By James Gillray

Barbara Day-Hickman. An Interpretive Study of Prints on the French Revolution :

Gillray produces another vivid caricature of revolutionary France in his depiction of “French Democrats Surprising the Royal Runaways.” [Image 9] As in “French Liberty British Slavery,” Gillray emphasizes a physio-psychological contrast between the sinuous (starving) and emaciated bodies of the French revolutionaries who invade the French royal quarters on June 20, 1791 and the pompous, ample, and lethargic physique of the king and queen. But Gillray also indicts the corpulent king (decked out in a red vest, blue jacket, and yellow pants) and queen (wearing an elegant British hat with pink ribbons) who raise their hands in dismay at the unexpected invasion by a revolutionary hoard wearing tricolor cockades. The invaders’ elongated faces and enraged expressions bear close resemblance to the distracted figure of “French Liberty” [Image 23] in the previous Gillray print. Carrying brooms, mallets, muskets, pistols, bayonets, knives, and swords, the unruly band threatens the king and queen, and points a bayonet toward the bottom of the indisposed dauphin, who is having a tantrum on the floor. While the leader of the troop, sporting aristocratic culottes, directs his sword and musket toward the head of the king, a frantic gunner behind him sticks out his tongue and points his “provocative” weapon directly at the queen. Another figure in the center background appears about to decapitate himself with two knives during the frenzied capture of the royal truants. Though the invading troops address their unrestrained rage toward the king and queen, the royal couple appears to respond with perplexity to the unexpected furor of their captors. The British satirist thereby pokes bitter fun at the irrationality and violence of the revolutionary hooligans, while at the same time underscoring the indolence, ineptitude, and cowardice of the beleaguered royal family. Through both political and gender satire, Gillray poses British prosperity as a preferred alternative to a cowardly French monarchy beset by a deranged band of starving revolutionaries.

oldrags: Portrait of Nicolas Châtelain by Johann Friedrich August Tischbein, 1791, Neue Pinakothek

oldrags:

Portrait of Nicolas Châtelain by Johann Friedrich August Tischbein, 1791, Neue Pinakothek

(via trockneblumen)