John Martin: Apocalypse
Today, the twelfth of December, marks the 13th anniversary of this Web project. Every year, on the site's de facto birthday, we indulge in a vaguely eccentric post. Sometimes these anniversary threads preview the forum's main line of inquiry for the upcoming year, other times they describe the state of aesthetic restoration, and on still other occasions they allow us to venture into off-topic territory.
This year's anniversary post falls into the latter category.
One of the most effective ways to outline a concept is to contrast it with its antithesis. For this reason, in order to define the aesthetic principle of the Beautiful, we often set it against its philosophical complement, the Sublime.
A compelling argument could be made in favour of Caspar David Friedrich--renowned for his moody, iconic Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog--as the preeminent painter of the Romantic era. However, having now viewed John Martin's masterpieces with our own eyes, and having compared the two, we must affirm that it is Martin who must be regarded as the supreme visual artist of Romantic movement, just as Byron must ultimately be ranked above Goethe as the greatest of Romantic writers. For if there has ever been a painter whose work epitomizes the aesthetic of the Sublime, it is John Martin.
Fittingly, as one enters the Apocalypse exhibition rooms at the Tate, the first canvas that meets the eye is the colossal Sadak in Search of the Waters of Oblivion (1812), from the Saint Louis Art Museum in Missouri. The subject is taken from a passage in the 18th-century fantasy novel The Tales of the Genii. In the storyline, a cruel sultan has abducted Sadak's wife and will only release her if Sadak obtains for him the fabled "waters of oblivion," which efface memory, but which are only found in a distant, treacherous landscape--a nightmarish, inhospitable world, which Martin has depicted with terrible power.
From the infernal pit to the upper sky (in the first of the exhibition's many brilliant pairings), the initial gallery room also contains the second early work by Martin that made his fame, The Bard (c.1817), from Laing Art Gallery in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. This painting illustrates the opening scene in the famous ode of the same name by the Pre-Romantic poet Thomas Gray, which begins thus:
Again, the colossal dimensions of the painting are impossible to convey in words (but be sure to click on the image to view it at a larger size). Well over two metres tall, its scale must be seen in person to be believed. Each individual soldier in Edward's army is distinctly visible, while the mountains, the castle, and the huge, concave rock, hollowed out by the river, tower above the viewer, who is compelled to look up at the Bard, just as the soldiers in the painting must do. The difference in elevation between the king and the Bard indicates their moral disparity, with the Bard enjoying the literal and metaphorical high ground. The concave rock veritably reaches out over the river to dwarf the armies, numberless as they may be, as if it were an extension of the Bard's own will, like a huge, dark hand. Grey skies approach at the right of the painting, seemingly by the Bard's command, ominously foreshadowing Edward's destruction. (If the Bard bears a striking similarity to the figure of Moses in Cecil B. DeMille's epic film The Ten Commandments, this is not accidental, for DeMille's cinematography was heavily influenced by Martin.) The wild, chaotic landscape, the vastness of the scale, the power of the noble Bard--each quality renders this masterpiece a signature expression of the Sublime.
If there was a single painting that brought Martin his first measure of renown with the wider public, it was the following work, Joshua Commanding the Sun to Stand Still upon Gibeon (1816), now housed in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. (Astonishingly, though, it is not on regular display, which indicates how the Sublime, like the Beautiful, still remains suppressed in modern culture.)
Martin's next biblical subject became the most popular work of his career, and made him the most famous painter in England. Prints of this canvas hung in every respectable household in the nation (e.g., the Brontës had one in their own domicile). It is easy to see why. With rows of columns stretching into the distance to sheer infinity, and the colossal ruin of the Tower of Babel looming in the background, this vision of ancient Babylon depicts architecture on a scale never before conceived by the human mind, perhaps not even in dreams. In this instance, it is not via destruction that Martin achieves the effect of the Sublime, but by limitless vastness mixed with intricate detail.
The painting is titled Belshazzar's Feast (1820). The above version is housed in the Yale Centre for British Art in New Haven, Connecticut, while the even larger original (over two and a half metres wide), seen below, is tucked away in a private collection. Both versions are by Martin, and both are on display in the Tate exhibition.
Astonishing as it may seem, for many decades in the 20th century, Martin's greatest masterpieces lay forgotten in museum basements throughout Europe. This ideologically driven, anti-Romantic neglect proved especially disastrous for one of his grandest and most Sublime works, The Destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum (c.1822-26), which is owned by the Tate.
Martin's canvas vividly realizes Pliny's description, with a vortex of obscurity "spreading over the earth like a flood," blotting out every trace of light but for the volcano itself, the instrument of perdition, with its infernal "smell of sulphur," as if the earth were being transformed into Hell, and the last black curtain was falling on the action of humanity, bringing existence itself to a close.
Martin's scenes of earthbound Armageddon are frequently likened to depictions of the underworld, and for good reason. Just as writers in the 18th and 19th centuries believed Heaven to be the supreme realization of Beauty, so they deemed Hell to be the ultimate incarnation of Sublimity, and the figure of Milton's Satan to be the supreme personification of the Sublime. It is only fitting, then, that John Martin created a series of black-and-white illustrations to Paradise Lost, the greatest literary work in the English language, an epic poem that opens in the infernal kingdom and is largely set in Hell.
To outline the basis upon which the Romantics deemed Milton's Satan to be the supreme incarnation of the Sublime falls outside the scope of this post (though Hazlitt's famous essay on the subject is worth a read). However, this illustration by Martin of Satan in Council (1831) depicts the solemn might that the fallen angel incarnated for the Romantics.
The greatest of Martin's engravings is undoubtedly Pandemonium (1831), which successfully realizes an architectural challenge that would have confounded the imagination of any other artist: the vast city of the devils that Satan builds in Hell. Surpassing in scale even the Babylon of Belshazzar's Feast, this towering edifice fearfully impresses itself on the mind though its sheer, incomprehensible enormity. Satan stands proudly on a rock, his arm upraised, veritably willing Pandemonium out of the ground, much as a conductor summons music out of an orchestra. Observe that the architecture of the city of devils, with its domes and towers, echoes the structure of Satan's throne, seen above. (Martin brilliantly gives the infernal realm a unified architectural style.) Observe too the evocative details, like the dragon sculptures that adorn the city walls and the braziers that illuminate the darkness of the underworld with a hellish light.
Ah, but the one element missing in Martin's engravings is, of course, colour. One can well imagine the fiery hues that the artist intended for this vast netherworld, but such speculation is not necessary, because fortunately, Martin's own infernal colour palette is available to us. A decade after completing his illustrations for Paradise Lost, Martin returned to this subject and rendered one of the scenes from Milton's epic poem as a full-scale oil painting, in the manner of his famous apocalyptic canvasses.
As if the painting itself weren't fearsome enough, Martin even designed a special frame for his malefic creation, perhaps the only Sublime frame ever fashioned by the hand of man. As this image imperfectly depicts (for it fails to capture the sheer size of this artwork, and therefore the colossal scale of the figures), the frame is adorned with dragons at every corner and a Medusa-like conglomeration of serpents at its base. One might well say that the frame itself is evil, in keeping with the terrifying subject matter that it encompasses.
What is known to very few art lovers, even to scholars of Romanticism, is that the renowned Pandemonium has a sister work, a painting that Martin created in the same year (1841), in the exact same dimensions, and intended to be a complement to his depiction of the infernal kingdom. This canvas, as one can immediately see, does not embody the aesthetic of the Sublime, but rather, the aesthetic of the Beautiful. Titled The Celestial City and the Rivers of Bliss, it fittingly offers a depiction of Heaven, just as Pandemonium illustrates Hell.
We have previously mentioned that John Martin is to Romantic painting what Lord Byron is to Romantic poetry. This is not merely a judgment based on the similarity of their aesthetic taste. Just as Martin created the finest illustrations of Paradise Lost, the 17th-century work that prefigured all of European Romanticism, so did he create two paintings that captured the spirit of the greatest of all Romantic texts, the quintessential literary expression of the Romanticism Zeitgeist, the thrilling dramatic poem that features the definitive incarnation of the central literary figure of the Romantic movement, the Byronic Hero: Lord Byron's Manfred.
Martin's second painting on the subject, Manfred and the Witch of the Alps (1837), is, unfortunately, customarily split from its associated work, and is now found in the Whitworth Art Gallery at the University of Manchester. (Once again, in reuniting these Manfred illustrations, the Tate exhibit couples two works that were meant to be paired with one another. Thus, only for the duration of this exhibition can viewers experience these canvasses in their intentionally related state.)
Most of Martin's greatest works involve depictions of scenes from literary sources and constitute profound expressions of the imagination, as we have seen above. In at least one case, however, he devoted his brush to capturing a contemporary happening, albeit in his uniquely Sublime manner. And no event could have been more appropriate for this greatest of Romantic artists to have illustrated than The Coronation of Queen Victoria (1839).
The painting depicts a real-life incident that epitomized Queen Victoria's renowned magnanimity. According to a contemporary account, when one of the elder peers at the coronation collapsed, the queen lowered herself to render him assistance. She, who was above them all, stooped to offer him aid:
A photograph of this painting from a commendable Daily Mail article about the Tate exhibition shows the unimaginable scale of the work and depicts its magnificent frame--which, like the serpent-adorned border of Pandemonium, was crafted by the artist himself. This is surely the noblest, most aristocratic frame ever created, a work of architecture in its own right, complete with pilasters that echo the columns of Westminster Abbey, as if the cathedral were emerging from the canvas and occupying three-dimensional space. The viewer in the foreground seems to be a participant in the depicted event, dwarfed by the Gothic columns of the structure just as surley those who attended the actual coronation must have been overshadowed. The frame, with its heraldic shield and crown, offers a poignant reminder that it was the existence of the aristocracy that made Sublime and Beautiful art possible. Tragically, in the 20th century, as the nobility fell from its natural role as the guiding light of the nation, the legacy of Western culture itself fell with it.
However, we have not yet reached the climax of Martin's work, his supreme achievement in the Sublime.
How interesting, though, that the passage which inspired this work likens the holy city to "a bride adorned for her husband." Certainly the manner in which Martin has depicted the angels in the foreground, in long, white garments, makes them subconsciously resemble brides on their wedding day, in full, flowy, white dresses. This association is so clear that in 2009, (long before we identified the source text of Martin's painting,) when we wrote about Kelsey Olson's celebrated bridal campaign for Alfred Angelo, we featured this very canvas in the post to indicate how the images of Kelsey standing in the grass, with the blue ocean stretching out behind her, made her resemble an angel "plucked from the plains of Heaven." This coincidence further indicates how Beauty is a quintessentially feminine aesthetic, much as the Sublime is an expression of archetypal masculinity, and demonstrates how today's plus-size models are the ideal physical embodiments of the aesthetic of the Beautiful.
Now, at last, we come to the terrible end, the ne plus ultra of the Sublime, the supreme achievement of eschatological Romanticism: John Martin's signature, crowning work, The Great Day of His Wrath.
A passage from Revelations sets the stage for this apocalyptic nightmare:
This Sublime masterpiece is the centrepiece of the Tate exhibition, dominating the advertising for the event, its theme giving the presentation its very title: apocalypse.
The Tate has even created a gripping video to promote the exhibition, which shows a visitor literally being sucked into the terrible world of the painting,
then escaping, as if from a nightmare. It ends with a compelling view of the visitor standing alongside the canvas, which shows its enormous scale.
Click the arrow, centre-screen, to view the video:
After 13 years, it is intriguing to consider what our Web site could have been, or would have been, had we followed our initial inclinations and created a domain devoted to Romanticism, rather than to plus-size beauty.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
Happy 13th anniversary to the Judgment of Paris! May this site enjoy many more years of flourishing success, serving as a beacon of light within the darkness of our modern culture.
This is an absolutely fantastic post. Thank you so much for composing such a brilliant, fascinating essay. John Martin is an unparallelled master of the Sublime on canvas. Each one of his images veritably explodes with passion and emotion, whether it be his preferred subject of the terrifying Sublime or his rarer ventures into the breathtaking Beautiful.
How wonderful it is to see Pandemonium paired with its sister painting, The Celestial City and the Rivers of Bliss! I cannot think of a more striking epitomization of the contrast between the Sublime and the Beautiful.
I just wish I could see this exhibition with my own eyes! I can hardly imagine how deeply affecting these works would be when viewed in real life, as their massive scope and scale utterly absorbs and consumes the viewer. I am amazed at the still from the promotional film that displays a woman standing before the canvas of The Great Day of His Wrath. Its size is truly incredible. Such a masterpiece of eschatological Romanticism must be overwhelming to view in real life.
Martin's works, as so wonderfully presented in this post, are perfect examples of the grandeur of the Romantic era -- an era where plus-size beauty was revered as the embodiment of the Beautiful, just as Martin's canvases revere the awe-inspiring power of the Sublime. By appreciating exhibitions such as this, we are keeping the spirit of Romanticism alive amidst the prosaicism of the modern world.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
I agree with you, Tamika. You identify an essential quality that links the Sublime with the Beautiful, for all that they are antithentical and complementary. They are both expressions of maximalism, which is a term that has come up on the forum throughout the year. They both represent an escape from the circumscribed, self-inflicted limitations of minimalism. Whether it's the opulence of the Beautiful (how fitting that its best expression is now called plus-size beauty), or the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Sublime, both aesthetics represent an unleashing of passion, an unbinding of emotion, an unfettering of feeling, a venture into sensation so bold that it is overwhelming. And that experience of being thrillingly overwhelmed is the essence of Romanticism.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
Very interesting that Verdi should be mentioned. I agree that Martin is to painting what Beethoven is to music. However, whenever I have viewed The Great Day of His Wrath, I have always heard in my mind the apocalyptic chords of the "Dies Irae" from the Verdi Requiem, with the shrieking trumpets that are like unto the screams of the damned, and the drumbeats that convey the thunder of doom.
Here is Verdi's "Dies Irae" from the definitive DVD video recording of the Verdi Requiem, featuring the Vienna Philharmonic conducted by the legendary Herbert von Karajan. The YouTube quality is middling, but the DVD itself is high-definition perfection.
Both the Verdi Requiem and the John Martin painting depict the same event from Revelations that the original "Dies Irae" text (a Latin poem of the Middle Ages) describes, and the words of which Verdi sets to such terrifying music. It's interesting to see how the details of the hymn are reflected in Martin's canvas:
Scholars have often remarked that Romanticism constituted a revival of the medieval art, with the emphasis on aesthetics rather than religious piety. (Thus, for example, the Gothic cathedrals and castles of the Middle Ages were closely echoed in the 19th century by Neo-Gothic cathedrals and castles.) How fitting, then, that John Martin should have taken a quintessentially medieval subject, the Day of Wrath, and presented it in Romantic fashion, as an aesthetic event.
By contrast, in the 20th century, the Catholic church sadly (and predictably) removed the "Dies Irae" from the liturgy of the Requiem Mass, supposedly wanting to focus on something more "positive." In doing so, I think the faith lost something essential: the rich aesthetic experience provided by its own tradition in the Sublime. And of course, this watering-down of the Sublime was happening at the same time that its tradition of the Beautiful was being diminished as well.
I think the faith made a terrible mistake in conforming to modern minimalism and the "aesthetics of guilt," because the power of the Sublime and the Beautiful has a compelling aesthetic force, and captures the imagination even of those who are not believers (just as the ending of belief in the Classical pantheon did not make the Greek gods any less compelling as subjects of art and literature).
Our culture needs a revival of the Sublime just as much as it hungers for a revival of the Beautiful. I hope this thrilling John Martin exhibit at the Tate helps to bring about such a revival.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
The comparison between an orchestra conductor and the various examples of a lone figure on the rock, in Martin's paintings, is highly apt. Watching the clip from the Verdi Requiem, featuring history's definitive conductor leading an orchestra in performance, illustrates how telling the comparison is. Satan in Pandemonium (like Manfred in the mountain chasm, or Joshua on the rock) raises an arm and, through the sheer power of will, shapes existence itself into the form he imagines, just as the conductor, with the magus-like motions of his arms, shapes the sound that the orchestra creates.
Another point that has been made on the forum before, but bears repeating because it pertains to this topic, is how various art forms are inherently Romantic in tendency, or less so, depending on who populates their critical elite.
Music is the most inherently Romantic of art forms, and thus the composers of the Sublime -- such as Beethoven -- are rightly recognized as being the greatest composers in history.
In literature, the works of Lord Byron, the poet of the Sublime, are renowned, but there, the critical history is more contentious, and anti-Romantic personalities have always undermined the appreciation for greatness, especially in the 20th century.
In visual art, the genius of the supreme painter of the Sublime, John Martin, has been most aggressively undermined by anti-Romantic forces. Nowhere has minimalism and modernism and the aesthetics of guilt more completely overtaken critical discussion than in visual art.
It's telling that while in music, Impressionism (à la Debussy) had a place in musical history but a rightly modest one, in visual art Impressionism was wielded practically as a club, by the critics, to denounce Romanticism and Academic/Victorian Classicism and any trace of the Sublime.
Art forms -- or at the very least the people who end up comprising their critical elite -- seem to be inherently Romantic or less so, or at least that has been the case over the past century and a half.
I very much hope that this Tate exhibition, the tone of which is very appreciative of the work of John Martin, will help restore the Sublime in visual art to the esteemed place it deserves. Martin, Byron, and Beethoven all deserve to be regarded as the greatest Romantic exponents of their respective art forms.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
The recovery of this painting is a fascinating story. An article in the Guardian describes the process in detail.
The original state of the painting, prior to reclamation, was abysmal. The comparison to the Frauenkirche is apt, given that the Dresden church was left as nothing but a mound of rubble and fragments after its barbaric destruction in WWII. It's remarkable to see how effectively the painting was recreated. Here's a before-and-after comparison, with the "before" image showing the frightening extent of the loss and the painting's general condition of disrepair.
For comparison, here's John Martin's own, smaller copy of the painting from the University of Manchester. The Tate restoration was clearly meticulously faithful and successfully restores Martin's masterpiece to its original condition, recovering Martin's sublime aesthetic vision.
Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the article about the restoration of the painting is that the Tate considered various proposals, including leaving the torn section missing (!), thus rendering the canvas nothing but a fragment, a ruin of a painting. Worse still, the gallery considered rendering the restored section in an abstract (i.e., modern) manner.
This would have been a travesty: cramming a modern, abstract section into a great historicist masterpiece. It would have created a visual clash even more jarring than leaving a gaping hole in the canvas. It's such a grotesquely modern idea that I'm amazed that wiser heads prevailed and that Martin's great painting was spared this indignity, which would have been typical of present-day resentment-driven, deconstructionist thinking.
Amazingly, I've read that the Tate show exhibits the University of Manchester copy of The Destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum right alongside the restored original. The Tate clearly spared no effort in making this the greatest John Martin exhibition of all time. If there was ever a must-see exhibit devoted to a painter, this is it.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
Renata's concern is entirely legitimate. Dresden's Frauenkirche was lovingly restored after the war, but other historical masterpieces were not so lucky.
To see an example of just the kind of travesty that Renata describes, consider the fate of the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche (Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Chuch) in Berlin. Before the war, it was one of the most beautiful churches in the city, a 19th-century, historicist masterwork, with a noble spire and imposing Neo-Romanesque masonry.
Like most of the historical treasures of Germany, it was bombed during the war, but it actually emerged with less damage than many comparable churches. It was badly knocked about, but it was clearly repairable.
The colour in this remarkable photograph from shortly after the war's end is original. It shows the exact condition of the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, as seen from the back view. It was damaged, but certainly restorable.
An overhead photograph shows that much of the exterior structure was intact. It was in a far better state than the Frauenkirche.
But in an act that can only be described as cultural vandalism, the postwar occupation forces had the majority of the church eradicated, bulldozed out of existence, leaving only a decapitated fragment of the main portal and spire.
But the greatest indignity was yet to come. The church had to endure a brutalist modern spire being erected right alongside it, in a gesture that can only be described as a raised middle finger to the past.
The final insult was that a new, modernist church, looking more like a Stalinist prison, a Kafkaesque cell block, than a chapel, was erected directly in front of the surviving fragment of the original church.
Thus, not only was the historic church shredded, but it was boxed in on both sides by ugly modernist structures - as if the past were being walled in on both sides. It's as if no one could be permitted to see the beauty of the historic church, even in its ruined condition, lest they recognize the superior beauty of past eras and wish to recover the cultural values that gave birth to such beauty.
By contrast, as has been described on this forum before, Dresden's legendary Frauenkirche was merely a pile of rubble after the war, with just two remaining fragments. It was in much worse shape than the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church.
But it was lovingly recreated, true to the original in every detail, and with the extant fragments seamlessly incorporated into the new structure.
Thank goodness that John Martin's painting was restored in a reverent, faithful manner, like the reconstruction of the Frauenkirche, and spared being turned into a half-modernist pastiche, a Frankenstein mishmash designed to humiliate the past, as was the case with the Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
It's interesting that the Lord of the Rings films should be referenced, because it occurs to me that the Tolkien cinema trilogy is the one of the few (perhaps the only) experiences that most modern viewers, who have not immersed themselves in Romanticism and Romantic art, have ever had of the Sublime.
The depictions of Mordor in the LOTR movies very much embody the aesthetic of the Sublime, as do the caverns of Khazad-dûm. And all three of the main infernal characters - Sauron, the Witch King of Angmar, and the Balrog of Moria - have visual qualities that associate them with the Sublime figures in John Martin's paintings.
The trilogy is rich with visuals that depict the aesthetic of the Beautiful and the Sublime. For example, the view of Caras Galadhon in Lothlórien is certainly a thing of Beauty, with the pastel-coloured sky and the verdant fields reminiscent of Martin's painting of the Celestial City.
Mordor, on the other hand, very much resembles Martin's landscapes of the Sublime, particularly his depictions of Hell and other infernal realms. It even has a volcano, Orodruin (a.k.a. "Mount Doom"), similar to Mount Vesuvius in Martin's Destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum. And as a matter of fact, at the climax of The Return of the King, Orodruin erupts and destroys its surrounding territory, just like Vesuvius itself.
The previous images are screencaps, but here's a fascinating example of the concept art that was used in the preparation of the movies. In this illustration, Sauron stands on a rock overlooking the plain of Gorgoroth, looking every bit like one of Martin's solitary Sublime figures perched on similar rocky outcroppings, such as Satan or Manfred.
And not to venture too far off topic, but earlier today, Warner Bros. released the first trailer for Peter Jackson's adaptation of The Hobbit, his prequel to LOTR. It exhibits the same stunning visuals that the original trilogy featured, the same dramatic, mountainous landscapes worthy of John Martin himself.
The plot of The Hobbit is much inferior to the Rings trilogy, so it cannot possible approach the greatness of the previous films, but visually, it will clearly be another wonder.
Re: John Martin: Apocalypse
For those of you who are unable to attend this show (though, if you knew what you were missing, you would never forgive yourselves), the Tate has published an excellent catalogue of the exhibition, which constitutes the finest book ever assembled about John Martin, featurign a wealth of information about the artist and a more generous supply of high-quality reproductions of his works than in any prior volume.
It includes a discussion of the painter's subsequent influence on Romantic thought. For example, in an account of his impressions of Martin's works, H.P. Lovecraft, the greatest horror writer of the 20th century, describes how he
The painting vividly illustrates the source passage in Genesis, a vision of earthly ruin which prefigures Armageddon itself:
A close-up of a section of the painting reveals the myriad details that one discovers when one views Martin's canvasses in real life, their colossal size allowing for intricate particulars as well as crushing the viewer via the overall impact of their unimaginable scale. The entire city of once-noble architecture is collapsing into a mountain of rubble, while in the background, the ground seems to have opened up into a lake of fire, a vast cauldron of boiling lava which will melt the architectural fragments, leaving no trace of the cities' existence. The most mysterious element is the white figure in the foreground. It could represent Lot's wife, turned to a pillar of salt for disobeying God's commandment and looking back upon the devastation. Yet it also suggests a mysterious, hooded magus, who, by raising his arm, is calling forth the destruction, orchestrating the ruin. Observe that the lightning seems to be striking directly towards this figure's position, as if obeying the spellcaster's summons.
A different section reveals Lot and his family fleeing the devastation. The figures are somewhat larger than is usually the case in Martin's apocalyptic masterpieces, with one woman in particular appearing uncommonly curvaceous and buxom--a lone example of plus-size beauty in a painter known for depicting the Sublime.
There will never again be an art exhibition like John Martin: Apocalypse. We earnestly urge every reader to take whatever measures are necessary to partake of this once-in-a-lifetime event and to experience the thrilling works of the greatest Romantic artist the world has ever known.
|All times are GMT -4. The time now is 04:54.|
Powered by: vBulletin Version 3.0.7
Copyright ©2000 - 2018, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.