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Pictures at an Exhibition

Today I visited the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy.

There were over a thousand exhibits and installations. A long, lazy, late lunch was needed and enjoyed afterwards.

I love art, but I am no expert and certainly cannot claim to know any more than liking what I like. Nevertheless here are three of my favourites from the day.

This is by Eileen Cooper. I could have chosen any of hers on display there. I had not seen her work before today. She is now a new adored artist.

 

The colours in this painting by John Wragg are striking, as is the girl with her look of haughty, bored disdain.

 

 

As regular readers may know, I particularly enjoy figurative art – particularly portraying women. However, this by Suzanne Moxhay caught my attention with its wonderful other-worldliness.

 

It was a good day.

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© this blog post © the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art © those artists named above

(apologies to Mussorgsky for the theft of the title for this post. I am sure he won’t mind)

 

 

 
9 Comments

Posted by on August 11, 2017 in Art, Still Life

 

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Your Dante

Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Beata Beatrix, ca 1864-70.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Beata Beatrix, ca 1864-70.

Be my Lizzie

and I will be

your Dante

capturing your beauty

in words

instead of colours.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The model is Elizabeth Siddal, a writer and painter in her own right.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 14, 2016 in Art

 

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I have become narrow

Sculpture by Alberto Giacometti

Five years.

It is apparently how long ago I first registered with WordPress. The automatically generated notice from WP came as a surprise. And made me think about my early on-line writing days before ‘The Notebook’ and Love Affair Diary’.
Before coming here.

In those far off times I certainly wrote of romance and desire, sex and adoration, dominance and submission. I definitely spoke of my admiration for beautiful, intelligent, creative, wonderful women. In poetry and in prose.

Yet interspersed among the sensual and the erotic was music, art, poetry, and literature. Science and nature. Even politics.

Back then I posted of a richer, broader, fuller, more varied life. One that was beyond, and yet contained, sexual and emotional desire.

And I realise I have become confined, constrained, constricted. I have shortened my telescoped my horizons, lowered my sights, reduced my scope.

I have become skinny, thin, two-dimensional, without depth.

I have become narrow.

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© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Sculpture by Alberto Giacometti

 

 

 
25 Comments

Posted by on November 10, 2015 in Still Life

 

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Private Dancer

Private Dancer by Jack Vettriano

This is one of my favourite Jack Vettriano paintings

Partly because, from my perspective, the relationship between the man and the woman is not as obvious as it may first appear.

The scene is clearly a ‘gentleman’s club’.  A woman is beginning a dance for a man who is seated upon a red leather bench in front of her.  We cannot see the man’s face, but there is something in the shape his left hand is making that suggests his arousal, his need, his wanting to touch her.  Behind his head there is a mirror that shows the reflection of a middle-aged man and a presumably young woman.  They appear to me to be entering a room together, something beyond striptease.

The pose of the woman in the foreground with her back to us is provocative.  She is a typical Vettriano woman – sensual and sexy without being perfect.  There is a lovely tilt to her hip, and one can imagine the silk of her stockinged leg brushing against the man’s trousers as she moves.

She appears to represent the man’s plaything and yet I’m not sure I see it like that.  Many will disagree, but I see her as possessing power.  He has paid his money but somehow this dance is on her terms.  Perhaps it is the fact that she is standing and he is seated, possibly there is something in her stance that is predatory.  It could be that the monetary transaction has betrayed his weakness.  His desire has given her control.

Yet it is not the ambivalence I see in the painting that I most enjoy.

What I really I adore is how it reminds me of the pleasure of a truly private striptease – one by a woman for her lover – a submissive for her Master.

What she wears, designed to thrill

The way she moves so seductively and sensually.

How she carefully choreographs herself to the music.

The thrust of her hips.

The slight sway of her sweet breasts.

The proudly erect nipples.

The amazingly sexy wiggle of her marvellous arse.

The achingly submissive look in her eyes.

The toss of her hair.

The way she strokes herself.

Her parted thighs.

The rising excitement as each garment is removed.

The certainty of her gorgeous nakedness in my arms when the music stops

The deep pleasure we both get…

I feel myself stiffen as I write…

I would recommend it to lovers everywhere.

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A version of this post was originally made in my blog Love Affair Diary under the title of A Recommendation to Dance.

Here are some suggested songs for disrobing

The painting is of course by Jack Vettriano

 
43 Comments

Posted by on November 24, 2012 in Art, Erotica, Lovers Past

 

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Many a submissive girl’s fantasy

A past lover adored this painting

‘The Assessors’, by Jack Vettriano.

To be naked and bound.  Perhaps blindfolded.  To be examined, admired and studied intently by strangers.  Smartly dressed men.

Perhaps touched and fondled.  If the Master allows it.

It is many a submissive girl’s fantasy.

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Originally posted in my blog Love Affair Diary

 
23 Comments

Posted by on August 23, 2012 in Art, D/s, Erotica, Lovers Past

 

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Sweetheart

Today she called him ‘sweetheart’.

At first he was pleased.  A rare endearment from her.

But then he realised it was ‘a sweetheart’ and not ‘my sweetheart’.

And that is about as far away from his own self-image as could be.

Where are you now, proud Dominant?

 
11 Comments

Posted by on July 3, 2012 in Lovers Past

 

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Like Lovers

There is never a moment when there is nothing to say.

From the instant in the grey morning when he steers the car out of the rain-washed car park, to the minute he brings it to a stop again in the same place six hours later, their conversation is endless.

It twists and turns through a dozen subjects on the anonymous motorway. It drifts along harmlessly on their one attempt at duty. It ducks and dives, dances and weaves, sometimes dangerously, sometimes amusingly, sometimes sweetly as they eat in the restaurant. Even when he is utterly lost in her beauty and the eloquence of her gorgeous eyes, their words somehow continue to bind them tight.

There is an exclamation point when she unexpectedly kisses him on the cheek and they hug almost awkwardly as they return to the street. It is heaven to feel her arms about him, to feel her close, even for those untidy, embarrassed, sacred seconds.

And then their dialogue continues. Wild, irreverent, brave and unabated.

They hold each other’s attention like lovers.

Yet they are not.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on June 12, 2012 in Lovers Past

 

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