In Shahn’s early and iconic tempera-on-canvas painting, Sacco and Vanzetti lie in coffins in the foreground in front of a colonnaded neoclassical courthouse (image left). On the porch behind them hangs a portrait of the trial judge, Webster Thayer. Towering over Sacco and Vanzetti are the members of the committee that reviewed their convictions: Samuel Stratton, the president of MIT; Lawrence Lowell, Harvard’s president; and Robert Grant, a retired judge. These four men represent the wealthy, intellectual Massachusetts establishment, which was openly hostile to the radical ideals that Sacco and Vanzetti embodied.

Ben Shahn, The Passion of Sacco and Vanzetti, 1931-32, tempera and gouache on canvas mounted on composition board, 84 × 48 inches (Whitney Museum of American Art)


Ben Shahn, Bartolomeo Vanzetti and Nicola Sacco, 1931-32, gouache on paper on board, 10 7/8 x 14 5/8 inches / 27.6 x 37.1 cm (The Museum of Modern Art)


Two members of the committee proffer lilies, a fraudulent mourning gesture in light of their decision. As a well-known symbol of the crucified Christ, the lilies also suggest that Sacco and Vanzetti are martyrs, punished for sins they did not commit.


Origin of the Grail Cross / Cruciform Sword design?

Greetings everyone!


Does anyone knows the origin of the cruciform sword design? I have always wondered if this was a sign who already existed before the movie...


The human brain is a machine for coming to conclusions; if it cannot come to conclusions, it is rusty.

-G.K. Chesterton

Part of the movement and production of art is critique. To open oneself up to outside criticism from peers is not just a method of moving forward, but is practically a virtue. The humbling process of allowing another to deconstruct something that you have spent hours constructing is frustrating, humbling, and insightful all at the same time. Our logo, as a reflection of our ministry, is also open to the same humbling and uplifting critique that can be found in the long history of peer review and examination. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to make any more of a simple critique than needs be. Sometimes it is mean spirited, envious, and annoying. But even in those situations, it can still be productive.

TacticalFaithOur old logo has been with TF since it’s inception, over 5 years ago now. It was originally designed by an outside freelancer who works out of Montgomery. Albeit before my own time, it was crafted to emphasize the original intent of the ministry. Symbolic of a specific target, embedded within the cross, this was and is the high mark of all christians, and the goal and purpose of our faith. A Christ centered ministry that focuses on uplifting the Church in ministry, theology, philosophy, and apologetics.

Making no bones about it, we are a ministry aimed at Christian churches in the south, and specifically in Birmingham. Our emphasis is local. We are and have been committed to Christian orthodoxy, in the smallest sense of the “o”. In this way, Tactical Faith has not changed, and God willing, we will not change.

valentinianiii-coin-425adWith all that in mind, when we decided to change the logo, it was with the orthodox mindset in the lead. Our old logo, was contemporary, and modern. It was also commonly confused with a medical distribution organization, which as a salve, works. We do wish to heal the church in a way that brings theological renewal. But in the end, we felt that we needed to emphasize the ancientness of the faith that we long to represent. As such, we wish to spread wide the arms of the cross to all christians, regardless of denominations, tertiary theologies, and minor differences in the interpretation of scripture. All these things are important, but as a non-profit, this is not where are emphasis is. It is with anyone willing to align themselves with the Cross of Jesus Christ. The Cross and all its immediate emphasis in salvific history was a first priority in crafting the new logo.

cruciform-tandfI felt compelled to combine the T and the F into a single typographical element. This is not always meant to be a stand alone symbol, but it is meant to be an independent component when needed. As this cruciform began to take shape, I felt it only natural for the arm of the F to represent the spear that penetrated the side of Jesus. However, this also left me with a graphic issue of empty space on the other side of the F. Wanting to balance out the dead space I set to work on a solution. As most readers of the Gospel know, when the spear did penetrate the side of Jesus, it poured forth both blood and water. The historic implications of this description have validating medical overtures, since the heart will form a sack of fluid when under duress. As the blood of Christ is crucial to the work of the cross as well as the historical significance of this particular point in the narrative, the balanced solution was obvious. A blood-dropletsingle drop of blood reflected on the opposite side of the spear/arm would give the composition proper weight on both sides. Once that problem was solved I again felt compelled to further the logo into the Cruciform. As such one would have to consider all aspects of the Cross from a historical perspective. That would be the apologist in me coming out. As such, I decided to add an ascender to the logo. One in which would possibly carry the impetus of the crucifixion. “King of the Jews”. It says tf-breakdowneverything about the work of Jesus. The sign that was hung above Christ’s head. Being labeled an insurrectionist and a blasphemer, it is commonly understood that Pilate saw thru this ruse put on by the Jews. And to make it clear that insurrection would not be tolerated, Pilate placed this sign above Jesus as a tongue in cheek declaration of His “crimes”. What more justification would I need for the ascender? None at all. While not being as overt as the arm for the F, it still serves a symbolic purpose, which I’m happy to point out, since it gives preeminence to the One whom we serve. As for the other components of the logo, it is typeset with the font Kefa Regular. The T in Tactical has been replaced with the cross, without the arm and drop designating the F. The line of red below the TF logo represents the blood that covered the earth when Jesus spilt his blood. The brown and red represent the aforementioned blood, and the earthiness of Christ’s ministry. Lastly, I used a small bullet in the shape of the trinity, to further emphasis the specific type of ancient Christianity that we are seeking to promote.

We are mere christians. We are orthodox. We are ecuminical in the purest form of the Gospel. It’s what we do. Hopefully this will come thru in our messaging and our actions.

new-tactical-faith-logo-01 new-tactical-faith-logo-02


Cruciform Pontine MRI Hyperintensities (“Hot Cross Bun” Sign) in Non-Multiple System Atrophy Patients


Seong-Beom Koh, Kun-Woo Park, Dae-Hie Lee

Department of Neurology, Korea University College of Medicine, Seoul, Korea

Address for correspondence: Seong-Beom Koh, MD, PhD, Department of Neurology, Korea University College of Medicine at Guro Hospital, 80 Guro 2-dong, Guro-gu, Seoul, 152-703, Korea, Tel: +82-2-2626-1250, Fax: +82-2-2626-1255, E-mail:

Received October 24, 2007 Accepted May 19, 2008

Copyright © 2008 The Korean Movement Disorder Society

This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial License ( which permits unrestricted non-commercial use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited.

A 20-year-old woman presented with a 5-year history of gait disturbance and tremor. Her mother showed the same clinical features and expired due to aspiration pneumonia at the age of 28-year-old. She was diagnosed as a spinocerebellar ataxia type 2 with molecular genetic PCR analysis. Brain T2-weighted MR image showed cruciform signal hyperintensity in pons (Figure A). A 61-year-old man presented with a 7-year history of gait disturbance after cerebellar hemorrhage. He did not showed autonomic dysfunction. Brain T2-weighted MR image showed cruciform signal hyperintensity in pons (Figure B). Cruciform pontine MRI hyperintensities (“hot cross bun” sign) is a radiologic sign which has been said to specific for multiple system atrophy.[1,2] But our patients were diagnosed as spinocerebellar ataxia type 2 and old cerebellar hemorrhage. Therefore we suggest that “hot cross bun” sign reflects degeneration of transverse pontocerebellar fibers and is not a pathognomic sign of multiple system atrophy.

Four bathers cezanne THREE PLUS ONE




Roger Brown's Puerto Rican Wedding (1969). Brown said that the café in the lower left corner of this painting "isn't set up like an imitation of Nighthawks, but still refers to it very much."[12]


An establishing shot from "Homer vs. the Eighteenth Amendment", one of several references to Nighthawks in the animated TV series The Simpsons

Painting and sculpture[edit]

Many artists have produced works that allude or respond to Nighthawks.


Hopper influenced the Photorealists of the late 1960s and early 1970s, including Ralph Goings, who evoked Nighthawks in several paintings of diners. Richard Estes painted a corner store in People's Flowers (1971), but in daylight, with the shop's large window reflecting the street and sky.[13]


More direct visual quotations began to appear in the 1970s. Gottfried Helnwein's painting Boulevard of Broken Dreams (1984) replaces the three patrons with American pop culture icons Humphrey Bogart, Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean, and the attendant with Elvis Presley.[14] According to Hopper scholar Gail Levin, Helnwein connected the bleak mood of Nighthawks with 1950s American cinema and with "the tragic fate of the decade's best-loved celebrities."[15] Nighthawks Revisited, a 1980 parody by Red Grooms, clutters the street scene with pedestrians, cats, and trash.[16] A 2005 Banksy parody shows a fat, shirtless soccer hooligan in Union Flag boxers standing inebriated outside the diner, apparently having just smashed the diner window with a nearby chair.[17]



Several writers have explored how the customers in Nighthawks came to be in a diner at night, or what will happen next. Wolf Wondratschek's poem "Nighthawks: After Edward Hopper's Painting" imagines the man and woman sitting together in the diner as an estranged couple: "I bet she wrote him a letter/ Whatever it said, he's no longer the man / Who'd read her letters twice."[18] Joyce Carol Oates wrote interior monologues for the figures in the painting in her poem "Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, 1942".[19] A special issue of Der Spiegel included five brief dramatizations that built five different plots around the painting; one, by screenwriter Christof Schlingensief, turned the scene into a chainsaw massacre. Erik Jendresen and Stuart Dybek also wrote short stories inspired by this painting.[20][21]



Hopper was an avid moviegoer and critics have noted the resemblance of his paintings to film stills. Nighthawks and works such as Night Shadows (1921) anticipate the look of film noir, whose development Hopper may have influenced.[22][23]


Hopper was an acknowledged influence on the film musical Pennies from Heaven (1981), in which director Ken Adams recreated Nighthawks as a set.[24] Director Wim Wenders recreated Nighthawks as the set for a film-within-a-film in The End of Violence (1997).[22] Wenders suggested that Hopper's paintings appeal to filmmakers because "You can always tell where the camera is."[25] In Glengarry Glen Ross (1992), two characters visit a café resembling the diner in a scene that illustrates their solitude and despair.[26] The painting was also briefly used as a background for a scene in the animated film Heavy Traffic (1973) by director Ralph Bakshi.[27]


Nighthawks also influenced the "future noir" look of Blade Runner; director Ridley Scott said "I was constantly waving a reproduction of this painting under the noses of the production team to illustrate the look and mood I was after".[28] In his review of the 1998 film Dark City, Roger Ebert noted that the film had "store windows that owe something to Edward Hopper's Nighthawks."[29] Hard Candy (2005) acknowledged a similar debt by setting one scene at a "Nighthawks Diner" where a character purchases a T-shirt with Nighthawks printed on it.[30]



Tom Waits's album Nighthawks at the Diner (1975) features a title, a cover, and lyrics inspired by Nighthawks.[31]

The video for Voice of the Beehive's song "Monsters and Angels", from Honey Lingers, is set in a diner reminiscent of the one in Nighthawks, with the band-members portraying waitstaff and patrons. The band's web site said they "went with Edward Hopper's classic painting, Nighthawks, as a visual guide."[32]

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's 2013 single "Night Café" was influenced by Nighthawks and mentions Hopper by name. Seven of his paintings are referenced in the lyrics.[33]

Theatre / Opera[edit]

Jonathan Miller's 1982 production of Verdi's opera Rigoletto for English National Opera, set in 1950s New York, designed by Patrick Robertson and Rosemary Vercoe, features one street setting with a bar inspired by the Nighthawks diner.[34]



An establishing shot from "Homer vs. the Eighteenth Amendment", one of several references to Nighthawks in the animated TV series The Simpsons

The television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation placed its characters in a version of the painting.[35]

In the That '70s Show episode "Drive In," a scene ends with Red and Kitty Foreman sitting in a diner named "Phillies", when Kitty states that the moment seems familiar. The camera zooms out showing Nighthawks with Red and Kitty wearing the suit and red dress, respectively, of the man and woman sitting together.[36]

The TV show Fresh Off the Boat Season 2 poster features the title family in Nighthawks with actress Constance Wu using chopsticks[37]

Scale model[edit]

A number of model railroaders, most notably John Armstrong, have recreated the scene on their layouts.[38]



Nighthawks has been widely referenced and parodied in popular culture. Versions of it have appeared on posters, T-shirts and greeting cards as well as in comic books and advertisements.[39] Typically, these parodies—like Helnwein's Boulevard of Broken Dreams, which became a popular poster[15]—retain the diner and the highly recognizable diagonal composition but replace the patrons and attendant with other characters: animals, Santa Claus and his reindeer, or the cast of The Adventures of Tintin or Peanuts.[40]


One parody of Nighthawks even inspired a parody of its own. Michael Bedard's painting Window Shopping (1989), part of his Sitting Ducks series of posters, replaces the figures in the diner with ducks and shows a crocodile outside eying the ducks in anticipation. Poverino Peppino parodied this image in Boulevard of Broken Ducks (1993), in which a contented crocodile lies on the counter while four ducks stand outside in the rain.[41]


In 2014, Sirius Radio host Howard Stern, featured a parody on his website entitled Wack Pack Diner.[42]


Edward Hopper said that Nighthawks was inspired by “a restaurant on New York’s Greenwich Avenue where two streets meet,” but the image—with its carefully constructed composition and lack of narrative—has a timeless, universal quality that transcends its particular locale. One of the best-known images of twentieth-century art, the painting depicts an all-night diner in which three customers, all lost in their own thoughts, have congregated. Hopper’s understanding of the expressive possibilities of light playing on simplified shapes gives the painting its beauty. Fluorescent lights had just come into use in the early 1940s, and the all-night diner emits an eerie glow, like a beacon on the dark street corner. Hopper eliminated any reference to an entrance, and the viewer, drawn to the light, is shut out from the scene by a seamless wedge of glass. The four anonymous and uncommunicative night owls seem as separate and remote from the viewer as they are from one another. (The red-haired woman was actually modeled by the artist’s wife, Jo.) Hopper denied that he purposefully infused this or any other of his paintings with symbols of human isolation and urban emptiness, but he acknowledged that in Nighthawks “unconsciously, probably, I was painting the loneliness of a large city.”


At least it was hilarious when I was twelve. Also, when Rambo finds the first POW, he’s a scrawny, bearded man with longish blond/light brown hair who is literally being crucified. I think it was supposed to symbolize something.

A significant step towards that vocabulary’s refinement can be found in a massive oil painting not in the exhibition, The Bather (1983)—a reinvention of Matisse’s Bathers by the River (1913)—and more intimately in two smaller watercolors executed in the same year which are on display: Mexico Chinapa and Mexico 12.23.83. In Matisse’s mural-sized oil, four statuesque nudes, chiselled with sharp Cubist edges, stretch like marble columns, canvasheight, against an insinuation of river bank. Also undertaken after a visit to Morocco, Matisse’s Bathers reveal a new attitude to the relationship between a figure’s size and the picture space it occupies—an attitude which Scully pushes to an absurd extreme in his homage. In Scully’s work, a pun on his own stark “strip” now overwhelms the massive linen in wide vertical navys and ficus greens—trunk-like lines which replace any semblance of real body with pure feeling. To amplify a sense of human weight and depth, Scully has constructed boxy protrusions from the canvas’s surface which invest the work with an air of carpentry and craftsmanship, of things concealed in built cupboards.


The earliest of the oil works on display is a quartet of large canvases collectively entitled Four Dark Mirrors (2002). Each constituent panel is split lengthwise to create a pair of parallel runners or facing vertical fields of clashing horizontal stripes. As a significant subgenre of Scully’s work, mirrors are first discernible as far back as 1983, and while one’s instinct is to read into the collision of different widths and colours a playful philosophical statement on the very enterprise of creative imitation of the physical world, a more intriguing alternative niggles from the atlas of the painter’s biography. The coloration of Four Dark Mirrors is most conspicuously in accord with the watercolour discussed above, Mexico 12.23.83, undertaken the same year as Scully’s first so-called mirror. All three works excavate dense obsidian blacks and warm desert golds which glint mysteriously beside drenched rectangular rags of coagulating red. The scheme is strikingly similar to depictions of an extraordinary incarnation of “mirror” that Scully may well have encountered in his excursions to Mexico—the central deity in the ancient Aztec religion, Tezcatlipoca—whose name is commonly translated as “Smoking Mirror”. In honour of Tezcatlipoca (who was typically depicted in folk art with gold and black stripes across his face), each year an Aztec man was chosen to marry four brides before ascending the steep Templo Mayor, where he was sacrificed by priests and his body was eaten. Seen in this brutally mystical context, the four stark marriages of Scully’s strata are less helpfully compared to reflective cosmetic surfaces, and begin to conjure instead the endlessly eroding steps to Smoking Mirror’s legendary sacrificial temple in Tenochtitlan, as the painter’s work aspires to something beyond the inert mimesis of conventional representationalism to a primitive alchemy capable of transforming the perishable substances of this world into the eternal.


The stakes are just as high in the only other four-panel composition on display in the exhibition, 4 Towers (2009). The work’s title feels at once mythic and architectural, as if alluding to the impenetrable perpendicularity of the medieval Bunratty Castle, whose four broad stone towers still stand formidably in the artist’s native Ireland, or to the two pairs of thinning spires that rise above the Nativity façade of Gaudi’s fragmented Sagrada Familia church in Barcelona—the only four towers of a projected twelve to be completed before the death of the Catalan architect. Scully’s wide totems, each stacking four geometrically precise blocks of rich uninterrupted color (recalling the commercial color chart phases of Ellsworth Kelly or Gerhard Richter), perfect a process—oil on aluminium—that the artist first experimented with in the mid 1990s with a series of ‘floating’ works, which he affixed to the wall at jutting right angles along each panel’s side. Unlike canvas, aluminium resists the easy respiration of color, the breathing between layers of paint—its rigidity serving only to buttress the sense of sturdy aesthetic carpentry. The metallic opacity of the style conducts an entirely different energy through these works, converting them, materially, into panes which reflect back far more than they absorb, like stained glass windows in an abandoned cathedral when a cloud-scarfed moon has turned the sky outside to stone.





ANOTHER FOUR DAYS BY SEAN SCULLY- quadrant composition




Two insets tell the story of the fifth-century Italian saint. A young woman from a wealthy family, Cecilia was brought to court by the prefect of Rome, Turcius Almachius, a man infamous for his hatred of Christians, who coveted her family’s wealth. She was given two options: to sacrifice to the gods or to die. “Do you know that I am the bride of my Lord Jesus Christ?” she replied. She was sentenced to death by beheading. The painting’s upper inset, a stream of weightless lines running freely through the panel, tells of how she sang to God as the executioner drew near. Like a musical score or the strings of some angelic harp, the inset offers a spiritual portrait of the patron saint of musicians. The lower inset is made of four vertical stripes, red and black. Forceful and unrelenting as a butcher’s knife, they symbolize her martyrdom. Again, tragedy and salvation, gravity and music, come together in harmony.


Could he also have been an initiate? No-one has asked the question, and at present, one should only pose it, merely noting that in “The Last Supper” (1955), God is painted without a head – echoes of Jean Cocteau’s mural inside Notre Dame de France Church in London, a mural claimed to be linked with Cocteau’s initiatory alliances. Dali frequently used this headless divinity, including “The Ecumenical Council”. And in "The Last Supper", is the position of the divinity not similar to Leonardo's infamous Vitruvian Man?


The present print “Four Indeterminate Lines” shows the particular importance of the line for the artist. The line is not simply a line, in fact it seems to move, and it looks like a three-dimensional, unstable figure. It essentially forces the viewer to follow its course in search for the beginning and the end. But this is impossible; the lines cannot be discerned individually, instead they form the complex and coherent composition of the art work. In this etching, Bernar Venet masterly illustrates his idea of transposing mathematical concepts and scientific theories into the realm of art.



The multiplicity of abstract compositions that form Scully works have indeed remarkably sensual and emotional qualities. The works achieve this emotional effect thorough a unique technique of applying first the direct brushwork on wet canvas, and second, through the hand drawn, irregular contours of the individual stripes that allow the layers of paint beneath to shine through.

Sean Scully

Checker, 1994

Galerie Boisserée, J. & W. Boisserée GmbH

Price on Request



Of course, the mathematician in me realised that this was a perfect opportunity to practice the four colour theorem that states that any 2D map can be coloured with just four colours in such a way that no coloured patch touches another patch of the same colour. Which led to a second version, using four shades of blue. (Great variety of pencils up in the museum's art room!)


As always, Mr. Scully’s art is based around the stripe. It has been his signature motif since he first discovered Moroccan textiles more than 30 years ago, his equivalent to Newman’s zip, Rothko’s floating color planes, or Pollock’s drip. Here, the stripes are gathered in groups of two, three, and four to form squares that interlock in an irregular checkerboard of horizontal and vertical blocks. The overall patterns look something like a patchwork of flags.




Trevor Sutton’s beautiful paintings here are separated in time by twenty years, Rue Jacob, a circular painting with a central two tone irregular hexad shape situated within a field of fluctuating brown/grey hues, being painted in 1992, and Raindance, a vertical rectangular grid with four columns and sixteen rows in reds, pinks, greys, browns and blacks, having been painted only last year. They testify to this artist’s disciplined commitment to the idea of abstraction and to its ongoing exploration. Remembering that I saw a remarkable painting by Sutton in a show last year, Abstract Painting in the Seventies, higher in colour than these at HMS, I make comparisons in my head and note the “continued vigour” of his oeuvre (borrowing a phrase from Manley).


Dan Sturgis, No Other Home, 2011, Courtesy of the artist / Galerie Hollenbach Stuttgar & Zurich


The Blue Nudes represent seated female nudes, and are among Matisse’s final body of works. Blue Nude IV, the first of the four, took a notebook of studies and two weeks work of cutting and arranging before it satisfied him. The pose he finally arrived at for all four works—intertwining legs and an arm stretching behind the neck—was his favorite. The posture is similar to a number of seated nudes from the first half of the 1920s, and ultimately derives from the reposed figures of Le bonheur de vivre.[1]


The Backs were Matisse’s largest sculptures. Over twenty years he progressively refined the original pose, based on a woman leaning on a fence, until he achieved a massive simplicity. Matisse’s decision to show the back view of a woman on such a monumental scale was unorthodox. By concealing her face, he avoided the complexities of visual engagement between artist and model. This helped him to consider the nude as an arrangement of forms that he could simplify and stylise.


In the final sculpture, the modelling of flesh has given way to the massing of androgynous bulk and the gently curved spine has been replaced by an abstracted plait. Although Back I had been exhibited in 1913, the series remained almost unknown until 1949–50 when the plaster Backs I, III and IV appeared in exhibitions in Paris and Lausanne.


Back II was only rediscovered after Matisse’s death, while an even more naturalistic first version is now only known from a photograph. All were cast in bronze after his death.


Gallery label, October 2016


The Backs were Matisse’s largest sculptures. Over twenty years he progressively refined the original pose, based on a woman leaning on a fence, until he achieved a massive simplicity. Matisse’s decision to show the back view of a woman on such a monumental scale was unorthodox. By concealing her face, he avoided the complexities of visual engagement between artist and model. This helped him to consider the nude as an arrangement of forms that he could simplify and stylise.


In the final sculpture, the modelling of flesh has given way to the massing of androgynous bulk and the gently curved spine has been replaced by an abstracted plait. Although Back I had been exhibited in 1913, the series remained almost unknown until 1949–50 when the plaster Backs I, III and IV appeared in exhibitions in Paris and Lausanne.


Back II was only rediscovered after Matisse’s death, while an even more naturalistic first version is now only known from a photograph. All were cast in bronze after his death.


Gallery label, October 2016


Back, 1908–09, 1911(?)–13, 1913–16, c. 1931


Matisse worked on Back over the course of 23 years. With its various states, it is, as the artist’s daughter, Marguerite, suggested in 1976, one sculpture that passed through several stages of evolution. After Back (I), Matisse began each time with a new plaster cast of the previous state: the first would remain as the work we know today—Back (I), Back (II), and so on—while the second served as the base from which he would start his new explorations.


Heading into the next gallery, you have the opportunity to be surrounded by Matisse’s much beloved series of Blue Nudes. Larger than you would expect, around 40 inches tall, each is slightly different and boasts charcoal lines, erased many times, to form an activated negative space balancing the iconic indigo figures. The interchangeability of each figure, along with the slight changes between, reveals a process much more fluid and mutable than one would suspect from such monumental images.


In reproduction, the blue nudes appear to be cut from one decisive shape; in real life they are anything but. Layers of subtly different blues build these shapes, offering insight into the almost Photoshop-like process of adding in layers and removing them, maybe even indefinitely, until he reached an arbitrary stopping point. This is a hugely important affirmation for contemporary artists whose process is an evolution, rather than a set of goals achieved.


French artist Georges de la Tour paints another version of the Vanitas, the penitent Mary Magdalene reflecting on her sins. He owed much of his style to that of Caravaggio and is considered a "Caravaggisti" or one of Caravaggio's stylistic followers. de la Tour painted at least four versions of this work, The Repentant Magdalene, is now housed in the National Gallery of Art (DC) and The Magdalene with the Smoking Flame, at the LACMA.

This was typical for the artist, he also painted multiple versions of other themes during his career.


Like the Claesz paintings we have symbols of mortality, such as the skull and the candle. There are also other symbols of earthly vanity such as jewelry. Like Caravaggio he creates a somber mood with a strong light source, all four versions of this painting are illuminated by a single candle. Though the earliest version is unique in that the flame of the candle is reflected in a mirror that Mary Magdalene looks into with a meditative gaze. Like Pieter Claesz, Georges de la Tour was also selling his work for a broad market and therefore would paint additional versions of his paintings that were the most popular.


Famous ‘Nighthawks’ Painting Has Been Recreated As A 3D Installation In NYC



In celebration of the big Edward Hopper exhibition at New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art, the institute has decided to give one of the artist’s most famous paintings a 3D update.


Silence is ubiquitous in his paintings even when there are many people present—it’s almost as if you have surprised these two ladies having dinner at “Chop Suey” restaurant (1927). You always feel that Hopper is on the verge of saying something, but he hardly does.


The Passion of Christ, from his death on the cross on Good Friday to his triumphant resurrection on Easter Sunday is a subject every art student at the time studied in Old Master paintings. Students were encouraged to compare and dissect this seminal theme of Western art and to copy various versions of the subject. The drawing by Hopper appears not to be a copy of an old work, but one of his own invention. The central cross with the nailed Christ dominates the space, but directly behind it is a second cross, indicated only the outstretched armpost corresponding on a plane with the back of Christ's knee. The bound feet of the malfactor in the upper right-hand corner is the only indication of the third cross on Calvary. The solitary Centurion holding a diagonally positioned spear gazes up at the figure of Christ above him in a dramatic reconfiguration of the usual point of view and conventions of depicting this subject. The simple, unadorned background appears to have been stumped or rubbed in the areas of shadow in order to blend the individual strokes on the pencil. This technique also contributes to the general lugubriousness of the scene. This early Hopper drawing is unusual in that he eschewed his standard systemic approach in favor of a more atmospheric technique. Thus, this sheet suggests a work executed in black chalk with its fine tonal gradation rather than the graphite pencil, which was actually used. The raking light which bathes the central figure on the cross, as well as the centurion below, establishes the time of day as late in the day or sunset.


He even crucified Santa Claus in a 1988 work that ad agency Saatchi & Saatchi hung in its lobby and, after an outcry, quickly took down.


By far the most well known of these Japanese/Western holiday blendings is the notorious story of a department store somewhere in Japan that one year supposedly erected a prominent Christmas display featuring as its centerpiece the smiling figure Santa Claus nailed to a cross. It’s a perfect expression of the clash between the holy and the profane, the secular and the religious, the East and the West. It speaks to xenophobic fears (these foreigners can’t be trusted with our religion and our traditions!), and it’s a darn funny story.


However, despite all the people who assert that the tale of the crucified Santa is true and that they know someone who actually saw it, the literal truthfulness of this legend is suspect. No one to our knowledge has produced evidence documenting that such a Christmas display was ever used commercially in Japan (other than as a knowing


Santa Cross


joke), such as a photograph of the scene or a contemporaneous news account that recorded its date and location. As well, in true urban legend fashion the details of where, when, and how the crucified Santa Claus was displayed are vague and vary from telling to telling: Santa appeared on a cross in Kyoto, Tokyo, the Ginza district, or a specific department store (such as Mitsukoshi); he was represented with a gigantic figure, a life-sized display, several small characters, a billboard, or a cartoon drawing; and Santa was nailed to a cross in Japan in 1945 or 1962 or 1990 or anywhere between “just after World War II” to “a few years ago.”


If you type "crucified Santa" into Google Images, you'll see that various idiots have mocked up pictures of the jolly old soul nailed to a cross; or gone one better, donning Father Christmas outfits and posing like the dying Christ on crosses of their own; all in tribute to one of the world's great cultural confusions.


For one thing, it continues the trend of Snyder painting DC characters as mythological figures. While part of this is baked into the Superman concept — he is, after all, a son with unearthly powers sent by his father to save humanity; you'd have to squint hard to miss the Jesus allusion in that description — Snyder has certainly leaned into the curve, first in Man of Steel (in one sequence, Superman floats above the Earth in a crucifixion pose before heading into the action; the character is also established to be 33, the same age as Jesus when he was crucified) and even moreso in BvS.


In this new movie, a statue of Superman is defaced with the words "False God," while Lex Luthor speaks of the hero as a devil coming from above. Batman refers to him as a god, although interestingly, Wonder Woman doesn't (she does, after all, have experience with real deities, albeit in the Greek pantheon not the Christian one). And then, of course, there's the whole "becoming a figure of inspiration to the entire world after his death" thing, with vigils and graffiti that begs humanity to learn from his example. (Apparently, public opinion in the DC movie universe is a fickle thing, going from hatred to devotion in just a few large explosions.)


In their fictional world, the Homies are a group of tightly knit Chicano buddies who grew up in the Mexican-American barrio of "Quien Sabe" ("Who knows?") located in East Los Angeles. In an inner-city world plagued by poverty, violence, and drugs, the Homies form a strong and binding cultural support system that enables them to overcome the surrounding negativity, allowing for laughter and good times as an antidote to reality. As befitting these characters from the barrio, many Homies wear bandanas and baggy pants.[1] The four main Homies are Hollywood (based on creator Gonzales),[4] Smiley, Pelon, and Bobby Loco.