Forgot to mention the ice rink of a floor in most of the rooms.

Lethal if a drop of water gets on that.

It has a bulging hand-painted portal, a boat cabin in the loft, a treehouse and a brick oven in the garden.

Fugly but am all in on this.

Whole place is like a car showroom, but brighter.

Do people who have their homes like this have cataracts or something? I dunno how else one could hack spending more than 30 uncomfortable minutes in this kind of glare.

Ceiling spots are the devil’s work, no matter the brightness. So ugly, so impractical, so expensive, intense hassle to get rid of. Urgh.

Possibly they have a pet bird?

The red is a particularly hard shade.

Have always loved Dixon.

Reminds me of being a very small child, in that cusp between everything being strange and inscrutable, and the unshakeable confidence that everything sometime would be solved.

Though the friezes my toddler self gazed upon baffled and sleepless were much simpler, as a preteen pretending with protractors simpler again being mostly transparent, now blank and pitiless, there’s all the plainlitoccult puzzlement of youth

no wonder my brow so furrows

The portrait of Herzog which we all want to see, is the one he produces himself.

The lad hoofling spaghetti into himself and grabbing another handful as the stall holder is busy trying to stop the tall guy.

Having just watched the 1950s musical “South Pacific” set in the same arena, but very cheerful, and today being the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, seeing this image now is an interesting juxtaposition.

Come to think of it, used the phrase from the title to inquire after a man’s wellbeing just two days ago. He blamed it on his colleagues (who were at the bar with him, and who seemed to understand).

Yeah, if the rest of the house weren’t so stagey I’d take the child’s room & rosettes at face value. It just feels like an attempt to sell an idea.

Spotted a second rocking horse, beyond the grey modular sofa which overlooks the steps down to the swimming pool.

Christmas stockings hung over the fireplace in the original hall. Pony club rosettes pinned above the window in the “child’s” bedroom.

More soulless than the unused boardroom of an SME based in a small industrial estate built in the late 1990s.

Spotlight hell, pseudo-idyllic Edwardian childhood signifiers, 20 shades of griege, an auditorium worth of chairs & sofas arrayed about the pool, bizarre proportions, including in the original house due to unnecessary removal of walls.

View of the distant trees from the glass extension in photos 12 & 13 marred by service station style landscaping in the near to mid-ground.

Eh, wash & glaze are kinda the same from our perspective as viewers - just differentiates type of solvent used, as determined by binding media.

Heavy draperies added to censor the painting seem to follow the same shape on the lower body, and the article mentions Artemesia’s delicate glazes under the overpainting.

So though the article doesn’t state that she painted this translucent veil, or if it is included in the digital reconstruction to indicate a query researchers were unable to resolve categorically, she included similarly diaphanous fabric in this nude https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b0/Artemisia_Gentileschi_-_Sleeping_Venus.JPG

& at the same time how they have a passing resemblance to glitchy pixelation.

a mid-point, of sorts.

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Meant less that he’d fully painted over elements, and more his revisions regarding the hand closest to us, his head, the back of the shoulder, the farthest breast. Also the arm farthest from us likely wasn’t visible in fact, but there’s a tension with it being unseen, similar to when an artist elects to not use foreshortening. I like that he’s grappled with resolving these questions and hasn’t hidden the struggle from us.

Like seeing that he’s had some struggles with the composition and has edited stuff out. Lends a a particular tension to the work, which feels revelatory.

Even the agent is describing it as just a footprint.

And that stork on the brink of departure…