The open mouth is not normally featured in art. Yet, it seems to be the very epicentre of the canvas here. Domenichino uses the faintest dots of white lead to pick out the teeth of John the Baptist within the dark abyss of the mouth. Meanwhile, the lips are grey and sickly as life swiftly leaves the decapitated head, with the colours serving to contrast the bright red blood seeping from the severed neck. Sitting centrally on the plate, the open mouth is at odds to the heavily closed, sunken eyes. Although the saint is now unseeing, his mouth seems to suggest a final breath exiting his body, the last gasp of life which produces an almost sensory, audible quality to the painting, or even a death rattle. The singular, central crease in the pristine, white tablecloth sitting directly below the gaping darkness equally serves to draw the viewer’s eye to the open mouth. Perhaps Domenichino is even suggesting that the last breath of John the Baptist is just strong enough to flutter the t...
So often is John Singer Sargent defined by his society portraits which from the late 1870s, gave him international fame, a distinct style and elite client opportunities. The recent exhibition at Tate Britain successfully defined the artist through 'fashion' and his upper-class portraits with their quick, confident brushwork and equally commanding figural depictions. Studied less often, however, are the mural works by Sargent at Boston's public library which took the artist three decades to accomplish. The allegorical figure of the Synagogue, a particularly controversial design, seems to have been produced by a different artist entirely. Gone is the elegant pose of Madame X, or the sumptuous clothing of Madame Subercaseaux reclining at her pianoforte, or even the engaging, demur stare of Lady Agnew of Lochnaw. Sargent instead portrays an allegory turned in on itself and away from the viewer, swaddled in orientalising, claustrophobic folds. Sargent's s...