Corot 

6 creative works found

• 500 years of Female Portraits
  by Sleek Images

  Just had to share this video… 500 years of female portraits It’s entrancing…

  Just had to share this video… 500 years of female portraits It’s entrancing…

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  French Scene after Corot
  by Woodie

  This was painted in 1977, on the rough side of hardboard. / Corot’s paintings always impressed me so I decided to try and copy one of his paintings. There was not the art books around in those days, whether on how to or about great artists that I could afford with a family of 4 to provide for. / It still hangs on my living room wall. / Size 20×15 inches Acrylic

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  Homage to Corot
  by Gary Crandall

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  Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld
  by troycap

  A reproduction of Jean Corot’s “Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld”, 1861. This nineteenth century Romantic artist probably most closely adhered to French Classicism in his work. He was a kind and generous man who died in 1875 at the age of seventy-nine years. In this work, Corot is depicting the Greek legend of Orpheus leading his beloved Erydice from Hades. This captured moment is just prior to the moment when Orpheus turns back to gaze on Eurydice. This broke his pledge to the Lord of the Underworld and his beloved faded from sight, never to be seen by moral eyes again.

• letter from Corot
  by TokikoAnderson

  Jean Camille Baptise Corot is the father of the modern movement of French artist introduced the natural light in the landscape. / Around …

  Jean Camille Baptise Corot is the father of the modern movement of French artist introduced the natural light in the landscape. / Around 1860 he found the humble village a little way out of Paris and visited there frequently. This is his writing. / The landscapist’s day is divine. You are Jealous of the moments, and so are up at 3oclock(hours)_ long before the Sun rise for example. / You go out in the silence and sit under a tree, and watch and wait and wait. It is very dark_ the nightingales have gone to bed, all the mysterious noises of night’s forenoon have ceased_ the crickets are asleep, the tree_toad has found a nest_ even the sky stars have slunk away. / You wait. / There is scarcely anything to be seen at first-only dark, spectral shapes that stand out against the blue-black of the sky. / Nature is behind a veil, upon which some masses of form are vaguely sketched. The damp, sweet smell of the insense of religious emotion sweeps over you-you close your eyes an instant in a prayer of thankfulness that you are alive. / You do not keep your eyes close long though-somethings is about to happen-you hold your breath-everything trembles with a delight that is half pain, under the invigorating caress of the coming day. / You breathe fast, and then you hold your breath and listen. / Bing ! / A ray of pale yellow light shoots from horizon to Zenith. The dawn does not come all at once, it steals upon you by leaps and subtle strives, like the deploying pickets. / Bing! / Another ray, and the first one is suffusing itself across and arc of their purple sky. / Bing! bing! / The east is all aglow. The little flowers at your feet are waking in joyful mood. The chirrup of birds is heard. How they do sing! When did they begin. You forget them in watching the rays of light. / The flowers are each one drinking its drop of quivering dew. / the leaves feel the cool breath of the morning, and are moving to and fro in the invigorating air. / the flowers are saying their morrning prayers acompanied by the matin songs of the birds Amoretti, with gauzy wings, are searching on the tall blades of the poppies and field’s lilies are swaying a minuet motion fanned by the kiss of the getle breeze, Oh, how beautiful it all is! / How good God is to send it! How beautiful! how beautiful! how beautiful! / But merciful ease! I am forgetting to paint-this exhibition is for me, and i am failing to improve it. my palett-the brushes-there,there! / ( its not even the sun-rise yet) / We can see nothing-but you feel the landscape is there-quick now, a cottage away over yonder is pushing out of the white mist. to thine easel-go. Oh it is all there behind the translucent gauze- I know it- i know it- i know it. now the white mist lifts like a curtain-it rises and rises and rises. / Bam! the sun is risen. / I see the river like a stretch of silver ribbon; it weaves in and out and stretches away, away,away. / the masses of the trees, of the meads, the meadows-the poplars, the leaning willows, are all revealed by the mist that is reeling and rolling up the hillside. / I paint and i paint and i paint and i sing and i sing and i paint. / We can see now all we guessed before. / Bam, bam. The sun is just above the horizon-a great golden ball held in place by spider threads. / I can see the lace made by the spiders-it sparkles with the drops of dew. / I paint and i paint and i paint and i sing and I paint. / Oh would i were Joshua-I would command the Sun to stand still. And if it should, I would be sorry, for nothing ever did stand still, except a bad picture. A good picture is full of motion, activity, life, yes, life is what we want-life. / Bam, a peasant comes out of the cottage and is coming to the meadow. / Ding, ding, ding! there comes a fleck of sheep led by a bell wether, wait there a minute, please, sheepy, sheepy, and a great man will paint you. / Allright then don’t wait. i don’t want to paint you anyway. / Bam! All things break into listening-ten thousand diamond strew the grasses, the lilies and tall stalks of swaying poppies. Diamonds on the cobwebs- diamonds everywhere. / Glistening, dancing, glittering light flood of light- pale, wistful, loving light- caressing, blushing, touching, beseeching, gracefull light. / Oh adorable light! The light of morning that comes to show you things-and I paint and I paint and I paint. / Oh the beautiful red cow that plunges into the wet grass up to her dew-laps! I will paint her. There she is-there. / Here is Simon, my peasant friend, looking over my shoulder. / ” Oh Simon, what do you think of that?” / “Very fine,” says Simon,”very fine” / “You see what it is meant for, Simon?” / “Me? yes, I should say I do-it is a big red rock”. / ” No no Simon that is a cow”’ / “Well, how should I know unless you tell me” answered Simon. / I paint, I paint , I paint. / Boom! Boom! the Sun is getting clear above the treetop. / It is growing hot. The flower droops. The birds are silent. / We can see too much now-there is nothing in it. Art is a matter of soul. / Things youu see and know all about are not worth painting-only the intangible is splendid. / Lets go home. we will dine. and sleep, and dream. That’s it-i’ll dream my picture out, and then I’ll get up and smoke and complete it, possibly-who knows! Lets go home. Thank you for reading through the only writing by Corot. You can’t find it in internet. It worth your time. / I don’t think i’ll have enough petience to experience as Corot so I treasure reading this and sympathise his passion.

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  La toilette, hommage a Corot
  by Auquier