B & B Art

Dec 14, 2017 by

Here is another Boucher bottom, or part of one. It isn’t easy to get both a woman’s backside and her bosom into the same picture, you know. 

This bum belongs to Venus. That’s her son Amor, who is widely known as Cupid. The old masters often painted them together.

I don’t think Cupid owns any pants, and this is one of the few places I’ve seen him where that isn’t obvious.

 

 

Here is an updated version of much that same pose, sans Cupid, only here we have Venus reclining on the half-shell rather than standing up in it, as in Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.

In this rendition, the artist (the name was written in Cyrillic characters, so I have no idea who painted it) manages to get much more of both B & B into the frame, which is quite nice.

 

Speaking of goddesses riding giant mollusk capsules, here is one version of the cover for Venus on the Half-Shell. This Venus very much resembles the Botticelli painting, in case you wondered.

Just FYI, Kilgore Trout is Kurt Vonnegut’s fictional and not at all successful science fiction writer who is mentioned in many of K.V.’s early novels. Trout supposedly sold his stories, including this opus, as print content filler to girly magazines, so, of course, no one ever read them because the men were too busy looking at the pictures.

A decade or three after Kilgore Trout’s appearance, Phillip Jose Farmer took it upon himself, with K.V.’s permission, to actually write the epic. Farmer included the lengthy purported excerpt from the novel that K.V. wrote for God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.

Farmer’s story line is that galactic bureaucrats accidentally destroy Earth during routine maintenance. The sole human survivor then goes on a quest to find the “Definitive Answer to the Ultimate Question.”

And yes, Douglas Adams borrowed that concept for Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy. (42)

Suddenly, I’m hungry for clam chowder.

That is all.

Devlin out.

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Pomona and Vertumnus

Nov 28, 2017 by

 

Okay, boys and girls, it’s time, once again, for Professor O’s art appreciation class.

Today’s lesson is the illustrated version of a well-known tale from Roman mythology, that of Vertumnus and Pomona.

On the other hand, perhaps well-known is an overstatement, so here’s the brief version.

Pomona is the goddess of fruit, the orchard variety, in particular. She was named after the town of Pomona, which is in eastern Los Angeles County. Lots of orange groves used to grow there. Now it’s all houses and freeways, although numerous backyard citrus trees remain as souvenirs of a less urbanized time.

Vertumnus is the god of the changing seasons. His name is a back formation of the Latin for spring timetunc vere.

Being a god and therefore, by definition, a randy sort of fellow, Vertumnus had a divine yearning to get cozy with Pomona.

The goddess Pomona, however, didn’t want to know, which is rather odd, given the British meaning to a woman of feeling fruity.

Anyway, Pomona rebuffed Vertumnus’ advances, so he did what any self-respecting god would do and changed his form in order to seduce her.

In the picture above, by Francoise Boucher, that’s Pomona seated. Vertumnus, disguised as an old woman, is whispering in her ear what a hot property Vertumnus is and that she ought to get to know him better.

Long story short, Pomona does just that, and they make mad love throughout eternity, bringing year after year of season changes and orchards full of goodies to eat.

Now, the exam questions are — and this will be open-book — who is the owner of the lovely bare bottom resting on the ground beside Pomona, and who is Pomona waving at while the old lady is whispering in her ear?

And just FYI, I don’t know the answers, either, but I’ll have them directly, even if I must invent them, which I most likely will.

Spelling and creativity count, boys and girls. You have forty-eight hours or until the next post comes around.

That is all.

Prof. O out.

 

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Happy You Know What!

Nov 23, 2017 by

I’ll start my day of gratitude with a few hats-off to other bloggers in the Blog Roll, starting with our old friend Dave Wolfe.

This wonderful cartoon depiction from Dave’s fertile imagination just makes you want to smile and wonder what she did to deserve that — although we have to believe it had to do with her dissing his Thanksgiving Day parade costume before she had even woken up properly. The fact that she’s keeping on even after he got the bad-girl paddle out tells us that something besides the dinner fowl will wind up well roasted before the day is over.

 

This cute little well-wish from the adorable Old-Fashioned Girl blog is one I had not seen before. It’s quite jolly, even if she is a bit pouty, with her trousers about to fall off and her panties at her knees.

Although, of course, knowing her, that’s exactly what SHE is thankful for today — a top who never, ever gives up smacking his most dearly beloved’s bottom. Would that every girl I know had such a top in her life, and perhaps, someday, all of you will.

 

And to cap things off, here is a classic Puritan spanking scene from the inimitable Lynn Paula Russell.

It seems that even though the Puritans fled England, they brought with them a few items from the Olde Worlde. These include the birching block, as well as Tudor architecture.

As far as the object of the exercise depicted, I expect she is thankful that it’s not snowing or sleeting, and that, eventually, the horrid man with his bunch of nasty twigs will leave off and someone will wrap her up in a hand-sewn quilt and put her to bed — preferably alongside the horrid man.

Or has my spanking muse gotten away with me?

In any event, have a lovely and luscious Thanksgiving full of warmth, good food, good drink, and good company.

(For our northern neighbors, happy Canadian Thanksgiving a month or so late. And for our overseas readers, yes — we fully expect you to shake your heads and sigh in amazement when we gorge ourselves like this every year. But any excuse for a party and a day off is the American way, doncha know.)

Happy Spanksgiving, everyone!

That is all.
Devlin out.

PS – I’m having duck at the buffet down the street today, so maybe there won’t be a tryptophan coma for me this year.

 

 

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Wrong!

Nov 21, 2017 by

What someone has done here is to take a wonderful portrait of Venus by Francesco Hayez, a leading Italian painter of the 19th century Romanticism, and defile it.

The beautiful, healthy, natural woman who represents and embodies the spirit of love has been graphically pared down and twisted into the likeness of an emaciated runway model.

She looks unwell, her arms and legs stick-like, her torso shrunken so that her rib cage shows.

And worst of all, her bottom is no longer proportional, as if it’s not really hers, but has simply been stuck on as an afterthought.

So, ladies, be yourselves. Unless you can be Venus by Hayez, then, by all means, be her.

Otherwise, stay natural, the way we love you.

That is all.

Devlin out.

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Pinup Friday

Nov 17, 2017 by

Last week’s Pinup Friday was by Gil Elvgren. This week, we take a closer look at this artist who appears to specialize in the bottom-tease.

The scarcely clad soldier in the previous pinup was showing quite a bit of cheek, although she was wearing a bra and panties of a sort.

This time, the girls are completely nude, except–

 

As you see in these first two frames, the girl is naked, but all the really naughty bits are either covered or turned away from the viewer.

 

 

In all three pictures above, except for that tiny suggestion of rear cleavage, the girls appear unclothed and yet demure, though just a bit naughty.

 

Not that you would want Granny to catch you ogling any of these in that copy of Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang you keep tucked under the mattress. That would be way embarrassing.

But it is interesting to see how close to some imaginary line Elvgren pushed, time after time, without actually crossing it, apart from that tiny hint of bottom cleft.

And none of the girls had dirty feet, Audrey. Just saying.

That is all.

Devlin out.

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The Indolent Nude

Nov 13, 2017 by

As fall comes on apace, nature loses the excitement and hurry-up of summer, and our thoughts turn more and more to rest.

This young lady, who appears to be lying on half of a very large oyster shell, is, in fact, asleep. The dreamscape that the artist Falero has imagined for her, however, seems anything but restful.

Painters have long appreciated the beauty of the undraped or scarcely draped feminine form, especially its rearward aspect, and frequently present that view whilst the woman is reclining. I love the play of light and shadow here, as well as the ethereal vagueness the artist gives to outlines, as if the figure is, indeed, in repose, and nothing in or around her is completely in focus.

 

This figure, with its much starker contrasts, an overstated lack of robustness in the skin tones, and the foggy uncertainty of the background, seems to portray an uneasy, even sickly, sleep.

 

In this sepia-toned Art Deco rotogravure, the woman is sleeping, but not at ease, capturing some of the angst and drama of the Jazz Age in her dance-like posture.

 

This sleeping beauty by Renoir, too, appears to be not quite static. The blue tint to the skin tone and the way she is hugging herself say that the autumn-browned grassy bank by the pond that she has chosen for her bed is not the warmest place on earth. One can almost feel her shivers.

She’s probably saying awful things in French about Pierre-August, even now, regarding how callous it was of him to wrap the nice warm shawl around her thighs instead of covering her other bits with it.

For his part, Pierre-August is telling her to quit complaining or he’ll spank her.

What? You didn’t think I could keep this art-appreciating foray completely vanilla all the way through, did you?

Rest quietly when you decide to recline nude, girls.

Or else.

That is all.

Devlin out.

 

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