Tag Archives: sensual art

Desire by Edson Campos

Edson Campos’ postromantic painting, Desire, holds up a mirror to both sides of desire: its beauty, sensuality and temptation and its potential dangers. The painting is enveloped in a crimson red, suggestive, of course, of overt sexuality. The soft gradations and shadows, however, add a softer, more sensual touch.

The figure of the beautiful woman is veiled in a transparent gauze that, paradoxically, draws attention to her serene face and to her breast. Rather than hiding desire, the veil only attracts it. Her hand gesture is in itself ambivalent, as if she wavers between repulsion and attraction. The waves of the transparent veil give the impression that she’s almost floating in a dream. However, the intensity of her gaze suggests lucidity and passion.

In this striking painting, Edson Campos captures so many nuances–and the inherent ambivalence–of desire: the overwhelming attraction and its potential dangers; the red heat of the passions as well as its association with blood, crime and death; the hidden and unconscious sensual needs it provokes as well as the flagrant sexuality. Passionate, contradictory, multi-dimensional and complex, Desire (quite literally) paints a compelling picture of human sexuality and sensuality.

You can view Edson’s postromantic paintings on the links below:

Claudia Moscovici, postromanticism.com

Atelier by Edson Campos

In his painting Atelier, Edson Campos performs a postromantic pastiche of two of Jan Vermeer’s most famous paintings: Girl with a Pearl Earring and The Art of Painting. Vermeer  (1632- 1675) is of course well known for being a painter of women, of domestic scenes and, more generally, of psychological intimacy. In Girl with a Pearl Earring, the gaze of the young woman is both transparent and mysterious, provoking curiosity, wonderment and speculation. Even the girl’s position—she turns to look over her shoulder at her viewer in a move that seems spontaneous and her lips are slightly parted as if she were about to speak—convey not only external verisimilitude, but also a psychological depth and agency that are characteristic of Vermeer’s paintings. The dark background against which the girl is set highlights the realism and three-dimensional quality of the young girl.

Campos undermines the naturalist effect of the famous Vermeer painting. The dark background that rendered Girl with a Pearl Earring all the more realistic serves the opposite function in Campos’s pastiche: namely, that of underscoring that the world which appears real is only a reproduction, a representation. In Campos’ pastiche, Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring appears small, framed and visually overwhelmed by the dark background. No illusion of reality is fostered by Atelier. Yet the painting is nonetheless represented faithfully, in minute detail and free hand by the artist. Once we observe the luminous and much larger image of the beautiful young woman who forms the fulcrum of Campos’ painting, we realize that this postromantic pastiche is an homage to  Girl with a Pearl Earring. The depiction of the  beautiful young woman with auburn ringlets, a frank, powerful and penetrating gaze and luminous hair and lips that glimmer with the same light play and life-like quality that we find in Vermeer’s portrait modernizes the beauty of the Renaissance painting. The dark background blends into the richness of a dark brown silk curtain whose texture is as palpable as in Vermeer’s masterpiece.

Then Atelier smoothly transitions to its second reproduction, Vermeer’s The Art of Painting. In this allegorical picture, Vermeer represented Clio, the Muse of History, holding a trumpet in her right hand that represents Fame and a book in her left hand that represents History. The rich texture of the curtain to the left not only gives a sense of realism to the work but at the same time a theatrical feel. Campos does not convey a modern interpretation of this painting, the way he did with Girl with a Pearl Earring. Instead, his pastiche plays upon the contrast between the works it portrays. By coherently juxtaposing these two very different Vermeer paintings—one which shows realism, human psychology, contemplation; the other which is overtly theatrical and allegorical—Campos illustrates that both elements remain essential to contemporary art. The reproduction of The Art of Painting underscores the fact that an image is only an image, as modern art critics tell us.  No matter how much it tries it cannot fully reproduce reality, it will always remain on the level of representation, of stories within stories which stimulate the imagination without prescribing set interpretations.

You can view Edson’s postromantic paintings on the links below:

Claudia Moscovici, postromanticism.com

Nightfall by Edson Campos

Edson Campos is a master of representational art that looks palpably real. He’s also a very subtle and engaging story teller. His paintings can tell a whole life story just from a pose, a gaze, a garmet. This talent is unmistakably displayed in Edson’s new painting, Nightfall. The gorgeous female figure has a timelessness and indeterminacy about her. She could be a young woman dressed for a 21st century prom or a 19th century aristocratic lady preparing to meet her lover.

Her pose expresses a clear nobility and strength, but also some hesitation, contemplation, doubt. The viewer is left to fill in all the blanks of this spectacular pictorial narrative: from who the young woman is, to whom she might be waiting for, to when she lived, to what she may have lived for. The only thing that’s absolutely clear is her elegance and poise, emphasized by her long silky blue gown, which transfixes our gaze as much as the entire scene–luminous yet mysterious, contemporary yet timeless–captures our imagination.

You can view Edson’s postromantic paintings on the links below:

Claudia Moscovici, postromanticism.com

The Cover of The Seducer: Timeless by Edson Campos

I have just finished my second novel, The Seducer, and had to choose a cover for it. I selected Edson Campos’ postromantic painting, Timeless(pictured above). Indeed, there’s a trace of timeless, romantic longing in this picture, rendered all the more moving by the ruins which surround the pensive woman dressed in blue. This fits perfectly with the mood and theme of my novel.

The Seducer tells a tale of dangerous, forbidden love and the devastation caused by psychopathic seduction. I wanted the cover artwork to capture the dreamy mood of longing and pain of the heroine. I also wanted a picture that was, in some ways, timeless and could take readers back to the tradition of nineteenth century fiction–particularly Tolstoy’s classic, Anna Karenina. You can preview my new novel, The Seducer, on the following links:

Please find below a more detailed description of The Seducer:

My native country, Romania, is best known for a fictional character, Dracula, which is only loosely based on a historical fact: the infamous legend of Vlad Tepes. Novels that draw upon this legend—ranging from Anne Rice’s genre fiction, to the popular Twilight series, to Elizabeth Kostova’s erudite The Historian–continue to be best sellers. Yet, ultimately, no matter how much they may thrill us, the “undead” vampires we encounter in novels are harmless fictional characters that play upon our fascination with evil. However, real-life vampires, or individuals who relish destroying the lives of others, do exist. We see them constantly featured in the news and, if we don’t know how to recognize them, sometimes we even welcome them into our lives.

What do O. J. Simpson, Scott Peterson, Neil Entwistle and the timeless seducers of literature epitomized by the figures of Don Juan and Casanova have in common? They are charming, charismatic, glib and seductive men who also embody some of the most dangerous human qualities: a breathtaking callousness, shallowness of emotion and the fundamental incapacity to love. To such men, other people, including their own family members, friends and lovers, are mere objects or pawns to be used for their own gratification and sometimes quite literally discarded when no longer useful and exciting. In other words, these men are psychopaths.

My novel, The Seducer, shows both the hypnotic appeal and the deadly danger of psychopathic seduction. It traces the downfall of a married woman, Ana, who, feeling alienated from her husband and trapped in a lackluster marriage, has a torrid affair with Michael, a man who initially seems to be caring, passionate and charismatic; her soul mate and her dream come true. Although initially torn between love for her family and her passion for Michael, Ana eventually gives in to her lover’s pressure and asks her husband for divorce. That’s when Michael’s “mask of sanity” unpeels to reveal the monstrously selfish psychopath underneath, transforming what seemed to be the perfect love story into a psychological nightmare. Ana discovers that whatever seemed good about her lover was only a facade intended to attract her, win her trust and foster her dependency. His love was nothing more than lust for power, fueled by an incurable sex addiction. His declarations of love were nothing but a fraud; a string of empty phrases borrowed from the genuine feelings of others. Fidelity turned out to be a one-way street, as Michael secretly prowled around for innumerable other sexual conquests.

To her dismay, Ana finds that building a romantic relationship with a psychopathic partner is like building a house on a foundation of quicksand. Everything shifts and sinks in a relatively short period of time. Seemingly caring, and often flattering, attention gradually turns into jealousy, domination and control. Enjoying time together becomes isolation from others. Romantic gifts are replaced with requests, then with demands. Apparent selflessness and other-regarding gestures turn into the most brutal selfishness one can possibly imagine. Confidential exchanges and apparent honesty turn out to be filled with lies about everything: the past, the present, as well as the invariably hollow promises for the future. The niceness that initially seemed to be a part of the seducer’s character is exposed as strategic and manipulative, conditional upon acts of submission to his will. Tenderness diminishes and is eventually displaced by perversion that hints at an underlying, and menacing, sadism. Mutuality, equality and respect—everything she thought the relationship was founded upon—become gradually replaced with hierarchies and double standards in his favor. As the relationship with the psychopath unfolds, Dr. Jekyll morphs into Mr. Hyde.

The Seducer relies upon the insights of modern psychology and sensational media stories to demystify the theme of seduction we find in classic literary fiction. In its plot and structure, my novel deliberately echoes elements of the nineteenth-century classic, Anna Karenina. In its style and content, it fits in with contemporary mainstream psychological fiction such as Anna Quindlen’s Black and Blue and Wally Lamb’s I know this much is true. As much a cautionary tale as a story about the value of real caring, forgiveness and redemption, The Seducer shows that true love can be found in our ordinary lives and relationships rather than in flimsy fantasies masquerading as great passions.

Claudia Moscovici, postromanticism.com

Opera by Edson Campos

Edson Campos’s spectacular new painting, Opera, puts a postromantic twist on Eugene Delacroix’s famous Romantic masterpiece, “Death of Sardanapalus” (1827), which is, in turn, inspired by one of Lord Byron’s plays. Delacroix is widely known as the leader of the Romantic movement in art.  Yet his brand of Romanticism never gave way to sentimentality: it was distinct, bold and individualist. The poet Charles Baudelaire captured the painter’s style best when he said: “Delacroix was passionately in love with passion, but coldly determined to express passion as clearly as possible.”

In the Death of Sardanapalus, Delacroix depicts the last moments of the Assyrian king Sardanapalus, his harem and his servants, before the inevitable defeat. The color scheme is warm—vibrant reds, yellows, browns and shades of shimmering gold. It captures the tragic energy of the events as well as the exotic setting. The king, however, remains expressionless as he orders the guards to kill his servants, concubines and animals, whom he regards as his rightful property. If he must fall defeated to the enemy, he refuses to leave behind for his enemies any of his belongings. Most shocking—and yet also most moving—is the scene which is entirely absent from Byron’s play: the sacrifice of a beautiful nude woman, perhaps the king’s favorite concubine, who is being stabbed from behind by one of the guards.   The fierce, merciless concentration of her assailant sharply contrasts with her passive, defenseless pose and quiet suffering.  In this Romantic allegory, the women are property and victims. There is  striking beauty in the composition and color scheme of the painting, but sheer brutality in its message.

In Campos’ postromantic pastiche of Delacroix’s painting, the violent central scene of the concubine being stabbed has been removed. Campos still recreates, however, with a stunning likeness, some of the elements of Delacroix’s original. He depicts the king’s unemotional expression, as he supervises the murder of his harem, servants and horses. He also shows a seminude concubine, a helpless victim that has already been murdered. The most compelling scene, which captures movement and emotion, is represented by a horse. We see it rearing its body to escape death, its eyes opened wide with fear.  However, instead of the brutal murder scene of the nude concubine, a beautiful young woman with long, flowing hair, enveloped in a satin red gown, forms the focus of Campos’ rendition of Delacroix’s masterpiece. Her expression still reflects the resignation of Delacroix’s female victims. Yet Campos attenuates the brutal violence of the scene.   Her stance may be passive and resigned, but she’s still very much alive. The transposition of this new representation of femininity—which replaces the central scene of sacrifice and violence of Delacroix’s “Death of Sardanapalus”—endows Campos’s “Opera” with a sense of promise, hope and a languid, almost sensual, spirituality that are glaringly absent from the original. Under Campos’ creative touch, Delacroix’s Romantic nightmare vision turns into a more ambivalent postromantic image that sharply contrasts brutal violence with possible hope and redemption.

You can view Edson’s postromantic paintings on the links below:

Claudia Moscovici, postromanticism.com

The Postromantic Paintings of Edson Campos

Born in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Edson Campos has enjoyed sketching and painting since childhood. He is a completely self-taught artist. He moved to the United States in 1978 and exhibited his lifelike, passionate paintings and drawings in major cities throughout the country, winning several awards. Not surprisingly, Campos’ sophisticated artwork also has great popular appeal: it has been commissioned to be exhibited in the Queen Mary Hotel in Long Beach, California and the Tuscany-style Veranda Park of Florida. Recently, Campos participated in the Art Expo New York, where his work was highly praised by critics. The November 1999 issue of The Artist’s Magazine featured his work in a special section on painting techniques.

Pablo Picasso once complained: “Everyone wants to understand art. Why not try to understand the songs of a bird? Why does one love the night, flowers, everything around one, without trying to understand them?” In voicing this objection, Picasso was not, of course, saying that we don’t try to understand the biology of life. He was instead claiming that we don’t try to grasp its mysteries; to understand the whys not just the hows of life in the same way that we try to understand everything about art. Life and art, he implies, are irreducibly mysterious. No science or analysis will fully explain them.

Keeping Picasso’s objection in mind, perhaps the best we can do is try to understand some of their components in order to better appreciate the whole. Which is precisely how the painting of Edson Campos should be approached. In alluding to numerous artistic styles and periods, Campos’ works invite the examination of their parts. But we can’t ignore their overall effect, which creates an entirely new image of representational art. As Picasso reminds us, in art, as in life, the whole is always greater, more interesting and more mysterious than the sum of its parts.

Consider the painting “Paradise.” In the foreground we see a young woman who dazzles with her beauty. Her flesh tones; her slightly ironic but unmistakably sensual pose; her bright red hair all make her radiate with life before our eyes. In her pose, in her look, she’s recognizably contemporary. Nonetheless, the garment folds that ripple around her body evoke the stylization and refinement of neoclassical and romantic art. The background, a Japanese landscape, seems a perfect way to foreground the young woman’s beauty, while also taking us to a third, even more distant, tradition in art—the Japanese prints that, incidentally, marked so strongly the works of the Impressionists. Campos unites and juxtaposes the most distant traditions in art. He has a gift for painterly allusion, for pastiche.

The contrapposto and beauty of classical sculptures; the sfumato, three-dimensionality and mystery captured by Renaissance artists; the conceptuality of modern art; the playfulness, atemporality, subversion of boundaries and mixture of styles of postmodernism; the timeless appeal of beautiful women; the reverence for feminine sensuality, innocence and grace—all these are respectfully saluted, preserved and transformed for our times by Edson Campos’ postromantic art.

You can view Edson’s postromantic paintings on the links below:

Claudia Moscovici, postromanticism.com