Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying

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These opening words from Robert Herrick’s beautiful Poem “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time” speak of the fragility of life, and the fleeting nature of all beauty.

They were written in 1648 - but, 260 years later, Herrick’s poem would also be taken as a muse by the English artist John William Waterhouse . . . inspiring two utterly gorgeous paintings with the same title.

The first is this portrait, which is often seen as the epitome of Pre-Raphaelite ideals. (Though it’s worth mentioning that Waterhouse himself was not actually born when Dante Rossetti and the original founders of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood first came together in 1848)

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The prettiness - the femininity - the intensity of emotion in those elegant eyes . . . all of this together provides yet another example of Waterhouse’s rare skill for capturing poetry in paint.

But even if we knew nothing at all about Herrick’s original verses - still, this piece carries more than enough beauty to appreciate simply for its own sake.

And the same can also be said Waterhouse’s second “rosebuds” painting - although this second effort is particularly interesting for a whole other reason too.

You see, for more than 60 years, the second “rosebuds” painting was actually considered lost beyond all hope of rediscovery.

However, in 1973, a remarkable stroke of luck led to its rediscovery more than three thousand miles away from where it had originally been painted!

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Apparently, some time in the 1940s, a married couple1 were looking for a new house, and had arrived at an old farmhouse in the countryside close to Ontario, Canada..

While there, they became particularly enchanted by a painting which hung on one of the walls - and, as a result, proceeded to ask the current owners if they might consider including this artwork in the sale of the house.

Happily, this request was accepted; and, within a few short months the married couple were moving in . . . throwing their first housewarming party, where they were just as excited to show off this newly inherited artwork as they were the actual home itself.

And of course, we can only imagine how enamoured the other guests may have been too, or how many debates may have been had over whether the work could be by anyone famous.

Yet still, none of them could have known at the time just how significant this acquisition really was. And in fact, it took almost thirty years before the married couple did finally decide to consult an expert about their painting. . . at which point, I’m sure the art valuer’s jaw must really have hit the floor when realising just what was now in front of them.

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It is not clear exactly how the work ended up in Canada. But there were no doubts at all that this was an original painting by one of the most important British artists of all time.

And, on top of it all, this was a piece which all reasonable experts had long believed to be lost.

Thus, in monetary terms, the painting was worth millions.

But more importantly still, in terms of art history as a whole and of further adding to our appreciation of Waterhouse as a poetic painter. . . truly, it was a priceless rediscovery.

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Sadly, these masterpieces (and many others) still remain missing without a trace. But in many ways, there is a certain degree of fragile hope that they will be rediscovered again at some point. After all, we have a lot of other examples of lost art being found again too - from Goya’s “Duke of Wellington”, to Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”, and Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

However, when it comes to our work today from the inimitable Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio - I am afraid to say, the chances of an eventual return to safety are pretty much non existent.

Completed only a year before Caravaggio’s death - The Nativity of Jesus with St Francis and St Lawrence was one of the master’s largest canvas paintings, measuring 268 cm × 197 cm (106 in × 78 in).

But while a work of this scale might usually have presented an off putting challenge even for many experienced art thieves (especially given it’s position in hanging fairly high up at a church altar) . . . sadly, it seems the theft in this instance actually happened fairly easily.

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As far as we know, two shadowy figures crept into the church at some point during the night of 17/18 October 1969 . . . taking advantage of the fact that, most evenings, the Oratory of St Lawrence was only loosely guarded by an elderly janitor.

And after cutting the masterpiece directly from it’s frame - they proceeded to roll the canvas up into a rug from the Oratory floor, before silently disappearing again into the dark Palermo Night.

But after this . . . nobody knows what happened next.

For the most part, it is believed that the Sicilian Mafia were at least partly involved with the fate of the painting.

However, it is not known whether the Mafia bosses actually ordered / arranged the theft personally . . . or if the thieves were actually amateurs working alone, who may then have become involved with the Mafia afterwards.

And to be honest, the “amateurs” theory does seem the most likely here - especially considering how they had to steal another rug from the church just to wrap the picture up for their escape (surely, seasoned professionals would have come much better prepared already!)

So, we can certainly imagine a scenario where, shortly after their escape, the two of them realised just how far out of their depth they were . . . and, as such, approached the Mafia bosses for protection, or for help in selling the work.

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But of course, there is an equally good case to be made for how they may well have been working to commission here instead. Or that the whole theft was part of some kind of Mafia initiation process. Or even that the Mafia themselves simply managed to track the thieves down quicker than the police - and, as such, decided to take the work from them by force!

Again, we simply do not have enough evidence to rule anything out.

Although it must be said that in terms of the actual survival of the painting . . . the best case scenario we can hope for is that the perpetrators were at least partly more experienced than their methods suggest!

Then, there would still be a decent chance that the criminals would have known how to look after the work correctly - or that it might exchange hands on the black market a few more times, before reappearing in decent enough shape again eventually.

But sadly, when we look now to some of the minor leads that have come out about this work over the last decades - the signs actually suggest rather a worse fate for Caravaggio’s masterpiece.

For example, according to an early tip off from an anonymous “informant” - the painting was last seen being used as a doormat in the home of one of the most feared mafia chiefs at the time.

Then, in the early 2000s, another ex mafia member came forward to suggest that the painting had indeed been stolen on commission . . . but that the thieves had made such a bad job of it all, that the work was damaged beyond repair, (Something which apparently led to the prospective buyer “weeping over the state of it”)

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But as always when dealing with organized crime, we cannot be sure how trustworthy these potential witnesses may be.

And it’s worth mentioning that the core members of the Mafia itself have always strongly denied any involvement here. So, for the record, there have been a whole host of other “non-mafia” theories put forward over the years too.

Some say that the thieves decided to hide the painting in an old barn - but returned a few days later to find it had been eaten by rats.

Others say that the work was sent abroad - either to a private collector in South Africa, or to the deepest vaults of a Swiss Bank.

And some have even suggested that the whole thing really was just the work of two rogue teenagers, who had learnt about the painting from a “treasures of Italy” television programme which had aired a few weeks prior to the theft too. (And, with the daring of youth, had decided to pull of one of history’s most significant art crimes.)

So, as we can see, the whole case really is an investigators nightmare! And all these years later, there are still no signs of a breakthrough.

Thus, when present day visitors travel to the Oratorio di San Lorenzo in Palermo - they will actually find themselves standing in front of a full scale replica of the legendary lost masterpiece.

Completed in 2015, and made using cutting edge technology to try and make it as close as humanly possible to the master’s own hand - the painting is an admirable tribute to an irreplaceable loss.

Yet still, in spite these marvellous efforts, the fact remains: it is still no Caravaggio!

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The modern expressionist movement was just starting to catch fire across his home country of Germany. And in joining together with his friends like Franz Marc, Paul Klee, Wassily Kandinsky and many others - he had become part of the famous “Blue Rider” group, which promised to be the most important artist collective since the French Impressionists.

Yet sadly, August Macke’s career (along with a number of his friends) was destined to be cut tragically short.

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When War broke out across Europe in 1914, the 27 year year old artist was forced to put down his brushes - taking up a position as a soldier on the German frontline instead.

And in little more than two months, he was dead. . . with all that artistic potential now silenced by gunfire, much like all those other young men (on either side of these brutal battlefields) who had their own lives stolen in the same way too.

So, while there is a definite sense of incompleteness about August Macke’s life and legacy as a painter- I wanted to dedicate our article today to sharing a small retrospective with some of the works he did manage to leave behind.

Of course, when a life is cut so short like this, it is impossible not to wonder about how much more he may have achieved too, or where else his art may have taken him.

But as always, I suppose the best we can do is appreciate the amount he did achieve in such a short life, as there is no doubt at all that he deserves his place alongside the very best German Expressionists.

And when we look at his confident brushstrokes, and his bold, bright colour schemes - the feeling of joy in his art is always far greater than the sadness.

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But throughout the late 1800s and into the early 1900s, he was actually among the foremost impressionist painters in England - with a particular love of landscapes and scenes of peasant life.

Much like Monet, Renoir and many of his other more famous impressionist counterparts, Clausen shared the view that great art was about using light and colour to capture an emotion, as opposed to a more literal realism.

And while his work does occasionally stray too far in the direction of sentimentality or cliché . . . when he is at his best, (as we see with all the works featured in today’s article), Clausen really does have a wonderful talent for capturing a sense of enchantment in his work - almost as if many of these are his way of capturing simple moments of fleeting beauty, or perhaps even romanticizing certain memories of the past.

In 1886, Clausen was a founding member of the New English Art club - which was established in the hopes of rivalling the more prestigious and longer standing institution of The Royal Academy in London.

However, by 1895, Clausen actually managed to gain election as a member of Royal Academy too - something which would have been absolutely unthinkable had he been painting with these Impressionist ideals only a few decades earlier!

Thus, he became one of the leading lights on both sides of the British art world - proving that a thoroughly modern and independent painter could still rise to prominence within the realms of the establishment too.

From here, he went on to work as professor of painting within the Royal Academy for a number of years, before also serving as an official war artist in the first world war.

And in 1927, at the age of 75, Clausen was granted a knighthood by King George V for “services to art”.

So, in contrast to that far too frequent case of artists being vastly unappreciated until after their death - with Clausen, the exact opposite was true.

In his lifetime - and right until his death at an impressive 92 years old - he achieved just about everything a British artist at the time could hope for; from financial success, to critical acclaim.

But while his work has slowly slipped out of fashion over the last 70 years or so - fortunately, he is still hung in a number of prominent collections.

And perhaps in time, the aesthetic tastes of the contemporary art world will come full circle again - at which point, George Clausen’s paintings may well get a little more of the attention they deserve.

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So today, I wanted to to a similar kind of feature on another of life’s greatest past times, with a collection of artworks inspired simply by the pleasure of reading.

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My first meeting with her happened at a Raphael exhibition at the National Gallery in London back in 2022 - which I had actually originally been visiting specifically with the goal of seeing his portrait of Binto Altoveti (A work we covered previously here - and which I had been an admirer of for many years, despite having only ever seen it in books before)

But shortly after spending a good deal of time with that painting, I remember wandering into the very next section of the exhibition. And as soon as I spotted La Donna Velata hanging on the wall to my right . . , frankly, every other painting in the place just melted away for me.

From the sheer beauty of her face, to the shimmering whites and golds of her dress, and the way she genuinely seemed to illuminate the entire room around her . . . this was a level of high definition painting I had never seen before.

It was as if Raphael had painted something more real than realism itself.

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So, in my own personal opinion, La Donna Velata, (or “The woman with the veil”) deserves her place right up there with Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” and Johannes Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring” as being among the most sublime portraits in all of art history.

Only, unlike those other two masterpieces . . . with Raphael’s lady, we actually know who she really was too.

Margarita Luti - otherwise known as La Fornarina (the baker’s daughter) - was Raphael’s model and mistress.

But, even more than this, she seems to have been the women he adored most in the world. (Despite the artist’s own reputation (According to Giorgio Vasari) for being “an overly amorous man . . . very fond of the ladies”)

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The two of them met for the first time while Raphael was living in Rome and working in the service of the Vatican.

His main residence at the time was in Trastevere - close to the banks of the River Tiber, where Margarita could often be found sitting alone, bathing her feet in the waters.

And it’s possible that her choice of this particular spot was no accident. After all, Raphael was well known at the time as one of the most charming men in the city (not to mention among the most famous painters too) - hence, it would not be all that surprising to imagine a young girl like Margarita hanging around close to where he lived, hoping to engineer a meeting with this famed artist.

But equally, Rome itself is a Romantic city by its very nature - with a particular habit of fixing these kinds of meetings by good fortune and fate too.

So even if Margarita really had just chosen her riverside spot by pure chance - certainly, it would not have taken much for a man like Raphael to stroll past one day, and notice her extraordinary beauty.

Of course, we can imagine that first glance - and the artist walking over to strike up a conversation - and inviting the lady to visit studio - and asking her is she had ever considered modelling.

These were well trodden lines that Raphael would likely have used with countless other models and muses in the past . . . it’s just that, this time, it seems he genuinely did feel something very different about Margarita.

In fact, Raphael later said that her beauty captured him like a lightning bolt . . . but that he actually fell in love with her when he started to realise how "her mind is even more beautiful than her body”

And from that point on, his infatuation with Margarita became so overwhelming, it actually started affecting his ability to work.

Hence, while commissioned to paint a series of frescos at Villa Farnesina - Raphael’s patron Agostino Chigi apparently became so frustrated with the lovestruck artist being unable to concentrate for long enough to complete his paintings . . . eventually, he decided to invite Margarita herself to stay with them at the Villa too; if only so that she could convince the artist to actually turn up to work on time!

And in another life, perhaps the story of Raphael & Margarita really would have gone on to become Art History’s greatest love affair of all.

But sadly, their time together was destined never to last as long as either of them might have hoped.

Due to various social pressures, Raphael eventually found himself being talked into a more formal engagement with another woman, named Maria Dovici (The daughter of one of his more important patrons - hence, this was likely just as much a business move as it was a romantic liaison).

And admittedly, we can’t overlook the fact that the artist’s amorous nature still remained just as strong as ever too; leading him through countless other affairs, and very likely contributing to his early death in 1520 at the age of only 38. (Something which many of his contemporaries blamed on the great man’s over indulgent lifestyle . . . i.e he had simply exhausted himself through passion)

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Meanwhile, as for what happened to Margarita - we know that she retired to a convent around 4 months after Raphael’s death. But from there, sadly we have no further record over whether she stayed with the nuns permanently, or where else her life may have taken her.

Yet still, with this one image alone, and how Raphael seems intent on elevating her almost to divine status . . . her place in the pages of art history has been secured forever.

Though countless lovers over the years may have charmed Raphael’s mind, body, and heart . . . there is no doubt at all, Margarita Luti is the only one who ever truly captured his soul.

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Bonus Section

The story of Raphael and Margarita has been open to a lot of mythologizing over the years (As all love stories are). - from history, to fiction, to poetry and film.

But, just for a little extension here today, I couldn’t resist including three more paintings from other great artists too . . . all of which have been directly inspired by this famous love affair.

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A triumph of Romantic Art - it is captures both a literal and symbolic narrative for “sailing off into the sunset”.

While for Turner himself, The Fighting Temeraire seems to have always been help a particularly special place in his own heart too - hence, he apparently regularly referred to it as his “Darling”.

And on a purely painterly level, there is no doubt that this really is an artist at the very peak of his powers.

With a blazing sky, and subtle haze, and waters that change from shimmering crystal to hot lava as we move our eyes across the work . . . there is so much about this painting to leave us completely breathless.

But as much as it is such a raw display of artistic genius - there is a genuine historical element to this painting too.

In fact, it marks a scene that Turner himself actually witnessed first hand - when the proud ship HMS Temeraire (one of the last remaining battleships to have played a role in the legendary Battle of Trafalgar) was being towed away one final time, en-route to being broken apart for scrap.

This explains why there are certain tinges of melancholy to be found here too, even in amongst all the sense of grandeur and triumph.

Literally, we are watching a ship reach the end of its life - leaving behind all the glories of its former days.

And symbolically too = we can read this as a painting to represent the passing of one generation to another, or the inevitable fate we all must face at some point, of “sailing off into our own sunset”

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But alongside all of this, the emotion of this work is also heightened by a more personal narrative too, when we consider the artist’s own stage of life at the time of painting.

You see, in 1839, Turner was no longer the steely eyed, handsome young man we see in the self portrait above.

Instead, at 64 years old, he was increasingly reclusive, and widely known as being a bit of an eccentric. (With some even suggesting that too much time around oil paint had fully sent him mad)

Plus, while he still worked with the same ferocious energy as ever - the last ten years of his life had also been coloured by ongoing bouts of severe depression, ever since the death of his beloved father.

So, with all that in mind, it is not hard to see why Turner may well have felt such a personal affinity between himself in the old Temeraire.

In fact, from as far back as 1790 - their working lives had been strangely interlinked.

That year, the ship had first been commissioned for service . . . and, coincidentally, it was also the very same year that Turner had his first watercolour painting accepted into the prestigious Royal Academy Summer show. (A remarkable achievement, considering that the artist was only 15 at the time!)

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But now, a full 49 years later, their fates were to be permanently separated.

The Temeraire was making its last voyage. And deep down, perhaps Turner feared that he was soon going to follow the same way too.

Yet fortunately, that was not to be the case.

Instead, the worry that he was “past his prime” led Turner into creating literally one of his greatest ever paintings.

And for the next ten years of his life, he continued to push his art to ever higher heights . . . while always keeping his “darling” Temeraire close to him at his studio.

Indeed, even after numerous offers or purchase (including one collector who was apparently so desperate to own the work, he presented Turner with a blank cheque, and a promise to pay any price the artist might write) . . . the artist still categorically refused part with it.

Hence, after his death in 1851, it was donated “to the nation” . . . entering the National Gallery Collection in London, where it has remained ever since as one of their most central masterpieces of British art.

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These are the words which come to mind so effortlessly when looking at the work of Marc Chagall.

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Though he does, of course, have certain works across his oeuvre which may cover darker or more tragic themes too . . . still, it is this natural exuberance and lust for life which seem to define so many of his great maste…

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Meanwhile, her long time partner Diego Rivera is perhaps not quite as universally revered as Frida . . . yet, still, was also a very important painter in his own right, with his large sc…

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Yet with so many beautiful works to choose from in this theme, our painting here today seems to have been the artist’s personal favourite.

In fact, Rossetti himself once …

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This was a phrase coined by the art critic Gustave Geffroy, in reference to Berthe Morisot, Marie Bracquemond and Mary Cassatt - all of whom played an absolutely central role in the foundation and developmen…

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A bona fide wonder of the world, and a testament to the sheer magnitude of creative genius which can exist in the heart of one man . . . it is a work which leaves millions of visitors every year completely breathless, just t…

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In terms of this genre as a whole, he cannot hope to compete with the worldwide fame achieved by the likes of Claude Monet, Pissarro, Cezanne, Berthe Morisot, or any of the other original members of the Impressionist group.

And even within the more …

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Even when their wider oeuvre may be extremely varied or prolific (I.e in the case of van Gogh, numbering more than 800 paintings …

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But for today, I hope our little collection can serve not so much as an “exhibition” - but, rather, as a concert instead.

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You see, our central th…

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And with our first painting today - entitled “The Accolade” - we have a w…

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Though the artist returned to the seashore of Valencia (his home city) very frequently throughout his life, and often did paint “en-plain air” rig…

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His work was greatly influenced by extensive travels, which took him across Europe, North Africa, Mexico, and even as far afield as the island of St Helena. And later in his career, he also briefly opened his own art school - where one of his first students was none other than Lucian Freud.

But while there are some really lovely works to be found throughout his oeuvre - personally, I think we find him at his very best when working within the genre of floral painting.

These bright, bounteous, and beautiful works are so full of life. And, on top of this, they were also particularly dear to Cedric’s own heart too - born directly out of his lifelong passion for horticulture.

In fact, Cedric was so passionate about botany in general that he actually personally cultivated at least 90 brand new varieties of his own Iris!

So with his scientific expertise as much as his artistic eye, it is no surprise that these Floral paintings have such a wonderful accuracy to them - or that they explode off the canvas with such vibrancy as to brighten even the dreariest of days.

Yet while a general sense of realism is always at the heart here - many of these works do seem to be aiming for something even more inventive too.

There is a rawness and a kind of “untamed” nature to Cedric’s painting style - revealing his deep affinity to South American Art.

And through his thick, “impasto” brushstrokes (which, admittedly, are hard to fully appreciate in the flatness of a digital image) - he captures this lovely balance of emotional force with an underlying tenderness.

But again, this was surely a reflection of what he had learnt as a gardener too.

After all, the art of growing flowers often requires a similar balance of skillset.

At first, we must plant a seed - and for this, we sometimes must use brute force to dig the earth, or to beat the ground.

Then, we must work patiently, and in conjunction with nature - sometimes following its lead, and other times directly battling its elements.

But eventually, when our flowers do finally grow, we step into a whole new kind of responsibility instead - treating these things as much care as we can, and nurturing them lovingly, and handling their petals as if they really are the most delicate things in the world.

And in essence, this is exactly the approach that Morris took with his own paintings.

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But shortly before he embarked on arguably the most innovative period of his career (which would give birth to such famous works as “Cleopatra, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, The Magic Circle and The Lady of Shallot) - Waterhouse painted …

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The young artist was living in poverty - struggling to come to terms with the fact that a painter’s life in Paris was nowhere near the exciting idyll he had hoped it would be.

And following the death of his best friend Carles Casagemas (who had shot himself after mistakenly believing he had killed the woman he loved) - Picasso’s art fell into a permanent state of mourning, now defined as his “Blue Period” (which we covered in detail previously here)

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But though these years of poverty, grief, despair and broken dreams threatened to permanently consume the young artist. . . fortunately, they did not break him.

And from 1904, when Picasso relocated to an area of Montmartre which was positively bursting with the creative energy of other poets, artists and bohemians . . . slowly, those mournful shadows which had haunted his work for so long, started lifting again.

The Blue Period was over.

And The Rose Period had begun.

Now, of course, the emotional traumas which had inspired Picasso’s Blue period works did not suddenly melt away or fade into thin air when he started painting with this new palette.

In fact, one of the biggest misconceptions about Picasso’s work is that every stylistic change in his career was made in one giant leap, at which point he simply discarded everything he had ever done before.

But, in reality, even the most dramatic shifts in his work were always a gradual process.

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In other words, he did not see these new styles as like burning down a house to build something new . . . rather, they were a case of building another layer onto foundations that had already been set.

Thus, even later in life, when Picasso’s work would progress into the realms of primitivism, cubism, surrealism, and countless other styles that the art world had never imagined before - still, we can see a continuity throughout his artistic development.

So, whenever we have a chance to directly compare works from the Rose period to their predecessors in the Blue Period. . . naturally, we will find many similarities.

Picasso still intentionally paints his figures in this elongated (perhaps even emaciated) way - giving them an almost otherworldly sense of fragility.

And while still choosing to depict individuals who clearly exist on the outside of society - these paintings often still carry a slightly uneasy atmosphere too; almost as if we are sharing the company of people who perhaps we really would be wiser to avoid!

Yet, in spite of the similarities - the key differences in tone are immediately apparent too.

The colours are more sensual.

The darkness is being illuminated.

The depth of hopelessness is no longer so piercing.

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In short, Picasso is showing us that he no longer sees this life through a lens of endless and permanent despair.

And for every touch of melancholy or loneliness which still lingers in these works, the softer tones also bring bring out a new sense of hope too - or, at least, a feeling that these people are approaching better days, rather than being permanently stuck in those deep dark blues.

As such, The Rose Period marks a pivotal point in Picasso’s art - where the young man started to escape the clutches of grief, and to see colour again.

And perhaps at this point he was still “smiling through tears”, or experiencing something similar to what Lord Byron meant, when he wrote about how “The broken heart must brokenly live on”

but even so, these paintings clearly came to represent a whole new path for Picasso.

A way which might just lead him out of poverty, and beyond despair.

So while the Blue Period is rightly regarded as Picasso’s first major contribution to art history in terms of being a one man art movement . . . perhaps the Rose Period can be seen as much more of a springboard to the rest of his career.

It was here that Picasso embraced the idea of “the theatre of life” - which would stay with him for the rest of his days.

And by 1907, when the reds and pinks of the Rose Period underwent a metamorphosis of their own through his era defining masterpiece “Les Demoiselles d'Avignon” . . . frankly, Picasso felt more convinced than ever of where his fate would take him.

The starving painter in Montmartre was well on his way to becoming one of the most famous artists of all time.

Bonus Section

Though we began with this painting featured in a side by side comparison - I just wanted to devote a bit more time here to appreciate it fully, as in my opinion it really is one of Picasso’s most extraordinary works.

The model here was a young boy known as "P’tit Louis", or "Little Louis" - described by Picasso as being “one of the delinquents” who frequented the area of Montmarte he was living in at the time.

And sadly, Little Louis is believed to have died while still in his teens. (Though we do not know exactly when or how he lost his life.)

Thus, this painting has taken on a whole other kind of poignancy over the years - not just signifying a shift in Picasso’s own work, but also immortalizing a young boy who was not as fortunate in escaping poverty as Picasso did..

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