The Oscar-nominated film The Descendants creates the deceptive flair of a genuine Paradise on a tropical island full of leisure, joy and happiness. The sun, flowers, the ocean, beautiful people in colorful Hawaiian shirts, the slow pace of life… what is more representative of Paradise on Earth, our collective dream of a natural care-free life? As the narrative of the film unveils we see the inhabitants of the island suffering, losing, looking for the meaning of life, and fighting for their identities.

It was the dawn of film as an art form when Paul Gauguin, a not very successful businessman, left the “artificial” world of European civilization for French Polynesia to participate in the simpler life of people who were closer to nature, and more open and truthful in expressing their feelings and emotions.

The vivid primary colors, combinations of deep blue, shiny yellow, bright red, and vibrant green he used in his paintings reflected the beauty and jubilation of tropical nature, where the sun always shines and flowers always bloom. The simplified monumental shapes of nude female bodies make them look like powerful mythological spirits or goddesses of life and fertility. The triumph of life and nature, an ideal world ruined by European civilization – this was Gauguin’s call to go back to the roots of humankind.

After some years on the islands Gauguin had to change his perception of the local people and share their pain and struggle. He painted such philosophically charged masterpieces as Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going? and When will you marry? The subjects of this painting are curiously reminiscent of the themes of The Descendants.
There is no Paradise on Earth, people cannot hide from the realities of life and themselves. Love and understanding come through pain.

Gauguin’s other famous painting Where are you going, shows a beautiful native woman in a bright “Hawaiian” looking wrap-around skirt holding a large green fruit. She half-smiles – or is it a smile? She looks apprehensively at the viewer, or maybe she is deep in her thoughts? Is it a fruit she is holding or a crystal ball? Gauguin’s “Mona Lisa” does not give any answers. Neither does the film.

Both artistic creations ruin our dream of blissful happiness in Paradise but offer hope for the resurrection of fundamental human feelings through people finding and understanding of nature and each other.

For most modern people such concepts as an iceberg, Arctic waters and sunken ships immediately bring to mind the tragedy of the Titanic, so well documented and romanticized in art. The famous film Titanic with Leonardo Di Caprio and Kate Winslet, has made the event of the Titanic’s demise a huge part of popular culture. Meanwhile, a lot of smaller films and TV serials cannot resist making it part of their plot.

In the still popular TV series Upstairs Downstairs, the lady of the house perishes on the sinking ship on her way to New York. Lately the mysterious Patrick, lost heir of Downton Abbey, met the same death just to reappear later, burnt to total disfigurement (or was he an impostor?). The mythology of the Titanic and the number of its passengers seems to have been growing steadily since 1912.

In fact, a huge interest in Arctic imagery and mythology appeared long before 1912 and is well reflected in the art of William Bradford, an American marine artist of the middle of the 19th century.

His Arctic Scene Oil Painting created in 1881 is one of the documents of his own explorations of the North. The almost monochromatic warm color of his landscapes and the sharp outlines of natural features and contours of ships reflect his interest in photography. He was a skillful and creative photographer and documented his numerous travels in both oil paintings and photo prints. Not many of us realize that the technology and art of photography was already very well developed by the middle of the 19th century and the glass negatives of that time are still printable and produce prints of incredible quality and rich nuances.

The high technological and expressive level achieved in photography inspired the development of black and white silent film by the end of the century. One of the most Oscar nominated films of this year, Hugo directed by Martin Scorsese, is dedicated to the birth of the cinema and one of its fathers, George Melies.

Bradford’s paintings of ships and icebergs with their repetitious imagery lined up together could form the frames of a romantic travel film to unknown lands. After the expedition of the popular Arctic explorer Sir John Franklin disappeared in 1845 Bradford wrote about how much he was “seized with a desire” to “study Nature under the terrible aspects of the Frigid Zone”. He arranged a few trips to Labrador and along the coasts of Nova Scotia and later to Greenland, inspired by the longing to see 200 icebergs at a time and study Inuit life. For the last trip he chartered the Scottish steamer “Panther” and hired two more photographers.

In the 1870s he traveled to London where he published his photographs in a volume called The Arctic Regions in 1873 and was commissioned a few paintings by members of the aristocracy including queen Victoria and Lord Tennyson.

Later in his studio in New York he created a number of large compositions using his photographs as preliminary sketches. Unfortunately, he never made a film. He could have, as he died in 1892 when the art of cinema was already beginning to captivate people’s minds.

English Romantic landscape painter J.M.W. Turner reflected the elegant glamorous ruins of Tintern Abbey more than once in his paintings. William Wordsworth and Lord Tennyson left beautiful lines inspired by the mysterious beauty of its ruins. Memories of the feelings and people “that are no more”. “Tears, Idle Tears” by Tennyson are full of sadness, regret, thoughts of death and friends already gone into the underworld.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign’d
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more!”

The mysterious Tintern Abbey is not a mythological place but a Cistercian monastery in Monmouthshire founded in 1131. Its ruins are still standing and attract tourists, poets and artists.

Surprisingly people of today, who have never heard of it know more than they realize about it by facts and associations. Who does not know unhappy king Henry VIII who is famous for his numerous marriages and the legend that he killed all of his wives? Bookstores and libraries are full of tragic novels of his passion for Ann Boleyn who he married and executed a few years later. The popular TV series The Tudors dedicated an entire season to this love story that changed the history of England. Trying to justify his divorce with his Catholic wife Catherine of Aragon, the king turned to Protestantism and ordered the so-called Dissolution of the Monasteries in England and Wales. One of the episodes of the TV series shows Henry’s army crushing and robbing the monasteries, killing all the monks and putting the buildings on fire.

It seems that Tintern Abbey surrendered more peacefully and the building was granted to Henry Somerset, Earl of Worchester. The earl was not interested in living in it and started selling it piece by piece from the roof down. That is how its decay started in 1536.

The magnificence of its architecture became even more apparent during its slow demise, and it became a symbol of dying beauty. Fans of Jane Austen may recall that it is mentioned in Mansfield Park.

Turner’s image of Gothic arches covered in growing vines, broken stained glass windows, and sharp diagonal shadows on crumbling walls creates a ghostly atmosphere of decaying splendor.

If the Earl of Worchester was not interested in living in Tintern Abbey, the intentions of many other noble recipients of royal gifts of dissolute monasteries were quite different. How else did the family of Downton Abbey’s Lord Grantham end up in Downton Abbey?

The sitter for the famous Da Vinci portrait, Lady with Ermine, is a beautiful and talented lady – Cecilia Galerani. On the portrait she is about sixteen, already a woman, whose life took a few dramatic turns in the hands of her ambitious father. Not of noble birth, he tried to arrange the marriage of his ten-year old daughter into a noble family. What is known next is that the marriage never took place and a few years later she became the mistress of her father’s patron, the Milanese duke Ludovico Sforza, known as Ludovico el Moro. His unattractive appearance and the suspicious death of his nephew under his regency created a monstrous aura around his personality, which is reflected in the recent TV series The Borgias.

In reality he was a wise ruler and a patron of the arts and his court was one of the major cultural centers of the time. His beautiful, well-educated fifteen-year old bride, Beatrice d’Este, became the center of Milan’s numerous festivities and the heart of poetic, philosophical, and artistic circles for the next six years of her married life.

The image presented in The Borgias – an ugly monster sitting in his dark cave-like castle and feeding bones to his caged nephew – does not exactly correspond with the extravagant balls and celebrations the Milanese court was known for. As far as it is known, the largest disappointment Cecilia must have experienced at Sforza’s court was his marriage to the noble Beatrice d’Este in the same year when Cecilia gave him a son. Otherwise, she was well provided for by Ludovico who even arranged a prestigious marriage for her.

Leonardo da Vinci spent many years of his life serving Ludovico Sforza in different capacities, including painting a portrait of his favorite mistress. Cecilia is shown in an elegant turn, as graceful as the charming white ermine she is holding, the symbol of purity and the personal emblem of Ludovico.

The original of this painting is not easy to see as its home is the Czartoryski Museum in Kraków, Poland. Fortunately it is among the best-preserved creations of Leonardo.

Leonardo da Vinci was a true Renaissance Man with numerous extraordinary talents and skills. His genius revealed itself in an incredible range of fields. Although we know him as one of the greatest painters in history, he considered himself rather an excellent architect and military engineer who could also paint. His interest in science was such a huge part of his nature that he could not stop himself from experimenting and taking risks with all of his various projects. As a result some of his creations were lost and many require lots of care to survive. “Lady with an Ermine” has survived almost unaltered. His signature techniques and fingerprints, found on the surface, prove that it was created entirely by his hands.

Looking at Salvador Dali’s Swans Reflecting Elephants I was stricken by a sudden epiphany. Who was it that first said that swans were beautiful? We all know they are one of the symbols of grace, purity, and beauty but how often do we actually stop to look at them with a critical eye? Ungainly boat-shaped bodies, disproportionately long, snake-like necks, and a waddling gait – are these the attributes of a perfect being, a paragon of physical virtue? In what way does the miraculous transfiguration of Hans Christian Andersen’s infamous “Ugly” Duckling into the feathered equivalent of a snake in a boat constitute a good end? Of course Andersen never was too fond of happy endings…

It was this train of thought that led me to see this famous fairytale in a new light, and realize the superficial nature of the life-affirming end we have all been told by our parents. But have they told us the truth?

What if we look at the Ugly Duckling not as a positive symbol of the transformative power hidden within all of us, but as a profoundly disturbed individual with an agonizing inferiority complex? This complex stems in part from social rejection, in part from his own over-analytic nature. He does not see himself as the adorable, fluffy creature he is and lacks the lighthearted self-acceptance of childhood. Constantly judging and reassessing himself, he willingly accepts the taunts and jeers that are thrown his way. Perhaps he spends too much time looking at his own reflection – a futile exercise that has already brought about the demise of a menagerie of mythological figures.

Self-conscious to the point of obsessiveness, he dreams of only one thing – transformation. The glowing vision of a better self haunts his dreams and strengthens his belief in his own hideousness. He is not a misfit, he is a monster, shunned and loathed by all, even her whom he considers his mother. Seasons pass, and he gradually begins to change. Wearied by his own self-loathing, he hides from himself and is not aware of the alteration at first. But then the revelation comes. Gliding along the glossy surface of a sunlight lake, he takes a deep breath and looks down. But what does the despondent, unsatisfied perfectionist really see in this inverted image? Is it the radiant embodiment of exquisite elegance? No – it is an elephant, a twisted, surrealist inversion of his glamorous fantasies. The stricken idealist stares in horror at the image projected by his distorted imagination. There is no hope then. The world has betrayed his impossible standards, it has proved incapable of producing perfection. Then, like a mocking parody of Narcissus, he plunges into his own reflection and gives up his tormented soul to the dark, swirling waters of the lake.

Eleanor’s bedroom here was smaller than the one at home. She lay in a small but comfortable bed by the window, the drawn curtains leaving the room in semi-darkness. Eleanor’s eyes were open, but she was staring blankly at the window, as if unaware of anything around her. Her mother sat by the bed with a look of concern on her face, heedless of the soft rustling sound disturbing the heavy silence. After a while she raised herself from the chair and headed quietly towards the door. Springing up with a sudden burst of energy, Eleanor stretched her arms desperately towards her mother.

“Don’t leave me!” she wailed, “They will come after me! I can hear them climbing up the wall!”

Mother sighed patiently, “Nothing is coming after you dear. You just need some peace and quiet, and everything will be okay.” Of course Eleanor knew it wouldn’t be, but how could she explain? She watched her mother leave in despairing silence.

The rustling and scraping sounds outside the window intensify. Eleanor’s breathing grows heavier. For a moment, the sounds outside cease, and all that Eleanor can hear is the sound of her own heartbeat. Then the curtain concealing the window begins to move as if pushed by some unseen force, and spread over Eleanor’s bed. The scraping sound returns, louder than ever. Eleanor sits motionless, staring at the curtain, unable to utter a sound…

It was a beautiful morning. As Eleanor’s mother came down the hallway with a wholesome breakfast tray, her step was springy and optimistic, and she hummed a cheerful song. Reaching Eleanor’s door, she had to fumble with the tray for a few seconds before she managed to turn the handle. The door swung open to reveal a view of the room.

She was still humming as looked over at Eleanor’s bed. Sitting in the next room, Father heard the humming stop abruptly, and the tray come crashing down to the floor.

Eleanor lay sprawled on the bed, her blanket in a tumbled heap on the floor. Her hands convulsively grasped the stem of an enormous sunflower lying on top of her. Her face was entirely hidden from view by its poisonously yellow petals, wrapped tightly around her head. She was dead.

As the cold gray twilight faded over the cemetery, Eleanor’s parents watched as their daughter’s coffin was slowly lowered into the grave accompanied by Mother’s sobs. At least she had the comfort of knowing that everything was just as little Eleanor would have wanted. The grave overflowed with her favorite flowers – sunflowers. Mother tenderly caressed the sunflower found in Eleanor’s room and gazed at it with tears in her eyes.

“Watch over and protect our poor Eleanor. She was so very fond of sunflowers,” she whispered, kissing the flower and lowering it reverently into her daughter’s grave. Perhaps the tears blurred her vision as she turned away, but she didn’t see the Sunflower slowly begin to claw at the lid of the coffin with its predatory leaves. She never did.

Go back to review parts II and I.