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diioonysus · 9 months

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dogs + art

#mars and venus with cupid and a dog by paola veronese #venus of urbino by titian #portrait of federico ii gonzaga by titian #the death of procris by piero di cosimo #arnolfini portrait by jan van eyck #venus and adonis by titian #portrait of the countesse d'egmont pignatelli in spanish costume by alexander roslin #portrait of a lady in red by agnolo bronzino #maselli family portrait by lavinia fontana #children of the marquis de bethune playing with dog by francois hubert drouais #portrait of princess ekaterina dmitrievna golitsyna by louis-michel van loo #attachment by edwin landseer #gelert by charles b. barber #the poor dog the shepherd's grave by edwin landseer #requiescat by briton riviere #marie leszczinska #my lady's pets by arthur wardle #the great debate by george armfield #portrait of a brown and white toy spaniel in a landscape by jacques-charled oudry #darby in his basket kennel by anthony frederick sandys #portrait of john 3rd baron monson of burton by pompeo girolamo batoni #portrait of dutchess katharina von mecklenburg by lucas cranach the elder #young lady and her dog by james john hill #young girl with a spaniel by jean-baptise greuze #the masters chair by john henry dolph #interior with two dogs by conradijn cunaeus #no walk today by wright baker #painter's studio by otto erelman #study of greyhounds by alexandre-francois desportes #sitting pretty by horatio henry couldrey

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thelastofthebookworms · 1 year

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Feel free to make suggestions for future polls in this series (but not by the same painters, please. Other polls in my pinned post, my 'art' tag etc.

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perfectlywingedsilco · 2 years

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Posting full pic for your enjoyment, including suggestion of Heimerdinger by @ink-and-dagger.

#heimerdog #best boy #silco #marcus #bros before woes #the perfect family exists #arnolfini portrait #art meme

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rel124c41 · 2 days

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WIP WIP WIP 🌊

//smut so proceed with caution

“If I pull a single bristle out of my asscheeks tomorrow, you’re dead,” you warn sternly over your shoulder.

“Yea, yea, I’m bein’ careful.”

But Floyd and the word ‘careful’ do not have a healthy relationship, so you tilt your head to look over the same shoulder you just talked to. A shiver tangos up your spine. Crouched behind you, nude as the day he was born, Floyd takes a cold paintbrush dipped in non-toxic paint and runs it up your bare thighs. Lavender coats from the apple of your butt down to your ankles, only on the dorsal parts.

Foyd runs the brush up your lumbar muscle, handle briefly pushing at your sex. He sure is taking his sweet time with this. “Ain’t gonna pull anything out but my tongue.”

“Ouch!” When you turn back again, Floyd’s lips are kissed by lavender. A glare forms as the bite-mark on your butt hums in pain. “Careful, he says.”

Yet, you say this chuckling as Floyd laughs happily. A shiver slams into your body when he takes a generous amount of very cold paint, finishing up your left cheek. Luckily, you do not get anymore bite-marks until Floyd paints the bottoms of your feet – even then it only one bite on your pinkie toe, gentle.

All finished, you put your hand in Floyd’s. Speckles of gold and lavender freckle the skin like cow spots. You two share a kiss, paint mixing. You pull away before the paint on your feet starts to dry.

“Pretty as a picture.”

“Stop, that’s corny.”

“Shrimpy as a picture.”

“Whatever,” you say, both hands holding Floyd’s. The smile on his face should be hung up in a museum, you think fondly. A stepping-back lavender footprint finds the canvas first. Gently, you lower yourself with Floyd’s help. “Cold, cold, cold,” you whine when your butt hits the paper.

Your whines soon morph into laughter as Floyd falls right down on the canvas with you. Insatiable, he pulls you in for a deep liplock, the gold paint on yours and the lavender paint of his mixing into a brown-tinted mauve. You pull him closer by gripping on the gold paint remaining on his right asscheek.

Embraced by an artful kiss, you gasp when you feel the head of him between your folds. Mauve starts to tiptoe down your collarbone in little lip-shaped stamps. Paint makes a wet suctioning noise under you as your body makes a wet noise; painted with one load of cum already, your pussy follows along in the symphony.

“Oh fuck, Floyd,” you hiss between gritted teeth. He takes a mauve freckled hand and turns your face so he can return to his favorite spot to bite. He keeps himself laid between your folds and nothing more, teasing.

Already pulled along by second arousal, your eyelashes flutter. Across this ocean of plastic sheets you two are going to make love – because for some odd reason, Floyd of all people prefers calling it that (you argued “Aren’t I supposed to be the sentimental soul? The artiste?”) – lies a painting mostly made of gold.

You had painted the dorsal side of Floyd, gluteus down to calcaneus, a pretty gold. You have bounced until you had screamed yourself hoarse, the entire making love act becoming a permanent piece of art. “To commemorate moving in,” you had asked sly a day ago, showing him the package of body paint.

The canvas is pretty flat and even. Made of just plain paper, you are surprised it left such a good print. Floyd’s painting survived; yours? You have a feeling the one you lie on is going to be crinkled up like an accordion.

As Floyd returns the favor of hickeys, making a mirror copy of the art you left behind on him before, you say: “Di – ah! Did I tell you about these coins at the museum I’m working in?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so.”

“They’re called spintria coins. They’re pretty outstanding.”

“That so? Wanna get one for Azul?”

“Mmm, I don’t think he would appreciate it.” You gently reach down, searching for a penis.

When Floyd asks why so, teeth on your breast, you answer, “Spintria coins have normal numbers on one side.” You find what you are looking for and, carefully keeping your voice even, you push it in, “on the other side, there is an image of a sex position.”

The moan you get in response? Oh, you know you have no magic but if you could, you would capture that sound in a seashell necklace, replaying it forever and ever. The sound is even backdropped by the crinkle of paper, the claws by your shoulders ripping into the canvas.

“Oh OH!” Then Floyd breathes out your real name like it is fire in his throat.

You giggle under him, mauve lipstick shining. In a week, you will show him the spintria coin you got from the museum – they said you could have a token of gratitude for your work and you wanted a certain token – and he will laugh until his ribs hurt at a coin depicting fellatio. When Azul gets the coin in his birthday present, you both laugh until your ribs crumble under the shared weight of your mirth.

All those days used to be filled with so much laughter.

#floyd leech x reader #this is from arnolfini portrait but lost art and viscera are probably gonna be done sooner than this one #viscera my beloved i cant wait to finish u kiss kiss #flashback scene fyi

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saint-rebecca · 1 year

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in 1434 Jan Van Eyck’s hand carved a portrait that keeps us guessing at its mysteries, over 589 years later 💭 Did you know you can see this world-famous painting in London, for free?

📍 National Gallery, London