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Painted in the glory days of 1833, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey exemplifies the qualities of historical painting. It’s dramatic, technically exquisite, and a bit wrong on the factual details. These elements made history paintings popular in the 19th century and then passé soon after. [...] We see that in Delaroche’s painting The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. It has all the drama of Lady Jane’s tragic story but tells little truth of the matter. When Jane was 15 years old she was the Queen of England. But this only lasted nine days. A short time later, when she was still only 16 years old, the new Crown executed Lady Jane Grey. The details of how all this went down are confused in the Paul Delaroche depiction. Artistic license like this was a common flaw in history painting. Delaroche gives us a glorious portrait in oil, largely thanks to the intensity of his lights and darks. But that contrast wasn’t likely possible in the actual setting of Jane Grey’s execution ― outside. Delaroche seems to have set the scene in the Tower of London. This marks a significant setting throughout the story because Lady Jane stayed in the Tower while readying for her coronation; and then returned as a prisoner soon after. [...] The pure white silk of Jane Grey’s dress gleams with her innocence along with her porcelain skin. Her martyrdom thus punctuates the center of the otherwise shadowy canvas. It feels operatic thanks to dramatic facial expressions and gestures on the three women present. Lady Jane spreads her hands at her sides with an awkward pose so that her fingers appear to tremble. Her face holds the sad spectre of resignation. While Jane’s maids show much more emotion. One throws herself against the wall in agonizing grief while the other closes her eyes and lifts her face as if she can’t bear the weight of the situation. ©

The painting, Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan by Ilya Repin tells the story of grief, insanity, and controversy that outlived the painter and has relevance that runs deep into the canvas. Ivan desperately holds his son’s body, pressing his lips to his head while covering his wounds, mirroring the Biblical Mary when her dead son is splayed across her lap. Telling the tale of traumatic pain that passes from child to parent; having an air of devastation after intense loss. Ivan the Terrible’s eyes tell the story of pain, horror, and regret powerfully taking over the onlooker, so much so that it is impossible not to feel profound sadness for the father and son confined to the canvas. The tragic scene is unfortunately based off the real murder of the son, Tsarevich Ivan Ivanovich, after his father Ivan IV Vasilyevich killed him in a fit of rage, fits that he became more prone to as he got older. What set off Ivan in this particular instance is unclear, but the story of the painting is crystalline: rage, realization, and regret. The disarray of the furniture and carpets, the dark maroon background, tell of the animalistic ravaging of the innocent. Yet, looking into the eyes of the monster, it is hard not to pity Ivan even knowing what he has done: the painting is a moral dilemma. The painting can be viewed as a warning, physically; killing is feasible; however, the monstrous blight infects the victim and murderer alike here. The painting can be appreciated as a commentary on love; those you love can also cut you the deepest, a double edged sword, in this case, scarring both father and son. [...] This painting of violence has been on the receiving end of violence twice, once in 1913 when it was slashed with a knife, and as recently as 2018 by a drunken visitor with a metal bar. In 1913, the man who vandalized the painting screamed, “enough death, enough blood.” This man would be pronounced as insane, as life imitates art; it was as if the man saw himself in Ivan and revolted against his own fate. The painting was the first to be banned from viewing in Russia, in 1885 by Alexander III who was offended by the painting since it was inspired by the assassination of Alexander II four years prior. The accuracy of the painting is questionable, considering it was made 200 some years after the incident, and the incident itself is not well documented; most agree Ivan killed his son, though this is not confirmed, and some believe his son died of an illness common to the time.  Either way the uncertainty lends itself to controversy. Russian nationalists still believe the painting is part of a smear campaign, and detest its display, but what the painting has to teach goes beyond political alliances. There is a lesson to be learned in the pain and suffering of its subjects. ©

As a young man, the Danish born artist August Friedrich Albrecht Schenck settled in Paris, where he studied at the École des Beaux-Arts. Schenck spent most of his career in France, specializing in painting landscapes and animal subjects. For over thirty years he was a regular contributor to the Paris Salons, where Anguish was exhibited in 1878. In this painting, Schenck has given his distraught ewe an expression suggestive of despair mingled with stoic determination. Recognising these decidedly human responses, the viewer might be expected to identify immediately with the animal’s grim predicament. The ewe’s bravery in the face of the threat posed by the murderous circle of crows is perhaps, however, somewhat overstated in her defiant stance above the bleeding lamb. There is little subtlety evident in this work. Although Anguish has a sentimental quality, Schenck did not intend this to be overt. Indeed, his sincerity in portraying the nobility in animals was not lost on his contemporaries, with a critic for Le Figaro describing the artist in 1878 as ‘One of our finest animal painters. He is one of those originals of the species not yet extinct who prefer dogs to men and find more sweetness in sheep than women’. This is by no means a derogatory statement, but is, rather, a testament to Schenck’s abilities as a painter. Interestingly, if we accept that there is an anthropomorphic quality in Anguish, then the surreal massing of the crows may well be Schenck’s method of alluding to the inhumanity prevalent in society. He may here be examining the broader human condition, in the context of an animal painting. Anguish was one of the earliest acquisitions by the National Gallery of Victoria and the high ideals expressed in the painting were not lost on early visitors to the Gallery. In 1906, this picture was voted among the five most popular in the Melbourne collection and again in 2011, during the National Gallery of Victoria’s 150th Anniversary, Anguish appeared in the public’s top 10 most popular works. Text by Laurie Benson from 19th century painting and sculpture in the international collections of the National Gallery of Victoria, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, 2003, p. 60. ©