#baroqueart

Day 5 Corazón Week 2025:

AU / WHAT IF / SWAP

👑✨THE CELSTIAL DRAGON DONQUIXOTE ROSINANTE✨👑

This piece… well, it nearly didn’t happen. 😅

For Day 5, I hit that classic wall: no inspiration, no time, and a slightly overcooked brain. I just finished it.. literally moments ago ⏳ but I’m so glad I pushed through. Because now it lives… and it’s loud.

This is a “What If” imagining:

✨ What if Rosinante Donquixote had never left the Celestial Dragons?

What if he had stayed in Mariejois, wearing power like a crown instead of kindness?

I wanted him to still look like Rosinante.. gentle, soft-eyed but not entirely. Something had to feel off, unreachable. Distant. Drawing him wasn’t the hardest part; settling the concept was. It took ages to find the right balance between who he is and who he could’ve become.👑

Originally, I wanted this to be a full-length, grand-scale portrait but time got the better of me (and my wrist), so I went for a more compact format. Still, I gave it as much regality and drama as I could. 😅👑

The piece is inspired by none other than Louis XIV the Sun King, painted in full monarchical glory: velvet drapes, heavy robes, golden armour and all. The portrait genre of that period (especially in the late Baroque and early Rococo) was meant to overwhelm the viewer with splendour, with power and divine right oozing from every brushstroke.

I wanted to echo that, but with a twist:

Rosinante’s celestial version is childlike and terrifying, hidden under sugar-coated decadence. The hearts, the pearls, the pink and purple tones all point to softness.. but the atmosphere says otherwise. 🎭💘

This draw actually have 2 versions and.. Honestly i do not know!! So here are both!

Diego Velázquez, 1656, Oil on canvas

This painting isn’t just a portrait — it’s a puzzle. At first glance, we’re looking at the Infanta Margarita (center), daughter of King Philip IV of Spain, surrounded by her attendants — the meninas, or ladies-in-waiting — along with a few other courtiers, a dog, and even a dwarf. But then, you notice the man behind the canvas. That’s Velázquez himself, painting…this painting?

In the mirror at the back of the room, you can just barely see the king and queen reflected. Are they the ones being painted? Are they us, the viewers? Is Velázquez making us complicit in the act of creation?

This is what makes Las Meninas so genius: it’s a painting about painting, about power, perspective, and presence. It breaks the fourth wall before the fourth wall even had a name.

THE ALCHEMIST | 1663 | by CORNELIS PIETERSZ BEGA

This painting is set inside an alchemist's lab. It depicts everything: all the equipment, vessels, and materials that are associated with alchemy. Without a doubt, this piece reflects how much interest there was in occult science during the Golden Age.

Cornelis Pietersz Bega was a Golden Age painter, best known for his genre works and portraits. Like many of the dutch Masters, he was greatly influenced by the work of Rembrandt, which he reflected in his use of chiaroscuro and great attention to detail.

Bega moves the viewer's eye through the cluttered laboratory rather successfully and points out what the alchemist is doing. Intense use of light and shadow gives much depth and drama to the scene, which naturally heightens the mystery of the ambience.

Starting from the symbolic elements, typical for almost all the alchemical art- a presence of the flasks, apparatus for distillation, and arcane symbols-all this represents the alchemist's thought about his quest of transformation, his pursuit of hidden knowledge.

It is Bega's attention to detail and the realistic capture of textures-from that of the roughness of the stone to the metals of the different instruments-that give such a degree of realism to the painting.

I woke up this morning to Maria’s face inches from mine like she was auditioning to be the ghost in my next dream sequence.

“What do you want for breakfast?” she whispered like a serial killer in a glitter crop top.

I screamed. She laughed. Balance was restored.

We shuffled to the kitchen, still wrapped in our sleep and leftover eyeliner. The sunlight through the window made the whole house look like a dream you’d want to keep.

We made eggs like we were curing a hangover we hadn’t fully earned, and Maria—still wearing my hoodie—started spilling.

“So... the boys last night? Cute. Flirty. But let’s be real... no one wants me.”

I stopped mid-toast. Dropped the knife.

“Shut the hell up,” I said. And I meant it. Not in a joking way. In a 'let me drop the gospel' way.

I turned to her and rattled off the truth like it was scripture. “You’re brilliant, Maria. You’ve survived more than most people could handle and still walk into rooms like you own the damn place. You’re gorgeous. Your brain is terrifying—in the hottest way—and that scares weak men. That’s not your fault. That’s their expiration date.”

She rolled her eyes. I didn’t let her off the hook.

I walked her to the mirror and pulled her hair up. “Look at this. Look at this jawline. Look at this goddess.”

I poked her side. “All this and so much more up here,” I said, pointing at her temple. “I’m the one who’s jealous. And the luckiest bitch alive to have you as my sister from another mister.”

Maria rolled her eyes again, this time with peak sarcasm. “Ugh, I hate you. I love you. Whatever.”

We laughed, sipping our coffee like witches casually waiting for the moon to call.

Then Maria stopped mid-sip. “Wait… the fudge were you saying about your dreams yesterday?”

I hesitated. I gave her a little. She asked for more.

Eventually, I caved. Told her about the dog. The deaths. The weirdness.

She laughed. Thought I was joking. Until I pulled up the articles. One by one. Names. Photos. Timelines. Too real to be coincidence.

Her smile faded. Brows pulled together like she was trying to knit logic out of something supernatural.

Then she noticed it. The ring.

“What is that?” she asked. I turned my hand slowly. Black stone. Cool to the touch. Still snug.

“It’s labradorite,” I said. “It was in a package of housewarming gifts. No return address. Just… there.”

Maria blinked. “You… just wear it?”

I looked at it for a moment. Felt that pull. That familiar hum.

“It doesn’t matter where it came from,” I said calmly. And I meant it. For once.

Maria reached out. “Can I try it on?”

I nodded. Held her hand. Slid the ring onto her finger.

CRASH.

Two wine glasses fell from the counter. No one touched them.

Maria yelped. I yanked the ring off her hand so fast we both gasped.

Slid it back onto my own. Felt the air settle.

We both crouched to clean up. Silence for a moment.

Then she grinned. “You’re fucking much more interesting now. Beautiful and weird.”

We laughed. Got up. Shook it off.

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, The Entombment of Christ (1603-04). Oil on canvas, 300 x 203 cm. Pinacoteca Vaticana, Vatican City.

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio's The Entombment of Christ, painted between 1603-04, stands as a testament to the artist's mastery of chiaroscuro and his ability to infuse religious subjects with raw emotion and intense realism. In this analysis, we delve into the compelling narrative and artistic techniques that make The Entombment of Christ a cornerstone of Baroque art.

The Drama of Grief and Devotion:

The Entombment of Christ captures the poignant moment of Christ's body being lowered into the tomb after the crucifixion. Caravaggio's composition draws the viewer into the scene, where figures mourn and console one another amidst the harsh realities of death. The central figure of Christ, with his lifeless body, becomes the focal point of the painting, surrounded by grieving disciples and mourners. Caravaggio's portrayal eschews idealized depictions, opting instead for a visceral and emotionally charged scene that resonates with viewers on a deeply human level.

Chiaroscuro and its Emotional Impact:

Caravaggio's masterful use of chiaroscuro, the contrast between light and dark, heightens the emotional intensity of The Entombment of Christ. Deep shadows and stark highlights create a sense of depth and drama, emphasizing the weight of grief and the solemnity of the moment. The interplay of light and shadow draws attention to the figures' expressions, casting them in a dynamic play of emotions that range from despair to quiet resignation.

Realism and Relatability:

One of Caravaggio's hallmarks is his commitment to realism, evident in the meticulous attention to detail and the lifelike portrayal of the human form in The Entombment of Christ. The figures' faces bear the marks of sorrow and exhaustion, their gestures and postures conveying a profound sense of loss and compassion. Caravaggio's ability to capture the human experience in all its complexity invites viewers to empathize with the scene and reflect on the universal themes of suffering, redemption, and hope.

A Testament to Caravaggio's Genius:

The Entombment of Christ exemplifies Caravaggio's revolutionary approach to art, characterized by his rejection of idealized conventions in favour of raw emotion and stark realism. The painting's impact lies not only in its technical brilliance but also in its ability to transcend the boundaries of time and culture, speaking to audiences across centuries with its timeless portrayal of human emotion and spirituality.

Engagement Question: