Vulcain surprenant Vénus et Mars dans le lit avant une assemblée des Dieux, by Johann Heiss, 1679

Translation: Vulcan surprising Venus [his wife, of course] and Mars in bed before an an assembly of the gods. Oopsy....

"Cover up, darling, we have company...." Cupid, who's been hiding under the bed - hmm? - is being kicked in the face by his dear, sweet mother.

Vulcan makes his now rather superfluous denunciation. And Neptune's queen, Salacia, seems somewhat less than shocked by the revelation.

Sitting next to her husband Jupiter on their little cloud, Juno is either covering her eyes or perhaps shading them to get a better view. In the
front, Mercury is being distracted by a rather clingy Flora (?), while Faunus, always distinctly interested in any sexual shenanigans, leans on
the balustrade, trying to see around them. In the center of the group, Ceres, Diana, and Minerva are surely gossiping about the awkward turn
of events while, above, the nymph Chloris, Apollo's executive assistant, flies past, scattering flowers, just going about her business like any
other day. And at top right, scythe over his shoulder, Chronos appears to be perusing the scene in greater detail with the use of a... spyglass!

Show-off Apollo wafts in. Chariot, horses, and all. Troublemaker, it seems that he's the one who tipped off Vulcan in the first place.

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Johann Heiss (19 June 1640, Memmingen - 1704, Augsburg), German Baroque painter. After training in his birthplace of Memmingen with the father and son painters Hans Conrad Sichelbein and Johann Sichelbein, he went to Stuttgart in 1663 where he was employed in the services of Eberhard III, Duke of Württemberg. From 1677 he lived and worked in Augsburg, where he later died.

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While we're at it, here are some more paintings that are based on this rather raunchy, rather peculiar tale, the fine art equivalent of televised entertainment in the style of Jerry Springer/Maury Povich/et al. Beginning with the Renaissance, and over the course of several centuries, there were many artists who chose to illustrate either the story of the initial discovery of Venus' transgression or Vulcan's dramatic "reveal" to their Olympian relatives. The paintings usually portrayed some degree of coitus interruptus; back in the day all you needed to do was to apply a glossy mythological varnish to your work and you could get away with pretty much anything.

Alexandre Charles Guillemot, 1827.

François Boucher, 1754.

Hendrik de Clerck, circa 1615.

Il Padovanino, circa 1631.

Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée, 1768.

Doing image research for this post, I came across several paintings on the same subject by a certain Joachim Wtewael (1566-1638) - never heard of him - a  Dutch Mannerist painter. His versions of the story are pretty intense - and he holds very little back.

Circa 1606-1610.

1610.

1601.

L'Enlèvement de Déjanire par le centaure Nessus by Lagrenée, 1755

The Abduction of Deianira by the Centaur Nessus

Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée, see here.

A delightfully silly, pervy painting on a suitably mythologic theme: the centaur Nessus, having agreed to take Heracles' wife, Deianira, across the river Euenos, is instead attempting to abduct her.  But Heracles is having none of this and is just now shooting a poisoned, fatal arrow at the four-hooved opportunist.  The position of the geezer, who one may presume to be a river god - lolling on his back, clutching at tail and flank - is really quite odd.  Is he valiantly attempting to slow the getaway?  Or has he just been trampled?  (Can one be trampled in water?)  Or does he merely have an extreme fondness for centaur buttocks?

I find the use of color in this painting - and my response to it - very interesting.  Other than the flesh-tones, the predominant colors here are cool blues and greens.  What should really stand out most is the bright gold patch of drapery at dead center but, at least for me, it's actually the pink that dominates.  Deianira's wonderful silken garment flung out against the sky.  But also her rosy cheeks and nipple and - improbably - the cleft in Nessus' rump; his butt gives off a pink glow.

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Self-portrait by Lagrenée, 1750.

Portrait of Lagrenée in 1788 - thirty-eight years later - by Jean-Laurent Mosnier.

Mars and Venus, Allegory of Peace by Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée, 1770

Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée (December 30, 1724, Paris – June 19, 1805, Paris), also know as Lagrenée l'Aîné (the elder), as his younger brother, Jean-Jacques Lagrenée, was also an artist.  French painter, a member of the Royal Academy from 1755, and awarded the cross of the légion d'honneur by Napoléon in 1804. 

High-brow mythological smut for the upper-classes in late ancien régime France.  Fairly typical of just-transitioning-from-Rococo-to-Neoclassicism painting, the draftsmanship is not all that secure, but the coloration is exquisite.

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I really do try and keep these posts brief, but I find brevity so difficult to attain.  While I was working on this post, G walked by and remarked on the loveliness of the painting.  I mentioned how this color combination is one of my favorites - deep blue-green, old rose, white - and how the one small touch of a very different blue sets it all off so perfectly.  Which made me remember that I'd used this exact color combination - against a contrasting background - in my painting L'Innocence from 2012.  G said that I'd made the same comment about the contribution of that very different blue, then, and that I should include all that in this post.  I am surprisingly obedient.

L'Innocence - acrylic on panel - 12x12 - 2012