Adolfo Wildt (1868-1931) is an Italian sculptor. He was born into a poor family and in 1880 entered the studio of the sculptor Giuseppe Grandi (1843–1894). Between 1882 and 1887 Wildt learned to work marble in the studio of Federico Villa and from 1885 to 1886 frequented the Accademia di Belle Arti di Brera, Milan, where he made studies after the Antique and Michelangelo. In 1894 he met the German collector Franz Rose (1854–1912) and agreed that in return for an annual stipend he would assure Rose exclusive rights on the first exemplar of each of his works. Protected and isolated by this arrangement, Wildt immersed himself in his work.
He became increasingly interested in symbolism and experimented with marble to produce effects of opalescent transparency. Rose’s death in 1912 forced Wildt to confront the art market. He was awarded the Principe Umberto prize in 1913, and this marked the beginning of his good fortune with the Italian critics. He was backed by the journalist and critic Margherita Sarfatti and in 1925 joined the steering committee of the NOVECENTO ITALIANO, participating in its major exhibitions of 1926 and 1929, as well as abroad.
Images from the live action version of lovable British claymation TV show, Wallace & Gromit. Broadcast in the late 1990s, the special received negative reactions from viewers due to the fact that it was unintentionally creepy. It was never shown again.
I’ve just discovered my new favorite painter, Vittorio Reggianini - those smarter than myself probably already know of him as an Italian painter from the 1800s who made satin look even satiny-er than satin. I just cannot get over how much he loved painting women who were NOT. HAVING. A. MAN’S. SHIT.
But there was one hottie that everyone seemed to like, and I can’t blame them…
Vittorio knows what the ladies like.
I love this. Vittorio is throwing some not-so-subtle shade on the misogyny of the era in that last one. Around that time, mass market printing was finally a thing, and people wrote the hell out of some novels, especially fiction. And the people who read the novels were mostly women, because they had somewhat more time on their hands. Middle and upper class men decided they were above reading. They frequently criticized the women for reading novels, saying it was going to corrupt their brains and turn them all into anarchists and lesbians. (Which wasn’t entirely untrue, lots of subversive and queer stuff was distributed in novel form.)
So that last painting is a dude getting over himself and the prejudices of the time and sharing an interest with the ladies, which is infinitely hotter than a dude invading personal space and looming over you like in several of those other paintings.
