If I was going to a desert island and could only take one piece of artwork with me, this is the one.
I fell in love with this guy when I was a teenager at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The whites in his dress: cool and warm, crisp and soft. The hand resting on his bent knee. His weight so convincingly resting on his foreshortened foot.
Every millimeter of his face and figure seems to ooze a dangerous power. My one and only bad boy.
The details in this painting are so rich and seemingly endless. I could look forever.
Austrian painter Eduard Charlemont painted this in 1878. It first hung in Paris. There is a rich history behind this painting and if you google it, you can find out more.
Notice the power in The Chief's dark skin and whites of his robe. The placement of his belt and the ornamentation around that area (ahem) that lead our eye down to that perfectly placed foot. He's loosely holding a knife in his right hand.
So, yes, I have a crush on him. With good reason. I have a print hanging in full view of my desk. A wonderful sight when I look up. A high standard of creativity and artistic mastery to spur me on and inspire me.