200216 – Delacroix – National Gallery, London

I had so been looking forward to this show but it was so disappointing but not through fault of the show but from my expectations of Delacroix. I was expecting huge scale and was met with domestic scaled pictures. So I’ll review the show that I’d hoped for.

Dive into the swirling vortex of flesh and fear. To smell the gun-smoke and blood, to hear the roar of the cannon, the charge of hooves, the cries of the doomed all captured in oils in a dynamic cohesive mass. Nostrils flared, the glint of a sabre in the horses eye, the fright of a lion, the adrenalin, the sweat with banners flying, polished brass, bright tunics rage against the Muslim warriors dressed in silks, jewels and turbans

His brow was bent, his eye was glazed; He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, And sternly shook his hand on high, As doubting to return or fly; Impatient of his flight delay’d, Here loud his raven charger neigh’d — Down glanced that hand, and grasp’d his blade; That sound had burst his waking dream, As Slumber starts at owlet’s scream, The spur hath lanced his courser’s sides; Away, away, for life he rides:    Byron- Giaour.