And here we are, at last, at the end of Thomasina’s romp through famous paintings old and older.

This painting was horrific. It really was. Many a nightmare was had after looking at even the smallest part of it. It had to be pixelated. It had to be blurred out. It had to be tweaked to being almost unrecognisable, it was that bad.

The painting upon which this horror masterpiece is based is none other than Sandro Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, originally painted in the 1480s. In the original painting, there are a few characters, and a large shell, from which Venus is apparently emerging. As Thomasina’s version had to be created on a closed set, there were no extras. There were also no large shells available, so Thomasina improvised with a few baskets.

In the original, as the depiction is meant to be of Venus newly born, she has been painted without clothes. She was painted covering most of her, er, body parts, and this was how Thomasina demanded she be painted in this modern version.

The painting was created. Did I mention just how horrific it was? Multiply it by ten. A thousand.

This whole series was almost cancelled because of it. There was no way an image as grotesque as that could possibly appear on a blog with the calibre of this one, so in the end, Thomasina backed down and decided to put on a few clothes. Well, a tatty old bathing costume to give the image an aged look. It didn’t really add anything to the picture, but then again it added the most important part. And a huge sigh of relief.

Some would say the series should have been cancelled anyway, and in some regards, I would have to agree… but only to a point. The paintings, even this one, have been fun to create digitally. They aren’t meant to ridicule the original pieces of art upon which they are based, but instead meant to show that anything can be a source of inspiration. Some ideas are worth going with, just because. If they work, they work. If they don’t, they don’t. It’s all part of the creative process, part of the creative journey, and a little detour along the way is very good for the soul.

If you do have nightmares because of this image, then I can only apologise… although it isn’t like I haven’t mentioned it for the past few weeks. Still, it’s over now, and next week we shall see other things.

Just what, right at the moment, is to be determined.

Thomasina (my Inner Woman) returns this week with another interpretation of a famous painting featuring iconic women. This one is slightly different, as in Edvard Munch’s original version of “The Scream” created in 1893, there are a couple of figures in the background of the famous screaming face, although in my (extremely limited) research I haven’t been able to find out who these figures are, male or female.

Thomasina hasn’t taken centre stage in this modern version of the classic, instead, she opted to be in the background and allow Tombie (my Inner Zombie) to recreate the iconic pose. Luckily for all of us, his fingers, nose and eyebrows all remained intact and didn’t fall off into the rapidly flooding pier – that would have been quite hard to explain later, although Tombie would have probably picked others up from somewhere if they had misled.

The red skies in Munch’s version of the painting were inspired by the red skies caused by the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883/84, which caused widespread travel disruption and multiple flights being cancel… oh. Sorry. I’m thinking of a different volcano there.

However, this image retains some of the original’s look, but is still completely different, which is the aim of this series.

Tombie suffered from lockjaw for two to three weeks after this painting was created and all he could do was grunt, but nobody really noticed as this is how he communicates anyway. Well, he is a zombie after all, with only one thing on his mind. Brains.

Next week’s painting is the one that caused the most trouble. It is the nightmare painting, so this week’s leads into it quite nicely. I shall say no more for now.

My romp through the world of Classical Art continues again this week, with Thomasina posing for her interpretation of Claude Monet’s oil on canvas painting ‘Woman With A Parasol’, ‘Madame Monet With Her Son’, or ‘The Stroll / La Promenade’ (it goes by many names). Originally painted in 1875, Thomasina’s version was finished last Tuesday. Well, truth be told, it was finished on the Tuesday when my internet went down, but last Tuesday sounds so much better.

Eagle-eyed visitors who know the painting (or this version of it, there are a few!) will notice that the son is missing. As Thomasina doesn’t have a son, she didn’t want one including in the picture. Other eagle-eyed visitors may also notice that the Sun is missing, when in actual fact it isn’t and is merely hidden behind all that cloud. As Thomasina herself said “It’s due rain, so I’d best take me brolly with me.” And this Reimagined Classic was born. She also said “Make me look thin.” which makes this painting not an actual likeness… but given that that’s the general rule of thumb with the paintings in this series, it kind of fits.

I think my issues with my nightmare painting have now been addressed, so I don’t feel as bad about having to post that particular one, which, believe you me, is more than a blessing. That painting, however, is coming up.

Another painting will be along next week, subject to the usual external factors.

With beanie hat in tow (with a pair of old tights tied on top) Thomasina (my Inner Woman) reappeared this week demanding another portrait be made. You can’t refuse such a request. Really, you can’t. I have tried.

Ripping the Mona Thomasina out of the frame, Thomasina said “We’ll use this again. And for the next three.” Which was her way of telling me she wanted another three portraits doing. “For this run!” she adds. See? Refusal is not an option.

This rip off version of a classic is based upon Girl with a Pearl Earring, an oil painting by Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer, dated around 1665. There is a movie of the same name, starring Colin Firth (as Vermeer, not the girl!), which wasn’t the inspiration for this picture, as I haven’t seen that movie. The painting wasn’t named as such when it was first done, but this is the name it currently holds.

As with last week’s painting, this week’s is slightly similar yet totally different once again to the original to which upon it is based. Thomasina is looking the wrong way for starters. She’s also wearing that hat and tights combo, and her earring most definitely isn’t pearl. It’s a clip-on one. And this painting isn’t done in oils.

Just so you’re forewarned… there is a nightmare of a painting coming up. I almost replaced this one with that one, just to get it out of the way… but I think best left until the very last minute is the wisest option. Honestly, it’s the stuff of nightmares. Once seen, it can never be unseen. But Thomasina likes it.

And what Thomasina likes… well. Wait and see.

I shall apologise now.

There will, however, be another ‘respectable’ painting along next week.

Thomasina, my Inner Woman, wanted her portrait painting the other day, so I had no choice but to oblige. In honour of Thomasina, my Inner Woman, being the kind of classic person everyone aspires to be like, the classics were the only place to go.

Everyone has heard of the Mona Lisa, the enigmatic and charming painting created centuries ago by Leonardo da Caprio, yes? Well, I present my version of that very painting, the Mona Thomasina.

Just like the original, she’s sat on a wooden chair on a bridge or terrace overlooking a jagged mountainous terrain, and you can’t tell if she’s smiling or not. With Thomasina, nobody ever can tell if she’s smiling or not, so she is the perfect model for this reconstruction.

Unlike the original, the chair is completely different, and Thomasina just wouldn’t get into the correct pose for love nor money. Mona Lisa’s clothes were far too old-fashioned and motheaten for a modern classic, so Thomasina argued, and she decided on this get up instead. And the mountains in the background are in a different place completely.

But still the resemblance is there, particularly if one squints, and tries to look through the painting as though one is trying to decipher a magic eye picture  just after they first came out in 1991; only with this thing it looks slightly better when blurred.

And before anyone writes in and complains, of course I know that it wasn’t Leonardo da Caprio who painted the Mona Lisa. It was Vinci. Vinci da Caprio. I do knows me art y’know. Mostly.