#oil on oak panel

[blueiskewl]

Sir Peter Paul Rubens Salome presented with the head of Saint John the Baptist

Oil on oak panel Panel: 37 by 40⅛ in.; 94 by 101.8 cm. Framed: 49¼ by 54 in.; 125.1 by 137.2 cm.

#Sir Peter Paul Rubens #Sir Peter Paul Rubens Salome presented with the head of Saint John the Baptist #flemish artist #painting #painter #oil on oak panel #art #artist #art work #art world #art news

[arinewman7]

The Physician

Gerrit Dou

oil on Oak panel, 1653

#Gerrit Dou #art #artist #painter #painting #The Physician #oil on Oak panel #1653

[eirene]

Portrait of a Woman, possibly Anne Codde, 1529

Maarten Van Heemskerck

#Maarten Van Heemskerck #art #painting #fashion #portrait #1520s #16th century #dutch art #oil on oak wood #oil on wood panel #mannerism #renaissance #dutch golden age

[icecreamwithjackdaniels]

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, "Two Monkeys", 1562

#pieter bruegel the elder #art #painting #northern renaissance #antwerp period #animal painting #oil on oak wood panel #paintings #16th century #oil painting #animals in art #monkey #monkeys #16th century art

[charlesreeza]

Portrait of Simon George of Cornwall, c. 1535-1540, by Hans Holbein the Younger

Städel Museum - Frankfurt, Germany

#fine art #portrait of a man #courtship #Tudor England #oil painting #oak panel

[matthewdodd12]

Transform your surroundings into a showcase of timeless elegance with our exclusive custom thermo pine cladding. Imbued with the richness of natural beauty, our cladding solutions provide the perfect platform for you to explore and implement limitless design options. Create an exterior facade that goes beyond the conventional, a space that is uniquely your own, using thermo pine cladding that seamlessly blends durability with the freedom of customization for a lasting and distinctive impact.

#charred wood cladding #exterior wall cladding #mahogany wall paneling #white oak wall paneling #Decking boards #thermo pine cladding #engineered wood flooring #teak wood panelling #wood oil #teak oil #furniture oil #teak wood oil #best teak oil #natural wood oil #wood oil dealers in india #wood oil suppliers in india #hardwood floor oil

[bloodrootarts]

My first oil painting attempt. Unfinished. 2021.

#dark art #weird art #painting #oil painting #oil on panel #live oak #live oak tree #swamp #water nymph

[payetafamille]

Galley Home Bar

#Example of a mid-sized transitional galley medium tone wood floor and brown floor seated home bar design with granite countertops #an undermount sink #flat-panel cabinets #distressed cabinets and gray backsplash customized cabinetry #quartersawn oak #glass shelves #oil rubbed bronze #liquor #home bar

[virg0ris1ng]

saltburn (2023) dir. emerald fennell //

the garden of earthly delights by hieronymus bosch

1490-1500 oil on oak panel

#saltburn #emerald fennell #bosch #art history #film #barry keoghan #dark academia

[pazzesco]

The Garden of Earthly Delights is the modern title given to a triptych oil painting on oak panel painted by the Early Netherlandish master Hieronymus Bosch, between 1490 and 1510, when Bosch was between 40 and 60 years old.

Top- Center panel: The Garden of Earthly Delights

Bottom Left- Left panel: The Garden of Eden

Bottom Right- Right panel: The hell

Click links to embiggen

#art #hieronymus bosch #The Garden of Earthly Delights #the garden of eden #the hell #hell #garden of eden #bosch

[tygerland]

Master of the Saint Bartholomew Altarpiece The Deposition. 1505. Oil on oak wood panel: 75 × 47 cm (29 × 18 in).

#16th century #art history #1500s #the descent from the cross #easter #the deposition #religion #painting #oil painting #christianity #history #christ #good friday #jesus christ #gothic #art #jesus #renaissance #medieval #spirituality #crucifixion #master of the saint bartholomew altarpiece #master of the saint bartholomew altar

[blueiskewl]

Jacob Marrel Still life with tulips, an iris, a rose, morning glories and other flowers with a dragonfly, butterfly and other insects, with cherries and a snail on a wooden ledge.

Signed and dated lower right: J Marrel / fec 1657. Oil on oak panel, the reverse with two unidentified red and black wax collectors' seals. Ubframed: 43 x 29.3 cm.; 16⅞ x 11½ in. Framed: 54.5 x 41.1 cm.; 21½ x 16⅛ in.

#Jacob Marrel #Jacob Marrel Still life 1657 #german artist #painter #painting #oil on oak panel #flowers #nature #art #artist #art work #art world #art news

[jareckiworld]

Emma Bennett — Returning (oil on oak panel, 2017)

#Emma Bennett #english art #british art #women painters

[centuriespast]

AVERCAMP, Hendrick Frozen River with Skaters 1610-15 Oil on oak panel, diameter 31 cm Szépmûvészeti Múzeum, Budapest

[prettypeppermint]

amazing grace.

for t. shelby a prelude to 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

“My, what a dear sight: Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinder and founder of Shelby Brothers Limited, fucking a whore on the same desk he signs business deals on.”

Your languid body, draped with the tender silks of your night slip, leaned against the door frame. The strong oak plowed against your supple shoulder and tugged at the pink lace pooling in your clavicle. A slim cigarette drooped like a petal from your rosy fingertips which rested near your naked thigh.

You watched, unamused, as Thomas repeatedly rutted into the thing, his eyes staring directly into yours. Despite the dimness of it all--of the sex-stained chamber and the way the dying lamps made the room appear dipped in oil--his sharp, diamond eyes still cut through the haze.

You took a quaint draw of your cigarette and fixed your gaze on the girl, tilting your head at the way she convulsed and thawed into the mahogany. You pushed yourself off the frame and let yourself in, crossing the threshold into sin.

Your bare feet made slow steps across the dry panels and stopped in front of her. You used your hand free of the cigarette to pet the crown of her head, smoothing down her jostled, earthy locks.

You shushed her softly, quietly, though it came from a dwelling deep within your heart. Your fingers tightened at her roots and pulled her head up so you could see her disheveled face. "You're a pretty one," you stated, observing the way her nose sloped perfectly into her cupid's bow. Her shaky, glossy eyes could barely keep your gaze as they kept rolling to the back of her head. Obscene moans and small cries escaped her bobbing throat.

You took another puff from your smoke. "I know you think you've caught a big fish, but really--Thomas Shelby isn't any less a minnow than every other man in this Godless city when it comes to pretty lasses like you." Your voice was befitting of the night--quiet and something of the tide.

You traced her tear-stained cheek with your thumb. "Do you know why you're here, bent over his work desk in the first place, love? It's because the last pretty thing that wandered into Mr. Shelby's trousers put all our heads on the line--right after her own, pretty little blonde one."

Immediately after the last sour-coated words left your lips, the girl burst into a million ecstacies, and Thomas gave her one last soundless pound before leaving her empty and hollow on the nippy wood.

You let go of her head and it dropped to the desk--as if she craved its cold companionship.

Your eyes found Thomas's.

"So this is who you are now? A whore fucker is no more than a whore, himself, y'know."

"Who I fuck"--he zipped up his knickers and took a swig of Irish whiskey left out from the morning on his desk--"concerns no one. Least of all you."

You slowly snubbed your cigarette out on his expensive, lacquered desk. "Don't get cute," you said, pulling out a couple extra shillings than girls like Lizzie are used to seeing after a long day. You stretched at her unbuttoned collar and pressed them into her bra. "On you go, love. Don't come back.” You said the last part mainly to yourself, but it didn't go unnoticed in the weight of the room. You loathed her life for her.

A minute sigh, heavy with something dire and secretive, escaped Thomas's nose as the lax girl collected her stray garments from off the floor and flitted out of the room. He never looked at her, though she seemed to burn for it.

Thomas leaned the small of his back against the edges of his desk, staring off at something distant in that vacant way he always does.

"It seems as though everybody in the city respects Thomas Shelby except yourself,” you said.

You never called him Tommy, and you never would. Nicknames are for kin and lovers, and he was just pristine, clean-cut Thomas.

He didn't respond. He didn't move save a subtle tensing of the muscle in his jaw. You made your way next to him, propping yourself up on the desk. Your legs dangled in the air as the hem of your slip rode up your thighs. He passed his whiskey glass over to you without sparing you even a glance, and you took a sizable swig.

Since it was evident he wouldn't be doing much of the talking, you started up.

"Men are weak. They get dumb in the head when anything with a cunt passes by. A primal urge--makes you animals." You looked at the wooden wall and imagined you were seeing the same thing he was as he stared right through it. A moment of silence--a hidden breath--hitched and made the room swell--the wood crack.

"I loved Grace, too. In my own way," you continued softly, matter-of-factly. You handed the glass back to him. He could tell you've had a little too much already. "I saw something in her that I had been chasing my entire life. It made me admire her."

"And what's that," his voice croaked, raspy from the silence that grew familiar to his throat's walls--like a tumor.

"She had love." Slowly, as if unfolding like a picture, you began to see the invisible landscape Thomas saw in the grain of the walls. "It made her strong. Gave her something to fight for, and then later something to lose."

This, Thomas realized, was the most you've confided to him in years. You looked so vulnerable, so lush in your unguarded, slightly slouched form. He saw glimpses of your Irish youth in your tired yet glistening eyes.

You were never a predictable woman.

A silence spanned and stretched at the air in the room. The more it did, the hotter you got.

"I've never had that, Thomas. And you should be grateful you did for at least a little while, because even if you fail at your multiple hands and end up rotting in the canal, you would have died a man who knew love. So stop slouching and moping and fucking sorry whores and get back on your feet."

He didn't like the way curses sounded coming from your mouth--from that pretty little voice. Your usual mellow demeanor had faltered for the first time in front of him.

You didn't wait for him to hand you the glass this time, as you swiped it out of his grasp and downed the last ounce of amber fire. "You're Thomas fucking Shelby. But right now you're just pathetic."

At this, his hand clasped around your slender neck, almost simultaneously with his lips as they crashed into yours. He repositioned himself between your legs so his knee could pry and tease at them. His callused hand was strong and warm as it crept from your throat to that sweet nook between the back of your neck and the bend of your jaw. His fingers cupped your cheek and raked through your freshly washed hair. Your slip had collected in a wrinkle of crests at your hips and you subconsciously waited for your exposed thighs to be seared with his radiating palms. But he stopped himself. He pulled away. And yet again, there was that vacant distance.

"Don't tell me about not knowing love. I loved Grace the way you've always loved me." His voice was so low you had to furrow your brows to make out every word--every syllable--so that you could ensure you weren't going crazy. "I see it. Every day. I fuckin' feel it every time you look at the back of my neck. You love me. And you're filthy for it."

For an impossible measure of time, you saw him for something he wasn't.

His thumb swiped past your chilled earlobe, bringing your forehead to his. "She sang these songs. And I heard in all of them your stories."

You wanted to shoot him. And kiss him. And kill him. Hell, you just wanted him.

"But I could never have you. No, not when you put on such a tough act with a face like that and make a mess of yourself and everything else--messes I needed to clean up and protect you from." With this, he gave your face a little shake with his hand still embedded in your locks.

It was impossibly gentle and genuine and moronic. It was simply just impossible.

His whiskey-licked breath stung with every lap he took at your salted wounds. You both stayed like this until the ticking of the clock became jilted and painful.

You looked into his wayward eyes one final time, swallowing a heavy sigh before slowly slipping off the table, past his burning body and out the door.

It was as good a goodbye as any.

All humans have ever needed was love, so why is it that when it's finally within the palms of our hands--no matter how much we cherish it, kindle its erratic flame, breathe life into it--it always seems to betray us?

x.

#x #prettypeppermint #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby ff #thomas shelby imagines #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x fem!reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #thomas shelby hcs #thomas shelby headcanons #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders ff #peaky fucking blinders #tommy shelby #cillian fic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders angst #fem!reader #angst

[nobuyoshiaraki]

Art by Hieronymus Bosch ( 1450–1516 )

The Garden of Earthly Delights (centre panel) (c 1495-1505), oil on oak panel

#art #快楽の園