Danny Hahn. 2011. “Cubist Flowers“. Oil on canvas. “60cm x 90cm”. For Sale

Let’s take a closer look…

 Artists and paintings featured on NeoKitsch:

Other Paintings by Danny Hahn:

Sold Paintings:

After completing my recent list of top 100 films of all time, I got in the habit of thinking about more inspirational names and titles. It occurred to me that I had a few actors in mind, which I admired greatly.

So I return with my top 50 favourite cinema actors.

There are a few faces who made it in the list, who are often forgotten and even ignored, so I found it my duty to make sure that these much loved and watched performers of mine make it in the hall of fame.

The list is in order of date of birth.

Walter Huston (1883–1950)

He won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor in 1948 for his role in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, which was directed by his son, John Huston. His last film was The Furies in 1950 with Barbara Stanwyck.

Emil Jannings (1884–1950)

Jannings was a theater actor who went into films. He starred in the 1922 film version of Othello and in F. W. Murnau’s The Last Laugh (Der Letzte Mann, 1924), as a proud but aged hotel doorman who is demoted to a restroom attendant. Jannings worked with Murnau on two other films, playing the title character in Herr Tartüff (1925) and Mephistopheles in Faust (1926). He eventually started a career in Hollywood. In 1929 he won the Oscar for two films, The Way of All Flesh, and The Last Command.

He returned to Europe, where he starred opposite Marlene Dietrich in the 1930 film The Blue Angel.

Charles Chaplin (1889–1977)

Chaplin was one of the most creative and influential personalities of the silent-film era. He was influenced by his predecessor, the French silent film comedian Max Linder, to whom he dedicated one of his films. His working life in entertainment spanned over 75 years, from the Victorian stage and the music hall in the United Kingdom as a child performer, until close to his death at the age of 88. His high-profile public and private life encompassed both adulation and controversy.

Edward G. Robinson (1893–1973)

A popular star during Hollywood’s Golden Age, he is best remembered for his roles as gangsters, such as Rico in his star-making film Little Caesar and as Rocco in Key Largo. Other memorable roles include Barton Keyes in the film noir Double Indemnity, and as Dathan in The Ten Commandments. Robinson was selected for an Honorary Academy Award for his work in the film industry, which was posthumously awarded two months after the actor’s death in 1973. He was included in the American Film Institute’s list of the 25 greatest male stars in American cinema.

Buster Keaton (1895–1966)

He was best known for his silent films, in which his trademark was physical comedy with a consistently stoic, deadpan expression, earning him the nickname “The Great Stone Face”.

Orson Welles stated that Keaton’s The General is “the greatest comedy ever made, the greatest Civil War film ever made, and perhaps the greatest film ever made.”

Michel Simon (1895–1975)

In silent movies, he brought his amazing appearance and his unusual face – a talent with an exceptional mobility, but truly without mannerism. He easily played with his body using an unlimited virtuosity, especially his ugliness, evolving from smartness to sympathy, goodness to naivety, ludicrousness to frightening, stupidity to comical, mischievousness to cruelty.

His film career was really boosted with the advent of talking pictures. People remarked that his elocution and voice tone were as original as his appearance and play. He then revealed his unclassifiable talent: action comedy, drama, tragedy, light comedy.

He appeared in Dreyer’s 1928 The Passion of Joan of Arc. He acted in films for Jean Renoir (La Chienne, Boudu Saved From Drowning), Jean Vigo (L’Atalante) and Marcel Carné (Port of the Shadows, Bizarre, Bizarre).

Arletty (1898–1992)

In 1945, Arletty appeared in her most famous film role, the central part of Garance in Marcel Carné’s Les Enfants du Paradis, her fourth role for the director. Arletty was imprisoned in 1945 for having had a wartime liaison with a German officer during the occupation of France. She allegedly later commented on the experience, “My heart is French but my ass is international.” After a moderately successful period as a stage actress in later life, an accident in 1963 left her nearly blind, forcing her to retire. One of her final screen appearances was in a small role as an elderly French woman in the 1962 epic The Longest Day.

Humphrey Bogart (1899–1957)

His breakthrough as a leading man came in 1941, with High Sierra and The Maltese Falcon. The next year, his performance in Casablanca raised him to the peak of his profession and, at the same time, cemented his trademark film persona, that of the hard-boiled cynic who ultimately shows his noble side. Other successes followed, including To Have and Have Not (1944); The Big Sleep (1946); Dark Passage (1947) and Key Largo (1948), with his wife Lauren Bacall; The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948); In a Lonely Place (1950); The African Queen (1951), for which he won his only Academy Award; Sabrina (1954); and The Caine Mutiny (1954). His last movie was The Harder They Fall (1956). During a film career of almost thirty years, he appeared in 75 feature films.

Gloria Swanson (1899–1983)

She was one of the most prominent stars during the silent film era as both an actress and a fashion icon, especially under the direction of Cecil B. DeMille, made dozens of silents and was nominated for the first Academy Award in the Best Actress category. She had also produced her own films such as the controversial Sadie Thompson and The Love of Sunya. In 1929, Swanson successfully transitioned to talkies with The Trespasser.

However, personal problems and changing tastes saw her popularity wane during the 1930s when she moved into theater and television. Today she is best known for her role as Norma Desmond, a faded silent film star, in the critically acclaimed film Sunset Boulevard (1950).

James Cagney (1899–1986)

Cagney’s seventh film, The Public Enemy, became one of the most influential gangster movies of the period. Notable for its famous grapefruit scene, the film thrust Cagney into the spotlight, making him one of Warners’ and Hollywood’s biggest stars. In 1938, he received his first Academy Award for Best Actor nomination, for Angels with Dirty Faces, before winning in 1942 for his portrayal of George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy. He was nominated a third time in 1955 for Love Me or Leave Me. Cagney retired for twenty years in 1961, spending time on his farm, before returning for a part in Ragtime, mainly to aid his recovery from a stroke. Cagney walked out on Warners several times over the course of his career, each time coming back on better personal and artistic terms. In 1935, he sued Warners for breach of contract and won; this marked one of the first times an actor had beaten a studio over a contract issue.

Marlene Dietrich (1901–1992)

Dietrich remained popular throughout her long career by continually re-inventing herself, professionally and characteristically. In the Berlin of the 1920s, she acted on the stage and in silent films. Her performance as Lola-Lola in The Blue Angel, directed by Josef von Sternberg, brought her international fame and provided her a contract with Paramount Pictures in the US. Hollywood films such as Shanghai Express and Desire capitalised on her glamour and exotic looks, cementing her stardom and making her one of the highest paid actresses of the era. Dietrich became a US citizen in 1939, and throughout World War II she was a high-profile frontline entertainer. Although she still made occasional films in the post-war years, Dietrich spent most of the 1950s to the 1970s touring the world as a successful show performer.

Jean Gabin (1904–1976)

He starred in the Jean Renoir masterpiece La Grande Illusion, an anti-war film that was a huge box office success and given universal critical acclaim, even running at a New York City theatre for an unprecedented six months. This was followed by another one of Renoir’s great successes: La Bête Humaine (The Human Beast), a film noir tragedy based on the novel by Émile Zola and starring Gabin and Simone Simon, as well as Le Quai Des Brumes (Port of Shadows), one of director Marcel Carné’s most acclaimed films.

Flooded with offers from Hollywood, for a time Gabin turned them all down until the outbreak of World War II. Following the German occupation of France, he joined Jean Renoir and Julien Duvivier in the United States. Divorced from his second wife in 1939, during his time in Hollywood, Gabin began a torrid romance with actress Marlene Dietrich. However, his films in America proved less than successful.

Peter Lorre (1904–1964)

He caused an international sensation in 1931 with his portrayal of a serial killer who preys on little girls in the German film M. Later he became a popular featured player in Hollywood crime films and mysteries, notably alongside Humphrey Bogart and Sydney Greenstreet, and as the star of the successful Mr. Moto detective series.

Cary Grant (1904–1986)

Grant was named the second Greatest Male Star of All Time by the American Film Institute. Noted particularly for his work in comedy but also for drama, Grant’s best-known films include The Awful Truth (1937), Bringing Up Baby (1938), Gunga Din (1939), The Philadelphia Story (1940), His Girl Friday (1940), Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), Notorious (1946), To Catch A Thief (1955), An Affair to Remember (1957), North by Northwest (1959) and Charade (1963).

Nominated twice for the Academy Award for Best Actor, for Penny Serenade (1941) and None But the Lonely Heart (1944), and five times for a Golden Globe Award for Best Actor, Grant was continually passed over, and in 1970 was given an Honorary Oscar at the 42nd Academy Awards. Frank Sinatra presented Grant with the award, “for his unique mastery of the art of screen acting with the respect and affection of his colleagues”.

Greta Garbo (1905–1990)

Garbo launched her career with a leading role in the 1924 Swedish film The Saga of Gosta Berling. Her performance caught the attention of Louis B. Mayer, chief executive of Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM), who brought her to Hollywood in 1925. She immediately stirred interest with her first silent film, Torrent , released in 1926; a year later, her performance in Flesh and the Devil, her third movie, made her an international superstar.

With her first talking film, Anna Christie (1930), she received her first Academy Award nomination. MGM marketers enticed the public with the catch-phrase “Garbo talks!” That same year she won a second Oscar nomination for her performance in Romance. In 1932, her immense popularity allowed her to dictate the terms of her contract, and she became increasingly choosy about her roles. Many critics and film historians consider her performance as the doomed courtesan Marguerite Gautier in Camille to be her finest. The role gained her a third Academy Award nomination. After working exclusively in dramatic films, Garbo turned to comedy with Ninotchka (1939), which earned her a fourth Academy Award nomination, and Two-Faced Woman (1941).

In 1941, she retired after appearing in 27 films. Although she was offered many opportunities to return to the screen, she declined most of them. Instead, she lived a private life, shunning publicity.

Pierre Brasseur (1905–1972)

Renowned for playing outsized characters, Brasseur is probably best known in the anglophone world for his (semi-fictionalised) portrayal of the actor Frédérick Lemaître in Les Enfants du Paradis (Children of Paradise, 1945) and as Docteur Génessier (more subdued) in the horror film Eyes Without a Face (Les Yeux sans visage, 1960) co-starring with Alida Valli.

On May 30, 1927, Brasseur performed the spoken role of the Narrator in the world premiere of Igor Stravinsky‘s opera-oratorio Oedipus rex.

Takashi Shimura (1905–1982)

In company with Toshirō Mifune, Shimura is the actor who is most closely associated with Akira Kurosawa. Shimura appeared in 21 of Kurosawa’s 30 films. His roles include the doctor in Drunken Angel (1948), the veteran detective in Stray Dog (1949), the flawed lawyer in Scandal (1950), the woodcutter in Rashomon (1950), the mortally ill bureaucrat in Ikiru (1952), and the lead samurai Kambei in Seven Samurai (1954).

In fact, Kurosawa’s cinematic collaboration with Shimura, from 1943 to 1980, started earlier and lasted longer than his work with Mifune (1948–65). Shimura appeared in the director’s debut film Sanshiro Sugata (1943), and the last film of Kurosawa’s in which he acted was Kagemusha (1980), for which Kurosawa specifically wrote a part for Shimura.

Henry Fonda (1905–1982)

Fonda made his mark early as a Broadway actor. He also appeared in 1938 in plays performed in White Plains, New York, with Joan Tompkins. He made his Hollywood debut in 1935, and his career gained momentum after his Academy Award-nominated performance as Tom Joad in The Grapes of Wrath, a 1940 adaptation of John Steinbeck’s novel about an Oklahoma family who moved west during the Dust Bowl. Throughout six decades in Hollywood, Fonda cultivated a strong, appealing screen image in such classics as The Ox-Bow Incident, Mister Roberts and 12 Angry Men. Later, Fonda moved both toward darker epics as Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West and lighter roles in family comedies like Yours, Mine and Ours with Lucille Ball.

Fonda was the patriarch of a family of famous actors, including daughter Jane Fonda, son Peter Fonda, granddaughter Bridget Fonda, and grandson Troy Garity. His family and close friends called him “Hank”. In 1999, he was named the sixth Greatest Male Star of All Time by the American Film Institute.

Joan Crawford (1905–1977)

After her triumph in RKO’s Sudden Fear, Crawford appeared in films ranging from the camp western film Johnny Guitar (1954) to the drama Autumn Leaves (1956), opposite a young Cliff Robertson.

As Blanche Hudson in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), Crawford starred as Blanche Hudson, a wheelchair bound former A-list movie star in conflict with her psychotic sister in the highly successful thriller What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? (1962).

Katharine Hepburn (1907–2003)

Raised in Connecticut by wealthy, progressive parents, Hepburn turned to acting after graduation from Bryn Mawr College. After four years in the theatre, favorable reviews of her work on Broadway brought her to the attention of Hollywood. She became an instant star with her feature debut, 1932′s A Bill of Divorcement, and within 18 months received an Academy Award for Morning Glory. This initial success was followed by a series of commercial failures, and in 1938 she was labeled “box office poison”. Hepburn masterminded her own comeback, buying herself out of her contract with RKO Radio Pictures and acquiring the film rights to The Philadelphia Story, which she sold on the condition that she be the star. The movie was a hit, and Hepburn’s career was successfully revived.

James Stewart (1908–1997)

Over the course of his career, he starred in many films widely considered classics and was nominated for five Academy Awards, winning one in competition and receiving one Lifetime Achievement award. He was a major MGM contract star. He also had a noted military career and was a World War II and Vietnam War veteran, who rose to the rank of Brigadier General in the United States Air Force Reserve.

Bette Davis (1908–1989)

After appearing in Broadway plays, Davis moved to Hollywood in 1930, but her early films for Universal Studios were unsuccessful. She joined Warner Bros. in 1932 and established her career with several critically acclaimed performances. In 1937, she attempted to free herself from her contract and although she lost a well-publicized legal case, it marked the beginning of the most successful period of her career. Until the late 1940s, she was one of American cinema’s most celebrated leading ladies, known for her forceful and intense style. Davis gained a reputation as a perfectionist who could be highly combative, and confrontations with studio executives, film directors and costars were often reported. Her forthright manner, clipped vocal style and ubiquitous cigarette contributed to a public persona which has often been imitated and satirized.

Gunnar Björnstrand (1909–1986)

Gunnar was a Swedish actor known for his frequent work with writer/director Ingmar Bergman. He was born in Stockholm. He appeared in over 180 films.

Björnstrand was a versatile actor who could play tough and tender as well as comedy and tragedy.

One of his most famous roles was as the worldly squire who makes such a contrast to his austere and spiritual master in Bergman’s most famous film The Seventh Seal.

 Gert Fröbe (1913–1988)

In 1958 he was cast as the villain in the Swiss-German film Es geschah am hellichten Tag (It Happened in Broad Daylight), which was novelized by Swiss author Friedrich Dürrenmatt. His role as a serial killer of children drew the attention of the producers of the James Bond movie Goldfinger, (1964) and he was chosen to play one of the most well-remembered villains of the series, gold tycoon Auric Goldfinger.

Alec Guinness (1914–2000)

He was featured in several of the Ealing Comedies, including Kind Hearts and Coronets in which he played eight different characters. He later won the Academy Award for Best Actor for his role as Colonel Nicholson in The Bridge on the River Kwai. He is known for playing Obi-Wan Kenobi in the original Star Wars trilogy, Prince Feisal in Lawrence of Arabia, and George Smiley in the TV adaptation of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. He is also known for his portrayal of Herbert Pocket in Great Expectations (1946).

Ingrid Bergman (1915–1982)

She won three Academy Awards, two Emmy Awards, and the Tony Award for Best Actress. She is ranked as the fourth greatest female star of American cinema of all time by the American Film Institute. She is best remembered for her roles as Ilsa Lund in Casablanca (1942), a World War II drama co-starring Humphrey Bogart and as Alicia Huberman in Notorious (1946), an Alfred Hitchcock thriller co-starring Cary Grant.

Orson Welles (1915–1985)

Citizen Kane (1941), his first film with RKO, in which he starred in the role of Charles Foster Kane, is often considered the greatest film ever made. Several of his other films, including The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), The Lady from Shanghai (1947), Touch of Evil (1958), Chimes at Midnight (1965), and F for Fake (1974), are also widely considered to be masterpieces.

Anthony Quinn (1915–2001)

He starred in numerous critically acclaimed and commercially successful films, including Zorba the Greek, Lawrence of Arabia, The Guns of Navarone, The Message, Guns for San Sebastian, Lion of the Desert and Federico Fellini’s La Strada. He won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor twice; for Viva Zapata! in 1952 and Lust for Life in 1956.

Toshirô Mifune (1920–1997)

He is best known for his 16-film collaboration with filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, from 1948 to 1965, in works such as Rashomon, Seven Samurai, Throne of Blood, and Yojimbo. He is also popular for portraying Musashi Miyamoto in Hiroshi Inagaki’s Samurai Trilogy.

Walter Matthau (1920–2000)

Walter was an American actor best known for his role as Oscar Madison in The Odd Couple and his frequent collaborations with Odd Couple star Jack Lemmon, as well as his role as Coach Buttermaker in the 1976 comedy The Bad News Bears. He won an Academy Award for his performance in the 1966 Billy Wilder film The Fortune Cookie.

Setsuko Hara (1920–)

Setsuko is a Japanese actress who appeared in six of Yasujirō Ozu’s films, most notably as Noriko in the ‘Noriko Trilogy’: Late Spring (1949), Early Summer (1951) and Tokyo Story (1953). Her other films for Ozu were Tokyo Twilight (1957), Late Autumn (1960) and finally The End of Summer in 1961.

Simone Signoret (1921–1985)

Simone was a French cinema actress often hailed as one of France’s greatest movie stars. She became the first French person to win an Academy Award, for her role in Room at the Top (1959). In her lifetime she also received a BAFTA, an Emmy, Golden Globe, Cannes Film Festival recognition and the Silver Bear for Best Actress.

Dirk Bogarde (1921–1999)

Sir Dirk Bogarde was an English actor and novelist. Initially a matinee idol in such films as Doctor in the House (1954) and other Rank Organisation pictures, Bogarde later acted in art-house films such as Death in Venice (1971). He also wrote several volumes of autobiography.

Giulietta Masina (1921–1994)

Giulietta was an Italian film and stage actress. She starred in La Strada and Nights of Cabiria, both winners of the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, in 1956 and 1957, respectively. Masina won the Best Actress award at the 1957 Cannes Film Festival for the later film.

She was the wife and muse of the Italian film director Federico Fellini, in whom she found an artistic equal and collaborator. Owing to her intense performances of naïve characters dealing with cruel circumstances, Masina is often called the “female Chaplin”.

Ava Gardner (1922–1990)

She was signed to a contract by MGM Studios in 1941 and appeared mainly in small roles until she drew attention with her performance in The Killers (1946). She became one of Hollywood’s leading actresses, considered one of the most beautiful women of her day. She was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress for her work in Mogambo (1953).

She appeared in several high-profile films from the 1950s to 1970s, including The Hucksters (1947), Show Boat (1951), The Snows of Kilimanjaro (1952), The Barefoot Contessa (1954), Bhowani Junction (1956), On the Beach (1959), Seven Days in May (1964), The Night of the Iguana (1964), The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean (1972), Earthquake (1974), and The Cassandra Crossing (1976). Gardner continued to act regularly until 1986, four years before her death from pneumonia, at age 67, in 1990.

She is listed 25th among the American Film Institute’s Greatest female stars.

Lauren Bacall (1924–)

She first emerged as leading lady in the Humphrey Bogart film To Have And Have Not (1944) and continued on in the film noir genre, with appearances in Bogart movies The Big Sleep (1946) and Dark Passage (1947), as well as a comedienne in How to Marry a Millionaire (1953) with Marilyn Monroe and Designing Woman (1957) with Gregory Peck. Bacall has also worked on Broadway in musicals, gaining a Tony Awards for Applause in 1970 and Woman of the Year in 1981. Her performance in the movie The Mirror Has Two Faces (1996) earned her a Golden Globe Award and an Academy Award nomination.

Marcello Mastroianni (1924–1996)

In 1945, Mastroianni started working for a film company and began taking acting lessons. His first role was in I Miserabili (1948). He soon became a major international celebrity, starring in Big Deal on Madonna Street; and in Federico Fellini’s La dolce vita with Anita Ekberg in 1960, where he played a disillusioned and self-loathing tabloid columnist who spends his days and nights exploring Rome’s high society. Mastroianni followed La dolce vita with another signature role, that of a film director who, amidst self-doubt and troubled love affairs, finds himself in a creative block while making a movie in Fellini’s 8½. His prominent films include La dolce vita; La Notte; Divorce, Italian Style; Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow; Marriage Italian-Style; A Special Day; and Ready to Wear, opposite Sophia Loren. Mastroianni and Loren were one of the most successful and enduring screen couples of cinema history, paired up in 14 movies over twenty years.

Paul Newman (1925–2008)

He won numerous awards, including an Academy Award for best actor for his performance in the 1986 Martin Scorsese film The Color of Money and eight other nominations, three Golden Globe Awards, a BAFTA Award, a Screen Actors Guild Award, a Cannes Film Festival Award, an Emmy award, and many honorary awards. He also won several national championships as a driver in Sports Car Club of America road racing, and his race teams won several championships in open wheel IndyCar racing.

Peter Sellers (1925–1980)

Perhaps best known as Chief Inspector Clouseau in The Pink Panther film series, he is also notable for playing three different characters in Dr. Strangelove, as Clare Quilty in Lolita, and as the TV-addicted man-child Chance the gardener in his penultimate film, Being There. Leading actress Bette Davis once remarked of him, “He isn’t an actor—he’s a chameleon.”

Richard Burton (1925–1984)

Richard was a Welsh actor. He was nominated seven times for an Academy Award, six of which were for Best Actor in a Leading Role (without ever winning), and was a recipient of BAFTA, Golden Globe and Tony Awards for Best Actor. Although never trained as an actor, Burton was, at one time, the highest-paid actor in Hollywood. He remains closely associated in the public consciousness with his second wife, actress Elizabeth Taylor; the couple’s turbulent relationship was rarely out of the news.

Jack Lemmon (1925–2001)

He starred in more than 60 films including Some Like It Hot, The Apartment, Mister Roberts (for which he won the 1955 Best Supporting Actor Academy Award), Days of Wine and Roses, The Great Race, Irma la Douce, The Odd Couple, Save the Tiger (for which he won the 1973 Best Actor Academy Award), The Out-of-Towners, The China Syndrome, Missing (for which he won ‘Best Actor’ at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival), Glengarry Glen Ross, Grumpy Old Men and Grumpier Old Men.

Klaus Kinski (1926–1991)

Klaus was a German actor. He appeared in more than 130 films, and is perhaps best-remembered as a leading role actor in the films of Werner Herzog, including: Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972), Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979), Woyzeck (1979), Fitzcarraldo (1982) and Cobra Verde (1987).

George C. Scott (1927–1999)

George was an American stage and film actor, director and producer. He was best known for his stage work, as well as his portrayal of General George S. Patton in the film Patton, and as General Buck Turgidson in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove.

Max von Sydow (1929-)

Some of his most memorable film roles include knight Antonius Block in Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal (the first of his eleven films with Bergman and the film that includes the iconic shot of his career in the scene where he plays chess with Death), Jesus in George Stevens’s The Greatest Story Ever Told, Father Merrin in Friedkin’s The Exorcist, Joubert the assassin in Three Days of the Condor, Ming the Merciless in the 1980 version of Flash Gordon, Dr. Liet-Kynes in David Lynch’s 1984 film version of Frank Herbert’s novel Dune, Never Say Never Again, as the non-canonical villain Blofeld, and as Brewmeister Smith in the 1983 film Strange Brew.

Grace Kelly (1929–1982)

Grace was an American actress who, in April 1956, married Rainier III, Prince of Monaco, to become Princess consort of Monaco, styled as Her Serene Highness The Princess of Monaco, and commonly referred to as Princess Grace.

After embarking on an acting career in 1950, at the age of 20, Grace Kelly appeared in New York City theatrical productions as well as in more than forty episodes of live drama productions broadcast during the early 1950s Golden Age of Television. In October 1953, with the release of Mogambo, she became a movie star, a status confirmed in 1954 with a Golden Globe Award and Academy Award nomination as well as leading roles in five films, including The Country Girl, in which she gave a deglamorized, Academy Award-winning performance. She retired from acting at 26 to enter upon her duties in Monaco.

Gene Wilder (1933–)

Wilder began his career on stage, making his screen debut in the film Bonnie and Clyde in 1967. His first major role was as Leopold Bloom in the 1968 film The Producers. This was the first in a series of collaborations with writer/director Mel Brooks, including 1974′s Young Frankenstein, the script of which garnered the pair an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay. Wilder is known for his portrayal of Willy Wonka in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971) and for his four films with Richard Pryor: Silver Streak (1976), Stir Crazy (1980), See No Evil, Hear No Evil (1989), and Another You (1991). Wilder has directed and written several of his films, including The Woman in Red (1984).

Shirley MacLaine (1934-)

MacLaine made her film debut in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Trouble with Harry (1955), for which she won the Golden Globe Award for New Star Of The Year – Actress. In 1956 she had roles in Hot Spell and Around the World in Eighty Days. At the same time she starred in Some Came Running, the film that gave her her first Academy Award nomination – one of five that the film received – and a Golden Globe nomination.

Her second nomination came two years later for The Apartment, starring with Jack Lemmon. The film won five Oscars, including Best Director for Billy Wilder. She later said, “I thought I would win for The Apartment, but then Elizabeth Taylor had a tracheotomy”.

Albert Finney (1936–)

Albert is an English actor. He achieved prominence in films in the early 1960s, and has maintained a successful career in theatre, film and television.

A recipient of BAFTA, Golden Globe, Emmy and Screen Actors Guild Awards, Finney has been nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor four times, for Tom Jones (1963), Murder on the Orient Express (1974), The Dresser (1983), and Under the Volcano (1984); and was nominated for Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his performance in Erin Brockovich (2000).

Jack Nicholson (1937-)

 He is renowned for his often dark portrayals of neurotic characters. Nicholson has been nominated for an Academy Award twelve times, and has won the Academy Award for Best Actor twice: for One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and for As Good as It Gets. He also won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for the 1983 film Terms of Endearment. He is tied with Walter Brennan for most acting wins by a male actor (three). Nicholson is well-known for playing Jack Torrance in The Shining and the Joker in 1989′s Batman, among many other roles.

 Liv Ullmann (1938–)

Liv is a Norwegian actress and film director, as well as one of the “muses” of the Swedish director Ingmar Bergman. A winner of the Golden Globe, Ullmann has also been nominated for the Palme d’Or, two times for the Academy Award, and a BAFTA Award.

Keep up to date with the activity on NeoKitsch – subscribe to email updates:

Related content of interest:

Danny Hahn. 2011. “Showgirl“. Oil on canvas. “60cm x 90cm”. For Sale

The painting process (going back in time)…

Going further back…

Artists and paintings featured on NeoKitsch:

Other Paintings by Danny Hahn:

Sold Paintings:

Seductive Demons

Now that we’ve seen that the body plays its mind into existence, does this mean it takes second place in rank, letting the autonomous mind take over? That the body has finished its duty, handing over the keys to the control centre? That the mind is, after all, ‘over matter’?

It’s worth probing the puzzle of ‘mind’ once more, this time, taking an emotional vantage point.

But to avoid any expectations of an ‘either or’ answer (since the seesaw method of origin and rank will forever swing), it is important to know that answers to ‘chicken or egg’ questions – such as ‘matter or mind’ – will never be ‘either or’. It is ‘neither nor’. And to look ahead at the controlling idea of this thought process – it is the equilibrium of opposing things in dialogue. As the entire journey of ‘Playing the World into Existence’ suggests; it is the force which drives me toward unachievable desires – this spark which flashes past, far too fast to understand what it is, but far too bright for me to forget. It is the unknown, which allows me to value what can be known – it is the savouring of the afterglow from this spark, which keeps me searching. It is the creative spark.

So, how can we confirm that ‘mind over matter’ falls into the ‘neither nor’ category from this new emotional vantage point?

The brain is divided into layers. However, they were once believed to have developed over countless years, from primitive man, to civilised man, one at a time, like a lasagne. This was the general belief, before any modern neurology began to emerge shortly before the 20th Century. The lowest layer was the primitive brain, also known as ‘paleocortex’. This is followed by the midbrain, or mesencephalon, then the highly developed neocortex, or ‘new brain’. Today we know that there is of course a development from primitive to complex brain – where the same brain we’ve always had has evolved – but it is certainly not layered with the unwanted leftovers from our ancestors by miraculously adding new separate parts on top of the brain. Brains of mammals (to which humans belong) were always complete. The only development is in the size of cortical areas. Primitive mammalian brains also have a neocortex. The only difference between such a cortex and that of humans is that the former consists of just a few neurons, whilst the latter has expanded to gargantuan dimensions. The vintage scientist however, preached that the ‘old animal brain’ which we still possessed from more primitive times, had to be in constant battle with the ‘rational brain’, which, newly acquired by divine intervention, was layered within the same skull. The crux of this upward layering vision they had, was a teleological one: the belief in our perfectibility.

One can compare this dated, now redundant cortical concept to the way they may have perceived a stately home at the time. The first layer to the house began with a dark and mysterious cellar with large walls supporting the building. A gentleman or a lady wouldn’t be caught loitering down there – where unpleasant smells, cobwebs, dust, and forgotten memories were stored away. Servants, who did everything in their power to make life on the top floor as pleasant as possible, occupied the next level up. The belle etage, however, was considered the most important part of the house. Here dwelled the masters. Intelligent conversation took place, books were read, and music was played. The house was managed from this vantage point. Orders were given and important decisions were made here.

But did they really believe the house functioned this way? Did people who lived before modern neurology emerged, really believe that the brain – like some may have assumed a respectable house was ruled in hierarchical fashion – was governed by the top layer, and haunted by the lower layer of undesirable or socially unacceptable thought.

As satisfying as this ‘hierarchical ruling brain’ may have sounded at first, it has however, considerable flaws. Even the more unusual literati and thinkers from this time must have felt uneasy with this officially accepted vision – and they were not reticent in expressing misgivings. Marquis De Sade, for example, has his novels unfold in dark, underground dungeons, similar to the underbelly of this cortical house – with its cellars, torture chambers and unendingly long, dark passageways. But do the master and the mistress forever stay on the top floor, involved in beautiful thought and rational endeavours? It does not need much fantasy to come to a different conclusion. Perhaps there is a discreet detour to the middle floor, where a servant girl intoxicates the master with an innocent smile, or a servant boy’s curly hair lures the mistress downstairs. The detour might lead further down into the cellar, where more potent, and even forbidden pleasures and vices are to be found. But the real dangers come from underneath the house, where the demons are kept in chains. Could they not break loose at any moment? And could they not throw out their masters and take over the top floor together with the entire house? Could the house not be governed in any orders of level, or even rely entirely on each other to make one unified functional or dysfunctional building?

Some of the literature of the time, (influenced by excessive religious, educational, scientific and social fears), seemed to have consequently expressed a greater temptation and curiosity in exploring the ‘primitive brain’ or ‘dark dungeons’. There must have been a strange odour, which drifted up from the cellar to the ‘belle étage’ – wafts of temptation, as sweet as a rotting corpse.

Your body is the enemy!

Pre modern neurological thought must have made it known to society, that the royal seat of their intelligence and rationality was clearly to be found in the  ‘cerebral belle étage’ (to use the house metaphor once more). This way of thinking invited them to conclude that stopping the bad influx of urges and forbidden desires from the ‘primitive brain’ was possible by using the ‘rational side of the brain’ more efficiently. Consequently, strengthening this part of the brain (through education and religious practices, for example) was, and still is, considered the pathway to a spiritual life. But we need not look too far to see that this was wishful thinking. We are a predominantly irrational species, however well educated we are. The reason for this discrepancy between wish and reality is very simple. To use the house simile once more: the activity in the cortical building works not from top to bottom, not from top floor to cellar – it works al riverso. Everything begins in the cellar, where our demons skulk! And it usually stays put here! Rational thought, the very quality that ought to keep our demons at bay, depends clearly and unambiguously on the cellar, the limbic system – the very place in our brain, which we try to dominate by using our rational faculties. The top floor is conspicuously seldom involved in anything at all, and if it is, then perhaps only to pay the bills for irreparable damage made in the cellar or in the deeper and darker dungeons on which this house rests.

But although we may now think we have overcome that period of ‘hierarchical brain’ belief, we still fall into a similar way of thinking, by treating the body as this ‘primitive’, animalistic part of us which needs to be tamed by our ‘belle étage’. To ask the question again: does the body take second place once rational thought is played into existence? It has to be answered with a resounding No. No, the body does not take second place. It is entirely pivotal in creating a mind, and maintaining a mind – not only from an evolutionary slant, but also beyond evolutional processes, which have moulded us from a moving piece of matter into a self-conscious creature. Strangely, however, instead of recognizing it as an ally in rational endeavours, the body is considered to be the opposite: an enemy that must be fought. The reason for such disregard lies in the body itself, which is a visible outlet for our drives and urges. And exactly here lies the problem. Not only sexual drives, which are often looked at with suspicion, but also sickness and neglect can be observed here. A body can steep to a frighteningly low level. It can become ugly, even vile. And there is another problem: the body gets in the way of mental efforts. It needs nutrition and care and can become sick – time consuming and often stifling occurrences that take away energy from the mind. No wonder the body was, and is, seen as the enemy of the mind.

Recently, however, strong evidence of the pivotal role of the body in matters of the mind has re-emerged. The evidence, strangely, comes from something we associate entirely with the brain – something that seems to show without a trace of doubt that the mind and the brain control the body. It is so deeply linked to our belief in ‘mind over matter’ that it has become a sacrilege to doubt its cortical and mental roots.

What I am alluding to are our emotions.

Emotions

‘We feel sorry because we cry, angry because we strike, afraid because we tremble, and not that we cry, strike or tremble, because we are sorry, angry or fearful, as the case may be’.

This is how William James (1842-1910), the famous American psychologist and philosopher understands emotions. According to James, physical action does not materialize because we ‘feel like it’. On the contrary – first we do it, and then we feel like it!

Admittedly, as the experiencing subject, we naturally understand things the other way round – for the simple sake of sanity and ordered consciousness – where we feel that our state of mind almost always leads us to the next action we take, giving us this feeling of free will. But as with the chicken and egg dilemma, there is always another action that precedes that very state of mind we’re currently in. Musicians especially believe very firmly in their emotional states. But art, especially performing art, is intensely physical. While mind and body will always remain unified, the state of mind is secondary to state of body – where action precedes emotion, where slapping a child precedes regret – for example. While it is challenging and almost undesirable to imagine an emotion being nothing but a chemical process responding to an event, we must be reassured that this response is yet another beginning – it is a result and a cause.  Whether it is heads or tails, it cannot produce this required equilibrium of dialogue of opposing forces unless the coin is actually in the process of spinning. When a coin spins, it looks like a sphere, and neither head nor tail can be seen. It is an active force.

When I perform a piece of music – let’s say, for example, the Mendelssohn violin concerto – I know very well how the first phrase (and all the rest) sounds.  And this ‘knowing’, which I have acquired through practising, suffices. The piece is in me, like a landscape from beginning to end. If you like, this example might help: You drive a certain route very often, and since you know it well, it is unnecessary to imagine the route or follow it on a map. All you have to do is drive. The control over the car and the circumstances on the road takes you to your destination, nothing else! It would even be dangerous to focus on where to drive instead of focussing on the road. You might end up in hospital if you attempt this seriously. Likewise with playing: I don’t need to waste time and energy with imagining the first phrase. I know it already, even if I don’t hear it in my mind. I can go directly to what matters: timing the phrases and the tempo of the music, as well as feeling body, instrument and fingers contacting and moving. Only afterwards does the internal musical and emotional landscape appear. And this does not just happen on stage; I carry it already with me onto the stage. It is a state I am already in for some time before the performance begins. And because my body is already in the music before I begin to play, my emotions and my musical imagination are flowing – ready to carry me away. The important point here is that I gain emotional and imaginative states through body and instrument and not the other way round.

This excursion into playing the violin should also have paved the way for an understanding of emotions and their bodily origin. William James must have ruffled some feathers with his controversial statement. Emotions and feelings, for us, are subtle expressions of the mind. If any development in contemporary psychology has made one point clear, it must be this: a sick mind, swamped by sick emotions makes the body sick. This means that the body responds to the mind and not the other way round.

With this, we might think that James’ insight had been relegated to the dumping ground of eccentricities. But recently, the so-called James-Lange theory[1] has gained more recognition. Summed up by James with the slogan: ‘the perception of bodily changes as they occur is the emotion’, it had regained popularity through theorists like Antonio Damasio and others who appeal to neurological evidence.

But how do emotions come about?

When my body is in danger – for example, its temperature rises or falls beyond acceptable boundaries – it will respond with specific counter measures. This automatic response to anything that might jeopardize my health and well-being is called homeostasis. To initiate counter measures to potentially life threatening changes, certain parts of my brain become unusually active. A dangerous rise in body temperature, for example, will push the cortical areas, which control my breathing, into overdrive. This results in panting and hyperventilating, which cools my body and pumps more oxygen through its veins. In addition, various defence mechanisms will be set into motion and, simultaneously, physical activity will be reduced. My body feels tired and stoops. And if the fever becomes strong, my body is entirely out of action. But not only my body feels these effects; my mind becomes equally affected. I feel ‘down’, I feel depressed, even frightened. My emotional level is on a ‘low’. On the other hand, when I am healthy, I experience things differently. My breathing is regular, calm and stable. My body feels well, active and tall. My mind feels happy, at times even elated. I feel confident, even daring and powerful. My emotional level is on a ‘high’. These two states (unwell and well) are mirrored by two mental states: low and high. Whatever unfolds between these two extremes is called ‘emotions’.

According to this, emotions are direct and distinct responses of the brain to changes in the body. First are the changes, and only then come the emotional responses, triggered off by chemicals, which literally swamp the brain. But the important point is that these chemicals need something that triggers them. They do not just appear on their own but are brought on in response to what happens to me. So goes the James-Lange theory. But as we have seen so many times, there is always the other side to be considered. The James-Lange theory focuses on one direction: from body to mind. But should we not also consider the other side: from mind to body?

There is of course evidence also for this view. We have theories arguing in favour of cognitive activity, like judgement, for an emotion to occur. Only this captures the truth that emotions are about something. The Cannon-Bard theory goes even further. Whilst traditional cognitive theories admit that cognitive processes work in tandem with bodily responses, the Cannon-Bard theory argues that emotions emerge first, followed by the typical behaviour we recognise in the body. For example: I feel embarrassed. I experience this as a kind of shame, and in response, blood shoots into my face. Clearly enough, the trigger is my feeling of shame, which stimulates the appropriate ‘typical behaviour’ of turning red in the face. It seems unlikely that my face turns first red, as the James-Lange theory would assert, and as a result of this, I feel shame. Is this then not proof that emotions precede physical responses?

Obviously, physical reaction can result from mental activity. This is already unavoidable because we live our lives simultaneously on an external and on an internal plane.

It is important, for this reason alone, that emotions are not only looked at from one direction. The James-Lange theory, which focuses on ‘body to mind’ has to be put side by side with something that sees it the other way round, like the Cannon-Bard theory. What happens now when we look at both these theories and try to find a synthesis?

When the Cannon-Bard theory mentions ‘typical behaviour’, we have to ask first of all: what is this? Surely, in order to stimulate ‘typical behaviour’ from emotional states, there needs to be a connection to a body that ‘knows’ already these typical responses. It seems unlikely that shame teaches our face the ‘typical behaviour’ to turn red. Why should it? And anyway, what is shame, if it is not about something? And this ‘about something’ lies either in the external world or in the physical condition of our body. Something must have happened previously that caused this combination of shame and turning red. Let me speculate about what could have happened.

Just imagine that, as a child, one of your parents slaps you in the face and accompanies this with: ‘aren’t you ashamed of yourself’!?. You feel the pain, and then the blood rushing to your face. Your face, which still has the remnants of a sadistic grin after looking at the cat – whose tail you have attached to a rotating fan – is now changing from grinning to crying.

Now, this dramatic scene must have taught you something. First: your actions have consequences, and painful ones at times. Second: laughing can change instantly into crying. Your physical state, which can change rapidly, determines your emotions. You are watching after all something funny (at least from your perspective), but as a consequence you are slapped in the face and feel pain. The watching of the cat attached to the fan and the ensuing slap in the face are in the physical world, whilst your emotional world unfolds only after this event inside your brain. This ensures that a physical event becomes the trigger of an emotion. At this moment it ‘is’, simultaneously, also the emotion! And since this is experienced in full awareness, it has also intentionality. You are tacitly and usually only subconsciously aware that you feel sorry: sorry about the state you are in. And since someone has changed pleasure into pain with one humiliating and violent act, this feeling of being sorry mutates later into shame and embarrassment about something: not about what you have done to the poor cat, but about the painful humiliation you have just experienced! The sublimation of this experience into a concept of morals (which, as we are so often told is the genuine trigger of our shame) is an event that might take place only much later.   

This physical event and its memory, together with the (subconscious) awareness that your emotion is about something – this memory and awareness is the starting point of a strange reversal. And here the Cannon-Bard theory enters the scene. Something that was entirely physical turns into something entirely mental. The fact that only bodily changes trigger emotions turns into the opposite: emotions trigger bodily changes! Years later, you have conveniently forgotten this embarrassing episode, and begin to suffer from unexplainable bouts of shame, which makes you red in the face. The first time you became aware of this may be when you tried to kiss a beautiful girl who just previously stroked a cat (despite you being totally unaware of this). Your limbic system detects a distinct smell of cat when you come close to her. It will not take long until this embarrassment of getting a bright red face turns into a fully blown phobia. You have only to think of kissing a girl and your face begins to glow with shame! You have by now fallen prey to a mental form of Pavlov’s ‘conditional reflexes’[2]. And, to bring this prank to its conclusion: the next time you meet a beautiful young man who was not in contact with a cat – you realize that he does not trigger these negative emotions. You conclude that you prefer men, marry him and live happily ever after.[3]

But let us be serious again! There is no doubt that sheer imagination can trigger emotions followed by physical reactions. Does this then not endorse that mind is over matter and confirm its validity? It seems so, but of course it does not! ‘Mind over matter’ has its place, especially in eastern esotericism and philosophy. But the fundamental difference between such a profound thought system and the silliness of our western version of it is that the former deals with something real whilst the latter is a mere shadow show. Eastern philosophy has something to do with ‘nothingness’. Nothingness is where everything comes from and goes back to again. It is something - albeit entirely unfathomable for our limited mental capacities – best explained with oxymora, contradictions in terms or metaphors. Nothingness is the place where mind and matter cease to exist and turn into something incomprehensible for a brain like ours – a brain which is the embodiment of the world of matter with the ability to dabble in something that, strictly speaking, transcends its nature but is nevertheless and miraculously build into it.

Going back to emotions: they are also not a shadow show. They do not come just on their own or when we ‘will’ them. They need something real to set the processes into motion, which floods our brain with neurotransmitters like dopamine, serotonin, norepinephrine and many others, which, in turn, set our emotions, feelings and, ultimately, our cognitive, intellectual and hands-on acts into motion. Emotions require reality. This reality might be stored in our memory banks as memories – but it is nevertheless real and not just imagined. From these neuronal shortcuts of reality come our emotions, thoughts and deeds, which we confuse so often with purely mental processes of thinking and feeling. To give an example: actors use a technique of remembering real situations, which had a profound emotional effect on them. Starting with this memory of something real, they gain access to their emotions. And in turning this process around, they can influence their body. If the young boy who attached the fan to the cat becomes an actor, he can relive this episode and feel the same emotions that made his sadistic grin turn into a sorrowful crying face. My modest experiences with the Mendelssohn violin concerto come from the same source. I still remember how my body felt when I heard it the first time on a recording with David Oistrach. And of course, we should not forget Marcel Proust in this context. The two episodes in his ‘A la Recherch du Temps Perdu’ dealing with so-called ‘involuntary memory’ (the one with the tea cake and the other with a stone moving under the narrators feet) are an impressive literary testimony to the truth that emotions are physical, but at the same time also mental.

If we perceive emotions as solely mental, triggering off acts of the body, then we are blissfully unaware of what must happen beforehand in our memory banks, in our somatosensory cortex and all the other parts of our subconscious mind, which are, as we have seen, nothing but an inner form of the body and the actual, real world. But we would be ill advised to understand emotions as something purely physical. Both states seem to go hand in hand, which are of simultaneous origin and support each other. As we shall see increasingly: when brought to a tipping point, they change identities. Body becomes mind and mind becomes body.

To let Schopenhauer have the last word by repeating his great insight, as quoted in an earlier chapter (and if you replace ‘will’ with ‘emotion’, the connection becomes entirely clear):

I say that between the act of will and the bodily action there is no connection whatever; on the contrary, the two are directly one and the same thing perceived in a double way, namely in self-consciousness or the inner sense as an act of will and, simultaneously, as external brain-perception as bodily action.

Written by Detlef Hahn & Danny Hahn. 2010 ©

www.detlefhahn.com

www.danny-hahn.com

© 2011 NeoKitsch

Playing the World into Existence will continue here, exclusively on NeoKitsch.

Keep up to date with the activity on NeoKitsch – subscribe to email updates:

Related content of interest:

Something just didn’t feel right throughout the film. I felt shallow to blame this slight disappointment on technical qualities, which, although Huston’s professionalism ought seldom be challenged, had perhaps too simple sound design, poor acting, and lacked visual interest. So I found myself in search of a remedy to restore my usual excitement for this director I admired so much. It wasn’t easy, because I had been heavily influenced by the high standards of visual wisdom and narrative expertise of Huston’s more famous works, such as his film noir triumphs. So I tried not to nitpick too much, in order to dissect the film to its bare essential, key elements.

The story,  based on the novel by Hans Koningsberger, was charming, and the themes of youth, love, death, and social, dynastic conflict during the Hundred Years War, were insightful and intelligent, however, it was very modest in its execution. Now, this may usually be perceived as a positive quality for modern audiences. After all, it seems that nobody likes a ‘know it all’ or an overly intellectual storyteller – and I can understand why people may think this way, for cinema is a visual medium, where a single image can often say more than a whole page of dialogue. However, when it comes to John Huston, I can’t help but desire a voice from the ‘auteur’ – an inspiring message from the mouth of a cinema giant. So, perhaps it was merely my childhood love of ‘The Treasure of the Sierra Madre’, or ‘The Night of the Iguana’, which caused my expectations to backfire into anticlimax, where deep insight into human and social conditions are effortlessly embodied in these films.

If I could try to be objective for a moment, I would simply say, that the film was a bold attempt, but suffered from mediocre visual elements, and unconvincing performances, which included Mr. Huston’s daughter, Anjelica, as a 17 year old in her debut role. Although the Huston family have always fascinated me, with the likes of John’s father, Walter, who impressed me so, in roles such as the drunk doctor in Rene Clair’s ‘And Then There Were None’, I must admit, that I can’t hide my lack of interest in the arrival of Anjelica.

I can only assume that my feelings of disappointment come directly from being spoilt by so many great movies, where the likes of ‘The Seventh Seal’ (Ingmar Bergman) – which deals with a similar period of history – has more to say about the human condition, or ‘Barry Lyndon’ (Stanley Kubrick) – which also features many exterior landscape locations – made more spectacular achievements in cinematography (to say the least!). So I find myself questioning the role of the critic, who is only worth what he has made for himself, and if I may be so bold; I have made quite a decadently quilted cushion for myself to sit on in the screening room. This is also my round about way of avoiding being negative or dismissive, for I truly believe movies such as this deserve some acknowledgement, and although I rarely enjoy speaking ill of other people’s achievements, I am very capable of spitting venom if something truly disagrees with me, however, this mere dissatisfaction I felt from ‘A Walk with Love and Death’ isn’t even worth the effort to complain. I must add though, that if you acquire a copy of the BFI release of the DVD, it contains some very interesting extra features, including a short ‘making of’ documentary, where I was delighted to see the great John Huston at work. A particular scene of interest is when he bridges the gap between father and director, where he directs the clearly nervous and innocent Anjelica in a romantic love scene.

Did I enjoy the movie? Not as much as I would have liked to. Was it a good movie? I’ve seen much better. Would I recommend watching it? Certainly! We shouldn’t listen to any opinion other than that of our own. Besides, if you’re interested in cinema, you have to try out the less common releases from time to time. It would’ve been nice to write that this movie was a forgotten masterpiece, but sadly, I fear that it was a box office flop for just reasons.

Written by Danny Hahn

© 2011 NeoKitsch

Keep up to date with NeoKitsch, get email updates:

Trailer:

Related content of interest:

Danny Hahn. 2011. “Moving Home“. Oil on canvas. “54cm x 43.5cm”. For Sale

Let’s have a closer look…

Artists and paintings featured on NeoKitsch:

Other Paintings by Danny Hahn:

Sold Paintings: