Interesting post on art to be found here, saying:

There’s no way around it: many 19th-century paintings reek of masturbation. They are not lacking in sensuality, but it is of a deferred, fantastical, almost proudly warped kind, typified by Waterhouse. It’s only among the avant garde that love becomes real – in Gauguin’s painting Nevermore, for instance.

After reading that piece (if you followed the link) I would like to direct your attention to the following:

Just as one of these Frankfurters, Theodor Adorno, set out to destroy Western music, assuring the world that atonal music was a good thing because it was discordant and ugly, others in the group set out to destroy art and push it to its reductio ad absurdum: lights going on and off in an empty room, unmade beds with condoms and bloodstained panties strewn around, and sealed cans containing the artist’s own excrement.

Source/Full Story: The Plot Against Art, Part 1

I guess I must not have such a finely cultured art palate as others may possess, but I know what I like.  Waterhouse has my vote.