Category

19th century

Washer Women

I think everyone has some kind of dream in which their worst fears are realized. Apparently, my worst fear revolves around being unprepared to teach an art history lecture. Last night, I dreamed that I went to go visit my past professors at my alma mater. It was the first day of summer term, and I discovered upon arrival that I was slated to teach a course that began that very afternoon! The title of the course seminar was “Washer Women in Art,” and it was supposed to cover all the extant depictions of laundresses. I started to scramble around campus, trying to find materials for the class, but I couldn’t think of any paintings to include in the slide list. I kept thinking, “I can’t think of any paintings of washer women,” and “If any paintings exist, they probably are Dutch from the 17th century.”

Needless to say, I woke up in a panic.

Naturally, I had to find out today if there are any paintings of laundresses. And there are. A lot. (Though not really any Dutch ones from 17th century, much to my subconscious’ chagrin!) Here are a couple of my favorites:

Chardin, The Laundress, 1733

 This book points out how the laundress does not wear a hoop skirt or any other fashionable clothing of the Rococo period – Chardin was interested in painting the domestic life of an ordinary French woman.

Greuze, The Laundress, 1761
Denis Diederot said of the laundress in this painting, “She’s a rascal I wouldn’t trust an inch.” The Getty has published a whole book about this painting, comparing this provocative laundress to other paintings of laundresses by Greuze.

Camille Pissarro, Washer Woman, 1880

Martin Driscoll, The Washer Woman. I was not familiar with this contemporary artist before my quest to find laundress paintings, but I think this work is very nice. You can look at more of Driscoll’s paintings on his website. (Thanks to the Anne P, I also learned that this painting is inspired by William Orpen’s “The Wash House” (1905) located at the National Gallery of Ireland.)
Degas, Laundresses Carrying Linen in Town, c. 1876-78

Degas, Women Ironing (Les Rapasseuses), also called “The Laundresses,” 1884

Most paintings of laundresses come from the 19th century Impressionists, and I’ve included a few of them above. (I left out thishideous one by Renoir, click on the link only if you dare.) It makes sense that the Impressionists would be interested in laundresses; they liked subject matter that revolved around French urban life.Really, there probably are enough paintings of laundresses that one could hold a couple of classes on the subject (though probably not for the length of a term). Unfortunately, I haven’t found a lot of scholarship on laundress paintings. I wonder if this subject matter would appeal to feminist art historians.Has anyone else ever had a panic dream involving art history? If it also involves washer women and laundresses, we must be twins separated at birth.

— 11 Comments

Lilith

I recently read George MacDonald’s novel Lilith, which caused me to think about the Jewish legend of Lilith, Adam’s first wife. Legend holds that Lilith was God’s first, unsuccessful attempt at creating a female companion for Adam. This dreadful attempt resulted in a female demon who attempts to corrupt the human race through lust.

One of the best sources for the Lilith story is a medieval text called Alphabet of Ben-Sira (c. 10th century AD). According to this text, Lilith was made from the earth at the same time as Adam. Lilith was an independent woman. Since she and Adam were created the same way, Lilith refused to acknowledge Adam’s superiority (was she the first feminist? ha!). Eventually she left Eden to consort with demons that live in the Red Sea. When making a second female companion for Adam, God made Eve out of Adam’s rib so there would be no question of superiority.1 Some sources also refer to Lilith as a half-woman, half-serpent. Filled with jealousy for Eve, Lilith reportedly took on the form of a serpent in order to provoke the Fall of Man (as recorded in Genesis).2 You can read a little more about the Lilith legend and history here.

The story of Lilith has inspired artists for many centuries. In the Middle Ages, many artists included a half-female serpent in depictions of the Temptation of Adam and Eve.3 One Renaissance example of the half-serpent Lilith is by Michelangelo, found on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. In the late 19th century, Dante Gabriel Rossetti wrote a poem about Lilith and also painted a scene of the seductress combing her golden hair (Lady Lilith, painted 1868-69, shown to the left). Scholars agree that this painting was inspired by the description of Lilith in Goethe’s Faust (Walpurgisnacht scene).2

The most interesting article I’ve read about Lilith is by Virginia Tuttle. She argues that Hieronymous Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights (1505-1510, left panel of altarpiece shown below) actually includes a depiction of Adam and Lilith, not Adam and Eve. I have always wondered why there are demonic beasts in the foreground of this Garden of Eden scene (it doesn’t seem too paradisaical, does it? Although, one can’t take Bosch too seriously; this whole altarpiece is a little absurd.). However, if one considers this woman to be Lilith instead of Eve, the presence of demonic beasts makes sense.

Tuttle also convincingly argues that this left panel scene does not conform to the iconography of traditional Creation of Eve scenes. Traditionally, Adam is shown asleep or lying on his side, so that Eve easily can be created out of his rib. In other triptychs, Bosch follows this traditional iconographic format (see details in his Last Judgment triptych and Haywain triptych). However, in the Garden of Earthly Delights, Tuttle argues that it appears Lilith has been “raised up from the earth, as if she were created independently and immediately following Adam’s creation.”2 I think this is a convincing argument and I recommend that people read Tuttle’s article (it can be found in JSTOR). My only reservation about this argument is that it doesn’t seem to be widely accepted. This article was written almost twenty years ago, but recent art history texts continue to label this panel as Creation of Eve. Does anyone know of (or have) criticisms for this argument?

What do other people think?

1 To read a synopsis Lilith story in the Alphabet of Ben-Sira, see Virginia Tuttle, “Lilith in Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights,” Simiolus 15, no. 2 (1985): 123.-24.

2 Jeffrey M. Hoffeld, “Adam’s Two Wives,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, New Series 26, no. 10 (June 1968): 434.

3 For Medieval examples, see Ibid., 430-40.
4 Virginia M. Allen, “‘One Strangling Golden Hair’: Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Lady Lilith,” The Art Bulletin 66, no. 2 (June 1984): 286.

5 Tuttle, 123.

— 6 Comments

Redon’s Flowers and Cezanne

Although Odilon Redon is best known for his fanciful, pre-Surrealist works like The Cyclops, I am particularly drawn to his still-lifes of flowers in vases. I’m actually quite surprised by this, because I am rarely attracted to still-life paintings. Last fall, when I went to visit the “Monet to Picasso” exhibition at the UMFA, this was my favorite painting in the show:

Vase of Flowers, c. 1905 (Cleveland Museum of Art)

One reason I like this painting so much is because of the background. The layers of different colors create these subtle changes in the background that are really beautiful, giving the painting a kind of ethereal quality.

In a letter to Emile Bernard, Cezanne mentioned that he “liked Redon’s talent enormously.”1 This statement has given some reason for art historians to compare and contrast Cezanne and Redon. In an essay, Rachel Frank argues that “the differences are…striking” between between Redon and Cezanne.2. Although I can agree with Frank to a degree, I see some similarities between Redon and Cezanne, primarily that both artists often apply paint in large patches of color. I especially like the “patches” on the vase (i.e. the blues, browns, whites, and blacks) of the following still-life:

Wild Flowers, gouache, c. 1912 (Musée d’ Orsay)

Not long before Wild Flowers was painted, however, Redon remarked to a journalist that Cezanne’s influence in the art world was fading.3 Although I don’t doubt that Redon was sincere in his disillusionment with Cezanne, I still can’t help but find some similarity between the two artists’ styles. For me, I think that artists use the “patches” of color create different aesthetics. Cezanne’s patches of color are more geometric (notice the rigidity of the squares and rectangles of pigment in the lower right corner of this painting). This geometricity emphasizes the formalistic qualities of the objects portrayed. In contrast, I think that Redon’s “patches” draw more attention to the contrasts, harmonies, and subtilities of color; for me, this fanciful effect creates a more emotional response to Redon’s paintings. I think that the different effects created by the paintings ties into the reason why Redon was disappointed with Cezanne – Redon was more interested in emotion and Symbolism, whereas Cezanne was more interested in formalism. To me, it is no wonder that Redon mentioned in this same interview that he was disappointed with the “theoretical, analytical nature of Cubism” (a formalistic style with which Cezanne is often associated as a precursor).4

Nonetheless, I think that these artists mutually influenced each other during their careers. It seems difficult for artists to not be influenced (whether it be deliberate or unintentional) by their contemporaries. What do you think? Do you see similarities or differences between Redon and Cezanne’s styles?

If you like paintings of Redon’s flowers in vases, you can see more of them here.

1 Elizabeth Basye Gilmore Holt, From the Classicists to the Impressionists: Art and Architecture in the 19th Century, 2nd edition (New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 1986), 526. Excerpt can be read online here.

2 Rachel Frank, “Cezanne and Redon,” The Hudson Review 4, no. 2 (Summer, 1951): 269

3 Dario Gamboni, Potential Images: Ambiguity and Indeterminacy in Modern Art, (London: Reaktion Books, 2002), 132. Citation can be read online here.

4 Ibid.

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Impressions of Impressionism

The complexity and diversity of art in the 19th century parallels the complex changes which occurred during the rise of modernism, particularly the changes which came about because of industrialization and urbanization. It is no wonder that there is some confusion regarding all of the art movements in 19th century France – particularly Impressionism and Post-Impressionism. Both of these artistic movements have rather nebulous and shifting definitions. I thought that I would jot down some of the goals and aims of Impressionism today, and later do the same for Post-Impressionism in another blog entry.

Essentially, Impressionism is a painting movement which focuses on capturing a single moment in time. In some ways, it was influenced by the Realism and the invention of the camera; realist painters strove to capture a moment in time, but Impressionists took that aim a step further by depicting a split second in time. This split second effect is heightened on the canvas by the use of loose brushstrokes; they require speed and spontaneity in execution. An example of loose brushstrokes can be seen in the water of Monet’s painting Impression: Sunrise (1872, shown above to the right). Impressionists were also interested in the effects of light and color, particularly how the eye could blend different colors together to create optically accurate depictions. This interest in light and color also accounts for the interest in outdoor subject matter. Furthermore, the invention of oil paint in tubes also allowed the Impressionists to go outdoors and paint – they were no longer required to work expressly inside their studios. Since artists at this time were painting outside, we have a fairly good idea of what early urbanization and industrialization in Paris looked like at the time.

In my opinion, there are only two painters which can truly be labeled as impressionists: Monet and Renoir. Really, the only reason for this is because Monet and Renoir were the ones who spearheaded the artistic movement. And (in the opinion of one of my past teachers) Monet is the only one who can be considered a “good” impressionist. I kind of have to agree – Renoir is too interested in painting people and figures (see The Luncheon of the Boating Party (c. 1880) as an example), and this detracts from fulfilling the Impressionistic aims of capturing light and color. Personally, I also don’t think that Renoir was that fabulous of a painter. I think some of his figures are awkward and the colors with which he experiments aren’t that becoming or beautiful.

There are several French painters which also have been labeled Impressionists, largely because they were exhibiting during the same period (c. 1860-1880) and kinda-sorta followed some of the Impressionistic trends (e.g. loose brushstrokes, influence of photography with cropped figures and edges, outdoor scenes, bright colors, interest in light, etc.). These painters were also anti-academic and didn’t follow the traditional rules of painting at the time. Some of these painters are:

  • Degas (I love how the painting Ballet Rehearsal (1874, shown above) captures a split second of a ballet class, and I particularly like how it mimics a quickly-snapped photograph with the cropped figures on the right).
  • Pisarro
  • Manet
  • Caillebotte
  • Morisot

I guess what I’m trying to say is, if you have ever been confused about Impressionism and Impressionistic artists before, don’t feel too bad. In some ways, the movement is a nebulous umbrella for paintings and artists that are kinda-sorta similar. In fact, participation in the Impressionism shows was constantly a source of contention and debate among artists at the time.1 If you ever wonder if an artist is an Impressionist, find out if the artist is a) French, b) exhibited between the 1860s and 1880s), c) uses loose brushstrokes, or d) is interested in light or outdoor subject matter. If the artist falls into at least two of those categories, then there is a good chance that you can call the artist an Impressionist.

I like Impressionism alright. There are some beautiful colors and interesting optical effects that can be found in this period. And I really love the idea of capturing a split second on a canvas. The thing that really bothers me about Impressionism is that it has become very trendy, almost kitsch. It bothers me that so many Impressionist works now decorate handbags, umbrellas, mugs, scarves, and pencils. And it seems like every college girl has a copy of one of Monet’s water lily paintings in her bathroom. This is just my opinion, of course, but I doubt that Monet would be pleased to find out that he’s a trendy bathroom decorator.

What Impressionist paintings do you like? Do you like Impressionism? Do you think Impressionism is kinda kitschy?

1 Fred S. Kleiner and Christin J. Mamiya, Gardner’s Art Through the Ages, vol. 12 (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2005), 869.

— 7 Comments

Still Life and Van Gogh

Today I finished reading Still Life by A. S. Byatt. I didn’t like this book nearly as much as Possession, but it still was fairly interesting and engaging. I particularly liked this book because one character is fascinated with Van Gogh and several excerpts from Van Gogh’s writings are quoted and discussed. I also could relate quite a bit to one character, Stephanie. At the beginning of the book, Stephanie was the mother of a new baby that would spend her time dreaming up hypothetical Ph.D. dissertation topics. Yeah, I can relate to that.

Although Byatt wrote this book about a decade ago, the novel is mostly set in the 1950s. Throughout the book, Byatt suggests a postmodern critique of some of the modernist theories and ideas that her characters uphold.1 For example, Raphael, a modernist poet and scholar, explains why he dislikes Van Gogh:

“And [Van Gogh] obtrudes himself all the time-” Raphael’s carved upper lip curled in perfect scorn -“he has one of the most personal styles in major art. He lacks that final clarity and selflessness.”2

According to Raphael, anonymity is a factor which determines great art. This is such a modernist way of thinking! Modernist sculpture (think of the Minimalists) and architecture (like the Seagram Building) refuse to recognize the sculptor or architect which masterminded their creation. They also exude “clarity” and “selflessness” in their sleek, industrialized design. As a postmodern reader and art historian, I think this rejection of personal style is rather silly and extreme (although, granted, I do like the modernist aesthetic). Obviously, though, I feel this way because I have been trained and educated to celebrate individual thought and contribution. Today, most art history survey courses are constructed to follow the career of one great artist after another. These artists become recognizable by their distinct stylistic characteristics and “personal styles” which can then be recognized as influences on lesser (dare I say anonymous?) artists.

I love Van Gogh’s style. He has a great use of color which makes his paintings very striking. My favorite thing about Van Gogh, however, is his use of impasto. His paintings are so tactile and tangible – I adore it! One has to see a Van Gogh in person in order to appreciate the sculpturesque quality of some of his paintings. In this reproduction of The Yellow Chair (1888) some of the paint buildup can be seen on the brick tiles, but it really isn’t the same.

In Byatt’s book, a playwright is obsessed with this painting and writes a play about Van Gogh and The Yellow Chair. The play stage is set up with a lot of different colors which reference Van Gogh’s brightly painted canvases (and also some of his darker paintings, like The Potato Eaters). It was so fun to read about the play; I wish that it really was on the stage! Even though there really isn’t such a play, I do know of a good substitute. There is a brightly colored Van Gogh segment in Kurosawa’s film Dreams which can be seen here and here. Watch it. The cinematography is lovely.

1 There is some interesting literary analysis of Still Life found here.

2 A. S. Byatt, Still Life, (New York: Collier Books, 1985), 338.

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This blog focuses on making Western art history accessible and interesting to all types of audiences: art historians, students, and anyone else who is curious about art. Alberti’s Window is maintained by Monica Bowen, an art historian and professor.