Modernism, fin-de-siecle, painting

The Albertina Museum, Vienna

I started a series on painting last weekend, exploring modernism’s two aspects, woman & the world, in the introductory room of a famous museum, the Albertina:

3 Gauguin, Breton woman, 1888
To continue with the study of women, once it becomes possible for women to become identified with nature, or with the cosmos, it also becomes possible for women to become plain or ordinary. Beauty in the ordinary understanding is no longer the issue; the justification of portraits or the self-appointed task of the artist is no longer to give pleasure, but to educate, to let some realities stand for greater realities which we must confront if we are to understand our modern situation—the competence or technique of the painting, which issues in realism, no longer admits as subjects the most extraordinary heights, but instead the typical, adding solidity to what we experience as fleeting—just as easily as modern art can puzzle, it can disappoint or bore… The courage of the modern artist is often a willingness to stand in front of the unbearable & bear it.

Consider this portrait by Gaugain, who was already 40 when he painted it, having become a painter only in the 1880s, in his mid-30s, under the influence of the impressionists; he himself would later become an influence on 20th c. painters who continued the attempt to return to the origins of life, of vitality, as a means of saving art, if not society. Gaugain’s passage from bourgeois to bohemian was so sudden that it serves as a lesson; his ending up in the islands of the Pacific shows that not having money is not the same thing as poverty, which we all however believe. Gaugain painted this portrait in his brief years between tropical adventures; the peasants of Bretagne might be closer to the savages he would encounter elsewhere than to the bourgeoisie of Paris, the city of lights, that is, of enlightenment, of progress. The differences are twofold & they reveal themselves in this painting: The peasants do not live in an artificial world, of man’s making, & therefore the influence the environment has on them is both stronger & more natural—it is possible to create an opposition between figure & background, if you allow the jargon; the peasants are not educated & therefore they do not have the self-importance of the urban bourgeoisie, they lack the manners or the affectation—it is possible therefore to come to know them by looking at them, their typical behavior is itself telling, there is no need to try to bring out the inner contradiction between desire & convention, for they are much more spontaneous figures. It is perhaps only under these conditions that the ordinary woman becomes extraordinary, such that a portrait becomes beautiful although the object of it is plain. This Breton woman of the countryside lacks all the arts & artifices of the urban woman, she lacks sophistication; this is shown by her unwillingness or reluctance to be painted, to be turned into an image; she looks young & healthy, with life ahead of her rather than the evidence of accumulated experience—that, too, adds to the suggestion of innocence; the old-fashioned clothes, in strong colors, bright & dark, both contrast with her face, soft & shadowy; there is nevertheless a certain surprise captured in this surprising portrait, which suggests something we might call individuality, which pictures do not seem able to capture: Her head is turned to one side, indeed her body, but her eyes are turned the other way, & then the curve of her small mouth again the other way, so that it’s not so easy to say whether she’s sad, pensive, as one might say, or smiling a furtive smile. The only part of her face lit up by the sun is her hairline, which suggests a beautiful, rich & bright color, concealed by her clothes.

The suggestion of the work of art is that the woman is a prisoner in the house—perhaps she belongs out there in the landscape, yellow & green, in steep ascent, in the full light of the sun, from which she is barred by these windows. That would be freedom in the midst of nature, an eagerness to abandon civilization that has become the reputation of Gaugain & that inspired “primivitism” afterwards. Then the expression of her face, the uncertainty & the shadow, would disappear. How can we help a strong moral reaction to unhappiness? But perhaps we misunderstand longing if we suppose that the natural light & the natural growths it both nurtures & reveals are so easily attained, because they are so beautiful. The woman is worth painting as she is. We are what we are clothed in our embarrassment & it would not do to take that off…

4 Degas, Two dancers, 1905
Edgar Degas painted dancers dozens of times, maybe more than 50. He was wealthier than most artists, because of his family, but in the middle of his long life, the family went bankrupt & then he had to sell paintings to get by, which led him to success; bourgeois life encouraged painters to ignore what was learned in museums or even in academic competitions, the consideration for masterpieces, & instead paint many canvasses, in dubious celebration of the habits, tastes, & dreams of the bourgeoisie. His father had intended Degas to study law & become respectable, but there was no need for it—then, too, by the end of the 19th c., being a painter was if not respectable then certainly celebrated. Degas played an important part in the series of painting exhibitions called impressionist. He was a bachelor & he enjoyed the life of the city: Paris in the late 19th c., with all its entertainments, high & low, admired or tolerated.

Dancers are supposed to move beautifully & of course they cannot move in a painting—they are living works of art, yet Degas usually paints them before or after they have performed; perhaps they are proper objects of painting because they express another’s artistic vision to begin with, as easily the painter’s as that of a ballet composer or choreographer… It is usually the case with us that we change things as we find them to suit our purposes, but it is rarely the case that we do that with people, especially since modern life is so full of care for the individuality, dignity, or rights of human beings—yet, in the case of dancers, we cannot help it. They must become objects of another’s design or will; they must obey—living statues or clever slaves; this is justified because beauty is a tyranny to which we consent. The achievement of art, the effect of artlessness, the spontaneity that charms & minds us of nature, all this is studied & detailed in Degas’s paintings of dancers, recovering spontaneity, not to say indiscretion, in the service of investigating how beautiful things are made, rather than what effect they have on us when we see them performed or displayed. The gestures are studied, which reminds us affectation, of the manners & conventions that make people distinctive, but in rehearsal there is only charm, since they have no object, no audience but themselves; perhaps the young women discover in themselves something important concerning the ability to make beautiful images, to achieve an effect, to disappear behind the work of art. At any rate, they are professionals, beautiful movements are a job, a woman has to dedicate herself to work, & wonder must fit unobtrusively into ordinary life.

Degas was already past his three-score-&-ten when he painted this canvas, partly deaf & blind. The two female figures are defined with simplicity & clarity by the poses they strike; striking poses is what they do for a living—there are clear lines that ground them, their legs, there are clear shapes that give them interest & distinction in their torsos; one facing us, though in profile, the other with her back turned & looking in the opposite direction; the one strongly perched on a straight leg, with the shoulders pulled back to give her more importance, in a coquettish attitude with her fan & her bent hand behind her—the gesture is exaggerated & there seems nothing playful in it, but it is a reminder for the bourgeoisie of the old age of the aristocracy, ever formal, ever mannered, commanding attentions to gestures that go unnoticed in a democracy; the other figure is almost the opposite, bending & forming curves that suggest motion, softness, & perhaps playfulness. The whole room, the floor as well as the wall, seems to be full of the colors of their dresses, a very fresh, light, greenish blue, but only the dresses look beautiful—the figures emerge out of that uninspiring background, but they are not on stage performing, they are perhaps not quite themselves yet, & therefore still able to suggest something more than merely human, like nymphs.