Dave Heath Photo Exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art

Multitude, Solitude: The Photographs of Dave Heath

The Philadelphia Museum of Art

September 19, 2015–February 21, 2016

Reviewed by Ed Voves

It is a rare person who does not experience a "Hamlet moment" once in a while. Life certainly presents us with many occasions amid our daily "sea of troubles" to question the meaning of existence. 

Such moments are vital to the new exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Multitude, Solitude: The Photographs of Dave Heath. The exhibition examines how a gifted artist, Dave Heath, turned his personal reflections into a classic book of "street" photography. The majority of these poignant, powerful images come from the photo collection of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri.

Dave Heath is a Philadelphia-born photographer now living, teaching and working in Canada. Heath's early years inflicted experiences of pain and rejection upon him that might have driven other souls to despair. Instead, as a young man, Heath discovered photography. 

In due course, Heath compiled the body of work that enabled him to create his classic photo book, A Dialogue with Solitude, first published in 1965. Highly regarded at the time, A Dialogue with Solitude, is a profoundly moving appraisal of humanity.

Heath was influenced by the great LIFE magazine photographer, W. Eugene Smith, who was a master of the photo essay. Heath became quite skilled in the placement of photos to create a mood to better appreciate these images. Yet it is vital to appreciate that in the composition of these photos, Heath avoided overt story-telling. There are no "poses" in Heath's photos, no attempt to frame a message.

The curator of the exhibition, Keith F. Davis of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri, addressed the fact that there is "little extraneous information" in Heath's photos. Heath, Davis explained in his remarks at the exhibition opening, focused away from the details of day-to-day existence to reach "poetic realms."

Keith F. Davis, curator of the Dave Heath exhibit (photo by Anne Lloyd)

That did not entail ignoring pain, loneliness or alienation - all of which were very much present in the American "Mid-Century." The key element to Dave Heath's photos, Davis reiterated, was the way that these indelible images evoke "primal, visceral sensibility."

During the 1950's and 1960's, Heath took on the dual role of "man in the street" and wandering artist. From his military service in Korea in 1953-54 to an epic bus journey across the U.S. in 1964, Heath interacted with the world through the lens of his camera. Wisely, he let the world do most of the talking.

Heath's photos also require an enlightened level of listening. Before we impart our own interpretation of what is the "meaning" of the picture, we need to listen to what it says. Often our best reply is to remain silent.

A particularly good example is an early photo entitled Philadelphia,1952. The two clasped hands are self-evidently those of an African-American adult. Everything else is a mystery. 

Dave Heath, Philadelphia,1952

What is the cylindrical object wrapped in the paper bag? A can of soda? Before flip-top aluminum cans were invented in 1959, canned beverages were very rare. So that is an unlikely explanation. 

Investigation of other photos taken by Heath in the early 1950's include an intriguing group shot of African-American spectators at the annual New Year's Day Parade in Philadelphia. The photo of the hands and mysterious object might be from this "shoot." At that time - and for many years before and after - the parading Mummers often dressed in minstrel garb, including  "black face." Might those tightly clasped hands be expressing anger at this racial slight?

We'll never know. And to keep asking questions in this way risks missing something more important. If "the eyes are the mirror to the soul," as the old saying goes, hands are a prime indicator of a person's work history. With this photo of creased, calloused hands, Heath captured years of honest toil. 

Heath might have been a "street" photographer but he never engaged in Weegee-style storytelling. Nor did he venture into bizarre realms as did Diane Arbus. Certain of Heath's photos seem to share an affinity with Arbus' pictures. Heath photographed a woman suffering from dwarfism as she studied Egyptian statues at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.Yet there is not even a hint of abnormality in this scene. It is such a sensitive and affecting picture that the woman's physical stature is not immediately noticeable.

A more telling work of narrative photography is Heath’s Drowning Scene, Central Park, New York City,1957. It is one of the most powerful depictions of the range of human feeling ever captured in a single photo. 

Dave Heath, Drowning Scene, Central Park, New York City, 1957

Here we see 1950's America gathered together to behold the aftermath of shocking event. The faces of the well-dressed, generally buttoned-down crowd betray every manner of emotion from the NYPD cop's impassive countenance to horror on the faces of several of the women and the bemused curiosity of some of the young men. 

Death has taken center stage in the Eisenhower-Hoody Doody era. Heath, unlike Weegee, denotes the presence of Death indirectly in his photo. No gore spattered corpse. But Death is there. You can see it in the faces of the Central Park onlookers.

This kind of thing was not supposed to happen in public during the 1950's. It was a case of "See It Now" without the televised commentary of Edward R. Murrow. Each onlooker is directly involved - even if at second-hand. Each person among the throng of bystanders is alone with their own thoughts. Each must deal individually with the emotional impact of seeing a dead body at close quarters.

There are no children among the crowd in Drowning Scene. Yet, many of the most disturbing of Heath's photos deal with children. The urge to psychoanalyze these pictures is almost irresistible once the details of Heath's childhood are known. 

Heath was born in 1931 during the Great Depression and abandoned at age four by his parents. He was raised in orphanages and foster homes in Philadelphia. At one point, after living for a year in a foster home, Heath was sent back to the orphanage while another child, a girl, was kept. The effect on a child of such a rejection cannot be imagined.

Dave Heath, Vengeful Sister, Chicago, 1956

One of Heath's most frequently reproduced photos is entitled Vengeful Sister, Chicago, 1956. The "subject" might well reflect suppressed childhood pain from Heath's past.

This scene is usually described as a boy writhing in pain while his sister lets out a shout of triumph. Perhaps that is what happened - the children were fighting and the sister knocked her brother down. But if I had not read the "vengeful sister" tag on this photo, I would never have thought to interpret it this way. By the arch or her back and the way she is running, the girl could easily be screaming in horror at the boy's plight.

Dave Heath, New York City,1962

Keith Davis is correct in emphasizing the "primal, visceral sensibility" of Heath's photos. These incredible, yet prosaic, images document raw emotion. There is nothing ambiguous about Heath's photos. It doesn't matter whether the little crying boy in New York City, 1962 is a spoiled brat or if he has witnessed something horrible. This is a depiction of pain. So is Vengeful Sister.The narrative details are unimportant.

And the same is true of Heath's images of joy. There are just as many of these moments of happiness as of woe in the exhibit. There is a delightful 1958 picture of a mother helping her daughter learn to roller skate that positively beams joyfulness throughout the gallery.

Dave Heath, Chicago, 1956

The same is true for the photo of two ragamuffin boys, larking about in Chicago, 1956. Perhaps Heath was subconsciously evoking the childhood joys that he was denied in Philadelphia twenty years before. But to "seize the moment" of joy and create a photo like this requires a special degree of humanity, as well as skill. This is a magnificent photo, a testament to these attributes in Heath's life.

In the fullness of time, children emerge into adulthood. Like the blank-faced young woman in Kansas City, Missouri, March 1967 , the introductory image to this essay, we all must face life on our own - but never alone. 

Henry David Thoreau described solitude as the most companionable of companions. Dave Heath's photos affirm the importance and the durability of our lived experiences. Our memories, happy or sad, are constant companions. Memory is always with us.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved 

Images courtesy of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri

Introductory Image:                                                                                                         Dave Heath (born 1931) Kansas City, Missouri, March 1967 (negative); 1968 (print), Gelatin silver print, Image: 7 1/8 × 10 1/2 inches (18.1 × 26.67 cm) Sheet: 8 1/2 x 11 inches (21.59 x 27.94 cm) The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri: Gift of the Hall Family Foundation, 2011.67.23

Anne Lloyd, Keith F. Davis, curator of the Dave Heath exhibit, 2015.

Dave Heath (born 1931) Philadelphia,1952, Gelatin silver print, Image and sheet: 7 5/8 × 7 11/16 inches (19.37 × 19.53 cm) Mount: 14 x 11 inches (35.56 x 27.94 cm)  (Gift of the Hall Family Foundation) 2011.67.34

Dave Heath (born 1931) Drowning Scene, Central Park, New York City, 1957, Gelatin silver print, Image: 6 3/8 × 9 9/16 inches (16.19 × 24.29 cm) Mount: 13 3/4 × 11 inches (34.93 × 27.94 cm) The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri: Gift of the Hall Family Foundation 2005.37.170

Dave Heath (born 1931) Vengeful Sister, Chicago, 1956, Gelatin silver print, Image and sheet:    7 3/16 × 8 15/16 inches (18.26 × 22.7 cm) Mount: 13 3/4 × 11 inches (34.93 × 27.94 cm)  The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri: Gift of the Hall Family Foundation 2005.37.225

Dave Heath (born 1931) New York City, 1962, Gelatin silver print, Image: 10 13/16 × 7 7/16 inches (27.46 × 18.89 cm) Sheet: 11 1/16 x 8 1/2 inches (28.1 x 21.59 cm) The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri: Gift of the Hall Family Foundation 2011.67.32

Dave Heath (born 1931) Chicago, 1956, Gelatin silver print, 12-3/4 x 8-1/2 inches  (The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri: Gift of the Hall Family Foundation

Art Eyewitness Review: The New Art of the Fifteenth Century by Shirley Neilsen Blum

The New Art of the Fifteenth Century:Faith and Art in Florence and the Netherlands

By Shirley Neilsen Blum 

Abbeville Press/314 pages/$85

Reviewed by Ed Voves

The fifteen century was a revolutionary age, matching the many changes and discoveries of the twentieth.  From Gutenberg's invention of the printing press  to the "discovery" of the Americas, the 1400's reshaped the world into a form we can now recognize.

In an authoritative new book, The New Art of the Fifteenth Century. Shirley Neilsen Blum, explores the art of Europe during the 1400's. This momentous era witnessed the introduction of oil painting, the invention of linear perspective and a revival of life-like portraiture - after an intermission of nearly one thousand years.

Blum builds a case that these new techniques originated in two small, but dynamic, cultural centers: the Republic of Florence and in Flanders, ruled by the dukes of Burgundy.

There was one major difference in the art revolution of the 1400's from the one the took place during the early 1900's. People in Western Europe embraced and applauded the innovations of great artists like Donatello, van Eyck and Masaccio without the consternation that greeted the early works of Matisse, Braque and Picasso. 

There was no "shock of the new" during the Quattrocento, as Italians call the 1400's.

Robert Campin, Mérode Altarpiece, c. 1427–1432 

As Blum cogently shows, paintings like Robert Campin's Mérode Altarpiece depicted hallowed Christian themes while introducing Europe to a new naturalism in the visual arts. Both the Florentine and Netherlandish schools aimed to make "seeing into believing."

Art in the fifteenth century was notable for great painting, especially for the way that the rules of perspective were applied to create the appearance of  three dimensions in a two-dimensional format. Blum however begins her study with works of sculpture.

Blum contrasts the sculptural group of Old Testament prophets called the Well of Moses with statues of New Testament saints by Donatello. The Well of Moses, located in a monastery in Dijon, France, was created by Claus Sluter for the dukes of Burgundy. Sluter carved six incredibly lifelike (and life-sized) statues of biblical prophets including Moses, Jeremiah and King David. These surrounded a monumental crucifixion scene which was smashed by French revolutionaries in 1791.

Sluter's Well of Moses was made to inspire monastic rather than public devotion. Given the urban orientation of religion during the 1400's, it may be questioned if this is indeed a Renaissance art work. 

Such a question could never be asked about the sculptures of Donatello (c.1386-1466). Along with Lorenzo Ghiberti's "Doors of Paradise" on the Baptistry of Florence, Donatello's marble saints and apostles are the signature works of the birth of the Renaissance in Italy.

I had the opportunity recently to see several  of these inspiring works in the Sculpture in the Age of Donatello exhibit at the Museum of Biblical History (MOBIA) in New York City. This rare display of Renaissance art in the United States was a perfect complement to Blum's book. Sadly, MOBIA closed its doors in in June, reducing the venues for such outstanding exhibits in the future.

Donatello, St. John the Evangelist, 1408–15

Even in the MOBIA exhibit setting, Donatello's first great statue, Saint John the Evangelist (1409-1411), exerted a powerful, almost living,  presence.  When it is remembered that Saint John the Evangelist once filled a niche on the facade of Florence' s Duomo, you realize that Donatello  was not creating a symbolical work for a monastery cloister or aristocratic patrons. Rather, his sculptures made a bold statement of public virtue. 

Donatello's statues were paid for by the guilds of Florence. The Wool Guild (the Arte della Lana) oversaw fund-raising for the completion of the Duomo. A select group, guild officials and clergy ,called the Opera del Duomo, hired Donatello and others to sculpt statues for the facade of the cathedral and its bell tower. It was on this latter building that Donatello's masterpiece, Prophet Habbakuk, called "Zuccone" or"Pumpkinhead," was displayed.

Saint John the Evangelist is an imposing, almost regal, portrait of saintliness while Habbakuk is a masterpiece of introspective soul-searing. Both were created to be constant examples of righteous living for the citizens of Florence. In this way, the mystical, devotional element of Medieval art was preserved and channeled into the urban life of the Renaissance.

Strange as this sounds, the acute naturalism of Donatello's sculptures aimed to draw viewers away from "this" world, into a union with God. The great French scholar of the early Renaissance, Jean Gerson (1363-1429) wrote, "We ought to learn to transcend with our minds from these visible things to the invisible, from the corporeal to the spiritual. For this is the purpose of the image."

While Donatello was creating sculptures to achieve this delicate balance of private piety with public expression of faith, Jan van Eyck in Flanders was preoccupied with the same task through painting with oils.

Jan van Eyck's Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, better known as the Ghent Altarpiece, was painted in collaboration with his brother, Hubert, and completed in 1432. It ranks among the  greatest and most complex paintings in the whole of Christian art. 

Jan van Eyck & Hubert van Eyck, Ghent Altarpiece - Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, 1432

The exact meaning of the Ghent Altarpiece now eludes us in the twenty-first century. Blum is very perceptive in pointing out that nobody in the fifteenth century complained that it was enigmatic or indecipherable. It was intended for the instruction of the Christian faithful. Its now arcane symbolism, such as the central panel which shows a bleeding lamb representing Christ's sacrificial death, was readily comprehensible to all who crowded into St. Bavo's Cathedral, Ghent, to see it.

The Ghent Altarpiece was commissioned by a wealthy civic leader of Ghent, Joos Vijd. He and his wife appear as worshipers on facing panels on the altarpiece. 

Jan van Eyck, Rolin Madonna, 1436

So too, did Nicolas Rolin commission a devotional work by van Eyck. Rolin was a self-made man who became chancellor to Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy. Rolin, rather arrogantly, had van Eyck place him in the same room as the infant Jesus and the radiantly beautiful Virgin Mary. Yet, with Jesus blessing the kneeling Rolin the message could not be clearer: even the most powerful men in Christendom must bend their knees to God.

Van Eyck and other Netherlandish artists who painted with oils made a huge and almost immediately-felt impact on European art. Their work was highly esteemed in Italy, though few Florentine artists utilized oil paints, at least during this early stage of the Renaissance.

A highly influential Flemish work showing rugged, weather-beaten shepherds worshiping the new-born Jesus was brought to Florence by banker Tommaso Portinari in 1483. Painted by Hugo van der Goes, the Portinari Altarpiece directly influenced a similar work by Domenico del Ghirlandaio (1449-1494) for Francesco Sassetti, director of the Medici Bank.

One of the student assistants in Ghirlandaio's studio was the young Michelangelo. He evidently was more impressed with the work of an earlier Florentine painter, Masaccio. Michelangelo is known to have spent long periods in Florence's Brancacci Chapel. There he studied the cycle of paintings of the life of St.Peter left unfinished by Masaccio when he died, aged 27 in 1428. The frescoes were completed by Masaccio's colleague, Masolino.

    

Masaccio, Tribute Money (detail), c. 1425

Masaccio painted biblical themes, like the story of the Tribute Money from Matthew 17:23-26, with amazing vigor. In his tragically short life, Masaccio created "new and dynamic" versions of age-old Christian images "much more closely related to the world of the viewer."

Of Masaccio, Blum writes: 

Masaccio's people, saints and sinners alike, are rooted in the earth.Their forms are solid, often ungainly, revealed rather than flattered by light... Masaccio's figures are separated from the viewer only by their historical relation to Christ. Very like Donatello's saints, they dwell in a world possible of imitation and thereby humanly attainable. The promise has been given not just by an unknowable God, but through his human agents.The highest of which man is  capable may indeed win him a place next to the disciples, now so very much like him.  

Masaccio, Tribute Money (detail), c. 1425

Masaccio, of course, was in good company, with Sluter, Donatello and van Eyck. He found a kindred spirit in Robert Campin (c.1375–1444), as well. 

Robert Campin, Mérode Altarpiece (detail), c. 1427–1432

Campin's Mérode Altarpiece has a side panel showing a devout couple looking on the central scene of the Annunciation. They are neither aristocrats nor clergy - nor directors of the Medici bank. Campin's onlookers are simply God-fearing townsfolk, people of deep and abiding faith.  

In her concluding remarks, Blum writes movingly of the way that the artists of the 1400's in Flanders and Florence drew beholders of all social strata "ever closer to the divine object of their devotion," in short to God.

"Christian art," Blum affirms, "had never dared so much nor rendered earth more sacred."

***

Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved 

Images Courtesy of Abbeville Press, the Metropolitan  Museum of Art, www.christusrex.org and and the Museum of Biblical History (MOBIA) in conjunction with the Sculpture in the Age of Donatello exhibit

Introductory Image: 
Cover Image Courtesy of Abbeville Press

Robert Campin (ca. 1375–1444) and Workshop, Annunciation Triptych (Merode Altarpiece), ca. 1427–1432 Oil paint on oak; Central panel 25 1/4 x 24 7/8 in. (64.1 x 63.2 cm); each wing 25 3/8 x 10 3/4 in. (64.5 x 27.3 cm)The Cloisters Collection, 1956 (56.70) © Metropolitan Museum of Art


Donatello (c.1386-1466), St. John the Evangelist, 1408–15, Marble, 212 × 91 × 62 cm (83½ × 35¾ × 24½ in.) Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore, inv. no 2005/113 © Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore / Antonio Quattrone -  in conjunction with the Sculpture in the Age of Donatello exhibit at the Museum of Biblical History

Hubert van Eyck (c.1370-1426) and Jan van Eyck (c.1390-1441) Ghent Altarpiece, 1426 - 1432) Oil on panel: 11 ft x 15 ft (3.35 x 4.6 m) open. Adoration of the Mystic Lamb (Central panel, bottom ) 95.39 inches wide x 54.21 inch high. Cathedral of Saint Bavo, Ghent, Belgium


Jan van Eyck (c.1390-95-1441)  Rolin Madonna, 1436 Oil on panel: 25 7/8  x  34 3/8 inches H. 0.66 m; W. 0.62 m Removed from Notre-Dame-du Châtel in Autun and sent to the Louvre, 1800, INV. 1271, Musee du Louvre

Masaccio  (1401-1428) The Trubute Money, 1425 Fresco 247 cm × 597 cm (97.2 in × 235 in) Santa Maria del Carmine - Brancacci Chapel 

http://www.christusrex.org/www2/art/tributo.htm

http://www.christusrex.org/www2/art/images/masacc01a.jpg   http://www.christusrex.org/www2/art/images/masacc23.jpg

Robert Campin Annunciation Triptych (Merode Altarpiece), ca. 1427–1432 (Detail - Left Panell) The Cloisters Collection, 1956 (56.70) © Metropolitan Museum of Art

Art Eyewitness Review: The Work of Art by Anthea Callen

The Work of Art:

Plein Air Painting and Artistic Identity in Nineteenth-Century France

By Anthea Callen

Reaktion Books/336 pages/$50

Reviewed by Ed Voves

In 1841, an American painter named John Goffe Rand invented a now essential item in the artist's painting kit: the collapsible paint tube. Before Rand's pivotal creation, oil paint was chiefly sold in pigs bladders. These "vessies" were punctured and the paint squeezed out onto the artist's palette. It was a messy business, to say the least, and wasteful of paint since a pig's bladder is difficult to reseal.

Most modern-day art history books credit Rand's metallic tubes of paint with making possible the Impressionist art revolution of the 1870's. But the development of modern art cannot be simplified into an equation of new technology equals new art. A recent book, The Work of Art by Anthea Callen, brilliantly recounts a more complex - and fascinating - story.

Callen, a distinguished art scholar who taught at the Australian National University, presents the familiar story of Impressionism from a novel vantage point. Callen reaches back to the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries to better appreciate the foundational precepts of Impressionism. Modern art, Callen affirms, is rooted in theories and technical developments predating Rand's paint tubes and the paintings of Monet, Degas and Renoir.

The full title of Callen's book needs to be quoted in full: The Work of Art: Plein-Air Painting and Artistic Identity in Nineteenth-Century France. It is a major addition to the literature of Impressionism, based on thorough research and a splendid narrative.

Along with insights into the origins of Impressionism, Callen plunges into the daily lives of these great painters to show how they defined themselves by virtue of their work. The Work of Art is indeed a book about the "elbow grease" needed to create great art.

Honoré Daumier, In Search of a Forest in Champagne,1847

Among its abundant illustrations, Callen's book includes cartoons by Honoré Daumier poking fun at the landscape painters of his era. Daumier lampoons les paysagistes trudging along with their backpacks loaded with paint boxes, portable easels and umbrellas. But these men - and later Berthe Morisot - did need to deal with exposure to sun, wind and rain, as well as mastering the tools of the trade.

Sable brushes or hog bristle brushes - or English steel painting knives? A fine-grained canvas, sealed with glue and chalk and primed with white lead - or perhaps a course-grained canvas, fit for a mountain scene or a storm-tossed seascape.

And what about those new-fangled tin tubes? John Goffe Rand lacked the financial resources to capitalize on his invention. Marketed by commercial firms like Winsor and Newton, the tubes provided a bewildering choice of hues in oil and liquid water color. 

Winsor and Newton Paint Tube, Victorian era

Many of the tubes were filled with new concoctions like cadmium yellow. In 1852, a single tube of Winsor and Newton's cadmium yellow was priced at an astronomical five shillings. Yet cadmium yellow retained its luster longer than the old stand-by, chrome yellow, which often turned brown with age.

Far-seeing artists wrestled with these problems over the course of the nineteenth century.                                                                                                                                                                      
Callen focuses especially on the lives and work of Gustave Courbet, Camille Pissarro and Paul Cézanne. She rounds-off her account of the Impressionists with a detailed examination of two works by Gustave Caillebotte and Berthe Morisot dealing with - of all things - the weekly laundry. 

Berthe Morisot, Hanging the Laundry out to Dry, 1875 

If you look closely at the horizon of Morisot's extraordinary painting, Hanging the Laundry Out to Dry, you'll notice plumes of smoke from factory furnaces. The Industrial Revolution was encroaching upon the age of Impressionism.

The artificiality of distinguishing between the Barbizon landscape painters of the 1840's and 50's and the Impressionists is one of the major insights of Callen's book. Barbizon painters like Théodore Rousseau and Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot have long been known to have painted oil sketches from nature. These served as a preliminary step to works executed in the studio.

The legend of the Impressionists maintains that their works were created "au premier coup" in a single session straight from nature. Callen takes a closer look at the Impressionists' work and finds the reality a bit different:

Despite the apparent immediacy of Impressionist landscapes, scientific evidence as well as visual scrutiny of the paintings themselves confirm that studio reworking of plein-air 'impressions' into tableaux was as commonplace as among the Barbizon painters; the heyday of the quickly painted Impressionist oil-study-as finished-painting was essentially limited to the 1870's.

Callen further notes that Corot formally exhibited landscape studies during the 1840's just as the Impressionists did three decades later. In an amazing example of time-bending continuity, a plein-air landscape by Corot, painted around 1830, is juxtaposed in a two-page display with an unfinished work by Cézanne shortly before he died in 1906.

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, Houses near Orléans, c.1830 

Paul Cézanne, The Bend in the Road, 1900/1906

Even with the different treatment of sky and horizon in Cezanne's The Bend in the Road, we might well be looking at two works created side-by-side. Both Corot and Cézanne assert the ideals of Modernism. Parallel emphasis on geometric masses, similar sun-drenched color schemes and direct, unblinking appraisals of the vision field are manifest in both works.

The Barbizon painters and the Impressionists were called "Independents" before their respective nicknames gained universal acclaim. "Independent" signified more than a different approach to art from polished history paintings favored by the Academy of France. It was a political stance as well.

Courbet, a staunch left-wing militant, joined the Paris Commune in 1871, living in exile after it was suppressed by the Third Republic. Cézanne, less of a syndicalist than his painting partner, Pissarro, went into self-imposed exile when he returned home to Provence in 1885 to escape politicians and art critics alike.

One of the many remarkable features of Callen's book is the way she traces the politicized atmosphere of the French art scene back into the early eighteenth century. She shows that there was a surprising degree of interest in landscape painting and plein-air expeditions among French painters during the 1700's and the first decades of the 1800's.

Jules Coignet, View of Bozen with a Painter,1837

As early as 1708, a French art theorist, Roger De Piles urged French artists to paint preliminary works and studies directly from nature. One of the most successful painters of the 1700's, Claude-Joseph Vernet openly defied the Academy's tradition-bound teaching which opposed working en plein-air. Vernet proclaimed:

You must absolutely paint what you see in nature... If an object merges with another in its form or colour, you must paint what you see: because, if it looks good in nature it will look good in painting.

Vernet enjoyed the patronage of the French government which funded a series of depictions of France's seaports. The Academy, however, remained resolutely committed to art in the classical, Italian style.

Pierre-Henri de Valenciennes, Study of Clouds over the Roman Campagna, c.1782

Pierre-Henri de Valenciennes (1750-1819) painted sky and cloud studies that rivaled those of John Constable in brilliance. Yet, significantly, these were created as preliminaries for views of Italy. Valenciennes, an influential teacher at the Academy, actually created a special scholarship in 1816 to send students to Italy in order to counter the "Dutch-style" naturalism exemplified in works like Constable's.

To shake the strangling grip of the Academy on French art required an artist with transcendent talent and matching arrogance. Gustave Courbet had plenty of both. Like Diego Rivera, Courbet was a man of insatiable appetites and a headstrong political warrior. He launched the assault on the Academy that the Impressionists carried to victory.

Gustave Courbet, Self-Portrait, ca. 1866 

Courbet projected himself as an artist/artisan. Callen's analysis of Courbet's work methods is brilliant, especially of his extraordinary facility with the painting knife. Courbet often preferred painting knifes to brushes.  He used painting knives, including one shaped like a mason's trowel, to create images of everything from foaming waves to dappled leaves.

Pissarro and Cézanne both experimented with knife painting, especially during their joint expeditions in Pontoise during the 1870's. In some ways, this was a gesture of support for the exiled Courbet, down on his luck after the collapse of the Commune. Neither painter, however, tried to match Courbet's knife wielding panache. 

Camille Pissarro, The Banks of the Marne in Winter, 1866

Pissarro deftly used the painting knife, for instance, to create the gloomy, menacing sky in an earlier work, The Banks of the Marne in Winter. But he relied on brushwork to evoke the somber, barren ground.

By using the painting knife more sparingly, Pissarro and Cezanne saved themselves from some of the abuse hurled at Courbet. They certainly were subjected to many a critical barrage as it was.

Callen perceptively notes criticism from an unexpected quarter. It came not from a sarcastic right-wing journalist but from Charles Morice (1860-1919). A sensitive proponent of the Symbolist movement, Morice was a friend of Paul Gauguin and Paul Verlaine. Surveying the works of Pissarro and Cézanne, Morice objected to the lack of a higher moral content.

Morice, Callen notes, dismissed the realism of Pissarro, in which “the human figures, quite precisely have the same import as the vegetables beside them.” Cézanne, Morice likewise propounded “takes no more interest in a human face than an apple.”

Morice was a man of culture, much like Marcel Proust. He aimed to create a synthesis of metaphysics, human expression and the techniques of the modern novel. But he overshot his mark with Impressionism. He failed to grasp that the Impressionists were deeply committed to human values, especially the working lives of the people whom Pissarro had portrayed with "the same import as the vegetables beside them.”

Edgar Degas, Woman Ironing, completed c. 1887 

The importance to the Impressionists of work as an ideal cannot be overestimated. Degas' Woman Ironing, begun around 1876, but completed a decade later, shows the degree of emphasis which the Impressionists attached to this theme.

By emphasizing this identification of the human work ethic with the work entailed in art, Callen has made a vital contribution to the study of Impressionism. The question of artistic identity, achieved through dedicated labor, was an all-important aspect of the struggle to redefine French social identity - and art - during the age of Impressionism.

"Don't be an art critic," Cézanne declared. "Paint. There lies salvation."

Cézanne took his own advice. He worked. He painted. And in so doing, Cézanne launched the epic investigation of the nature of perception that is Modern Art.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved

Images courtesy of the  National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., the Metropolitan Museum of Art,  the Art Institute of Chicago, the J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, and Winsor and Newton.

Introductory Image:   
Jules Coignet (French, 1798-1860) View of Bozen with a Painter, 1837, National Gallery of Art (Detail)

Honoré Daumier (French, 1808-1879) A la recherche d'une forêt en Champagne (In Search of a Forest in Champagne),1847 lithograph on wove paper sheet: 32.8 x 23.6 cm (12 15/16 x 9 5/16 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washingon, D.C. Gift of David E. Rust 1998.118.5

Winsor and Newton Paint Tube, Victorian era, #winsorandnewton

Berthe Morisot (French, 1841-1895) Hanging the Laundry out to Dry, 1875 oil on canvas overall: 33 x 40.6 cm (13 x 16 in.) framed: 52.4 x 60 x 5.7 cm (20 5/8 x 23 5/8 x 2 1/4 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washingon, D.C. Paul Mellon Collection 1985.64.28

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (French, 1796-1875) Houses near Orléans (Maisons aux Environs d'Orléans), about 1830, Oil on paper mounted on millboard 28.6 x 38.6 cm (11 1/4 x 15 3/16 in.) The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles

Paul Cézanne (French, 1839-1906) The Bend in the Road, 1900/1906 oil on canvas overall: 82.1 x 66 cm (32 5/16 x 26 in.) framed: 106 x 90.1 x 8.8 cm (41 3/4 x 35 1/2 x 3 7/16 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washingon, D.C. . Paul Mellon Collection 1985.64.8

Jules Coignet (French, 1798-1860) View of Bozen with a Painter, 1837 oil on paper on canvas overall: 31 x 39 cm (12 3/16 x 15 3/8 in.) framed: 43.8 x 51.4 x 5.1 cm (17 1/4 x 20 1/4 x 2 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washingon, D.C. Gift of Mrs. John Jay Ide in memory of Mr. and Mrs. William Henry Donner 1994.52.1

Pierre-Henri de Valenciennes (French,1750-1819) Study of Clouds over the Roman Campagna, c. 1782/1785 oil on paper on cardboardoverall (paper support): 19 x 32.1 cm (7 1/2 x 12 5/8 in.) overall (paperboard support): 19.6 x 33 cm (7 11/16 x 13 in.) framed: 30.5 x 43.2 x 2.1 cm (12 x 17 x 13/16 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washingon, D.C. Given in honor of Gaillard F. Ravenel II by his friends 1997.23.1

Gustave Courbet (French,1819–1877) Self-Portrait, ca. 1866 Medium: Conté crayon Dimensions: sheet: 10 1/2 x 8 1/4 in. (26.7 x 21 cm) Classification: Drawings  Purchase, Walter and Leonore Annenberg Acquisitions Endowment Fund and Guy Wildenstein Gift, 2010 Accession Number: 2010.232 © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York 

Camille Pissarro (French,1830-1903) The Banks of the Marne in Winter, 1866 Oil on Canvas  91.8 x 150.2 cm (36 1/8 x 59 1/8 in) Mr. and Mr.s Lewis Larned Coburn Memorial Collection Art Institute of Chicago 1957.306

Edgar Degas (French,1834-1917) Woman Ironing, begun c. 1876, completed c. 1887 oil on canvas overall: 81.3 x 66 cm (32 x 26 in.) framed: 99 x 82.5 cm (39 x 32 1/2 in.) National Gallery of Art, Washingon, D.C. Paul Mellon Collection 1972.74.1

Art Eyewitness Close-up: Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth by John Singer Sargent

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth by John Singer Sargent

 

Sargent: Portrait of Artists & Friends

Metropolitan Museum of Art, June 30 to October 4, 2015

By Ed Voves

During the early winter of 1889, Oscar Wilde witnessed a scene so extraordinary that otherwise only he could have imagined it. A striking red-haired woman, dressed in a shimmering green dress, travelled in a carriage down Tite Street in the Chelsea neighborhood of London.

A queen, Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, had come to Victorian London. She was clad in a dress decorated with the iridescent wings of over one thousand beetles. Her gown glistened as if covered by links of emerald green armor.

"Lady Macbeth" was in reality Ellen Terry, the queen of the London stage. Terry was appearing as Lady Macbeth at the Lyceum. She was approaching the studio of John Singer Sargent on Tite Street to have her portrait painted when Wilde glimpsed her. 

Wilde immortalized the moment as only he could have done:

The street that on a wet and dreary morning has vouchsafed the vision of Lady Macbeth in full regalia magnificently seated in a four-wheeler can never again be as other streets: it must always be full of wonderful possibilities. 

The galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art are always "full of wonderful possibilities." However, the presence of Sargent's Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in the Met's Sargent: Portrait of Artists & Friends exhibit imparts a special power to an already spectacular array of paintings.

Hayman Seleg Mendelssohn, Ellen Terry, 1883

Ellen Terry (1847–1928) was born into an English theatrical family and literally grew-up on the stage. The adolescent Terry served as a muse for leading English artists during the 1860's, the height of the "Angel around the House" era with its depictions of demure girls and young women. Terry figured in two of the most celebrated mid-Victorian portraits, Julia Margaret Cameron's Ellen Terry at Age Sixteen and Choosing by George Frederic Watts.

Julia Margaret Cameron, Ellen Terry, at the Age of Sixteen, 1864

In 1864, Terry, aged seventeen, married Watts, thirty years her senior. According to Michael Holroyd's 2008 biography of Terry, the young actress was disenchanted by the backstabbing rivalries of theatrical life. She saw marriage to Watts, "England's Michelangelo," as a means to enter a brilliant world of culture and refinement.

George Frederic Watts, Choosing, 1864

Watts was a bit too cultured and too refined. Terry nearly withered in the artificial "sweetness and light" atmosphere of the Holland House group which counted Watts as a leading member. How Terry managed to make good her escape and retain the approval of Victorian society can best be followed in Holroyd's wonderful book, A Strange Eventful History.

In 1878, Terry entered into a professional "marriage" that was as successful as her domestic relationship with Watts was a disaster. Terry's partner was Henry Irving, the first actor who would be knighted in recognition for his services to the British stage. These were many and far-reaching, including his support for Terry's career. But the opportunity Irving extended to Terry to work on equal terms with him was not only generous. It was a smart move.

 

Jules Bastien-Lepage, Sir Henry Irving, 1880

Irving's acting specialty was to give richly nuanced interpretations to protagonists customarily regarded as villains. In 1879, he and Terry forever redefined The Merchant of Venice with a version of the play that stressed humanity in the personality of Shylock. Irving naturally portrayed Shylock, with Terry as Portia. The British stage was transformed.

In 1888, Irving and Terry did the same for Lady Macbeth. In Terry's astute handling of the role, it is Lady Macbeth's misguided love and belief in her husband, rather than innate evil, that leads her to encourage him to seize the throne of Scotland.  

Window & Grove, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in 'Macbeth', 1888

If Lady Macbeth is not evil incarnate, the extraordinary dress she wears is a testament to the effect of wickedness. The shimmering gown exemplifies the disguises that people use to throw a cloak of glamour over sordid and murderous deeds.  

Oscar Wilde, who saw Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, grasped the significance of her dress. Where all the others in the play wear the rough homespun and furs of a Dark Age kingdom, her attire makes for a vivid contrast. 

"Lady Macbeth seems to be an economical housekeeper and evidently patronizes local industries for her husband's clothes and servant's liveries," Wilde archly commented, "but she takes care to do all her own shopping in Byzantium."

Anne Lloyd, gallery view of  Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth

The radiant, alluring gown was created by the noted designer, Alice Comyns Carr. It still exists, recently restored, and can be seen at Ellen Terry's home, Smallhythe, a National Trust site in Kent. For all its exotic, indeed sinister, beauty, the dress is a stage prop. It was Ellen Terry who made it come alive.

Sitting in the audience on the opening night of Macbeth on December 29, 1888, John Singer Sargent was entranced. He decided to paint Terry so as to evoke this magical effect.

Window & Grove, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in 'Macbeth', 1888

Terry, after some initial hesitation, agreed to pose for her portrait as Lady Macbeth. Sargent began doing preparatory sketches. He was undecided upon which moment in the play to focus. Then in a stroke of true genius, Sargent made one of the boldest decisions of his career. He imagined an original scene not in Shakespeare’s text. 

After King Duncan is murdered, Lady Macbeth takes hold of a diadem to crown herself queen. In this one, astonishingly powerful scene, Sargent evoked the emotional transformation of Lady Macbeth from a loving, if ambitious, wife to a power-maddened, then guilt-stricken, wretch.

 

Anne Lloyd, close-up of  Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth

We look into the eyes of Sargent’s Lady Macbeth and watch her soul dissolve.

Sargent's triumph with Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth matched that of the actress herself on the stage. An art critic for the Magazine of Art exclaimed that no contemporary portrait "excels this in grandeur of pose, fineness of modelling, and magnificence of colour.”

Indeed, Sargent succeeded in conveying the actual, electrifying feel of the play, even though what he depicts is an imagined moment in Macbeth. Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth truly has the impact of a live stage performance. Sargent captured the sense of physical movement and character development taking place on stage.

Even now, the effect is dazzling when you walk into the gallery of Sargent: Portrait of Artists & Friends and confront Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth. Nothing really prepares you for the impact of this truly stunning work of art. And very few of the other works in the Metropolitan Museum's Sargent exhibition, for all their undeniable quality, can match its power

There is an urge to call Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth the "show stopper" of Sargent: Portrait of Artists & Friends. It is that - but this incredible painting is so much more besides.

 

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth stops us in our tracks as moral beings, not just art lovers. We are compelled to look into her deranged, conflicted eyes and think on the subject of good and evil.  We've seen such looks in other eyes on other faces.  Most likely, we will see that look again - hopefully not in the mirror.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved 

Images courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, the National Portrait Gallery, London, the Getty Collection, Los Angeles, the Google Art Project and Anne Lloyd.

Introductory Image:      
John Singer Sargent (1856-,1925, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, 1889
Oil on canvas 87 × 45 in. (221 × 114.3 cm) Tate: Presented by Sir Joseph Duveen 1906
Photo: Tate, London, 2015

Hayman Seleg Mendelssohn (1848-1908), Ellen Terry, albumen cabinet card, 1883, 5 5/8 in. x 4 in. (142 mm x 102 mm) image size. Given by Algernon Graves, 1916. Photographs Collection, the National Portrait Gallery, London, England, NPG Ax5571

Julia Margaret Cameron (1815–1879), Ellen Terry, at the Age of Sixteen, carbon print about 1875 from photo negative 1864. Height: 243 mm (9.57 in). Width: 243 mm (9.57 in). Collection The J. Paul Getty Museum, lido.getty.edu-gm-obj65470. Image used via Google Art Project .jpeg

George Frederic Watts (1817-1904), Ellen Terry ('Choosing'), oil on strawboard mounted on Gatorfoam, 1864, 18 1/2 in. x 13 7/8 in. (472 mm x 352 mm). Accepted in lieu of tax by H.M. Government and allocated to the Gallery, 1975.  Primary Collection, the National Portrait Gallery, London, England, NPG 5048

Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848-1884), Sir Henry Irving, oil on canvas, 1880, 18 1/8 in. x 18 3/4 in. (460 mm x 475 mm) overall.Given by Dame Ellen Alice Terry, 1910. Primary Collection, the National Portrait Gallery, London, England, NPG 1560

Window & Grove Photographers (Published by J. Beagles & Co), Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in 'Macbeth'. bromide postcard print, 1900s, from photo negative 1888. 4 7/8 in. x 3 1/8 in. (124 mm x 80 mm). Purchased, 1982, Photographs Collection, the National Portrait Gallery, London, England, NPG x16991

Anne Lloyd, Gallery View at Metropolitan Museum of Art of Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, 2015.  Copyright of Anne lloyd, all rights reserved

Window & Grove Photographers, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth in 'Macbeth'. albumen cabinet card, 1888. 5 3/4 in. x 4 1/8 in. (146 mm x 105 mm). Purchased, 1982. Photographs Collection,  the National Portrait Gallery, London, England, NPG x16980

Anne Lloyd, Close-up of Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2015.  Copyright of Anne lloyd, all rights reserved