Impressionism (pt. 30)

Even though Edgar Degas never considered himself an Impressionist, his art was inevitably categorized under that very label.  He, too, was influenced by photography and the Modernist perspective on art theory, of the painter of Modern life as the observer of the world around him and a man among the crowd.  His paintings contain cutoff figures, unusual points of view, and candid poses, as with this work of his, called The Glass of Absinthe.

This painting leads your eye on a tour of its subject material.  The objects on the table closest to you are out of focus, being nearest to our point of view.  A newspaper connects two tables, and then across another table are two figures: a sad, lonely woman lost in thought and a man preoccupied with something outside of the frame of the painting.  Here, again, are two total strangers who Degas simply observes as a part of the scene of everyday Modern life through his artistic role as a flâneur, and the scene is decidedly less than positive.  Painted in bleak browns and sickly yellows, this artwork conveys a general disenchantment and disgust with the conditions of Modern life.  Perhaps this is the precise attitude of the woman who stares so glumly into space with a wine glass before her on the table.  Absinthe is a kind of alcoholic beverage popular to that time which was believed to cause hallucinations.  This woman appears driven to it out of disappointment or discouragement.  You can just picture the hopelessness in her eyes.  Among the common sentiments of the late Victorian Age was a feeling of being washed out onto the new world stage of industrialism; there were many who turned to alcoholism and drug use.  Here the artist is showcasing that world in a scathing exposé which could be read either as a moral warning against the negative effects of substance abuse or as a critical indictment on an industrial world culture which would drive women such as this poor lady here to partake in strong drink.

Impressionism (pt. 29)

Within the artwork of Henri Toulouse-Lautrec—his canvas paintings more than his drawings and prints—is a thoughtfulness and poignant reflection, like we saw with Manet's Bar at the Folies-Bergère.  The vibrancy and immediacy of the world around us plays a chief role in Impressionist works of art, but it is almost as if the art also balances out against such ephemeralness and materialism.  The painting, after all, brings us out of the world and into a captured idea or a frozen moment in time, causing us to stop and consider life from a different angle, the world from a different perspective.  Modernist art inspired this approach, and Impressionist art fully embraced it as the new style of painting.  We saw it in the paintings of Berthe Morisot, who chose to pause from the busyness of daily life and observe a woman preparing to leave for a party or a man looking out the window for a brief moment.  These images are painted with an energy of quick and kinetic brushstrokes, dynamically chaotic lines, and vividly brilliant colors (recall Renoir's painting of the Moulin de la Galette), but their thematic content is often (though not always) decidedly less active or participatory within the moment.  Artists as flâneurs witness these scenes as onlookers and bystanders on the side or in the back.  It's as if we are looking through a keyhole at a candid image of the world as frozen in time—and some sense of it communicates almost like a Dutch still life painting, doesn't it?  The themes of life's transience certainly appear here as well.  Monet's plein air painting showed the brevity, irregularity, and unpredictability of sunlight on a subject as simple as haystacks.  The Modern world appeared to be transitioning a little too fast, and the Impressionists, though seeking to capture all the propulsion and movement in their sketchy and unclear style of brushwork, sought also to capture the poignancy, even the sadness, of such a world.  For this reason we see paintings being made of prostitutes and drunkards, like Manet's bartender at the Folies-Bergère.  It's to communicate pathos to the viewer.  The occupation of a flâneur, after all, in seeking truth among the crowds of the Modern urban metropolis frequently led to profound observations of the human condition.  We saw a mother staring thoughtfully at her sleeping baby; we saw a man sitting on a stone, contemplating Hell; we saw a young girl two years after the death of her father and just months before the death of her mother, which would leave her an orphan.  These have all been poignant images of remarkable pathos, and they tell us a lot about the ideology of the Impressionist approach to art and of its similarities to the genre of still life paintings.

Though I'm not going to go as far as to say Impressionism was directly inspired by Dutch still life artwork, the same thematic elements seem to (either coincidentally or otherwise) be at play here as well.  This is an oil painting by Toulouse-Lautrec which he painted on cardboard instead of the traditional fabric canvas.  The effect is that it appears very flat and very sketchy in a dry kind of way, almost like a bad watercolor painting.  It is of a Red-Headed Woman in the Garden of Monsieur Forêt (the garden was actually a public park that had been nicknamed such).  The verdant greens of the foliage have been painted with energetic rapidity and electric fervor.  They are lush leaves conveyed in the painting as chaotic splotches and dabs of color speckled and slashed across the canvas.  The whole scene appears to be moving, growing, progressing—but the artist has painted a woman rising into the center of the frame, wearing a blue dress that counterbalances the luscious energy of the bright greens around her.  She appears calm, statuesque, still.  We see her from an awkward angle, from the left side and partially from the back.  We can only see one arm and the outline of one breast, utterly symbolic of her femininity, which we almost need in order to recognize her, since she's nearly fully turned away from us.  The bosom outline helps declare in an expressive voice that she is a woman, but so does the other, starker component of this painting: her hair.  This unidentified woman's hair is a dazzling, bright honey color, red-orange and vibrant.  This contradicts the subtlety and mellowness of her soft-blue dress, but neither does it blend with the lively greens around her.  The red exceeds them all.  It is the area on the canvas which, if you ever have the opportunity of seeing the actual painting in person, is the most immediately startling and captivating aspect of the work.  And it's been done up, but part of it falls gently down.  Her bangs hang loose, and one or two other locks break away from the neatly arranged order in a fashion that conveys a kind of candor to the scene; that we're seeing her at a moment when she is perhaps not looking her best.  The way her hair hangs down also mirrors perfectly the way it so vividly leaps from the canvas surface itself, uncontainable.  Her red-headed hair certainly stands out as a radiant and fiery expression of something altogether incredible in this woman's nature, be it her sheer physicality and femininity or her character and deeper spirit, but even though it so fascinatingly glows bright from the painting, it is muted is it not?  There is the blue of her dress, a much subtler, softer, and more subdued color that appears to almost be at war with the passionate, intense red of her hair.  But apart from her clothes and her hair, where does the woman herself stand?—in between.  Her face is turned from us so that we can only see the side of her.  She is looking downward, either tranquilly (and in accord with her humble outfit) or full of emotion (and in accord with her stunningly expressive hair).  She looks sad.  Amid all the greenery and energetic life around her, she stands like a raincloud in the middle of a sunny day, and her inner turmoil is just as thunderous and powerful.  Here the artist has painted the image of a woman conflicted within herself, hidden between blue and orange (total opposites on the color wheel); and the conflict is epic and dramatic, is it not?  I mean, this nameless woman suddenly breathes symbolic of an entire generation of conflict, the Victorian Age of contradiction.  This is the face of the Modern individual, singled out, female, obscured from full view.  What is this woman's story?  Why does she look so sad?  We'll never know.  Inasmuch as the painting appears hastily completed and the brushstrokes therein look unfinished, so this woman's history remains a mystery; and the world plunges into the Modern Era never fully grasping what hit it and never knowing why but only pausing briefly, momentarily reflective of the loss for a fleeting second that, with a glance, vanishes and is gone.

Impressionism (pt. 28)

Art Nouveau, just as an added note, developed around the 1890s and into the beginning of the 20^th century as more than just an art style; it was kind of more like a way of living.  The movement was really more akin to overall fashion, and the ideological implications of its development go far beyond what studies of paintings can describe.  Inspired by the comprehensive look and feel and lifestyle-to-art approach of Japonism and Bohemianism (gypsy-like culture), Art Nouveau may have found its roots in art theory, but it quickly extended to much broader genres and mediums within everyday life, including: sculpture, architecture, furniture, jewelry, ceramics, textiles, clothing, and on and on.  A person's entire life, from the interior design of his house to the fashion of his clothes, could operate within this broad and eclectic style of…art/fashion/culture—it's difficult to label.  It grew to becoming an international phenomenon, and in my opinion the feel of Art Nouveau continues on to this day.  We can discuss its impact in contemporary culture as we move along, but right now I won't delve too much into it because we need to remain focused on Impressionism and where it will lead us in the history of Western art.

Impressionism (pt. 27)

When wandering among the crowd of the Parisian night life, performing the duties of a flâneur, one will almost certainly be bound to run into some strange people.  This is true of contemporary times, and it was true back in the 1880s and 1890s.  You stepped into a strange environment (or at least, what seemed strange) when walking into a night club within the less reputable districts of the city, and as the given painter of Modern life, the artist must portray this side to society as well as the more commonly seen subjects.  Henri Toulouse-Lautrec was just such a figure.  Standing at just four and a half feet tall, Toulouse-Lautrec was a midget whose physical disabilities inspired him to seek a career in art.  But his art tapped into a newly developing style that would eventually break away from Impressionism and extend to Post-Impressionism and Art Nouveau.  His art style took inspiration from the Modern art theories of Charles Baudelaire and Édouard Manet and further implemented influences from Japonism and Bohemianism in addition to the established Impressionistic approaches to subject matter.  He was another one of the artists who adopted the flâneur lifestyle, and it took him to places like the Moulin Rouge in Paris.

Prostitutes, criminals, freaks—a host of odd characters would flock to these night clubs and brothels where Toulouse-Lautrec spent his time observing the people and environment around him for his art.  The late Victorian brothels and pleasure houses were strange places indeed.  Here one could be introduced to new phenomena of Modern life, to drunkenness, prostitution, gambling, lesbianism, drug use, crime, and no telling what else.  This had grown to become a staple part of public society by the late 1800s, and artists like Toulouse-Lautrec were among the first to publish on a blatantly open and deliberate level graphic images of these aspects to Modern society, his observations as a flâneur.  And he found a level of honesty within the society of alcoholics, scoundrels, and whores, and he also discovered a world of constant energy and variability.  (A character in Dostoevsky expresses it in his confession: "I like the public, even the cancan public.")  The sociology of this sect of the public breathed fashion, commercialism, and an independent style of etiquette and patois all its own.  This inspired Toulouse-Lautrec to paint his canvases with a vibrant style that was outspokenly distinctive and unique.  He often drew with pastels and chalk in addition to oil paints, and instead of traditional canvases he frequently chose to use paper or cardboard.  His art is about style, the style to convey the manner of characters he portrays.

In this painting of the Moulin Rouge (a newly opened cabaret that the artist frequented) Toulouse-Lautrec characterizes his subjects through his style.  Wavy lines convey a sense of erraticism that describes each of the figures' often vibrant and changeable personalities.  Scribbled and undefined lines and outlines express the people's ambivalent personalities and natures.  They are painted stylistically because these people are all about style.  Their expensive frock coats and ornate hats which communicated to the fashion of their time was now a chief element the artist needed to convey through his medium.  How else does one paint style except stylistically?  In relaying his observations as a flâneur Toulouse-Lautrec had to develop a style that matched the stylishness of the people he observed.  This is the Impressionistic approach he took to his subject matter, and because his adopted techniques became so stylistic, his art quickly began to deviate from realism.

This was, after all, a bizarre world of strange people and peculiar places.  Here the artist has painted the Moulin Rouge with warm golds and cozy browns to communicate the warmth and perhaps stuffiness of the crowded nightclub, but he has also contrasted that with muddy greens and murky turquoises to make the place seem slightly less inviting.  A circle of friends and acquaintances sits around a table, each as uniquely distinguishing as the next.  Some have been given richly colored faces, some sickly colored faces, and some pale.  And notice the woman walking toward us in the immediate foreground on the right.  She is one of the cabaret performers.  Toulouse-Lautrec has given her face a ghastly appearance, being characterized most bizarrely and almost unsettlingly by the lighting of the nightclub.  She looks green and quite menacingly alien.  Her presence seems to convey the notion that we're not in Kansas anymore (maybe because she vaguely resembles the Wicked Witch of the West—ha!) and that we are entering a mysterious and strange world when we walk around the crowd of the Modern metropolitan sphere as artists, flâneurs, or even simply as ordinary people.  The artist has painted himself at the far right of the table, the man sitting in profile, wearing the top hat, a fitting addition to this scene of social oddballs, strangers, and freaks.  But Toulouse-Lautrec, the midget, appears comfortable within the scene; he identifies with this crowd.

Impressionism (pt. 26)

The artist's most famous painting is probably this one, titled The Boating Party.  It was done during a summer vacation Cassatt spent on the French Riviera.

The curves of the boat and the sail lead your eye to the center of interest: the mother and child.  The oarsman's gaze is directed toward this very center, and we also see the mother and child clearly, while everything else is out of focus.  We see them at eye-level, as if we're sitting in the boat, too, behind the oarsman.  The vibrancy of the almost neon colors in the painting infuse the work with an energy that we as the viewers don't know how to respond to.  Thank goodness for the calm mother, sitting tranquilly with her content baby in the center of the frame, to provide balance and softness to the subject matter.  They are the redeeming light of all the electric chaos occurring along the water and throughout the wind on such a bright day (the wind must be noticeably strong; the sail is full).  And they balance out the impending figure of the darkly-dressed oarsman, who, with his back to us and face partially covered, looks slightly foreboding and unsafe.  He sits in a wild pose, bracing his right leg against the sitting board in front of him and stretching his arms far out in order to row.  He is holding on tight, being rocked to and fro by the unsteady movements of the boat; but notice how calmly and straight the mother and child sit (well, the mother, at least; I suppose the same cannot be said for the child).  The mother is tall and erect, in a stately pose of grace and refinement.  For such a high horizon line, too, Cassatt has painted the mother as the only figure in the painting who stretches over all planes (the tip of her hat touches the sky).

If Modern painters were looking through candid images of everyday life to better paint the world around them and try to reconnect with the world now overrun by industrial Modernism, then certain paintings like this can be seen as new interpretations of traditional ideas.  The mother and child, though not of themselves communicating any inherently religious message within the painting, nevertheless convey the latent reference to Raphael-style paintings of the Madonna and Child (which we looked at during the Italian Renaissance).  The Modern mother figure looks quite different, as well as the babe, but there is still red in her dress.

Impressionism (pt. 25)

Mary Cassatt studied in both the U.S. and Paris.  She gained notoriety at Impressionist exhibitions and became famous as the first female American painter of significant international acclaim.  She was greatly influenced by Degas' work.  Most of her works are of peaceful scenes of mothers and their children.  We can recall Morisot's The Cradle in works by Cassatt such as this one, entitled The Child's Bath.  Once again, this is women's Realism of the late 19^th century; that women were called upon chiefly as mothers and "angels of the house," and that was all they knew.  With the rise of women's activist committees, however, and eventually the suffragette movement, women would gradually gain admittance outside of the home and—really launching into effect during the Second World War—the workplace, as well.  For now, however, Mary Cassatt turned to the personal realism of her own life to depict subjects of motherhood and quiet, homely life.  You can see in this painting the flatness of the image as inspired by popular Japanese woodblock prints of the time.  The candid scene of this tender but largely insignificant moment (unless you want to read into "the washing of one's feet," but I don't know that I would) also draws back on influences of photography and Modern artistic subject matter.

Impressionism (pt. 24)

Photography also played a major role in influencing painters' techniques at this time.  The camera showed candid views of people that were thought to convey more truth than the modeling and artistic poses of paintings.  Photography itself became a kind of art form (and is still today, as we all know), and the Impressionists were influenced by this new art of photography.  Morisot was impacted by these more candid approaches to subject matter and used this to inspire her paintings like The Woman at Her Toilette, which displays a woman from the back who is still fixing her hair and makeup (few images are more candid than that).  Camerawork and camera technique also inspired the artist Gustave Caillebotte to generate in his artwork a new kind of Impressionistic realism.

The influence of photography as well as of the style of Japanese prints is seen in one of his most famous paintings, called Paris Street, Rainy Day.  It shows the everyday scene of pedestrians crossing a wide boulevard in Paris on a rainy day, but it shows them with a sense of realism the likes of which no painter had ever conveyed before.  For starters, there is no center of the painting, and the linear perspective trails off in not one but two vanishing points.  We have been looking at the tradition of one-point linear perspective in art ever since the early frescos of the Italian Renaissance (most notably, Masaccio's Holy Trinity), but in this painting here we see two vanishing points, receding on opposite sides of the horizon line.  Two-point linear perspective looks a little something like this.

Back in the 1860s, there was no such thing as a snapshot photograph; cameras weren't that fast yet.  The only clarity to come through early photographs was in staged portraits and still images.  A busy street such as this one would never have turned out well in a photograph during this time period; the people would have appeared blurry and indiscernible because they were too rapidly in motion.  This is the reason for much of Monet's and Morisot's lack of detailed clarity in their works: that the objects they were painting were constantly moving or changing.  But by the mid 1870s, faster and more portable cameras began being produced (and a decade later the Kodak company would be launched to make the camera a more widely-available product to the general public).  A man named Richard Maddox had introduced a new, innovative way to utilize dry plates for exposure in 1871.  This not only allowed for more convenience in photographic production, it paved the way for more readily accessible photography and, in a few years, faster pictures—eventually, the snapshot.  Here Caillebotte has painted an image of considerable clarity in this painting, almost as if the figures in the scene were not moving at all but standing perfectly still, frozen in time.  This image acts as a kind of snapshot but it also relates to early camera functions in a different way.  The artist has focused on a few characters in the middle ground of the scene, much like the lens of a camera.  The couple walking toward us in the close foreground of the painting's right-hand side appear just barely indistinct, while figures nearer the building in the distance on the left-hand side are totally vague and imprecise.  Only are a few, select persons painted with crystal-clear edges and sharp lines, and they appear in between the foreground and background.  We see this in the cobblestone street pavement as well; that as we go farther back into the distance of the scene, the delineations of individual cobblestones disappear altogether.  The overall backdrop of this work is clouded in a kind of haziness that is not just due to the rainy weather being shown; Caillebotte is making reference to a camera's ability to focus on different objects within its aperture.  In this painting, figures walk in and out of focus within the complex aperture of the painter's own eye (a kind of camera lens).  I think that the concept of photographic focus works metaphorically in this painting as well to suggest a comparison between art and pictures.  While the cameras of this time period progressed in innovations leading to faster times for developing images, Caillebotte's own "image" here took several months to complete.  His is, nevertheless, meant to be viewed as a kind of picture-painting, mimicking the functions of a camera and associating the artist with "photorealism" of a different kind.

Also within this pseudo-photographic image is the idea of candid views of normal, everyday life.  It goes beyond that we're looking at a painting entirely composed just of people walking; even the placement of the people throughout the scene is meant to convey a kind of Realism of subject matter, trying to come as close as possible to an accurate image of real life in the Modern world.  Figures are sprawled out here and there, in evidently random order.  Three people are bunched up close on the right half of the painting, while the left half remains quite spacious and open; but then, behind those right-hand three, is a huge gap of people, too.  A carriage goes by which we can't see entirely.  Many people's faces are hid under umbrellas or turned in a different direction.  Nobody is looking at us, the viewer (with one only vaguely possible exception).  The man on the right has his back to us and is even cut off from the frame.  This scattering of figures is meant to show the candid realism of photography, and Caillebotte makes the note that deviates from Monet and Morisot: namely, that even within a moment's freeze of time (like a snapshot) a world of complexity and minute detail thrives therein.  Morisot's Reader was about to move on from her book, and that inspired the artist to paint her subject matter with quick brushstrokes and overall hasty construction.  Here Caillebotte recognizes that these people are all in motion and that there is energy flowing through each and every one of their actions; but within a closer (or more focused) look at the quickly spinning world around him, the artist found new clarity and distinctness on which to focus his paintbrush like the lens of a camera.