As a flâneur (Baudelaire's term for a person of the crowd and the ideal
Modern artist), Manet spent much of his time in the social circle of the French
night life. This is a part of society
that is usually vibrant with energy and activity, as any partaker in
contemporary night-life crowds can say (some things never change); but the true
Modern artist always keenly observes all aspects of the scene, looking for that
Post-Victorian truth to get him through the challenging and confusing world of
industrialized Modernism. And when
Édouard Manet visited the Parisian nightclub, Folies-Bergère, one evening very
near the artist's relatively brief life, one sees here, in his painting of The
Bar at the Folies-Bergère, a recreation of what he saw and found noteworthy.
This woman, by the way, is no
fiction. Historians have miraculously
been able to track down her name and identity, but Manet painted her here as
just another bartender. The scene is
very up-front. A female server behind a
counter stands in waiting and stares at us, the viewer, as though we were her
next customer. In front of her, on the
countertop is a variety of bottled wines and other libations commonplace enough
for a barroom setting; and we also see a bowl of oranges and a vase of flowers
(again, almost connotative of a still life within the painting, invoking that
idea of the artist's studio once more).
Behind the woman, we see reflected through a mirror the nightclub of the
Folies-Bergère, teeming with life.
Through this window we get the atmospheric feel of the environment, but
Manet has interrupted the gaiety of Paris's night life to focus on this lone
woman to the side of all the action and conversation, a mere server who is otherwise
nameless to us (that is, until now). In
this is implied that Manet has stepped away from the crowd for a moment to
approach this person.
But the woman is a part of the
crowd; that must be keenly grasped. The
artist has singled her out, but the fact that her face appears before a mirror
reflecting all the other faces of the Parisian crowd blends her in with all of
those other people and connects her to the common organism of French
society. (Make sense?) But the artist, as I said, has singled her out
from the multitude and, what's more, centered her in the very middle of the
painting. There is something to be said
of this shift in focus that stands alone as a working of Modernist
thought. A flâneur must be in and among the crowd, after all, to pick out the
singular truths of people, politics, and Modern life—singular truths made
through observations. This painting is
an observation made by Édouard Manet, and it is painted here as a work of art
to convey a truth to the viewer. So,
what are we really looking at?
We are facing the woman directly,
and the woman is looking back at us. The
bar table stands between us; she's got her hands resting on it. In the mirror behind her, we see the counter
reflected, the visitors of the nightclub above (as we've established), and even
the woman's back; but we also see a tall, burly, mustached man in the far-right
reflection of the mirror, someone who is facing the woman and whom the woman
appears to be facing as well. That's
us. Manet has painted the viewer into
the painting. That's pretty insane, if
you think about it. I mean, we have seen
this done before stylistically in the court painting of Las Meninas by Diego
Velázquez and (who could forget) the Arnolfini Wedding Portrait by Jan van
Eyck, but here the interaction between viewer and painted figure seems more
starkly immediate and candid, does it not?
No matter at what distance you are standing, the mirror image on the
right establishes you two as interlocked in direct proximity and, what's more, unblinking
eye contact. We talk about looking at this work of art, but I don't
know what is more strange: that we can look at the representational image of a
woman who is now (like the woman in The Railway) long gone yet, through the
painting, still emblematically as vibrant and colorful as ever; or that she's
looking back at us, too. The moment we
stare at this painting, we enter into it, like the man in the far-right
reflection of the mirror walking up to the counter. Manet pictures art as something inherently
interactive on a visual level which is also interactive on a psychological
level. Ideas, observations, and opinions
are being tossed out to us when we look at paintings, and these radiate off the
canvas like particles of light through the air, showing us the colors of the
artist's mind, so to speak. The
painting, then, is a living entity in the sense that ideas and beliefs can
travel through a crowd like a virus. The
German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote just four years after this
painting's creation a famous line of his; that "when you look long into an
abyss, the abyss also looks into you."
Now to the woman herself. She is centered, as I said, in the painting,
standing quite tall, and she seems to dominate the scene with a powerful
presence. She fills a clear and very
pronounced vertical line that stretches the height of the canvas, causing our
eyes to scan up and down to get a full view of her. It's almost as if she is as much on display
as the bowl of oranges and the small vase of flowers on the counter—she has a
small cluster of flowers pinned to the front of her dress in a strategic
location. Manet intentionally painted
this serveuse so forthright and kind
of in-your-face as a subliminal statement about what he had noticed as a flâneur in his observations of the
Parisian night life. I think I had
mentioned that prostitution was at an all-time high in Victorian England; it
had also grown to become a public controversy in 19th century
France. An article in The Economist on francophone female prostitution
from July 2012, asserted that "by 1840 there were some 200 brothels in
Paris" alone. The Modernist artist,
the flâneur according to Baudelaire's
standard, would place himself among this crowd and use his observations therein
to inspire his art and give him a sense of the true nature of the Modern
world. Manet paints it as a tragic
case. The woman has her sleeves up,
ready to serve but also ready to be served herself should her next guest pay
her for a sexual favor. Her body stands
up from the counter just as though she were merely another object, like the
wine bottles, awaiting use, and her
stark centeredness within the frame of the painting puts her on display to the
viewer as, essentially, eye candy. The
painting's focal epicenter, we see, is her breasts. But, looking at her face, we see the artist
has painted a sad, dull, tired expression.
Her eyes most distinctly betray her emotion and physical exhaustion. If you ask me, they are some of the most
profound eyes ever to be painted in the history of Western art (like Da Vinci's
Mona Lisa). And he has (Manet) again
painted her with hasty brushstrokes and blurred lines to indicate her always
busy lifestyle and the tireless, thankless, joyless work which forever keeps
her on the go. We are meant to feel
sorry for her. Let's face it, she's
miserable!—but that kind of misery that nevertheless still carries on with the
tasks at hand, though in a kind of fog.
(Have you ever felt that way? I
hope not; but if you have, you know what I'm talking about.) Her eyes are glazed over with a dreamy
absence of mind. She has been brought,
through the endless, melancholy toil of her tragic life, to a place where she appears
emotionally numb and unfeeling, explaining the reason why she stares so desolately
and blankly at us from the painting. She
only now goes through the motions, mechanically, having evidently lost some
part of herself. This profound face
Manet masterfully paints as the face of the Victorian-wasted man (and woman)
whose very soul has been robbed of him by the laborious oppression of the
Modern industrial lifestyle. If this
real-life bartender, whom the artist came across one night while simply hanging
out among the crowd, appears in Manet's painting to have lost her emotional spirit,
then it is a poignant observation on the Modern scene as a whole; that
mankind's own soul, his (and her) very humanity, has been lost in this overshadowing
commercial-industrial metropolis, and that people are themselves at risk of
turning into mere machines. And this is
a theme that has been carried on into today's Postmodern society as well.
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