Edgar Degas: Drawings and Pastels by Christopher Lloyd (2014)

Degas’s forensic approach favours those moments when humanity reveals its frailties. (p.191)

This book contains 238 illustrations, mostly in colour, of the pencil, black-chalk, pen-and-ink and charcoal drawings and the innumerable highly-coloured pastels of the master draughtsman among the Impressionists, Edgar Degas (1834–1917).

As a devotee of disegno (the Renaissance term for the art of drawing, and by extension of creating a composition) I found many of Degas’s drawings as ravishing as a work of art can be. Size-wise the book is half way between normal paperback and coffee table so the reproductions aren’t big, but they’re big enough to delight and amaze.

The text is by one-time Surveyor of the Queen’s pastels, Christopher Lloyd (b.1945). Lloyd points out that it was only after Degas’s death in 1917, when the contents of his studio were auctioned off, that anyone really appreciated the enormous number of sketches and pastels which Degas had created throughout his life, not to mention the contents of the 30-plus notebooks he left. There is a vast amount of material.

Lloyd treats Degas’ life and works in straightforward chronological manner:

  1. Beginnings 1853–1855 – His family was affluent: Dad was a banker from a French family who emigrated to Naples. Another branch of the degas family moved to New Orleans, USA and became successful in the cotton trade.
  2. Italy 1856–1859 – Degas goes on a self-financed odyssey round the great galleries of Italy, sketching everything he saw.
  3. History Paintings 1860–1865 – Degas makes a concerted effort to conform and paint the kind of history paintings which French High Society and the official Salon prized most. The book includes reproductions of Semiramis Building Babylon, 1861, The Daughter of Jephthah, 1859-1860, Scene of War in the Middle Ages, 1865 and so on – which are, frankly, not that convincing. By contrast, the preparatory sketches to these big works are almost all breath-taking. Degas kept the early work, Young Spartans Exercising, 1860, in his studio and carried on tinkering with it well into the 1880s, though he never got the faces right. Anyway, the history strategy failed, with none of the history paintings being accepted by the Salon.
  4. Changing Directions 1865–1870 – Degas meets Manet, only two years older than him (b.1832). Overlapping with his history paintings he starts to sketch scenes of modern life. Compare Portrait of Mlle Eugenie Fiocre a propos the ballet ‘Le Source’, 1868, with Racehorses before the stands, 1866-8.
  5. Confronting the Modern World 1870–1879 – Degas takes a five-month trip to his relatives in New Orleans, which opens his eyes about the vastness of the modern world. But it’s back in Paris that Degas becomes part of the new avant-garde, meeting Monet, Pissarro, Sisley, Renoir et al, and playing a key role in organising the first Impressionist exhibition in 1874. During the 1870s he really consolidates his interest in certain key subjects: ballet dancers, horse-racing, women at work (washerwomen, milliners), women at their toilette.
  6. Retreat into the Studio 1880–1890 – Degas diversifies into print-making, painting fans, and making sketches for large-scale friezes – though these never seem to have been completed. He experimented with stylised viewpoints, compressing the picture space, and deliberately cropping images, an aesthetic effect copied from photography.
  7. Landscape Drawings – Degas notoriously deprecated landscape painting (odd, really, considering that that was the core motif of Impressionism). He made some landscapes on his travels (he was probably the most-travelled of the Impressionists) but as objects of fact rather than sentimental ‘beauty’. Then in the 1890s he began to extend his interest in the monotype technology he’d first used in the 1880s, this time experimentally manipulating oil paint over the basic printed image. This created a suite of works which, ironically, was the subject of the only one-man show ever devoted to him in his lifetime (in 1892) . They surprised his devotees by moving decisively beyond Impressionism and into the hazy, half-imaginary world of fin-de-siècle Symbolism. – Landscape with smokestacks, 1890. Landscape, 1890.
  8. ‘The Dying of the Light’ 1890–c. 1912 – Degas’s eyesight deteriorated at the same time as he switched to the chosen medium of his final years, intensely coloured pastel, laid on with repeated, thick lines and hatchings, each layer preserved with a fixative and then drawn over again. This produced super-luminous visions which he often dabbed with wetted pastel sticks to produce magical sparkles and highlights. – After The Bath, Woman With A Towel, 1897. The dancers, 1892.

Lloyd not only takes us through Degas’ life, but systematically covers Degas’ various subject areas – the dancers and ballerinas (which form over half of Degas’s total oeuvre), the racehorses, the women workers (milliners, laundresses), and the women at their toilettes.

Half the pleasure comes from the sketches of subjects which don’t figure so much in the finished pastels or oil paintings but which he endlessly explored. Studies pure and simple of faces, men standing around, nude women and more ballerinas.

What an eye! And what an ability to rough out the forms and gestures of human beings with such conviction, creating brisk, confident lines on paper which bring an entire human moment to life.

Some staggering sketches

Study of a ribbon (1882) by Degas

Study of a ribbon (1882) by Degas

New terms

  • balletomane – a ballet enthusiast
  • contre-jour (‘against daylight’) uses sources of daylight in a painting or pastel to produce backlighting of the subject. The effect usually hides details, causes a stronger contrast between light and dark, creates silhouettes and emphasizes lines and shapes.
  • les rats – nickname for the youngest ballet dancers in the corps de ballet. Edmond de Goncourt described them as ‘little monkey girls’ (quoted page 118)
  • mise-en-page – fancy French term for page layout and design
  • repoussoir is one of the pictorial means of achieving perspective or spatial contrasts by the use of illusionistic devices such as the placement of a large figure or object in the immediate foreground of a painting to increase the illusion of depth in the rest of the picture.

Related links

Reviews of Impressionist exhibitions

Drawn in Colour: Degas from the Burrell @ The National Gallery

A loan from the Burrell Collection

The Burrell Collection Glasgow is currently closed for a major refurbishment until 2020. Among other things it houses a spectacular collection of works by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas who, as it happens, passed away a hundred years ago this September (1834–1917). So what better way to celebrate this centenary – and display works which would otherwise be gathering dust in a warehouse somewhere – than by loaning this priceless collection to the National Gallery in London, where it nicely complements the National Gallery’s own collection of Degas pastels?

Thus, in the Ground Floor galleries (conveniently close to the café and restaurant) you can visit this fabulous FREE exhibition of 13 pastels, three drawings, and four oil paintings by Degas, the first time that most of them have been seen outside Glasgow since they were acquired in the early 1900s.

At the Jewellers(1887) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

At the Jewellers (1887) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

The show is downstairs in the fairly newish exhibition space of the Annenberg Wing. The light is deliberately dimmed to preserve works which, we are told, have already faded significantly in their 130 years of existence. It’s like entering a cathedral and oh, what entrancing, ravishing objects are here to worship!

There are some oil paintings, a few rough sketches and one statue – but this show is mostly about Degas’s supernatural gift with pastels – and what a gift it was!

The wall panels (and the book in the shop outside) liberally describe Degas as the most gifted draughtsman of the 19th century and his skill at creating outlines and shapes is breath-taking. Look at the horse on the far right of Jockeys in the rain. The closer you look the more perfect it becomes.

Jockeys in the Rain (1883-6) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on tracing paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

Jockeys in the Rain (1883-6) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on tracing paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

His early training was academic, trained to draw in studios with a spell in Rome to sketch and draw from classical masters. But he wasn’t satisfied and embarked on a lifelong course of technical experimentation with materials, and particularly with the supremely flexible medium of pastel that he came to prefer over painting in oil.

Degas had a deep interest in Japanese prints and helped bring them to public attention in 1870s Paris. He used photographs as models for his subjects. And he studied classical friezes for their posing of the human subject and of horses.

Pastel became increasingly important to Degas in his later years at a time when, coincidentally, brilliant colour began to play an essential role in the contemporary art he admired, and his own eyesight started to fail. The tactile immediacy and luminous colours of pastel, as well as its ephemeral and fragile quality, allowed him to create astonishingly bold and dynamic works of art, distinct from those of his fellow Impressionists.

Degas and pastels

  1. Smooth In his early works (1870s) Degas uses pastels ‘unfixed’ by oil or fixative; they are flat, and highly smudged and blended in order to create an oil painting effect.
  2. Rough and lined As he became more proficient (1880s) Degas came to use a ‘fixative’ between successive layers of pastel to build up layers, to create what experts call a ‘crust’. In tandem he dropped the technique of blurring and adopted strong, visible, directional strokes, strikingly virile lines which seem gouged across the paper as you look closely. The harshness of this cross-hatching is evident in the two works above which are to a large extent made up out of lines.
  3. Colour As the 19th century progressed industrial scientists developed new ranges of vivid and vibrant colours. These became available as readymade oil paints in tubes – which greatly helped the Impressionists aim of painting out of doors, far from the studio. But they also became available as pastel sticks, sticks made from chalk, binding agents and dyes.
  4. Water Degas developed a technique of dipping the tips of the pastel sticks into water in order to dab thick and bright highlights on top of finished works, for example the decorative highlights on the dresses of the Three dancers

Innovations

Degas was one of the greatest artistic innovators of his age.

1. Subject matter

He turned from the traditional subjects and technical conventions of his training to find new ways to depict modern, urban life. In Degas’s work, both the highs and lows of Parisian life are depicted: from scenes of elegant spectators and jockeys at the racecourse, to tired young women ironing in subterranean workshops.

His most famous subjects were ballet dancers, generally caught in informal, behind-the-scenes moments; and women at their toilette, bathing or combing their hair. If we didn’t know it before, we learn that Degas lived close to the Paris Opera where ballet was performed and gained regular entrance to the rehearsal studios, and even to the wings of the theatre itself.

2. Private moments

With his intimate depictions of women bathing or combing their hair Degas knew he was subverting artistic tradition. Until his time women had mostly been posed in a way that presupposed an audience (for example, the great odalisques of Ingres). Degas’ women aren’t posing for anyone.

Woman in a Tub (1896-1901) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

Woman in a Tub (1896-1901) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

The apparent crudity and the unashamed frankness of these works shocked and repelled contemporary audiences. Obviously we in 2017 have seen and read everything, nothing shocks us. But these works momentarily begged the question: are they more ‘natural’ than the Ingres/Salon tradition of perfectly portrayed naked women? Or are they more creepily ‘voyeuristic’? Is there something suspect about viewing naked women at such vulnerable and exposed moments?

The wall labels raise this question without resolving it: I think the answer is that the subject matter is mostly eclipsed by the technique. Sure, they’re scantily clad women; but quite obviously there is nothing salacious or pornographic about them – there are hardly any bare boobs whereas there are lots of backs bent or stretching. The real interest of the pictures is in their unusual composition, and especially in their vibrant use of colour.

3. Unconscious movements

Having studied the human figure as it is carefully posed in art school, in statues and in all previous art, Degas was restless to capture fleeting movements and impressions of modern life. His private women, the famous ballet dancers, and the jockeys, are all caught in off-guard poses.

You never (so far as I know) see the horses racing. You see them jostling nervously before, or calming down exhaustedly after, the race.

Similarly, the hundreds of sketches, pastels, oils and sculptures he made of ballet dancers are very rarely of performances – overwhelmingly, they’re of ballerinas backstage, or from the wings, in rehearsal, resting, stretching. The show includes an example of a ballerina adjusting a shoulder strap. Moments like that. Or these three ballerinas. What are they doing? Where are they? In a rehearsal studio? In the wings during a performance?

Unofficial locations, off-guard moments, unconscious gestures. (Look at the hand of the ballerina on the right. The other two ballerinas pressing against the wall or theatre ‘flat’.)

The Red Ballet Skirts (1900) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on tracing paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

The Red Ballet Skirts (1900) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on tracing paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

And yet these fleeting moments are given an extraordinary permanence. The stunning contrast between vibrant orange of the tutus and the lurid green of the flat create an incredibly visual dynamic. But is is the very strong outlines  in black (look at the confidence of the black strokes over the tutus to indicate folds of fabric) and the fact that the figures are lit from above, which combine to give the image a monumental, sculpted feel.

4. Composition

Several points about the compositions:

Ungainly He is interested in the ungainly in human posture. In no way is the woman bending over in her bathtub gracious. In fact, the more you look at her the more her posture begins to dissolve into a purely formal arrangement of colours. (Degas was affected by the later, semi-abstract work of Gauguin.) What do his two most famous subjects, ballerinas and horse, have in in common? They are both in constant motion, an endless supply of odd, awkward, spontaneous, fleeting poses.

Cropped Degas had the habit of cropping images in mid-person or subject. Many of the horse pictures crop horses half way through. None of the examples I’ve included really show this brutal cropping, but some in the exhibition do. It’s related, in some of them, to the way he often began a composition on one sheet, and then added other sheets around it, as the composition grew. Sounds odd, but you can see the joins in several of these works (which you are allowed to view from gloriously close-up, really feeling every stroke of the pastel stick).

Cramped Degas’ routine cropping of subjects is accompanied by his often experimental construction of pictorial space. The people depicted are frequently cramped right into the frame of the picture. Take the vertiginous perspective of the two women crammed together in the work at the top of this post, At the Jewellers or the way the two women in a theatre box are cropped at the edges to make us feel as if we’re thrust right into the scene in the final picture below, Women in a Theatre Box.

Empty Conversely, there can be oddly empty space, as in Woman in a Tub. Come to think of it, where is this tubbing taking place? Where are the details of the room which would give it perspective and context, window, door, carpet, mirror, cupboards? Is the white patch on the left a rug? You realise the tub and woman are floating in an abstract orange space.

A little more intelligible, more readable, is the great gap on the left of Jockeys in the Rain. Combined with the unusually realistic depiction of the horizon, very high in the picture, the composition creates a great sense of space, itself indicating… what? The restlessness of horses, and riders, jostling and shuffling, ready for the race to begin? And why on earth is it in the rain? The scattered blue slashes of pastel from top right are also on a (mild) diagonal and, once you notice them, add to the sense of unease and restlessness.

Empty or cramped or oddly cropped, Degas is always experimenting with compositional space.

Unfinished Degas had a lifelong habit of leaving works unfinished, whether it’s because he was a perfectionist, or restless to move on, or on aesthetic principles, is difficult to gauge. Different models and colleagues have left different accounts of his feverish impatience.

Look at At the jewellers (above). Not only are the two ‘finished’ figures awkward and cramped but (and I have to admit I didn’t notice this at first, maybe because I was standing too close to it) but there’s an entire third figure on the right, barely sketched in and left completely abandoned. Why? Lots of the ballet dancer works reveal big patches of unprepared canvas left exposed.

You can see how this could be part of the aesthetic of catching life on the fly, on the move, the brief unconscious gestures of his subjects, patting their hair or adjusting a strap – just those quick fleeting glimpses of entirely modern life which – as Degas knew from his impeccably classical training – nobody in the history of art had tried to capture before.

So maybe their incompleteness is part of the fleetingness.

5. Colour

Some of the sketches are more or less monochrome and the oil paintings are fairly conventional in colouring – but the pastel works – wow! They are an explosion of the most vivid reds and greens and blues, mauves and oranges.

Three Dancers (1900-5) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on tracing paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

Three Dancers (1900-5) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on tracing paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

It’s striking to see green used so routinely to convey flesh colour (see the haunch of the woman in the tub) but in fact this technique goes back to the Renaissance.

But the real shock is the red and oranges. The background to the woman in a tub or the women in a box and the ballerinas’ dresses. Wow. It is a shocking and intense colour which dominates the exhibition rooms and has, appropriately enough, been chosen as the exhibition poster. Incredibly, conservationists have shown that the colours were all originally much more intense but that exposure to light has faded them. Dayglo Degas!

In these works you can really see why he came to love pastel: not only were a) new industrially-developed and astonishingly vivid colours available, but b) you can build up a real depth of colour by repeated hatching and ‘fixing’ and colouring again but c) but without having to paint right up to the lines, as you’re obliged to in oil, able to leave large amounts of the surface rough and patchy – the hatching style gives you visual permission to do this – and so d) fulfilling the contemporary, fleeting, impressionist aesthetic.

The commentary uses words like iridescent, fluorescent, vibrant, but words can’t really do justice to quite how astonishingly, violently loud these colours are. They leap off the surface. And yet this vibrancy is always mediated, compromised, somehow made all-the-more dynamic, by the very obvious hatching, the rough bare lines of blue or orange or black which create a tremendous sense of dynamism and excitement.

It’s small, it’s free, but this is one of the most visually exciting exhibitions I’ve been to in ages.

Women in a Theatre Box (1885-90) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

Women in a Theatre Box (1885-90) by Hilaire-Germain-Edgar Degas. Pastel on paper © CSG CIC Glasgow Museums Collection

P.S.

Nowhere in the exhibition information did it mention that the National Gallery does have other Degas works on display, upstairs in room 42. Worth walking up a flight of stairs and through a few rooms to make your Degas experience complete!

Video

Most galleries nowadays produce short highlights videos to promote their exhibitions. But the National Gallery is now making available recordings of the fifty-minute-long lectures or introductions to their main exhibitions, given by the exhibition curators.

This is an excellent idea, as it helps you get a real sense of what the curators are trying to do, of the practical problems of arranging exhibitions by theme or chronology or medium and so on, plus snippets and insights not available at the show itself.


Related links

Reviews of other National Gallery exhibitions

Delacroix and the Rise of Modern Art @ the National Gallery

‘The seeds of almost every art movement current in 19th century Paris were sown by artists copying and emulating Delacroix’s work.’

Ferdinand Victor Eugène Delacroix (1798-1863) was the leading exponent of Romanticism in French art, active from his first exhibition at the annual Salon de Paris in 1823 through to his last appearance in 1853. He pioneered a colourful, vibrant, spontaneous-feeling approach to depicting historical subjects, scenes from the ‘exotic East’, landscapes, nudes and still lifes.

Self Portrait by Eugène Delacroix (about 1837) Musée du Louvre, Paris (RF 25) © RMN-Grand Palais (musée du Louvre) / Jean-Gilles Berizzi

Self Portrait by Eugène Delacroix (about 1837) Musée du Louvre, Paris (RF 25) © RMN-Grand Palais (musée du Louvre) / Jean-Gilles Berizzi

I thought the title of this exhibition was a bit modish, that the tag ‘…and the rise of modern art’ could be applied to umpteen 19th century painters simply by living before the deluge of Modernism – but in fact the show completely convinces you that Delacroix really was instrumental in the rise of modern art.

It does this by avoiding a straightforwardly chronological survey of his career. Instead the exhibition consists of six rooms, each of which addresses a specific theme or subject – and then hangs Delacroix paintings from the 1830s, 40s and 50s next to works which strikingly resemble them, refer to them or incorporate their techniques, by artists of the next two generations, including Renoir, Monet, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Matisse and Kandinsky, along with the lesser-known Symbolist artists, Gustave Moreau and Odilon Redon.

What the exhibition makes clear is that later artists didn’t just copy or learn from Delacroix in subtle and obscure ways, visible only to scholars and experts. They paid direct homage to him, copying his subjects and compositions and styles and ideas in ways which are immediately visible to even an untrained eye. They wrote letters, commentaries, essays and articles explicitly acknowledging their debt to him, and even made paintings showing him being levitated to heaven or showered with awards by a grateful posterity. As Cézanne, a really devout follower, said: ‘We all paint in Delacroix’s language’.

Apotheosis of Delacroix by Paul Cézanne (1890-4) Paris, Musée d’Orsay, on loan to the Musée Granet / Aix-en-Provence (RF 1982-38) © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d'Orsay) / Hervé Lewandowski

Apotheosis of Delacroix by Paul Cézanne (1890-4) Paris, Musée d’Orsay, on loan to the Musée Granet / Aix-en-Provence (RF 1982-38) © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) / Hervé Lewandowski

After Delacroix’s death the contents of his studio were sold off and revealed a wealth of previously unknown outdoors paintings, which had a strong impact on the young Impressionists who were just starting out on their careers. They found in Delacroix a liberation from the official Salon art of the day, the inspiration to capture the warmth and vibrancy of the everyday, the exotic, the exciting, instead of the glacial cool of the perfectly poised subjects concocted in the artist’s studio.

When a later generation wanted to move beyond Impressionism in the 1890s, Delacroix’s sometimes blurry use of paint pointed the way for Symbolist painters seeking misty, portentous shapes and mythological images – but also provided inspiration for the Post-Impressionists (Gauguin, van Gogh) who were interested in bold experiments with colour for its own sake.

Still Life with a Sketch after Delacroix by Paul Gauguin (1887) Musée d'Art moderne et contemporain de Strasbourg © Photo Musées de Strasbourg, M. Bertola

Still Life with a Sketch after Delacroix by Paul Gauguin (1887) Musée d’Art moderne et contemporain de Strasbourg © Photo Musées de Strasbourg, M. Bertola

And when his collected writings on art, painting technique and broader aesthetics were published in three volumes between 1893 and 1895, the depth and variety of ideas contained in their 1,438 pages crystallised Delacroix’s position as a key thinker, who could be plundered by all the various schools of modern art.

Rough not smooth

As his Wikipedia entry makes clear:

In contrast to the Neoclassical perfectionism of his chief rival Ingres, Delacroix took for his inspiration the art of Rubens and painters of the Venetian Renaissance, with an attendant emphasis on colour and movement rather than clarity of outline and carefully modelled form.

Rather than smooth perfection, Delacroix developed a technique of painting au premier coup, trying to complete a work in one sitting, or over a few days at most. This makes a lot of his paintings quite rough to look at – in fact not that many of the Delacroixs on show here are, in themselves, that appealing.

The Death of Sardanapalus (reduced replica) by Eugène Delacroix (1846) © Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania. The Henry P. McIlhenny Collection in memory of Frances P. McIlhenny, 1986 (1986-26-17)

The Death of Sardanapalus (reduced replica) by Eugène Delacroix (1846) © Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania. The Henry P. McIlhenny Collection in memory of Frances P. McIlhenny, 1986 (1986-26-17)

The above is a small-scale copy of the large original. The exhibition juxtaposes it with the The Eternal Feminine by Cézanne, pointing out the way that both works feature a still figure on a bed regarding the mayhem of activity around them.

The Eternal Feminine by Paul Cézanne (about 1877) © The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, California (87.PA.79)

The Eternal Feminine by Paul Cézanne (about 1877) © The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, California (87.PA.79)

Close up

Some paintings are best viewed from a distance, like a lot of the Impressionist works at the Inventing Impressionism show hanging in these very rooms a year ago. But if I learned one thing about Delacroix’s paintings it is that they are best looked at very close up. At medium distance often the composition looks a bit shabby, the figures not too convincing and the background sketched in. But really close up – a foot from the canvas – you can see the confidence of the quick, flicking brushstrokes.

Thus the poster for the show is a big close-up of a lion’s head, its glaring eye set among a mesh of bold strokes. But when you see the source work you realise the lion’s head is only about two inches square – tiny – and the overall impression a bit murky, the composition of the bodies very staged, the landscape in the background looking like waves.

Lion Hunt by Eugène Delacroix (1861) © The Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois Potter Palmer Collection, 1922.404

Lion Hunt by Eugène Delacroix (1861) © The Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois
Potter Palmer Collection, 1922.404

Unless you go close. Close up you can see and enjoy the flicks and flecks of the brush which create the overall image.

Detail from Lion Hunt by Eugène Delacroix (1861) © The Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois Potter Palmer Collection, 1922.404

Detail from Lion Hunt by Eugène Delacroix (1861) © The Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois Potter Palmer Collection, 1922.404

Once I’d grasped this was the best way to enjoy Delacroix’s paintings, I spent more and more time with my nose a foot from the surface, marvelling at the dexterity and energy of the quick confident brushstrokes, in a way more entranced by them than by the ostensible subject matter. And looking at them this closely also helps you to understand why later painters found his approach so liberating: you can see the freedom of the way he paints echoed or repeated in Renoir, Cézanne and many others. There’s a particularly direct line from the Delacroix flecks and flicks of paint to van Gogh’s striking use of strong, well-defined, directional brushstrokes in bold unnaturalistic colours, having taken Delacroix’s example and turned it into a whole style.

Pietà (after Delacroix) by Vincent van Gogh (1889) © Van Gogh Museum (Vincent Van Gogh Foundation), Amsterdam (s168V/1962)

Pietà (after Delacroix) by Vincent van Gogh (1889) © Van Gogh Museum (Vincent Van Gogh Foundation), Amsterdam (s168V/1962)

Comparisons

So throughout the exhibition, we are invited to compare and contrast numerous originals by Delacroix with works by later artists which directly or indirectly pay homage or rework his themes, subjects or handling: especially the rough improvised handling of the paint, and the use of bright and unexpected colour.

Compare Delacroix’s treatment of a classical Greek myth – the shaping of the figures, above all the amazing bursts of orange and yellow at the heart of it…

Apollo Slaying Python, Preliminary Sketch by Eugène Delacroix (1850) Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (purchased with support from the BankGiro Lottery) (s526 S2012) © Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

Apollo Slaying Python, Preliminary Sketch by Eugène Delacroix (1850) Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (purchased with support from the BankGiro Lottery) (s526 S2012)
© Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

…with the treatment of a similar subject done 45 years later by the Symbolist painter, Odilon Redon.

Pegasus and the hydra Odilon Redon (after 1900) Collection Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, The Netherlands (KM 104.067) © Collection Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo. Photo Rik Klein Gotink

Pegasus and the hydra by Odilon Redon (after 1900) Collection Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, The Netherlands (KM 104.067) © Collection Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo. Photo Rik Klein Gotink

The not very good, characteristically rushed Ovid among the Scythians (1862) is hung next to similar compositions by, among others, Degas: Alexander and Bucephalus (1862), and Young Spartans Exercising (1860).

Delacroix’s Bathers of 1854 is compared with a series of later depictions of the same subject…

Bathers by Eugène Delacroix (1854) © Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, Connecticut. The Ella Gallup Sumner and Mary Catlin Sumner Collection Fund, 1952.300

Bathers by Eugène Delacroix (1854) © Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, Connecticut. The Ella Gallup Sumner and Mary Catlin Sumner Collection Fund, 1952.300

… including Cezanne’s Battle of Love.

The Battle of Love by Paul Cézanne (about 1880) National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. Gift of the W. Averell Harriman Foundation in memory of Marie N. Harriman, 1972.9.2. Image courtesy of the Board of Trustees, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.

The Battle of Love by Paul Cézanne (about 1880) National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. Gift of the W. Averell Harriman Foundation in memory of Marie N. Harriman, 1972.9.2. Image courtesy of the Board of Trustees, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.

To reiterate, it’s not the brilliance of the finished compositions which are important – it’s the freedom of those swiftly administered flecking brushstrokes, and the bold use of colour, which later painters dwelt on.

Flowers

One particular Delacroix quote crops up several times in the wall panels – ‘The primary merit of a painting is to be a feast for the eye’ – and this seems particularly appropriate to the room devoted to paintings of flowers, a modest but vibrant genre which Delacroix is credited with bringing back into fashion.

In this room hang just seven paintings and we can play the exhibition game of comparing a Delacroix from the early century with a selection of gorgeous paintings by his inheritors, including Gauguin, van Gogh and Redilon. Here’s a Delacroix flower painting:

A Basket of Fruit in a Flower Garden by Eugène Delacroix (1848-9) © Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania. John G. Johnson Collection, 1917 (1917,974)

A Basket of Fruit in a Flower Garden by Eugène Delacroix (1848-9) © Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania. John G. Johnson Collection, 1917 (1917,974)

Compare and contrast with:

A Vase of Flowers by Paul Gauguin (1896) © The National Gallery, London (NG 3289)

A Vase of Flowers by Paul Gauguin (1896) © The National Gallery, London (NG 3289)

And my favourite, Ophelia among the flowers by Odilon Redon. This is done with pastel on canvas and, close up, you can see how the crayon effect creates the misty washes of colour across the canvas, which add to the sense of mysteriousness but also to the sense of colour creating shapes fro its own logic.

Ophelia among the Flowers by Odilon Redon (about 1905-8) © The National Gallery, London, Bought with a contribution from The Art Fund, 1977 (NG 6438)

Ophelia among the Flowers by Odilon Redon (about 1905-8) © The National Gallery, London, Bought with a contribution from The Art Fund, 1977 (NG 6438)

Throughout the show, in the rooms devoted to landscapes, or his trip to North Africa, or music and aesthetics, there are many, many more beautiful paintings, including masterpieces by Gauguin and van Gogh and Monet and Cézanne and Signac and Matisse, a wonderful array of colour and composition which, one by one and systematically, not only validate the curator’s argument for the massive influence of Delacroix on later generations of artists, but are also objects of joy and wonder in their own right.

The Mural Projects

Most of the paintings in the exhibition are on the small side, the exception which proves the rule being the two life-size full length portraits by Delacroix and John Singer Sargent which I mentioned at the start.

The main surprise of the show is the revelation that Delacroix also created a range of enormous murals as public commissions, wall and ceiling paintings as big as Michelangelo’s in the Sistine Chapel. They obviously can’t be packed up and shipped along to these exhibition rooms in London and so we learn about them in a dark room off to the side of the exhibition, in which a high quality US-made video is projected onto an enormous screen to show the vast panoramas Delacroix created for:

  • The Salon du Roi
  • The Library of the Deputy of Chambers
  • the Galère d’Apollon
  • The Chapel of Holy Angels, in the church of Saint-Sulpice

Conclusion

This is a lovely exhibition, which both proves its point and is also a sumptuous visual feast. At 63 paintings it is on the small side, which is all the better because it gives you time to really soak up some of the masterpieces on display.

The final painting is a direct tribute to Delacroix by Fantin-Latour, celebrating the unveiling of a monument to Delacroix in the Luxembourg Gardens. Delacroix’s name is just about visible in capitals at the bottom left, the skyline of Paris visible in the bottom right, but the dominant figure is the kindly goddess of Posterity sprinkling flowers –  made doubly significant, as we have seen, because of the achievement of Delacroix’s own flower paintings – to immortalise his name.

Immortality by Ignace-Henri-Théodore Fantin-Latour (1889) © Amgueddfa Cymru - National Museum Wales (NMWA 2462)

Immortality by Ignace-Henri-Théodore Fantin-Latour (1889) © Amgueddfa Cymru – National Museum Wales (NMWA 2462)

Related links

Other reviews of National Gallery exhibitions

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