The Tailor, by Giovanni Moroni

Giovanni Battista Moroni (c.1520-78) was a painter, mostly of portraits, who worked in the northern Italian cities of Brescia, Bergamo, Trento and Albino. His early works were mainly full-length lifesize portraits of local noblemen, but in his later years, spent mostly in his birth town of Albino, he developed a more intimate style in which the aim was not to glorify the sitter but to convey their personality. “The Tailor”, dating from around 1570, falls into the latter category.

The painting, which measures about 39 by 30 inches (100 by 77 cm), shows the subject standing at his workbench with his shears in one hand and a piece of dark cloth in the other. He is a youngish man, possibly in his mid-thirties, so he is well established in his trade and has the look of a confident professional businessman. He has clearly come far enough in his career to afford to have his portrait painted by such an eminent artist.

As a tailor, the subject clearly wants to be portrayed in clothing that befits both his status and his skill, assuming that he has made what he is wearing. This portrait was probably intended to be as much an advertisement for his wares as an accurate depiction of the tailor himself. He is wearing the typical dress of a prosperous man-about-town in 16^th century Europe, namely “doublet and hose”. The doublet was a close-fitting buttoned jacket with long sleeves and the hose was a padded garment that covered the area from waist to mid-thigh and was covered in vertical strips of material. These are sometimes referred to as “pumpkin pants” which would be worn over “under hose” that today would be called tights.

It is quite likely that these clothes would not have been what the tailor would normally have worn when at work. Just as the workbench is completely clear of any stray pieces of cloth or thread, the tailor is also seen in a deliberate pose that says: “this is what I am, this is what I do, and these are the clothes I make”.

Even so, the artist has done a lot more than merely produce an advertising poster. The tailor looks directly at the viewer as he turns his head slightly. It is almost as though he has been about to start work when somebody has come into his workshop but he has not had time to take in who they are. His glance is not unfriendly, but neither is it warm in the sense of breaking into a smile. This is very much a “snapshot” of a portrait, which is why it succeeds in being both intimate and revealing.

The lighting of the picture is cleverly done. The background is a blank grey wall, but a shaft of light falls across it from the top left-hand corner. This also lights the tailor’s face as he turns towards the viewer, thus giving it a realistic three-dimensional effect. The same applies to the details on the tailor’s doublet, where light and shade are used to indicate his slightly rounded stomach and convey the impression that this is not a man on the breadline but a prosperous artisan and trader who is well patronised.

The eye is taken by highlights of white on the tailor’s cuffs and belt, which are matched by the white of the small ruff at his neck. The way the arms are painted, being lit from the source mentioned above, also has the effect of leading the eyes upwards towards the tailor’s face, which is the painting's true focus. The viewer sees a man at work, but he/she is far more conscious of the man than of the work.

The composition of the painting thus gives the impression of simplicity and immediacy but the whole thing is a subtle arrangement of shapes and lighting effects that lead to a desired conclusion.

Although this is the work of an Italian painter, it seems to foreshadow the work of 17^th century Dutch painters such as Vermeer and De Hooch who would also take simple subjects from everyday life and elevate the ordinary into the extraordinary.

“The Tailor”, which is easily Moroni’s best-known work, is part of the permanent collection at the National Gallery, London.

© John Welford

Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy, by David Hockney

David Hockney (born 1937) is by far the best-known and most critically acclaimed British artist of his generation. He is also highly regarded in the United States, where he was based for much of his life before returning to his native Yorkshire (albeit the coast at Bridlington rather than his birth-town of Bradford) in 2005.

Hockney has been an experimenter throughout his career, working with different styles and media and becoming as well-known for his graphic art as for his painting. He has also been highly successful as a photographer and a stage designer.

His “Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy” dates from 1970-71, with Hockney taking a full year to complete it. It was painted using acrylics on canvas and measures 305 by 213 centimetres (120 by 84 inches), thus making the subjects virtually life-size.

It is one of a series of double portraits made by Hockney at around that date, the subjects in this case being two people who were well known to him, the fashion designer Ossie Clark (1942-96) and fabric designer Celia Birtwell (born 1941). The couple had met at Salford College of Art in 1960, and David Hockney had known Clark since 1961. 

Clark and Birtwell worked together in a highly successful partnership from 1965 and were very much part of the “Swinging Sixties”, having a client list that included many of the leading figures in music and entertainment. They became lovers and their first son, Albert, was born in 1969. They married when Celia became pregnant with their second son, George, and Hockney was best man at the wedding.

The painting that Hockney began in 1970 therefore portrays his two friends in the early months of their marriage, with Celia showing signs of being pregnant, dressed elegantly in a purple dress with red trimmings. She stands, hand on hip, to the left of an open shuttered door that leads on to a brightly lit balcony on an upper floor of a London terraced house. To the right of the door sits Ossie, slightly slouched, on an office chair. His feet are bare and partly buried in the deep pile of a rug that extends across part of the floor. Percy, a white cat, sits perched on Ossie’s knee.

(It has since been pointed out that the cat is not actually Percy! The couple had two cats and the one in the painting is Blanche, but Hockney thought that “Percy” would sound better in the painting’s title)

It has long been the custom of portrait painters to surround the subject with items that say something about their work or what it is that makes them what they are. However, the viewer would be hard pressed to work out that this couple are just about the hottest thing in town as far as the fashion industry is concerned. Celia’s dress is elegant and functional, but it is not characteristic of either her textiles or Ossie’s designs.

Incidentally, it is interesting to compare this painting with Gainsborough’s “Mr and MrsRobert Andrews”, painted around 1748. The title of Hockney’s work may be a deliberate reference to the earlier work, which also features a young newly-wed couple, albeit with a dog instead of a cat.

The room is minimalist in its furnishing, which is not unsurprising for the time, but this means that few clues can be given that would distinguish this couple from millions of others. On a small plain white table there sits a slender vase of flowers (possibly artificial) and a yellow notebook. Behind Ossie, on the floor, is an ordinary dial telephone and an art deco-style lamp. The only item in the room that seems to betray any degree of lifestyle choice made by the couple is a print on the wall, which happens to be by David Hockney!

The focus therefore comes back to the painting’s subjects, and the somewhat disturbing conclusion, in the mind of the viewer, that they do not seem to be connected in any way apart from happening to be in the same room at the same time. One stands, the other sits; one is dressed formally, the other informally in trousers and a sweater; neither of them looks at the other but at the viewer. 

Percy (or Blanche) is likewise uninterested in either of the subjects, preferring to look out through the open door towards the sunlight. The viewer might also take the hint that the world outside this room has more to offer than this dull room occupied by two un-communicating people.

The impression that is conveyed, namely that these people have little to do with each apart from occupying the same space, no doubt comes in part from the circumstances under which Hockney constructed the painting. The couple posed separately in his studio, with Ossie’s pose being taken from a photograph of him having just got out of bed, which is why he has nothing on his feet. This latter fact may account for why Ossie has a cigarette between his fingers but there is no ashtray in sight; it would seem unlikely that Celia would approve of him dropping ash into the shagpile!

However, it has also been suggested that Hockney is using certain symbols to give other messages. The flowers next to Celia are lilies, which symbolise purity, whereas the cat, on Ossie’s knee, is a symbol of infidelity. At least, those are interpretations that some people accept. But there are other readings that can be made, such as the open doorway, with the sunlight streaming in, symbolising a rift between the couple.

At all events, the marriage did not last with the couple divorcing in 1974, although the two of them continued to have glittering careers in fashion (for a time; Ossie Clark later fell victim to drugs and was eventually murdered). Hockney knew that Ossie Clark was bisexual, and it is believed that the two had been lovers at some time during their friendship. Hockney therefore had a pretty good idea that this marriage was doomed, and clues in the painting are not difficult to spot.

Hockney made a present of the painting to the couple, and whether its message of ultimate separation was appreciated by them can only be guessed at. However, Hockney himself was of the view that the painting may have hastened the rift. He continued to be a good friend to both Celia and Ossie, with Celia posing for a number of portraits after the divorce.

The painting now hangs in Tate Britain, London, where it is one of the most popular of the gallery’s exhibits. In 2005 it was voted number 5 in the “Greatest Painting in Britain” poll held by BBC Radio 4, being the only painting by a living artist in the top ten.

© John Welford

Washington Crossing the Delaware, by Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

“Washington Crossing the Delaware” is often seen as an iconic American image. However, it was not painted by an American, nor was it painted in America. It is also far from an accurate depiction of the event in question, because that was not the artist’s intention.

 Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze (1816-68) was born in Baden-Württemberg (now part of Germany) but emigrated with his family to the United States when he was nine years old. He trained as an artist and returned to Germany in 1841 to study at the Königliche Kunstakademie in Düsseldorf. He lived in Germany until 1859 when he settled again in the United States where he spent the rest of his life.

Leutze was inspired throughout his life by the principles of freedom and democracy which he saw embodied in the history of the United States, and much of his work as an artist was devoted to expressing those ideals on canvas. “Washington Crossing the Delaware” is a painting that embodies this motivation.

“Washington Crossing the Delaware”

It was painted in Germany in 1850, with a second version painted in 1851. It is this later painting that is currently exhibited in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and of which countless reproductions have been made. The 1850 version was destroyed during a British bombing raid on Bremen in 1942. The painting is very large, measuring some 149 by 255 inches (12 by 21 feet, or 378m by 648 centimetres).

The painting depicts an event during the American War of Independence when, on the night of 25th/26th December 1776, General George Washington took an army eastwards across the Delaware River in order to launch a surprise attack on the town of Trenton, New Jersey, which was garrisoned by a force of 1,500 troops from Germany (the “Hessians”) who were fighting alongside the British.

Crossing the river should not, in itself, have been an especially notable event, as the Delaware was not particularly wide at this location and armies had crossed it fairly regularly during the course of the war to this point. Washington had in fact crossed the river the other way a few months previously. However, conditions were not good on this particular night as the weather was poor and a strong wind was blowing. The main problem was the ice that stuck to the boats and had to be hacked off as they crossed. These factors made the crossing both dangerous and daring.

The significance of the event was that it marked a turning point in the war in that the overwhelming victory that followed the crossing had been preceded by a series of defeats and reverses. Morale had been falling among the Americans but news of Washington’s victory at Trenton changed all that.

Leutze’s painting, created 74 years after the crossing, was therefore intended to symbolize the spirit of victory as well as to portray Washington as a hero. It was never intended to be an accurate depiction of an event that happened 40 years before the artist was born and on a river thousands of miles from where he was living. Indeed, the river has more in common with the Rhine in Germany than the Delaware in the United States.

In the painting, Washington is shown standing on a boat that is being propelled across the river by poles and oars. The river is choked by blocks of jagged ice that his companions are clearing a way through. Behind Washington the Stars and Stripes are held proudly by another officer (who is thought to represent James Monroe who was to be the fifth US President). Other boats can be seen in which men and horses are following Washington’s boat.

Everything in this painting points to the heroism of George Washington, with all sorts of devices used to drive the point home. The light of the low sun, veiled by a stormy sky, forms a bright halo for Washington and the flag. The lines formed by the poles and oars, the flag and Washington’s figure all slope in the same direction to stress that progress and victory are inevitable. Despite the obstacles, the courage of the people on the boat will prevail.

As has often been pointed out, there are many errors and anachronisms in “Washington Crossing the Delaware”. The river is wrong (too wide), as is the boat (wrong type), and so is the flag (not in use at the time). Washington would not have been standing up proudly under the circumstances, and he would not have been in the leading boat. The crossing was at night. Indeed, there is very little about this painting that can be taken as a true portrayal of the event in question, apart from the fact that it did actually take place.

The painting’s symbolic importance

However, none of this really matters, because what Leutze was doing was offering an allegory rather than a depiction of a real event. At the time of the painting’s creation the United States was expanding to the Pacific, by means of its victory in the Mexican Wars, and thousands of settlers were moving west to colonize new lands.

Leutze was therefore celebrating this new venture by idealising a much older one. On board the boat with Washington can be seen a cross-section of people who represent Americans of the mid-19^th century. They are pioneers, farmers and settlers, rather than soldiers, and there is also a freed black slave among their number. They are led by an iconic hero towards new promised lands.

“Washington Crossing the Delaware” is misunderstood if the viewer believes that he or she is seeing an accurate representation of General George Washington leading an army into battle. However, if they see it as an allegory of a young nation striding forwards towards a prosperous future based on freedom and justice for all, they will be a lot closer to understanding its message. The painting works first and foremost at an emotional level rather than as a historical document.

© John Welford

Census at Bethlehem, by Pieter Bruegel the Elder

Census at Bethlehem is a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (c.1525-69) that says much more about the Netherlands in the 16^th century than the scene it purports to depict.

The two Pieter Bruegels

There were two famous painters, father and son, with the name Pieter Bruegel, although the younger used the original family spelling of Brueghel which his father had abandoned. The elder Bruegel was the patriarch of a whole dynasty of well-known painters across four generations.

Pieter the Elder was born in the Netherlands (the exact year of his birth is unknown) and he worked as a painter in Antwerp and Brussels. He is often referred to as the “Peasant Bruegel” in recognition of his favoured subject for painting, namely the peasant life of his homeland.

Pieter the Younger (1565-1636) hardly knew his father, who died when the younger Pieter was a young child, but he became devoted to his father’s memory and copied many of Pieter the Elder’s works, as did other members of his workshop. He also painted many works that were original compositions.

Census at Bethlehem

Because of the copying mentioned above, several versions of this painting are known to exist, so the painting can be attributed to either Pieter, depending on whether one is considering the original or a close copy made only a few decades later. The original dates from 1566.

The scene looks to be nothing more than that of a Flemish village in the snow. A crowd has gathered at a tavern in the left foreground, but life seems to be going on as normal elsewhere, with well-wrapped-up peasants going about their business gathering fuel or walking or skating on the ice.

However, in the centre of the foreground is a woman in a blue cloak riding a donkey that is being led by her husband. This is Mary and Joseph making their way to join the throng of people queuing to pay their taxes.

This is therefore an example of something that was quite common in 16^th century Flemish art, namely the introduction of Biblical themes to a contemporary scene. By so doing, the artist hoped to make the Bible message relevant to the painting’s viewers and to make a moral point as well as a spiritual one.

A dig at the Hapsburgs

However, Bruegel has gone one step further in this particular painting. At the time, the Netherlands (which comprised the whole of present-day Belgium and Holland) was governed by the Hapsburg King Philip II of Spain. The Catholic monarch was far from popular in the Protestant-inclined Low Countries, and it would not be many years before the whole region would rise in revolt at Philip’s attempts to convert the people back to Catholicism.

The clue to Bruegel’s political message is on the wall of the tavern that has become the census/tax office. The poster displays a double-headed eagle; this was not only the symbol of ancient Rome but also that of the Hapsburg dynasty. The oppression of ancient Palestine by the Roman Empire is therefore translated into that of the Low Countries by Hapsburg Spain.

Bruegel’s paintings were not intended for public display but would have been bought by members of Antwerp’s intelligentsia. His witty dig at the Hapsburgs would have been appreciated by whoever bought Census at Bethlehem and proudly showed it to his friends and neighbours.

© John Welford

The Gleaners by Jean-Francois Millet

Jean-Francois Millet (1814-75) was born in Normandy to a family of farm workers, and his first experience of work was alongside his peasant father in the fields. However, he sought to better himself and at the age of 18 he began to study painting, first in Cherbourg and then in Paris.

His early works were influenced by the subject matter of his Paris tutor Paul Delaroche, and therefore featured historical scenes as well as several portraits. However, none of these early works attracted much attention.

In 1848 he discovered his true metier by exhibiting “The Winnower”, after he which he moved to Fontainebleau and produced the series of scenes of rural life on which his reputation rests. He was inspired in part by the artist Honore Daumier, who produced unsentimental paintings of the urban and rural poor, but his childhood memories provided the greater inspiration.

Although Millet’s work was admired by his fellow artists he did not receive popular acclaim until 1867, when nine of his paintings were exhibited at the Paris Exposition Universelle. He therefore spent most of his life in extreme poverty.

The Gleaners

The Gleaners was painted in 1857 and is currently on view at the Louvre, Paris. It shows harvest time in a French field, with the official harvest being collected in the background – complete with the farmer keeping an eye on proceedings on horseback – but the main focus is on three women who are working hard at gleaning, which is the secondary harvest of picking up the few grains and stalks that the farm employees have missed.

Gleaning is a process that has been going on since ancient times – for example, the Old Testament Book of Ruth features gleaning as the means whereby Ruth meets Boaz, whom she later marries. However, gleaning is not something that anyone would do unless they were absolutely desperate to find enough food to live on. It is the equivalent of the modern practice by homeless people of looking in the bins at the rear of supermarkets to find any “out of date” food that cannot be sold.

Millet is therefore showing us a scene of extreme rural poverty, and it is clear from the posture of the three women that this is back-breaking work. Two of the women are bent over at the waist with one of them placing a hand on the small of her back as if to try to relieve her backache. The third woman is rising stiffly with a hand on her knee, thus indicating that she is feeling a degree of pain. It is clear from the fact that one of the women is carrying a nearly full bag that they have been at work for a long time, and there is nothing to suggest that they will finish any time soon.

As a composition, The Gleaners shows Millet to be a master of his art. The three women are shown in different stages of the gleaning process – as mentioned above, one of them is trying to stand up, but the other two are doing slightly different things with one of them in the act of picking up a grain while the other reaches out for one. There is therefore a sense of movement conveyed by the composition – we can expect the women to be in different position at any moment.

Millet manages to convey a sense of distance in this painting. This he does partly by showing the background harvesters as being recognisable for what they are but far enough away to be featureless. A sense of space is also conveyed by the steady change in colour of the wheat field from dark brown in the foreground, at the gleaners’ feet, to progressively lighter as the field stretches away behind them. The harvesters and their sacks of grain appear almost white in the distance. This could be seen as emphasising the social distance between the gleaners and the harvesters.

Another contrast can be seen in the fact that several massive straw stacks can be seen in both the near and far distance, stretching away to the horizon. This has clearly been an excellent harvest, with which the farmer on his horse with no doubt be delighted. The plight of the gleaners, who are literally scratching a living from the harvest leftovers, is therefore even more poignant.

However, questions remain over the message that Millet is trying to get across. Is he making a pointed social comment, or is the harmony of the scene, with the gleaners busily getting on with their work undisturbed by any distractions, simply celebrating their way of life and glamourising poverty? 

Great works of art are open to various interpretations, depending on what the viewer is prepared to see in them. The Gleaners is surely a case in point – the three women would not have to do this work in a more equal social structure, but should they be ignored simply because they have been forced into extreme poverty? Is this painting saying that the status quo is to be admired or condemned? That is surely for the viewer to make his or her own judgment about.

© John Welford

At the Moulin Rouge, by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

At the Moulin Rouge is a lively and dynamic portrayal of life at a famous entertainment venue in Paris in the 1890s. The artist was one of the colourful figures that added to its fame.

The artist

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901) was a highly accomplished and prolific artist who refused to abide by any conventions, whether artistic or personal. He did his own thing and went his own way, with the result that he left a huge number of works of art that get to the heart of Paris life in the last years of the 19^th century.

He suffered from a genetic condition that gave him severe bone pain and meant that, when he broke both his legs as a child, they never grew any longer after they healed. He spent the rest of his life after adolescence with an adult’s body on top of a child’s legs. Unfortunately, his life was a short one as he died of a stroke, brought on by alcoholism, at the age of 37.

His physical condition, coupled with an unorthodox upbringing by an over- protective mother and a highly eccentric and mostly absent father, caused him to have psychological problems such that he only felt at home among other troubled people who would accept him for what he was and not mock or judge him. These people included circus performers, prostitutes, and other citizens of the Paris “demi-monde”.

For his part, he was able to understand how the minds worked of the people who became the subject matter of his art. He developed the ability to portray the thoughts and feelings of people from their faces and body language, in a way that few other artists have managed to do.

The painting

At the Moulin Rouge, painted in 1892, is a typical portrayal of the world in which he was at home.  It shows a group of people, some sitting at a table, some standing and others walking, who belonged to the bohemian underworld of entertainers and their patrons who would be found every night attending a show at the famous music-hall in Montmartre. 

Perhaps the performance has yet to begin, or this might be an interval during which drinks are being taken and performers flit past on their way to the stage or the changing rooms.

The painting is carefully arranged so that the viewer’s focus is directed to the faces of the people portrayed. A frame is provided by the diagonal lines of a balustrade on the left, the table itself and the planks on the floor. The colour scheme is mainly light and dark browns and deep reds, with a greenish background of mirrors which reflect the people vaguely enough to give the impression of much greater distance. Certain features therefore stand out in contrast, in particular the faces of the people and the brilliant red hair of one of the women at the table.

On the right of the painting is a woman moving towards the viewer, but only part of her face is visible, the rest being off the frame to the right. This gives the impression that much more is going on that the viewer cannot see. Her face is heavily made up with bright red lipstick and green skin, suggesting that she is part of the cabaret, possibly one of the can-can dancers for which the Moulin Rouge was famed.

All the people in the painting are known by name, such as the Spanish dancer La Macarona, sitting at the table, and a French dancer known as La Goulue who is arranging her hair in the background. 

The men sitting at the table and drinking absinthe were friends of the artist, who has painted himself walking past the table, his top hat barely reaching the shoulder of his companion, who is actually his cousin.

Through this painting, Toulouse-Lautrec not only takes the viewer inside his world, where people communicate and offer friendship but also have hidden secrets, but he also places himself literally “in the picture” as being part of that world.

At the Moulin Rouge is part of the collection of the Art Institute of Chicago.

© John Welford

The First Landing of Christopher Columbus in America, by Dioscoro Teofilo de la Puebla Tolin

Dioscoro Teofilo de la Puebla Tolin (1831-1901) was a Spanish painter who studied in Madrid and Rome and worked in the tradition known as Historicism, this being a subgenre of history painting that interplayed patriotism, religious zeal and notions of glory. 

His 1862 work “The First Landing of Christopher Columbus in America” is an excellent example of this attitude to history, in which historical fact was subservient to the prejudices of the people who commissioned similar works of art produced by many artists of the time.

In this painting naked savages cower in fear of the noble explorers who have arrived bearing symbols of religious and national pride. The central figure of Christopher Columbus looks heavenwards while striking his sword on the ground. The message of the painting is clearly that the settlers have a divine right to claim the land of the natives, who will either be “saved” by the Catholic Church or massacred if they refuse to comply.

Tolin’s painting would have been thoroughly admired in its day as a justification of the colonization of the Americas, but today we can see it in a different light as a glorification of the shameful conquest of indigenous peoples who did not deserve what was about to befall them.

© John Welford

Tiger in a Tropical Storm, by Henri Rousseau

Henri Rousseau’s work is instantly recognisable and much admired today, but in its own time his “naïve” style was often ridiculed and he found it extremely difficult to get the recognition that he was convinced he deserved. 

Henri Rousseau was born in the Loire Valley of France in 1844 into a working-class family that often found it difficult to make ends meet. After spending four years in the army he moved to Paris, where he worked as an official who collected roadside tolls for the municipality. His later nickname was “Le Douanier”, which suggests the more exalted role of customs officer, but this was an exaggeration. 

Rousseau was certainly prone to overstating both his background and his artistic “genius” – as he saw it.

Painting was something that he turned to later in life, having shown no talent for it in his early years. He did have a little formal coaching from two established artists, but was largely self-taught. He learned much of his technique by copying works of art in the Louvre and he began to produce his own work from around 1880. 

The Paris art scene was highly controlled, such that artists could only really succeed if their works were chosen for exhibition in the established “salons”. This was impossible for Henri Rousseau, so he depended on the “Salon des Independants”, which did not vet the entries but only required the payment of a fee. Rousseau became a regular contributor from 1886 but had to wait a long time to be taken seriously by the artistic establishment. However, by the time of his death in 1910 he was being appreciated by artists including Matisse, Picasso and Toulouse-Lautrec. 

For his subject matter, Henri Rousseau chose Paris street scenes, images seen in books and a heavy dose of imagination. 

Tiger in a Tropical Storm

A good example of the latter is Tiger in a Tropical Storm (also known as “Surprised”) that was first exhibited in 1891. Rousseau claimed that the scene owed much to his experience abroad during his years in the army, notably in Mexico – although that would not have accounted for the tiger! In fact, his army career - as a bandsman – did not take him overseas and he never set foot outside France in his entire life. 

The tiger was seen in the Paris zoo and the exotic plants in the Jardin des Plantes. 

Rousseau’s technique was to work from the background to the foreground and paint layer upon layer, using a huge range of colour shades to give an impression of depth and to suggest the lushness of the jungle. 

As a final touch he trailed strands of silver paint across the canvas to depict the slashing rain and add to the three-dimensional effect. 

With each leaf and blade of grass painted in meticulous detail, this painting is far removed from the style popularized by the impressionists of his day, which was one reason for the derision Rousseau received from some quarters. One might also take issue with some of his construction – the positioning of the tiger’s hind leg and tail in relation to the plants that they are either in front of or behind does look distinctly odd, for example. 

However, whatever criticisms one might make about Henri Rousseau’s ability as artist, it cannot be doubted that he did produce some highly distinctive and enjoyable works, of which this is one of the best-known.

© John Welford

La Montagne Saint-Victoire, by Paul Cezanne

Paul Cézanne painted the scene of Mont Saint-Victoire several times, as it was the view he saw from his home near Aix-en-Provence. The painting discussed here is the one on display at London’s Courtauld Gallery.

The artist

Paul Cézanne (1839-1906) is often counted among the Impressionists but he rebelled against certain aspects of the Impressionist aesthetic and is therefore regarded as one of the fathers of Post-Impressionism. In particular, he placed emphasis on the unity of colour and form, which he regarded as having been neglected by the Impressionists.

By exploring the possibilities of representing Nature according to its underlying shapes, which he believed to be the sphere, the cylinder and the cone, he laid the foundations for Cubism which would later be built on by artists including Braque and Picasso.

Cézanne spent much of his later life in the south of France, where he was born, and where he inherited his father’s estate near Aix-en-Provence in 1886. From the house he had a clear view of Mont Saint-Victoire, which he had already painted several times in the past, but it now became a regular subject for his landscape painting. There are therefore many paintings by Cézanne, in art galleries around the world, with a similar title. Because Cézanne rarely dated his works it has become a puzzle for art historians to place them in order, but the marked developments in Cézanne’s painting style towards the end of life have made this task easier.

The painting

The painting currently housed in the Courtauld Institute Gallery in London is one of the earlier views of the mountain, having been dated variously between 1882 and 1887. It is an excellent example of how Cézanne applied his theory of landscape, with colour and form being used together to create structure.

The view is of the rocky mountain in the distance and fields and farm buildings in the foreground and middle distance. The branches of two pine trees fill much of the area of sky and provide a framework for the slopes and summit of the mountain.

The fields are painted in greens and terracottas which fade into the pinks and pale blues of the mountain slopes. Each individual area consists of a separate geometric slab of colour, the slabs being carefully worked together to create the whole landscape.

The eye is led by a line of trees in the middle distance towards a Roman aqueduct on the right edge and from there, via the lower slopes of the mountain and its foothills, to the summit. The line of the rise to the summit is paralleled on the left of the painting by a roadway and field boundary, in a continuous line with a lower branch of the tree on the left, the trunk of which rises vertically at first and then bends away into the top left-hand corner, thus “opening the door” to the view of the mountain.

Cubist principles at work

The painting is all about balance, both in terms of colour and shape. The horizontal lines of the aqueduct and the margin between the fields and the mountain are balanced by the vertical lines of the tree and a tower that can be seen below the tree’s lowest branch. The lines of the field boundaries across the centre of the canvas are angled like the spokes of a wheel between the vertical and horizontal, such that the whole painting draws the eye around the scene, again taking the viewer up the mountain.

All this drawing of the eye happens subconsciously, so that although the painting is based on geometrical principles, the viewer is scarcely aware of the trick that is being played on him or her. The whole experience of looking at the painting comes across as being entirely natural, but is in fact nothing of the sort. Cézanne is in charge of the viewer, telling him or her exactly what to look at. It is a very clever kidnap of the viewer, and it all based, in this instance, on the cylinder (the tree trunk) and the cone (the “spokes of a wheel” effect noted above).

Needless to say, this subtle application of Cubist principles would not always be followed by Cézanne’s followers, or even by Cézanne himself in later views of the same scene. However, it is from this painting, and others like it, that the Cubist movement started, and from there to more general abstraction. Later artists would look back to Cézanne as being a pioneer of certain trends in 20^th century art, and they were quite correct so to do.

© John Welford