Alexandre-Évariste Fragonard Part IV: Don Juan and the Statue of the Commander

I had thought of ending the week with another example of the Neoclassicism of Alexandre-Évariste Fragonard (1780-1850), but when I came upon this, I could not resist.

My readers are doubtless familiar with the story of Don Juan, the well-known libertine.  There are countless versions of the story, from Moliere and Corneille to Mozart and Byron.  The painter Eugene Delacroix (1798 – 1863) was particularly taken with Mozart’s opera, writing “What a masterpiece of romanticism!  And that in 1785!  … the entry of the specter will always strike a man of imagination.”

Delacroix was writing of the finale, where the ghost of one of the Don’s victims comes to escort the libertine to hell.  This picture looks so unlike most of Alexandre-Évariste’s oeuvre that I cannot but help but think it had some special significance for the artist.  It’s a little picture, no more than 16x13, and hardly on the scale of his deliberately executed Neoclassical masterpieces.  The brush strokes are clearly visible, and it is painted with a loose vitality that has more in common with the Impressionism that was still decades away than the Neoclassical ideal it would eventually shun.

Don Juan here is clearly heroic: with his athletic stance, burning torch and pointed beard and mustaches, he looks more like a figure from a swashbuckling novel than a dissipated roué.  His torch illuminates two ghostly female figures … other victims, or fellow neighbors in hell?  In most of the artist’s pictures, the figure of the Commander would be depicted in finicky detail, each chink and join of armor would be visible, along with showy touches, such as light reflected upon the metal.  Not here – the ghostly figure is suggested by some thickly painted brush strokes, the face no more than a few well-placed shadows. 

That this moment in the Don Juan story held some kind of import for Alexandre-Évariste is evident – he painted it more than once.  Why, I wonder?  It does not take an armchair Freud to see that the Commander is clearly a father figure.  Did Alexandre-Évariste have regrets about the way he treated his father?  Not only did he burn Papa Fragonard’s drawings, but he seems to have sat idly by while the old man was destitute (living by the good graces of another Neoclassicist, David.)  I can’t help but think that this picture is clearly tied to the artist’s psyche.  He paints Don Juan handsome and athletic – certainly the way that most of us see ourselves, despite what our mirrors tell us.  But this heroic figure is still undone by the physical, patriarchal figure of his past sins.  It does not seem to stretch the imagination too much to think that the events may be operatic, but the thoughts are autobiographical. 

If the picture was prophetic – that there is a hell and poor Alexandre-Évariste is indeed roasting marshmallows with other artistic villains like Cellini and Caravaggio – one can hope that he still has access to paint and canvas.  Work like this would merit a trip to the lower regions, if only for a visit.

Alexandre-Évariste Fragonard Part II: Raphael Resuming the Pose of His Model

Alexandre-Évariste Fragonard (1780-1850), the son of a painter, fathered another painter, Théophile Fragonard (1806–1876).  I have not been able to find much about the relationship between Alexandre-Évariste and Théophile, but an intimation on the character of Alexandre-Évariste may best be gleaned from an anecdote concerning him and his father, Jean-Honoré.

Following the Revolution, Papa Fragonard’s pictures were considered irrelevant by the new power elite.  The rich Rococo curves and seductive colorations did not meet with Revolutionary zeal; and though Papa Fragonard’s political leanings were sympathetic to the Revolution, the new cultural arbiters would not meet him even halfway.  The unkindest cut, undoubtedly, was from his own son.

One day when Papa Fragonard was returning to his home, he saw smoke rising from the chimney and found that a bunches of his drawing were being burned by Alexandre-Évariste, who was shouting, “This is the holocaust of ‘good taste!’”  Surely there is a special place in hell for children like that.

Papa Fragonard left for Grasse in 1793 during the Reign of Terror (and I don’t mean the terror created by Alexandre-Évariste).  He returned to Paris a poor and broken man.  All of his patrons had disappeared, but he was saved from poverty by arch Neoclassicist Jacques Louis David (1748-1825), who was clearly a better man than Fragonard’s own son.  David found him employment in the Museum Service, where he lived out the rest of his life.

In today’s picture, Alexandre-Évariste imagines the studio of the great Renaissance artist  Raphael (1483 –1520), while painting the Madonna.  I must confess that I have a marked weakness for paintings set in artists studios: they offer glimpses, both real and idealized, of the how a painter sees himself and his work.  That Alexandre-Évariste is a Neoclassicist is evident from the cleanliness and austerity of the studio he creates for Raphael: where such places are often case-study biohazards, Alexandre-Évariste paints a studio remarkably tidy and clean.  The mahl stick looks as if it has never been soiled by paint, and the easel unstained and the corner bust dusted. 

His version of Raphael is surprisingly blonde and girlish, the pink hose covering his legs complimenting the reddish-orange of his dress-like tunic.  He does have the important essentials right, though: Raphael reaches up towards his Madonna’s breast, and it was postulated at the time of his death that Raphael died from too many intense carnal experiences.  (Insert your own joke here.)  It is also possible that Raphael has in his studio the best behaved infant in the history of art history.  The pink cherub seems to sit contentedly by while the great artist puts the Virgin through her paces; I think, perhaps, the finished picture might have been more interesting if the infant was misbehaving.

Look at the subtle mastery of the work.  The rich shadow thrown by Raphael on his own canvas, the lines beneath the model Virgin’s robes, the hints of the picture-within-the-picture.  This is virtuosity of a type quite common at the time, but virtually unheard of in our artistically untrained era.

But what I find most fascinating about the picture is that Alexandre-Évariste actually alters his natural style to accommodate the picture.  He somewhat mistakenly puts Raphael in the Mannerist tradition, and paints in a style more consistent with the Mannerists.  Look at the pinkish coloration of the three principals, the billowing of the model Virgin’s veil, the carefully positioned shaft of light behind her.  All of this strikes me more as Alexandre-Évariste painting in a late Renaissance style within the confines of his own Neoclassicism.  Whatever his probably failing as human being, Alexandre-Évariste was a magnificent painter.

More tomorrow!

Alexandre-Évariste Fragonard Part I: Madame Recamier

The history of art has few father-and-son acts of any merit.  Perhaps one of the most interesting duos was that of Alexandre-Évariste Fragonard (1780-1850), painter, sculptor and draftsman, who was the son of Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732-1806), one of the most famous painters during the reign of Louis XV and Louis VXI.

Before looking at Alexandre-Évariste, first a word about Papa Fragonard.  Jean-Honoré lived during a time of which Talleyrand said: “No one who did not live before 1789 can have any idea of the sweetness of living.”  For members of the upper-classes during that period, life was stimulating and delightful.  (The poor, of course, were another story.)  It was an age of brilliant and witty conversation, elegant fashions, charming women, style, sophistication, and exquisite art and craftsmanship.  Jean-Honoré Fragonard epitomized the entire rococo era, both in all its beauty and its excess.

For an idea of Jean-Honoré’s world and everything it stood for, look at the painting below.  Executed with magnificent brio, they are in many ways portraits of fantasy.  Painted for the artist’s own pleasure, his pictures cannot help but create pleasure in others.  Sometimes the effect is much like a too-rich dessert, but I often find Jean-Honoré’s over-the-top approach delicious.

Alexandre-Évariste, on the other hand, is an entirely different kettle of fish.  Alexandre-Évariste was tutored by his father, and by the great Neoclassical master Jacques Louis David (1748-1825).  One would be hard pressed to find two more contrasting approaches to seeing the world than the Rococo and the Neoclassical; and, whether from rebellion or sympathy with a changing world, Alexandre-Évariste was a Neoclassicist.

Alexandre-Évariste made his debut at the Salon in 1793 with Timoleon Sacrificing His Brother.  He would later create several allegories and make many drawings during the Consulate and the Empire.  He would also later evolve into something of a sculptor.  He would eventually sculpt the pediment of the Palais Bourbon in Paris – lost to us because it was destroyed in the Revolution of 1830.  His luck remained bad at the Palais Bourbon – his 1810 trompe-l’oeil grisailles decorating the Salle des Gardes and the salon behind the peristyle were either destroyed or covered by a later ceiling.

Today’s picture is a portrait of Jeanne-Françoise Julie Adélaïde Bernard Récamier (1777 – 1849), known as Juliette, a French society leader, whose salon drew Parisians from the leading literary and political circles of the early 19th century.  She was most famously painted by David, but I think I prefer this picture more than the more celebrated painting.

Récamier was married to a banker 30 years her senior, and it is believed that the marriage was never consummated.  Indeed, there was a rumor at the time that the man she married was really her father, who wanted to make his illegitimate daughter his heir.  Whatever the story, Récamier became a darling of the upper crust, celebrated as a great hostess; artists, writers and intellectuals were part of her salon.  She was exiled by Napoleon, and spent much time travelling through Europe.  Through various misadventures she would lose her considerable fortune, and end her days entertaining visitors in a 17^th Century convent.

Récamier was often painted in the garb of a virgin.  This is, by any yardstick, quite a stunning picture.  Look at how Alexandre-Évariste twists her body, the feet nearly flat on the floor while the torso pivots on the settee.  (In fact, the type of sofa on which she liked to recline, the récamier, was named after her.) The exposed shoulders show feminine loveliness, but there is no hint of the voluptuous.  The expression may be coy and playful, but in no way carnal.  It is easy to see how a woman so girlish and charming could captivate legions of admirers – as was the case with Récamier.

The setting is a Neoclassical paradise, complete with pillars.  The cool marble floor and the distant classical building in the background (along with the neutral colored sky) make for a cool picture – heat, sexual and otherwise, is not in the Neoclassical purview.  I also draw your attention to the delicate handling of the tassel and, more tellingly, the subtle design of her yellow drapery.  Even the design at the tip of her hairpin is executed with a remarkable precision.  The portrait has a high level of finish and finesse – this is the work of a master.

Now, take a moment and contrast the portrait above with the painting below.  One would be hard pressed to find two more different views of the world.  They are, in their way, equally beautiful.  But the world of Papa Fragonard is a wonderland of delicious excess, while Alexandre-Évariste finds beauty in control, modeling and exactitude.  This is not only the change of one generation into another, this is, within one family, a dramatic change in the way in which the world can be seen.

More of the Fragonards tomorrow.