Leda and the Swan by Heinrich Lossow

Knowing what we do of German artist Heinrich Lossow (1840-1897), it is perhaps not surprising that he would eventually tackle one of the most sexual myths of antiquity: the story of Leda and the Swan.

According to myth, Zeus seduced (or raped) Leda on the same night she slept with her husband King Tyndareus (King of Sparta).  The union bore several children, including Helen and Polydeuces, the children of Zeus, as well as Castor and Clytemnestra, the children of her husband, Tyndareus.  In some versions of the story, Leda laid two eggs from which the children were hatched.

The tale seemed to fire the Renaissance imagination.  Leonardo da Vinci (1452 – 1519) painted a picture illustrating the story – a painting which no longer exists.  (There is a copy, though, by Cesare da Sesto [1477–1523], which gives us a good idea of what it was like.)  Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475 -1564) painted it in tempera – it, too, no longer exists, though copies were made from the cartoon.  It is not beyond supposition that both of these pictures were deliberately destroyed by later generations who found the story (and its graphic depiction) wince-inducing.

The power of the story outlasted the Renaissance – W. B. Yeats (1865-1939) wrote a version of the story in verse, and the image has also been coopted by Cezanne and other Modernists.

Lossow’s painting is not going to erase any daydreams we may have of lost Leonardos or Michelangelos, but it does have points of interest.  The composition is simple, but effective.  Starting with Leda’s boots, the central figure forms an impressive S, leading all the way to the bend in the swan’s neck.  The quality of the swan’s feathers is rendered with a few deft strokes in the dark hollow of the wing, and the animal’s head is (thankfully!) mostly obscured by Leda’s throat.

Leda, for her part, is clearly enraptured by the disguised god’s attention, and it is no mistake that a blossom buds directly overhead.  Perhaps what I find most interesting is that it seems probable that the model for Leda was the same model for the monstrous, sexually rapacious Enchantress that we looked at in a previous post – even the headdress is similar.

Again, I’m not quite sure that I am entirely comfortable with Lossow’s grasp of anatomy.  Surely Leda, when standing, would have dumpy piano legs for a glamour-puss; nor am I sure where the one visible wing of the swan drops to when obscured by her leg.

But Lossow wears his erotic obsessions on his sleeve.  In addition to the profusion of blossoms, it is not too much of a stretch to liken the rolling fields of grass to pubic hair, and Leda’s outstretched right hand is not warding off her attacker, but taut with ecstasy. 

Lossow’s Leda is an easy picture to study, but a hard one to like – which, in in the final analysis, may be my ultimate summation of his entire body of work.  There is a great deal going on in much of it – but not much of it is interesting or admirable.  My initial choice to close out this look at the artist was to examine A Precarious Game in some depth (see below); but looking at it closely, I didn’t think there was anything to say about it worth saying.

The Young Mozart Playing the Organ by Heinrich Lossow

A marked change from yesterday’s picture, don’t you think?  Well … on second thought, perhaps not quite so much.

Let’s look at the picture first, and note what it does right.  Here two monks, one young and beautiful, the other older and somehow fretful, listen to the boy genius Mozart play the organ.  Some kind of musical worship is clearly planned, as can be seen by the music stands at the ready.  The fresco barely visible above the young Mozart’s head and the columns, cornices and elaborate moldings indicate that the church is rather a grand one.

Note how Lossow separates Mozart from the monks.  Not only is he elevated above their heads by the organ chair (which is also on a platform), but also by his elaborate blue coat, stockings and richly dressed hair.  Lossow further frames Mozart by separating him from his surroundings by the pillar on the right and the doorway at the left.  The sense of elevation is important … not only is Mozart literally above the monks, but he is metaphorically closer to heaven.

Lossow does, I think, a commendable job on depicting the church.  Like most churches, its coloration and light change depending on one’s vantage point, and the sense of massive space and monumentality is caught with what is really a minimum of detail.  The columns, archway, bit of fresco are there – but our imaginations fill in the rest.

Where the picture fails, I think, is the poor job Lossow made of foreshortening Mozart, as his overall proportions seem more dwarfish than youthful.  Also, a greater contrast of expression between the younger and older monk would have provided Lossow with the opportunity to make some deeper comment … an opportunity that is somewhat wasted here.

However, I think it is interesting to look at this picture with Lossow’s other work in mind.  Remember that Lossow was a pornographer of some note, and that yesterday’s picture of the rapacious sphinx also had a strong carnal undercurrent.  Simply put, what we see in The Young Mozart Playing the Organ is a forbidden pleasure.  Whether through fear of interrupting the boy genius, or because of burdensome strictures of their religious order against musical indulgence, the monks here are clearly enjoying a pleasure that they should not have.  It is of a piece with Lossow’s seeming preoccupations.

In that light, that is why I think Lossow missed a bet by not underscoring the expressions of the two monks with greater emotional detail.  It was an opportunity to tell a narrative on the effects of either pleasure awakening, or pleasure denied for years.  What is a simple, almost kitschy picture could have had true narrative heft and physiological insight.

More Lossow tomorrow.

The Enchantress by Heinrich Lossow

Well, if this didn’t enliven your Wednesday, nothing will…

I have not been able to learn much about German artist Heinrich Lossow (1840-1897).  Like many artists covered here, he was the son of an artist, sculptor Arnold H. Lossow; his brother, Friedrich Lossow, would become a noted painter of wildlife.

Lossow received some initial training from his father, and he later studied at the Munich Academy of Fine Arts under Karl Theodor von Piloty.  He continued his artistic training while traveling through France and Italy.

Lossow was also a noted illustrator, as well as a painter, enlivening editions of Shakespeare and many German novels; he was also curator of the Schleissheim gallery near Munich.  Lossow was a prolific pornographer in his spare time, and several drawings of the most salacious kind can be found through a quick Internet search.  His most interesting success in this field of endeavor is a painting called The Sin.  I’ll not reproduce it in these pages, but those interested in the private lives of nuns and priests can see it easily with yet another Internet search.

So, clearly Lossow’s imagination was … interesting, as can clearly be seen in today’s painting The Enchantress, which Lossow painted when he was 28.  In this picture, a young man falls under the erotic spell of a granite garden sphinx, locking one another in a passionate embrace.

Where to begin?  First, perhaps the most impressive thing about the picture is Lossow’s mastery of light.  The cool illumination is clearly moonlight, suffusing the entire scene with pale whites and blues.  Look, too, at the shadow thrown by the leaves on the sphinx.  That is the cool shadow of moonlight … and perhaps only the moon is the proper witness to what happens here.

The vegetation in this garden is lush … perhaps too lush for a proper garden.  Both the riot of vegetation and the moonlit gate in the background leave one wondering whether this is a garden or cemetery.

The man’s clothes are beautifully rendered, with an almost tangible sense of the velvet and satin.  But perhaps the most interesting thing about the male figure (and the painting overall) is the way in which traditional gender roles seem to have been switched.  It is the man who is supine in the embrace – indeed, his right hand seems to hold the amorous sphinx at bay.  Also, it is the female sphinx who holds him in place – look at the granite biceps and forearms tense as she closes tightly around her lover … or victim.

The headdress the sphinx sports also underscores her power as a pagan goddess and a figure from a dim, pre-Christian past.  Her otherworldly qualities are accentuated by the moonlight, and by her rather blank and terrible eyes.  Her claws would appear to be very dangerous – particularly when made of stone! – and the gentleman in her grip is clearly outclassed.  One wonders if he will survive this encounter.

There is a marked whiff of the unsavory in this picture.  Visitors to any collection of world class master paintings have seen various images of ancient monsters, creatures of myth and gods and goddesses.  But rarely have they reached from the cool depths of antiquity to prey upon modern man.  Or, perhaps this is Lossow’s not-so-gentle dig at various art connoisseurs and aesthetes.  A love of art can be a consuming passion, and this may be Lossow’s literal warning to anyone who loves art and antiquity too much…

More Lossow tomorrow.