The Fortune Teller by Jean Georges Vibert

Gad, I love this picture.

We continue our weeklong look at Jean George Vibert (1840-1902) with one of his finest pictures, The Fortune Teller.

Vibert served in the war of 1870-71 as a sharpshooter, and was wounded at the battle of  Malmaison in October of 1870.  He was awarded the Légion d’Honneur and became a Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur for his efforts. 

While recovering from his war wounds, Vibert started writing plays, staging many productions and sometimes serving as actor in his own works.  Not surprisingly, his plays mocked the establishment and contemporary mores.  He also wrote an operetta, Chanteuse par Amours, performed at the Variétés in 1877.  It was at this time that he also starting writing short stories Century Magazine in the US, finding a free public relations bonanza in writing stories based on his pictures.   

Vibert continued to submit work to the Salon until 1899 with L’Aigle et le Renard (The Eagle and the Fox).  No slouch at self-promotion (or self-congratulation), Vibert wrote of himself in the third person: …being an excellent cook, you have invented and prepared sauces that make your compatriots lick their fingers; that, using your pen as well as your brush, you have written songs and plays that have been applauded in the minor theaters of Paris; that, following the example of Molière, and having, like him, an extraordinary talent as an actor, you have played your own productions at the club and in artistic salons; then, having a passion for building, and trying your hand at all the trades, you are not only your own architect, but do not disdain occasionally to work in iron, like Louis XVI., or in wood, like the good St. Joseph; and finally that, in decorating your house, you have distinguished yourself as an upholsterer. In the last particular, you may even say that you surpass Molière, or he, although the son of an upholsterer, was not himself one.

So, it is no surprise that a man with such a dramatic turn of mind would paint a picture as boldly dramatic as The Fortune Teller.

As with other pictures we have seen, Vibert strives to render the clergy (particularly cardinals) as both human and ridiculous.  Certainly good churchmen should have no traffic with such superstition as fortune tellers or tricksters.  However, both cardinals (one amused, the other thoughtful) look on, an enormous Gutenberg bible on the bookstand beside them.

As usual with Vibert’s clergy, the cardinals are in a room of considerable splendor.  The gilt table, divan with canopy, Oriental carpet and magnificent fireplace, though, all become a mere backdrop to the drama of the fortune teller. 

The Fortune Teller herself stands as if in a spotlight.  Her confederates (other gypsies, perhaps?), stand ready upstage left.  Her raiment is as colorful and dramatic as that of the cardinals, and the train of her dress follows the flowing line of the train of one of the cardinal’s robes.  Indeed, the Fortune Teller’s cards and box of magic are proudly displayed, much like the on-display bible of the cardinals.

What is perhaps most significant here – and why I think this is one of Vibert’s finest works – is how the artist uses light.  While the Fortune Teller is in the ‘spotlight,’ so are the robes of the two cardinals, linking the figures together.  More telling is the light from the stained glass windows near the other gypsies – light comes from behind them, illuminating the figures modeled in glass.  But, aren’t the figures from early Christian mythology more reminiscent of the costumes of the performing gypsies than that of the cardinals?  While Vibert is drawing a parallel between the dawn of Christianity and the simple superstitions of the gypsies, he is also commenting on the smug condescension of the church.  Notice the supercilious smile of one of the cardinals.  “Superstitious peasants,” the look says.  “We know so much better.”  However, Vibert points out the amusing truth that there is little that separates the two.

Eureka by Jean Georges Vibert

We continue our weeklong look at master artist Jean Georges Vibert (1840-1902), who painted many satirical pictures of the church and its clergy.

We mentioned earlier that in the 1860s, Vibert traveled to Spain with his friend Eduardo Zamacois, a young Spanish artist.  Vibert collected Spanish clothing and objects, which were later used to create scenery for many of his ecclesiastical paintings.  But while Spain influenced many of Vibert’s paintings, his travel to the East also affected his style of painting. Vibert’s sense of fine detail was a quality that he shared with the Orientalists.

Always versatile, Vibert also became an advocate of watercolors, formalizing the Societe des Aquarellistes Francais, and becoming its president, in 1878. He was also an author and actor, writing plays and sometimes appearing in them.  (Vibert also had an active association with stage and theatrical productions in Paris.)  He also used his scientific abilities to prepare his own colors after studying the chemistry of colors, and wrote a book of the science of painting in 1891, La Science de la Peinture.

Vibert wrote stories for The Century Magazine, sometimes based on scenes from his paintings, finding it a convenient way to advertise his works in America. In 1878, Jean placed six watercolors and seven oil paintings on exhibition in the Exposition Universelle, and was awarded a third-class medal.

Like many artists, Vibert compared his works to fatherhood – he loves all of his ‘children,’ though he wasn’t always completely satisfied with them. If I were he, I would have a particular fondness for today’s picture, Eureka.

Once again, Vibert places his cardinal in a setting of enviable luxury.  The secretary desk at which he sits was, I’m sure, a valuable antique when Vibert painted the picture let alone today.  The green felt of the writing blotter is clear, as are the beautifully rendered books at eye level.  The secretary comes complete with a pillow for the prelate’s sensitive feet, and sports two-toned wood.  (Your correspondent has a particular liking for this picture because a small, black onyx Sphinx is clearly visible on the cardinal’s desk opposite the inkwell.)

There is an elaborately carved vase of flowers overhead, and floridly-painted walls surround door and mantle trim.  The beautifully depicted parquet floor is immaculate, as the cardinal’s robes and golden tassel rest upon it without danger of soiling. 

The drapery of the cardinal’s robes is, as per usual with Vibert, painted with a sure hand; indeed, he fully understands both the beauty, the extravagance, and the absurdity of the clerical costume.  I particularly like how much attention he lavishes on the priestly red shoes – particularly the buckles.  (Remember the luminescent pumps worn by the Preening Peacock seen earlier...)

 

“Eureka,” of course, is an exclamation of discovery or “I have found it!”  One would expect such an epiphany form a cardinal to be spiritual in nature, but such simplicities should never be expected from Vibert.  In fact, it’s quite clear from the cardinal’s face that he has crystalized some perfidy … either a sneaky way around a problem, or, perhaps, a manner of creating a new problem.  This is not the smiling to the self over a job well done, but a dirty deal just devised, or an argument or position that cannot be countered.  The expression is more Bernie Madoff than Vicar of Christ, and, as such, indicative of Vibert’s subversive humor.

More Vibert tomorrow!

The Canon’s Dinner by Jean Georges Vibert

We return today to master artist Jean Georges Vibert (1840-1902), who created a series of paintings illustrating the hypocrisy and greed of the church.  Vibert specialized in genre scenes that underscored human weakness within the clergy – and while these views were often acidic, they were seldom vitriolic.  These pictures became extremely popular on both sides of the Atlantic, but he won special acclaim in the (then) free-thinking United States.  He was actively collected by both the Astor and Vanderbilt families and today’s picture, The Canon’s Dinner (1875), was sold at auction as recently as November by Sotherby’s.  Obviously Vibert continues to speak to us today.

As Vibert wrote about himself …you can’t deny that the priests who began my education recognized in me elocutionary talents, because they planned to make a preacher of me. Yes; I advise you to speak of the priests! You have profited handsomely by their teachings!  They, at any rate, cannot be ignorant of your lively satire; you have made them feel the point of it enough.  Haven’t you always said that a painter should paint only what he sees?  It is not my fault if I have seen them at such close quarters.

By any critical yardstick, this is a remarkable picture.  Vibert tells the story through meticulous detail mixed with his signature snarky wit.  First off, the canon in the picture is a corpulent man, obviously well-used to his comforts.  Notice how his slippered feet are spread apart, resting on the rail of his table.  His ruddy face is lined but incandescent at the prospect of is good meal.  His plate is not only filled with lobster, but also on the table are two bottles of wine.  The tableware is silver and opulent – this is no simple meal.

Next to the canon is a tray resting on an elaborate table complete with what looks like duck, greens, gravy and perhaps a tureen of soup.  The couch upon which he sits is beautifully upholstered, complete with an ornate overhang.

The room is appointed in luxurious detail.  Note the tapestries that line the wall (delicately rendered by Vibert), along with the frescoes surrounding the door and the lush, Oriental carpet beneath his feet.

Vibert, of course, makes the joke complete with the canon’s companion.  That worthy is dressed in simple robes of black, his slim (and probably underfed) figure upright on a kneeling bench, holy book before him.  He is probably praying on behalf of the canon before he starts his meal, or, also likely, detailing some important part of church doctrine to his superior. 

The differences between the two men could not be more startling: thick and thin, sensual and ascetic, gluttonous and abstemious, worldly and spiritual.  However, the canon, who is clearly more ‘human’ in his enjoyment of the pleasures of the world, is undoubtedly higher in the church hierarchy, a hierarchy that values chastity, poverty, simplicity and self-denial.  Like the canon’s dinner, Vibert’s joke is just too delicious.

One other point – the qualities of such a picture, and its degree of wit, would be lost without the artist’s extraordinary technical ability.  Painted by, say, a Manet or Renior, the picture would merely become a study in colors, or perhaps a look at contrasts.  But appreciating the extreme sensual pleasure and richness of the surroundings is essential to the joke, and that kind of delineation is only possible with an artist gifted at realistic detail.

More Vibert tomorrow!

The Preening Peacock by Jean Georges Vibert

The selection a new Pope is an occasion of great pomp and ceremony – which can also be seen with an awe-stricken eye not unmixed with amusement.  The great solemnity of the time seems to tweak the pawkish humor of many of us, as commentators, historians and artists seek to see the complete, fallible human being behind the exalted figurehead. 

One of the most amusing critics of the church was master painter Jean Georges Vibert (1840-1902), who used his genius to eviscerate church hypocrisy with wit and panache.  His meditations on churchmen demonstrate the growing democratization of Europe, and illustrate the start of a Continental movement away from superstition and servitude.

Like many of the artists we’ve covered in The Jade Sphinx, the young Vibert was a mediocre student.  He spent most of his school time drawing rather than studying; he did know that his ultimate goal was to be an artist, and he began training with his grandfather Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet, a celebrated engraver.  Later on he would study with Felix Joseph Barrias, and would enter the Ecole des Beaux-Arts when he was 16.  He would study there for six years, working mostly with artist Franciois-Edouard Picot.

In the 1860s, Vibert traveled to Spain with his friend Eduardo Zamacois, a young Spanish artist.  Vibert collected Spanish clothing and objects, which he would later use to create scenery for many of his ecclesiastical paintings.  The two men would work together in 1866 on their Salon entry, Entrance of the Torenros, an unusual move, as most artists did not work collaboratively at that time.

Vibert made his solo debut three years earlier with two works, The Siesta and Repentance.  In 1864, he was awarded a medal for his Narcissus Transformed into a Flower.  It was also around this time that Vibert started painting the clergy in a manner both humorous and contemptuous.

Both the humor and contempt are on display with this wonderful picture, The Preening Peacock.  First, let’s look at all the aspects of the picture that immediately stamp it as a work of great technical skill.  Vibert highlights the figure of the priest by placing him against a neutral background, here muted trees and a nondescript classical stairway and railing.  The neutrality of the background brings to life the vivid hues of the reds and blues of priest and peacock, respectively.  It may also be significant that the trees are wintery and dead and the staircase slightly worn – a symbol, perhaps, of the internal decay of the priestly figure.

The priest is rendered in splendid detail, with each fold and drape of his robes depicted with precise technique.  His medals and ornamentations are richly painted, as are the gold embroidery of his hat band and the shine on his shoes.  Look, too, at the gold tassels dangling from his girdle and the red tassels at the knob of his cane.  Red socks are visible above his highly-polished patent leather pumps, and white ruffles are visible at his cuffs.

But best of all, look at how the priest stands: back up, chin up, chest puffed out.  He is not posing, he is preening.  Vibert then underscores this with the look of smug self-satisfaction on the priest’s face, as well as a certain … vacuity.  His religious fever seems to go no further than fashion.

To make the joke complete, Vibert places a strutting peacock behind the priest.  But who is following who…?  And to illustrate that the priest is not a unique case of silken soft-headedness, there is another peacock in the background.  This priest is one of a flock.

More Vibert tomorrow!