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Earl H. Fox

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untitled, 2026. oil on canvas. 32 x 36 inches

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' Ii < 1"~

t1: i ilf,~~%• 1l!!l1Fortunately from time to time there come forward r<'- ....i. does not contain the wh,ole secret,.and_that the minor poets too futve. l ,1- ,.,.._,,. . something good, solid and delightful to offci:; anq..:finallyth at however ,{ Uuch we m_aylo ve genera/beauty, as it is exp;esse/by classicalp oets and,.' . · ""'-I artis~s, we are -~.9 less wrong to neglect pa,./jctt'!abre auty, the beauty\ y\ 42£e 1m1mst;ancea nd the sketch of mrumers. 1• • , 1 ~•1 ; J 'rt must b~. admitted -that for some years now the world has been f ' \t q..< mending its ways a little; The value which collectors today attach to \ .. the delightful coloured engravings of the last century proves that a ~.reaction has set in in the direction where it. wasrequired; Debucourt, •the Saint-Au&fuasn d many others have found the.irplaces in the dictionary of artists who are worthy of study._But !!i~.i! .represent the past: my concern today is wi~_the painting O~l_lg_~_~f~e pr~ent) The past ~.\ psin teresting not only by reason of th'.be aut;yw hich could°i>ed istilled / ..,, / from it by those artists for whom it was the present, but also precisely ' L_b ecause it is the past; for its historical value. It is the same with the • present. ']Ji~_pJe~~<:-~hl.ch w~ derive from the representation of the present is due μot only to tlle beauty with which it can be invested, but _ -~2._t~~~-quality of ~-p~_c:x.i,;.) • I • hay._..,.e..b . efore me a series of fashion-plates1 daring from the 1 E!trly in 1859 70~ was writing to his friend and publisher Poulet-Malassis, to thank him for sendiJ'.lgh im fashion-p!a,tes. -,. ,:

untitled, 2026
oil on canvas
46 x 51 cm, 18 x 20 inches

untitled, 2026
oil on canvas.
51.5 x 56 cm, 20 1/4 x 22 inches

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1- . 3"- k,.- J.,.,,~,. ._2 The Paintero..f ModemL ife

Revolution and finishing more or -less with the -Co~sulate. These costumes, which seem. laughable to many thoughtless people--'-people who _ are grave without true gravity-have a double-natured charm, one both artistic and historical. They are often very beautiful and drawn with wit; but what to me is every bit as important, and what I ~ happy to find in all, or almost all of them, is the. moral and aesthetic feeling of \ i •• th~Jitne. The idea of beauty which m~ ~r~ates for himself imprints '· i, 'itself on his whole attire, crumples or stiffens his .dress, .rounds off or . ,, • squares hisgesture, and in the long run even ends by subtly penetrating ·.. the very features of his face. Man ends ·by looking like his ideal self • . > T heseengravi ngs canbe translated either into beauty or ugliness; in \. one direction, they become caricatures, in the other, antique statues. • ' The women who wore these costumes were themselves more or less like one or the other type, according to the degree of poetry or vulgarity } with which they were st: mped. Udng flesh imparted a flowing move- -' ment to what seems to us too stiff. It is still possible today for the spectator's imagination to give a stir anda rustle to this 'tunique' or that 'schall'.1 One day perhaps someone will put· on a play in which we shall see a resurrection of. those costumes in which our fath <trSfo und themselves every bit as fascinating as we doqursel.ves in· our poor gannents (which also have a grace of their own, it must be admitted, but rather of a moral and spiritual type) _iA, nd then, if they are worn and given life by intelligent actors and actresses, we shall be astonished at ever having been able to mock them so stupidly. Without losing anything of its ghostly attraction;-the past will recover the light and movement of life and w:ill become present. If an .impartial~ tudent we.ret o look through the wholera nge of French costume, from the origin of our country -until the present day, he wow.d find nothing to shock nor even to surprise him. The transitions would be as elaborately articulated as they are in the animal kingdom.. There. • would not be a single gap: and thus, not a single surprise. And ifto the .,f, ashion plate representing each ag e he were to add the phil959phic thought with which that age was most preoccupied ot_concemed::-the thought being inevitably suggested by the fashion-plate-he would see . . . ...,;; ,.. . . .... ,. ·, 1 An altctnatlve form o( the word 'chale'. Cashmere shawls became fashionable in: France so mewhat later than. in England. 2 See th~ ;remarks at the end of the Sakn of r84J and the section 0£ the Salon of I 846 ......... ;. .t .....l '~ t-h..-T-l.....-r.1it:mr .F M n..:1"'"1"Tn _ ifp,.The Painter of Modern Life 3what a P!9.f~~j._hatmony c<>11tr()a]lsl th~_col!l_p_<_)noefn htsis tory, and 'fhaf even in those centuries which seem to us the most monstrous and • the maddest, _the irnntortal thirst for b~aury-has always found its" satisfaction. . ••T his is in fact an excellent opportunity t_o establish (ration:tl and .l :i.i.~toricathl eo:ry of beaut i) in -eontrast to !he. 2.:6.demict heory:_?._£_~ unique and absolute beauty; to show that beauty)s ~ways and inevitably o{_a double ·coinpositiog, although_ the impression that it produces is single-for the. fact that it is di$.cu lt to discern the variable elements of ·bea.rty within the -μnity of the impression· invalidates in no way thet-. n1:;cessityo f variety in its composition. ~rity is made up of an eternal, invariable element, whose guantity it is excessively difficult to determine, ~d of a relative, circumstantial clement, which will be, if you like, whether severally or all. at once, the age, .its fashions, its morals, its '•.X, ·~..::.,/ emotions. Without this second element~ which might be described as _ \ , the amusing, enticing, appetizing icing :o;j_th e divine cake, the first / <'f' ; element would be bey<;md our powers of diges#on or appreciatio~ r • n~iili.<c~f!a,ptendo r suitable :_toh .l,lg!~_μatureI. defy anyone to point to a /~ - - • single scrap.qfbeauty which does not contain these two elements. -1 1,,,. Let me instance two opposite extremes in llisto:ry. In religious art the/~'-, h, duality is evident· at the first glance; the ingredient of eternal beauty,. C,._..,_ reveals itself only with the permission and under the discipline of the . ..<!_-"1' . • 'ff::,.religion to which the artist belongs. In the most frivolous work of a L ,· '·· •• ~ v sophisticated artist belonging to one of those ages which, in our vanity,',. we characterize as civilized, th,;:d _ualityis no less to be seen; at the same "',.r11 tim1:;t_h e ~em.i!-1p arU:>f k.~1+:twy.i.l l. be veiled a;id expressed if not by ,,.,. •-r,.r fashion, at lea,stb y tl:t_p~~ _aj_9.-11~;__!~P~f~~of? !! ?.e art}~~T- he duality 1 • • of art is a f~tal ~ns~guenc~ ofi!he dti:_~tr-.

installation - 2026

~~ Conside:, if you will, ,' X .i the ~emajly subs1stmg pe>~on as the soul of art, and the vanable element J ··,.:_/ ., .!LS its body. That is why Stendhal-an impertinent, teasing, even a dis.: agreeable critic, but one whose impertinences a.re ofte1i':au seful spur to I' ;-J< , reflection-approached the truth more closely than many another when /I 1 , he said that ~1?.eau~~ ~~½J._g else but a promise of happiness.'1 This f ' ' ·-··- -···--· ...J definition doubtless overshoots the mark;. it _;nak~sB !,!au1:fya r_ too ,.. subject to the infi.nite.J,y.:v.a.riablej_q(_.)~ ffa_j f.~ppi;i.e:~its s; trips Beauty too c:..,,: ~ -~ •• . ,,.. 1 Crepet ,:efc,:s to De l'Amor<r, chap. XVII; cf. also the footnote in chap, uo of the ,- Histoired e la Pein!tme n Itaiit:' 1.3;_,.beautees t !'expression d'une certaine maniere habituelle de chercher le bonheur: •:t/4 I The Paintere fM odernL ife 1-.:~
neafy 9.±:,.!.a~.r. i ~<?':?.E~q ualit:y_b~u t·it has. the great merit of making a i deeded break with the ac;adenuc.e. rror. . 1£ I have explained th;se things more than once befo.te.1 And these few M lines will already have said enough on the subject for those who have a J taste for the diversions of abstract thought. I know, however, that the ·i majority of my own countrymen at least ltave but little inclination for } these, and I myself am impatient to embark upon the po~itive and con- 1, crete part of my subject. • • 'II. THE SKETCH OF MANNERS
FoR the sketch of manners, the depiction of_bourge-0is life and the pag~!. t:)_faf shion, the technical means that is_th e _Ir?_:?eS.t? 4'e,9:i~i<J:1_.~ ~~ _t_h e}?st costly will obviously be_t l:i_~j,{:stT, he more beauty. that the artist can put into it, the more valuable will be his work; but in trivial life, in the daily metamorphosis of external things, there is a rapidity of movement which calls for an equal speed of execution from the artist. The coloured engravings of the eighteenth century have one~ again · won the plaudits of fashion, as I was saying a moment ago. Pastel, etching and aquatint have one by one contributed their quota to that vast dictionary of modem life -whose leaves are distributed through the libraries, the portfolios of collectors and in the windows of the meanest of print shops. And then_ l_it hog_;_a_Pa.~plp. eared, at once to reveal itself as admirably fitted for this enormous, though apparently so" frivolous .a task.We have some veritable monuments ih this medium. The works of ~ Gavarni and baw:nier have been justly described as complements to the • ComedieH mnaine2 .I. am satisfied that Balzac himself would not have been a-versef rom accepting this idea, which is all the more just in that the genius of the painter of manners is of a mixed nature, by which I • ..7 :nean that it contains a. strong literary element. O_~serverp, hilosopher, ~-./!.tft!C!ff-call. him what you will; but whatever wo.td.s you use in tcying to define this kind of artist; you will certainly be led to bestow upon him . ~om~~ je~~'!hich you could_ggt appfy'_t;_Q_t1;i.~p_oafm ett~~ or at least more lasting things,.,-of heroic or religious subjects. $9,m..~times
J. E.g. in the article on 'Critical Method'· on the occasion of the Expq.ritio1U1 niveralk, of 185 5. • --:~Seep. x83 below.The Paintero f ModernL ife 5
he is a poet; more often he comes closer to the novelist o.t the moralist; he 1st·h e painter of the passing moment_a nd of all the suggestions of … eternity that it contains. Every country, to its pleasure and glory, has possessed a few men of this stamp: In the present age, tci Daumier and Gavami (the first names which oc~ to the memory) we may add Deveria, Maurin, Numa, histo~ of the more wanton charms of the Restoration; Wattier, Tassaett, Eugene Lami-the last of these almost. an-Englishman in virtue of his love for aristocratic elegance; and even Trimolet and Tra~ies, those chroniclers of pover~tyd the humble life.
III. THE ARTIST, MAN OF THE WORLD, MAN OF THE CROWD, AND CHILD To DAY I want to discourse to the public about a strange man, a man. of~o po~erlu.l ~d so_ dC9.,ied an o~..!J-~!jtj~-~~:=,i~t _μntojt~elf -._3:P-.4.Eon~o t even seek.approval. Not a single one of his drawings is signed, .if_bys ignature you mean that string of easilyforgeable characters which spell a name and which so many other ptists affix ostentatiously at the foot of tl?-eirle ast in1po.rtantt rifles. :,Yeft tllb is works are signedwithhis daziling'7od; and art-lovers who have seen and app~eciated them willr ead~i~lyog nize them from the description that I am about to give. A pyassionatelo ver ofcrowds and incognitos, Monsieur C. G.1 carries . originality to the point of shyness.""Mr: Thackeray, who, as is well known, is deeply interested in matters of art, and who himself executes the illustrations to his novwls, spoke one day of Monsieur G . .in the columns of a London review.2 The latter was furious, as though at .an • outrage to his virtue. Recently again, when he learnt that l had it in • mind tow-rite an appreciation of his mind and his talent, be begged me~ •v ery imperiously,I must admit....:,..stou ppress hisnam~, and if I m:usts peak of his works, to speak of them as if they were those -◊f an anonymous artist. I will humbly comply with this singular request. The reader and· I will preserve the fiction that M.onsieur G. does not exist, and we shall concem. ourselves with his drawings and his watercolours (for which he prof~ses a patrician scom) as though we were scholars who had to p.tonoUlice'upon precious historical documents, thrown up by chance, 1 Constantin Guys (1802--92): -: 2 The reference has not been traced. .., 4-· :----! ''Z· \ .. /\ 6 The Painter ofl.f odem Life ·whose author must remain eternally unknown. And £inally, to give complete reassurance to my conscience, it must be supposed that all that I have to say of his strangely and mysteriously brilliant :nature is. more or less justly suggested by the works in question-pure poetic hypothesis, conjectu1=ea, labour of the imagination. Monsieur G. is an old man. Jean-Jacques is said to have reached the age of forty-two before he started writing. It was perhaps at about the same age that Monsieur G., obsessed by the throng of pictur~ which t~ed i:n his brain, was :first emboldened to throw ink and colours on to a white sheet of paper.1 Truth to tell, he drew like a barbarian, o,r a child, impatient at the clumsi:ness of his fi:ngers and the disobedience of • his Pel?-I· have seen a large numbei: of_these primitive scribbles, and I must own that the majority of those who are, or claim to be, connoisseurs in this matter, might well have been pardoned for failing to discern the latent genius. which abode i:n such murky daubs.

vestige / spur, 2026
oil on canvas
34.5 x 37.5 cm, 13 3/4 x 15 5/8 inches

To<iay, a..~er dis~ covering by himself all the little tricks oI his trade and accomplishing, without advice,_ hisg :wn edll.~!,l_C~>IIoli~. i~ur G. has become a powerful master i:n his own way, and of his early-artlessnessh e has retain_edn o more than what was needectt· o add an unexpected seasoning to ~s rich gifts. When he comes across one of tho~e early efforts of his, he tears it up or bums it with a most ~omical show of bashfulness and indignation. For ten years I had wanted to get to know Monsieur G., who is by nature a great traveller and cosmopo titan. I knew that for. some time he had been on the staff of an English illustrated journal/ and that engravings after his travel-sketches, made-in Spain, Turkey and the Crimea, had been published there. Since then I have seen a considerable quantity of those drawings, hastily sketched on the spot, and thus I ha.._;b.ee en able to read, so to speak, a detailed account of the Crimean campaign which· is much preferable to any other that I know. The same _paper had also published, always without signature, a great number o~JJ.isi llustrations , of new ballets and operas.":Wnena t last I ran him to earth, I saw at-once ft hat it_wasn ?_~E~~-ci~i.7n} 1Y1. .rffeb.tu, :t_~ther a man of the 'D-'orw!dit h~~c_>m ! I ~c! !9 no. I ask you to understand the word artist i:n a very restricted ' sense, and man ef the world i:n a very b:road one. By the second ·I mean a.-: ;-.' 1 must be mistaken here. Guys was already wo.rking for the TU11!iratedLomlonN t:111a,s early as 1843, and it is hardly likely that he would have been ~o employed ifbe had been quite without experi!!nce. .., ~ Tl,, Tllu,trnt,,/ T. 1tntlanN ews. [~The Painter ef Modem Ufe 7

(~ of the whole world, a man wh_o up.derstands the world and the 1 mysterious and fa,.vful reasons for all its uses; by the first, a specialist, a --man wedded to his palette like the serf to the soil. Monsieur G. does not like to be called ~ artist: Is he not perhaps a little :right ?JEs i:nterest is the whole world; he wants to know, understand a9-d appreciate "everythlng that happens on the surface of our globe. fhe artist lives / very little, if at all, in the world of morals and ol~tics)I fhe lives in the ! ")3reda-di let, e . e unaware of what is going oni:n t he Faubourg Saint-Germain. Apart from one or two exceptions whom I need not name, it must be admitted that tJ!.~..majC2J:i!J~.i:_-o~f~ al:e no more_pian highly s~ed animals, pure artisan~,_ !_i:!l_ag_<:_i:nte_lcleocttsa,g eb rains~ Their Cbnversation, which is necessarily limited to the narrowest of circles, becomes very quickly unbearable to the man 4 the world, to the .. spiritual citizen Of the univcrse.1 And so, as a first step towards an understanding of Monsieur G., I~ • ukl ask you to note at once that _the E1$spring of his genius is 'Osit)!.' . _· . ~ you remember a picture (it really is a picture!), painted-or rather w:r.i,tten-by the most powerful pen of ·our age,· and entitled The l!:fan of C - ---- ,.__ the Crowd?2 .In the window of a coffee-house' th.ere sits a_c oi,walescent,pleasurably absorbed in gazing at the crowd, and mingling, through the medium of thought, i:n the turmoil of thought that surrounds him. But lateJ.yr etumed from. the valley of the shadow of death. he is rapturously breathing i:n all the odours and essences of life; as he has ·been on the brink of total oblivion, he remembers, and fervently desires to , rem.ember, everything. Finally he hurls himself headlong .into the midst of the throng, in pursuit of an unknown, half~glimpsed countenance that has, on ·an i:nstant,_b ewitched hlm. Curiosity has become a fatal,

irresistible passion! • _ Imagine ag _a_, :t_fat._~1V).lQ_il.l.}.a_ . ~w:aj:s?-.-~Pi#!:1_:li~nI t.h, e condition of ,. ,.u i, ., that con".'ale.§cenitu, 1dy ou will have the key to the nature ofMonsieu:fG. _i,,:./ ;✓----·-~C)~~~viifes_c!:!n~-isl ike i r~-~~~s ~dhood. The convales-k ~ -· ;' cent, like the child, 1s pos~essed_,!I;_-μ~:~te ~ _qe~e.:of 1J.:ie.faail_9':_of t ~ :_:-k~eEJIi ntf?:est,w.~~S.!:!!~f.~ ~_s, be the~ ~pparetitlyo f thym 9.~~aj~ial.A - ~Li ~? back, jf we can, by a retrospective effort of the 1magmat1on,\.;Y.:. V . -.,., \ . -~; 1 For an elaboration of th.is idea, and a nqte on the e~ttons, see the Salon of r 3 J!· ':/ 2 A story by Edgar Allan Poe, included among his Tales (1845), arid translated by / in the N0#1!ellesH istoiresE xtraoraif!aires. \ fl "" • \ JC (·"t-,,-'.\, ,r--.81L \Jl"-C..ol- t V-., TbeP aintero f ModemL ife <1 1l . . c 1.. ..)..- "' ., C>:~. '\,Ai,./l.J ..~• . Itowards our most youthful, our earliest, impressions, and we will recognize that they had a strange kinship ·with those brightly coloured impressions which we were later to receive in the aftermath of a physical illness, always provided that that illn.ess had left our spiritual capacitiespure and ·unharmed. The child_~ .c.:e~_~e~ in a S1:!Lotfe newness; heis always drunk.·Nothiiig:r:nore resembles what we call inspir~tion than_),A.the delight with which a cl;illd absorbs form and colour. I am prepared.. to go even furtht!£and assert ;thsomething in common~ . ( with a ~vulsion/and that every sublime thought is aq::ompanied by aJt,. ~.,.. ;._.t nore or 1.~s _vio]en_tg _~ ous sho.ck which has its repercussion in the;,,,.,;, very core ot t1ie brain. The in.an of geni~s. Jias sound nerves, while.those of the. ~d are weak. With thc_o.:Q.e,,~_on has taken up. a con-. siderable position; with the other, (~~y is almost the whole being .. 1,~ut genius is nothing more. nor less.~_c_ki,{tf_~o~redc overeadt . ~achildhood now equipped for self-expressionw ith n:ianhood~sc apacities~ which it has involuntarily accumulated. It is by this deep and joyful .curiosity that we may explain the. fixed and animally ecstatic gaze of achild confronted with something new, whatever it be, whether,a face·• oi: a landscape, gilding, colours, shimmering stuffs, ·or the magic ofphysical beauty assisted by the cosmetic art. A :friend of mine once toldme that when he was quite a small chi!~ he used to be present; when.his:ther dressed in the momings, and that it was with a mixture of amazementand delight that he used to ~tuqy the muscles of his arms, the .gradual transitions of pink and_ y.ellow in his skin, and the bluish networkof his vcins. The picture of extemall ife was already: fillingh imwith awe ~d talcingh old of his b.rain. . He was already being obsessed. ..~d possessed by fo:rn:i.P redestination was already showing the tip of\ its nose. His sentence was sealed. Need I add that today that child is a\ wj-1-known painter? ./ l asked you a moment ago to think•of Monsie:ur G. as·~ ete~l~ony~escent. To complete your idea, consider him also as a man-chiJd,a man who is never for a moment without the. genius of childhoo~ .• enius for whichjJ.o_~-~ life has beco~_.r.ta/e. _.I have told you that I was .Jeluctan~to·aescribe him as an artist pure •and simple, and indeed that he declined this title with a modesty touched1 An idea taken up and i:!eveloped by Baudelaixei n Les P.aratlias rtifii:ie!(.' Le GenieEnfant').<': fr·-,i1{i'.::-\? Lv-Jl<o<:\ f i1 Qe}~ \.,c-•,J•.-.- -XThe Painter of l\fodem Life \ 9 ,with aristocratic reserve. _Im ight perhaps call hima <land~~ar i,,dI should• have several good reasons for that; for the word ..'..~g9.,yi'm plies a. q~intessence of character ~d a subtle understanding of the entire moralmechanism of this world; with another pa..-t of his nature, however,th~ dandy-aspto.·i·rinessen sitivity, and it is in this that Monsieur G.,dominatied. as-he. is by. an .in.satiablep assion-for seeing and feelingpartscompany decisively with ?andyism. 'AmabaJJ1 amare; said St.Augustine._.'Ia m passion_~teliyn loYew ith passion; Monsieur G. mightwell echo/Tu<e.Q. ?/Jqyi ~ hlas¢, or preteμds tq be so; for reasons of policyand caste. ¥2E.~1(:~ G.'lias :i, horror ofblase people. He is a·master ofthat only too difficiiJ.afr·t -sensitive spirits will understand me-ofbeing sincere without heing absurd. I would bestow. U_l)on him the titleof philosopher, to which he has more_ than one right, if his excessive • .filofeorvfsible, tangible things, con~ensed to their plastic state, did not /> .iarouse in him a certain repugnance for the ·things that form the im- '{)._,,palpable kingdom .?f the metaphysician_L, et us be content therefore to I /]c~~iderjtl_TJJa s a:p}l!e pictori,alm orali~ like La Bruyere. . • . 1(--.c• ffJ:ie2'ro~ isJ:us .el~ep.y'as the air is that of birds and water of fishes. 1 •J::Ii~p~~::1.~ ~--!iPi~~? f.es~i(?_.a~r et o become one flesh with the crowd. /.For the perfect flaneur, for the passionate spectator, i~ is an immense joy i /. 7. ct<>~_1:1P.J1.9uinse t he J::ieaofr tt:h ~ _multitude,r u;nid.~_ebb and flow of V 7

dowser, 2019.
burlap, dye, nails
34.5 x 45.75 cm; 13 1/2 x 18 inches

,,,;mqvem.ep:J,_~_11=11:1ll~d ~?tf the fugitive and the infinite. To be away from •\ .,-.home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, tobe at the centre of ~e world, and yet to remain hidden from the world-.such are a few of the slightest pleasures of those inqependent, passionate,impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define(The s:e_ecta.tpr .fa.~. Prin.cweh.o e"\T.e!}'Whreerjeo ices in his incognito. Thel over oflife makes the whole world his family,. just like the lover of the fair sexwho builds up his family from all the beautiful women that he has ·everfound, or that are-or are not-to be fonnd; or the lover of pictureswho lives in a magical society of dteains painted on canvas. Thus thelover of universal life enters into the crowd 3:s though it were an immensereservoir' of electrical energy. Or we might liken him to a mii:ror as nstas the crowd itself; or to a kaleidoscope gifted with consciousness, i /responding to each o~e of its movements and reproducing the multiplicityoflife and the :flickering grace of all the elements of life. He is an_'E ..wlth ;l.l;l insatiable appetite for the. 'no.n-I', at every instant rendering .)and explaining it in pictures mo.1:lei ving than life itself, which is alwaysIO The Painter ef Moder; Lifeunstable .and fugitive: 'Any i:nan,' he said one day, in the course of one_of those conversations which he illumines with burning glance andevocative gesture,1 'any nian who is not .crushed by one of those griefswhose nature is too real not to monopolize all bis capacities, and whocan yet be boredi n the heart eft he n111ltit11ids ea, blockhead! a blockhead!and I despise him!' • •When Monsieur G. wakes up.and opens his eyes to see-the boisteroussun beating a tattoo upon bis window-pane, he reproaches himselfremorsefully and regretfully: 'What a perempto.ry order l what a bugleblastof life! Already several hours of light-everywhere-lost by mysleep! How many illuminatedt hings might I have seen and have missed1 The following p:\ssage from·the Goncourts' Journal (23 April 1858} _gives an inte:reSting account of Guys at about the same time: • . •'We came back from G.rvami's with Guys, the draughtsman of the ILLUSTRATEDLONDON. •'A little mawnith an animated face, a grey moustache, looking like an old soldier;hobbling along, constantly hitching up his sleeves on his l;>onya =s witJ,i· a sharpslap of the hand, diffuse, exuberant with parentheses, zigzagging from idea to idea,going off at tangents and getting lost, but retrieving himself and regai_ning yourattention with a ·metaphor from the gutter, a word from the vocabulary of theGe:rman philosophers, a technical t= from art or industry, and always holdiflg you ·under the thrall of his highly-coloured, almost risibleu tterance. He evoked a.t housand• memories on that walk, throwing into the conversation handfuls of ironical observations,sketches, landsca~, cities riddled with cannon-balls, blood-soaked, gutted,~nd ambulances with rats beginning ·1:0 gnaw at the wounded.'Theri on the other side, :rather like in an album in which you find a quotation fromBalzac on the back of a design· by Decamps, thete issued from the mouth of thise:maorclinaty fellow social silhouettes, reflections on the French and the Eng~shraces, albi.ew, not one that had grown mouldy ip. a book, two-minute satires, onewordpamphletsa, comparative philosophy of the national genius of the peoples.'Now we were at the taking of Janina, a rivei: of blood with dogs splashing .aboutin it, :flowing.between the legs of the you.rig Guys ....'Now it was Dembinski, wearing a blue shirt, his last shirt, tossing a coin, his lastcoin, on to a green table and nonchalantly forcing the betting up to 40,000 £can~:~And· now•·it was an English castle, with immemorial oaks, a hunt, three toilettes aday and a ball every evening, a royal life led, conducted and paid for by a gentlemancalled Simpson or Tompson (sic), whose twenty-year-old daughter travels to theMeditettanean to inspect her father's eighteen s.'tlps of which not one is less than twothousand tons, 'a fleet such as·Egypt never had', says Guys. Then he compared.II.I'to the English-usl--=d.crics: 'A F=chmlm who does nothing, who is in Londonquietly to spend money-an u~-of thingl The Frencli travel in order to get overan unhappy love-affuir or a gambling-loss, or perhaps to sell textiles, but to see aFrenchman in London riding .in a c:auiage, a Frenchman who is neither an actor noran ambassador, a Frenchman with a woman 21'. his-side w~ might be his mother othis sister, and not a whore, an actress or a dressmaker-no, that could never be!'

··1~ :~ rIj ,,.j};~' I ·;~I 1Y1it1 1 1 ~)ru :w~ i1!¾:~...:t~

I ,ffli ;;!,IJJ 1,,' ll ://, i '/', ·]$fil.'.IJ ·*:-'r% i;)~-~a :.1. :Jr·:"!'l .Ir. Photograph of Guys as an old man, ,;r~·.;::~ u0t<:-~::,~--~P.. g0~z! t-g".C,:'p.,~.·i::0·t""" -~~~.. , -,.,,-:l;:~~,".' .::,000·I ~ii·;/ji}1]i:iThe Painter of Afodern Life IIseeing!' So out he goes and watches the river of life flow past him in allits splendour and majesty. He marvels at the eternal beauty and theamazing hattnony of life in the capital cities, a harmony so providentiallymaintained amid the turmoil of human freedom. He gazes upon the• landscapes of the great city-landscapes of stone, caressed by the mistor buffeted by the sun. He delights in fine carriages and proud hotses,the dazzling smartness of the grooms, the expertness of the footmen,the sinuous gait of the women, the beauty of the children, happy to bealive and nicely dressed-in a word, he delights in ~ersal_.!!§ If acurls have been supplanted by cockades, if bavo!etsh aYe be_ene nlargedand chignonhs ave dropped a fraction towards the nape of the neck, ifwaists have been raised and skirts have become fuller, be very sure thathis eagte eye ,:,,mal ready have spotted it frqm howeve.r great a distance.A :regiment ~ses, on its way, as it may be, to the ends of the earth,tossing into the air of the boulevards its trumpet--calls as winged and_stirring as 4ope;-and in anin stant Monsieur G. will already have seen,examined rurd analysed the bearing and external aspect of that company.Glittering equipment, music, bold determin~glances, heavy, solemnmoustaches--he absorbs it all pell-mell; and ·in a few moments theresulting <poem' will be virtually composed. See.how his soul lives withthe soul of that regiment; marching like a single animal, a proud imageof joy in obedience!But now it is . evening. It is that _strange, equivocal hour when thecurtains of heaven are drawn and cities light up. The gas-light makes a .stain upon the-:crimson of the sunset. Honest men. and rogues, sanemen and mad, are all saying to themselves, 'The end of another day!'The thoughts of all, whether good men or knaves, tum to pleasure, andeac..o.1n-ei hastens to the place of his choice to cl.rinkt he cup of oblivion.Monsieur G. ~ill be the last to linger wherever there can be a glow oflight, ane cho of poetry, a quiver ofl ifeor a chord of music; whereverli passion can pose before him, wherever natural man and conventionalman display themselves in a strange beauty, wherevex the sun lights upthe swift joys of the depraveda nimal!•' A fine way to :fill one's day, to be •sure; remarks a certain readex whom we all know so well. '\'\'hi.ch oneof ~s has ;;_6£everyb it enough genius to £11it in the same way?' But no I1 The expression derives from Rouss~t>,; c£ also Bri=e de Boismont (De I' Emmz):'L'homme qui pense est un an.ima!-depxave.' •.,-1'l·IlThe PainterofM odernL ife I• ' I.ZI J:ew .men are gifted with the capacity of see,i_11_gth; ere--aref ewer_still •who.possess the power of expression. So now, at a time when othersareas leep~M onsieur G. is bending over his table, darting on to a sheetof paper the same glance that a moment ago

the pursuit of even wear across all parts of the system, 2026.
oil, hide glue, chalk, PVA, on canvas and wood.
dimensions variable.

he was directing towardsexternal things, skirmishing with his pencil; his pen, his brush, splashinghis glass of water up to the ceiling, wiping his pen on his shirt, in aferment of violent acti:vity,a s though afrai_dth at the image might·escapehim, cantankerous though alone, elbowing himself on. And the externalworld is reborn upon his paper, natural and mo.re than natural, beautifuland more than beautiful, st:tange and endowed with an lmpulsive lifelike the soul of its creator. The phantasmagoria has been distilled fromnature. All the raw materials with which the memory has loaded itselfare put in or~er, ranged and harmonized, and undergo that forcedidealization which is the result of a childlike perceptiveness-that is_tosay, a perceptiveness acute and magical by reason of its innocence!IV. MODERNITY~AND so away he goes, hurrying, searching. But searching for what?gifted with an active imagination, ceaselessly journ~ying across the greathuman desert-has an aim loftier than that of a mere jlanmr, an aim- more general, something oi:Ii~etrh an· the fugitive pleasure of circumstance.-_!feis _}.0_2~!_ngJq~--~Slu~li:ty~hl_ch...you.musuJ!1Qn~~. .! P .c. all';:pc:>d~t;y.•;f or I know of no betts. word to e.."'Prestsh e idea-I havetin mind: He makes. i~ his busine~s J.9~. ct fro~ ~shion whateve7 I element rt may contrun of poetry wrthln history, to distil the eternal froID:\ the transitory; pisting an eye over our exhibitions of modem pictures, .:Wear e struck; by ag eneral tenden_cj among artists to dress all theirsubjects in the~garments of the pa~t. Almost all of them make use ofthe costumes ai;i.dfu mishings of the Renaissance,j 'ust_asD avid employed · ithe costumes and fumishlngs of Rome. There is however this difference, \Roman, had .ri.oa lternative but to d;i:esst hem in antique garb, whereasthe painters of today, though choosing subjl!C!~o f a generu natw:e andapplicable ·to all ages, nevertheless persist in rigging them out in thecostumes of the ).fiddle Ages, the Renaissmce or the Orient.1 This isclearly symptomatic of a great_ degree of laziness; for it is much easierto decide outright that everything about the garb of an age is absolutelyugly than to devote oneself to the task of distilling from it the mysteriouselement of_beauty that it may contain, however slight or minimal thatelement may be. B_y 'modernity' I mean the ephemeral, the fugitive, '\'I~ he contingent, the'half of art whose o~~ ~alfi~ the er_eruaal nl1:_t~~ •l-~utable. Every-old master has had his • own modem.tty; the great'majority of fine portraits that have come dov.,-n to us from formergene.rations are clothed:m the costume of their own perfod. They a.reperfectly harmonious, because everything-from costume and coiffuredov.:u to gesture, gfance and smile (for each age has a deportment, aglance and a smile of its -own)-eve.ryth.ing, I say, combines to form acompletely viable whole .. This -transitory, fugitive element, whosemetamorphoses are ·so rapid, must on no account be despised or dispensedof an abstract an.cf indeterminate beauty, like that of the first womanbefore the fall of man. If for the necessary and inevitable costume of theage you substitute another, you will be guilty of a mistranslation onlyto be excused in the case of a masquerade prdcribed by fashion. (Thus,the goddesses, nymphs and sultanas of the. eighteenth centu.:ty are stillconvincing portraits, v1~ral!J speaking.) _ .It is doubt.Ies~ an excellent thing to study the ·old masters in order tolearn how to paint; but_it can be ?~.lPQ~.!g~-~ waste .. ofJabour if yourai~.J~ to understand the special na~e of present-day beaJ_ltyT. hedraperies ofR-ttl:ienso r Veronese will in no way teach you how to depictmoirea ntiques, atina l a reineo r any other fabric of modem manufacture,which we see supported aμd hung over crinoline or starched mu.slin. petticoat. In texture and weave these a.re quite different from· the fabricsof anciem Venice or those wom at the court of Catherine. Furthermoreaccording to a new system. Finally the gesture and t.½e bearing of thewoman of today giYe to her dress a life and a special character which arenot those of the woman of'the p,ast. In short, for any 'modernity' to beworthy of one day taking its place as 'antiquity', it is necessary for themysterious~ beauty which human life accidentally puts into it to be.?/J,.i''(' /'.'\ ./ ·.-~:-·)iV:1]lr: . . , ~b~ Pait1te~o f ModernL ife. . . • ldistilled from 1t. And 1t 1S to tlus task that Monsieur G. part1culatly :addresses himself. \I I have remarked that every age had its own gait, glance and gestuie. •The easiest way to _verify this proposition would be to betake oneselfto some vast portrait-gallery, such as the one at Versailles. But it has aneven wider application. Within that unity which we call a Nation, the. various professions and classes and the passing centuries all introducevariety, not only in m-anneμ and gesture, but even in the actual form ofthe face. Certain types of nose, mouth and brow will be

untitled, 2024.
oil and beeswax on canvas.
38.5 x 69 cm, 14 7/8 x 18 inches

found to dominatethe scene for a period whose extent I have no intention of attemptingto determine here, but which could certainly be subjected to a form ·ofcalculation. Considerations of this kind ire riot sufficiently familiar tobur port:!:alt-painterst;h e great failing ofM. Ing
res, in particular; is thathe seeks to impose upon every type or" sitter a more or less complete,by which I mean a more or less despotic, for of perfection, borrowedfrom the repertory of classical ideas.In a matter of this kind it would be easy, and indeed legitimate, to. argue a prio ri. The perpetual ·correlation between what is called the •soul'2nd what is called the 'body> o.-plains quite clearly how ev~ thatis 'material'> o.r in other words an emanation of the 'spiritual', mirrors,and will always mirror, the spiritual reality from which it derives. If apainstaking, scr pulous, but feeb~y imaginative artist ·has to paint acourtesan of today and ~es his '.inspiration' (that is the accepted wo±d)from a courtesan by Titian or Raphael, it is only too likely that he willproduce a work which is false, ll,tnbiguous and obscure. From the studyof a masterpiece of that time and type he w.ill leam nothing of thebearing, the glance, the smile or the liv.ing 'style' of one of those creatureswhom the dict io
nary of fashion has successively classified under thecoarse -or playful titles of 'doxies', 'kept women', lorettes, or biches.The same criticism may be strictly applied to the study of the militaryman and the dandy, and even to that" of animals, whether horses or dogs;in short, of everything that goes to make up the external life of this age.Woe to him who. studies the antique for anything else but pw:e art, logicand general method! By steeping. himself too tho.roughly in it, he willlose all memory of the presep.t; he "rill renounce the .rights and privilegesoffered by circumstance--fo.r almost all our originality comes fromthe .seal which Time imprints on our sensations .. i need hardly tell Y':)Uthat I could easily support my assertions with reference to many objectsTbe Painter of Modern Life I5other than women. What would you say, for example, ◊-f" a marbepirinter-(I am dellberately going to e."{tremesw) ho, having to depict thesober and elegant beauty of a modem vessel,were to tire out his eyes by·studying th~ overcharged, involved forms and the monumental poopof a galleon, or the complicated rigging of the si:ct:eenthc entury? Again,what· would you think if you had commissioned .an artist to paint theportrait of a thoroughbred, famed in theann nals of the tru:f, and he thenproceeded to confine his researches to the Museums and contentedhimself with a study of the horse in the gal-leries of the past, in Van Dyck, •Borgognone or·Van der 1feulen?Under the direction of nature and the tyranny of circumstance,Monsieur G. has pursued an altogether different path. He began bybeing an observ:e.or f life, arid only later set himself the task of acquiringthe means o expressing it. This has resulted in a thrilling originality inwhich any remaining vestiges of barbarousness or nalvcti appear onlyas new proofs of his faithfulness to the impression received, • or as a:flattering compliment paid to truth. For most of us, and particularly formen of affairs, for whom nature bas no existence save by reference toutility, the fantastic reality oflifehas become singuiarly diluted .. MonsieurG. never ceases to drink it .in; his eyes and hi§ memory are full of it.V. MNEMONIC ARTTHE word 'bzxbarousness', which may seem to have slipped rather toooften from my pen; might perhaps lead some few people to suppose that· •we are here concerned with defective drawings, only to be transformedinto perfect things with the aid of the spectator's imagination. Thiswould be to misunderstand me. What I mean is an·inevitable, synthetic,cbildlike barbarousness, which. :is often still to be discerned in a perfectedart, such as that of Mexico,· Egypt or Nineveh, and which comesfrom a.need to see thirigs broadly and to consider them above all ilith_eir total effect. It is by no means out· of place he re to remind myreaders that all those painters whose vision is synthesizing and abbreviativehave ~-been.a ccused of bar~arousnesS:--M. Co.rot, for ex.2.mple•;whose initial concern is always to trace.the principal lines of a landscape-its bony structure, its physfoghomy, so to speak. Likewise Monsieut",J:\I6·· The Paintero f Moder1L1i feG. brings an instinctive emphasis to his marking of the salient orluminous z
oints of an object (which may be salient or luminous fromthe dramatic point of view) or of its principal characteristics, som,etimeseven .with a degree of exaggeration which aids the human memo1y; andthus, under the .spur of so forceful a prompting, the spectator's imagination receives a clear-cut image of the imJ?ressionp roduced by the e..;:ter11~world upon the mind of Monsieur G. The spectator becomes the traris-7;fur;soto speak, of a translation which is always clear and thrilling.There is one circumstance which adds much to the living force ofth is legendartyra nslation of external life. I refer to :MonsieurG 's methodof draughtsmanship; He cL.--awfrso m memory and not from the model,except in those· cases-the Crimean War· is one of them-when it maybe urgently necessary .to tak-e immediate, hasty notes, and. to fix the .principal lines of a subject. As a matter of fact, all good and true draughtsmendraw from the image imprinted on.their brains, and.not from nature.To the objection that there are admirable sketches of the latter type byRaphael, Watteau and many others, I would reply that these are notes-,veryscrupulous notes, to be sure, but mere notes, none the less. Whena true artist has eome to the point.of the final execution of rvs work,.the model.would be more of an embarrassment than.a help to him.Iteven happens that men such as Daumier: and Monsieur G., for longaccustomed to e.-..:ercisinthge ir memory an,d storing it with images, findthat the physical presence of the model and its multiplicity of detailsdisconcerts and as
it were pa,ralyses their principal faculty.In-this way a struggle is la\l;ifhed between the will to see all and forgetnothing and the faculty of memory, which has formed the habit of alively absorption of general colour and of silhouette, the arabesque ofcontour. An artist with a perfect sense of form but one accustm:ped torelying above all on his memory and his imagination will find himselfat the mercy of a riot of details all clamouring for justice with the furyof a mob in love with absolute equality .. All justice is trampled underfoot; all harmony sacrificed and destroyed; many a trifle assumes vastproportions; many a triv-iality usurps the ~ttention. The more outartist turns an impartial eye on detail, the greater is the state ofanarchy.Whether he be long-sig:q_tedo r short-sighted, all hierarchy · and allsubordination vanishes. This is an accident often conspicuous in theworks of one of our most fashionable pafr1ters:_;-ap ainter, by the way,·(j'?J.:~i ·l,lijThe Painter of lHodem Life 17whose faults ~e so well attuned to the faults of the masses that they havesingularly assisted his popularity. The same analogy may be observedin the art of the actor, that art so mysterious _and so profound, whichtoday has fallen into such a slough of decadence. M. Frederick.Lema1tre1builds up a role with the breadth and fullness of genius. Howeverstudded with luminous details may be his playing of a part, it alwaysremains synthetic and sculptural. M. Bouffe on the other hand createshis roles with the minute precision of a myopic and a buieaucrat .. Withhim everything fl.ashes forth but nothing tells, nothing demands alodging m the memory. •Thus two etements are to be discerned in Monsieur G.'s execution:the fust, an intense effort of memory 1;hate voke_sa nd calls back to lifeamemory .that says to everything, 'Arise, Lazarus'; the second, a :lite,an intoxication of the pencil or the brush, amounting almost to a frenzy.It is the.fear of not going fast enough, of letting _the ph3?~?.m escape'oeroreth<;___iynfhes1hsa s been extra,ct~d a.i;id.p¼;ID.ecg,lQ wn;i t· fu.t hatterrible fear whi~htii.kespossessio~ ~f all great artists ~d gives them. • such a passjon;ite desire to become masters .. of every means of expressionso that the orders of the brain may never be perverted by the hesitationsof the hand and that finally execution, ideal «xecution, may become asunconscious and spontaneous as is digestion for a healthy man afterdinner. Monsieur G. starts with a few slight indications in pencil.which hardly do more than mark the position which objects are to. occupy in space. The principal planes are then sketched in tinted wash,Y¾:,o-uealyn d lightly coloured masses to start with, but taken up againla:ter and successively charged with a greater intensity of colour. At thelast minute the contour ot the objects is once ~d for all outlined inink. Without having seen them, it would be impossible to imagine theastonishing effects he can obtain by this method which Is so simple thatit is almost elementary. It possesses one outstanding virtue, which isthat, at no matter what stage in its execution, each drawing has a sufficiently'finished' look; call it a 'study' if you will, but you will have toadmit that it is a perfect study. The values are all entirely harmonious,and if the artist should decide to take them further, they will continueto march in step towards the desired degree of completion. He works1 Baudel;ire~bad already put on =ocl his ad.mizationf or Frecl.6:icl.L: emaitre (1800-76), one of the great French actots of the Romantic generation, in the Salon of rS,;6.H.-D.-M. Bouffe (1800-88) was itwoll-known comic actor.~,·>I'~t18 !.--- The Paintero f },JodemL ife·, ',,,_ in this way on twenty drawings at a time, with an impatience and a )delight that are a joy to watch-and amusing even for him. The sketches \pile up, one on top of the other-in their tens, hundreds, thousands .••Every now arid then he will run through them and examine them, andthen select a few in order to carry them a stage further, to intensifythe shadows and gradually to heighten the lights.He attaches an enormous importance to his backgrounds, \,thich,whether slight or vigorous, are always appropriate in nature andquality to the figures. Tonal scale and general harmony are all strictly• observed,· with a genius which springs from instinct rather than fromstudy. For Monsieur G. possesses by nature the colourist's mysterioustalent, a true gift th:;i.mi: ay be dev~oped by study, but which study byitself is, I think, incapable of creating._ To put the wh.ole thing in anutshell, this extraordinary artist is able to express_a t once the attitu_deand the gesture of living beings, whether solemn or grotesque, and their....... .l.u._r runous c:,..p/osioinn space

cultivar, 2020-2026.
agricultural lime and ash on found board; rotted walnut dye and linseed oil on canvas.
approximately 46 x 71 cm, 18 x 28 inches

.VI. TUE ANNALS OF WARBULGARIA,Turkey, the Crimea, and Spain have all in~ ~istered• lavishly to the eye of Monsieur G .-or rather to the eye of that imaginaryartist whom· we have agreed so to call, for every now and then I amreminded· that, to give conpP.ued reassurance to his modesty, I havepromised to pretend that he does not exist. I have studied bis archives·of.the Eastem War-baajefields littered with the debris of death,baggage-trains, shipments of cattle and horses; they are tabfea11vxi vants• of an astonishing vitality, traced from life itself; uniquely picturesque. fragments which many a renowned painter would in the same circumstanceshave stupidly overlooked. (I would, however, hasten to makean. exception of M. Horace Vernet, a military historian rather thanessentially a painter, with whom Monsieur G., albeit a s11btler artist,.has mzmest '.lffinitiesif you are only considering him as an archidst oflife.) I am. ready to dettl~e that no newspaper, no written account, nobook has unfolded so well, in all its painful detail and melancholy scope,the great epic poem of the Crimea. The eye wanders from the banks ofthe Danube to the shores of the Bosphorus,"from Cape Kerson to theT_heP ainter of lvfoderoL ife 19plains of ~Balaclavaf, rom the plains of Inkermann to the encampmentsof the English, French, Turks =d Piedmontese, from the streets ofConstantinople to hospital wards and all the splendour of religious andmilitary ceremonial, •One of these drawings most vividly imprinted on my mind representsthe Consecratioonf the Bttriaf-grou1a1td Scf.(fari0 ' tbe Bishopo f Gibra!tar1.The picturesque essence of the scene, which lies in the contrast betweenits Eastem setting and the Western uniforms and ·attitudes of those takingpart, is realized in an arresting manner, pregn:;i.nt witb dreams andevocations. The officers and men llilve that ineradicable air of being •gentlemen-a mixture of boldness and reserve-which they ca.r...7w iththem to the ends of the earth, as far as the garrisons of the Cape Colony .and the cantonments of India; :;i.ndth e English clergymen give one avague impression of being beadles or money-changers "rho llilve puton caps and gowns.And now we are at Schumfa, enjoying the hospitality of Omer Pasha2• -Turkish hospitality, pipes and coffee; the guests are all disposed ondivans, holding to the.ii: lips pipes long as speaking-tubes whose bowls• lie on the ground at their feet. And he;re are the Kurds at Scutari,aweird-looking troops whose appearance ptlts one in mind of somebarbarizn_invasion; or if you prefer, the Bashi-Bazouks, no less extraordinary,with their H\lllgarian or Polish officers whose dandified facesmake a peculiar contrast·with the baroquely Oriental character of theirmen.I remember .a magnificent drawing, which shows a single figurestanding, a fatge, st_ui:dym an, looking at once thoughtful, unconcemedand bold; he wears top-boots which extend to above his 'knees; hisuniform is concealed b.eneath an enormous, heavy, tightly-buttonedgreatcoat; he is gazing through the smoke of his cigar at the threateningmisty horizon; a wounded arm is· carried in a sling. At the bottom of thedrawing is the following scribbled inscription: Canroberot n the battlejieidof Inkermann. Taken on tbe .spot.·Who is this white-moustached cavalry-officer, with so vividly-drawnan expression, who, with lifted head, seems to be savouring all thedreadful poetry of a: battjefield, while his horse, sruffing the ground, ispicking-it:fway among the corpses heaped up with feet in air, shrunken1 I.LN. 9 June 1855. z I.i.N. 4 March 1854- 3 I.L.N. -4 June 1854-.a..):.. 2.0 The Paintere fM odernL ifefaces, in weird attitudes? In a comer, ar the bottom, can be made· outthese words: li.fyselja t Inkermann..And then there is M. Baraguay d'.H.illiersw, ith the Seraskier; inspectingthe a.rtillery at Bechlchtash. I have seldom seen more lifelike a• military portrait, traced by a bolder or a more spirited pen.And now a name that has achieved a sinister repute since the disastersin Syria: .At:hmet.PashaG, enerali n Chief to the Kalifat; standingw ith hisstaff inf ront of bis b11t,r eceivintgJ voE uropea1o1jl icer1s F. or all the amplitudeof his vast 'Turkish paunch, Achmet Pasha possesses, both in face andbearing, that indefinably aristocratic air which commonly chai:acte.rizesthe :ruling races. •The Battle of Balaclava recurs several times, and in different aspects,in this extraordinary collection. Among the most striking examples'Vie :find that historic ca,alry-charge celebrated by the heroic trumpetblastsof Alfred Tennyson, poet law:eate: we see a horde of cavall:ygalloping away at a prodigious speed towards the horizon, between theheavy smoke-clouds of the artillery. The landscape background isclosed by a grassy line of hills:From time to time religious scenes aJford some relief to an eyesaddened by all.this chaos of gunpowdet and slaughter. For exaμi.ple,in the midst of a group of British troops, amongst whom the picturesqueuniform of the kilted Scot's stands out, an Anglic.an clergyman is con-. ducting the Sunday Service; hls·lectern.is i pyramid of three dt:ums.2But truth to tell, it is almost impossible 'With no more than a pen toexpound, so vast ru:id so complicated a poem composed of such a multitudeof sketches, or to ;:ommunicat~ tJi~.i!itoaj.cation.d istilled...by.,..,.al.L. this exotic detail-often melancholy. but never sentimental-which is •·- accumclateil ·on several hundred scraps of paper w4ose very stains andsmudges tell in their own way of all the tunnoil :.nd confusion in the·midst of which our artist must have set down his memories of each day.Towards evening the messenger would come to collect Monsieur G;snotes and drawings, and often he would thus entrust to the post morethw. ten sketches, hastily scribbled on the thinnest of paper, which theengrave.rs and the subscribers to the journal were eagerly awaiting inLondon. •Sometimes we are showr.r'ambu!ancesi,n which the very atmosphereseems sick, sad and heavy; at another time we are in the hospital at1 ParisM, usee des .ArtsD ecoratifs. 2 l.LN-.. 7 April 185 $•:-:-·11 .\' IlTbe Paintero f ModernL ife 2.IPera, where, in conversation with two nuns-tall, pallid and erect, lilcefigures by Lesueur-we notice a casually-dressed :visitor, identi£.ed by •-i;hisc urious legend: l\t[Yh :1mbles efj.1 And now, along rough twistingpathways, strewn with some of the debris of an already past engagement,we watch beasts of burden-mules, donkeys or horses-slowly mal.cing. their way with the pale and inert bodies of the wounded carried in :rode •chairs on their backs. Ainid wastes of snow we see camels of majesticport, their heads held hlgh, with 'Tartar drivers; they a:re ttruisportingammunition and provisions of all kinds. It is a whole watrior-worldalive,busy and silent; it is a world of encampments, Oriental bazaarsdisplayjng samples of every kind of supplies, like barbarian cities improvisedfor the occasion. Tb.tough these huts, along these stony orsnowy roads, through these ravines, there move uniforms of sevexaldifferent nations, all more or less scarred by war or transmogrified bythe addition of enormous topcoats. and heavy boots.It is .to be regretted that this album, which is now scattered in severaldifferent places (some of its precious pages having been kept by _theengravers whose task it was to reproduce them, others by the publishexsof the JllttstratedL ondonN C11sJ), should not. have been brought to theeyes of the Emperor. I feel sure that he woultl ~ve graciously perusedit, and not without emotion, recognizing therein the deeds and doingsof his soldiers, from the most dazzling of military actions. to the mostμivial occupations of everyday life. all· minutely transcribed on the·spot by a hand so unerring .and so intelligent, the hand of a soldier- .artist.

untitled (after Focillon), 2025. oil on aluminum, canvas. 43 x 60 cm, 17 x 23 1/2 inches

VII. POMPS AND CIRCUMSTANCESTURKEY too has provided our beloved Monsieur G. with some admirableworking-material: the festivals.of the Baitam,2 those gloomy, rain•soaked splendours, in the midst of which, like a pale sun, can be discernedthe endless ennrd of the late sultan; drawn' up on the sovereign's left, theofficers of the civil order; on his right, those of the artny, of whom thele_aderi ~ Said Pasha, sultan of Egypt, at that time present in Constantinople;solemn processions an,d cavalcades moving in o.rder towards1 Paris, Musee des Ans Deco~; pL ·;;. 2 I.L..N. 29 July 18 54; see pl 6.",2.2. Tbe Paintero f ModernL ifethe little mosque near the palace, and in the crowd Turkish functionaries,-_ •real caricatures of decadence, quite ove.rwhelming theit magniflcentsteed~ with the weight of their fantastic bulk; massive great carriages, 1rather like coaches of the time of Louis XV, but gilded and decked outin a bizarre Oriental manner, from which every now and then theredart curiously feminine glances,' peeping -out from between -the strictinterval left by the bands of muslin stuck over the face; the frenzieddances of the tumblers of the 'third sex' (never has Balzac's comicale:xpression been more applicable than in the present instance, forbeneath this throbbing, trembling light, beneath the agitation of theseample garments, beneath the blazing rouge on these cheeks, in thesehysterical, convulsive gestures, in these floating, waist-long tresses, itwould be difficult, not to ~ay impossible, to guess that virilij:y lay hid);:finally,t he femmesg alantes(i f at least it is possible to speak of 'gallantry'in connection :w-ith the East), who generally consist. of :f{ungarians,Wallachians,: Jewesses, Poles, Greek!i and .Annenians--for un_der adespotic govemm~t it is the subJect races, and amongst them, those inparticular that have the most to endure, that provide most candidatesfor prostitution. Of these women, some have kept their national postume,emb~oidered jackets with short sleeves, flowing M

consolation for the untranslated masterworks of non-lingual fiction, 2019.
oil on cardboard.
dimensions variable

sashes, enormoustrousers, turned-up slippers, striped or spangled muslins, and all thetinsel of their nativ_e land; others_; and these the more numerous, haveadopted the principal badge of civilization, which for a woman is invariablythe crinoline, but in some small detail of their attire they ahvayspreserve a tiny characteristic.s0uvenir of the East, so that they look likeParisian women who have attempted a fancy-dress.Monsieur G. exc~s in treating· th~_g._~1,!L?.~ official functions,national RQ.mpsa nd circumstances, but n~er _coldly~·iriacitd actically,like those painters·who siie':inw ork of this kind no more than a piece oflucratlve drudgery. He works with all the ardo1,1oI f a man in love withspace, with perspective, with light lying in pools or exploding in bursts,drops or diamon~ of it ·sticking to the rough surfaces of uniforms andcourt toile:ttes. A drawing representing Independence-diqny t he Cathedralat Atbens2 provides an interesting example of these gifts. That multitudeof little figures, of whk:h,each one keeps its place so well, only goes todeepen the space which contains them. The Cathedral itself is immenseand adorned with ceremonial hangings. Kil.?,gO tho and his Queenl See pl. 8, z I.L.N. 20 May I 854./11l·!I lL [The Painter of Modem Life 23standing upright on a dais, are dressed in the national garb, which theywear with a m:1.rvelloues ase, as though to give e·ddence of the sincerityof their adoption arid of the most refined Hellenic patriotism. The king'swaist is belted like the most elegant of palikar..r.,a nd his kilt spreads outwith all the exaggeration prescribed by the national school ofdandyism.Towards them walks thepa triai:ch, a bent old mawnit h a great whitebeard, his little eyes protected behind green spectacles, betraying in hiswhole being the signs of a consummate Oriental impassivity. All thefigures which people this composition are portraits, one of the mostcurious, by reason of the unexpectedness of her physiognomy (which isjust about as u.n-Greek as could be) being that of a German lady who isstanding beside the Queen and is part of her private suite. •In the collected works _of Monsieui G. one often comes across theEmperor of the French,1-whose face he has learnt to curtail to an .unerringsketch which he e..--..ecutwesit h the assurance of a personal signature,v."ithout ever damaging the likeness. Sometimes we see him review..;ing his troops, on horJe-back at full gallop, accompanied by officerswhose features are easily recognizable, or by foreign princes-European,Asiatic or African-to whom he is, so to speak, doing th~ honours ofParis. Or sometimes he will be sitting motlonless on a horse whosehooves are as firmly planted as the legs of a table, with, at his left, theEmpress ~ riding-habit, and at his right the little Imperial Prince,wearing a grenadier's cap and holding himself like a soldier on a littlehorse as shaggy as the ponies that English artists love to send careeringacross their landscapes; sometimes disappearing in the midst of awhirlwind ordust and light in one of the rides of the Bois de Boulogne;at others walking slowly through the cheering crowds of the FaubourgSaint-Antoine. There is one of these water-colours whose magicalquality has particularly dazzled me. The scene i~ a theatre. At the.frontof a box of a massive and princely opulence -is seen the Empress in arelaxedan.d peaceful attitude; the Emperor is· leaning forward slightly,so as to get a better view of the ·stage; ·below him two personal bodyguardsare standing at attention in a military, almost hieratic state ofimmobility, while their brilliant uniforms reflect the splash and splutterof the footlights. On the far side of the barrier of flame, ·in the idealatmosphe:t-eo. f the stage, the acto1;5a re singjng, declaiming and gesticulatingin harmony; on ~e near side there yawns an abyss of dim--: ~ See pl. 20.•,24 The Paintero f AfrJderLni felight, a circular space crowded with tier upon tier of human figures; itis the great chandelier, and the audience. •• The popular movements,·the.republican clubs and the pageantry ofI 848 also provided Monsieux G. with a whole series of picturesquecompositions, of which the majority were. engraved for the If!t1StratedLondon News.1 A few years· ago, after a stay in Spain which was veryfruitful for his genius, . he put together an album of the same kind, of·which I haye seen no more than a few fragments. The carelessness withreparable losses. • • • ' ··-VIII. THE MILITARY MANONCE more to attempt a definition of the kind of subjects preferred by• .' our artist, we would say that it is the outwardsq y,Toff'.,,l ije,s uch as it is 19, ...._..._ __ ---------·-·~ --------- -. _]2_e_~_e~__i:1.c:};a_pt:ipta.els o f the civilized ~otl_q; the pageantry of military• life, of fashion and of love. Wherever th<?se deep, impetu?us· desires,, war, love, and gaming, :are ju full flood, like Orinocos of"the humM-. heart; wherever are celebrated the festivals and fictions which embodythese great elements of happiness anda adversity, our observer is alwayspunctually on the spot. But amongst all of this he shows a very markedpredilection for the military man, the soldier, and I think that thisfondness may be attribute9~not only to the qualities and virtues.whichnecessarily pass from the warrier's soul into his physiognomya nd hisbearing, but also to the outward splendour in which he is professionallyclad. M. Paul de Molenes2 has written a passage no less charming thanto the point concerning military: coquetry and the moral significance ofthose glittering costumes in which every government is pleased to• dress its troops-a passage to which I feel sure that 1fonsieur G. wouldbe happy to sign his name. •• We have already spoken of the idiomatic beauty peculiar to eachage, and have observed that each century has, so to speak, • its own1 Exam.pl!!S are to be fou;'d in I.L.N. I April 1848,2See the· chapter 'Voyages et pensees militaires' in Paul de Molenes, Histoi1u Se11timenta!ese t Mi!itaires (z SH), and also the same author'~,.Comme11tairuit ,111S oldat(L'M'{er.devant Seoastopol) (1860).Tbe Paintero f Afoden:L ife• 25personal sort of grace. The same idea is applicable to the different professions;each derives its extemal beauty from the moral laws to whichit is subject. In some this beauty will be characterized by energy, inothers it will bear the visible stamp of idleness. It is like a characteristic. badge, a trade-mark of destiny. Taken as a class, the military man has.his beauty, just as the dandy and the courtesan have theirs, though of anessentially different flavour. (You will note that I am deliberately passingover those professions in which an exclusive and violent training distortsthe muscles and stamps the face with slavery.) Accustomed to surprises,the military man is with difficulty caught offlus guard. The characteristicof his beauty will thus be a kind of martial nonchalance, • a curiousmixture of calmness and bravado; it is a beauty that springs from·thenecessity to be ready to face death at every moment. Furthermore theface of the ideal military man will need to be characterized by a greatsimplicity; for, living a communal life like monks or schoolboys, andaccustomed to unburden themselves of the daily cares of life upon anabstract paternity, soldiers are in many things as $imple as children;like children too, when· their duty is done, they are easily amused and .given to boisterous entertainments. I do not think that I am e...;;:aggeratingwhen I declare that aU these moral consideritions spill forth naturallyfrom the sketches and water-colours of Monsieur G. Every type ofsoldier is there, the essence of each being seized upon with a kind ofenthusiastic.joy; the old infantry officer, solemn and glum, overloadinghis horse with his bulk; the exquisite staff-officer, trim of figure; wrigglinghis shoulders and bending unabashed over ladies' chairs, who, seenfrom the baclt;puts one in mind of the slimmest and most elegant of insects;the zo11avea nd the sharpshooter, whose bearing reveals an !;!XCeptionalquality of independence and bravado, and as it were a livc;lier sense ofpersonal responsibility; the sprightly nonchalance of the light cavalry;the oddly academic, professorial appearance qf the special corpsartilleryo:i: engineers-which is often con£rmed by the somewhat unwarriorlikeadjunct of a pair of spectacles: not one of these models,not one of these nuances is overlooked, and each is summed up ~ddefined with the same love and wit.I have before me as I write. one of those compositions whose generalcharacter is truly heroic. It represen:ts the head of a column of infantry.Perhaps these men have just _returned from Italy and are making a haltupon t4e boulevards amid the:acclamations of the crowd; or perhaps2.6 The Painter of Modem Lifethey ha:ve just completed a long route-n;i~ch along the roads of Lom~'ba,rdy; I cwnot tell. What however is manifest and fully realized is thebold, resolute character, even .in repose, of all these faces burned by thesun, the rain and the wind. •Here we can see that uniformity of expression which is created bysuffering and obedience endured in common, that resigned ~r ofcourage which .has been. put to the test by long, wearisome fatigues.·Trousers tucked .into incarcerating gaiters, greatcoats besmirched with• dust, staJned and discoloured-in short, tl).e entire equipment of thesemen has taken upon itself the special personality of beings who arereturning from afar after running the gauntlet of extraordinary adventures.All these men give the appearance of being more solidlybacked, more squarely set on their feet, more erect than ordinary mortalscan be. If this draw.ing could have been shown to Chatlet,1 who w:isalways on the lookout for this kind of beauty, and who frequentlyfound it, he would have been singularly struck by it:IX. THE DANDY ~....,.. ,,,THE man who is rich and idle, and wh"a; even if blase, has no other--... olcμpa:tion fu~ the_p_~al pw:swf ·orliappmess;7Iieriian wnonas~ ..b een brought up amid lUX!lX};anlciat sliecii'accusfomefdro m his earliestdays to the obedience of others"--he, in short, whose solitary professionis elegance, ~II always3 -nda t all timesp ossessa distinct type of physiognomy,one entirelysi ti generis:b andyism1 s··a·m:ysterlous··insntut10n,no less peculiar than the duel: it is of great antiquity, Caesar, Catilineand Alcibiades providing us with dazzling examples; and very wlde-• spread, Chateaubriandz having found it 1n the forests and by the lakesof the New. World. Dandyism, an institution beyond the laws, itself .has rigorous laws which all its subjects must strictly obey, whatevertheir natural impetuosity and independence of character. The Englishmore than others have c-ul~tiva ted the society-novel,a nd French writers, . .,.• •1 Baudelaixe had sharply criticized Chatletin 'Some French Caricaturists' (cf.pp. I 68 ff.),and had himself been criticized by Delacroix for doi?g so. G:epet suggests that thepi:csent passage may be a gestm:e of making amends. ··=2 Cf. Le.r Natchez..iit • ~

we , 2018
acrylic and dye on linen,
20.25 x 25.5 cm, 8 x 10 inches

q.,1l '.i'•[l' !1 IL- . - : -....it.:. . :r·· l l ·~ i :I',iji t w !!._~\,!• •~y:{,·~:,;:_,-~~,,r~itr:'.:;J .1i • 'J
;;¥,.f:. ~i ~ • t .8 ~~ :=l1[1 _ V0J1 ,:ij!a-0 1~<i~~",.' .;;,0......
The Paintero f A1oderLn ife z7who, like M. de Custine,l have made a speciality of love-stories, havetaken immediate and ver.y proper cru:e to endow their characters withfortunes ample enough to pay without thinking for all their ext.rav.a:gances;and they have.gone on to dispense them of any profession. Thesebeings have no.other calling but to cultivate the idea of beauty in theirper~9.ns, to satrsfy·their passions; to feel ?nd to ~- They thus possess-~Cvast abundance both of time and money: without which fantasy,;ed~ced to· a··stateo fp assing.r everie, can hardlybe translated .into action.It is sad but only too true that without the money md the l~sure, loveis incapable of rising above a grocer's orgy or the accomplishment of aconjugal duty. Instead. of being a passion.at~ or ·poetical caprice, .itbecomes a repulsive utility,If! speak oflove_ in connection with dandyism, this is because love is_tl :!.n,ea ~~J?.~t:i<:?11:.ofthe idle. The dandy does not, however, regard. love as a special target to be aimed at. If I have spoken of money, thisis because money is indispensable to those who make a cult of theireIE..0i?P.~; but the dand_y does not aspire to moneyas to somethin£essential; this crude passion he leaves to vulgar mortals; he would beperfectly content with a limitless credit at the ~ank. Dandyisin does noteven consist, as many thoughtless people seem to believe, .in an immoderatetaste fo:i: the toilet an~· elegance. For the perfectdandy these ~gs a.ren o more th ~- .. flus ll,tistocxatics upe..rio;ityof mind. Furthermore 'to his yes, which are .in love with distinctionabove:·ifthi ings, the perfection of his toilet will consist in absolutesimplici!J,2 which is the best way, in fact, of achieving the desiredquality\ What·fuen is this passion, whic..'fib, ecoming doctrine, has produceds'uch a school of tyrants ? what this unofficiali nstitution whichhas formed so haughty and exclusive a sect·? It is first and foremost .theburning need to create for on~elf a personal originality, bounded onlyby the limits of the proprieties. It is .a kind of cult of the self which can·nevertheless survive the pursuit of a happiness to be found in someoneelse; in woman, for example; which can even survive.all tru.t goes by in1 had a particula:r adro.ttation for the work of Astolphe de Custine {r790-1857), and planned to include him, along with Chateaubriand. Paul de Mole.nes andBru:beyd ' Aurevilly, in his Familk desD andies( announced in I 86o,b ut never completed).replicas ~hen he was pleased with. a new suit-at the period, of coune, when he had"·~-.z8 The Painter ef Modern Lifethe name of illusions. It i~J:he joy of astonishing others, and the prouds~sfaction of never oneself bcl;i.g astonished. A dandy may be blase, hemay·eveiisuffer; but .in this case, he will smile like the Spartan boy underthe fox's tooth. • •It can be seen how, at certain points, dandyism borders upon thespiritual and stoical. But a dandy can never be a vulgarian. Ifhe committeda crime, it would perhaps not ruin him; but if his crime resulted. from. some trivial cause, his disgrace would be irreparable. Let not the readerbe scandalized by this gravity amid the .frivolous; let him rather recallth~ there is a grandeur in all follies, an energy in all excess. A weirdkind of spiritualist, it must be admttted l For those who are at once itspriests and its victims, all the complicated.material conditions to whichthey submit, from an impeccable toilet at every hour of the day and thenight to the most perilous feats of the sporting field, are no more than asystem of gymnastics designed to fortify the will and discipline the soul.In truth I was not altoge--.hewr rong to consider dandyjs]:Ial s a_k i9d, ~religion. The strictest monastic :role, the inexorable order of the Assassins·-;ccording to which the penalty for dronkenness was enforced, suicide,were no more despotic, and no more obeyed, than this doci:fine ofelegance and originality, which also imposes upon its humble andambit,ious disciples-men often full of fire, passion, courage and rest.rained energy-the terrible formula: Perir,<afac cadaver!\Vhether these men are nicknamed exquisites, incroyab!ebs,e aux, lionsor dandies, they all spring from the same womb; th~y_all~ake of the/ame charact;!risticq uality_ < :>?~l? PS'§itl~11-~.~: § they _area llrepre- ••sentatives of what is :finest in human pride, of lliat compelling need, alasonly too rare today, of combating~ d destroyingt rivfalityI. t is fromthis that the dandies obtain that haughty exclusiveness, provocative inits very coldness. P.=dyism apperu:s above all in periods of trall~ion,when demo.cr:.cy)~ not yet all-powerfyl, and wstoc:racy is only just~egi:n_ningto:t~te9r .a nd£ :.aj!!,.f. l.t he disorder of these times, certain menwho are socially, p<:Jliticallayn d :financiallyi ll at ease, but are all rich innative energy, may conceive the idea of establishing a new kind_ of• aristocracy, all the more difficult to shatter as it will be based on the mostprecious;the ~ost enduru:ig.faculties, and on the divine gifts 'which.· work and money are unablitto bestow. Dandvi~hefQ.i~m..~. -d.eradence; and tl}e ~ o~ discovered -by oiir •1rav<cll~m N. orth. .4 -m~~ do~ nothing to invalidate this idea; forTh~ Painter of 1\{odem Life 29how can we be sure that those tribes which "e call 'savage' may not infact be the di.[fecta1 1tembroaf great extinct civilizations? Dandyism is asunset; like the declining daystar, it is glorious, without heat and full ofmelancholy. But ~as, thi;. rising tide .of cl~ocracy, which in.ad.es andhumll.o.., p,~ide.,_:gi.9,_pourfiolo.go ds of _oblivionu pon the footpxmts_Q.f-these. stupendous warriors. Dandies ·are becoming rarer and rarer in ... -·-·-··~-.~ ·~--..-..- - ~---------·--· ....·.~. - , ..... -·.our country, whereas amongst our neighbours m England the socialwhich expresses itself through behaviour)

node, 2026
oil on canvas
81 x 107 cm, 32 x 40 inches

will for a long timeyet allow a place for the .descendants of Sheridan, Brummel and Byron,\'v'hat to the reader may have seemed a digression is not so in truth.The moi:al reflections and considerations provoked by an artist'sdrawings are in many cases the best translation of them that criticismcan· make; such suggestions form part of an underlying idea which·begins to emerge as they are set out one after t."1eo ther; It is hardlynecessary to say that when Monsieur G. sketches one of his dandies onthe· paper, he .never fails _to give him his historical personality-hislegendary personality, I would venture to say, if we were not speakingof the present time and of things generally considered as fri,olou.s.Nothing is missed: his lightness of step, his social aplomb, the simplicity. in _his air of authority, his way of wearing a coat or riding a horse, hisbodily attitudes which are always relaxed but betray an inner energy, so.that when your eye lights upon one of those privileged beings in whomthe gracefuh.n.d the formidable are so mysteriously blended, you think:'A rich man perhaps,b ut morel ikelyr ui out-of-workH ercules!'The distinguishing characteristic of the dandy's beauty consists9:bove all in an air of coldness which comes from an unshakeable determinationnot to be moved; you· might call it a latent fue which hints atitself, and which could, but chooses not to burst into :B.ameI.t is thisquality which these pictures express so perfectly.x.· WOMAN~ ;.>-~THE being who, for the .rna.jorityo f men, is the source of the liveliestand even-be it said to the shafiie of philosophic pleasures-of the most.,•,f:",r:30 The Painter of Modern Lifelasting delights; the -bejng towards whom, or on behlllf of whom, alltheir efforts are directed; that being as te.r.ciblea nd incororounicable asthe Deity (with this· difference, that the Jnfu;ute does not communicatebecause it would thereby blind and overwhelm the finite, whereas thecreature of whom we are speaking is perhaps only incomprehensible •because it has nothing.to communicate); that being in whom Josephde Maistre ~aw a graceful ·a ni.rnawl hose beauty enlivened and madeeasier the serious game of politics; for whom, and through whom,. fortunes are-made and unmade; for whom, but above all tbro11gwhh om,artists and poets create _their most exquisite jewels; the source of themost exhausting pleasures and the most productive-pains-Woman,in a wqrd, for the artist in general, and Monsieur G. in particular, is farmore than just the female of Man. Rather she is a divinity, a star, whichpresides at~ the conceptions of the brain of 1J1ana; glittering conglomerationof all· the graces of Nature, condensed into a single being;_ theobject of the keenest admiration _and curiosity that the picture of lifecan offer its contemplator. She is a kinq of idol, stupid perhaps, butdazzling and bew-itch.ingw. ho holds wills and destinies suspended onher glance. She is not, l must admit, an animawl hose component parts,correctly assembled, provide a petfect example of harmony; sh'< is not· even that type of pure _beautyw hich the sculptor can 111entalleyv okein the course of his sternest meditations_; no, this would still not besufficient to explain her mysterious and complex spell. We are not concernedhere .with Winckelmann and Raphael; and I hope that I shallnot appear to wrong him when I say that despite the wide :range of hisintelligence,-1 feel sure that Monsieur G. would willingly F-3:5S over a_fragment of antique statuary if otherwise he might let slip an opporttuμty· ( of enjoying a portrait by Reynolds or La\'trrenceE. verythingt hat adorns·, woman, everything that serves to show o.ffher beauty,_is part ofhe.t'.Self;.l and those artists who have made a particular study of this enigmaticbeing dote_n o less on all the details of t_b.e1 Jt1mdtmtS1 1!iebrtih.ra ff onWoman herself. No doubt Wo:nmi is sometinies a light, a glance, an·invitation to happiness, sometimes just a word; but above all she is ageneral harmony, not ·only in her bearing and the way in which.shemoves and walks, but also in the muslins, the gauzes, the vast, iridescent,! clouds of stuff in which slie• -envelophs erself, and which are as it were thewhich twist and tum around her arms and het Mck, adding their spark~The Painter of Afodem Life 3 Ito the fue of her glance, or gently whispering at her ears. What poet, in .sitting down to paint the pleasure caused by the sight of a beautiful ~woman, would venture to separate her from her costume? \Vhere is the Jman who, in the street, at the theatre, or in the park, has not in the mostdisinJerested of ways enjoyed a skilfully composed t9ilette~ and has nottaken away with him a picture of it which is inseparable from the beautyof her to whom .it belonged, making thus of the two things-the womanand her dress-an indivisible unity? This is the moment, it seems to ,me, to return to certain questions concerning fashion and finery which \I did no more than touch upon at the beg.inning of this study; ;with which certain very dubious lo"?'ers of.Nature have attacked·it.XI.

untitled, 2025
copperpoint on paper
13 x 18 cm, 5 x 7 inches

IN PRAISE OF COSMETICSI REMEMBER a song, so worthless and silly that it seems hardly properto quote from it in a work ·which has some rretension; to seriousness,but which nevertheless expresses very well, ih its vatfdti.illem. anner, theaesthetic creed of people who do not think: 'Nature embellishes Beauty',it runs. It i~ of course to be presumed that, had he known how to write• in French, the poet would rather have said 'S~-t;y .. _~bellishesBeauty', which is equivalent. to the following startling new -truism:'l'1othemmb£e llishes iomething.•' ·--•• -The maj6:rity of errors in the field of aesthetics spring from the .,/ejghteenth c;entury)f. alst! premiss in the 1ield of ethics.1 'A.(. i li;~ ___: •~atur.e_w.a.s.t aken -as ground, soruce and .typeo t.all.p.os:Si~od.".ad ii d • -Beauty. The negation of original sin played no small pan in the general •• ,blindness of that period. But if we are p.repared to refer simply to the~.-'.·facts, which are manifest to the experience of all ages no less than tothe readers of the Law Reports, wo ~~ t..lJ.~.Nt ature_teaches...ns~. nothing, or praajcallj nothing. I admit that sne compelsm an to sleep, -•• to-ea~-toru:fuk, and to arm himself as well as he may against the inclemenciesof the weather: but it .is she too who incites matno murder~:.:-•. 1 Here is following the ideas expressed by Joseph de ¥aistte in Le.rSoirees de Sai11t-Pitmbourg. On Baud~laire's g=al debt to the .ideas of de Maistre,• see Gilman, pp. 63-66.32 The Painter of Modem Life-his brother, to eat him, to lock him up and to torture him; for no soonerdo we take leave of the domain of needs and necessities to enter that ofpleasures and luxury than we see that Nature can counsel nothing but <-------;;annibalism, and a thousand other abominations that both shame and '-•. •· _ ~odesty prevent us from naming. On the_ other hand it is philosophy (I speak of good philosophy) and 1religion which ·commmd us to look .after our parents wp.en they are poor and infirm. Nature, being none / other than the voice of out own self-interest; would have us slau,ghter 'i them_I ask you to ·review and scrotfnfze-whatever.is natural-alftli \£rightfulness. Everything beautiful and noble is the result of reaSOll_Jmd 'calculation. Crime, of which the human animal has learned the tast~ i his mother~s womb, ·is natural by origin. Virtue, on the other hand, is artificial, supernatural, since at all times and in all places gods ana·prophets have .been needed to teach it to animalized humanity, nian' being powetl~ss to discover it by himself/Evil happens without effort, naturally! fatally; Good is always the product of some art/ All that I am saying about Nature as a bad counsellor in moral _!113.tterasn, d aboutRe.asona s truer·e deemer.and :reformer, can be applied to the rhlm of Bea-;_tyI: an:tih us led to :regard external finery as one of the signs of the .P!~~::e·n <:>bilitoyf the :hum~n s?.1::-T1h· ose races which out corififsed• and perverted civilization is pleased to treat as savage, with an _altogether ludicrous pride and complacency, understand, just as the child under- • ~ stands. the lofty spiritual significance of the toilet. In their naif adoration (, of what is b:tillfant-:many-cc5loured feathers, iridescent fabrics, the \' incomparable m1jesty of artificial forms-:the. baby and the savage· bear 1) witness to their disgust of the real, ·and thus give proof, without knowing \ it, of the immateriality of their soul. Woe to him who, like Louis XV (the product not of a true civilization but of a .recrudescence of barbar_ ism), carries his degeneracy to the point of no longer having a 'taste for anything but nature unadomed.* .Fashion should thus be considered as a symptom of the taste for the ideal which floats on the surface of all the crude, terrestrial and loath~ • * We know that when she wished.0to avoid receiving the king, Mme Dubarcy made a point of putting on rouge. It was quite enough; it.was her way of closing the door. ;I, It = in fact by beautifying hei:self that she used to frig~~ away her royal discipleof nature. (CB.) . . _ • - . \· ' The Painter of 1Vfodm1 Lif~ H some bric-a-brac that the natural life accumulates in the hu!Il;iU brain: as a sublime deformation of Nature, or-rather a penrument :ind repeated attempt at herrcjormatio1A1.n d so it has been sensiblyp ointed out (though the reason has not been discovered) that every fashion is .charming, relatively speaking, each one being a new and more or less happy effort : in the: direction of Beauty, some kind of approximation to an ideal for •. which the restless hum.an mind feels a constant, titillating hunger. But ': if one wants to appreciate them properly, fashions should never be 1 considere·d as dead things; you migh~ just as well admire the tattered , old rags hung up, as slack and lifeless as the skin of St. Bartholomew, : in an old-clothes dealer's cupboard. Rather they should be thought of as : vitalized and animated by the_b eauri-fulw omen who wore t.1-iemO. nly :, in this way can their sense and meaning be understood. If therefore the -: aphorism 'Allfashions are dunning' upsets you as being too absolute, - say, if you prefer, 'All were once justifiably channing'. y OU can be sure ~ of being right. _ . tvom an is quite wit!;unh er rights, in.deed she is even accomplishing ~ a Rind of duty, when she devotes herself to appearing magical and super- • natural; she has to astonish and cha.rm us; a; an idol, she is obliged to adorn herself in order to be adored, Thus she has to lay all the arts under contribution for the means of lifting herself above Nature, the better • to conquer.hearts and rivet attention. It matters but little that rlie artifice and.trickery are known to all, so long as their success is assured and their • ~ct al"':ays i.rresi~tib:e)By refl.ectln~ in this way the philosopher-~st will :find 1t ea,sy to Justify all the practices adopted by women at all tunes to consolidate and as it were to make divine their fragile beauty. To enu_me.ratteh em would be an endless task: but to confine ourselves to- . what today is vulgarly called •maquillage', anyone can see that the use of rice-powder, so stupidly anathematized. by our Arcadian philosophers, is successfully designed to rid the completion of those blemishes that Nature~ outrageously strewn ther~ and ~1:1st< >c.i eate an abstract Ufllty in the colour and texture of the s~ au.city, which, like-that _._ pr;du'cecr by the tights of a dancer, immeaiately approximates the V human being to the s~e, that is to something superior and divin<!. • . As for Jh~ artifi~ial black mth whichth e ey1es ·outlinedan, d th~ ;~;:gel ___ __.,/ with which the upper part of the cheek is painted, although their use • derives f:i;omt he same princfapJe4, 2:~.:e.e d to !UE?~~N ~~re, the result is calculated to satisfy an absolutely opposite need. Red and b~ck • .. ~ .-~ i·;•r,.· 34 The Painter of Modem Life represent life, a supernatural and excessive life: its black frame renders the glance more penetrating and individual, and gives the eye a more decisive appearance of a window open upon the infinite; and the rouge which sets fire to the cheek-bone o~y goes to increase the brightness of the pupil and adds to the face of a beautiful woman the mysterious passion of the priestess. • • Thus, jf you will understand me ari_ght, face-painting should not be used with the vulgar, unavowable object of imitating fair Nature and of entering into competition with youth. It has ·moreover been remarked that artifice cannot lend charm to ugliness and can only serve _beauty. \Vho would dare to assign to art the sterile function of imitating Nature? Maquillage has rio need to hide itself or to shrink from being suspected; on the contrary., let it display itself, at least if it does so with frankness. and honesty. I am perfectly happy for' .those whose owlish gravity prevents them . from seeking Beauty in its most minute manifestations to laugh ~t these reflections of mine and to accuse them ·of a childish self-iinportance; -a;-their austere verdict leaves me quite unmoved; I content myself wit..li. ,' appealing to true artists as well as to those women themselves who, ( having received at birth a spark of that sacred flame, would t~d it so ..1:...t hat their whole beings were on fire with it XII. WOMEN AND PROSTITUTES HA v ING taken upon himself the task of seeking out and expounding the beauty in modernityM, onsieur G. is thus particuktly giv~ to portraymg woi:μenw. ho are elaborately dressed and embellished by all the rites of artifice, to whatever social station they may belong. Moreover in • the complete assemblage of his works, no less than in the. Swarming ant-hill of human life itself, differences of class and breed· are made immediately obvious to the spectator's : eye; in whatever lu."rurious trappings the subjects may l:,e decked. . At one moment, bathed in the diffused brightness of an auditorium, • it is young women of~ ;most fashionable society, receiving and re- . fleeting the light with their eyes, their jewelry and their snowy, white - shoulders, as glorious as !)Ortraitsf ramed in the.ir.:boxesS. ome are grave The Painter of Modem Life 55 and serious, others blonde and brainless. Some flaunt precocio.us bosoms with an aristocratic unconcern, others frankly display the chests of young boys. They tap their teeth with their fans, while their gaze is vacant or set; they are as solemn and stagey as the play or opera that they are pretending to follow . Next we watch elegant families strolling at leisure in the walks of a public garden, the wives leaning calmly on the arms of their husbands, whose solid and c:omplacent air tells of a fortune made and their resulting self-esteem. Proud distinction has given way to a comfortable affiuenc~. Meanwhile skinny little girls w.ith billowing petticoats, who by their :figures and gestures put one in mind of little women, are skipping, playing with hoops or gravely paying social calls in the open air, thus • :rehearsing the comedy performed at home by their parents.1 Now for a moment we move to a lowlier theatricai world where th~ • little dancers, frail, • slender, hardly more than children, but proud o~ appearing at last in the blaze of.the limelight, are s~ing upon their virginal, puny shoulders absurd fancy-dresses which belong to no period, and are their joy and their delight. Or at a cafe door, as he lounges against the windows lit from within and without, we watch the display of one 9f q:hose half-wit peacocks whose elegance is the creation ofhis tailor and whose head of his barber. Beside him, her feet supported on the inevitable footstool, sits hiq; mistress, a great baggage who lacks practically nothing to make .he:r into a great lady-that 'practically nothing' being in fact 'practically everything>, for it is distinctionL~ ike her dainty companion, she has an enormous cigar entirely fillip.g the ·aperture of her tiny mouth. These two beings have not a single thought in their heads. Is it even certain that · they qin see? Unless, like Narcissuses of imbecility, they are gazing at the crowd_ as at a river which ref!~cts their own image. In truth, they exist very much more for the pleasure of the observer than for their own. And now. the doors are being thrown open· at Valentino's, at the ·Prado, or the Casino (whexe formerly it would have been the Tivoli, the Idalie, the Foiles and the Paphos)-those Bedlams where the exuberance of idle youth is given free rein. Women who have exag- • gerated the fashion to the extent of perverting its charm and totally destroymg_.j.ts aims, are ostentatiously sweeping the :floor with their • trains and the fringes qf their shawls; they come and go, pass and repass, • 1•8ee pL 14- ~, ;6 The Painter of lJfodern Life opening an astonished eye like animals, giving an impression of totai • • blindness, but missing nothing. . Against a background of hellish ligh~ or if you prefer, an cmrora 'borealis-red,o range, sulphur-yellow, pink (to ~'Pres_sa n idea of ecsta~y amid·frivolity),a nd sometimesp u.;:ple( thefavouxite colour of canonesses, like dying embers seen through a blue curtain)-against magical.backgrounds such as these, which remind one of varie_P.-tedB' engal Lights, • . there arises the Protean image of wanton beauty{~OW she is majestic,r \ now playful; now slender, even to the point of skinniness, now cyclo-, pean; now tiny and sparkling, now heavy and monumental. She has ·J . discove.red for herself a .provocative and barbaric sort 9f elegance, or \ •· else she-aspires, with more or less success, towards the simplicity which • is customary fua. better world. She advances towards us, glide:,, dances, . or moves about with her butden of embroidered petticoats, which play \ the part at once of pedestal and balancing-rod; her eye fl.asheso ut from i _.un der her hat, like ~ portta~t in its ~~- _Sh~i s a p5=rfecitm age of the / . ••~ vagery that lurks m the m1dst of c1vilizat1on,;..Shhea s her own sort of"\ • :'beauty, ":"hich comes to her from Evil )always • devoid of spiritu- • ality, but sometimes tinged with a weariness which im4tates true ' • melancholy. She directs her gaze at the horizon, like a beast of prey; the same wildness, the same lazy absent-mindedness, and also, at times, the same :fixityo f attenti<:_mS.h. e is a ·s9rt of gipsy wandering on the ,..fringeso f a regular society;?nd the triviality of her life, which is one of i warfar~ and·cunning, fat~! ~s through its envel?pe of sho'9.The.l.. follow1ng words of that .tny:p1tablem aster, La Bruyere, may be Justly applied to her: 'Some women possess an artificial nobility which is \~· associated with a movement of the eye, a tilt of the head; a manner of deportment, and which goes no further.' 1 . . • • These reflections concerning the courtesan are applicable within certain limits to the actress also; for she too is a ~eatui:e of show, an object of public pleasure._H ere however the conquest and the prize are of a nobler and more spiritual kind. With hex it is a questkn of winning the heart of the public not only by means of sheer physical beauty, but also through talents of the rarest order. If in one aspect the actress is akin to th~,courtes~,)n another she comes close to the poet .. We/ must never forget that quite apart frotn natural, and even artificial, .beauty, each hu,man being bears the distin1-:t.i yes tamp of his trade, a

1 See pl. IS.

The Pahrter of Modern Life 37 • : characteristic which can be translated into physical ugliness, but also· L into a sort of 'professional' beauty. ln that vast picture-gallery which is life in London-or Paris, we shall meet with all the various types of fallen wom:mhood-of woman in revolt against society-at all levels. First we see the courtesan in her prime, striving after patrician airs, proud at once of her youth and the uses two :fingers to tuck in a wide ·panel of silk, satin or velvet which billows around her, or points a toe whose over-ornate shoe would be enough to betray her for wrui.t she is, if the somewhat un.riecessary _ e.mavagance of her whole toilette had not done so already. Descending the scale, we come down. to the poor slaves of those filthy stews which are often, howezer, decorated like cafes; hapless wretches, subject to the most_ extortionate restraint, possessing nothing of their own, not even the eccentric :finery which serves.as sp.icea. nd setting to their beauty. l Some, of these, examples of an innocent and monstrous self-conceit, express in their faces and their bold, uplifted glances an obvious joy at ( being alive { and indeed, tine wo~ders .why). Sometimes, quite by chance, ·/ they achieve poses of a daring and nobility to enchant the :most sensitive of sculptors, if the sculptors of today were sufpcie.ntly bold and imagin\ ative to seize upon nobility wherever it was to be found, even in the }mire; at other times they display themselves in ·hopeless attitudes of ~redom, iti bouts of tap-room apathy, almost masculine in their brazenness, killing time with cigarettes, orientally resigned-stretched out, sprawling on settees, their skirts hooped up in front and behind like a double-Jan, or else precariouslj balanced on. stools and chairs; sluggish,g lum, stupid, extravagantt,h eir eyesg lazedw ith brandya nd their foreheads swelling with obstina,te pride. \"i'e. l have climbed down to the last lap of the spiral, down to the femina simplex of the Roman satirist.1 •And now, sketched against an atmospheric background in which both tobacco and alcohol have :rpingled their fumes, we see the emaciated flush of consumption or the rounded contours of obesity, • that hideous health of the slothful. In a foggy, gilded chaos, whose very existence is unsuspected by . the chaste and the poor,_ we assist at the Dervish dances of macabre nymphs and living dolls whose childish eyes bettiy a_ sinister glitter, while behind a bottle-laden counter there lolls in state an enormous Xanthippe whose head,_ wrapped in a dirty ~ Jmnal, Satire VI. .,. t,r . . ,x'.),',: ' _i, ~- :t,' _.,-/; ./ l'/v • ;,· 38 The Painter of Modem Life . ,,. .,· i:\ I.' 1kerchief, casts upon the wall a sata.nicilly pointed shadow, thus reminding us that everything thll,t is consecrated to Evil is condemned to wear Horns.1 Please do not think that it was in order to gratify the reader, any more than to scandalize him, that I have spread before his eyes pictures such as these; in either case this would have been to treat him with less than due respect. What in fact gives these works their value an!i,. :i.s-it were, ·sanctifies them is the wealth of thoughts to which they give 'rise- • thoughts however which are generally solemn and dark. 1f by chance anyone should be so ill-advised as to seek here an opponunity of satisfying bis unhealthy curiosity, I must in all charity warn hin;i that he will . fud nothing whatever to stimulate the sickness of his imagination. He . will :find nothing but the inevitable ·image of_ vig::, the demon's eye'. ambushed in the shadows or Messalina's shoulder gleaming under ·the 1 gas; ~o~g-~ut pure ~'--~ ~~:=h1.I}1 eant he spedal _b~9.:~o f evil,/' the beautiful ruiii.criheJ:1.QgibIlen. fact, if I may repeat myself in passing,1 • the general feeling which emanates from a:μth is chaos partakes more of: gloom than of gaiety. It is their mor~ fecundity which gives these!· cruel, • bfil:sh suggestion which my pen, accustomed though ~t is to [ grappling with the plastic arts, has perhaps interpreted only too in-:adequately. _ •

• XIII. CARRIAGES ' .. --t

: AND so they run on, those endless galleries of high and low life,! brmching off at· intervals into mnumerable tributaries and backwaters.! For the few minutes that remain, let us leave .them for a world which; if · not ~ctly: pure, is at any rate more refined; a wotlcl.'-wherew e shall ----breathpee rfumes not perhaps more healthful, but at least more delicate. 1 have already remarked that the .brush of Monsieur G., like that of Eugene Lami, is marvellously skilled at portraying the rites of d.andyism and the elegance of f~ppery. The.pgy§ical attitudes of the rich are familiar· _to him; with a light ·'siroke of the pen and a sureness of touch which. never desert!\. him, he is able to give us ~t assuranceco f glance, gesture ~· 1 See pl. 19. • 39 2nd pose which is ~-re:!suoltf a life of monotony .i!}g ood fortune. In the particular series of drawings of which I am thinking ,ve are shown athousand aspects and episodes of the outdoor life-racing, hunting, drives in the woods, proud 'ladies' and frail 'misses' expertly controlling their e.xquisitely graceful steeds, themselves no less dazzling and dainty than their mistresses. For Monsieur G. is not only a connoisseur of horses in general, but has also a happy gift for expressing the personalbeauty of the individual horse. At one moment it is wayside halts, bivouacs, as it were, of mnumerable carriages, from which slim young men and women garbed in the eccentric costumes authorized by the season,_h oisted up on cushions, on seats, or on t;he roof, are assisting at some ceremony of the turf which is going on in the distance; at another, a rider is seen galloping gracefully alongside an open barouche, and even his horse seems, by his prancing curtseys, to be paying his respects in his own way. The carriage drives off at a b.ti~k trot along a pathway zebra'd with light and shade, carrying its freight of beauties couche_d as though in a gond()Ia, lying back idly, only· half listening to the gallantries _which are .being whispered in their ears, and lazily giving themselves up to the gentle breeze of the drive,
The Paintero f 11iodemL ife •
Fur or muslin lap around their chins, billbwing in waves over the carriage-doors. Their servants are stiff and erect, motionless and all alike. It is always the_ same monotonous and self-effacing ll!iage of servility, punctual and disciplined; its di_stinctiveq.u ality is to have none. The :-·cods in the background are green or russet, dusty or gloomy, depending upon the time of day and the season. Their glades are filled with autumnal. mists, blue shadows, golden shafts of light, effulgences of pink, or suddenf lashesw hich cut across the darkness like rapierthrusts. ·If :Monsieur G.'s powexs as a landscape-painter had not already been revealed to us in his couptless water-colours dealing with the Eastern War, these would P:J.O?t,certa.iclbye enough to do SO, Here however we are no longer concemed with the butchered countryside of the Crimea.or the operatic shores of the Bosphorus; instead we are back in those intinlate, familiar landscapes which fringe the skirts of a great city, where the light creates effects which no truly Romantic artist could disregard. .,. • Another merit which deserves to be noticed at this point is our artist's remarkable understanding of •harness and ·coachwork. He draws and … .:};I i:;; :;J I.: F R ~-40 The Paintero f ModernL ife
paints each and every ]cip_do f carriage with the same care and ease as anexpert marine-painter all sorts of ships. His. coachwork is always consummately accurate; each detail is in its place, and no fault can be found with it. In whatever attitude it may be caught, at whatever speed it may be .tunning, a carriage, like a ship, j:\erives from its movement a roysterioi, is and complex grace which is ver:'j difficult to note down in shorthand. The pleasure which it affords the artist's eye would seem to spring from the series· of geometrical shapes which this object, already so intricate, whether it be ship o.i: ca.triage, cu.ts swiftly and successively in space. I am convinced that in a few years' time Monsieu.iG: .'s drawings will have taken their place as precious archives of civilized life. His works •w ill be sought after by collecto.i:sa ,s much as those of the Debucourts, • the Moreaus, the Saint-Aubins, the Carle Vernets, the Deverias, the Gavarni$, and all those other delightful artists who, though depicting nothlng but the familiar and the cb.anning, are in their own way ·no less of serious histo.i:ian.s. A few of them have even sacrificedt oo much to charm, and have sometimes introdnced into their compositions a classic style alien to the subject; some have deliberately .rounded their angles, smoothed the rough edges of life and toned down its fl.ashing highlights. Less skilful than they, Monsieur G. retains a term+kable excellence which is all his own; he has deliberately fulfilled a function, which other artists have sc-orned and which it needed above all a man . of the world to fulfilJ.: !e_h as everywhe.i:es ought after the fugitive, . fleeting beauty of present-day life, t,he distinguishing character of that quality. which, with the ;~der's kind permission, we ha,;e called ~modernity'. Often weird, violent and excessive, he has -contrived to concentrate in his drawings the acrid. or heady bouquet of the wine of life.

untitled. . . 2025
oil on cardboard
15 x 20 cm, 6 x 8 inches

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Text above gathered from a heavily annotated scan of “The Painter of Modern Life” by Charles Baudelaire with an image to text conversion program