The Morgan, Part I.
In the catalogue introduction to the exhibition Louis-Antoine Prat, curator in the graphic arts department of the Louvre, describes the thinking that resulted in the selection of the chosen art works: by framing it within the years 1795 to 1850 both the extended turmoil within the French state and the wide range of drawing styles would be included illustrating the many interests in the French graphic arts. And it appears that the intentions have been successfully realized. There are a variety of schools and genres …classicism, romanticism, troubadour, genre, figure drawings, portraits, landscapes and cityscapes representing 19th Century French artists from David to Daumier. There are drawings in graphite, chalk, charcoal, pen and ink, wash, and watercolor. The only thing that I notice missing is that there is no still life and no works in pastel. With only the slightest forcing of the dates that omission might have been corrected by including something by Chardin…he overlapped the era by three years. But that might be a subjective desire on my part: I am a fool for Chardin.
As for the drawings there is a full range from doodles to quick sketches and sketch book works made in situ to gesture drawings, contour drawings, layouts for larger works, finished drawings for larger works, and drawings intended as art works that stand on their own. Some of these have interests as drawings and some of them have interest as curiosities: I had no idea that David could work on such a small scale!
Regarding the quality many of them are superb, many of them are very good, some are historically interesting but mediocre and only a few of them are questionable as “art”, notably the Sappho Leaping into the Sea by Chasseriau: whatever its historic importance it is the kind of bad drawing that I would expect to see only in an exhibition of works by high school students. The inclusion of drawings like this makes one wonder if the Louvre might have a very limited collection of drawings.
By contrast Paul Gravarni’s Interior View of a Courtyard at five by three inches, despite having what the catalogue describes as a lack of finesse, makes one wonder whatever became of him. It is a very tight value study in grisaille similar to the works of Charles Sheeler made from his photographs.
Among the pleasant discoveries is an intriguing female nude by Corot. One often forgets that many of Corot’s landscapes feature dancing nymphs…a fact I often do try to forget. In addition the watercolor and gouache, Two Leopards from Peru
In the realm of showstoppers there are of course the usual suspects; Gericault, Delacroix, David, all of whose works here are truly inspiring, and, of course, Ingres. And with ten works in this exhibition and sixteen from the Morgan collection in a second exhibition down the hall a wonderful range of Ingres’ work gets a more than welcome showing. (That entry follows this.)
But the star of the show, as he would be in any exhibition that included his works on paper, is Prud’hon with two nudes, one male and one female, a portrait, a working drawing squared up for a painting, and a small and overly maudlin illustration with watercolor. Prud’hon is one of the few artists whose every nude can stop me dead in my tracks. They are not drawings so much as they are modeled forms seemingly sculpted on the flat surface and with the most exquisite sense of lighting. Encompassed by caressing air they are all romantic soft edges and seem to conform to Kenneth Clark’s statement that every nude should evoke a sexual response and indeed, whether male or female, these do.
But the great work here is his portrait of Constance Mayer, black and white chalk. Here is one of those rare portraits, Picasso’s portraits of Marie Therese are similar, in which the artist is able to express his love for both the subject and the medium in which he works. Because of that love Prud’hon is able to communicate her unique individuality, yet he captures as well her archetypal essence: while she is his Constance she is as well someone we could know and love in our own time: the lighting is beautiful, the range of tonal values is perfection, the execution is flawless. And I love that she is not in an environment but that she is a drawing on paper. It is all so fragile: not the drawing alone, but life …life is fragile. The juxtaposition of controlled mastery and spontaneous delight has never been better essayed.
This is a lovely exhibition: it is the kind of work I would expect museums to always have on view but which they do not. Because the subject matter is almost always on the human scale I was aware of liking it so much more than I do exhibitions of Italian Renaissance drawing. However, I went through it twice and I left both times feeling that it was not quite enough, that I wanted it to be more than it was. I don’t mean by that more drawings, the 60 here and the additional 16 Ingres drawings are just right for one museum visit. Perhaps it was the inclusion of so many of the lesser known artist of the era, who I agree are due their few moments of recognition if not fame, but who had the character here of being merely filler. Perhaps their appeal is to those scholars who dote on these things…and who too often make verbal mountains of erudition out of molehills of achievement. In the end, for me, there was a feeling of thinness to it. But maybe the fault is mine: perhaps I spend too much time looking at art simply for the pleasure of it. Is that possible?
Here is a link to the web site. Unfortunately there is no online slide show:
The catalogue is all inclusive and the reproductions are splendid. There is, however, practically no commentary on the various mediums or the techniques they require. My thoughts on that are included in the comments on the Ingres exhibition.
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