Impressions of Paris: Honore-Victorin Daumier

Some time ago I went to an exhibition at the National Gallery of Australia called Impressions of Paris: Lautrec, Degas, Daumier. These men, each a generation apart, are credited with being consummate draughtsmen whose innovative compositions and embrace of modern subject matter played a significant role in artistic developments in France over the nineteenth century.

I have previously seen a lot of Lautrec and Degas, but I was not so familiar with Honoré-Victorin Daumier, although it is clear to see, looking at his prints and lithographs, how he inspired the later artists. During the 1800s Paris had witnessed the remarkable growth of the popular press. The technique of lithography, invented at the turn of the eighteenth century, was adopted by practicing artists as it was a printmaking technique conducive to drawing freely and directly.

Daumier's knowledge of the Romantic artists, including Delacroix is evident in these sometimes complex structural arrangements of figures, and the sense of movement in the compositions. His understanding and application of the lessons learnt from the study of earlier artists sets him apart from other less talented caricaturists of his era. 

Battle between the schools: Idealism vs Realism from Le Charivari, 24 April 1855

For publishers of newspapers, lithography allowed for larger print runs compared to earlier printing methods. Newspapers and journals began to include serialisation of novels by writers like Emile Zola as well as caricatures by artists such as Daumier, which were often satiric and of a contemporary social or political nature. All of these factors helped to sell newspapers and journals to a growing and appreciative audience. 

Many of Daumier's caricatures reveal his mastery of depicting the human figure, his skill in foreshortening and ability to suggest movement. Daumier created a huge pool of imagery in his many witty, sometimes acerbic, series of themes devoted to French society, produced over many years. 

The orchestra during the performance of a tragedy from Le Charivari, 5 April 1852

The generation of French artists who followed Daumier in the nineteenth century were inspired by his observations, which became an extraordinary reservoir of ideas. Both Degas and then Lautrec were enthusiastic admirers of French caricature, delighting in its animated qualities, stylistic freedoms and contemporary themes. 

Degas was much taken with Daumier's skill as a draughtsman, and held him in high regard. He was particularly inspired by his interest in physiognomy (including the theory that appearance reveals character), his expressive qualities and modern themes, many of which Degas then adapted. Lautrec also assimilated lessons from Degas, borrowing themes and compositions from his idol. Lautrec admired and emulated Degas, which is evident in his compositions of drinkers at bars, dancers on stage, cabaret scenes and courtesans. 

A queen preparing for her big speech from Le Charivari, 24 September 1856

One thing I did find interesting is that for all his innovation and political freedom, Daumier still was far from believing in granting equality to half of the human race. He did not see assertive women as seekers of liberty and equality; rather they represented an aspect of self-obsessed bourgeois behaviour. In the series, Blue Stockings, educated women and aspiring authors  appear to be oblivious to the predicament of a child in an upturned bucket or to fellow readers in a library.

The mother is in the fire of composition, the baby is in the water of the bath from Le Charivari, 26 February 1844 

Women railing for their right to divorce and justice are seen as formidable figures in the full fury of their quest, or in celebratory mode toasting their emancipation. And women smoking after attending the public baths also satirise the 'new woman' of France.

 

A toast to the emancipation of Women, being drunk by women who are already tremendously emancipated from Le Charivari, 12 October 1848 

Daumier's legacy may have a been a brilliant journalistic record of the modern capital as he contributed to an era in France ripe for a new art, but he wasn't prepared to stray too far from convention. As far as he was concerned, art, emancipation, literature and life were still clearly boys' clubs.

Artistic Impression

Moving on to ‘Painting Out of Doors’ at The National Gallery, the room is lined with panels by Jean Baptiste-Camille Corot depicting changing light through the trees and sky over the space of a day, with small figures for emphasis and perspective. The next room is ‘Manet, Monet and Impressionism’, and now we are into more familiar territory. We have Renoirs and Berthe Morisot’s Summer’s Day (1879) where two women relax in a boat on a river. Edouard Manet’s The Execution of Maximilian (1867-8) is a reconstructed canvas. It’s pretty big and shows the firing squad preparing for their mission – all we see of the victim himself is his hand.

Claude-Oscar Monet’s The Beach at Trouville (1870) proves his open-air style. In the sketch of his wife and a friend, grains of sand and shell are embedded in the paint surface. There is also one of his Gare St-Lazare (1877) paintings – of which there are twelve painted from the same spot, capturing the light at different times of the day.

A woman delivers beer to men watching a dancer on stage in Edouard Manet’s Corner of a Café-Concert (1877-80). Her attention is diverted by something off to the side of the canvas and she is looking in completely the opposite direction from everyone else – we wonder what has caught her eye.

Gustave Caillebotte’s A Man at His Bath (1884) is a fascinating study, as I realise there aren’t so many paintings of the male figure – it was considered not as acceptable as images of naked women. Interestingly, when I try to buy a postcard of this painting, there are none for sale. Plus ça change... The catalogue notes explain, ‘The male nude is a relatively infrequent subject in late nineteenth-century painting. The matter-of-fact presentation of the figure here, drying himself after emerging from the bath and leaving wet footprints on the floor of his Parisian apartment is particularly rare. Also unexpected is the painting’s larger-than-life scale.’

Monet’s work is still brilliant, whether his irises, poplars, Venice or Le Havre. The Snow Scene at Argenteuil (1875) evokes a cold winter atmosphere through a steely palette of blues, greys and occasional sharp accents of colour which give the painting depth. His water lilies and Japanese bridge are represented by paintings from 1924 and 1926 shortly before his death – his loss of eyesight led to thick foliage and strikingly bold greens where the ‘paint handling is particularly free’.

I like Alfred Sisley’s View of the Thames: Charring Cross Bridge (1874), with the boats on the water framed by the city sky-line, all rendered with his short stroke technique and ‘nervy brushwork’. Camille Pissarro’s Portrait of Felix Pissarro (1881) is a portrait of his third son when he was seven years old (the son, not the artist) wearing a red beret against a green background – it’s a great colour contrast.

We have now move on to ‘Beyond Impressionism’ apparently, with Pissarro, Seurat and others who adopted the pointillist style – notably Alfred William Finch who paints an austere scene in The Channel at Nieuport (1889) in which the water and sky meld almost imperceptibly into one to exude an atmosphere of emptiness and silence. Akseli Gallen-Kallela’s Lake Keitele (1905) is a more naturalistic painting of a lake just north of Helsinki.

Theo van Rysselberghe uses simple colours to big effect in his pointillist homage, A Coastal Scene (1898). George Seurat’s Le Bec du Hoc, Grandcamp (1885) is a study of a promontory with birds and boats in the background. Even the borders are done in his dotty discipline.

I am reunited with Pierre Auguste Renoir’s At the Theatre (1876-7). I love this painting – the isolation of the young girl and her chaperone in the theatre box are the focus rather than the action on stage. Camille Pissarro’s shimmering brushwork and eclectic use of colour are evident in The Little Country Maid (1882) and The Pork Butcher (1883).

Paul Cezanne is also a master of colour and he broke away from the Impressionists with his use of colour rather than light to convey form. Examples include An Old Woman with a Rosary (1895-6); The Painter’s Father, Louis Auguste Cezanne (1862); The Store in the Studio (late 1860s) and Self Portrait (1880) in which he experiments with geometric structure and blocks of colour. Bathers (1888-1905) is outlined in blue to accentuate the serenity of the scene.

This room also contains work by Edouard Vuillard – The Earthenware Pot (1895) contains dots and dashes and such deep reds and bright flowers that the image of women sewing is like a lacquered vase itself.

Naturally Van Gogh is represented here, by Van Gogh’s Chair (1888) and Sunflowers (1888), but also by the less familiar Long Grass with Butterflies (1890), A Wheat Field with Cypresses (1889) and – a new favourite of mine – Two Crabs (1889).

I hear people with their banal comments on art appreciation: ‘I just love pointillism; it’s so aggravating’; ‘She must have sat still for hours’; ‘Fantastico!’; ‘That’s amazing, but where would you put it in your house?’; Parent to child – ‘His paintings are worth millions.’ Child – ‘Really?’ Another parent to another child – ‘Can you see the sunflowers?’

In the ‘Degas and Art around 1900’ room there are (obviously) pastels by Degas of dancers, ballerinas and peasants. I particularly like Miss La La at the Cirque Fernando (1879) as she spins from her teeth, high in the air, unsupported by anything but a rope. We also have Klimt, more from Edouard Vuillard, and Surprised! (1891) by Henri Rousseau. By placing the trees along a diagonal axis he has conveyed a sense of wind in spite of the painting’s static and naive style. (‘See the tiger?’)