What did Josephine Look Like?

What did certain people who lived before the age of photography really look like?

In many cases, we can't be sure even where portraits are available. That's because some painters lacked the skill to render a good likeness. Other painters might have produced flattering images of their subjects.

One possible solution to this problem is to assemble a set of images by different artists and compare them. Where they tend to agree, it's fairly likely that is how the subject actually appeared.

As a test, let's look at a collection of images of Napoleon's first wife, the Empress Josephine. Several of the images shown are unfamiliar to me, so it's possible that I wasn't wise to rely on identifications provided by the Web sites I used as sources. I also wasn't able to identify the artist in some cases because no identification was provided. Cautionary notes aside, the focus should be on what the images tell us.


Gallery

Josephine as Empress (December, 1804 - January, 1810) -- artist not identified.

By Andrea Appiani (according to the source site), before her marriage to Napoleon.

By Antoine-Jean Gros, an important painter in those times.

By unidentified artist.

By Jean-Baptiste Isabey, 1808.

Profile by Isabey.

Ivory miniature credited to Ferdinand Quaglia, 1814 -- the year of her death.

By Francois Gérard, 1801.

By Pierre-Paul Prud'hon, 1805.

Drawing (study for the painting above?) by Prud'hon.

I suspect that sculptors tend to do more realistic images than painters, though they too might be tempted to flatter their subjects.

Bust by Joseph Chinard, c.1805-06.

Another bust by Chinard. I saw this version at Canada's National Gallery in Ottawa.


None of the images shows an open mouth -- but few if any portraits before 1900 showed teeth anyway. What we do see is a small, slightly pinched mouth in nearly every image. Why? This source states that "her blackened and rotting teeth were a direct result of the sugar saturated cuisine consumed during her childhood" in Martinique.

The 1814 painting and perhaps the one by Gérard suggest a fuller face than the rest, which indicate more of a V-shape. The Appiani painting is the only one that doesn't clearly show brown eyes.

Otherwise, there seems to be agreement that she had hooded eyelids, the tops of which sit under a strong ridge further defined by eyebrows that are fairly thick where they meet the nose. She also had strong cheekbones and a generally straight nose with a relatively flat underside. Her hair appears to be dark brown, and she favored wearing it with bangs in the front and upswept or collected at the back.

The most attractive depictions, I think, are the busts by Chinard and the sketch by Prud'hon -- which agree in most details. I would like to think this was how she really looked, even though a fuller face might have been the reality.

Too bad Daguerre didn't invent photography 30 years earlier (sigh).

The Painter Who Filled Sargent's Shoes

This summer London's National Portrait Gallery has been hosting a small exhibit of portraits by Philip Alexius de László (1869-1937), who in 1907 took over the role of Britain's top society portraitist after John Singer Sargent proclaimed that he was fed up with all that.

The de László Wikipedia entry is here and the artist's Web site is here.

De László was born in the Pest side of Budapest and received training in Hungary, Munich and Paris. He led a cosmopolitan existence as he gained fame and wealth painting portraits, but maintained an imposing home/studio in Budapest until his Irish wife persuaded him to move to London in 1907. Aside from a rough patch (house arrest) during the later part of the Great War, he thrived in England while sallying to the continent and America from time to time to execute other commissions.


Gallery

HRH Prince Andrew of Greece - 1913

General John J. Pershing - 1921

László was skilled at painting men and children, but he is best known for portraits of women.

Elinor Glyn - 1914
This was commissioned by Lord Curzon who was the notorious novelist's lover at the time (just before she was jilted).

The actress Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies - 1933
This painting was done as a demonstration: details here.

Princess Andrew of Greece - 1907

Mrs Edmund Buchanan, née Doreen Bury - 1929

Queen Marie of Romania - 1924

Viscountess Chaplin, née Hon Gwladys Wilson - 1915

HM Queen Elizabeth when Dutchess of York - 1925
Yes, it's the "Queen Mum" and this painting, on loan from HM Queen Elizabeth II, was one of the highlights of the NPG show.

Winifred, Duchess of Portland - 1912
Rivaling the Queen Elizabeth portrait at the small NPG exhibit is this one of the Duchess of Portland when she was nearing 50.


Like many other representational artists his his era and earlier, de László's reputation collapsed following his death. While Sargent, Anders Zorn, Joaquin Sorolla and Giovanni Boldini have been rehabilitated to some degree, de László remains something of an unknown. Reasons advanced for this include: (1) he was too facile, able to complete paintings in six or fewer sittings, (2) he painted aristocracy, a no-no in an era where egalitarianism dominated lip-service; and (3) the fact that most of his paintings remain in private collections rather than being "visible" in museums. This last problem was slightly mitigated by a 2004 Christie's exhibit in London and the current NPG exhibit mentioned above.

My take? I like de László's portraits a lot. They're unlike Sargent's in that he tended to paint "thinner" -- not so much paint on the brush. This makes his portraits slightly less dramatic. But he created good likenesses that are interesting to view even where we don't know what the subject looked like. He was hugely in demand for excellent reasons.

How to Style Cars: 1955

In 1955 when I was a teenage car-stylist wannabe, a new book (cover image below) appeared on the market. It was filled with helpful tips and packed with examples of concept sketches and renderings by professional stylists and advanced students. I still have my copy.

So I was pleased to stumble across a post concerning it on the Dean's Garage blog. The illustrations shown here were pulled from that post, but I strongly urge interested readers to click on the link and scroll down to where links to other illustrations can be found.

The book was strictly monochrome, so color versions of the art (such as shown above) are sorely missing; nowadays such a book would have color. Some illustrations are simply workman-like and a few are beautifully done -- especially those by Richard Tatge who did the red turbine car. As a group, they are an interesting sample of styling ideas from the early-to-mid 1950s.

Gallery

Tatge illustrations showing how a turbine-powered racer might be tamed into a street-ready production job.

Another rendering that's probably by Tatge -- this, a fine, early taste of "retro."

The book's author, Robert Gurr, was not a flashy renderer. This is one of his nicer sketches.

Aside from Tatge, most of the stylists whose contributions were in the book were good at rendering cars but not proficient at human beings. A few human figures were little more than poorly done diagrams. Interestingly, Tatge never seemed to have made a mark either in styling or related fields such as illustration if a recent Google search on his name is any evidence.

Artist as Brand-Name

Kelly Crow's 6 August Wall Street Journal article "Lust for Late" highlights higher sales prices for later works by Andy Warhol, Pablo Picasso and -- the artist featured in the piece -- Salvador Dalí.

I find the following passage interesting:

The fever for late-period works is being driven by market demands as much as scholarly curiosity. Typically, the pieces created by major artists late in life aren't as prestigious or pricey as their early breakthroughs or prime examples. The art world, like the field of fashion or mathematics, likes to discover genius among the young while often dismissing whatever comes after as repetitious or second-tier.

But as artists' top works seep out of the marketplace and into museums, collectors' tastes begin "migrating to the supply," says David Norman, Sotheby's international co-chairman of Impressionist and modern art.

I find it interesting because it adds evidence for the supply-and-demand factor in art pricing. Elsewhere I've seen claims that one reason auction prices for French Impressionists has been high for decades is that the supply of first-rate 15th through 17th century painters has largely dried up.

But there is another factor in play: buyer caution. If one is in the mood to spend a few million dollars on a painting, the potential investment value of that painting is hard to ignore. (The exception is when a buyer truly loves a painting and plans to keep it for as long as he lives.) So rather than risk money on a recent artist whose long-term investment potential is unclear, go for undervalued works by proven artists even if this means ignoring the opinion of critics and curators.

Regarding Dalí, Crow observes:

Few artists could reap more from a late-period revival than Dalí. The artist created at least 1,200 paintings between his art-school years in the 1920s and his death in 1989. Yet he was only 36 when the Surrealists in Paris expelled him from their circle, citing his outsize ego and political apathy. As a result, more than half of Dalí's entire output is considered "late."

After breaking with the Surrealists, Dalí toyed with a variety of different topics and styles, a surprising mix that's reflected in the upcoming show at the High Museum. These include his 1951 "Christ of Saint John of the Cross," a nearly 7-foot-tall, photorealistic portrait of the crucifixion that's owned by Glasgow's Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum and hasn't been exhibited in the U.S. for over 40 years. A pixelated rendering of Raphael's Madonna embedded within the outline of a huge ear in his "Sistine Madonna" from 1958 reveals Dalí's later fascination for trompe l'oeil. Other artworks tease out his boredom with Abstract Expressionism and his early nods to Pop, conceptual, video and performance art.

This assessment seems reasonable. Moreover, I don't consider his post-1940 paintings intrinsically inferior to his Surrealist efforts. In each era, he painted both good and so-so works. His drawing and prints are another matter, their value affected by uncertainty regarding fakes.

Actually, the business of artist-as-brand-name doesn't bother me. After all, how can an artist not be a "brand" if he is a professional whose main source of income is sales of his work. I can't think of any alternative, but if you can, please let us know in Comments.

Savage Adventures

The well-used expression "timing is everything" usually refers to something relatively short-term. But sometimes timing can be a matter of generations, as is the case with the subject of this post -- the pulp fiction hero Doc Savage.

Doc Savage paperback book cover by James Bama

Back in the 1970s and 80s I noticed a steady flow of Doc Savage paperbacks sporting James Bama covers such as the one shown above. I assumed it was some new sci-fi series and paid it no attention other than to wonder about the odd hairstyle Bama created for Doc. At any rate, I never bothered to buy any of the books. Such is the bliss of ignorance.

What I didn't know was that the Doc Savage character first appeared in the early 1930s in a pulp magazine series that ran till the end of the 1940s. When the series ended I was still reading comic books, never considered buying any kind of pulp (though the crime oriented ones with scantily-clad babes on their cover began to fascinate), and on the cusp of discovering science-fiction.

So timing-induced ignorance it was -- born too late to experience Doc in the original and too late to discover him in re-release (to do the latter, ideally I should have been a teenager).

Doc Savage pulp cover by Walter Baumhofer

I began my discovery of Doc Savage through my interest in Baumhofer's work even though I was familiar with Bama's career and Doc Savage covers. In the last few years I noticed a new series of reprints featuring the Baumhofer covers. When some of these trickled down to $2 remainder status items at a local cut-rate bookstore I bought a few to find out what this Doc Savage stuff was all about.

The "author" of the Doc Savage series was "Kenneth Robeson," a pseudonym created by the original publisher as cover for a number of ghost-writers who might be needed over time if the pulp series became successful. As it turned out, most Doc Savage adventures were either written by or under the scrutiny of Lester Dent, who offered yarn-spinning advice here.

Doc Savage is a highly improbable version of a human being. Trained by his father to grow into a large muscle-machine with instant reflexes and five senses that operate at near-ultimate capabilities, he holds a medical doctorate degree and invents lots of keen stuff to assist him in his crusade for justice in particularly bloodthirsty corners of the world including New York City. He has offices on the 86th floor of an anonymous NYC skyscraper and a nearby warehouse stuffed with a submarine, other water craft, a variety of special cars and trucks, several high-speed amphibious aircraft and other goodies I've yet to read about. This is funded via a precious metal mine in what once was the Mayan empire. From time to time Doc radios a request (speaking a Mayan dialect) and the locals collect and caravan out enough to keep Doc's operation humming.

Naturally Doc is too busy solving crimes, inventing things, doing his daily two-hour regimen of exercise and sense-enhancement training to pay much attention to women. But he doesn't chase after guys either. That's the way heroes of literature operated back in those days. Adventure readers -- especially teenage ones -- wanted lots of action and heroics; smoochy stuff was for the romance pulps that gals read. Also, Doc was pretty short on introspection, again unlike how a 21st century hero might be concocted.

Therefore, to my eyes Doc Savage is unbelievable as a real person. To most 1935 readers older than 18 or 20, he probably seemed off the charts as well. But the whole point of Savage and similar characters is that push beyond all reasonable limits of reality. Just sit back, relax and wipe out the cares of the day with a dose of Savage and his improbable adventures.

Vieux Montmartre

I took the above photo during a heavy squall just after leaving the main building of the Musée de Montmartre last month. The background structure houses exhibits and was the former home of artists such as Suzanne Valadon and her dysfunctional son Maurice Utrillo. The museum's Web site is here and a brief history here.

Montmartre was the center of Paris' bohemian-artistic crowd during the final decades of the 19th century and first few decades of the twentieth, when Montparnasse gradually usurped the avant-garde crown.

Although I've visited Montmartre perhaps half a dozen times over the years, I never bothered to visit its museum. Perhaps I figured it would be some kind of tourist trap. Too bad for me. I finally toured it in June and found that it was entirely legit and had several items of exceptional interest. Let me add that it helps if a visitor has more than passing knowledge of Parisian arts and culture of the era featured in the exhibits.

In the center of one room was an encased model of the district with small flags indicating where well known artists, writers and other notables lived. On a nearby wall I found...

Parce Domine - Adolphe Willette, c.1884
This large painting once decorated a wall at the famous Montmartre hangout Le Chat Noir.

Another item of interest was what supposedly was the only known nude photograph of Valadon. She got her start as a model for artists including Renoir before becoming a painter herself. The image was certainly impressive, though I wasn't completely convinced that it was really of Suzanne. Her lower face has a pinched look that became progressively more distinct as she aged. I found this hard to detect in the photo, though it's possible the look was less prominent when she was, say, 20 years old.

A good reason for you to journey to Montmartre to see for yourself.

"Mystic" Painters of the Misty Northwest

The jet airliner, internet, and all those other time and distance-collapsing innovations of the past 50 or 60 years might have contributed to a decline of regionalism in painting. That is, if indeed there has been such a decline; I haven't researched this and am relying on impressions as the assertion's basis.

Here in the often dreary, drizzly northwest corner of America we once upon a time had a "regional school" of painting. Because Life magazine said so.

Readers under age 50 might not realize that so-called "mass-market" magazines once were an extremely important part of the shared culture America once had. Publications such as Saturday Evening Post, Collier's, Time and Life had huge paid subscriptions in a country with half its present population. Life was a fat, glossy magazine with an emphasis on photographic essays. While a recurring feature was a bit of fluff titled "Life Goes to a Party," it also contained articles keyed to the prevailing "middlebrow" cultural uplift ethos.

So the issue of 28 September 1953 had a full color feature on four painters working in the Puget Sound area (much of the magazine's illustrations were in black and white then, so color was a semi-big deal). The title of the piece characterized them as "mystics" because of their style, subjects and the local grayed-out climate. Naturally we locals were pleased with this important national publicity, Seattle being pretty much a backwater in those days unless one was in the aircraft-building trade.

The four artists featured by Life were Mark Tobey (1890-1976), Morris Graves (1910-2001), Kenneth Callahan (1905-86) and Guy Anderson (1906-98). A Wikipedia entry on "Northwest School" painting is here. Below are examples of their work:

Broadway 1936
This is an example of Tobey's signature "white writing" style. Here one can find recognizable images buried in the line overlay.

Patterns of Conflict - 1944
A later Tobey where the lines become virtually the entire subject-matter. Paintings such as this suggest to some that he influenced the later drip-paintings of Jackson Pollock.

This painting of a bird is representative of Graves' work which featured birds and other objects painted in a wispy style suggestive of Chinese painting with Tobeyesque overtones.

Callahan would often create a swirly soup within which he'd add sketchy human or animal figures.

Anderson's work was bolder and heavier than the others, as well as more purely abstract, as this example indicates. The "mystic" label sets uneasily upon him.



If I had a research budget, I'd put some effort into trying to determine how that Life article originated; for now, I'll speculate. And my speculation centers on the Seattle Art Museum which at the time was the creation and creature of geologist Richard E. Fuller. (A memoir about Richard Fuller by Thelma Lehmann is here.) For many years Kenneth Callahan was on the museum's staff to handle publicity. Callahan also wrote columns about art for the Seattle Times, the leading local newspaper. Given Callahan's public relations skills and Fuller's influence in the museum world, it is easy to imagine that one or both tipped Life editors to the idea for the article. However, this note states that the tip came from Seattle art dealer Zoë Dusanne (1884-1972). (I, along with some other art students, visited her home-cum-gallery not long before it was eradicated by construction of Interstate 5 through Seattle.)

So where do Tobey, Graves and Anderson come into the picture? They were friends of Callahan. Callahan had a wife, but the others never married and, as is suggested in this book, were at various times dear and extremely intimate friends of one another. Perhaps this explains why the not-so-mystical Anderson was grouped with the others.

All four artists matured during the period 1920-40, a time that interests me because it was a time of reflection after the onslaught of movements of the early 20th century and before Abstract Expressionism became for a while the dominant modernist school. In a nutshell, most artists were trying to figure out how to accommodate to modernism while the few true modernists were trying to figure out what next step modernism should take. This is why abstract and representational features intermingle in many works by Tobey, Graves and Callahan.

My rating of these painters? I think Graves was the best of the lot because he strayed the least from representation while creating interesting images. Tobey was the prime innovator. I place much less value on innovation and "creativity" than other observers, but feel Tobey should be given his due. Callahan's work tends to be forgettable as does Anderson's.

I should add that Guy Anderson was my art "instructor" once upon a time. In retrospect, it was probably an example of Richard Fuller helping out an artist in need. What happened was that, during my senior year in high school, the Seattle Art Museum held an all-city art class wherein each of the eight public high schools sent two students to it one afternoon a week. For a reason I do not know, I was one of Roosevelt High's representatives. There actually wasn't much or any "instruction" from Anderson. He'd mostly sit there in his turtle-neck sweater and tweed jacket and puff on a pipe while we students did whatever puttering around we did with our art supplies. The main things I got from the class were a crush on one of the girls and a date for my senior prom with another.