Paysage
de la Creuse
circa 1919
The use of pastel in
this composition is excellent. It gives off an audiovisual effect: its texture,
dusty and powdery, helps to accentuate details like flickering leaves and sunny
spots, but it also helps us imagine the literal way in which the landscape was drawn.
The individual sticks of resin- or gum-bound pigments, of bright blues and reds
and browns, were scratched and rubbed onto this paper; the idea that a finger once
glided itself through and across these waves of colours gives off a sense of immediacy
and genuine contact with the surface, like the hull of a boat dragging itself along
the sandy base of a stream. For some people these analogies denote particular
sounds.
The layout is divided
into three tiers. The foreground shows the widest part of the river,
shadowed in the wake of something large and unseen; the ripply face of the
water is dappled with peach-pinks, blues and occasional blacks, assuming an
out-of-focus look. After this we are inadvertently led into the scene. Our eyes
meet the middle-ground shores and the clear reflections of the sky; the soft,
fluffy tree on the left, speckled with beautiful red blooms, cranes itself
upwards and throws a strong red shadow to its right. As the river wraps itself
behind and beyond the tall central tree and its little copse of admirers we
finally reach the climax. Guillaumin makes us wonder what we would meet on the
other side: another shore? A little family of fish? Or a long stretch of
mountainous skyline, the peaks of which skim whipped clouds and warm sun rays?
