Le Fumeur
circa 1866
The focus is on his hands. They are huge, almost too big to be realistic, but their realism is exact. Perhaps their large size and shadowed creases, or the way the fingers seem darkened with years of use, is unappealing to an ignorant eye. But the palpable quality with which Manet imbues the man's thick, leathery skin, and the way the skin seems to draw itself over the individual knuckles and nails as would an old stiff bed sheet over the shape of a lumpy mattress, give this nineteenth century smoker an ironic air: one that is ephemeral but also ever-lasting, and one that blurs any sense of ugliness.
The man's eyes tell the viewer that he is aware of his existence. Though his plump, bushy beard defies his true age his singed whiskers nevertheless reveal his old habits. This man embodies the transience of his own old age, as well as the permanence of time - a permanence that never falters, even if births and deaths across the globe trickle in and out of its frame of view. The two trails of smoke do not dissipate into the picture's foreground, but deeper still into its background. That which hovers over the cigarette butt is heavy and slow-moving, while the other whisps along quickly with the steady stream of the man's exhaling. These remind one of the relations things have between themselves; that while one thing may move along quickly and indifferently, completely undistracted by its surroundings, another may move slowly and contemplatively. But at their core, as seen with Manet's two wisps of smoke, they could share the same origin.
