Édouard Manet

Édouard Manet

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. 

Léon Bakst

Léon Bakst

Supper

circa 1902

     This painting exudes more of a feast for the eyes than an actual meal. The paint strokes and colours put together form a visual dessert: from the bulbous, succulent fruit to the woman's elegant allure, everything appears sweet in tone and texture.

     But is all as sweet as it seems? Underneath the folds of the table cloth, whisped about like a soft mousse, seems to be caught a violent wind. Something powerful, possibly deep sentiment, created these folds. Layer upon layer, the structure of this painting resembles that of a many-tiered mille-feuille - not only in composition but in meaning, too. We think that we see a simple scene involving a woman seated at a table, but in noticing subtle details such as her fan or the fallen orange, it becomes necessary to delve beyond this superficial impression. We must question why she bears such confidence in her stature and stare? Why she is dressed entirely in black, but with suggestive curves and tendrils of hair falling against her white neck, leading our eye along the contours of her nearly-naked bosom? And above all, why she sits at an empty table - when that which is in the foreground appears fully set? Question after question we lose ourselves in faint possibilities, and the work inevitably becomes more complicated than it first appeared.

     This is the nature of art, however. If we study it for too long we may lose its original message. Art does not have to be understood in order to be interesting, and it does not have to follow an ideal in order to be beautiful. In this case, Bakst teases us through the woman's curious stare and surroundings, leaving us a bit baffled.

Jean-Édouard Vuillard

Jean-Édouard Vuillard

On the Sofa or The White Room

circa 1890-93

   Pattern dominates this interior space. Though the reclining dark-haired girl sleeps, the walls and cushions and floor-boards flicker with animation. From the left, a cool linear crimson saturates into dull whites and yellows along the sofa's fabric, and the light pink material covering the girl's legs forms the shape of a large wilted petal. The vertically-lined wallpaper behind simulates thin streaks of light, like rays of the sun that seem to pour down at the end of a hot day. Below is the wooden floor: its rectangular panes forming wide zig-zags across the ground like great matching puzzle pieces, some of which are slightly dusty nearer the stubby feet of the sofa. The natural grain and colour of the wood cast the appearance of a miniature railway station, one that is seen from above with all of its little trains parked in parallel slots aside one another.

    To the right of the picture stretches a surface of white wall. It shares similar vertical lines that wash down its side like sheets of heavy rain, but they are more subtle than those of the first. They alternate between bright white and light-blue and -purple strips, much of which appear to be bathed in a strong block of late-day sunlight. The dark brass handle of the door mirrors the dark shadow underneath the sofa, as well as the girl's hair, chemise and the artist's cornered signature. Notice that without the five panels above the door handle the contrasting halves of this scene would not be able to mingle; that without the subtle continuation of the reddish-brown wallpaper into the white surface the picture would seem un-balanced.