(via Irrawady) The gems trade in Burma has slumped dramatically due to the sanctions imposed by the United States in December, according to gems and jade traders inside Burma and along the border areas + residents in Mogok in central Burma, a center for rubies, confirmed that their businesses were currently in a 'wait and see' situation, relying heavily on cross-border trade + traders on the Thai-Burmese border also said the gems market has been slow + during the 24th Gems and Jade Sale in Rangoon from January 15 to 18, 2008, 357 lots of jade were sold and the event was attended by 737 local and 281 international traders.
Useful link:
www.irrawaddy.org
Monday, February 04, 2008
Jewelers Of Renaissance
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
1. Europe, Fifteenth Century
No red-letter day on the calendar conveniently marks the ending of the Middle Ages and the triumphant entrance of that lusty period in history known as the Renaissance. Gradually there had come upon the Western World a great revival of artistic and intellectual life. It would seem as if some mighty reservoir of vitality had been newly tapped and men, drinking deep, were filled with such a super abundance of life that they were under compulsion to spend it on the creative arts.
Italy was the very center of the artistic revival. Wealth was pouring into the beautiful and haughty city of Venice, whose thriving export trade gave her first place among the seaports in all Europe. Palaces, churches, new and ornate buildings were rising everywhere; and workers in stone, wood, and metal had their time more than filled with commissions. Nor did the other trades and crafts find themselves neglected. Prosperous times, halcyon days, and yet—and yet no rich man knew from one day to the next what might happen to his wealth. It was one of those tense periods when it seemed best to be on the safe side adn condense riches, as far as possible, into the pleasing and portable form of precious jewels, which could at a moment’s notice travel in haste and concealment along with a fleeing owner if worse came to worst. And besides, rich jewels were visible sign of a man’s standing and substance. Even the serious and dignified man of parts wore his jewels with pride and did not leave the displaying of them entirely to the ladies of his household.
As in Italy, throughout the rest of Europe both laity and clergy kept the goldsmith busy. And the goldsmith responded by expending his utmost skill and ingenuity on the intricate design of ornaments. The jewelry of the Renaissance was preeminently colorful. Many variously colored stones and enamels would go to the making of a single jewel. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, polychrome enamels were all mounted together in an elaboration of golden pendant—were set swinging from the jewel at whatever points the jeweler saw fit to place them. Such, in general, was the type of the Renaissance jewelry.
With increasing frequency diamond crystals, with a few of the natural faces polished, were added to the rich assemblage of colored stones. But as yet no European gem cutter had attempted to do much with cutting facets on diamonds or to change the natural shape of the hard crystal. He might grind down a few of its angles and polish the surfaces, but for the most part left the stone in general shape much as it had been when first discovered. Occassionally the diamond cutter would remove the upper and lower tips of a double pyramid shaped crystal and thus produce what is called the ‘table cut’.
During the early part of the Renaissance the diamond began slowly to emerge from its dim status. Among the lapidaries experimenting with new ways of polishing diamonds was certain gem cutter of Bruges who had novel ideas concerning the (as yet) latent beauties of the colorless stone. His name was Louis de Berquem, or according to some old records, Ludwig von Berquem. At any rate, he succeeded in cutting a number of regular facets on diamonds. These cut stones attracted much attention; but it was not until nineteen years later, in 1475, that De Berquem produced what was then considered the ‘perfect cut’. Although the full beauty of the diamond had by no means been released by this gem cutter of Bruges, still, because he had made a start in the right direction and disclosed by means of a series of facets of planned regularity, hitherto unsuspected possibilities in the long neglected diamond, his name has been remembered in the history of gems.
According to his grandson, Robert de Berquem, Louis cut three diamonds in the new mode at the order of the last Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, who gave the gem cutter 3000 ducats for his work. The first of these was a thick stone in the form known as briolette. It was covered all over with facets. The second diamond was given to Pope Sixtus IV. The third, triangular in shape, was set in a ring that presently became the property of Louis XI.
During the last quarter of the fifteenth century, men trained in the workshop of Louis de Berquem were presently setting up shops of their own. Some of them drifted to Paris, others opened establishments in Antwerp, and still others went to Amsterdam.
In time, Amsterdam and Antwerp became the two great centers of the diamond cutting industry, and a spirit of rivalry soon developed between them. Meanwhile in Florence, the rediscovery of and admiration of things antique was creating a school of art whose influence extended even to the goldsmith-jeweler.
Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)
1. Europe, Fifteenth Century
No red-letter day on the calendar conveniently marks the ending of the Middle Ages and the triumphant entrance of that lusty period in history known as the Renaissance. Gradually there had come upon the Western World a great revival of artistic and intellectual life. It would seem as if some mighty reservoir of vitality had been newly tapped and men, drinking deep, were filled with such a super abundance of life that they were under compulsion to spend it on the creative arts.
Italy was the very center of the artistic revival. Wealth was pouring into the beautiful and haughty city of Venice, whose thriving export trade gave her first place among the seaports in all Europe. Palaces, churches, new and ornate buildings were rising everywhere; and workers in stone, wood, and metal had their time more than filled with commissions. Nor did the other trades and crafts find themselves neglected. Prosperous times, halcyon days, and yet—and yet no rich man knew from one day to the next what might happen to his wealth. It was one of those tense periods when it seemed best to be on the safe side adn condense riches, as far as possible, into the pleasing and portable form of precious jewels, which could at a moment’s notice travel in haste and concealment along with a fleeing owner if worse came to worst. And besides, rich jewels were visible sign of a man’s standing and substance. Even the serious and dignified man of parts wore his jewels with pride and did not leave the displaying of them entirely to the ladies of his household.
As in Italy, throughout the rest of Europe both laity and clergy kept the goldsmith busy. And the goldsmith responded by expending his utmost skill and ingenuity on the intricate design of ornaments. The jewelry of the Renaissance was preeminently colorful. Many variously colored stones and enamels would go to the making of a single jewel. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, polychrome enamels were all mounted together in an elaboration of golden pendant—were set swinging from the jewel at whatever points the jeweler saw fit to place them. Such, in general, was the type of the Renaissance jewelry.
With increasing frequency diamond crystals, with a few of the natural faces polished, were added to the rich assemblage of colored stones. But as yet no European gem cutter had attempted to do much with cutting facets on diamonds or to change the natural shape of the hard crystal. He might grind down a few of its angles and polish the surfaces, but for the most part left the stone in general shape much as it had been when first discovered. Occassionally the diamond cutter would remove the upper and lower tips of a double pyramid shaped crystal and thus produce what is called the ‘table cut’.
During the early part of the Renaissance the diamond began slowly to emerge from its dim status. Among the lapidaries experimenting with new ways of polishing diamonds was certain gem cutter of Bruges who had novel ideas concerning the (as yet) latent beauties of the colorless stone. His name was Louis de Berquem, or according to some old records, Ludwig von Berquem. At any rate, he succeeded in cutting a number of regular facets on diamonds. These cut stones attracted much attention; but it was not until nineteen years later, in 1475, that De Berquem produced what was then considered the ‘perfect cut’. Although the full beauty of the diamond had by no means been released by this gem cutter of Bruges, still, because he had made a start in the right direction and disclosed by means of a series of facets of planned regularity, hitherto unsuspected possibilities in the long neglected diamond, his name has been remembered in the history of gems.
According to his grandson, Robert de Berquem, Louis cut three diamonds in the new mode at the order of the last Duke of Burgundy, Charles the Bold, who gave the gem cutter 3000 ducats for his work. The first of these was a thick stone in the form known as briolette. It was covered all over with facets. The second diamond was given to Pope Sixtus IV. The third, triangular in shape, was set in a ring that presently became the property of Louis XI.
During the last quarter of the fifteenth century, men trained in the workshop of Louis de Berquem were presently setting up shops of their own. Some of them drifted to Paris, others opened establishments in Antwerp, and still others went to Amsterdam.
In time, Amsterdam and Antwerp became the two great centers of the diamond cutting industry, and a spirit of rivalry soon developed between them. Meanwhile in Florence, the rediscovery of and admiration of things antique was creating a school of art whose influence extended even to the goldsmith-jeweler.
Jewelers Of Renaissance (continued)
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
How great was the influence of David on the painters of his generation is revealed by the tragic story of Antoine Jean Gros (1771-1835), who killed himself because he thought he was bringing disgrace on the tradition of his master. Gros entered David’s studio in 1785, and though he was unsuccessful when he tried for the Prix de Rome in 1792, in the following year his master helped him to get a passport for Italy, and so Gros got as far as Genoa, where in 1790 he made the acquaintance of Josephine, afterwards Empress. Josephine carried him off to Milan and presented him to Bonaparte, who took a liking to the young man, attached him to his staff, and allowed him to paint that wonderful portrait, now in the Louvre, of ‘Napolean at Arcole,’ which is the most haunting and poetic of all the many portraits of the Emperor.
Thenceforward the career of Gros was outwardly a series of triumphs. Owing to his experiences in Italy—where, in 1799, he was besieged with the French army at Genoa—he had a closer acquaintance with the realities of war than any of his artist contemporaries.
In Genoa and elsewhere Gros had made a particular study of the work of Rubens and Vandyck, and in his canvases he now endeavored to emulate the opulent color of the Flemish School. Consequently his battle-pictures were so informed with knowledge and inspired by feeling and fine color that they aroused high enthusiasm in Paris. When His picture ‘Les Pestiférés de Jaffa’ was shown in the Salon of 1804, all the young artists of the day combined to hand a wreath on the frame in honor of the life, truth, and color in the work of Gros.
Already there was a beginning of a reaction in Paris against the ascetic Classicism of David, and while Gros, as an old pupil of that master, still commanded the respect of the classicists, his spirited renderings of contemporary events pleased the younger generation who were later to give birth to the Romanticists. Thus, for a time, Gros pleased both camps in painting, and his position was unimpaired when Napoleon fell and the Bourbons were restored. In 1816 he was made a member of the Institute, he was commissioned to decorate the cupola of the Panthéon, and in 1824, on the completion of this work, he was created a Baron.
Meanwhile David, exciled in Brussels, was uneasy about the style of his former pupil, whom, on leaving Paris, he had left in charge of the Classical Movement. From Brussels he wrote constantly to Gros, begging him to cease painting ‘these futile subjects and circumstantial pictures’ and to devote his talent to ‘fine historical pictures’. By this David meant, not those paintings of the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, the Pyramids, etc., which were fine historical pictures, but paintings depicting some incident in the history of Greece or Rome. These alone, according to David, were the fit themes for a noble art, and he could not accept the renderings of events of his own times as true historical pictures. Unfortunately Gros, in his unbounded veneration for his old master, took David very seriously. He saw with alarm that the younger generation of painters were departing from the classical tradition and heading for Romanticism, and he blamed himself for leading them astray.
In the very year when he was made a Baron, his fellow pupil, Girodet (1767-1824), died, and at the funeral of this follower of David, Gros lamented the loss of a great classic artist, saying: ‘For myself, not only have I not enough authority to direct the school, but I must accuse myself of being one of the first who set the bad example others have followed.’
Conscience-stricken at falling away from his master’s ideals, and particularly so when David died in the following year, Baron Gros now did violence to his own talent by forcing himself to paint subjects of which David would have approved. While the truth of his war pictures had shocked the Classic School, the artificiality of his new classical pictures roused the mocking laughter of the young and increasingly powerful Romantic School. His ‘Hercules and Diomed’ in the Salon of 1835 was openly sneered at; the younger critics treated him as a ‘dead man,’ till, wearied out and depressed by the disgrace and shame which he thought he had brought on the school of David, poor Baron Gros, on the 25th June 1835, lay down on his face in three feet of water at Meudon, where on the following day two boatmem discovered his body.
That leadership of the Classic School, for which Baron Gros, both by his art and his temperament, was utterly unfitted, was eventually assumed with honor and credit by his junior, Jean Dominique Auguste Ingres (1780-1867). A pupil of David and the winner of the Prix de Rome in 1801, Ingres was not at first regarded as a ‘safe’ classic by the purists of that school. To these pedants, who worshipped hardly any art between the antique and Raphael, Ingres was suspicious because of his loudly proclaimed admiration of the Italian Primitives. On his way to Rome, Ingres had stopped at Pisa to study the frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli and his contemporaries in the Campo Santo. ‘We ought to copy these men on our knees,’ said the young enthusiasts, and his words were repeated to David, who regarded them an ominous.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
3
How great was the influence of David on the painters of his generation is revealed by the tragic story of Antoine Jean Gros (1771-1835), who killed himself because he thought he was bringing disgrace on the tradition of his master. Gros entered David’s studio in 1785, and though he was unsuccessful when he tried for the Prix de Rome in 1792, in the following year his master helped him to get a passport for Italy, and so Gros got as far as Genoa, where in 1790 he made the acquaintance of Josephine, afterwards Empress. Josephine carried him off to Milan and presented him to Bonaparte, who took a liking to the young man, attached him to his staff, and allowed him to paint that wonderful portrait, now in the Louvre, of ‘Napolean at Arcole,’ which is the most haunting and poetic of all the many portraits of the Emperor.
Thenceforward the career of Gros was outwardly a series of triumphs. Owing to his experiences in Italy—where, in 1799, he was besieged with the French army at Genoa—he had a closer acquaintance with the realities of war than any of his artist contemporaries.
In Genoa and elsewhere Gros had made a particular study of the work of Rubens and Vandyck, and in his canvases he now endeavored to emulate the opulent color of the Flemish School. Consequently his battle-pictures were so informed with knowledge and inspired by feeling and fine color that they aroused high enthusiasm in Paris. When His picture ‘Les Pestiférés de Jaffa’ was shown in the Salon of 1804, all the young artists of the day combined to hand a wreath on the frame in honor of the life, truth, and color in the work of Gros.
Already there was a beginning of a reaction in Paris against the ascetic Classicism of David, and while Gros, as an old pupil of that master, still commanded the respect of the classicists, his spirited renderings of contemporary events pleased the younger generation who were later to give birth to the Romanticists. Thus, for a time, Gros pleased both camps in painting, and his position was unimpaired when Napoleon fell and the Bourbons were restored. In 1816 he was made a member of the Institute, he was commissioned to decorate the cupola of the Panthéon, and in 1824, on the completion of this work, he was created a Baron.
Meanwhile David, exciled in Brussels, was uneasy about the style of his former pupil, whom, on leaving Paris, he had left in charge of the Classical Movement. From Brussels he wrote constantly to Gros, begging him to cease painting ‘these futile subjects and circumstantial pictures’ and to devote his talent to ‘fine historical pictures’. By this David meant, not those paintings of the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, the Pyramids, etc., which were fine historical pictures, but paintings depicting some incident in the history of Greece or Rome. These alone, according to David, were the fit themes for a noble art, and he could not accept the renderings of events of his own times as true historical pictures. Unfortunately Gros, in his unbounded veneration for his old master, took David very seriously. He saw with alarm that the younger generation of painters were departing from the classical tradition and heading for Romanticism, and he blamed himself for leading them astray.
In the very year when he was made a Baron, his fellow pupil, Girodet (1767-1824), died, and at the funeral of this follower of David, Gros lamented the loss of a great classic artist, saying: ‘For myself, not only have I not enough authority to direct the school, but I must accuse myself of being one of the first who set the bad example others have followed.’
Conscience-stricken at falling away from his master’s ideals, and particularly so when David died in the following year, Baron Gros now did violence to his own talent by forcing himself to paint subjects of which David would have approved. While the truth of his war pictures had shocked the Classic School, the artificiality of his new classical pictures roused the mocking laughter of the young and increasingly powerful Romantic School. His ‘Hercules and Diomed’ in the Salon of 1835 was openly sneered at; the younger critics treated him as a ‘dead man,’ till, wearied out and depressed by the disgrace and shame which he thought he had brought on the school of David, poor Baron Gros, on the 25th June 1835, lay down on his face in three feet of water at Meudon, where on the following day two boatmem discovered his body.
That leadership of the Classic School, for which Baron Gros, both by his art and his temperament, was utterly unfitted, was eventually assumed with honor and credit by his junior, Jean Dominique Auguste Ingres (1780-1867). A pupil of David and the winner of the Prix de Rome in 1801, Ingres was not at first regarded as a ‘safe’ classic by the purists of that school. To these pedants, who worshipped hardly any art between the antique and Raphael, Ingres was suspicious because of his loudly proclaimed admiration of the Italian Primitives. On his way to Rome, Ingres had stopped at Pisa to study the frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli and his contemporaries in the Campo Santo. ‘We ought to copy these men on our knees,’ said the young enthusiasts, and his words were repeated to David, who regarded them an ominous.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Signs Of The Times
As the commodity price increases, organized gangs are raiding rural America, plundering commodities like wheat (according to a report by the Urban Institute in Washington, agricultural theft cost US farmers an estimated five billion dollars in 2006-7), almonds (stealing loaded containers), copper wires (stripping the copper from railway or electrical wires), hardwood trees (private forestlands/ national park forestlands/ industry forestlands) and off-loading to a buyer who is several hundred miles away from the scene of the original crime or to China / South Asia, where there is a market for stolen goods + it will be very difficult to monitor their operating systems because of the amorphous nature of the business.
Useful links:
www.urban.org
www.commodityonline.com
Useful links:
www.urban.org
www.commodityonline.com
Colored Stone News
Lightning Ride is the most famous locality in the world for black opal + opal was first discovered in the latter part of 1800s' and the first diggings began in 1901 + black opal is found in nodules (nobbies) + when these were first encountered they were considered to be of little value because no one had ever seen black opal before + today the black opal from Lightning Ridge is considered to be the best and most valuable opal in the world + The Lightning Ridge Opal Festival + International Opal Jewellery Design Awards are interesting events for opal lovers + it's a small show, but it's an experience.
Useful link:
www.iojdaa.com.au
I found www.ridgelightning.com interesting because of the collection of photographs they have got on lightning that gives Lightning Ridge its name + it's beautiful.
Useful link:
www.iojdaa.com.au
I found www.ridgelightning.com interesting because of the collection of photographs they have got on lightning that gives Lightning Ridge its name + it's beautiful.
Old Master Auctions
Souren Melikian writes about The Old Master auctions conducted last week at Sotheby's + beauty of the art market + the endless opportunities for those who know how to play the game + other viewpoints @ http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/02/01/arts/melik2.php
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
6. Rings And Magic
In medieval times and even during much of the Renaissance, religion, superstition and magic were all hugger-mugger. Ideas as well as gems were assembled in strangely ill-assorted companionship. For science was still not only an infant but the enfant terrible of the period, a thing to be suppressed as perilous both to the soul of man to the authority of the Church. Those who dared independently to seek knowledge first hand—either knowledge of natural phenomena or reasoning on the problems of the spirit—risked the accusation of heresy. Heretics were burned at the stake. Almost any one was liable to be dragged before the dread inquisitor, who tried the victim in secret without even letting him know which of his enemies had betrayed him.
Then there was the danger of witchcraft and the malevolent influence of the Evil Eye. But worse still (and this was no imaginary peril) there was the danger of being accused of practising witchcraft. If you were skeptical and did not believe in witchcraft, your disbelief was synonymous with atheism, and automatically you became a heretic.
Burning was the favorite method of exterminating both heretics and witches. After the advent of the Protestant Church, Catholics and Protestants vied with each other in witch-hunting. At this late date it is hard to say whether early records exaggerate the figures or not, but one writer boasts that in the course of one hundred and fifty years the Holy Office had burned at least 30000 witches ‘who if they had been left unpunished would easily have brought the whole world to destruction.’
With this glimpse of their background, it is not difficult to understand why our Christian forebears, whether or not they believed in magic, might have found it expedient to wear amulets and charms to protect themselves from suspicion of skepticism if nothing else.
Rings engraved with figures of saints were held in high regard, and particularly powerful was the magic of St Christopher, who could ‘give immunity from sudden death for the day to all who had looked at any representation of him.’
Another favorite ring was inscribed with the last words of Our Lord on the Cross in combination with a formula which cured epilepsy and toothache.
Belief in the medicinal properties of precious stones seems to have become more deeply rooted at this time than ever before, and the specific remedial efficacy of each stone was multiplied until practically any stone was a cure all—if you allowed the right train of superstition. A sapphire worn in a ring would cure diseases of the eye, and preserve the wearer from envy; was an antidote for poison; and, as if that were not enough for one gem to attend to, preserved the chastity of its wearer and prevented poverty, betrayal, and wrongful conviction. Besides which are told, ‘Also wytches love well this stone, for thtey wene that they may werke certen wondres by vertue of this stone.’
6. Rings And Magic
In medieval times and even during much of the Renaissance, religion, superstition and magic were all hugger-mugger. Ideas as well as gems were assembled in strangely ill-assorted companionship. For science was still not only an infant but the enfant terrible of the period, a thing to be suppressed as perilous both to the soul of man to the authority of the Church. Those who dared independently to seek knowledge first hand—either knowledge of natural phenomena or reasoning on the problems of the spirit—risked the accusation of heresy. Heretics were burned at the stake. Almost any one was liable to be dragged before the dread inquisitor, who tried the victim in secret without even letting him know which of his enemies had betrayed him.
Then there was the danger of witchcraft and the malevolent influence of the Evil Eye. But worse still (and this was no imaginary peril) there was the danger of being accused of practising witchcraft. If you were skeptical and did not believe in witchcraft, your disbelief was synonymous with atheism, and automatically you became a heretic.
Burning was the favorite method of exterminating both heretics and witches. After the advent of the Protestant Church, Catholics and Protestants vied with each other in witch-hunting. At this late date it is hard to say whether early records exaggerate the figures or not, but one writer boasts that in the course of one hundred and fifty years the Holy Office had burned at least 30000 witches ‘who if they had been left unpunished would easily have brought the whole world to destruction.’
With this glimpse of their background, it is not difficult to understand why our Christian forebears, whether or not they believed in magic, might have found it expedient to wear amulets and charms to protect themselves from suspicion of skepticism if nothing else.
Rings engraved with figures of saints were held in high regard, and particularly powerful was the magic of St Christopher, who could ‘give immunity from sudden death for the day to all who had looked at any representation of him.’
Another favorite ring was inscribed with the last words of Our Lord on the Cross in combination with a formula which cured epilepsy and toothache.
Belief in the medicinal properties of precious stones seems to have become more deeply rooted at this time than ever before, and the specific remedial efficacy of each stone was multiplied until practically any stone was a cure all—if you allowed the right train of superstition. A sapphire worn in a ring would cure diseases of the eye, and preserve the wearer from envy; was an antidote for poison; and, as if that were not enough for one gem to attend to, preserved the chastity of its wearer and prevented poverty, betrayal, and wrongful conviction. Besides which are told, ‘Also wytches love well this stone, for thtey wene that they may werke certen wondres by vertue of this stone.’
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
Most attractive of all the portraitures of this period is the woman artist Madame Elizabeth Louise Vigée Lebrun (1755-1842). Her father, a portrait-painter himself, died when she was only twelve years old, and his daughter carried on his practice almost at once, for when she was only fifteen she was already painting portraits with success and talent. While still young she married Lebrus, a prosperous and enterprising picture-dealer, who managed her affairs well, and whose stock of Old Masters afforded the young artist many models which she studied with good results. In 1783 Vigée Lebrun was admitted to the French Academy, and during the last years of the French monarchy she was a favorite at Court and painted several portraits of Marie Antoinette and her children. In 1789, alarmed at the way things were going in France, she went to Italy, where she was received with enthusiasm and made a member of the Academies of Rome, Parma, and Bologna. Thence she went to Vienna, where she stayed three years, and subsequently visiting Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and St Petersburg, she only returned to France in 1801. Thus she escaped the Revolution altogether and saw little of the Empire, for about the time fo the Peace of Amiens she came to England, where she stayed three years, and then visited Holland and Switzerland, finally returning to France in 1809.
Entirely untouched by the Revolution and by the wave of Classicism which followed it, Mme. Vigée Lebrun was a cosmopolitan artist whose art belonged to no particular country, and whose style had more in common with English Romanticism than with the asceticism then in vogue in France. Among all her portraits none is more charming than the many she painted of herself, and of these the best known and most popular is the winning of ‘Portrait of the Artist and her Daughter’ at the Louvre. Though in time she belongs to the revolutionary era, Mme. Lebrun is, as regards her art, a survival of the old aristocratic portrait-painters of monarchical France.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
2
Most attractive of all the portraitures of this period is the woman artist Madame Elizabeth Louise Vigée Lebrun (1755-1842). Her father, a portrait-painter himself, died when she was only twelve years old, and his daughter carried on his practice almost at once, for when she was only fifteen she was already painting portraits with success and talent. While still young she married Lebrus, a prosperous and enterprising picture-dealer, who managed her affairs well, and whose stock of Old Masters afforded the young artist many models which she studied with good results. In 1783 Vigée Lebrun was admitted to the French Academy, and during the last years of the French monarchy she was a favorite at Court and painted several portraits of Marie Antoinette and her children. In 1789, alarmed at the way things were going in France, she went to Italy, where she was received with enthusiasm and made a member of the Academies of Rome, Parma, and Bologna. Thence she went to Vienna, where she stayed three years, and subsequently visiting Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and St Petersburg, she only returned to France in 1801. Thus she escaped the Revolution altogether and saw little of the Empire, for about the time fo the Peace of Amiens she came to England, where she stayed three years, and then visited Holland and Switzerland, finally returning to France in 1809.
Entirely untouched by the Revolution and by the wave of Classicism which followed it, Mme. Vigée Lebrun was a cosmopolitan artist whose art belonged to no particular country, and whose style had more in common with English Romanticism than with the asceticism then in vogue in France. Among all her portraits none is more charming than the many she painted of herself, and of these the best known and most popular is the winning of ‘Portrait of the Artist and her Daughter’ at the Louvre. Though in time she belongs to the revolutionary era, Mme. Lebrun is, as regards her art, a survival of the old aristocratic portrait-painters of monarchical France.
The French Revolution And Its Influence On Art (continued)
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