N.Y. Times review of French Portrait Exhibition
NYColnaghi
By JOHN RUSSELL
NEW YORK - "The French Portrait, 1550-1850" at Colnaghi's has a high
ambition: nothing less than a concise history of French portraiture from
the heyday of the French Renaissance to the beginnings of Impressionism.
This is not an all-star museum loan show. Nor does it pretend to be
one. But it has in it a number of unforgettable paintings, some on loan
and others from the gallery's stock, along with many others that will
challenge, intrigue and enlighten.
The show also offers a fast-forward history of the French character as
it was made manifest in portraiture over three centuries. The sitters
portrayed include an imaginary diva by Fragonard; a trio of magistrates by
Frans Pourbus the Younger, an import from Flanders); a great heiress by
Jean-Marc Nattier and a 28-year-old doctor - by Eugene Delacroix, no less
- notable both for the subject's palpable intelligence and the contrast
between the pristine white of his neckcloth and shining black silk of his
waistcoat.
With them are a daughter of Diane de Poitiers, the favorite of Francois
I of France, by Francois Clouet; a Parisian alderman by Hyacinthe Rigaud
and a trio of quick-tempered men of letters in the 18th-century salon of
Madame de Tencin, by Jacques Autreau.
There is a wonderfully disheveled young gallant, as yet unidentified,
who could not be bothered even to button up his shirt before posing for
Largilliere in the 1720s.
The tranquil and civilized art of Baron Gerard is at its best in his
1814 likeness of Constance Ossolinska Lubienska, lady-in-waiting to the
Empress Josephine. Portraiture is here a duet for equals. And there is
also the deeply melancholic Dutch landscape painter J.B. Jongkind, who was
painted by his friend Claude Monet around 1864.
In a spectacular category all its own is a portrait by Fragonard of a
singer holding a sheet of music. This is part of a group of imaginary
portraits in which Fragonard alternated between steadiness and precision
on the one hand and a wild, galloping, light-fingered high spirits on the
other.
That these idioms could be made to coalesce never fails to astonish. In
the painting at Colnaghi's, the treatment of the face, the hair, the high
white ruff, the bodice, the jewelry and the sheet of music is sober and
unerring.
Elsewhere in this portrait, great risks are taken. The brush whisks to
and fro as if it had seized command after a coup d'etat. The paint itself,
as much as the thing painted, becomes the subject. We can well believe
that these imaginary portraits were intended for Fragonard's apartment in
the Louvre, the better to seduce his visitors.
In the small inner sanctum at the end of the show, there is a
concentration of key works by major artists that is inch for inch the
equal of what we can find in many a museum. In every case, painter and
sitter are participants in a form of humane adventure that continues to
this day.
There is the portrait by Jacques-Louis David of his old friend and
fellow exile in Brussels, Ramel de Nogaret. There is the portrait by
Ingres of Caroline Murat, the youngest sister of Napoleon, at the time
(soon to be ended) when she was Queen of Naples. And there is the portrait
of Regis Courbet by his son Gustave.
These paintings result from a combination of intelligence, integrity
and consummate skill. The David dates from near the end of the lives of
both painter and sitter. One old friend was taking leave of another.
Mutual respect and love shine out. So does the noble candor that is the
mark of David's best and least flamboyant portraits. Long past were the
days of his flamboyant eulogies of Napoleon on horseback.
This portrait persuades us that de Nogaret served his country well,
above all from 1796 to 1799, when he was France's finance minister. He had
been brought low, but not defeated, by the ins and outs of public life.
And he looked at David with trust and old affection, knowing that his
feelings were returned.
And he was faithful to them. In 1825, when David died and his body was
not allowed back into France for burial, de Nogaret paid for the plot in
which the artist was buried in Brussels. He also gave the funeral oration.
In the Ingres, the perfection of detail is almost beyond belief.
Through the window there is a view of Vesuvius with a great white plume of
smoke that makes the slyest possible fun of the black ostrich feathers in
Caroline Murat's hat. There is the footstool for which a careful drawing
exists in the Musee Ingres in Montauban, France. There is the marvel of
the red fringe on the sofa. There is the carpet, so minutely recreated,
almost stitch by stitch. There is the fall of the dark green tablecloth
with its gold embellishments.
And there is Murat herself. No one ever painted clothes better than
Ingres, and he gave his all to what Alan Wintermute, in the catalogue,
identifies as "a high-waisted velvet pelisse, a lace ruff and mantle, and
girandole earrings."
When Ingres was all done, his sitter looked about 11 feet high, which
may have suited her notion of majesty. But her perfectly drawn left hand
was like the claw of a crayfish, and her face had a vacuous hauteur.
Between artist and sitter, the result of this encounter was a fairly
honorable draw.
When we turn to Courbet's portrait of his father, it is useful to
remember that he was continually conscious of the size and status of his
father's estates. When he wrote home, he always addressed the envelope to
"Monsieur Courbet, the landowner."
Courbet was in his early 20s when he painted this portrait. Rather than
use the traditional head-to-head and eye-to-eye formula, he asked his
father to pose in profile. The eye, the fine nose, the chin, the
countryman's ruddy complexion and the carefully barbered sideburns - all
were examined almost in awe.
So was what Wintermute identifies as "the embroidered duck-egg
waistcoat that appears from underneath the hunter-green jacket." As for
the father's headgear - half cap, half helmet - it is the epitome of a
life lived much in the open air.
Among the 27 portraits in the show, one or two need the loyal support
that they are given by Wintermute and David Garstang in the amply
researched and always tactful catalogue. Others secure our attention by
their sheer oddity. One of these is the self-portrait by Joseph Ducreux
(1735-1802).
Between 1791 and 1793, Ducreux exhibited a number of portraits in which
he showed himself laughing, yawning and (as here) making fun of the
observer. Thanks to dexterous foreshortening, he looks out at us with a
wild mockery, as if his bunched and monstrous fingers could at any moment
wipe the smiles off our faces.
This show suggests that the house of Colnaghi (founded in London 235
years ago and now under German ownership) has lately been very active in
this field, with French portraits sold to major museums in London, Ottawa,
Chicago, San Francisco, Dallas, Karlsruhe, Germany, and elsewhere.
With more than 80 color plates (many of them of comparative material),
the catalogue doubles as a brief guide to French portraiture. All proceeds
from its sale (at $40 a copy) will go to the Frick Art Reference Library
in Manhattan.
"The French Portrait, 1550-1850" remains on view at Colnaghi's, 21 East
67th Street, Manhattan, through Feb. 10. Hours are 9:30-5:30 Mondays to
Fridays, and 11:00-5:00 Saturdays.
Copyright 1996 The New York Times
Also on view is an exhibition of Old Master and 19th Century Drawings,
priced from $1,000 to $15,000.
For further information on either exhibition, please contact Colnaghi at
NYCol...@aol.com