2015年11月18日 星期三

Gustave Courbet

Read what Capital Weather Gang has to say about the atmospheric conditions in Courbet's landscapes! ‪#‎Weather‬ ‪#‎ArtAtoZ‬

Capital Weather Gang 新增了 2 張新相片
All week we’re partnering with the National Gallery of Art to bring you the “W” of ‪#‎ArtAtoZ‬ -- ‪#‎weather‬!
The great 19th-century French master Gustave Courbet is best known for his landscapes. “The Black Rocks at Trouville” is awash with red -- a deep, stunning sunset by the sea.
We’re enamored by the stormy-looking skies, like a line of thunderstorms just passed through and the skies are starting to clear out with hints of blue.
“Calm Sea” is a truly tranquil painting, and you can tell the winds were very calm that day. Even the smallest of breezes is usually enough to rustle up some bigger waves. The sand looks like it’s wet near the shore -- like the tide just went out.
The clouds in “Calm Sea” look like low and mid-level cumulus. They might be bubbling up along a sea breeze, where winds converge along the shore.
Gustave Courbet, “The Black Rocks at Trouville,” 1865/1866, oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, Chester Dale Fund, 2011.51.1
Gustave Courbet, “Calm Sea,” 1866
oil on canvas, National Gallery of Art, Washington, Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Mellon, 1985.64.10

Happy Birthday to Gustave Courbet, born on this day in 1819. Learn more about the artist’s life and career and view a slideshow of works:http://met.org/1BIRYML
Featured Artwork of the Day: Gustave Courbet (French, 1819–1877) | River and Rocks | 1873–77 http://met.org/1eNQjjV

Born on this day in 1819 was French painter Gustave Courbet, considered the founder of realism in painting. Uprising against the Academy, he claimed his intention to "be able to translate the customs, the ideas, the appearance of my epoch" in the catalogue of his personal exhibition entitled 'Pavilion of Realism'
Гюстав Курбе | Возлежащая женщина | Холст, масло | Около 1866 г.
Gustave Courbet | Reclining Woman | Oil on canvas | Circa 1866

Here's a self-portrait by artist Gustave Courbet, born ‪#‎onthisday‬ in 1819 http://ow.ly/xQaxl

Featured Artwork of the Day: Gustave Courbet (French, 1819–1877) | The Deer | ca. 1865 http://met.org/13NkKRg

[Restaurons L'Atelier du peintre / Restore The Artist's Studio]
Imaginez votre nom inscrit dans cette salle ! Plus que 5 jours pour participer à la restauration du chef-d'oeuvre de Courbet :http://fr.ulule.com/courbet/
Can you imagine your name in this gallery ? Only 5 days left to support the restoration of Courbet's masterpiece ! http://fr.ulule.com/courbet/
Photo © Musée d'Orsay / Sophie Boegly

The room dedicated to the Courbet's large scales is one of the most spectacular spaces of the "Nouvel Orsay". This is where "The Artist's Studio" is on display. To help the restoration of this masterpiece :http://fr.ulule.com/courbet/
Illustration : © Musée d'Orsay / Sophie Boegly

[Restaurons L'Atelier du peintre / Restoring The Artist's Studio]
"L'Atelier du peintre" de Courbet fait partie des oeuvres disponibles en HD sur le Art Project, powered by Google. : http://bit.ly/1uXKaro Pour soutenir sa restauration rendez-vous sur : http://fr.ulule.com/courbet/
"The Artist's Studio" by Courbet is one of the artworks available in HD on the Google Art Project : http://bit.ly/1uXKaro
To help the restoration of the painting : http://fr.ulule.com/courbet/

"L’Atelier du Peintre" de Gustave Courbet, l’immense tableau de 22m², a besoin de vous !

Gustave Courbet
(b Ornans, Franche-Comt?, 10 June 1819; d La Tour-de-Peilz, nr Vevey, Switzerland, 31 Dec 1877). French painter and writer. Courbet's glory is based essentially on his works of the late 1840s and early 1850s depicting peasants and labourers, which were motivated by strong political views and formed a paradigm of Realism (see REALISM). From the mid-1850s into the 1860s he applied the same style and spirit to less overtly political subjects, concentrating on landscapes and hunting and still-life subjects. Social commitment, including a violent anticlericalism, re-emerged in various works of the 1860s and continued until his brief imprisonment after the Commune of 1871. From 1873 he lived in exile in Switzerland where he employed mediocre artists, but also realized a couple of outstanding pictures with an extremely fresh and free handling. The image Courbet presented of himself in his paintings and writings has persisted, making him an artist who is assessed as much by his personality as by his work. This feature and also his hostility to the academic system, state patronage and the notion of aesthetic ideals have made him highly influential in the development of modernism.
Amid these relative disappointments, the South Korean auteur Hong Sang-soo, who has made a specialty of the acerbic, precisely observed romantic fable, seemed more than ever a model of consistency. Often compared to Eric Rohmer, he reinforces the connection by setting his characteristically droll new film, “Night and Day,” among a group of Korean artists in Paris.
Like the Taiwanese director Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Cannes entry of last year, “Flight of the Red Balloon,” the movie is part of a series commissioned by the Musée d’Orsay, which stipulates that a scene be filmed at the museum. Mr. Hou shot a group of schoolchildren in thrall to Félix Vallotton’s “Balloon.” Mr. Hong plants his sexually frustrated hero before the close-up female genitalia of “The Origin of the World,” the Courbet painting once owned by Jacques Lacan.
紐約時報 08柏林影展 介紹 Wars Past and Present, Rockers Evergreen

Wikipedia article "Gustave Courbet". 包括文中提到的(惡名昭彰的) "世界之原點"“The Origin of the World,”畫作
Jacques Lacan 拉康 20世紀法國的"後Freud心理分析家"



古斯塔夫·庫爾貝(Gustave Courbet 1819年6月10日 - 1877年12月31日) 是法國著名畫家現實主義畫派的創始人。主張藝術應以現實為依據,反對粉飾生活,他的名言是:「我不會畫天使,因為我從來沒有見過他們。」

他拒絕了拿破崙三世授予的榮譽軍團十字獎章,使他的人氣大增,1871年成立巴黎公社後,他被選為公社委員、藝術家協會主席,負責博物館工作,他堅決主張推倒象徵帝國主義戰爭的旺多姆銅柱Place Vendôme。這個銅柱是拿破崙為了炫耀侵略戰績,用繳獲的200門大炮熔鑄成的,上面刻著拿破崙歷次戰績。公社通過法令說它是:「野蠻行為的紀念物」,是「對軍國主義的讚揚」,於1871年5月16日予以拆毀。巴黎公社失敗後,他被捕入獄,判決他入獄6個月並賠償重新立起旺多姆銅柱所需的資金30萬法郎,為躲避這筆債款,出獄後他只好逃亡國外,於1873年流亡瑞士。在瑞士死於飲酒過量造成的肝硬化。

[編輯] 外部連結

The history of 'The Origin of the World'

Thierry Savatier
Histoire d’un tableau de Gustave Courbet
231pp. Paris: Bartillat. 20euros.
2 84100 377 9

When Gustave Courbet’s painting “The Origin of the World” went on permanent display at the Musée d’Orsay in 1995, it was emerging from what must be one of the longest periods of visual quarantine in the history of art. Painted sometime in 1866, for the better part of 130 years it had been cordoned off in private collections, its existence known only to a small group of people, few of whom left any record of the work. Even Courbet, with his swashbuckling disregard for convention, seems for once to have erred on the side of caution. Neither signed nor dated, the picture was never mentioned by him in writing, and it is only on the strength of two small contemporary documents (the report of a dinner at which the painter, never more fulsome than when singing his own praises, likens his little figure to the nudes of Titian and Veronese, and a description by Maxime du Camp so slapdash that one doubts whether he had actually seen the picture with his own eyes) that we can be sure Courbet painted it at all.
Everywhere you turn in the painting’s history, you meet with the same pattern of secrecy and obfuscation. The man thought to have commissioned the picture, a wealthy Turkish-Egyptian diplomat named Khalil Bey, kept it hung behind a green cover in his private dressing room. When Edmond de Goncourt came across it, some twenty-three years later, in 1889, it was concealed by a second Courbet, “Le Château de Blonay”, in a double-bottomed frame. In 1913, it passed into the hands of a Hungarian collector, Baron Ferenc Hatvany, who kept it under lock and key in his town house in Budapest. The last and best-known of the private owners, the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan, hung it in his workroom at Guitrancourt, where it was again concealed by a sliding panel, painted by his brother-in-law André Masson. The earliest known reproduction, in an obscure gynaecological publication in 1967, in fact depicts a copy, now missing, but thought to have been made by Magritte. In 1988, the painting was shown in public for the first time, at the “Courbet Reconsidered” exhibition in Brooklyn; today, it hangs in the same room at the Musée d’Orsay as Manet’s “Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe”.
Why all the fuss? The reason, of course, is the subject matter of the painting: a slant view of a truncated female nude which sights up from a vantage point very close to the model’s pudenda. There’s nothing particularly sensual about the picture, however. Courbet painted quite a few voluptuous nudes, but “The Origin of the World” (which is not really a nude at all, but a life study) has neither the torpid opulence of his sprawling “Bacchante”, nor the hushed erotic charge of those signature nudes in which the painter gazes down on a sleeping woman. Nor can it really be said to be obscene, for, unlike the much more provocative “Woman with White Stockings”, painted a few years earlier, the focus of the picture is not the model’s genitalia as such, but the “matted Rorschach blot”, as John Updike once described it, of glinting, inky-black pubic hair. Painted with the same warmth and awed attention to detail as the rich, creamy flesh-tones, it is a reminder that you can lift the veil on anything in art, provided you do so in the same spirit that caused the veil to be put there in the first place.
The French have a long and, for the most part, happy tradition of sexual candour, and the installation of the painting at the Musée d’Orsay was greeted with an excitable outpouring of books and articles, much of it froth. The most serious of these was Bernard Teyssèdre’s Le Roman de l’Origine (1996), a book that is a mine of information but is marred by garrulousness and an awkward mix of registers and genres – part essay, part biographical novel, part private confession, part notes – that makes it almost impossible to read. Ten years on, in L’Origine du Monde: Histoire d’un tableau de Gustave Courbet, Thierry Savatier has reviewed these earlier productions and carried out some first-hand research of his own. He has not by any means solved all the mysteries: there are still huge gaps in the narrative, notably between 1868 and 1889, and 1889 and 1912. He has, however, cleared up a host of minor errors and approximations, uncovered the identities of certain characters in the story (notably Mme Vial and Ernest Feydeau, the author of a hitherto anonymous piece of doggerel about the painting) and, by questioning certain assumptions made about the work, opened up further avenues for research.
The same scrupulousness is evident in the sketches Savatier gives of the main protagonists. This is particularly true of the early part of the story (1886–1913), to which he devotes nearly half his book. Like Teyssèdre, he finds Khalil Bey, whose collection also included not just Ingres’s “Bain Turc” but a range of landscape and history paintings, a rather more interesting and congenial figure than the Oriental sex-pot conjured up by his contemporaries, and Savatier is similarly generous towards Bey’s erstwhile mistress, Jeanne de Tourbey, whose ascent from provincial bottle-washer (or brothel-girl, depending on which account you choose to believe) to society hostess and Comtesse de Loynes reads like something out of Maupassant’s Bel-Ami. Antoine de la Narde, the dealer who showed the painting to Edmond de Goncourt, turns out to have been a more substantial figure than the petit brocanteur he is usually portrayed as, and the chapter reviewing the possible models for the painting is nuanced and persuasive. (The author finds none of the flesh-and-blood candidates, least of all Whistler’s mistress Jo, very plausible, and thinks that Courbet, who had a large collection of nude photographs, probably worked from a “stereograph” by Auguste Belloc, who employed some of the same models as Courbet.)
The high point of the narrative, and the single most impressive piece of detective work, concerns the Hungarian aristocrat Ferenc Hatvany and the looting of his collection during the Second World War. The period in question extends from September 1942, when Hatvany deposited “seventy-one canvases and drawings, plus twelve precious rugs”, under the name of a non-Jewish friend, in a series of banks, to 1949/50, when he escaped to Paris. By trawling through the Hungarian national archives and the records of local banks, Savatier has established that it was not, as had previously been believed, the Nazis who had made off with the booty in question, but the Red Army, which sent in a special commando during the “liberation” of Budapest to clean out the city’s bank vaults. (The Nazis did indeed help themselves to the major part of Hatvany’s collection, which he had been unable to protect, but, with ghastly logic, they respected goods deposited in banks “so long as the owners of the vaults weren’t Jewish”.) The story of how Hatvany subsequently retrieved, with the aid of a corrupt Soviet functionary, a tiny fraction of his once 800-strong collection and smuggled it out of the country is a little book in itself, and involves, among others, the Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg, whose actions are estimated to have saved the lives of between 30,000 and 100,000 Hungarian Jews.
After the grim drama of the Hatvany period, the Lacan chapters verge at times on farce. Savatier does his best to unravel the conflicting accounts given (to confound the taxman) by Lacan’s widow, Sylvia Bataille, of how the couple came to acquire the painting, and which of them actually owned it, but much of the fog remains. Perhaps the most surprising aspect of this whole period is how well guarded the secret of the picture’s whereabouts was. At one moment it is reported to be in a collection on the West Coast of America; at another, in Japan. Yet, as the author reveals, a long list of distinguished visitors, from Claude Lévi-Strauss and Michel Leiris to Marguerite Duras and Dora Maar, had seen the painting at Lacan’s. One of these guests, Marcel Duchamp, is of particular interest, since his famous posthumous installation, “Étant Donné”, appears to have been directly inspired by Courbet’s picture as a final riposte to the bête noire of “realism”. But had Duchamp actually seen the painting? He and his wife, Teeny, are known to have dined with the Lacans, at their flat in the rue de Lille, in 1958, and Savatier thinks it likely that Lacan would have brought the little canvas up to Paris for the occasion. He concludes, however, that even if Duchamp did see the picture there, it cannot have provided the inspiration for “Étant Donné”, a preliminary sketch for which had been made as early as 1947.
At this point, the reader may find himself wondering about Émile Vial, the man Savatier has identified as the likely owner of the painting in the early part of the century. Not much is known about Vial, who was a scientist by profession and a collector of Japanese art, but the little that Savatier has been able to glean about his life is full of curious details. For one thing, he seems to have been interested in precisely the kind of speculative science that engaged Duchamp’s brothers and their friends in the “Section d’Or” at Puteaux. For another, three of Vial’s publications (which have titles like Le positif + le négatif – duo d’amour en un acte and La Machine humaine) are listed in the general catalogue of the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, where Duchamp, as we know, did a great deal of reading. Equally intriguing, the address given on a card Vial sent to Ernst Mach in 1911 reveals him to have been living only a short walk from Duchamp’s studio in Neuilly at that time. If I were a Duchamp scholar, I would want to know more about M Vial.
This is one of the more riddling episodes in the picture’s history that the author has been unable to elucidate satisfactorily. For the rest, he has done a remarkably good job of disentangling fact from fiction, and his book, encouragingly for a small-press publication, is now in its second printing. As for the corpus delicti itself, despite the odd scrape with the censors, its emergence into the limelight seems to have passed off surprisingly well. “There are paintings”, Kenneth Clarke wrote, “in which Courbet achieves comfortably and with hardly a trace of defiance that conquest of shame which D. H. Lawrence attempted in prose.” Museum-goers, it seems, would agree: not only has no one taken a meat-cleaver to it, but, if postcard sales are anything to go by, it is the second most popular painting in the Musée d’Orsay, after Renoir’s “Moulin de la Galette”. As Thierry Savatier says, for a painter who, in his hunger for fame, set so much store by his huge canvases of contemporary life, it is not the least curious twist in the tale.
Mark Hutchinson is a freelance translator.

Art Review | Gustave Courbet

Seductive Rebel Who Kept It Real

Published: February 29, 2008

Correction Appended
At the moment the Metropolitan Museum of Art, always a paradise of painting, is more edenic than ever. In less than four weeks it has opened three large exhibitions, each devoted to a master of sublime strangeness. First Jasper Johns, then Nicolas Poussin and now Gustave Courbet.
Skip to next paragraph

Smith College Museum of Art
“The Preparation of the Bride/Dead Girl” (around 1850-54) by Gustave Courbet, at the Met. More Photos »
Of the three, Courbet’s art may be the strangest of all, and in a time when seemingly old-fashioned representational painting is thriving, his work has a striking pertinence. Courbet the man was deeply out of sorts, independent, ambitious, wily, perennially dissatisfied with his lot, in addition to being, as he himself put it, “the most arrogant man in France.” A Republican whose career flourished noisily during the oppressive regime of Napoleon III, he aroused suspicions when he grandly declined the cross of the Legion of Honor.
This show of around 130 paintings and a smattering of drawings has an appropriate sweep. It was organized by the Musée d’Orsay in Paris; the Musée Fabre in Montpellier, France; and the Met. Its selection and majestic installation at the Met is the work of Gary Tinterow, curator in charge, and Kathryn Calley Galitz, assistant curator, both of the museum’s department of 19th-century, Modern and contemporary art. Running from the early 1840s to the early 1870s, it includes portraits, self-portraits, landscapes, nudes, group scenes, animals and hunting scenes.
The best of these canvases convert Courbet’s inborn dissonance into a commanding discombobulation. They challenge and seduce with their brusqueness of surface, inconsistencies of space or scale, emotional ambiguities and alternately frank and improbable accounts of the female form. Some paintings barely hold together; others collapse inward into strange, shapeless masses.
One of the greatest of these masses is Courbet’s drowsy masterpiece — cleaned since it was last seen in New York, 20 years ago — “Young Ladies on the Banks of the Seine” of 1856-57. In it two reclining subjects form a pile of frothy garments, seemingly boneless female flesh, assorted flowers and moral lassitude set on a grassy riverside. The overt, possibly lesbian, eroticism that shocked viewers at the 1857 Salon remains palpable. So does the ebullient, almost taunting, hash of traditions, of public park with boudoir, of still life and figure painting, and most of all the way this hash is crowded from behind by a rough, strangely vertical plane of azure water. The whole lot might almost slide off the canvas, landing in a heap at our feet.
Courbet virtually wrote the definition of the modern artist as a bohemian, narcissistic loner and political radical who shunned the academy, tutoring himself at the Louvre and living by the phrase “épater le bourgeois,” or “shock the bourgeoisie.” He emerged in Paris in the 1840s, when court patronage was long gone, but the modern art market was still in formation. He was quick to grasp the usefulness of three related, also nascent phenomena: newspapers, popular illustration and especially photography, with its new realism. This exhibition is dotted with vintage photographs by the likes of Gustave Le Gray, and others of landscapes, peasants and nudes, similar to those Courbet owned and undoubtedly sometimes used in his work.
The show also indicates that he was not above painting additional copies of works if demand justified them, and that some of his most beautiful landscapes depict popular tourist spots.
Courbet is hailed as the founder of Realism, who willfully smashed the tidy boundaries separating established painting genres to record life as he saw it. He did this most famously in his murky manifesto, “The Burial at Ornans” (which the d’Orsay does not allow to travel), replacing sentimental stereotypes and strict social hierarchy with a ragged line of individualized villagers depicted on a scale usually reserved for history paintings.
But Courbet only grudgingly accepted the title of Realist. Even in front of his most realistic work, you often find yourself wrestling not so much with lived reality, as with the sheer — very real — uncanniness of painting itself. Observe the shifting veils of palette-knifed pigment in “The Stream of the Puits-Noir,” from 1855, which almost turn abstract. And Courbet’s is a continually shape-shifting uncanniness that mixes not only genres and styles, but also sexes, proportions and spatial logics with a subtle visual irony that might as well be called postmodern as modern.
Courbet’s life story is a rousing read, with its early fame, recurring controversies and tragic end. In 1873 he fled to Switzerland to avoid reimbursing the French government for the reconstruction of the Place Vendôme Column. (It was destroyed during the short, chaotic rule of the Paris Commune, when he was in charge of protecting all things artistic, public monuments included.) He died there, bitter and broken, four years later.
But stick with the paintings. No artist before Picasso left so much of himself on canvas. The first large gallery, dominated by Courbet’s tall, dark and handsome self-portraits, provides an almost sickening dose of his high self-regard, dramatic flair and roving attention to the old masters, variously Italian, Spanish and Dutch.
In the earliest and smallest, he is a long-haired, wan Pontormo prince. In “The Desperate Man” he tears his hair, wide-eyed and wild, like Johnny Depp’s pirate rendered by Caravaggio. And in “Self-Portrait With Pipe” we see an early version of the disengaged gaze, at once dreaming and sardonic, that would characterize many of his images of women.
This first gallery forms a fascinating if claustrophobic show within the show, which makes it a relief to enter the expanded world of the second. Here Courbet reports on the countryside around Ornans — the eastern town where he was born and to which he frequently returned —working his way from “The Château d’Ornans” of around 1850, which verges on the overwrought Rockwellian realism of Ernst Meissonier to “The Valley of Ornans,” from 1858, which has Corot’s gracious ease.
Nearby is the first of several paintings that have a startlingly 20th-century aura, evoking artists like Francis Picabia or Max Ernst. Balthus or the young Lucian Freud could easily have painted Courbet’s lean, spatially awry portrait of his younger sister Juliette, from 1844. She sits in a cane chair, her slim torso sheathed in a silk dress, looking to the left. This time the encroaching background is a heavy drape that gives way on the left to a spindly plant, like a body builder caving to a 99-pound weakling.
The second gallery also contains an astounding work of accidental Modernism: the unfinished “Preparation of the Bride/Dead Girl,” one of the big paintings of village life that Courbet tackled in the early 1850s. Here a roomful of women orbits around a young, limp girl being dressed by three of them. Other women make a bed, lay a tablecloth or straighten up.
Courbet left this image of female community incomplete, painting over many of the forms with white, as if to rethink its color scheme. But the white imposes its own unity, coursing through the painting in subtly shifting shades like a common cause or shared feeling, softening its interactions, binding them together.
This show proceeds more thematically than chronologically, which makes sense because Courbet didn’t really proceed in a linear manner. He hopped around according to shifts in his interests, his attention span and the demands of his clients. His “Reclining Nude” of 1862 is a kind of joke on Titian: a rather loosely painted figure with Kewpie-doll knee socks surrounded by excesses of red velvet drapes and a brownish atmosphere. Next to it, the steamy giantesses of “Sleep,” from 1866, offer a vision of crystalline Rococo pinks and whites.
This work was a commission for Khalil-Bey, a Turkish-Egyptian diplomat, as was Courbet’s most confrontational work, the infamous “Origin of the World,” an unembellished close-up of a woman’s lower torso and open thighs . (The work is sequestered in a narrow space along with a nearly identical stereographic image by Auguste Belloc and several photograph of nudes. )
This painting resurfaced only in the 1980s, from the collection of the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan. More clinical than erotic, and more territorial than acquiescent, it identifies woman as proud possessor, revealing the ultimate object of the male gaze with a forthrightness that can stop the gaze in its tracks.
More than perhaps any painter of his great painting century, Courbet built elements of rebellion and dissent into the very forms and surfaces of his work. Some were on purpose; others were left for us to discover, to feel in our bones. Even at the end he expressed his defiance in still lifes of fruit that seem impossibly large and overbearing, like him, and in magnificent trout hooked and struggling against the line, even more like him. Since then, generation upon generation of painters have responded to his art and its challenges, but his example of stubborn nonconformity has many uses.

“Gustave Courbet” remains on view through May 18 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art; (212) 535-7710 or metmuseum .org.

This article has been revised to reflect the following correction:
Correction: March 4, 2008
Because of an editing error, an art review in Weekend on Friday about “Gustave Courbet,” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, misidentified the region of France where Courbet’s birthplace, Ornans, is located. It is in eastern France, not the southwest.


Columbia Encyclopedia: Vallotton, Félix
(fālēks' välətôN') , 1865–1925, Swiss woodcut artist and painter. Associated with the Nabis, he worked in Paris. Vallotton rejuvenated the woodcut medium as a creative technique. His boldly cut designs, conceived as arrangements in black and white, depict Parisian society with wit and intelligence.

Le ballon ou coin de parc avec enfant jouant au ballon by Felix Vallotton
Félix Vallotton, Le ballon ou coin de parc avec enfant jouant au ballon, 1899, oil on cardboard on panel, Musée d'Orsay, Paris, © Réunion des Musées Nationaux, photograph by Hervé Lewandowski