Inktober Day 3: Cecilia Beaux

 

Admiral Sir David Beatty, Lord Beatty by Cecilia Beaux, c. 1920. (image via) The war-torn horizon immediately conjures images of Napoleon and of J.M.W. Turner's storm-tossed seas.

 A distinct style that arose for society portraiture in the Belle Époque and Edwardian era (1880s-1910s), I'm sure you've see it, that certain something that unites the work of Cecilia Beaux, John Singer Sargent, Anders Zorn, Therese Schwartze, Joaquín Sorolla, William Merritt Chase, Lilla Cabot Perry and Giovanni Boldini. It's why all these rival's work looks a bit alike, and why critics engage in a fun circular game of calling each painter's work derivative of the other. But it's hard to know what to call the style. It isn't Impressionism, even though the brushtrokes are loose and fluid, natural light takes center stage, and the implied movement of the compositions looks strikingly modern, like a snapshot. It's very realistic and slightly idealized-- but it's not the Academic style either. Yet it was clearly suited to turn-of-the-century high society, that glittering slurry of new industrialists and old aristocracy: fresh yet unthreatening, classic but not stodgy, audacious yet respectable. Where, then, did it come from?

 

Velasquez. Yes, the Spanish painter from three centuries prior, the one who painted Las Meninas. His loose brushwork and thick buildup of wet-on-wet brushstrokes ran counter to the prevailing 19th century Academic tradition of perfectionist painters like Ingres. But it was hugely influential to figure painters like Carolus-Duran in Paris and Federico de Madrazo y Kuntz in Madrid, each of whom were prolific and influential instructors of the mid-1800s. 

 

Also arising in the mid-1800s were two schools of plein aire (outdoor) painting: Barbizon in France and the Macchiaioli in Italy, both precursors to Impressionism. While the later Impressionists often used blue-purple for shadows, thus creating a dazzling vibration of color contrasts wherein the entire painting seems bright and fleeting, the Barbizon and especially Macchiaioli shaded the traditional way, with black. You wouldn't believe what a difference this makes, nor how hallowed the tradition, but it anchors a painting firmly on solid ground, as well as in the past. Nevertheless the Barbizon and Macchiaioli painters dared to keep their brushstrokes sketchy and their paintings spontaneous, to let layered patches of color and shadow shimmer on the surface instead of blending everything together. They, too, were inspired by Velasquez, but moreso by English landscape painters and old Dutch and Flemish masters. The later society portrait painters would adopt many dazzling techniques of the Impressionists but they continued to shade with black.

Then there was James Abbott McNeill Whistler. All these portrait artists claimed him as an influence. To them he represented more than an admirable style, but a collection of bold modern ideas (by 1860s standards). Half a century before Kandinsky, Whistler was flirting with abstraction and naming his paintings things like 'Nocturne' and 'Symphony' to draw parallels between pure visual composition and music (his musician friend suggested it, and to Whistler's immense pleasure the titles pissed off the art critics to no end). He had no time for allegory or morals-- he was interested in "art for art's sake," that is pure form, pure color, pure realism rather than idealized Greek goddesses or art with some sort of moral message, which was favored by the predominant Academic tradition. As such Whistler's work incorporated an element of decorative arts (which, after all, claimed no higher moral purpose than to be beautiful). Whistler was mentored by Courbet (as was his friend Carolus-Duran). Courbet was in turn inspired by Velasquez and the Flemish painters like Rembrandt.

This entire lineage is interesting because while Academic Style built upon the predominant traditions of the previous centuries, these society portrait artists built on all the alternative traditions which flourished in the periphery.

This "alternative lineage" idea is completely my own take on it, though. I don't know if general art historical consensus would agree because it doesn't have much to say on the subject at all. Because these portrait painters drew on alternative traditions, they were never on the cutting edge of anything (neoclassicism, romanticism, pure impressionism, fauvism, abstract expressionism, etc) and have been almost completely left out of the narrative of art history. They're considered unimportant in the progression and eventual triumph of unsentimental abstract expressionism. Sargent, Zorn and Sorolla are beloved, but most people don't learn about them from a boilerplate art history class. They simply stumble across them on Pinterest or in a coffee table book in some waiting room.

In their heyday, though, these artists were considered forward-thinking. So as Ingres' old-fashioned style dominated the 19th century, his style became associated with it. The new generation of bright (rich) young things wanted something new, something that represented them, yet they still were searching for the next Old Master, to own what their grandchildren would consider important art. Each aspiring young portrait painter who studied in Europe was right at the center of it, various influential movements as they unfolded in real time, meeting their modern idols at cafes and copying the old masters in museums.

And then there was Cecilia Beaux, stuck in Philadelphia. 

There was one good place to study art in Philly, and that was at Thomas Eakins's academy. But everyone knew that place was full of freaks. Ever since Eakins had exhibited a graphic painting of a surgery in progress, no respectable woman would touch his school, even if he was a great painter, and even if his school did allow women to study anatomy. 

Beaux's concerned family found a relative to teach Beaux instead, one Catherine Drinker. After studying with Drinker and desperate to make some money to support herself and her family, Beaux turned to painting portraits of children on porcelain plates. People would mail in photographs and she'd mail the plates back to clients as far away as California. She drew advertising lithographs ad technical illustration as well. "This was the lowest depth I ever reached in commercial art," she said, "and although it was a period when youth and romance were in their first attendance on me, I remember it with gloom and record it with shame." But the money did afford her the independence to continue her studies ("only until marriage of course," she told her family and, to an extent, herself). More importantly it taught her that mothers would do anything for portraits of their children. (I once had this same "ah-ha!" moment with pet portraiture when I saw someone go into the Louis Vuitton store pushing a gigantic dog stroller with a shivering chihuahua inside).

Beaux had to admit growing admiration for Eakins' Academic-style work. And she knew she had to step up her game if she didn't want to be painting plates forever. In the end she worked up the nerve to attend the academy but studied with other teachers. "A curious instinct of self-preservation kept me outside the magic circle." Sadly Eakins would be fired from the academy for his practice of allowing women artists to study anatomy. Philadelphia was not ready for his ideas. 

Somewhere along these studies she picked up a lifelong belief in phrenology, which was a preeminent form of quackery from an embarrassing period in history when scientists believed that behavior and character traits correlated with various physical features. At its worst this idea was applied to blatantly racist, sexist, classist and xenophobic agendas-- that's why it's earned such a nasty reputation nowadays. However I find it interesting that a portrait artist would pick up phrenology and run with it. It makes me reconsider the practice of cartooning where physical features are exaggerated to show personality. Much of portraiture is after all just glorified cartooning, where the artist manipulates the sitter's physical appearance to turn them into an expressive character. 

Les Derniers Jours d'Enfance by Cecilia Beaux, 1883. (image via)

 

With the exhibition of her first serious work, Les Derniers Jours d'Enfance, Beaux allied herself with artists like Whistler and Mary Cassatt. Beaux's reputation grew and she opened her own portrait studio. In just a few years she was able to charge as much for a commission as Eakins himself. She was good, but she wanted to be great. She craved a European education and in 1888 at age 32 she set sail for Paris. "Remember," begged her loving Aunt Eliza, who was anxious for her unmarried Quaker niece amid the notorious vices of the Paris art world, "you are first of all a Christian – then a woman and last of all an Artist."

Paris hit Cecilia Beaux like a ton of bricks but she thrived in the adversity. It wasn't Bouguereau, the most nurturing of her instructors, who buoyed her spirits the most, but the underhanded encouragement of the severe Fleury, eyeing her efforts: "...We will do all we can to help you."

At the same time that Beaux was training in the Academic style she was also drawn to its polar opposite, Impressionism. She experimented with incorporating it into her style but found she was too precise and concrete a painter to really adopt the style. However she did lighten her color palette significantly, beginning a lifelong love affair with white-on-white effects. She also studied the effects of natural light and outdoor painting which she would put to use later in her career with outdoor portraits and landscapes.

Twilight Confidences by Cecilia Beaux, 1888. (image via) Beaux painted this early work after spending the summer at an artist's colony in Brittany. She completed numerous studies for this, and the painting is her first foray into plein aire (i.e. outdoor) painting. The play of fleeting natural light is obviously her main focus and the white Briton bonnets of the women serve as perfect vehicles.

 

New England Woman, by Cecilia Beaux, 1895. (image via) While this painting was completed a decade after her time in Paris you can clearly see the influence of Impressionists like Morisot and Cassatt. Beaux also was an admirer of Whistler, and one of his most famous portraits was a girl in a white dress in front of a white curtain, titled Symphony in White.

 

When Beaux returned to Philadelphia she dedicated herself completely to painting. She chose never to marry or even to have serious relationships so she could focus. Her extended family welcomed her back home, and all of the time she lived there and worked in her studio, "I was never once asked to do an errand in town, some bit of shopping…so well did they understand." (everyone who works from home lately will understand what a gift that is). She maintained a strict daily routine with a punctual starting and quitting time.

 

The year after her return William Merritt Chase (the prominent Impressionist and society portrait painter) claimed, “[Beaux is] not only the greatest living woman painter, but the best painter who ever lived!” I personally disagree-- no one beats Anders Zorn, come on-- but Beaux was clearly earning a solid reputation stateside. She had multiple pieces exhibited together with John Singer Sargent who was much more well-known at the time, and a critic was famously overheard making very sideways compliment: "I see Sargent has signed his best paintings, 'Cecilia Beaux.'" He meant that her style was very derivative of his, but also that her work was superior. Her work is still frequently compared with his-- and they are very similar-- but as I pointed out at the beginning of the post, both Beaux and Sargent were basically painting in the style of Carolus-Duran.

 

In a reversal of the previous decade when she had difficulty acquiring training, Beaux was hired as the first woman to teach at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. Philadelphians were proud and she became a very popular instructor for the next twenty years.  

 

Beaux went on to exhibit large murals at the Chicago World's Fair, to amass a long list of sought-after clientele including Teddy and Edith Roosevelt, and to have her paintings exhibited in Paris to acclaim. 

 

By the early 1900s several of Beaux's extended family members died. Beaux was devastated, as she had been orphaned at birth and raised, with her sister, by her grandparents, aunts and uncles. She found it too painful to stay in Philadelphia and relocated to a country home in a wealthy community. She began summering in New York as well. Interestingly, she incorporated hiking and leisure into her daily studio schedule because she considered the steady maintenance of energy to be crucial to her artistic output. One must accept, she believed, that art will work one to exhaustion, so an artist must plan one's day in a way that re-energizes oneself.   

Abruptly in 1907, American artists overhauled the Impressionist era, moving on to gritty social realism, Dada and then abstraction. But Beaux never considered moving on from her style. "These men [Rubens, Memling, Mabuse, all Renaissance and Baroque painters] were not reformers," she wrote. "Theirs was the earnest desire toward perfection. Not to break down, but to build." For Beaux the old masters had set art as an ever-fixed mark that does not alter when it when it alteration finds. 

 

Despite the art world moving on the last decades of her life were filled with prestigious honors and awards of every sort. Toward the end of her life she broke her hip and her painting slowed considerably. She died in 1942 at age 87. 

Sita and Sarita, by Cecilia Beaux, 1893-4. (image via) Who wouldn't like to have their portrait made like this, looking mysterious with a witchy cat. Beaux sometimes added a touch of something slightly odd such as an unusual pose or composition which made the image more attention-grabbing while allowing the sitter to retain their dignity.

Mrs. Alexander Sedgwick and Daughter Christina, by Cecilia Beaux, 1902. (image via) The pose in this is interesting. The mother's back is turned, and she isn't even more than a sketch at the edges. Yet she's very prominent in the painting. 

Sarah Elizabeth Doyle by Cecilia Beaux, c. 1902. (image via) Sarah Doyle was a suffragist and educator who founded the Pembroke College in Brown University. Her former students commissioned this portrait from Beaux, to “be of itself a work of art of the highest merit" which would acknowledge Doyle's “deep and lasting influence upon the women of this community,” and “perpetuate her strong, womanly personality.” Doyle is shown here in her academic robes over her personal clothes, with a pose and expression that radiates intelligence and gravitas (to get in trouble and be sent to her principal's office would be terribly intimidating). The simplicity of the forms and fluidity of the brushstrokes create a confident sense of balance. The red background appears plummy purple in some photographs of the piece, and if that's the case in real life it would be an allusion to the symbolic colors of the women's suffrage movement: white, green and purple.

Man with the Cat (Henry Sturgis Drinker) by Cecilia Beaux, 1898. (image via) Drinker was a wealthy and stylish railroad executive who married Cecilia Beaux's sister. He was also brother to Beaux's first art instructor, Catherine Drinker. Known to be a strong personality, the painting seems to be some sort of recognition and accord between his strong personality and Beaux's own formidable character (according to unsigned commentary at Smithsonian's image database). This man was the pinnacle of glitteringly wealthy East coast society, and here he is so comfortable with himself that he slumps in a chair to accommodate the cat on his lap, the literal lap of luxury. Besides the pose I love the technique of this painting. The brushstrokes are clear watery pools of color, the side lighting that splashes over the folds of his suit beautifully divides his face in two.

After the Meeting by Cecilia Beaux, 1914. (image via) I adore this composition-- the high contrast pattern play, near-abstract blocks of color, and how it leads the eye in an unusual upward zigzag. The bold layering of patterns echoes whatever peppery thing the woman in the chair is saying, and the lively composition which zings back and forth hints at a gathering of others who are listening and ready with a lively answer. According to writers in 1915 the "meeting" certainly refers to a women's suffrage meeting (note the green and white dress) and the "restless energy" is meant to characterize those who attended, someone who talks with her hands and grabs attention. The flattened, color-blocked composition was a pointed reference to abstract European modernism and drew a parallel between the modernism of the woman and of the painting itself (and possibly painter). Meanwhile the careless simplicity of the brushstrokes and lack of shading especially in the face was a reference to fauvism, another modern art movement. Beaux considered herself a "New Woman," an independent cultured citizen who supported women's rights. 

Portrait of Alice Davison by Cecilia Beaux, 1909. (image via) I think the way she painted Central Park is neat.

Cardinal Mercier by Cecilia Beaux, 1919. (image via) While this man doesn't look like someone I'd want to know the painting itself is beautiful. The tonal value of the red against the background is somehow surprising; where you'd expect dramatic contrast (as in a Baroque painting) they're separated only by outline. The mottled misty quality of the figure creates a separation from the viewer, as if he's not real. The overall effect really sucks you in.

So, here is my portrait of Cecilia Beaux for Day 3 of Inktober. I readily found two of Beaux's self portraits online, and while I quite like them as paintings I didn't think they made very good reference images. Nor were the photographs of her very descriptive. With some digging I found a watercolor portrait of Beaux by another artist named Rosina Emmet Sherwood. (Sherwood's life and work is worth taking a look; she did some gorgeous children's book illustration.) I tried to mimic Beaux's own long fluid brushstrokes in her blouse and in the "scumbled" background. I also noticed that she frequently employed a subtle but thick outline to separate the figure from the background. It creates a slightly art-nouveau-style effect, like a rich glaze puddling around the contours of a vase. You can see it in the portrait of Sarah Doyle above with the red background. I added the bow on the blouse to anchor the composition and cropped the image way in from Sherwood's original seated pose; I like how it makes her look like a thoroughly modern "Gibson Girl."  

 

This post is part of a series of posts from Inktober 2020 about women artists of the 17-early 1900s who each had some significant connection to Paris, France. Each post focuses on the art-historical context of the artist among her colleagues and ends with a portrait I did in ink of the artist in their style (roughly). Other posts in the series: 

 

Elisabeth-Louise Vigée Le Brun

Claude Cahun

Meta Vaux Warrick Fuller

Bessie MacNicol

Sonia Delaunay

Rosa Bonheur

Inktober Day 1: Elisabeth-Louise Vigée Le Brun

She's best known today as the personal portraitist for Marie Antoinette. But Vigée Le Brun's life started far from Versailles as the daughter of a fan painter and hairdresser. She was largely self-taught but soaked up whatever advice she could get, first from her father, and after his death from several professional painters in her limited social orbit. First her widowed mother and then Elisabeth made advantageous marriages, however, and she used her newfound society contacts to open a small portrait studio of her own. When the authorities heard they raided and shut it down because it was unlicensed (a portrait studio can be illicit- who knew?). So she began the official Academic process of becoming an artist,* eventually catching the eye of Marie Antoinette and other nobility. Purportedly Le Brun (also spelled Lebrun) was an excellent conversationalist-- a crucial skill for moving through the ranks at Versailles-- which meant no one dreaded having to sit for portraits with her like they typically would. As a result the images are strikingly friendly and relaxed for their time. 

*I'll write a separate post about the Academic System since it was such a crucial part of the history of European art in the 18th and 19th centuries and is unlike anything we have today. I'll be referring to it over and over throughout these Inktober bios. 

Here are some of her society portraits:

Portrait of Mohammed Dervish Khan, by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia commons). This depicts him as an immovable mountain of a man, which was unusual for Vigée Le Brun (perhaps she didn't often get a chance as most of her clientele were demure ladies and fancy men). However the fine treatment of the fabric (that white hem!) and Rococo-style lightness of the sky and landscape, were quite typical of her work. Moreover the animated narrative of character-- in Khan's case dominance-- was one of Vigée Le Brun's particular strengths. A client could depend upon her to portray them in an engaging way.

Portrait of Countess Golovina, c. 1800, by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia commons). This pose is reminiscent of her more theatrical work, as it was common to paint noble ladies in character as classical Greek goddesses or other respectable dramatic roles. Such portraits ranged from striking (such as an unusual pose and costume) to ridiculous (self-conscious nobility floating through the sky in togas) and didn't take themselves very seriously. They were just a way for ladies to be divas without losing their modesty. They're not to be confused with the ultimate respectable genre of History Painting, in which classical events were treated in a very serious and grandiose manner.

Peace Restoring Abundance, 1783, by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). Representing abstract ideas as hot ladies was called "allegorical painting." It was taken very seriously. You can see here that Vigée Le Brun was tiptoeing near the glass ceiling which separated portrait artists and decorative artists from "serious" art. This is suitable decorative and "feminine" in nature but can hold its own next to a history painting. Later in her career Vigée Le Brun would again seek to break through to the serious, prestigious side of painting.

Self Portrait With Her Daughter Julie, by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). This caused a scandal, believe it or not. One court gossip sheet wrote, "An affectation which artists, art-lovers and persons of taste have been united in condemning, and which finds no precedent among the Ancients, is that in smiling, [Madame Vigée LeBrun] shows her teeth." Vegée Le Brun's self portrait reminds me of Dutch painter Judith Leyster's self portrait of 1630, in which she's also relaxed and smiling with her mouth slightly open. This was likely acceptable because the painting was not only from another era but also misattributed to Frans Hals, who would've been creating an admiring depiction of a woman by a man. That was allowed much more leeway than women frankly depicting themselves, as evidenced in Fragonard's The Swing, 1767 (a contemporary of Vigée Le Brun). The fact that this image drove Simone de Bouvoir to dismiss her from the 20th Century canon of great women artists is more baffling to me; she apparently took issue with its "in your face" motherhood. Weird. Julie was her only child, and I think showing her off like this is... not feminist exactly, but you can tell she's proud of her daughter and genuinely likes her.

Portrait of Hubert Robert (1788), by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun. I love this portrait and its vivacity. Vigée Le Brun's skill with painting pretty women, fine fabrics and dainty accessories served her well at court, but she certainly didn't lean on those gimmicks to create a good painting. Her portraits of men are where her best techniques had freer range; in terms of surface, brushwork, composition, power and originality, many have noticed that her male and female portraits are markedly different.

Portrait of the Artist's Brother (1773) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). This sensitive portrait is of Elisabeth's little brother around age 15 in "schoolboy dress." The extreme light and dark is called "chiaroscuro" and was a favorite of the generation of painters who came before Le Brun, like the Italian Baroque painters Caravaggio and Gentileschi. However you can see the clear Rococo style in the softer "breathier" outlines and brushwork, the more delicate handling of light and reflection, and the almost Impressionistic color play on the cheeks and background. Where the Baroque painters created a bold sense of monumental timelessness carved neatly in stone, the Rococo painters were after a lifelike essence, that spark of wit and gust of wind which reflected the Enlightenment ideals of humanism and the gallop of social progress, ideas and culture.

 

Marie Antoinette With Her Children, 1787, by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). The goal here, aside from the Queen's personal fondness for her family, was to improve Marie Antoinette's public image as a loving mother. Marie Antoinette relied upon Vigée Lebrun to help her public image to walk the fine line of respectability and relatability. They obviously didn't succeed in the end, but what portrait could quell the French Revolution?

Marie Antoinette in a Robe de Gaulle (1783) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). This created a significantly larger scandal. This was during Marie Antoinette's "farm girl" phase, when she had a small, relatively informal palace and farm-like garden constructed where she could retreat and let her hair down a bit, acting out her bucolic fantasy with her friends and letting her children run around and play. The dress she wears is, believe it or not, extremely informal and therein lies the scandal. These sorts of casual gathered muslin dresses, called Robe a la Creole or Robe de Gaulle, were a striking departure from the boxy formalwear of the day. It's topped off with a simple straw hat and gold sash, with a bouquet of roses that the Queen appears to have gathered herself. This portrait contains no reference to the King or to her role as Queen or mother, nor any reference to courtly life at Versailles which she had grown to loathe and rebel against. It shows her instead as a fully private, independent, rustic entity. It did NOT go over well. The court was outraged at the overt diss and took her personal independence as an insult to the institution of monarchy. All of this objection was focused on the Queen's rustic attire. The public, on the other hand, was outraged because the country dress resembled a chemise, and they thought the Queen was painted in her underwear. It cemented her undeserved reputation as an evil sex-crazed deviant. The popular dress style even got the pejorative nickname "the Queen's underpants" (chemise de la reine). To add insult to injury the dress was made from imported British cotton, and as the fashion caught on it hurt the French silk industry. Today the painting endures not as a scandal but as the most appealing portrait of the Queen and a glimpse into her personal world.

 

Vigée Le Brun's artistic world opened further when she was able to travel to the Netherlands in 1781 to see the works of the great Dutch and Flemish masters like Rembrandt, Vermeer, Leyster, Rubens and Frans Hals. Their brilliant treatment of light and color, their intimate and casual atmosphere, and their more nuanced approach to chiaroscuro deeply influenced Le Brun's work.

Portrait of Isabella Teotochi Albrizzi (1792) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). This pastel portrait exhibits a bright clear palette and almost impressionistic treatment of light, reminiscent of Vermeer especially.

Portrait of Baronne de Crussol (1785) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun. There is so much Dutch influence here: rich cheerful colors, the watery light and background, the tilted head with a throwaway gaze tossed back toward the viewer. Even the dress, though spectacularly fashionable for its time, recalls the bold trim and shape of the Dutch Golden Age (mid-1600s).

Portrait of Yolande Martine Gabrielle de Polastron, 1783. The atmosphere, palette and light recall the work of Rembrandt. She's also wearing the rustic Robe de la Creole like Marie Antoinette's portrait from the same year. With perfect manners, an innocent demeanor and a spicy lust for gossip, Gabrielle was an overt favorite of the Queen and thus hated by the rest of the court. Poisonous gossip swirled around her, namely that she and Marie Antoinette were lesbian lovers (there's no basis for this), specifically that they loved to scissor! Anyway I think the outfit in this portrait is a reference to her status as the Queen's favorite who was invited to her inner circle at the Petit Trianon (Marie Antoinette's private make-believe farm palace), and that Vigée Le Brun captured her studied innocence perfectly.

 

After the French Revolution Vigée Le Brun fled France, traveling Europe and staying with high society associates in Italy, Austria and Russia. She worked as a traveling portraitist to foreign nobility, witnessing Napoleon's rise from the faraway safety of the Russian court.

With the fall of the French monarchy the Rococo style also fell out of favor. Napoleon's favorite Jacques Louis David embodied the new style of neoclassicism: sober, intellectual, simpler in composition, with perfectly shaded forms whose edges were as clear and sharp as a razor. Of course, with as many references to ancient Greece and Rome as possible. The influence of the Baroque Italian masters also loomed large. 

 

Vigée Le Brun never completely adopted this style, particularly the crispness, but she adapted and seems to have been a true fan. She adopted an earth-toned palette which recalled Rome and antiquity. Her compositions became more simple and statuesque. As portraiture became more serious and classically influenced, her work was more easily able to cross over into history painting.

Portrait of Helena Radziwiłł née Przeździecka (c. 1802-5) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). This woman was a Polish Princess but she looks like a wise and practical woman of the world. Just compare her frugal clothing and level facial expression with the ostentatious whimsy of Versailles just twenty years prior.

Portrait of Natalia Kurakina (1797) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (image via Wikimedia Commons). With its earthy color palette and subdued pose, Le Brun has clearly moved into her Neoclassical phase. But she marries the clear-headed simplicity with the friendly nuanced movement which was her calling card and created an extremely appealing portrait.

Lady Hamilton as the Persian Sybil (1792) by Elisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun (via Wikimedia Commons). This piece doesn't do anything special for me but Vigée Le Brun considered this the best work she ever did. It does perfectly embody the static composition, smoothly shaded forms, earthen color scheme and Classical reference which dominated the Neoclassical style. Though some softness and vibrancy of the Rococo style remains, it represents a welcomed end to frivolousness. 

This is my own portrait of Vigée Le Brun, drawn in pen. I used one of her self portraits as a reference, which she completed as an homage to the Dutch masters. Her colors are clear and atmospheric, and even her straw hat is a reference to a particular Dutch work. I couldn't reference the colors obviously but I tried to keep the linework light and bright. The pen's detail point was perfectly suited to mimic the softness of her blending and brushwork. I also heavily cropped Le Brun's portrait so that I could concentrate on the contours and detail, and so that I could place her figure moving out of frame while glancing back, to capitalize on Le Brun's heavy use of implied movement and visual narrative.

 

This post is part of a series of posts from Inktober 2020 about women artists of the 17-early 1900s who each had some significant connection to Paris, France. Each post focuses on the art-historical context of the artist among her colleagues and ends with a portrait I did in ink of the artist in their style (roughly). Other posts in the series: 

 

Claude Cahun

Cecilia Beaux

Meta Vaux Warrick Fuller

Bessie MacNicol

Sonia Delaunay

Rosa Bonheur

The Iris And The Lid (from the series Ciana's Notes on Portraiture)

Forget every "makeup for you eye shape" article you've ever read.

There is time to explore eye shape in portraiture, but this post isn't it. Nor their size, nor the form of the lids, nor any mystical woo about souls. This post is only about where the lids intersect with the iris and pupil, and how that effects expression. As a portrait artist you should pay extra attention to this detail, because the human brain pays a disproportionate amount of attention to eyes, thus any little mistake is noticeable immediately.

As we emote and our eyeballs roll hither and thither, and as we scrunch our faces in speech and emotion, naturally the lids move over the iris and will intersect at different points. That's why a smile is associated with a squished up, crinkled lower lid that sits high on the eyeball. To smile with the bottom of the iris exposed, meanwhile, is very unsettling.

Bill Skarsgård smiling normally, left, and as Pennywise from It, smiling with exposed bottom iris, right.

But faces are all different of course, and distinctive in the point at which the lids intersect the iris while looking straight ahead in a neutral expression. It can create an important "aura" to a person. The neutral form can unwittingly imitate certain expressions in the general population, thereby creating iciness, naiveté, peacefulness, or a number of other first glance impressions.

Looking straight ahead, most people's upper eyelid covers just the top of the iris, and most people's bottom lid skirts the bottom edge of the iris, covering it slightly. Here are some average lid-iris intersections:

Don't Forget the Spine, Neck and Shoulders (from the series Ciana's Notes on Portraiture)

This post has been adapted from an older post, Upright Citizens: The Importance of Head, Neck and Shoulders in Portraiture. It is part of the series, Ciana's Notes on Portraiture (see also How to Paint an Eyebrow).

Here are two lookalikes I'll bet you've never considered: Don Knotts and Mick Jagger. Not twins exactly, but they could be brothers.

Donn Knotts (as Barney Fife) and Mick Jagger.

Ingenious blogger Scott Fertig noticed the similarities between the facial features of Don Knotts and Mick Jagger-- fish lips, pronounced folds at the barrel of the mouth, flat brows over heavily lidded eyes-- and superimposed Don Knotts' face on Mick Jagger's body. Yes, it's freaky. It's also a perfect example of just how much difference the neck and shoulders make: put Don Knott's face with a different neck, shoulders and posture, and he looks like a completely different person.

"Mick Knotts," via ScottFertig. [Image: Black & white photo of Mick Jagger posing with undershirt and low-slung jeans against a brick wall, one hand resting on the opposite shoulder with his arm across his chest. But his face has been replaced with Don Knotts's smirking face under Mick's feathered rock-star hairdo.]

Let's look at the real Don Knotts as Barney Fife, and his own neck, spine and shoulders. He gives the impression of a turtle.

Don Knotts as Barney Fife. [image description: moving gif of Barney looking out the police station window through the blinds, then turning around, leading his body around with his nose and craned out neck. He starts back in surprise to find a cartoonish mobster pointing a gun in his face.]

That's because he rounds forward in his lower-mid back (where a bra would fasten), while his shoulders are narrow and sloped, all creating the illusion of a rounded "shell." His thin neck attaches to the front of this structure rather than sitting tall atop his spine. His receding chin and high, sloping forehead create a smooth curve from his collar bone to his crown, just as a turtle's head would be jutting forward and curving up. The posture allows his characters to appear bedraggled and exasperated, even though he was a very high-energy performer. Without his characteristically large ears poking out over his tapered neck and thin, hunched shoulders, he just wouldn't be Don Knotts.

Now contrast his posture and spine with Mick Jagger's. Where Knotts was a turtle, Jagger is an open Jack-in-the-box, as if his spine is a spring attached to his hips, full of coiled tension and always ready to snap back the other direction. He even emphasizes his spring-loaded posture with the actual tension of skin-tight clothes.

Mick Jagger, 1972, photo by Bob Gruen, via MorrisonHotel, via AnthonyLuke. [Image description: Black & white action shot of Jagger performing live against a black background. His upper torso is shown in profile, leaning forward, arms reaching out to grasp the microphone, his head thrown back and turned toward the camera with his mouth open in mid-song and his eyes cast downward.]

Though his shoulders are narrow like Knotts' they appear square because of his posture. He also differs from Knotts in that his head is extremely large for his shoulders and his big hair exaggerates it. To support his big old noggin, he has a thicker more muscular neck. He isolates his jaw forward and tilted up, as if the bottom of his mouth is filled with liquid he doesn't want to spill. Besides giving him an insolent appearance, the habitual upward tilt of his chin emphasizes the width and tension of his neck, reminding one of the tense throat of his screaming onstage persona.

Mick Jagger. Can't find the photographer, via artsmeme.com [Image description: black & white shot of Mick Jagger sitting in a casual suit shown from crotch upward, with one knee up and to the side, one wrist leaning on the knee, the other hand near his hip with his elbow out. A backward C-shaped curve is formed by the fly of his pants, the buttons of his shirt, his open jacket and lapels, his spine and neck, and extending through his head held at an angle. His mouth is open and brow kind of scrunched like he's thinking hard and in mid-speech.]

Have you ever noticed how goofy a cutout photo of a head looks, floating in space without its neck and shoulders?

Have you ever had to recognize a faraway person without your glasses, based only on their fuzzy outline and quality of movement, as a brown shape with points?

Then you already know how crucial the gestures of the neck, spine and shoulders are to a person's look. Maybe a portrait only alludes to the neck and shoulders with a sketchy line, maybe the curve of shoulders is only visible under a puffy coat and scarf, but what is alluded to has to be correct. When the rest of the body isn't shown, it's only through the neck and shoulders that we get a hint of a person's physical condition (muscular or soft, stocky or lanky, young or old). Even more telling are the person's habitual body gestures: tight or relaxed, meek or aggressive, withdrawn or wide open. After all, our lives are written on our bodies.

Learning how to really see the neck, spine and shoulders isn't only a matter of rigorous draftsmanship. It's what makes people say, "wow, you really captured this person!" The secret is noticing the unique characteristics of how a person holds themselves, then re-creating that energy on paper with pose, linework and composition.

If you're drawing from photos and you've never observed the subject in person, then you're already at a disadvantage. You've got to practice with live subjects so you can interact with them and see them in motion. If you're too chicken to try that, then at least draw from a video or gif instead of a photo. YouTube clips of singers are great for this purpose, as they are especially expressive and active.

Here, give it a try. Watch this video of Nina Simone performing, and really look at her neck and shoulders. Notice how her head leans forward with an intense concentration on an imaginary horizon, then she levels the audience with a direct stare, every so often throwing her head back and to the side impatiently. Her chin recedes into her neck, creating the general appearance of a serious frown and accentuating the striving forward thrust of her face. The sides of her long neck descend in sinewy muscles into strong rounded shoulders.

[Video Description: Black & white 1960 video of Nina Simone performing live, "I Loves You Porgy," at a piano. She wears an open tank top dress and plays a lingering soulful version of the song, then when she's done she leaps up from the piano bench, bows, and raises her arms to the audience.]

Even actresses who fit into Hollywood's cookie-cutter definition of conventional beauty have individually distinct ways of carrying their head, neck and shoulders. Let's compare the posture and physiognomy of Kristen Stewart and Jennifer Lawrence.

Jennifer Lawrence's neck is nearly the same width as her face, and though long, is unusually thick for a Hollywood woman. It also sits squarely atop her shoulders and stretches straight up and down, the kind of posture our moms are always wishing we had. Her head is centered atop her neck and her face is usually lifted and facing straight forward, giving her the appearance of a noble cadet. Her thick upright neck and posture are likely what makes her appearance credible as an athletic and proudly defiant participant in the Hunger Games. It also likely plays a part in her forthright public persona (people like to say, "she's so real!") This posture of integrity makes it seem righteous rather than sleazy when she flips the bird at a formal event.

Jennifer Lawrence flips someone off at the Academy Awards.

Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games.

Jennifer Lawrence's typical posture.

Now, Kristen Stewart. Her neck is shorter but thinner. Her shoulders are also square but slightly narrower, hinting at the overall sporty-but-delicate look of her frame. Most importantly, though, is the way she holds her head forward and tilted. When caught candidly, the line between her shoulders are typically at an opposing angle to her head. She also holds her head forward from her shoulders but tipped back at an angle, as if weighed down by her curtain of hair. Her hair actually plays a part in a habitual Kristen Stewart gesture since famously flips it all over to one side. Her jaw is sharply delineated from her neck and ends in a pointed chin that appears to jut forward with contrariness because of the forward thrust of her neck. The limp outstretched neck, jutting chin and jaw, and opposing angles give her a lazily rebellious look that, combined with her naturally down-turned mouth, I find appealing (but apparently rubs a lot of people the wrong way). Kristen Stewart, for instance, would come across as sleazy or disrespectful if she flipped the bird on the red carpet.

Kristen Stewart looking straight ahead with shoulders askew.

Kristen Stewart [Image Description: Stewart leans forward with her elbows on a table (out of frame), her mouth open mid-speech]

Here she is posing on the red carpet with a very typical posture for her. Notice how her jaw is jutting to the side but her head is upright, as if she is being pulled offstage in one of those old Vaudeville shows with a shepherd's crook around her neck. It is markedly different from any of Jennifer Lawrence's typical red carpet poses. An astute portrait artist would also note that her ears are unusually high up on her head; the size and position of ears help identify a person, too!

Kristen Stewart at some red carpet thing

I find that even when you cannot really see the clear shape of the ears, neck and shoulders, the visual hints are still there:

-What kind of shadows do the chin and jaw cast on the neck? The deep shadow of a jutting shelf-like chin and jaw? or the soft shading and under-lighting of a chin that melts into the throat?

Left: At the Railroad, by Manet. Middle: Girl With a Pearl Earring, by Vermeer. Right: Frank Gentile, by Alice Neel.

-What kind of shadow is formed at the base of the neck, where it attaches to the collarbone?

Left: Head of an Arab, by John Singer Sargent. Middle: Madame X (detail), by John Singer Sargent. Right: Clara J. Mathers, by Thomas Eakins

-Do the ears, if covered, affect the structure of the hair in a way that hints at their position? Can you see the earlobes or earrings? How does the jaw attach to the ear? Is there a shadow?

Left: portrait by Alice Neel. Middle: The Blue Room, by Suzanne Valadon. Right: Princess Albert de Broglie, by Ingres.

-Where do the shoulders intersect with the neck and jaw (and how far down from the earlobes)? If they're slouching they should intersect close to the ears and jaw and the neck should appear in front of the shoulders. If they are back and down, they'll intersect with the base of the neck.

Left: Self Portrait Staring, by Rembrandt. Middle: Portrait by Mary Cassat. Right: Portrait of Berthe Morisot, by Manet.

-Where is the collarbone? Imagine the base of the neck is a flat circular plane from the knob at the spine between neck and shoulders to the collarbone (the clean disc left by a guillotine, maybe?). When slouching, the spine-knob is thrust upward and the sternum down, pitching the imaginary disc forward and vertical. Thus the collarbone will be low and form a down-arrow shape. When sitting upright and level with the viewer, however, the disc is horizontally level and the collar bone is lined up right in front of the neck-knob and only slightly below the intersection of neck and shoulders.

Left: At the Theater, by Mary Cassat. Middle: Self Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, by Artemisia Ghentileschi. Right: Detail of a portrait by John Singer Sargent.

-Do the shadows at the sides of the neck describe its width and breadth? Often hair will dangle around the neck, obscuring the sides. But the shadows it casts can be deep on a thin neck or shallow on a broad neck. How does the hair fall around the neck and shoulders? If it falls straight down from the head, the place where it lands on the neck and shoulders can help indicate that the head is in front of or straight above the collarbone.

Left: Nogeeshik, by Andrew Wyeth. Middle: Portrait by Mary Cassat. Right: The Repentant Mary Magdalene, by Georges Quentin de la Tour.

-Do the shadows at the sides of the neck describe its width and breadth? Stiff collars can obscure the neck as well, but the way they fit around the neck, snugly or loosely, can be described by the shadows they cast. The degree of forward pitch of the collar can also be very descriptive of posture.

Left: Portrait of Joseph Antoine Moltedo, by Ingres. Middle: Self Portrait by Rembrandt. Right: portrait by Modigliani (I cannot locate the title, sorry).

Finally, if you pay attention to the neck and shoulders before you start, you can manipulate the pose and angle so that any personally identifying characteristics of their posture can be highlighted. Take, for instance, the flower-stalk-like neck in the Bust of Nefertiti. Why draw her from this angle, with her hair hanging down in a wig (just imagine it)...

Bust of Nefertiti [Image description: a color photograph of the famous ancient Egyptian painted sculpture of Queen Nefertiti viewed from the front, with what appears to be a thin but average length neck and upside-down-trapezoidal hat]

...when you could choose this other angle, with her long neck exposed and a big hat creating a visual X marking the spot of her regal eyes?

Profile view of the Bust of Nefertiti. [Image description: photograph of the same sculpture, taken from the side in profile. Reveals an extremely long neck pitched forward to an upraised jaw and chin. Viewed from the side, the hat extends up and back at an opposing angle to the neck, creating an imaginary intersection right at her eyes and a sense of elegant balance. The trapezoidal tulip shape of the hat contrasting with the long thin neck also creates the illusion of a flower on a stalk.]

And, for a different take, here's 1980s Arnold Swartzenegger. He had a famously thick neck and body-builder muscles; the protruding barrel of his mouth resolutely marked the spot where the wad of muscles stopped being neck and started being face. So why pose him like this...

Arnold Swartzenegger, c. 80's [Image Description: color photo of Arnold's face, shoulders and upper torso at a three-quarter angle facing the viewer. His shoulders are rounded forward and his face lifted and at a bowed angle, obscuring much of his neck.]

...when you could choose this angle and pose? It's so much more "Arnold."

Film still from or promotional image for The Terminator. [Image Description: color photo of Arnold's face, shoulders and chest in character as the Terminator. He wears sunglasses an holds a gun straight up in front and to the side, echoing the width and position of his neck. He wears a wide-lapel leather coat with a popped collar that sits flush against the back of his neck and skull, creating a visual X at the lumpy barrel of his mouth. The sides of the coat's neck opening extend down over his chest, continuing and emphasizing the line of his neck. Lazers in the background radiate outward from a point visually marking his collar bone.]

What about the rest of the face? Stay tuned for the rest of my Notes on Portraiture series.