When I rewatched Portrait of a Lady on Fire recently, it occurred to me that the main protagonist, the woman artist, could well be a fictional representation of the 18th century Neo-Classical painting sensation Angelika Kauffmann. Her father was a painter too and taught her his craft: I always considered her Austrian (having spent my childhood in Vienna), and it turns out her father was Austrian but she was born in Switzerland and lived a peripatetic lifestyle as a child prodigy. In later life she had great success in England and Italy, although she was denigrated (or ‘trolled’) as well as praised throughout her lifetime and beyond.
Self-portrait: the Artist hesitating between the Arts of Music and Painting. Angelika was equally gifted as a singer but in the end opted for painting, although it was a career that would be harder to break into for her as a woman.
The Judgement of Paris: For example, she was not allowed to study male nudes as a woman artist, so she has often been disregarded as a painter of ‘rather effeminate male figures’.
Cupid and Psyche. The historical, allegorical or mythical subject matters were considered far more prestigious than portraits, and were usually the preserve of men. Although in an earlier period Artemisia Gentileschi painted classical subjects, by the 18th century this had changed and women were relegated to more domestic subject matter. Mme Vigee Le Brun, for example, painted predominantly portraits and landscapes.
Portrait of a Lady, probably Elizabeth Montagu. In England, Kauffmann was particularly popular as the portrait painter of the aristocracy.
Lady Georgiana Spencer, Henrietta Spencer and George, Viscount Althorp. During her time in England, Kauffmann was one of only two women to become a founding member of the Royal Academy (against some opposition and calls of favouritism because of an alleged affair with Sir Joshua Reynolds).
Cornelia pointing to her children as treasures. A visitor shows off her jewels to the Roman matriarch Cornelia, who then says in a (possibly unbearably smug tone) that her only treasures are her sons Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus, who both became Roman politicians and tribunes later in life. Mind you, I have some sympathy for single mum Cornelia, daughter of Scipio, who did her best to ensure her sons got the best possible education, but then was destined to outlive her sons, who were both assassinated.
Not as well known as Nicolae Grigorescu or Constantin Brancusi for fans of Romanian art, Ion Andreescu is my favourite Romanian painter. He lived a quiet, sadly all too brief life as an art teacher, studied for a short while in Paris in 1878/79, and painted some of the most evocative Romanian landscapes before his death in 1882 at the age of 32 from TB. He is particularly good at capturing the forest in all seasons and all moods. His paintings offer me pure escapism, a breath of fresh air.
If I could live anywhere in Paris, and money were no object, I would choose Montmartre, despite the tourist hordes. The endless steps and steep roads would keep me fit, and there are still many quiet picturesque corners if you know where to look. Plus oh, the historical artistic associations! Of course, in the 19th century Montmartre was anything but posh and expensive: it was a scrappy little suburb full of rebellious smallholders (marking the start of the revolutionary Paris Commune in 1871), poor working class people, bars and cabarets. Artists flocked there because it was cheap and provided an excellent spot for people-spotting.
Moulin de la Galette in Montmartre.
Van Gogh’s representation of it.
Impasse Girardon in real life.
Utrillo’s version of Impasse Girardon.
The infamously steep road Impasse Trainee.
Impasse Trainee in winter, by Utrillo.
Rue St Vincent and the cabaret-bar Lapin Agile.
Yet another Utrillo rendition of the same spot.
Place du Tertre, which is now filled with portrait painters and souvenir stalls.
Antoine Blanchard’s rainsodden version.
The vineyards in Montmartre have existed since Roman times, but almost fell victim to property developers in the early 20th century.
Not quite the same angle, but Van Gogh was fascinated with these orchards and vineyards too.
The vines are flourishing now and celebrate an annual harvest festival. From montmartre-addict.com
Portraits of women reading is perhaps one of the loveliest examples of ‘memes’ in art history, particularly in the 19th century and particularly in France. Was it the rise of the middle classes and of leisure time? Were the men boasting that their wives and daughters were well looked after, well-educated and could therefore spend time on that frivolous pursuit of reading novels? Or was it that there is a certain stillness in the act of reading which men as doers felt that they could not or would not choose to quite live up to? Or was it simply a respectable form of voyeurism for rich men/art collectors? Whatever the reason for it, it has left behind some beautiful paintings (all in the public domain, as far as I know, but please correct me if I am wrong).
One of the best known – by Fragonard.
Woman reading in landscape, by Corot.
Another dreamy summer readingscape, by Monet.
So intent on reading, this must have been a real page-turner, by Jacques-Emile Blanches
One of my earliest favourites, by Renoir.
She hasn’t got eyes for anyone but the book, leave her alone, by Matisse.
Victorian portrayals of the angel in the household on the rare evening off, by Edward John Poynter.
Blue Girl Reading by August Macke from the Blaue Reiter school of art.
American impressionism via Dutch painter Isaac Israels.
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