An Amusement Between Verses – the Art of Victor Hugo
In France, Victor Hugo (1802-1885) is by some considered the greatest French poet. To the rest of the world, he is most well-known for his novels Les Misérables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
But he was in fact also a great artist. It was many years ago now that I discovered this by chance: I was in a suburban department store, accompanying my sister while she shopped, and picked up a catalogue of his works on paper in the books department. I had never seen his drawings, and he was an equally serendipitous discovery for my then-boyfriend, who was not only an artist himself, but a collector. We were both thrilled by the delicate beauty and sheer breadth of Hugo’s graphic work (numbering nearly 3000 items).
The book, Shadows of a Hand – The Drawings of Victor Hugo, accompanied an exhibition of the same name that was held at The Drawing Centre, New York, from April 16–June 13, 1998.
Hugo worked mainly in ink, but he was known to import all sorts of bizarre matter into his drawings. Often he employed many mediums at once, and rubbed and scraped back the surface. The resulting drawings have an exciting texture and depth. Hugo writes to Baudelaire, on April 29, 1860:
“I’m very happy and very proud that you should choose to think kindly of what I call my pen-and-ink drawings. I’ve ended up mixing in pencil, charcoal, sepia, coal dust, soot and all sorts of bizarre concoctions which manage to convey more or less what I have in view, and above all in mind. It keeps me amused between two verses.”
Hugo’s drawing techniques were extremely unusual. One of the fullest accounts is by his son, Charles Hugo:
“Once paper, pen and ink-well have been brought to the table, Victor Hugo sits down and without making a preliminary sketch, without any apparent preconception, sets about drawing with an extraordinarily sure hand not the landscape as a whole but any old detail. He will begin his forest with the branch of a tree, his town with a gable, his gable with a weather vane, and, little by little, the entire composition will emerge from the blank paper with the precision and clarity of a photographic negative subjected to the chemical preparation that brings out the picture. That done, the draftsman will ask for a cup and will finish off his landscape with a light shower of black coffee. The result is an unexpected and powerful drawing that is often strange, always personal, and recalls the etchings of Rembrandt and Piranesi.”
I find his drawings so atmospheric they also bring to mind the painter William Turner.
Apart from ink washes, Hugo also experimented with ink taches (ink blots which are manipulated with excess water, smearing and smudging); pliages (symmetrical taches, formed by folding the paper); lace impressions (applying ink-soaked lace –often metallic, ie, wired – to paper); and stencils and cut-outs (combined with other drawing techniques and mediums).
”… little by little, the entire composition will emerge from the blank paper with the precision and clarity of a photographic negative …”
– Charles Hugo
Also a statesman and human rights activist, Hugo was exiled in 1851, after declaring Napoleon III a traitor to France. Much of Hugo’s work that he produced after this time is ‘distinguished either by their large formats, or by the use of mixed media in which reliance of chance is increasingly frequent’. His new trust in the occult lead to experimental ‘spirit-drawings’ made with table-turning, but other themes included the ocean; space, and the unkown; and dream-like, elusive reveries on nature.
It was difficult to choose my favourites from the book, but here is a small selection from some of these categories. Scroll down for more, and be inspired. (Click images for larger versions.)
Sokolsky’s Bubbles
On Thursday at the theatre I was picture researching, preparing to present a concept for a photo shoot when I came across an intriguing photograph of a man inside a balloon, next to a girl on a couch. How did they do that, Amelia-Jane and I wondered. “Photoshop,” Amelia-Jane pronounced.
“Maybe,” I replied, “but I can show you some amazing 1960s fashion pictures of a girl in a bubble that was all done the old-fashioned way.”
By Melvin Sokolsky, the photographs are taken in 1963, mostly around Paris (and some in New York) with the model Simone d’Allencourt. She floats in a bubble above the Seine, the streets of Paris, in the snowy forest; above the bemused and amused faces of ordinary Parisians. The images are absolutely awe-inspiring, and even more fantastic to know that absolutely no computer was employed to achieve these wonders.
She floats in a bubble above the Seine, the streets of Paris, in the snowy forest …
Years ago I stumbled upon a monograph on his work, which I didn’t buy because it was very expensive. It is now out of print and used books are double the price! Then a few weeks ago I discovered the Sokolsky iPhone book app, which I promptly purchased for only a few dollars. It is beautiful to look at, but now I want an iPad to fully appreciate the pictures.
Fascinatingly, I read that Sokolsky was inspired by a most unlikely source – a Renaissance painting (left). Here’s what the photographer says about it:
"On my 14th birthday, my father took me to a bookstore and told me I could choose any book in the store. I came upon a book of paintings by Hieronymus Bosch and found myself spellbound by the detail of a man and a woman in a veined caul-like bubble growing from a strange plant. That image in the The Garden of Earthly Delights (1510-15) had a profound effect on me – it resulted in a recurring dream of seeing myself in a bubble floating across exotic landscapes."
I can imagine quite looking forward to going to bed as a child if I was going to have dreams like that!
Scroll down for more images, and click for larger versions.
Visions of Grandeur
Tonight, taking a break from illustrating, I got back to editing the photos of my trip to Europe this past June. I’m still only sorting through the first few days of Barcelona and Lisbon.
The photos from Barcelona include those taken on a daytrip out to Montserrat in the Catalonian mountains. I’d read years ago about the Benedictine Abbey cocooned in the crags of the mountain, although I’d never imagined I would actually go there. The monastery is the home of the Black Virgin, the world’s oldest publishing house (the first book was published in 1499), and the Montserrat Boy’s Choir, one of the oldest in Europe.
I rode the Funicular de Saint Joan (a vertical railway) to the top of the mountain and was met by the most spectacular views all around. Montserrat literally means ‘jagged mountain’ in Catalan, and the landscape inspired me with visions of Edward Weston-inspired black and white images. Scroll down for a few more.
New Nudes
While researching the collage story for my last issue of Outline magazine, Matisse’s blue nudes of the early 50s popped up in a Google search. I was reminded once more of their abstract yet voluptuous beauty; they are for me the epitome of his oeuvre in the collage medium.
In 1939, the artist Henri Matisse (1869–1954) began to visit with the Greek publisher of the magazine Verve, Emmanuel Tériade. It was in his editorial offices that Matisse began to experiment with paper cut-outs, utilising pages from catalogues of printer’s inks. Some of these pieces were used on the cover of the eighth issue of the magazine. Tériade was so enamoured of them he wanted to publish an entire book, but it was not until 1943 that Matisse agreed to the project.
The nudes are wholly excised from their environment, their limbs intertwined in space, conveying the appearance of sculptural monoliths in ‘Yves Klein blue’ …
The book would be called Jazz, inspired by the properties of jazz music: ‘the gift of improvisation, of life, of harmony with the listening audience’, Matisse explained, creating spontaneous images of folk tales, circus performances and travel. By 1944, 20 pictures were already finished. By this time Matisse had abandoned the books of printer’s inks, and was applying gouache to sheets which were then cut up. The publication of the book was stalled however due to the difficulties of reproduction, and it was not until 1947 that the master and the printer were duly satisfied.
In 1946, Matisse took the visual solutions discovered during the process off creating the images in Jazz, and applied them to his Polynesia, the Sky, and Polynesia, The Sea (above). Squares of sea and sky overlapped with plants, fish and birds – truly harmonious and serene designs that were destined for tapestries to be woven at the Gobelin looms of Beauvais.
His experiments with collage culminated in his blue nudes in the early 1950s, shortly before his death in November 1954. The nudes are wholly excised from their environment, their limbs intertwined in space, conveying the appearance of sculptural monoliths in ‘Yves Klein blue’ – hybrids existing somewhere between Moore’s and Modigliani’s sculptures. In fact, like a sculpture chipping away stone from the negative space, these cut-outs took Matisse weeks of trial and error before he determined satisfactory compositions, the results a great testament to a man’s dedication to his art.
Images all from ‘Matisse’, by Volkmar Essers, Taschen 2002
Vienna: Art & Design
A few weeks ago I finally got around to seeing the Winter Masterpieces exhibition on the Vienna Secession artists at the National Gallery of Victoria International.
On my friend’s advice I downloaded the audioguide from the website to my own iPod (thereby saving the $8 hire fee), and consequently enjoyed the exhibition much more. Usually these exhibitions are jammed with people, so I found listening to the audioguide created an oasis of calm, and it was much easier to ignore the chatter and concentrate on the exhibit. It was great to go alone in fact, and be able to walk around at my own pace and inclination.
…listening to the audioguide created an oasis of calm…
I had already been forewarned that there wasn’t much of Klimt’s oeuvre on display. As discouraging as that was, it was expected, so I was disappointed that there were far fewer paintings in general – I’d hoped to see more of Egon Schiele’s work at least. Still, I learned a lot about Josef Hoffman and Adolf Loos that I never knew (and the audioguide was a big help in that regard), and it was great to see examples of graphic design, so the experience was very enjoyable.
As for the missing Klimts … well, I’ll just have to plan a visit to Vienna in the not-too-distant future, won’t I?
The exhibition is now closed. Scroll down for more images.