Clowning Around
A little while ago, when I came across these adorable vintage shoes on Etsy, I was inspired to hunt around for other historical uses of pompoms. This lead me on a trail of Pierrots.
Pierrot is the sad clown of pantomime, originating in the late 17th century with the Comédie-Italienne, a troupe of players. He pines his heart away for love of Columbine, who more often than not abandons him for her lover, Harlequin. He is characterised of course with this most familiar costume of a loose white blouse with large buttons (or pompoms) and wide pantaloons. Sometimes he sports an Elizabethan-style frilled collaret, and at times a black skullcap.
Scroll down to see my favourite of the vintage Pierrots I discovered, all clad in variations of this delightful costume. (Click for larger images.*)
*Apologies, I cannot supply two links with images saved as thumbnails. Please contact me if you would like the exact URL.
Grand Visions
Last year in Montserrat (which sounds like the title of a movie), I rode the funicular up the vertical railway and climbed the paths up the mountains. I was faced with such grand scenery those two master photographers, Ansel Adams and Edward Weston instantly came to mind.
Nature photographs can sometimes seem boring in their ubiquity. However, this pair of photographers had such an instinctive eye for composition; creating images of stark beauty and authority they cannot fail to bring us face to face with the imposing power of their craggy mountains, perilous deserts and fierce sunshine.
In that blinding Catalan sunshine, surrounded by the razor teeth of Montserrat, I could not help but to be inspired by these masters.
Click here to see some of my black and white images of the mountains.
Etched
Recently I’ve been working on an illustration for the Lawler Studio theatre with a dragon theme (nothing to do with it being the Year of the Dragon however). The original concept was inspired by monotone etchings, although the final piece is rendered in two colours.
I have never done etching, although it’s something I would really like to do. I love the contrasting textures of etchings, the soft, smudgy expanses, the sharp linework, so for this illustration I tried to emulate the look using pen and ink, and conté. A final layer of colour was applied with watercolour paint. It’s an interesting experience creating a piece of fine art to someone else’s brief: although I’m happy with the final piece, it wasn’t my favoured resolution. (I’ll be able to show you the evolution in March, after publication.)
Here though are some of the lovely etchings that inspired me. My particular favourites were Angela Smith and Tommaso Gorla – both of whom whose work is sinister and surreal, transporting one into a dark fairytale world. Their etchings really tell a thousand words.
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.)
The Ballet Russes
Last week I hired a number of DVDs that had been on my list to watch for a while. The 2005 documentary The Ballet Russes was one of them. I was keen to learn about the set and costume designers of the Ballet Russe. There was little on them as it happened, but all the same I found the documentary fascinating and moving.
There was much of the history that I knew little or nothing about: Sergei Diaghilev’s ballet company came from young Russian dancers trained in Paris, exiled from Russia after the revolution of 1917. The director died in 1929, and after Diaghilev’s original Ballet Russe disbanded, the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo was formed under a partnership. It in turn split in two, with one partner creating the Original Ballet Russe. It was this company that found its way to Australia during WWII.
The company’s productions created a world-wide sensation. It was a completely new style of ballet, with avant-garde sets, imaginative costumes, and extraordinary choreography and music. The company collaborated with many contemporary artists, including Matisse, Chanel, Picasso and Dalí. Much of the public did not understand it at first, and was outraged, but eventually the companies that toured the world during the War inspired a generation, and still do.