R.I.P. Henry James

Today was the 97th anniversary of Henry James' death. He is by far my favorite "classic" writer. To Mr. James, I lift a glass of port and say, "Well lived, well written, well read, dear Mr. James!"

This famous portrait of Henry James was painted by (who else?) John Singer Sargent, in 1912. There is an earlier sketch by Sargent, too. The two met in 1883 and James was very taken by the young, handsome and talented Euro-American artist, and was instrumental in helping Sargent find many clients in England after he'd "fled" from France. I couldn't resist writing more than one scene in my novel that featured James.

Two recent books for James fans: The Master, a novel by Colm Toibin, and Portrait of a Novel, non-fiction about one of James's most famous novels, by Michael Gorra.

Excerpt from PORTRAITS

Prologue

I see them now in mirrors, on darkened windows, in waking dreams—all the faces I have painted. Children, and men, and women. Always the women, with their languid eyes, their tense, anxious lips, their serene brows and haughty noses.

John Singer Sargent, a painter of portraits, that’s who I am. I chose to be a painter of portraits because I was very good at it, because I liked the acclaim, the society, the weekends at country houses outside Paris and London and Florence—and because it paid well, very well. I died a rich man. Childless, unmarried, though not unloved—no, not unloved.

The portraits of my friends are the book of my life—my paintings are the words that I can never find to explain myself, to defend myself, even to know my very self. Two portraits in particular, painted before I reached the age of thirty, haunt me even now, more than all the rest. One became a private grief, softened by time but never truly healed. The other, a public scandal that changed everything. Together they turned me from a young man, a foolish man, into a sad and sorry shadow that only I could see when I looked in a mirror. I wonder if you can guess which ones they are? As the years dragged on, I endured as the entertaining, successful, eccentric old swell who ate too much, smoked too much—and let no one come too close.

As I cannot easily speak for myself, and as I yearn to be known, at least a little, I will allow my portraits to speak for me—their stories will illuminate mine. You may say that I am still keeping myself one step removed, so that you, reader, will not come too close—well, that’s as may be.  It is there in those portraits you must seek me, if you would know me.

I am the painter of portraits.

BOOK LAUNCH!

The Book Launch reading and party is set! If you're in the San Francisco Bay Area, please come on Thursday, Feb. 21st, 7:00 pm, to Bookshop West Portal, 80 West Portal Avenue, San Francisco. It's going to be fun!

Hercule Poirot and Lord Ribbesdale

While watching one of those delightful Masterpiece Mysteries on Christmas Eve—it was Hercule Poirot in an episode from 1995 titled “Poirot’s Christmas”, with the inimitable David Suchet, I noticed that a portrait of the (soon to be dead) wealthy old man who had hired Poirot looked rather familiar. I paused the show and captured this shot (on right) with my camera. 

 

I ran to my bookshelves to get a book of Sargent portraits by Elizabeth Prettejohn, written as the exhibition book for one of the most magnificent exhibits of Sargent paintings in the last fifty years—I saw it at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., in 1998. Turning the pages quickly, I found the portrait I’d been reminded of in the Poirot mystery:  Lord Ribbesdale. Though not a full-length portrait, the painting used in the mystery story was undoubtedly painted with Sargent’s portrait in mind – the stance, the draped coat, even the flattened pilaster in the background mimicked the original very well. What fun to see it on TV! 

Prettejohn’s description of the Lord Ribbesdale portrait is fascinating, as she sets forth the hypothesis that while Sargent chose the traditional stance of an Englishman’s portrait, his use of hunting clothing instead of military dress—including substituting the sword with a riding crop—is a strong indication of the dramatic changes undergone by British aristocracy, who no longer held the power and sway of their forebears, but rather seemed mostly representative of the new “leisure class” whose main activity was elite sports, like fox hunting and horse racing. Sargent always insisted that he didn’t “psychologize” his sitters and only painted what was before his eyes, but we know that he spent a good deal of time choosing exactly what his sitters would wear, and arranging the background to suit his perception of a portrait. Hard to believe he wasn’t arranging a little social commentary!

Madame X: Then and Now

 Artists, and especially photographers, have always been fascinated by the scandalous "Madame X", one of Sargent's most famous portraits, and the one of which he wrote in a letter when he sold it (c. 1917) to the NY Metropolitan Museum of Art, "probably the best thing I've ever done." 

Here is the "original" portrait in a black & white photo, the only known photograph of the portrait as it was originally displayed, with Virginie Amelie Gautreau's dress strap hanging off her shoulder. Later, after the Salon of 1884 was over, Sargent took the portrait back to his studio on Boulevard Berthier and scraped away the offending strap, painting it so it was firmly attached to the lady's shoulder. You'll have to read my novel to learn more about the whole backstory! (coming late January 2013)




A few years ago, Nicole Kidman posed for some interesting Vogue photographs in which she was dressed as famous portraits, one of which was, of course, Madame X.  Didn't quite get the posture right (imho), and Ms. Kidman looks less serene, more startled and anxious than Amelie Gautreau -- and her right arm isn't nearly as contorted (something that Sargent's subject complained about endlessly!)









 


And then, just this morning, I came across this delicious new take on Madame X. It's featured on a website of an artist, James Kinser (http://www.jkinser.com/more-muse-a-portrait-of-madame-x/madamex-duo), working with photographer Niki Gangruth, who together deftly and brilliantly explore the "rich, undefined land between genders" in a project they call "Muse". There are several other re-visioned famous portraits (Vermeer, Ingres, Magritte) that are well worth seeing. Again, the pose doesn't exactly duplicate everything, especially that twisted right hand, but I think this one has more of the cool serenity of the original. There was, in fact, a strong undercurrent of "gender-bending" at the end of the 19th century and a little beyond (think Oscar Wilde, Aubrey Beardsley, Toulouse Lautrec); Singer Sargent and the crowd he ran with were kind of on the experimenting edge of this kind of "new world."


Fascinating!!

The Palazzo Barbaro in Venice

I loved writing the section in my novel about Ralph Curtis and John Sargent at Ralph's family's "digs" in Venice: the famous Palazzo Barbaro. At left is a photo of the palazzo from across the Grand Canal, where I was standing when I was in Venice in September, very close to the Peggy Guggenheim museum (which was closed that day). Here's some information about it: 

The Palazzi Barbaro — also known as Palazzo Barbaro, Ca' Barbaro, and Palazzo Barbaro-Curtis — are a pair of adjoining palaces in the San Marco district of Venice, on the Grand Canal, originally built in 1425 and 1465. After the Barbaro family died out in the middle of the 19th century, the Palazzo was bought by a series of speculators who auctioned off furniture and paintings. 

In 1881 the older palazzo was rented by a relative of John Singer Sargent, Daniel Sargent Curtis. Daniel’s son Ralph was one of John’s best friends, and they were art students together in Paris.  Daniel and Ariana Curtis purchased the Palazzo in 1885, and repaired and restored the Barbaro and hosted many artists, musicians, and writers. Palazzo Barbaro became the hub of American life in Venice with visits from Sargent, Henry James, James Whistler, Robert Browning, Claude Monet, Isabella Stewart Gardner, and Edith Wharton among them. Henry James finished his novel The Aspern Papers in Palazzo Barbaro at a desk still housed in the palace today. James included a description of the Barbaro ballroom in his novel The Wings of the Dove. In 1898, John Singer Sargent painted An Interior in Venice (above), a group portrait of the Curtis family in the salon. On the right, seated, you can see "dear, brutal Ariana" Curtis (as Violet Paget wrote of her in a letter) with her husband Daniel in the forefront, and Ralph and his wife in the background.

Isabella Stewart Gardner used the Palazzo as a model for her house (and ultimately museum) in Boston. Palazzo Barbaro was used as a location in the 1981 Brideshead Revisited TV series adaptation as the home of Lord Marchmain (Laurence Olivier) and his mistress; it was also used as a location in the 1997 film adaptation of The Wings of the Dove. The Palazzo has recently undergone a full aesthetic and structural exterior restoration.

Sargent's Venetian Days

I was in Venice in September, and spent one precious afternoon walking through the calles (tiny narrow alleys) and the campos (plazas or squares, many of them tiny, just a large intersection of alleys), taking photos of places that reminded me of the many paintings Sargent created during his sojourns in Venice, a city he loved very much. Here's two samples of what I found, compared to one of my favorite Sargent oil paintings (Venetian Street Scene) and another watercolor below: