http://www.telegraph.co.uk/art/what-to-see/charles-saatchis-great-masterpieces-theodore-gericaults-raft/
It was at the 1819 Paris Salon that Théodore Géricault first exhibited The Raft of the Medusa to the public. Put into today’s context, it went viral – word spread instantly, much like a titillating story on the internet. As Géricault knew, once the painting appeared on the walls at the Académie, it would be stirringly controversial. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to launch both a political storm, and his career.
The Raft of the Medusa was certainly more than a painting of the aftermath of a shipwreck. It was immediately viewed as a social and political protest, a direct poke at the French government. It was the first sign of Géricault’s growing obsession with the ideas of life and death.
The background behind this remarkable painting is a tragedy that gripped the nation. In 1816, the French frigate Méduse ran aground and was badly damaged on a journey to Senegal. Unable to free the ship, the passengers and crew attempted to travel the rest of the journey on lifeboats. However, there were insufficient small boats to carry them all, so a large raft was fashioned from the wooden decks of the vessel. It was intended to be towed by the lifeboats but, cruelly, the lines joining it to the boats were severed, and the raft drifted off.
It held 150 men but, by the time it was sighted 17 days later, only 15 had survived. Tales of murder and cannibalism soon began to circulate, and the French government was accused of having appointed an incompetent captain, who was considered a favourite of King Louis XVIII.
Géricault was intrigued by the tale, ignited by the protests from the liberal opposition of the day. He knew when he embarked upon his most ambitious work that it would never sell. The canvas was far too large for a private buyer, and so it could only ever be shown in public spaces. But, wishing to make a very public statement, he deliberately worked on a truly imposing scale. It remains a singularly arresting painting when viewed today, even though massive canvases have become more familiar in modern art.
Géricault was 27 when he began work on The Raft of the Medusa and, already fascinated by the actual event, he was soon utterly consumed with the task. A young man with robust political views, the artist felt he was fighting for justice, prepared to risk the profits he would expect from more congenial subject matter. He was certainly staking his reputation, and facing a potentially crippling backlash from the French government.
Detail was key for Géricault. He spent weeks preparing before beginning to paint, interviewing all of the survivors from the wreck in order to get a full understanding of their experiences. He tracked down the carpenter who had helped to create the raft from the decking, and employed him to create a detailed scale replica in his studio.
All Géricault now required was to find a way to make the men on the makeshift craft appear convincingly authentic. He toured hospitals and morgues across the city, making study after study of corpses and dismembered body parts. Géricault wished to accurately depict the colour and texture of their skin. He even went one step further and had corpses brought to his studio, where it was clear to the occasional visitor that they had begun to rot. This was the beginning of an obsession with death and disease in his work. The decomposing corpses did not seem to disturb Géricault, though – they probably helped him in his desire to shut himself away from the world.
In order to ensure that he did not leave his studio or get distracted from his painting, Géricault had gone to the extreme of shaving his head, living virtually as a hermit. Without hair, he felt he was unable to be distracted by attending the theatre or visiting bars and restaurants. He tended to avoid socialising altogether, unable to indulge in his favourite pastime of using his charm to attract mistresses. Painting day and night in complete silence, his only social contact was with his friends, such as fellow painter Eugène Delacroix, and other artists he used as models.
Géricault finished the painting after eight months of total dedication. Its final exhibition was a coup. The story of the Méduse had been a political firestorm, and he had created another one with his depiction of the disaster. Exhibited under the title Scene of Shipwreck, it was obvious to visitors at the Salon what the painting was actually portraying. It quickly divided critics – the scene of death and disaster was not the pleasing subject matter that Parisian crowds were used to seeing.
Disregarding traditional history painting, and instead dealing with a contemporary issue was as provocative as Géricault had hoped. It clearly displays his cynicism towards the post-Napoleonic rule, while at the same time publicly airing his views on slavery. By placing a black man at the centre of his composition, the most heroic of the survivors, Géricault also made his views on abolitionism quite clear.
Unsurprisingly, the painting did not sell. However, he made some money by touring it across Europe, and it was greatly admired in London. Géricault had certainly been successful in his aim of causing a stir, but now he was left exhausted and in poor health. After an injury falling from a horse went untreated, his frailty worsened and he died at 32. The Louvre now houses his heart-stirring painting, which still has a queue of viewers agape at its uncompromising power.
It was at the 1819 Paris Salon that Théodore Géricault first exhibited The Raft of the Medusa to the public. Put into today’s context, it went viral – word spread instantly, much like a titillating story on the internet. As Géricault knew, once the painting appeared on the walls at the Académie, it would be stirringly controversial. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to launch both a political storm, and his career.
The Raft of the Medusa was certainly more than a painting of the aftermath of a shipwreck. It was immediately viewed as a social and political protest, a direct poke at the French government. It was the first sign of Géricault’s growing obsession with the ideas of life and death.
The background behind this remarkable painting is a tragedy that gripped the nation. In 1816, the French frigate Méduse ran aground and was badly damaged on a journey to Senegal. Unable to free the ship, the passengers and crew attempted to travel the rest of the journey on lifeboats. However, there were insufficient small boats to carry them all, so a large raft was fashioned from the wooden decks of the vessel. It was intended to be towed by the lifeboats but, cruelly, the lines joining it to the boats were severed, and the raft drifted off.
It held 150 men but, by the time it was sighted 17 days later, only 15 had survived. Tales of murder and cannibalism soon began to circulate, and the French government was accused of having appointed an incompetent captain, who was considered a favourite of King Louis XVIII.
Géricault was 27 when he began work on The Raft of the Medusa and, already fascinated by the actual event, he was soon utterly consumed with the task. A young man with robust political views, the artist felt he was fighting for justice, prepared to risk the profits he would expect from more congenial subject matter. He was certainly staking his reputation, and facing a potentially crippling backlash from the French government.
Detail was key for Géricault. He spent weeks preparing before beginning to paint, interviewing all of the survivors from the wreck in order to get a full understanding of their experiences. He tracked down the carpenter who had helped to create the raft from the decking, and employed him to create a detailed scale replica in his studio.
All Géricault now required was to find a way to make the men on the makeshift craft appear convincingly authentic. He toured hospitals and morgues across the city, making study after study of corpses and dismembered body parts. Géricault wished to accurately depict the colour and texture of their skin. He even went one step further and had corpses brought to his studio, where it was clear to the occasional visitor that they had begun to rot. This was the beginning of an obsession with death and disease in his work. The decomposing corpses did not seem to disturb Géricault, though – they probably helped him in his desire to shut himself away from the world.
In order to ensure that he did not leave his studio or get distracted from his painting, Géricault had gone to the extreme of shaving his head, living virtually as a hermit. Without hair, he felt he was unable to be distracted by attending the theatre or visiting bars and restaurants. He tended to avoid socialising altogether, unable to indulge in his favourite pastime of using his charm to attract mistresses. Painting day and night in complete silence, his only social contact was with his friends, such as fellow painter Eugène Delacroix, and other artists he used as models.
Géricault finished the painting after eight months of total dedication. Its final exhibition was a coup. The story of the Méduse had been a political firestorm, and he had created another one with his depiction of the disaster. Exhibited under the title Scene of Shipwreck, it was obvious to visitors at the Salon what the painting was actually portraying. It quickly divided critics – the scene of death and disaster was not the pleasing subject matter that Parisian crowds were used to seeing.
Disregarding traditional history painting, and instead dealing with a contemporary issue was as provocative as Géricault had hoped. It clearly displays his cynicism towards the post-Napoleonic rule, while at the same time publicly airing his views on slavery. By placing a black man at the centre of his composition, the most heroic of the survivors, Géricault also made his views on abolitionism quite clear.
Unsurprisingly, the painting did not sell. However, he made some money by touring it across Europe, and it was greatly admired in London. Géricault had certainly been successful in his aim of causing a stir, but now he was left exhausted and in poor health. After an injury falling from a horse went untreated, his frailty worsened and he died at 32. The Louvre now houses his heart-stirring painting, which still has a queue of viewers agape at its uncompromising power.
No comments:
Post a Comment