Soundtrack for La Luministe

To help you enjoy the music I've chosen to accompany my novel about Berthe Morisot, here's some context about each selection. Click the link to go to the Spotify playlist and listen to each: https://open.spotify.com/user/paulabutterfield/playlist/4WXPexpiHJ3U7CSLhzCnfM


1. Tea Picking Dance featuring the koto, a traditional Japanese instrument, signifies the moment when Berthe sees her first Japanese print. The simple image of a woman in the private act of brushing her hair influenced her work ever after.

2. When the Morisot family attends the opening of the opera Don Giovanni, Berthe is absorbed by the story of a father and son who are in love with the same woman. The lyrics to the aria, Non Mi Di Bell'Idol Mio could be describing  Berthe's growing attraction to Edouard Manet.

                                                      I cruel?
                                                      Ah no, my dearest!
                                                      It grieves me much to postpone
                                                      a bliss we have for long desired…

3. Gioachino Rossini, a neighbor of the Morisots, plays Let's Dance at one of the weekly dinner gatherings Cornelie Morisot institutes to find husbands for her daughters.

4. After the German siege of Paris, Berthe goes to Cherbourg to visit her sister, Edma. The combined joys of seeing her sister again and of being away from the deprivations of Paris come through in her exuberant marine paintings. From Dawn Till Noon on the Sea, from Debussy's La Mer, conveys the wind, the waves, and the freedom Berthe enjoys while perched with her easel overlooking a harbor on the northwestern-most tip of Normandy.

5. If Berthe had spoken English, she might have used it on several occasions to tell Edouard Manet You're No Good.

6. It's Berthe's daughter, Julie, who lures her back to painting in the Bos de Boulogne after a period of mourning. There, they come across a concert by Cécile Chaminaud, whose light, charming Etude Symphonique, Opus 28, reminds Berthe of what life has to offer.

7. As Impressionism's popularity wanes, Berthe's friendships with her colleagues grows. She learns that Renoir has a penchant for singing songs from the latest operas, such as this one from Offenbach's Tales of Hoffmann.

8. Renoir, Monet and Degas stagger down the sidewalk after one of Berthe's weekly dinners singing songs like Nini Peau de Chien, made popular by café concert crooner Aristide Bruant, extolling the charms of a prostitute.

9. At the end of her life, Julie ponders the nature of the relationship between her mother and Edouard Manet. Julie admires the French chic of the new American First Lady, Jacqueline Kennedy, so I Loved You in Silence, from Camelot, seems an appropriate song to conclude the soundtrack to La Luministe.

Painting it Forward

                              

         In the past, a woman who wished to be an artist had very little chance of pursuing that goal unless her father was an artist, himself. By the Renaissance, even a non-artist father could help by hiring painting tutors for his daughter, provided he was a Humanist who believed that women were educable.

         In 17^th c. Holland, botanical artist Maria Sibylla Merian learned from her father, an engraver, and her step-father, a Flemish flower painter. Though she was taught via this traditional route, Merian broke the pattern when she taught her daughters (and a maid, by some accounts) to observe and record the natural world. Flower paintings were hugely popular in her time, but Merian’s interest in botany and insects went beyond pretty pictures. After separating from her husband, she and her daughters travelled to the Dutch colony of Surinam in Africa, a dangerous undertaking, to do scientific research that resulted in The New Book of Flowers. For more about Merian and her daughters, here’s an informative blog post:

http://blog.catherinedelors.com/maria-sibylla-merian-and-her-daughters-at-the-crossroads-of-art-and-science/

         A century later in France, Adélaïde Labille-Guiard became one of only two women elected to join the Academy Française. Women during that time had no access to art education, let alone studios or models, so Labille-Guiard took it upon herself to teach promising young women artists in her own studio. It was common for women artists to paint self-portraits showing themselves at their easels, but She recorded this process in her painting, Portrait of the Artist with Two Pupils, Mlle Marie-Gabrielle Capet & Mlle Carraux de Rosemond. Radical as she was in circumventing the Academic system, she was still an 18th c. woman who made sure to show herself and her students to their best advantage. It's doubtful that the artist actually worked dressed in sumptuous silks with diaphanous trim, elaborate hairstyle topped by a feathered hat!  

         Another French artist, Berthe Morisot, took time from exhibiting with the Impressionist painters in the late 19^th c. to teach her daughter Julie and her nieces to draw and paint. Of the group, her niece Paule Gobillard showed the most talent. In these two paintings by Morisot, Paule sits in the same spot in the studio, marked by the classical statue behind her. Two things about that statue: First, it would have stood in for a live model; a nude model was out of the question for women artists. Second, it suggests that Paule, and likely her cousins, had usual spots where they worked in tante Berthe’s studio, which indicates that their art classes were routine.

         It pleased Berthe so much to see her daughter and nieces painting together (no doubt calling up memories of painting with her sister in their youth), that she painted Paule in action. In the unfinished work (lower right), it appears that Berthe hasn’t yet committed to a final position for Paule’s painting arm. The effect is of an arm in motion, caught in the act of painting. (Here’s a video of Paule Gobillard’s paintings throughout her career: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NRMHAL-QaA )

       

           During the 19^th c., segregated art schools for ladies were established, but it wasn’t until well into the 20^th   that women joined men in life-drawing classes in the United States.  

The Museum of Women Impressionists

           I would like to establish a small museum featuring the work of the women 
Impressionists. Berthe Morisot, a founder of the movement, contributed paintings to all 
but one of the exhibitions. Mary Cassatt contributed to four shows, and Marie 
Braquemond’s work appeared in three shows before her husband discouraged her further 
involvement with the Impressionists. Eva Gonzalès never participated in an Impressionist 
exhibition, but as a protégé of Edouard Manet, her style fit within the parameters of 
Impressionism, so I’m including her work in my museum.

            This imaginary museum is not available to tour via Google Art Project, so you’ll
have to use your imagination. I’ll be your decent as we peruse works by the women of Impressionism that include scenes of daily life, featuring family members and friends. Let’s start in the main gallery with a theme that all four artists interpreted--women reading. These paintings are meant to convey that their subjects are intelligent, educated women--reading the newspaper was thought to be especially significant. The outdoor readers show the Impressionist artists fascination with the effects of natural light. When the content of these roughly-contemporary paintings is similar, the differences in each artist's style becomes clear.

                                                    Woman Reading (Cassatt, 1879)

                                                 Reading in the Forest (Gonzalès, 1879)

                                                   Afternoon Tea (Braquemond, 1880) 

                                                       Reading (Morisot, 1873)

     Morisot and Cassatt were the two most active Impressionist painters, so let’s take a 
look at some of their work in this next room. Morisot was as devoted to her sister, Edma, 
as Cassatt was to her sister, Lydia. That closeness and intimacy can be seen in The Sisters 
(Morisot, 1869) and Two Sisters (Cassatt, 1906). Both feature the accessory du jour—a 
Japanese fan. A difference between the works is that Morisot’s was in oil on canvas, while 
Cassatt’s visible marks were made by pastels. 

                                                                                                                                                                                    


         


                                                                                                                                                                         In Mother and Sister of the Artist (Morisot, 1869) and Portrait of Katherine Kelso Cassatt (1889), the artists portray more family members. Although these women are imposing black, pyramidal figures, both Morisot and Cassatt were devoted to their mothers. Is it any coincidence that Cassatt began her series of famous paintings of mothers and children after her mother died?

    











          Both Summer’s Day (Morisot, 1870) and Summertime (Cassatt, 1894) feature women enjoying boating, probably on the lake in the Bois de Boulogne. You might have noticed that all of these Cassatt works were created 20 years or more after Morisot’s counterparts. Was her scene of ladies at leisure and ducks floating on light-dappled water an homage to her old colleague and competitor?

            In a small side room, we can see comparable works by Morisot and Gonzalès, Getting Out of Bed (1886), and Awakening Girl (s.d.). Where Gonzalès depicts an idealized, soft-focus scene of a sensuous young woman rising lying on a ruffled pillow beneath a diaphanous canopy, Morisot portrays a more innocent looking young girl. 

          And notice the different take on seeing and being seen at the theater in Gonzalès’s Box at the Italian Theater (1874) and Cassatt’s Woman in Black at the Opera (1877-78). We know that Cassatt's woman is attending a matinee, as she wears daytime attire, not an evening gown. It's interesting to note that while she observes the crowd, a gentleman in the background is observing her. Gonzalés's subject has set her opera glasses down for a moment, but her companion is scrutinizing someone outside the frame of the picture.

            An alcove is devoted to Braquemond’s luminous, almost-life-sized masterpiece, On the Terrace (1880), which leaves us wondering how this artist's work would have progressed if she had had the opportunity to continue painting
.

            Marie Braquemond turned her artistic talents to china painting. Gonzalès died of childbirth fever in her 30's. Morisot died at age 54. Cassatt lived the longest, until 1926. She saw WWI and women’s suffrage bring women’s lives out of the domestic sphere. But their work documenting the daily lives of women in the late 19^th c. lives on in the Museum of Women Impressionists.

                                                    Seeing Red, A Review 

            Paris Red is a book about seeing and being seen. The story opens with Victorine Meurant, sketching what she sees in a shop window. She is a 17-year-old girl of the streets, all want and hunger. A life of poverty that leaves her perpetually underfed combines with her craving for experience to make her vulnerable to the attentions of Edouard Manet, a somewhat predatory upper-class man of 30 whose first move is to feed the girl.

        Victorine’s story centers on her sexual awakening during her relationship with Manet. As she begins an affair with him and becomes his model, she grows used to being looked at. But she also develops her own way of looking. Always in love with color—her own red hair (Paris red?), her bottle-green boots, Manet’s ruby tie pin—and counting a notebook and drawing pencil among her few possessions, Victorine develops her nascent artistic talent by observing Manet. She studies how he uses shapes to create his compositions and learns that she needn’t paint objects in their true colors. She takes Manet’s used tubes of paint back to her room to experiment with color. When he sees her work, he tells her that she has the eye of an artist.

           While Victorine comes into sharper focus, Manet remains opaque. The author has him give his brother’s name and vocation as his own, and he never does reveal his true name. Victorine notes that he dresses down when he’s with her, scoffing at “his pretend shabbiness, as if you could put a life on with a coat”, and that behind his beard, he hides a pitted, scarred face, even as he insists that there’s only beauty in what’s real. How fortunate for him to find a girl who asks no questions, who enjoys silence.

          Still, Victorine sees Manet for who he is. She knows about his son, and the mother of that son. She understands the appeal of his secret life in the demi-monde, where he can be something other than what he is, with whomever he pleases. “He hides what he loves,” she surmises.

          The story culminates in the collaboration between artist and model for the painting, Olympia. Victorine’s contribution is to portray this courtesan not as an idealized odalisque, but as a poor girl with dirty feet and a gaze that is challenging rather than inviting. She’s thrilled when she sees the completed work, pronouncing it, “Me, but more.” This girl who does not want to be erased will be forever remembered in the painting that signals the beginning of modern art.

            In my novel, La Luministe, Berthe Morisot, an upper-class 19^th century woman, views models as immoral creatures. She is especially threatened by Victorine Meurant, the model for Manet’s most scandalous paintings. These two women at opposite ends of the social spectrum had more in common than they knew—both were artists, and both were in love with Edouard Manet. Still, their lives never intersected.

          So I looked forward to learning the story of Victorine Meurant’s life from her own point of view. How she became an artist in her own right who exhibited at the Paris Salon. How she traveled and lived in the U.S. How she died penniless, despite Manet’s promise to take care of her. But Paris Red is not the story of a woman’s life. It’s about young girl whose eyes are opened.

A model servant

            In addition to using her mother and sisters as models, Berthe Morisot also painted someone who was almost like a member of the family—her maid, Pasie.

            Berthe’s mother had taken the usual route to find her lady’s maid. She brought a teen-aged village girl back with her after a visit to her hometown in the south of France. Even with her auburn hair pulled into a simple bun, wearing a dark blue domestic’s uniform topped with a fresh white apron, Pasie was an appealing model. Berthe painted several scenes of the young maid going about her work in the dining room—clearing off the table and arranging things on the sideboard. One of these, In the Dining Room (1886) captures Pasie at the instant she turns around, inciting the family dog to yap at her twirling hem. She stirs something—furniture polish?—in a small bowl, and behind her, linens hang on the sideboard door. It is a quotidian scene, but marked by Berthe’s use of light, which floods in the windows, and her broken brushstrokes that make the background alive with movement.

            While separated by class, it’s likely that Berthe, so reserved that she was seen as aloof, was more intimate with her maid than with her social equals. Who better than the person helping you dress and arrange your hair would know which social engagements you were anticipating, and which you returned from disappointed?

 When Berthe married Eugène Manet, Pasie followed the couple to their new home. Later, when Berthe had a child, the artist depicted Pasie and her daughter, Julie, together in scenes like The Fable (1883). Julie is rapt, as she is in another scene where she watches Pasie sew. It’s clear that the maid is on informal, even friendly, terms with Julie, her little shadow.

            When lady’s maids reached the age of 30, they were typically let go to return to their villages, marry and start their own families. In La Luministe, I have Pasie choose to stay after Eugène’s death, when Berthe needs her most, until Berthe makes a decision:

I let Pasie go.

                        One day as she was helping me with the difficult task of sorting through Eugene's clothes, I asked,

          "Is your clockmaker still waiting for you?"

          She understood my meaning and burst into tears, saying. “But Madame, how can I leave you now?”

                      Tears sprang to my eyes, too, and I had to pause to restrain my emotions before I answered, “I’ve had my husband; it is your turn to be happy.”

                        It pleased me to think of Pasie standing behind the counter of an horlogerie, surrounded by chiming

           clocks and glittering pocket watches, a much more pleasant position than working from dawn to dusk at a

           bakery or grocery. I sent her off with a trousseau of my dresses and hats that I deemed too frivolous to wear as 

           a widow. Pasie would return to Toulouse, where she would marry and work next to her husband, the prettiest

          and best-dressed shopkeeper’s wife in town. 

            Almost--but not quite--like another sister--Pasie, poor girl from a provincial village—was 

immortalized by Berthe Morisot.