329
pages, HarperCollins Publishers, ISBN-13: 978-0060163181
The
late Otto Friedrich had a number of unpopular opinions, one of which is the
title of this book from 1995. The painting Olympia
by Édouard Manet, first exhibited at the 1865 Paris Salon, Friedrich thinks,
gazes back at every admirer “with a look of casual indifference, of
recognition, of sadness, of courageous defiance”. This was not the received,
modern view of this painting; rather, the view expressed in the article Manet’s Olympia: The Figuration of Scandal by
Charles Bernheimer claimed that the hidden source of Manet’s inspiration was
not so much Titian’s Venus of Urbino
but the stereoscopic photographs of women, undressing or pulling off their
stockings, which were widely available in mid-19th Century Paris.
Manet’s Olympia is just another poor
street-girl, obliged to display herself for the male spectator. This modern interpretation
of this still-controversial painting led (in Friedrich’s opinion) architect Gae Aulenti and curator Françoise
Cachin to remove Olympia from her altar-like
position in the Jeu de paume and consigned her to a side wall in their new
Musee d’Orsay. As all the figures in this art-world dust-up have shuffled off
this mortal coil, we will perhaps never know their true motivations.
This
is one of the ways in which Olympia:
Paris in the Age of Manet is so very enlightening. Using a wealth of detail
to challenge our clichéd view of bohemian Paris, Otto Friedrich paints a verbal
portrait of Manet’s life with his wife and Berthe Morisot, and creates a
powerful portrait of Victorine Meurent (the model of the portrait), who turns
out to have been nobody’s fall-girl or pick-up, but an artist in her own right
(even when, as a wizened old lady, she took to drink and was seen singing for
coins outside the great retrospective exhibition including Manet’s glorious
portrait of her at 18, she was still doing it her way). If we want to think
about victims, there is Manet himself, racked with syphilis and dying in agony
when his gangrenous leg was amputated. Perhaps more chillingly, there is Degas,
the real portraitist of Parisian prostitution, forced in old age to protect his
failing sight with what Friedrich calls “an ominous contraption” which left
only a tiny slit, like a key-hole.
Friedrich’s
one great mistake, though, is trying to give us the whole of the Second Empire
and its aftermath, politics and culture. Despite his undoubted talent for organizing
huge quantities of material, there are times when such disparate stuff refuses
to gel and dissolves into anecdotalism. But if it is true that we see what we know,
then this massively researched book is a very useful aid. The author does wax
on about the beauty of the Olympia painting,
but there is no doubting the controversy that to this day surrounds this work:
so odd, so striking, so flamboyant – so French!
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