Print the Legend: “Painting History: Delaroche and Lady Jane Grey” at the NGA, London

In the classic Western film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, James Stewart’s character confesses that he wasn’t a hero only to hear the newspaper man he’s confessed to respond, "This is the west, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." When Lady Jane Grey met her end on the executioner’s block in 1554 after once serving for nine days as the Queen of England, the facts of her death soon became a legend of martyrdom. Nearly three centuries later, French artist Paul Delaroche revisited the legend in his 1833 painting The Execution of Lady Jane Grey (pictured), which became the sensation of the 1834 Salon exhibition. In Painting History: Delaroche and Lady Jane Grey, the National Gallery of Art in London reexamines that moment in history when a French artist used the legend of an English monarch to say something both about art and about French society in the nineteenth century. Please come over to Picture This at Big Think to read more of "Print the Legend."

[Image: Paul Delaroche, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, 1833. Oil on canvas © The National Gallery, London.]

[Many thanks to the National Gallery of Art in London for providing me with the image above and other press materials for Painting History: Delaroche and Lady Jane Grey, which runs through May 23.]

Orient Express

When I recently auditioned for Jeopardy!, I wowed the crowd by answering a question about the Kaaba, Islam’s most holy place around which pilgrims during the Hajj walk around and around. I felt good about knowing that little bit of trivia, of course, but later I realized that it’s anything but trivia to millions of people in the world. If someone trivialized Vatican City, I’d feel marginalized. After 9/11, I did what I always did when faced with chaos—I read more about it. From Bernard Lewis to Edward Said, I read the whole spectrum of views on the Middle East. I’m not sure I’ll ever “understand,” but at least I now know a Shiite from a Sunni, something even some presidential candidates don’t. In the nineteenth century, European artists viewed the Middle East with awe, finding a wholly other subject full of energy and beauty. Born June 21, 1814, Charles-Theodore Frere belongs to the generation of French artists called the Orientalists, who traveled to the Middle East and brought home images such as Along the Nile (above, from the 1850s) to a wondering public. If only the Edenic beauty of Frere’s sunlit-bathed scene, complete with pyramids in the distance, could find a similar place in the West in the Age of Terrorism.

Frere began as a painter of conventional Parisian scenes, studying under the genre painter Paul Delaroche. After a trip to Algeria in 1837, however, Frere was hooked. After 1850, Frere submitted to the Salon only scenes of the Middle East’s people and culture. A Caravan Crossing the Desert (above, from the 1850s) captures the electricity of the trek across the desert, complete with exotic desert garb. In addition to his eye-catching subject matter, Frere drew attention to his work with stunning draftsmanship. The confident brushstrokes stand up to those found in the works of another French Orientalist— Jean-Leon Gerome. I also love the whole sense of movement from right to left, complete with sand kicked up by the animals, as well as the almost humorous touch of the figure on a donkey leading the men mounted on the towering camels.

Ever since the days of Napoleon’s adventures in Egypt and the discovery of the Rosetta Stone, the French fascination with the Middle East has linked them. Despite the sad war for independence in Algiers, French remains the second most commonly spoken language in much of the region. Frere’s name faded soon after his death, consigning most of his work to be lumped in with the rest of the “lesser” Orientalists as the novelty of the genre dissipated. As the novelty wore off, unfortunately, much of the desire for understanding followed. Today, works such as Frere’s Pilgrims Worshipping Outside Jerusalem (above, from the 1860s) should remind us of what once was and, hopefully, could be once again—namely, a mutual respect and understanding between East and West based on the exchange of cultural treasures.

Decline and Fall

When history painting was en vogue in nineteenth-century France, Thomas Couture ranked among the top tier of the genre. Born December 21, 1815, Couture painted his epic Romans in the Decadence of the Empire (above) in 1847, announcing himself as a force in the Paris Salon. A student of Antoine Jean Gros and Hippolyte Delaroche, Couture absorbed the neo-classicism of Jacques-Louis David (Gros’ teacher) as well as the Romanticism of Eugene Delacroix and Theodore Gericault (friends of Delaroche). Amidst such esteemed company, Couture held his own as the art world around him began to evolve from the days of David to the new age of Manet.

Artists of the next generation, most notably Edouard Manet, Henri Fantin-Latour, and Pierre Puvis de Chavannes sought out Couture as a teacher. Couture’s Female Head (above, from 1857) demonstrates how he began to adopt some of the conventions of the time after history painting began to lose its prized place in the art world. Couture paints a young, modern woman with a confident look in her eye, mirroring the new assertive female of the nineteenth-century yearning for equal rights. Perhaps learning something from his students, Couture tired of the stuffiness of the Salon and went on his own way, teaching and painting free of all constraints.

Sadly, Couture could never fully bridge the generational gap and embrace the new wave led by Manet. His Damocles (above, from 1866) shows a return to the classical themes of his younger days. Couture’s ability to infuse a psychological life to his figures always remained, regardless of his choice of genre. We truly believe that Damocles dreads the infamous sworld perilously hanging above him. In his later days, Couture couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the work of his independent students, especially Manet. Looking at Manet’s The Absinthe Drinker, Couture snapped, “There is only one absinthe drinker, and that’s the man who painted this idiotic picture.” The painter of grand history paintings couldn’t abide the emphasis on the present and the individual artist. When asked to write his autobiography, Couture lamented that "biography is the exaltation of personality—and personality is the scourge of our time." Couture never gave in to the temptation of personality, preferring to slip gently into the shadows of the past.