Alphonse Mucha

This is Alfons Maria Mucha (yes - "Maria").  Born on 24 July 1860, in Ivancice, a little town in South Moravia under Austrian administration.  His father, Andreas Mucha, was a court usher; his mother, Amalie, a governess. Alfons Mucha grew up in an era racked with revolution, and was thus infused with the passion for an independent Czech Republic from a very early age.

You'll know him as Alphonse Mucha, the great visionary and founding father of the Art Nouveau movement.  You might also associate with his name, crazy-gorgeous retro images of nymphs and otherworldly beings, with flowers and tendrils in their long flowy hair. (Herebelow we have Amethyst, Topaz and Emerald, something he did in his hey-day, for you to "ooooh" and "aaahhh" over.)

Alfons Mucha the boy, was no academic.  Apparently, the only thing that kept him in school was his choirboy services - the boy could sing!  But, as any self-respecting pop star can tell you: "Your voice can only take you so far", and by high school (I suppose when his voice manned up), Mucha was expelled.

So the young Mucha sought solace in his hobby - drawing.  His father secured him a clerk job in the courtroom, but Mucha was harbouring ambitions as an artist.  He applied to Prague Academy of Art with his drawings, but was rejected. So he stayed on with his day job, and began freelancing for theatre companies, painting decorative sets and backdrops.

In 1879, at the age of 19, he quit as clerk and moved to Vienna, to work as set painter for a major Viennese theatrical design company.  With his steady pay, Mucha enrols in evening art classes for a taste of formal art lessons.  And while living in Vienna, he soaks in the culture visiting galleries and attending exhibitions of the modern greats of the time.

The Great Fire of Vienna's Ring Theatre, 1881

This happy state of affairs did not last long though.  A massive fire broke out at Vienna's grand dame Ring Theatre, and as a result, the theatrical design company where Mucha worked at had to fold.  Mucha was forced to return to his little town in Moravia.  But with his formal training, and new-found confidence as an artist, Mucha took on various portraiture jobs, and managed to continue making a living through his art.

Mucha's work now caught the attention of one Count Karl Khuen of Mikulov.  The Count loved his work so much that he hired him to paint his house in 1883.  Not your usual paint job I must say.  These would be Mucha murals in Emmahof Castle.  So impressive were these, that the Count's brother, Egon, commissions Mucha for his own Gandegg Castle, and sponsors Mucha's formal studies at Munich Academy of Fine Arts.

"What a story!" you say?  I can only tell you: it ain't half of it...

With no worries about tuition fees and living expenses, Mucha graduates from Munich Academy of Fine Arts moves to Paris in 1887 to further his studies.  Here, he hangs out at Madame Charlotte's Cremerie, a cafe now known for it's clientele, including Paul Gauguin, Paul Serusier and Edvard Munch. (Only back then, they were natty nobodies camping out in warm comfort over coffee and chit-chat -- as artists do.)

Paul Gauguin playing the harmonium how he likes it, in Mucha's studio.  What a blast!

So it's the festive season of 1894 in Paris.  Mucha by now has notched up work as a regular contributor drawing up costume designs for a theatre magazine.  The greatest stage actress of the time and place is Sarah Bernhardt, known for her beauty, her art on stage, her numerous marriages, her lesbian dalliances, and her rumoured love affair with King Edward VII while he was Prince of Wales.  Yes, you can see how she got her nickname "The Divine Sarah".  All hail Sarah!

Sarah Bernhardt, photographed by Paul Nadar, 1878

 

And what happens when The Divine Sarah is not satisfied and wants to re-do a poster of herself?  It's gotta be done.  But wait. It's Christmas, and all the artists have gone home to celebrate with their families.  Except our man, Mucha.  Talk about being at the right place at the right time.  Mucha's work for Sarah Bernhardt forever changes his fate, as well as art history.  The Parisians knew him as Alphonse Mucha, and they couldn't get enough of him and his work.

We could call it the birth of Art Nouveau.  The hyper-romanticism of soft, flowing folds of gown, and tendrils of hair that joins into tendrils of words.  So impressed was Sarah Bernhardt by the work of the little back-up artist, Alphonse Mucha, that she contracted him for the next five years, during which he designed her posters, some of her costumes, and even jewelry.  From there he went on to advertising, interior design, furniture, and sculpture, influencing many of the greats of the time, including jewelry designer Georges Fouquet, decorative glass designer Rene Lalique, and illustrator Aubrey Beardsley.

Mucha was on a roll!  Behold his ads for Job cigarettes, Lance perfume, Nestle baby food, Bagnolet soap, and Moet and Chandon.  Gob-smacking stuff, I warn you...

   

As such, we could also call Alphonse Mucha the Godfather of Art Nouveau.  Except he never liked it.  Although he enjoyed the success of his art, he never liked the popularism that accompanied it.  He saw Art as a visual communication of a spiritual message, and didn't fancy himself as a trendsetter in any way.  He regarded his art as an expression of himself and his Czech roots, and never revelled in the Parisian high glamour that his art was known for.  He believed in A Greater Good with art, and was always constantly churning out patterns and decorations for printing and publishing firms, so he could share with other aspiring artists.  He even compiled a book of motifs for public use and reproduction.

It is 1903. Mucha is 43 years old, successful and established. He meets one Maruska Chytilova, a gamine Czech art student 22 years his junior, and begins to have plans on settling down. He then asks Sarah Bernhardt to help him get to America, where he plans to kickstart his Grand Plan, which was to do portraiture work for the rich and famous, make enough money to retire and return to Prague. And there, he would indulge in artistic projects on subjects closest to his heart - his Czech roots and his people.

Marushka by Alphonse Mucha, 1905

The American stint didn't go quite as planned. The portraiture work did not quite flourish. But Mucha did get connected with millionaire Charles R. Crane, whose hobby was supporting noble causes and revolutions. After meeting Thomas Masaryk, a Czech socialist and philosopher, the three men honed in on Slavic nationalism.

Muchas returned to Czech lands in 1910 with his wife Maruska, and daughter Jaroslava, who was born in New York City, and settled in Prague. Here he poured himself into public service, decorating the Theater of Fine Arts, and creating the murals in the Mayor's Office at the Municipal House, and a host of other landmarks around the city.

Thomas Masaryk went on to become the founder and first president of Czechoslovakia. So when Czechoslovakia won independence after World War I, he roped in his old friend Alphonse Mucha to design new postage stamps, bank notes, and a whole load of other government stuff for the brand new state. How cool is that?  To have Mucha money!

Incidentally, that captivating young woman on the 100-koruna note is Crane's granddaughter, Josephine.

(via mehallo.com)

The greatest contribution of Alphonse Mucha to the art world is arguable. Not that he wasn't a superb artist, one of a kind of his time, a prolific visionary, and undeniable milestone maker in art history. But other than being the Grand-Daddy of Art Nouveau, he also created a sombre series of 20 massive (by "massive" I mean 405 X 480 cm) paintings depicting the trials and tribulations of the Slavic people, entitled The Slav Epic.

Slavs in their Original Homeland 

The Abolition of Serfdom in Russia

The Printing of the Bible in Kralice in Ivancice

Mucha working on The Slav Epic in 1920

It took Mucha 18 years to finish the 20 giant canvases. During these years, Mucha researched extensively into history and traditional costumes, visiting many of the places and talking to many of the locals.  He even had them pose for some of the paintings.

In 1928, Mucha and Crane officially bequest the entire Slav Epic to the City of Prague in celebration of the 10th anniversary of the creation of Czechoslovakia.

Alphonse Mucha died in 1939, shortly after he was interrogated by the Gestapo during World War II.  During this time, the Slav Epic was rolled up and hidden away by patriots who protected them fiercely from the Nazis.  So well did they hide it, that they were only found in the 1950s.

Today, The Slav Epic is proudly displayed in Moravsky Krumlov, a small town near where Mucha was born.  Thousands of tourists make their way 216 km from Prague by train, to witness its magnificence.  Prague has been trying to convince the locals that it would be good for business if The Slav Epic moved to the City, but they'll hear none of it.  So the tussle continues... and it's proving epic (pun not intended).

for Champagne printing publisher, 1897

What I find so awe-inspiring is how the King of Parisian Glamour went on to become the Slavs' National Hero.  It's like Chanel becoming Mother Teresa, or Valentino becoming Gandhi.  I mean, seriously, who woulda thunk!?  And as much as Mucha wanted to steer clear of the whole glamour thing, all he did was prove that Art, be it for flights of fashion or a fight for freedom, is the perfect medium to move a people.

from a poster for The Slav Epic exhibition, 1928

(all images of Mucha's work via wikipaintings.org)

Mollie Makes

This is my fave read, Mollie Makes.  I await the next month's issue eagerly, every month.

Chock-a-block with crafty ideas and inspiring articles on designers, makers, and living the creative life, this mag gives me butterflies in my tummy...

I surreptitiously leave the mag in the bathroom for "casual" reading, in the hope of Them Two catching the craft bug, subconsciously... Hehe.

Common Sights

This is Wimbledon Common.  And I have a love-hate relationship with it.  Here's why...

I have to walk across it 4 times a day.  Twice in the morning to take Ruhi to school, and twice in the afternoon to pick her up.  Each way is about 10 minutes' brisk walking.  Which makes it about 40 minutes' brisk walking for me every day.  And you know how I hate Exercise.  The thought of having to wake up at 6.30am and gear up for the cold walk across leaves ugly dents on my already-fragile psyche sometimes...

It's a Common.  A lot unlike a Park, I soon found out.  When I was told I had to walk across a park as part of the school run, I was thinking Singapore Botanic Gardens, manicured bushes, nicely trimmed grassy areas, pretty little dogs on leashes... So the Common was a bit of a nasty shock, with it's overgrowth, kept in check only by posh folk trundling about in appropriately grubby wellies, and their numerous over-sized and/or over-exuberant canine companions -- unleashed.  Indeed, a very different world.

But after a few exhausting treks, I discovered these:

And so, every single day, I fall in love -- all over again -- with the Common. :)

Back To Black

Amy Winehouse
(1983 - 2011)

John Singer Sargent

Self-portrait, 1886

This is John Singer Sargent. Born January 12, 1856, in Florence, Italy, to American parents, an eye-surgeon father, and a hypochondriac mother. So bad was her "condition", that the Sargents had to move to Europe to live in more pleasant climes, where young Sargent was born. Even in Europe, they shifted according to the seasons, preferring cool mountain locations in the summer, and balmy seaside ones during winter.

No, they weren't well-off at all. Young Sargent, aged 17, who by then had recognisable artistic talent, would leave the family at their seaside residence for then, and head off to Paris to live and apprentice with Carolus-Duran, one of the most influential artists at the time.

Fanny Watts, 1877

Fanny Watts was a friend of Sargent, and this was his first Salon appearance. The Salon is an annual art exhibition in Paris that showcased artworks by new and established artists alike. So highly esteemed was the event, that the Salon was known to make and break careers.

Carolus-Duran, 1879

This painting was shown at that year's Salon, and somewhat upstaged the teacher himself.

The Sargent family now included 2 sisters, and their moving soon became a huge financial strain. Thankfully, young Sargent was super-talented at art, and was soon earning some to keep the family afloat.

Claude Monet Painting by the Edge of a Wood, 1885

The rest of Sargent's life is not the kind you would find terribly interesting. Especially for an artist. No torrid affairs, no illegitimate children, no drunken and/or opiate habits. Sargent was just an artisitic phenom and workaholic.
As he became more established, he travelled extensively around Europe and the Middle East, and was exposed to cultures, art forms and other great masters. Sargent showed every year at the Salon, an annual highly-anticipated art exhibition graced by celebrities and socialites, showcasing the year's newbies, as well as attesting the accomplished and recognised.

Fumee d'Ambre Gris, 1880

There were rumours that Sargent could have been gay, coz he only hung out with a few close male buddies. But many art historians have argued that these remain rumours, as would inevitably arise if you're in the public eye, and not seem to be dating anyone. So you must be gay, right? Not. Maybe. But who cares, right?

Poppies, 1886

Anyway, the point is that John Singer Sargent is an undeniable genius when it comes to canvas, paints and brush. Perhaps the only juicy bits of his life are from those who sat for him to have their portraits done. And these were reports on Sargent's little eccentricities while he worked.

A few patrons claimed he liked to keep pieces of bread in his jacket pocket, and every now and then pick little piece off them inside his pocket and nibble on the tiny bits. Some others also said that he was a painful perfectionist, odd to an extent, with his sizing up his subject from afar, and then sprinting to the canvas to replicate that exact same perspective on the canvas. Can. You. Imagine??

By the River (I), 1888

A gorgeous rendition of peace and solitude - his sister, Violet, reading on a boat in the summer.

Parisian Beggar Girl, 1880

Sargent became a celebrity of sorts, for his outstanding portrait work. He was continuously at work, receiving commission after commission, from first the social elite in Europe, and later when he went back to America, where the South's nouveau riche were literally throwing money at him to snag a sitting and a portrait.

Beatrice Townsend, 1882

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw, 1893



Madame Ramon Subercaseaux, 1881

And the reason for his return to America is this little lady right here - Madame Virginie Amelie Pierre Gautreau. Like Sargent, she was also an American in Paris. Born in New Orleans, Lousiana, of French descent, with a silver spoon in her mouth, Virginie and her family escaped the civil war in America, and fled straight into high society in Paris.

A black-and-white photopgraph of "Madame X" as it hung at the Salon in 1884

Now, this wasn't a commission. This was a request from the artist, and the very generous and kind granting of permission from the It girl of Parisian high society. Sargent had all the say in composition, content and colour. Right down to the pose. Apparently, the pair spent many weeks trying to figure out a good pose. Many weeks, only because of Madame Gautreau's very tight social schedule, and somewhat laziness and impatience when it came to sitting still for a sketch.

A close-up of the painting. It was interesting how Sargent gave quite some attention to her red ear, as if saying she wore too much face powder, forgetting to apply the white to her ears.

In any case, the portrait, entitled "Madame X", showed at 1884's Salon. The Salon is an annual grand exhibition of art, a show that makes and breaks artists' careers. And just like how Sargent's career boomed with Fanny Watts in 1877, it came tumbling down with Madame X in 1884. Madame Gautreau's reputation also took a severe turn for the worse, and she never quite recovered, living the rest of her life in relative solitude.

It was a mix of socio-political climates, and vicious gossip, that led to the downfall of both the artist and his subject. The French were particularly contradictory, that Salon year of Madame X. France had just come out of the Franco-Prussian War, and were re-examining themselves. As a society, they found weaknesses everywhere, from rampant materialism to nonchalant adultery, the decline of public health to the growing disdain for fortunate heiresses, just like Madame Virginie Amelie Gautreau.

The reviews, needless to say, were scathing. From the horrible "brazen" pose to the sickly complexion, the tasteless "slut" dress to the boring colour tone, critics and Salon judges didn't spare Madame X. Sargent was reeling in shock, as he had been showing for so many years at the Salon, and had always garnered praises and awards.

"Madame X", after Sargent "fixed" it

Sargent was so hurt by the whole drama, that he took the painting back, and altered the dress, on the painting. The original that showed at the Salon in 1884 had one strap off her shoulder. Today, if you go down to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, you will see her with both straps up.

From then, Sargent kept the painting away from society's cruel eyes, in his studio, by his side. Many of his close friends said that Sargent found that piece of work cathartic in every sense, from the beginning to the end, and even after. He always saw it as a reminder of how art can be so subjective, to a point of a prisoner of society's whims and wills.

A few years later, Madame Gautreau commissioned a portrait of herself with another artist, Gustave Courtois, that featured her in a similar profile pose, in a chiffon gown, with one fallen strap. This time, there was hardly anything bad to say.

I am bowled over by Sargent's portraits, and even more so by "Madame X" and the drama that ensued at the Salon. How social climate had so much to do, yet nothing at all, with Sargent's art. Amazing.
I love how "Madame X" looks so simple, yet had such a big story. What struck me most, was how void of jewels she was, considering it was the French Belle Epoque era, and ladies (especially those of Madame Gautreau's status) were completely decked out most of the time.

A photograph of Sargent in his studio, with "Madame X"

Anyway, back to our story.
Sargent retreated to close friends after the "Madame X" drama, living in an artists' commune in England. Here he recuperated, under the care of Frank Millet and his wife, and friends including the writer, Henry James. His painting, "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose" completed in 1886 saw him make full recovery as an artist, both in his mind, and society's eyes.

"Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose", 1886

Sargent then travelled a bit, and decided to move back to America, where he quickly built a reputation for himself. Before he knew it, he was commanding higher and higher for each portrait he painted.

By 1889, Sargent was invited back to the Salon, to serve as judge. After which, Sargent spent the rest of his years between London and Boston. He continued to work - maintaining his own studio, carrying his own crates, and helping the workmen load and transport his pieces - the way he liked to.

In April 1925, against the advice of his friends, he began preparations for a mural for the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. And on April 15, Sargent passed away from heart failure. Good thing was, he wasn't carting something or the other at work on the mural. He was reading Voltaire in bed.

Self-portrait, 1906

Sargent's memorial service was held at Westminster Abbey, attended by royalty, celebrities and fellow respected and influential artists. It was said to be a grand affair, and the first of its kind for a farewell to a modern artist.

To view John Singer Sargent's stunning breadth of work, click here.