Delaroche and Lady Jane Gray: National Gallery, London
Delaroche and Lady Jane Gray: National Gallery, London, March 2010
Paul Delaroche (1797-1856) is an inherently historical, then dramatic artist, spinning his own history in the guise of English history, as a consequence of sensitive recent events in his homeland, France. First and foremost is his work The Execution of Lady Jane Grey (1833). The painting evokes immense pathos, then the spectacle of Lady Jane Grey as innocent victim groping for the execution block, an account at variance with official history that states that Lady Jane Grey went to her death with dignity. Delaroche, by the standards of his own day, was a consummate researcher of his own works. This was hardly the norm in Delaroche's time. Delaroche's work is possessed of vivid historical verisimilitude. Hardly a brush stroke is apparent in this painting. There’s a tangible objectivity about Delaroche's work, as if the artist himself had to somehow disappear in favour of his realist technique. Supposed historical facts, historical truth and a practical use of expression through empty space summing up all the things left unsaid about unfolding events.
Unsurprisingly Delaroche's work was totally neglected after his death when the subjective power of imagination was preferred instead of accurate technique and meticulously rendered content. Delaroche's was the art of the establishment that had to be kicked over. But even though the critics began to hate Delaroche's work as a summary of all of the faults of establishment art, the public have always liked it. In brief, after the Modernist period Delaroche was rediscovered. There's a kind of Post-Modern irony in all of this, for Delaroche's work is eminently suited to the era of Post-Modernism. His insistence on dramatic irony, technique over imagination, the total coherence of his images at the expense often of absolute historical accuracy make him an artist (I'd say cursorily) like Andy Warhol, but quite unlike Picasso, Dali or even Vincent Van Gogh. When we view Delaroche's work Cromwell and the corpse of Charles I we're meant to read it as a comment about the old and the new of the French Revolution. Delaroche seems to have practised a subtle self-censorship in such a way, mindful perhaps not to antagonise the powerful, but also because he wanted to make implicit statements about art and its connection to history. In his work we view history through a certain lens that is sometimes cloudy, sometimes opaque. Delaroche's art is a mystifying process, in Marxist terms, but also a technique centrally concerned with the truth of historical, public events. He paints mind-bogglingly vapid historical canvases, which possess undeniably dramatic, even filmic effect. Very often these canvases make expressive use of empty space, rather as a dramatist utilises silence for ironic, satirical effects. Indeed these paintings are effects driven, they might indeed be a kind of usable portfolio of work for any film art designer to draw upon. His work Stratford on the way to Execution (1835) shows Stratford, a scapegoat and sacrificial victim of Charles I, kneeling to receive the blessing of Archbishop Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury who indeed was soon to suffer the same fate as Stratford, another vivid example of Delaroche's usage of off-stage space. To Theophile Gautier the work was excessively dark, but opinions were polarised across the Channel. Many English critics admired Delaroche's work and it was bought by English buyers and dealers, perhaps a classic instance of a prophet without honour in his own country.
If the French failed to take Delaroche seriously the case was inverted across the channel. In his work The Princes in the Tower (1830) Delaroche once again opens out an episode from English history, a perfect example of the dramatic nature of his work. Light seeps under the door as the two Princes huddle together for comfort on the bed. To add to the pathos of the scene their little dog's ears are pricked to the sound of approaching footsteps suggesting the inevitable fate of the two Princes. The 7th of December, 1815, Nine o'clock in the morning (1868) by Delaroche's student Jean-Léon Gérôme is also an amazing example of dramatic appeal, as the corpse of Marshall Ney falls in the street, the group of soldiers detailed for his execution simply march off into the morning haze, making the scene all the more effecting in its pathos and pitilessness. Other fine examples of Delaroche's influence can be found in Louis Gallait's (1810-1887) The Last Homage paid to Counts Egmont and Hoorne (1855) and Jean-Paul Laurens (1838-1921) The Hostages (Les Otages, 1896) have knowingly reduced Delaroche's composition to its bleak essence. The latter painting is virtually a reprise of The Princes in the Tower where the use of empty space is suspenseful and suggestive. Delaroche's work consists of dark, moody period pieces, vignettes from the troubled past with a single exception when he visited Italy to examine the work of the great Italian Medieval and Renaissance Masters. Then his palette lightens, but in a painterly idiom that strains at its own coherence. Because of this Delaroche hardly seems a serious artist, certainly not one to weep bitter tears of frustration into his cup or hack a recalcitrant ear off in impotent rage. Delaroche gets on with the work of painting, making essential compromises as they come along, essentially uncaring about larger historical movements in art, or even being at all cutting edge, but his work is, in some vital senses, cutting edge.
He is an artist who was important in his day, then suffered neglect after his death, only to be rediscovered later. His work The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, for instance, lay for more than 50 years utterly neglected in the National Gallery until it was discovered to be undamaged in 1973. The point is that no one really bothered to find out what state the canvas was in but the years of neglect more or less coincide with the birth and death of Picasso. Delaroche had many imitators and pupils too, who plagiarised his poignant usage of empty canvas to convey rhetorical, dramatic effects. This is a fine exhibition to attend if you want to discover both history and painting, because Delaroche is poised between the two as a kind of illuminating material. The curatorial work has been handled intelligently and the supporting materials, the printed material and audio guide, are magnificent.
Paul Murphy, National Gallery, London, March 2010
hI, MEANING OF LIFE: Lady Gaga meets Paris Hilton meets Marxo Polo meets Meanjin Injun. Its not only the empty space, but the concept of painting as drama. This is new and points forward to film. many film makers plundered work of dELAROCHE FOR IDEAS. Also there's a new concept of emotion being in the unsaid, understated, whereas earilier art seems to have been all about statement, even over-statement. Incidentally Peter gREeENAWAY has a new film about Rembrandt, NIGHTWATCHING. In it the truth about art and the aMSTERDAM MUSKETEER MILITIA, really arquebusiers. tHE PAINTING contains an allegation of some kind, also something to do with Amsterdam's Jewish community. Jews bought many of Rembrandt's early works, but as his prices rose later he began to feel robbed by them. Later on the Nazis incorporated him into their thing, but Rembrandt's relationship with Amsterdam's Jews was not as straightforward as this. It would be nice to see the film anyway. Hi Paul, I could have gone to this today, since I skived off work and went to the NG. but I chose Kopke based on your review and wasn’t disappointed. I bought the catalogue too. But for you I’d have missed this, since though I’m a Tate and RA member, and keep an eye out for all NG events, this one wasn’t flagged up. Delaroche is interesting. I had to critique several essays at Chichester about him and this painting which I’ve been staring in replication at too long; so he’s green in memory. It’s the supporting canvases I’d like to see as well. The empty space of course is striking, as but for that you’d say this was Pre-Raphaelite avant le lettre, out of Ingres and David. But there’s an emotionalism, a sentiment alien to both these painters (The Oath of the Horatii conjures different feelings, as does The Death of Socrates or indeed that of Marat). Delaroche’s genius was to strip away the heroic, and leave empty spaces and as you say superbly of Ney, pitilessness. He does skirt early-mid 19th century sentiment very nearly and very well. I’ll have to go and see it after all. Thanks, Simon
Paul Delaroche (1797-1856) is an inherently historical, then dramatic artist, spinning his own history in the guise of English history, as a consequence of sensitive recent events in his homeland, France. First and foremost is his work The Execution of Lady Jane Grey (1833). The painting evokes immense pathos, then the spectacle of Lady Jane Grey as innocent victim groping for the execution block, an account at variance with official history that states that Lady Jane Grey went to her death with dignity. Delaroche, by the standards of his own day, was a consummate researcher of his own works. This was hardly the norm in Delaroche's time. Delaroche's work is possessed of vivid historical verisimilitude. Hardly a brush stroke is apparent in this painting. There’s a tangible objectivity about Delaroche's work, as if the artist himself had to somehow disappear in favour of his realist technique. Supposed historical facts, historical truth and a practical use of expression through empty space summing up all the things left unsaid about unfolding events.
Unsurprisingly Delaroche's work was totally neglected after his death when the subjective power of imagination was preferred instead of accurate technique and meticulously rendered content. Delaroche's was the art of the establishment that had to be kicked over. But even though the critics began to hate Delaroche's work as a summary of all of the faults of establishment art, the public have always liked it. In brief, after the Modernist period Delaroche was rediscovered. There's a kind of Post-Modern irony in all of this, for Delaroche's work is eminently suited to the era of Post-Modernism. His insistence on dramatic irony, technique over imagination, the total coherence of his images at the expense often of absolute historical accuracy make him an artist (I'd say cursorily) like Andy Warhol, but quite unlike Picasso, Dali or even Vincent Van Gogh. When we view Delaroche's work Cromwell and the corpse of Charles I we're meant to read it as a comment about the old and the new of the French Revolution. Delaroche seems to have practised a subtle self-censorship in such a way, mindful perhaps not to antagonise the powerful, but also because he wanted to make implicit statements about art and its connection to history. In his work we view history through a certain lens that is sometimes cloudy, sometimes opaque. Delaroche's art is a mystifying process, in Marxist terms, but also a technique centrally concerned with the truth of historical, public events. He paints mind-bogglingly vapid historical canvases, which possess undeniably dramatic, even filmic effect. Very often these canvases make expressive use of empty space, rather as a dramatist utilises silence for ironic, satirical effects. Indeed these paintings are effects driven, they might indeed be a kind of usable portfolio of work for any film art designer to draw upon. His work Stratford on the way to Execution (1835) shows Stratford, a scapegoat and sacrificial victim of Charles I, kneeling to receive the blessing of Archbishop Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury who indeed was soon to suffer the same fate as Stratford, another vivid example of Delaroche's usage of off-stage space. To Theophile Gautier the work was excessively dark, but opinions were polarised across the Channel. Many English critics admired Delaroche's work and it was bought by English buyers and dealers, perhaps a classic instance of a prophet without honour in his own country.
If the French failed to take Delaroche seriously the case was inverted across the channel. In his work The Princes in the Tower (1830) Delaroche once again opens out an episode from English history, a perfect example of the dramatic nature of his work. Light seeps under the door as the two Princes huddle together for comfort on the bed. To add to the pathos of the scene their little dog's ears are pricked to the sound of approaching footsteps suggesting the inevitable fate of the two Princes. The 7th of December, 1815, Nine o'clock in the morning (1868) by Delaroche's student Jean-Léon Gérôme is also an amazing example of dramatic appeal, as the corpse of Marshall Ney falls in the street, the group of soldiers detailed for his execution simply march off into the morning haze, making the scene all the more effecting in its pathos and pitilessness. Other fine examples of Delaroche's influence can be found in Louis Gallait's (1810-1887) The Last Homage paid to Counts Egmont and Hoorne (1855) and Jean-Paul Laurens (1838-1921) The Hostages (Les Otages, 1896) have knowingly reduced Delaroche's composition to its bleak essence. The latter painting is virtually a reprise of The Princes in the Tower where the use of empty space is suspenseful and suggestive. Delaroche's work consists of dark, moody period pieces, vignettes from the troubled past with a single exception when he visited Italy to examine the work of the great Italian Medieval and Renaissance Masters. Then his palette lightens, but in a painterly idiom that strains at its own coherence. Because of this Delaroche hardly seems a serious artist, certainly not one to weep bitter tears of frustration into his cup or hack a recalcitrant ear off in impotent rage. Delaroche gets on with the work of painting, making essential compromises as they come along, essentially uncaring about larger historical movements in art, or even being at all cutting edge, but his work is, in some vital senses, cutting edge.
He is an artist who was important in his day, then suffered neglect after his death, only to be rediscovered later. His work The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, for instance, lay for more than 50 years utterly neglected in the National Gallery until it was discovered to be undamaged in 1973. The point is that no one really bothered to find out what state the canvas was in but the years of neglect more or less coincide with the birth and death of Picasso. Delaroche had many imitators and pupils too, who plagiarised his poignant usage of empty canvas to convey rhetorical, dramatic effects. This is a fine exhibition to attend if you want to discover both history and painting, because Delaroche is poised between the two as a kind of illuminating material. The curatorial work has been handled intelligently and the supporting materials, the printed material and audio guide, are magnificent.
Paul Murphy, National Gallery, London, March 2010
hI, MEANING OF LIFE: Lady Gaga meets Paris Hilton meets Marxo Polo meets Meanjin Injun. Its not only the empty space, but the concept of painting as drama. This is new and points forward to film. many film makers plundered work of dELAROCHE FOR IDEAS. Also there's a new concept of emotion being in the unsaid, understated, whereas earilier art seems to have been all about statement, even over-statement. Incidentally Peter gREeENAWAY has a new film about Rembrandt, NIGHTWATCHING. In it the truth about art and the aMSTERDAM MUSKETEER MILITIA, really arquebusiers. tHE PAINTING contains an allegation of some kind, also something to do with Amsterdam's Jewish community. Jews bought many of Rembrandt's early works, but as his prices rose later he began to feel robbed by them. Later on the Nazis incorporated him into their thing, but Rembrandt's relationship with Amsterdam's Jews was not as straightforward as this. It would be nice to see the film anyway. Hi Paul, I could have gone to this today, since I skived off work and went to the NG. but I chose Kopke based on your review and wasn’t disappointed. I bought the catalogue too. But for you I’d have missed this, since though I’m a Tate and RA member, and keep an eye out for all NG events, this one wasn’t flagged up. Delaroche is interesting. I had to critique several essays at Chichester about him and this painting which I’ve been staring in replication at too long; so he’s green in memory. It’s the supporting canvases I’d like to see as well. The empty space of course is striking, as but for that you’d say this was Pre-Raphaelite avant le lettre, out of Ingres and David. But there’s an emotionalism, a sentiment alien to both these painters (The Oath of the Horatii conjures different feelings, as does The Death of Socrates or indeed that of Marat). Delaroche’s genius was to strip away the heroic, and leave empty spaces and as you say superbly of Ney, pitilessness. He does skirt early-mid 19th century sentiment very nearly and very well. I’ll have to go and see it after all. Thanks, Simon
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