"Others will be reminded by these poems & visions
of forgotten aesthetes & lonely magicians, the
last witnesses of a period which
tried to be sublime."
- Philippe Julian, Dreamers of Decadence (1969)
In 1891, the Belgian painter Fernand Khnopff first exhibited a work, I Lock My Door Upon Myself, that is in some respects the essence of the Symbolist vision, & in many ways, that is how I've felt like dealing with life at times over the past few months. In this painting, a sad woman stares out blankly at the viewer with great big saucer eyes, & the different shades of blue that dominate the picture enhance the feel of the piece exquisitely.
I've read so much about the Symbolist movement over the years & the way that they withdrew from the modern world of commerce & the machine, with all its attendant ugliness, to the inner world of the imagination & dreams, as well as to literature, music & art, in fact "anywhere out of this world," has long since fascinated me. And as we now enter the year that has been specified as being number 2015, it seems to me as if the world that the Symbolist's sought to flee has become even more cruel, unfair & vulgar, & when I consider the response that Russell Brand, who, although he doesn't vote, even his most virulent detractors must surely admit is vitally engaged with politics & political issues & is tirelessly attempting to get other people engaged in politics, too, received on his recent appearance on Question Time, the Symbolist's escape tactic increasingly seems like a pretty good idea. Seeing that show on the i player, with people in the audience who Russell wants to try & represent & make things better for turning on him with such vitriol, whilst the anti-life, immigrant hating UKIP leader Nigel Farage strutted his vile views, filled me with horror & made my heart sink, & I oftentimes think that the human race will probably always create societies with massive inequality, treat non-human sentient life as nothing more than a thing, scapegoat minorities & the vulnerable & in fact treat the entire eco-system that enables life to exist with nothing other than scorn & contempt. It's almost as if a part of me thinks that the game is up, & all that is left is to take some cold comfort in knowing that none of it is being done in my name, with my consent or vote, (the Green Party get my 'X') & that attempting to make the most of beautiful, life enhancing moments whilst there is still time is perhaps the best that can be hoped for.
With these ever so cheery thoughts, it is good to remember that one of the most important parts of life, for me, is to try & experience as many of those beautiful & sublime moments as possible, for that, in a sense, is perhaps all we have, & the opportunity to spend some time at Bristol Art Gallery & Museum last month enabled me to do exactly that, & also taught me once again that there is an uncanny hidden power that can draw its mysterious veil over us at certain moments. Having looked online at the gallery's collection, the two rooms that I was most excited about seeing were the Victorian Room (called Places of Desire) which I thought must house some Pre-Raphaelite paintings & then, to a lesser degree, the French Art Room, as although I enjoy many paintings by the Impressionists, they don't seduce me in anything like the same manner that the Pre-Raphaelites & the Symbolists do.
I began, then, in The Victorian Room, which was an absolute joy, truly a feast for the senses & the soul, & my heart skipped a beat when it first made contact with this beauty through the entrance...
Frederik Leighton - The Fisherman & the Syren (1856-58)
Based on a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (see below), it recounts the story of a mermaid who has come ashore to complain to the fisherman that he is stealing all of her children. She then uses her enchanting beauty to entice the fisherman into the sea, & as well as the obvious sensual power of the picture, it also struck me as being highly relevant today. The singer & political activist Antony Hegarty has been talking recently about his ideas for a Future Feminism, in which he maintains that it is now clear beyond any doubt that patriarchal systems do not work, monotheism has failed, & that the only possible salvation for our planet & all life that resides on it is if human beings move into more feminine systems of governance, ones which which nurture co-operation rather than relentless competition & which attempt to live in harmony with the environment rather than exploit it. As I contemplated this painting, that is what I thought a part of it was trying to express. It was as if the mermaid had become so exasperated at the fisherman that the only option left open to her was to use her sexuality in a bid to stop him. It's as if her seductive graces are the only means remaining, as he is larger than her, stronger than her & apparently completely blind to the suffering he is bringing to the silvery creatures of the water. The picture tells of the moment when the syren has got his complete attention, & because of this, the fishes are falling out of his net & back home into the sea. I left this painting feeling that it could be interpreted as being an allegory for the validity of women using their sexual power over men in an instance such as this, as she is protecting nature & the natural world whilst the only thing he wants to do is consume & destroy it.
The Fisherman
With these ever so cheery thoughts, it is good to remember that one of the most important parts of life, for me, is to try & experience as many of those beautiful & sublime moments as possible, for that, in a sense, is perhaps all we have, & the opportunity to spend some time at Bristol Art Gallery & Museum last month enabled me to do exactly that, & also taught me once again that there is an uncanny hidden power that can draw its mysterious veil over us at certain moments. Having looked online at the gallery's collection, the two rooms that I was most excited about seeing were the Victorian Room (called Places of Desire) which I thought must house some Pre-Raphaelite paintings & then, to a lesser degree, the French Art Room, as although I enjoy many paintings by the Impressionists, they don't seduce me in anything like the same manner that the Pre-Raphaelites & the Symbolists do.
I began, then, in The Victorian Room, which was an absolute joy, truly a feast for the senses & the soul, & my heart skipped a beat when it first made contact with this beauty through the entrance...
Frederik Leighton - The Fisherman & the Syren (1856-58)
Based on a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (see below), it recounts the story of a mermaid who has come ashore to complain to the fisherman that he is stealing all of her children. She then uses her enchanting beauty to entice the fisherman into the sea, & as well as the obvious sensual power of the picture, it also struck me as being highly relevant today. The singer & political activist Antony Hegarty has been talking recently about his ideas for a Future Feminism, in which he maintains that it is now clear beyond any doubt that patriarchal systems do not work, monotheism has failed, & that the only possible salvation for our planet & all life that resides on it is if human beings move into more feminine systems of governance, ones which which nurture co-operation rather than relentless competition & which attempt to live in harmony with the environment rather than exploit it. As I contemplated this painting, that is what I thought a part of it was trying to express. It was as if the mermaid had become so exasperated at the fisherman that the only option left open to her was to use her sexuality in a bid to stop him. It's as if her seductive graces are the only means remaining, as he is larger than her, stronger than her & apparently completely blind to the suffering he is bringing to the silvery creatures of the water. The picture tells of the moment when the syren has got his complete attention, & because of this, the fishes are falling out of his net & back home into the sea. I left this painting feeling that it could be interpreted as being an allegory for the validity of women using their sexual power over men in an instance such as this, as she is protecting nature & the natural world whilst the only thing he wants to do is consume & destroy it.
The Fisherman
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The water rushed, the water swelled,
A fisherman sat by,
And gazed upon his dancing float
With tranquil-dreaming eye.
And as he sits, and as he looks,
The gurgling waves arise;
A maid, all bright with water drops,
Stands straight before his eyes.
She sang to him, she spake to him:
"My fish why dost thou snare,
With human wit and human guile,
Into the killing air?
Couldst see how happy fishes live
Under the stream so clear,
Thyself would plunge into the stream,
And live for ever there.
"Bathe not the lovely sun and moon
Within the cool, deep sea,
And with wave-breathing faces rise
In twofold witchery?
Lure not the misty heaven-deeps,
So beautiful and blue?
Lures not thine image, mirrored in
The Fresh eternal dew?"
The water rushed, the water swelled,
It clasped his feet, I wis'
A thrill went through his yearning heart,
As when two lovers kiss!
She spake to him, she sang to him:
Resistless was her strain;
Half drew him in, half lured him in;
He ne'er was seen again.
John Storer Cobb's English translation of 'The Fisherman' was first published in Goethe: Poetical Works, vol. 1. Boston: Francis A Niccolls & Company, 1902.
On the immediate right of this picture was a huge canvas by Franck Dicksee entitled La belle dame sans merci (1901), a representation of John Keats's wonderful & famous poem about an enchanting but deadly femme fatale...
This was again, a picture that invaded the senses with its rich, dazzling colours & whilst I sat there I could almost smell the grass & hear the buzzing of the honey bees whilst the breeze rustled the leaves, such was its pervasive & intoxicating atmosphere. I was & still am intrigued by the knight's crucifixion pose & to what Dicksee may have meant by portraying him in such a way, & the dame of the title is a stunning reproduction of a Pre-Raphaelite heroine, her long red hair streaming down in torrents as she bends over to kiss, bewitch, & bewilder the hapless knight. And of course, it also reminded me of Keats's amazing poem; what could be finer?
La belle dame sans merci (1819)
La belle dame sans merci (1819)
by John Keats
Ballad
I.
O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
IV.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”
VIII.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.
X.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
The third painting which stole my heart in this room was Unconscious Rivals (1893) by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, & really has to be seen in the original in order for the viewer to grasp the incredibly rich colours & detail that it contains...
Ballad
I.
O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
IV.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
V.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
VI.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”
VIII.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.
X.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
The third painting which stole my heart in this room was Unconscious Rivals (1893) by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, & really has to be seen in the original in order for the viewer to grasp the incredibly rich colours & detail that it contains...
The red hues of the domed background & the rich purples of the flowers made this an incredibly sensuous picture, & at times it made me feel like I was swimming in a sea of colour & lush scents that wafted over from the flowers. Closer inspection revealed the extraordinary detail which was reminiscent of a photograph. And the title of the picture with the two women, probably rivals for a love match, as suggested by the cupid statue who sits on top of the marble whilst absent-mindedly playing with some material or scarf, is a fascinating one. It certainly made me think of Freud, as the painting seems to echo his theory that a great deal of what human beings actually desire comes from the realm of the unconscious, & the women, who hold hands without affection, are probably friends who don't want to acknowledge to themselves that they are in direct competition for the same love object. Cupid's equally unconscious attention to the two women suggests that love & desire itself can sometimes spring from a place that is beyond whatever Cupid is actually concentrating on, the scarf, which perhaps in this case represents the conscious mind. Once again, this was a gloriously sensual work, & I took great delight in contemplating the riches & mysteries contained within it.
Next was the French Art Room, & although there were a couple of pictures in there that I enjoyed, nothing had grabbed my attention as had happened in the previous room. And then, one of those very strange occurrences that never cease to amaze me, took place. A couple of months ago, Lydia took me to a wonderful second hand book shop that I hadn't been to before, even though it's only a few minutes' drive away, & just as we were getting ready to leave the shop, I felt a strange sensation that felt like I was being drawn to a corner of the room that we hadn't explored. There were only a few books in that particular bit of the shop & I wasn't going to wander over there as they looked as if they had just been left in a pile & perhaps were going to be thrown away as nobody would be interested in them. I felt compelled to follow this strange feeling, however, & to my utter amazement & delight, my eyes were drawn, as if by magic, straight to the particular Modern Penguin Classics edition of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Flappers & Philosophers that has a photograph of Louise Brooks on the cover & which I have been searching for without success for years.
Next was the French Art Room, & although there were a couple of pictures in there that I enjoyed, nothing had grabbed my attention as had happened in the previous room. And then, one of those very strange occurrences that never cease to amaze me, took place. A couple of months ago, Lydia took me to a wonderful second hand book shop that I hadn't been to before, even though it's only a few minutes' drive away, & just as we were getting ready to leave the shop, I felt a strange sensation that felt like I was being drawn to a corner of the room that we hadn't explored. There were only a few books in that particular bit of the shop & I wasn't going to wander over there as they looked as if they had just been left in a pile & perhaps were going to be thrown away as nobody would be interested in them. I felt compelled to follow this strange feeling, however, & to my utter amazement & delight, my eyes were drawn, as if by magic, straight to the particular Modern Penguin Classics edition of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Flappers & Philosophers that has a photograph of Louise Brooks on the cover & which I have been searching for without success for years.
I probably made an involuntary sound of delight at this moment & I could feel my heart beating in my temples. Tis a strange world, indeed, & that particular piece of good fortune felt like a gift from an unknown realm & it truly felt like a mysterious force had willed me over to that corner where I would thereby find the book that I have sought for such a long time. And lo & behold, this happened to me once again, in the French Art Room. In the corner were two very small works, which I was in two minds as to whether to take the time to go over & explore as there were lots of other interesting things to see at the gallery & I knew I had to choose carefully as I only had a limited amount of time. And then, that unseen force took hold of me once again & I was summoned to that corner without really having consciously decided that that was what I wanted to do. Imagine if you can my surprise & sheer exhilaration when I realised that those two pictures were by two of the greatest Symbolist artists, Gustave Moreau & Odilon Redon! I literally could hardly believe my eyes. To find works by Moreau & Redon in this strange manner when I had no idea the gallery even had paintings by them I imagine felt a little bit like finding a winning lottery ticket that you didn't realise you had in your velvet jacket. The strangeness of this occurrence was not lost on me as I gazed enraptured at these small, but exquisite pictures. I sat down & turned my attention firstly to Redon's Rider on the Beach with Two Ships (1905-1908) which was mesmerising & haunting in a way that is difficult to describe.
The horse with its strange head, the two ghost-like ships & the flash of green in the centre all conjured fantastic imaginings, & it was an absolute privilege & delight to bathe in the glow of one of Redon's pictures, an artist who once said of his work that, " My drawings inspire, & are not to be defined. They place us, as does music, in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined." Those words are probably the closest I could get to describing how I felt looking at Redon's picture, & the most accurate analogy I can find would be how whilst contemplating this picture, time seemed to stand perfectly still in a very similar way to how it had done when I first heard Claude Debussy's Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un faune performed by a full orchestra for the first time at the Liverpool Philharmonic Hall. And if I was to sum up, I would say that observing Redon's dream-like painting echoed listening to Debussy in this enchanting, time shifting manner.
Cue, Tim Booth:
"Dust motes, in a beam of light,
They slow down time...
Snowflakes, on a black wool glove,
Melting in the sunlight..."
The next picture, which I have deliberately kept till last, was Perseus & Andromeda (1870) by Gustave Moreau:
Cue, Tim Booth:
"Dust motes, in a beam of light,
They slow down time...
Snowflakes, on a black wool glove,
Melting in the sunlight..."
The next picture, which I have deliberately kept till last, was Perseus & Andromeda (1870) by Gustave Moreau:
Moreau is an artist whom I have revered & been fascinated about ever since I first read Joris-Karl Huysmans' novel, A rebours (Against Nature) (1884) many, many moons ago. Moreau's exotic pictures have become an aesthete's & decadent's Bible, & through writers ranging from Huysmans to Camille Paglia with many more in-between, his femme fatales have gained legendary standing & status in my imagination. I've spent hours pouring over books containing some of his most famous works, such as Salome & The Apparition, & this chance encounter with one of his paintings still makes me tingle a little when I think on how it happened. The picture itself was everything I had dreamed a Moreau would be, in the flesh, so to speak. It would be so very easy for a casual viewer to glance at a painting such as this for thirty seconds or so & not notice anything special about it & move on, but fortunately, I am more than aware of how to approach a Symbolist work, & this unspeakable catastrophe was avoided! The gallery was very quiet whilst I was there & for this I am eternally grateful, as you have to take your time & meditate on works of art of this nature. Their gifts are layered, & a furtive glance will not allow the rewards & treasures that they contain to rise into the mind's eye. Time & patience is required, but if you are willing & able to do this, the rewards can be captivating. My first impression was, of course, Andromeda herself, who dominates the composition & Moreau has enriched her with stunning sensuousness. She is chained to a rock & Perseus is just about to shoot the dragon that is coming for her, yet he is most definitely given second billing, as he is only lightly delineated in the sky. The rich, deep shades of red that make up the rocks that are behind Andromeda are magnificent, making it appear that she is leaning on a wall of crushed velvet in a boudoir rather than granite, & her complete lack of fear or interest in the battle that is about to commence behind her are surely indicative of where Moreau's sympathy lies. For me, Moreau has captured, in Andromeda, the complete essence of blooming female beauty & sexuality. The picture inexorably draws your attention to each slightest enchanted detail, from every curve of Andromeda's body to the silver chain that enshrouds her ankle & to me she is essentially a modern heroine in the sense that she has no religious guilt or shame at her wondrous beauty, & is completely self determined, with her arms nonchalantly folded about her whilst she remains seemingly oblivious to either her near nakedness or the fight for her life that is just about to take place. I actually wondered if the dragon & Perseus could be interpreted as two different males fighting over Andromeda (more below), as it doesn't take a great deal of imagination to notice the phallic spear & pointed tail that the two combatants point aggressively at each other. If this is indeed the case, then I think it's fair to say that I admire this picture even more than I did on first impression, because although Andromeda is on the surface merely a sensual being, her disregard of the fighters in the background suggests that she is quite content to be sensual & alluring for her own joy & not for her would-be-suitors or in fact any other male gaze. The way that Moreau has painted her makes it very clear that this is a painting that celebrates female beauty & Andromeda's pose is very similar to how he painted some of his other heroines (i.e., Galatea, Cleopatra), & no doubt he was attempting to convey his ideal vision of the female form as he so obviously cherished & admired it. It is also worth keeping in mind Andromeda's story as told in Ovid's Metamorphoses (8 AD). In this tale, Andromeda has been offered as a sacrifice to the gods because her mother had been boasting that her daughter was more beautiful than any of the nereids, or sea nymphs, which has infuriated the gods, although Andromeda herself has done nothing wrong. Perseus has no knowledge of this when he arrives on the scene & when he sees this young woman tied to the rock with the dragon heading towards her, he is completely captivated by her astonishing beauty & tells her parents that if he saves her life it is on condition that he will then receive her hand in marriage as reward. After receiving affirmation of this request (demand) he proceeds to successfully kill the dragon, but it then transpires that Andromeda had already been promised to her uncle (!), Phineus, who is furious at losing his bride to be & in turn tries to kill Perseus. Perseus finally kills Phineus by using the severed head of the Gorgon Medusa (a woman who is so ugly that she turns anyone who looks directly at her immediately to stone - now there's another blog!) & marries Andromeda, who has been little more than a pawn throughout the entire story. I feel that Moreau attempts to bring an autonomy, however subtle & slight that may be, to Andromeda that she completely lacks in Ovid's tale, & whilst there will no doubt be interpretations that differ greatly from my own, the extraordinary & strangely personal way that I actually came across this picture & the sublime, dream-like effect it had on me can only end with my conclusion being the one that I have just described. Mine may be a biased view, but as Oscar Wilde so enigmatically reported, an unbiased opinion is completely valueless. Perhaps I could do an in depth feminist reading of Perseus & Andromeda at some point & see what I come up with? We shall see...
And so ended my trip to Bristol Art Gallery. It contained many enchanting moments, & I'm still a little bit overcome when I recall the mysterious call & gravitational pull that gently drew me to the two diminutive pictures that were the highlight of my visit in that secluded corner of the French Art Room. And I hope it isn't in bad taste to say so, but if anything, the wonderful art that I saw & particularly Moreau's picture has made my sensitive appreciation of beauty even more subtle, & every night I thank whichever stars it were that brought Lydia & myself together with immense gratitude in my heart, as not only is she the most wonderful human being that I have ever met, but her beguiling beauty surpasses even that of Andromeda in Moreau's picture, & if I had been given a painter's talent, I would paint her sacredly & with adoration, as Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted the women that he was so deeply enchanted with & as did Moreau with Alexandrine Dureux, with whom he had a twenty-five year relationship. And should anyone call me obsessive, which admittedly wouldn't be for the first time, I would remind them that in many of Rossetti's pictures the woman that he loved was often the model for every woman in one single painting. We have a print of Rossetti's Dante's Dream (see below) on our wall & all four of the women in the picture look almost exactly the same. Now that's something that I call worthy of Romance!
My skill, however, & not in any way that I am complaining, is with words & they are the tools by which I attempt to conjure spells, & I just hope that when I write about the glorious wild-eyed, wild-flower that is my extraordinary wife, that if I am able to capture even just a hint of the magnetic magic & wonder that she radiates in such abundance, then I too, in my humble way, will have touched the stars. So...
Until next time, just very softly & with glittering eyes,
I remain,
Your Nocturnal Butterfly.
Stay Beautiful.
And so ended my trip to Bristol Art Gallery. It contained many enchanting moments, & I'm still a little bit overcome when I recall the mysterious call & gravitational pull that gently drew me to the two diminutive pictures that were the highlight of my visit in that secluded corner of the French Art Room. And I hope it isn't in bad taste to say so, but if anything, the wonderful art that I saw & particularly Moreau's picture has made my sensitive appreciation of beauty even more subtle, & every night I thank whichever stars it were that brought Lydia & myself together with immense gratitude in my heart, as not only is she the most wonderful human being that I have ever met, but her beguiling beauty surpasses even that of Andromeda in Moreau's picture, & if I had been given a painter's talent, I would paint her sacredly & with adoration, as Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted the women that he was so deeply enchanted with & as did Moreau with Alexandrine Dureux, with whom he had a twenty-five year relationship. And should anyone call me obsessive, which admittedly wouldn't be for the first time, I would remind them that in many of Rossetti's pictures the woman that he loved was often the model for every woman in one single painting. We have a print of Rossetti's Dante's Dream (see below) on our wall & all four of the women in the picture look almost exactly the same. Now that's something that I call worthy of Romance!
My skill, however, & not in any way that I am complaining, is with words & they are the tools by which I attempt to conjure spells, & I just hope that when I write about the glorious wild-eyed, wild-flower that is my extraordinary wife, that if I am able to capture even just a hint of the magnetic magic & wonder that she radiates in such abundance, then I too, in my humble way, will have touched the stars. So...
Until next time, just very softly & with glittering eyes,
I remain,
Your Nocturnal Butterfly.
Stay Beautiful.
