In celebration of the 150th anniversary of the first show by Impressionist painters, the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC has a great show called “Paris 1874: The Impressionist Moment”. I have had a chance to see it twice so far, and in between visits read Sebastian Smee’s new book on the same topic, Paris in Ruins: Love, War, and the Birth of Impressionism. All of this gave rise to three coaching-related ideas, about the messiness of transitions, the importance of moving forward, and the marvel of Berthe Morisot.
The first Impressionist show opened April 15, 1874, at the studio of noted photographer Nadar on the Boulevard des Capucines in a new neighborhood in Paris. The 30 men and Berthe Morisot who showed their paintings in this exhibit, calling themselves the Societe Anonyme, were rebelling against the establishment show, the famed Paris Salon. The Salon was the make or break event for artists of the time. It was competitive, but if you got in, your chances of selling your work skyrocketed. It was huge, it was a big social event, and it set the rules for painting in those days. Paintings that made the cut were realistic, with no evident brushstrokes, and displayed great technical skill. They adhered to a hierarchy of subject matter, with historical and mythical subjects at the top. Mere landscapes or interiors were bottom rung. The group that came to be called Impressionists were rebelling against this mode of painting and the hierarchy, instead celebrating authenticity, capturing transient moments, using light and color and bold, evident brushstrokes to capture not the past but the present fleeting moment. Not surprisingly, they painted en plein air, outdoors, and sought to capture the transient light.
The point of this show is to demonstrate that this was not a mere intellectual exercise for the Impressionists. This rebellion against the establishment style was also an emotional reaction to the trauma of the catastrophe caused by the Franco-Prussian War and the Paris Commune. In 1870, France with its large but out of shape army picked a fight with Prussia. The Prussians, led by Otto von Bismarck, were primed and ready and made quick work of the disorganized French forces. Parisians shared the hubris of their army and were shocked at the unimaginable outcome. Then the Prussians laid siege to Paris, causing considerable damage to the city as well as terrible food and supply shortages. Parisians were reduced to eating pets, rats, and zoo animals. (Apparently elephant meat is oily and disappointing, so bad that, like an elephant, you’ll never forget eating it.) When the siege ended, France had to figure out how to govern itself, and this did not go well. Forces loyal to the monarchy marched upon radicals who had forged a government called the Paris Commune. The violence was horrendous, with as many as 20,000 Parisians dying in brutal massacres. Overall, Paris had essentially destroyed itself.
Some artists, like Camille Pissarro, lost everything. Others, like Monet, left for London and came back to discover devastation. Edouard Manet joined the National Guard and saw some action. Some artists, like Frederic Bazille, were killed in action. Families like the Morisots found a way to endure through the violence and misery.
One of the things I find noteworthy about the reaction of the Impressionists is that they moved forward. It is remarkable how little of the artwork created by the eventual Impressionists after the annee terrible dwells on the devastation. Manet, for example, did a couple of etchings. James Tissot did a little-known watercolor that showed executed Communards. But mostly, the Impressionists moved forward. It’s certainly possible that for some the trauma of the events was too much to bear and they moved toward gentler subjects. The end result however, is that this new art was not focused on representations of what had already happened, on history. It was leaving behind the hierarchical approach of the establishment and moving into the future by painting in the present moment.
The show also illustrates the messiness of transition. Transitions are notoriously messy, so much so that one often doesn’t realize that it is going on. This exhibit notes the paintings that were shown at the Salon that year, and those that were shown at the Societe Anonyme. Sometimes it is quite surprising to see what was in one show or the other. Some painters dabbled at Impressionist techniques, some pushed at the boundaries of establishment techniques. Manet was a great example. He had sought to get paintings approved by the Salon in years past and was committed to succeeding on those terms. Yet he is renowned as the paterfamilias of the Impressionist movement, because of his daring in subject matter and technique. He’s got a foot in both worlds.
Both of these developments are of note for my coaching clients undergoing transitions to something new, reinventions of themselves, their careers, or how they work. It’s messy, and there are days that feel like new progress, and other days that feel like backsliding, or that one is stuck. Acknowledging the messiness and continuing to move forward allow the change to happen. The change the Impressionists drove was intentional, to be sure, but boosted by the catalyst of the catastrophe that Paris had brought upon itself.
Berthe Morisot’s intentionality through all of this is an inspiration. In the late 1860’s, she painted alongside her equally talented sister, Edma. She knew people like Manet and Edgar Degas, and for a time felt like she could never attain their sophisticated style. She also struggled with the limitations society placed on women artists. Women were not permitted to copy masterworks in the Louvre without chaperones, painting outdoors was considered declasse, and in general women artists were not considered as skilled. Her sister chose to get married instead, and become a mother – a valid life choice, to be sure, but Berthe lost a supportive painting partner. As she gets to know Manet, their relationship deepens but she still regards him with deference. One occasion may have been a tipping point. She was working on a painting of her sister and mother and struggling with the depiction of her mother. Manet asked how it was going, and when Berthe revealed that she was having some trouble. Manet invited himself over to “mansplain” how to fix it. Incredibly, he actually picked up a brush and started with a small change that gave way to significant changes to the mother figure. This went on for an entire afternoon, Berthe cringing the whole time. Worse still, the delivery man came to take Berthe’s paintings for her Salon submission that year, and Manet insisted that this painting be included. Berthe hoped it would be rejected.
But by March after the awful winter, Berthe had developed a steely resolve. Against all manner of social pressure against women painters, and social pressure to get married (she was nearly 30) she resisted. Even her mother told her that she didn’t have what it takes to be a great painter and that she should give it up. But Berthe wrote to her sister on March 23, exploring whether she should leave Paris to stay in a safer suburb. She wrote that she needed to be able to paint, saying that despite her illness, the horrors of the violence, fear for personal safety, and maternal pressures, “work is the sole purpose of my existence.” She was deciding, at this point, that she would devote herself to being a professional artist.
She had found a new confidence. And perhaps she found that painting was a way for her to cope with all the awful things happening around her. She grew as an artist and was thoroughly willing to take risks. Her relationship with Manet, deep enough that to this day people wonder if it was a romantic affair, was less deferential. Smee describes a “conversation in paint” with Manet, in which each is pushing the other to grow, and Berthe sees him as a peer and is a clear influence on him, as well.
Eventually, Berthe and Edouard will have to decide about where to show their paintings in 1874. Manet will stay with the Salon, seeking to succeed on those terms. Morisot, however, chooses the Societe Anonyme. It’s hard from this contemporary perspective to grasp how courageous this decision was. Morisot by this point had confidence in her art and talent, and confidence in her choices. Maybe this confidence was forged by tribulation. Maybe she felt abandoned by her sister, and betrayed by her mother. Maybe she felt like she had little left to lose. But I think by this point she had worked through the messiness of her own transition. The courage was always there; she found a way to call on it regularly. More than the other Impressionists, Berthe Morisot moved forward with her reinvention of herself as a professional artist and with her clear artistic vision.
She uses increasingly bold brushstrokes. She’s not afraid to break “the rules” and leave wisps of blank canvas. She even found a way to turn being a woman into an advantage. In marketing, a key precept is to be distinctive or unique. Morisot was able to paint intimate interior perspectives on women, in settings that men simply didn’t have access to. Paintings of her sister, for example, or women getting dressed, are not subjects the men could paint.
By the time of her untimely passing, at age 54, she had exhibited and sold paintings in seven of the eight Societe Anonyme shows. She was the true leader of the Impressionists. They venerated her and honored her appropriately. She had found her talent, cultivated it through catastrophe and loss, made a clear decision to be a professional, and led an artistic movement.
Reinvention is messy, and it’s easy to get lost in it. It takes courage to move forward, but moving forward is the key. Berthe Morisot made the conscious decision to be one thing and not the other, to be a painter and nothing else, and moved forward. She left the norms of the Salon behind and blazed her own trail, transforming herself and the history of art.