Today, it’s tough to comprehend how astonishing it was when one applied colour to a fabric in a simple manner. Certainly, Impressionism is far more than that, but as we commemorate the 150th year of the inaugural Impressionist showcase in 1874, it’s important to recall that not only were audiences taken aback, but there was also notable disdain. This resulted from the fact that, similar to society, European art was controlled by preset norms of the time. Males dressed in a specific style of suit and females wore tight-fitting bodices and were not permitted to venture out unaccompanied. Art was learnt from proficient artists and by reproducing their works, and even the revolution in France, with its executions and expulsions, had stringent rules to abide by.
The yearly Paris Salon bestowed recognition upon artists, by selecting some based upon the evaluation of a jury from the Académie de Beaux-Arts: imagine it like a significantly more buttoned-up RHA Annual. However, by the 1860s, unrest and discontent began to surge. The selection process had become more rigorous and fewer art pieces were picked. Napoleon III stepped in, initiating a secondary Salon, the Salon de Refusés, that put on display some pieces that were turned down. Édouard Manet unveiled his prominent Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe, illustrating a nude model having a picnic with two fully garbed male artists, while another woman, donned in an undergarment, is taking a dip in a pond a little further away.
The depicted model, Victorine Meurent, who was the muse for another contentious painting by Manet, Olympia, was an artist in her own right. In the same year, her work had been endorsed by the Salon. Throughout my years studying art history, I was indoctrinated with the claim that part of the controversy surrounding Manet was the “truth” that she was a courtesan. The field of art history has been unjust towards women in many peculiar ways: where it couldn’t entirely ostracise them, it frequently sidelined, disparaged or as in Meurent’s case, blatantly manipulated the truth. However, a fresh exhibit at the National Gallery reveals that the narrative of females in Impressionism extends far beyond just being muses, models or mother figures.
Following the Salon des Refusés, Manet began to gain a reputation for boldness. Regular associates at Café Guerbois included Claude Monet, Pierre Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, Camille Pissarro and Paul Cézanne, along with a broader range of up-and-coming artists seeking new and unique perspectives in art. Émile Zola was known to make appearances occasionally. Unsurprisingly, the notion of an alternative exhibition was introduced. Monet supported the idea, Degas encouraged extensive artist invitation, while Cézanne suggested the submission of deliberately controversial artworks to the Salon, whereas Manet believed the Salon to be the sole and finest choice. On the 15th of April, 1874, the first show of the aptly-named Société Anonyme des Artistes, Peintres, Sculpteurs, Graveurs, Etc took place, women artists being represented by two among the total 30 artists.
Limited information is available about the Comtesse de Luchaire, but Berthe Morisot’s legacy is vital to the show at the National Gallery and the universe of the group that would later be known as the Impressionists. A frequent exhibitor at the Salons, Morisot participated in all but one of the eight Impressionist exhibitions. Morisot, being the offspring of an affluent French family, received an art education alongside her sisters Yves and Edma. This education included replicating artworks displayed in the Louvre. It was there that she befriended Monet and Manet, the latter becoming her mentor in due course.
The National Gallery’s Women Impressionists exhibit showcases an intriguing piece by Manet — a portrait of Morisot, one of the few paintings by men in the exhibit. This enigmatic work from 1872, predating Morisot’s marriage to Manet’s younger brother by two years, presents her in dark attire, crafted with sharp brush strokes. Morisot’s veil, pictured like a gag or scold’s bridle across her mouth, is the most unsettling aspect, projecting the illusion of a stifled rival in the absence of context; although, the actual intent is arguably the reverse.
The Impressionists received their moniker after a satirical evaluation of their debut show by Louis Leroy, who construed their paintings as mere impressions, predominantly focusing on the title of Monet’s creation, Impression, Sunrise. Despite his mockery’s grain of truth, Leroy was unaware that the capacity to portray an impression, a sunrise, the gleam of light on water, the drape of lace on a woman’s face, a baby’s tender appendages in slumber, or an abundant bloom of water lilies, would open a platform for our minds to engage in the artwork’s purpose and wonder.
Manet’s portrait of Morisot, who was more a collaborator than a mere model, instills a sense of peril and distortion. Behind the muting veil lies a surging power. The work’s reflective foresight perhaps surpassed the initial intention. Morisot was a central character in Théodore Duret’s seminal 1878 treatise on Impressionists. Nonetheless, he had diminished her relevance by 1906, viewing her pieces as “women’s painting”.
What exactly constitutes as “female artists’ work”? This concept is scrutinised through the lens of four influential women that thrived during the Impressionist Era – Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassatt, Eva Gonzalès and Marie Bracquemond – as showcased by the exhibition. It puts forth two simultaneous arguments. In one, the art created by women is equal to that created by men. The artistry of the strokes, the poignant embodiment of light, the alluring drift towards abstraction, and the bold portrayal of the rawness of life are all present, irrespective of the gender of the artist. However, dissimilarities are also apparent.
The exhibition at the National Gallery has its roots in a broader presentation titled ‘Impressionism and its Neglected Women’, originally curated by the Ordrupgaard Museum in Denmark, in association with the National Gallery. In that exhibit, a mesmerising Degas painting of the trapeze artist Anna Olga Albertina Brown in action served as a metaphor for the constraints faced by female artists in the selection of their subject matter. For instance, unlike her male peers, Morisot would have had to be accompanied by a chaperone in order to paint publicly. Exemplifications of harsh city life, dancing halls, circus activities or even capturing life on canvas (unless it was family life) would have been unacceptable.
Sexism is primarily evident in how distinct subjects are valued, as well as in how the art is characterised. Why is art depicting technology, warfare or sex work esteemed higher than pieces showcasing motherhood, an equally fierce and fertile process on its own? Notably, the respected men of the Renaissance Era were never regarded as inferior despite their numerous artworks of Madonna and Child. Maybe we have unintentionally developed a dislike for the subject due to overexposure to the excessively sweet and emotional Victorian depictions.
There are further disparities as well. Morisot’s ‘Woman with a Fan’ from 1874, a portrayal of her close friend Marie Hubbard, emits more authenticity and intimacy than countless paintings of reclining women that populate global art museums. This is more about observing and understanding, rather than simply looking and possessing. Are these brushstrokes sturdy and assertive, or gentle and hesitant? The gender-based descriptions are irrelevant when the artwork is of such high quality.
Stepping into the second display room, the gallery dramatically bursts into radiance. Here you can find the luminescent landscapes of Morisot and Mary Cassatt, their masterful brushstrokes evoke awe and stir emotions at the depth that art can reach – soul included. The exhibition offers a fantastic glimpse into the lives of these artists. An exhibit displays Morisot’s Le Corsage Noir, 1878, an acquisition of the National Gallery in 1936, showcased on a photograph of Julie Manet, Morisot’s offspring. This piece of art also plays the role of decoration in the background of another Morisot work, symbolising their deep entrenchment in a life dedicated to art, in the company of friends who radically transformed the art world. Meanwhile, Morisot’s 1890 artwork – Peasant Girl among Tulips – bears the undertones of a saturated Renoir work. It is interesting to find out that the two often collaborated and employed the same models – which could have led to a shared influence on their art. While Morisot outgrew this influence, Renoir seemed to be trapped.
The influence aspect is intriguing. A suite of prints by Mary Cassatt prominently exhibits Japanese inspiration. In 1856, Félix Braquemond stumbled on a tome full of Japanese master Hokusai’s prints, igniting a fad for Japanese exhibitions in Paris, with one even organised by the acclaimed Vincent Van Gogh. An expatriate in Paris, Mary Cassatt, embodies the vigour, independence and financial savvy. Her work is stunning, particularly her use of abstract paint quality to prod the boundaries, as if foreseeing the artistic revolution that the next half century would witness. For instance, The Visitor, 1880, exhibits a brightly glowing rectangle in the top left-hand corner, perforated with a specter of yellow, something a future artist like Cy Twombly would have aspired to conceive.
Marie Braquemond’s tale is rather melancholic. She was a gifted artist, sharing her life and craft with her equally talented spouse, Félix. However, she was relegated to create her masterpieces from their bedroom while her husband held the privilege of a studio. Was it Félix’s green-eyed monster that forced her into seclusion and subsequently made her renounce her artistic pursuits? Or was it a subtle melange of personal disagreements and domestic stresses?
Marie was born in either 1840 or 1841, and was renowned for regularly showcasing her art alongside fellow Impressionists. Her large-scale creations resonated with the aesthetic of Pierre Bonnard, while others believed it was Bonnard who was influenced by her. As she grew more courageous and innovative in her craft, her husband’s disapproval inversely escalated, leading her to a reclusive lifestyle for her last 30 years. Her artistic pursuits, as well as her displays of work, ceased entirely. Her life came to an end in 1916.
It’s worth noting that Eva Gonzàles, despite not actually exhibiting with the Impressionists, had strong camaraderie with the group and closely mimicked their artistic style. Her life was tragically short-lived, ending at the mere age of 34. The original Ordrupgaard exhibition did justice showcasing the sheer range of talent and creativity she channelled throughout her short life, more so than she’s been honoured with at the National Gallery’s presentation.
Despite these pitfalls, a common thread running between all four artists is birth of a refreshing perspective, and an eagerness to encapsulate an evolving world view. The paintings often depicted figures from the rear, immediate domestic scenes and offered glimpses of new universes beyond windows. There was a deliberate modern edge to them, yet they retained individual uniqueness. This was not just because they were different genders, but distinct individuals with diverse life experiences – a reflection of society at large.