In the French classes I’ve been taking, students give a ten-minute presentation on a subject of their choice. Last week, two students presented, and one of those focused on the artist Amadeo Modigliani. Accompanied by photographs she brought up on her laptop, this student’s brief survey of Modigliani’s work was both informative and engaging, her passion for the artist’s paintings, drawings, and sculptures evident throughout. She also expressed regret that he hadn’t had the long lifetime of, say, Picasso, and wondered what Modigliani might have accomplished if he’d had another thirty or forty years instead of only 36 (born in Livorno, Italy in 1884, he died in Paris in 1920 — and throughout his life, was dogged by illness undoubtedly exacerbated by poverty).
My fellow student’s excitement about Modigliani, and her musings on the tragedy of his short, but prolific, life sent me home thinking about two exhibitions I’ve been lucky enough to see in Paris over the years. One, just last November, was a magnificent exhibition of the works of Egon Schiele and of Jean-Michel Basquiat. I’ll tell/show you more about that soon, but will just say, for now, that the connection I make between Modigliani, Schiele, and Basquiat is that all three were phenomenally prolific from a relatively young age, but all three artistic lives were sadly truncated (Basquiat and Schiele both died at 28).
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| Self-Portrait of/by Egon Schiele, 1912 |
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| Basquiat’s self-portrait, 1984 |
The other exhibition which my classmate’s talk recalled to me was one I only vaguely remembered when she announced her topic (Ce soir, je voudrais vous présenter. . . .). Gradually, as she spoke, images from my memory coalesced until I knew Paul and I had seen Modigliani’s work at the Pinacothèque in Paris in an exhibition of the work of numerous painters, not only Modigliani’s.
The day after that class, I worked my way through two stacks of exhibition catalogues/art books piled temptingly next to my favourite reading couch. Yes! There it was! The hardcover copy (weighty — this would have challenged our carry-on limit that year) of the catalogue for La Collection Jonas Netter: Modigliani, Soutine et l”Aventure de Montparnasse.
Next stop, a concerted rifling-through my box of travel journals to find what I might have noted about this exhibition in general, Modigliani’s paintings in particular — and to determine when it was we’d seen the exhibition. 2012, it turns out. It also turns out that 2012 was still back in the days when I used the pocket-sized lined Moleskine notebooks to record impressions. It was the year, though, that I’d taken that transformative Illustrated Journal class I’ve often referred to here, and I’d brought along a very simple, light, sketchbook with paper that could tolerate a light wash of watercolour. It’s devastatingly clear now how raw I still was to sketching — and encouragingly clear to see how much I’ve improved since then.
Where I’ve also improved since then, I think, is that I tend to take more time writing necessary identifying details. . . .
If I were bothering now, for example, to sketch a composition such as this, taking the time to stand in a busy gallery and (probably furtively, because feeling self-conscious) make a quick rendition of a painting that impressed me, I like to think that I’d write down whose painting it was, what was the title. . . As it is, coming across this quick pencil sketch in one notebook, in sequence that seemed to line up with my notes in the little Moleskine, I first assumed that this painting had been by Modigliani, and I searched through the catalogue and then online trying to find an image of it.
Only after ten or fiften minutes of fruitless searching did I go back to my written notes and read that Modigliani’s Jeune Femme Assise au Corsage Bleu
reminded me, in its simplicity of composition and its colours, of the “Picasso portrait with white hat from yesterday.”
Okay, so now I had some useful breadcrumbs to follow. I thumbed back a few pages in my Kraft-paper-covered pocket-sized Moleskine and found this note
There we go! That’s the non-Modigliani painting that I’d stood in front of and sketched, in an uncomfortably busy Musée de l’Orangerie. I found this photo of it online. Picasso’s Femme au Chapeau Blanc, and I stand by my comparison. . .
What to make of all these painters, all this remembering, all these notes and books and sketches? For me, it’s that integration of travel experience into my everyday lifethat I’ve written about here before. Frustrating as it was, at first, to fossick through that jumbled box of travel notes, to try to remember when and where and what, I was very satisfied at following a thread — at first tentatively, but then with increasing confidence and, ultimately, fist-pumping validation — from my classmate’s presentation through my own memories and artifacts to synthesize a narrative of these four artists’ relation to each other, however idiosyncratic.
And I’m content, also, to be able to travel through my memories without physically leaving that couch, that stack of books. Who knows when that might be the only way I can travel?
One last painting before I go, this one by Moïse Kisling, one of the artists who participated in l’Aventure de Montparnasse with Modigliani and Soutine. As a knitter, I couldn’t resist this one
And there we go. . . Happy Monday!
As always, I’ll be happy to read your comments. . .
I love your memory-threading and the way you keep (and later investigate and connect) your travels alive
I love Modigliani's paintings as well-it is interesting how his, and some other artist's living in Paris,works play a little part of the plot in Rebecca Makkai's The Great Believers
Dottoressa
Thanks, Dra. I didn't know this title, and I'm adding it to my list.
Inspiration from your fellow French student sent you on a satisfying trip down memory lane. Lucky you, keeping books and records to jog your memory further and to remind how much of your travels are integrated in your everyday, usual life.
Loving art-and music as I do, have always been fascinated by artists' lives, thought, emotions and how they live.
The 2 artists dying at 28 you mentioned brought to mind what Rolling Stone calls The 27 Club ( for years I thought it was 28).
This sad, but esteemed group of artists died at that shocking age of 27. Amy Winehouse,Kurt Cobain,Kristin Pfaff,Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison…..All the same age.
Reading your post and thinking of this this morning, this quote came to mind, "Light that burned twice as bright burned half as long".
Always so much thought provoked when you write about any subject. Many thanks.
A.in London
As Edna St. Vincent Millay said in "First Fig": "My candle burns at both ends / It will not last the night; / But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends – / It gives a lovely light."
Reading even brief biographies of any of these artists who died young, however, it seems the "lovely light" was accompanied by considerable despair and pain. . .
We keep journals and notes in order to pin down memories later, right? I am glad you followed the threads.
I have vivid memories of certain places but don't have photos (maybe they didn't turn out, in the days of film? Or I lost the cannister?) and what I noted doesn't quite match the memory. So frustrating. Where was that street lined with restaurants? Where were those squares with night-lit fountains? ARGH!
Yes, I know this frustration you speak of! I have been known to get quite cross with Pater for not helping me remember, despite my very precise prompts (which, at least once, turned out to have come from a film we saw together, not a place we actually visited. . . 😉
P.S. I miss Wendy in York. Is she OK? Haven't seen ber around here lately.
A. in London
Wendy comments occasionally on my IG posts, but you're right, she hasn't left words here for some time — I think she was having trouble with Blogger, as others have commented. It seems to prefer PC to mobile, but that's not at all consistent. . . .
I used to buy the exhibition guides in galleries. Your post has prompted me to revisit them. What a good idea! I used to have a framed Modigliani poster but it got replaced a long time ago.
The guides generally have a few good accompanying essays about the artists and their work, and I always intend to read those later. For many of the books, "Later" hasn't yet arrived, but I live in good intention 😉
That last painting… the colour, the knitting, I love, love, love it! Ackk. Pardon the gushing.
Now must go and fill the water containers. We're getting a ton of snow today, and high winds. And we're kind of assuming that we'll lose power tonight. Guess we'll soon appreciate our wood stove even more than we do now! 🙂
Isn't it rich? The jewel-like colours, the appreciation, attention, even elevation of domestic/feminine/craft work by a male artist. . . I get the gushing!
Good luck with the power. We left a snowstorm behind us to drive down the coast to northern Oregon, but have to turn around and face the music soon. . . I suspect we'll be home just in time for a prolonged and messy melt-and-freeze, melt-and-freeze-and-repeat cycle. . .
Isn't it funny how a conversation (or class) may stir memories and send you on a search to tie the threads together? How satisfying to find those memories tucked away so that you may explore further.
It was satisfying, Mary. . .
I think your old sketch is charming – it alluded to the painting very well IMO. How we make connections, how we remember, how we seize time. I wonder if you, who knit with your hands, also choose sketching for memory and submerging in time so as to essentially hold it.
Such an interesting and insightful comment — knitting is not only very tactile handiwork, but one that is saturated with time. As well, I played piano for countless hours from childhood through to early midlife, although I scarcely do anymore — so there is something in what you say, I think, about a pull back to expressing myself through that neurological route. . .
This sparked a memory of a classmate in French class way back in college who also presented on Modigliani. I remember thinking what an interesting perspective – she said that it had been suggested that the faces were elongated because perhaps he had astigmatism. And I recently saw a fascinating documentary of Basquiat on Independent Lens. I love that you made a sketch of the Picasso.
slf
It's an intriguing theory, isn't it?
I should look for that Basquiat documentary.
The elongated form of a longneck Modigliani woman never failed to draw me in. I'm fascinated with the mask like stare…very mysterious and alluring. Almost the same fascination when I watched the graceful forms of those tall longneck Maasai women walking across the screen of a National Geographic documentary. The colors and lights exuding from the last picture of the knitter raises my spirit and moods on this gloomy winter day. Those are precious journals holding your own Aladdin's cave of past memories…fossicking thru them is like a magic carpet ride to the past. More so as you've mentioned above "to be able to travel through my memories without physically leaving that couch…" Amelia xx
Thanks Amelia — happy to be able to raise your spirit by sharing art.
Hi from San Francisco. What a delight to read this entry! My favorite artist is Modigliani and I just saw the Egon Schiele, Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibit in Oct. 2018. Such a treat to see one exhibit right next to the other. I try to copy Modigliani but I have been unsuccessful so far. I think you might be pretty good at it. So nice to have a cell phone with camera to capture both the painting and the plaque next to it. Jennie
Wasn't that an amazing exhibition! I'll admit I began flagging by the end — a lot to see in one go! — but wonderful to be able to think of them in tandem. And yes, that cell phone camera helps get the interpretative details so that I can later remember which painting by whom 😉
Speaking of Edna St. V M, when we meet in person one day, I will tell you my tale of how, as a 17 year old, I somehow arranged a private visit to Steepletop, her NY State home for a long afternoon meeting with a close relative and saw her writings…and had some whiskey. That chapter of my life is called, Corrupted by Poetry and Whiskey!
A in London
That's a story I'd love to hear! And I think you must write that chapter 😉
I loved teaching my students her "Whose Lips These Lips Have Kissed And Where and Why" and "I Shall Forget You Presently, My Dear". . .
I was struck by the last picture. In spite of the red sweater and the light on the woman's face and hands, there is no warm glow about her. She seems to be perched on a stool, her cup is empty, her knitting is shining in a cold, bright white. It is serious work she is doing there.
I'm surprised you don't find any warm glow there, but well aware that the photograph (of a photograph) doesn't pay any justice to the painting. It's true that her perch on the stool wouldn't suit me (although I sometimes stand at the counter with my knitting if I've been sitting too long), but her body looks relaxed and comfortable to me. And I'm not sure how you can know that her cup is empty — it looks opaque to me, so that while it's not full to the brim, it could be at least half full. I do wonder about the bright whiteness of the knit garment (and I'm curious about what she's knitting — my first guess would have been socks or stockings but only two needles?). We have such different responses to the painting — interesting, eh?
Don't get me wrong. I didn't mean to say that the knitter must be uncomfortable or even that the painting made me feel so. I just felt that her activity is not a way to relax or to spend leasure time – it is a productive activity which requires complete concentration. ( At first I thought that she is making a hat, but I was also puzzled by the number of needles.)
Of course I might feel different if I stood in front of the original painting…
It's so subjective, obviously. I see her as more relaxed than you do, especially her face, but perhaps I'm influenced by the warm tones throughout. . . And yes, it may be that I've carried an impression from standing in front of the painting years ago.