Rubens, Portrait of Sussanne Fourment (“Le Chapeau de Paille”), 1635; and Le Brun, Self Portrait, 1782; both in the National Gallery, London.
Here are two pictures:
Gary
Wills says Venetians commissioned wedding portraits of brides; he says the
famous reclining Venus who appears to be masturbating is an example, if a bit
extreme, among surviving examples of the genre. Such pictures were thought to encourage the couple’s amorous
instincts so as to start them off as lovers and as producers of the next
generation. This might be
particularly important as marriages were arranged and the bride and groom may
only have met once. Getting an
advance peek and a wee bit horny might be a good idea.
Rubens’
portrait of his future sister-in-law could be in this tradition. One site I looked at claimed the red on
her sleeves is the most striking part of the picture. That comment is willfully stupid; her breasts, squeezed to
bursting out of her bodice with excitement and anticipation, seize one’s attention
immediately. It looks like the
lace that’s meant to cover her boobs has slipped a bit! If I can draw my eyes away, her warm,
dark eyes look into mine, her red lips smile, her cheeks are flushed, her hair,
too, seems reddish. The red on the
sleeves reinforce the message, as red is the color of love and passion. All the other colors are rich and
lush. The background is turbulent: the wedding night will not be
placid. Rubens has left nothing
out: the Flemish propagandist of the Counter Reformation has left us a very
erotic picture.
Over
150 years later, le Brun (1755 – 1842) painted her self-portrait. While Rubens was a devout Catholic and
enthusiast of the counter-reformation, le Brun, a young French woman of whom I
know little, lived in a more secular age and painted women of Versailles, a
class noted for doubtful morals. Of course, this portrait is not a wedding
portrait. However, le Brun did
choose such a portrait as her model.
Maybe this portrait is an advertisement; using a commissioned portrait
as an ad before delivering it to the sitter was common enough among her English
contemporaries.
On
first glace, the self-portrait is demure:
a cool color of the dress – compared to the striking red --, a
cooler, alabaster skin on the chest, and paler eyes. The sky is cloudy, but not turbulent. The dress hides more than it reveals.
Le Brun stands back, the painter’s body withdraws from the canvas; Rubens is bolder,
he is almost in his subject’s lap.
Le Brun holds her palette: this is a professional woman about her business;
she just pauses to look at the artist and viewer. Is the palette a shield to ward us off? Or just a declaration of her
profession? This is a picture of a
woman in public life, not an intimate portrait of a woman about to be married.
I
can imagine an erotic undertone, I suppose, as if Le Brun wished to, but can’t,
put more erotic energy into the picture.
The palette tugs at her dress, pulling the dress down to her left and
giving a hint of her bust. Her
lips are red, there is a blush on her cheeks, and she looks directly at the
viewer, more directly in fact, than Rubens’ subject. Sussanne Fourment’s
head is tilted downwards; Le Brun
accepts our gaze and encourages it.
On
the one hand, we have a professional artist promoting her trade, recommending
her talent to potential customers.
On the other hand, she chose a call and response approach to Rubens’
portrait: her pose, her hat, dress
and eyes, cheeks and lips are there.
Its eroticism is downplayed, but she can’t eliminate it entirely. It’s this tension between her
professional requirements and her artistic and human response to Rubens that
gives this portrait its power.
I
like this portrait. Le Brun has a
decent talent; the painting shows us a lively, pretty, business like artist; if
you commission a portrait from her, you’d get good value and not be bored
sitting.
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