

At the Louvre, a secret world in Corot's drawings
By Souren Melikian
Friday, June 8, 2007
Note: An Article in the International Herald Tribune that helps explain art mechanics to everyman.
PARIS: A painter's drawings provide the unedited version of his œuvre as well as his visual work notes. All that is left out when the artist picks up his brushes is there, jotted down with the intensity of first impressions. "Corot," in 50 drawings on view at the Louvre until September, allows a glimpse into the secret world of one of the most intriguing French masters.
Jean-Baptiste Corot, the son of a milliner and her shopkeeper husband, was the quiet man of French art who turned out to be one of its great revolutionaries.
His parents apprenticed Jean-Baptiste to a cloth merchant. The experience having ended in failure, the youth was allowed to go his own way and trained under the painters Michallon and Bertin, in whose landscapes French art veered toward naturalism. They, however, adhered to the time-honored principles of balance in composition and color.
Was it because of his background, the Parisian petite bourgeoisie without the varnish of culture and manners, that Corot's approach was different from the start? His earliest sketches done in Italy between 1826 and 1828 reveal a love of nature in its uncouth quaintness.
In the summer of 1826 while travelling along the Tiber, Corot gazed at the caves near Papigno. The overhang of a steep rocky mound allowing the eye to roam beyond into a brightly lit space fascinated him. He sketched in pen and brown ink a tumultuous landscape that throws overboard the rules of harmonious composition. A huge tree rises in the foreground. The rocky overhang, although further away, seems to collide with it. The sketch is feverishly done, in short strokes and zigzag lines. This is very different from the ravishing little landscapes that Corot began painting around that time.
Near Civita Castellana, a brook running between bolders with disheveled trees bending over it caught the draftsman's eye. You can feel the cool of the water and the breeze making the curving branches sway. Not until Gustave Courbet's emergence would such pure naturalism reappear in French art. Some of Corot's graphic experiments were bolder still. The spindly, tortuous tree trunks and branches that he sketched in 1827 herald Egon Schiele's tormented pen strokes 80 years later or so. None of this is echoed in the young artist's paintings of Italian scenery.
Nor do these give the faintest hint that the landscapist occasionally sketched in a manner that harks back to early 16th century masters. A view of a steep rocky hillside crowned by tiny trees calls to mind some of Fra Bartolomeo's dainty sketches.
Corot's little-known interest in Medieval architectural design left no trace in his paintings either. A detailed drawing of the apse of a church in Rouen cannot be identified, but a sketch of the Western facade of the cathedral at Chartres done in 1830 leaves no doubt about the accuracy with which Corot observed churches. The houses around it are summarily outlined - it is the cathedral that Corot was concerned about when drawing. Remarkably, in his painting of the monument, the reverse effect is sought. Houses and trees fill the lower part of the cityscape, while the cathedral appears in the distance.
The differences separating Corot's sketches from his paintings are even more interesting in his portraiture, albeit distinctly more subtle. When observing humans, pencil in hand, Corot was receptive to an endless range of moods, with psychological nuances that somehow get lost in his painted portraits, marvelous as many are.
One of his earliest likenesses in black pencil shows a young countrywoman feeding her baby. The draftsman gave all his attention to her intense stare, and the mix of timidity and fierce determination conveyed by her body language. The shoulders, slightly huddled in diffidence, the protective gesture of her arms in which the infant is snugly cradled, are admirably observed.
In another sketch, later by a decade, Corot scrutinized a young woman's distress. With her head bent forward, she stares in frozen despair as if pondering her predicament. The seated posture is dispatched in a few strokes, but great care has been taken in rendering the shadows under the eyes and the unsmiling mouth. This is a far cry from Corot's ravishing portraits in oil of young women.
Even in those drawings in which the effect achieved comes closest to that of fully finished paintings, the depth of feeling, enhanced by the light touch, places them in another league.
A "Young Woman with Folded Arms" is seen seated, bending over her crossed arms, in an effort to think hard. She too is mirthless, a characteristic that is more common in Corot's sketches of women than in painted portraits.
When observing his sitters, Corot the draftsman seems to have taken an interest in characters that never appear in his pictures. One of his most extraordinary likenesses is that of a musician steadying her lute. She stares at the artist with the whites of her eyeballs showing above the pupils, as if in a fit of hysteria.
Corot's perception of the material world around him as well as of people varied constantly, swinging from one extreme to another in style as in mood, in contrast to his painting, in which the unity of tone is fairly constant at any given period of his career.
In 1852, the artist used the back of a card announcing a religious service celebrated in memory of his mother to jot down a landscape in a few lines. There are hardly any specific details. A vague human figure seems to be sketched in the foreground and a tiny dome looms in the distance. Three wobbly lines shooting up stand for trees. All the rest is abstract in what looks more like the transcription of mental notations than a figural drawing.
This trend towards the elimination of specific detail is equally apparent in some drawings done with great care in black chalk.
A fascinating case is that of a sketch of one of his own paintings. Corot did it from memory in March or April 1859, while staying in Arras, in order to give his friend Constant Dutilleux an idea of a painting, "Dante and Virgil," that he had sent to the Salon.
The picture, now in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, is sufficiently detailed to be unambiguous in subject. In the sketch two very small draped figures standing in a dark forest can be made out, but the wild beasts of the painting are barely visible and the trees are only identified by their black shafts. The foliage is reduced to a mass of black strokes. The dramatic atmosphere is solely conveyed through the use of black, not details.
The masterpiece in Corot's black manner is "A Woman Seated by a Bed." Seen three quarters back, she leans forward over what is supposed to be the bed, but is mysteriously flooded with light under a tent-like dais. A tiny statuette of a seated woman appears in the distance on an indistinct piece of furniture and a frame is vaguely visible on a wall. Few interior scenes are ever as short on detail.
In a landscape in pen and wash, the same allusive brevity prevails. Rippling green lines run in the foreground. The trees resemble irregular swaying bands with grayish green patches around. The landscape is suggested through rhythm and color. Nothing is actually depicted. Although the connection with oil painting of the period is clear enough, the differences remain considerable. The thrust is not weakened by painterly coloristic effects, the composition owes its lightness to the quasi-elimination of detail.
Corot the draftsman was thus as abruptly concise as Corot the painter was dreamily poetic. In his oil portraits, the painter reined in raw emotions. In his drawings, he responded to the harshness of life for women in a misogynist society.
To nonspecialists, the little-known facets to his œuvre that come out in the drawings are a revelation. A slim catalogue with factual entries by Arlette Sérullaz, curator emeritus of the prints and drawings department, accompanies the show. If you cannot make it to what is still called by many "le Cabinet des dessins," do not miss the delightful booklet.