Prud’hon My Absence: Male Nude Leaning on a Rock

I ask my readers to forgive my several days absence, but your correspondent had heavy business obligations that kept him away.  I had also promised another work by Pierre-Paul Prud'hon (1758--1823), so here is another magnificent academic drawing by the master, Male Nude Leaning on a Rock.

The model for this drawing was named Lena, one of two models used by Prud’hon with the same name.  Were there two Lena brothers, or father and son?  That is not known, and though Goncourt states that Lena was the ‘usual male model’ for Prud’hon, it’s unlikely with his bald pate and rather prominent features that he did much work for the artist.  Indeed, he seems to appear in only two other drawings.

This work is done on blue paper with black and white chalk.  I have not seen the original myself, but it appears that a smaller piece of paper was hitched to a larger one – you can see that the figure’s toe and part of the rock extend beyond a horizontal line near the bottom of the page.

This drawing is little short of magnificent.  Note how Prud’hon uses white chalk to accentuate the straining muscles of the arms, which are used to support the weight of the model.  Note, too, how the figure seems to twist to one side as it leans forward – a natural reaction for anyone in the same pose.  (Try it yourself.)  His genitalia are pushed to the side to accommodate his bent leg, and Prud’hon uses a masterful circular shadow thrown by the arm over the bent leg to create a rounded mass as it juts forward.  He also uses a mix of black and gray to delineate the length of the body as it recedes into the distance, and builds up very dark shadows on the arm and arm pits where the light cannot reach.

Though one might think the foot partially hidden by the rock is overlarge, it is important to remember that artists habitually draw feet too small, and that a normal-sized foot is usually as large as a normal sized head.

The truly magnificent achievement of this drawing is the head – for the head is not level, but both tilted and turned.  Prud’hon manages to capture the shift in perspective caused by the tilt and – perhaps my favorite detail of the drawing – the dark shadow cast by the head over the shoulder does not fully cover the barest section of shoulder blade that manages to capture light.

Most artists of Prud’hon’s heroic age made academic drawings during their initial artistic training, and then abandoned the practice.  They drew, of course, but mainly studies or cartoons as a preliminary step to developing a painting or fresco.  Not so Prud’hon, who continued to produce academic drawings throughout his life.  This made him something of an anomaly – these drawings were often time-consuming to create and had little value to collectors or buyers at the time – indeed, Prud’hon’s magnificent drawings were considered of negligible value once his work was sold at the time of his death.  Now, they are considered his greatest artistic legacy.

But he loved to draw.  There is a story told by Eugene Delacroix, who knew several of Prud’hon’s students, including Auguste-Joseph Carrier.  Delacroix wrote that:

In the last years of his life, Prud’hon could be seen spending all of his evenings in the studio of one of his students, Monsieur Trezel, drawing from the model as if he were a student himself.  He felt very comfortable there, with his pencil case in hand, in the company of these young people.  His kindness toward them was inexhaustible.  Many accomplished artists also had reason to praise him.  He often neglected his own work to help colleagues out with his advice and his able hand.

Tomorrow we will take a look at a Prud’hon painting.

Prud’hon’s Portrait of Constance Mayer

Pierre-Paul Prud'hon (1758--1823) was a French painter and one of the most superlative draughtsmen of his time.  He was born in Cluny, Saone-et-Loire, and was trained in France and Italy.  He worked primarily in Paris and was a favorite of Napoleon.

There has been much debate over whether to characterize Prud’hon as a Classicist or Romantic artist, and there is no better illustration of this conundrum than this stunning drawing of Constance Mayer, rendered in black and white chalk on blue paper.  It was drawn sometime around 1805 and by any yardstick is a remarkable drawing.

Before lingering on this lovely image, let’s spend a moment on the story of Prud’hon and Mayer, one of the most tragic and affecting in the history of art.  Mayer was born in 1775 and was an artist herself, taught by J.B. Greuze, among others.  She was a pupil and later lover of Prud’hon, raising his children for him instead of his invalid wife.  They also collaborated on several paintings and the historical record is sometimes cloudy on what components were from Prud’hon, and which were courtesy of Mayer. 

On her deathbed in 1821, Madame Prud’hon requested that he never remarry, and he promised her, “no, never.”  Upon hearing this, Mayer bade farewell to her own pupils and cut her throat with Prud’hon’s razor.  Prud’hon was not able to save her life and his own health declined after the incident.  He died in 1823, and Prud’hon and Mayer were buried in the same grave in Père Lachaise, Paris.

What a magnificent picture.  Mayer seems to have turned away from her work to give Prud’hon a smile.  The light falls from above, creating dark shadows on her face and around her eyes, which are vibrantly alive.  There are times when the moment seems too intimate, and that we are mere intruders.

Note not only Mayer’s curls, but the shadows they throw on her forehead and the hollows of her eyes.  Not only that, but through some alchemy of chalk and paper, Prud’hon manages to convey a sense of dew upon his beloved’s brow.  The artist uses white judiciously – note how it highlights the moist, and most reflective sections, of her face but not her teeth, which would render Mayer little better than an advertisement.  He also uses his paper to create a satisfactory mid-tone, allowing him to gradually build shadows under the curve of her neck, and create a deep, velvety black for the collar of her jacket. 

The ribbon in her hair is clearly, but not fussily, delineated, and the white of her blouse (or, perhaps, her artist’s apron) creates a non-distracting focus.

This portrait so clearly illustrates the dilemma of whether Prud’hon was a Classicist or Romantic simply because it accomplishes both goals so splendidly.  The portrait has a mastery of line, command of form and finish that clearly aligns Prud’hon with the polished Classicists; however, the homey, almost spontaneous nature of the pose and costume clearly falls in the province of the Romantics.  For this correspondent, I contend that Prud’hon was an arch-Classicist – Romantics (and later Impressionists) largely gave up on drawing, and this picture is literally a glowing example of drawing virtuosity. 

This portrait was probably drawn during the first year of their liaison, so Mayer is around 30 years old here.  Mayer herself obviously loved it, for she painted a miniature from this drawing for her father.  The original always hung near Prud’hon’s easel.

After Mayer’s suicide, he gave the drawing to another of his pupils, August-Joseph Carrier.  He could not look at it any longer, and told Carrier “hide it well, my friend, I am not strong enough to bear its sight anymore.”

It is impossible to look at the smiling Mayer, so young, so vibrant, and so pleasantly sensual, and not think of the horrible end that awaits her.  Our historical hindsight adds to the profound pathos already evident in the picture for, as with many Classicists, Prud’hon captures the pathos of the human condition simply by expertly recording it.

More on Prud’hon and Constance tomorrow!