Eureka by Jean Georges Vibert

We continue our weeklong look at master artist Jean Georges Vibert (1840-1902), who painted many satirical pictures of the church and its clergy.

We mentioned earlier that in the 1860s, Vibert traveled to Spain with his friend Eduardo Zamacois, a young Spanish artist.  Vibert collected Spanish clothing and objects, which were later used to create scenery for many of his ecclesiastical paintings.  But while Spain influenced many of Vibert’s paintings, his travel to the East also affected his style of painting. Vibert’s sense of fine detail was a quality that he shared with the Orientalists.

Always versatile, Vibert also became an advocate of watercolors, formalizing the Societe des Aquarellistes Francais, and becoming its president, in 1878. He was also an author and actor, writing plays and sometimes appearing in them.  (Vibert also had an active association with stage and theatrical productions in Paris.)  He also used his scientific abilities to prepare his own colors after studying the chemistry of colors, and wrote a book of the science of painting in 1891, La Science de la Peinture.

Vibert wrote stories for The Century Magazine, sometimes based on scenes from his paintings, finding it a convenient way to advertise his works in America. In 1878, Jean placed six watercolors and seven oil paintings on exhibition in the Exposition Universelle, and was awarded a third-class medal.

Like many artists, Vibert compared his works to fatherhood – he loves all of his ‘children,’ though he wasn’t always completely satisfied with them. If I were he, I would have a particular fondness for today’s picture, Eureka.

Once again, Vibert places his cardinal in a setting of enviable luxury.  The secretary desk at which he sits was, I’m sure, a valuable antique when Vibert painted the picture let alone today.  The green felt of the writing blotter is clear, as are the beautifully rendered books at eye level.  The secretary comes complete with a pillow for the prelate’s sensitive feet, and sports two-toned wood.  (Your correspondent has a particular liking for this picture because a small, black onyx Sphinx is clearly visible on the cardinal’s desk opposite the inkwell.)

There is an elaborately carved vase of flowers overhead, and floridly-painted walls surround door and mantle trim.  The beautifully depicted parquet floor is immaculate, as the cardinal’s robes and golden tassel rest upon it without danger of soiling. 

The drapery of the cardinal’s robes is, as per usual with Vibert, painted with a sure hand; indeed, he fully understands both the beauty, the extravagance, and the absurdity of the clerical costume.  I particularly like how much attention he lavishes on the priestly red shoes – particularly the buckles.  (Remember the luminescent pumps worn by the Preening Peacock seen earlier...)

 

“Eureka,” of course, is an exclamation of discovery or “I have found it!”  One would expect such an epiphany form a cardinal to be spiritual in nature, but such simplicities should never be expected from Vibert.  In fact, it’s quite clear from the cardinal’s face that he has crystalized some perfidy … either a sneaky way around a problem, or, perhaps, a manner of creating a new problem.  This is not the smiling to the self over a job well done, but a dirty deal just devised, or an argument or position that cannot be countered.  The expression is more Bernie Madoff than Vicar of Christ, and, as such, indicative of Vibert’s subversive humor.

More Vibert tomorrow!

The Preening Peacock by Jean Georges Vibert

The selection a new Pope is an occasion of great pomp and ceremony – which can also be seen with an awe-stricken eye not unmixed with amusement.  The great solemnity of the time seems to tweak the pawkish humor of many of us, as commentators, historians and artists seek to see the complete, fallible human being behind the exalted figurehead. 

One of the most amusing critics of the church was master painter Jean Georges Vibert (1840-1902), who used his genius to eviscerate church hypocrisy with wit and panache.  His meditations on churchmen demonstrate the growing democratization of Europe, and illustrate the start of a Continental movement away from superstition and servitude.

Like many of the artists we’ve covered in The Jade Sphinx, the young Vibert was a mediocre student.  He spent most of his school time drawing rather than studying; he did know that his ultimate goal was to be an artist, and he began training with his grandfather Jean-Pierre-Marie Jazet, a celebrated engraver.  Later on he would study with Felix Joseph Barrias, and would enter the Ecole des Beaux-Arts when he was 16.  He would study there for six years, working mostly with artist Franciois-Edouard Picot.

In the 1860s, Vibert traveled to Spain with his friend Eduardo Zamacois, a young Spanish artist.  Vibert collected Spanish clothing and objects, which he would later use to create scenery for many of his ecclesiastical paintings.  The two men would work together in 1866 on their Salon entry, Entrance of the Torenros, an unusual move, as most artists did not work collaboratively at that time.

Vibert made his solo debut three years earlier with two works, The Siesta and Repentance.  In 1864, he was awarded a medal for his Narcissus Transformed into a Flower.  It was also around this time that Vibert started painting the clergy in a manner both humorous and contemptuous.

Both the humor and contempt are on display with this wonderful picture, The Preening Peacock.  First, let’s look at all the aspects of the picture that immediately stamp it as a work of great technical skill.  Vibert highlights the figure of the priest by placing him against a neutral background, here muted trees and a nondescript classical stairway and railing.  The neutrality of the background brings to life the vivid hues of the reds and blues of priest and peacock, respectively.  It may also be significant that the trees are wintery and dead and the staircase slightly worn – a symbol, perhaps, of the internal decay of the priestly figure.

The priest is rendered in splendid detail, with each fold and drape of his robes depicted with precise technique.  His medals and ornamentations are richly painted, as are the gold embroidery of his hat band and the shine on his shoes.  Look, too, at the gold tassels dangling from his girdle and the red tassels at the knob of his cane.  Red socks are visible above his highly-polished patent leather pumps, and white ruffles are visible at his cuffs.

But best of all, look at how the priest stands: back up, chin up, chest puffed out.  He is not posing, he is preening.  Vibert then underscores this with the look of smug self-satisfaction on the priest’s face, as well as a certain … vacuity.  His religious fever seems to go no further than fashion.

To make the joke complete, Vibert places a strutting peacock behind the priest.  But who is following who…?  And to illustrate that the priest is not a unique case of silken soft-headedness, there is another peacock in the background.  This priest is one of a flock.

More Vibert tomorrow!