Cornelis Kloos- surrealism & fun on the Dutch dunes

On the Beach, 1929

Cornelis Kloos (1895-1976) was a Dutch painter and sculptor in bronze and terracotta with something of a controversial reputation.  He was born into a wealthy mercantile family in Rotterdam and considered a number of career options as a young man.  After finishing school he spent a period undertaking officer training in the army; this experience meant that, when the First World War began, he was immediately despatched to border guard duty, trying to catch smugglers entering occupied Belgium. He had planned to visit Tibet but this adventure was cancelled and his further education was put on hold until 1919.

Kloos then studied and successfully graduated in mine engineering (even though drawing had been his hobby from an early age, art was not initially something he considered as a career).  Whilst studying engineering, he also attended philosophy lectures at the university, an interest that stayed with him throughout his life (for example, when his daughter reached fifteen, he told her she was old enough to start reading Plato). The young student then opting for the arts, undertaking his studies at the Academy of Fine Arts in The Hague and passing the five year course in only eighteen months, which then qualified him to work as a drawing teacher. Having the guarantee of a steady income, he married, and, for a honeymoon, travelled around Europe. The young couple settled in Paris where he studied painting with the Cubist André Lhote at his academy in Montparnasse, Paris (although Lhote had very little direct or immediate impact upon his student’s style). Kloos then studied for three months at Hans Hoffmann’s Schule für Bildende Kunst (School of Fine Art) in Munich; Hoffmann became a major figure in Abstract Expressionism, but during the twenties was still a fairly conventional figurative and landscape painters. Kloos then returned home to teach drawing at the Hague Academy; during the 1930s his career as a painter took off and his teaching duties were relegated to evenings only.

Girl with a Cow, 1951

Kloos took part in three consecutive Olympic Games in the art competitions- in 1928, 1932 and 1936. His entry Springende meisjes for the 1932 Olympics has been lost, but a reproduction survived. It is reported that the German Minister for Propaganda, Heinrich Goebbels, admired and wanted to buy the painting after the exhibition. However, he asked Kloos was to change the dark-hair of the gymnasts to blond, which- to his credit- he refused to do. The purchase did not proceed.

When the Second World War broke out, Kloos was briefly recalled to military service before Germany occupied the Netherlands. During the war, he apparently covered espionage activities noting down coastal troop positions by going on ‘painting trips’ to the dunes along the North Sea coast. After the war, Kloos was a lot poorer than he had been but he struggled along, living frugally and dedicated to his art. Sadly, by the 1950s, interest in his style of unfashionable pictorial and figurative work steeply declined whilst he had no sympathy at all for modern abstraction. Later in life, Kloos concentrated on writing about aesthetics and trying to establish a museum that would teach people to understand art, but these projects came to nothing and he felt considerable disappointment and frustration.

Twee meisjes op een badlaken in de zon, c.1930

Although he produced some landscapes, Kloos concentrated upon nudes, painted in a realist style and almost exclusively using young women as his models.  One Dutch auctioneer has said that the artist “obsessively painted and drew nude young girls in a way that came dangerously close to the boundaries of the pornographic – at least in our puritan times.”  Another critic has spoken of Kloos’ “meisje fascinatie”- his ‘girl obsession’ and it is true that his liking for posterior pictures of the naked figures treads a very fine line between academic life study and ‘glamour’ shot. The artist’s daughter Carola has described how “He always sat in his studio, often with young girls as models, whom he sketched; he made his paintings based on the sketches. The models met him on the beach, for example, where he sat down to draw (which was always a crowd pleaser).” She also said of her father that, if he could be blamed for anything, it was his rather old-fashioned views on the nature of feminine beauty: “Woman is meant to allure,” he said. Carola does not try to defend his views and recognises that there in his work there “may have been sublimated sexuality, but can’t we say the same about the ancient sculptors or the Renaissance painters with their female nudes?” The parallels between Kloos’ work and that of Balthus are very clear; both artists had a lifelong obsession with a particular sort of model (although the young women painted by the Dutch artist are generally a little older than the adolescents depicted by the French painter). The image below- Meisje met roos (Girl with a Rose) has a pose very similar to that adopted by the models in numerous studies by Balthus, which makes me suspect that Kloos must have been familiar with the French artist’s work. I have shown an example of one of his paintings of Thérèse Blanchard; he created multiple pictures of girls in extremely similar postures.

Meisje met roos
Balthus, Thérèse sur une banquette (1939)

Many of the Kloos’ pictures are consciously sensual in their poses. As we’ve read, he often drew his models in the studio, an example being Naakt met blauwe doekt (c.1930), a sensual study that imitates Velazquez’ Rokeby Venus, yet at the same time is honest and unsentimental enough to show the dirty soles of the model’s feet.

Velazquez, Rokeby Venus, 1647
Naakt met blauwe doekt

Just as frequently, though, Kloos painted outside, in full sun: thus, Twee meisjes zittend op een strandlaken (c.1930, above) presents us with two glossy skinned girls sunbathing, Gondola of 1952 has its young subject stripping off on a pontoon before a swim and Springen (Jumping) from 1952, which is a kind of follow-up- two naked girls leaping into the water- and which must also echo his Olympics entry. It seems extremely likely such healthy, active nudity outdoors (somewhat akin to the output of Fidus) would have appealed strongly to Goebbels.

Despite the clear sensuality that imbues much of his work, Kloos often incorporated a sense of bizarre humour that has close parallels with the work of Austrian illustrator Franz von Bayros.  In multiple paintings created post-war he incongruously juxtaposed young nudes outdoors with wildlife, such as Liggend naakt met hert, Alligators (1951), Ape Ring and Polar Bears (both 1952), as well as with sea-lions, a flock of sheep, a wolf and lions.  The models’ responses to their circumstances vary- from surprise, through embarrassment at being seen naked, to fearless confrontation with the wild beasts. They seldom look threatened or truly vulnerable.

Alligators, 1951

The sheer surrealism of these watercolours tends to distract from the nudity; they seem charmingly silly rather than erotic. Kloos is almost unique in the playfulness of these pictures, but they arguably stand in an identifiable heritage of western European fine art- over and above von Bayros bizarre bestial encounters. Surrealism probably contributed to Kloos’ ideas: for example Dali and, more particularly, Max Ernst, whose collaged novels, Loplop (1930) and Une semaine de bonté (1934) feature strange creatures, often part-human and part-beast. Belgian Symbolists such as Fernand Khnopff and Felicien Rops featured animals as significant presences in some of their images- and we might, perhaps, trace the inspiration all the way back to The Garden of Earthly Delights by Bosch.

Liggend naakt met hert, 1954
Air Travel (1950s)

Several of the artist’s later works also situated the nudes in exotic environments, from Greek and Egyptian shrines (Aphrodite) through African villages (White Beauties) to eastern temples, thereby also placing Kloos within the orientalist genre. What differentiates Kloos here is that these were purely imaginative works, their far-flung settings merely providing an intriguing backdrop for his figures. Mountains often form the background for his nudes too, obviously not a familiar feature in the Low Countries (see, for example, Meisje In Weiland, Springende Meisjes, Meisjes In De Wei, Meisje In Weide Met Huis, Liggend Meisje Met Koe or Meisje en Schapen). The scenery creates interest but probably adds little to the message of the pictures; their titles, however, tend to confirm that “meisje fascinatie” we saw attributed to the artist earlier.

An Asiatic scene

All in all, Cornelis Kloos’ oeuvre is distinctive. There is much that seems uniquely personal to him, yet many aspects of his work locate him within wider trends of contemporary art as well as within European painting heritage. He is instructive about prevalent trends and themes amongst painters and illustrators during the early twentieth century, shedding light on the parallel tendencies in book illustration, which we have seen played out in the responses of artists to the work of Pierre Louys, Verlaine, Apollinaire, de Sade and others.

From Lysistrata to Cydalise- Beardsley, von Bayros & Traynier

Beardsley, engraving of Lysistrata for Lysistrata

In 1975, the artist, lecturer and art historian Peter Webb wrote about the work of the Austrian illustrator Franz von Bayros, describing his illustrations of erotic literature and his “skilful drawings that reflected fin-de-siecle extravagance and showed a great debt to Aubrey Beardsley. He conjured up a world of guiltless sex, a carefree world of sexual pleasure only occasionally marred by harsher realities.” Von Bayros’ inspiration by Beardsley (as well- to a lesser extent- by Felicien Rops) is clear, but it struck me recently, when working on my study In the Garden of Eros, how their influences might also be traced to Jean Traynier, illustrator of Cydalise by Pierre Louys.

Beardsley, engraving for Lysistrata

Aubrey Beardsley was a self-taught artist who had learned his craft from studying illustrated books and ancient Greek painted vases. He was inspired and encouraged by Edward Burne-Jones, but (as Edward Lucie-Smith wrote in Symbolist Art) the young man emphasised what was perverse in the older painter’s work. Beardsley is known for his sharp penwork, his “linear arabesque,” which he balanced against bold contrasts of black and white. Lucie Smith described how Beardsley was a natural illustrator, able to “think of the design as something written on a surface, whose essential flatness must be preserved in order to balance the type which appear either on the same page or on a facing page.” He was a founder of the Art Nouveau style, hugely influential across Europe, and, through his work, book illustration came to be dominated by the new Symbolist and Art Nouveau ideas: “Partly art and partly craft, illustration rapidly assimilated itself” to the new decorative movement- as we have seen, for example, with Henri Caruchet.

Beardsley is renowned for the highly erotic nature of much of his illustration. His work on Aristophanes’ play Lysistrata (1905) is characterised, in particular, by men caricatured with enormous phalluses and, quite commonly, large, mature women with big bosoms and bottoms. He depicted sexuality and bodily functions with a startling honesty that offended many at the time. Webb was perfectly correct to spot the lineal influence, for the work of von Bayros bears many close parallels with that of Beardsley: not only is his sharp graphic work comparable (both artists depicted fabrics in a masterly fashion), but there are the exaggerated phalli (which may also be found in Rops), the obese and lascivious women, the preternatural and precocious children, and (even) in one plate, from his collection Im Garten der Aphrodite, a scene in which woman ecstatically rubs herself along a taut rope (something which instantly reminded me of the engraving of ‘Two Athenian women in distress’ from Lysistrata reproduced above). Odd forms of excitement like this are typical of the illustrator’s images: compare as well ‘Le Collier‘ (The Necklace) from von Bayros’ portfolio of 16 prints produced under the pseudonym of Chevalier de Bouval in about 1925.

Beardsley, The Climax, 1893

Both Beardsley and von Bayros illustrated Salome and John the Baptist- in the case of Beardsley, for Oscar Wilde’s play Salome (1896). Each artist also detected and portrayed something unwholesomely sexual in the relationship between the princess and the executed prophet- in one plate by von Bayros he showed Salome breast-feeding the severed head of the Baptist, which lies on a plate. Decapitated heads and skulls were, in fact, common in the Austrian’s’ work, another part of the cloying atmosphere of macabre perversity that he constructed.

print by von Bayros

These two earlier artists seem to have provided clear models for Jean Traynier when he came to taking on erotic works such as Louys’ Cydalise in 1949 and a 1957 edition of Point de Lendemain, ou la nuit merveilleuse (No Tomorrow, or the Wonderful Night) by Dominique-Vivant Denon (1747-1825). In the case of the latter, the eighteenth century setting reminds me of many works by von Bayros, such as his 1905 portfolio Fleurettens Purpurschnecke- Erotische Lieder und Gedichte (Fleurette’s Purple Snail- Erotic Songs and Poems from the Eighteenth Century) and John Cleland’s novel, Die Memoiren der Fanny Hill (1906). In part, these images simply mirror the era of the works being illustrated, but their erotic nature (and that of other writers such as Laclos and de Sade) generally imparted an aura of licentiousness to the entire period- so that wigs and beauty spots came to act as visual symbols for a certain liberated sexuality: Beardsley’s plates for The Rape of the Lock, as well as the general mood of his Lysistrata, are cases in point; in addition, see my book, Voyage to the Isle of Venus.

von Bayros, illustration for John Cleland’s Fanny Hill

As for Traynier’s monochrome engravings for Cydalise, two of the plates feature exaggerated, ‘fantasy’ phalli directly comparable to those seen in Lysistrata, and surely inspired by them, possibly by way of either von Bayros or Rops- or just as likely directly. Comparable ‘erotic dream’ images, albeit in very different styles, may be found in the 1932 edition of Pybrac by the Czech surrealist Toyen and in recent work by the British graphic artist Trevor Brown. In addition, the black and white style adopted for both works by Traynier repeats that of von Bayros and Beardsley, suggesting that, for him, it seemed suitable for depicting powerfully erotic scenes. Another small detail which may indicate a derivation from Beardsley’s Lysistrata are the many bows the decorate the hair of Traynier’s female figures- an elaborate and distinctive touch.

The influence of von Bayros might also be traced in similar details. I have discussed previously the pseudonymous erotic illustrator Fameni Leporini. The impact of Claude Bornet’s 1790s illustrations to de Sade seems clear, as both opt for naked bodies stacked up improbably in their renderings of orgies, but the morbid mood of von Bayros may also be detected. Leporini, too, preferred pen and ink for his designs and we may identify in them various traits and details that appear to have been borrowed from the Austrian: the mood of perverse cruelty and of lesbian passion that suffuses a good deal of his work and certain specific scenes which could be derived more directly from examples by von Bayros.

“Meet Me at the Cemetery Gate:” the art of Alfred Kubin

The Graveyard Wall, 1900

Alfred Leopold Isidor Kubin (1877-1959) was an Austrian printmaker, illustrator and occasional writer.
In 1898, after a failed apprenticeship with a photographer, a suicide attempt (on his mother’s grave with a rusty, faulty gun) and a nervous breakdown (for which he was hospitalised for a time), Kubin began training as an artist at a private academy. He didn’t complete this course, seemingly impatient to progress his career, for he enrolled at the Munich Academy the next year.

After the Battle, 1902

In Munich, Kubin began to visit art galleries and first encountered the work of Odilon Redon , Edvard Munch, James Ensor, Félicien Rops, Aubrey Beardsley and Max Klinger. The latter’s series of prints, Paraphrase on the Finding of a Glove, which I have described before, had a particular impact on the young and impressionable artist. Of this “cascade of visions,” he declared “Here an absolutely new art was thrown open to me, which offered free play for the imaginative expression of every conceivable world of feeling… I swore that I would dedicate my life to the creation of similar works”.

Haushamerlind, 1907

Inspired by Klinger and Goya- and by a visit to Redon in Paris in 1905- Kubin began to produce fantastical, macabre drawings in pen and ink, with some watercolour washes. Although initially associated with the Blaue Reiter group of expressionists, from 1906 he gradually became ever more withdrawn and isolated and lost contact with the artistic avant-garde. Despite (or perhaps because) of his solitary life, Kubin was prodigiously productive and inventive, especially during the first decade of the new century. In total he produced between six and seven thousand drawings- of which just a few are selected here. Kubin’s art, stylistically, looked back to Symbolism with its morbid and supernatural elements. Like Goya, he often created thematic series of drawings, regularly dealing with issues such as sexual violence, human suffering and magical, malevolent female power. After Germany absorbed Austria in 1938, Kubin’s output was condemned as ‘degenerate’- perhaps this isn’t surprising given that he had termed himself “the artistic gravedigger of the Austrian empire.”

Epidemic (1901)

Kubin also worked as an illustrator, designing plates for editions of works by Edgar Allan Poe, E. T. A. Hoffmann and Dostoevsky, amongst others. He was also an author in his own right, albeit of just one book, Die andere Seite (‘The Other Side’) in 1908, a fantasy novel set in an imaginary land. In the story’s epilogue, Kubin revealingly declared “I loved Death, loved her ecstatically, as if she were a woman; I was transported with rapture… I surrendered completely to her… I was the lover of that glamorous mistress, that glorious princess of the world who is indescribably beautiful in the eyes of those she touches.”

Ins unbekannte (Into the unknown), 1901

It seems pretty clear that Kubin’s unhappy youth and his troubled mental state contributed directly to the art he created. He may have officially have been cured of his mental illness, but his work suggests an imagination still disturbed- and it can’t have helped that, from the age of nineteen, he was steeped in the rather pessimistic philosophy of Schopenhauer, who saw “misfortune as the general rule.” Kubin recorded how important dreams were for him as a source of artistic inspiration and that when he sat down to create art he was seized by “unspeakable psychic tremors.” From the artists he admired and closely studied, he seems to have retained only the most morbid elements. In his images, women and sex represent danger and power and death is ever present.

Our Universal Mother, the Earth, 1902

Ancient Sculpture & Painting in the Books of Pierre Louys

Encaustic portrait from Fayum, 2nd century CE

As I have described previously, as well as being an author, Pierre Louys (1875-1925) was something of a visual artist- and a collector and connoisseur of art.  He collected classical and modern sculptures, being a friend of Rodin, and wrote on the subject in journals.  He was a skilled photographer and took pictures (as well as making drawings) of nude women, a few of which survive.

The author’s knowledge of classical sculpture, as well as of the period’s literature, seems to have fed into his writing.  For the ancient Greeks- and their imitators, the Romans- the perfect human body represented an ideal that symbolised the Olympian gods.  These ideas, and examples of their work, came to shape Western European concepts of beauty and the highest art from the period of the ‘Renaissance’ in classical art and learning, as a result of which life drawing became a fundamental element of an artistic education in the academies.  Louys reflected these principles, but he had other reasons for depicting nude sculptures as well.

An initial, small, example will give some idea of the other messages that Louys may have wished to convey through reference to figurative art.  At the conclusion of Les Aventures du Roi Pausole (1900) the two young lovers meet in the Royal Park, under the statue of Felicien Rops (1833-98).  It may be surprising that this Mediterranean kingdom has erected a monument to the recently deceased Belgian artist, but his highly erotic paintings and engravings of nude women seem perfectly suited to the relaxed atmosphere of the kingdom, which celebrates sex and sexuality as natural and praiseworthy.  It is a small joke, or hint, by the writer, indicating his broader attitudes. Earlier in the book, too, Princess Aline has an assignation with the dancer Mirabelle beneath a statue in the royal gardens. This is a fountain known as the Mirror of the Nymphs, above which are “entwined two marble nymphs;” I suspect that this pair are intended as a symbol or reflection of the fact that the pair are about to elope and become lovers.

Georges Beuville, Aline Meets Mirabelle,1949

Sculpture and statuary play a major role in Pierre Louys’ second novel, Aphrodite (1896).  Louys effectively framed this work with two sculptures.  The first represents the goddess Astarte/ Aphrodite and has been modelled upon the young queen of Egypt herself, Berenice, by a handsome Greek sculptor, Demetrios. He partakes of some of the characteristics of the historical sculptor Praxiteles, whose statue of the Aphrodite of Knidos is famed and of which Louys wrote “you were born from the senses of Praxiteles” (‘Aphrodite’ in Stanzas).

“The statue of Aphrodite was… the highest realisation of the queen’s beauty; all the idealism it was possible to read into the supple lines of her body, Demetrios had evoked from the marble, and from that day onward he imagined that no other woman on earth would ever attain to the level of his dream. His statue became the object of his passion. He adored it only, and madly divorced from the flesh the supreme idea of the goddess, all the more immaterial because he had attached it to life.”

Aphrodite, Book 1, c.3

Demetrios has become the queen’s lover whilst sculpting her naked, but he now finds her inferior to the ideal beauty he has created: “The arms of the Other were more slender, her breast more finely cut, her hips narrower than those of the Real one. The latter did not possess the three furrows of the groins, thin as lines, that he had graved upon the marble.”  He tires of Berenice and takes multiple other lovers, but none can compete with his own work, now set up in the shrine of the goddess at the heart of the city. Like Pygmalion, the mythical sculptor who falls in love with his own statue, Demetrios goes to the temple to commune with his creation: “O divine sister!’ he would say. ‘O flowered one! O transfigured one! You are no longer the little Asiatic woman whom I made your unworthy model. You are her immortal idea, the terrestrial soul of Astarte, the mother of her race. You shone in her blazing eyes, you burned in her sombre lips, you swooned in her soft hands, you gaped in her great breasts, you strained in entwining legs, long ago, before your birth…  I have seen you, evolved you, caught you, O marvellous Cytherea! It is not to your image, it is to yourself that I have given your mirror, and yourself that I have covered with pearls, as on the day when you were born of the fiery heaven and the laughing foam of the sea, like the dew-steeped dawn, and escorted with acclamations by blue tritons to the shores of Cyprus.’”

Edouard Zier, Demetrios sculpts Chrysis

Demetrios now dreams of other sculptures he wishes to create: “Beautiful feminine forms took shape in his brain… it was distasteful to his youthful genius to copy conventions…  Ah! how beauty had once more taken him for its own! how he was escaping from the clutches of love! how he was separating from the flesh the supreme idea of the goddess! In a word, how free he felt!”

It is at this point that Demetrios first encounters the courtesan Chrysis and is overwhelmed by her beauty and the desire to possess her.  She resists, consenting only to succumb to him if he steals three treasures for her, one of them being the pearl necklace worn by his own sculpture of Aphrodite.  Demetrios is so intoxicated with her that he forgets his wish to be free of the fleshly reality of real women and consents to do what she wants- even committing murder in the process.  His theft from the statue of Aphrodite in the temple proves to be an almost erotic event:

“He saw, in a glory of moonbeams, the dazzling figure of the goddess…  Demetrios lost himself in ineffable adoration. He believed in very truth that Aphrodite herself was there. He did not recognise his handiwork, for the abyss between what he had been and what he had become was profound… He fixed his eyes upon it, dreading lest the caress of his glance should cause this frail hallucination to dissolve into thin air. He advanced very softly, touched the pink heel with his finger, as if to make sure of the statue’s existence, and, incapable of resisting the powerful attraction it exercised upon him, mounted to its side, laid his hands upon the white shoulders, and gazed into its eyes.

He trembled, he grew faint, he began to laugh with joy. His hands wandered over the naked arms, pressed the hard, cold bust, descended along the legs, caressed the globe of the belly. He hugged this immortality to his breast with all his might… He kissed the bent hand, the round neck, the wave-like throat, the parted marble lips. Then he stepped back to the edge of the pedestal, and, taking the divine arms in his hands, tenderly gazed at the adorable head.  The hair was dressed in the Oriental style, and veiled the forehead slightly. The half-closed eyes prolonged themselves in a smile. The lips were parted, as in the swoon of a kiss… The recollection of Chrysis passed before his memory like a vision of grossness. He enumerated all the flaws in her beauty…”

Aphrodite, Book 2, c.4
J. A. Cante, 1949

Despite his impossible conflict between desire for the unattainable love of a marble goddess and a woman who is taking advantage of him, Demetrios carries out the thefts as promised.  Triumphant, Chrysis then displays herself, adorned with the stolen treasures, before the people of Alexandria.  She is immediately arrested and, for her crimes, is sentenced to death by drinking hemlock.  The role of Demetrios in this sacrilege is unknown and he returns to his dreams of sculpting perfect, divine beauty and decides to immortalise Chrysis.  He has clay delivered to visit the prison where her body lies:

“Chrysis’ face had little by little become illumined with the expression of eternity that death dispenses to the eyelids and hair of corpses. In the bluish whiteness of the cheeks, the azure veinlets gave the immobile head the appearance of cold marble… Never, in any light, even in his dreams, had Demetrios seen such superhuman beauty and such a brilliancy of fading skin… [He undressed and positioned the body.] He removed the jewellery “in order not to mar by a single dissonance the pure and complete harmony of feminine nudity.  Demetrios cast the dark lump of clay upon the table. He pressed it, kneaded it, lengthened it out into human form…  The rough figure took life and precision…  When night mounted from the earth and darkened the low chamber, Demetrios had finished the statue.  He had it carried to his studio by four slaves. That very evening, by lamplight, he had a block of Parian marble rough-hewed, and a year after that day he was still working at the marble.”

Aphrodite, Book 5, c.3.
Georges Villa, Demetrios & Chrysis, 1938 (note how, true to the text, Villa has included the flies around the corpse)

The statutes of Aphrodite and Chrysis are the highest expressions of the sculptor’s art, but they are not the sole functions of images in the ancient world that Louys recreated.  Within the precincts of the temple of the goddess in Alexandria, there reside numerous enslaved ‘holy courtesans’ who serve the worshippers.  Each woman has a little idol of the goddess that she brought with her from her native country. Some venerate the goddess in symbolic form but most of them have a little statuette, typically a roughly-carved figure that emphasises the breasts and hips. The same kind of little votive effigy is found in Les Chansons de Bilitis.  When Bilitis first meets her future wife on Mytilene, she has a terracotta statuette of the goddess around her neck:

“The little guardian Astarte which protects Mnasidika was modelled at Kamiros by a very clever potter. She is as large as your thumb, of fine-ground yellow clay.

Her tresses fall and circle about her narrow shoulders. Her eyes are cut quite widely and her mouth is very small. For she is the All-Beautiful.

Her right hand indicates her delta, which is peppered with tiny holes about her lower belly and along her groins. For she is the All-Lovable.

Her left hand supports her round and heavy breasts. Between her spreading hips swings a large and fertile belly. For she is the Mother-of-All.”

Bilitis, songs 50 & 51

Perhaps it was to such statuettes that Louys referred in his poem Aphrodite when he addressed the “goddess in our arms so tender and so small.” These humble little figures, intended for private rather than public devotions, have a direct personal connection with their worshippers and emphasise the sexuality of the goddess far more explicitly than Demetrios’ noble statue. 

The depiction of individual desire and carnality is, arguably, much more the proper function of art in Louys’ novels and poems.  The short story The Wearer of Purple (L’Homme de pourpre) which is part of the collection of stories titled Sanguines, published in 1903, tells of the Athenian artist Parrhasius and how he created a famed picture of torments of Prometheus.  In addition, though, we hear of him painting an image of a ‘Nymph Surprised,’ that is, being raped, by two satyrs.  Parrhasius likes to dash off small pictures of sexual subjects as a form of relaxation, as he tells the narrator of the story, a sculptor called Bryaxis (a name taken by Louys from a real Greek sculptor, who worked around 350BCE):

“I am fond of these pictures dealing with intense emotion and I never represent man’s desire except at the moment of its paroxysm and of its fulfilment.  Socrates… wished to see me paint the emotion of sexual love in looks and thoughts.  It was an absurd criticism.  Painting is design and colour; it only speaks the language of gesture, and the most expressive gesture is that from which its triumph proceeds.”

L’Homme de pourpre, Part 4

In accordance with this, Parrhasius has painted Achilles at the moment of slaying a foe and Prometheus being tortured by an eagle eating his liver.  Noble as these works may have been, one suspects that they lacked the impact of the two others we are told about.  Besides the ‘Nymph Surprised,’ we hear an account of how the painter Klesides took revenge on Queen Stratonice of Ephesus by means of pictures.  She had treated him with dismissive contempt when posing for a portrait she had commissioned from him, so he painted two pictures of her in compromising poses with a man, whom he modelled upon a coarse sailor he had met on the dockside.  These were then displayed for all to see on the walls of the palace and huge crowds assembled to enjoy them; the queen had to hide her vengeful rage and pretend to admire the images as well.

It is worth also adding that, in this story, Louys indicates some knowledge of Greek painting. In his Lectures Antiques he had translated the poems of Nossis, in which there are several references to portraiture. Moreover, the author seems to have been aware of developments in ancient artistic techniques.  Parrhasius is described, in some detail, creating his pictures with hot wax.  He uses a method allegedly employed by the renowned Polygnotus which has recently come back into fashion:

“His little wax boxes were placed in a box already stained with use. He carefully dipped the fine wire heated in the stove, removed a droplet of coloured wax, placed it where he wished and mixed it with the others with a certainty of hand which sometimes made me smile with enthusiasm.  [As he proceeds, Parrhasius explains how he pigments the wax.]

Towards the end of the day he stood up, shouting to the apprentices: ‘Heat the plate!’  Turning towards me, he said: ‘It’s finished.’

They brought him the red plate which was throwing off sparks. He grabbed it with long pliers and moved it very slowly in front of the horizontal board, where the wax rose to the surface, fixing its multicoloured soul to the dry wood.”

L’Homme de pourpre, Part 4.

Polygnotus was an artist of the mid-fifth century BCE who is known for having painted various frescoed murals; it is probably his fame that made Louys associate him with the technique of ‘encaustic’ painting.  However, it was another Greek artist, Pausias, from the mid-fourth century, who is said to have originated the process; Louys seems to have transferred this to the better known Parrhasius, who flourished before 400BCE. He was famous for his skill and the realism of his works and, after his death, some of his drawings on boards and parchment were preserved as models for other artists. The anecdote about relaxing over obscene paintings was told of Parrhasius, as was a story (relayed by Seneca) that he tortured a slave to death to create an authentic image of Prometheus. Nowadays, we are most familiar with encaustic paintings from the portraits created for mummies in Hellenistic Egypt during the first two centuries CE (see top of page) and, later, from Orthodox Greek icons.

Even more expressly sexual than the figures of Aphrodite is the sculpture created in Louys’ utopian country, L’Île aux dames.  On ‘Lesbian Island,’ in the middle of the capital city, erotic statues of women making love are displayed on the Bridge of Sappho that leads onto the island. There, the Museum of Lesbos, naturally, displays erotic statutes and paintings for the delectation of its purely lesbian visitors.

Lastly, the Handbook of Good Manners for Young Girls demonstrates unequivocally how fine art may connect with carnal desires.  Here is the advice for polite young ladies visiting a museum:

“Do not climb on the bases of ancient statues to use their virile organs. You must not touch the objects on display; neither with your hands, nor with your bum.

Do not pencil black curls on the pubis of naked Venuses. If the artist represented the goddess without hair, it is because Venus shaved her mound.

Don’t ask the room attendant why ‘The Hermaphrodite’ has balls as well as breasts. This question is not within his competence.”

At the Museum

The final reference is to the famous sculpture now known as the Hermaphrodite endormi, which was discovered in the Baths of Diocletian in Rome in 1618.  In 1620 Bernini carved the mattress upon which the figure can now be seen reclining in the Louvre Museum. The Handbook’s second warning has to be understood as a prohibition against defacing museum exhibits; in fact, the Greek habit was to paint their statues to make them more lifelike, a fact of which Louys was well aware and had alluded to it in his description of the statute of Aphrodite as being “lightly tinted like a real woman.”

In summary, art in the works of Pierre Louys exists to evoke the human passions, primarily those of lust and desire.  Partly this is because the goddess Aphrodite/ Astarte/ Venus/ Ishtar was worshipped through carnal love; partly because sex and sexuality were regarded as such fundamental aspects of humanity by Louys.

A full, annotated version of this essay can be downloaded from my Academia page.

Rojan, illustrations for the Handbook, 1926

Gloves- obsession in art

The Glove: The Action

Some time ago, I posted about the depiction of women in masks by artists. The thrill and mystery that can be created by hiding your identity and being able to adopt a new persona is obvious. Masks have a role in crime and deception, but they also have a strong erotic aspect. Here, I turn to gloves; perhaps more strongly, but less explicably, these garments have acquired a persistent sensual charge. They are no longer items of everyday dress yet (or perhaps because of this) they retain their mystique and allure. When their fabric is silk, satin, leather, PVC or latex, this is more readily comprehensible, as a major part of the allure must then lie in the smooth, ‘second skin’ fabric. What, though, is the fascination of the glove itself? Is it the simultaneous intimacy and covering of the hand- the sense of personal contact combined with the barrier to the sense of touch? It’s a deep-rooted, but very puzzling, aspect of our culture. It’s also quite a long-standing one, as various artists’ work shall demonstrate.

I begin with the German Symbolist, Max Klinger (1857-1920). In 1874 he began his artistic studies in Karlsruhe, and then Berlin, before spending several years living and working in Brussels, Paris and Rome, where he met and was inspired by the Swiss Symbolist Arnold Bocklin. His other major artistic inspirations were the paintings of Puvis de Chavannes and the engravings of Rembrandt and Goya; the latter awoke in the artist an attraction to the fantastic. The philosophy of Schopenhauer and the music of Beethoven and Brahms were also very important to him. From 1893 Klinger settled in Leipzig, where, amongst his own students were the equally gothic and macabre Alfred Kubin and Otto Greiner.

Klinger worked in several media: he was a painter of neo-classical images that combined mythology and Christian idea, but also sculptor and extremely fine graphic artist. He said that he wished to translate “life’s dark side” into lines and in pursuance of this aim, Klinger produced a series of fourteen sets of etchings, which he termed Opera. This depicted themes such as Eve (1881), Brahmsphantasie (1894), Life (1881-84), Plague (1898), Death (two parts, 1881 & 1889) and Love (1879-1887). Klinger had his humorous and bizarre side, too, such as his images of Der pinkelnde Tod (a skeleton urinating into a lake), Death- a skeleton- tied to a railway track (from Opus XI, On Death) and the curious Bear & Elf from Opus IV.

I am concerned here with Opus VI: Paraphrase on the Discovery of a Glove. This set of ten images explores the nature of female gloves with obsessive fetishism; it also typifies a quality in Klinger’s art pointed out by art historian Michael Gibson: Klinger developed “an imaginary world which is both realistic and slightly out of kilter with reality, thus giving an impression of the uncanny” (Symbolism, 1996, 130). The series begins realistically enough, at a roller-skating rink, where a woman drops a glove. A man picks it up and from here apparently develops a strange adoration from the item, passing through various stages of desire, triumph, homage and anxiety. The unhealthy obsession with the glove culminates with its loss: Seizure, in which a pterodactyl seems to fly off with the item, evading the out-stretched arms of the desperate man (although in fact it can only be his arms alone that have broken the window panes, suggesting that the creature does not exist outside his fevered imagination); and Love, a final image placing the glove as an object of adoration with Cupid and roses. Gibson comments on the surreal and dream-like nature of the series, and on their “barely veiled eroticism.”

After his death, the Greek/ Italian painter Giorgio de Chirico wrote that Klinger had been “a painter, sculptor, etcher, philosopher, writer, musician and poet.” He was certainly an influence in De Chirico (1888-1978), who in 1914 painted his own glove picture, Love Song (see below). Amongst other Symbolist artists, the Belgian Felicien Rops displayed a similar fetish interest in gloves.

Giorgio de Chirico, Love Song, 1914

In July 1914, the French poet Guillaume Apollinaire noted that “Monsieur Giorgio de Chirico [who was then living in Paris] has just bought a pink rubber glove.” He felt the purchase was significant because, he went on to say, he knew that the presence of a glove in a de Chirico painting would add to its uncanny power. Love Song is now on display in the Museum of Modern Art in New York: the MoMA website describes the glove as “implying human presence, as a mould of the hand, yet also inhuman, a clammily limp fragment- distinctly un-flesh-like in colour- [that] has an unsettling authority. Why is this surgical garment pinned to a board or canvas, alongside a plaster head copied from a classical statue, a relic of a noble vanished age? What is the meaning of the green ball? And what is the whole ensemble doing in the outdoor setting insinuated by the building and the passing train?” Locomotives are a constant in de Chirico’s painting in this period, as are classical sculptures in deserted plazas. There repeatedly create a desolate mood, to which the glove may add not just a sense of absence but, perhaps, a suggestion of an impersonal eroticism- something that the title Love Song may confirm. 

‘Wighead,’ from Grégor Yvan, Chair Sanglée ou les Voluptés fetichistes, 1935

Certainly, by the date that de Chirico was painting Love Song, the glove was making its transition from ordinary garment into fetish object. This is amply confirmed in much of the erotic illustration that was produced in Paris after the end of the First World War. Two artists from this period stand out for their vivid imaginations, creating bizarre costumes for the dominatrices they depicted, and for their ability to depict materials such as leather and latex; these are the illustrators known only as ‘Carlo‘ and ‘Wighead.’ From the two specimen illustrations from the mid-1930s, you may gain a little idea of their skills and of the frequency with which gloves (along with those other staples, stockings and basques) featured in their art work. Rene Desergy’s Diana Gantee (Diana in Gloves) from 1932 only underlines the now unbreakable association that has been formed between gloves and BDSM. These vintage books still retail through Amazon, Abe and other outlets. See too Paris Olympia Press and BiblioCuriosa. 

Alan Mac Clyde’s Dolores Amazone (1934)

Luc Lafnet- murals, comics and lashes

Lafnet, Self-portrait, 1935

Luc Lafnet (1899-1939) was born in Liège, Belgium, and studied at the Académie des Beaux-Arts there; among his teachers were draughtsmen and lithographers Émile Berchmans, François Maréchal and Adrien de Witte. His technical mastery of the etching process meant that Lafnet was regarded by many as the heir of renowned Belgian etchers from the previous generation, such as Félicien Rops and Fernand Khnopff. Like them he was naturally drawn to a Symbolist aesthetic.

Self portrait 1919
Lafnet, ‘The antichrist’

In 1916, Lafnet exhibited his work for the first time, and the following year he was a member of several of Liège’s art groups, including Les Hiboux, Le Cénacle and La Caque. His abilities were acknowledged at this time with medals, prizes and high placings in competitions.

Composition au masque, 1929
Geometric instruments, 1936

In 1923, Luc Lafnet married and moved to Paris. There, he became closely associated with painter such as the leading modernist Jean Hélion, with whom he exhibited. Lafnet’s own interest in abstraction and modernism can be seen in his drawings for the second issue of the Revue Cercle et Carré in 1930. He also devoted considerable energy to painting and etching religious scenes and, in the mid-1930s, to creating murals of the Stations of the Cross for various churches such as the monastery at Pont l’Abbé d’Arnoult and several churches in the Montmartre district of Paris. In addition, Lafnet was a prolific and popular illustrator of comics and designer of advertisements and children’s magazines.

La petite princesse

Lafnet was also active as an illustrator, for instance for an edition of Charles De Coster’s Légendes Flamandes (which had originally been illustrated by Félicien Rops). Lafnet also illustrated books by his friend Georges Simenon and others by Baudelaire, Restif de la Bretonne, Marquis de Sade, Théophile Gautier and two by Symbolist poet Paul Verlaine, his Hommes et Femmes and Oeuvres Libres. As these latter commissions may begin to indicate, Lafnet was, like Felicien Rops, drawn to erotic and risque subject matter, something that was the subject of a thriving market and very active book trade in interwar Paris.

The artist’s daughter, Anne-Marie

As a consequence of his tastes, much of Lafnet illustrative work appeared in clandestine or semi-clandestine publications, often fiction with themes of flagellation and sado-masochism, generally under a variety of pseudonyms. The use of false names was common in the erotic book trade, by authors, artists and, even, the publishing companies themselves; it was a protection against prosecution and separated an author or illustrator from his/her more serious and respectable work. Lafnet already signed his advertising work with names like Lucan and Lafcat and his comic illustrations as Davine. His erotic illustrations were signed with as Grim, Jim Black, Lucas O, Rich, Pol or Viset. His work on Florence Fulbert’s ‘Dresseuse d’Hommes‘ (1931) and Sophia Furrya’s ‘Les Geôles de Dentelles‘ (1933) particularly stand out. I’m convinced that Lafnet’s skills as an illustrator directly will have derived from his experience designing comic strips. The ability to isolate an element of the action, and summarise it within a frame, whilst avoiding a static ‘fine-art pose’ and maintaining the dynamism and impetus of the text is a considerable craft. Lafnet succeeded and his illustrations contribute to the texts rather than adding nothing, or even interrupting them.

Flora, 1917
The Temptation of St. Anthony 1937

Lafnet is interesting because he was a respected and serious modern artist, who worked in an impressive variety of styles, from the symbolism of Flora through Renaissance pastiches- such as the rather risqué imitation of Leonardo below- and modernist abstracts to the homage to Hieronymus Bosch seen in the Temptation of St Anthony (both above). Even in these, though the interest in sex and sexuality are apparent, so that it is less surprising that he also had a secret identity as a creator of fetish erotica. In this respect, he resembled numerous other artists working in Paris between 1920 and 1930, such as Louis Berthomme Saint-Andre, Louis Icart and Paul-Emile Becat.

For more discussion of subjects covered here, see my book In the Garden of Aphrodite and also refer to my Pierre Louys bibliography.


Jeune femme aux seins dénudés, 1933

Viennese Decadence- the art of Franz von Bayros

Dante’s Inferno, canto 19

Vienna at the turn of the last century still retains for us an aura of decadence and bohemianism. This is derived from a number of sources- the famous paintings of Gustav Klimt (and a little later, those of Egon Schiele); the researches of Sigmund Freud into the unconscious and the nature of sexuality; the writing of Felix Salten and his outrageous pretend biography of prostitute Josefine Mutzenbacher.

Another, less well known strand in this aura of fin-de-siecle debauchery must be the art of Franz von Bayros, although his collections of prints are far less well known than the paintings of Klimt and Schiele.

The artist in 1898

Some artists dare to be as explicit and as provocative as possible. Unquestionably, Franz von Bayros (1866-1924) was one of these. He was a commercial artist, illustrator and painter who is usually classed as part of the Decadent movement and who regularly utilised erotic themes and fantastic imagery. The explicit content of his phantasmagoric erotic illustrations mean that von Bayros is often compared to Félicien Rops and Aubrey Beardsley, yet he is probably more scandalous than either of them. He was often called ‘Marquis Bayros’ in reference to the Marquis de Sade.

Bayros was born into a Spanish noble family in Zagreb, which was at the time part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and, aged seventeen, he entered the Vienna Academy, where his friends included Johann Strauss. After the breakdown of a marriage, Bayros moved to Munich to continue his art studies. He subsequently travelled and exhibited widely in Europe, staging his first exhibition of work in 1904. Thereafter, he embarked upon a career illustrating books, particularly those with an erotic content, such as Fanny Hill which was published in 1906. He also designed portfolios of his own erotic fantasy art. In 1911 Bayros published his most famous and controversial work, the portfolio Erzählungen am Toilettentische (Tales from the Dressing Table). This collection featured extensive scenes of lesbian bondage, group sex, and sado-masochism- themes that dominate his entire output. It was possibly unsurprising that he was later arrested and prosecuted by the state censor, leading to his exile from Germany. He returned to Vienna, but felt increasingly depressed and alienated.

Von Bayros produced a stream of erotic prints (albeit in quite limited editions) during the first decades of the twentieth century. These began with the 1905 collection Fleurettens Purpurschnecke (‘Fleurette’s Purple Snail- Songs and Poems from the Eighteenth Century’), a limited-edition portfolio of black and white drawings illustrating eighteenth century ‘Erotische Lieder und Gedichte’ (Erotic Poems and Stories).

In 1907 he issued four collections- the Geschichten aus Aretino (Stories from Aretino) of fifteen engravings; Die hübsche Andalusierin (The Pretty Andalucian Girl), which follows the sexual life of a woman called Aldonza; Die Grenouillère, the French title of which refers to a one-piece pyjama suit but has the sense of the English colloquial ‘birthday suit’- in other words, nudity; and Die Bonbonnière (The Box of Sweets), comprising two portfolios of six prints each, the etchings being accompanied by short poems.

The White Peacock

Erzählungen am Toilettentische was published under the name of ‘Choisy le Conin’, which von Bayros had adopted for the French market- partly to appeal to a Francophone public and partly to conceal his true identity. However, the cover of the collection stated his true name, leading to the censorship action in Munich over the sexual content. The Geschichte der Zairette, also released in 1911, likewise includes a high degree of adult lesbian erotica.

Bilder aus dem Boudoir der Madame CC (Pictures from the Boudoir of Madame CC), was privately published in 1912 and was a collection of thirty existing etchings, brought together under a suggestive title. The images include a mix of heterosexual and lesbian activity with a good deal of fetish bondage. Im Garten der Aphrodite (In Aphrodite’s Garden) was a portfolio from 1910 comprising eighteen etchings which was published at the same time as Bilder aus dem Boudoir and shared nine images with it. It largely depicts adult women seducing younger girls. Finally, Lesbischer Reigen (Lesbian Roundelay) was published in 1920. It was von Bayros’ last erotic portfolio, comprising just six etchings, and shows adult female couples. Von Bayros’ work for private clients is also highly enlightening. He was commissioned to design numerous ex libris book plates, and these were uniformly erotic in content. Inevitably, his clients shared his strange erotic tastes: for example, Stephan Kellner’s 1910 library plate pictures a girl crouching naked in front of a large snake.

A 1911 bookplate

Another late work by von Bayros is the three volume Bayros Mappe set, published in about 1920. It returns to book illustration, with one volume focused upon the legend of Isolde and another comprising six coloured drawings on the subject of Salome, a Decadent favourite. He then illustrated Dante’s Divine Comedy in 1921, not a surprising choice perhaps. Sinnlicher Reigen– ‘Sensual Dance (Pan)’- is another colour image of the same date as the Bayros Mappe. It is a more typically bizarre von Bayros scene, which is taking place in the porch of an elegant house. The focus is Pan, a huge hooved figure, who is dancing arms linked with two women. One is fully clothed in black, including a hat and coat, and is rather calm and static; the other is naked except for her white high heels and is cavorting excitedly. In the foreground, with her back to us, is a young plump fauness, naked and with her golden hair in a bun. The juxtapositions of clothed and naked, young and old, human and mythical, coupled with an ambiguous atmosphere of sensuality, are typical of the artist. You are often unsure whether we are witnessing scenes in the real world or in some sort of febrile dream.

While von Bayros had risen to the highest cultural and artistic circles in Munich, it was difficult for him to re-establish himself in Vienna. The outbreak of the First World War in 1914 prevented a long-planned for emigration to Rome. The defeat and collapse of Germany and Austria in 1918 led to severe depressions in the last years of his life. Although he enjoyed considerable success with his beautiful watercolour illustrations for the Divine Comedy, the work on the drawings exhausted him both physically and mentally. Devaluation of the Austrian currency added to his problems and von Bayros died in poverty in Vienna in 1924. One of his very last publications, a portfolio of sixteen prints issued in 1925 under the name of the Chevalier de Bouval, is typical of von Bayros’ entire output: it features solely women, seen occasionally alone but usually in pairs in bedrooms, where they engage in a range of more or less unusual practices together. The engravings are all completed in the artist’s typical style of very fine penwork, attention to detail and rich depiction of fabrics- whether voluminous lacy dresses or the cushions upon which the figures recline.

The reputation of Von Bayros has risen in recent decades as there has been a rediscovery of his weird and decadent art. He has been praised for “the bizarre sexual anarchy that he created in the sedate and decorous boudoirs of the early 1900s. Powerful females populate his exquisite, beautifully detailed drawings where sexual perversity is rife, and the byword is luxurious decadence.” The world that von Bayros imagined was radically at odds with the bourgeois society he knew and whose members purchased his works. His women seem to be part of that world, yet they actually inhabit a parallel existence where men are largely absent and strange fetishes and practices dominate. I think that, alongside the clear eroticism of von Bayros’ work, there is also a strand of bizarre humour, an element which must be considered when assessing the overall tone of his work.

The work of von Bayros may profitably be compared to that of the closely contemporary Martin van Maële. The latter’s collection of forty drawings, La Grande Danse macabre des vifs, was published in Brussels in 1905 by erotic specialist Charles Carrington. This ‘dance macabre’ examined in frank, if blackly comedic, detail a wide range of sexual preferences, including juvenile explorations, rape, oral sex, lesbian encounters and age-discrepant desire. In very many respects, van Maële’s baroque and uninhibited fantasies parallel the contemporary erotic visions of von Bayros. Both reveal something of the psyche of the age, crystallising or laying bare attitudes and appetites which were generally hidden but which, in visual form, were far less mediated or disguised.

I have refrained from reproducing illustrations from the portfolios such as Erzählungen am Toilettentische and Im Garten der Aphrodite, but von Bayros’ work is readily available online, from art and antique dealers and book sellers, and from Amazon and the like in the form of collections of his pictures. For more discussion of the works of von Bayros in their wider context, see my book In the Garden of Eros, available as a paperback and Kindle e-book from Amazon.

Pierre Louys- a multi-media author

Several times previously, I’ve described the various books of poetry and prose written by the Belgian author Pierre Louys, as well as highlighting how his works have frequently been enhanced by the work of leading artists illustrating them.

Louys was a classically educated man with refined tastes. He read and translated Greek, and his books are scattered with references to obscure authors- the Renaissance theologian Erasmus, the Roman poet Tibullus and many French poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Louys was an artist and photographer (though he admittedly preferred to portray female nudes in both media) and he was a keen collector of art- not just Greek and Roman sculpture, but engravings of works by Fragonard and by cutting edge artists of the day, such as Odilon Redon, Felicien Rops and Auguste Rodin. Louys was also friendly with numerous writers, artists and musicians of the time. His friends and correspondents included Rodin himself, Mallarme, and the composer Claude Debussy. Louys and Rodin shared a model as girlfriend at one stage and the two men also shared a fascination with sexuality and eroticism. Rodin was an admirer of Bilitis and gave the book’s title to three erotic watercolour drawings he designed.

Debussy was an especially close friend- to the extent that Louys would confide his sexual exploits in the composer. In addition, they collaborated on two musical projects. In 1900 the musician took several of the verses from the Chansons de Bilitis (The Songs of Bilitis) and wrote a cycle of actual songs for piano with them. The composer Charles Kochlin was also inspired by Bilitis to write a suite of songs for voice and piano in 1923.

Rodin’s sculpture for the stage play of Aphrodite

Louys and Debussy also worked together for some time on an adaptation of Louys’ first novel, Aphrodite, but that idea eventually came to nothing, which led the author in 1910 to pass the right to compose a light opera to Louis de Gramont and Camille Erlanger. Initially, Louys was unhappy with seeing his story brought to life on stage, but when the production opened in 1906 he was won over- as were audiences around France, for it toured extensively in the subsequent years. As a result, Louys agreed to a dramatisation of La Femme et pantin (Woman & Puppet) by Pierre Frondaie in 1910 and then agreed to a further, lavish, stage adaptation of Aphrodite in 1914, once again by Frondaie. As before, at the outset, the author was cautious about the production, but he warmed to it. Rodin paid tribute to the work (and provided lots of free extra publicity) by contributing a life-sized plaster sculpture of a female nude to use on stage and, despite the rather plodding verse dialogue composed by Frondaie, audiences responded well- not least, probably, because of the amount of nudity and sexual innuendo involved.

Dans les jardins de la Déesse– Illustration of the Aphrodite stage play by Charles Martin, from Gazette du Bon Ton, 1914.

Such was the prominence of Louys’ works that several other musical projects were based upon them. Max von Oberleitner wrote an opera inspired by Aphrodite in 1910; Riccardo Zandonia founded an opera, Conchita, on the novel La Femme et pantin in 1921 and Albert Willemetz composed an operetta based upon Les Aventures du Roi Pausole in 1930. The number of scores, and the variety of languages involved, are testimony to the popularity and standing of Louys.

Louys therefore emerges as a major, and highly influential, figure in the Decadent, Aesthetic and Symbolist movements. He is scarcely a household name any longer, but for his prolific and provocative output, deserves to be better known. For more detail of the writing of Pierre Louys, see my Bibliography for him.

Brian Partridge, Claude Debussy, 1989

Felicien Rops- The Devil, Death & Desire

Pornokrates

The Belgian Symbolist artist Felicien Rops (1833-98) has endured a declining reputation over the century and a quarter since his death. Karl Joris Huysmans said, in Certains, his study of various artists of the period, that Rops possessed the “soul of an inverted primitive” having “penetrated Satanism and summarised it in admirable prints which are, as inventions, as symbols, as examples of incisive and vigorous art, truly unique.” Freud even praised Rops’ Temptation of St Anthony (1878) as a perfect representation of the repression of sexual feelings in saints and penitents (Delirium & Dreams in Jensen’s ‘Gradiva’ 1907).

Woman on a rocking horse, 1870

Not all contemporaries were as keen, though. The artist Gustave Moreau hated Rops’ sadism and his “crazy mixture of mysticism, the beer hall [and] of boulevard pornography” (Moreau, A Propos de Rodin). Modern critics have generally been equally unkind and unenthusiastic. Edward Lucie Smith (in Symbolist Art, 1972, 173) saw Rops as representative of “everything that is most fundamentally opportunistic and tedious about the Symbolist movement.” The artist had- Lucie Smith felt- “a facility in making vulgar versions of eighteenth century art and an equal, but more praiseworthy skill in the depiction of contemporary low life” (I’m guessing that Lucie Smith refers here to artists like Greuze, Clodion and Fragonard). Other critics have found the Belgian “merely rhetorical, where all is explained but nothing felt” (J. Pierre, Symbolism, 1979), have seen Rops as the creator of “prurient eroticism [more] than moral significance” (Mathieu, The Symbolist Generation, 1990, 125) or as being the exploiter of “some of the commonplaces of the Symbolist repertoire with detachment of theatrical skill… [meaning that] he seized the drift of the cliches of his times and played upon them in masterly fashion” (Gibson, Symbolism, 2006, 87-88). Rops was, perhaps, too clever for his own good.

Foire aux amours

Felicien Rops was an established artist before Symbolism emerged, having originally been a satirical and humorous caricaturist. However, he was praised in 1868 for his eloquence in “depicting the cruel aspect of contemporary woman, her steely glance, her malevolence towards man… not hidden, not disguised, but evident in her whole person.” The artist was drawn to the poet Baudelaire because they shared a “strange love for the skeleton” (witness L’agonie and Sentimental Initiation illustrated below). In return, Baudelaire said that Rops’ talent “was as high as the pyramid of Cheops” and regarded him as the only true artist in Belgium at the time. Both men were licentious and anti-clerical, with Baudelaire claiming that obscene books transported the reader towards mystical experiences. The arch-Symbolist Joséphin Péladan praised the way in which “the intense Felicien Rops closes the cabalistic triangle of great art,” and compared him with as esteemed a figure as Albrecht Durer.

The Sentimental Initiation, 1887
Parallelism

Rops had a substantial reputation as an illustrator, esepcially of erotic texts (such as Barby D’Aurevilly’s Diaboliques and Péladan’s Vice Supreme). His key themes were woman, death and the devil. The hostility towards women just alluded to seemed to draw him towards Satanism. Huysmans said that Rops “celebrated the spirituality of Lust, which is to say Satanism;” he painted, with great skill, “the supernatural aspects of perversity; the otherworld of Evil.”

L’agonie

Rops’ illustrations to Les Sataniques (1882) were “deliberately blasphemous… less a monument to evil than one to vulgarity.” They verge on the caricature, but are perverse and erotic. Contemporaries saw his work as exposing sexual and religious hypocrisies. Hence, he illustrated a collection of Baudelaire’s banned poems (Epaves, 1866) and produced a rare painting based upon the poet’s Danse Macabre (1866-75). Rops was an atheist, but was familiar with religious iconography, which he subverted. He was a misogynist who desired women at the same time as despising them as inferior. These contradictions and the underlying tensions that they created may explain why his buxom females are often also dead, tortured or threatening. Critic Octave Mirbeau described how Rops “constantly strips man down to the skeleton and upon this macabre form knots his tortured muscles, twists his flesh, which is gouged by the claws of the chimaera and whipped by furious passions.” He was infamous at the time as a leading exponent of so-called ‘Black Symbolism.’ He has been called a “talented but sick” artist, who just about rescued himself “from dismal obscenity” by his skill and by the “sheer horror of his illustrations” (P. Jullian, The Symbolists, 1973, 15 & 52). Certainly, Rops repeatedly combines sex with death and corruption in a pairing that seemingly speaks of his own fear and anxiety.

One of Rops’ best known works is Pornokrates. The Belgian novelist Edmond Picard, who owned the picture, saw it as an image of “the feminine being who dominates our age and is so amazingly different from her ancestors.” Clearly, both men shared a fear, as well as a desire, for women, especially sexualised individuals like prostitutes, who might simultaneously serve and dominate. The presence of the pig, as is also seen in The Temptation of St Anthony (below), seems to stand as an emblem of our animal natures- always alert with greed. The woman he portrays in Pornokrates (taking the pig out on a leash, but also perhaps being led by that pig) is a kind of heartless dominatrix who, he likes to believe, teases and punishes men whilst giving free rein to her own powerful urges. The swine in this painting is likely to refer as well to the sorcerer Circe of Greek myth. She used magic potions to drug men and change them into pigs; understanding the female figure as having this additional power over male victims, to malignly enchant them, adds significantly to the potency of this image.

The sense of woman playing with man is emphasised by the mannikin held by both the Woman on a Rocking Horse (above) and by the wanton figure in Modern Masks (below). These two females (as with many he depicted) seem to be at the same time frivolous and playful, yet physically distant, self-contained and taunting. Indeed, Rops’ own sense of frustrated helplessness in the face of women comes over most evidently in his Document on the Impotence of Love (below), where the margin includes sketches of more ordinary women who are still unattainable for him.

Modern Masks, 1889
A Document on the Impotence of Love, 1894

Symbolism was a style that placed an emphasis upon human frailty and lusts. Rops epitomised this, portraying some of the most powerful but least attractive aspects of our nature with a cruel pleasure. His contempt for human kind as weak, trapped children and apes, driven by instincts and appetites, is pitiless; his images waver between the obscene, the trite and the inspired. They might also be considered confessional, in a highly Freudian way.

The Temptation of St Anthony

For more on the themes and problems of late nineteenth sexuality, and their manifestations in art, see in particular Bram Dijkstra, Idols of Perversity, 1986.

Sphinx & Femme Fatale

Felicien Rops, The Sphinx, 1882

I’ve previously discussed the curious nineteenth century transition from the idea of the sphinx as an enigmatic Egyptian figure (or flesh-eating Greek hybrid) to it becoming the epitome of the dangerous, sexualised female. The transformation appears to have been effected in several stages, involving leaps of reasoning, and all founded upon some fundamentally sexist ideas about women.

Frantisek Kupka, The Path of Silence, 1900

The starting point was the blank faced and noncommittal expression of the sphinx in the sands beside the pyramids at Giza. A convention arose whereby the inscrutable statue had sat through millennia of human history, witnessing changes but never displaying any reaction. This impenetrability, this mystery, was compared to the alleged incomprehensibility of women by various male writers and painters. Certain men couldn’t understand or relate to females, therefore it was assumed that they were deliberately and calculatedly sphinx-like: they were disdainfully teasing the men rather, of course, than the lack of understanding arising from some defect upon the part of the men.

Toorop, Three Brides

This was one aspect of a wider chauvinist stereotyping of women, a reflection of irreconcilable struggles within the psyche of the men themselves. The Three Brides by the Dutch painter Jan Toorop is an excellent example of this, particularly because the artist has left us his own explanation of his imagery. In the centre of the picture is the ‘earthly bride,’ she provokes in the (male) viewer an “inward, superior, beautiful desire” he said, for she is “a perfumed, hardly blossomed flower which hides under its veil both things: the pure aroma of tenderness and the burning gift of sensual pleasure.” On the left is a nun, who represents “ardour and gruesome asceticism” and on the right is a whore- “a hungry, insatiable sphinx” who represents the sensual world, and is “a dark passion flower, dripping with pleasure,” her hair bound up with snakes, a string of skulls around her neck. Toorop encapsulates my entire theme here. The ideal bride is a young virgin who, at the same time, is wonderfully sexy; the consciously sensual woman is rejected, though, precisely because she is sexually mature. It seems impossible to win: women were regarded as being both agents of the devil and symbols of beauty and purity…

The late Victorian period was riddled with this hypocrisy, founded on the dichotomy of the pure virgin and impure whore. Artists continually produced images of ‘Woman’ as the embodiment of all temptation. This carries us right back to Eve, of course, and explains the fascination with painting figures such as Delilah and Salome; the latter (as painted by Gustave Moreau) was, in the words of Huysman’s aesthete des Esseintes, “a symbolic incarnation of world-old Vice, the goddess of immortal Hysteria, the Curse of Beauty… the Beast of the Apocalypse…” Men wanted to marry the pure bride and, at the same time, they wanted to desire the experienced femme fatale– but would then feel full of remorse for doing so.

All sorts of nonsense was spouted to justify this artificial dichotomy, with a view to keeping (middle class) wives at home with the children. Some doctors suggested that sexual excitement and orgasm was actually positively harmful to women, causing them to become physically and mentally ill. Men were advised not to sleep with their wives too much, in case the women became unbalanced by desire. At the same time, men were drawn to- but scared of- the fully sexual women. They feared domination by her just as they found her tempting and appealing. Denying themselves contact with their wives, it likely a lot of men ended up seeking sex elsewhere, with guilt compounding their terminally confused state.

Khnopff, Vice Supreme

So, the woman as inscrutable sphinx developed into the female sphinx as a symbol of everything that was fleshly, yet inaccessible, evil yet magnetic. The woman as sphinx drawn by Fernand Khnopff as the frontispiece of the novel Le Vice Supreme has been described as having an aura of equivocation and conflict- she’s an enigmatic temptress with a seductive, ironic smile. The Belgian poet Emile Verhaeren said she was “a delicate sphinx, exquisite, refined, subtle, a sphinx for those who doubt everything, who are weary of everything; a sphinx for the sphinx herself.” She epitomises Victorian men’s fascinated repulsion and ambivalence towards women. The sphinx came to stand for the baser side of humankind- material and sinful- perpetually in tension with our spiritual aspirations.

Franz von Stuck, Sphinx, 1904
Auguste Raynaud. Sphinx

So, by circuitous routes, we arrive at the sphinx, not as a male Egyptian creature, but as a fully mature woman- impassive and unreadable, depraved and corrupting. As in the paintings by von Stuck and Raynaud, she may adopt the pose of the Gizan sphinx, and she may gaze blankly into the distance, but she is no supernatural being. In Felicien Rops’ strange frontispiece to Barbey d’Aurevilly’s Les Diaboliques of 1882 (see top of page) we have both sphinxes combined, the Egyptian statue rendered as a full breasted hybrid, and a naked woman, writhing sensuously on the sculpture- the depth of her depravity suggested by her arousal over the female figure. The combination of same-sex attraction, bestiality and a general aura of perversity (underlined by the skeletal watcher in the background) typifies Rops’ transgressive eroticism, but also highlights part of the wider fascination of the sphinx.

Lastly, as is visible in the background to Khnopff’s illustration, it was a short step back from the metaphorically sphinx-like woman to the mythical sphinx recast not just as deadly predator but as as sexually predatory female, her non-human body and legs visibly manifesting the animal, uncontrolled elements of her make-up. Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres’ Oedipus and the Sphinx (1808) incorporates something of this; she may be quite small, but with intent stare, her pert breasts and her paw, reaching out for him, she suggests the physical entrapment the creature represents.

In this context, we might well consider Oscar Wilde’s poem, The Sphinx, in which many of the aspects of this complex figure are captured. He understands her alluring mystery, imagines the events and people she has seen down the ages; he conjures the sphinx’s intriguing nature- and what repels about her too:

In a dim corner of my room for longer than
my fancy thinks
A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me
through the shifting gloom.

Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she
does not stir
For silver moons are naught to her and naught
to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air, the waves of
moonlight ebb and flow
But with the Dawn she does not go and in the
night-time she is there.

Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old and
all the while this curious cat
Lies couching on the Chinese mat with eyes of
satin rimmed with gold.

Upon the mat she lies and leers and on the
tawny throat of her
Flutters the soft and silky fur or ripples to her
pointed ears.

Come forth, my lovely seneschal! so somnolent,
so statuesque!
Come forth you exquisite grotesque! half woman
and half animal!

Come forth my lovely languorous Sphinx! and
put your head upon my knee!
And let me stroke your throat and see your
body spotted like the Lynx!

And let me touch those curving claws of yellow
ivory and grasp
The tail that like a monstrous Asp coils round
your heavy velvet paws!

Lift up your large black satin eyes which are
like cushions where one sinks!
Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx! and sing me all your memories!

Who were your lovers? who were they
who wrestled for you in the dust?
Which was the vessel of your Lust? What
Leman had you, every day?

[Wilde recounts her many noble human lovers over the aeons, but then makes clear that the sphinx is not constrained by gender- or species]

And from the brick-built Lycian tomb what
horrible Chimera came
With fearful heads and fearful flame to breed
new wonders from your womb?

Or had you shameful secret quests and did
you harry to your home
Some Nereid coiled in amber foam with curious
rock crystal breasts?

[Wilde then suggests even more exotic and bizarre lovers- the dead, various Middle Eastern gods, other hybrid animals]

Or did you when the sun was set climb up the
cactus-covered slope
To meet your swarthy Ethiop whose body was
of polished jet?

Or did you while the earthen skiffs dropped
down the grey Nilotic flats
At twilight and the flickering bats flew round
the temple’s triple glyphs

Steal to the border of the bar and swim across
the silent lake
And slink into the vault and make the Pyramid
your lupanar [brothel]

Till from each black sarcophagus rose up the
painted swathed dead?
Or did you lure unto your bed the ivory-horned
Tragelaphos? [a mythical half-goat, half-stag creature]

Or did you love the god of flies who plagued
the Hebrews and was splashed
With wine unto the waist? or Pasht, who had
green beryls for her eyes? [i.e. Beelzebub & Bastet]

Or that young god, the Tyrian, who was more
amorous than the dove
Of Ashtaroth? or did you love the god of the
Assyrian

Whose wings, like strange transparent talc, rose
high above his hawk-faced head,
Painted with silver and with red and ribbed with
rods of Oreichalch? [a gold-like metal]

Or did huge Apis from his car leap down and
lay before your feet
Big blossoms of the honey-sweet and honey-
coloured nenuphar?

How subtle-secret is your smile! Did you
love none then? Nay, I know
Great Ammon was your bedfellow! He lay with
you beside the Nile!

The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when
they saw him come
Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with
spikenard and with thyme.

He came along the river bank like some tall
galley argent-sailed,
He strode across the waters, mailed in beauty,
and the waters sank.

He strode across the desert sand: he reached
the valley where you lay:
He waited till the dawn of day: then touched
your black breasts with his hand.

You kissed his mouth with mouths of flame:
you made the horned god your own:
You stood behind him on his throne: you called
him by his secret name.

You whispered monstrous oracles into the
caverns of his ears:
With blood of goats and blood of steers you
taught him monstrous miracles.

White Ammon was your bedfellow! Your
chamber was the steaming Nile!
And with your curved archaic smile you watched
his passion come and go.

With Syrian oils his brows were bright:
and wide-spread as a tent at noon
His marble limbs made pale the moon and lent
the day a larger light.

[According to Wilde, the sphinx takes wild beasts and monsters as her lovers because she is so ferocious herself]

Your lovers are not dead, I know. They will
rise up and hear your voice
And clash their cymbals and rejoice and run to
kiss your mouth! And so,

Set wings upon your argosies! Set horses to
your ebon car!
Back to your Nile! Or if you are grown sick of
dead divinities?

Follow some roving lion’s spoor across the copper-
coloured plain,
Reach out and hale him by the mane and bid
him be your paramour!

Couch by his side upon the grass and set your
white teeth in his throat
And when you hear his dying note lash your
long flanks of polished brass

And take a tiger for your mate, whose amber
sides are flecked with black,
And ride upon his gilded back in triumph
through the Theban gate,

And toy with him in amorous jests, and when
he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,
O smite him with your jasper claws! and bruise
him with your agate breasts!

Why are you tarrying? Get hence! I
weary of your sullen ways,
I weary of your steadfast gaze, your somnolent
magnificence.

Your horrible and heavy breath makes the light
flicker in the lamp,
And on my brow I feel the damp and dreadful
dews of night and death.

Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver
in some stagnant lake,
Your tongue is like a scarlet snake that dances
to fantastic tunes,

Your pulse makes poisonous melodies, and your
black throat is like the hole
Left by some torch or burning coal on Saracenic
tapestries.

[For all her horrors, Wilde is still disturbed and entranced by her]

Get hence, you loathsome mystery! Hideous
animal, get hence!
You wake in me each bestial sense, you make me
what I would not be.

You make my creed a barren sham, you wake
foul dreams of sensual life,
And Atys with his blood-stained knife were
better than the thing I am.

False Sphinx! False Sphinx! By reedy Styx
old Charon, leaning on his oar,
Waits for my coin. Go thou before, and leave
me to my crucifix,

Whose pallid burden, sick with pain, watches
the world with wearied eyes,
And weeps for every soul that dies, and weeps
for every soul in vain.

Desire for the sphinx makes Wilde question all his inherited beliefs. She is the ultimate femme fatale, alluring despite her bestial, monstrous qualities- and deadly precisely because of them. As Bauhaus once wrote “The passion of lovers is for death.”