My Kid Could Paint That

Portrait of a Woman Scorned
The Fairer Sex Treated Not-So Fairly
Curated by Katherine Anderson

Madame Recamier, David, 1800.

Under a facade of white wraps and virginal beauty comes the story of Madame Recamier - the headstrong dame caught up in the downfall of her royalist family. At a young age, Recamier's father forced her to marry a man of his age in the interest of saving the family money after the French Revolution. But this hardly resolved the issue. When her beau lost the money with the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte, the family name was the only remnant of glory. But this hardly put Recamier in a position of glory. After avoiding demands to serve as a lady in waiting for the new elite, Madame Recamier and her now-elderly husband were expelled from France by Napoleon himself. After her husband's continuous refusal to allow her to marry again for money, Recamier returned to France and hid away in a convent until her death from cholera.

Though her family's royalist ties and dwindling bank accounts quickly made Madame Recamier a pariah in France, it was her virginal appearance that ultimately excluded her from prominent socialite circles. Rumors flourished about Recamier's suspicious marriage to a much older man, including that she was allergic to sexual encounters or that she was infertile. Thus, when David chose to paint Madame Recamier in 1800 (despite the family's commission of another artist), her angelic attire and awkwardly positioned body displayed this quality. Though many women of the time used portraits to confirm their status, many viewed Recamier's as a disgrace to biology and her family, for she was now clearly portrayed as a completely unsexualized being. The position outcome? The style of seat upon which Recamier lays in David's painting was quickly renamed as "the Recamier."

Berthe Morisot, Psyche, 1876

Each day we constant live in fear. Not the common sense of fear, but rather an underlying desire to be appreciated and included in the goings on of our surroundings. Our subconscious thrives on encounters with the people surround us, and the phobia of exclusion constantly dictates what actions we perform next. Berthe Morisot recognized this desire among women - according to European society, a woman must be thin, well-dressed, and perfectly innocent, a trifecta than drove women insane as they tried to conform to the expected perfection.

Thus, Morisot's masterpiece illustrates the hopelessness of this conformity. We see a young girl cinching the waist of her perfectly tailored dress, standing awkwardly in her heeled shoes as she stares longingly into the mirror. The image of perfection seems haunting, for though the girl appears affluent and well-coifed, the expression of her eyes shows that she feels subpar, unable to be the emblem of beauty and grace. The patterns of the surrounding room perpetuate this entrapment - the young girl cannot escape the demanding trends of her time. The mirror presents Morisot's greatest critique of her surroundings. The young girl appears faceless, undifferentiated from the world around her. She has conformed to the blasé culture that surrounds her.

Portrait of a Woman Scorned
The Fairer Sex Treated Not-So Fairly
Curated by Katherine Anderson

Francois Boucher, Madame de Pompadour, 1750.

Madame de Pompadour had all a rich, French woman could desire - an education, a fabulous wardrobe, close friendships with Voltaire and other prominent philosophes, and legendary poise. So it was no surprise when Louis XV honored her with the spot as his favorite mistress. Yet with this position came unconquerable amounts of hatred and scorn for poor Pompadour. Whether from jealousy or pure disgust, wealthy, impoverished, and royal Frenchmen shunned Louis' mistress even more than the indulgent princess that took her place.

Thus, when Louis XV commissioned Boucher, one of France's most esteemed portrait artists of the Rococo period, to illustrate Pompadour's grandiose life, the sound of dropping jaws rang across France. Now, Pompadour had permeated nearly all creative stimulation within the nation. With the painters and philosophers bowing at her feet, Madame de Pompadour became the emblem of French culture across Europe. Though the French people were embarrassed by this representation, Madame de Pompadour's portrait ushered in a new breed of female - informed, pampered, and respected by men.

Portrait of a Woman Scorned
The Fairer Sex Treated Not-So Fairly
Curated by Katherine Anderson

Frida Kahlo, Self Portrait with a Thorn Necklace,1940

Self Portrait with a Thorn Necklace epitomizes all we have come to know about Frida Kahlo - bold, bright colors, close ties to nature, a stolid expression, and of course the signature unibrow. Like many of her paintings, Self Portrait with a Thorn Necklace portrays the many hardships she experienced throughout her life - an abusive marriage to artist Diego Rivera, numerous bouts with polio, a traumatic car accident that led to multiple miscarriages, and a constant questioning of her sexuality - through the use of subtle natural symbols.

Despite the common notion of nature as freeing, Frida Kahlo illustrates herself as trapped and punished by these forces. The leaves surrounding her head seem uniform, showing the futility in trying to find newness. The animals behind her at first appear like guardians, but at a closer glance, they seem to be leeching off of Kahlo, adding an air of hopelessness to the painting. The thorn necklace is a direct allusion to the execution of Christ, implying that the sins of her country are unforgivable. Finally, the dead hummingbird hanged around her neck shows the ultimate demise of happiness. Despite the painting's bright colors and initial liveliness, Self Portrait with a Thorn Necklace clearly exhibits Kahlo's depression.

John Singer Sargent, Madame X,  1884

Portrait of a Woman Scorned
The Fairer Sex Treated Not-So Fairly
Curated by Katherine Anderson

Amelie Gautreau was the epitome of Parisian society of the nineteenth century - designer gowns, a wealthy spouse, regular exotic vacations, and ties to the artistic community. Yet every person worth talking about at the time had a secret life other than her appearance, chock-full of affairs unknown to the public eye. Amelie was no exception to this, and for years she climbed the social ladder of Paris, one bed at a time. Her porcelain skin and unique features made Amelie the epitome of beauty, grace, and affluence that each woman coveted. Yet with the slip of a single strap, Amelie Gautreau became the shunned figure known as Madame X.

Portrait of a Woman Scorned
The Fairer Sex Treated Not-So Fairly
Curated by Katherine Anderson

Girl with a Pearl Earring, Johannes Vermeer, 1667

There's something fishy that happens to a piece of artwork when it surpasses superstardom. Let's use Ferris Bueller's Day Off as an example. Despite its clever pranks and existential advice, there's always this strange feeling of boredom when someone suggests to watch it. Not because it isn't good, but because it's overused. It's a common phenomenon with things like Coldplay, McDonald's hamburgers, and 30 Rock. The "cult following" of once-good things turns off any desire to enjoy them. The same thing happens with art. For example, the fact that Van Gogh's Starry Night pops up on every art-related greeting card or notebook cover makes any painting connoisseur moderately nauseous. Not because the painting lacks innovation and skill, but because somehow its mass production ruins it. Similarly, Johannes Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring has been deemed banal by its Hollywood fame.

Though Girl with a Pearl Earring gained its fame from a fictional love story between the artist and its subject, that doesn't mean we, as viewers, should discount the painting's merit. With the boldness of color and complex emotion, Vermeer's masterpiece deserves a place in the Dutch Golden Age's hall of fame. Girl with the Pearl Earring exemplifies the cunning portraiture of later movements too, clearly influencing the realism of the early nineteenth century. All in all, the worthiness of this painting supersedes the hype of its fictional backstory and exemplifies the pinnacle of artistic inspiration.

Portrait of a Woman Scorned
The Fairer Sex Treated Not-So Fairly
Curated by Katherine Anderson

Vigee Le Brun, Marie Antoinette and her Children,  1787.

Marie Antoinette started her career as France's leading lady with a bad reputation. As a meek Austrian princess trying to save her homeland's grace by marrying the heir to the French throne, Marie's actions were questioned by every soul in Europe. Why did Louis XVI want this girl when he could have any maiden across the globe? The answer: money.

The French government was already poor, and for a small donation from Austria, marrying Marie Antoinette was the least Louis could do. So, when Marie pranced off to bed with her various gigolos, just as every queen did at the time, the public refused to turn a blind eye. Her expensive taste only amplified the skepticism. Marie Antoinette was more scorned than Eve, for her actions on the throne were more despicable than eating a forbidden apple.

Thus, in a fit of shame, Queen Marie hired the esteemed painter, Vigee Le Brun, to fix her tarnished reputation. Instead of a scantily clad depiction of Marie in her sleeping quarters, as she was most commonly viewed in France, Le Brun illustrated a maternal homebody, cradling her treasured children as though she had no cares in the world aside from building her family. Her somewhat plain red frock portrays a practicality unseen by the French public, and her feathered hat asserts the power that Queen Marie Antoinette had over the French crown. Most importantly, Marie lacked the "bling" for which she was most notorious. Le Brun portrayed Marie Antoinette as an ordinary woman, wise and understanding of France's needs.

Despite the portrait's beauty, its irony infuriated the French public. Its lies spurred even more vengeance against the frivolous French monarchy, for the people were appalled at the monarchy's attempt to become more relatable through a gigantic, expensive portrait of the country's most shameful figurehead. No matter how nice or motherly Marie Antoinette could be, her reputation preceded her. The rule of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette would forever be a joke, filled with gluttony and disregard for the French people.

Amedeo Modigliani, Jeanne Hebuterne, 1918

When one mentions an artist's name, his most popular work instantly pops into my head. Sargent? Madame X. Picasso? Guernica. Van Gogh? Starry Night. However some artists have more than one claim to fame. Or perhaps, the artist is one I dislike, and thus, my mind goes blank and my face fills with disdain. Modigliani, in my opinion, fell into the former category, until I took a closer look at the artist himself.

As a poor, Jewish, tuberculosis-ridden guy from Italy, Modigliani's life began as an uphill battle. After failing to hit it big in Paris, Modigliani turned to drugs and alcohol. He went from painting perfectly proportioned portraits to two-dimensional oval-faced ones, and as his absinthe consumption increased, so did the amount of light in his paintings. After doling out nearly all of his pale-faced portraits to his numerous bedmates, Modigliani died from tuberculosis without fame, fortune, or appreciation from the artistic community. But his life wasn't completely worthless, for not every young artist gets the opportunity to share drinks with Picasso or avoid fighting in the first World War.

Though his nudes sparked the most controversy, I choose not to remember Modigliani as a rebel, and I instead think of his most delicate painting of his final lover, Jeanne Hebuterne. This was one of the few portraits of his girlfriends that he didn't give away, and I feel it best displays Modigliani's artistic flair. The white, oval face and light surroundings are especially characteristic of his final years, and her simple hair and clothing allow Jeanne's beauty to speak for itself. Though plain, Modigliani's portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne, in my opinion, deserves the most admiration of any of his works.

Carolus-Duran, Lady with the Glove, 1869.

What comes to mind when you think "portraiture?" Perhaps you yawn, nonplussed by the thought of another painting of a rich woman sitting in her mansion. Maybe you laugh, finding pleasure in the uncomfortable facial expression of a subject that seems to be fighting his sheer agitation from the artist's time-consuming attention to detail. Prior to the late-nineteenth century enhancements to the realm of portraiture, this art form seemed boring in comparison to Titian's whimsical cherubs or David's intricate battle scenes. Yet suddenly, portraits became much more than simply a payment opportunity for struggling artists.

John Singer Sargent, Tommies Bathing, 1918.

A Modern Olympia, Paul Cezanne, 1874.

The idea of the full-frontal nude painting was nothing new when Edouard Manet created his infamous Olympia. Titian, Giorgione, Goya, and Ingres had also painted a naked female, seductively stretched across a casually disheveled bed. So why did the painting received such brash criticism at its 1865 debut at the Paris Salon? Just like many artists of the period, Manet also sought to depict the life of the lower class, yet he took a slightly different route than the pastoral images of Millet, Courbet, and Daumier. Manet seduced his bourgeois and upper class audiences with an image of an attractive female, who simply happened to be a member of the proletariat. The idea of a poorer woman having such mystery and intrigue as Olympia disturbed viewers of the painting, and many were shocked at the prospect of such a woman having an abundance of partners sending her flowers and gifts.

Cezanne hastily created his response to the scandalous Olympia, painting something that gave the critics what they desired in the original by Manet, yet clearly mocking the level at which the painting was criticized. Though Cezanne's A Modern Olympia still portrays a woman sprawled upon an unmade bed, she seems ashamed of her seductive presence, and cowers in the white, cloud-like sheets. The servant, instead of bringing her flowers from one of Olympia's many lovers, tries to cover the poor, naked woman with the bedsheets, hiding her away from the critics to prevent another attack on the illegitimacy of a sultry member of the lower class.

A rich, older man sits on the sofa directly across from Olympia, watching as the servant cloaks the weak woman. Could it be her lover, finished with his work, relaxing on the couch and waiting for his next appointment for the day? Perhaps the man is a critic, happily watching as the low-class courtesan of Manet's Olympia becomes hidden away in the fetal position. The framing of Olympia in Cezanne's version of the painting draws the eye directly to her unclothed, shameful position, and regardless of the backstory of the image, Cezanne proves that the critics and bourgeoisie are still drawn to the mysterious story of the brazen woman originally portrayed in Manet's Olympia.

Karl Friedrich Schinkel, Altes Museum, 1825-1830

The Altes Museum (old museum), German's first formal museum of art and history, seamlessly displays the beauty of German nature and artistry with regal Grecian stature. Located on the Spree Island in Berlin, Germany, it serves as one of the nation's most treasured Neoclassical works of architecture. Built between 1825 and 1830 by Berlin's most renowned architect of the time, Karl Friedrich Schinkel, the museum actually served as a complement to the impressive Pleasure Garden of the Spree Island.

Princess Louise of Prussia, the daughter of Fredrich Wilhelm, King of Prussia, built the garden over the course of the seventeenth century as a refuge in Prussian territory. Almost a century and a half later, one of Fredrich Wilhelm's successors sought to expand the artistic influence of the Spree Island and built the museum as a haven for the treasures of German culture, mostly to keep them away from the French. The museum thrived for approximately a century, acquiring an extensive collection of Grecian masks and iconic statues even through periods of war and political tension. During the rise of national Fascism, the Altes Museum was the subject of many propaganda publications, and because of its increase popularity, multiple German painters donated some of the nation's most spectacular frescos.

Yet at the start of the Second World War, a tank explosion destroyed the Pleasure Garden and much of the museum, destroying nearly all of the walls of the Altes Museum. After a period of post-war restoration that resulted in the museum's closure from 1951 through 1965, it reopened with a newly added Romanesque rotunda and sculpture garden (commemorative of the Pleasure Garden that was unable to be recovered after the war). The building continues to be one of Berlin's most prestigious structures of the nineteenth century, combining the revival of Grecian architecture with the magnificence of the Neo-classical Germany.

Thomas Gainsborough, Mrs. Thomas Graham, 1777

Pearls, diamonds, feathers, and silk cover her perfectly postured physique. The slight curve of her wrist mirrors the draping of her cascading dress and the plume of her hat. Wispy trees and branches frame her delicate porcelain face. The pink of her crepe skirt brings out the faint blush of her cheeks, giving a warmth to her face accentuated by the sunset. At first glance, Mary Cathcart appears to be the quintessential high-class woman of eighteenth century England, dripping with all of the grandeur that money could buy. Yet the painting tells an entirely different story of Mrs. Graham.

Despite her pristine attire and elite status, Thomas Graham's spouse longs for something more from her seemingly flawless life. The clouds in the background follow the same path as her longing stare, away from the dark forest that holds her into the oppressive shackles of European society. Even the passionate love from her husband, vaguely shown by the rosiness of her skirt, fades into the smokey, ominous countryside behind her.

Though Thomas Gainsborough was no fortuneteller, Mary Cathcart, the subject of the painting, died just a few years later at the young age of 35 after a bout with tuberculosis. The clouds arguably could be the disease creeping upon Mrs. Graham, or they might simulate the black drape that her husband placed over her painting after her demise. Whatever the significance of the countryside, Gainsborough's The Honorable Mrs. Thomas Graham unfolds the dark effects of high society in eighteenth century England.