Elegance and Decadence...

I keep wondering and pondering about what happened to elegance as an aesthetic aspiration. Wherever you go, wherever you look, much of what is displayed these days appears (to me) shoddy, sloppy and soulless, proposing either dull and depressing materials and colours or an array of garish, cheap ones. Nothing is made to last, but perhaps that is not such a bad thing, all things considered. So when I went to the historic Elysée Montmartre, now used as a venue, I was confronted with the old and the new...

Making my way up to the reception area, I thought about all those other people who had likewise ascended the impressive stairway over the years.. not to mention all those looking down on them doing so! Today, the lighting is brightly-coloured, in line with the modern usage of the Elysée as function rooms for professional events, parties and so on.

However, the serving counter in the salon area surrounding the vast stairway was stunning with its grand windows, panelling and the ceiling frescoes that were partly lit up by the chandeliers. I loved gazing up at these, champagne in hand, trying to imagine what social gatherings must have been like in past centuries since inauguration of the Elysée-Montmartre as a salle de spectacle in 1807.

Passionflower and The Blue Bower...

I recently saw Rossettis' The Blue Bower (1865), currently on loan from the Barber Institute at the Courtauld Gallery. The artist's model and subsequent mistress - Fanny Cornforth - was but one of several such 'stunners' whose beauty was caught in the mesmerizing paintings they inspired. With her rich russet hair, tumbling down, her prominent neck and rose-bud mouth, Fanny was very much Rossetti's 'type'. However, I would say that the likenesses all of the women whom he painted seem to blend together to capture his aesthetic ideal. Although they were different from one another - these women shared a particular uniqueness or Rossetti delivered their image in such a manner so as to highlight this. The long, tumbling hair that was truly a 'crowning glory', the distinctive nose, the expressive, ever-parted lips, the pale eyelashes visible in the light, the tapering fingers that are so eloquent are all the key features in the portraits of his women.

Surrounded by exotic Chinese cherry-blossom blue tiles, and the intertwined flowers and tendrils of the passionflower, Fanny gazes out onto us as her fingers pluck the strings of a Japanese instrument, the koto. Her expression is hard to define - she appears timeless and uncompromising in all her splendour, further enhanced by the jewel-like colours typical in the rendition of Pre-Raphaelite art. Born in 1835, at thirty years old, Fanny Cornforth, is indeed stunning, as she is in Rossetti's Bocca Baciata (Lips That Have Been Kissed). Yet these richly painted images that convey an idealized, sensual beauty and untainted, other-worldly purity were far removed from the harsher, lacklustre realities of Fanny's life.

From a modest background, she had to work throughout her life, as a servant, housekeeper and, of course, artist's model. Her outspoken nature and supposedly limited grasp of the social niceties deemed essential to a decent Victorian lady, meant that Fanny was never fully accepted by Rossetti's entourage. Yet what she may perhaps have lacked in education and breeding, she made up for in her looks in youth and a certain devotion to the friendship that she maintained with Rossetti until the end, when his family drove her from his home. Fanny did marry twice, but this did not lead to any long-term security so that poverty and ill-health resulted in her final years being spent in a mental asylum where she was ultimately buried in a collective grave.

Before and after death, her name was frequently sullied by rumours of immoral behaviour and inappropriate manner during her lifetime with and without Rossetti, and the last photograph of her in old age bears no ressemblance to the woman she had once been; the hair, mouth and nose are in no way distinctive features. And yet the paintings live on, in their opulence, capturing the idealized lover and muse that she had at one time incorporated, like passionflowers bursting out into the sunlight in their extravagant glory before sundown.

The Enigmatic Saltonstall Painting...

In amongst the beautiful works of early 17th century portraiture in the Tate Britain is this fascinating group portrait painting. At first glance, it seems to be a slightly quirky family conversation piece with the members set around a sickbed rather than in a tea salon or in some bucolic scene, however all is not quite as it seems. Apparently painted by David de Granges (1611-1672), a painter of portrait miniatures, this large work is thought to represent the Saltonstall family from Oxfordshire.

Unlike paintings that underline the wealth and status of their patrons and/or their religious faith, this gathering appears to be a testimony to the ties, responsibilities and commitments between the family members. It is believed that Elizabeth, Richard Saltonstall’s first wife, is the ashen-white figure lying on her deathbed, with Mary, his second spouse, by her side. Elizabeth died from an unknown cause in 1630, thus leaving her husband a widower and leaving their two small children without a mother. Richard married Mary some three years later in 1633 and they went on to have two sons of their own, one of whom is depicted here as a swaddled baby. In this manner, there is an overlap of life and death and the merging of different periods of time. Although the painting was initially dated as from 1636, the style of clothing indicates a later date; 1640.

The first Saltonstall children, Richard and Ann, are shown on the left of the painting, the son loosely clasping the wrist of his young sister whilst leaving his other hand in that of his father, gripping the adult index finger between his own tiny fingers, in a discreet act of tenderness. In this manner the family unit is bound together, even more so as the father/husband reaches out in the direction of Elizabeth, thus forming a triangle with his head at the apex. The clothes and accessories worn by father and children give no indication of mourning; they seem relatively bright and well embellished. Of course, it should be remembered that the colour black was popularized in the Victorian era, following the example set by the grieving Queen Victoria herself, until then white or purple were frequently used to express loss. The son Richard is clothed in a girl’s attire – unbreeched - as was the norm up to the age of 7 years over the centuries until the end of the Victorian period. In the painting he is presented at the same age as when his mother died as opposed to the date of the painting’s execution. Richard Saltonstall is dressed in accordance with his status; elegant and stylish – just looks at the fancy bows and tassles on his garters! He also wears his hat indoors...

His outstretched left hand reaches towards his supine wife, as if to deposit the right glove into her upturned, open palm. She lies slightly propped up on the bed, framed by the rich curtains that surround it. Her delicate white gown is fully embroidered, as is the veil that covers her hair. Her eyes gaze on in the direction of her family, but offer no sign of recognition. It seems that she is not wearing a wedding ring or any other jewellery. In the right-hand corner sits Mary with her baby, both in attire that recall those of the other Saltonstalls, namely a red gown with white embroidery for the infant and an ecru satin dress for his mother, with lavish lace embellishment. Although she does not wear a wedding ring either, she has a ring on her left thumb, possibly an indication of a certain independence of mind and autonomy in relation to others. Perhaps as a sign of her individuality, she also has impressive pearl earrings and an elaborate hairstyle with curls framing the face. In her arms is one of the two babies she would have with Richard; John, born in 1634 (died in infancy) or Philip born 1636.

The orange-red swathed material of the bed curtains finds an echo in the colour of all three children’s gowns and the upholstery of Mary’s chair, thus creating a certain unity. The two women are set apart with their pale clothing, their attire denoting death and matrimony. The rich floral details in the wall hanging on the left - with crimson tulips and white lilies- harmonizes the opposites; adult, child, the deceased and the living, past and present. An open door slightly behind the eldest child seems to lead onto a forest scene shown on a lavish tapestry. The focal point of the work is the glove about to be delivered into Elizabeth’s extended hand. Gloves were more than a mere accessory to differentiate one class from the lesser ones, and the offered glove gesture is obviously weighted with significance yet its meaning is sadly not obvious to us today.

Nevertheless, many works exist from this period with one gloved hand (usually the left), clutching the right glove, leaving the other hand bare. This is a symbol of faith, trust and honestly, often linked to a legal arrangement. In this way, rather like the humble handshake, a glove proffered would bind vows that a gentleman had sworn, oaths that were pledged. Below is a portrait of the lawyer William Style of Langley (1636) showing his rejection of all that is the wordly in order to turn towards the spiritual.

The Saltonstall portrait could be assumed to be a visual trace of the promise made by Richard to his dying/dead wife to respect the interests of their offspring regarding the inheritance of the family estate. Indeed, widowers remarrying would often relinquish the rights of their first-born children in order to pacify a demanding young bride. Disputes invariably arose in the recomposed family unit, often fuelled by jealousy – Snow White being a case in point! As we observe the scene, we are held witness to the husband’s pledge and are forced to acknowledge this as the eldest child stares out at us. Richard Saltonstall, meanwhile, looks across to his second wife as he prepares to drop the glove, obliging her to recognize the act.

The depiction of the writing and amendment of wills on the deathbed was not infrequent in art and therefore the Saltonstall portrait is perhaps a variation of this theme. Despite the nature of the scene shown here, the tone is not overly morbid and the participants are not given over to excess displays of grief and nor is sadness etched on their faces. Elizabeth does not weep for the children left behind and nor does Richard shed any visible tears over her loss; Mary looks on in a placid manner. In sculpted funerary monuments and tombs, it was often habitual to present women who had died in childbirth, and to show the deceased and the living gathered together. Seen in this light, the Saltonstall portrait appears to be a combination of commonplace aesthetic and social practices but what makes it more unusual is its intimate nature, set in the home.