Indigo Enchantment.... Burleighware.

As far back as I can remember, pieces of Burleighware Blue Calico have been a visual staple in family life to the point where its unmistakable deep indigo seems to be the very essence of 'home'. In fact, the Burleigh design Calico, born in 1968, is almost a contemporary of mine and despite the company undergoing a number of ups and downs from the end of the 1990s, their ware is still much sought-after. Even though I don't at present possess any Calico myself, just the mere sight of a cup, plate or dish with its characteristic floral motive in that rich inky-blue literally pulls at ties that are almost visceral in me.

Somehow the extreme contrast of that intense, rich blue with the white sprigged leaves and speckled petals ofCalico creates a depth that is unique with a certain enamel-like relief that dazzles on the tableware. Strangely however, that same depth is not carried over to the Calico wall tiles that were born from the 2021 partnership with Craven Dunnill and nor is it replicated in the Calico Burleigh X Barneby Gates wallpaper. Furthermore, even though I love all Burleighware with its unapologetic, antiquated prettiness - for example Blue Asiatic Pheasants or Blue Regal Peacock - nothing has the same aesthetic and emotional impact as the Blue Calico.

While an initial earthenware manufacturing firm was established in 1851 in the 'Mother Town' of Stoke-on-Trent, Burslem, in The Potteries region of North Staffordshire, the two men whose names gave rise to Burleigh (Messrs Burgess and Leigh) took over in 1862 and later moved the company to Middleport Pottery, where it is still based today. The company prides itself on its continued use, and unrivalled expertise in the practice of underglaze tissue transer printing in the production process, much of which can be observed during guided tours of Middleport. This is certainly one site that I would love to visit as not only can you admire intricate skills that have remained unchanged for over 250 years, it is also possible to purchase your favourite Burleigh pieces in the factory shop!

A New Home for Old Ceramic Staffordshire Dogs...

Having had my eye on this pair of copper-lustre Staffordshire dogs in one of the antique shops for some time, I finally succombed to temptation, and so now the next chapter of their story will be written into mine. In theory, these earthenware figures would have been manufactured in the ‘Potteries’ region of England – the Staffordshire area around Stoke-on-Trent ; heart of British ceramic production from the 17th century onward and home to the grand companies of Wedgwood and Spode. However, they may even have been produced in Scotland -around Glasgow or Edinburgh – areas also known for industrialized pottery production, and for developing their own line of ‘wally dugs’ (china dogs). Either way, I have no idea how or when this pair ended up in France but their past must certainly have been somewhat eventful, and not without mishap, as one of the dogs was broken and (rather shoddily) glued together again ! Two sets of Staffordshires have always been part of the decor in my family home and although I grew up with them, I never really wondered about their origins. Now, literally stuck in France due to travel restrictions to the UK, seeing my pair of recently-acquired dogs makes me think of home in every sense and wonder about the paths we lay down and follow, accompanied by our treasured objects. As antiques pieces, I assumed that Staffordshire dogs adorned the wealthiest households, catering for sophisticated taste that would set the discerning owner apart from the masses. In fact, these figures were largely intended for the working classes alone, albeit those with sufficient financial means to splash out on such ornamentation. Initially they were sold locally but manufacture grew as the fashion to dress the fireplace mantels caught on, especially in Victorian Britain when a matching pair of ‘hearth dogs’ was felt to lend a certain touch to the modest home. Thousands of these were first sold at relatively affordable prices at fairs and markets– quite ironic considering that a good pair of authentic Staffordshire models can fetch considerable sums in auction houses and antique shops today.

Although such figures were produced in a variety of breeds – Dalmatians and greyhounds included – the most common was surely the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. This was the favourite dog of Charles II of England and later that of Queen Victoria herself, whose childhood pet ‘Dash’ was represented in paintings by Landseer. These ceramic beasts came in a variety of sizes – some surprisingly large – but all generally presented in a seated position, with the front leg(s) occasionally separately moulded from the body. For the most part, the dogs bear a gold chain and locket for a regal touch, and patches of gold luster on the body too. Details of fur in the moulding and paintwork vary somewhat, depending on the quality of the pieces. The craze for such dogs meant that they were churned out in ever-greater numbers to meet demand and so delicate brushstrokes would be replaced by daubs of paint. Regardless of their quality, all models nevertheless maintained a quaint air that in no way sought to achieve a slavish realism of the animal in question. The dogs’ expression tends to be rather quizzical – with arched eyebrows and eyes that tend to gaze ahead. Whilst my dogs have simple painted yellow irises, many models had glass eyes that must have caught the light around the fireplace in their original settings. It is said that the factory workers’ children were employed to hand paint the whiskers and other fine details. Certainly, in the early models no two dogs were identical which added to their charm all the more. The colour of the dogs varied too. Often russet brown or black features were common on a typically white body, highlighted with the touches of gold. Whatever the colourings, the back of the models remained largely undecorated since this was not visible from the dogs’ vantage point upon the mantelpiece ! Some figures were placed on the window sill and rumour has it that the position of the dogs would indicate to an illicit lover when the coast was clear and an unwitting spouse was away… The sending of a text message today certainly has none of the cachet of the past !

Given that early Staffordshire ware tended not to be marked, it is difficult to know the age of many specimens. This is further compounded by the fact that the market today is awash with reproductions, many of which date back to the 1920s and 1930s when the dogs underwent a resurgence of popularity. The signs of the production methods employed are generally the best way to date a piece. A coin-sized hole in the base of a dog indicates that the slip-cast process was used in order to mass produce in the late 19th century. My dogs have the small holes in their backs that are indicative of the press-mould production of the earlier models and they also look remarkably like another pair of dogs that date back to the 1860s. However, with their hit-and-miss reassembly, and glue scar-tissue, my maimed Staffordshire spaniels could no longer command any sizeable sale price on the market but they are worth more than mere money. I do wish antiques could talk - to tell us their story and those of the people who have accompanied them over the decades…

My Imari Cat - Chinese or Japanese?

There is a certain amount of mystery surrounding this porcelain cat, with his enigmatic expression and puzzling past life. If cats have nine lives, I am not sure where he has spent the others prior to making an appearance in mine. Apparently this is a piece of ‘Chinese Imari’ as it has a qian yi tang mark on its base, perhaps dating back to the early 20th century. Despite having hunted around on internet for similar feline specimens, all those I have come across are either quite different in shape and design to this one/suspiciously modern-looking but vaunted as ‘vintage’ /generally cheap and tacky-looking. None of them really offer any solid description regarding origins, even though most of these are/were being auctioned off – some at exorbitant prices !

I have to say, with a certain amount of pride, that not one of these other models was on the same standing as mine ; the cat’s whiskers indeed ! He certainly thinks so, with that strange smile, and odd gaze! His colours are bright and well defined as they offset each other, but not in a shoddy, gaudy manner ; the painted floral detail is fine and delicate ; the glaze is fairly matt as opposed to shiny and superficial ; his porcelain mass is satisfyingly weighty. The only thing lacking is his story and the history of other Imari cats or other creatures like him. He too came from an auction house, but delivered without any kind of concrete information, strangely enough. However, whatever the particular trajectory of my cat, Imari porcelain in general exemplifies the centuries’ old exchange of ceramic style and technique between the Asian countries of China, Japan and Korea and the Middle East.

Porcelain is of course a Chinese invention and is typically referred to as ‘china’ in everyday English usage. The name Ming generally conjures up the image of some priceless vase used as a prop or piece of incriminating evidence in some whodunnit story ! However, the Ming dynasty was in fact just one of several successive dynastic periods that produced ceramics that would go on to dominate world trade - from the Song (960–1279), Yuan (1279-1368), Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties. From the 13th century, with its vast kilns Jingdezhen in Southern China was to become ‘porcelain city’. Much of this porcelain from the Yuan period was exported to the Middle East, and was adapted to and likewise influenced by the desire for ceramics enhanced by decorative motifs in blue glazes. Indeed, blue-and-white porcelain was manufactured en masse with its signature underglaze developed from the cobalt ‘Islamic blue’ exported from Persia.

From the Ming period onwards, Jingdezhen made imperial porcelain and the kilns were controlled by the emperor, but the taste for blue-and-white ware extended far beyond China and was to sweep across the Western world. Porcelain pieces initially came to Europe across land via the Silk Route, but Portuguese merchants later brought greater amounts back in seabound vessels. Yet despite an ever-growing supply, porcelain still remained the preserve of royalty and the rich, primarily in Portugal until the Dutch started to ship Chinaware massively to Amsterdam, the ‘world’s harbour’. The insatiable appetite of the affluent West for exotic ceramic goods and a whole range of other equally luxurious Asian artifacts was such that when, in the mid 1600s, the new Qing government closed ports following the demise of the Ming dynasty, the Dutch East India Company (VOC), turned to Japan as an alternative supplier.

From the mid 13th century, the tea-drinking culture that had originally been brought back to Japan from China by a Buddhist monk took a firm hold in Japanese culture, with the ritual of the tea ceremony leading to a demand in fine imported Chinese ceramic ware. During the Momoyama period (around 1573 – 1603), Japan set up its own porcelain production, aided by the arrival of expert Korean potters with their skillful use of the noborigama or 'rising kiln'. In the early 17th century, many of these artisans settled in an area that was found to be rich in kaolin clay, around the city of Arita. In this manner, Imari porcelain was born – named after the shipping port from where it left for Nagasaki. Initial Imari ware (Shoki-Imari) was based on blue-and-white porcelain and was sometimes referred to as Arita ware. This was so popular that many Europeans copied it on tin-glazed earthenware, Delft Blue from the Netherlands naturally being the main one to come to mind.

Japanese Imari style evolved over time as the blue underglaze was highlighted by a rusty reddish and a brilliant gold. In the same manner, this Imari style with its trio of colours was imitated throughout the West and was to be manufactured in Meissen in Germany, Chantilly in France, Delft in the Netherlands, and by Spode, Derby and Minton to name just a few in England. Imari pieces were typically decorated with flowers, birds, mythological creatures and auspicious symbols in line with the Japanese appreciation of both the natural and supernatural worlds and often inspired by textiles. Enamel decoration of porcelain, using an overglaze technique developed from the 1650s. This sub-type of Imari ware, known as Kakiemon (named after the persimmon fruit, kaki), employed soft red, yellow, blue and turquoise green colours to great effect and was highly popular and influential. So much so that when China’s porcelain trade picked up again for export at end of the reign of emperor Kangxi (1662-1722), it took full advantage of the European taste for Japanese design. It also profited from Japan’s own trade restrictions due to an isolationist foreign policy ! Thus Chinese Imari was born – based on both Japanese Imari and Kakiemon and drawing from their respective successes. Compared to Japanese Imari, the Chinese variety is said to have a thinner glaze, a brighter blue underglaze and a more translucent red enamel overglaze... Although Japan’s trade with the Dutch continued, its exports declined. Production costs were far higher than those in China, making the competition far too powerful to rival and so by 1740 this first period of Japanese exportation came to an end.

Japanese Imari did surge back into the Western markets from the mid 19th century when sakoku ('closed country') ended and exports were able to resume during the Meiji era. This of course coincided with the fascination of all things Japanese as Japonisme swept the West, influencing not only fine and decorative arts, but also architecture and landscape gardens. Japanese objets d’art became luxury objects of desire and a craze for collecting and displaying pieces fired trade. In many respects the long-reaching impact of Japonisme on Western aesthetics mirrored that of Chinoiserie which had reached a peak in the Rococo style of the mid-18th century, and thus continued the Asian influence. But where does that all leave my Imari cat ? Can he be considered to be more Japanese than Chinese ? Were such animal figures popular in Japan or China – or both ? I still don’t really have any clear idea but maybe that is part of his charm. Either way, I am dreaming of going back to museums and historical centres to see visions of blue-and-white, regardless of origin and have set my sights on Amsterdam…

Material made Magic - The Sculpture and Ceramics of Jean-Joseph Carriès...

Le Faune - Carriès - 1880s

Having seen the striking posters for an exhibition of Les Contes Etranges de N. H. Jacobsen, I was drawn to the Musée Bourdelle to see the unique work of the 19th century Danish sculptor on a bracingly cold day back in March. Although presented as the dream-like reflections of the artist’s vision – as both essence of the Symbolist movement and aesthetic of Art Nouveau - these works felt fairly nightmarish, given the slightly apprehensive atmosphere reigning in Paris, just days before national lockdown. 

Troll - N.H Jacobsen - 1896

Set alongside the work of Jacobsen – a previously little-known Scandinavian artist - were other, more familiar examples of art of a disquietening vein, either fin-de-siècle or from the start of the 20th century. Recurrent Symbolist themes and preoccupations were explored in various art forms throughout the exhibition, so that the whole was far more ambitious and wide-ranging than expected and certainly did not focus on Jacobsen alone.

Head of Medusa - Arnold Böcklin - 1894

                                                  
In this universe, troubling images of the dark realms of the psyche, multi-facetted perception and duplicity abound ; beauty and laideur, good and evil, purity and temptation, life and death, youth and decrepitude, night and day. Serpents, hybrid monsters, figures of depravity, decline and death from Antiquity and folklore alike appear in sculpted, carved and painted form. However, it should be said that a special place is reserved for the complex female figure which frequently manages to combine all the previous groupings and still eludes definition. No wonder Freud found it difficult to determine what women wanted !

The maternal being, who gives life and sustenance, may smother and emasculate too. The chaste Madonna could therefore possibly be seen as a treacherous temptress, and the feminine object of desire could lead to destruction. The snake-haired Gorgons of Greek mythology – particularly Medusa -  with their terrifying gaze are shown to be just as deadly as the enchanting Sirens, or the biblical figure of the femme fatale - Salomé. Their prey, hapless Man, is powerless to resist the sexual desire for this beautiful Fleur du Mal (Baudelaire) who will surely lead him to his perdition…

Detail from La Porte de Parsifal - Carriès 1892

Many of Jacobsen’s works, with their dark ambiguous expression, menacing posture and gaunt, angular forms, recall Viollet-le-Duc’s chimeras from the neo-Gothic restoration of Notre Dame – source of inspiration to the sculptor. Indeed, having won a scholarship, the artist had left his native Scandinavia in 1891 and was able to travel to Italy and Germany before settling in Paris for a period of ten years, during which he lived and worked in the artists’ community - La Cité Fleurie – and came into contact with other art and artists. Jacobsen’s elongated, furrowed bodies of troubling figures are frequently based on characters from Nordic mythology and those from the tales of Hans Christian Andersen. They swirl and circle in a rather predatory fashion, emerging from the shadows and the recesses of our mind – as the bêtes fauves of Baudelaire - igniting a primal fear as the incorporeal is given sweeping, sinewy form and flesh.

Troll - Jacobsen - 1896 

Jacobsen’s Troll (1896) strides ahead, sniffing out his prey (Christians) with the claws of his outstretched arm ready to strike, offset by the angular hand that grips his own willful, serpentine tail, the whole sending out eerie shadows across the exhibition space. Very creepy, as too was the representation of the Grim Reaper in La Mort et La Mère (1893), from Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of 1847. The figure of death takes off with a baby, yet turns back to look down on the huddled body of the despairing mother at his feet. The bold dynamism of the Reaper’s movement, emphasised by his bare, angular limbs, curved scythe and wind-swept cloak is contrasted with the impassive, immobile feminine form, shrouded by the folds of clothing that flow out in submission.

La Mort et La Mère - Jacobsen - 1892

A similar fluidity of movement and sense of foreboding is created by The Shadow (1897), another being from an Andersen tale, shown to be have taken on its own menacing form, independant of the human body. The later work of the La Petite Sirène (1901) offers the same flowing, restless forms, yet like the mother in La Mort et La Mère, the mermaid’s body is shown in a more Realist manner, without the exaggerated, jagged contours of Symbolist expression, thus reflecting Jacobsen’s evolving style which would again change as he returned to his motherland in 1902.  

La Petite Sirène - Jacobsen - 1901

As much as I appreciated Jacobsen’s work, there is only so much Scandi noir you can take in without feeling somewhat oppressed and so it was the art of French sculptor Jean-Joseph Carriès which really caught my attention at the exhibition. And yet Carriès also explored the darker recesses of the mind and the imaginary too, with his down-trodden subjects, horror masks and hybrid monsters, but in an approach similar to that of Middle Age art, wherein the grotesque invariably feels somewhat ‘safe’. I do not know how far Jacobsen was influenced by the work and technical approaches of sculptor/ceramist Carriès but when he settled in the Parisian cité des artistes, Carriès had already earned a name and reputation for himself, having attracted the attention of the Salon de la Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts and been made knight of the Légion d'honneur in 1892. However, the acclaim and influence of Carriès – a contemporary of fellow sculptor Rodin -  was to be largely post-humous, as he sadly died in 1894, before even reaching the age of 40. The incredible work produced during this life cut short, obviously made me wonder what he would have achieved had he survived ill health, but then the 19th century is pock-marked with the cruel loss of artistic talent literally consumed by the ravages of tuberculosis; the Bronte sisters, Frédéric Chopin, John Keats, Aubrey Beardsley….. 

Les Grotesques - Carriès

From the outset the odds seemed stacked against Carriès’ mere wordly survival, let alone any kind of artistic success. Indeed, he had not been dealt a winning hand but that seems to have driven him on. Born in Lyon in 1855 (compared to Jacobsen’s 1861), Carriès and his siblings were orphaned six years later and duly placed in the care of the Catholic charitable institution La Compagnie des Filles de la Charité de Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, under a certain Sister Callamand.  For a relatively short period, he was an apprentice sculptor in a workshop producing religious statues of a Neo-Gothic nature. He visited the Musée des Arts Décoratifs de Lyon, the local churches and the cathedral of Saint Jean, but had no formal academic teaching. He was particularly drawn to Gothic art, and the porch of Saint Jean and the plaster moulds taken from the stonework of La Monastère Royal de Brou à Bourg-en-Bresse fascinated him, marking him with the desire to work ‘piously’, in the manner of the craftsmen of the Middle Ages. 

Portrait of Loyse Labbe - Carries - 1888

Having left his apprenticeship after two years, he worked alone before going to Paris in 1874 in order to study at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. The first pieces shown in the Salon de Beaux-Arts were considered too realistic and he was suspected of having merely made direct mould copies of his subjects – an accusation made of his contemporary Rodin too. Carriès did not pass the entrance exam to the Ecole and was obliged to continue working alone, initially surviving hardship thanks to the support of a fellow artist friend from Lyon - Jean-Alexandre Pézieux - himself admitted for study. Through an opportune encounter with a group of workers in Passy, Carriès was commissioned to sculpt a bas-relief fronton for the Château de Meslay-le-Vidame at the behest of a certain Compte de Brimont. Le Temps Dévoilant les Heures (1874), was carried out with Pézieux, who sculpted the Hours, whilst Carriès worked on the figure of Time. 

From this period, his work focused largely on busts, for which he gained recognition in the Paris Salon of 1875. Portraiture represented a large proportion of a sculptor’s earnings and so it had been for Carriès too, already prior to his arrival in Paris. While taste and custom called for portraits that were realistic, yet somewhat flattering, Carriès rejected slavish likeness in favour of a certain inventiveness in approach and experimentation in technique in order to capture an essence of character or spirit in the sitter. He later declared that he wished to abandon portraiture since he was too fanciful an artist for the requirements of that particular genre. Nevertheless, when he was called back to Lyon in 1876 to visit his 18-year-old sister, dying from tuberculosis, he created a portrait that he would later use in a study ; The Novice. 

From Les Désolés series - Carriès

Over the years, Carriès worked on series -  producing sets of sculpted busts on different themes which again caught the public eye due to a style that set him a part from his contemporary sculptors. The Desperate ; Babies and Historical figures, His Desolate characters, exhibited in 1882 are borne from the expressions and traits observed in the unfortunate city dwellers that he passed each day. Their hardship and suffering, presented on busts without stand or pedestral, shown directly and unflinching, reflect the artist’s own understanding of the human condition and the will to convey this to the public, exaggerating or distorting objective reality where necessary.

Velaquez - Carriès - 1882

 The busts from his babies series share a similar depth that is a little unsettling – these may be round-faced babes but they are far from the rosy-cheeked portrayals of ‘cute’ offspring that we are more familiar with. The historical figures are likewise given a certain air of mystery, enhanced by the artist’s desire to present a legendary past, allowing him to experiment and invent at will. He declared that he wanted to be 'the Velasquez of sculpture’ and indeed the Goncourt brothers remarked that his work bore ‘pictural effects’. A later piece, Le Guérrier (1884), presents a self-portrait of the artist as a Spanish conquistado, whose impenetrable gaze is far removed from the priggishness stare often on offer on your average 19th bust. 

Carriès

Likewise, Carriès’ artistic input means that his work does not have that bland reality that modern sculpture or painting often has, wherein a perfect ‘lifelike’ quality kills the art within, resulting in work that is somehow dull - lacking depth and vitality. One of Carriès’ most famous works, Le Faune (1885), reflects the enigmatic expression of his subject - head tilted, eyes shut in a timeless pose – mirroring the Symbolist mood of melancholic introspection. Other works – les Masques Grotesques – recall the traditional masks used in the Japanese Noh theatre, yet their striking expressions bring them alive in the present moment.

Carriès

In 1878, Carriès discovered the beauty of Japanese glazed stoneware and ceramics, exhibited in the Pavillon Japonais at the Exposition Universelle. From then on, he sought to manipulate his materials to reflect his vision of the subjects and the surface of their given ‘skin’. The strange beasts that he later modelled would prove to be the perfect subject, with their gnarled bodies and rough, textured skin that enabled him to experiment further in ceramic techniques. Not surprising then, that frogs -  along with other amphibians - were to fascinate him. He became obsessed by the technical approaches required to obtain a desired finish and tonal effect, playing with the full possibilities of polychrome in his art – whether he was working with wax, plaster, clay, bronze or stoneware.

Carriès

Many of the works, such as Le Faune, are repeated in different materials – glazed stoneware, patinated plaster and bronze – each version creating a unique impression, texture and colouration. Carriès’ association with the master founder Pierre Bingen - one of the first to put into practice the lost wax casting technique in Paris – led to the considerable success of an 1888 exhibition. This gave Carriès sufficient financial means to pursue his main goal, that of owning a workshop to explore and perfect his techniques in ceramics and stoneware. He was finally able to leave the capital and set up in St-Sauveur-en-Puisaye, a small village in Burgundy that was known for its clay supply and the pottery community that thrived there. 

Grenouille avec Oreilles de Lapin - Carriès

This arrangement enabled Carriès to (re)produce his work via artisanal processes, hence maintaining the essential vitality and authencity of each piece, unlike the industrially-produced work of the period that could be churned out endlessly. However, these multiple, complex experiments seem to have led the artist into an obsessive frame of mind which ensnared him and his art in an alchemist’s folly, reminding me a little of William de Morgan’s lifelong search for the perfect glazing technique.

Grenouille Faisant le Gros Dos - Carriès

By 1890, Carriès declared that his enemies were the vital elements  - fire, water, air and soil – the subtle interplay of which his work depended on. Success during the firing process was never guaranteed, so that many hours and pieces of work could be lost in the search for something « harmonious and fantastic, refined and barbaric », especially in his most ambitious commission – La Porte de Parsifal. The artist grew to be literally consumed by his art, and later, by poor health as an obsessive commitment to what would be his final project drove him to virtual insane measures. Indeed, the desire to realise his artistic vision swiftly led to nightmare scenarios that resulted in the artist’s actual death within the space of a few years.

Detail of La Porte de Parsifal - Carriès - 1892

Wishing to commission a vast decorative archway within her new Parisian townhouse as an ostentatious affirmation of her cultural status, the future Princesse de Polignac (1865-1943) turned to Carriès to execute the work. A talented musician and painter, the Princess would regularly receive le tout-Paris artistique for unique musical salons in her home (labelled by Proust as ‘le Hall’) and required a doorway to separate the room in which she planned to house the manuscript of Wagner’s opera Parsifal from the concert space. 

Detail of La Porte de Parsifal - Carriès

Initially, the project of this Porte Monumentale was to follow the design elaborated on the 1890 watercolour by Eugène Grasset. The painting showed five female heads on the left pillar, five male heads on the right whilst a central pillar bore a Virgin figure – in the likeness of the patron herself. However, Carriès went on to leave out the female faces, replacing them with grimacing hybrid creatures whilst the Virgin figure was no longer set in a niche but seemed to emerge from a gaping, diabolical mouth. Little by little, Carriès seemed to take ever greater artistic licence as the project gradually became his personal Holy Grail. 

Maquette of La Porte de Parsifal (lintel) - Carriès - 1892

The terrifying images of imaginary beasts that he created were both the source and reflection of the rêve hallucinatoire that took over his life. He was inspired by Gothic artwork and that of Japan, alongside the more exotic, with the Easter Island statues, the bas-reliefs of Angkor Vat and the literature of Baudelaire, amongst other writings. With his multiple experiments in ceramic techniques and the sheer size of the work itself (6 metres in height with over 600 pieces of glazed stoneware), the volume of hard graft required and the mass of materials, the doorway siphoned off increasing amounts of time and money. 

Monkey and Owl Detail (maquette)

Sadly, the project never reached completion - just like Rodin’s Porte d’Enfer (surely a more appropriate title for Carriès’ last work), it remained unfinished. The pressure to respect financial limits and deadlines further weakened Carriès health, all the more so as he was threatened with legal action. Stress and overexertion resulted in a respiratory illness similar to the tuberculosis that left Carriès an orphan and had claimed the life of his sister. He died in 1894. And so it was that the patron was left with a work that not only failed to correspond to what had been requested but now also remained incomplete. However, in view of the fact that she was born Winnaretta Singer - wealthy heir to the Singer Sewing Machine Company  – surely money should have been far less an issue, and not one that cost the artist his life. 

Detail of Lintel - Porte de Parsifal - Carriès

Regarding La Porte, worse was to come. Whilst the original plaster version of La Porte de Parsifal was exposed in Le Petit Palais in Paris for over 30 years in a room dedicated to Carriès work following the artist’s death, its fate was sealed by the decision of an over-zealous museum curator (Raymond Escholier). Seeking to make room for an exhibition of Italian art, he ordered the archway to be taken down and the Carriès room dismantled in 1934. The archway was simply destroyed in the 1950s…. 

Detail of Lintel

I sometimes wonder if there is a special state of Purgatory for the curators, town councillors and senators etc who allow art and architecture to be swept away to make way for their personal artistic perceptions, however well-intentioned those may be. If Purgatory be a place, La Porte de Parsifal is surely set at its entrance.

Self-portrait - Carriès

Fortunately, the 2007 exhibition ‘La Matière de l’Etrange; Jean-Joseph' Carriès brought the artist back to the public’s eye and the Carriès room was reinstated in Le Petit Palais (Paris) in 2005. I don’t think I had ever heard of him before the Jacobsen exhibition, but I finally saw the space dedicated to some of his work in Le Petit Palais at the weekend. Very moving on every level, and all the more special as this was my first time back to Paris since lockdown. I am now eagerly awaiting the Aubrey Beardsley exhibition at Musée d’Orsay that had to be postponed due to the situation…

Artist's Mother - Detail from Self-portrait - Carriès 

Porte de Sèvres...

Along the impressive Boulevard Saint-Germain in the 6th arrondissement, stands an almost imperceptible vestige from the Parisian Belle Epoque. Indeed, as throngs of tourists and Parisiens alike stroll or scuttle in the Haussmannian landscape of the Rive Gauche, few may notice the beautiful ceramic plaque on the flank of a building that closes the discreet little Square Félix Desruelles, just next to the Eglise Saint-Germain.

St-Germain-des-Prés is not only thought to represent quintessential Parisian chic, with its luxury boutiques and restaurants but also to reflect the traditional literary and intellectual core of the city. Indeed, the famous cafés of Les Deux Magots, Brasserie Lipp, Café de Flore and Café Bonaparte are renowned as the former gathering points for great intellects, writers and artists such as Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, Man Ray, Picasso, Léo Ferré or Georges Brassens from the 1920s. However the monumental Porte de Sèvres dates back to a moment in history when the whole world turned to the City of Light to observe its shining examples of modernity and audacity, promising an bright, illustrious future. Held in 1900, the Exposition Universelle de Paris was the fifth and last of its kind in the capital, following those of 1855, 1867, 1878 and 1889. It drew visitors in their droves over the months between its opening in April and closure in November. The first World Fair – the 1851 Great Exhibition of Crystal Palace, London – enticed a meagre 6 million visitors whilst the Exposition Universelle of 1900 announced over 50 million.

It is difficult to imagine how this vast, dazzling display must have appeared to a public, little accustomed to such sights. Immense pavillions and palaces were constructed in the very heart of the city, representing different nations, inventions and technologies. The sheer scale of the exposition and the scope of the other worlds and realities exhibited must have been incomprehensible to the average visitor. I wonder what they could have thought of the Palais de l’Electricité, with its spectacular arrays of sparks or the incredible moving pavement – ‘La rue de l’avenir’ ?


In our digitally-enhanced, device-enabled, over-stimulated universe, we would find it hard not to be underwhelmed, assuming that we had been able to lift our eyes from the 'precious' smartphones we clutch, Gollum-style, in the first place...








And yet in the Belle Epoque, the exposition would have been a breath-taking experience – an incredible assault to the senses and imagination.‘Projected motion pictures’ had been developed by the Lumière brothers in the very last years of the 19th century and were simply light years away from the cinema films that would later stun audiences with their images of the future.

Most of the immense edifices constructed for the Exposition were not built to last, yet that made them no less impressive and it should be remembered that the Eiffel Tower, erected for the 1889 Exposition, was in fact only intended as a ‘temporary’ feature ! Many buildings were largely stuccoed façades, of which nothing or little remains today. Nevertheless, the towering Porte Monumentale that welcomed the visitors and the huge globe-shaped planetarium – the Globe Céleste were no less incredible to behold. Other constructions, however, are still very much part of the Parisian landscape and skyline today – the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais for example, along with the Alexandre III bridge. Below ground, the first Metro lines were inaugurated with great pride to coincide with the Olympic Games – transporting visitors from the Porte de Vincennes to the Porte Maillot. The prowess of France’s production and arts were likewise showcased in the Pavillon des Manufactures Françaises on the Esplanade des Invalides. 

The merging of industry and craftsmanship with new materials and innovative usage was particularly exciting and the ceramic work of the Manufacture de Sèvres met much acclaim. Indeed, its organic, plant-like forms and unusual colours were very much  in l’air du temps and adorned buildings and monuments alike. The date 1753 figures on the porte ceramique in the Square Félix Desruelles – referring to the year that the porcelain production had become Manufacture Royale, shortly before the site was transferred from Vincennes to Sèvres in 1756. Indeed, from 1740 the porcelain had received support from Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour and the emblematic Sèvres coulours became synonymous with crown and court ; rose Pompadour, vert Vincennes, bleu de Sèvres, jaune de Naples, bleu Céleste.

By 1900, the work of the Manufacture de Sèvres was far more accessible and targeted a diverse clientele - Le jeu de l'écharpe by Agathon Léonard, for example met great success at the exposition. The porte monumentale de Sèvres originally decorated the entrance to the Pavillon des Manufactures Françaises and is its last remaining trace, having become the property of the city of Paris in 1901 and transferred to its present position in 1905. It was designed in enamelled stoneware by the architect Charles Risler and sculpted by Jules Coutan, and bears a large arch-shaped panel supported by columns, decorated with flowing Art Nouveau forms of plants, fruit and flowers. In the centre part is a woman representing the art of pottery-making, and again at the top a haut-relief depicts the art of ceramics. Towards the bottom is an owl – enigmatic figure of wisdom or learning.

This aesthetic movement became the symbolic expression of the Belle Epoque. In Paris, Hector Guimard’s strange, curving, fluid forms are integral to the Metro entrances, yet similar flowing lines would proliferate in architecture and its decoration elsewhere; wrought iron, mosaics, frescos, stained-glass windows and, of course, ceramics. Shortly after the Exposition Universelle, the Ecole de Nancy was officially founded and French Art Nouveau was expressed to its fullest form under Emile Gallé, the Daum, Louis Majorelle in art, furniture, pottery, glassware, jewellery…