Thursday, February 28, 2008

Boudin, Le Roi Du Ciel



Now, with the last of winter tumbling into spring, the two seasons share a common space and the skies reflect the push and pull between them.

It's a time when I appreciate Eugene Boudin - the 19th century French painter to whom the master of the poetic landscape, Corot, proclaimed one day "You are king of the skies!".
Boudin,who was born in Honfleur in Normandy, spent most of his life painting in this vicinity, where the winds off the English Channel hit the seashore resorts of Deauville and Trouville. Here he loved to counterpoint his skies against the shoreline where the crinoline-clad ladies and top-hatted gentlemen, children and umbrellas, were all scattered and grouped across the horizon like so many colored stones or nestled villages.



Only on occasion would he venture abroad, notably to the emerald coast of Brittany where he met his wife, then in later years to Venice where he captured the calmer skies and watery reflections.

Though early in his career, he barely scraped out a living (at times facing starvation and contemplating suicide) he was already applauded by fellow artists and poets of renown. Baudelaire, as was his fashion, (at least with a chosen few) waxed rhapsodic after seeing a showing of Boudin's work.

"At the end, all these clouds in their fantastic and brilliant forms, these chaotic darknesses, these suspended and added the one to the others green and pink immensities, these gaping volcanoes, these firmaments of black or purple and crumpled, rolled or torn satin, these horizons in mourning or flowing of melted metal, all these depths, all this magnificence went up to my brain as a heady drink or as the eloquence of opium...."

I believe Baudelaire was referring, here, to some of Boudin's watercolors which were looser than the early oils. His oil renderings of the skies were not so much
spectacular in themselves but subtly suffused and enfolded the landscape beneath in the embrace of their delicate whims and dramatic moods.

Like Daubigny, Courbet, Corot, Whistler, and even to some extent Edouard Manet, Boudin was a godfather to the Impressionists; revered and even sharing exhibitions with them but always on the periphery of the movement. He never quite gave himself over to (and I'm personally relieved at this) the overriding absorption with light and color - "impressions" - that his early admirer Monet became noted for. Boudin retained a solidity of form and composition that was a remnant of an earlier time, despite the free flowing strokes that formed his skies and seas.

13 comments:

Anonymous said...

oh, how sublime...that there are still those discoveries around the proverbial corner...an artist that by now, surely, you've seen everything there is to see...but, no, something new that will literally stop your breath...a shade of blue...a brush stroke so confident that it tells its own little story...two colors dancing together in such a quiet way...

Anonymous said...

Dear Anonymous,

How beautifully put into words! Thank you for your thoughts today.

persephone2u said...

I've been so busy redecorating my house that I've not been able to leave a comment here yet, but I really enjoyed this particular selection.

I like the fact that Boudin was on the periphery of the Impressionist movement. I do love many Impressionist paintings, but I like Boudin's style more than the pure Impressionist painters.

My beloved Baudelaire dedicated some wonderful words to Boudin too I see. Another fabulous blog!!

more tea, vicar ? said...

Joseph is frightened of the orange jalopy.Has Joseph "always" been frightened of the orange jalopy?
Yes,he has always been "frightened" of the orange "jalopy". Well then, I don't want "him" on my team. He can play on "the" other team. His official number " is " 445. Boudin will be assigned the numbers 96 and 502.

more tea, vicar ? said...

I just hacked into the "more tea,vicar?" blog site. He has hurt me deeply by stating that I have always been frightened of the orange jalopy. There was a day in the warm, "gentle" summer of '66 when I was able to come down out of my birch tree and "view" the orange jalopy from a "reasonably" safe distance. What is a reasonably safe distance "you" ask? I stood back six blocks and squinted "really" hard for a few seconds. Let it be said, "I was "not" frightened!" YOU ARE A LIAR,VICAR PERSON !! Yers, Joseph

Anonymous said...

dear tom,
please don't disappear once again into the fog of myspace or other nether regions...come back...come back....cooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmme baaaaaaaaaacccccccccckkkkkkkkk

persephone2u said...

Tis true, you really mustn't disappear onto myspace and should save your musings for your blog! ;-)

Tom the Piper's Son said...

rumors of disappearance have been greatly exaggerated....our normal computer is down (but should be back soon)...confined to furtive postings on the work computer...stop...sos...stop...plenty of posting ideas...hope they make it.....thanks...for the encouragement...stop...

persephone2u said...

Good luck sorting out the computer! We have a down kitchen in our case and are staying with the in-laws for the week while the insurance co. sorts everything out and fixes the huge amount of water damage from improper work done by the previous owners. Yikes!

Anonymous said...

oh, clohessy...admit it: it has nothing to do with computers! you've just been looking for your damn keys for the past month and a half...call me: i know where they are..........

Tom the Piper's Son said...

Persephone -
Yeah, with the wee one in tow my sympathies go out to you. Thank God for family!

Tom the Piper's Son said...

Dear Anonymous -
The keys have become such a timewaster, I put my car on permanent idle in the back yard...and crawl in through the doggie-door.

Anonymous said...

OH, THE YEARNING...LEMON-COATED YEARNINGS, THE SOUR SHRILL TASTE LINGERS DECIDEDLY
AND STILL, DEJECTED FANS SHYLY FINGER THE KEYS
WITH BATED BREATH...
AH, YES, JUST ONCE MORE
COYLY HITTING ENTER
A MERE GLANCE AT THE YET-AGAIN SILENT BLOG...
A DARK CURTAIN ENFOLDS THE DAY
where are you?