Learning to Look

‘Regards’ from the Maison de Victor Hugo

I saw an exhibition a couple weeks ago at the Maison de Victor Hugo. Called ‘Regards,’ about looking and seeing. Which is pretty much the essence of any art exhibition. You may remember I spoke about it briefly in a newsletter right after I saw it. But I didn’t mention something that was quite surprising. At the entrance to the exhibition, there is a letter on the wall. In which the curator of the exhibition introduces herself. Which is highly unusual, because really, unless a celebrity is the guest curator, you and probably I, wouldn’t know who the person is.

Here in part is what she wrote, (loosely translated by moi) “Three years ago, the museums of the City of Paris offered me the possibility of being the curator of an exhibition. I who am neither an art historian nor a specialist in museums. I accepted – though I wasn’t sure why. But then it was too late! I had to choose a theme. I hesitated between “the passer-by” and “the gaze”. I chose the gaze, because it is at the heart of our relationship to the world.… I also probably remembered my grandfather, a collector….who taught me the difference between seeing and watching. I immersed myself in the museums of France collections. I discovered works of all kinds, from all periods, of all origins. … It was as if they were talking to me.… Gradually (the exhibition) got organized. I can't tell you how, because it was done with as much emotion as reason... And then, everything stopped. One confinement. Followed by a second one. I almost gave up. But no. I got back to it. And … (now) the exhibit is here. And now I realize that the exhibition is a little about me, and therefore maybe a little about you.” The letter was signed by an unknown, but obviously not anonymous, guest curator, Lucienne Forest.

As one reviewer noted, it’s virtually unheard of to “discover an exhibition organized by a novice in the field….Behind an exhibition there is always one or more curators who choose the works exhibited and how to present them. In general, these are researchers who are experts in the chosen subject, or specialists attached to the collection of the museum in question.” Which made this exhibition that much more puzzling, indeed preposterous.

For the past year, I have sought out exhibitions which have had as their subjects, the work created by artists during the unexpected roadblock that was the pandemic and lockdowns/confinements. I’ve written about David Hockney and Damien Hirst; agnes b and Chiara Shiuto. Museum curators faced a different dilemma with lockdown. Theirs was the disappointment of exhibitions, ready to open and then canceled. Others which closed prematurely. They mostly haven’t spoken about how their worlds were turned upside down. And how awful it was - to do all that research and writing and preparing and organizing only for it all to fall apart. Museum calendars are filled years in advance. And often exhibitions travel to a variety of venues. So, if confinement restrictions were put in place when an exhibition was supposed to be at the Musée d’Orsay, for example, it couldn’t just be delayed because the same exhibition was scheduled to open somewhere else later. But museum professionals didn’t talk about it much. It’s difficult to be churlish about an exhibition cancellation when people were dying from a virus. So it was refreshing to read of Lucienne’s honest and heartfelt disappointment.

Before trying to discover more about Mme Forest and how she got this gig, let’s look at the exhibition she created, which is structured around four themes. The first is the Eye and the Self Portrait. Among the first objects on display are an eye and a pair of eyes, the size of actual eyes. Painted on ivory. (Figure 1) The wall text explains that the eye is essential in our relationship to others. It is both source and mirror of our emotions. When sent to a lover, the proverb, ‘Far from the eyes, far from the heart,’ or ‘Out of sight, out of mind' is no longer true.

Figure 1. Lovers Eyes or Miniature Eyes, late 18th - early 19th century

They were called Miniature Eyes in the late 18th century, when they first became a thing. A 20th century collector dubbed them,’Lover’s eyes’ and that’s what we call them. They are beautiful and a little creepy. Here is an explanation for how they came into fashion. It was the Prince of Wales, the future George IV, and the son of George III, under whose watch the American colonies gained their independence. This future king, was as mad as his father, but not as mad as one of his descendants, Edward VIII. George III’s son fell in love with a twice-widowed Catholic woman named Maria Fitzherbert. By comparison, Queen Elizabeth’s uncle Edward VIII became the Duke of Windsor when he abdicated his throne for the twice divorced Wallis Simpson. If we’re keeping score, I think we can agree that being twice widowed sounds a lot better than being twice divorced. On the other hand, being Catholic was a problem. Wallace Simpson was Episcopalian. Anyhow, the object of this Prince of Wales’ devotion, was Maria Fitzherbert. Who initially had the good sense to avoid the future king despite his endless protestations of love. To get away from him, she set sail for Europe. He tracked her down and proposed marriage, again. He didn’t send her an engagement ring. Instead, he sent her a picture of his own eye, set in a locket, painted by the miniaturist Richard Cosway. Who was Marie Cosway’s husband, who was the object of Thomas Jefferson’s affection when he was in France. These days, it’s not images of eyes that are sent by email, but rather photos of more intimate body parts. Or so I’ve heard. I wonder if they have any effect. The charming cadeau the Prince sent, worked. Maria Fitzherbert accepted the Prince’s second proposal and they were married in December 1785. The marriage lasted a decade, until he had to choose between the ‘woman he loved’ and the crown. He chose the crown.

Maybe the Prince of Wales started the fad for eye miniatures in England. But they were already a thing by then in France. They remained popular for at least another 50 years. Sometimes they are in a locket, sometimes not. Because they aren’t identifiable, except to someone who knew whose eyes they were, they didn’t have to be hidden in a closed locket. They could and were worn in a more open way. Of all those that have survived, and there aren’t that many, only the ones with inscriptions can be identified.

There is a wall of Rembrandt self-portraits here, too, etchings. They are a visual diary of the artist spanning forty years. From a brash young man, barely out of his teens, to a confident middle aged man, to a proud mature man and finally to a humbled old man. (Figures 2, 3) Rembrandt executed more self portraits than any other artist before or during his time, nearly 10% of his total output of paintings and etchings. The etchings are mostly informal, often playful studies of facial expressions or fancy dress. The art historian Kenneth Clark (whose series Civilization you might have watched on television in 1969) wrote that Rembrandt was the artist who turned self-portraiture into autobiography.

Figure 2. Self Portrait, Rembrandt, 1630

Figure 3. Self portrait, Rembrandt, 1638

In this room too, are photographs of and by the beat poet/artist Brion Gysin. With text scribbled on top of the image. (Figure 4) Fun fact. Gysin contributed a single recipe to Alice B. Toklas’ cookbook. For what are now the famous Alice B. Toklas brownies!

Figure 4. Am I That I Am? Brion Gysin, 1958

Section Two is called “See or Watch”. I loved this section. It is inventive and interactive. My two favorite things. In a rather small space, a kind of labyrinth was created filled with mirrors. And because of all those unexpected mirrors, the space looks bigger. And you keep bumping into yourself. (Figure 5) I was reminded of John Berger’s seminal (I hate that word, let’s change it to ovulary) BBC series and book, “Ways of Seeing.” In one section he talks about coming upon a reflection of yourself when you are not expecting to - as you are riding on an elevator or walking by a store. You catch a reflection of yourself in a mirror. And you are confronted with somebody who hasn’t prepared themselves for the moment, hasn’t composed themselves. And you aren’t pleased with what you see. There were lots of those moments in this exhibition. They got better simply because I began to anticipate encountering myself and so was prepared. I was reminded of John Berger’s book quite a lot in this exhibition so if you haven’t read it or if you haven’t seen the BBC series, watch it on YouTube, you'll be glad you did.

Figure 5. Me and the / in the mirrors.

Glimpse, observe, contemplate, spy on, admire, are just some of the words that spring to mind in the next part of this section. Words we use to describe the ways we see or look at people and situations we encounter, mostly at random. Everyone has seen something he shouldn't have, or he wishes that he hadn’t; that he pretends not to have seen, that he tries to wipe out of his memory. Paintings are here presented as if you were looking at them through a doorway or a window. As if they were scenes actually taking place in real time. For example, you walk by one painting, as if from a street in front of a cafe. You see a woman and a man seated at the same table. (Figure 6) She is definitely not delighted with the situation. The curator has created a dialog for these two in which the woman is figuring out how the heck she can get away from the man’s advances. Then there is a painting of George Sand. She is standing in a room in front of a window. (Figures 7, 8) You glance in, through a door that is partially open. And if you follow her gaze, you, too are looking out the window because the painting has been positioned just so. The curator has placed a card here, as she has elsewhere, imagining the conversations, even the inner conversations, the ones we have with ourselves. Here she imagines Sand musing, “Where was the Nohant of my childhood lost? Those games in the woods, my grandmother's tenderness when she read me stories on that sofa?”

Figure 6. Au café, dit L’Absinthe, Jean Béraud, 1909

Figure 7. La Salle à manger de George Sand à Nohant, Charles-Frédéric, ca 1900

Figure 8. The window out of which George Sand seems to be looking (Place des Vosges)

Another painting, this by Eduardo Arroyo, (Figure 9) whose illustrations of Balzac's Human Comedy I have reviewed. In this painting we look through a door, into a cafe, again as if we are passing by. A man is seated at a table, his head is slumped forward onto the table. It's just a white blob. His hat on the table is more real than the head. And mysteriously, there is a third foot, going in the opposite direction from the man and his other two feet. The wall text explains that this is a portrait of a Spanish writer and diplomat who committed suicide at age 32.

Figure 9. Espoir et désespoir d’Angel Gannet, Eduardo Arroyo

Two more conceits in this section engage the museum visitor even more actively. One is a series of three square openings which you look through. What you see in each is three portraits. The one on the left and the one on the right are real. The one in the center is a framed mirror. It is a portrait of you. (Figure 10) You are simultaneously at a museum as spectator and at a museum as art. The final conceit was the highlight for me. It was a box. Not ceiling height, but high. With holes in it, two on each of the four sides, one high, one low. (Figure 11) When you look into the box, you see a smaller than life-size statue of a female figure in a Crouching Venus pose. (Figures 12, 13) It is called Surprised Bather. It is marble and it was sculpted by Jules Dalou in 1900. It reminded me of the Old Testament story of Susannah and the Elders. Do you know the story of Susanna and the Elders? A couple of old creeps (judges) watched a beautiful young woman in her garden at her bath. (Figure 14) They lusted after her and told her that if she didn’t have sex with them, they would tell her husband that they had seen her having sex with another man. She refused, preferring to die pure (the punishment for infidelity) then to live sullied. By putting the statue in a box with peep holes on all sides, museum visitor become voyeurs, like those dirty old men. We spy upon a young woman who tries to hide herself from our gaze. It’s a really interesting tale about purity and depravity. About women being judged by men who believe lies told by other men rather than trying to establish the truth. Artemisia Gentelleschi’s version is especially moving. (Figure 15) Because she had been raped and disbelieved herself. She is not painting a naked young woman for a male viewer’s delectation but rather the pain she too had once experienced.

Figure 10. Me between a photograph and a painting

Figure 11. Box with peep holes on all four sides

Figure 12. Surprised Bather, Aimé-Jules Dalou, 1900

Figure 13. Crouching Venus, Hellenistic Greek

Figure 14. Susannah and the Elders, Guido Reni, 1622

Figure 15. Susannah and the Elders, Artimesia Gentileschi, 1610

The next section is called Vision and Imagination. And it probably has the closest link to Victor Hugo. During the reign of Napoleon III, Hugo and his family lived in exile on the Isle of Jersey/Guernsey. While there, he conducted “table-tapping” séances. His initial hope was to speak with his daughter Leopoldine who had drowned at age 19. Not only was he able to speak with her, but he communicated with Plato, Jesus, Shakespeare and lots of other dead people, too. Photographs of Hugo’s Guernsey/Jersey house by Klavdij Sluban evoke a sense of mystery.

The fourth and final part of the exhibition is called Myths and Realities. It is a fascinating mix of Greek myths and contemporary realities. Intermixed with quotations from historical figures, included of course, Marcel Proust, on seeing and remembering, of course. The focus is the gaze. In Greek mythology it is Narcissus, Argus and Oedipus, Medusa, Diane and Acteon. In contemporary culture it is the surveillance gaze, the scientific gaze, the media gaze. In our world, people with selfie sticks pose in front of every monument they encounter. In Greek mythology, Narcissus couldn’t stop admiring his image. It cost him his life. (Figure 16) For us it is the #MeToo movement. In Greek mythology it is the punishment of Acteon who saw the Huntress Goddess Diana nude and who Diana turned into a stag so Acteon’s hounds would attack and devour him. (Figures 17, 18) For me, a better example of men punished for harassing or violating women would have been the Elders who were punished by death for their false testimony against Susanna. Acteon hadn’t intentionally seen Diana. He was hunting, she was bathing. I thought her reaction was vindictive and unnecessary. The Amber Heard of her day.

Figure 16. Narcissus, Honoré Daumier, 1842

Figure 17. Diana turning Action into a Stag, Guiseppe Cesare, 1602

Figure 18. Diana the Huntress, Ossip Zadkine, 1935

Finally, we return to the question I asked in the beginning. Who the heck is this unknown curator, Lucienne Forest? At the end of the exhibition, there is a large desk scattered with letters, postcards, photographs - a collage of souvenirs. From Lucienne Forest’s life. Again, very odd. This is not an exhibition about a curator. As I left, I chatted with one of the guards who told me that Lucienne Forest wasn’t a single person but a collective. A fictitious person created by a team to stand for and stand in for them. And who was this team? Turns out it is a group of fifteen patients and caregivers from the Paris Psychiatry Neurosciences Hospital (GHU). This exhibition is part of an initiative to bring more diverse groups into the museums of Paris. There have been exhibitions of paintings by well known artists of people in mental institutions, formerly known as mad houses or insane asylums, even exhibitions of outsider art, works done by people in mental institutions. Obviously, this exhibition at this museum is something else entirely! I'm looking forward to the next one! Bravo!

Copyright © 2022 Beverly Held, Ph.D. All rights reserved

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