The
galleries were crowded, full of Asian tourists with colourful umbrellas seeking
refuge from the rain and looking for consolation in the many chocolate or
speculaas shops – which have replaced art‑book or musical‑CD shops (so I cannot
but note ruefully). But librairie Tropismes was still there, with still a
sizeable section of art books (though no longer the paradise it used to be,
with its carefully curated selection of the finest art‑history books: when
browsing them I used to feel like being part of something significant – a
shared tradition of evolving aesthetic sensibility, with successive generations
of writers and scholars weaving the story of art, the search for beauty –
keeping the lineage alive).
But back to the present – at least they had a table full of the latest art‑exhibition catalogues, and notably the one I was looking for: from a small exhibition in a faraway French museum in Valence: Hubert Robert & Fragonard – Le sentiment de la nature.
It was of
course Hubert Robert I was after, Hubert des Ruines… the 18th‑century
painter with his longing evocations of silent antique ruins overgrown with
vegetation, a wistful decayed grandeur of both monuments and majestic trees,
contrasting with the very practical earthy life of busy little figures –
washerwomen, playing children (and, also, endearingly reflexive, one or more
draughtsmen, absorbed in their rendering of the scene).
About
Fragonard I’d always had mixed feelings, seeing him up till now as a frivolous
rococo painter, his scènes galantes lacking the “melancholy of
transience”.
But anyway,
with or without Fragonard, this catalogue with a selection of Hubert Robert
reproductions I most certainly wanted to acquire, since there are (almost) no
other books in print on him. (Why so many books on Fragonard, and so little
about Hubert Robert? A bit like the imbalance in current popularity between
Claude Le Lorrain and Poussin?)
When I hand
over my cherished catalogue to the man at the counter, he asks: “C’est pour un
cadeau?”
I almost defiantly answer: “Non, c’est pour moi!”
Yes, this
is definitely for me! (Sous‑entendu: I may not be fit for many of the things
out there, and conversely not much in the world out there may care about me –
but this book, indeed, is for me!)
Ever since
I saw a few of the grand paintings of Hubert Robert (in Lille, in Brussels) –
I’ve loved these immersive paintings with their melancholy, meditative view of
the crumbling remains of grand antique buildings within a luxurious nature,
with time and humans passing by. And I’ve developed a particular love for
Robert’s trees – actually, I must admit I loved Claude Le Lorrain’s and
Hubert’s trees (“le gigantisme des arbres”) before I would really appreciate
nature itself.
The next
morning, back at home, rising early, I start reading and browsing in the
catalogue. It doesn’t let me down : my love of Robert is confirmed and I’m
ready to revise my view on Fragonard (he does have the sentiment of
nature, rendering its vitality beyond bawdy frivolity – and, astonishingly, at one point in his career he could pass for a
most competent paysagiste hollandais).
I revel in
the reproductions of sanguines, etchings & prints which I discover,
and which so alluringly evoke the fusion of ruins & nature, commanding an
intense attention and stirring our imagination by the presence of enigmatic
architectural fragments within the immensity of the natural world. Ah, the joy
of silently, slowly poring over these pictures.
I cannot but agree with: “Robert et Fragonard […] maniaient tous deux la pointe avec une telle aisance que nous sommes convaincus de voir du vert là où il n’y a que du noir et blanc.”
It’s dizzying – the sheer abundance of dense foliage stretching around and above me, darkly contrasting with the suddenly, transiently luminous sky.
The lingering impression of the immense trees on those prints & etchings intertwines with my vision: “et je suis convaincue de voir une masse de traits noirs sur du blanc là où il n’y a que du vert.”
