A century ago today, on 14 April 1925, John Singer Sargent died in London. This last article celebrating his career and art resumes in the final months of the First World War, when Sargent had returned to Britain.
In 1918, John Singer Sargent was commissioned by the War Memorials Committee of the Ministry of Information in Britain to paint a large work showing Anglo-American co-operation in the war. This was originally destined for a Hall of Remembrance, which was never built, but required a very large if not monumental painting. He set off for the Western Front with Henry Tonks, a distinguished British artist and teacher, in July 1918, and they visited units near Arras and Ypres.
According to Tonks’ recollections recorded in a letter two years later, they both witnessed the result of a mustard gas attack during the opening of the Second Battle of the Somme on 21 August 1918 (although records suggest that may have been on 26 August). In the late afternoon, they heard that many casualties were arriving at a Corps dressing station at le Bac-du-Sud, so went there. Lines of gassed casualties were being led in, in parties of about half a dozen with a medical orderly in front. Apparently, Sargent was “struck by the scene and immediately made a lot of notes.”
This change to his commission required the approval of the War Memorials Committee, which he obtained before he started work on the painting in his studio in Fulham, London, in late 1918. I don’t know exactly when Sargent made each of the pencil sketches for his painting, but some may have been made near Arras, while others were clearly based on the professional models who he employed in his studio.
Many, like Study for Gassed Soldiers (1918), show details of different passages for the final painting, and could have been made in Arras or Fulham.
The most interesting, though, are his assemblies of figures, such as this Study for ‘Gassed’ (1918). This particular group was turned into the more distant line of casualties, at the right of the finished work.
These Two Studies for “Gassed” (1918) in the Fogg Museum are more compositional in purpose, and show the shape of the final painting starting to form. Note, though, that the nearer line of casualties consists of only six (or seven) figures. In the finished painting, this becomes eleven, and forms most of the width of his panoramic canvas.
There are several fascinating details in the finished painting, including the game of soccer taking place in the distance, seen in the detail above. Sargent probably added that as a reference to the activities of normal life, contrasting with the horror that is taking place throughout the rest of the painting.
Most remarkably, there’s only one pair of eyes visible in all the soldiers present, in the medical orderly near the head of the second line at the right. He even turned the orderly who is tending to the nearer line of casualties so that he faces away from the viewer. This emphasises the blinding effects of the mustard gas, and develops the painting’s theme of vision and art.
Inevitably, Sargent faced increasing criticism of his outdated style and refusal to embrace the new styles of Cubism or Futurism. After the war he spent more time in the USA working on his series of murals in the Boston area.
This large masterpiece Orestes Pursued by the Furies was started in 1922, and completed in 1925, just prior to his death. Over the 100 square feet of its canvas, it shows a young and naked Orestes cowering under the attacks of the Furies as he tries to run from them. The swarm of no less than a dozen fearsome Furies have daemonic mask-like faces, blond hair swept back, and hold out burning brands and fistfuls of small snakes.
Sargent has gilded the flames on the brands to make them shine proud like fire. The isolated woman who stands in Orestes’ way is no Fury, though: she wears a gilded crown, and with the clean incision of a stab wound above her left breast can only be his mother Clytemnestra. There’s a profusion of arms, eight of them clutching snakes and thrust in Orestes’ direction.
This vast canvas of The Danaïdes (c 1922-25) decorates the entrance to the Library of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.
Atlas and the Hesperides, painted over a similar period, shows the giant still carrying the heavens on his shoulders, as seven naked Hesperides sleep on the ground around him.
In 1922, Sargent co-founded Grand Central Art Galleries and its associated academy the Grand Central School of Art, in New York City. The former held a major exhibition of his work in 1924, following which he returned to London, where he died on 14 March 1925.
By this time, the avant garde had moved on, and Sargent’s art was becoming increasingly reviled. At the 1926 London retrospective exhibition to commemorate his death, critics led by Roger Fry dismissed him as not even being an artist. It wasn’t until the latter half of the twentieth century that his art was recognised again, and his paintings are still in the throes of that revival.
1 Pupil
2 London
3 Venice
4 Travels
5 War
Wikipedia
Murals at Boston Public Library
Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose on Wikipedia
The nine volumes of his catalogue raisonné are probably the finest and largest of any catalogue raisonné to date. Volumes particularly recommended are:
Ormond R and Kilmurrary E (2012) John Singer Sargent. Figures and Landscapes, 1900-1907. Complete Paintings, volume VII, Yale UP. ISBN 978 0 300 17736 0.
Ormond R and Kilmurrary E (2014) John Singer Sargent. Figures and Landscapes, 1908-1913. Complete Paintings, volume VIII, Yale UP. ISBN 978 0 300 17736 7.
Redford, B (2016) John Singer Sargent and the Art of Allusion, Yale UP, ISBN 978 0 300 21930 2.
There are several large format and excellently illustrated selections of his oil paintings available. However his watercolours are best covered by:
Little C (1998) The Watercolors of John Singer Sargent, University of California Press. ISBN 978 0 520 21970 0.
Hirshler EE and Carbone TA (2012) John Singer Sargent Watercolors, Museum of Fine Arts Boston and Brooklyn Museum. ISBN 978 0 8784 6791 4.
Erica E Hirschler and Teresa A Carbone (2012) John Singer Sargent, Watercolors, MFA Boston and Brooklyn Museum. ISBN 978 0 8784 6791 4.
© Christopher Gregory-Rivera for The New York Times
© Mark Peterson/Redux, for The New York Times
I hope that you enjoyed Saturday’s Mac Riddles, episode 303. Here are my solutions to them.
Harvard or Yale (a university or uni) cipher (a code) brought emoji and Ugaritic (two of its supported character sets).
US standard (initially ASA X3.4-1963, later an ANSI standard) for 128 Roman characters (originally consisted of only 128 characters including a basic Roman alphabet) now over 60 (first published in 1963, it turns 62 years old this year).
Two plus 128 more (it consists of the 128 characters in ASCII, plus 128 more including punctuation, symbols and diacritics) came in 1989 (first appeared in System 6.0.4 in that year), gained a euro in 1998 (the only change made since introduction), and still supported (it is, although now encoded in UTF-8).
They are text encodings that have been used in Mac OS.
I look forward to your putting alternative cases.
如题，op 用 TT 注册的美区 paypal ，但是 tt 停掉了（被回收），暂时没有实体电话卡解绑。 安全问题：tt 号被别人注册后会盗我的 paypal 问题？ 封控问题：因为不知道安全性，所以每次支付完我就把的银行卡解绑了，今天买了小姨子于是重新绑上银行卡，买完下意识的就解绑了，但是考虑中国 visa 卡特殊性（怕有天不支持中银 visa ），于是又绑上银行卡。 问题：这样频繁解绑卡会引发封控吗？如果不会，就是需要的时候绑上，不需要时解绑？
© Emma Mcintyre/Getty Images for Coachella
During the second decade of the twentieth century, John Singer Sargent continued his travels through Europe and in the USA. He painted some notable portraits of Americans, and progressed series of large murals in the Boston area of Massachusetts.
His larger oil paintings from this period often show finer details, that were almost certainly developed later in the studio. But even in those he retained a distinct painterliness, as shown in this view of workers Bringing Down Marble from the Quarries in Carrara which Sargent painted in 1911. These marble quarries in the north of Tuscany, Italy, provided most of the fine white and blue-grey marble for classical Roman buildings and statuary, and that for Michelangelo’s famous statue of David in 1501-04.
One of Sargent’s frequent companions during these travels was his sister, Emily, who was also a keen artist. In the Generalife (1912) shows her sketching in the gardens of the Generalife in Granada, Spain. She’s using a low metal easel with telescopic legs, and kneels sideways to work at it. Behind her is his friend Jane de Glehn, and to the right is a Spanish friend known only as Dolores. The unusual highlight effect seen in bushes above them, and on parts of the ground, was produced by scribbling with a colourless beeswax crayon, which resists the watercolour paint.
His oil painting of this Hospital at Granada from the same year shows the sick scattered haphazardly outside the wards and clinics, apparently awaiting medical attention.
The following year, Sargent visited Italy’s largest lake, at the southern edge of the Italian Alps, where he painted this tiny harbour of San Vigilio, Lake Garda, with its intricate broken reflections and underwater details.
In the summer of 1914, Sargent was back in the cooler mountain air of the Alpine passes, this time in the company of the British artist Adrian Stokes (1854–1935) and his equally talented Austrian wife Marianne (1855-1927).
The Master and His Pupils (1914) shows Adrian Stokes and Sargent’s sister Emily engaged in a painting lesson in the Alps.
The Sketchers (1914) shows another artistic couple, probably the de Glehns or the Stokes, painting en plein air.
Sargent travelled through much of the summer of that year, and by July had reached Austria in the company of Adrian and Marianne Stokes. When the First World War broke out at the end of that month, they found themselves in a country that was suddenly at war with Britain. The Austrian authorities forbade them from leaving the country, but by the middle of December they had managed to reach Switzerland, from where they were able to return home safely.
Sargent spent the latter part of the First World War in the USA, where he painted this magnificent watercolour of Muddy Alligators (1917) when staying on the Miami estate of James Deering, whose wealth came from farm machinery.
When he returned to Britain in 1918, Sargent was commissioned as a British War Artist. One of the most famous paintings of aviation during that war is his Crashed Aeroplane (1918). While two farmers get on with their harvest, there’s a crashed British biplane planted in the hillside behind.
Sargent went on to paint scenes in military medical facilities, including this watercolour of the Interior of a Hospital Tent in 1918. Although makeshift and temporary, this appears more orderly and modern than that hospital in Granada.
© Adam Gray for The New York Times
© Muammar Ibrahim/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
Few nineteenth century novels were featured in as many paintings and prints as Victor Hugo’s story of Quasimodo and Esmeralda, told in his Notre Dame de Paris, most popularly known as the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Hugo’s book has a curious origin. In the 1820s, the great cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, probably the city’s most visible and distinctive building, underwent restoration to repair the damage that had occurred during the Revolution. One of the foremen of the stonemasons working on the building was a ‘hunchback’ with a spinal deformity. Hugo became greatly interested in the cathedral’s Gothic architecture, and was keen to raise awareness of its importance and beauty. In 1829, he started work on this novel.
After an intense final few months of writing, Notre Dame de Paris was published in early 1831. It became enormously popular, and has been the basis for over a dozen movies since 1905, TV series, plays, operas and musicals, and ballets. As a result, its hunchback hero Quasimodo has developed a life of his own in modern legend.
Set in Paris in 1482, its central characters are Quasimodo, the bell-ringer of the cathedral who not only has a spinal deformity, but is nearly blind and largely inarticulate, and Esmeralda, a beautiful young dancer, thought (incorrectly, it turns out) to be a gypsy, who is the object of much male lust, and has a pet goat Djali who performs tricks.
Quasimodo’s guardian, the Archdeacon Frollo, lusts after Esmeralda and orders the bell-ringer to kidnap her for him. Quasimodo’s attempt fails, and the following day he is punished by a flogging and being put in the pillory. While there, he is badly dehydrated and calls for water, provided by Esmeralda. She’s later arrested and falsely charged of attempted murder, for which she is sentenced to death by hanging.
As Esmeralda is being led to the gallows, Quasimodo swings down on a bell-rope and carries her off to sanctuary inside the cathedral. However, the court of parliament then decides to remove her right of sanctuary, making her liable to arrest. Local gypsies rally to this, and charge the cathedral to rescue her.
When Quasimodo sees the gypsies, he assumes that they want to hurt Esmeralda, so drives them away; when the king’s men arrive, he misunderstands their purpose, and tries to help them. Esmeralda is then ‘rescued’ by the Archdeacon, who tries to seduce her, then to betray her when she rejects him.
Esmeralda is finally taken to the gallows, where the Archdeacon laughs as she is killed. Quasimodo gets his revenge by pushing the Archdeacon from the height of the cathedral, then goes to the cemetery where he dies of starvation while hugging Esmeralda’s corpse. Much later, they are discovered still in their embrace; when their bones are separated, Quasimodo’s turn to dust.
Probably one of the earliest paintings to show Victor Hugo’s story is this undated work by a Mademoiselle Henry who is claimed to have lived between 1790-1873. It shows Quasimodo Saving Esmeralda from the Hands of her Executioners: the bell-ringer has just swept the young woman from the gallows, and she has swooned away on his shoulder. He carries her in through the main entrance of the cathedral, to claim sanctuary for her. Her pet goat Djali is at the top of the steps. The rope running down the steps is the bell-rope on which Quasimodo swung down onto the gallows.
The strange Belgian narrative painter Antoine Wiertz painted a pair of portraits in 1839 showing the novel’s male and female leads. This is his Quasimodo, who resembles the figure in the painting above. Wiertz doesn’t appear to have been happy with this work, and labeled it a bad study.
For his portrait of Esmeralda, Wiertz used his favourite model, and an affectionate goat. The letters on her lap spell Phɶbus, the name of the captain of the King’s Archers, who she is convicted of attempting to murder.
Louis Boulanger painted this fascinating and painterly group of Six of Victor Hugo’s Characters in 1853, apparently for a friend. Clockwise from the top left they are Don Ruy Gomez, Don César de Bazan, Don Salluste, Hernani, Esméralda and De Saverny, but there’s no goat.
Jozef Van Lerius’ portrait of Esmeralda and Djali, which must have been completed before the artist contracted meningitis in 1875, is startlingly realist and gently erotic. Djali is shown with gold horns and hooves, and in front of the girl are, once again, the letters forming the name Phɶbus.
William-Adolphe Bouguereau’s Little Esmeralda from 1874 conforms less to Hugo’s character. She is fair and would never be taken for a ‘gypsy’, and is seen carrying wild flowers out in the country, perhaps on the coast of Normandy. She does, though, have Djali as her companion.
There have been many illustrated editions of Notre Dame de Paris, in its original French, English and other translations. Among them is an edition published in 1889, with engravings based on a series of drawings made by the Naturalist Luc-Olivier Merson between 1881 and 1889, three of which I show here.
This shows Esmeralda taking pity on Quasimodo when he had been flogged and put in the pillory, by giving him a drink of water. Naturally she is accompanied by Djali.
Esmeralda and Djali are here seen with Phɶbus, I think.
This is Merson’s treatment of Quasimodo carrying the swooning Esmeralda from her first brief visit to the gallows up into the sanctuary of the cathedral.
© Eric Lee/The New York Times
© Scott McIntyre for The New York Times
Here are this weekend’s Mac riddles to entertain you through family time, shopping and recreation.
1: Harvard or Yale cipher brought emoji and Ugaritic.
2: US standard for 128 Roman characters now over 60.
3: Two plus 128 more came in 1989, gained a euro in 1998, and still supported.
To help you cross-check your solutions, or confuse you further, there’s a common factor between them.
I’ll post my solutions first thing on Monday morning.
Please don’t post your solutions as comments here: it spoils it for others.
© Eric Lee/The New York Times
Although few of those who migrated to the towns and cities from the countryside prospered as a result, there were sufficient examples to lure others to take their chances. For a young woman, success could come through the growing world of fashion.
The foot of the ladder was the greatest challenge: how to make the break from the worn-out worker shown in Christian Krohg’s Tired from 1885. This young seamstress was one of the many thousands who worked at home at that time, toiling for long hours by lamplight for a pittance. A few of them had the good fortune to be discovered and taken up into a small dressmaker’s.
They might then enter the world of Moritz Stifter’s New Dress from 1889. Every face is smiling here, some perhaps a little vacuously, as an affluent young woman tries on a new dress, with its incredibly small waist. Although this room is full of fabric and the trappings of dressmaking, including the mandatory sewing machine, no one actually appears to be making anything.
A few specialised in making hats, as shown in Edgar Degas’ The Millinery Shop (1879/86). While husbands and partners were expected to pay for a woman’s hats, their choice was hers, and hers alone.
Jean Béraud’s fashionably-dressed Milliner on the Champs Elysées is enjoying her success, and carrying her work in two large hatboxes. She has also attracted the attention of the well-dressed man in a top hat behind and to the left of her.
Les Modistes (Two Milliners in the Rue du Caire, Paris) from 1885-86 is one of Paul Signac’s transitional paintings to Seurat’s Divisionism. These two young milliners are busy making fashionable hats and making their way into bourgeois life.
Pierre-Georges Jeanniot’s At the Milliner (1901) shows the milliner in a mirror at the right.
Millinery was one of the staples of fashion houses like that of Paquin, whose success was characteristic of the late nineteenth century, and shown in Henri Gervex’s Five Hours at Paquin’s from 1906.
The purpose of these expensive hand-made hats was for show, when the lady was seen in appropriate surroundings. Jeanniot’s painting of the patrons of one of the most fashionable hotels in Paris shows all the hats out on parade in the inner garden of the Paris Ritz in fine weather.
Béraud’s Workers leaving the Maison Paquin (1907) shows the ladies who worked in Jeanne Paquin’s highly successful fashion house in the Rue de la Paix, as they left work at the end of the day.
A select few were fortunate enough to marry into the middle class and forge a more secure future for themselves.
Béraud’s After the Service at the Church of Sainte-Trinité (the ‘American Cathedral’) (c 1900) shows affluent Franco-American society at the turn of the century, and the prominence of hats and clothes.
Folding screens were first recorded in ancient China, where they were used as portable room dividers and as decorative furniture. They’re thought to have made their way to Europe in the late Middle Ages, and started to spread more widely during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Early screens were made of wood, but were soon covered with painted paper or silk. Kanō Hideyori’s magnificent Maple Viewers (紙本著色観楓図) (Muromachi, early 1500s) is painted on paper in the classical style of the Kanō school, then applied to a six-section folding screen.
In Europe, screens served several purposes in addition to dividing a larger space into two. They could be used to keep drafts away, provide privacy, hide a feature like a servant’s entrance to a kitchen, or purely for decoration.
In the fourth painting in William Hogarth’s moralising narrative series Marriage A-la-Mode, The Toilette (c 1743), Countess Squander is being entertained while completing her dressing and preparations for the day. In the background at the right is a painted screen showing a masquerade ball.
It was the popularity of East Asian artefacts in the latter half of the nineteenth century that put folding screens in many homes and quite a few paintings. They featured in at least two of James Abbott McNeill Whistler’s works from the mid-1860s.
Behind Whistler’s Princess from the Land of Porcelain (1863-65), from his Peacock Room, is a painted screen from Japan.
A more elaborately painted screen forms the backdrop to Whistler’s Caprice in Purple and Gold: The Golden Screen from 1864.
Lucy Madox Brown Rossetti’s The Duet (1870) attracted favourable reviews when exhibited at the Royal Academy. This features a decorated folding screen from East Asia in the left background. The artist was the daughter of the Pre-Raphaelite painter Ford Madox Brown, and was Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s sister-in-law.
In 1872 William Quiller-Orchardson completed Dolce Far Niente, incorporating in its painted screen a contemporary flavour of Japonisme. His woman, dressed in sober black, reclines on a thoroughly European chaise longue, her open book and fan beside her as she stares idly out of an unseen window.
Like other artists of the day, Elihu Vedder developed a fascination for objets d’art from the Far East, which he assembled in this Japanese Still Life in 1879. This unusual collection may have been assisted by the fact that his brother was a US Navy doctor who was stationed in Japan as it was being re-opened to the West.
Bouderie, which means sulking, is a splendid and intimate portrait of Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret’s friend and colleague Gustave Courtois, painted in 1880. Courtois is seen at one end of a large sofa, smiling wryly and staring into the distance. He holds his palette and brushes in his left hand, and what may be a long mahlstick in the right. At the opposite end of the sofa, turned with her back towards Courtois, is a young woman dressed in fashionable clothing, in black throughout, apart from white lace trim at the foot of her skirts. Also shown is a screen decorated with Japanese imagery, and on the floor the skin of a big cat, perhaps a lioness.
Pierre Bonnard developed his earlier Man and Woman in an Interior into his Man and Woman in about 1900. Marthe isn’t getting dressed here, but sits up in the sunshine. A folded wooden screen divides the painting into two. Bonnard stands at the right edge of the painting, his legs looking skeletal in the sunlight.
William McGregor Paxton’s Tea Leaves (1909) show two well-dressed young women taking tea together. The woman in the blue-trimmed hat seems to be staring into the leaves at the bottom of her cup, a traditional means of fortune-telling, and behind them is a large folding screen, whose details are intentionally blurred and vague.
The New Necklace from the following year is one of Paxton’s best-known paintings, and perhaps his most intriguing open narrative. A younger woman is sat at a narrow bureau writing. She has turned her chair to reach behind and hold out her left hand to receive the new necklace from a slightly older woman in a dark blue-green dress. Their backdrop is another folding screen, this time with its East Asian painting clearly visible.
My final screen is the painting itself.
Pierre Bonnard’s exquisite three-panelled Japoniste screen of The Stork and Four Frogs was painted at the outset of his career, in about 1889. Its story is contrastingly European, and based on one of Aesop’s fables retold by Jean de La Fontaine’s The Frogs who Demand a King.
The version retold by La Fontaine centres on a colony of frogs, who ask Jupiter for a king. The god’s first response to their request is a laid-back and gentle leader, whom the frogs reject as being too weak to rule them. Jupiter’s second attempt is a crane, who kills and eats the frogs for his pleasure. When the frogs complain to Jupiter, he then responds that they had better be happy with what they have got this time, or they could be given something even worse. Bonnard’s magnificent panel is traditionally interpreted not as showing the evil crane of the second attempt, but the first and gentle ruler.
In 1907, after over twenty years of lucrative work painting portraits, John Singer Sargent closed his studio in London, and cut himself adrift to travel where and when he wanted.
The American artists Jane de Glehn and her husband Wilfrid (1870-1951) were long-standing friends. Sargent first met Wilfrid around 1895 when he was working on murals in Boston Public Library, and Wilfrid married Jane Emmet (1873-1961), sister of Lydia Field Emmet, in 1904. The Fountain, Villa Torlonia, Frascati, Italy (1907) shows Jane working at a lightweight wooden easel in the grounds of the villa.
The composition in his Dolce Far Niente (1907) is complex, with five of the figures staggered and slightly out of line along the gentle curve of the bank crossing this unusually wide canvas, its aspect ratio being more typical of marine views and panoramas. Against this are steep diagonals in the middle of the painting, formed by the edge of the brown reflection on the water, the male in the left pair of figures, and the closest female. The cropping of the horizon and any background beyond the immediate meadow and stream gives a sense of space and recession, aided by the foreshortening of the closest figure, despite the proximity of the individuals to one another.
The painting consists of a multitude of daubs, strokes, and dabs of colour, those marks composed to provide just enough information for the viewer to assemble them into the whole, which as a result ‘pops’ out in a vivid reality.
It’s thought that all three male figures were modelled by Nicola d’Inverno, the painter’s manservant, and the woman seen asleep appears to be his friend Jane de Glehn. Sargent had purchased the costumes in the Middle East during his travels there, and they were transported in trunks to this site, believed to be the brook at Peuterey in the Val d’Aosta, most probably in the summer of 1907.
This painting was hung in the summer exhibition of the New English Art Club, London, in 1909, and was favourably received by the critics. It was sold within an hour of the opening of the press view, to Augustus Healy, founder of the Brooklyn Museum, where it has hung ever since.
Sargent’s bravura watercolour sketch of Grand Canal, Venice (1907) is composed of a sparse, even minimalist, collection of brushstrokes of watercolour assembled into a detailed view of the motif. He views Venice from the level of a gondola, the bows of which are also shown. His palette for these sketches is generally centred on earth colours for the buildings, with blue for the sky, water, and usually the shadows.
The following year, his Flotsam and Jetsam follows in the same style, with the figures of young boys in the foreground sketched in roughly to suggest movement.
Sargent was an early adopter of cadmium yellow pigment in watercolours such as Olive Trees, Corfu from 1909, where it ensured that his greens remained lightfast.
He wasn’t dependent on sophisticated techniques, though: Rio dei Mendicanti, Venice from about 1909 works its magic almost entirely using a combination of passages using wet on dry and wet on wet. There isn’t even much in the way of a graphite drawing under its thin washes.
Sargent met up with the plein air specialist Ambrogio Raffele again when he returned to the Alps during the summers of 1909 to 1911, and painted this watercolour of him as an Artist in the Simplon at some time in those years. Raffele is painting a view of the Fletschhorn, to the south-west of the Simplon Pass, using an improvised easel formed from two crossed poles.
In the summers of 1909-11, Sargent stayed with various friends in the Bellevue Hotel at the top of the Simplon Pass, enjoying the cool mountain air at a time when much of the rest of Europe would have been stiflingly hot. While his family and friends whiled away their days in leisure, Sargent got them to pose for a unique series of informal portraits. They may have been reclining at leisure, but Sargent took those watercolours very seriously, and deployed an amazing array of techniques. Among the finest is his Simplon Pass: The Tease from the summer of 1911. For any watercolour artist, it is a lexicon of advanced techniques.
One of the most unusual, used here extensively, is wax resist. Before applying paint, Sargent scribbled over areas that were intended to be vegetation, using a soft wax crayon, probably made from beeswax. On a fairly rough paper, the wax is deposited unevenly, and when painted over using watercolour it shows the white paper through. This creates disruptive patterns of near-white in the midst of the greens, and a superb effect.
Most of the paint used is transparent watercolour, applied as a wash in small areas, and in gestural marks elsewhere. In the upper third of this detail, he has applied white gouache (opaque watercolour) sufficiently thickly for it to now have fine cracks. The large pale blue area crossing the middle appears to have been rewetted and some of its colour lifted to reduce its intensity, although most of his applications of paint over existing paint have been made wet on dry.
Complex details such as the faces and hands of the figures have undergone multiple repainting, starting with the palest flesh of the face, and progressively darkening to near-black. In most cases, the clean edges of the marks demonstrate that these were applied wet on dry, with as many as six different layers in the hair.
In the midst of this complex assembly of layers, Sargent still keeps to the lines of his original graphite sketch, which he uses to give the parasol form, and maintains small reserved areas, here forming the spectacle frames in the white of the paper. He could have used wax resist here, but if using pure beeswax it’s hard to keep the soft wax to fine lines.
Sargent is the Chess Grand Master, the strategist whose moves at times might almost seem random or abstract, but in the end they all come together to bring this masterly watercolour to life.
John Singer Sargent’s move to London in 1886 had proved a commercial success, and he painted portraits of the rich and famous until he closed his studio there in 1907.
His group portrait of The Ladies Alexandra, Mary, and Theo Acheson, normally simply known as The Acheson Sisters, was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1902, where it was both very popular and favourably received. And at first sight, it is indeed a delight, as they sit around the front of a huge urn decorated with floral garlands, one of the ladies reaching up to pick oranges from a tree just above the urn. Even the late Queen Victoria would, I am sure, have approved. However, there are hidden references that link back through earlier portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds to Nicolas Poussin’s previous paintings of bacchanalian orgies.
Meanwhile, the other John Singer Sargent continued his travels across Europe and beyond. A visit to Venice in 1902 brought this stunning watercolour of Rio dell Angelo, where he provides his response to the Impressionists’ question on the colour of shadows.
The same year, Sargent visited New York, where he painted this portrait of his friend and fellow artist William Merritt Chase in his fifties. He’s immaculately dressed with a carnation in his button-hole, and the tools of his art in hand.
The following year, Sargent was back in Venice to paint this watercolour of Scuola di San Rocco assembled from a virtuoso series of marks and gestural strokes of the brush.
When he broke free of his studio for the summer of 1904, Sargent travelled to the Alps for his first season of serious plein air painting there. He stayed in the Italian mountain town of Purtud, to the south-west of Mont Blanc, where there was a group of Italian artists doing the same thing. Among them was Ambrogio Raffele (1845-1928), probably the best and most experienced of the group; Sargent became particularly friendly with him, and in An Artist in His Studio (1904) shows Raffele at work in his room there.
This painting is a paradox, in that Sargent shows an accomplished plein air painter working not in front of his motif, but in his bedroom. It’s plausible that Raffele is painting a larger version of the small sketch seen at the lower left of the large canvas.
When he reached Venice, Sargent’s watercolours became even more gestural, as shown in this view of Unloading Boats in Venice (1904).
The following summer Sargent turned his attention to his fellow travellers as they crossed the Alps on their way south. He sketched his friends during their siesta, in this Group with Parasols painted in oils in about 1905.
Here they are again in watercolour, in Siesta from the same year.
A decade after her dancing career had gone into decline, and fifteen years after his first painting of her, Sargent produced a completely different portrait of La Carmencita (c 1905). Now his virtuoso brushstrokes capture her motion. His inspiration was no longer Manet, but Giovanni Boldini and his ‘swish’.
In further time out of his studio, Sargent travelled to North Africa, where he painted this Bedouin Camp in 1905-6.
This portrait of an Arab Woman from 1905-06 is another fine example of his watercolour sketching.
At times, Sargent’s brushstrokes appear so casual that it’s almost as if he was just doodling with pigment, as in the blue shadows In a Levantine Port (1905-6). But they coalesce into the image that Sargent clearly had in his mind all the way along, and pop out at the viewer.
Aeneas has been rowed through the Straits of Messina, avoiding the rock pinnacle that Scylla had been transformed into. From there he heads north-west until he meets a fierce northerly storm that blows him and his crew south to the city of Carthage, on the Libyan coast. Ovid breezes through what takes Virgil almost a whole book in the Aeneid, in a brief summary of the affair between Aeneas and Dido, Queen of Carthage. This ends with him abandoning her to fall upon the sword he had given her, and her body to be consumed on her funeral pyre.
Pierre-Narcisse Guérin’s Aeneas tells Dido the misfortunes of the City of Troy, painted in about 1815, is probably the standard work showing the beginnings of their romance. Unfortunately it doesn’t give any clues to its tragic outcome.
In about 1875, when Paul Cézanne was still experimenting with narrative genres, he first drew a compositional study, then painted Aeneas Meeting Dido at Carthage. The queen is at the left, surrounded by her court. The warrior figure of Aeneas stands to the right of centre, and to the right of him is the shrouded spectre of Aeneas’ wife, Creusa, who had been abandoned by Aeneas as the family fled the burning city of Troy.
Normally titled The Death of Dido, Tiepolo’s painting from 1757-70 shows an odd composite scene in which Aeneas, packed and ready to sail with his ship, watches on as Dido suffers the agony of their separation, lying on the bed of her funeral pyre. A portentous puff of black smoke has just risen to the left, although it’s surely far too early for anyone to think of setting the timbers alight.
Dido’s spectacular death is shown best in what is perhaps Henry Fuseli’s most conventional history painting, known simply as Dido (1781). Dido has just been abandoned by Aeneas, has mounted her funeral pyre, and is on the couch on which she and Aeneas made love. She then falls on the sword Aeneas had given her, and that rests, covered with her blood, beside her, its tip pointing up towards her right breast. Her sister Anna rushes in to embrace her during her dying moments, and Jupiter sends Iris (shown above, wielding a golden sickle) to release Dido’s spirit from her body. Already smoke seems to be rising up from the pyre, confirming visually to Aeneas that she has killed herself, as he sails away from Carthage.
After a close call with the Sirens, Aeneas reaches the land of the Cercopes, who had been transformed into apes by Jupiter because of their treachery. The ship continues to the north-west along the coast of Italy, passing Naples.
This has been shown only by those like Antonio Tempesta who engraved for illustrated editions of the Metamorphoses. Tempesta’s Jupiter Changing the Cercopians into Monkeys from around 1600 shows Jupiter at the right, accompanied as ever by his huge eagle, with the transformed monkeys.
Once past Naples, Aeneas and his crew land at Cumae to visit the Sibyl there in her cave. He needs her assistance to go to the underworld to speak to the ghost of his father Anchises. The Sibyl reassures Aeneas that he will achieve his goals, and to that end she takes him to Proserpine’s sacred glade. Finding a golden bough there, she tells Aeneas to break that from the tree. The two of them travel to the underworld bearing that golden bough, make contact with the ghost of Anchises, and return safely.
During their walk back, Aeneas thanks the Sibyl for her help and guidance, and offers to build a temple to her, assuming she is a goddess. The Sibyl points out that she is no goddess, and explains how she had once been offered immortality if she were to let the god Apollo take her virginity. When Apollo had invited her to wish for anything, she had pointed to a pile of sand, and asked to live as many years as there were grains, but forgot to wish for eternal youth to accompany that.
Apollo offered her eternal youth as well, but she declined and remained a virgin. After seven hundred years, with another three hundred still to go, she is well into old age, infirm, and steadily vanishing as her body wastes away until only her voice will remain. With that, the pair reach Cumae, and Aeneas sets sail.
This is depicted in one of Claude Lorrain’s most wonderful coastal landscapes, his Coast View with Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl from about 1645-49. Although their figures are small, Apollo on the left is holding his lyre in his left arm, trying to persuade the seated Sibyl, to the right, to let him take her virginity. Around them are the ruins of classical buildings and a stand of tall trees, as the land drops away to an idealised view of the coast of Italy. In the small bay immediately below them are some ships, which may be a forward reference to Aeneas’ future visit, although that would have been seven centuries later according to the Sibyl’s account.
JMW Turner didn’t tackle the first part of this story until 1823, when he painted The Bay of Baiae, with Apollo and the Sibyl. His view appears to have been loosely based on Claude’s, but is set at Baiae, in the Bay of Naples. Apollo is again on the left, with his lyre, but the dark-haired Sibyl has adopted an odd kneeling position. She is holding some sand in the palm of her right hand, asking Apollo to grant her as many years of life as there are grains.
When Claude was painting his coastal view, François Perrier was painting a more conventional figurative account of Aeneas and the Cumaean Sibyl (c 1646). Aeneas, stood to the left of the incense burner, appears to be offering to burn incense in honour of the Sibyl, who stands at the right in front of her cave, and is just about to tell him her life-story. Behind Aeneas is a queue of people, including a king, bearing gifts and waiting to consult with the Sibyl. At the top left corner is a temple, and in the clouds above it the god Apollo, I believe.
JMW Turner’s first version of this later scene is thought to have been his first mythological painting, in about 1798. This second version, Lake Avernus: Aeneas and the Cumaean Sybil, dates from 1814 or 1815, and is both an improvement on the original and in better condition. True to the spirit of Claude’s landscape, this too is a mythological landscape showing the beautiful setting of Lake Avernus, near Pozzuoli, to the west of the city of Naples. In the distance are Baiae and the cliffs of Cape Miseno. The Sibyl, who doesn’t show her years, holds aloft a golden sprig rather than a bough, and Aeneas stands with his back to the viewer, as if he too is enjoying the view.
Turner’s last account is The Golden Bough, exhibited in 1834. It shows well how much his style had changed, although it retains compositional features from his earlier paintings. The Sibyl stands on the left, radiant in white light, and holding aloft a more substantial golden branch, with the golden sickle used to cut that branch, in her right hand. Down towards Lake Avernus are the Fates, dancing around a white glow. A couple of female companions of the Sibyl rest under the tree, but Aeneas is nowhere to be seen, although he might be in the middle of the Fates, perhaps. In the right foreground is a snake, a symbol of the underworld.
I hope that you enjoyed Saturday’s Mac Riddles, episode 302. Here are my solutions to them.
Shortened characters (text, shortened) into the most common extension (it is), formerly ASCII (it used to be).
Medical practitioner (a doc) at the end of word files (the extension for Word native format) until gaining a cross in 2002 (progressively replaced by the newer docx from 2002 onwards).
At the end (a filename extension) of real estate (property) inventory (list), most commonly for Info (Info.plist in bundles) and preferences (also usually property lists).
They are common filename extensions.
I look forward to your putting alternative cases.
个人写一点自己整理的异同, 权当抛砖引玉, 希望有熟悉这几个工具的小伙伴能提供建议
| 特性 | Kitty | WezTerm | Alacritty | Ghostty |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 编程语言 | C 和 Python | Rust | Rust | Zig |
| 配置方式 | 纯文本（ kitty.conf ） | Lua 脚本 | YAML/TOML | 键值对文本 |
| 开发状态 | 成熟 | 活跃 | 成熟但更新慢 | 新兴, 正在开发中, Warp 团队作品 |
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