By the 1880s, some established painters had begun to use photographs in the development of their paintings, although they appear to have kept quiet about those techniques. During the next decade this became more widespread, and raised the question of whether photography should be accepted as a new art.

In the 1890s Edgar Degas experimented with photography. This is an albumen print of patron and amateur painter Henry Lerolle with two of his daughters, Yvonne and Christine, taken by Degas in 1895-96.

Degas also took this self-portrait with Christine and Yvonne Lerolle in the same period.

In Degas’ oil painting of After the Bath from about 1895, the woman has adopted a strange and unnatural position, as if she has almost fallen from the edge of the deep bath. Her left foot is still cocked over its edge, as the rest of her lies on her right side on a towel. A maid stands behind her, attending to her long hair.

Degas didn’t just draw and paint women bathing, but made photos as well, such as this print of After the Bath, Woman Drying Her Back from 1896.

The realist painter Jean-Léon Gérôme not only experimented with photography for many years, but was an enthusiastic advocate for its recognition as an art in its own right.

Gérôme’s Truth Coming out of her Well to Shame Mankind (1896) is based on a quotation attributed to Democritus, “Of a truth we know nothing, for truth is in a well” (or, more literally, ‘in an abyss’). Gérôme used the same allusion in his preface to Émile Bayard’s posthumous collection of collotype plates of photographs of nudes, Le Nu esthétique. L’Homme, la Femme, L’Enfant. Album de documents artistiques inédits d’après Nature, published in 1902, where he wrote:
Photography is an art. It forces artists to discard their old routine and forget their old formulas. It has opened our eyes and forced us to see that which previously we have not seen; a great and inexpressible service for Art. It is thanks to photography that Truth has finally come out of her well. She will never go back.

It’s almost certain that Jules-Alexis Muenier became a photographer between 1880, when he went to Paris to study at the École des Beaux-Arts, and when he travelled to North Africa with Pascal Dagnan-Bouveret in 1888, armed with cameras. Although he may have found it difficult to set up the necessary darkroom and processing laboratory when he was still living in Paris, in 1885 he moved to a large house on his parents-in-law’s estate in Coulevon, which should have been ideal.

Although I have been unable to find a suitable image of the painting, this photograph shows Muenier with his painting of The Harpsichord Lesson in about 1911, which became his most famous painting during his lifetime. Muenier, Gérôme and Dagnan-Bouveret weren’t just happy snapper photographers, but believed in photography as fine art. All three were early members of local photographic clubs, and Muenier and Dagnan-Bouveret exhibited their photographs as seriously as their paintings.

Franz von Stuck’s remarkable Dancers (1896) is one of his earlier paintings exploring images of dancing women. This seems to have been inspired by some of the more flamboyant dresses of the day, and as an experiment in the portrayal of motion, in turn influenced by contemporary photography.

Joaquín Sorolla’s portrait of The Photographer Christian Franzen from 1903 brings this full circle. Franzen (1864-1923) was Danish by birth, trained in Copenhagen, then worked throughout Europe until he established his studio in Madrid in 1896. He was appointed court photographer to King Alfonso XIII.

By the twentieth century, some of the most prolific and painterly painters were also dedicated photographers.

Marthe in the Bathtub (1907) is one of the thousands of photos of Marthe taken by Pierre Bonnard.

Kneeling Woman or Nude with Tub from 1913 is a painting that surely reflects Bonnard’s photographs.

I Werners Eka (In Werner’s Rowing Boat) from 1917 is one of Anders Zorn’s last great paintings of a nude outdoors.

Zorn had also been an enthusiastic photographer who used photos for his paintings. This undated print was taken At Lake Siljan, close to his home town of Mora.

To finish, I leap forward a century to the painstakingly real paintings of Ellen Altfest. To ensure her painted representations are exact, she measures angles with metal skewers, and places marks to maintain her orientation in forests of hair. She eschews grids and projections so she can retain a sense of herself, and not lapse into mechanical reproduction. She only paints in natural light, and often outdoors.

The end result is nothing like a photograph. Her oil paintings result from the most prolonged and intense looking, and slow, meticulous painting. I feel sure that Gérôme would have loved them.

Some of our most popular furniture is primarily intended for storage and display. This article looks at paintings of cupboards, and their specialist relatives sideboards and (Welsh) dressers. Although of ancient origins, cupboards reached a peak during the Dutch Golden Age, when the middle classes became highly acquisitive. Dressers have been traditional in some areas, including Wales, and Brittany in France, while sideboards came of age in the nineteenth century dining room.

The cupboard standing behind Jean-Baptiste Greuze’s Laundress (1761) was commonplace in many European households, and is here in the dilapidated servants’ area, probably in a cellar, where this provocative and flirtaceous young maid is washing the household linen. This was painted for Greuze’s patron, Ange-Laurent de La Live de Jully, when the artist was enjoying great success at the Salon. His reputation faded after 1780, and he lost everything in the French Revolution, dying a pauper.

Edward Burne-Jones’ Cinderella from 1863 shows her reverted to her plain clothes after the ball, but still wearing one (the left) glass slipper. She is seen in a scullery or similar area, with a dull, patched, and grubby working dress and apron. Behind her is a densely packed display of blue crockery in the upper section of a large dresser.

A decade later in New York, the American genre artist Eastman Johnson painted an open narrative work that only makes any sense when you know its title of Not at Home (c 1873). This apparently shows the interior of the artist’s home, where there’s a small dresser in the parlour with a more modest display of plates and mementos.

Briton Rivière’s Cupboard Love, from 1881, is a visual and verbal pun. The phrase refers to affection in return for gain, shown well in the two dogs whose interest lies in the food which the young woman is about to produce from the heavy wooden cupboard behind them.

William Merritt Chase’s many paintings of his studio became something of a shop window for prospective customers. In his Studio Interior from about 1882, a fashionably dressed young woman is glancing through a huge bound collation of Chase’s work, sat by a grand carved wooden sideboard, decorated with almost outlandish objects including a model ship, a lute, and sundry objets d’art.

Some cupboards have highly specialised roles, such as that in Joaquín Sorolla’s Kissing the Relic from 1893. At the end of Mass in the church of Saint Paul in Valencia, close to Sorolla’s childhood home, the congregation have been invited to kiss a reliquary containing an alleged relic of a revered saint, drawn from the cupboard behind the priest.

Laurits Andersen Ring’s wife Sigrid sits reading the newspaper Politiken At Breakfast (1898), with a modern sideboard behind her. This houses a mixture of tableware and personal mementos rather than serving as a buffet.

Further north in Sweden, Carl Larsson’s wife Karin is Getting Ready for a Game (1901) as she prepares a tray of refreshments in her dining room. At the left is a tall glass-fronted display cabinet containing glassware, while at the right is a simple sideboard with separate shelving to display decorated crockery.

Free-standing cupboards are nothing compared to those you can walk into.

Félix Vallotton’s Woman Searching through a Cupboard (1901) uses its gloomy repoussoir to frame a woman crouching low over its contents. On the shelves above her are thick bundles of papers, such as those used in law and public administration.

A couple of years later, in his Interior, Woman in Blue Searching in a Cupboard (1903), Vallotton painted his wife Gabrielle from behind as she stood searching in a free-standing cupboard of books.

Elizabeth Nourse’s painting of a Breton Interior from about 1907 shows a well-stocked dresser beside this young girl’s bed. As dressers were unusual in bedrooms, this combination suggests the family home is very cramped, and the child has to sleep in the same room as the family eats.

From the opening to the public of the Museo Nacional del Prado in November 1819, it has drawn a steady succession of aspiring painters to Madrid to study the works of Hieronymus Bosch, El Greco, Peter Paul Rubens, Titian, Diego Velázquez, Francisco Goya, and others. This weekend I show a small selection of landscape paintings made of the interior of Spain by visitors and natives, and in this second article have reached the start of the twentieth century.

The founder of the School of Fine Arts at Yale University, John Ferguson Weir, had studied in Europe, and his brother Julian Alden Weir was a student at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Later in his career, John Ferguson Weir returned to Europe on several trips, and in about 1901 painted this fine view of The Alhambra, Granada, Spain.

As far as I can tell, Laurits Tuxen was the first Danish artist to paint a View of the Alhambra. He did so in 1902, the year after marrying his second wife. He was one of the leading members of the Skagen painters, Nordic Impressionists, and completed this en plein air on 4 May, in wonderfully fine weather.

James Dickson Innes, a painter from Wales who was a member of the Camden Town Group, visited Spain in 1912-13, where he painted this Spanish Landscape in oils on a wood panel.

Innes had a particular affection for dusk, as seen in his Deep Twilight, Pyrenees, painted in 1912-13.

Muñoz Degrain’s view of the Alhambra from Albaicin District is remarkable for the rhythm established by the poplar trees around its base, which become an integral part of the fortified ridge.

His View of the Alhambra is one of my favourite paintings of this motif, for its intriguing foreground details, and the poplars lit as white-hot pokers in the fiery light of sunset.

Joaquín Sorolla, best known for his figurative works, also painted fine landscapes. This undated view of Albaicin looks down from one of the Alhambra’s towers at the bleached white buildings below.

In 1917, when he was exhausted after completing fourteen large murals for the Hispanic Society of America building in Manhattan, Sorolla recovered by painting landscapes. In his Sierra Nevada, Granada, the mountains dominate, with patches of cloud adding uncertainty to their forms.

This canvas by the Spanish artist Enrique Simonet shows a thoroughly Spanish motif: Autumn in the Dehesa, a type of landscape characteristic of southern and central Spain and Portugal, where it’s known as montado. This is a traditional mixed, multifunctional environment providing grazing for cattle, goats, sheep and pigs, mixed trees centred on oaks, and support for many endangered species such as the Iberian lynx and Spanish imperial eagle.

Simonet’s La Moncloa Landscape from 1918-20 shows another rural area, with its ancient woodland and open plains. There may also be a pun intended, as the term La Moncloa can be used to refer to the central government of Spain.

Most of Simonet’s later paintings, such as Reflections on the River (1918-23), are pure landscapes.

During 1921-22, Simonet was director of landscape painting courses held in El Paular, to the north-west of Madrid. There he painted some of the finest of these late works, such as his El Paular Landscape from 1921.

His Hiruela Waterfall (1921-23) is set in dense woodland to the north of Madrid.

Around 1920, the Japanese artist Torajirō Kojima appears to have visited Spain, where he painted the Alhambra, and this wonderful view of a mountainous Landscape in Spain スペインの風景.

Late in his distinguished career, when he was teaching Winston Churchill to paint, the British painter, print-maker and illustrator Sir William Nicholson travelled to Andalucia in Spain. There he met the novelist Marguerite Steen (1894-1975), and she became his companion for the remaining fifteen years of his life. She had a passion for bullfights, and Nicholson found himself working up a study of the Plaza de Toros, Malaga into a major painting. This finished version shows his distinctive use of colour as a result of the intense light in southern Spain. This was exhibited in London the following year.

La Malagueta, as this bull ring is known, was a lifelong inspiration for Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), who was born and brought up in the city. Unlike Picasso, though, Nicholson’s interest was more distant, in the bullring’s form and position, rather than the thrill and spectacle of bullfights.

Prostitution isn’t the only occupation that has been claimed to be the earliest, and that claim wasn’t even made until the late nineteenth century. However, it certainly was one of the most common ways for women to earn a living in the growing cities of Europe during the nineteenth century. Like bars and places of entertainment, prostitution only thrived where there were plenty of potential customers with money. London and Paris were renowned for the number of women who worked as prostitutes, catering for all classes and pockets.

Thoughts of the Past (1859) was the first of John Roddam Spencer Stanhope’s paintings to be exhibited at the Royal Academy, and remains one of his best-known works. It shows a woman standing by a window looking out onto the River Thames in London, and is a faithful depiction of the studio below that used by Dante Gabriel Rossetti at the time, in Chatham Place.

The woman and her surroundings contain rich clues as to her status: behind her, a gaudy cloak with some white lace hangs. The small dressing table is tatty and covered with cheap, garish jewellery. Potted houseplants straggle up for light from the window, and at their foot is a man’s glove and walking stick. She’s dressed for the bedroom, with her long red hair let down, and looks gaunt, her eyes tired and sunken. The view looks towards Waterloo Bridge, with the Strand embankment to the right, at the time a popular haunt for prostitutes.

In Ford Madox Brown’s Work (1863), the profligate woman in the foreground wears a torn and tattered red dress (detail below), although it’s faded rather than full scarlet. With her gaggle of unruly children and a babe in arms, she’s portrayed as a prostitute.

Like Manet’s notorious Olympia (1863) before, the contemporary surroundings and heap of clothes beside Henri Gervex’s Rolla (1878) ensured it was deemed immoral by the Salon jury. This was inspired by a poem by Alfred de Musset about a prostitute, and Gervex depicted her asleep in bed as her client gets dressed the following morning. In the end, the artist got a commercial gallery to exhibit this painting, where it attracted far more attention than it would have in the Salon.

Jean-Louis Forain’s candid view of endemic prostitution shown in his watercolour The Client (1878) surpassed those of Edgar Degas, and were later to inspire the paintings of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901).

One response to the popularity of Naturalism was Félicien Rops’ tender portrait of a low-end prostitute Down and Out in 1882. While she stands next to a sheet on the wall headed TARIF making clear her trade, a single small red flower adorns her flaunted cleavage.

In Antonino Gandolfo’s Compensation from 1880-85, the man settling his bill is only seen by the hand holding out money, and a foot. The young woman holding out her hand to receive, looks away in shame, and wears scarlet to advertise her trade. This is one of a series by Gandolfo depicting the poor in the city of Catania on Sicily.

The theme of prostitution dominates many of the paintings of the Norwegian artist Christian Krohg, who was also an author.

Just before Christmas 1886, Christian Krohg’s first novel Albertine was published by a left-wing publisher. Its central theme is prostitution in Norway at the time, and the police quickly seized all the copies they could find, banning it on the grounds of violating the good morals of the people. Krohg was found guilty of the offence the following March and fined, although the police were only able to seize 439 of the first 1600 copies to go into circulation.

At the same time as he was writing that novel, Krohg had been working on his largest and most complex painting: Albertine in the Police Doctor’s Waiting Room (1885-87). He also painted other scenes from the book.

In the novel, Albertine starts as a poor seamstress, who is mistaken for a prostitute by the police officer in charge of the section controlling prostitutes. He plies her with alcohol then rapes her. She is summoned to be inspected by the police doctor, whose examination further violates her, making her think that she is destined to be a prostitute, and that is, of course, exactly what happens.

Albertine isn’t the prominent woman in the centre looking directly at the viewer: Krohg’s heroine is the simple and humble country girl at the front of the queue to go into the police doctor for inspection. Behind her is a motley line of women from a wide range of situations. At the right, in the corner of the room, is another country girl with flushed cheeks. Others are apparently more advanced in their careers, and stare at Albertine, whose profiled face is barely visible from behind her headscarf. Barring the way to the surgery door, and in control of the proceedings, is a policeman.

During Joaquín Sorolla’s period of Naturalist painting, he depicted the contemporary trade in prostitutes in Spain. His White Slave Trade (1895) is set in a bleak railway compartment, where four young women are asleep while being transported in the care of an older woman. In contrast to their guardian who wears black, the young women are dressed in bright-coloured Valencian regional costumes, and wear fashionable shoes. Their few possessions are stacked on the bench at the right, and include a guitar. The ‘slave trade’ to which the title refers is the movement of prostitutes between brothels, in this case from the city of Valencia to the port of Cartagena, then over to Orán and Algeria.

Aksel Waldemar Johannessen was another Norwegian who took up the cause with Krohg. He had been born in Hammersborg, a poor suburb of Oslo, but his paintings weren’t exhibited until after his death in 1922.

Forced into Prostitution, also known as Night Wanderer, from 1915, shows the artist’s wife Anna in the role of a prostitute in the city of Oslo. Here an odious-looking client with bushy eyebrows and a thick-set face is pressing against her from behind, wanting to pick her up.

In the first of this weekend’s two articles, I showed how the Valèncian artist Joaquín Sorolla painted the arduous lives of fishermen working from local beaches, during the 1890s. Although he had been taught by Ignacio Pinazo, who had probably depicted Malvarrosa Beach for the first time in 1887, Sorolla doesn’t appear to have started to paint such scenes for a few years into the twentieth century.

His large Afternoon Sun, Beaching the Boat (1903) is another scene of fishermen working hard with three teams of oxen to bring a fishing boat ashore, in the spirit of Return from Fishing, and there’s still not a well-dressed young lady in sight.

In 1905, he travelled south from València to paint another view of the rocky coast there, at Isla del Cap Marti, Jávea.

The White Boat, Jávea, with its skilful use of broken reflections and underwater views, came from the same summer campaign.

Then by 1908, fishermen and the hindquarters of oxen were replaced by After the Bath, again on the beach at València.

His Beach of València by Morning Light, again from 1908, shows mothers taking their children into the water on El Cabañal beach, València, with his favourite fishing boats in the background.

In 1909, he painted another of what had now become his signature works on the beach at València, Strolling Along the Seashore. Although novel to Sorolla, he may have been influenced by prior art, for example in the painting below from one of the Danish Impressionists who had gathered at Skagen in Denmark.

Just as French Impressionism was born on the beaches of northern France, so the movement spread around the world on its sand coasts, under the warm light of the sun. Danish Impressionists like Peder Severin Krøyer gathered to enjoy a Summer Evening on Skagen’s Southern Beach from 1893, one of a series of similar views painted by Krøyer on this remote strand at the northern tip of Jylland (Jutland), the northernmost part of Denmark.

Others had travelled south to the Midi to do the same. Théo van Rysselberghe’s Divisionist La Promenade (1901) captures the rich light of one of the beaches in the south of France.

Beach paintings had come of age at last.

València in Spain is well known in art from the dozens of paintings of well-dressed young ladies on its beaches, made by Joaquín Sorolla during the early years of the twentieth century. This weekend I look at how his art evolved from his earlier works of social realism to reach the brightly lit beach.

Sorolla was born in València in 1863, and started learning to draw and paint at the age of nine. Among his teachers when he was studying in his home town was another Valèncian, Ignacio Pinazo Camarlench (1849-1916), who had developed a loose Impressionist style in 1874.

In 1887, shortly after Pinazo stopped teaching at the Academy, he painted one of the earliest depictions of Malvarrosa Beach, the most popular in València, a painting almost certainly seen by the young Sorolla.

Sorolla would also have seen and been influenced by the paintings of Francisco Pradilla (1848-1921) from Zaragoza, a history painter who had been Director of the Academy of Spain in Rome, and Enrique Simonet (1866-1927), another Valèncian.

Simonet must have painted his Málaga Beach at Dusk when he was back in Spain during a visit from his studies in Rome in 1889. It shows well his increasing attention to detail which was taking him away from his early Impressionist style.

By the 1890s, although working primarily in Madrid, Sorolla began to use the fishermen of València as a source of motifs. Early among those is this man Peeling Potatoes (1891) in one of the fishing boats hauled up just above the sea on the beach there. Relatively small and quite sketchy, this may have been a study he intended to develop into a larger more finished work.

Sorolla’s And They Still Say Fish is Expensive! from 1894 is set in the hold of one of the larger fishing vessels, amid spare tackle, a large barrel, and some of its catch. Two older men are attending to a youth, who appears to have been wounded, presumably as the result of an accident at sea. Around the boy’s neck is a pendant good-luck charm; he is stripped to the waist and pale, and one of the men is pressing a dressing against his abdomen. Lit from an open hatch at the top left, the painting has the immediacy of a photographic snapshot and looks documentary.

Sorolla’s title is incisive social comment about the values of a society that was happy to see young boys go to sea to fish, putting their lives at risk for those ashore to enjoy cheap seafood. This was painted during the summer of 1894, again in València, and went on to great acclaim in the Paris Salon the following year, where it was bought for the Museo del Prado in Madrid.

At the same time that he was painting that work, Sorolla was busy on his even larger Return from Fishing (1894), now one of the most visually impressive exhibits in the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, following its purchase for the French state from the Salon of 1895, where it won a gold medal. Romantic though this may appear today, it’s a carefully detailed account of the complex, strenuous, dangerous and above all primitive working conditions of the local fishermen of València, who still used teams of oxen to haul their boats up the beach.

Valencian Fishermen (1895) is perhaps a little more relaxed, and a far smaller essay on the work of the fishermen as they maintain their gear at the water’s edge.

Although known primarily for his portraits and figurative works, Sorolla painted some fine landscapes, which may have had a more personal significance. The Cape of San Antonio, Jávea from 1896 shows this part of the southern end of the Gulf of Valencia, here from Cap Marti to the south.

Sorolla’s best-known painting from this Naturalist period is his large Sad Inheritance (1899), which won him the Grand Prix and medal of honour at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris, and a medal in Madrid the following year. As ever, its apparent spontaneity is deceptive: this is one of his most carefully prepared paintings.

It shows a group of young boys from a local charitable hospital enjoying a visit to the sea in the care of a lone priest, and celebrates the mission of the Hospitaller Order of St John of God, who had built the hospital in 1892 at the end of Malvarrosa Beach (Platja de la Malva-rosa). Sorolla later said that he had witnessed this scene one evening in a remote corner of the beach, and once he had been given permission to paint the boys, he made an initial oil sketch from memory.

Although Sad Inheritance was Sorolla’s last large Naturalist painting, he continued to create works in similar style. Lunch on the Boat, painted the previous year, shows a group of Valèncian men and boys eating an improvised lunch under the awning on their fishing boat.