Franz Xaver Winterhalter and the Demidov Portrait

Thursday, 28 June 2012

Franz Xaver Winterhalter and the Demidov Portrait

My research on Franz Xaver Winterhalter continues, and with this entry, I propose that one of his works, which was traditionally identified as a portrait of Princesse Mathilde Bonaparte, Princess Demidova di San-Donato (1820-1904), is in fact a portrait of Avrora Karlovna Demidova-Karamzina, née Stjernvall [Аврора Карловна Демидова-Карамзина, ур. Шернваль] (1808-1902).

The first inference that the Demidov family offered patronage to Franz Xaver Winterhalter is to be found in Franz Wild’s posthumous list of Winterhalter’s works, which includes a reference to a portrait of a woman from the Demidov family: Mme Demidoff 1868 (Wild 1894, 45). As with all references on Wild’s list, no further information is given.

The next indication of this patronage was a portrait of a lady at Sotheby’s Russian Paintings, Drawings, Watercolours and Sculpture auction in London, 5 March 1981, lot 40 (oil on canvas, oval, 60 x 50cm, sold USD $7,840). The portrait was unsigned and unprovenanced, yet it was described as a Portrait of Mathilde Bonaparte, daughter of Jerome Bonaparte, wife of Prince Anatole Demidoff [sic]. Sotheby’s supported this identification with a short précis of Princesse Mathilde’s biography.

However, as my Winterhalter research was progressing, I began to question the identity of the sitter. Princesse Mathilde Bonaparte separated from Anatoly Demidov, Prince di San Donato (1813-70) in 1846; she was thence known by her maiden name and was commonly referred to by all her contemporaries as Princesse Mathilde. While Wild’s list is rife with spelling errors, the titles for most part are correct. It would have been unthinkable, therefore, that either Winterhalter as late as 1868 or his nephew as late as 1894 would have referred to the Princesse in their books as a mere Mme Demidoff.Unfortunately, I only have a black-and-white image of this portrait, so I would be most grateful if anyone in the ethersphere, who might possess a colour version of it, could forward it to me – this of course would be most dutifully and gratefully acknowledged! Nevertheless, even on the basis of the extant image, the portrait is readily attributable as an autograph Winterhalter from his later period.This identification was accepted by the editors of Franz Xaver Winterhalter and the Courts of Europe 1830-70, who in their monumental exhibition catalogue linked the entry on Wild’s list with the portrait at Sotheby’s: “370. Mme Demidoff, 1868. Presumably Princesse Mathilde Bonaparte, Comtesse Demidoff. Head and shoulders, oval, 60 x 50, Private Collection.” (Winterhalter 1987-88, 235).

Furthermore, no chroniclers or biographers of Princesse Mathilde mention her sitting to Winterhalter, which corresponds with the alleged animosity between the Princesse and Eugénie, Empress of the French (1826-1920), who was among Winterhalter’s premier patrons; neither is the portrait reproduced in any publications, past or present, on the Princesse. Last but not least, even with Winterhalter’s well-known propensity for the admissible degree of flattery and idealisation, the lady in the portrait looks to be in her fifties or early sixties. Princesse Mathilde Bonaparte was in her late forties, and while every artist who painted her subjugated the Princesse’s visage to his own aesthetic ideal, the subtle mimetic differences are also apparent, especially in the shorter oval of the face and a more pronounced  jaw line.

These observations initiated a research into other Demidov women who were alive and in their fifties or sixties in the late 1860s. One of them stood out most prominently: Eva Aurora Charlotta Stjernvall (1808-1902), more commonly known under her Russian name as Avrora Karlovna Stjernvall [Аврора Карловна Шернваль], who married Pavel Nikolaevich Demidov [Демидов] (1798-1840), and upon becoming a widow, she married secondly Andrei Nikolaevich Karamzin [Карамзин] (1814-54). After her second widowhood, Avrora Karlovna continued to be commonly referred to by her first husband’s name. Through her first husband, who was Anatoly Demidov’s brother, she was Princesse Mathilde’s sister-in-law; and her son, Paul (1839-1885), inherited his uncle’s illustrious princely title. On the other hand, neither Avrora nor her late husband, Pavel Demidov, had a title of nobility. Therefore, both the portrait and the entry on Wild’s list correspond more accurately as a portrait of Avrora Karlovna as a simple Mme Demidoff; who was also turning  60 at the time the portrait was painted.

The similarities between the woman in Winterhalter’s portrait and known portraits of Avrora Karlovna Demidova are striking, including a slightly elongated oval of the face, and a very characteristic hairstyle. Furthermore, Demidova appears in several of her portraits wearing a black lace head-dress, which corresponds with her widowed status (no portrait of Princesse Mathilde features a similar head ornament). Avrora’s portrait by Perignon (illustrated on the left) bears the most striking resemblance to Winterhalter’s portrait, including the details and outlines of the lace headdress and the way in which it descends to the shoulders. Demidova’s biographers report that in 1867 she was infected with smallpox, which disfigured her face. It is quite possible that by commissioning her portrait from Winterhalter at the time of her sixtieth birthday, Avrora Karlovna entrusted the artist to eradicate the ravages of illness and age, and attempted to arrest the time and preserve the modicum of her celebrated beauty.

While my research continues, and unless evidence surfaces to the contrary, I am altering the title of this work in my catalogue accordingly as a portrait of Avrora Karlovna Demidova-Karamzina (1808-1902), née Aurora Charlotta Stjernvall (see no 842).

© Eugene Barilo von Reisberg 2012.

Dresden Portrait Re-Identified as a ‘Lost’ portrait of Augusta Großherzogin von Mecklenburg-Strelitz (1822-1916) by F.X. Winterhalter

Dresden Portrait Re-Identified as Winterhalter’s ‘Lost’ portrait of Augusta Großherzogin von Mecklenburg-Strelitz (1822-1916)

The recent catalogue of Victorian Miniatures in the Collection of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II has helped me to shed light on the portrait in the collection of Galerie Neue Meister, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, known hitherto only as Damenbildnis [see no 321, Works by Franz Xaver Winterhalter 1846-1850]. 

The painting can now be fully identified as a portrait of Augusta Großherzogin von Mecklenburg-Strelitz (1822-1916), née Princess of Cambridge, painted at Windsor Castle between 7 and 16 October 1846.

 

The following research information backs up my suggestion:

• A miniature enamel copy of this portrait (5.0 x 4.0 cm) by John Simpson (1811-aft 1871), signed, dated, and identified as a copy after Franz Xaver Winterhalter’s portrait of Princess Augusta of Cambridge, Hereditary Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, of 1846, is in the collection of HM Queen Elizabeth II (RCIN 421918).
• A further copy of this portrait by Henry Melville (fl 1846-86) (oil on canvas, 61 x 50.8 cm, oval), is also in the collection of HM Queen Elizabeth II (RCIN 406676).
• Both copies were commissioned by Queen Victoria after the original portrait by F.X. Winterhalter, which was given to the sitter’s husband, Friedrich Wilhelm Großherzog von Mecklenburg-Strelitz (1819-1904).

There are numerous references to confirm the dating of the portrait from October 1846:

• The portrait was commissioned by Queen Victoria from Franz Xaver Winterhalter, who was in England from September 1846 to February 1847 [Oliver Millar, Victorian Pictures, 1: 284]
• One of Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting, Hon. Eleanor Stanley, wrote in a letter from Windsor Castle, dated 7 October 1846: “I was on the whole day with some Royalty or other, as the Grand Duchess [of Mecklenburg] sat for her picture from eleven till two to Winterhalter, and desired [me] to go and sit with her… After lunch she had another sitting, and I attended again till four o’clock, when she went out driving with the Queen…” [Eleanor Stanley, Letters (London: 1916), 136].
• The portrait is mentioned in Queen Victoria’s diary in an entry for 16 October 1846, where the portrait is described as ‘quite beautiful & so boldly, as well as finely painted’ [Oliver Millar, Victorian Pictures (London: 1992), 1: 326].
• It was given as a joint present from Queen Victoria and the Dowager Queen Adelaide to the sitter’s husband, then the Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, on 17 October 1846 [ibid].
• The portrait is mentioned on the list of portraits by F.X. Winterhalter, published posthumously by the artist’s nephew, Franz Wild, in 1894, where it appears among other 1846 portraits by the artist [Franz Wild, Neckrologe…, 38].

A confirmation has been recently received from the Galerie Neue Meister, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, accepting this identification.

© Eugene Barilo von Reisberg, 2012

[It all started with a] Portrait of Princess Tatiana Yusupova

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

[It all started with a] Portrait of Princess Tatiana Yusupova…

The previous entry made think how did my “love affair” with Winterhalter began (“love affair” being an apt description, as several exes referred to Winterhalter as “the other man in my life”…).

In the late 1985, I was thumbing through my uncle’s collection of postcards with reproductions of paintings from the Hermitage Collection. From the multitude of images that flicked before my eyes, I was inexplicably drawn to a single picture. The inscription on the reverse laconically stated that this was a portrait of Princess Tatiana Alexandrovna Yusupova, painted in Paris in 1858 by an artist called Franz Xaver Winterhalter.

I was intrigued. I wanted to find out more. I wanted to see the portrait in the flesh. Being only fourteen years of age, I was not at liberty to jump on a train and make a lengthy journey to Leningrad (as St Petersburg was then called) for the purpose of seeing a single portrait. However, an opportunity presented itself in 1986, when a school excursion was organised to Leningrad, with the State Hermitage being a compulsory stop on its itinerary.

After a short introductory tour of this most magnificent collection, that lasted all of about forty five minutes, we were let loose around the museum. Clutching a crumpled piece of paper with the map of the Hermitage, I ran towards the French nineteenth-century section that was located on the third floor in one of the distant parts of the building. I passed the rooms studded with Rembrandts and Titians; I did not give a second glance to the priceless Leonardo da Vinci or the most ravishing Rubens. Through the convoluted system of rooms and staircases, I finally reached my destination. I did not stop to admire the David or Ingres; slid straight past a magnificent portrait of Empress Josephine by Gérard, until I was finally there, standing in front of the portrait of Princess Yusupova by Winterhalter.

The portrait exceeded all my expectations. Floating majestically on a cloud of lace and tulle, Princess Yusupova casts down her regal glance at the viewer from a sizeable canvas measuring approximately 150 by 100 centimetres. Her wavy dark-auburn hair is parted in the middle and arranged in a luxurious heavy chignon. Two massive pearl earrings drop from her ears; a magnificent necklace with gargantuan pearls adorns her smooth polished neck and shoulders. Her arms are weighed down by massive golden bangles and drown in the voluminous crinoline skirt, which is ready to burst forth from the confines of the picture. A heavy dark-crimson velvet curtain billows behind the Princess revealing an imposing marble column with a view to a park beyond.

When I finally shook myself out of a trance-like state and tore myself away from the portrait, I looked around the rest of the room. To my astonishment, apart from the portrait of Princess Yusupova, there were more portraits by Winterhalter [as I would later discover, altogether the State Hermitage has sixteen paintings by the artist]. More grand titles were to be found on the wall labels – empresses, grand duchesses, countesses; more aristocratic names were to be read to stir up my curiosity – the Romanovs, Shouvalovs, Naryshkins, Mousin-Pushkins.

I wanted to find out more about the artist who created these magnificent portraits; and about the fascinating sitters, whom he recorded for posterity, who were staring from canvasses at the viewer through the veil of the ages. Thus began my journey into the life and art of Franz Xaver Winterhalter, which has continued (on and off) to the present day.

[© Eugene Barilo von Reisberg 2011. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

A Winterhalter Thesis

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

A Winterhalter Thesis

Dear Friends,

In case some of you have been wondering about my recent silence, I do owe a small explanation…

Some weeks ago, an email arrived in my Inbox from the University of Melbourne:

“Dear Eugene,

Congratulations, your application for a place in the Ph.D.- Arts at the University of Melbourne has been successful.  You have been made an unconditional offer.  A signed letter of offer has been sent to the mailing address on your application.”

I stared at the email in disbelief and re-read it several times over for the news to sink in. I wanted to ensure that I understood every word, every sentence; and that there was no mistaking that, indeed, my PhD application to the University of Melbourne to work on a new thesis on Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873), a nineteenth-century, German-born, internationally renowned portrait specialist, has been accepted.

This not only meant that I will be able to dedicate the next three years (if not more) of my life to studying professionally one of my favourite subjects, portraiture, and the life and art of one of my favourite practitioners of the genre, Winterhalter, I will also have an opportunity of doing so at one of the most renowned Australian universities under the care and guidance of two most respected academicians, Associate Professor Alison Inglis, and Herald Chair of Fine Arts Professor Jaynie Anderson.

However, this was not the end of it…

Roughly within a few hours another email arrived, also from the University of Melbourne:

“Dear Eugene,

Congratulations! On behalf of the University of Melbourne, I write to advise that you have been offered the following scholarship: Australian Postgraduate Award (APA)… Your scholarship offer letter is attached to this email as a PDF.”

This email stunned me completely.

If the previous email was re-read by me at least 6 times, this one was re-read at least a dozen times.

I felt justifiably and reasonably certain (as did a number of my close friends and colleagues) that, based on my excellent results for the Masters Thesis, I had a good shot at a place in the PhD program at the University of Melbourne.

I cannot possibly express the surprise and the elation that I was also granted a three year scholarship to pursue my studies.

I paced up and down my lounge room and made several circles around my dining table for the news to sink in. I was afraid to go back to my computer lest I misread the news. But, no, there was no mistaking it. The scholarship was on offer. I think I evinced the loudest yelp of joy; took a deep breath; poured myself a big glass of wine; and sunk deep into the couch to continue processing and digesting the news.

One of my most cherished wishes has been granted. Many, many years of hard work and study have been rewarded, and I will be able to pursue my Winterhalter studies at the University of Melbourne, with the University’s support to do so!

PS: I have to admit to a certain streak of superstition within me, so I kept the whole affair under wraps until such time that all paperwork was completed; until I had my initial meetings with Alison Inglis and Jaynie Anderson; and until the first scholarship payment landed in my account. It is only after that, that I felt “safe” sharing this wonderful news with the world…

[© Eugene Barilo von Reisberg 2011. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

NGV Old Master Portraits: Sir John Everett Millais

Friday, 7 January 2011

NGV Old Master Portraits: Sir John Everett Millais

Created in the twilight years of his career, late portraits of Sir John Everett Millais speak of painterly wisdom and artistic maturity. The present portrait of Cecil Prout Webb, of 1887, painted within the last decade of the artist’s life, is an exercise in technical skill and stylistic perfection. The boy is portrayed full-length out of doors, seated on a moss-covered garden seat, dressed in a smart winter coat edged with fur, and sporting a pair of new shiny boots and leather gloves. Children occupy a significant place in the artist’s oeuvre, and he often used his own children and those of his neighbours and friends as prototypes for some of the most successful genre pictures, like My First Sermon (1863), Cherry Ripe (1879) and Soap Bubbles (1886).

Traditional iconography of the portrait would have been clearly read by a 19th-century spectator. Young Master Webb is no ordinary boy, but an heir to what Nancy Mitford termed in her novels “all this”. His carefully tailored coat with its rich trimmings sits comfortably on the boy, and his leather shoes are of the proper black colour as becoming of a young gentleman. Furthermore, the woodland setting and a moss-covered stone seat speak of establishment, stability, and continuity, while the overgrown garden scape evokes a traditional country manor.

However, there is a sad twist to this story. Recent research, based on the date of the portrait and the dates of the sitter’s life, indicates that this is a posthumous portrait of the boy. As such, it would have been commissioned by the boy’s parents from Millais (a highly successful as well as fashionable portrait painter of the era, with charges of up to £2,000 for a full length likeness) on the basis of photographs.

True to the prevalent Victorian painterly tradition where ‘every picture tells a story’, Millais incorporated this sad narrative into the portrait. The rays that light the boy’s face belong to a sun of spring, traditionally identified in painting with youth, while a shiver of winter that permeates the twilight atmosphere allegorises old age.  Similarly, while traditionally children were represented dressed in light summer’s day clothes, the sombre winter attire of the young Master Webb may also point to his untimely passing.

Millais’s portraits of children are usually filled with energy and effervescence, and more often than not are highly original compositions based on sketches and drawings from life. However, faced with a challenge of creating an original work of art based on a photographic still, Millais may have sought inspiration from such earlier portrait painters like Franz Xaver Winterhalter, whose portrait of the young Duc de Brabant of 1844 it strongly resembles. It is highly probable that Millais found a successful resolution to this challenge by basing the present portrait on an existing iconographic template.

Landscape and portraiture – two of the most popular genres in English painting – are brought together successfully in this canvas by Millais, an accomplished master of both. The painting thus leaves the confines of portraiture and evolves into Millais’ aesthetic reflection on youth and the transcendent essence of life.

[© Eugene Barilo von Reisberg 2011. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

Tiepolo Restitution Claims?

Sunday, 12 December 2010

Tiepolo Restitution Claims?

Whenever I see The Banquet of Cleopatra by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo at the National Gallery of Victoria, I am involuntarily reminded that it once belonged to the Russian tsars. It was purchased in 1756 by Empress Catherine the Great and remained by descent in the collection of the Russian Imperial family, the Romanovs, until the Revolution of 1917. After the revolution, all their properties and collections were confiscated and nationalised; parts of it sold off to support the fledging Soviet economy. Cleopatra was among the paintings earmarked for sale, and in 1932 it was secured for the National Gallery of Victoria.

Restitution claims from the descendants of the Russian Imperial Family, aristocracy, and merchant, banking, and industrial elites, whose properties (including art collections) were confiscated and nationalised after the 1917 Soviet Revolution, are a very recent phenomena, and to the best of my knowledge these claims have not been successful yet.

The Australian on Friday reprinted an article from The Wall Street Journal, where a descendant of the rich industrial Morozov family, whose famous collections of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist art were also confiscated and nationalised by the Soviet Authorities after the Revolution. He claims for the restitution to Morozov’s heirs of a painting by Paul Cézanne at the Metropolitan Museum in New York (C. Herring and E. Orden, “Painting’s Troubled Past Revisited”, The Australian, 10 December 2010, Arts 15). The litigation continues.

Let me give you a brief history of expropriation and nationalisation of private property in Europe of the last century. In 1917, Communists swept to power in Russia after the October Revolution. In 1918, the Soviet Government nationalised all private property, which extended to works of art. Most of their former owners, which included the Russian Imperial Family, the aristocracy, and the merchant, banking, and industrial elites were either forced to flee the country or marched to the execution block.

Most artworks were sent to a central collecting point, and the most significant among them were placed with major museums in Moscow and St Petersburg. The rest were gradually distributed among regional museums and art centres throughout the Soviet Union, including its furthest outposts beyond the Ural Mountains. (Of course, inevitably, there was a bit of looting and destruction along the way, especially to the works of art in the former elite’s country estates.)

In the 1920s and 1930s, the cash-strapped Soviet Government began to sell off some of its nationalised collections. Their former owners, a number of whom by now were penniless exiles, could do little but watch as their heirlooms, which were in family collections for hundreds of years, were sold off the auction block in European capitals and subsequently popped up in major museums around the world (among them a number of portraits by F.X.  Winterhalter).

In the 1930s, the Third Reich began its persecution of the Jewish population, whose collections were likewise expropriated; their former owners either escaped miraculously by the skin of their teeth, or sent to their death in concentration camps.

In the early 1940s, the Soviet army swept through Eastern Europe, setting up from 1945 onwards Communist regimes in the liberated countries along the Soviet borders. Once again, their former royal, aristocratic, and upper class families fled; their property was nationalised; their art collections were distributed among state and regional collections.

From the late 1940s, the Holocaust survivors and their descendants began restitution claims. Private collectors, public institutions, and whole governments are being sued to this day for the return of confiscated goods to their former owners or descendants.

With the fall of the Communist regimes in Eastern Europe, members of the royal, aristocratic, and upper class families, who were chased out of their countries, began similar restitution claims, which, in many cases are successful.

To this we may perhaps add the continuous battle of the Greek government for the return of the Elgin marbles; and the energetic efforts of Dr Zahi Hawass for the return of Egyptian antiquities from museums around the world to Egypt.

However, the confiscation and nationalisation of private collections by the Soviet Authorities in 1918 seems to have remained out of bounds; and the restitution claims of Morozov’s heirs hitherto remained unsuccessful.

Fifty three members of the Romanov family were alive at the time of the Russian Revolution of 1917. Eighteen of them were murdered between 1918 and 1919, including Emperor Nicholas II, Empress Alexandra, and their five children. The heirs of surviving Romanovs are alive today. If the legal precedent is established by the Morozov claim, the legality of the ownership of the National Gallery of Victoria’s The Banquet of Cleopatra by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo may also be questioned.

[© Eugene Barilo von Reisberg 2010. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

Franz Xaver Winterhalter & Die Kunstsammlung Adolf Hitler

Friday, 11 June 2010

Dear Diary,

While researching Winterhalter, I came across a curious book by Gunther Haase, Die Kunstsammlung Adolf Hitler (Berlin, Edition Q, 2002). The book centered upon art collecting during the Third Reich, and concentrated on the artworks which were discovered by the Allied Armies in the Altaussee mines in May 1945. A significant number of these works were intended for Hitler’s famed art museum at his birth place, Linz.

The book was supplemented by a facsimile reproduction of the original inventory, which listed all the artworks which were recovered from Altaussee. The list included only thirteen paintings by Franz Xaver Winterhalter.

Winterhalter was never high on the list of Third Reich’s collecting priorities. Though he was born and died in Germany, most of the artist’s working life was spent in Paris and London. His clientele was predominantly French, English, and Russian; and his best-known paintings, his acknowledged masterpieces, are likewise portraits of French, English, and Russian women.

Winterhalter did have a small (though dedicated) following among sovereign heads of German states and their families, who were inevitably related to his French, Russian, and English clients (as well as his erstwhile patrons, the Grand Dukes of Baden).

However, one would search in vain in Winterhalter’s oeuvre for a German equivalent of his Empress Eugenie with her Ladies in Waiting; or his Queen Victoria with Prince Albert and their Five Eldest Children.

This may explain partly why Winterhalter was never high on the list of the Third Reich’s collecting priorities.

The list, however, reveals an interesting quirk about Winterhalters in Adolf Hitler’s art collection. Of the thirteen works, only one is considered a true Winterhalter masterpiece – his 1863 portrait of the Russian-born Duchesse de Morny. Another five are representative of Winterhalter’s oeuvre (though perhaps lacking the same sparkling, inspired quality as the Morny portrait). The attribution of the remaining seven works to Franz Xaver Winterhalter is highly dubious!

This list bears witness that although Hitler plundered the best public and private collections of the vanquished Europe, he may not have had necessarily surrounded himself with the best art advisors or experts in the field. This observation has been made also by numerous art scholars of the Third Reich. One of Hitler’s “favourite” art suppliers was one Maria Almas-Dietrich, an art dealer who was formerly based in Paris, and then in Munich.

She specialized in 19^th-Century art, and sold to Hitler and his retinue numerous artworks provenanced from French private collections. A number of paintings by Winterhalter, including those with a very tenuous attribution to the artist’s hand, bear her gallery label on the reverse. In fact, misattribution runs rife in the inventory of paintings sold by Dietrich.

It is open to speculation what would have befallen these “suppliers” and “advisers”, once their deception – whether deliberate or based on their lack of knowledge and expertise – came to light. The fall of the Third Reich in 1945 put an end to that.

But what has befallen these Winterhalter – and so-called Winterhalter – paintings found in Altaussee? Three of them (all by Winterhalter) are in German public collections. Six of them, which came from French collections (only two of which are verifiably by Winterhalter), have been returned to France and deposited among French museums, including the Louvre, Compiègne, Brest, and others. Of the remaining four (only one of which can be attributed with 100% certainty to Winterhalter’s hand), three appeared on the art market within the last ten years. Only one of them, the so-called portrait of the Marquise de Villiers, is currently untraced.

[© Eugene Barilo v. Reisberg 2010. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

Franz Xaver Winterhalter: A Question of Attribution

Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Dear Diary,

I have been lately neglectful of these pages. Most of my spare time has been occupied by Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873). I have recently completed MA thesis on the artist, for which I have been awarded top marks by international examiners. My research and scholarship on Winterhalter is being acknowledged worldwide. My online catalogue of his works is attracting more and more hits. Every week I receive two or three emails from museums, galleries, auction houses, private collectors, researches, and scholars from around the world regarding various aspects of Winterhalter’s works, including information, provenance, authentication, as well as many and valuable additions to the catalogue, which is fast becoming a truly international effort!

A few weeks ago I received an email from a French gentleman of ancient and noble lineage. As far as French aristocracy goes, his family outranks every other noble in the country and is placed somewhere on a step just below royalty. He informed me that one of his ancestors may have been painted by Winterhalter, and he was going to email me a picture of the portrait. I was very excited about the possibility of adding such an illustrious name – and such a prestigious collection – to the Winterhalter catalogue, so waited with a baited breath.

The picture has finally arrived. It showed a beautiful young woman, with large soulful eyes looking directly at the viewer, her fine oval face framed with tight black curls. She was wearing a beautiful dress of pale blue silk, richly edged with delicate lace; a gauze shawl encircled her skirt and covered one of her arms.

Alas, the picture was not by Winterhalter. I am not at liberty to reproduce it here, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was painted in the 1840s. It was clearly done by a professional portrait painter, and most likely by a French one. The face, the shoulders, the dress, and the lace were all beautifully painted, but the workmanship, the brushwork, the style, and indeed the overall feel of the painting was not consistent with other works by Winterhalter of the era. Even the signature on the painting was not done in Winterhalter’s handwriting, and was perhaps added later.

It took me several days to come up with the right words to respond to the gentleman’s email. I sincerely wished for this illustrious name to be added to the catalogue, but, alas, the professional credibility has prevented me from bending my strict rules about the authentication of Winterhalter’s paintings and admitting a work into the catalogue which I knew, in my heart of hearts, to be not by the artist.

I still vividly recall viewing a portrait of the Duchesse d’Aumale at a French palace (illustrated above). It was likewise believed to be by Winterhalter, and its attribution to the artist was never doubted as it has been in the family collection since the 1840s. Nevertheless, I questioned the validity of such attribution on the grounds similar to the ones discussed above. My doubts were not dismissed, and when the painting was taken out of the frame, the curators discovered a signature of Franz Schrotzberg (1811-1889), a famous Viennese artist, celebrated for his portraits of Empress Elisabeth of Austria. The portrait has been displayed since under the correct artist’s name.

Hopefully, with further research, the name of the artist, who painted that beautiful portrait in the gentleman’s collection, will also be discovered, and the picture at last will take pride of place in that artist’s oeuvre.

[© Eugene Barilo v. Reisberg 2010. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

Review of Portraits @ Menzies March 2010 Auction

Sunday, 21 March 2010

Dear Diary,

Given my interest in portraiture, I became more aware of portraits that appear in Australian auction rooms. Internationally, portraits by Old, Modern, and Contemporary masters at auctions form a very distinct group, and those by Rembrandt, van Dyck, Reynolds, Lawrence, Renoir, Picasso, Modigliani, van Gogh, Klimt (and my very own Winterhalter) have broken auction records and / or brought significant results.

The situation is dramatically different in Australia, where portraits at auctions are few and far between. This can be attributed in part to the fact, that the majority of portraits that appear in Australian auction rooms (but not all!!!) fail to progress from being a mere likeness of a person to that of a transcendent and sophisticated work of art of universal appeal. The former rarely make it to the market and largely continue lingering in artists’ studios or the homes of their sitters unless they are donated to public institutions or appear at lower-end art clearance sales. The latter however make their distinguished appearance at the upper end of the auction market, bringing good sales results, with some inspired bidding from both institutional and private collectors.

(Deutscher-)Menzies auction in December 2009 featured a number of interesting portraits. They had, for example, a striking in its originality portrait of John Singleton by Brett Whiteley (sold $55,000 hammer); a beautifully intimate portrait by Rupert Bunny of his wife, Jeanne (sold $396,000 hammer); a mask-like portrait of an African prince, Kininga Wunca, by Donald Friend (unsold); and William Dobell’s preparatory drawing for his celebrated portrait of Helena Rubenstein (sold $1,600 hammer).

The auction also had two remarkable self-portraits – a dark and brooding “Self-Portrait in a Country Town” by Rick Amor (unsold), and a rather irreverent in its larrikinism “Self Portrait (The Afternoon Walk, Dunmoochin)” by John Olsen (sold $70,000 hammer).

The portraits by Whiteley and Bunny, and the self-portrait by Olsen illustrate the point. All three are big-name artists; all three have produced portraits, which are very much in the style and manner these artists are famous and admired for; these works have brought accordingly good results. Admittedly, the paintings of female nudes by Whiteley and Bunny on a similar scale (or of frogs and giraffes by Olsen) would have brought more significant sums, but the universal appeal of these works speaks for itself and is reflected in their art market prices.

Helena Rubenstein by William Dobell is a celebrated portrait in the annals of Australian art, so it is not surprising that it has found a buyer (not to mention at a very modest price). On the other hand, Donald Friend is perhaps more known for his watercolours of nude South-East Asian youths (and later still lifes which are also popular on the market). Hence a rather heavy, mask-like portrait failed to find a buyer.

Sadly, the same can be said of Rick Amor’s work. I deeply admire his self-portraits, which encapsulate the inner, psychological darkness that is so prevalent in his landscapes. However, it appears that the art buying public is able to take more easily to his landscapes, the physiological loading of which can be read ambiguously (or perhaps completely ignored by a certain cross-section of buyers). Not so with the self-portraits, which are more often than not direct, confronting, and uncompromising. It is sad – though not surprising – that this portrait did not find a buyer on the auction night.

I do acknowledge that the line-up of artworks is largely dependent on what an auction house is able to consign from its vendors, so chasing an impressive selection of portraits (or indeed any such “curatorial” agenda) would be far from the auctioneers’ mind – unless they strike a golden vein and develop the market and / or collectors’ following in this genre.

Therefore, I am saying the following as an observation rather than a recrimination or criticism – the representation of portraits in Menzies’ forthcoming auction is much thinner on the ground as compared to the previous auction of December 2009. In fact, it is limited to a charmingly naïve watercolour portrait of a girl by an unknown 19^th-Century Australian artist (lot 142; est. $900-1,200). While the childish cherubic face is wonderfully, even sweetly resolved, the head is bizarrely out the proportion with the rest of the body. There is a beautiful lively glint in the girl’s eyes, but it does little to compensate for the inadequacy in the drawing of the rest of the figure.

(An argument can be raised that Norman Lindsay’s portrait of Rita (lot 35, est. $40,000-50,000), and Richard Larter’s innumerable depictions of his wife (for example, lot 110, est. $10,000-15,000) can be also treated and examined as portraits. However, the relationship between the artist and the model is quite different to that of the artist and the sitter. While the artists capture the general appearance, pose, and attitude of the models, their personalities and identities are more often than not sublimated (or even indeed sacrificed) in favour of the artists’ aesthetic approach and visual codification.)

[© Eugene Barilo v. Reisberg 2010. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is WELCOME with the full and proper acknowledgment]

“Portrait of a Lady” by F.X. Winterhalter @ Christie’s New York

 

 

 

Sunday, 3 January 2010

Dear Diary, 

A beautiful portrait of an unknown lady is coming up at Christie’s New York in late January – www.christies.com

While the identity of the female sitter in this portrait remains at this stage a mystery, the painting belongs stylistically to the period between the late 1850s to early 1860s, when Franz Xaver Winterhalter, the German-born international elite portrait specialist, was at the zenith of his fame.

At the time this portrait was painted, among Winterhalter’s patrons were Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, Emperor Napoleon III and Empress Eugénie of the French, Emperor Alexander II and Empress Maria Alexandrovna of Russia, King William I and Queen Augusta of Prussia, not to mention Queen Olga of Württemberg, Emperor Franz Joseph I and Empress Elisabeth of Austria, whose grandiloquent portraits of 1865 conclude this glittering period in Winterhalter’s career.

This painting, however, represents a more intimate side of Winterhalter’s portrait oeuvre, as well as his ability to restrain his painterly bravura in order to convey different aspects of his sitters’ personalities.

Perhaps the earliest known example of this is Winterhalter’s portrayal of Queen Victoria (1819-1901) of 1843: while the artist was working on the grandiose official representation of the Queen, wearing crown jewels and swathed in the Robes of the Order of the Garter (1843, oil on canvas, HM Queen Elizabeth II), he also painted an intimate head-and-shoulders portrait of Victoria, her hair undone and lips erotically parted (1843, oil on canvas, HM Queen Elizabeth II).

The list of Winterhalter’s paintings, compiled posthumously by his nephew, Franz Wild, indicates that commissions of such contrasting portraits became more prevalent from the late 1850s, and mainly came from the artist’s Russian and Polish sitters. Perhaps among the best known examples of this period are Winterhalter’s portraits of Princess Maria Vasilievna Worontzova (1819-1895). While the grand full-length portrait of the Princess shows her posing in a deep red velvet gown within the grounds of her palatial estate (1859, oil on canvas, formerly in the collection of Sir Robert Abdy, Bt.), a more intimate portrayal of Maria Vasilievna shows her similarly attired to the sitter in the present portrait in a white chiffon peignoir and posing against a darkened neutral background (c.1858-1859, oil on canvas, Private Collection).

Winterhalter continued to receive such intimate commissions towards the middle of the 1860s, when he created the celebrated official portrait of Elisabeth, Empress of Austria (1837-1898), in a tulle ball gown and diamond stars in her hair (1865, oil on canvas, Hofburg), which was preceded by a more intimate portrayal of the Empress with her hair undone and wearing once again a simple morning dressing gown (1864, oil on canvas, Hofburg).

The formal portraits of Winterhalter’s sitters went on displays in public exhibitions or placed within public areas of royal and princely abodes: for example, the portrait of Queen Victoria was set into the walls of the Throne Room at Windsor Castle, and the portrait of Princess Worontzova became one of the sensations of the Parisian Salon of 1859.

Smaller, intimate portrayals of the same sitters were intended for the eyes of their loved ones only, places within private spaces of their homes, and remained unseen until well after the sitter’s death (or even that of their immediate descendants). For example, intimate oval portraits of Queen Victoria and Empress Elisabeth were given to their respective spouses, placed in their private studies, and had not been publicly seen or reproduced until the 20^th Century.

The portrait is reminiscent of Jean Baptiste Greuze’s (1725-1805) eroticised têtes de fantaisie, which regained their popularity towards the middle of the nineteenth century. The extreme close-up with its focus on the sitter’s face, the direct gaze, intimate negligee, and predominantly darkened neutral background of the painting convey a deeper sense of intimacy, as does the oval, ‘feminine’ shape of the canvas, which also reminds of portrait miniatures, often placed within jewelled lockets and worn close to one’s heart. The fact that the only piece of jewellery worn by the sitter in the present portrait is a wedding band on her finger shows that this work was also intended for the sitter’s spouse. The ring’s presence imparts a sense of modesty and propriety within an otherwise frankly erotic portrait.

The existence of this intimate work, rare in the artist’s oeuvre, bears testimony to the uniquely implicit level of trust that existed between Winterhalter and his exalted sitters. It also shows Winterhalter’s ability to interpret the protean nature of his sitters and differentiate between the ‘public’ and ‘private’ nature of human identity.

Given that the portrait was on loan to the Museum of Fine Arts, St Petersburg, Florida, from a Private Collection, it would be interesting to see if the painting will be acquired by or for a public collection, which was the case with a number of portraits by Winterhalter which had recently come up on the art market.

[© Eugene Barilo v. Reisberg 2010. This article is copyright, but the full or partial use is welcome with the full and proper acknowledgment]