Editor’s note: The following text is excerpted and adapted with permission from Portrait of a Woman: Art, Competition and Revolution in the Life of Adelaide Lavel-Guial Author: Bridget Quinn Published April 16 by Chronicle Books and available online and in bookstores.
Do you know the word c?Hieroscuro? Maybe you remember it from an art history class you once took or a mostly forgotten book. Or maybe you know it well. It’s a word that feels good in your mouth. Chiaroscuro. It means “light and darkness”.
Western painting owes its hallucinatory realism to the play of light and shadow. Whether visually or metaphorically, chiaroscuro is how we understand the world. Without the devil there is no God. There is no hero without an opponent. There is no heroine either. Literature knows this. The same goes for art history. This is why whenever the French 18th-century artist Adélaïde Labille-Guiard is mentioned, she is almost always compared to her more famous “rival” Elisabeth Vigé-Le Compare Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun. And, when it comes to talented women, the world loves a catfight. This was true then and it still is true now, see: Beyoncé “vs” Taylor; Selena Gomez and Hailey Bieber, Kaitlynn Clark and Angel Reese; and the list goes on and on disgustingly.
In late 18th-century France, no one understood competition and its pleasures and profits better than Claude-Mammès Pahin de Champlain de la Blancherie, manager of PT Barnum in Paris, a producer, promoter, salesman and huckster. A little brilliant, a little cheesy and a whole lot of fun, La Blancherie sparked one of the art world’s greatest rivalries.
In 1777, La Blancherie held an influential exhibition, which he later called the Salon de la Correspondance.In fact, it was a hodgepodge of weekly exhibitions showcasing “works of all genres” – that is, any wonderful work that caught his interest – from locksmithing to metallurgy to animal husbandry to painting, sculpture and more, among others Most are for sale, and all La Blancherie’s glowing publications rave about it Republic of Literature and Art News (NRLA), meaning New developments in the Republic of Arts and Letters. NRLA Report on everything you saw, enjoyed, marveled at or overheard in the Communication Salon.
Blancery soon discovered that the strict restrictions on membership of the official Royal Academy had left many French artists in the cold. Especially female artists.In the eight years since the Salon de la Correspondence was founded, he welcomed many artists who would not have been able to join the Academy, including at least 19 female. For two of them, Adélaïde Labille-Guiard and Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, the publicity of participating in their Salon de Correspondence exhibitions was an important step in history. has a decisive effect.
One of the miracles La Blancherie displayed in the spring of 1782 was a two-headed calf, and he implicitly understood the uncanny allure of pairs, as he described, “a living hen, two on the left and one on the right.” There are two ovarian openings, completely separated from the uterus, positioned in such a way that there is no doubt about their communication. In most monsters of this species, one of the two embryos is incomplete. In embryo, they are both perfect. In short, he has the power of a calf with two heads. Two impressive female painters – not necessarily monsters. , but it may not be entirely natural.
In the spring of the same year, Adélaïde Labille-Guiard exhibited for the first time at the Salon de la Correspondance, presenting a pair of enchanting pendants, including her exciting pastel painting “The Enchanting” Delightful Surprise” alongside a similar portrait of a young man. But that spring, La Blancherie chose to promote not the Adelaide couple in their playful rococo trend, but her quiet, subdued self-portraits – with Élisabeth Vigée-Lebrun Stunning self-portrait oil painting. Miracle of miracles! Freak of nature! Two female artists! Impossible aberrations of nature can still somehow, inexplicably create beautiful forms to compare and contrast.
Compare. What is the most obvious thing these two self-portraits have in common? Gender: Female. Hair: Unpowdered. Hat: Decorated with feathers. Earrings: Dangle style. Hands: The left hand can hold a paintbrush and palette skillfully.
Compared. Where are their most obvious differences? Media: pastel and oil painting. Posture: Sitting vs. standing. Location: Studio and outdoors. Outfit: Amaranth covering the bust, contrasting deep V neckline. Smile: lips pursed or lips slightly parted.
As the current location of the Adelaide Pastels is unknown and the only reproductions are in black and white, it is difficult to compare the artworks in terms of colour, tone or treatment. But on this point—the artist’s comparative style—Lablancherry had much to say, praising Adelaide’s “perfect resemblance” and Elizabeth’s “charming work.” Their works are still compared in similar ways to this day, with Adelaide being considered the more strictly realist (aka masculine), while Elizabeth is considered an affable sycophant ( naturally feminine).
“La Blancherie” sparks a rivalry between two women who have nothing to compete with except that they both live in a world that is not meant for them. However, the world does love cats fighting, and he certainly understands that.as he is keen NRLA“Self-portraits of two female artists, brought together by chance as pendants, create a height Spicy spectacle. What opportunity brought us together? La Blancherie hosted the show herself— So be it! —Among dozens of offerings, self-portraits of two women hang from pendants. Not only their canvases, but both of their identities as artists and women, are openly compared.This is Spicy part (“spicy” in my French-English dictionary; according to Webster’s Dictionary). From this moment on, critics tended to compare the two female artists to each other rather than to any of their male colleagues. A “contest” begins.
Since we don’t have Adelaide’s pastels to make a clear comparison, it’s impossible to know exactly what the public thought of that June. But what is immediately apparent is that her pastels sit alongside an oil painting that is still famous for its beauty and vibrancy. A version of Elizabeth’s “Self-Portrait with Straw Hat” now hangs in the National Gallery, London.Also in the National Gallery is her painting Portrait of Susanna Lendon, by Peter Paul Rubens (long inexplicably known as “straw hat”, although the hat depicted is not straw). While Elizabeth did follow the Straw Hat title when creating her own image, she also fully understood what was in Rubens’s portrait that was crucial to its appeal. Instead of a hat, sunlight and soft shadows fell on the pale face of a beautiful young woman.
Elizabeth was inspired by Ruben’s use of light and color, but she differed from Ruben in her depiction of temperament. Her own self-portrait reveals how a woman sees herself. The Flemish master’s Susanna looks out shyly from under her hat, a faint smile on her pale lips, as if embarrassed and apologizing for being looked at, while Elizabeth looks directly out of her painting Go, glamorous and confident, her cherry lips glossy and parted so we can see her teeth.
How can Adelaide compete? Here, she can’t. In her self-portraits, she is a little stiff, like a middle school student on photo day. Elizabeth is full of energy and charm, a class beauty who is confident in her social status, while Adelaide is a nerdy, hopeful person who wears the right clothes and wears her hair in her current style, all All this but can’t quite pull it off. She hoped not to be laughed at because she knew beforehand how much she would be judged. Not just her technique and craftsmanship, but her entire self, including and especially her appearance. Her appearance was often publicly commented on and considered flawed, especially compared to her “rivals.”
Adelaide’s 1782 self-portrait is more an advertisement of ability—perfect feathers, transparent fetishes, sparkling earrings, shiny silk reflections—than a statement of self. In a sense, it’s not about her, it’s about what she can make those brushes do.Her tight-lipped smile felt forced, as if to say I should smile so no one says I’m angry.
Whether or not Elizabeth’s canvas is larger than Adelaide’s lost pastels, it certainly feels larger. Cinematic. She also loves using paintbrushes and palettes, but Elizabeth showed off her own palette filled with paint next to a plunging neckline that featured a bow on her plunging neckline. Artists, as emerging stars, do this consciously.
A duel was now being fought in earnest, one created for public consumption rather than personal vendetta. Since we don’t have first-hand information, it’s impossible to know how Adelaide and Elizabeth really feel about each other, but there are definitely times when it feels hurt and sad that one gets mostly positive feedback at the expense of the other . They are set up as foils, and it can be tempting to play a role written for you. Nonetheless, we have no evidence of personal animosity between Adelaide and Elizabeth, although there is no evidence that they were friendly either. To anyone who has been to high school, all of this—the competition, the watchful circles, the cliques—is completely understandable.
So the rivalry is artificial, but the stakes are real. Elisabeth, already Queen Marie Antoinette’s favorite painter, was firmly aligned with the Old Masters, while Adelaide eschewed a series of subdued portraits to claim her place among the masters of French art today. Adelaide exhibited six portraits at the Salon of Correspondence between 1782 and 1783. Her subjects were all members of the Royal Academy, including her childhood friend and current teacher François-André Vincent and his own teacher Joseph Marie Wien (a recent member of the Royal Academy in Rome Dean), and her family friend, the sculptor Augustin Pajou, modeled a bust of her teacher, Jean-Baptiste Lemoyne.
This is a brilliant move. By creating portraits of leading members of the Royal Academy, Adelaide gained valuable witnesses to her talent. If anyone admires his portrait, he will surely appreciate her abilities. It was also a way to publicly demonstrate that she belonged to these men in terms of ability and artistic legacy. In depicting her teacher Vincent and her teacher’s teacher Venn, she established her place in an important lineage of French art. LaBlancherry declared loudly in his diary that “these outstanding persons had full confidence in her talent”. Then adds that such work “completely destroys the erroneous view that jealousy or ignorance spreads so quickly…”. . . The merit of her work is due to foreigners. That cunning La Blancheli: on the one hand he praises Adelaide, but on the other hand he slanders her by saying that a man (i.e. Vincent) is responsible for her work. It’s a bit like a chicken laying eggs from two holes, or a two-headed calf. Two in one.
Adelaide is not alone in facing such accusations. Like many female artists throughout history, Elizabeth faced these issues. Sometimes it still is.
