This video provides a sharp and accessible look at how Géricault used a tragic shipwreck to challenge the political establishment of his time. It effectively demonstrates that great art is often born from the courage to document the darkest parts of reality.
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Theodore Gericault, 'The Medusa Scandal' that Stirred a NationAdded:
Scarcely has any artist, either ancient or modern, attained such an elevated position by a single picture as Theodore Gericault, the painter of the Raft of the Medusa, a picture which at once placed him in the foremost ranks of the modern French school of 19th century France.
He was born in 1791 at Rouen, where his father exercised the profession of an advocate.
And having, up to the age of 15, received a careful and excellent education, he was afterwards sent, for future instruction, to the Imperial Lyceum, since called the College of Louis the Great.
When at the Lyceum, his grandest pleasure during the holidays was to visit the celebrated riding school of Franconi, who, in the eyes of young Gericault, was the greatest of equestrian horsemen.
He would also watch at the gates of the residences of the nobility for their equipages, and if he noticed, would follow them on their journey for a long time, as the gamins of Paris, a French term for kid or urchin, follow the drummers through the streets, admiring all the regalia.
Something he would master in his work to come.
At the age of 17, Gericault sought to enter the atelier of Carle Vernet, where he thought to gratify his two ruling predilections for painting and for horses.
But the animals of Vernet's studio were not of the kind to please the young painter.
They were of too aristocratic a breed.
He preferred the broad chests and strong limbs of the Flemish and German to the slender, delicate proportions of the Arabian and the racehorse.
He left the Vernet atelier and presented himself at the school of Guérin, but, unfortunately, taking with him his preconceived ideas of color, which appeared ridiculous in the eyes of a rigid academician.
Géricault had made his earliest studies in the museum, and with a hardiness which astounded Guérin, had presumed to copy Rubens to a considerable extent, so that he went with all the brilliant colors of the great Flemish painter in his eyes into the studio which was too rigid and chilling.
Moreover, he considered himself destined to become, one day, a great painter, and discover the passion and coloring to suit his talent in a personal way.
However, his master expressed himself of a different opinion, and persuaded the father of Géricault to prevent his son from following the profession. He counseled the youth to renounce his intentions.
Mortified, but not discouraged, he left Guérin and his school, and completed his literary education by reading the English poets, and by the study of Italian and music.
He also continued to copy such masters of painting as it pleased him, in the hope of acquiring some portion of the genius which had animated them.
Nevertheless, at the atelier of Guérin, he had formed an acquaintance with many of the great artists of his time and country: Cogniet, Eugène Delacroix, the two Scheffers, Dupont, and others.
The noble animal, which was the artist's pleasure to study, whether on the turf or harnessed to a chariot or a wagon, was always his joy, particularly to put to canvas.
But, unfortunately, his father and his family were still so strongly opposed to the idea of his becoming a painter, they would not even make any arrangement to provide him with a studio.
He, therefore, painted sometimes at the house of his friend, Monsieur Darcy, and sometimes at the residences of other acquaintances.
In 1812, however, he rented a temporary apartment on the Boulevard Montmartre, where he painted a large equestrian portrait of Monsieur Dieudonné in the uniform of a chasseur of the Imperial Guard, a work full of living spirit.
"Where did this come from?"
asked Jacques-Louis David, the great artist of the French school. "I do not recognize that touch."
Nor was it that he should, seeing that Géricault was at this time scarcely 20 years of age and had already produced a work that vied in power of color and composition with the best of his contemporaries.
The debut of Géricault's Le Chasseur de la Garde caused as much astonishment as admiration among both artists and the public.
In 1814, he exhibited at the Salon of the Louvre The Wounded Cuirassier as a companion picture to the foregoing.
The dismounted horseman is holding his horse by the bridle on broken and slippery ground.
The passage has evidently been suggested by the misfortunes of the French army in the Russian campaign.
In the interval between the execution of these works, he painted for Lord Seymour two exceedingly fine studies of groups of horses, or rather of portions of the animals.
However, the young patriot artist abandoned his labors at the easel to enter a corps of musketeers.
On the restoration of the Bourbons in 1814, several young men of the higher classes of society enrolled themselves as the corps d'élite to testify their devotion to the restored dynasty.
Géricault had many acquaintances among these young aristocrats, who persuaded him to give up his studious occupations, and being of a sociable disposition and easily persuaded, he made no opposition to their requests.
He soon repented of his weakness when he perceived how much pride and vanity were mingled with their loud expressions of devotedness to the monarchy.
But, loyal and faithful to his allegiance, he accompanied Louis XVIII during his 100 days of exile and remained under the colors of his core till its disbandment.
Once more returned to his atelier, the artist resumed his occupations with increased diligence and was accustomed to, and it is said, paid 1,000 francs for permission to copy his painting Battle of Nazareth.
Yet, it was not sufficient for him to have studied in France only. He considered it necessary to become a pilgrim at the shrine of classical art and accordingly started for Italy.
In 1817, he arrived in the land endeared to every lover of art by its glorious acquisitions. Gericault felt deeply impressed with all he saw around him and received a new impulse from the works of the great artists whose names have consecrated the genius of their nation.
In fact, he saw art through a new medium, one that he recognized but could scarcely understand.
The frescoes of Michelangelo and others seemed to enchant him.
He had long meditated upon the idea of bringing forward for pictorial representation some passage of history which would entitle him to rank among the great masters of art and he selected for his subject The Wreck of the Medusa.
An idea proposed by the appalling shipwreck of the French frigate.
This masterful picture, dreadful by its fidelity, would have been a triumph to an artist of long matured talents.
But, as the work of one who had scarcely reached his 28th year, it is marvelous in breadth.
And the impression received from it is still fresh in the memory of any who sees it.
The picture, which is now in the Louvre in Paris, generates much emotion by the stark realism.
We may forget the precise circumstances and the time of the wreck of the vessel, but 148 of the crew gathered themselves to a raft they had constructed.
Out of this number, 16 only were left on it, some living, some already dead.
The survivors having had nothing to subsist on for many long days, but the flesh of their dead companions, when a sail was discovered in the horizon.
This is the point selected by the painter.
The composition of the work is exceptional, especially in its general arrangement, while the groups are balanced with great judgment.
The most prominent is that which rises in a pyramidal shape with the figure who signalizes, to which all the others of the group move in an ascending position, so descriptive of this harrowing scene.
The picture is undoubtedly one of the noblest of the French school.
It is as fine in its execution as the story it tells is striking and dreadful.
And it should be noted, the figures are all life-size.
An anecdote is related of the painter, which shows that his love for his favorite animal, the horse, was greater than his apprehension of his own personal safety.
Passing one day through a small street leading to the Louvre, he saw a cartman beating a horse with extreme severity.
Géricault's indignation was roused, and he reproved the driver for his cruelty to the poor animal.
The man became insolent and answered with threats and increased hostility, whereupon the artist, unable to restrain his anger, knocked him down under the heels of the horse.
The fellow was hurt, but not embarrassed, raised himself up, and scanning the physical form of the painter, quietly said to him, "Perhaps as you are so strong, you will yourself help the horse and myself."
Struck with the sound sense of the remark, Gericault, without hesitation, put his shoulder to one wheel, while the cartman did the same to the other. And thus the hostile pair assisted the overladden beast through the street.
In 1820, Gericault came to London with his picture of The Medusa.
The exhibition of which, it is said, with the sum paid for the copyright of the engraving, netted him nearly a thousand pounds.
While there, he embraced every opportunity of studying the form and character of the English horse, the results of which are clearly perceptible in some of the few pictures he subsequently produced.
On his return to Paris, an alteration in his health became perceptible to his acquaintances.
His letters were expressive of ennui and melancholy, and he was tormented with extreme restlessness, not sure of his ailment.
Much of this is said to have been attributable to his disappointment at not selling his picture of The Medusa, which he had hoped to do either in London or in France.
And while his attachment to his friends became more intense, suspicions altogether unfounded were entertained by him that they were deserting him due to his fatigue.
He constantly complained of the rarity of their visits, and for a time he felt unhinged.
Writing one day with Horace Vernet on the heights of Montmartre, his horse, a young and highly spirited animal, shied and threw him with much force against a heap of stones.
The injuries he received were, however, not so severe, but with proper management on his part, he might in time have gotten over them.
Impatient of delay and weary of confinement, he aggravated his maladies by another ride. He mounted his horse in the courses on the Champ de Mars, where he again was injured by coming in contact with another rider, which bound him once more to submit himself to the care of his friends.
Ill and incapable of moving abroad, he remained about a year at the house of Monsieur Dedreux-Dorcy, doing some drawing when he could and superintending the execution of some lithographs from his works.
But his spirit was altogether broken, and his melancholy was increased by certain debts he had incurred, and which his illness prevented him from laboring to discharge with work.
To relieve his mind, his friends, Monsieur Dorcy and Colonel Bro, contrived to dispose of some of his pictures, which they did to great advantage, realizing in a very few days 13,000 francs.
Nothing could have proved more consolatory to Gericault in his condition, as the estimation in which he found his works to be held, especially after the French government had offered him only 5,000 francs for his Shipwreck of the Medusa.
This unlooked-for success seemed once more to revive his spirits, and with it some improvement in his health became manifest.
He went again to his work with as much enthusiasm as his constitution would allow, and made a series of watercolor drawings of Oriental costumes.
He also thought seriously of executing two grand compositions he had long meditated, Slaves Embarking and The Opening of the Doors of the Inquisition.
Already he had made a beginning when his malady returned suddenly and with increased violence, and after long and great suffering, he succumbed to it on the 18th of January, 1824, in the the year of his age.
Théodore Géricault lived as though he sensed the clock running.
Passing at just 32, he had just enough time to do one thing that would echo forever.
At 27, he painted The Raft of the Medusa.
Raw, monumental, unflinching, and in doing so, walked straight into the company of the great masters and took his seat among them.
The ambition was lofty, the talent was true, and the mark he made was permanent.
That he was struck down so young is the one sorrow, but the work endures, and so does he.
He won the race, and for all time.
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