Jean-Francois Millet: Angelus

I have always responded equivocally to Jean-Francois Millet . There is an undeniable charm to his artwork, but it may sometimes seem too charming — too dolce . His lines end just where they are supposed to, and even a little prematurely, turning to describe a round angle instead of a sharp one, as if avoiding a confrontation. The artist seems to strive to smooth out every possible roughness of a body part or a piece of clothing, in what appears like a naive or even Utopian exercise… Or does it? I have pondered over this stylistic peculiarity, trying to find its deeper, underlying reasons, because each time, after looking at Millet, I was consistently left with a feeling that I was missing something. I needed a hypothesis to counter that nagging sense of miscomprehension — and I think, or at least I hope that I found one. Its premise relies on the rejection of traditional relationship between the observer and the work of art; the observer needs to make a certain concession and ignore the initial negative response. This action does not guarantee a more positive reaction to the artwork, but it will ensure more objective interpretation.

The Angelus, 1857-59

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This is the thesis: the purpose of the smooth soft lines is to depict the relationship between the farmers and their surroundings. Millet’s peasants seek to blend in with their ambiance , to please and appease it — they have to, because they are dependent upon it for their daily bread. In a way, they are forced to act a little over the top, and it is not our place to judge them. These paintings are very idiosyncratic, “unaware” and “oblivious” to being observed; they pose an entire world to which the observer is the intruder. If they don’t like it — it’s their problem, as simple as that. I think that in the end, though this scheme does not reduce the naivete, it at least gives it some justification — by proving that Millet’s paintings do not need one. With this out of our way, I’d like to focus on the celebrated painting in front of us. It has a very interesting history, especially considering the X-ray revelation that the basket might have been a coffin of a new born baby. More details in this Wikipedia article on Millet.

L’Angelus, c.1909

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This is a tense composition (the painting hangs in Musee d’Orsay, Paris): the two figures stand painfully lonely and deserted against the vast desolate background and their working tools appear as the only familiar objects, almost as the only friends of this couple. They are cleverly interspersed, as each small item is followed by a human frame. This disposition creates a tight rhythm, which asserts the dependence of the workers upon the tools. There is a certain illusionistic effect to how the artist positions the pitchfork and the hand-cart: the teeth of the former and the handles of the latter seem to study the basket, peeking from behind the legs of the man and the woman, as if taking part in a conversation, or prayer of their own sort. To my mind, this secondary scene adds a touch of jocundity, always ensuing from such an aping. Another stylistic feature is the unusual viewing angle, as the observer seems to be suspended in the air, right above and in front of the events, and perhaps too closely to them. It almost forces the viewer into the scene, and compensates to some degree for the exclusion mentioned earlier. However, it produces different effects in other paintings, which I hope to show in my future reviews.

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Jean-Francois Millet: Angelus

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