Art & Critique » Jean-Francois Millet

Jean-Francois Millet: The Gleaners

elijah — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 17:17:51 +0000

Once again, the sheer physicality and the rhythmic movements of the gleaning process build up to a stable emotional effect — subtler, to my mind, than a direct one would be, ensuing from more detailed facial expressions. The three figures blend well with the surroundings: they are just another group of workers; in the distance we see yet another one. Because of this commonness, the artist’s choice appears more random than purposeful. The women are a part of the whole, and not, as other interpreters suggest, a grand exposition of peasantry and farming. The background constantly seeps from in between and above the gleaners — in a way, it also encloses and traps, perhaps even stifles the workers in grave allusion on peasant life. It’s a familiar but not necessarily friendly environment. I find this scene mundane thematically but intricate artistically. The merit of this piece lies in the dance-like composition rather than in heroic symbolism, as other viewings suggest.

The Gleaners, 1857

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The two haystacks and a cart in the left upper corner mirror the bending figures, educating the viewers on the process of gleaning: it means picking up the remnants of the harvest — collecting the same growth, only in much smaller quantities. This replication reveals why the workers are here, what they are doing and what is on their mind: a somewhat crude, maybe even tactless disclosure of hunger and exhausting work. The division of labor between the sexes also comes to mind, as the people in the distance are most probably men, resting near the bounty, whereas the women are busy, collecting the scraps. Yet I don’t think Millet wanted to raise the issue of women rights and the injustice associated with it, as he had demonstrated the physical strain of the men in the “Wood Sawyers” — both partake in the dance of survival, only the moves are different.

The Gleaners, 1857

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The eye-level is typical Millet: directly in front and slightly above the protagonists. The background is cramped (the busy skyline) while the actors occupy most of the foreground; the perspective excludes unnecessary elements in the front, to focus on the workers, and quickly disperses in the distance to include as many objects as possible. I suppose that this distortion in the form of acceleration is an indispensable device when painting wide plain areas such as this one — a slight artistic adjustment is needed to compliment the theme. It would be interesting to determine whether the gleaners are treading forward or backward. I tried to glean my carpet (found only a pair of pear seeds), and the latter option seems somehow more expedient. To sum up this Millet session, I would say that the busiest his subjects look, the easier it is to sympathize with them. The artist’s strength is portraying movement and composition based on several figures — the moment they begin to ponder, they lose their immediate charm, which often degrades into sentimentalism.

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Jean-Francois Millet: The Wood Sawyers

elijah — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 23:24:13 +0000

This is a very dynamic image: the bodies of the workers are sharply bent towards different, sometimes opposing directions, creating a swirling rhythm that dominates the scene completely. Labor — the activity of logging — becomes the protagonist; faces are covered to let the bodily movements speak. The three men form a triangle that serves as an abstract geometrical formula for the sweaty dance they perform. Every part of the body engages in the process. The leg muscles of the central figure are bulging, the shoulders and the back of the man on the left are fully engaged and the torso of the farthest logger is strained to the maximum. The giant trees further emphasize the energy involved in their cutting; they are formidable opponents and give in slowly and without the enthusiasm of the men. The monumental struggle between the two sides reveals the hardships of this livelihood, but also marks it as aesthetically and symbolically meaningful. A sense of pride and self-respect hovers above these hard workers.

The Wood Sawyers, 1848

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Millet’s compositions tend to seem frozen and sculptural — and this one is no exception, though the broad movements unfreeze it a little. There is a certain clash between the visual dynamics and this underlying immobility. I think that this is the result of the artist’s inability to synthesize the people he depicts with their surroundings — this may sound contradictory to what I’ve said in the previous paragraph, but the trees cannot really be categorized as the “surroundings,” rather, they are more of a continuation of the men’s actions. The ground and the rest of the forest, however, seem alien to the live figures, as if taking the role of a pedestal or a cast background. It is difficult for me to identify what exactly interferes with the synthesis, but it seems that it’s the artist’s peculiar treatment of line to blame — this time for a shortcoming evident on the macro rather than an excess visible on the micro level.

Haystacks, Autumn, 1873-74

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Yet despite all these, I prefer this painting to many of Millet’s others. Eventually, environment is less important here; the workers are still the center of attention, and their figures create a strong sense of unity and interconnectedness — they compliment each other and induce an atmosphere of community and sharing. In other words, the pictorial elements of harmonious continuation link to the meta-theme of communal existence. The sentimentalism is almost all but gone: there is simply no time and place for it. I can imagine it surfacing after the working hours, or on the way to the location, but not during the work itself. Additionally, even though there are few colors, the blue and red of the clothing may seem superfluous. This painting resembles an etching so much that colors may be omitted altogether. Perhaps in an etching it would have been possible to attain that long wished for synthesis.

Jean-Francois Millet: Feeding the Young

elijah — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 21:51:19 +0000

I once went to a hospital to make some tests, and had to wait in a line for an hour or so. I hadn’t brought a book to occupy myself with, and, as it happens in such cases, entertained myself by looking around and stealthily examining the people waiting for their call. After a few minutes a couple with twin babies arrived, maybe one-year-olds, the mother was the patient, not the children. Behind them walked a fussing grandmother, constantly reminding the younger woman that it was time to “feed the young.” Eventually the mother conceded the role of the nurturer and the feast began: the old lady took out a jar of commercial fruit mush and began forcing giant sized spoons into the babies’ mouths, cheering if at least half of the mix ended up inside. The babies seemed unhappy… they were so plump as it is, and their cheeks were almost the size of their head! After less than two spoons they were turning their lips away, peeping. The children on the painting in front of us, however, don’t seem to suffer from overfeeding.

Feeding the Young, 1850

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The scene resembles a bird’s nest (the girls sitting on the threshold, pulling out their heads for the nourishment), where the chicks are always hungry, no matter how much food they consumed earlier. This is obviously only an illusion, of a somewhat Dickensian flair, and I think that it was an achievement on Millet’s part to portray the feeding as both touching and unsavory, as an almost clinical quenching of a physical need; he brings out both the humanistic and the naturalistic aspect of the process, becoming both the messenger and the detached spectator with a developed sense of aesthetic judgment. This seems like one of the least sentimental pieces by the artist, which personally to me serves as a recommendation. But there is an interesting drawback: though all the characteristic elements are there (palette, lines, on the verge of turning artificial composition), the typical dolce mood suffers a decline; as a result, the painting is not as powerful as some others, where the mood domineers unquestionably… Though I am not a big fan of that particular atmosphere, I have to acknowledge that it generally benefits the artwork. Without the sentimentalism it loses some of its zest, and my own tastes play insignificant role here.

Feeding the Young, 1850

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Anyway, what happens in this painting? I’d like to focus on the composition and one of the other themes: the house, especially the wall, cover most of the canvas. The structure is of a dark and gloomy hue and the building appears abandoned and dilapidated (the inside is almost black) — a possible commentary on the living conditions of the peasants, but also on the state of the family institution as a whole. If this indeed is a family, the father and the husband is conspicuous in his absence; he might be working, but he might be also gone or fleeing (the single hen implying a one woman show). The figure of the mother is balanced by those of the three little girls, the spoon linking between the two in a symbolic fashion. The leitmotif of the continuation of the next generation is heavily overshadowed by hardships, and they become inseparable. Eventually, the wall articulates the block of poverty and economical clutches as clearly as the human interaction in front of it.

Jean-Francois Millet: Shepherdess with Her Flock

elijah — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 23:47:59 +0000

I would be tempted to label this painting as romantic and pastoral if it weren’t for the girl’s facial expression. Her concerned and busy-like countenance infuses a down do earth (literally as well), occupied atmosphere, ruling out the dreamy and exalted element of romanticism. It seems that she would not indulge in admiring the nature around her; on the contrary, she turns her back to it, as if hiding something. It is difficult to discern what is it that she holds or does with her hands, but it may appear as if she were clutching a rosary and praying. If this is the case, then one could assume that even her prayers are directed towards asking for corporeal benefits, so sullen she looks. Perhaps she isn’t even praying, but merely counting the beads, as if trying to realize whether they can help her with her ragged situation. And perhaps, her mind is elsewhere, and the rosary is only the distraction. One thing is clear: as a result, she has frozen, inadvertently turning into a living monument.

Shepherdess with Her Flock, 1863

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Once again, the viewing angle allows to capture an incredulously wide territory. We see broad lands behind the flock — in an intentional distortion of space, or, in more formal terms, a “bold perspective.” The intent seems to be to position the girl against her working environment and mark her both as the master and the servant. I think that the idea of servitude prevails here, and the vast space becomes more of a trap than a place of freedom — the romantic shell crumbles and the realist core is uncovered. The sky, cloudy and gloomy, seems to accompany the ground. It appears very distant; there is no space left for hypothetic closer and friendlier parts, all because the artist insisted on filling the canvas with the soil; had the sky covered a wider area, there would be literally more air to breathe, which could have produced a counteracting effect of relief. Thus the “bold perspective” produces a psychological effect of entrapment.

Shepherdess with Her Flock, 1863

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What I dislike about this composition is the directness and lack of angles and visual points of rest. The sheep and the dog cannot hold the attention for a sufficient amount of time as to label them as effective compositional counterparts to the shepherdess. Though successfully manipulating perspective, the artist lacks conceptual sophistication (everything is relative, of course) and in my eyes, the whole scene is too much “in your face.” It possesses an undeniable aesthetic appeal and can impress powerfully — but not for long. Additionally, there is an disturbing imbalance between the tall figure of the girl and the rest of her surroundings. As a result, a considerable part of the canvas appears superfluous: I know that this is a sacrilege to even consider this, but only as in a thought experiment, the left portion (a half!) of the piece may be cut off, without any damage to the concept as a whole; try to cover that part on your screen, or move it to the right edge, and see what you get. Oh, and the painting hangs in Musee d’Orsay, Paris. Just in case you wanted to know…

Jean-Francois Millet: Angelus

elijah — Wed, 24 Oct 2007 22:25:42 +0000

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.

Art & Critique » Jean-Francois Millet

Jean-Francois Millet: The Gleaners

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Jean-Francois Millet: The Wood Sawyers

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Jean-Francois Millet: Feeding the Young

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Jean-Francois Millet: Shepherdess with Her Flock

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Jean-Francois Millet: Angelus

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