Two powerful images
of woman persisted during much of the nineteenth century; one was
accepted with an almost religious reverence, while the other was admired
as the femme fatale of the masculine imagination. The images of Madonna
and whore became the measuring sticks by which women were compared.
The Madonna was seen as pure, clean, virginal, and maternal - all
the attributes fitting for a proper woman of society; the kind of
girl a young man brought home to mother and married in June. The whore
was considered dirty, lascivious, evil and tempting - the siren whose
temptations endangered men with licentious behavior that felt too
good. They seemed like complete opposites yet an enigmatic sensuality
connected the images, completely intertwined by the desires of men.
Wives and mothers,
often seen as weak and delicate creatures, were idealized with this
reverential image of Madonna. Women were expected to emulate such
defining characteristics as obedience, deference, and silence. A proper
woman would be blissfully ignorant of all that was around her except
for her children, to whom she displayed an all-encompassing devotion,
and her husband, who ruled over her as if she were a child and to
whom she looked upon with adoration and respect. Yet, while many men
sought the kind of woman who displayed attributes appropriate for
wives, many found a different kind of satisfaction in the libidinous
arms of a mistress. As artwork progressed and changed, the image of
woman in many works remained rigidly within these two confines, until
the late nineteenth century, when two artists challenged the preconceived
notions of both and forever changed what were to be the defining concepts
of these polar opposites.
Edouard
Manet was already considered a controversial artist after his
scandalous Le Déjeuner
sur l'herbe [Luncheon on the Grass] was exhibited in the Salon
of 1862. In 1865 he once again exhibited a painting that shocked the
refined sensibilities of critic and patron alike, but also shook the
accepted tenets laid out for the portrayal of the fallen woman. Olympia
reportedly sent naïve, innocent ladies swooning from hysterical
reactions and sent men running back to the security of Cabanel's
Birth of Venus or
Titian's
Venus of Urbino. For Olympia
was no ordinary nude. She was everything the accepted standard
was not. Manet not only presented the image of a woman who did not
possess the idealized contours of an alluringly vulnerable courtesan
expected by the Salon, he challenged the voyeuristic viewer by refusing
to avert her gaze.
On a bed plumped up
by white pillows and white sheets, a reclining, naked woman stares
defiantly out of the painting and into the eyes of the viewer. Behind
her, a black servant woman presents her with an enormous bouquet of
flowers as a black cat arches its back at the foot of her bed. The
dark background contrasts sharply with the whiteness of the subject
and her sheets on which she reposes. She is presented in a full, direct
light, which highlights the flatness of the subject, made possible
by the glaring lack of chiaroscuro. Steven Eisenman observes that
Manet seems to have made sure that the painting is "mechanically
balanced between left and right, and top and bottom" in its composition
(241). The use of "sketchy brushstrokes" mark distinct contrasts
in tone and color and is attributed to Manet's modernistic style of
painting (Frascina et al 13). To the judges of the Salon, Olympia
was a failure, not only in its construction, but in its subject
matter as well.
E. Chesneau referred
to Manet's technique as "his absolute impotence of execution"
(Frascina et al 23). Jules Claretie insulted Manet's choice of models:
"What is this Odalisque with a yellow stomach, a base model picked
up I know not where who represents Olympia?" (Eisenman 242).
Amandée Canteloube called Olympia "a female gorilla,
a rubber grotesque," while Gustave
Courbet saw "a queen of spades emerging from her bath"
as he criticized the one dimensional effect of the piece (Friedrich
2). T.J. Clark described her body as having a "livid tint of
a cadaver in the morgue," certainly an insult to Manet's use
of contrasted tones (Eisenman 242). Others chimed in with their two-cents
worth, but the consensus seemed unanimous: everybody hated it.
But why? What was
it about this particular nude that caused such an uproar? The depiction
of women in nineteenth century artwork was replete with soft, delicate
naked bodies. So it wasn't necessarily the nudity that stood at the
forefront of the objections. Or was it? From Botticelli
to Cabanel, the genre of the nude had followed an accepted protocol.
Most women were featured as representative of Venus with long, lithe
bodies and long, luscious blond hair. Their position demonstrated
vulnerability and weakness. Like Fuseli's
dreamer in his Nightmare, women
were represented as passive and powerless. The women in earlier nudes
were the appropriate reflections of male fantasy. They were not individuals,
but objects that served to reinforce male power and sexuality. Olympia,
with her stubborn gaze and atypical proportions, not only challenged
that time-held belief, but also slapped it in the face.
Olympia's gaze disconcerted
many. Female subjects were not supposed to stare defiantly back at
the viewer. The power to look, to stare, to be the voyeur was the
domain of the viewer, the man. Women were created to be admired and
appreciated, while their eyes remained averted to the attention. Olympia's
gaze challenged old notions and made a silent statement about who
held the power. This woman was confident, comfortable with her position,
conscious of the attention lavished upon her. She was not demure.
She was her own person and she maintained control over her body and
her life.
The position of her
left hand symbolized this power. It is placed in a purposeful manner;
it is not laying in a haphazard way. With her hand Olympia has claimed
control over the use of her sexuality, something long appropriated
as the dominion of men. Critics of the time saw this display as an
"aggressive posturing," a masculine representation in defiance
of accepted "compliant femininity" (Frascina et al 26).
Because of this, she could not be a woman because she dared to control
her own destiny. She could only be seen as some masculine freak. She
was not to be desired and yet Manet includes a gift of flowers presented
to this uniquely different female.
This beautiful bouquet
can not be seen merely as a splash of color in such a stark, contrasting
painting of blacks and whites. It must be seen as representative of
many different symbols. It is certainly a "classical symbol of
Spring," and yet Manet associates it with a contemporary setting
as well as a contemporary subject (Frascina et al 22). The flowers
may certainly be interpreted as a feminine metaphor; as a very specific
aspect of feminine sexuality. While the obvious inference is to assume
they are only from a male admirer, it is entirely plausible for them
to be seen as "symbolizing a woman's genitals, that which was
truly on sale in prostitution and yet was so assertively hidden by
the insistent, covering hand" (260). If the flowers in Olympia
are there as a representative replacement of her genitals "(with
their vaginal shape, connotations of deflowering (déflorer)
and easily recognized reference to femininity), then their presence
. . . is understandable" (260). Yet one can only make assumptions
about Manet's true meaning.
The presence of
the black servant also served to elicit criticism, though not as overtly
as the rest. While the inclusion of negresses was longstanding in
the artworld, the placement of one in this painting aroused critics
to express their racism by associating their ethnic slurs with Olympia.
She was the one referred to as sub-human, a monkey, and an ape on
a bed, not her servant (Eisenman 243). It was obvious that even though
slavery had been abolished in France,
racism had not. And it is not ridiculous to suggest that Manet was
cognizant of the American Civil
War and included the negresse as a symbolic statement highlighting
the immorality of slavery.
Olympia was
a sensation and a shock because, as a fallen woman, she did not conform
to the standard form at of expression the viewing public felt comfortable
with seeing. She did not support the ideal whore image, compliant
and eager for male attention. She was her own woman with her own power.
Manet not only challenged the way art was created; he also challenged
the perceptions of gender within a rigid, patriarchal society.
In terms of the perceptions
of women, Mary
Cassatt frequently painted what many would consider to be the
polar opposite of the defiant prostitute. Cassat's favorite subject
was that of mother and child, the Madonna image. And yet she challenged
the standards as well as Manet. Not only was she a woman succeeding
in a male domain, she also changed the long held view of Madonna and
child to include aspects Renaissance painters never considered.
Within her paintings
that concentrated on aspects of the relationship between mother and
child, particularly The Bath,
Cassatt revealed an aspect of womanhood that had always been romantically
revered but never properly dealt with. Portraiture of mothers and
their children, especially Mary and baby Jesus, put forth a pedestal-like
reverence for the office of motherhood; an idyllic state where the
woman's identity was defined by giving birth. Without the child, the
portrait of the woman would be unnecessary. There was no precise understanding
for the profound emotional bonds that existed between mother and infant
in many of the paintings that depicted such maternal images. There
is no question that earlier works showed the immense devotion a mother
had for her child, but that devotion was usually idealized, made to
seem out of reach.
Cassatt changed that
portrayal. She painted everyday women with their children in everyday
circumstances and imbued them with an intimacy rarely captured. She
highlighted woman as nurturer focusing on simple moments in time in
order to reveal a new way for women to be seen and to see themselves.
Eisenman observes that in this way Cassatt "constructed a gendered
alternative for the masculine hero" (267). In her creations,
women are not shown as mere window dressing for the all-important
man, but rather she's shown as an important participant, involved
in a most powerful drama - the everyday care of a child. What was
considered conventional and boringly normal becomes engaging, special,
and unique under the auspices of Mary Cassatt.
In The Bath,
Cassatt captures a seemingly random moment and captures the unmistakable
bond of trust and love between mother and child. The child sits calmly
on her mother's lap, while her mother gently holds her with one hand
as she gently washes her right foot. Both are focused on the activity
at hand unaware of any other person in the room, but the viewer is
there or so it seems. Cassatt does not paint this image from a vantagepoint
outside the room. She does not make it appear as if we are peaking
through a keyhole. Cassatt paints the scene so as to invite the viewer
in, but not so much that the viewer intrudes.
Using subtle colors
with "extremely vigorous and rapid brushwork," Cassatt reinterprets
various
motifs from the religious art of the Renaissance
and adapts them to this scene from everyday modern life (Munson 1).
Steven C. Munson notes that "the simple, emphatic lines, multicolored
patterns, and high horizon line" move our eyes across the canvas
rather than into it and reveals the inspiration Cassatt drew from
Japanese prints (1). The closeness of the two and the intensity in
which they attend to their task promotes "am image of engaged
intimacy" (Frascina et al 267). With every aspect of her technique
and talent, Cassatt attempts to convey the message that a woman's
"power is located right in the heart of the family" (270).
And while that image tends to limit the range of a woman's talents,
I do not think that the artist intended to constrict women's opportunities
by "reinforcing patriarchal ideology, which projects motherhood
as the only legitimate form of fulfillment for women" (270).
Cassatt, herself without
children by choice, uses the reality of motherhood as a metaphor for
the power women possess, not only in their ability to bear children,
but in their ability to be more than society expected of them. During
the time that Cassatt was painting this subject matter, women's rights
were undergoing crucial changes, especially in her native country.
Laws at the time were changing which granted women rights, opportunities,
and power they had never before enjoyed. Though the vote was still
almost thirty years away, Cassatt must have realized the times for
women were changing. Her focus on the one aspect of a woman's life
no man could usurp emphasized women far from the overpowering influences
of men and showed a vigor, a confidence women had rarely, if ever,
been portrayed with.
Both Manet and Cassatt
challenged the societal notions of what was considered appropriate
for the portrayal of women in art. Even though Manet was a man, his
painting, Olympia, endeavored to empower women with the shocking
statement that a woman had the right to control her own body. He also
demonstrated that it wasn't necessary to conform to accepted images
by featuring a short, auburn-haired, urban resident who was not a
dreamily inspired courtesan. Beauty was in the diversity of women
Manet seemed to be saying, not in their conformity. Yet I can not
help but notice that in order to make such profound statements regarding
women, Manet chose nudity in which to put across his daring suppositions.
While I am confident in Manet's enlightened avant-garde ideals, I
have to wonder why he felt it was completely acceptable to display
a naked woman to prove a point, but not a naked man. As empowering
as Olympia is supposed to appear, her nudity continues to make
her vulnerable to the controlling reality of man. And yet, I do not
think she would have been as powerful had she been clothed.
Mary Cassatt never
married and never had any children. She chose the love of her life,
which was painting, over the accepted standards all women were supposed
to aspire to. So it is at the very least surprising that a woman with
no maternal understanding or instincts was able not only to capture
motherhood but also to redefine the image of it. Could a man have
been as successful in portraying the bond between mother and child
as Cassatt? Possibly, but I do not think any other artist, male or
female, had the insight that Cassatt had to capture simple events
and fill them with profound emotion without being overly sentimental.
While one critic patronizingly attributed Cassatt's success to the
fact of her gender, it was her talent that made what she created so
remarkable.
For
the viewer, I don't think it really matters whether one is male or
female when gazing upon such masterpieces. The power of each is in
the technique, the subject matter, the talent of the artist; their
impact must not be the exclusive domain of either gender. If, as a
viewer, you can only appreciate what is on the surface, then your
gender does not matter. It is the deeper message, the heart and soul
of the artist emerging from underneath the canvas that should touch
the soul of everyone who gazes upon it, regardless of who the viewer
is.