Skip to main content

Delacroix, 'Odalisque', c.1825

 Odalisque by Eugene Delacroix

My eye is drawn to the dirty folds of drapery across her hips – they are supposed to cover her yet simply accentuate her nudity. The loose strokes and curving lines look agitated, at odds with the mood of the scene. It almost looks like a hand and arm attempting to grab her. The picture is titled ‘Odalisque’ suggesting a depiction of a harem, an image of languid, Eastern sensuality, a very popular subject throughout the nineteenth century. To a certain extent Delacroix conforms: the setting is dark and enclosed, and the woman seems drowsy, her body relaxed into sensual curves. The pale, soft flesh dominates the canvas, her torso shaped by the dark shadows beneath. There are just enough foreground details to establish that this is an Eastern scene and so the woman is not Venus, or a Parisian contemporary.

But my first impression of the drapery lingers and makes me uneasy. The woman’s position starts to look awkward. Her hip and pelvis are almost thrust upward, making them the highest point of the painting, whilst her neck and head are slumped lower, perhaps in a deliberate effort to get her facing the viewer. The awkwardness is not the relaxation of sleep but the unnatural limpness of unconsciousness or death. There is something about her gaze that is unseeing. She appears to be looking out at the (presumably male) viewer but Delacroix has painted her eyes as black holes, like a void in the canvas almost as if she is in a death-like swoon. Her slightly parted lips could be read as sensuality, but equally, she seems to have a complete lack of control or agency.

The whole painting is dishevelled - the loose brushwork of the drapery and the imprecise outline of the figure – both suggesting what has gone on before. The dominate colours – grubby red and white reference flesh and blood. And there is a vague threat in the dark background with the silhouetted shapes visible through the doorway. There is nothing decorative about this, none of the patterns or richness that you might expect in an odalisque painting, and no warmth. It’s all about darkness, imprisonment, seediness.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mark Rothko, 'Light Red over Black', 1957

  My eye is not drawn to the painting itself but the title of the painting, 'Light Red Over Black'. We would automatically think that the black is on top of a red background, but Rothko has flipped this around, subverting the title just like he subverting the meaning of what it was to be an artist and what Art actually was. During this time, art was going through rapid changes, with abstract expressionism coming into full force (Rothko, Pollock). But Rothko showed that all this change was for the good, even if for him, it was short lived.  The colour red in this painting is searing and the black struggles to fully cover this velvety border, especially at the bottom of the canvas. Unlike the black squares which have a hazy quality to their edges, the red is clear and impregnable. It is hard to figure out what this represents - the Tate has suggested a window perhaps, but if it is a window then what are we looking out into? Perhaps it is night, or perhaps the viewer is catching ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Frans Hals, 'The Laughing Cavalier', 1624

  The Laughing Cavalier is a man on the cusp of unseriousness. His eyes follow a viewer around the room, his curled moustache twitches endearingly as if he struggles to maintain composure, whilst his lip is pursed to stop laughter escaping. The pose, meanwhile, is proud and monumental, filling the canvas with a foreshortened elbow and shoulder pushing into a viewer's world, serving to emphasise the silks and expensive dress against the monochromatic background.  Frans Hals was first and foremost a portrait painter. His oeuvre includes wedding portraits of solo male and female sitters, multifigure works including The Banquet of Officers from 1627, yet his depictions often turned to peasants or comical characters, notably his Jester with a Lute now in the Louvre, proving that portrait painters also had range. The Laughing Cavalier remains an equally intriguing work: despite being Hals' most famous piece, the sitter remains anonymous. Yet, the smile is so familiar to a viewer, an...
Post a Comment
Read more

Artemisia Gentileschi, 'Jael and Sisera', c.1620

  My eye firstly notices the hand wielding the hammer above the unsuspecting man's head. Gentileschi is depicting a new and particularly horrible kind of weapon here instead of the huge sword she gave Judith to slice Holofernes' head off in 1620. The tent peg seems all the more violent, especially as the viewer is looking at the split second before the deed has been committed. Moreover, the gaze of the women (Jael) is focused and calm, making the piece seem unnerving. This is not a moment of hesitation but a snapshot of action - the woman has made up her mind and will commit to this murder. The viewer can only imagine how Gentileschi would have depicted the bloody aftermath, in her usual violent and tenebristic way. The fact that the artist has signed her name in the tomb-like stone above the man is significant - she is signing his life away in this painting, sending him swiftly to the grave.  The body of the man (Sisera) is also interestingly depicted. He lies in a rather eff...
Post a Comment
Read more