Monday Morning Art #9 - Edgar Degas

Perhaps one of the top three or four names of the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist movement, Edgar Degas is one of those instantly recognizable artists.   His dancers, situated in obliquely viewed rooms, or on the stage, with upward-projected footlight illumination are iconic.

Perhaps most use of those images today are to adorn a young girl's bedroom wall.  Some sort of epitome of femininity or girlishness, but Degas is also known for capturing the gritty, challenging life of the stage performer and dancer. From his many back-stage semi-nudes, to the sad faces of down-and-out people; the less beautiful part of the Belle Époque.

The Degas that sticks with me, partly because of the subject, but also because of the composition, is one that was seen as a shocking departure from the conventions of the time. This is "The Glass of Absinthe" or "The Absinthe Drinker."

The diagonal lines of the tables bring the eye up from the bottom to the solemn figure of the lady with her glass of absinthe in front of her. A carafe of water sits to her right.  Her companion pays her no attention, and she stares blankly down at the table or perhaps the floor in front. You can feel the weight of her woes.

But this is a well-known work of Degas, and I like to explore the less recognizable pieces in my Monday Morning Art tweets. Thus I sifted through his early portraits for a few lesser-known gems.

His early work featured a lot of portraiture and sketch work, which gave him a strong foundation for his future with the figure, and ability for capturing scenes that were often fleeting in their nature.

Indeed, I think his strength is the snap-shot capturing of expression, and giving us a window to the soul of people who, to outsiders, would have seemed glamorous. We're brought into the theatre back areas, to see the sad realities, and hard lives of both the beautiful and worn-out people of powder and stage.

This portrait of "Estelle Musson Balfour" from 1865 for me captures a moment so sharply, it's hard to imagine how he did it without a modern camera.  But this is the era of the Dageurrotype, and minute-long exposures.  There's another Degas you can find online, an image of a young lady piano player, presumably at a ballet class or a practice, who turns and looks at Degas (and us) for a brief moment that is similarly captured in brilliant sharpness.   The Estelle picture, though, seems to speak of distress and sadness, and we're left to figure out what it's all about.

A later portrait, this of "Emma Dobigny" was done four years after, in 1869 and similarly captures a moment, if a less fleeting one.  Emma stares somewhat vacantly into space, presumably lost in thought.  She could be a teenager on a city bus today. Looking at this image, you expect to see her break from her reverie momentarily and look at us if we were to speak her name, so we stay quiet just a little longer.





Further to my treatise about Degas' foundations in portraiture, and sketching, is this portrait entitled simply "Portrait of an Italian" from 1856.  It is a charcoal crafted with a deft touch.  The subject's hair catches the light, and facial expression is perhaps a moment between two words, frozen in time.

I've speculated that this is actually a modern sketch of John Turturro, but I can't prove it.
 
Of course, Degas is broadly known for his dancers, and why not?  The images are very popular even to this day.  His compositions, I've mentioned elsewhere, are surely a strong influence on later artists like the American Edward Hopper.  The diagonal elements and unusual lighting particularly seemed to resonate with him.

So, here are a couple of the well-recognized dancer scenes to close.

Take a moment to see his less well known 1881 sculpture of a fourteen year old dancer too.  It's quite exquisite.  Not sure why he didn't do more sculpting. Maybe Rodin frightened him off.

The "Dancers Practicing at the Barre" (1877) illustrates a popular theme with Degas, and there are many scenes of similar structure.  He was, no doubt,  enthused with the strong diagonal line around which the figures interact. A delight for a painter who likes to compose his pictures that way.
 





"The Ballet Class" is one of a few similar scenes one might think were photographs snapped one after another in a five minute session.  The aging instructor leaning on his staff features prominently, and the dancers both watch and execute, according to his direction, various moves.

Degas brings us up onto the stage, where the footlights are bright and the humanity of the performers is close at hand, then he brings us into the back-stage areas where they dress and get ready, or disrobe or caress their aching limbs and fight their knotted hair.