More stories

  • in

    The Painter of Revolution, on Both Sides of the Atlantic

    Born into slavery, Guillaume Lethière became one of France’s most decorated painters. For the first time, a major exhibition gives us the full view of his scenes of love and war.Liberté, égalité … and that third one, what is it again?On July 14, 1789 (exactly 235 years ago this Sunday), some idealistic Parisians stormed a not especially crowded prison. They overthrew the king’s guard. They set in train a three-pronged revolution: for individual liberty, for civil equality, and, last and rarest, for communal obligation. That July fraternity passed from the realm of genealogy into politics — and this July’s startling French legislative election, fought over race, migration and national belonging, confirms how agitated that third virtue remains. Who is my brother? In the National Assembly of 1789 and the National Assembly of 2024, some questions never get a final answer.Far from the Bastille, at the Clark Art Institute in the Berkshires, one of the most remarkable exhibitions I’ve seen in years punches right at the heart of today’s altercations over nationality and democracy, culture and politics, and what it means to be a citizen. Guillaume Lethière (1760—1832) was a Neoclassical painter of mixed race who has never, until now, been the subject of a solo museum show. Born in the French Caribbean, almost certainly into slavery, he reached the summits of artistic achievement in Paris and Rome. As rebellions and revolutions shook both France and the Caribbean, he painted massive history paintings of heroes in togas, and portraits of men and women from Europe and the Antilles. It was Lethière’s calling, in an era where no bonds seemed stable, to give form to fraternité.“Woman Leaning on a Portfolio,” circa 1799, oil on canvas, at the Clark. Our critic celebrates “the aloof precision of Lethière’s line” in this portrait, which pictures his stepdaughter clutching an artist’s papers. Richard Beaven for The New York TimesThis groundbreaking show was organized over five years by Esther Bell and Olivier Meslay of the Clark, along with Marie-Pierre Salé of the Musée du Louvre in Paris, where the exhibition will travel in November. Bell and Meslay have also edited an imposing 400-page catalog, bulky with contributions from leading scholars of French and Caribbean history. But “Guillaume Lethière” is not — this point is critical — a corrective exhibition, highlighting some marginal figure excluded from a white, European establishment. Lethière couldn’t have been more central to the Paris art world of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. He ran one of the leading academies. He painted the empress Joséphine, a fellow Creole. Ingres drew him and his family. In a 1798 painting depicting France’s celebrity artists of that age of revolution, Lethière stands in the most prominent position, bathed in light.Even today, at the Louvre, he is hiding in plain sight. If you’ve ever fought through the throngs in the Italian painting wing, you may remember being spat out of the Mona Lisa gallery into a grand chamber with a concession selling magnets, mugs and other souvenirs. In all my years I never really looked up in that room — but right there, hanging above the Leonardo Rubik’s cubes and Eiffel Tower figurines, are two giant paintings by Lethière, two stentorian 25-footers of antique virtue and death. A consul orders his sons beheaded for betraying the Roman Republic. A centurion stabs his daughter to save her from enslavement.That’s our guy! As weighty as marble. As serious as the law. What you are going to see in this show is the cold beauty of Neoclassicism: a style predicated on Greek and Roman examples that found favor during the French Revolution, everywhere from painting and architecture to fashion and furniture design. Neoclassicism frowns on pleasure. It sneers at ornament. Its greatest exponent was Jacques-Louis David, the Jacobin artist/terrorist and Lethière’s great rival, who painted Roman history and myth as moral lessons for the new French republic.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

  • in

    Dancing Past the Venus de Milo

    I fell in love with the Louvre one morning while doing disco moves to Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough” in the Salle des Cariatides.The museum, a former medieval fortress and then royal palace, had not yet opened, and I was following instructions to catwalk and hip bump and point in the grand room where Louis XIV once held plays and balls.The sun cast warm light through long windows, striping the pink-and-white checkered floor and bathing the marble arms, heads and wings of the ancient Grecian statues around me.“Point, and point, and point,” shouted Salim Bagayoko, a dance instructor. So I struck my best John Travolta poses and pointed around the room, my eyes landing on the delicate sandaled foot of Artemus, the wings of a Niobid and the stone penis of Apollo.The woman beside me caught my eye. We giggled.Over the years, I have felt many things in the world’s most-visited, and arguably most-famous, museum — irritation, exhaustion and some wonder, too.This time, I felt joy.The classes are part of an effort by museums and galleries across France to put on Olympics-themed shows as Paris prepares to host the Olympic Games.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

  • in

    Protesters at the Louvre Hurl Soup at the Mona Lisa

    Two women from an environmental group threw pumpkin-colored soup at the artwork, which is behind bulletproof glass at the Louvre and did not appear to sustain damage.Two protesters from an environmental group hurled pumpkin-colored soup on the Mona Lisa at the Louvre museum in Paris on Sunday, splashing the bulletproof glass that protects the most famous painting in the world, but not apparently damaging the work itself.As the customary crowd around the 16th-century painting by Leonardo da Vinci gasped in shock, the protesters, two young women, followed up their attack by passing under a barrier and standing on either side of the artwork, hands raised in an apparent salute.“What is more important? Art or the right to have a healthy and sustainable food system?” the activists said, speaking in French. “Our agricultural system is sick.” They were led away by Louvre security guards.It was not immediately clear how the women got the soup through the elaborate security system at the museum, which borders the Seine and contains a vast art and archaeological collection spanning civilizations and centuries.One of the women removed her jacket to reveal the words Riposte Alimentaire, or Food Response, on a white T-shirt. Riposte Alimentaire is part of a coalition of protest groups known as the A22 movement. They include Extinction Rebellion and Just Stop Oil, the group that poured tomato soup over Vincent Van Gogh’s Sunflowers at the National Gallery in London in 2022.The attack on the Mona Lisa came as French farmers have blocked roads, including approaches to Paris, in recent days to protest low wages and what they see as excessive regulation. Many new regulations in France reflect the attempt to forge a green, carbon-free European economy, an objective that the farmers consider too expensive and burdensome in the near term.The protests by the two young women and the farmers appeared to reflect two starkly different views of agriculture and the appropriate priorities for European society.Staff at the Louvre on Sunday tried to erect cloth screens to conceal the soup-splashed Mona Lisa, but the screens were not effective. Images of the attack quickly went viral on social media.The Mona Lisa has been behind glass since the 1950s, when a visitor poured acid on it. In 2019, the museum installed glass of what it said was superior transparency. Three years later, another environmental activist threw cake and cream at the painting. It was undamaged.The latest attack will heighten security concerns ahead of the Paris Olympics.The opening ceremony is just six months away and will take place on the Seine. A flotilla of boats will carry about 10,000 athletes to the foot of the Eiffel Tower, as nearly a half-million spectators, including many heads of state, line the four-mile route. The boats will sail past the Louvre as part of a ceremony conceived to showcase the beauty of Paris, but which has raised serious security issues that are still under review. More