Showing posts with label evelyn waugh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label evelyn waugh. Show all posts

1 Oct 2024

Émile Gilliéron: the Man Who Sold the Ancient World

Left: The Mask of Agamemnon (c. 1906)
Right: Émile Gilliéron (1850-1924)
 
 
I. 
 
If you are ever fortunate enough to visit The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, you'll be able to see Émile Gilliéron's electroformed reproduction [1] of the Mask of Agamemnon made around 1906. 
 
It's just one of many galvano-plastic copies of Mycenaean antiquities made by Gilliéron and purchased by the Met's eminent curator Gisela M. A. Richter, who described the Swiss master's work as being of such fine quality and such historical accuracy as to give a vivid idea of how the originals would have looked.  
 
But did Gilliéron not merely reimagine antiquity, but also partly invent it? And might he best be remembered as the man who sold the myth of the ancient world? 
 
 
II.
 
Born in Switzerland in 1850, Gilliéron was universally admired for his reconstructions of Mycenaean and Minoan artefacts from the Bronze Age. 
 
But admiration alone doesn't pay the bills and so he eventually decided to cash in on his talents, establishing a successful business in 1894, in collaboration with a German metalworking firm, producing and selling replicas of archaeological finds to museums and collectors in Europe and the United States. 
 
His son, also named Émile, entered the business in 1909 and the pair have been credited as a crucial influence on the modern perception of Greek antiquity; their work enabling artists, academics, and members of the public to appreciate the genius of the ancient world. 
 
But it needs to be stressed that many of their restorations were based on mere fragments of damaged material and that they often had to make rather bold imaginative decisions, exercising a hefty degree of artistic license. 
 
This was amusingly recognised by the English writer Evelyn Waugh who, following a visit to the Archaeological Museum in Herakleion in 1929 to view some examples of Minoan artwork, declared it "impossible to disregard the suspicion that their painters have tempered their zeal for accurate reconstruction with a somewhat inappropriate prediliction for the covers of Vogue" [2]
 
Take the fresco known as the Ladies in Blue, for example ...  

 
III.
 
Fragments of this fresco, depicting young women with distinctly modern looking hairstyles but thought to date to c. 1450 BCE, were discovered at the Palace of Knossos, on the island of Crete, by Sir Arthur John Evans at the start of the 20th century. The work was restored by Gilliéron to such an extent that it is now recognised by archaeologists as almost entirely his composition.
 
Referring to the Gilliérons' habit of combining fragments later evaluated to have come from discrete images, a modern study has concluded that father and son "created a decorative programme which, as it currently stands, never existed" [3].
 
Further, Gilliéron was suspected of involvement in the illegal export of forged antiquities from Greece and accused by his critics of deliberately manufacturing fake objects (not merely reproducing and touching up old pieces). 
 
In sum: far be it from me to suggest that ancient history is more or less bunk - or that culture is always closely associated with crime - but we do need to keep in mind that authenticity is itself a form of artifice (just another irritating pose, as Lord Henry Wotton might say).    

 
Reproduction of the "Ladies in Blue" fresco 
by Émile Gilliéron (1927)
 
 
Notes 
 
[1] Electroformed reproduction was a technique developed in the nineteenth century that allowed for the manufacturing of many different kinds of historic metalworks and the disseminating of knowledge about the ancient world in a time before Google images and mass tourism. Despite the method and materials used to make electrotypes not being the same as those of the original artwork, most people -including art historians and museum curators - were happy to accept them as authentic replicas. 
      For more details, see the article by Dorothy H. Abramitis, 'The Mask of Agamemnon: An Example of Electroformed Reproduction of Artworks Made by E. Gilliéron in the Early Twentieth Century' (1 June, 2011): click here.
 
[2] Evelyn Waugh, quoted in an entry on The Met website discussing the 'Reproduction of the "Ladies in Blue" fresco', believed to date to c. 1525-1450 BCE, excavated before 1914, and restored by Gillieron père on the basis of other fragments of frescos from Knossos: click here

[3] See Yannis Galanakis, Efi Tsitsa, and Ute Günkel-Maschek, 'The Power of Images: Re-Examining the Wall Paintings from the Throne Room at Knossos', Annual of the British School at Athens (Cambridge University Press 2017) Vol. 112, pp. 47–98. The line quoted is on p. 50. The online version of this essay can be accessed by clicking here. 


8 Feb 2018

Reflections on the Death of a Jewel-Encrusted Tortoise



The decadent aristocrat Des Esseintes, whose retreat into an increasingly perverse and artificial inner life is depicted with such brilliance by J-K Huysmans in the 1884 novel À rebours (a title usually translated into English as either Against the Grain or Against Nature), is - as Patrick McGuinness points out - a fictional character, but he is not pure invention:

"Among the specific models for Des Esseintes was the eccentric King Ludwig II of Bavaria, who designed an artificial forest with mechanical animals, but there were also Baudelaire himself, Edmond de Goncourt and a variety of fictional characters [...] The most obvious model, however, was Count Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac, an aesthete and eccentric who provided the model for Proust's Baron Charlus in A la recherche du temps perdu ..."

Not only were many of the decorative elements of Des Esseintes's home based on details of Montesquiou's own, but the implausible figure of a jewel-encrusted tortoise creeping about Huysmans's novel was, outrageously, based on fact: "Montesquiou had the poor creature customized to his tastes, and when it died wrote a poem in its memory ..."

This certainly makes one read chapter four of Against Nature with a renewed fascination - and a greater sympathy - for the slow-moving beast:

"The tortoise was the result of a fancy which had occurred to him shortly before leaving Paris. Looking one day at an Oriental carpet aglow with iridescent colours [...] he had thought what a good idea it would be to place on this carpet something that would move about and be dark enough to set off these gleaming tints."  

Unfortunately, having purchased the tortoise and had it delivered to his home - and once it had been deposited on the carpet - it soon became apparent that "the negro-brown tint, the raw Sienna hue of the shell, dimmed the sheen of the carpet instead of bringing out its colours; the predominating gleams of silver had now lost nearly all their sparkle and matched the cold tones [...] along the edges of this hard, lustreless carapace".

Des Esseintes decides the only thing to do is to jazz the tortoise up a bit; to make it into a brilliant object (and artwork) in its own right; glazed in gold and encrusted with precious stones. But not just the familiar stones that vulgar people wear on their fingers; he wanted "startling and unusual gems " - both real and artificial - that, in combination, would "result in a fascinating and disconcerting harmony".

Job done - the tortoise suitably bejewelled - Des Esseintes felt perfectly happy and sat gazing at the splendid reptile as it lay "huddled in a corner of the dining room, glittering brightly in the half-light". Alas, his happiness doesn't last long as the tortoise dies: "Accustomed no doubt to a sedentary life, a modest existence spent in the shelter of its humble carapace, it had not been able to bear the dazzling luxury imposed upon it ..."

And people complain about the crushing effects of poverty!

Interestingly, there are faint echoes of this scene in Brideshead Revisited (1945), when Rex Mottram presents his fiancée Julia Flyte with a small tortoise that has her initials set in diamonds in the living shell. Unlike Des Esseintes, however, the narrator of Waugh's novel (Charles Ryder) can see that the bejewelled tortoise is slightly obscene and in poor taste.

In even poorer taste, however, is what children of my generation used to paint on the backs of pet tortoises; believing their shells to resemble the steel helmets of German soldiers, we would cheerfully decorate them with Iron Crosses and swastikas. And if there's anything more depressing than a dandified, decadent tortoise, it's a Nazified tortoise ...       


Notes

Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature, trans. Robert Baldick, (Penguin Books, 2003). Lines quoted are from Chapter 4, pp. 40-49. 

Patrick McGuinness, 'Introduction' to Against Nature, ibid., pp. xxvii-xxviii.  

Eveleyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited, (Penguin Books, 2000). The tortoise scene is in Chapter 6. 

For a related post to this one written in memory of J-K Huysmans (and his jewel-encrusted tortoise), click here