Showing posts with label french art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label french art. Show all posts

12 May 2024

Remembering Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita

Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita (1886-1968) 
 
 
I. 
 
One of the reasons why I choose to follow the art historian and punk scholar Marie Arleth Skov on Instagram, is because she regularly posts amazing photographs that I've not seen before (but wish I had) of people I've never heard of before (but wish I had). 
 
For example, a couple of days ago she posted (a slightly cropped version) of this picture of the Japanese-French painter Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita, taken in 1926, and looking decidedly dapper (if not dandyish indeed). 
 
I mean, I'm not a fan of the toothbrush moustache, the bowl cut hairstyle, or the windsor glasses, but I do like that shirt, those trousers, and the socks. 
 
 
II.
 
But who is (or was) Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita?

Born in born in 1886, in Ushigome (Tokyo), Foujita developed a childhood love of art and by the time he reached adolescence had already decided he wanted to become a painter and move to Paris. However, he was encouraged by his father to complete his studies in fine art in Japan before setting off to France.   

In 1905, Foujitta enrolled at what is now the Tokyo National University of Fine Arts and Music, graduating in 1910. Having never lost sight of his original plan, he left for Paris in 1913, aged twenty-seven. His father agreed to support him for three years - after which, if he had failed to find success as an artist, it was agreed he would return home to Japan. 

Foujita settled in Montparnasse and rapidly became part of the Paris art scene. Wisely, whilst many other Japanese artists in the City of Light tended to keep to themselves and struggled to adjust to a European lifestyle, Foujita made a concerted effort to adapt to his new surroundings and improve his French language skills.  

Before long, Foujita was pals with Modigliani and visiting Picasso in his studio. The outbreak of war in 1914 made things tough for him (as for many others - not least of all those called up to fight at the front). But again, unlike most other Japanese artists, he decided not to return home; although he did relocate to London at the start of 1916. 
 
It was during his London period that Foujita dumped his wife and broke with his father. Returning to Paris in 1917, he found a new bride; the French model, painter, and former child prostitute Fernande Barrey. He also began to find success as an artist, exhibiting his work more widely and developing the style he would become well-known for.       

During the 1920s, he took advantage of both the strong art market and the thriving Paris nightlife, becoming a regular at all the popular bars and clubs, immediately recognisable due to his very distinctive look. In some ways, like his art, he was a perfect - and original - fusion of East and West. 
 
His nudes in particular were thought to be a harmonious meeting of Japanese and European aesthetics; see, for example, Nu Couché à la toile de Jouy (1922) - a beautiful and brilliant portrait of Kiki de Monparnasse and the ethereal - almost ghostly - quality of her white skin [1].   

All was going well until the tax man caught up with him. Unable to pay what he owed, he returned to Japan and hoped to make enough money there to clear his debts. His reception back on home soil was mixed, however. The public liked him, but the critics dismissed his work as mediocre and too heavily under the influence of Western art. 
 
So Foujita returned to Paris (via the US), before then travelling round South America in 1931.
 
By November 1932, he was in Mexico, where he stayed for seven months and, somewhat surprisingly perhaps, became aware of the social and political role that art could play; not that he decided to experiment with socialist realism, still preferring to paint cats and flowers rather than tractors and heroes of the Revolution. 
 
Having said that, after he returned to Japan in 1933, his work did become dominated by traditional (some might say old-fashioned, even reactionary) Japanese subjects, such as geisha, sumo wrestlers, and fishermen and, during the war years, Foujita was happy to become an official war artist and celebrate the courage of Japanese soldiers. Indeed, he became one of the nation's leading war artists and not only produced a prolific number of war paintings but oversaw special exhibits for members of the military.  
 
Following Japan's defeat, however, his reputation suffered; not only had he allowed his work to serve as propaganda for the Imperial Japanese military, but he refused to address accusations about his role as a war artist. It's probably a bit much to describe him as a fascist-imperialist, but his claims to have always been a pacifist at heart are highly suspect.  

Nevertheless, he was given a teaching post at the Brooklyn Museum Art School in the spring of 1949. Unhappy and bored in the USA, he grew increasingly nostalgic for his former life in Paris and so, the following year, Foujita moved back to France, where, he declared, he would remain for the rest of his life.  
 
In 1955, he renounced his Japanese nationality and became a French citizen. Then, in 1959, Foujita converted to Catholicism and was baptised in Reims Cathedral (the traditional site for the coronation of kings). It was at this point he took on the Christian name of Léonard and his art becomes overtly religious in character.

In 1962, Foujita conceived a plan to construct and decorate his own chapel, à la Matisse. This would be his final project. For a few months after its opening to the public in 1966, he was diagnosed with cancer and died in January 1968, aged 81. 

In 2003, his coffin was finally transferred to the small Romanesque chapel.  
 
 
III.
 
So, what then are we to make of Foujita ...? 
 
Shortly after his death, a fellow Japanese artist published an essay in which he was described as an insane narcissist who took rather too much pleasure in depicting the horrors of war. So I think it's fair to say that his reputation and legacy is complicated and controversial [2].
 
But, as Marie Arleth Skov says, what clothes and what a haircut! And anyone who loves cats can't be all bad. 


 
 
Notes
 
[1] Foujita seems to have had a thing for white skin; in 1922, he met Lucie Badoul, whom he called Youki, the Japanese word for snow, and she became one of his favourite models and, after divorcing Fernande, his third wife in 1929.  

[2] A successful retrospective of his work was held in 2006 at the National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo. And in France, Foujita has always remained a celebrated figure, much loved for his paintings of Parisian streetscapes, beautiful nudes, cats, and everyday objects. He is primarily associated with Les Années folles, however, in the French popular imagination. (Don't mention the War.)    
 
 

16 Jun 2023

Claude Lalanne, Serge Gainsbourg, and the Man with the Cabbage Head

 
Claude Lalanne's L'Homme à tête de chou, as featured on 
the cover of  Serge Gainsbourg's 1976 album of the same title 
 
 
Claude Lalanne was an avant-garde French sculptor and designer, who often worked in collaboration with her husband, François-Xavier Lalanne, even though they had distinctively different styles and ideas.
 
Inspired by a whimsical mix of Surrealism, Art Nouveau, and her love of plants, Claude Lalanne produced some astonishing pieces (including items of furniture and jewellery) and her hybrid (often bizarre) style of decorative design has captured the imagination of many in the art world, as well as leading fashion designers including Tom Ford, Marc Jacobs, and Yves Saint Laurent, the latter of whom commissioned Lalanne to create several mirrors adorned with electroplated leaves and branches [1]
 
In fact, for anyone who wanted an apple with lips, a rabbit with wings, or a man with a cabbage head, Lalanne was the go-to artist; Salvador Dalí once asked her to make him some cutlery and Serge Gainsbourg famously acquired her piece entitled L’homme à tête de chou, featuring it on the sleeve of his 1976 album of the same title [2], thereby bringing her work to the attention of a new and wider audience. 
 
Amusingly, Lalanne also made a whole series of chicken-legged cabbage sculptures which she called choupattes - a series she added to (with the assistance of her daughter and granddaughter) right up to her death, aged 93, in 2019. 
 
 

Claude Lalanne: Choupatte (2014 / 2017)
Bronze (57.5 x 63.5 x 63.5 cm)
  
 
Notes
 
[1] After his death in 2008, Yves Saint-Laurent's fifteen Lalanne designed mirrors fetched more than $2m at auction. 
      It might also be noted that Lalanne collaborated with the designer on his 1969 Empreintes collection, for which she made bronze breastplates cast from the chest of his favourite model. It was Saint-Laurent's only collaboration with an artist. 
 
[2] Although not as celebrated as Histoire de Melody Nelson (Philips Records, 1971) - considered by many to be Gainsbourg's most influential and accomplished work - L'Homme à tête de chou (Philips Records, 1976) does have its moments and dark delights. It tells the story of a middle-aged man obsessively in love with a young and free-spirited shampoo girl, Marilou. Driven mad by jealousy and desire, he eventually murders her with a fire extinguisher, concealing her body beneath the foam. Unsurprisingly, he ends his days in an inane asylum.
      Claude Lalanne's sculpture, owned by Gainsbourg, is pictured on the front sleeve of the album sitting in the courtyard of his house in Paris (5 bis Rue De Verneuil). Click here to listen to the title track of L'Homme à tête de chou uploaded to YouTube by Universal Music Group.