Orphée endormant Cerbère by Henri Peinte (1887).

It’s often difficult to imagine a perfectly innocent motive when looking at works such as these. Did the world really need another statue of Orpheus or is the true intention revealed by those carefully sculpted buttocks, with the mythology added as a convenient subterfuge? We’ll never know, of course, and that’s part of the fun. Orpheus, Narcissus, Icarus and the rest gave 19th century sculptors and painters the excuse to portray unclad men and youths in a manner which would have been highly suspect—scandalous, even—had the subjects been shown in a contemporary context. In Oscar Wilde’s definition, art reflects the spectator; in Philip Core’s definition, camp is a lie which tells the truth. Camp art, therefore, can tell a truth about the artist whilst reflecting the concerns of the spectator. As it turns out, this work by Henri Peinte (1845–1912) had its delights, camp or otherwise, concealed by a prudish sheet of cloth when cast in bronze, a common fate of reproductions intended for home display.

Orpheus by John Macallan Swan (1896).

The Encyclopaedia Orphica collects many of the numerous representations of Orpheus, including this equally lithe depiction by John Macallan Swan (1847–1910) with a pose reminiscent of Peinte’s sculpture. Swan’s painting of the poet charming the savage beasts combines two of his recurrent themes, wild cats and unclothed males. Was he another Uranian with a camp sensibility or is this mere academic innocence? Whatever the answer it’s easy to see why Jean Cocteau—who once said “I am a lie that tells the truth”—made Orpheus his pagan saint.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The gay artists archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Antonin Mercié’s David
• Reflections of Narcissus
• Narcissus
• La Villa Santo Sospir by Jean Cocteau

Moss Roberts photographed by James Bidgood.

I missed this back in January, a great version of the Flandrin pose by James Bidgood, the justly-celebrated beefcake photographer and director of that micro-budget masterwork of gay erotica, Pink Narcissus (1971). The photo was part of a feature commissioned by Out.com which asked notable photographers to present a contemporary take on the Physique Pictorial style. Bidgood’s pictures strike me as the best of the bunch but then I’m biased, having recently bought Taschen’s republication of their splendid book of Bidgood photos from the 1960s. Luscious and kitsch, and—if you’re a fan of Bobby Kendall—highly recommended.

Via VMP.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The recurrent pose archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Let’s get physical: Bruce of Los Angeles and Tom of Finland
• The Male Gaze
• James Bidgood

Las Meninas (1656) by Diego Velázquez.

The sight of one of Picasso’s many versions of Las Meninas (The Maids of Honour) by Velázquez earlier this week prompts this post. An endlessly fascinating painting whose influence runs through three hundred years of art history. That influence isn’t so surprising if you consider this as a painter’s painting; it certainly never seems to figure in the canon of favourite works among the wider public. But artists are beguiled by the games it plays with our ways of seeing: a self-portrait of the artist painting a subject (the royal couple) standing where the viewer would be, with the couple seen in reflection in the mirror on the back wall. We are the watchers and the watched. Wikimedia Commons has a decently large copy of the painting.

I’ve long been fascinated by the detail of the queen’s chamberlain, Don José Nieto Velázquez, standing on the steps at the back of the picture. Lines of perspective draw our attention to his figure, not only the perspective of the room but also the line which can be drawn across the heads of the three figures in the foreground right. I always look to see how Don José is treated in subsequent variations, some of which appear below.

Las Meninas, after Velázquez (c. 1778) by Francisco de Goya y Lucientes.

One of the commonplaces of contemporary art is artworks about other artworks. Goya’s etching shows that this idea is by no means a new one. Goya was apparently dissatisfied with his attempt, and its main interest is the degree to which he distorts various parts of the picture.

The Facts in the Case of M Valdemar (1919) by Harry Clarke.

Harry Clarke scholar Nicola Gordon Bowe proposed in The Life and Work of Harry Clarke (1989) that the figure in the background of this Poe illustration was a version of Don José. Clarke’s picture also has a similar grouping of foreground figures which adds to the speculation. The division of space in the Velázquez painting would have held considerable appeal for an artist used to dealing with similar divisions in his stained glass window designs. Will at A Journey Round My Skull recently uploaded a set of high-resolution scans of Clarke’s Poe drawings and paintings.

Las Meninas (after Velazquez) (1957) by Pablo Picasso.

In the 1950s Picasso took to producing a series of variations on favourite paintings. There are 44 versions of Las Meninas, some more abstract than others. This one reminds me of Guernica and I like the humour of presenting Velázquez’s dog—one of the great dogs of art history—as though it’s been drawn by Nicolas Pertusato, the child who attempts to rouse the animal with his foot. Velázquez here has a head surmounting a spindly body comprised of the Order of Santiago cross.

Las Meninas (1960) by Salvador Dalí.

Salvador Dalí venerated Velázquez and he happily quoted other artists throughout his career so it’s no surprise to find variations of Las Meninas. This wins the award for the most eccentric, with the figures reduced to numerals. Closer examination shows it to be quite clever the way each number corresponds to a different figure. The use of the number 7 for the artist and for Don José makes sense when you consider that they share the same surname. Don José turns up alone is another painting the same year, a work entitled Maelstrom: Portrait of Juan de Pareja fixing a string of his mandolin.

Picasso’s Meninas (1973) by Richard Hamilton.

Richard Hamilton’s aquatint is equally playful, substituting Velázquez with Picasso and his works.

The Haunter of the Dark (1986).

I seem to have referred to my own work quite a lot recently, and here’s some more of it. The panel on the right quotes from Harry Clarke’s Poe illustration and so can be considered as continuing a trace element of the shadowy Don.

Las Meninas (Self Portrait) (1987) by Joel-Peter Witkin.

Joel-Peter Witkin has quoted Picasso’s works frequently in his photo-tableaux so the Picasso-esque figure on the right is perhaps inevitable. Witkin also has a considerable fondness for dead things so it’s quite likely that the dog in this photograph isn’t sleeping.

I’ll be surprised if there haven’t been a lot more variations during the past twenty years. If anyone knows of any which are better than this item by Antonio Guijarro Morales, please leave a comment.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Picasso-esque
• Reflections of Narcissus
• My pastiches
• Guernica, seventy years on
• The art of Harry Clarke, 1889–1931

Robert Helpmann, Moira Shearer and Leonide Massine; The Red Shoes (1948).

Jack Cardiff, who died this week, was one of the great cinematographers from the postwar era, a period when British cinema was raised for a time to world-class level. His three films for the Archers, aka Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, are masterpieces of Technicolor photography. He won an Oscar for one of these, Black Narcissus, while his photography in The Red Shoes includes Moira Shearer’s 18-minute ballet performance, one of the most strikingly surreal sequences in the whole of British film.

Cardiff taught himself about lighting from scrutinising the Old Masters and the Impressionists, and teaching himself to observe colour, shade and reflection in everyday things. “As they say, ‘Love comes by looking’, and I was looking all the time. That’s how you learn.” He picks up one of the dozens of books on Rembrandt that he owns and draws my attention to the exquisitely painted shadow of a nose in one of his favourite portraits. We look at the interiors of other Dutch masters – Pieter De Hooch, Vermeer. It was to the work of Vermeer that the starkly beautiful images of nuns he created for his Oscar-winning movie Black Narcissus (1947) were likened.

Elizabeth Lowenthal, The Independent, 1994.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Deborah Kerr, 1921–2007
• Freddie Francis, 1917–2007

Projet pour le ‘Narcisse’ de Paul Valéry (1940).

Photographs by Raymond Voinquel (1912–1994).

Hommage au Bronzino (1940).

• A gallery site | A Flickr set

Via Fabulon.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Norman McLaren
• Reflections of Narcissus
• Narcissus

Pas de Deux (1968).

News of a theatre piece celebrating the creativity of Norman McLaren, the pioneering Scots (and gay) animator and film-maker, had me searching YouTube again for his work. His short film Neighbours (1952) is very well-known, oft-cited and imitated for its pixillated character movement. No surprise to see it there, then, along with other works such as Boogie Doodle (1941), Fiddle Dee Dee (1947), A Phantasy (1952), Blinkety Blank (1955) and several others.

Less well-known is a favourite film of mine which hadn’t been YouTubed last time I looked but which is now there in two parts, Pas de Deux (1968). This is a black and white film of a simple ballet performance transformed by its presentation to yield something that could only exist on film. Careful lighting, an atmospheric score, judicious use of slow motion and the stunning application of optical printing to multiply and mirror the figures makes one of the best ballet films I’ve ever seen; it was also one of McLaren’s personal favourites among his many films. He used slow motion again for two more dance works, Ballet Adagio (1972) and Narcissus (1983), one of his final films which impresses for its overt homoerotics but is less striking than its predecessor. The only version of the latter on YouTube is this scratch version with the visuals set to more recent music.

Narcissus (1983).

The best way to see McLaren’s incredible films is at a decent resolution, of course, and the National Film Board of Canada have made them available on a seven-DVD box set.

The theatre work mentioned above is Norman by Michel Lemieux and Victor Pilon which is at Macrobert, Stirling, from 17–19 April, 2008 then the Theatre Royal, Brighton from 6–10 May, 2008.

In an improbable act of theatrical alchemy, dancer/choreographer Peter Trosztmer literally inhabits McLaren’s cinematic universe. He dances, weaves, converses and interacts with the animator’s pulsing images and leaping figures, set loose in a riotous ballet of line, light and movement.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Reflections of Narcissus

Untitled (Adrian Kissing) 2007.

The icon of male vanity returns again in a surreptitious form via this photograph by Brandon Herman from a new exhibition, My Vacation with a Kidnapper, which opens today at the Envoy Gallery, NYC, until April 19, 2008. Herman’s photography brings to the surface (so to speak) the homoerotic subtext of the Narcissus myth. Despite the most common rendering of the story being one concerning the romance between Narcissus and Echo, there are other versions:

An important and earlier variation of this tale originates in the region in Greek known as Boeotia (to the north and west of Athens). Narcissus lived in the city of Thespiae. A young man, Ameinias, was in love with Narcissus, but he rejected Ameinias’ love. He grew tired of Ameinias’ affections and sent him a present of a sword. Ameinias killed himself with the sword in front of Narcissus’ door and as he died, he called curses upon Narcissus. One day Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection in a spring and, in desperation, killed himself.

Some earlier (and favourite) artistic representations follow.

Narcissus by Caravaggio (1599).

Narcissus by Adolf Joseph Grass (1867).

Narcissus by Gyula Benczúr (1881).

Echo and Narcissus by John William Waterhouse (1903).

The Metamorphosis of Narcissus by Salvador Dalí (1937).

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The gay artists archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Narcissus

Narcissus by Paul Dubois (1866).

Via a Flickr page of sculpture photography.

Infinity Mirrored Room—Love Forever (1994).

“It is not controversial to describe Yayoi Kusama as Japan’s greatest living artist,” says Hannah Duguid in The Independent. I made a post about Kusama’s artworks in 2006 and now her work is in exhibition at the Victoria Miro gallery, London.

For this exhibition, revered Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama has conceived a new installation Dots Obsession—Infinity Mirrored Room (2008) especially for the upper gallery and in the lower galleries will install 50 new silkscreen works that will be shown alongside two significant sculptural pieces from the early nineties. At Victoria Miro 14 the artist will present a series of new dot paintings and an environmental installation I’m Here, but Nothing (2000-2008). The exhibition will continue outside the gallery where Kusama will install one of her most infamous works, Narcissus Garden in Regents Canal—a work which has never before been exhibited in the UK.

More pictures here. The exhibition runs until 20 March, 2008

Narcissus Garden (1966—2008).

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Maximum Silence by Giancarlo Neri
• The art of Yayoi Kusama
• Atomix by Nike Savvas

Previous posts about gay or homoerotic art or artists.

• The recurrent pose #32

• Le livre blanc by Jean Cocteau

• Michelangelo’s Dream

• Sherbert and Sodomy

• The art of Yannis Tsarouchis, 1910–1989

• Ecce homo

• Joseph Cavalieri’s stained glass

• Eros: From Hesiod’s Theogony to Late Antiquity

• The end of Orpheus

• The art of Robert Sherer

• The art of Goh Mishima, 1924–1989

• The art of Benoit Prévot

• The art of Robert R Bliss, 1925–1981

• The art of Oliver Frey

• The Great God Pan

• Jerry by Paul Cadmus

• The art of Ralf Paschke

• The recurrent pose #26

• The art of Anthony Goicolea

• The art of Philip Shadbolt

• The art of Patrick Gerbier

• The art of Paul Richmond

• The art of Hideki Koh

• The art of Cody Furguson

• Colin Corbett’s decorated jockstraps

• Fizeek Art

• Let’s get physical: Bruce of Los Angeles and Tom of Finland

• Secret Lives of the Samurai

• The art of Cuauhtémoc Rodríguez

• Matthew Bourne’s Dorian Gray

• IKO stained glass

• The art of Nebojsa Zdravkovic

• The art of Jason Driskill

• William Rimmer’s Evening Swan Song

• The art of Norbert Bisky

• The art of Joan Sasgar

• Happy birthday Henry

• Phallic worship

• Saint Sebastian in NYC

• Mark Beard’s artistic circle

• Czanara: The Art & Photographs of Raymond Carrance

• The art of Scott Treleaven

• Reflections of Narcissus

• Narcissus

• Guido Reni’s Saint Sebastian

• The art of Sascha Schneider, 1870–1927

• Anthony Gayton’s Fall

• Hadrian and Greek love

• The art of Sadao Hasegawa, 1945–1999

• Cain’s son: the incarnations of Grendel

• The art of Hernan Gimenez

• AVAF at Mao Mag

• The art of Matthew Stradling

• Men with snakes

• Felix D’Eon

• Obverse Paintings by Fred Chuang

• Les Farfadais

• The art of Takato Yamamoto

• The art of NoBeast

• The art of Andrey Avinoff, 1884–1949

• The art of Jacques Sultana

• Toxicboy

• The South Bank Show: Francis Bacon

• The art of Lucio Bubacco

• The Male Gaze

• The art of ejaculation

• Philip Core and George Quaintance

• The Budweiser Ganymede

• Czanara’s Hermaphrodite Angel

• The art of Giulio Artistide Sartorio, 1860–1932

• The art of Robert Flynt

• February boy

• The art of Peter Colstee

• Images of Nijinsky

• Michael Petry’s flag

• Angels 6: Paradise stands in the shadow of swords

• Angels 3: A diversion

• Angels 1: The Angel of History and sensual metaphysics

• The art of Hubert Stowitts, 1892–1953

• The art of Bill Travis

• Jean-Frédéric Bazille’s swimmers

• The art of Paul Cadmus, 1904–1999

• The Cult of Antinous

• Army Day

• Super-objects!

• View: The Modern Magazine

• Michelangelo revisited

• The art of Thomas Eakins, 1844–1916

• The male nude in art

• Gay book covers

• Marcello Dudovich

• Evolution of an icon

More archive pages:
• The archive page archive

The Innocents.

A great British actress died this week. She was also something of a movie star in the Fifties, rolling in the surf with Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity (1953) and standing up to Yul Brynner in The King and I (1956). Prior to that she starred in two films for Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) (where she played three roles) and Black Narcissus (1947). But for me she’ll always be the (literally) haunted Miss Giddens in The Innocents (1961), Jack Clayton’s superb adaptation of The Turn of the Screw. Still one of the most effective screen ghost stories; try and see it this Halloween.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Freddie Francis, 1917–2007

Bobby Looking Out Shuttered Window from Pink Narcissus, mid- to late 1960s.

Blue Boy from Pink Narcissus (Bobby Kendall), mid- to late 1960s.

James Bidgood’s deliriously rich photographs are currently on exhibition at Clampart in New York, and the show includes stills from his classic film Pink Narcissus. Bidgood discusses his work here. And for those of us not in NYC, there’s a Taschen collection available.

James Bidgood: Photographs from the 1960s
January 4th–February 17th, 2007
Clampart
521–531 West 25th Street
Ground Floor
New York City 10001

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Kenneth Anger on DVD…finally
• Un Chant D’Amour by Jean Genet

Infinity Mirror Room—Love Forever (1966/1994).
Mirror, light bulbs, stainless steel, wood.

Narcissus Garden (1966/2002).
Watermall, 2000 mirror balls.

Fireflies on the Water (2002).
150 lights, mirrors and water.

Infinity Mirror Room, Rain in Early Spring (2002).

Since the late 1950s, Yayoi Kusama has used painting, performance, sculpture, and installation to develop a highly personal formal vocabulary that combines repetitive elements such as net and dot patterns with organic and often eroticized sculptural forms. Her early paintings and collages extend the language of Abstract Expressionism and its concern for allover compositions into an intimate form of gridded space.

By the early 1960s Kusama had begun to produce her Accumulations, everyday objects such as chairs, tables, and clothes densely covered with hand-sewn, phallic protrusions. Around the same time, Kusama began to paint net and dot patterns onto household items, and in 1965 she combined all these elements in the installation Infinity Mirror Room Phalli’s Field (or Floor Show). In Infinity Mirror Room a dense field of polka-dotted phallic protrusions extended from the floor of an enclosed space. The walls of the environment were lined with mirrors, leaving only a small passageway into the center of the installation empty.

For the installation Kusama’s Peep Show (1966), the artist constructed a room whose walls and ceiling were covered with mirrors, while the floor was densely filled with glowing electric lightbulbs in different colors. Two small windows allowed the viewer and Kusama to peer inside.

Continuing her obsessive, almost psychedelic approach, the installations suggest a kaleidoscopic mode of perception, in which interior rooms contain unbound, seemingly endless spaces. By the late 1960s, Kusama began to stage performances, sometimes covering her naked body, or others’ bodies, with patterns.

In the early 1970s, Kusama returned to Tokyo; she voluntarily entered a clinic for the mentally ill, where she has remained ever since. She has continued to produce work at a prolific rate, remarkable in its consistency. Her obsessive arrangements, her often radically eroticized alterations of everyday objects, her fascination with infinity, and the all-encompassing nature of her work have remained at the core of her production.

In her most recent works Kusama continues to create reflective interior environments. Fireflies on the Water (2002) consists of a small room lined with mirrors on all sides, a pool in the center of the space, and 150 small lights hanging from the ceiling, creating a dazzling effect of direct and reflected light, emanating from both the mirrors and the water’s surface. Fireflies embodies an almost hallucinatory approach to reality, while shifting the mood from her earlier, more unsettling installations toward a more ethereal, almost spiritual experience.

More information and pictures at her site.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Atomix by Nike Savvas