“Hé! Hé! Malgré le malheur des temps, nous causerons peinture!”
One of those unforgettable, perfect stories on the purpose of art and literature!
Written by the master storyteller Balzac in the first half of the 19th century, recapturing a century of wild debates on the question: “What is art? And what is the role of the artist?”, it somehow offers a conclusion to the classical era and prophetically opens up the discussion that will dominate the century to come: should an artist be a Pygmalion, trying to make paints and canvas, or marble, come alive? Or is a piece of art something entirely different?
“La mission de l’art n’est pas de copier la nature mais de l’exprimer!”
This is a modernist take on the role of the artist, already leaving behind the “Querelle du dessin et des couleurs” which put Rubens and his school in one corner, and Poussin, who participates in the action of this short story, in the other. All of a sudden, the subjective ideas of the painter or sculptor gain dominance over the presumably objective rules of specific schools. Art and passion are interchangeable, model and painting belong to the same realm, thus turning Pygmalion’s process into its opposite: humans turn into art, rather than art into living and breathing women:
“Cette femme n’est pas une créature, c’est une création!”
Who decides what is art? Who decides if a work is a masterpiece or an act of self-destruction?
With the shifting of focus in the 19th century from a social, political function of art in the public sphere to a way of expressing either inner or outer life as interpreted through the artist-creator, something is set in motion that leads to the decomposition of traditional means of artistic expression at the beginning of the 20th century.
Balzac shows the first new, insecure, worried questions, arising at the moment in time when Rubenistes and Poussinistes seem to have made all the points they were capable of, over and and over again. When generations of painters in the styles of Boucher or David, Ingres or Delacroix have shown mastery in “dessin” and “coloris”, but still find no definitive answer to the nagging, devilish question:
“But is it Art?”
That is the question that recurs without answer in Kipling’s poem “The Conundrum of The Workshops”, written at the end of the process that starts with Balzac’s “Chef d’Oeuvre Inconnu”, when cubism and surrealism illustrated that the boundaries of art had been changed forever:
"When the flush of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"
Human beings try, and try, but whenever they create something new, the doubt of the devil’s voice rings in their ears:
“They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?"
...
“And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?"
...
“And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart,
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?"
...
“We know that the tail must wag the dog, as the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?"
We are still waiting for the answer to the question, and each individual is left to judge for him- or herself. Balzac’s questioning artist despaired and destroyed his work in the effort to put everything he was capable of into it. In the end, only a trace of perfection was still visible in a beautifully rendered foot in the middle of chaotic lines and colours.
It’s pretty, but is it Art?
Yes, most definitely. Balzac’s short story is a work of art, a journey into the modern artist’s psyche in the making. And a pleasurable joyride to a time of change, when art was about to be redefined, and into the minds of creative people, and their driving forces!
Must-read for lovers of art and literature!