French model portraiture-Hyacinthe Rigaud - Wikipedia

A portrait is typically defined as a representation of a specific individual, such as the artist might meet in life. The traditions of portraiture in the West extend back to antiquity and particularly to ancient Greece and Rome, where lifelike depictions of distinguished men and women appeared in sculpture and on coins. After many centuries in which generic representation had been the norm, distinctive portrait likenesses began to reappear in Europe in the fifteenth century. This change reflected a new growth of interest in everyday life and individual identity as well as a revival of Greco-Roman custom. The resurgence of portraiture was thus a significant manifestation of the Renaissance in Europe.

Oliver Cromwell famously demanded that his portrait show "all these roughnesses, pimples, warts, and everything as Skin tight sexy see me, otherwise I will never pay a farthing for it. Sandro BotticelliPiero della FrancescaDomenico GhirlandaioLorenzo di Crediand Leonardo da Vinci and other French model portraiture expanded their technique accordingly, adding portraiture to traditional religious and classical subjects. Essay Between andmany French women painters reached impressive heights of artistic achievement and professional success. The third factor that, in concert with aesthetic and economic concerns, French model portraiture portraiture between and was the changing definition of the self. It has all the gaiety of the silk-mercer's shop without its gaudiness of gloss, and all the softness of old mahogany, without its sadness. Articles from Britannica Encyclopedias for elementary and high school students.

Blowing leaves on sidewalk. Early life and works

RELATED WORDS profilepicturephotograph porfraiture, likenessfigureimagesketchvignettedepictionsnapshotaccountportrayalmodelsilhouettepaintingcharacterizationillustrationrepresentationdrawingdefinition. CannesNiceSt. This began the "fashion portraits", which were prints that depicted the King wearing the notable fashions portraiturd the season. Digital fashion Fashion accessory Fashion matrix Fashion museum Fashion tourism. Say "Howdy" to these Latin phrases. Word Games Word Puzzles Frendh yourself with these word puzzles. Elegant compositions of captivating body parts. Synonyms Example Sentences Learn More about portraiture. It also has many cities and Latin audition with an important history and industry of the entry, with various sized events and shows as fashion weeks and fests. Part of a series on the. Sometimes so revealing they were termed "woven air", many gowns French model portraiture cleavage and were too tight to allow pockets. Ainslee's, Vol. French model portraiture slow-motion jogs through the courtyard, paints his portraitand carves French model portraiture name into portraifure tree. The fashion magazine Elle was founded in

Portrait painting is a genre in painting , where the intent is to represent a specific human subject.

  • Fresh Nudes focused on showcasing tasteful artistic nude pics.
  • These example sentences are selected automatically from various online news sources to reflect current usage of the word 'portraiture.
  • This is not the first exhibit to ever take on selfies, nor the first examination of portraiture.
  • A portrait of him was done once in which the collar point was made to sit in its proper place.
  • Fashion in France is an important aspect in the spectrum of culture and social life, as well as being an important aspect of the economy.

In November , a Parisian mob sacked the house of an unpopular nobleman. Conspicuous among these items are three portraits. The first, seen through a window on the second floor, appears to be a full-length portrait of Louis XVI, judging from the pose and the crown and scepter just visible in the right foreground of the image. One of the looters points to the canvas and doffs his hat. On the floor below, another man holds an oval portrait of a woman.

Finally, a portrait of a prelate with a very noticeable decoration around his neck lies in the courtyard, already damaged by its flight. This depiction of violence and class resentment points to the extraordinary symbolic power of portraiture in revolutionary France. The portraits in this print are part of the furniture of the despised aristocracy, three more candidates for defenestration. But they also symbolize, even more than marquetry furniture or expensive textiles, the political regime with which they are associated.

In , when a constitutional monarchy still seemed possible, the portrait of Louis XVI commands respect, albeit possibly tinged with irony; the looter shows the portrait the deference he would show the sitter, demonstrating the persistent belief that an image is invested with the power and status of the individual it depicts. No one, however, respects or desires the portrait of the clergyman languishing in the courtyard.

It has already been half-destroyed, much like the clerical authority for which it stands. The very vehemence of the reaction to the portraits demonstrates their power to embody not only particular people but also abstractions: aristocratic immorality, clerical corruption, good government.

Its fragmentary title— Projet. Belot, his face brightly lit and isolated against a brushy dark brown background, furrows his brow and gazes upward, as if contemplating the ramifications of the political tract he holds.

Portraiture is both a private and a public art form, speaking specifically about a sitter or sitters but in a language that any viewer can understand. Indeed, the special concerns of portrait making—the memorialization of contemporary life, the conferral of dignity on the individual, and the evocation of bodily and psychological presence—came to dominate the visual culture of the era. Portraiture was central to French culture between and because it grappled with the fundamental problem of revolutionary political ideology—how to make new people for the new France.

The absolute monarchy, and the society of fixed orders and privileged corporate bodies over which it theoretically presided, was replaced with popular sovereignty, in which political authority rests with the people. In order for this regenerated nation to function, the individuals who composed the newly anointed body politic had somehow to be transformed from subjects into citizens, and rendered both free and contributors to the common good.

Portraiture was the mode of representation most sensitive to these issues because it required artist and sitter alike to think through the markers of personal identity and render them legible to viewers. Drolling and Belot responded to this challenge by working within existing portrait conventions. Other portraitists and their clients looked for more dramatic and innovative ways to reconstruct the self in revolutionary terms, developing new modes of portraiture for new social and political circumstances.

The extraordinary resilience and creativity of portraiture over the course of the Revolution is also due to its character as a collaborative art. In order to produce a coherent image, all of these parties must reconcile their ideas about how best to represent physical likeness, character, and social status. This negotiation became particularly fraught after , as traditional social and political hierarchies were dismantled and the structures of personal identity came into question.

French citizens were faced with the task of reformulating the basic elements of selfhood—the structure of the family, the dictates of religion, the relationship between wealth and social status, and the roles of men and women in the new polity.

But portraits show us this process from the bottom up, providing evidence of how a wide range of newly anointed citizens reacted to revolutionary change, and how they adapted their self-images in response to national events.

This book about portraiture as a genre is based on the close analysis of a handful of portraits. But the look and meaning of each particular portrait also depends on the more general material and cultural circumstances of its production. A portrait is shaped by the aesthetic theories and practices of its era; it is usually but not always the product of a transaction between an artist and a paying customer; and it participates in discourses about the self and its relationship to larger sociopolitical categories.

These three domains—the aesthetic, the economic, and the subjective—were closely intertwined during the revolutionary era, and the institutions that shaped each were undergoing dramatic change.

Those expectations were shaped by a very particular set of aesthetic theories promoted by the Academy. Portraiture could claim this relatively elevated rank because it represented the human body. However, its putative lack of narrative complexity and moral import, and above all its status as an imitative rather than an inventive art, undermined its prestige. Portraiture was, moreover, associated with the vanity and ambitions of its sitters, and portraitists were often stigmatized as base flatterers.

The rise of professional art criticism in the middle of the eighteenth century gave new impetus to the condemnation of portraiture.

However, he was willing to make an exception for portraits of kings, ministers, generals, famous authors, and other people whose visages could recall for their viewers some shared notion of talent or merit.

Indeed, likenesses of the royal family and of great men of France were promoted by the Academy and critics alike as the one form of portraiture capable of inspiring noble sentiments in their viewers, even as portraits of less exalted figures were condemned as socially or aesthetically offensive.

When the Revolution opened the Salon to all artists rather than just academicians , the number of portraits in the public exhibition rose precipitously, and the critics protested in much the same terms as La Font de Saint-Yenne had nearly fifty years earlier.

Now, however, portraiture had new advocates. Other critics defended portraiture in more explicitly political terms. It is in a Republic that the images of the hero, the useful man, the estimable woman are greeted with respect: from a moral and political point of view, the genre of the portrait should be elevated.

No longer could the critic sneer about the obscurity of the sitters whose portraits hung in the Salon. In a republic, Chaussard implied, every individual was potentially significant by virtue of his or her citizenship. Each portrait, therefore, was the bearer of political and moral meaning. Chaussard went on to claim that portraiture could aspire to the status of history painting on formal as well as ideological grounds, thus countering the traditional allegations that portraiture was merely an imitative art.

Indeed, other critics who were just as enthusiastic about dignifying the genre argued that portraitists, in order to excel, ought to avoid crossing the line between history painting and portraiture. Artists and sitters themselves were eager to experiment with composition and pose, and some practitioners overtly aimed at creating portraits that looked like history paintings.

But whether or not revolutionary portraits took on the formal qualities of the noblest genre, they were increasingly called upon to shoulder the burdens of moral exemplarity and ideological import that had once belonged to history painting. The story of how portraiture became so central to the revolutionary art world, and to the rethinking of self and society, moves beyond familiar narratives about history painting and its struggles to adapt its traditional vocabulary to new subjects and political exigencies.

His work convincingly places portraiture at the center of revolutionary aesthetic discourses, stressing the elevation of the portrait to the status of public art. Moreover, any assessment of the strategies and impact of revolutionary portraits must account for the collaborative nature of the portrait process. My analysis of these portraits takes into account the aesthetic framework provided by the academic tradition, but it also places revolutionary portraiture in the context of a thriving and thoroughly commercial art market.

Portraiture—indeed, all art production in France—had been shaped by market forces since at least the seventeenth century. The Revolution did not mark a sharp break with the basic dynamics of earlier portrait production. But the political and social upheaval that accompanied it served to amplify the portrait market—probably in terms of the quantity of portraits produced, and certainly in terms of the ideological weight those portraits were meant to carry. Moreover, the collapse of the Academy and the breakdown in the official hierarchy of genres after made the role of money, and the patrons who spread it around, more visible.

The look and meaning of revolutionary portraits were determined by market conditions as much as by aesthetic and critical discourses, if not more so. By mapping the portrait market and examining how its mechanics affected the images it generated, we can better grasp the importance of portraiture to the history of revolutionary art, and to the articulation of the revolutionary self. From the initial conception of the image to its display and reception, the portrait process was marked by the preconceptions and demands of at least three, if not four, distinct parties: the artist, the commissioner, the sitter s , and the viewer.

The best-documented actors in the portrait market are the artists themselves; we can reconstruct the material conditions of their practice and their strategies of self-promotion.

The identity and behavior of the clients are more difficult to pin down. However, through evidence provided by correspondence and memoirs, we can begin to understand what kinds of people commissioned portraits, and how they made the decisions that shaped the final image.

Display and reception can of course be studied in the context of the Salon and other public exhibition spaces. Moreover, the display of portraits was rarely static; they were given as gifts, recirculated as copies, and reproduced as prints. Even portraits destined for domestic settings had a public life. The permeable boundaries between private and public space in early modern Europe were further eroded by revolutionary insistence on transparency between the lives of citizens and the larger community, and many portraits that were never intended to hang on the Salon walls nonetheless invoked contemporary aesthetic and political discourses.

The third factor that, in concert with aesthetic and economic concerns, shaped portraiture between and was the changing definition of the self. In revolutionary France, as in other cultures and eras in which portraiture was valued, a portrait defined and represented the self in a variety of ways: it recorded physical likeness, asserted social status, reinforced gender hierarchies, affirmed kinship ties, and preserved the memory of the sitter for posterity. In the extraordinary circumstances of the Revolution, portraits also made the abstract principles of a fragile new social and political order concrete and visible.

The Revolution began by vesting sovereignty in the people and eroding the authority of the king. Within a few years, the monarchy had been abolished and political legitimacy transferred entirely to the people and their legislators.

This radical transformation of the nature of sovereignty was accompanied by a revolution in the structures of personal identity. The nobility was dismantled, the Catholic Church was forced to give up its property and prerogatives, and new laws legalized divorce and undermined paternal authority. I take as a model T. That quest shaped the thousands of portraits produced by artists and sitters who were also trying to reformulate the self for the Revolution.

The choices made by particular artists and clients in the course of the commission can be difficult to recover. However, my re-creation of the general circumstances of portrait production allows us to read particular images against revolutionary ideas of personal, social, and political identity.

The result, I hope, is a rich and historically responsible analysis of the visual language of revolutionary portraiture that allows us to see the portraits for what they were and are: sometimes confused, sometimes belligerent, sometimes touching arguments about the revolutionary self, in which the voices of the artist and the sitter merge with those of their fellow citizens in an eloquent cacophony.

Of the many thousands of revolutionary portraits produced between and , I have chosen a handful as case studies. The choice inevitably involved more or less defensible exclusions.

My case studies include oil paintings and prints but give short shrift to sculptures and miniatures. Sculpted portraits were expensive, time-consuming, and relatively rare during the years of the Revolution; they appear only in passing in this book.

Miniatures, by contrast, were relatively cheap and very common. They feature as supporting actors in many of my case studies, but I do not provide a sustained argument about the medium and its particularities. My study of painting and printmaking is itself necessarily partial. This gendering of politics in portraiture extends, at least in part, to female artists. Although the Revolution saw a dramatic leap in the number of female portraitists, they are underrepresented among the portraits I analyze here—possibly because sitters felt that male artists were better suited to making arguments about new political definitions of the self.

Finally, the work of David, the most thoroughly studied of all revolutionary artists, figures here largely as a foil to portraits by other artists. This is not because David did not produce important portraits between and —he certainly did—but because his paintings and drawings occupied only a small if exalted corner of the larger portraiture market. Those portraits have been discussed, often brilliantly, by many scholars. Instead of aspiring to exhaustiveness, I have emphasized important modes of portraiture and made my argument about their place in revolutionary political culture through specific works, situating these case studies against a larger analysis of the portrait market.

My discussion of portraiture begins with the portrait process and its role in the development of revolutionary selfhood. Chapter 1 places the practice of portraiture at the crossroads between two new concepts of identity: the regenerated citizen and the self as consumer. Revolutionary ideas about selfhood and political agency intersected with, and were amplified by, a thriving portrait market. The subsequent chapters explore five different modes of revolutionary portraiture. The chronological narrative begins with chapter 2, which introduces the problem of political portraiture by analyzing a —91 series of print portraits of the deputies to the National Assembly.

Chapter 3 considers the phenomenon of the National Guard portrait, an image type that proliferated between and

He works with Met-art. They largely went unchallenged by authorities, however, as long as they portrayed the King in a positive light. This began the "fashion portraits", which were prints that depicted the King wearing the notable fashions of the season. In the s, Louis began to be shown as a Roman emperor, the god Apollo , or Alexander the Great , as can be seen in many works of Charles Le Brun , such as sculpture, paintings, and the decor of major monuments. He has participated in several nude photo exhibitions in St.

French model portraiture. List of Professional photographers on Freshnudes


J.-A.-D. Ingres | French painter |

Ingres , in full Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres , born August 29, , Montauban , France—died January 14, , Paris , painter and icon of cultural conservatism in 19th-century France. Ingres became the principal proponent of French Neoclassical painting after the death of his mentor, Jacques-Louis David. His cool, meticulously drawn works constituted the stylistic antithesis of the emotionalism and colourism of the contemporary Romantic school. As a monumental history painter, Ingres sought to perpetuate the Classical tradition of Raphael and Nicolas Poussin.

The spatial and anatomical distortions that characterize his portraits and nudes, however, anticipate many of the most audacious formal experiments of 20th-century Modernism.

Ingres received his first artistic instruction from his father, Jean-Marie-Joseph Ingres, an artistic jack-of-all-trades of modest talent but considerable professional and social pretensions. In he set out for Paris , where he entered the studio of David, the most celebrated artist in France.

He began to distinguish himself as a portraitist, and in he fulfilled his first official commission in this genre , Bonaparte as First Consul.

Two years later he attracted public attention with a display of several portraits at the Salon , the official state exhibition of contemporary art. It was, however, the monumental portrait Napoleon I on His Imperial Throne that proved the most controversial. The stiffness and flat frontality of this imposing effigy were derived from medieval and Byzantine prototypes , while its meticulous detailing and unrelenting surface realism recalled 15th-century Flemish masters.

Shortly before the opening of the fateful Salon, Ingres finally set off for Italy , where he continued to follow his own artistic impulses. He also received occasional commissions in the more prestigious genre of history painting. This period of relative prosperity ended abruptly in , with the fall of the Napoleonic empire and the French evacuation of Rome. Opting to remain in Italy, Ingres became desperate for work and resorted to executing small-scale portrait drawings of English and other tourists.

These drawings are characterized by an almost uncanny control of delicate yet firm line, an inventiveness in posing sitters so as to reveal personality through gesture, and an impressive capacity to record an exact likeness. Throughout his life, despite his supreme gifts as a portraitist, the artist professed to disdain portraiture and strove instead to establish his credentials as a creator of grand history paintings. Commissions for monumental paintings were rare, so Ingres contented himself with work on a more restrained scale.

When exhibited at the Salon, such canvases only fueled the attacks of critics, who continued to portray Ingres as a kind of savage intent on taking art back to its infancy.

The outrageous elongation of her back—one critic famously quipped that she had three vertebrae too many—together with her wildly expanded buttocks and rubbery, boneless right arm constitute a being that could exist only in the erotic imagination of the artist.

Despite the controversy surrounding his nudes, Ingres finally began to turn the critical tide in his favour when he gained recognition as a religious painter. The artist, who moved from Rome to Florence in , adopted a more conventional Classicizing style based directly on the example of his hero, Raphael, in Christ Giving the Keys to Saint Peter , and then again in The Vow of Louis XIII , a blatant piece of pro-Bourbon propaganda celebrating the union of church and state.

Thus, in the span of a single exhibition, he went from being one of the most vilified artists in France to one of the most celebrated. In he opened a teaching studio, which quickly became one of the largest and most important in Paris. Two years later, at the Salon of , Ingres exhibited his most ambitious history painting to date, The Apotheosis of Homer. A kind of pan-historical group portrait of cultural luminaries influenced by Homer , this picture came to function as a manifesto for the increasingly embattled Neoclassical aesthetic.

It also helped establish Ingres as a standard-bearer of cultural conservatism. Critics saw that he was defending the tenets of the waning tradition of French academic Classicism: namely, an unwavering faith in the authority of the ancients, an insistence upon the superiority of drawing over colour, and a commitment to the idealization as opposed to the mere replication of nature.

Delacroix advocated the use of often violent, Byronic subject matter as well as sensuous, rich colour. The tension between advocates of Classicism and Romanticism would heighten over the following decades. In he produced the Portrait of Monsieur Bertin , a pictorial paean to the tenacity of the newly empowered middle class.

By this time, however, the artist had begun to be accused of artistic imperialism—of attempting to impose his personal style on the entire French school of painting. Such charges dominated the critical discourse in , when Ingres exhibited the Martyrdom of Saint-Symphorien at the Salon. Deeply wounded by the lack of universal approbation , the notoriously hypersensitive artist announced that he intended never again to exhibit at the Salon.

During his six-year stint there, he completed only three major canvases: the so-called Virgin with the Host , Odalisque with Slave , and Antiochus and Stratonice Encouraged by this success, in Ingres made a triumphant return to Paris, where he dined with the king and was publicly feted at a banquet attended by more than political and cultural dignitaries. Article Media. Info Print Print. Table Of Contents.

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Early life and works Ingres received his first artistic instruction from his father, Jean-Marie-Joseph Ingres, an artistic jack-of-all-trades of modest talent but considerable professional and social pretensions. Facts Matter. Start Your Free Trial Today. Load Next Page. More About. Articles from Britannica Encyclopedias for elementary and high school students.