Exhibition review Ongoing exhibitions Paris

Misery and Splendour: Images of prostitution 1850-1910 at the Musée d’Orsay

Opening Misery and Splendour: Images of prostition, 1850-1910 not so long after a large exhibition on the artistic influence of the Marquis de Sade could inspire accusations of the Musée d’Orsay creating provocating subject-matter to draw in the crowds. Yet this seems hasty: I’m actually surprised such a display was not shown sooner. Indeed, the theme runs through much of 19th century and 20th century art, and was an enduring subject of fascination and creativity for artists that could hardly be ignored. This display’s aim was, to cast a light not only upon the artistic figure of the turn-of-the century prostitute but also hopefully who she truly was in all her different incarnations behind the stereotypical froufrous and cabaret imagery usually associated in some tourists’ minds to Pigalle and the Moulin Rouge, a kind of sexy-whimsy image of Paris as a city of pleasures with all the seedy bits cut out. My great concern was this: was the exhibition going to go in that glossy direction or truly veer into more in-depth social analysis? The result was an experimental, sometimes irregular but ultimately efficient mingling of both.

The display starts with prostitution within the street and as an activity which was more or less ambiguously associated with certain professions in which women not making enough money had to illegally provide for themselves on the side (This is, for instance, what Fantine was accused of in Les Misérables.). The vision of the woman both visually alluring and bleakly resolute mingles with a city transforming, creating new experimentation in lighting and colour. The tone is sometimes melancholic, sometimes bawdy and tongue-in-cheek like just another manifestation of the Parisian nightlife with its iconic cabarets: suggestive but not too vulgar, racy but not explicit. The safe, flirty nature of these depictions were already stirring some concerns in me about how serious this exhibition would actually be on the subject, or remain in the realm of pure fantasy. However, the suggestive waiting at street corners and flirting in bars is already confronted by different kinds of images: the danger confronting the woman selling herself on the street to anyone without protection of safety, in Béraud’s L’Attente. When the scene shifts to opera and ballet the mood darkens surprisingly. Once you notice in Degas’ pastel the man looming in the background behind the graceful ballerina, her regular client and “patron” (the only way these impoverished young  girls could ever have a future in dancing), the context changes drastically, mingling the aesthetic with jarring allusions.

08. Degas_Ballet

Edgar Degas (1834-1917), Ballet (L’Étoile), vers 4876 Pastel, 58,4 x 42 cm, Paris, musée d’Orsay © Musée d’Orsay, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais / Patrice S


The exhibition moves on to the world of Second Empire prostitution that we know probably best through Toulouse-Lautrec’s pastels: the brothels themselves and the women who lived and worked there. And as expected, a immense, comprehensive collection of them are assembled, showing the every-day life and inner workings of the trade, either “behind the scenes” or while encountering their clients. These works are detached yet sensitive, vivid accounts that do not only document but allow to capture the lives and personalities of the women, rather than reducing them to simple models. They provide a good counterpart to Constantin Guys’ depictions, which are more like little genre scenes or narrative illustrations in their own right. The romanticization of earlier rooms is gone in favour of observation and documentation with a distinct sense of emphathy.
17. Toulouse-Lautrec_Dans le lit

Henri de Toulouse Lautrec (1864-1901), Dans le lit, 1892, Huile sur carton marouflé sur bois parqueté, 53,5 x 70 cm, Paris, musée d’Orsay © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) / Hervé Lewandow

With these images, historical artefacts are also shown now for the first time, ranging from buisness cards to small whips or hygienic tools, adding an element of reality and of the prosaic. Another element is introduced as a literal side room, forbidden to people under 18 (superfluous in an exhibition about prostitution…?). We usually know of early photography as awkward portraiture or daring experiments but it seemed inevitable that it would provide the opportunity for the first clandestine pornographic albums. Some of these are presented in little peepholes in order to further accentuate the sense of voyeurism.  The erotic, slightly cheesecake pinup photography (at least by today’s standards) is followed by darker material, or at the very least a lot more intentionally bleak than what we have seen so far, where artists seem interested in the prostitute’s daily life and her role amongst a society where people of all social classes use their services.

The next rooms show the way in which legal prostitutes in brothels, registered with the police and made to undertake regular medical examination, were tolerated as a “neccessary evil” to a growing male population. But they have their counterparts: the “non-submissive girls” as they were called by the police, operating illegally and living in constant danger of the police raids that could have them arrested and detained, as well as abuse. There are arresting sketches and paintings of these instances, as well as historical documentation, even popular songs reminiscing on these events and the dangers of venereal disease. It is another chilling reminder that sex workers’ protection and health only really appear to matter as long as their clients cannot be affected by it. It’s also interesting to note that there is a mention of the feminist movement’s pledge and success in the abolition of brothels in 1946, but not focused on the rights of sex workers themselves (which is still, incidentally, a very contemporary issue). The corner devoted to historical documentation of these matters is large but not reinforced by a great amount of painting: it is not quite clear whether or not there was a lack of artists willing to depict such uncomfortable scenes or to which extent the theme was meant to be short in order to spare the visitor.

The subject then veers to the luxurious and the aristocratic with another aspect of prostitution in danger of feeling quite romanticized: the demi-mondaines, seducing and living off rich and powerful men, starting out as actresses and singers and achieving a certain celebrity status. The paintings are decorations and commissioned portraits for these women, sculptures such as the one of “La Belle Otéro” or once again romanticized portrayals of a life of vice and luxury. These are followed by various iconic paintings around the same theme, including Manet’s Olympia, one of the only paintings whose stark realism seems to strip away the lustre of the courtesan, that appears for instance as some kind of Greek goddess in ‘Rolla’.

20. Gervex_Rolla

Henri Gervex (1852-1929), Rolla, 1878, oil on canvas, 175 x 220 cm, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Bordeaux, dépôt du musée d’Orsay © Musée d’Orsay, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais / Patrice S

We then discover imagined depictions of the prostitute this time as an allegorical figure in fantastical scenes, ironically seem often closer to showing all her nuances. Munch’s Alley in which a young naked figure is surrounded by menacing, suit-bearing men, shows once more the menace and horror of prostitution, of a woman given no choice in a world of men. It was interesting to see that most of these depictions focused on the prostitute’s role as one that encapsulated the evil in her potential clients, rather than condemning her own depravity. Béraud adds a contemporary twist to the biblical scene in which the prostitute Marie-Madeleine cries and washes Christ’s feet, as he condemns the men around her who seem to condemn her but would hypocritically be the first to visit her in a brothel.

26. B+®raud_La Madeleine chez le Pharisien

Jean Béraud (1849-1935) La Madeleine chez le Pharisien, 1891, oil on canvas, 95,5 x 127 cm, Paris, musée d’Orsay © RMN-Grand Palais (musée d’Orsay) / Hervé Lewandow

The final room ends with the depiction of the prostitute in modernism, the advent of new techniques and ways of seeing, in a vast room mingling different genres and visions – perhaps too much so, from André Derain to de Vlaminck, Munch and Picasso. They depict the way in which the world was turned over its head, vibrant and violent, but also quite distinctly the way in which the prostitute became not a subject of genre scenes or moralizing pictures, but a model in her own right. The fact that this was a large room at the end of a very, very large exhibition, sadly, does not do justice to the works that it exhibits. I think it is quite telling that I did have to go two times in order to take everything in, which not everyone has the time to do!

The scenography was elaborated by Robert Carsen, who usually belongs to the world of theater sets. The decision for this decidedly dramatic backdrop is slightly unnerving: it starts with warm tones dealing with the street life of prostitution, then deep red and a plush, boudoir feel accompany the next rooms concerning brothel scenes. It conveys effectively the message of performance and showmanship behind the first portrayals of prostitution in all its forms but its attempt to “recreate” the atmosphere of a brothel’s lounge undermined the sense of intimacy of Toulouse-Laurec’s depictions in the same room. When the display then adopts darker tones for the visually uglier undertones of the trade, such as the room on raids by the police and disease it seems suited and then veers between dark red and grey for the dark romantic visions of the time. It then finished with a vivid, violent red in the final room devoted to avant-garde visions of the prostitutes. There is something to be said about imitating without reconstructing that atmosphere but it sometimes distracted from the works themselves and the nuance within them.

This is a necessary and fantastically diverse exhibition in terms of imagery and subject-matter and if I returned a second time, it was also in order to focus more closely on certain fascinating aspects. I felt, however, that the exhibition would have been complex and would have done the sum of its parts so much more justice in terms of balance, had it focused a bit more on the misery in comparison to the splendour, with maybe more social history and context. I did not only want to know how these women were depicted, I wanted  to know who they were, and more about their work conditions and rights. There are also a few gaps in my opinion, concerning a viewpoint from either side that is not purely heterosexual (what about all these fellow prostitutes dancing and sleeping together in Toulouse-Lautrec’s paintings? And what about homosexual clients? Were they able to go to dedicated brothels? Were there any covert, clandestine depictions or traces of male prostitutes?).

However, I believe it still succeeded in crystallizing these issues in ways that delved into many different facets, both aesthetic and social, but never with a sense of gratuitous voyeurism or polemic. If some visitors maybe came to ogle in the first place, they perhaps left with more sobering thoughts than they were expecting, and any sense of drawing in through provocation was justified in my eyes if it allowed to explore such a subject without titillation or judgement. An entire cycle of performances, conferences and screenings around the subject of prostitution was also put on by the museum, allowing to round off issues that could not be explored in the display. When I next visit the Musée d’Orsay and any museum of 19th century art, I will spare a thought not only for the nuanced image of the prostitute but also of all the real prostitutes of the Second Empire who fascinated society but were hypocritically condemned by it, whose life was carefully either observed or romanticized by artists and whose legacy prevails today in our collective imagination.


Exhibition review Ongoing exhibitions Paris Uncategorized

Beauté Congo Kitoko at Fondation Cartier

If I had to be quizzed about artists from the Democratic Republic of Congo a few months ago, I would have to admit that I would not have been able to list many off the top of my head. On a wider level, the lack of exposure of arists from the African continent in terms of international exhibitions and collection displays is an issue that must be acknowledged and confronted. Nevertheless the tide is changing in the art market, with a significant amount of African art fairs and opportunities for artists from Africa emerging which still need to make their way to museums and exhibition spaces. This is precisely Fondation Cartier’s aim with Beauté Congo Kitoko, the first and long-overdue presentation of a selection of Congolese art from 1926 to 2015.


Chéri Samba, La vraie carte du monde, 2011, acrylic and glitter on canvas, collection of the Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain, photo (c) Florian Kleinefen, (c) Chéri Samba

The display starts at the ground level of the Fondation Cartier, with its luminous glass walls allowing full appreciation of some of the iconic painters of Congolese art from the 90s onwards, such as Chéri Samba, the leader in popular painting and the first to incorporate text in his works as well as his own image, like a succession of surrealist and omnipresent self-portraits. This smooth, realistic and colourful paintings are comments on society and politics, somewhere between a mural and a comic – appropriate for the traditional custom in Kinasha to display paintings outside the artist’s studio, open to the street. Cheik Ledy addresses the issues behind immigration, malaria and contemporary art, while Pierre Bodo uses a fantastical, festive style to describe “La Sape”, the iconic and showy fashion of the young Congolese scene. Meanwhile, Chérin Chérin calls out political corruption and Monsengo Shula imagines an utopian space. Political opinions and severe criticism on a country recovering from its colonial past seems to go hand in hand with bright colours and an optimistic vision of the future…however it is a brightness that does not sugarcoat the issues at hand, instead portraying the hopes and aspirations of a country with the complexity and ambiguity they deserve.

Monsengo Shula, Ata Ndele Mokili Ekobaluka (tôt ou tard le monde changera), 2014, acrylic and glitter on canvas, Private collection, (c) Monsengo Shula, photo (c) Florian Kleinefen

The liveliness of the works is all the more striking since they are not accompanied by quiet contemplation. Indeed, this exhibition ‘s main strength and particularity was the incorporation within its display of something I am extremely enthusiastic about: music to go along with the works. Even better, rather than a single; looping playlist for the entire display, these are different playlists of Congolese music for every single part of the exhibition, which relate closely to the works in terms of subject-matter, style or simply inspiration. Placed to the side, under a small acoustic roof, this allows you to sit down and listen more closely, also viewing lyrics and the particular context or curatorial intent behind a song, or to walk around the display with a music which seems to give contemplation a particular life and rythm. The selection and correspondence between image and sound was perfect and only strengthened the vibrant and diverse works present. I discovered not only new artists but also new musicians! However, quite frustratingly, there was no CD compiling all this music on sale, due to copyright issues…as though to remedy to this, Fondation Cartier invited the pan-African news station Chimurenga to install their web radio Pan African Space Station to take control of the exhibition space with interventions, concerts and performances in September.

The way the music was presented

Veering into the second ground floor room the visitor is greeted with a selection of contemporary photographs, works on paper and comics – a hugely important part of the cultural scene and nowhere than in France, huge lover of the bande dessinnée, could they be more appreciated. However this time, most of the text on the comics covers is in Congolese rather than French and although that in itself seems pretty obvious, it was surprising not to have any translations provided, or some way of leafing through a facsimile. However Fondation Cartier has provided a creative way of allowing its visitors to read through a story, by collaborating with Papa Mfumu’eto 1er, who frequently releases a new comic on the Facebook page introducing us to everyday life in Congo from his perspective.


Descending to the underground level opens up a far wider, opens space which reveals the futuristic structures of Bodys Isek Kingelez and Robert Nimi, made from a variety of materials and meant to be proposals for a bright, exciting future of expansion and urban wonder. They are surrounded with earlier examples of artist’s relation to new urban spaces and people, such as Moke’s depictions of boxers and nightlife, creating the ideal counterpart to Jean Depara’s black and white photographs from the 50s and 60s capturing people in snapshots that are sometimes spontaneous, sometimes theatrical and often a mix of both, with  a diversity of humor, sharpness and social insight.


Moke, Kin Oyé, 1983, oil on canvas, private collection, paris, (c) Moke, photo (c) André Morin
Jean Depara, Untitled (Moziki), c. 1955-65, gelatin silver print, CAAC – The Pigozzi Collection, Geneva, (c) Jean Depara, photo (c) André Morin

It is only after arriving at the end of this vast panorama that the visitor is invited to move even further back into time, through small, quieter corridors which explore 1920s artists and their use of abstraction, patterns and expressionism merging with a relentlessly figurative way of depicting the world. The delicacy of Antoinette Lubaki’s watercolours, the intricacy of Pilipili Mulongoy’s animals in gouache, oil and pastel works on paper and Mwenze Kibwanga’s enigmatic figures in oil on paper and many others, all in usually small formats using paper or panel, create a Congolese avant-garde whose creativity in technique and figurative art will create a strong precedent for all the works we have seen before. Even though the chronology may seem bizarre and slightly confusing at time, slowly unfurling this Congolese contemporary and modern art history in all its diversity is worth it.

Pili Pili_04_HD
Pili Pili Mulongoy, Untitled, undated, oil on paper, Collection Pierre Loos, Brussels, (c) Pili Pili Mulongoy, photo (c) André Morin


It is rare to emerge from an exhibition where I hardly knew a single artist or anything about the country’s cultural background and feel so utterly convinced and enthralled by what I have found out. The exhibition was obviously curated with a passionate drive and intelligence which allowed it to draw in its visitor and keep a good rythm and interest going within a relatively short display. André Magnin, the exhibition curator, has been championing artists from the Democratic Republic of Congo for decades now, and it shows through in the best way possible – a vision of the country’s artistic heritage which pushes the visitor to leave and discover more. Furthermore, the Fondation Cartier is good at creating additional events and documentation around its exhibitions which only further enrich the experience for visitors and allows to “follow” the exhibition right until the end. The best news in all of this is that the dedication in showing works almost completely unknown to the French general public paid off: the exhibition is such a success that it has been extended until the 10th of January. Hopefully, museums cautious about exhibiting exhibitions exclusively devoted to artists from African countries shall take note.

Antoinette Lubaki, Untitled, watercolour on paper, Collection Pierre Loos, Brussels, (c) Antoinette Lubaki, photo (c) Michael De Plaen
Exhibition review Ongoing exhibitions Paris

Tatoueurs, Tatoués at Musée Quai Branly

Tattoos have had tumultuous and multi-faceted histories as objects of admiration or contempt. From a symbol of pride and honour in many civilizations, a brand of shame and criminality in others, the tattoo is now seen as a globalized aesthetic trend while retaining some of this “mysterious” edge and ambiguity. Popular but still largely alternative, accepted socially yet still refused in most office environnments, there is still a great deal of fascination and ambivalence around it, which the Tatoueurs, Tatoués exhibition attempts to explore.

Tattoos encompass a huge aspect of so many societies around the world that attempting to retrace its roots and evolution up until contemporary practices could seem more than a little ambitious and hefty. However, rather than forming a large academic monolith of information, this exhibition retained an easygoing, lively approach which was, however, often a bit too light explanation-wise, compared to the amount of visual content it packed in. The first particularity of this exhibition is that it is conceived by two guest curators, Anne & Julien, first and foremost art editors and galerists, tatooed enthusiasts mainly in touch with contemporary art world. Their artistic consultant is the famous French tattoo artist Tin-Tin, who is also president of the national syndicate of tattoo artists in France. A refreshing trio, backed by the scientific and scenographic know-how of the Quai Branly, or a risky choice?

The exhibition kicks off with a rather macabre selection of tattoos on dried-up human skin, remnants of colonialist discoveries of tattooing practices, which were actively repressed in African and Oceanian cultures while this trend travelled through sailors and travellers, winding up as a marginalized tradition in Europe. These are complemented by various other objects – the first tattooing tools, stamps and images, such as this 18th century stamp from Jerusalem, representing the ressurection of Christ.

© musée du quai Branly, photo Thierry Ollivier, Michel Urtado
© musée du quai Branly, photo Thierry Ollivier, Michel Urtado

By the 19th century, tattoos in Europe and the US were dubbed as a visual marker for prison environments, circuses and prostitution – whether intentionally or not. The portrait of an Algerian woman bearing her tattoos with pride stares back at us, below, as we learn that the French governement chose to “interpret” these symbols of honour as those of a marginal and of a prostitute. Much is to be said about the destruction of a tradition and the racist aspect of this vilified and exotifying reappropriation of tattoos – but this is often skipped in favour of the strange kitsch imagery that prison archives such as the Recueil Lacassagne have left behind.

Images provenant du Recueil Lacassagne
© Gdalessandro/ENSP

The notion of tattoos emerge as a record of personal, bodily experiences while still remaining linked to a community and its rituals. Pain is as much a part of the process that the image itself, if not more. In fact, for the most part early prison tattoos were not concerned with aesthetics. They are shamelessly  ugly and crude, as prisoners use their torsoes, backs and arms as organic pages for dry mottos and ‘postcards’ (usually a portrait of a woman with ‘Souvenir d’Afrique’ stamped above) or political caricatures. The cold and objective police and military archives become portraiture and paint a humorous, jarring, often poignant range of experiences and insights.

Copyright: © musée du quai Branly, photo Gautier Deblonde Photographe: Gautier Deblonde
Copyright: © musée du quai Branly, photo Gautier Deblonde
Photographe: Gautier Deblonde

The ‘freak show’ nature of the fully tattooed man and the aura of danger he exudes for the audience becomes an integral part of circus culture at the beginning of the 20th century, which is explored both through photographs and recent footage of current circus performers or models such as the Lizard Man or Rick Genest aka Zombie Boy. Another characteristic shared by circuses is the myth of the travelling tattoo artist, allowing for new influences and images added to his portfolio – like this 19th century Egyptian paravent “advertising” a travelling tattoo artist’s range of image-making.

Paravent, répertoire de tatoueur
Paravent, tattoo repertory, Egypt Copyright: © musée du quai Branly, photo Claude Germain Photographe: Claude Germain

Then again, this “renaissance” of tattooing and its increasing popularity is counterbalanced by the loss of specific traditions and rituals for a more globalized, “americanized” vision. The exhibition is good at showing the ambiguity between a European tradition that has absorbed others and the persistance of tattoo cultures specific to a country or tribe.

Copyright: © Jake Verzosa Mentions obligatoires: Collection de l'Artiste Photographe: Jake Verzosa
Last Kalinga tattooed woman, Phillippines, 2011 Copyright: © Jake Verzosa
Mentions obligatoires: Collection de l’Artiste Photographe: Jake Verzosa

These historical and geographical snippets, mostly shown through tattoo-decked portrait photography and a few compelling artefacts lead us through small corridors that create a complex maze of different countries and issues – from circuses and North American tattooing I stumble upon the evolving Japanese tradition of the irezumi full body tattoo – from a means of ornamentation in 17th century Japan to a means of punishment to a symbol of pride for yakuza…back to a trend cautiously creeping back despite a persistent gang-related taboo. Strangely enough, these tattoos extending from the wrists and neck to the ankles are not only stunning compared to their early European counterparts but also concerned with either heroic themes or symbols drawn from nature and spirituality. What do they mean? How did they vary? Unfortunately, these questions remain unanswered: like most of the traditional tattoos in the exhibition, any explanation of precise symbols and iconography is lost on the visitor.

MQB. Exposition anthropologique :
Copyright: © musée du quai Branly, photo Gautier Deblonde Photographe: Gautier Deblonde

Instead, each winding twist and turn of the exhibition as it explores every corner of the globe – from New Zealand’s moko to fine line latino tattooing or Polynesian traditions is paired with a contemporary reinterpretation of this tradition, by a practising tattoo artist, using torsoes, arms and legs covered in a synthetic ‘skin’. After the initial gruesomeness of this display – disembodied show window arrangement meets tattoo parlour – these objects inject a twist of originality and creativity into the exhibition.

Copyright: © musée du quai Branly, photo Thomas Duval Photographe: Thomas Duval
Artist: Mark Kopua Copyright: © musée du quai Branly, photo Thomas Duval
Photographe: Thomas Duval

Rather than grouping themselves at the end, they intersperse in a way that allows to travel back and forth between them. Sometimes, these projects were so complex that they remained two-dimensional aspect, mapped out on paper and yet to be created on a true body, showing a different side to the process that we may imagine for most tattooing: rather than accumulative, added tattoo per tattoo on an ever-evolving canvas, these projects show that many clients entrust their tattoo artists with an overall plan that can often cover an entire back or arm (or indeed, behind, as pictured above).

Rudy Fritsch , Photo (c) Musée Quai Branly

I loved these projects and their dramatic display, that added to the sheer eccentricity of an exhibition that flitted through so many visual influences and evolutions of the tatoo – but in a sense this strength was also its weakness.The exhibit left me wanting of a bit less style and a bit more substance. The problem with the desire to create an exhibition that is both anthropological and artistic is that one notion is probably going to end up stealing the other’s thunder. In this case, the anthropological side definitely lost, which is startling within the Quai Branly itself. I would have liked to see a little less on the aesthetics and artistic evolution of tatoos throughout the ages and more on the specific symbolism surrounding different tattoo cultures.

There is no clear sense of chronology as we dip into various rooms, and although I would not particularly mind if the evolution of tattoo culture was not the focus…it definitely is here! For this reason the rythm seemed slightly off at times – just as we advance into an entire section devoted to contemporary tattoo artist’s own personal tattoo projects, the exhibition suddenly veers off into Renaissance and Old Masters depictions of tattooing, before moving on to something else entirely. An exhibition without a specific order of visit is fine for me…as long as there are no narrow corridors that seem to impose one upon the visitor anyway.

Women wearing tattoos and costumes
© CORBIS pour Bettmann –

This exhibition was bursting with fascinating images and objects but was not perfect presentation-wise and its content was not always homogeneously explained. However, it largely compensated with a personal and deeply passionate vibe that justified its occaisional messiness and experimentation. For me it contrasted in a lot of ways of the Māori exhibition at the Quai Branly several years ago, curated by the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa. This was a guest exhibition that let Māori culture curate itself, on a precise, insider level that created emotion as well as clear explanation about their civilisation and art. Here, an insider’s passion about tattooing and its confusing, multiple histories is felt in the same way, and it takes us by the hand into a wild ride of archives, objects and visual intensity. It also acheived something that I have not ever encountered in museums or galleries – works of art by current tattoo artists exhibited in a contemporary art mindset that is not only meant to be aesthetic, but provocative and humorous, exploring the various ways in which the pratice may evolve and thrive.

Xed LeHead Photo (c) Musée Quai Branly