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拍品专文
In Etude pour Alésia, painted in 1973, Paul Delvaux explores a story from ancient history, delving into a subject that had captivated his imagination for decades. Caped in dark shadows, a troupe of Roman soldiers tread the floorboards of a mysterious space, their armour and striking red cloaks contrasted against the luminous forms of several nude women. The various female figures appear engaged in different activities – the viewer’s gaze is initially drawn to the woman at the centre, seated at a small circular table; facing out of the picture, she seems engaged in some séance-like activity. Behind her, another woman faces the siege engines and burning buildings glimpsed in the background, her figure imbued with a stillness that is both ritualistic and statuesque, while to her right, a third character crouches, apparently sobbing, all too aware of the conquest at hand. At the far edge of the painting, a woman half draped in a tunic and sporting an elaborate hat, is standing beside or perhaps even emerging from a frame which resembles, but does not function as, a mirror.
The siege of Alesia was an important watershed moment in European history, marking Caesar’s final victory over the Gallic tribes. It was also a crucial event in terms of French (and hence, perhaps, Francophone) identity, as the warrior Vercingetorix united many of the Gallic peoples in order to face the advancing threat of Rome. This effort was poorly repaid – the Gauls were defeated and Vercingetorix laid his weapons and himself at Caesar’s feet. The story of Alesia had preoccupied Delvaux for many years – Robert Giron, a fellow student at the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Brussels, recalled a young Delvaux bringing in wrapping paper that had vigorously painted scenes like Le siège d’Alésia par les Romains, and he explored the subject several times in the 1930s (see M. Rombaut, Paul Delvaux, Barcelona, 1990, p. 28). In 1973, the subject came to the forefront of his work once again, resulting in Etude pour Alésia and several related works on paper.
This renewed interest may have been prompted by the then-recent publication of René Potier’s Le Génie militaire de Vercingétorix et le mythe Alise-Alésia (Clermont-Ferrand, 1973). This book discussed the research of André Berthier, who had pored over Caesar’s descriptions of the Battle of Alesia in order to identify the historic location of the siege. While Alesia had long been associated with Alise-Sainte-Reine in Burgundy, Berthier observed that the geography there did not match the dramatic position supposedly occupied by Vercingetorix, according to Caesar. Instead, Berthier identified a spot in the Jura where he also found remains that indicated a Roman and pre-Roman past, and which would have shown military genius had it been occupied by the Gauls. More recent excavations at Alise have led many to conclude that it was indeed the site of the siege, diminishing Vercingetorix’s reputation as a military strategist, and augmenting Caesar’s as a self-publicist. Nonetheless, Berthier’s controversial suggestion had sparked a revival of interest in Alesia in the 1970s and the milestone it marked for the French-speaking world.
The sense of the passing of an old civilisation under duress is encapsulated in the brooding atmosphere of Etude pour Alésia, with the marching troops almost serving as parentheses on either side of the composition, enclosing it. While sharing a ritualistic feel and the cool marble tones of the flesh of the figures, this is a long way from the seemingly choreographed activities of Delvaux’s Acropole, painted in 1966 and now in the Musée National d’Art Moderne, Centre Pompidou, Paris. The incongruousness of the female figures and the backdrop of violence in Etude pour Alésia may instead harken back to the paintings Delvaux created during the Second World War, the stillness and inscrutable grace of the various women implying that part of civilisation endures.
There is a deliberate discordance between the Roman soldiers, the Victorian frills of the table-cloth, the flair of the hat worn by the woman on the far right (which recalls eighteenth-century portraiture), and the electric light bulb overhead. Combining all these different elements from across history, Delvaux imbues Etude pour Alésia with a timelessness which pays clear tribute to Giorgio de Chirico, the pioneer of Pittura Metafisica. In the Minotaure exhibition in Brussels in 1934, almost four decades earlier, Delvaux had discovered De Chirico’s works and found himself entranced by the profound atmosphere within them. Pictures such as La mélancolie d’une belle journée of 1913, now in the Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, take elements from different eras, juxtaposing them to an almost supernatural effect. In Etude pour Alésia, Delvaux can be seen to have taken that revelation and adapted it to create his own distinct vision. Here, the direct stare of the central figure adds a theatrical quality while also engaging the viewer directly with the composition.
The siege of Alesia was an important watershed moment in European history, marking Caesar’s final victory over the Gallic tribes. It was also a crucial event in terms of French (and hence, perhaps, Francophone) identity, as the warrior Vercingetorix united many of the Gallic peoples in order to face the advancing threat of Rome. This effort was poorly repaid – the Gauls were defeated and Vercingetorix laid his weapons and himself at Caesar’s feet. The story of Alesia had preoccupied Delvaux for many years – Robert Giron, a fellow student at the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Brussels, recalled a young Delvaux bringing in wrapping paper that had vigorously painted scenes like Le siège d’Alésia par les Romains, and he explored the subject several times in the 1930s (see M. Rombaut, Paul Delvaux, Barcelona, 1990, p. 28). In 1973, the subject came to the forefront of his work once again, resulting in Etude pour Alésia and several related works on paper.
This renewed interest may have been prompted by the then-recent publication of René Potier’s Le Génie militaire de Vercingétorix et le mythe Alise-Alésia (Clermont-Ferrand, 1973). This book discussed the research of André Berthier, who had pored over Caesar’s descriptions of the Battle of Alesia in order to identify the historic location of the siege. While Alesia had long been associated with Alise-Sainte-Reine in Burgundy, Berthier observed that the geography there did not match the dramatic position supposedly occupied by Vercingetorix, according to Caesar. Instead, Berthier identified a spot in the Jura where he also found remains that indicated a Roman and pre-Roman past, and which would have shown military genius had it been occupied by the Gauls. More recent excavations at Alise have led many to conclude that it was indeed the site of the siege, diminishing Vercingetorix’s reputation as a military strategist, and augmenting Caesar’s as a self-publicist. Nonetheless, Berthier’s controversial suggestion had sparked a revival of interest in Alesia in the 1970s and the milestone it marked for the French-speaking world.
The sense of the passing of an old civilisation under duress is encapsulated in the brooding atmosphere of Etude pour Alésia, with the marching troops almost serving as parentheses on either side of the composition, enclosing it. While sharing a ritualistic feel and the cool marble tones of the flesh of the figures, this is a long way from the seemingly choreographed activities of Delvaux’s Acropole, painted in 1966 and now in the Musée National d’Art Moderne, Centre Pompidou, Paris. The incongruousness of the female figures and the backdrop of violence in Etude pour Alésia may instead harken back to the paintings Delvaux created during the Second World War, the stillness and inscrutable grace of the various women implying that part of civilisation endures.
There is a deliberate discordance between the Roman soldiers, the Victorian frills of the table-cloth, the flair of the hat worn by the woman on the far right (which recalls eighteenth-century portraiture), and the electric light bulb overhead. Combining all these different elements from across history, Delvaux imbues Etude pour Alésia with a timelessness which pays clear tribute to Giorgio de Chirico, the pioneer of Pittura Metafisica. In the Minotaure exhibition in Brussels in 1934, almost four decades earlier, Delvaux had discovered De Chirico’s works and found himself entranced by the profound atmosphere within them. Pictures such as La mélancolie d’une belle journée of 1913, now in the Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, take elements from different eras, juxtaposing them to an almost supernatural effect. In Etude pour Alésia, Delvaux can be seen to have taken that revelation and adapted it to create his own distinct vision. Here, the direct stare of the central figure adds a theatrical quality while also engaging the viewer directly with the composition.