Europe 1800 - 1900
Leighton, Bath of Psyche
At first glance, Frederic Leighton’s Bath of Psyche, painted at the end of the nineteenth century by the President of the British Royal Academy, seems like the epitome of a conservative academicism. While contemporary painters like Walter Sickert were painting the lurid interiors of London’s music halls and tenement housing, here Leighton presents us with a female nude, skin polished to marmoreal perfection, absorbed in her own reflection.
Frederic Leighton, Bath of Psyche, 1890, oil on canvas, 189.2 x 622 cm (Tate)
Moreover, this figure has a pedigree including both classical statuary and nineteenth-century French academic painting. Based in part on a famous statue from antiquity, the Venus Kallypogos(“Nice Buttocks," in the Archaeological Museum in Naples), Leighton muted the racy overtones of that ancient statue by turning the figure around to present a more modest three-quarter view of Psyche’s flank.
He also drew from French academic nudes like Ingres’s La Source of 1856, evident in the almost identical pose involving contrapposto and one arm raised overhead; the white drapery falling behind Leighton’s Psyche, painted in a frothy manner evocative of cascading water, replaces the urn with streaming water held by Ingres’s figure.
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, La Source, 1856, oil on canvas, 163 x 80 cm (Musée D’Orsay, Paris)
However, Leighton was a complex figure who challenges any neat division between the academic and avant-garde. In the 1860s, Leighton revived the genre of the nude in Victorian Britain, which had been languishing since the death of William Etty in 1849. Whereas Etty’s nudes were voluptuous and his painterly technique was richly coloristic in the manner of Titian and Rubens, Leighton adopted a cool classicism. Instead of warm, dimpled flesh, Psyche’s skin is pale, smooth and flawless, like the chill surface of marble. Leighton further subordinates sensuality by privileging line over color. Rather than building up forms through color, like Etty, Leighton emphasizes the contours of Psyche’s figure and uses muted tones, giving an impression of precision and control rather than spontaneity and bravura.
William Etty, Candaules, King of Lydia Shews his Wife by Stealth to Gyges, One of his Ministers, As She Goes to Bed, 1830, oil on canvas, 45.1 x 55.9 cm (Tate)
In fact, Psyche can be seen as an exercise in tones akin to Whistler’s versions of Symphony in White. Just as Whistler’s compositions consist primarily of different shades of white, Psyche’s reduced palette of colors juxtaposes different shades of white, from the milky tone of the drapery to the buff pallor of her skin and the honeyed off-whites of the marble architectural setting.
James McNeill Whistler, Symphony in White No. 1: The White Girl, 1861-62, oil on canvas, 213 x 107.9 cm (National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.)
Leighton, like Whistler, was a key proponent of the avant-garde Aesthetic movement in Britain, which engaged with artworks primarily in terms of their visual properties—that is, in the relation of forms and colors in the service of beauty, rather than as a vehicle for narrative or conveying conventional morals. While the title of Leighton’s painting, Bath of Psyche, alludes to the story of Cupid and Psyche as told in Apuleius’s The Golden Ass, very little in the painting itself suggests this specific narrative. Leighton chose a moment in the story devoid of dramatic action—Psyche preparing her bath while she awaits her lover, Cupid, in his palace—a moment that is generic in its theme of woman gazing at her reflection.
Berthe Morisot, The Psyche Mirror, 1876, oil on canvas, (Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid)
This theme was represented in more modern terms by artists like Berthe Morisot, whose Before a Psyche Mirror depicts a contemporary woman looking at herself in a mirror while adjusting her clothing (here, "psyche" is a type of mirror). The identity of Leighton’s figure is suggested in the reflective pool before her feet, which serves as her mirror. The figure of Psyche and her association with mirrors and reflections underscore the emphasis on vision in Aestheticism and the appreciation of beauty for its own sake.
Although Leighton’s vision of beauty subdued overt sensuality, this is not to say his nudes exhibit prudishness or reactionary tastes. In the context of his time, Leighton’s nudes had a certain radical quality even as they reflected traditional sources. Rejecting the voluptuousness of Etty’s nudes, Leighton’s Psyche is somewhat androgynous with her small breasts and restrained curves. As if emphasizing her androgyny, Leighton has Psyche twist her upper torso so as to open it up from a side view to a near frontal one, and he raises her arms upward and outward, the sum effect of which gives her upper body the more masculine proportions of a triangle. In fact, Psyche’s general form and position resembles those of Leighton’s male nudes in his painting Daedalus and Icarus of 1867 and his bronze sculpture of 1886, The Sluggard.
Frederic Leighton, The Sluggard, 1885, bronze, 191.1 x 90.2 cm (Tate Britain, London)
Leighton’s personal life and sexual orientation has been the subject of much scholarly speculation, with his artistic production read in terms of homoeroticism. With regard to Psyche’s androgyny, though, Leighton may have just wished to temper the eroticism associated with more conventional female nudes so that the viewer may apprehend the beauty of the body at the highest artistic level, as pure form. In a letter to art critic Joseph Comyns Carr of 1873, Leighton wrote, ‘ . . . my growing love for Form made me intolerant of the restraint and exigencies of costume, and led me more and more, and finally, to a class of subjects . . . in which supreme scope is left to pure artistic qualities . . . These conditions classic subjects afford . . . as vehicles . . . of abstract form . . .” For Leighton, in other words, the classical nude was a means to express his love of form in and of itself, as an abstraction. Although he never went so far as to completely reject representation in art, his explicit appreciation of the purely visual, abstract qualities of form presaged the modernists of the next century.
Text by Chloe Portugeis
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- Was the English academy as strong an influence on art as the French academy? It seems that he aesthetic movement, with its interest in abstract form that contributed to modern art , was accepted by the Royal Academy. A similar level of acceptance doesn't seem to be happening in France.(6 votes)
- Thanks for the excellent question and sorry for the late response! What's interesting about the Victorian art world is that the line between the establishment--that is, the Royal Academy--and the avant-garde was not clearly defined. (One could even argue that at the rhetorical level, the sense of opposition between the Academy and avant-garde was stronger in France than in Britain, where trends tended to permeate the whole art world, some generated from within the Royal Academy, some appropriated by the Royal Academy.) In fact, Leighton is a perfect example of these blurred boundaries: although he was president of the RA and was thus a lion of the establishment, he also exhibited at avant-garde venues such as the Grosvenor Gallery in London, whose inaugural exhibition in 1877 launched a new wave of Aestheticism (with Edward Burne-Jones as its star). In the later Victorian period, though, many artists tried to resist the influence of the RA and formed various schools and clubs as alternative sites for artistic training, exhibitions and general camaraderie, such as the New English Art Club and the Slade School of Art. Also, many students went abroad, particularly to Paris and Munich, in supplementation to or even in lieu of training at the RA, which was not as rigorous or structured as at the French Academy.(5 votes)