The Disappearing Emperor: A Remarkable Art Discovery In Suburbia

If you’re fairly well-to-do, you may have a decent-sized art collection. If you’re *very* well-to-do however, not only do you have a rather significant art collection, but you tend to give parts of it away – and forget to document that you’ve done so. This appears to be the case with the rediscovery of a significant work of art by (arguably) the most famous of all French sculptors, depicting one of the most famous figures in the history of France, in, of all places, a borough hall in north-central New Jersey.

Work

The Hartley Dodge Memorial Building in Madison has for many years served as the town hall for residents of the Borough of Madison, New Jersey. It was a gift from Geraldine Rockefeller Dodge in honor of her son Hartley who, along with his parents (scions of the Dodge and Rockefeller dynasties), was a resident of the Borough. Hartley was killed in a car accident in France in 1930, shortly after he graduated from Princeton, and appears to have been something like a character out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. The tragic irony of his death lies in the fact that his mother had sent him to France on an extended vacation to try to get him away from a new hobby he was pursuing, i.e., learning to fly airplanes, because she felt that this was too dangerous a pastime.

For understandable reasons, Mrs. Dodge wanted this building named for her late son to not only be beautiful – which it certainly is, as you can see in these images of its newly-restored grandeur – but to have only the best of everything. As a result, not only did she create a grand and elegant architectural masterpiece where one would hardly expect to find such a structure, but she also brought in a number of appropriately grand and elegant works of art, in order to decorate the walls and rooms of the building.

Strangely enough, despite their significance, both she and local officials forgot to properly document what exactly it was that she had given them to display, and as time passed, the identification of these objects was forgotten.

It turns out that one such forgotten work donated by Mrs. Dodge was a sculpture by Auguste Rodin (1840-1917). The piece, titled “Napoleon Enveloppé Dans Ses Réves” (“Napoleon Wrapped In His Dreams”), is a life-sized marble bust of the diminutive French Emperor. Here we can see an image of Rodin himself, posing with the work in question:

Rodin

In this piece, Rodin shows a somewhat tired and pensive Napoleon, wrapped in his military cloak and indeed his own thoughts. The artist has idealized Napoleon’s features to some extent, particularly the nose, which seems to lack the projecting tip that one normally sees in contemporary representations of Bonaparte. Compare, for example, the Rodin to this copy in the Metropolitan Museum of Art of one of the many busts that the Italian sculptor Antonio Canova (1757-1822) made of Napoleon during the Emperor’s lifetime.

Interestingly enough, before its move to suburbia this Rodin was, for many years, on display to the public at The Met. Mrs. Dodge acquired the piece from the estate of another Gilded Age oligarch, Thomas Fortune Ryan, who had not only paid Rodin to complete the work, but also lent it to The Met for an extended period of time. It was removed from view following Ryan’s death in 1928, and Mrs. Dodge acquired it a few years later. [N.B. Ryan, incidentally, built my second-favorite church in New York, St. Jean Baptiste, as well as several buildings at my alma mater, Georgetown.]

Baptiste

For over seven decades then, the bust sat on a plinth in the Madison Borough Council Chamber, where few if any visitors suspected that they were looking at a significant work of art by the artist generally regarded as the father of Modern sculpture. Then during Christmas break in 2014-15, Madison hired then-graduate student Mallory Mortillaro to go through the art collection and create a catalogue of the borough’s holdings. She was immediately struck by the piece, noting that the story of how it came into the possession of the borough made her suspect that it was of greater significance than anyone knew at the time. “I mean, this is Geraldine Rockefeller Dodge,” she explained to The Philadelphia Inquirer, “I knew we weren’t dealing with random bits from somebody’s attic.”

Room

Perhaps the pièce de résistance in this story came when Ms. Mortillaro reached out to the Rodin Museum in Paris and, some months later, that museum sent Jérôme Le Blay, a well-known French art expert who is an expert in the authentication of 19th and 20th century French art, particularly that of Rodin. As Janet Foster, a trustee of the Hartley Memorial, recounted, “[Le Blay] walked in and saw the bust and said, ‘Oh! There you are!,’ ” Foster recalled. ” ‘I wondered what happened to you.’ ” It turned out that the Rodin Museum in Paris had a plaster cast of the Napoleon bust in its own collection, but never knew whether Rodin had actually completed the sculpture or, if he had, what had become of it.

Fortunately for art lovers, the newly rediscovered Rodin will not be staying in suburban New Jersey. In fact, it’s now headed to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, where it will be displayed on extended long-term loan alongside other Rodin sculptures in that Museum’s collection, just in time to mark the centenary of the artist’s death on November 17, 1917. One can imagine that, this time at least, no one is going to lose track of it.

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On The Auction Block: A New Velázquez (?)

The potentially big news in the art market this week is the discovery of a previously unknown work by Diego Velázquez (1599-1660), the greatest of all Spanish painters. The painting will be auctioned in Madrid today, and while the auction house is being extremely cautious about attribution, at least one expert in Spanish painting of the 17th and 18th centuries has declared it to be by the Old Master. While I’m certainly not a qualified art expert when it comes to deciding whether or not a particular artist created a particular work, there are a number of factors that make me feel comfortable with this attribution, and one in particular which I’m surprised that no one has mentioned in the art press.

The painting in question depicts a young girl in 17th century costume, her hands folded in prayer. X-rays of the picture reveal that she was originally crowned by a halo of stars, which was painted out at some point in the past. This suggests that it is a representation of the Virgin Mary as a child. It is common when making a visual reference to the Immaculate Conception, the Catholic dogma that Mary was conceived without Original Sin, to use the iconography described in Revelation 12:1 of the woman clothed with the sun, with a crown of stars on her head. It is a device that Velázquez himself used, as the news reports have pointed out.

There is also something about the eyes in this picture that strike me as being very Velázquez. Particularly in his representations of children and animals, Velázquez’ eyes tend to be unexpectedly soulful. If you look closely at the eyes of the little princess standing in the center of his masterpiece “Las Meninas” in The Prado, or the eyes of both the little prince and his puppy in the “Portrait of Prince Felipe Prospero” in Vienna, there is a depth and directness in the gaze, slightly tinged with melancholy. This sense of gravitas sets the painter apart from the more smiley, sunshiny images of children that we’re used to seeing.

While both the crown of stars and the expression of the eyes would tend to fit with Velázquez’ style, what has not been mentioned in the reporting I’ve seen so far on this story is this painting’s possible relation to an entirely different picture of his. When I first saw images of this piece, I was immediately struck by its relation to another early work by Velázquez, “Christ in the House of Martha and Mary”, which is now in the National Gallery in London. Not only is there a significant amount of technical similarity, but if the expert in this case is correct, they were created roughly at the same time and in the same place.

In the “House of Martha and Mary”, take a good look at the servant girl in the foreground, being directed by the old woman standing behind her. You can see that the girl seems rather melancholy, as she goes about making garlic paste in the mortar and pestle. More importantly for our purposes however, take a look at her pouting lips, the shading of her slightly cleft chin, and even the shape of her head, and you’ll notice that they are very similar to those of the young girl in the newly-discovered painting – they could even be sisters.

Not only do I find this an important visual clue, but given the dating of these two pictures and their relationship to what was going on at the artist’s life at the time, they make perfect sense. The little girl in the mystery picture is believed to have been painted in 1617, while the servant girl was painted in 1618. The timing of this is significant from the point of view of Velázquez’ artistic development.

Young artists completing their apprenticeships with established masters tend to re-use compositions that they are more comfortable with at the start of their careers, developing their own unique styles later on. It is why, for example, that Raphael’s earlier images of the Madonna and Child draw upon models created by his master, Perugino. It is only after he gained independence, experience, and self-confidence, that Raphael took the lessons that he had learned from emulating his master, combining them with his own native genius and observational skills, and began creating the unique, more individualized images of Mary holding the Christ Child that first made him famous and highly sought after as an artist.

In 1612, Velázquez began his apprenticeship with the painter Francisco Pacheco in Seville, an artist whose treatise on religious iconography and painterly technique made him the most influential expert on these matters within Spain at the time. By copying the style of his teacher, and learning his techniques and attitudes toward art, Velázquez would have absorbed the skills needed to eventually go out and set up his own shop, much as today a cabinetmaker or ironworker would do once they complete their vocational training. Velázquez finished his studies with Pacheco in early 1618, at about the same time that he married Pacheco’s daughter Juana; the couple moved from Seville to Madrid a few years later, where the young master’s style would begin undergoing a significant transformation.

If Velázquez was still learning at the time that the earlier of these two pictures was painted, then it would make sense that he would reuse certain elements of the earlier composition in a later work. Thus the shape of the head, the features, shading, and so on that we see in the picture of the young girl, were available for him to reuse in the features of the serving girl. Again, this is just a theory on my part, and no doubt an actual expert can poke holes in it, but I think the similarities are too obvious and the timing too perfect to ignore.

Time will tell whether this discovery comes to be widely accepted as a work by Velázquez or not, but I suspect that the sale price at the end of the auction will give us an idea of what the general feeling is within Spain. Given the very strict Spanish export restrictions on works of art that are over 100 years old, the likelihood of this painting leaving Spain for a foreign collection is extremely remote. However whether it disappears back into a private collection, or whether it becomes the property of a public museum, it would seem to be an important link between the end of the artist’s apprenticeship, and his emergence as a master painter in his own right.

No Bull: Lost Goya Works Discovered In French Library

A complete series of the first edition of Goya’s “La Tauromaquia”, a series of engravings depicting the history and practice of bullfighting, has been discovered in a castle in France. 

The current owners of the Château de Montigny, located near Chartres, were taking an inventory of all the books in their library, when they came across what is described as a “pristine” set of the series of etchings, completed by Goya between 1815-16. The prints were bound into a ledger book, and it was only due to good fortune that someone decided to take more than just a casual glance through it before tossing it in the bin. The set will be auctioned at Sotheby’s in London on April 4th.

Goya produced a limited run of these prints, but they were not particularly popular during his lifetime. Later they became the inspiration for other artists, such as Picasso, to create their own series of engravings depicting scenes from or inspired by bullfighting. They even inspired the tourist tat that you can still pick up around bullfighting arenas and souvenir shops in Spain. 

Things have significantly changed in the 200 years since Goya struggled to find buyers for these images, however. As ArtNet reports, the last time a complete first edition of “La Tauromaquia” was sold at Christie’s back in 2013, it went for $1.9 million. Thus the current estimate of $610 million seems a trifle low.

Whatever you think of bullfighting, an activity which seems to be rapidly disappearing of late, these prints ought to serve as an inspiration. Go through those boxes and shelves when you Spring clean, and before you pitch anything, double-check to make sure you’re not tossing out something important. We may never know how many great works of art ended up in the recycling bin because someone couldn’t be bothered to take a closer look at what they were throwing away.