Prud’hon was, however, wary of fame and his life drawings were a way of keeping him close to the basics of the art that mattered to him. He did more though than merely record the human figure, he personalised it: the tone of the flesh is entirely harmonious with the tone of the paper, sharing an organic link. “There should reign in a picture,” he wrote, “a gentle, tranquil but vigorous tone, pleasing the spectator without dazzling him and permitting the soul to enjoy everything that moves it.” His académies are this belief seen in practice and also private meditations as much as preparatory works.
While there are three studies of Joséphine in the exhibition there is no representation of either of the women he undoubtedly did love: his wife Jeanne Pennet, from whom, six children notwithstanding, he had separated, and his pupil turned mistress Constance Mayer. Prud’hon’s relationship with Mayer was complicated: they lived as man and wife and they worked together as collaborators for almost 20 years. He would produce drawings and sketches that she would work up into full-scale paintings and exhibit them under her own name, including, tellingly, a picture called The Dream of Happiness (1819). His work for and with Constance limited the time he spent on paintings of his own. It is one reason why, unlike most artists, he drew more académies rather than fewer as he got older and why he finished them, in lieu of paintings, to such a high degree. This is not to suggest that Mayer stopped Prud’hon from producing more substantial works since he had developed what amounted to apathy towards painting: the modus operandi worked to his benefit as well as hers.
The ménage, however, ultimately proved unsustainable. By 1821 Prud’hon’s wife, after a lifetime in mental asylums, was approaching death. Mayer meanwhile was depressed by ageing and unhappy at Prud’hon’s refusal to marry her. They had lost their studios and Prud’hon was in debt. Mayer’s response was to take his razor and cut her own throat: the blade reached through to her vertebrae. Prud’hon lived for only another 20 months, leaving one great unfinished and clearly personal figure painting—a tenebrous Crucifixion with the three Marys weeping at the foot of the cross.
One feature of his drawings is that for all the models’ health Prud’hon shows them rarely as hard-muscled but invariably as soft and almost boneless. They are, without exception, beautiful. They are also, when seen together, deeply enigmatic; figures rendered with sympathy and exactitude that exist in a closed world of their own—a reflection of the man who drew them.
While there are three studies of Joséphine in the exhibition there is no representation of either of the women he undoubtedly did love: his wife Jeanne Pennet, from whom, six children notwithstanding, he had separated, and his pupil turned mistress Constance Mayer. Prud’hon’s relationship with Mayer was complicated: they lived as man and wife and they worked together as collaborators for almost 20 years. He would produce drawings and sketches that she would work up into full-scale paintings and exhibit them under her own name, including, tellingly, a picture called The Dream of Happiness (1819). His work for and with Constance limited the time he spent on paintings of his own. It is one reason why, unlike most artists, he drew more académies rather than fewer as he got older and why he finished them, in lieu of paintings, to such a high degree. This is not to suggest that Mayer stopped Prud’hon from producing more substantial works since he had developed what amounted to apathy towards painting: the modus operandi worked to his benefit as well as hers.
The ménage, however, ultimately proved unsustainable. By 1821 Prud’hon’s wife, after a lifetime in mental asylums, was approaching death. Mayer meanwhile was depressed by ageing and unhappy at Prud’hon’s refusal to marry her. They had lost their studios and Prud’hon was in debt. Mayer’s response was to take his razor and cut her own throat: the blade reached through to her vertebrae. Prud’hon lived for only another 20 months, leaving one great unfinished and clearly personal figure painting—a tenebrous Crucifixion with the three Marys weeping at the foot of the cross.
One feature of his drawings is that for all the models’ health Prud’hon shows them rarely as hard-muscled but invariably as soft and almost boneless. They are, without exception, beautiful. They are also, when seen together, deeply enigmatic; figures rendered with sympathy and exactitude that exist in a closed world of their own—a reflection of the man who drew them.
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