Art during the Victorian Era
can best be described as eclectic. Never before had artistic movements
turned so quickly, each one extremely different from the rest. There were
four main artistic movements during this portion of the Nineteenth Century:
Romanticism, Realism, Pre-Raphaelitism and Impressionism. This page gives
a brief synopsis of what these selected movements were all about, along
with some biographical information of my favorite artist of the movement.
Enjoy!
ART GALLERY COMING SOON
Victorian
Artist Webring
Women
in Victorian Art
Angels,
Vampires & Victorian Women
Victorian Prints
Old England
Romanticism
Realism
Pre-Raphaelitism
Pre-Raphaelite Women
Elizabeth Lee '97
Their names ring familiar, the famous women who modelled for and who
associated with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in marriage, affairs, and
artistic endeavors. Lizzie Siddall, Georgie Burne-Jones, Jane Morris, Fanny
Cornforth, Mary Zambaco, Emma Maddox Brown, Annie Miller, Euphemia Millais,
Edith Hunt. What qualified the "Pre-Raphaelite stunner," and what fantasies
did these women fulfill for their male counterparts. Moreover, who were
these women themselves?
Essential to the Pre-Raphaelite art is a woman's face, a beautiful visage
with large, luminescent eyes set in a web of long hair. Powerful bodies,
necks, or striking features usually make the "stunner," though Siddall
represented a strong exception. Though tall and red-headed with a fine
posture and lovely lidded eyes, she appears far plainer and more fragile
in comparison to the dark-browed Jane Morris or the fleshy Fanny Cornforth.
In paintings, each of these women's expressions embody enigma and distance;
oftentimes, their poses remain static versus active. Strange that these
unearthly alluring women should sit so silently when their images literally
infect the Pre-Raphaelites' body of work. Their likelinesses appear in
poetry and their very faces stare out of numberless canvases. The voices
and meaningful looks of these women, however, are actually the filtered
versions of the men who adored and depicted them.
These women found themselves in a very difficult position. Agreeing
to model for an artist already contained some risk to body and reputation,
but to also shoulder expectations of some of these men's ideals of femme
fatale, victim, or saint both in art and in life proved to be most hazardous.
As Jan Marsh contends in The Pre-Raphaeilte Sisterhood, the romance and
attention surrounding these women tended "both to glorify them, raising
them like Hollywod film stars above the level of ordinary mortals into
a mythic realm of tragic heroines and fatal sirens, and paradoxically to
diminish them, reducing their real, complex, contradictory personalities
and lives to flat figures in a fantasy landscape and taking away from them
all sense of active life." In art and in life, some of the Pre-Raphaelite
women felt the pressure to abandon humanity to become an archetype. They
were dreams coming to life in paints, and it was this living dream which
the artists could not help but fall in love with.
In Gay Daly's invesitgative text Pre-Raphaelites in Love, she places
a great concern upon this "bridge to the mundane." What happened when Beatrice
or the Beggar Maid stepped out of the canvas and became a real person with
everyday worries and concerns. Marriage, as Daly sees it, presented the
ideal resolution for the Pre-Raphaelites, who believed it offered the only
way to bring the romance they fantasized about into their own lives. Daly
points out that as the uncertain industrial world increasingly showed a
menacing face, "the rewards and benisons of marriage were touted more loudly;
the perfect wife was hailed as an 'angel in the house,' who could salve
all her husband's wounds with a celestial balm." The Pre-Raphaelites, who
sought to escape the confusing world around them, turned to history, legend,
myth and the constructions of women who inspired such an age.
That women became their primary subject shows their belief that women
can heal and guide -- but it also shows their concern in the contemporary
lives of Victorian women: the victims, the old maids, and the prostitutes.
These artists hated to see their ideal creatures so degraded and sought
to rise them to the higher state they deserved.
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Impressionism
Sleeping Beauty Myth
Briarose, or the Sleeping Beauty
Elizabeth Lee '97
The Sleeping Beauty myth, a popular theme during the Victorian age,
gave rise to many creations both literary and visual. A fascination with
portraying a sleeping woman suggests a situation fraught with meaning.
Reduced to inanimation, she is the ultimate object of femininity -- a beautiful
unmoving thing. She sleeps in perfect peace and purity and can only be
brought to her full potential -- that is, animation -- with the aid of
a male.
In Nina Auerbach's Women and the Demon, she contends that this state
could be a metamorphosis, from which she will awaken with greater power.
However, the myth traditionally ends with the Princess awakening and marrying
the prince, not asserting some newfound power. Marriage as a definitive
closure in domestic bliss assigned each gender its part in upholding the
order, and rare was the reader who found this dissatisfying. For most Victorians,
that was ending enough.
Edward Burne-Jones provided an interesting departure when executed his
series of Briar Rose paintings; he ended the story with the prince at the
gates and the princess still asleep amongst the rest of the inhabitants.
In outward appearances, it only seems that he did not need to go further,
for his audience already knew the way the story ended. And yet, that he
chose to focus on the moment while the princess sleeps and the prince moves
alone is significant in that the male hero is active while the female heroine
is merely decorative against all the gray sleeping figures. However, in
this
state she does have some inner pulsing glow which pulls the prince towards
her, emboldens him to face the dangers in order to come to her aid. If
this represents the source of awakened power, it is quickly nullified upon
her waking and marriage -- a moment which Burne-Jones chooses to omit.
The model for his painting was his eighteen year-old daughter Margaret,
whose own sexual awakening had begun. Aware of the pulsing inner power
which would draw suitors to Margaret just as Princes were drawn to Briar
Rose, a distraught Burne-Jones placed in his paintings many obstacles for
the hero to overcome before he may claim the lady. The thick, intimidating
briars which fill each panel serve to hold off the seeking men but also
as a threat to the princess herself. Gay Daly in Pre-Raphaelites in Love,
notes that if she "awakes and begins to move, she will inevitably be pricked
by a thorn, the significance of which is painfully obvious."
In declining to portray the moment when the Prince achieves his goal
and awakes Briar Rose, Burne-Jones delays the surrender of his daughter
to a husband. However, he does nothing to dilute the attracting power of
a budding, beautiful young woman whose power over men is potent.
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Diana
The Fatal Hero: Diana, Deity of the Moon, as an Archetype of the
Modern Hero in English Literature
Gil Haroian-Guerin
Notice of a new book
The Fatal Hero: Diana, Deity of the Moon, as an Archetype of the Modern
Hero in English Literature is the first study to identify the existence
of a dynamic, new female hero in the novels of the last two centuries.
The model for this new heroic type is the goddess Diana, and I have discovered
that this type, the Diana-hero, exists in scores of works throughout the
literature of the Romantic era to our day.
My analysis seeks to open new vistas on the novels of Charlotte Brontë,
Nathaniel Hawthorne, James Joyce, Henry James, George Eliot, and Edith
Wharton, authors whose texts offer rich and complex models of the new Diana-hero.
Under careful consideration is the unique line of metaphoric development
that each author undertakes with his or her Diana-hero, and the manner
in which each author's original creation becomes one in the kaleidoscopic
Gestalt of Diana-heroes that comes to exist in English literature.
This study offers an entirely new, and slightly subversive, way of reading
these texts, for it not only clarifies the existence of the new female
hero in these texts, but it demonstrates the subtly radical manner in which
each author re-imagined and re-shaped the traditional figure of the goddess
Diana. Thus, this book can change the way we see modernism, its heroic
characters and structures, its important themes and generic forms, its
intricate language and images.
During the birth of the modern world that took place during the last
two centuries, the revolution in gender ideology fuelled new interpretations
of all goddesses and of the revived Greek deities, Diana was the most free-spirited
and independent female. There was a singleness of being to her. She was
the maverick, the huntress free in the green chase, and this energetic
Diana was an excellent choice to be the archetype of a female hero who
could rebel against and regenerate a stagnant, old world. Her figure was
central to the revolutionary myth-making of 19th-century authors, and in
so exploring their creation of this hero, I hope in this study to demonstrate
the profound and hitherto unmade connection between women's studies and
modernism in literature.
Modern literature came more and more to invoke this Diana-hero in the
creation of new souls and new worlds. She possessed the will to and the
power of action needed to herald the apocalypse, the destruction of the
old to prepare for the new world. These powers had traditionally been assigned
to male protagonists, and the Diana-hero's assuming them to herself was
a revolutionary act. My work also analyzes the new relationship between
the Diana-hero and the traditional, but now oftentimes displaced, male
hero.
There came a radical new hero into our literature, and she persists
today. This persistence of the Diana-hero indicates that many authors still
need and desire to create heroic women to meet the demands and to cross
the new frontiers opened by our on-going social revolutions. This challenged
and challenging hero continues to struggle in her quest to be Diana Victrix.
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"This is a wonderful, fertile book, impeccable in its scholarship, sweeping
in its scope, daring in its argument and entirely convincing. It will change
the way we think about modern literature (and in modern I include the literature
of the past two centuries), the structure of the modern novel, the role
of myth in modern narrative, and the intricate relationship between fictional
characterization and the parameters of gender." Felicia Bonaparte, Professor
of English, The Graduate Center of The City University of New York
" The Fatal Hero is a brilliant and original study that offers a new
way of reading texts. Gil Haroian-Guerin demonstrates how the use of Diana
is highly significant in the revolutionary myth-making of modern authors
eager to recast our sense of the world. This creative scholarly book is
a convincing example of how a feminist approach can lead to a rich world
of new discoveries." Eve Sourian, Director of Women 's Studies, The City
College of New York
"The Fatal Hero documents the dynamics of the female hero with great
verve and charm. This is a landmark study, a thought-provoking work which
will change a reader's perception of women in literature." Diana Der Hovanessian,
Board Member of P.S.A and winner of the Columbia/P.E.N. Translation Center
Prize
"Gil Haroian-Guerin explores the vital role that feminine images derived
from the ancient archetypal moon goddesses play in refashioning the woman
as hero in fiction from Charlotte Bronte to Edith Wharton. Her use of the
Diana archetype provides a new and exciting feminine-centered basis for
understanding these novels." Robert Gates, Professor of English, Syracuse
University
FEBRUARY 1996,
6 X 9, 272 pp.,
ISBN 0-8204-3025-0
For US and Canadian Orders
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Fallen Women in Victorian Art
Elizabeth Lee '97
Women who had given in to seduction, living a life in sin, received
the name "fallen women" during the Victorian period. Though both a recognizable
and sizable segment of the female population, it took some time before
the fallen woman could be accepted as an allowable subject in art.
Richard Redgrave first broached the topic with his Royal Academy exhibition
of The Outcast in 1851. A melodramatic painting, it showed a father casting
out his daughter and her illegitimate infant while the rest of the family
weeps, pleads, or beats the wall with excessive emotion. The depiction
of the girl, pretty and naive though she may be, serves to warn other young
ladies to avoid temptation and ruin.
The married fallen woman receives even less sympathy, for no one will
grant forgiveness to the the wife and mother who betrays her family. Augustus
Egg makes such a woman his subject in the three part series Past and Present
(1858), originally exhibited with the quotation, "August 4th - have just
heard that B_ has been dead more than a fortnight, so his poor children
have now lost both parents. I hear she was seen on Friday last near the
Strand, evidently without a place to lay her head. What a fall hers has
been!" The first panel depicts the moment of the husband's discovery. He
sits in morbid shock, limply holding the condemning letter in hand as his
wife lays at his feet, having thrown herself to the ground. The children,
who were busy constructing a house of cards which has just fallen, cast
anxious glances. The next two paintings show simultaneous moments in the
present. In one, the now-adolescent daughters grieve the loss of their
parents as one of the sisters gazes at the moon. In the other, their mother
sits under an arch, holding her illegitimate child as she too looks up
at the moon. No sympathy is forthcoming for the woman who destroys her
own family; her punishment is death. Egg meant no coincidence in painting
the mother's setting as the Adelphi arches under the Waterloo Bridge, the
same scene of George Fredric Watts' Found Drowned. She will no doubt be
driven to a watery suicide out of her guilt and remorse.
However, not every fallen woman was painted with such harsh criticism.
The Pre-Raphaelites Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Holman Hunt, and Ford
Madox Brown all recognized the complex emotions within the fallen woman
and her situation. In Rossetti's Found, a drover discovers his former beloved,
now a prostitute, slumped against a wall. The unfinished painting focuses
in on the struggle between them as the man tries to lift her, but she seems
both too ashamed and self-determined to go with him. The question of why
she should resist him when his face is so contorted in pity and concern,
forces the viewer to look at the drover's calf in the background, trapped
and struggling within a web of restraints. It seems that either the woman
is too entangled in her life of sin of else she refuses to be caught in
the impositions of married life, represented in the net which holds the
calf. At any rate, Rossetti problematizes the all-too-easy instant condemnation
of the fallen woman and her motives.
Holman Hunt pushes this idea even further with his Awakening Conscience
(1854), in which he treated the popular Victorian theme of a sinner resolved
to repent in a new light: that of the fallen woman. Victorian critics adored
unraveling all the symbols and clues in Holman Hunt's depiction of his
repentant sinner, a kept mistress, suddenly leaping up from her lover's
lap as they were at the piano singing songs. He chooses to focus on the
hope for redemption and the beauty of a once sinful life being saved, instead
of a righteous sense of punishment for the straying woman.
Lastly, Brown calls attention to the man's role in the fallen woman's
sin in his unfinished painting Take You Son, Sir. A woman in a saintly
pose thrusts forward a naked child; a circular mirror behind her serves
as a halo around her head and a window to show the accused man she faces.
She demands shared responsibility for the child, who also gazes pointedly
out of the canvas and towards the position of his father and the viewer.
Both are charged with not admitting their role in the situation earlier.
The fallen woman, though a potential destroyer of the family, did not
lack advocates in the artistic world. Both artists and viewers learned
to appreciate the complex issues surrounding her.
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The Femme Fatale -- Her Dark Continent
Elizabeth Lee '97
In depictions of the femme fatale, there seems to be a reverent awe
and fear of her power. It plays upon the concept of woman's hidden evil:
her "Dark Continent," her sexuality.
When woman was at her worst, she was insatiable, stealing the vitality
from her male lovers. Her sexual prowess allowed strength, immortality,
influence, and most importantly, the ability to transcend to a trance-like
state. Perhaps she could not be complete without a retinue of masculine
servants, but they only provided the borrowed energy. The rest was carried
out by her own internal machinery and capacity to wield power.
Though the femme fatale embodies and exposes these qualities, she only
gives light to underlying fears placed upon all women. Newcoming sexologists
and even everyday Victorian husbands could attest that the common conception
of woman's sexual innocence and frigidity could not be upheld as a biological
fact. Women were no less susceptible to sexual appetites than men, which
opened the floodgates for all sorts of paranoid conjectures. The fear emerged
from the questioning of which gender commanded sexual dominance, if women
indeed had just as much inclination as men. Men no longer held a monopoly
over sensuality and, therefore, aggression.
Though this may reflect the heart of the controversy, most theoreticians,
including Freud, sought to define female sexuality in terms of a digestible
patterned behavior. Freud never found the exact answers he sought, admitting
that psychology will never "solve the riddle of femininity." He coined
her sexuality as the obscure "Dark Continent," presumably never to be conquered.
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Femme Fatale Overview
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Victorian Theories of Sex and Sexuality
Elizabeth Lee '97
We are well-accustomed to the ideas of the prudish, sexually-repressed
Victorians, who cautiously guarded themselves against any temptation, no
matter how slight. Critics and reader have largely and successfully questioned
this conception and proven it inaccurate. For during this period, even
in seeking any man or woman's ultimate goal in achieving the apparently
conservative happy ending of marriage, Victorians were inevitably led to
the consummation of their love and the creation one's own home and family.
Sex and sexuality, then, were unavoidable issues for the Victorians.
As Jill Conway reminds her readers, that since it wasn't until the early
1900's that scientists connected sex chromosomes to sex-linked characteristics
or that they discovered the workings of hormones -- "we [begin] to see
why for some forty years the exact nature of sex-differentiation and its
psychic accompaniment was a subject of intense, though inconclusive debate."
What exactly differentiated men from women and why the species evolved
into the two sexes, then, unsurprisingly confounded Victorian theorists
such as Herbert Spencer and Patrick Geddes. Thus, they and other specialists
constructed a stereotypical dyadic model. Other than the different sex
organs and physical differences, men were considered the active agents,
who expended energy while women were sedentary, storing and conserving
energy. Victorian theories of evolution believed that these feminine and
masculine attributes traced back to the lowest forms of life. A dichotomy
of temperaments defined feminine and masculine: an anabolic nature which
nurtured versus a katabolic nature which released energy respectively.
Such beliefs laid the groundwork for, or rather arose from, the separation
of spheres for men and women. According to the model, since men only concerned
themselves with fertilization, they could also spend energies in other
arenas, allowing as Spencer says "the male capacity for abstract reason...
along with an attachment to the idea of abstract justice...[which] was
a sign of highly-evolved life." On the other hand, woman's heavy role in
pregnancy, menstruation (considered a time of illness, debilitation, and
temporary insanity), and child-rearing left very little energy left for
other pursuits. As a result, women's position in society came from biological
evolution -- she had to stay at home in order to conserve her energy, while
the man could and needed to go out and hunt or forage.
Moreover, this evolutionary reasoning provided justification for the
emotional and mental differences between men and women. Conway shows how
the logic led Geddes to believe that
Male intelligence was greater than female, men had greater independence
and courage than women, and men were able to expend energy in sustained
bursts of physical or cerebral activity... Women on the other hand... were
superior to men in constancy of affection and sympathetic imagination...
[they had] 'greater patience, more open-mindedness, greater appreciation
of subtle details, and consequently what we call more rapid intuition.'"
The roles of men and women understood as thus, the Victorians still
had to deal with the actual sexual act, wherein the bipolar model still
held. Earlier on in the century, women were considered the weaker, more
innocent sex. She had little to no sexual appetite, often capturing all
the sympathy and none of the blame over indiscretions. Men represented
the fallen, sinful, and lustful creatures, wrongfully taking advantage
of the fragility of women. However, this situation switched in the later
half of the period; women had to be held accountable, while the men, slaves
to their katabolic purposes and sexual appetites, could not really be blamed.
Therefore, women were portrayed either frigid or else insatiable. A young
lady was only worth as much as her chastity and appearance of complete
innocence, for women were time bombs just waiting to be set off. Once led
astray, she was the fallen woman, and nothing could reconcile that till
she died.
Many artists and writers of the period did not accept such strict roles
for men and women in either their sexualities or their contributions to
sexual intercourse. The dyadic model set up for men and women permeated
the age, but only served to try to encourage an ideal. In real situations
and in fictional agendas, Victorians could recognize the complexities and
areas of gray.
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