Strapless (10 page)

With this Salon victory barely behind him, Sargent was already planning his next submission. Having shown a portrait, for the next exhibition he would submit a landscape to demonstrate his versatility. He spent the next several months on vacation with his parents in Brittany, painting the unusual oyster beds in the fishing village of Cancale. He was fascinated by the beaches, whose strange, shimmering light was intensified by the contrasting blues of ocean and sky. In adding a group of local women and children to the landscape, Sargent brought classic Breton imagery as well as color to the canvas.

When Sargent returned to Paris in October, Carolus-Duran, perhaps wanting to profit from his protégé’s budding reputation, invited him to collaborate on a ceiling decoration for the Palais du Luxembourg. Carolus-Duran liked to have his most talented student by his side, and he treated Sargent more like an assistant than a pupil.
Gloria Mariae Medicis
was to be a historically themed painting with dozens of faces in it. On close inspection, two of these faces are familiar. They are Carolus-Duran and Sargent. The teacher painted his pupil’s face on one of his figures, and Sargent painted Carolus-Duran’s head leaning over a balcony.

Sargent continued working on his Breton painting, which he called
Oyster Gatherers at Cancale.
He completed two versions, and sent one to New York for the Society of American Artists’ first exhibition and the other to the Salon jury. The painting was accepted in Paris. When the 1878 Salon opened, the critics confirmed what they had suspected the year before: John Sargent was a talent to watch.

Soon after the Salon, Sargent asked Carolus-Duran to sit for him. The decision to paint his teacher was audacious and complicated on Sargent’s part. It seemed to indicate that he wanted to pay homage to his mentor—painting the maestro would be the best way to demonstrate the lessons he had learned at the atelier. But Sargent had another, more practical agenda. Carolus-Duran was a celebrity who was always in the news, and his image, especially as painted by his prize student, would draw attention and publicity.

 

Sargent’s instincts were correct. His
Portrait of Carolus-Duran
was a hit at the 1879 Salon, counted among the exhibition’s most popular and acclaimed paintings. Critics hailed it as “one of the best portraits of the Salon,” and a journalist said of Sargent, “No American has ever painted with such quiet mastery.” The jury awarded it an Honorable Mention, a prize that carried the added benefit of guaranteed acceptance for Sargent’s next entry to the 1880 Salon.

Critics were quick to spot an interesting angle in the story. With his portrait of his teacher, Sargent proved that he was a better painter, or at least a more innovative one, than his
“cher maître,”
as he called Carolus-Duran in the dedication painted at the top of the canvas. Carolus-Duran had won the most important prize at the 1879 Salon for his
Portrait of the Vicomtesse de V.
Critics who found Sargent’s work more exciting were very happy to say so, because they hoped to provoke a rivalry between the two men. Carolus-Duran had made enemies over the course of his career by thumbing his nose at the establishment.
The New York Times
described him as someone who was “cordially liked or cordially detested by each member of the art colony in Paris.”

The attention Sargent received carried him to a much higher position in the art world. Lured to the portrait by the irresistible bait of its subject, the press recognized his talent and spread the word. The painting appeared on the front page of the popular newspaper
L’Illustration
—a great honor for a new artist—and inspired whimsical caricatures in such publications as
Le Journal Amusant.

Sargent’s career was off to a smashing start. Everyone from art lover to aristocrat was talking about the dynamic newcomer. Moreover, people were willing to pay for his work. Dr. Sargent boasted that his son received no fewer than six commissions as a result of the 1879 Salon. Édouard Pailleron, a French poet and playwright, engaged Sargent to paint separate portraits of himself, his wife, and their children. The Paillerons were excellent social contacts, members of the Parisian intellectual elite.

Sargent’s portrait of Madame Pailleron turned out well enough for him to exhibit it at the next year’s Salon, along with
Fumée d’Ambre Gris,
a painting inspired by a recent trip to Morocco.
Ambre gris,
or ambergris, a resinlike substance derived from whale sperm, is said to act as an aphrodisiac when inhaled or ingested. Sargent’s painting shows a magnificently dressed Arab woman holding her veil over an incense burner. She is perfuming herself with, and presumably inhaling, the burning ambergris, surrendering with every breath to the intoxicating power of the fumes. Henry James called the painting “exquisite” and “radiant,” and other Salon critics predicted that this “perfect piece of painting” might win a medal. Sargent demonstrated a remarkable technical achievement with the work, which is executed almost entirely in subtle shades of white. But
Fumée d’Ambre Gris
also presents an intriguing metaphor for Sargent’s state of mind. Like the mysterious figure in the painting, he was opening his eyes to the idea of intoxication, surrender, possibly even seduction.

Ramón Subercaseaux, a Chilean diplomat who was himself a painter, saw
Madame Édouard Pailleron
and
Fumée d’Ambre Gris
and immediately sought out Sargent to paint his wife, a beautiful socialite. The resulting portrait won Sargent a second-place medal at the 1881 Salon. He was delighted, for this award elevated him to the permanent status of
hors concours.
He could now bypass the Salon jury every year.

 

 

Sargent’s new status won him new social connections. The casual art-student dinners he had been accustomed to gave way to formal receptions. He was invited to salons and country estates by wealthy clients who wanted to be painted in their own homes. He not only understood their tastes but also came to share them: he appreciated the good life and aspired to live in the same world as the privileged people he painted.

 

This is not to say that Sargent felt perfectly comfortable in high society. There were moments during the early years of his social ascent when he felt like an outsider, and he expressed that in his art from time to time. One of the works he displayed in his studio was a copy he had made of
Don Antonio el Inglés,
Velázquez’s portrait of a dwarf courtier with a dog. According to a tradition in art and literature, the dwarf represented the artistic outsider, his physical form matching his inner torment. Sargent must have experienced some feelings of exclusion as he ventured into society.

Aspiring artists now looked to Sargent as their idol; they dreamed of achieving his success, dissecting his techniques, and trading stories about him just as they once discussed Carolus-Duran. Everyone knew about Sargent’s idiosyncrasies in the studio. He talked constantly while he painted. He chain-smoked cigarettes and cigars, although, as his friends teased him, he didn’t inhale properly, “denying himself the true purpose of ‘Princess Nicotine.’” Unlike many artists, he never wore a smock to protect himself from his paints. And as one model recalled, he kept his pockets filled with pieces of bread when he sketched, and would roll the soft part into little balls to use as erasers.

Sargent began each portrait with the same ritual, placing his canvas next to his sitter so they could share the same light. He would prepare his palette, then step back, fix an image in his mind, and run forward to the canvas to paint it. He would be in constant motion throughout a session, walking what he estimated was four miles a day to and from his easel.

When he was very excited, Sargent would rush at his canvas with his brush poised for attack, yelling, “Demons, demons, demons!” When he was particularly angry or frustrated, he expressed these feelings with “Damn,” the only curse he allowed himself. He once had the expletive inscribed on a rubber stamp so he could have the satisfaction of pounding it on a piece of paper. Far from being offended, his subjects were amused by his outbursts, Sargent seemed so buttoned-up and formal in every other way.

His artistic gifts were not restricted to his canvas. Several experts believed he would have been a first-rate pianist had he pursued music instead of art. The composer Charles Martin Loeffler marveled at his quick mind and his ability to play by ear. Sargent loved listening to his favorite composers, from the celebrated Richard Wagner to the lesser-known Gabriel Fauré, and when he performed music himself, he had such an intuitive understanding that he could bring any piece to life the first time he played it. “If he didn’t play all the right notes,” Loeffler observed, “he played the right
wrong
notes . . . a sign of true musicianship.”

Sargent had a great appreciation for literature as well as for music. His friend Eliza Wedgwood noted that he loved reading in a “wedge,” as he called it, devouring numerous books by the same author, one after another. He enjoyed historical works, such as Edward Gibbon’s
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,
and the exotic and fantastic as well. He thoroughly relished William Beckford’s novel
Vathek,
part
Arabian Nights
and part gothic drama, which had developed a cult following among aesthetes in Paris and London.

Sargent’s prodigious appetite for literature and the arts was matched by his enthusiasm for food. His meals were usually the multicourse affairs common at the time, including soup, fish, beef, chicken, vegetables, cheese, and dessert. On days when his schedule was full, Sargent was known to race into a restaurant or club at lunchtime, place his pocket watch on the table to keep track of the minutes, and work his way rapidly and efficiently through each and every dish. Even as a student, he loved dining out and rarely ate any meals at home; he maintained the practice for the rest of his life.

Collecting was another favorite activity. Sargent was a pack rat and tended to fill any given space with possessions—antiques, paintings, carpets, and fabrics. He captured butterflies, and killed them by gently blowing cigar smoke on them so their beauty would be preserved, then mounted them for his collection.