Utrillo |
| Maurice Utrillo
(1883-1955) was the son of Suzanne Valadon. “Don’t go!” “I must. I must go to work. “ Suzanne, the odalisque, Suzanne with the moon white face, her dark hair, lapping against his skin. She kisses him, soft. “Go to sleep Maurice, and in the morning, when you wake I will be home.” She worked as an artist’s model. He rushes to the window, and watches the street, her back retreating, she turns the corner, she is gone, the street is empty. “Ma mere, the murmur of the sea.” Utrillo was an alcoholic from an early age. He finds the wine, rich and dark, splashing against the glass. It is warm, soft, soft as a kiss. Valadon herself was a painter, encouraged by Degas and Renoir. Suzanne paints. She uses the feathery brushstrokes of Renoir, she uses the cool tones of Degas. Suzanne half closes her eyes when she turns. Suzanne pours oil into the pigment, which oozes from the tube. She sweeps it across and it seeps into the canvas. She made Utrillo learn to paint as a distraction, and therapy, to combat his alcoholism. His stomach lurches. Light stabs his eyes. There is such pain. He turns to the canvas. An empty street, a corner. There is no Suzanne, she has disappeared, behind the wall, Suzanne is gone. This is typical of Utrillo’s best work. The scene is simple, the corner of a street. The paint is rendered in thick layers, blocks of pigment. The mood of the painting is set by the almost monochromatic colours, unremittingly cool, blue greys, pink-lilac greys, blending to paler tones. The brushstrokes are short and thick, building up the structure of the wall, which contrasts with the softer texture of the sky where a lighter, feathery, brushstroke has been used. Bare trees outline negative space between the branches, contrasting again with the treatment of the sky and echoing the geometric shape of the wall. There is about the scene an atmosphere of melancholy. His unique scrutiny, cold tones, the contrast and tension between shape and texture all combine to create a work which provokes a palpable and intense sadness. The wine splashes against the glass, slithers down his throat and makes him warm. Suzanne is gone, Suzanne will not return. The corner will be for ever empty of her. He half closes his eyes, and lifts the brush. |
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