File:Jules Bastien-Lepage and his art. A memoir (1892) (14765723324).jpg

Identifier: julesbastienlepa00theu (find matches)
Title: Jules Bastien-Lepage and his art. A memoir
Year: 1892 (1890s)
Authors: Theuriet, André, 1833-1907 Clausen, George, b. 1852 Sickert, Walter, 1860-1942 Blind, Mathilde, 1841-1896
Subjects: Bastien-Lepage, Jules, 1848-1884 Bashkirtseff, Marie, 1860-1884 Realism in art
Publisher: London : T. F. Unwin New York, Macmillan
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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the land, and he employed his gains in adding to thepaternal domains. He had just bought an orchardsituated in the old moat of the town, which hadbelonged to an unfrocked priest. He intended tobuild a chalet there, where his friends, painters orpoets, might come and live in their holidays anddream at their ease. He explained to us with thedelight of a child, his plans for the future. When,with his portraits, he should have gained an inde-pendent fortune, he would execute at his ease and infreedom, the grand rustic pictures that he dreamedof, and among others, that burial of a young villagegirl, for which he had already made many notes andsketched the principal details. We only took onelong walk, and it was in those woods of Reville whichform the background of his landscape, Ripe Corn.The weather had remained cold, and there were stillpatches of snow on the backs of the grey hills, thoughthe sun shone sometimes. Except a few downy budson the willows, the woods were without verdure; but
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Fatheb Jacques, the Woodman.By Jules Bastien-Lepage. AS MAN AND ABTIST. 73 the ploughed fields had a beautiful brown colour ; tbelarks sang; the tops of the beeches began to havethat reddish hue, which indicates the rising of thesap, the swelling buds. Look, said Bastien to me,when we were in the forest, my Wood-cutter in thelast Salon was reproached with want of air. . . . Well,here we are in a wood, and the trees are still withoutleaves, yet look how little the figure stands out fromthe undergrowth of trees and bushes. There is agreat deal of routine and prejudice in that criticismof the perspective of my pictures done in the openair. It is the criticism of people who have neverlooked at a landscape, except crouching down orsitting. When you sit down to paint, you naturallysee things quite differently from the way you seethem standing. Sitting, you see more sky and youhave more objects—trees, houses, or living beingsstanding out sharply in silhouette against the sky,which gives th

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