I am so grateful to Anna Rose for recommending this book. Now I want to pass on the love to others.
Renoir, My Father is not just a book about the painter. It's a book about Paris, history, other artists, geography and much, much more. You'll want to read it more than once (I'm now devouring it for a second time).
Although Renoir was born in Limoges, he grew up in Paris, actually within the courtyard of the Louvre! At that time (1840's), the Tuileries Palace (in red) closed off the western aspect of the Louvre courtyard.
Nowadays, the Arc du Carrousel acts as the entry to the Tuileries gardens. Note it was then inside of the courtyard blocked off by the Tuileries palace.
Rue d'Argenteuil also extended inside, lined with houses built in the 1500's for the families of the noblemen of the Palace Guard. In Renoir's time, the houses (he lived in one of these) were crumbling and cracked and occupied by poor working people. Renoir and his playmates were noisy and Queen Marie-Amélie would have her lady-in-waiting throw sweets down into the courtyard to temporarily quiet down the young rabble-rousers. By the time Renoir was a teenage apprentice painting porcelain, Baron Haussmann had started his massive redevelopment of Paris and razed the houses in the Louvre courtyard, forcing the families to move.
There are numerous interesting factoids throughout the book, such as Louis XIV receiving his courtiers as he publicly pooped on his chaise percée, and visitors to European inns in the 18th century balanced on planks over a hole, using a hemp rope hanging from the ceiling rather than toilet paper.
Madame de Pompadour's chaise percée
Famous historical figures crawl all over the pages of Renoir, My Father. He used to have coffee, croissants and a cigarette with Offenbach. Pissaro, Manet, Monet, Zola traverse the book. Caillebotte was a good friend of Renoir and made him executor of his will.
Gustave Caillebotte
Caillebotte's most famous work: Les Raboteurs
There are wonderful descriptions of painting technique:
"Renoir began by putting incomprehensible little touches on the white background, without even a suggestion of form. At times the paint, diluted with linseed oil and turpentine, was so liquid that it ran down the canvas. Renoir called it 'juice'. Thanks to the juice, he could, with several brushstrokes, establish the general tonality he was trying for. It covered almost the whole surface of the canvas - or rather, the surface of the eventual picture, for Renoir often left part of the background blank......He would begin with little pink or blue strokes, which would then be intermingled with burnt sienna, all perfectly balanced. As a rule Naples yellow and madder red were applied in the later stages. Ivory black came last of all. He never proceeded by direct or angular strokes. His method was round, so to speak, and in curves, as if he were following the contour of a young breast."
His depiction of Montmartre is the best I've ever read. Jean Renoir was born in the Château des Brouillards, at the end of rue Girardon in Montmartre.
A hedge surrounded the property, which was composed of several buildings and a garden. Once you entered the wrought-iron gate you found yourself in a lane too narrow for a carriage to pass. To the left were some outbuildings - all that remained of an 18th century mansion, a 'folly' as they called it then. ....The Folly itself had been destroyed during the Revolution. The site of it was overgrown with rank vegetation, and the stones from it had probably been taken to build the mean dwellings of the neighborhood. Near the entrance were the concierge's quarters, and just outside, the old pump where we used to get our water...All along our fence there were rosebushes which had reverted to their wild state. Just beyond was an orchard belonging to old Griès, one of the last market gardeners on the heights of Montmartre. I can still taste his pears - small round ones, very hard and tangy in flavor, not like those sold on the fruitstands....Our house, the last one in the rectangular block, had an attic window on the west side, and from it you could see Mont Valérien, the hills of Meudon, aRgenteuil and Saint-Cloud, and the plain of Gennevilliers. The plain of Saint-Denis was visible from the window on the north, as well as the woods at Montmorency. On clear days you could even make out the basilica of Saint-Denis in the distance.....There was also a field where cows were grazing. Gabrielle would take me to buy milk in the little house on the edge of it. I was very much afraid of those cows. Farther on, the wooden sails of the Moulin de la Galette stood out stiffly against the sky....For most Parisians this little paradise of lilacs and roses seemed like the end of the world. Cab drivers refused to drive up the hill....
The Chateau des Brouillards went up for sale this past winter for almost 10 million dollars.
Thank you Anna Rose for the gift of this book and I hope others out there will take the opportunity to dive into the world of Renoir and his friends, family and environment.
