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Cézanne, Paul: The Card Players |
 137.0K, 1150 x 935 | The Card Players
Painted: 1890-92 Oil on canvas 17 3/4 x 22 1/2 in Musée d'Orsay Paris |
The abstract side of Cézanne's art has always been given due weight.
It was amusingly emphasized by Ambroise Vollard who, after sitting
many times for his portrait, asked how it was getting on. Cézanne's
reply: `I am not displeased with the shirt-front' seemed to suggest
that the human element did not enter into his calculations, that he
was simply concerned with planes and gradations of color. On the
other hand, his several self-portraits give a remarkable sense of
character and towards 1890 there are other signs of his interest in
the aspect of human beings, as for example the five versions of
The Card Players
produced during this period at Aix. The Louvre version, reproduced
here, with two players (and a bottle between them to mark the center
of the symmetrically balanced composition) could be looked on in the
abstract as a magnificent rendering of solid forms, given their
appearance of structure by the gradated areas of the thinly applied
color. But the fact remains that these are not abstractions but
peasant card players in his native Provence. Whether by the sheer
veracity of his study of facial planes or through some feeling of
kinship with the solid countrymen he was portraying, Cézanne has made
them live.
A picture of seventeenth-century card players from the studio of the brothers Le Nain in the museum at Aix and its peasant character first suggested the series to Cézanne though single peasant studies also show his interest in the essentially French type and his capacity to convey its essence. These pictures and the strange Mardi Gras of the same period (the clown and harlequin like two Romantic ghosts taking on substance and swaggering into a new era, perhaps by their strangeness leaving a deeper impression on French artists afterwards than by technique alone) realize the equation of form and content which Cézanne so often lamented he has not attained.
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Of the three versions |
Of the three versions,
the little painting in the Louvre is the last
and undoubtedly the best; it is the most monumental and also the most
refined. The single shapes are simpler, but the relationships are more
varied. The extraordinary conception of the left player is the result
of a progressive stabilizing and detachment of this meditating figure.
It is the image of a pure contemplativeness without pathos. Given the symmetry of the two card players looking fixedly at their cards, Cézanne had to surmount the rigidity and obviousness of the pair and yet preserve the gravity of their absorbed attitudes. It is remarkable how thoroughly interesting is this perfectly legible picture, how rich in effective inventions of color and form. The problem: how to image the figures as naturally symmetrical, with identical roles--each is the other's partner in an agreed opposition--but to express also the life of their separateness, without descending to episode and weakening the pure contemplative quality, so rare in older paintings of the game. It is accomplished in part by a shift of axis: the left figure is more completely in the picture; his partner, bulkier, more muscular, is marginal--but oddly also nearer to us--and takes up more of the table. His head is bent forward; he is more intensely concerned. The first man is the more habitual player, relaxed and cool, and his long columnar form is contrasted with the horizontal line behind him. The two hats, one with arched brim, firm and poised, the other with turned-up, irregular brim, soft and battered, convey this difference of feeling--two tonalities of meditation. The left player has a bright mind and a sluggish body, the right has a slower mind and a livelier body or temper. The former's arm begins very low, his limbs are detached from the tiny head which is intent but not anxious (it is remote from the body and is like the hat on the head) The other has a hunched effect; if he is ready to play, he is more strained in deciding. The arms of the first are parallel, the other's arms converge. The first head is set against a vague landscape, the second against an architecture of verticals, a more rigid, pressing form which measures the inclination of his body. The long man's face is shaded and lit with inner contrasts that subdue the silhouette; the other's is more open, more fully given. The first has light cards, the second, dark, and his hands are nearer to us. The tablecloth ends in a stable right angle at the left, in a sharply pointed form at the right. The color too is a subtly contrasted expression: violet against yellow, but both neutralized; in the left figure, violet jacket, yellow pants; the converse in the right. The latter is therefore more strongly contrasted with his surroundings in color as well as form. But this contrast is crossed: the straight figure against a sloping chair, the inclined figure against a vertical edge.
The inherent rigidity of the theme is overcome also by the remarkable
life of the surface. There is a beautiful flicker and play of small
contrasts, an ever-responding sensibility on every inch of canvas.
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