In Geffroy's presence, I openly discussed controversial subjects: he remained sympathetic to my ideas; and it was clearly evident that he was interested in my opinion. After a posing session was completed, we'd leave Geffroy's house for a small cafe in Belleville, a kilometer or so away, to enjoy a glass of wine, and additional conversation, free of the impediments of posing. I amused the critic when I told him that: "I'll show those bastards at the Academie some real painting! They," I repeated, realizing as I spoke, that Geffroy's friendly presence was encouraging me to boast, "will see what it is all about!" These moments of exhilaration became less and less as work on the portrait of Geffroy continued--a month had passed, almost before I realized it, and no progress had been made. I began to lose confidence in my ability to complete a successful picture, I dreaded the sittings as the frustrations multiplied, and all I could think of was the terrible premonition of failure. Gradually, as nothing developed, I became paralyzed by impossibility of realization, turning my dreams of success at the Salon d'Automne into a nightmare. I understood that going on with a disorganized state of mind was impossible, that I was in a trap of my own making, that it was necessary to escape from the dilemma. Geffroy, sympathetic, and patient, had no idea of the agony which tortured me. He had offered total cooperation, the conditions were ideal, there was no limitation of the time involved. None of these advantages had enabled me to achieve my objectives in the painting, indicating that I was not up to crushing my enemies on their own battlefield--the Salon d'Automne. The idea had stretched far beyond my capacity to deal with it, a silly fantasy, another deflated dream which had gone bad. It was obvious that I was not an artist who functioned like an academician, turning out precise products, delivered on schedule.... |
Medium: oil on Masonite Size: 12" x 8"
Title: Cezanne |