La Marchesa Casati on canvas

Augustus Edwin John (1878 - 1961) :: La Marchesa Casati, 1919. Oil on canvas. | src AGO Collections -e-museum
Augustus Edwin John (1878 – 1961) :: La Marchesa Casati, 1919. Oil on canvas. | src AGO Collections -e-museum

Casati’s lover Augustus John painted her in this 1919 portrait, which was judged “hot stuff” by TE Lawrence and inspired a poem by Jack Kerouac.

She was said to walk around Venice at night with her pet cheetahs, naked but for a fur cloak: Luisa Casati was both an eccentric and a pioneer.

Born in Milan in 1881 and orphaned at the age of 15, Luisa Casati was to become a figure shrouded in legends as elaborate as the clothes she wore. Almost pathologically shy, she had a menagerie of pets, which included a boa constrictor she wore around her neck, white peacocks trained to perch on her windowsills and a flock of tame albino blackbirds dyed different colours to match the themes of her parties. She commissioned the costume designer of the Ballets Russes Léon Bakst to create ever more outrageous outfits, notably one made of tiny electric lightbulbs that short-circuited and gave her an electric shock so powerful it forced her into a backward somersault. And she was fascinated by the occult, always carrying a crystal ball and collecting wax replicas of herself, including one that was life-sized with a wig made from her own hair: when hosting dinner, she would sit the figure next to her and in the dim candlelight her guests struggled to make out which was the real Luisa.

Before Casati met Léon Bakst, taking her wardrobe beyond fashion, she had used couturiers like Poiret and Fortuny for her outfits.

Casati was physically striking, enhancing her features in an unusual way, as a 2003 profile in The New Yorker described. “The Marchesa was exceptionally tall and cadaverous, with a head shaped like a dagger and a little, feral face that was swamped by incandescent eyes. She brightened their pupils with belladonna and blackened their contours with kohl or India ink, gluing a two-inch fringe of false lashes and strips of black velvet to the lids,” wrote Judith Thurman in a feature accompanied by sketches by Karl Lagerfeld, a fan of Casati. “She powdered her skin a fungal white and dyed her hair to resemble a corona of flames… Her contemporaries couldn’t decide if she was a vampire, a bird of paradise, an androgyne, a goddess, an enigma, or a common lunatic.”

Artistic license

Yet Casati was not simply a flamboyant eccentric, as Mackrell reveals in her book. Her parties – and the costumes she wore for them – were choreographed performances rather than just society events, and she aimed to be ‘a living work of art’. Casati “straddled the period of belle époque decadence and early modernism, in terms of the art that she appreciated, in terms of the way that she wanted to present herself,” Mackrell tells BBC Culture. Ezra Pound immortalised her peacocks in his epic poem The Cantos and the photographer Man Ray described her as “a Surrealist version of the Medusa” after she wouldn’t stop moving in a sitting for him – Casati so loved his blurry portrait, in which she had three pairs of eyes, that she sent it to all of her friends, including her lover Gabriele d’Annuzio.

The outfit that electrocuted Casati was itself a piece of art: the bulbs were at the tips of hundreds of arrows that pierced a suit of silver armour, and by embracing modern technology it was intended to show her credentials as a Futurist (a group of artists welcoming the new age of the machine). Another outfit, worn in 1924 to the Beaumont Ball in Paris (an event with a guest list so selective that Coco Chanel was excluded for being too ‘trade’), was a homage to Picasso and the Cubists. Made entirely from wires and lights, it was too wide for the entrance to Beaumont’s ballroom: the artist Christian Bérard, who witnessed Casati attempting to squeeze through the doorway, reported that she collapsed like a “smashed zeppelin”.

While her attempts at creating art with her outfits had mixed success, Casati could inspire painters and sculptors both as muse and subject. The leader of the Futurists, Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, credited Casati with keeping his avant-garde movement alive during WWI, and had an earlier portrait of himself re-dedicated to her, adding a tribute to “the great Futurist Marchesa Casati with the languid satisfied eyes of a panther that has just devoured the bars of its cage”. Casati sat for Giovanni Boldini, who had painted Giuseppe Verdi, Sarah Bernhardt and James Whistler: when the portrait was unveiled at the 1909 Paris salon, Le Figaro praised the intensity of her “‘witch’s sabbat’ mien”. Her portrait was painted by Augustus John and Jacob Epstein sculpted her in bronze.

All of this was inextricably tied to the Casati of the gossip pages. “As ludicrous as some of her behaviour was, and as senselessly extravagant, what I love about her is there was no vulgarity about it – there was a purity to her desire to be a work of art and nothing else,” says Mackrell. “Although she loved the publicity, it was a sort of oxygen for her project – she needed an audience – she saw it the way an actor or a theatre director needs an audience, not to seek celebrity.” The rumours enhanced her status as an art patron. “If you painted her picture, or she bought one of your works, that gave you a real cachet.”

Gossip girl

Yet perhaps that isn’t the point: Casati welcomed those who would spin her excess and decadence into embroidered truth. It was said she took walks through Venice at night with her pet cheetahs, naked but for a fur cloak; that several of her servants had died after their bodies were covered in toxic gold paint. One rumour, that she commissioned wax dummies in which she kept the cremated remains of former lovers, was oddly similar to a story about her teenage heroine Cristina Trivulzio.

The Italian princess, notorious for the odd rites with which she was said to mourn dead lovers, bore similarities to Casati: an introverted child who had inherited a fortune and couldn’t fit into society. Casati attempted to contact Trivulzio’s spirit in séances, and named her own daughter Cristina. Perhaps the similarities went further than she realized: as Mackrell writes in The Unfinished Palazzo (about the Venetian palazzo in which Casati hosted some of her most spectacular soirees, later owned by Peggy Guggenheim), “Trivulzio was actually an impressive woman, a feminist of the mid-19th Century, a free thinker, writer and political activist” – yet all she became known for “were the necrophiliac rumours surrounding her sexual life”.

Casati might have deliberately fuelled outlandish tales about her life through what she did and what she wore – which included a gown of egret plumes that moulted as she moved, a headdress of white peacock feathers accessorised by the blood of a freshly slaughtered chicken, and, at the Grand Canyon, leopard-skin trousers, a sombrero and a lace veil. Yet it was a flouting of convention as much as an attempt to shock. “Everything about her was surprising – she seemed to live her life by a different set of emotional and social and visual rules from anybody else,” says Mackrell, who writes in the book how Marinetti celebrated Casati as “a warrior against mediocrity”.

“I was interested by what it is that allowed women to become exceptional or individual or free at that time… [to] live life more on their own terms rather than dictated by the men they married or the fathers they chose to remain at home with,” she says. “She was allowed to become this remarkable creature by virtue of this extraordinary wealth that she had, but also because of the fact that society was beginning to shift at the end of the 19th Century, early 20th Century – there were cracks opening up that allowed a woman like her to use her money to do something extraordinary as well – perhaps in earlier times she would have simply been crushed.”

Frock shock

While she has parallels today – Mackrell says that one obvious comparison is Lady Gaga, who also overcame shyness by using “extraordinary transformations in appearance, dress, make-up in a way to create a persona in which she could comfortably live in the world” – Casati was able to be so shocking because of the period in which she lived. “The background was still one where social and behavioural norms were so set that it was possible to be daring in a much purer way, perhaps.”

Historical events – and her profligate spending – would lead to Casati’s bankruptcy. “In the 30s the Wall Street crash, which burst the 20s bubble… completely wrecked her.” Casati owed tens of millions of pounds, and was forced to sell off all her assets. She moved to a one-bedroom flat in London, with just a few visitors (including the photographer Cecil Beaton), conducting séances and, by one account, rummaging through bins for scraps of velvet while dressed in a mangy fur hat and a scarf made of newspaper.

Casati died of a stroke in 1957, at the age of 76, and was buried with her embalmed Pekinese dog and a pair of false eyelashes. She continued to influence beyond her death: Vivien Leigh and Ingrid Bergman both played characters based on her, and she served as inspiration for fashion designers including John Galliano, Alexander McQueen and Dries Van Noten. Jack Kerouac wrote a poem about her, with the lines ‘Marchesa Casati/Is a living doll/Pinned on my Frisco/Skid row wall’. Hers was a unique appeal that survives today. “There is that sense of dancing towards the abyss,” says Mackrell. “People think those things can save them, people hang onto them when their own lives are in chaos or freefall.” -·- [quoted from BBC]

Giovanni Boldini :: Marchesa Luisa Casati with a greyhound, 1908. Oil on canvas. | src Meisterdrucke
Giovanni Boldini :: Marchesa Luisa Casati with a greyhound, 1908. Oil on canvas. | src Meisterdrucke

Geesje Kwak in Kimono, 1893-96

George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a White Kimono | Een meisje gekleed in een kimono, achterover liggend op een bank. Waarschijnlijk het model Geesje Kwak. | date: 1894. Oil on canvas. | src Rijksmuseum
George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a White Kimono | Meisje in witte kimono. Een meisje gekleed in een kimono, achterover liggend op een bank. Waarschijnlijk het model Geesje Kwak. | date: 1894. Oil on canvas. | src Rijksmuseum

Inspired by Japanese prints, between 1893 and 1896 Breitner made thirteen paintings of a girl in a kimono. She assumes different poses and the kimono often has a different colour. What catches the eye here is the embroidered, white silk kimono with red-trimmed sleeves and an orange sash. The dreamy girl is sixteen-year-old Geesje Kwak, a seamstress and one of Breitner’s regular models. [quoted from Rijksmuseum]

George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a red kimono (Geesje Kwak) | Meisje in rode kimono, rechts gedraaid; oil on canvas, ca. 1893. | src Kunstmuseum Den Haag
George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a red kimono (Geesje Kwak) | Meisje in rode kimono, rechts gedraaid; oil on canvas, ca. 1893. | src Kunstmuseum Den Haag

The Girl in a Kimono series was not a success with critics initially, but today they are considered the pinnacle of the Dutch expression of Japonisme in the fine arts. The Rijksmuseum celebrated the series in 2016 with an exhibition that brought together all of the Girl in a Kimono paintings: “Breitner: meisje in kimono”.

George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a red kimono (Geesje Kwak) | Meisje in rode kimono, liggend; oil on canvas, ca. 1896. Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam
George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a red kimono (Geesje Kwak) | Meisje in rode kimono, liggend; oil on canvas, ca. 1896. Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam
George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a red kimono (Geesje Kwak) | Meisje in rode kimono, links gedraaid; oil on canvas, ca. 1893. | src Beverly A. Mitchell
George Hendrik Breitner :: Girl in a red kimono (Geesje Kwak) | Meisje in rode kimono, links gedraaid; oil on canvas, ca. 1893. | src Beverly A. Mitchell

After the reopening of Japan to foreign trade in the 1850s and 1860s, European artists like Claude Monet, James McNeill Whistler and Vincent van Gogh were influenced by Japanese fine and decorative arts. One of Van Gogh’s friends and compatriots, George Hendrik Breitner, was inspired by the Japonisme trend to create a series of 13 paintings of a young girl wearing a kimono.

Breitner was born in Rotterdam in 1857. For the decade between 1876 and 1886 he studied and worked in The Hague where he explored working class areas of the city, sketching the people and places he encountered. He embraced the social realism movement and considered himself le peintre du peuple, the painter of the people. He moved to Amsterdam in 1886 where he was soon able to add photography to drawing and painting. Breitner took pictures of street life, people at work and going about their business in the city, some of the photographs reminiscent of the kind of work Jacob Riis was doing in the crowded and scary tenements of New York City at the same time.

Breitner was one of the first artists to use photos as studies for specific paintings, not just of street scenes but in the studio as well. He integrated his social realist perspective in his studio portraits, making a point of employing models from the working class. One of them was a milliner’s shopgirl named Geesje Kwak who, along with her sister Anna, posed for Breitner in around 1893-1895 when she was 16-18 years old. It was Geesje Kwak who would be immortalized as the girl in a kimono.

Japonisme had intrigued Breitner since he’d traveled to Paris in 1884. He collected Japanese woodcuts and in 1892 visited an exhibition of Japanese prints in The Hague. The show was his immediate inspiration for the kimono series. He acquired several Japanese kimonos and a pair of folding screens that he set up in his studio on the Lauriergracht canal. Geesje Kwak posed in the kimonos — one red, one white, one blue — against the backdrop of the folding screens on a bed draped in oriental rugs. She was paid for her time and there was no hanky panky going on; all strictly professional. Breitner kept meticulous records of which models posed for him when, for how long and at what rate.

Breitner’s work with Geesje Kwak ended when she emigrated to South Africa with her younger sister Niesje in 1895. Geesje died of tuberculosis in Pretoria in 1899, just shy of her 22nd birthday. quoted from The History Blog

Frühling ~ Träume II (1912)

Heinrich Vogeler :: Träume II (auch ,Frühling‘ oder ,Erwartung‘) | Dream II (also Spring or Contemplation), 1912.
Heinrich Vogeler :: Träume II (auch ,Frühling‘ oder ,Erwartung‘) | Dream II (also Spring or Contemplation), 1912. Monogrammed, inscribed and dated lower right in the coat of arms: HV W 1912. Signed and titled on the stretcher on the right: H Vogeler. Frühling. Oil on canvas. | src Grisebach · Ausgewählte Werke, 10. Juni 2021

»Kupplerin« by Otto Dix

Otto Dix :: Kupplerin, 1923. Color lithograph on machine-made paper. Signed lower right.
Otto Dix :: »Kupplerin«, 1923. Farbige Lithographie auf Maschinenbütten. Signiert unten rechts. Herausgegeben von Karl Nierendorf. | src Karl and Faber Kunstauktionen

Im Jahr 1921 zieht Otto Dix für vier Jahre nach Düsseldorf, wo er sich in druckgraphischen Techniken weiterbildet. Er liebt die Großstadt, die Typen und Randgruppen, die er vor allem während der Nacht auf den Straßen und in den Lokalen trifft: Matrosen oder Artisten, Kriegsversehrte und Kriegsgewinnler, ebenso wie Prostituierte und ihre Kunden. Die „goldenen“ Zwanziger zwischen allumfassender Traumatisierung, Vergnügungssucht und frühem Konsumismus, zwischen schillernder Oberfläche und abgestorbenem Innersten reizt ihn zu grotesk-enthüllenden Bildsujets. In seinen Werken – wie auch in der vorliegenden Lithographie „Kupplerin“ – führt Dix dem Betrachter schonungslos den körperlichen Zerfall, die Defizite und Eigenarten seiner Modelle vor Augen. Sein neuartiger Realismus, für den die Zeitgenossen den Begriff „Verismus“ prägen, macht Dix – zusammen mit Max Beckmann und George Grosz – nicht nur zum Hauptvertreter dieser Kunstströmung in Deutschland, sondern auch zu einem der bedeutendsten Realisten in der Geschichte der Kunst überhaupt.

In 1921, Otto Dix moved to Düsseldorf for four years, where he continued his education in printmaking techniques. He loves the big city, the characters and marginal groups he meets on the streets and in bars, especially at night: sailors or artists, war invalids and war profiteers, as well as prostitutes and their customers. The “golden” twenties between comprehensive traumatization, pleasure-seeking and early consumerism, between shimmering surfaces and dead innermost parts provoked him to grotesquely revealing pictorial subjects. In his works – as well as in the present lithograph “Kupplerin” – Dix ruthlessly shows the viewer the physical decay, the deficits and the peculiarities of his models. His new type of realism, for which his contemporaries coined the term “Verism”, made Dix – together with Max Beckmann and George Grosz – not only the main representative of this art movement in Germany, but also one of the most important realists in the history of art in general. (Roughly translated by us from source)

Jeanne Mammen (1890–1976) II

Jeanne Mammen :: Kabarett-Mädchen | Chorus girls – Revuegirls, 1928-29. Oil on cardboard. | src Berlinische Galerie

In the pleasure-hungry Berlin of the 1920s, theatres vied for attention with spectacular variety shows. Chorus girls in scanty costumes provided an erotic touch. As links in the chain of swinging legs, they were usually depicted as a type, not as individuals. But the two women in “Chorus Girls” by Jeanne Mammen (1890–1976) could hardly be more different. The artist centres on their weary faces, sallow skin and garish lipstick. The real attraction – the dancers’ long-limbed bodies – are only visible down to the breast. They pause for breath, no trace of glamour here.

Mammen, a free-lance artist and a prototype of the emancipated “New Woman”, often highlighted female clichés of the day. The chorus girl in front has the facial features of the artist. The figure behind resembles her sister Mimi. [quoted from Berlinische Galerie]

Jeanne Mammen :: Josephine Baker, ca. 1926. [Revue Neger]. Barbican Centre | src Flickr

Weimar Clubs and cabarets – German cities, 1920s

After the collapse of its Empire and the defeat of the First World War, Germany became a democracy, the Weimar republic. In the early 1920s, people yearned for excitement, there was a sense of liberation and the economy started to recover. Night clubs appeared which fused cabaret, literature, art, music, theatre and satire in multi-sensory experiences. American jazz and dance crazes including the foxtrot, tango, one-step and Charleston became popular and exotic dances by Anita Berber, Valeska Gert and famously Josephine Baker were performed.

Fantasy spaces were created such as the dance-casino called Scala where the ceiling was sculpted into jagged structures that hung down like crystalline stalactites. The pulsating energy of such clubs and bars was captured by artists including Otto Dix, Jeanne Mammen and Elfriede Lohse-Wächtler.

[Barbican Centre] From Into the Night: Cabarets & Clubs in Modern Art (October 2019 to January 2020)

Jeanne Mammen :: Langweilige Puppen | Boring Dolls, 1929. Watercolour and pencil on slightly nacreous wove paper, mounted on cardboard by the artist. | src Die George Economou Kollektion
Jeanne Mammen :: Langweilige Puppen | Boring Dolls, 1929. Watercolour and pencil on slightly nacreous wove paper, mounted on cardboard by the artist. | src Die George Economou Kollektion
Jeanne Mammen :: Brüderstrasse [Freies Zimmer | Free Room], 1930. The George Economou Collection © DACS, 2018. | src Apollo magazine

Visions of a dark world in the art of Weimar Germany [Apollo magazine]

Review on the exhibition Magic Realism: Art in Weimar Germany 1919-33 (Tate Modern, 2018-19)

[…] towards the end of the exhibition, a small cluster of drawings introduces the work of Jeanne Mammen. Mammen’s drawings – gauzy depictions of women in watercolour, pen and ink – illustrated fashion magazines and poetry publications throughout the 1920s, until the Nazis shut down the journals she worked for and she went into inner exile, refusing to show her work. Here, they fill an important gap in describing women’s experiences of city life. Mammen observed women on the streets of Berlin and in nightclubs, and often depicted them in conversation, smoking, or playing cards. In Brüderstrasse (Free Room) (1930), the women are intimate and aloof; in Boring Dolls (1929), they’re defiant, out for their own pleasure.

[…] The exhibition doesn’t quite tease out the paradoxes between trauma and humour, leaving both to loiter in the murkiness of Dix’s circus tent. What we’re given is a vision of a world that hinges on reality yet twists from view. It’s a distortion of the truth, full of landscapes littered with war debris and nightclub corners filled with smoke. It’s the same world, but darker than before.

quoted from the review by Harriet Backer for Apollo magazine

Jeanne Mammen (1890–1976) I

Jeanne Mammen :: Sie repräsentiert (och Selbstbild), um 1928.[watercolor, pencil] Bild: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017 | src Svenska.yle (selfportrait; self-representation)
Jeanne Mammen :: Sie repräsentiert (och Selbstbild), um 1928. [watercolor, pencil] Bild: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017 | src Svenska.yle

Watercolorist, painter, printmaker. Raised in Paris. Studied art in Paris, Brussels, and Rome from 1906 until 1911. As a German citizen, was forced to flee France with her family at outbreak of World War I; lost all possessions. Impoverished, settled in Berlin in 1916, where she eventually earned a living making illustrations for fashion magazines and posters for Universum-Film AG (UFA), the film distributor.

After 1924 frequently published drawings and watercolors in major satirical periodicals such as Ulk and Simplicissimus, for which she chronicled the experiences of Berlin’s crop-haired, self-reliant “new women” at work and leisure — experiences that mirrored her own. Often showed them in cramped, distorted spaces, some rendered in lurid tones reminiscent of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and others in brilliant, orphic colors of the prewar Parisian avant-garde. Enjoyed growing commercial and critical success; in 1930 had first solo exhibition at Galerie Gurlitt in Berlin. At publisher Wolfgang Gurlitt’s behest, made lithographs illustrating a book of erotic Sapphic poetry, Les Chansons de Bilitis, in 1931–32, which was banned by the Nazis.

Under Nazi dictatorship, remained in Germany but lived in a state of “inner emigration”; refused to exhibit or publish. Turned increasingly to painting in Cubist and Expressionist styles out of solidarity with artists who Nazis defamed as degenerate.

quoted from MoMA

Jeanne Mammen :: Zwei Frauen, tanzend (Two women, dancing), ca. 1928. [Aquarell, Bleistift]. Bild: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017. | src Svenska.yle
Jeanne Mammen :: Zwei Frauen, tanzend (Two women, dancing), ca. 1928. [Aquarell, Bleistift]. Bild: VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2017. | src Svenska.yle
Jeanne Mammen :: Die Rothaarige | The Redhead (Thoughts at the Hairdresser's), um 1928. Drawing, watercolour and pencil on paper. | src Berlinische Galeri
Jeanne Mammen :: Die Rothaarige | The Redhead (Thoughts at the Hairdresser’s), um 1928. Drawing, watercolour and pencil on paper. | src Berlinische Galerie

Jeanne Mammen (1890–1976) made her name in the late 1920s with illustrations for magazines like Simplicissimus, Ulk and Jugend. In an enthusiastic review, Kurt Tucholsky wrote that her figures leaped “from the paper with skin and hair”. Mammen’s favourite motif were women in the city: in a café, at a ball, at the bar or in some sleazy joint. “The Redhead”, printed in Ulk in 1928, sits in the hairdresser’s chair. She is lost in thought as she looks towards the viewer: we are her mirror. The hairdresser is just finishing off the job. The look is perfect: the pale smock, the white skin, the brown shades in the background are an ideal background to set off her red hair, her lips and the blue shadow around her catlike eyes. “The Redhead”is a vamp rather than the sassy athletic young lass more typical of the times. This capricious creature exudes an air of cold detachment. Her beauty is not intended to seduce but is sufficient unto itself. [quoted from Berlinische Galerie]

Jeanne Mammen :: Vor der Leistung | Before the Performance, 1928. Drawing, watercolour and pencil on paper. Private collection, Berlin. | src Arthive
Jeanne Mammen :: Vor der Leistung | Before the Performance, 1928. Drawing, watercolour and pencil on paper. Private collection, Berlin. | src Arthive
Jeanne Mammen :: Carnival in Berlin N III (Fasching Berlin N III), ca. 1930. Watercolor and pencil on wove paper. | src MoMA
Jeanne Mammen :: Carnival in Berlin N III (Fasching Berlin N III), ca. 1930. Watercolor and pencil on wove paper. | src MoMA
Jeanne Mammen :: Carnival in Berlin N III (Fasching Berlin N III), ca. 1930. Watercolor and pencil on wove paper. | src MoMA
Jeanne Mammen :: Carnival in Berlin N III (Fasching Berlin N III), ca. 1930. Watercolor and pencil on wove paper. © 2016 Jeanne Mammen / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / VG Bild-Kunst, Germany | src MoMA
Jeanne Mammen :: Illustration für die Zeitschrift "Simplicissimus" - Illustration for the magazine Simplicissimus, around 1930. [Aquarell, Bleistift]. | src arthive
Jeanne Mammen :: Illustration für die Zeitschrift “Simplicissimus” – Illustration for the magazine Simplicissimus, around 1930. [Aquarell, Bleistift]. | src arthive

Hommage à Jeanne Mammen

Ute Rathmann :: Hommage à Jeanne Mammen; graphite pencil, charcoal, watercolors, pastels and gouache on paper with collage, July 2020. | src Saatchi Gallery
Ute Rathmann :: Hommage à Jeanne Mammen; graphite pencil, charcoal, watercolors, pastels and gouache on paper with collage, July 2020. | src Saatchi Gallery

Clotilde von Derp by Watson

George Spencer Watson (1869-1934) :: Portrait of Clotilda [sic] von Derp (Frau Sakharoff), 1912. Signed, inscribed and dated ‘Clotilda [sic] von Derp / [Frau Sakharoff.] / Dancer 1912 / by George Spencer Watson R.A.’ (on the backboard). Oil on canvas laid down on board. | src Christie’s

Finnish Elegia, ca. 1899

Hugo Simberg :: Suomalainen elegia [Finnish Elegia], ca. 1899. Glass negative. Tempera painting, attached to a pontoon wall. | src Kansallisgalleria · Finnish National Gallery