Jeremy Hacker

Jeremy Hacker
Desire and Impressionism

 

In this essay I will be looking at desire through the lens of impressionism, a style of art popular in France during the late 19^th century. In my analysis, I will be examining Lacanian psychoanalysis and aesthetic theory. In trying to better understand desire, I’ll be studying the social context of France during impressionism’s reign, formally critiquing impressionist paintings, and retroactively tying Lacan’s analyses of desire to these critiques and history.

Based off of Freud’s Id, Ego, and Super-Ego, Lacan lays out his take on the psych as the Imaginary, Symbolic, and Real. The Imaginary is best thought of as image-based, Symbolic as language, and the Real is the ground upon which they both merge to form. (1) In 1965, Lacan introduced the concept ‘objet petit a’ during a psychoanalytical seminar/conference. Lacan stresses that the ‘a’ is to remain ‘small a’ so that it is clearly separated from the big ‘Other’. There’s also a pun in pronouncing ‘objet petite tas’ (a little pile of shit), which is referring to another psychoanalytical discussion, much the same as Duchamp’s L.H.O.O.Q. (she has a hot ass). It’s important to note that Lacan uses art as a way to discuss the bridging of these realms-the Symbolic, Imaginary, and Real, and that he was an avid art collector and theorist. To Lacan, “the world we see in art is the world of our desire.” (2) This separation from the big ‘Other’ is one the main keys to why desire is impossible to completely attain, and why art is perpetually being transformed and re-constructed.

Slavoj Zizek is a contemporary philosopher who studies Lacan as a way to discuss popular art and culture. “The fundamental point of psychoanalysis is that desire is not something given in advance, but something that has to be constructed… through fantasy we learn how to desire” (3) What I infer from Zizek’s claim is that there is no a priori desire, and that desire is a construct of the mind. Some consequences of this is that you have to create objects and scenarios in order to have desire appear, and that desire is susceptible to social factors such as advertising, religion, politics, and propaganda. It’s common in the psychoanalytical field to discuss desire as something which stems from infancy. As an infant without speech, your desires are met through an ‘Other’, who sees and recognizes you, which allows you to formulate a concept of the self. This fulfilled desire and recognition becomes the basis from which Lacan’s ‘objet petit a’ derives. As we age we can never attain this completely fulfilled desire, thus we create fantasies in an attempt to come close to it. We can also slowly start to see how art comes into play as a construct of fantasy which addresses such unattainable desire. Art becomes a way to project an ‘Other’ in order to see the self, since the self can only be acknowledge through a recognition from another being.

If you create a fantasy, and all you have to piece it together are conservative ideals, then it would not be unusual for your fantasy to be constructed from any other set of ideology. For instance, if you’ve spent your whole life as a practicing Catholic, and you’re an artist, you’ll most likely produce works of art which depict your relationship with Catholicism. Of course there are exceptions, but it would be unusual to see an atheistic image from a Catholic’s hand. Another consequence of this claim, is that since desire is not given, and is not existent without fantasy, it must be continually constructed, and so we see that desire becomes a circular sensation, and that when we come close to fulfilling it perfectly, we become anxious at the thought of losing that drive. Desire, then, is a void-a nothing into which we put our constructed fantasy into.

Lacan claims that “desire cannot really have any object at all, if desire is to remain what it is: the pure negativity of a subject who desires himself in his objects, and who can do so only by perpetually negating himself in them, by negating them as what he is not- a ‘given object’, a thing ‘in-itself’.” (4) The subject and desire thus are separating by an unbridgeable gap between an object. What does the pure negativity, i.e., negation mean, however? Jean Piaget, a developmental psychologist claims that negation is “when an individual realizes that a procedure or process can be reversed, they are said to have realized the concept of negation.” (5) Another Freudian definition of negation is “the paradoxical mechanism which produces the opposite meaning of the enunciated proposition.” (6), which basically means a denial. Lacan’s first half of his definition of desire then starts with a pure negation-a subject who realizes desire of himself in an object, and this is only possible in a perpetual, cyclical process, unperturbed. The subject negates what he’s not, an object, and a thing in-itself-a philosophical term I’m vaguely familiar with, but seems to represent the separation of noumenal (independent of the mind) and phenomenal objects in space (matter). We can infer that the noumenal world is Lacan’s ‘Real’.

So, ‘objet petit a’ is a separation of the self as a maneuver to deal with the unattainable fulfilment from the ‘Other’ as we age. The object of desire is “unknowable, unreal, denatured, sexually neuter … a non-object, a negated object.” (7) We can see that this definition fits into the notion of noumena and that it is not linked to sexuality, as one would initially suspect. In order for desire to give itself an object, it must be organized into imaginary fantasy scenarios. Lacan then deduces that the question of desire’s object is the same as the question of the manifestation of desire’s subject. The latter’s question arises from asking if it is the other self who must first manifest desire to the self, so that the self can manifest desire into the object it is not. This is a question on the possibility of a reversal of the scenario in which desire is created. The answer which Lacan gives is the ‘signifier’, which is put in place for the “presence of the absence of the subject.” (8), and brings us into the Symbolic. The signifier turns out to be the phallus, which is not an organic phallus, but a gender neutral simulacrum. Lacan’s theory on ‘objet petit a’ starts from childhood, in which the demand for the breast ends in a call for a signifier where the subject can now identify themselves as a being. This leads into an examination of Freud’s Oedipus complex, and where symbolic castration comes into play-a falling out of the symbolic order as a consequence from the father figure. Now we see how the gender neutral phallus is chosen as a signifier- it fills the void that is left from this castration. Zizek simplifies this definition with: “The object a is ‘objectively’ nothing, though, viewed from a certain perspective, it assumes the shape of ‘something’. (9)

Now that we have one definition of desire-a self-constructed fantasy which attempts to reconcile the self’s unattainable fulfillment of desire from the ‘Other’-how can we use that to analyze impressionism? Since the ‘Other’ can never fully satiate us, and we ask of art to try to do this, we can analyze any movement of art throughout history to understand desire and what affects it. First, I’ll provide some context of the social environment in France in the late 19^th century, particularly its attitudes toward the public image, art, and censorship.

In the years of 1853-1870, Baron Haussmann, hired by Napoleon III, was charged with renovating the city of Paris, “he [Haussmann] had the unhealthy slums and narrow streets of mediaeval Paris razed to the ground, and opened up huge avenues and boulevards.” (10) Haussmann was dismissed by Napoleon in 1870 due to opposing views that they were spending too much money on the renovation, but with the loss of the Franco-Prussian war and the rise of the Third Republic, the project still continued until the early 1920’s. This project led to a rise in wealthy bourgeoisie patrons living in a new, geometrically pleasing Paris, where common workers had previously lived. The mixture of workers and the bourgeoisie, all while France was enduring political turmoil due to its recent defeat in the Franco-Prussian war, created new social situations, political ideas, and stances. This new setting also provided key ideas and themes for impressionists to explore. In this time of uncertainty and blossoming new ideas, traditional and conventional art entered the political sphere and became questioned, “Issues important to a democratic state … were debated and haltingly put into practice in the early Third Republic.” (11)

One of the democratic ideas now being taken seriously, with regards to art, became freedom of the press. Questions about the methods of censorship and those in power to censor, particularly issues around the nude figure, had arisen. The line of acceptability when displaying the nude figure almost exclusively relied on its academicism and how close it adhered to traditional standards. We can see such ideas through this quote, “but if models or académies, were successfully transformed into art, into the ideal, one might anticipate that reproductions of the finished works of art, paintings, or sculptures of the nude would be less problematic for the general public.” (12), in which the painting and model aren’t seen vulgar since they’ve been elevated to the status of ‘art’, rather than pornography. Naturally, with the rise of the Third Republic and the practicing of these democratic ideas, those in power to decide art’s acceptance to the public began to come under scrutiny from the more liberal patrons. The major figures muscling regulations on the nude are art institutions such as the Beaux-arts, print entrepreneurs, government policies, and the Moral Order, a regime of government that ended in 1877 whose Catholic conservatism exposed the tension between supporters of the monarchy and those of the republic. (13) Even after the Moral Order was disbanded, conservative figures still remained present in the government and courts. These groups’ attention focused primarily on the image, rather than text, so much so that “Images posed enough of a danger to merit fast and efficient repression.” (14) This leads us to question how much sway political forces and censorship has over desire.  If we recall Lacan’s quote from earlier that he saw in the world of art a world of desire, then having certain art censored is having desire censored. The desire being censored is of course desire which opposes the censurer’s moral and ideological tenants, and shows a fear in having it affect others in the same manner, supposing they hold the same foundations of character. Thus we have a starting point for established notions of the ‘ideal’ desire in art and how art has the ability to induce desire.

In the 19^th century, two of the major art movements before impressionism were romanticism and realism. Venus, the Roman goddess of love, sex, beauty, and fertility, was a common figure in these art movements, representing the ideal of desire-an embodiment of feminine beauty, in which she was commonly portrayed as a realistic, near photographic image of perfection. Common critique of these art movements was how well you could paint idealized figures, portraying Venus’ mythos as metaphors through romantic or realistic imagery. The established idealized notions of desire had to be agreed upon, not universally, in order for the movement to flourish, and these notions continually come under scrutiny, since desire is never actualizing and art never complete the self’s drive. Before I examine censorship of the nude and the challenging of these traditional ideas (Venus as my encompassing symbol), I’m going to analyze a popular piece of art which crystallizes realism and romanticism.

The Birth of Venus, by William Adolphe Bouguereau, made in 1879, is an oil on canvas painting, 300 x 218 cm, and hangs in the Musée d’Orsay, Paris. The depiction of Venus in the center of the canvas is the main focus point, as the attention of all the other figures, cherubs, naked nymphs, and centaurs blowing conches, fix their gaze upon her. There are not many visible brushstrokes, making the whole painting appear near photorealistic. Venus, fixed directly in the middle, shines brighter than the rest of the figures with her pale skin, giving her an extra aura of allure as the eye focuses on this more illuminated center. There are no imperfections to the tone of her body, no blemishes, and aside from some shadows accentuating the curves of her body, her skin is flawless. Venus is holding her hands up to her hair, bending her neck and body in a suggestive, sexual pose which submits to the academic norms of idealized truth and beauty. Her hair flows long down her back, and is tangerine-red with curls at the end. The women and cherubs all share the same pasty white skin tone, while the centaurs are slightly tan. The ocean Venus is standing upon, on top of a pearly white shell, is a mixture of teal and blue, while the sky behind her presents the only signs of brushstrokes, a muddle of grey, blue and white. There is a dark, shadowed figure in the sky taking the form of the cloud in the back left of the painting, suggesting a creator or godlike figure. It is clear when examining this painting that it’s aimed at the viewer’s potential desire through the fantasy of a portrayed idealized beauty. To me, nothing in this painting suggests modernity, but is rather awash with classical style. The mythological setting, sensual, unblemished Venus, and hyper realistic, romantic atmosphere in this painting are clearly an academic success, and this painting was awarded the Grand Prix de Rome.

What we’ve seen from censorship is that the nude figure was subjected to specific criteria, and any nude image which strayed from adhering to this checklist was seen by some as “corrupting young minds and stimulating lust.” (15) The Birth of Venus can be viewed as a good example of the dominant academic and legal standards of what an acceptable portrayal of desire through aesthetics should be. This leads us into discussion about the Beaux-Arts system and its role governing the art world. “The École was governed by the Académie des Beaux-Arts, itself governed by the Institut de France. The professors at the École were chosen from among the members of the Academie, and the same body also dominated the jury which awarded prizes at the annual Salon, or state-sponsored exhibition.” (16) One can imagine from this structure how hard it would be to enter your paintings into the Salon if they deviated from traditional standards. Bouguereau himself resigned from being one of two presidents of a Salon painting jury in 1879. The frustrations and continual denial of works of art that didn’t meet these academic requirements led to the formation of the Salon des Refusés in 1860, who were granted a seal of approval by Napoleon III in 1863, a move to gain political backing on his part, and which allowed a giant leap away from tradition standards as they no longer had to appeal to the jury’s judgment. (17) Years after this Salon, the Salon des Indépendants was formed in 1884, which was an “attack on the bourgeois mentality of the Salon jury.” (18) This signal shifts how desire was examined through aesthetics, particularly with the way in which the nude is portrayed in these new salons, and a longing to move past tradition.

One major issue that comes from the nude figure, clashing with conservative ideas and traditionalism is prostitution. The painting Rolla, made by Henri Gervex in 1878, had to be defended in court, in which he claimed the painting suggests a moral lesson on the consequences of prostitution. Pointing out symbolic items such as a top hat in the painting, with its connection to bourgeoisie society, a claim was made that Rolla abandoned his privileged place in society in order to engage in a promiscuous, negative affair with a prostitute.  The censorship of this painting from the Salon only further strengthens the argument of the ideals imposed on art, and how any deviation from that ideal notion had to have just cause and sometimes be defended in court. The court room used any and every iconic symbol of prostitution in order to show this painting as slanderous, completely missing the point of the painting-to show prostitution in a modern, contemporary light.

When displaying the nude through aesthetics in the public realm, it generally had to be an idealized form, with academic and aesthetic traditions explicitly tied to its viewing. This aesthetic is primarily directed toward male heterosexual viewing, and is being challenged by Salons who are tired of staunch, conservative juries. There are rising feminist voices, by both males and females, who then agitate those who held these standards of public viewing, both in the judicial and aesthetic realms. With the fall of the Moral Order, and the rise of these independent salons, boundaries were being pushed like never before, and the human figure, particularly the feminine figure, became a major aesthetic focal point.

The first painting is by Edgar Degas, entitled Woman Combing Her Hair, and was made in 1888-90 by using multiple pastels on cardboard. This painting is currently being displayed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. It is 24 x 18 inches and shows a naked women sitting on the ground, facing away from the viewer, combing her hair. Her legs are crossed and her head is bowed as the comb scrapes upward from her neckline. Not much is discernible in the room, aside from a couch and the she’s sitting on. The brush strokes throughout the painting are clearly visible, and it even seems as if Degas used a comb on some sections. The woman’s hair is red, which resembles most of the Venus paintings I’ve seen, but her skin tone is what immediately strikes me as different. In some parts of her skin there are smudges of green, which are subtle and don’t make her look sickly.  The blending of these green accents with tan and brown, create flesh that appears more vivid and warm than the bright, pasty tones in The Birth of Venus. As this woman combs her hair, we suddenly feel as if we’re a voyeur, peeking in on what is probably a routine, daily ritual. This can be seen as a contestation, or simple contrast to the sensual, inviting Venus of tradition, whose role seems to invoke desire in the viewer. There is no show here, it’s but a moment in time which plays with light and color. Are we meant to see this as a statement against voyeurism, or is Degas simply giving us a natural apartment scene? Either way, it seems that there’s an attempt at avoiding desire here, so what is left is a personal introspection and response, rather than being handed desire bottled up. The easiest way to get the full effect of what Degas has done in Woman Combing Her Hair, is to place the image side by side with The Birth of Venus, and immediately the mythology grandiose painting seems a dramatic fiction compared to a banal scene. The normalcy of Degas’ scene brings into question, and I’m sure was postulated by critics, that if anything could be painted, then anything could be great art, which in turn means nothing becomes special. I think this thread of thinking spirals into a lot of modern art themes, and could be placed as a question in examining desire. If any scene could represent desire, then it’s dependent and reactive on the viewer’s response in a public or private space. The response and critique of art, with desire as a lens, thus reveals our personal feelings and judgments, which is analogous to something like a Rorschach ink blot test. With this in mind, we could say part of desire stems from political and religious stances, and yet personal desire still seems trickier as public proclamations could be contrary to one’s true feelings. At what extreme does the public sphere influence personal desire? A close answer to that question, I suspect, is that it’s more than we’d like to believe. In thinking about Lacanian desire, I suspect Degas wants us to examine our personal notions of desire, rather than adhere to the ‘ideal’ desire.

The next impressionist painting I’m going to examine is The Floor Planers, by Gustave Caillebotte, an oil on canvas painting which is 102 x 146 cm. It is currently being shown in the Musée d’Orsay, Paris. What is immediately transparent is the perspective in which the viewer is given by Caillebotte. It is as if we’re standing on the floor, soon to be in the way of the workers. There are no dramatic colors and tones, it is all neutral brown and black, with a window showing pale daylight in the background. There are two men following the parallel, vertical lines of the painting, scraping the floor, while a third breaks horizontally on the left edge of the canvas. As they work, you can’t help feel the rhythm of their work, their muscles exerting as they scrap the floor, not wishing to present a dramatic scene, but rather finish their work. There is a wine bottle on the side suggesting a gift from the viewer as something to take a break over. The curled shavings where these men have gone over previously present a chaos among the rigid parallel lines, and entice your hand to run through them. When compared to more traditional motifs of men in paintings, it’s clear Caillebotte is uninterested in dramatizing these men-he has avoided giving these men particular, unique faces, and dramatic poses. Much like Woman Combing Her Hair, we are in an apartment, The Floor Planers maybe more bourgeois than the former, and peeping in on a casual event which exposes skin. These men are not fully nude, but with their discernible faces, their bodies and form become what we examine most. As one critic put it, in bewilderment over the lack of romanticism compared with traditional male figures, “By all means, gentlemen, paint nudes if nudes are what you’re after. […] But make your nudes beautiful, or don’t do it at all.” (19) I can’t help but feel Caillebotte would have laughed at this critic, because he is clearly not interested in the ‘ideal’ beauty, and these men are desirable in their own right, and directed toward a viewer the critic is selfishly ignoring.
Through fantasy we learn to desire and there is no set object that is the ultimate, perfect object of desire that can fulfill our lack. It’s through aesthetics that the image allows fantasy to be played out, and in the construction of desire, we attempt to fill the lack that the object can provide. The aesthetic object then must allow for a fantasy to fulfill the lacks which are present, thus catering to that lack. If the self has a desire met, it is negated into something new, in which the new desire must seek a new object to fill it. This then could be an explanation as to why conservative traditions came to be challenged in impressionism, since the desires and ideals formulated by some, are non-existent in others. Rolla’s painter, Gervex, was taken to court because it depicted prostitution, and had to be defended on moral grounds, thus showing a fear that desire would be invoked in the viewer, a desire unacceptable by the government who was directing the public’s eye. The term ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ becomes apt here, for when one sees Rolla as a moral dilemma, its creator sees it as social commentary. The Birth of Venus, Woman Combing Her Hair, and The Floor Planers are all dependent on the viewer’s personal fantasies, in social context, to create meaning, and thus become subject to others’ mercy, because when social standards are deviated from, a conflict arises in which each perspective must reconcile with other perspectives.  The question then lies on how strong personal desire is to withstand heavy mediation from the public sphere, since desire stems from a lack, and in being provided a possible filler, the temptation becomes palpable. To me, this seems the driving force behind advertisement: show what you don’t have, to create a lack in the subject, who then desires to obtain the unattainable sensation that the object can provide.

Thinking about Degas’ and Caillebotte’s painting with Lacan’s definition of desire in mind, I can’t help but think of them in relation to modern art and Bouguereau’s, The Birth of Venus. If these impressionist paintings show worlds of desire, it’s clear that an introspective examination of the self’s voyeurism is at the forefront, whereas Bouguereau’s painting is trying to provide us with an ‘ideal’ desire. Of course these are my subjective interpretations, but at the heart of art lies an ability to invoke sensations and ideas that can be shared through ‘objects’. When thinking about modern art, what comes to my mind are installations, readymades, shock art, and blank canvases-a vast difference from the nude, although we haven’t abandoned the nude completely. I suspect this is due to our transforming focus of desire through time, and that the artist, never fully satiated, continues to question and push conventions in seeking new realms. Another aspect of the shifting styles of art revolve around political and social contexts. So, what would it mean to make art without desire? I can’t find a satisfactory answer, and it feels that you either address desire, or attempt to make it, both of which are attempts for the artist to gain acknowledgement through recognition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography

• Levine, Steven Z. Lacan Reframed: A Guide for the Arts Student. London: I.B. Tauris, 2008. 15. Print.
• Levine, Steven Z. Lacan Reframed: A Guide for the Arts Student. London: I.B. Tauris, 2008. 32. Print.
• Zizek, Slavoj. Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jacques Lacan Through Popular Culture. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1992. Print.
• Borch-Jacobsen, Mikkel. “Desire Caught by the Tail.” Lacan: The Absolute Master. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1991. 199. Print.
• What is NEGATION? Definition of NEGATION (Psychology Dictionary). (n.d.). Retrieved from http://psychologydictionary.org/negation/
• Negation and its Reliabilities. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://www.lacan.com/pfallerf.htm
• Borch-Jacobsen, Mikkel. “Desire Caught by the Tail.” Lacan: The Absolute Master. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1991. 202. Print.
• Borch-Jacobsen, Mikkel. “Desire Caught by the Tail.” Lacan: The Absolute Master. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1991. 204. Print.
• Zizek, Slavoj. Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jacques Lacan Through Popular Culture. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1992. Print.
• Barbe-Gall, Françoise. How to Look at Impressionism. London: Frances Lincoln Limited, 2013. 49. Print
• Dawkins, H. (2002). The nude in French art and culture, 1870-1910. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 8. Print.
• Dawkins, H. (2002). The nude in French art and culture, 1870-1910. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 13. Print.
• Dawkins, H. (2002). The nude in French art and culture, 1870-1910. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 16. Print.
• Dawkins, H. (2002). The nude in French art and culture, 1870-1910. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 41. Print.
• Dawkins, H. (2002). The nude in French art and culture, 1870-1910. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 54. Print.
• De Duve, Thierry. “Why Was Modernism Born in France” Artforum Vol. 52, No. 5, Jan. 2014, 196. Print.
• Boer, J. R. J. Van. Impressionism–through Clear Eyes: The Movement and Its Precursors : Museum Boymans-van Beuningen Rotterdam, 19 September-29 November 1992. Rotterdam: Museum ; 8. 1992. Print.
• Boer, J. R. J. Van. Impressionism–through Clear Eyes: The Movement and Its Precursors : Museum Boymans-van Beuningen Rotterdam, 19 September-29 November 1992. Rotterdam: Museum ; 8. 1992. Print.
• Barbe-Gall, Françoise. How to Look at Impressionism. London: Frances Lincoln Limited, 2013. 197. Print.

 

 

Jeremy Hacker
Project Outline

Impressionism and Desire

If a photograph could capture desire perfectly and fulfil our longing of achieving a powerful aesthetic moment, then why bother painting at all? There must be some reason artists, particularly painters, choose to work with particular mediums with a specific choice of what gets put onto that medium. The impressionist painter before the end of the 19^th century began to play with light, time, subjective focus, and a different portrayal of desire, but why? One only has to look at realistic paintings, near photographic in viewing, such as William Adolphe  Bouguereau’s, The Birth of Venus, to see what impressionism is potentially and most likely responding to.  The woman of this painting is portrayed as a heavenly, godlike woman who stands among cupids in an otherworldly oceanic scene. This painting and Titian’s, Venus of Urbino, both represent the popular, traditional style of depiction of Venus, and painting, which poses the ideal vs the real.  With these two paintings in mind, we can look at two Caillebotte paintings, Nude Woman and The Floor Scrapers, and immediately see a shift in perception and reception of art. Nude Woman portrays a naked woman lying on a couch, hardly in a position to care for the viewer, and The Floor Scrapers has an undertone of homosexuality and a brief glimpse of modernism-the idea of scraping out the old and bringing in the new. An immediate contrast immediately surfaces between photorealistic realism painting and impressionism, being their choice of engagement with the viewer and desire’s role in affluence of that view. Realism was held to a high standard of tradition, which art critics didn’t fail to impose on the rise of impressionism, confused and bitter with what they thought shoddy and not well-done painting. The viewer is thus confronted with having to wrestle with the ideas present in these paintings, rather than be pleased with immediate satiation of desire through realism. There’s nothing comfortable about staring at Caillebotte’s Nude Woman, but you can’t help go through a list of questions as to why this piece of furniture is there, who is she, what has happened, etc., whereas in the realistic paintings I’ve brought up don’t leave much room for the imagination as their story unfolds like a fill-in-the-blank picture book.

Why does it matter to look at an art style over 100 years old, when modern art already presents extensive questions about art’s importance and purpose? With any artistic medium there is a tradition and history ingrained in it, because an art style doesn’t spring from nothing. I imagine it is a widely held, firm belief that modern art has its roots from impressionist ideas, particularly the way in which impressionism shifted the viewer’s focus, playing with their desire and anticipation. With the change of time come the change of society, yet when one lingers with impressionism they can’t help but see ideas still prevalent today, particularly with the way we address our desires toward sexuality and commercialism. My goal is to look at the poignant themes which impressionism responds to, and correlate those ideas toward modern times, with desire as a main emphasis in both the viewer and artist’s frame of mind. What I’ve done so far is to give a brief explanation of impressionism’s relationship with desire, but I’ve yet to examine desire. Beside the common sense response to the question: what is desire, I’m curious as to what and where desire comes from. In an examination of Lacan’s psychoanalysis of desire, Borch-Jacobsen has summarized Lacan: “Unknowable, unreal, denatured, sexually neuter, the ‘object’ of desire is therefore a non-object, a negated object.” (1) If we’re to look at impressionism with this theory as a lens, then what ideas about human desire can we uncover, particularly with what we choose to pine over, and what can the past say about, and even change, the way we think of the present? With a psychoanalytical approach in examining desire, and viewing how shifts of art styles occur as influenced by culture and time, I will try and show how and what role desire plays through looking at key impressionist paintings.

 

Borch-Jacobsen, Mikkel. “Desire Caught by the Tail.” Lacan: The Absolute Master. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1991. 202. Print.