It seems as if these roses have been tossed almost carelessly into the wicker basket – they tumble over the edge and onto the table – but the disarray is artful. The subtle colours – pure white, cream, pale apricot and pink – have been carefully balanced to establish harmony and the heads of the blooms turned in different directions to catch the clear, bright light and show the unique qualities of each flower.
The leaves are glossy and the petals have a multitude of textures, but these roses seem to have little to do with the natural world outside. They appear too pristine and untouched, and although the bare, mottled background brings out their colours, it isolates them as though in an empty room. But it is this very isolation that made the picture ideal for a heavily ornamented, bourgeois Victorian drawing room – a moment to breathe amongst the expensive clutter.
It seems as if these roses have been tossed almost carelessly into the wicker basket – they tumble over the edge and onto the table – but the disarray is artful. The subtle colours – pure white, cream, pale apricot and pink – have been carefully balanced to establish harmony, and the heads of the blooms turned in different directions to catch the clear, bright light and show the unique qualities of each flower.
Each twisted stem of the basket is clearly defined, but its deep brown colour seems to make it recede from us, establishing depth of space. This is helped by the dark red of the roses at the top and bottom of the arrangement, which also make the other flowers appear more brilliant. The lighter-coloured blooms seem poised and weightless, as if they are about to float away but are pinned down by the darker ones. The flowers are delicately painted and almost photographically real – so much so that it’s difficult to imagine they have any scent, although it was said that Fantin-Latour’s studio was heavy with the smell of flowers when he was working.
The leaves are glossy and the petals have a multitude of textures, but these roses seem to have little to do with the natural world outside. They look too pristine and untouched, and although the bare mottled background brings out their colours, it isolates them as though in an empty room. But it is this very isolation that made the picture ideal for a heavily ornamented, bourgeois Victorian drawing room – a moment to breathe amongst the expensive clutter.
Although commissions came in all year round, Fantin-Latour couldn’t always begin work straight away: depending on the season, there might not be any flowers to paint. Unlike the seventeenth-century Dutch flower painters that he admired, Fantin-Latour didn’t make sketches of a particular specimen when in bloom to incorporate a picture later on. He told his friend and mentor, the artist James Abbott McNeill Whistler, that ‘As soon as the flowers arrive when the good weather returns, I will do them’ – meaning the promised pictures. He probably bought his bouquets at the market held at the Place St Sulpice in Paris on Tuesdays and Saturdays, just a short walk from his studio.
Faced with fast-fading blooms, Fantin-Latour had to work against the clock. One of his early teachers, Horace Lecoq de Boisbaudran, had taught his innovative method for developing visual memory to Fantin-Latour, helping him to paint flowers that were past their best as if they were freshly picked. He also used commercially prepared toile absorbante (absorbent canvas) that sped up the drying process and allowed him to work quickly.
