Pierre-Paul Prud'hon (1758-1823) who died two hundred years ago this year is an also-ran in the history of art. A successful artist but not a great one, who might feature in studies of Neoclassicism or early Romanticism, but who barely justifies mention in more general surveys. More recently he has been recast by feminist art history as a prime example of stultifying, possibly even toxic, masculinity because of his close professional and personal association with Catherine Mayer. Mayer, a woman artist sixteen years his junior, suffered the all-too-common fate of having many of her works reattributed to Prud'hon by an art market seeking profit and an art academia which until recently found it almost inconceivable that women could paint.
In the middle of all this Prud'hon's work itself can get lost. He was a slow starter. Born in Cluny, his talent was spotted by local priest and he was sent to study in Dijon on a local council scholarship. He first competed unsuccessfully for the Prix de Rome in 1776, and spent three years in Paris from 1780, before finally winning the scholarship to Italy.
Prud'hon favoured a soft style of sfumato shadows and rich tones and by 1801 he was known as 'the French Correggio', although as much for his well-known decorative schemes as for his colouration. He claimed his biggest influence was Leonardo da Vinci, for his Treatise on Art as much as his works - Prud'hon could only have viewed The Last Supper in person. The sculptor Antonio Canova, who became a close personal friend and tried to persuade the Frenchman to stay in Rome, was another key figure whose clean, light interpretation of classicism can be seen in Prud'hon's draughtmanship.
Back in Paris, Prud'hon found himself and his style out of step with Davidian Neoclassicism. He was determined to make a name, but chose to do so in the slightly old-fashioned field of classical allegory, rather than mythological narrative or antique history. What motived him as an artist were ideas, and in allegorical subjects he was able to condense ideas into a simple, easily read composition. His first Salon success in 1793, An Allegory and Love and Friendship, has an almost sculptural simplicity with the two figures, their marble-like flesh highlighted, standing almost independently of the background landscape.
He painted portraits throughout his career, with little enthusiasm as a financial imperative although, ironically, they are now some of his best known work. Perhaps the most famous, is his representation of Empress Josephine, semi-reclined in a romanticised landscape which suggests a kind of Rousseau-esque communication with nature. Characteristically, Prud'hon spend several years perfecting the image. Her pose is reminiscent of Canova's sculpture of Pauline Bonaparte as Venus but the dress and setting - the gardens at Malmaison - are more obviously contemporary. And despite the back-to-naturism, Josephine remains regal with her tiara and Imperial red. Prud'hon benefitted greatly from the patronage of the Bonaparte family, producing decorative commissions as well as portraits.
The collaboration between Prud-hon and Mayer is almost impossible to untangle. It seems likely that Prud'hon worked on the initial stages - drawing and composition - and Mayer then took over the painting. Prud-hon was something of a perfectionist, who found it difficult to complete works anyway. He preferred drawing, and certainly preferred generating ideas to the hard graft of seeing them through. Mayer was looking for a way to exhibit history painting in a world which considered it an unsuitable genre for a woman. They mutually agreed that works would be exhibited under Mayer's name, and their years together were the most productive of Prud'hon's life. In a sense they were both exploiting, or benefitting from, each other, depending on one's point of view.
From a twenty-first century standpoint, the most unsettling aspect of Prud-hon's relationship with Mayer is their personal one. Prud'hon had a difficult private life: six children, an unstable and estranged wife and precarious finances. Mayer seems to have been drawn into this - in what exact circumstances we will never know - becoming a surrogate mother, housekeeper and, eventually, presumably, sexual partner. It is easy to see Mayer as a victim, but she appears determined and self-aware in her professional life; she had strong family bonds of her own and she was financially self-sufficient. What is impossible to ignore is the fact that she suicide in 1821, using Prud'hon's own razor, after he refused to marry her.
So, what are we left with. Prud'hon organised an exhibition of Mayer's work after her death. He survived her by only two years. He also completed her final painting and exhibited it as his own. Their collaboration was complete and confusing right to the end. Perhaps some would argue that after two hundred years it is time for Prud'hon to step back and allow Mayer to share some of the art historical limelight. She made him the better artist. He caused her death. Ultimately, however, she benefitted from working with him, producing paintings, achieving status and gaining patrons she would never, because of when she worked and who she was, have been able to achieve herself.
Art history isnot very comfortable wth collaboration, but Prud'hon and Mayer were a team. And a damn good team at that.
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