A Bar at the Folies-Bergère

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A Bar at the Folies-Bergère: Edouard Manet

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Art Type: Oil Painting
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Edouard Manet Oil Painting - A Bar at the Folies-Bergère

Keywords: Bar, Folies, Bergère

Work Overview: A Bar at the Folies-Bergère
Artist Édouard Manet Edit this on Wikidata
Year 1882
Medium Oil on canvas
Dimensions 96 cm (38 in) × 130 cm (51 in)
Location Courtauld Gallery, London, United Kingdom Edit this at Wikidata

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère (French: Un bar aux Folies Bergère), painted and exhibited at the Paris Salon in 1882, is considered the last major work of French painter Édouard Manet. It depicts a scene in the Folies Bergère nightclub in Paris. It originally belonged to the composer Emmanuel Chabrier, who was Manet's neighbor, and hung over his piano.

The painting exemplifies Manet's commitment to Realism in its detailed representation of a contemporary scene. Many features have puzzled critics but almost all of them have been shown to have a rationale, and the painting has been the subject of numerous popular and scholarly articles.[1][2]

The central figure stands before a mirror, although critics—accusing Manet of ignorance of perspective and alleging various impossibilities in the painting—have debated this point since the earliest reviews were published. In 2000, however, a photograph taken from a suitable point of view of a staged reconstruction was shown to reproduce the scene as painted by Manet.[3] According to this reconstruction, "the conversation that many have assumed was transpiring between the barmaid and gentleman is revealed to be an optical trick—the man stands outside the painter's field of vision, to the left, and looks away from the barmaid, rather than standing right in front of her."[3] As it appears, the observer should be standing to the right and closer to the bar than the man whose reflection appears at the right edge of the picture. This is an unusual departure from the central point of view usually assumed when viewing pictures drawn according to perspective.

Asserting the presence of the mirror has been crucial for many modern interpreters.[4] It provides a meaningful parallel with Las Meninas, a masterpiece by an artist Manet admired, Diego Velázquez. There has been a considerable development of this topic since Michel Foucault broached it in his book The Order of Things (1966).[5]

The art historian Jeffrey Meyers describes the intentional play on perspective and the apparent violation of the operations of mirrors: “Behind her, and extending for the entire length of the four-and-a-quarter-foot painting, is the gold frame of an enormous mirror. The French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty has called a mirror ‘the instrument of a universal magic that changes things into spectacles, spectacles into things, me into others, and others into me.’ We, the viewers, stand opposite the barmaid on the other side of the counter and, looking at the reflection in the mirror, see exactly what she sees... A critic has noted that Manet’s ‘preliminary study shows her placed off to the right, whereas in the finished canvas she is very much the centre of attention.’ Though Manet shifted her from the right to the center, he kept her reflection on the right. Seen in the mirror, she seems engaged with a customer; in full face, she’s self-protectively withdrawn and remote.”[6]

The painting is rich in details which provide clues to social class and milieu. The woman at the bar is a real person, known as Suzon, who worked at the Folies-Bergère in the early 1880s. For his painting, Manet posed her in his studio. By including a dish of oranges in the foreground, Manet identifies the barmaid as a prostitute, according to art historian Larry L. Ligo, who says that Manet habitually associated oranges with prostitution in his paintings.[7] T.J. Clark says that the barmaid is "intended to represent one of the prostitutes for which the Folies-Bergère was well-known", who is represented "as both a salesperson and a commodity—something to be purchased along with a drink."[7]

Other notable details include the pair of green feet in the upper left-hand corner, which belong to a trapeze artist who is performing above the restaurant's patrons. The beer bottles depicted are easily identified by the red triangle on the label as Bass Pale Ale, and the conspicuous presence of this English brand instead of German beer has been interpreted as documentation of anti-German sentiment in France in the decade after the Franco-Prussian War.

The 1934 ballet Bar aux Folies-Bergère with choreography by Ninette de Valois and music of Chabrier was created from, and based around, Manet's painting.[9] The 1947 film The Private Affairs of Bel Ami faithfully references A Bar at the Folies-Bergère twenty nine minutes into the film with a look-alike actress, set and props as the main characters enter the establishment.

The painting was the inspiration of a song, {possibly by Sydney Carter} in the popular theatre production, The Lyric Revue, in London in 1951. The refrain went "Oh, how I long to be Back in my dear Brittany ... But fate has chosen me For the bar at the Folies-Bergères".

The painting The Bar (1954) by Australian painter John Brack, which depicts a comparatively grim Antipodean bar-room scene, is an ironic reference to A Bar at the Folies-Bergère.[10]

In the 1988 Eddie Murphy film Coming To America, during the party scene at McDowell's house, there is a spoof on the painting above the couch, in which the central female figure is replaced with a dark-skinned woman instead.[11]

Canadian artist Jeff Wall makes reference to A Bar at the Folies-Bergère in his work Picture for Women (1979).[12][13] The Tate Modern wall text for Picture of Women, from the 2005-2006 exhibition Jeff Wall Photographs 1978–2004, outlines the influence of Manet's painting:

In Manet’s painting, a barmaid gazes out of frame, observed by a shadowy male figure. The whole scene appears to be reflected in the mirror behind the bar, creating a complex web of viewpoints. Wall borrows the internal structure of the painting, and motifs such as the light bulbs that give it spatial depth. The figures are similarly reflected in a mirror, and the woman has the absorbed gaze and posture of Manet’s barmaid, while the man is the artist himself. Though issues of the male gaze, particularly the power relationship between male artist and female model, and the viewer’s role as onlooker, are implicit in Manet’s painting, Wall updates the theme by positioning the camera at the centre of the work, so that it captures the act of making the image (the scene reflected in the mirror) and, at the same time, looks straight out at us.

This painting was Manet’s last major work. It represents the bustling interior of one of the most prominent music halls and cabarets of Paris, the Folies-Bergère. The venue opened in 1869 and its atmosphere was described as “unmixed joy”. In contrast, the barmaid in Manet’s representation is detached and marooned behind the bar.

The Folies-Bergère was also notorious as a place to pick up prostitutes. The writer Guy de Maupassant described the barmaids as “vendors of drink and of love”.

Manet knew the place well. He made a number of preparatory sketches there but the final work was painted in his studio. He set up a bar and asked one of the barmaids, Suzon, to serve as his model.

The painting was first exhibited in 1882, at the annual fine arts exhibition in Paris, the Salon. Visitors and critics found the composition unsettling. The inaccuracy of the barmaid’s reflection, shifted too far to the right, has continued to spark much debate.

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A Bar at the Folies-Bergère was presented by Manet at the 1882 Paris Salon exhibition, just one year before his death. The painting is the culmination of his interest in scenes of urban leisure and spectacle, a subject that he had developed in dialogue with Impressionism over the previous decade. The painting is a masterpiece that has perplexed and inspired artists and scholars since it was painted over 100 years ago.

The Folies-Bergère was one of the most elaborate variety-show venues in Paris, showcasing entertainment ranging from ballets to circus acts. Another attraction was the barmaids, who were assumed by many contemporary observers to be available as clandestine prostitutes. By depicting one of these women and her male customer on an imposing scale, Manet brazenly introduced a morally suspect, contemporary subject into the realm of high art. By treating the topic with deadpan seriousness and painterly brilliance, Manet staked his claim to be remembered as the heroic "painter of modern life" envisaged by critics like Charles Baudelaire.

In addition to the social tensions evoked by the painting's subject, Manet's composition presents a visual puzzle. The barmaid looks directly at the viewer, while the mirror behind her reflects the large hall and patrons of the Folies-Bergère. Manet seems to have painted the image from a viewpoint directly opposite the barmaid. Yet this viewpoint is contradicted by the reflection of the objects on the bar and the figures of the barmaid and a patron off to the right. Given such inconsistencies, Manet seems not to have offered a single, determinate position from which to confidently make sense of the whole.

French painter Édouard Manet presented A Bar at the Folies-Bergère at the 1882 Paris Salon exhibition just one year before his death. The painting is the culmination of his interest in scenes of urban leisure and spectacle, a subject that he had developed in dialogue with Impressionism over the previous decade. On loan from the Courtauld Institute of Art Gallery in London, the painting is a masterpiece that has perplexed and inspired artists and scholars since it was painted over 100 years ago.
The Folies-Bergère was one of the most elaborate variety-show venues in Paris, showcasing entertainment ranging from ballets to circus acts. Another attraction was the barmaids, who were assumed by many contemporary observers to be available as clandestine prostitutes. By depicting one of these women and her male customer on an imposing scale, Manet brazenly introduced a morally suspect, contemporary subject into the realm of high art. By treating the topic with deadpan seriousness and painterly brilliance, Manet staked his claim to be remembered as the heroic "painter of modern life" envisaged by critics like Charles Baudelaire.

In addition to the social tensions evoked by the painting's subject, Manet's composition presents a visual puzzle. The barmaid looks directly at the viewer, while the mirror behind her reflects the large hall and patrons of the Folies-Bergère. Manet seems to have painted the image from a viewpoint directly opposite the barmaid. Yet this viewpoint is contradicted by the reflection of the objects on the bar and the figures of the barmaid and a patron off to the right. Given such inconsistencies, Manet seems not to have offered a single, determinate position from which to confidently make sense of the whole.

The visual and psychological ambiguities of A Bar at the Folies-Bergère have prompted many questions:

• How are we to characterize the barmaid's expression?
• What is the nature of the viewer's relationship to the barmaid?
• What is happening between the barmaid and the man reflected in the mirror?
• If we see the man's reflection in the mirror, why isn't his figure also visible in front of the bar?
• Why is there no indication in the mirror of the balcony walkway on which we imagine the man, or ourselves, to be standing?
• Why are the reflections of the figures and still life objects displaced so far to the right?

The more one reflects on Manet's painting, the more difficult it becomes to project a straightforward narrative onto it, and the more conscious and uncertain we become of our position as spectators. At once invoking and undermining the traditional notion of painting-as-mirror, Manet's work becomes a profound interrogation of the act of looking itself.

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This painting is full of mystery, ambiguity, doubt. At first sight it seems to do exactly what the title implies, and show a vivid lifelike view of a bar at the popular music hall. There is the marble counter with bottles and a dish of oranges; there is a barmaid behind it waiting to serve us; there is a mirror behind her… but here the mysteries begin.
Because what’s in the mirror cannot be a reflection of what we see in front of it. Things are displaced; the barmaid’s reflection is too far off to the right, when we can see that the mirror is parallel with the plane of the picture itself; there is a man in front of her reflection in the mirror, and there isn’t one in the “reality” in front of it; there is a whole balcony front missing – and so on.
Furthermore, there are perplexing passages in the paint itself – patches of light that might be the leg of the counter, or a drift of tobacco smoke, or simply an effect of light on the surface of the mirror. It’s full of ambiguity.
Now at about the same time that Manet was painting A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, in the early 1880s, an English artist called Frederick Yeames was painting a picture called And When Did You Last See Your Father? It shows a scene from the English Civil War: a young boy from a Royalist family is being interrogated by a Roundhead officer, while his anxious mother and sisters wait behind him, hoping the honest little chap won’t betray his father. Yeames was a competent draughtsman, and the scene is effectively composed; the handling of the paint is immaculate; the characterisation of the individuals in the scene is vivid and convincing.

But here’s a thought-experiment. Let’s imagine a full description of that Civil War scene in words. It would be perfectly possible. There are no puzzles about mirrors and reflections and things in the wrong place: everything is easily and immediately readable.
Then let’s imagine we give that description to another artist, of equivalent skill in draughtsmanship and composition and the handling of paint, one whose ability to convey character through facial expression was the equal of Yeames’s, and let him or her paint a picture on a canvas of the same size and shape. It would be a different painting, but would it differ substantially in ways that are important to the way the painting works?
I don’t think so. Effectively, functionally, it would be the same picture. What the Yeames did, this would do. What excited admiration for the skill of the artist or arouses compassion or empathy for the people in one picture, would do just the same in the other.
Now imagine the same process carried out with the Manet.
But would that be possible at all? Long before we get to the difficulty of painting an equivalent picture by reading a description of this one, we can’t even say exactly what’s being represented. Then there’s the appearance of the painted surface, which is so important a part of our experience of the picture: the way the paint is scumbled in the handling of the flowers in the barmaid’s corsage, and in the great chandelier, and in the massing of the spectators on the balcony.
It’s Manet’s particular touch, his hand, his brushstrokes, that matter in passages like these. The things that matter about the Yeames can be put into words quite easily: the things that matter about the Manet cannot.
But I still haven’t mentioned the greatest mystery of all, an enigma so profound that even if we managed to describe the rest of the painting in words, we’d still have to throw up our hands in despair at the impossibility of resolving it, and it’s this: what does the barmaid’s expression mean?
How on earth would we describe that? It is the most unreadable face I know in any painting. She is far more mysterious than that smirking Florentine we know as the Mona Lisa.
At the heart of this scene of glittering light and the sensuous richness of a dozen different textures, at the very centre of this world of brilliant surfaces, there is this pretty young face expressing a profound, inexplicable… what is it, sadness? Regret? Unease? Alienation?
Her face is flushed; it might be simply that she’s warm under all those lights; it might be the flush that suffuses the cheeks of a young child kept too long from her bed. She’s by no means a child, but for all the corseted fullness of her figure, she does look young; she looks innocent; at the same time, we wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the conversation in the mirror between her reflection and the man in the top hat concerns her availability for quite another purpose than pouring glasses of wine and selling oranges.
But perhaps there’s a clue in that. Which is the real girl, this one, or the one in the mirror? Is she two people, one whose character is as shallow as that of the man in the hat, as shallow as everything else in the mirror, only as deep as the glass itself, no more truly there than anything else in that glittering surface, because it’s all surface – and the other who is as complex and profound as the expression on her face, a look that defies all description?
The one in the mirror is not really there, and the one who is really there is not there either. She’s somewhere else, thinking of her lover, or her debts, or her parents in the village she comes from, who haven’t heard from her for months; or her little sister who has consumption… or thinking of nothing. And of course she can’t think really, she’s not real at all – she’s a painted surface, just like the reflection that isn’t a reflection.
But these reflections on reality (we can’t get away from reflections) are right at the heart of Modernism, that astonishing movement in all the arts that was fertilised by Baudelaire, germinated with the Impressionists, and grew throughout the latter part of the 19th century to burst into brilliant and fertile flowering with Picasso and Braque, with Stravinsky, with Joyce.
That’s the real difference between A Bar at the Folies-Bergère and And When Did You Last See Your Father? Yeames and all the other Victorian narrative painters were only interested in half of what there was to be interested about. Manet was interested in all of it. That’s why they belonged to the past, and Manet belonged to the future.
A Bar at the Folies-Bergère is about a bar at the Folies-Bergère, it’s about the mystery of that ordinary young woman’s unfathomable expression, it’s about champagne and oranges and tobacco smoke and chandeliers and fashionable dress; but it’s also about seeing, and about recording the way the light glistens on those surfaces, and the way things in a mirror are different from things in front of our eyes; it’s about the sensation of sight and the mysteries of representation; it’s about painting itself.
This is an extract from What Makes A Masterpiece: Encounters with Great Works of Art, published next month by Thames and Hudson

In the winter of 1881/82 Manet painted a picture that can stand as a summation of his art: A Bar at the Folies-Bergčre. Now exempt (as an award winner) from the jury process, he exhibited it at the 1882 Salon. Recent scholars have rightly been fascinated by the qualities of the painting and the intensity and diversity of Manet's renewed analysis of part of the society he lived in.

The colours are rather subdued (which may be intended to convey the smoky somnolence of the pleasure palace), but on the other hand Manet gives us first-rate proof of his still-life talent in the foreground. The hard, cold quality of the white light globes is perfectly caught, they are like buttons on the canvas. Manet's pastose brushwork creates a unified tapestry of colour correspondences and contrasts across the various spatial levels. Those levels themselves are intentionally confusing: most of what we see is a reflection in the bar mirror behind the woman. The laws of perspective are broken in a fashion that was a radical departure at the time. The woman's back is reflected at an angle.

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