On les distingue à peine tant ils sont petits, au fond de this majestueuse allée bordée d'immenses cyprès. What if you are intimate in the décor with the écrase? Et pourquoi le dessinateur at-il voulu leur thunder this vie, pour minuscule qu'elle soit ? Entendait-il, de ces silhouettes tout juste identifiables, faire des créatures humanes, des personnages ?
This is a lavis datant d'un voyage du peintre à la villa d'Este, impressive by the character presque fantastique qu'il donne à ces grands arbres, frissonnants d'une étrange vie interior, et la verticalité impérieuse d'une composition tout en hauteur de part et d'autre d'une allée au fond de laquelle on aperçoit, esquissé, the pale fantôme of the Villa d'Este. The subject, this is the force, the power is presque inquiétante de ces arbres, de this nature, de sa sovereignty. Dans le lointain, de chaque côté de l'allée écrasée de soleil, et comme ouvrant le passage vers la villa, deux statues de pierre se répondent, vagues antiquités dont le detail échappe. Et, au pied de celle de gauche, comme réfugiés dans son ombre, deux très petits human personnages, une femme et un homme dont on ne sait rien, sinon qu'elle est assise sur un banc, comme légèrement penchée, affaissée sur elle-même ; tandis que lui, debout en face d'elle, ensemble parliamenter. There is an opposition between the calm resigné de l'une, the faconde and the energy de l'autre. Mais, en dépit de la difference de leurs attitudes, ils sont réunis sous le regard du peintre et le nôtre par l'extreme modestie de leur place sur la toile, leur petitesse par rapport à l'immensité qui les entoure, the force jaillissante de this nature, la majesté aussi de l'Antiquité Represented by the two statues and the aperçu incertain and magnificent de la célèbre villa. Par le fait également qu'ils sont dans l'ombre alors que tout le reste est comme irradié de lumière.
What are the fonts, these two moucherons, this couple dérisoire, dont nous ne percevons qu'un simulacre d'existence au milieu d'un écrasant, d'un énorme silence? Source heure est-il pour eux sous ce plein soleil et à quel moment de leur histoire personnelle se trouvent-ils ?
Elle, c'est une femme plus toute jeune, dessinatrice. Elle est française, comme son compagnon, artiste lui aussi. Tous les deux désargentés ; surtout lui. Pourtant ils avaient décidé de passer a semaine à Rome, espérant thunder a élan new élan à une liaison qui s'épuisait ; and you can see the occasion, pour lui, de rencontrer du monde, des gens du milieu artisticique qui l'aideraient à sortir du néant où il se trouvait. A little adventure, this voyage, can you get another chance? Toujours est-il qu'ils l'ont saisie: en fait c'est elle qui a pris la décision, et lui, comme toujours, a suivi.
Et puis les choses se sont mal passées. The middle hotel is on the same floor as it is brown, the room is laid out. Leur errance dans la ville, la veille, sans pouvoir rencontrer personne de ceux qu'ils avaient pressentis, qu'elle avait pressentis pour lui, avait été si décevante. This is a souvenir, and it is for all of you, from other places in Rome, which are available to you after the passing, auréolés of young people, of beautiful beauty, of grace also in hazards, in encounters, in chance.
Mais aujourd'hui, c'est comme si tout réellement se délitait. Marie Sizun, Les petits personnages (Arléa, 2023), “Les amants séparés”, Fantaisie sur Les Grands Cyprès de la Villa d'Este, sanguine sur une légère preparation à la pierre blackire, Jean-Honoré Fragonard, 1765.
Elle is visibly tired. Ils viennent de visitor la villa d'Este – ce lieu habité de rêves –, d'y piétiner en vain. And redescendre ensuite the monumental escalier sous the plain soleil de midi and achevé de l'épuiser. C'est pour cela qu'elle s'est abattue sur un banc, au seul endroit moins torride qu'elle ait trouvé à this heure écrasée de lumière, dans l'ombre étroite projectée par les deux hautes statues de pierre. Mais, plus que la fatigue physique, ce qui lui ôte son énergie et l'envie de poursuivre la promenade, c'est a new sentiment. A soupçon. Une certitude qui la detruit. Son compagnon, au contraire, a l'air plein d'allant, comme si this visite avait réveillé en lui une vitalité oubliée. Debout devant elle, il discourt. Est-ce qu'il ne voit pas que this excessive santé est pour elle comme un reproche ? May justement il ensemble que ce soient des griefs qu'il est en train de lui expresser, joining the gesture à des paroles qu'elle n'a ni la force ni l'envie d'écouter. What is it like to arrive, but not indolent? Tout à coup une révolte chez ce garçon passif ? […]
They are barely visible, so small are they, at the end of this majestic avenue lined with giant cypress trees. Are they really there, so tiny in this backdrop that overwhelms them? And why did the artist want to give them this life, however minuscule it may be? Did he want to transform these barely discernible silhouettes into human beings, personalities?
It is a wash drawing from the painter's journey to the Villa d'Este, striking for the almost fantastical character it lends to the large trees, which seem shaken by a strange inner life, and for the compelling verticality of a high-altitude composition on either side of an avenue, at the end of which the pale specter of the Villa d'Este is sketched. The theme is the power, the almost uncanny force of these trees, of nature and its sovereignty. In the distance, on either side of the sun-drenched avenue leading to the villa, two stone statues face each other, vague antiquities whose details remain indistinct. And at the foot of the left statue, as if taken in its shadow, are two very small human figures, a woman and a man, about whom nothing is known except that she sits on a bench, slightly bent, slumped in on herself; while he stands before her, seemingly negotiating. There is this contrast between the resigned stillness of one and the poignant energy of the other. But despite their differing postures, they are united before the painter's eyes and before ours, by the extremely limited space on the canvas, their smallness compared to the vastness surrounding them, the burgeoning power of nature, the sublimity of antiquity represented by the two statues, and the indefinite and magnificent view of the famous villa. Also, the fact that they are in shadow while everything else is bathed in light.
What are they doing here, these two mosquitoes, this pathetic pair, whose existence we perceive only as a sham amidst an overwhelming, immense silence? What hour has struck for them in the blazing sun, and at what point in their life story do they find themselves?
She's a woman no longer young, an illustrator. She's French, just like her partner, who is also an artist. Both are penniless, especially him. Nevertheless, they had decided to spend a week in Rome, hoping to rekindle their flagging relationship. It might also be an opportunity for him to meet people in the art world who could help him get out of his predicament. This trip was a small adventure, perhaps their last chance? In any case, they seized it: she made the decision, and he followed, as always.
But then everything went wrong. The mediocre hotel they ended up in was so noisy, the room so ugly. Their wanderings through the city the previous evening, without running into any of the people they had expected to meet, the people she had expected to meet for him, had been so disappointing. And for both of them, the memory was so bitter, of other stays in Rome they had both made in the past, with the radiance of their youth, their beauty, the grace of chance, encounters, and happiness.
But today it's as if everything is falling apart.
She is visibly exhausted. They have just visited the Villa d'Este—that place inhabited by dreams—and wandered around it in vain. It has utterly drained her to then descend the monumental staircase again in the blazing midday sun. So she collapsed onto a bench, in the only less hot spot she could find in that sun-drenched hour, in the narrow shadow cast by the two tall stone statues. But more than the physical exhaustion, which robbed her of the energy and desire to continue the walk, it was a new feeling. A suspicion. A certainty that is destroying her. Her companion, on the other hand, seems full of energy, as if the visit has awakened a forgotten vitality within him. He stands before her and talks. Doesn't he see that this excessive health is like an accusation to her? But it seems as if he is accusing her, combining words with gestures to which she can neither hear nor wants to listen. What is wrong with this notorious idler? A sudden revolt in this passive boy? […] 1
This article is written in German and can be found at https://rentree.de. Automatic translations into English and French are available. English, French.
Notes- “These forgotten figures, these outsiders, these barely conceived creatures have always fascinated and enchanted me—mysterious existences born from a fleeting idea of the painter, or perhaps an addition, a final touch, and, who knows, the artist’s secret signature? Marie Sizun breathes new life into these small figures, inventing a story, feelings, regrets, and hopes for each of them. They become the focus of these thirty-one short stories, escaping the canvas to face their destinies. From Turner to Utrillo, from Ensor to Vallotton, from Marquet to Monet, each selected painting becomes the pretext for a fantasy that extends painting into the imagination and allows us to see it in a different way.” (Translation of the publisher’s announcement.)>>>
