A Burial at Ornans

When Courbet’s Burial at Ornans made its initial appearance at the 1850 Salon de Paris it wasn’t merely its sheer size that astounded viewers.

It was the sight of the peasantry, portrayed on such a cinematic scale, and thrust directly before the Salon’s fashionably elite audience, that induced utter shock.

Peasants were people normally reserved as an afterthought within epic scriptural scenes, or allegorical storytelling. For them to become the very subject matter of a painting on an unarguably grandiose scale, was an innovation in its boldest, purest form.

It certainly secured the artist’s position as one of the most important fathers of modernism, through his engagement with total realism and everyday banality.

For Courbet (1819-1877), it was a route through which he could obliterate the traditions of painting predating him.

He made use of several devices in order to drive this artistic mutiny, subverting the essence of classical painting. The subject matter of the picture is bleak and superficially uninspiring. We are witnessing the burial of Courbet’s uncle in his home town of Ornans.

Instead of employing models to pose for him as was customary, the artist, at the request of the townspeople themselves, used the actual individuals that had attended this solemn scene.

He includes a diverse range of characters: numerous children, elderly locals, clergymen and a host of weeping, mourning women.

Of course, portraying a realistic presentation of the peasantry was itself no innovation.

Rather, it was Courbet’s choice to present these individuals on a gargantuan scale, traditionally only reserved for historical, mythological or biblical subjects that secured its immediate notoriety amongst the upper echelons of Parisian society.

The desolately stark colour palette provide a grim, rather gloomy window onto the scene. There is no heroic redemption present within the picture; instead the viewer is coldly faced with the reality of everyday life for the French working class.

The use of perspective also defies the traditional; the background landscape of Ornans lays flat and lifeless against the three-dimensional figures; the relevance of the individual is again emphasised by the artist’s intricate attention to detail.

In doing so, Courbet is outwardly undermining the bourgeoisie class, distancing himself from playing the role of an establishment-pleasing puppet.

It was not only the structural and pictorial devices through which Courbet conveyed his viewpoint – it was also the timing of its presentation at the Salon.

The painting emerged when the ruling classes were growing fearful of the peasantry following the rebellions of 1846. A Burial at Ornans added salt to the already raw wounds of the establishment.

It also propelled Courbet into new heights of success and fame. Courbet’s connection to the rural French community, particularly Ornans, provided the embers from which the flame of his political consciousness would arise.

Even in terms of his craft, the artist liked to present himself as self-made and self-taught, distancing himself from the notion of institutionalisation in any form.

Upon Courbet’s arrival into Parisian society in 1839, he became acquainted with many artists, poets and writers who held similar political sympathies.

This intellectual community, Baudelaire amongst them, frequented a secluded tavern local to Courbet; they were such regulars that it swiftly became known as the ‘temple of realism’.

It was here at this enticing bohemian venue the artist and his contemporaries would discuss cathartic notions surrounding democracy and the necessity of change.

These routine, seemingly innocent encounters would pave the way for a series of events that would eventually lead to the artist’s incarceration and exile from his beloved Ornans, and indeed France itself, some thirty years later.

The seeds of radicalism now sown, Courbet used the remainder of his artistic career to secure his reputation as a political activist, with works such as The Stone Breakers and The Painter’s Studio.

In July 1870 the Franco-Prussian war broke out, ultimately leading to France’s defeat just ten weeks later.

The country was propelled into turmoil, and the centre of the storm was in Paris. A revolutionary element emerged defying the conservative National Assembly.

Impassioned radicals threw the capital into a period of violent chaos, known as ‘The Bloody Week’ until they were finally suppressed by the military.

Some 20,000 insurgents and 750 government troops died during the uprising.

Perhaps in a little over his head, it seemed Courbet’s extremism was perhaps more indicative of a self-perpetuated image, than any actual intention to publicly revolt.

Indeed, he opposed many of the rebels’ policies, particularly their kidnap of his close friend Gustave Chaudey, a journalist who would often sit for the artist.

In the aftermath of the attempted coup, Courbet provided the perfect scapegoat for the authorities to blame for inflaming public unrest and rebellion.

The artist’s high profile and open defiance of tradition, both in his work and uncensored political opinions, meant that Courbet’s imprisonment could act as a warning to any potential revolutionaries – if such a notable target could not escape the miserable confines of Sainte-Pélagie Prison, what fate would others receive if they behaved in a similarly disobliging manner?

Courbet had suffered with alcoholism for many years prior to his incarceration, and his six months behind bars further aggravated his rheumatism and diseased liver.

Conditions within the prison were very poor, with many of the artist’s fellow inmates being only young children, pictured in a number of the artist’s sketches.

Upon his release in 1873, the government continued its public persecution of Courbet, demanding that he pay for damage created during the uprising.

The artist swiftly fled to Switzerland in order to avoid being utterly bankrupted, eventually dying there four years later in 1877, at just fifty-eight. Courbet clearly paid a heavy price for the truth of his art.