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Posted by Dain, Thursday, January 03, 2008 12:01 AM (Eastern)
Leo Steinberg has argued that Les Demoiselles d'Avignon is the most seminal work of 20th-century art, but when Pablo Picasso unveiled his work in in 1907, the critical elite were appalled, by its subject (naked whores) and style, which evidently until 1974 and Steinberg, the flower of intelligentsia were unable to appreciate.
Take a look:
The odd inclusion of the cornucopia at bottom center, the prostitutes' haggard and intrepid eyes, the jazz-like scramble of influences, the marvel of colors... Exceptionally awkward. Easy to see why critics hated it. Picasso himself made over a hundred sketches before tackling Demoiselles; there is absolutely nothing accidental about the work, least of all its awkwardness. You can smell a whiff of its descent into cliché when you open the pages of Vogue, and Meisel's latest celebrated frame scowls from the height of a hunched spine, albeit clothed.
There is a reason why Serge Lutens and Chris Sheldrake has inspired such a devoted following, none of it genuinely mainstream. Unlike the baroque compositions of traditional perfumery or the clever abstractions of other niche lines, what the magic duo seem to do is take a fistful of raw material and transform it into what it is and never is, and Clair de Musc is no exception. Like the Parisian critics in 1907, I loathe it, and yet there is poetry in it. And finished, as Demoiselles is finished, transparent and brittle and unfriendly, but very beautiful, like a room full of costly crystal and not a drop of wine in sight. Its focus is a musk as white as snow, not a hint of animalic, the sharpness of carnation etching its edges to a keen point, with just a soupçon of jasmine and iris to sweeten the overall composition. White, floral musks are often skin scents, but this is one that holds you off at arm's distance.
Labels: perfume reviews, serge lutens
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