The pale silvery tones of Corot

“Writing about art is not a substitute for the art. Rather than standing in for the visual objects, texts about them ought, in the first place, to lead the reader (back) to those objects. Instead of being a substitute, a good text about art is a supplement to it.” —Mieke Bal

In first reading, and now publishing Corot by Elbert Hubbard, (currently available for free download). I have been wanting to spend some time in front of a Corot canvas or two. Being somewhere in southern Arizona, however, such opportunities don't come easily. So with some hopeful curiosity, I took a virtual trip to the National Gallery in London where I found a nice little collection of Corots online with suitably in-depth information and impressive image zooming capabilities. The online equivalent, I guess, of comprehensive wall labels and good lighting. Though I enjoyed poking around, ultimately I can't say it was all that satisfying an art experience. No surprise perhaps, but I did zoom my way into a few nice details that then brought me back to some of my favorite passages in the book:

"The pale silvery tones of Corot, the shadowy boundaries that separate the visible from the invisible can never be imitated ...

Cows in a Marshy Landscape (detail), Corot, probably 1860-70.

"Before a Corot you would better give way, and let its beauty caress your soul. His colors are thin and very simple—there is no challenge in his work as there is in the work of Turner. Greens and grays predominate, and the plain drab tones are blithe, airy, gracious ...

The Marsh at Arleux (detail), Corot, 1871.

"Corot coquettes with color—with pale lilac, silver gray, and diaphanous green. He poetizes everything he touches—quiet ponds, clumps of bushes, white-washed cottages, simple swards, yellow cows, blowsy peasants, woodland openings, stretching meadows and winding streams—they are all full of divine suggestion and joyous expectancy. 

Souvenir of a Journey to Coubron (detail), Corot, 1873.

"Something is just going to happen—somebody is coming, someone we love—you can almost detect a faint perfume, long remembered, never to be forgotten. A Corot is a tryst with all that you most admire and love best—it speaks of youth, joyous, hopeful, expectant youth."

Souvenir of Palluel (detail), Corot, 1871.

All image details © The National Gallery, London

"Wait there a minute, please, sheepy-sheepy, and a great man will paint you."

Today we're happy to be releasing a new e-book, Corot, by Elbert Hubbard. Part of our new line of classic books on art, this brief biography of the French painter Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot was originally published in 1902. I first came across the book only four weeks ago in Magers & Quinn Booksellers in Minneapolis. Both as a reader and as a publisher I'm always on the lookout for interesting books on art, and the worn old copy of the nicely printed original Corot pamphlet cost just a few dollars. It was a happy find.

Reading it later, I found Hubbard's writing engaging and entertaining, but it wasn't until I came across this excerpt—from the very lively letter of Corot's that's included in the book—that I knew we'd publish an e-book edition:

A good picture is full of motion. Clouds that stand still are not clouds—motion, activity, life, yes, life is what we want—life!

Bam! A peasant comes out of the cottage and is coming to the meadow.

Ding, ding, ding! There comes a flock of sheep led by a bell wether. Wait there a minute, please, sheepy-sheepy, and a great man will paint you.

All right then, don’t wait. I didn’t want to paint you anyway.

I can't blame most people for glazing over at the phrase "nineteenth century French art", but they're people that haven't read texts like these. "Wait there a minute, please, sheepy-sheepy, and a great man will paint you." Individual, honest, playful and passionate. A little silly too maybe, but it's writing like this that makes far-away-seeming art and artists come alive. 

My dream is to host a live, dramatic reading of Corot's letter on stage somwhere, but for now I'll have to be satisfied with this new e-book edition. And to celebrate the finding of the book at Magers & Quinn, and to encourage it be found again and again, we're making it free to download for a limited time. Enjoy!

An ewe and a lamb, Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot, ca. 1825. © musée du Louvre département des Arts graphiques.