A rather cheeky painting.

Some paintings are unique by any measure. 

Case in point: at the recent and highly enjoyable ‘Food to Table’ show at SAM, I was struck by a work from 1883 by the French artist Jean Béraud of a group of gentlemen diners in various states of repose at a Parisian Brasserie. It’s a lovely piece describing a scene not that different from what you’d encounter today in the 6th Arrondissement, with two glaring exceptions. 

The first departure from the norm was that for every gentleman diner, there was a lady in attendance. For any of you who have had to battle to get mademoiselle’s attention for a round of kir royales, you know this to be a fiction. Getting served in Paris is a sport that can only be mastered with the utmost tenacity and confidence.

The second stand out feature about the scene was that one of the diners was calmly supporting the right cheek of his waitress. 

It was the first time in my years with painting that I had seen such a thing. Not only had Monsieur Béraud chosen to memorialize the event, but he’d placed it front and center on the canvas in the middle of a diagonal that led your eye from the front of the establishment to its rear (and hers). 

You had to be paying attention, and as such the painting was a wonderful example of what art can yield if you give it the time. I stood quietly for a time to see if others spotted the provocation, but no one did. They would read the caption describing “the poses of the guests suggesting contentment”, survey the scene, and move on.

Unable to hold myself back, I challenged two ladies to see if they could spot something unusual going on in the picture. When they admitted defeat, we fell into a fabulous conversation. With eyes opened now to all possibilities in the painting, one noted that all the waitresses had money purses dangling over their gender, and wondered if this was symbolic. Fantastic stuff! It hadn’t occurred to me, and it made complete sense, particularly if you know something of the painter.    

Jean Béraud today is a lesser-known painter in the age of Impressionism because he is overshadowed by his more celebrated friends Manet and Degas. A somewhat solitary figure who lived alone, Béraud was active in Paris at the height of a period in French history known as ‘La Belle Époque’ - or ‘Beautiful Period’. It was an era of economic growth and social reform after the French had picked and lost a pointless fight with their boisterous neighbors the Prussians. Suitably cowed, France had settled back down to focus on improving its internal affairs by investing in a better future for its people, including universal elementary education, and the emergence of women’s suffrage. It was in this context that Béraud painted ‘La Brasserie’. 

What at first glance seems like a fun and well-executed portrayal of “contentment” is in fact a deft political statement poking a finger in the eye of the establishment. It is told using a tightly controlled palette of black, brown and white, with accents of a rich dark red. There is no softening of the colors, just as there is no glossing over the subject of the scene. No one had ever dared paint such a gesture with such overt symbolism, and to cap it all, Béraud chose it as his entry for the prestigious Paris Salon of 1883. 

These are the sorts of discoveries that can raise an exhibition to the status of an event. Sightings that provoke you into asking "WTF?!" and giving you cause to turn to your neighbor and ask: “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Jean Béraud was the reason I could break the ice that day with two wonderful strangers I would otherwise have passed by. And for that, this beholder at least is most grateful for his less than rear-guard action.