The Spectator - October 20, 2018

BOOKS & ARTS

Exhibitions

Poster boy

Claudia Massie

Pin-Ups: Toulouse-Lautrec and the
Art of Celebrity
National Galleries of Scotland,
until 20 January 2019

You don’t need to be much of a psycholo-
gist to understand the trajectory of Henri de
Toulouse-Lautrec. Born to aristocratic first
cousins, in a family never shy of consanguini-
ty, he was blighted by congenital deformities
and weaknesses. When his brittle legs broke
in his teenage years, they stopped growing
altogether, leaving the adult Lautrec tiny
as well as weird-looking, with his heavy lips
and thick-lidded eyes.
Fortunately, Montmartre was waiting
for him, offering a boozy and bosomy ref-
uge from his peculiar family and woeful
self-regard. In the dance halls of the capi-
tal, Lautrec found his people, and in his art
they found themselves. His paintings tell the

story best, all those fleshy whores lying in
bed or lining up for medical examinations.
Elsewhere, twisty-faced café patrons and
performers are illuminated by a new, acidic,
electric glare. But it is Lautrec’s posters, and
their famous subjects, that take centre-stage
in this exhibition.
Fin-de-siècle Paris was a fine time to be
a proto-celebrity. An expanding entertain-
ment industry had allied itself with innova-
tive printmaking techniques and visionary
artists, plastering seductive posters across
the streets and making a generation of per-
formers fabulously famous. Into this mix
stepped Lautrec, lord of the blank space and
the bold line, to become the belle époque’s
most sought-after poster designer.
He wasn’t the first, though. The daddy was
Jules Chéret, the original master of poster
lithography, who preceded Lautrec by dec-
ades and was receiving the Légion d’honneur
in 1890 while his successor was getting
whacked on absinthe and contracting syphilis
down the brothel. Chéret’s work kicked like
a cancan dancer, his radical use of large-scale,
colourful pictures and hand-drawn word-
ing leaping out from the reams of letterpress
posters that then bedecked the streets. His
posters had an eye-catching vim that others,
including the impeccable stylist Alexandre
Steinlen, would embrace and run away with.
Where Lautrec exceeds these artists is in
his characterisation. Chéret’s posters were
lively, effective adverts, but there was no
individuality in his dancers, no back story,
delight or despair evident at the edges. Lau-

trec, all too aware of the often seedy reality

behind these images, made his poster boys

and girls breathe and sneer.

Many of the works on display here are

remarkably familiar. I have had copies of

several on my walls; you probably have too.

But it is still quite something to see them all

together as original, full-size prints, supple-

mented by biographical expositions of the

central characters.

It’s easy, these days, to overlook the fame

and significance of Jane Avril, Yvette Guil-

bert or Aristide Bruant, but they were the

celebrities of their age, Third Republic Lady

Gagas, as influential as any YouTuber. Self-

promotion, then as now, was essential, but

while today’s celebs have social media and

Strictly, the icons of the dance halls had to

be seen on street posters and in the collect-

able print editions issued by publishers with

an eye for the financial benefits of celebrity

endorsement.

Stars would collaborate with chosen art-

ists to produce limited-edition folios, such as

the one shown here featuring Yvette Guil-

bert, which would be pounced upon by a

In the dance halls of the capital,

Lautrec found his people, and in his

art they found themselves

Going to the wall: ‘Jane Avril’, 1899, by Henri Toulouse-Lautrec

NATIONAL GALLERIES OF SCOTLAND