I — GAUGUIN

The key-note to the character of Paul Gauguin, painter and sculptor, may be found in his declaration that in art there are only revolutionists or plagiarists.  A brave speech.  And a proud man who uttered it; for unless he wished to avoid its implications he must needs prove his sincerity.  In the short, adventurous, crowded life vouchsafed him, Paul Gauguin proved himself indeed a revolutionary painter.  His maxim was the result of hard-won experiences.  He was born at Paris June 7, 1848—­a stormy year for France; he died at Dominique May 9, 1904.  His father was a native of Brittany, while on his mother’s side he was Peruvian.  This mixed blood may account for his wandering proclivities and his love for exotic colouring and manners.  To further accentuate the rebellious instincts of the youth his maternal grandmother was that Flora Tristan, friend of the anarchistic thinker Proudhon.  She was a socialist later and a prime mover in the Workman’s Union; she allied herself with Pere Enfantin and helped him to found his religion, “Mapa,” of which he was the god, Ma, and she the goddess, Pa.  Enfantin’s career and end may be recalled by students of St. Simon and the socialistic movements of those times.  Paul’s father, Clovis Gauguin, wrote in 1848 the political chronicle on the National, but previous to the coup d’etat he left for Lima, there to found a journal.  He died of an aneurism in the Straits of Magellan, a malady that was to carry off his son.  After four years in Lima the younger Gauguin returned to France.  In 1856 a Peruvian grand-uncle died at the extraordinary age of one hundred and thirteen.  His name was Don Pio de Tristan, and he was reported very rich.  But Paul got none of this wealth, and at fourteen he was a cabin-boy, feeble of health but extremely curious about life.  He saw much of life and strange lands in the years that followed, and he developed into a powerfully built young sailor and no doubt stored his brain with sumptuous images of tropical scenery which reappeared in his canvases.  He traversed the globe several times.  He married and took a position in a bank.  On Sundays he painted.  His hand had itched for years to reproduce the landscapes he had seen.  He made friends with Degas, Cezanne, Pissarro, Renoir, Monet, Guillaumin, and Manet.  He called himself an amateur and a “Sunday painter,” but as he was received on terms of equality with these famous artists it may be presumed that, autodidact as he was, his versatile talent—­for it literally was versatile—­did not escape their scrutiny.  He submitted himself to various influences; he imitated the Impressionists, became a Neo-Impressionist of the most extravagant sort; went sketching with Cezanne and Van Gogh, that unfortunate Dutchman, and finally announced to his friends and family that “henceforward I shall paint every day.”  He gave up his bank, and Charles Morice has said that his life became one of misery, solitude, and herculean labours.