Original subtitles

The late 19th century was a period of incredible scientific and technological progress.

The scientific historian Vaclav Smil describes the period between 1867 and 1914, sometimes

called the Second Industrial Revolution, as one of the greatest watersheds in human history.

Everyday life was transformed in profound and incredible ways.

The First Industrial Revolution had already seen the rise of incredible new technologies

like railroads, cement, elevators, antiseptics, sewing machines, gas lighting, and the telegraph.

Now the second would add electricity, telephones, automobiles, subways, typewriters, gramophones,

aluminum, tractors, mass production, and even flight.

Meanwhile, new theories about evolution, heredity, radioactivity, germs, thermodynamics, and atomic

theory were transforming how we understood the world around us.

The post-impressionist movement came right at the crux of this transformation, and its artists

would have seen many incredible changes take place within their own lifetime.

We really can't understand their work without that context.

Whether their art reflected and embraced that change, or rejected it and yearned for a simpler

past.

My first thought when composing this lecture was to focus on a few things that directly

affected painters in their practice—technologies like new pigments, paint tubes, pre-stretched

canvases, lithography, and photography.

But post-impressionism was not just the result of a few brighter pigments and synthetic paints.

It was only possible with the totality of scientific advancements and economic transformation, which

includes everything from railway and urbanization to plywood, batteries, the steam printing press,

and even the coffee pot.

We could spend a whole course discussing the huge changes of the late 19th century, but

in this lecture, I want to try and give you a brief sense of how technological change was

transforming the life of the average artist and how that flowed into their work.

The dramatic changes of this era would have been all around the post-impressionists of

Paris, which at the beginning of the 19th century was a very different place than it was at the

end of the century.

The first industrial revolution had brought factories, railroads, and modern finance to Paris.

Entirely new industries sprung up like chemical refineries and mass manufacturing plants, which

created a steady stream of entirely new materials and products, and an unquenchable thirst for human

labor.

The new railroads that crisscrossed France brought a constant and steady stream of people into the city.

A massive influx as Paris ballooned to over a million people.

With industry came new jobs, new wealth, and new products.

But it also created new problems.

Rivers, like the Seine, were contaminated with garbage, pollution, toxic chemicals, and heavy metals.

Even worse, sewage was often thrown into the street or collected in underground

cesspools that were prone to overflow.

And of course, these same rivers were the source of the city's drinking water.

And soon we see widespread outbreaks of cholera, typhus, typhoid, syphilis, and many more.

The cholera epidemic of the 1880s alone wiped out hundreds of thousands of the working poor across Europe.

Poisoning was common, as heavy metals like lead and arsenic seeped into the waterways.

New medical conditions emerged like a fossy jaw, which sounds incredibly horrific and traumatic.

This is what happened when workers exposed to phosphorus in matchstick factories would experience necrosis of the jaw.

The phosphorus literally kills the muscle and tissues, and the jaw rots and dies.

Thankfully, the rapid progress of technology created medical advancements in germ theory,

hypodermic needles, and anesthetic surgery.

Hygiene was going mainstream.

Flush toilets became popular.

And as knowledge of better health and hygiene practices increase, so does pollution, overcrowding,

increased spreading of infectious diseases.

Pasteurization, vaccination, and antiseptics emerged,

and saved untold lives from diseases that had been deadly just a generation before.

The Industrial Revolutions also created crowded tenements and living situations.

Most people had no access to the new prosperity, and urban poverty and crime was the result.

The dark and dangerous streets immortalized in novels were a reality and commonplace.

As cities lacked basic infrastructures like street lights, trash collection,

the city streets were not a pleasant place to hang out.

To accommodate the growing population and deal with these new issues,

Baron Haussmann was appointed to carry out a massive program of urban renewal.

The Haussmann's renovation of Paris completely transformed the city with wide avenues.

New parks and plazas, expanded waterways, and a modern sewage system.

Much of the crowded medieval inner city was demolished and replaced with modern,

mid-rise apartment blocks, which remain an iconic symbol of Paris today,

and are captured in the backgrounds of many post-impressionist works.

Grand new monuments to the city and its industrial transformation were constructed.

The cities, roadways, and bridges were rebuilt around expanded train stations,

like the Guerre du Nord and the Guerre du Leste, the new gates of a modern city.

Many of the city's most iconic sites today, like the Palais Garnier, were constructed in this period,

and the Louvre Museum was dramatically expanded.

And, of course, the Eiffel Tower was erected in 1889,

a towering wonder of iron that became a symbol of the new Paris.

So the wealth brought by industrialization and the reconstruction of the city had created a

distinctive new climate in Paris. The arts flourished, including literature, theater,

and interest in foreign cultures. Stores were stocked with new products,

and the new middle class, dressed in the latest fashions, were out shopping for them.

Paris was on top of the world, attracting scientists, scholars, artists, and writers from all over.

The era came to be known in France as Belle Epoque, or Beautiful Epoque. The peak of this era is often

encapsulated by the world's fairs held in Paris during this time, which showcased art, technology,

and excitement of this era. While uncomfortable to admit, I think it's important to acknowledge that

France's rapid economic and industrial growth was built on the back of colonization.

The slave trade and plundering natural resources from new foreign territories, particularly in Africa,

Southeast Asia, and the Pacific. These French colonies provided raw materials for the new factories

and markets for new products. And it's important that we draw a sharp distinction about the good we get

out of all this and acknowledge the millions of lives, families, and communities that were ruined,

enslaved, killed, and lost forever to history in the process. Industrialization was creating

unprecedented prosperity for some, but untold misery for a lot more. The artistic and cultural

achievements of the Belle Epoque have sometimes been used to distract or even justify colonization

and slavery. But this is an impossible assumption. Rather than inevitability in the march of progress,

I can't help but wonder how much better the global community would have developed and evolved without

colonization and slavery. How much more would the rest of Europe prosper if Europe were more interested

in sharing wealth and knowledge rather than hoarding it? This isn't just my woke opinion. Protests, strikes,

and riots frequently expressed the disenchantment of those who were being crushed by prosperity.

Revolutions brought down the French government in 1830 and 1848. And as we discussed in another lecture,

workers and soldiers took control of Paris and formed a Marxist commune for two months in 1871.

So as much as we will be extolling the virtues of brilliant artists and gorgeous paintings that came

out of this time, it's easy to romanticize this era and see it all with rose-colored glasses.

I want to make sure we have a proper context in which to view this era. Most of the Post-Impressionists

were born between 1840 and 1870, and they would have witnessed many of these incredible transformations

firsthand. So I want to try now to take you through this era in a different way. We're going to imagine

a day in the life of you as a Post-Impressionist painter. When you wake up, you'll be living in Montmartre

in the mid-1890s. Montmartre was the place to be for a Post-Impressionist artist, like artists flocked

to Brooklyn today. Most of them lived or worked there, at least for a short time. It had once

been an old medieval city, but in the mid-19th century, it was annexed as a suburb of a rapidly

growing Paris, and within decades it had been transformed beyond recognition. So let's say

you wake up in your own bed. It's rainy and early, so it's still dark. You reach over and turn on the

sconce on the wall to light your gaslight. This was so much more convenient than hunting down some

oil and refilling a lamp, especially first thing in the morning when you haven't had your coffee.

Outside your window, you see the glow in the distance of gaslights in the streets,

transforming the nightscape with a romantic glow. The bed you're in is made of plywood—machined nails

and screws. New adhesives and power saws have made affordable furniture possible. Middle-class

people can buy desks, chairs, cupboards, and tables. Before that, furniture had been handcrafted,

made with solid wood and dovetail joints—costly and time-consuming. Same goes for the pajamas

you're wearing. They aren't your only pair. You've got a modest dresser there, where you can pull out

a change of clothes. New sewing machines, looms, and modern clothing manufacturing. Thus, you go to

the store and pick out something that might actually fit you. You can even find different

sizes of the same shirt. What would your mother say if she could see this? You now go to the bathroom,

and it's actually inside your apartment. That's nice. You flush the toilet when you're done, and that's it.

No bedpan to empty, no outhouse to run to, no hole to dig. And then you go to your wardrobe and grab a

clean shirt. These things we take for granted now would have felt much newer and more exciting back then.

Now you've got your hat and your boots on, you leave your apartment. It's a newer apartment that looks sleek.

The architects have used plenty of concrete, glass, iron, and steel. It's quite tall and even fitted with an elevator.

Glass, iron, steel, and concrete are definitely the architectural wonders of this new age.

The Crystal Palace built in London to show off for the Great Exhibition in 1851 was one of the first

buildings to showcase how dramatically technology could change architecture. It was a massive open

pavilion with very few columns and tons of light because it was mostly made of glass. No one had ever

been in a building like this before. It looked so fragile and light. Many feared the glass would fall

and shatter. Buildings of this size were built out of stone—heavy, opaque stone. This, on the other

hand, was an extraordinary sight to behold. Buildings like this changed the way people experienced space

and revolutionized architecture. And new discoveries allowed people to live in tall buildings comfortably

for the first time. Iron and then steel frames allowed buildings to climb higher and higher,

altering the skyline and landscape. Elevators and eventually electric lighting and heating allowed

people to comfortably live at these new altitudes. And, of course, you have a clear view of the Eiffel

Tower from Montmartre. Looming above it all, this new vertical world was undeniably captivating to the

artists who painted the city. So you get out of your elevator and walk down to the coffee shop—an 18th

century innovation—but café culture has exploded in Paris. Where there had been hundreds in the 1700s,

there were thousands—maybe tens of thousands—by the late 1800s. These cafés are the social and

intellectual life of the city. They are a place to be seen. Along with bars and clubs, they become a

favorite subject for artists of this period. It's nice to be outside now. There are newly installed

sidewalks, trees, and parks. It's so much cleaner than you remember it just 10 years ago. Things

seem to smell better than they used to as well. You could actually smell many of the flowers and

gardens instead of the fresh sewage running down the gutters. Sure, it's loud and it's busy, lots of

people going in all directions. It's simultaneously overwhelming and depressing, but it's also exciting and

inspiring. You go into the café and see a few friends in the corner, so you join them at their table.

You're getting caffeinated, sharing stories, sharing painting tips, and showing each other photographs.

Communication is speeding up, so if anything new is happening in London, they're going to know about

it in Paris the next day, then Berlin and Amsterdam, then in New York City the next week. News and

entertainment are printed and disseminated rapidly by newspapers, books, magazines, and even

telephone and telegraph. After an hour or so, you leave the café with your head buzzing with new

ideas from a radical circle of Austrian artists, newly developed paints to try, a must-see exhibition

of African masks, and a new artist in town to check out. Your plain-air obsessed friend tells you about a

spot about five miles outside of town that would be the perfect scene for your landscape painting you've

been planning. Apparently, the view from the hillside is gorgeous. You need to stop by the art store that

just opened around the corner, and every day it seems like new pigments are being synthesized by

chemists. Pigments like Ultramarine, a deep, rich blue that historically was made by crushing up

lapis lazuli. For centuries, this was an extremely expensive pigment, only found in the most opulent

of paintings. But now, thanks to modern chemistry, you can buy it at the corner shop. An astonishing array of

new synthetic colors followed. Colors once extremely rare in nature were now at your fingertips. And

instead of having to crush up pigments and mix them with oil yourself, you can now buy the paint,

pre-mixed in metal tubes, and carry them anywhere. What a time-saver! Making paint was a big messy

inconvenience that took up valuable painting time. You also had choices of pre-stretched canvases to paint

on. If you had the money, you could even buy canvas that was pre-primed with rabbit skin glue and

or gesso. Some of the post-impressionists were incredibly prolific and made hundreds or even

thousands of paintings. These new technologies are what made that possible. If they were making their

own paint, stretching and priming their own canvas, it would never at the time. And it makes it so much

easier to break into the art scene. You don't need a workshop of assistants to do all that labor. And big

government or church commissions to pay those bills. If you saved a little money, you can just start

painting on your own. You grab a tube of paint that has a brighter hue of orange than you've ever seen.

Cadmium pigments are all the rage right now, and they're mesmerizing. You grab a few sticks of

pastels in the same new orange, and you throw everything into your plain air kit that you put

together last summer. You've got this clever little fold-up easel that you can carry in one hand.

You've got your pallet in a little box with your tubes of paint. A few spill-proof metal containers for

your turpentine and linseed oil. Eat your heart out, 18th century. You throw in the book you're

reading. A few Japanese prints tucked in the cover for inspiration. Your sketchbook, pencils, and a few

snacks for lunch. Just like paint tubes allowed for portable paint, similar developments made many more

foods available in cans and jars. So you throw a can of peaches in your bag along with a baguette, of course.

And how could you forget the last thing for your bag? Your brand new portable box camera from this

new American company called Kodak. In addition to the monthly stipend from your banker father, you've

recently started selling a few paintings, giving you the money to buy some of these exciting new toys.

If you didn't finish your plain air painting today, you'll be able to take a photograph of the place

and finish the painting in your studio using your photograph as a reference. Amazing! You cannot

possibly get more modern than that. We'll talk more in a later lecture about the profound and surprising

ways photography transformed the world of art. Now that you're packed and ready to go, you make your

way to the busy train station. It seems like every time you come, it gets more and more crowded. The speed

of life has increased beyond what anyone would recognize in the middle of the century. Trains, steamships,

and soon even cars, are making long-distance travel a possibility for more and more people.

The Post-Impressionists traveled far and wide around France, Europe, and some to the Caribbean and

Pacific Islands. Products and culture from as far as Japan and India are now commonplace in French

stores and museums, opening up a world far beyond what even your parents had exposure to. And we'll see

that in their art time and again. You're not traveling too far today, though. You get your ticket,

board the train, and arrive at your stop without too much hassle before noon. On your way outside of

the city, looking out the window, you notice a new department store being built, taller than any

you've seen before, made of glass and steel. It looks like something from a Jules Verne novel,

who you and all your friends have been reading. A brief walk from the train station, you finally

arrive at the spot. Your friend was right. This is a beautiful scene with the gray clouds parting and

sun coming out. You've had a bite to eat from your rucksack. Now you've got your easel set up in the

perfect spot. The light is still a bit high in the sky, but that's okay. You'll have enough of your

composition figured out to let you focus during the sunset to capture those warm, sparkling colors of

the golden hour. And even the sunset looks different than it did a generation ago. The smoke from the

factories in the distance have the unintended effect of creating very rich and atmospheric sunsets.

You reach for the brightest, most saturated yellows, oranges, pinks, and purples in your box of paints.

And here is a very direct way in which science and technology was transforming the work of the artist.

There has been an explosion of scientific thought and discovery regarding color the last several

decades. Michel-Eugène Chevrouille, for example, was one of the most celebrated chemists in France

and wrote fascinating articles and books about the way the human mind perceives color and light and space.

Artists were naturally intrigued about these new ideas and were reading and experimenting and

circulating these ideas. Chevrouille noticed something interesting about color, that it could appear

quite different depending on the color that was next to it. You've probably seen optical illusions that

exploit this phenomenon on the internet. This is all about how we process and interpret color. Our brain

is liable to project colors onto others, particularly neutral grays. Chevrouille developed the color wheel

and began exploring the relationship between colors. And in doing so, he noticed some strange effects

created by opposing colors or complementary colors. Red and green, purple and yellow, the colors that

sat across from each other on his color wheel. When you place them side by side, they appear more

vibrant and richer. The combination influences how we see them. For most people, this is mildly interesting.

But all this was happening alongside the advent of new artificial pigments that were brighter

than anything you could get before. Artists were learning about the way our eyes and minds worked

and wanting to put it into their own work. If you've wondered why the paintings of Vincent van Gogh seemed

to have such an incredibly vibrant quality, he was familiar with Chevrouille's discoveries and used them

every chance he got. And that's because Chevrouille wasn't just about the science. He spoke to artists

directly about how to use contrast and complementary colors to achieve dissonance and harmony. He was very

interested in ways artists could make use of the new science. Optical blending was another important

scientific discovery of this era. If you have two points of color small enough, and you stand

at a reasonable distance away, then the colors will be mixed by your eyes losing focus as the two dots

overlap, and your mind interprets these two colors as one. You can try it yourself. If you put alternating

dots of blue and yellow close enough to each other, and then stand back far enough, your eyes will see green.

The theory was that the color your brain created from this mixture would be more luminous and colorful than

what you'd have seen if you just mixed two pigments together. We'll get more into depth on how this

worked in practice in another lecture. Charles Blanc was another color scientist, and he wrote directly

to artists about color's emotional significance. He said something that sounds a little weird to us now,

but was helpful to young artists. Color should not be based on the judgment of taste, but rather it should

be close to what we experience in reality. Blanc did not want artists to use equal intensities of color

all over without thought, but to consciously plan and understand the way each color influences each other

in creating a whole. His writings on color were widely read and passed around by the Post-Impressionists.

But let's get back to our day trip. After a long afternoon of painting punctuated by a brief nap,

the sun has now set and it's time to head home. As you approach the train station, it looks bright and

crisp under the newly installed electric lights. You're inspired to sketch the effect this light

has on the shadows in your sketchbook. You're also jotting down notes about what you need to add to the

painting when you get back home to your studio. After you get home from the train station and relax for a bit,

you're still so energized from such an inspiring day, you decide to head out into the night to see

what's happening. Perhaps the Moulin Rouge. Electricity is beginning to transform the very

concept of nightlife as it becomes cheap and easy to stay open at all hours. As more clubs got electric

lights, they could stay open longer. It was intoxicating as it seemed like the city was always pulsing with

energy. This energy captured in countless ways by the many artists who found themselves drawn to this

exciting new nocturnal world. The harsh bright white light of electricity was a huge change from the warm glow

of candles or lamps. As you're walking toward the pole of the nightlife, the sound of the music and the

dancing. A poster captures your eye. The Lumiere brothers are exhibiting a motion picture at the Grand

Cafe. Wow! You've heard of this before? A picture that moves? And now's your chance to see an actual

moving picture for the first time in your life. This would actually be the world's first commercial

movie screening. You had to pay a few francs to get in. Paris was an exciting city to be in.

Just a few years earlier, the Lumiere brothers were running a photo plate factory in Lyon.

Their dad August saw a demonstration of Edison's kinetoscope and was wowed. When he told his sons

about it, he said, I bet you can make a better one. Just one year later, they patent a cinematograph,

a combination movie camera and projector that could display moving images on a screen for an audience.

It was smaller, lighter, and used less film than what Edison had come up with.

Each film was 17 meters long, and when you hand-crank it through the cinematograph,

the movie takes about 50 seconds, or about the length of an Instagram video.

After successful café screenings the next year, in 1896, the Lumiere brothers opened cinemas to

showcase their tech. They even hired camera crews to travel around the world to film cool and interesting

locales. Movies instantly jump across the Atlantic to the U.S., where the first movie theater opens that

same year in New Orleans. At the screening, you see a photographer and a writer friend who are equally

excited about this new technology. The three of you agree to go grab a drink to talk more about the

possibilities of this new medium. Think of the stories you could tell, the pictures you could animate.

The motion camera will be the next big thing to transform how we see the world. The possibilities are

endless. This was heady stuff, and you're getting more ideas for the landscape painting you started today.

Was that just earlier today? So much has happened, it's hard to believe. The speed of modern life seems

to be accelerating. This anxious anticipation and over-stimulation leave you feeling sick and

melancholy the next morning. So you decide to stay inside, drinking absinthe and brooding moodily all day.

Some things about the life of the artist never change.