Officials Star Trak X Lord Wikkin Snow Trak Shirt

Officials Star Trak X Lord Wikkin Snow Trak Shirt

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Even after her marriage, Mme Pierre Gautreau continued to present herself as a highly fashionable ornament to the demimonde. She eschewed the stately conservatism of the couturier Charles Frederick Worth, preferring to work with the more publicity minded Félix Poussineau on her singular and dramatic outfits. Although she chose not to wear flamboyant jewels (she didn’t want them to detract from the beauty of her skin), she was free in her use of cosmetics, penciling her eyebrows, dyeing her hair auburn, and powdering her skin a soft mauve to set it off (“a uniform lavender or blotting-paper color all over,” as Sargent would write). Sargent’s biographer Stanley Olson has even hinted darkly that Virginie Gautreau ingested arsenic in the pursuit of lint-white skin. When her portrait was unveiled, Ralph Curtis felt that she looked “decomposed,” and the young artist Marie Bashkirtseff found that Gautreau’s shoulders had “the tone of a corpse.”Officials Star Trak X Lord Wikkin Snow Trak Shirt

La Gautreau proved to be an impatient and recalcitrant sitter. To Vernon Lee, Sargent complained of “struggling with the unpaintable beauty and hopeless laziness of Mme Gautreau,” and he found it difficult to settle on an effective pose. Sargent painted her listlessly drinking a toast by candlelight, and his lightning pencil sketches suggest Gautreau’s restless nature and her bored and wanton attitudes—staring out of a window, playing the piano, perusing a book as she flaunts her spectacular embonpoint, collapsing on a sofa and carelessly letting the train of her dress fall aside to reveal an ankle and the dainty heel of her evening slipper. Finally, Sargent decided to place his sitter resting against an Empire table, its circular top symbolically supported by sirens. In this assertive and defiant pose, the worldly 24-year-old leans a sinuously twisted arm on the edge of the table while her free hand catches up her fan and the luxuriant folds of her satin gown with an almost rapacious grasp. Picking up the paste sparkle of the straps of her gown, a tiny crescent moon flickers in her evidently hennaed coiffure. The crescent moon, then a fashionable jewel, was of course a symbol of the huntress goddess Diana, and might be read as a subtle allusion to Virginie Gautreau’s own socially predatory instincts; this however was not Sargent’s touch but an element of her own highly studied self-presentation. As a final masterstroke, Sargent painted one of her glittering shoulder straps fallen from her shoulder in an act of sensual negligence.

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