Most of my college days are a blur, and not for the reason you might think. Even if I was a party animal, I had no time for that. Working in a bakery full-time and slogging my way through a double major didn’t produce that many indelible moments. But when Professor Watson made his way to Art Nouveau in his History of Design course, something immediately lit up in my brain. This visual language connected, even if much of it is often a bit dainty for my tastes. For those uninitiated, you’ve surely seen it. From the arches over the subway stations in Paris, to the theater posters illustrated by Alfons Mucha, to the recent album covers drawn by John Baizley, you’ve likely encountered references to this style at some point. It’s defined by clear, fluid lines inspired by natural forms. But unlike classical or Rococo styles, the forms are streamlined with a distinctly modern flair. By modern, I’m referring to an era in art History that began in the 19th century (so “modern” in art terms could refer to a piece created 100 years ago). The color palette is typically softer, lending a distinct dreaminess. But it’s certainly not a monolithic style, and it encompasses both fine and commercial art, architecture, and furniture design, and was influential throughout Europe at the turn of the 20th century. In the German-speaking world, it was known as Jugendstil (which translates to “youth style”) and found its epicenter in Vienna, Austria. Though its influence was relatively brief, Art Nouveau has been referenced and reimagined ever since, and I, for one, think there is still more that can be done with it.
When something impacts you so readily, it’s worth asking why. One answer is a purely visual quality. The best examples of the style possess an otherworldly fluidity, with lines and shapes moving together with a deliberate precision and elasticity. This requires a deceptively high degree of skill and focus. There’s no room for clunkiness, every line matters. But there is also a love of life intrinsic to the style. Everything from plants to people are rendered with a heightened sense of appreciation for their essential beauty.
At the heart of it is the notion that art should envelop us. Every object and interior space should be made exceptionally beautiful. Now, I don’t necessarily want to live in a fussy or overdecorated space, I prefer clean lines and a more uncluttered approach. But I think the spirit of the Art Nouveau movement offers something worth holding on to that we may have neglected. Instead of surrounding ourselves with things that are mass-produced, disposable, uninspired, why not aspire to something more life-affirming? The easy answer is that it’s not cheap (quite the opposite) and times are tough for most of us. I don’t have all the answers for that, all I know is that we can and should aspire to this ideal.
While Art Nouveau has always lurked in my creative psyche, I’ve only occasionally indulged it. Now that I live only a few hours from Prague and Vienna, two cities where the style is ubiquitous, it has become much more tangible and accessible. I’m realizing that there is no reason for me to avoid exploring it more intentionally in my own work. The challenge is finding a way to recontextualize a visual language that for most people is tied to a specific, relatively distant point in history. My work has become increasingly focused on the now, and questioning where it leads us next. Maybe reaching backward so deliberately is questionable, but I’m following this sense that there could be something fresh and poignant to discover.
I recently released two prints with a distinct Art Nouveau flair, inspired by this shopfront in Douai, France, designed by André Pépe. I thought it would be interesting to fuse these fluid, bubble-like windows with a contemporary abstract feel. How would these pools or portals interact with more distressed textures?
Contemporary abstraction is often defined by a detached coolness, quite the opposite of the earthy warmth of the Art Nouveau approach. It’s certainly a weird fit, and I’m fascinated by the possibilities. It feels good to have something to tinker with, to slide the volume up or down on different visual qualities in a composition, and to see what there is to discover.
What do you think? Is this too weird? I’m a bit self-conscious that many people probably won’t like this approach at all. I’m convinced it’s worth exploring.