by Franco Moro

Jean-Baptiste Greuze, born in Tournus, August 21, 1725 arrived in Paris rather late, having come from Burgundy and Lyon where he received his early training, remaining in Paris until his death on March 21, 1805.  

In Paris, the not-so-young twenty-five-year-old immediately revealed his artistic voice, setting his style apart from the dominant rocaille spirit. Greuze’s ability to infuse into his canvases an intimate reading of the inner states of his characters, stands as the most significant aspect of his artistic expression.

Beginning with The Father Explaining the Bible to His Children (Paris, Musée du Louvre), presented at the 1755 Salon, the painter entered the Royal Academy to enthusiastic acclaim. It was not merely his technical virtuosity that impressed his contemporaries: what emerged clearly from the start was the profound intent that underpinned his thematic choices. One should not be misled by the fact that his early genre scenes – those which first gained him recognition – appear inspired by the widely diffused but emotionally detached imagery of Dutch painting. Greuze’s works go far deeper, distinguished by a different sensibility. His narratives and episodes consistently reveal a more emotionally charged and acute purpose – a predisposition to depict inner emotional states.

The painter gradually acquired a fully conscious expressive language, one that became a narration of emotions and sentiments. Even more so through portraiture – the central element of his exploration of the human being – Greuze maintained what appears to be the most significant aspect of his art: a psychological reading of his characters. Never frivolous, his airy touch becomes instead a useful means for soft rendering, achieving the best possible naturalistic effect. His focus remained solidly on truthfulness. Greuze’s expressiveness is forged through physiognomic models in which the softness of the pictorial surface plays a fundamental role, aiding in his meticulous attention to detail. His compositions consistently prioritize the emotional states of the human figure.

This already present sensitivity was nurtured and developed during Greuze’s exposure to Italian art during his stay between 1755 and 1757 – though it is possible he had visited Italy even earlier, prior to his arrival in Paris. In the works of the most gifted Italian painters, he found the inspiration needed to free himself from the colder interpretation of Northern painting, embracing instead that seductive chromatic sensuality present in the works of Guido Cagnacci and Benedetto Luti. In his naturalistic themes, he may have drawn from the reality-based portraits of Giacomo Ceruti, and from the vibrant ironic and realistic vein of Gaspare Traversi. Without the influence of these painters, as well as the Roman legacy of Pierre Subleyras, works such as The Broken Eggs (New York, Metropolitan Museum) and The Guitar Tuner (Warsaw, National Museum) could not have existed. These paintings are heirs to the emotional inquiry that originated in Leonardo’s legacy and was carried forward by the young Caravaggio, seen in Boy Bitten by a Lizard (London, National Gallery and Florence, Fondazione Longhi), in an imminent rediscovered autograph version of Boy Pricked by an Artichoke Spine, currently held in a private collection in Paris, in The Cardsharps (Fort Worth, Kimbell Art Museum), and in both versions of The Fortune Teller (Paris, Musée du Louvre and Rome, Capitoline Museums).

In this sense, a painting such as The Guitar Tuner already appears as a remarkably early bridge to future developments in Anglo-Saxon painting, especially in the work of Johann Zoffany, whom Greuze is believed to have met in Rome in the mid-1750s. And how could the intimate and dreamy allure of some of Greuze’s boy portraits not have influenced, nearly a century later, the artistic ideas of Dante Gabriel Rossetti? The answer lies in looking at works such as Boy in a Red Waistcoat (Paris, Musée Cognacq-Jay), The Young Mathematician, and Girl with a Dead Bird (Montpellier, Musée Fabre).

A Rediscovery in Progress

In recent years, critics have begun to rediscover and reassess Greuze with new eyes, gradually acknowledging the immense talent that had long been undervalued. While the charm of his paintings has always been appreciated – and his success with American collectors is well documented – attention was too often focused on the physical beauty of his boys and young girls, neglecting the deeper psychological insights they convey.

As a result, criticism has frequently struggled to properly understand this independent and quietly subversive talent, preferring instead painters who better exemplify the typically French figurative style of the 18th century. Greuze was ahead of his time – he never truly belonged to his own era. He preceded his contemporaries in vision and spirit, for instance, Fragonard, who remained perpetually suspended between frivolity and energy, or Jacques-Louis David, far more representative of the French ethos and currently the subject – ironically enough – of a grand exhibition at the Louvre. Though David, too, began within the rocaille tradition, his striking transformation would only occur after his Roman sojourn – after 1780 – marking the path toward a fervent passion that formed part of the new outlook we now broadly define as Neoclassicism. Greuze, by contrast, expressed a more silent and intimate sensitivity, less spectacular and more introspective, aligning him more closely with masters such as Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin and Jean-Étienne Liotard. This is the thread, the hidden path.

Greuze’s vast body of work has sometimes drawn criticism for its apparent thematic repetitiveness – yet this very aspect reveals his genius: a master of tonal and emotional variations, capable of expressing a profound and healthy liberation of feeling. Just as Monet’s Rouen Cathedral studies light, or Morandi’s still lifes explore form and space, Greuze’s countless expressive faces represent a monumental investigation into human nature. His contribution is an ethical one of artistic expressivity that must be more thoroughly studied and recognized.

His intense psychological inquiry forms a crucial link, soon to be understood by the most sensitive spirits who would develop their ideas during their time in Rome. These same ideas would lead to a sharper, more incisive interpretation of reality – one that Goya, Géricault, and others inclined toward the mysteries of the unconscious would explore and elevate, thus laying the foundations of modern art.

Theatrical Apparatus and Emotional Depth

Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Septime Sévère reprochant à son fils Caracalla d’avoir voulu l’assassiner, 1767-1769. Huile sur toile, 124 × 160 cm

Using all the theatrical and scenographic tools available in his time, Greuze occasionally set his portraits against Roman gardens, with maritime pines and sphinxes, herms and classical altars – a nod to artists like Batoni or Panini, masters of the ornamental choreography of the Grand Tour. Yet he would more often prefer neutral backdrops in soft browns or luminous greys, ensuring the psychological tension within the work remained the true focus.

The Exhibition: “Childhood in the Spotlight”

Within this context, the exhibition L’Enfance en lumière (Childhood in the Spotlight), currently on view at the Petit Palais in Paris, deserves considerable attention. Curated by Annick Lemoine (director of the Petit Palais), Yuriko Jackall (Director of European Art, Detroit Institute of Arts), and Mickaël Szanto (Sorbonne University), the show aims to explore the relationship – and the distance – between the adult world and the solitude of childhood: a state filled with wonder and astonishment, marked by inexperience and an inability to comprehend the everyday world. The children in Greuze’s paintings appear naïve and innocent, spontaneous, absorbed, at times worried, detached or dreamy.

The exhibition takes a bold step by placing the spotlight on a painter too often overlooked, sending a strong message not only for its subject matter but also for its reconsideration of an artist of particular significance during France’s fraught transition between centuries. However, one critical flaw lies in the choice of the museum’s subterranean galleries, which flatten the experience with a thematic path – a now common curatorial trend – focusing on the domestic and social aspects of childhood while failing to convey the true evolution of the painter’s message and trajectory.

There is a striking absence of comparison with Greuze’s contemporaries, no dialogue with other artists of his time, no exploration of stylistic development, nor of his origins and artistic training -elements that might explain how such early masterpieces could appear so unexpectedly.

Greuze’s Message: A Key Moment in Art History

Returning to Greuze himself, we must emphasize the importance of his role during a pivotal moment – between Rococo art and the emerging vision of a different life and humanity. His message must be understood as central, not only for its deeply sensitive content, but also for the way it speaks to future generations. His characters – fragile yet intense, strong yet vulnerable – embody this expressivity through their faces, as seen in The Little Schoolboy (Edinburgh, National Gallery of Scotland), Sleeping Boy (Montpellier, Musée Fabre), and in the many portrayals of children and young girls painted with a gaze of love and compassion, like that of a parent.

This exhibition is a first opportunity to truly appreciate the enormous fascination radiating from his canvases—works that, while immersed in the atmosphere of their time, are also deeply involved in a human quest. Beneath their apparent grace lies a subtle psychological investigation that sets Greuze apart from his powdered-wig contemporaries. His art is the poetry of the moment -melancholy, surprise, pain, sensual and alluring gazes – all channelled into an emotional and expressive inquiry that would soon erupt with Goya, Füssli, and Géricault.

This, in the end, is the true significance of a painter who, behind the charm and beauty of his work – including his exquisite red chalk drawings, made for a refined collector’s market – delivered, in the quiet of his studio, the first revolutionary blow to the foundations of Western figurative art.

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