Aubrey Beardsley (1872-1898), Illustrations for Oscar Wilde’s Salome 1893, The Climax, line block print on paper, Stephen Calloway, photo: © Tate
The appalling treatment of Oscar Wilde is a familiar story, and stands as an eternal stain on British law and society; as far as I am aware, and unlike Wilde, whose story has been often rendered dramatically, no-one has ever seen fit to commit the life of his younger contemporary and artistic collaborator Aubrey Beardsley to screen or theatre.
This may be due to a dearth of obvious biographic incident – the life story of a man who lived with his sister until his early death, with little in the way of recorded lovers is not, perhaps, prime multiplex material – but for different reasons, Beardsley’s story is every bit as tragic as that of the justly venerated Irish writer and wit.
Ars longa, vita brevis: evidently, one had better get on with things. Which is precisely what young Aubrey did
To be diagnosed with tuberculosis in the late nineteenth century, as Beardsley was at the grotesquely young age of seven, was to receive a death sentence – though one with an indeterminable date of execution. Growing to maturity, he could not have been other than aware that his life would be short.
Ars longa, vita brevis: evidently, one had better get on with things. Which is precisely what young Aubrey did, in an artistic career that spanned merely seven years from the age of eighteen until death at twenty-five.
The Slippers of Cinderella 1894, ink and watercolour on paper, Mark Samuels Lasner Collection, University of Delaware Library, Museums and Press
Volpone Adoring his Treasure 1898, ink over graphite on paper, 290 x 204 mm, Courtesy of the Princeton University Library
The stunning drawings and designs created in that short period not only proved the perfect encapsulation of fin de siècle aestheticism but laid the foundations for Art Nouveau and continued to have a huge effect on art and design throughout the twentieth century and beyond, not least in the iconography of 1960’s pop culture.
The ingredients of Beardsley’s style are not difficult to identify – like many an artistically-minded young man of his time he had a passion for the Pre-Raphaelites and Whistler, Japanese block prints, the Wagnerian world of drama and mythology (music was a key passion.)
Tate Britain’s show demonstrates both the current resonance and familiarity of Beardsley’s work at the same time as, paradoxically, its disconcerting strangeness
The astonishing thing is how these familiar elements were alchemically transformed, so immediately, and by one so young, into a unique and entirely original graphic style that defined an era, and which was to have such a lasting influence on later artists and designers.
Tate Britain’s show demonstrates both the current resonance and familiarity of Beardsley’s work at the same time as, paradoxically, its disconcerting strangeness. That contemporary cohort much exercised by questions around gender may be interested to note the artist’s relentlessly androgynous portrayal of human figures, not least himself.
The Yellow Book Volume I 1894, bound volume, Stephen Calloway, Photo: © Tate
How la Beale Isoud Wrote to Sir Tristram c.1893, ink on paper, 276 x 215 mm, Alessandra and Simon Wilson
A Self-Portrait as Art Editor of the Yellow Book from 1894 is less the gawky and angular male as recorded in Frederick Henry Evans’ celebrated photographs as more purse-lipped, dreamy Victorian lady.
Ambiguity and, further, that which was likely to affront Victorian mores, was key to aestheticism. Many of Beardsley’s drawings were pulled by his publishers at the last minute on the discovery of some or other detail of unacceptable naughtiness.
To be clear, the spectacular dimensions of the male organs displayed in this series would make even the wildest imaginings of Tom of Finland appear hopelessly modest
Tate’s current show sets aside a separate room, presaged by stern warnings of what lies ahead, for the pornographic illustrations he made for Lysistrata (to be clear, the spectacular dimensions of the male organs displayed in this series would make even the wildest imaginings of Tom of Finland appear hopelessly modest).
More bizarrely, and quite appallingly, a splendidly obscene Beardsley-inspired homage by Gerald Scarfe is shielded from impressionable eyes by a pair of curtains – the curious viewer must peek for his-or herself at what lies inside, as self-conscious as a Judge in a Soho emporium.
Self Portrait 1892, ink on paper, British Museum
Ironically, and tragically, the roots of Beardsley’s demise lay in his very success. His illustrations for Wilde’s play Salome created a sensation in 1894, but a year later the playwright was imprisoned on charges of gross indecency. The public backlash was immediate and depressingly predictable.
By mere fact of association, Beardsley was sacked as editor of the hugely influential The Yellow Book and forced into exile in France. Despite moving to the warm climate of the south, his health deteriorated and after ever more frequent haemorrhages, he died in 1897 at the age of twenty-five.
If we are to measure life by achievement and legacy rather than simply longevity, then Aubrey Beardsley lived the fullest and richest one it is possible to imagine
If we are to measure life by achievement and legacy rather than simply longevity, then Aubrey Beardsley lived the fullest and richest one it is possible to imagine; we are the beneficiaries.
