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Renoir, My Father
In this delightful memoir, Jean Renoir, the director of such masterpieces of cinema as Grand Illusion and The Rules of the Game, tells the life story of his father, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, the great Impressionist painter. Recounting Pierre-Auguste's extraordinary career, beginning as a painter of fans and porcelain, recording the rules of thumb by which he worked, and capturing his unpretentious and wonderfully engaging talk and personality, Jean Renoir's book is both a wonderful double portrait of father and son, and in the words of the distinguished art historian John Golding, it "remains the best account of Renoir, and, furthermore, among the most beautiful and moving biographies we have."
Includes 12 pages of color plates and 18 pages of black and white images.
Includes 12 pages of color plates and 18 pages of black and white images.
437 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1958
About the author
Jean Renoir
58 books33 followersJean Renoir was a film director, screenwriter, actor, producer and author. He was the second son of Aline Charigot and the French painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir. He was also the brother of Pierre Renoir, a noted French stage and film actor; the uncle of Claude Renoir, a cinematographer; and the father of Alain Renoir, late professor emeritus of comparative literature at the University of California at Berkeley.
As a film director and actor, he made more than forty films from the silent era to the end of the 1960s. As an author, he wrote the definitive biography of his father, Renoir, My Father (1962).
As a film director and actor, he made more than forty films from the silent era to the end of the 1960s. As an author, he wrote the definitive biography of his father, Renoir, My Father (1962).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 85 reviews
November 17, 2019
My first review didn't save, and I didn't back it up!, so this is a watered-down version.
Who better to write of the great Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir than his own son, the filmmaker Jean Renoir. Although technically a much detailed and fascinating biography, it is just as much a warm and moving memoir. The book came about through conversations which Jean had with his father during the final years of his life, and describes and quotes with characteristic enthusiasm the day-to-day thoughts, feelings and reactions, while at the same time giving a broad political and artistic background to nineteenth century Paris against which Renoir and his fellow Impressionists really struggled to gain recognition. By the time he was twenty, Renoir had dedicated himself to art, even getting to share lodgings with Monet, after turning down a composer's offer of a musical education, as he had a mighty fine baritone voice. He spent several early years as an apprentice porcelain painter learning his trade, and it wasn't until his marriage to Aline Charigot when Renoir was forty, that the right atmosphere was created in which he felt free to paint with exuberant vitality the buxom women, his family, and of course nature and flowers. The later part of the book was most poignant, as after Renoir broke his arm falling off his bicycle in 1897, things were never the same for him again. He suffered greatly from rheumatism in the years that followed, but despite the crippling disease he still had a zest for life through his art and continued to paint. Simply a wonderful book of a son's love and great admiration for his father.
A selection of family photographs are also scattered about.
Who better to write of the great Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir than his own son, the filmmaker Jean Renoir. Although technically a much detailed and fascinating biography, it is just as much a warm and moving memoir. The book came about through conversations which Jean had with his father during the final years of his life, and describes and quotes with characteristic enthusiasm the day-to-day thoughts, feelings and reactions, while at the same time giving a broad political and artistic background to nineteenth century Paris against which Renoir and his fellow Impressionists really struggled to gain recognition. By the time he was twenty, Renoir had dedicated himself to art, even getting to share lodgings with Monet, after turning down a composer's offer of a musical education, as he had a mighty fine baritone voice. He spent several early years as an apprentice porcelain painter learning his trade, and it wasn't until his marriage to Aline Charigot when Renoir was forty, that the right atmosphere was created in which he felt free to paint with exuberant vitality the buxom women, his family, and of course nature and flowers. The later part of the book was most poignant, as after Renoir broke his arm falling off his bicycle in 1897, things were never the same for him again. He suffered greatly from rheumatism in the years that followed, but despite the crippling disease he still had a zest for life through his art and continued to paint. Simply a wonderful book of a son's love and great admiration for his father.
A selection of family photographs are also scattered about.
October 15, 2020
”He talked constantly about hands. He always judged people he saw for the first time by their hands.
‘Did you see that fellow, the way he tore open the package of cigarettes? He’s a scoundrel. And that woman--did you notice the way she brushed back her hair with her forefinger?...A good girl.’ Sometimes he labeled them--’stupid hands,’ ‘witty hands,’ ‘ordinary hands,’ ‘whore’s hands’...”
Self-portrait of Renoir as a young man.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir was an undisputable genius. He may not be my favorite painter, though I do love much of his work, but he might be the painter I respect the most. His character and his work ethic are so impressive.
It’s interesting thinking about Renoir judging people by their hands. I wonder how accurate he was with his assessments. If he saw my hands, what would he believe about me? Many people have told me I should have been a pianist with my long, slender fingers. I don’t see him falling for that trap. My palms along the knuckles have a few calloused ridges from gardening, but not like the bulging hills of my youth. He certainly wouldn’t be fooled into thinking I’m a manual laborer. I have scars. A ridge of scar tissue on the back of my thumb might tell him something. I was sliding a scoop shovel into a bracket holder on a grain truck and held onto it too long. A steel flange peeled the back of my thumb like a grape. There are other interesting scars scattered along my fingers, thin white lines that reveal little of the trauma that created them. He liked hands that could do things. Who would Renoir think I am?
Another interesting aspect of Renoir’s obsession with hands is the crippling arthritis that deformed his hands later in his life. Many artists would retire, but not Renoir. He continued to paint every day and with a precision that is marvelous to contemplate. His deft touch with a brush required a magnifying glass to see how precise his brush was, despite the state of his hands. What would Renoir make of his own hands if they belonged to someone else? Would he guess a painter? His eyes were so sharp that, though he may talk about the hands, I have a feeling, in Sherlock Holmes fashion, he weighed all the other clues available to him as well.
He scoffed at the idea that he was a genius, though it is frankly indisputable. His son Jean, who wrote this marvelous memoir, once screamed in frustration…”Enough of Genius.” It would be difficult venturing forth to find your own creative outlet when the person you know the best in the world is one of the best at what he does. Jean became a filmmaker; fortunately, he did not find his talent with a brush, but then with genius as the bar, who would have the cojones to even begin?
This book is mostly set during the later years of Renoir’s life. Jean was badly wounded in the war. There is this poignant scene described in the book when his mother came to the field hospital to see him. He was in a bad way, and the doctors wanted to take his leg. She refused to allow this but nursed him herself until he was out of danger. She saved his life as good mothers do who save their offsprings’ lives many times over their lifetimes without fanfare. While convolescenting, Jean decided it was time to really start to listen to the stories of his aging father. The result was this book.
Andree played by the lovely Christa Theret in Renoir. The woman who seduced two Renoirs.
I had been wanting to read this book for a while, but what finally spurred me to pick it up this year was watching the 2013 movie Renoir, directed by Gilles Burdos, that was based on this memoir. The effervescent Andree became one of Renoir’s last models. Her luminescent skin soaked up the sun and reflected it. She later married Jean and became the actress Catherine Hessling. She is remembered for the films she made, but she was immortalized by the paintings she inspired.
I was also surprised by how much I liked the writing style of the book. For most of it, I felt like I was sitting on a bench with Jean, sipping wine, as he told me stories about his father and his encounters with life. I would laugh as Jean related how weird it was for him to go to boarding school and see how obsessed other boys were with seeing smutty pictures. He grew up surrounded by beautiful, naked women and didn’t really see what the big deal was. The women with whom Renoir encompassed himself were not only there to make his life easier but were also the inspiration for his art. ”He marries all the women he paints--but with his brush.” They also had a huge impact on Jean as extensions of his mother.
I mentioned Renoir’s work ethic. He painted every day, even when he was in poor health or racked by pain. He loved his chosen profession. He saw himself as a blue collar worker rather than an artist. He had no pretensions about his talent. He respected it by continually using it. He always wanted to improve. He painted on the last day of his life. ”He asked for his paintbox and brushes, and he painted the anemones which Nenette, our kind-hearted maid, had gone out and gathered for him. For several hours he identified himself with these flowers, and forgot his pain. Then he motioned for someone to take his brush and said, ‘I think I am beginning to understand something about it.’ That was the phrase Grand Louise repeated to me. The nurse thought he said, ‘Today I learned something.’”
He used his eyes and his brushes to continually search for truths about the world around him, and through his art, he attempted to share his findings with the rest of us.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten and an Instagram account https://www.instagram.com/jeffreykeeten/
‘Did you see that fellow, the way he tore open the package of cigarettes? He’s a scoundrel. And that woman--did you notice the way she brushed back her hair with her forefinger?...A good girl.’ Sometimes he labeled them--’stupid hands,’ ‘witty hands,’ ‘ordinary hands,’ ‘whore’s hands’...”
Self-portrait of Renoir as a young man.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir was an undisputable genius. He may not be my favorite painter, though I do love much of his work, but he might be the painter I respect the most. His character and his work ethic are so impressive.
It’s interesting thinking about Renoir judging people by their hands. I wonder how accurate he was with his assessments. If he saw my hands, what would he believe about me? Many people have told me I should have been a pianist with my long, slender fingers. I don’t see him falling for that trap. My palms along the knuckles have a few calloused ridges from gardening, but not like the bulging hills of my youth. He certainly wouldn’t be fooled into thinking I’m a manual laborer. I have scars. A ridge of scar tissue on the back of my thumb might tell him something. I was sliding a scoop shovel into a bracket holder on a grain truck and held onto it too long. A steel flange peeled the back of my thumb like a grape. There are other interesting scars scattered along my fingers, thin white lines that reveal little of the trauma that created them. He liked hands that could do things. Who would Renoir think I am?
Another interesting aspect of Renoir’s obsession with hands is the crippling arthritis that deformed his hands later in his life. Many artists would retire, but not Renoir. He continued to paint every day and with a precision that is marvelous to contemplate. His deft touch with a brush required a magnifying glass to see how precise his brush was, despite the state of his hands. What would Renoir make of his own hands if they belonged to someone else? Would he guess a painter? His eyes were so sharp that, though he may talk about the hands, I have a feeling, in Sherlock Holmes fashion, he weighed all the other clues available to him as well.
He scoffed at the idea that he was a genius, though it is frankly indisputable. His son Jean, who wrote this marvelous memoir, once screamed in frustration…”Enough of Genius.” It would be difficult venturing forth to find your own creative outlet when the person you know the best in the world is one of the best at what he does. Jean became a filmmaker; fortunately, he did not find his talent with a brush, but then with genius as the bar, who would have the cojones to even begin?
This book is mostly set during the later years of Renoir’s life. Jean was badly wounded in the war. There is this poignant scene described in the book when his mother came to the field hospital to see him. He was in a bad way, and the doctors wanted to take his leg. She refused to allow this but nursed him herself until he was out of danger. She saved his life as good mothers do who save their offsprings’ lives many times over their lifetimes without fanfare. While convolescenting, Jean decided it was time to really start to listen to the stories of his aging father. The result was this book.
Andree played by the lovely Christa Theret in Renoir. The woman who seduced two Renoirs.
I had been wanting to read this book for a while, but what finally spurred me to pick it up this year was watching the 2013 movie Renoir, directed by Gilles Burdos, that was based on this memoir. The effervescent Andree became one of Renoir’s last models. Her luminescent skin soaked up the sun and reflected it. She later married Jean and became the actress Catherine Hessling. She is remembered for the films she made, but she was immortalized by the paintings she inspired.
I was also surprised by how much I liked the writing style of the book. For most of it, I felt like I was sitting on a bench with Jean, sipping wine, as he told me stories about his father and his encounters with life. I would laugh as Jean related how weird it was for him to go to boarding school and see how obsessed other boys were with seeing smutty pictures. He grew up surrounded by beautiful, naked women and didn’t really see what the big deal was. The women with whom Renoir encompassed himself were not only there to make his life easier but were also the inspiration for his art. ”He marries all the women he paints--but with his brush.” They also had a huge impact on Jean as extensions of his mother.
I mentioned Renoir’s work ethic. He painted every day, even when he was in poor health or racked by pain. He loved his chosen profession. He saw himself as a blue collar worker rather than an artist. He had no pretensions about his talent. He respected it by continually using it. He always wanted to improve. He painted on the last day of his life. ”He asked for his paintbox and brushes, and he painted the anemones which Nenette, our kind-hearted maid, had gone out and gathered for him. For several hours he identified himself with these flowers, and forgot his pain. Then he motioned for someone to take his brush and said, ‘I think I am beginning to understand something about it.’ That was the phrase Grand Louise repeated to me. The nurse thought he said, ‘Today I learned something.’”
He used his eyes and his brushes to continually search for truths about the world around him, and through his art, he attempted to share his findings with the rest of us.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten and an Instagram account https://www.instagram.com/jeffreykeeten/
June 17, 2024
I got through about one-third of this biography of Auguste Renoir by his son, Jean Renoir. It was much too anecdotal and filled with sidebars that were trivial and uninteresting. Also, I got tired of the blatant chauvinism and overtly crude sexist remarks. It came off as being written by an immature juvenile. It was written in the 1950s, this may be one reason.
It required editing to remove the many superfluous details – well I should have realized this as the book was over 450 pages!
In the future, I will stick to the standard art book with illustrations of Renoir’s remarkable paintings. The few illustrations in my volume were in black and white. In essence, this is not well written. Unless you are researching Renoir’s life, stay away.
It required editing to remove the many superfluous details – well I should have realized this as the book was over 450 pages!
In the future, I will stick to the standard art book with illustrations of Renoir’s remarkable paintings. The few illustrations in my volume were in black and white. In essence, this is not well written. Unless you are researching Renoir’s life, stay away.
December 9, 2011
The nuggets that I discovered throughout this book made it a rewarding read. Written by his son, Renoir, My Father is a loving memoir of the method and the man intimately seen inside the family. Renoir came off as a real character. A genius in his field certainly whose emotional connection to the world was far above average. He seemed to see things other do not. But he also came across to me as a man of contradictions, driven yet a believer in fate, deep thinking yet impulsive, passionate yet reserved. That and his "French-iness" made him hard for me to understand at times. (Not that I don't like the French, I'm just not always simpatico with some of the cultural notions.)
That said, ultimately, I really liked him. His deep humility and simplicity I thought was inspiring. The fact that he painted EVERY day of his life, right up to the day he died, made me a believer in the importance of finding and cultivating enriching passions in my own life. Some other readers have commented on his "anti-feminist" attitude toward women. I disagree wholeheartedly. He really loved women; he's just coming from an 18th century perspective. It isn't very fair to hold him to a 21st century standard.
Anyway, I won't go into a deeply detailed review, but instead I'll share some of my favorite bits:
"'You have to be able to put a canvas aside and let it rest...You must know how to loaf a bit.'" (201)
"'Fashion spares no one. It keeps you from seeing what is eternal.'" (71)
"Renoir was discovering the world at every intant of his existence, with every breath of fresh air he drew...There are few adults who really discover the world any more. The think they know it, and are satisfied with mere surface appearances. But one tires quickly of appearances. Hence that affliction of modern society: boredom. A child is being continually astonished by things...Renoir shared with children this faculty of eager curiosity. It is why he loved them so." (205)
"'The advantage of growing old is that you become aware of your mistakes more quickly.'" (222)
"'...the brain, of itself, is an ugly thing. It has no value except what you put into it.'" (221)
"'...never copy anything except nature. You would be trying to enter into a temperamnet that is not yours and nothing that you would do would have any character.'" (244)
"'The trouble is that if the artist knows he has genius, he's done for. The only salvation is to work like a laborer, and not have delusions of grandeur.'" (246)
"'What with the infernal noise of motor cars, this machine may play its part in destroying one of our greatest blessings: silence.'" (referring to a gramaphone, p. 329)
"'It is when you have lost your teeth that you can buy the best beefsteak.'" (430)
"One has to be very naive to work for money. There are more neurasthenics among the rich than there are among the poor. Fame? For that you have to be a simpleton. Satisfaction in work achieved? When on picture is finished, I long to begin the next.'" (443)
"He loved his fellow men, and love works miracles." (449)
On the day of his death he spent several hours painting. "Then he motioned for someone to take his brush and said, 'I think I am beginning to understand something about it.' That is the phrase Grand' Louise repeated to me. The nurse thought he said, 'Today I learned something.'" (458)
That said, ultimately, I really liked him. His deep humility and simplicity I thought was inspiring. The fact that he painted EVERY day of his life, right up to the day he died, made me a believer in the importance of finding and cultivating enriching passions in my own life. Some other readers have commented on his "anti-feminist" attitude toward women. I disagree wholeheartedly. He really loved women; he's just coming from an 18th century perspective. It isn't very fair to hold him to a 21st century standard.
Anyway, I won't go into a deeply detailed review, but instead I'll share some of my favorite bits:
"'You have to be able to put a canvas aside and let it rest...You must know how to loaf a bit.'" (201)
"'Fashion spares no one. It keeps you from seeing what is eternal.'" (71)
"Renoir was discovering the world at every intant of his existence, with every breath of fresh air he drew...There are few adults who really discover the world any more. The think they know it, and are satisfied with mere surface appearances. But one tires quickly of appearances. Hence that affliction of modern society: boredom. A child is being continually astonished by things...Renoir shared with children this faculty of eager curiosity. It is why he loved them so." (205)
"'The advantage of growing old is that you become aware of your mistakes more quickly.'" (222)
"'...the brain, of itself, is an ugly thing. It has no value except what you put into it.'" (221)
"'...never copy anything except nature. You would be trying to enter into a temperamnet that is not yours and nothing that you would do would have any character.'" (244)
"'The trouble is that if the artist knows he has genius, he's done for. The only salvation is to work like a laborer, and not have delusions of grandeur.'" (246)
"'What with the infernal noise of motor cars, this machine may play its part in destroying one of our greatest blessings: silence.'" (referring to a gramaphone, p. 329)
"'It is when you have lost your teeth that you can buy the best beefsteak.'" (430)
"One has to be very naive to work for money. There are more neurasthenics among the rich than there are among the poor. Fame? For that you have to be a simpleton. Satisfaction in work achieved? When on picture is finished, I long to begin the next.'" (443)
"He loved his fellow men, and love works miracles." (449)
On the day of his death he spent several hours painting. "Then he motioned for someone to take his brush and said, 'I think I am beginning to understand something about it.' That is the phrase Grand' Louise repeated to me. The nurse thought he said, 'Today I learned something.'" (458)
May 29, 2013
This is an amazing and intimate look at the life of Renoir through his son's eyes. The first of two extraordinary aspects of this book is Renoir himself. While familiar with a number of his paintings, I did not know much about the man. For such a prolific and influential artist, I am amazed at how much he disdained art theory; he went so far as to make fun of people who tried to discuss it with him. He merely tried to paint Nature by what was in him. He had a great appreciation for things made well. He also had a number of opinions on topics well outside his area of expertise, which make for humorous reading. Renoir is an interesting subject for a biography and this biography tells his story well.
Which brings the second extraordinary aspect of this book: Jean Renoir. I enjoy Jean's films very much, particularly the interviews with him on the Criterion Collection editions. For those that have seen these or other interviews, you would immediately recognize that Jean Renoir writes like he speaks. His prose is forceful and declarative, elegant but not elaborate. He inserts more digressions than Henry Fielding ever did (so much of this book consists of his digressions on any number of inane topics), but they are certainly one of this book's strengths. We get the biographic detail of Renoir that we look for in a biography -- more intimate than one written by a scholar -- but we get, by way of these digressions, more than mere information on Renoir. Jean paints for us a delightful and detailed tableau of Renoir and his times through these little stories from a bit off of the beaten path.
I have rarely enjoyed a biography as much as I have this one and commend it to anyone.
Which brings the second extraordinary aspect of this book: Jean Renoir. I enjoy Jean's films very much, particularly the interviews with him on the Criterion Collection editions. For those that have seen these or other interviews, you would immediately recognize that Jean Renoir writes like he speaks. His prose is forceful and declarative, elegant but not elaborate. He inserts more digressions than Henry Fielding ever did (so much of this book consists of his digressions on any number of inane topics), but they are certainly one of this book's strengths. We get the biographic detail of Renoir that we look for in a biography -- more intimate than one written by a scholar -- but we get, by way of these digressions, more than mere information on Renoir. Jean paints for us a delightful and detailed tableau of Renoir and his times through these little stories from a bit off of the beaten path.
I have rarely enjoyed a biography as much as I have this one and commend it to anyone.
May 11, 2022
Este livro retrata Renoir como artista e como pessoa, mas também toda uma época, e inúmeras outras pessoas que com ele privaram e viriam a fazer história: pintores, escultores, galeristas, mas também escritores e políticos.
Jean Renoir vai intercalando, de forma muito hábil, episódios da vida familiar com descrições da vida no início do século XX em Paris e no campo – pois foram várias as zonas rurais onde Renoir se instalou por períodos mais ou menos prolongados. Embora nem todos os episódios sejam igualmente interessantes, nunca me aborreci e senti-me realmente transportada no tempo, pois as descrições são tão vívidas, que tiveram o condão de me fazer traduzir o texto em imagens, à medida que ia lendo.
O livro está recheado de episódios ora tocantes, ora hilariantes, a maioria deles contados por Renoir pai a Renoir filho, outros contados por familiares ou amigos próximos. Como, por exemplo, a forma como o poeta Mallarmé endereçava certas cartas a Renoir:
A celui qui de couleur vit
au trente-cinq de la rue du vainqueur
du dragon, porte ce pli, facteur
(Àquele que vive da cor/ no trinta e cinco da rua do vencedor / do dragão, leva esta carta, carteiro)
E os carteiros lá faziam chegar a carta ao seu destino, o nº35 da Rue Saint-Georges!
Ou a paixão do escultor Maillol pela sua mulher, Clotilde: “(…) um representante do município de Aix-en-Provence encarregou-o de fazer um projeto de monumento a Zola. Maillol apresentou-lhes uma estátua de Clotilde nua, acrescentando que Zola só podia ficar a ganhar com a troca, já que tinha um corpo muito menos belo do que o de Clotilde.”
Acompanhamos os primeiros passos do impressionismo, um percurso penoso carregado de críticas severas e por vezes mesmo da chacota da imprensa e intelectuais da época. Estes levaram os impressionistas à perda quase total dos poucos clientes que possuíam, a ponto de não terem praticamente o que comer. Felizmente que havia Monet, que nunca se deixava abater, sempre recusou o fracasso e animava os companheiros a fazer o mesmo:
“A sua paisagem ‘Impressão’ tinha sido zurzida principalmente porque 'não se via nada'. Monet, sobranceiro, encolhia os ombros: 'Pobres cegos, que querem descortinar tudo através da bruma!' Um crítico tinha-lhe declarado que a bruma não era tema de pintura. (…) Toda esta incompreensão tinha reforçado em Monet a determinação irresistível de pintar algo ainda mais brumoso. Uma bela manhã acordou Renoir com um grito triunfal: 'Já descobri… a Gare Saint-Lazare! No momento da partida as locomotivas lançam um fumo tão espesso que não se distingue praticamente nada. (…) Vai ser preciso atrasar a partida do comboio para Ruão. A luz é melhor meia hora depois da partida.' 'Estás maluco.'" respondeu o comedido Renoir.
Mas Monet não se demoveu. “Vestiu o seu melhor fato, esticou os punhos de renda e, balouçando negligentemente uma bengala com castão de ouro, mandou entregar o seu cartão de visita ao diretor dos Caminhos-de-Ferro do Ouest.” O resto da história não conto, porque tornaria esta resenha enorme, mas a verdade é que conseguiu tudo o que queria, e em grande estilo. 'E eu que não teria sequer coragem para ir instalar-me na montra da mercearia da esquina!', concluía Renoir.
Nesta biografia apenas senti falta de mais ilustrações (há algumas fotografias e reproduções, mas são poucas e todas a preto e branco). No entanto, nada que não se resolvesse rapidamente com uma busca na internet. Muito, muito bom. Não fossem alguns apartes tristemente misóginos, ainda que infelizmente enquadrados na época, levaria as 5 estrelas redondas, sendo assim, são 4.5, que não resisto a arredondar para cima :-)
Jean Renoir vai intercalando, de forma muito hábil, episódios da vida familiar com descrições da vida no início do século XX em Paris e no campo – pois foram várias as zonas rurais onde Renoir se instalou por períodos mais ou menos prolongados. Embora nem todos os episódios sejam igualmente interessantes, nunca me aborreci e senti-me realmente transportada no tempo, pois as descrições são tão vívidas, que tiveram o condão de me fazer traduzir o texto em imagens, à medida que ia lendo.
O livro está recheado de episódios ora tocantes, ora hilariantes, a maioria deles contados por Renoir pai a Renoir filho, outros contados por familiares ou amigos próximos. Como, por exemplo, a forma como o poeta Mallarmé endereçava certas cartas a Renoir:
A celui qui de couleur vit
au trente-cinq de la rue du vainqueur
du dragon, porte ce pli, facteur
(Àquele que vive da cor/ no trinta e cinco da rua do vencedor / do dragão, leva esta carta, carteiro)
E os carteiros lá faziam chegar a carta ao seu destino, o nº35 da Rue Saint-Georges!
Ou a paixão do escultor Maillol pela sua mulher, Clotilde: “(…) um representante do município de Aix-en-Provence encarregou-o de fazer um projeto de monumento a Zola. Maillol apresentou-lhes uma estátua de Clotilde nua, acrescentando que Zola só podia ficar a ganhar com a troca, já que tinha um corpo muito menos belo do que o de Clotilde.”
Acompanhamos os primeiros passos do impressionismo, um percurso penoso carregado de críticas severas e por vezes mesmo da chacota da imprensa e intelectuais da época. Estes levaram os impressionistas à perda quase total dos poucos clientes que possuíam, a ponto de não terem praticamente o que comer. Felizmente que havia Monet, que nunca se deixava abater, sempre recusou o fracasso e animava os companheiros a fazer o mesmo:
“A sua paisagem ‘Impressão’ tinha sido zurzida principalmente porque 'não se via nada'. Monet, sobranceiro, encolhia os ombros: 'Pobres cegos, que querem descortinar tudo através da bruma!' Um crítico tinha-lhe declarado que a bruma não era tema de pintura. (…) Toda esta incompreensão tinha reforçado em Monet a determinação irresistível de pintar algo ainda mais brumoso. Uma bela manhã acordou Renoir com um grito triunfal: 'Já descobri… a Gare Saint-Lazare! No momento da partida as locomotivas lançam um fumo tão espesso que não se distingue praticamente nada. (…) Vai ser preciso atrasar a partida do comboio para Ruão. A luz é melhor meia hora depois da partida.' 'Estás maluco.'" respondeu o comedido Renoir.
Mas Monet não se demoveu. “Vestiu o seu melhor fato, esticou os punhos de renda e, balouçando negligentemente uma bengala com castão de ouro, mandou entregar o seu cartão de visita ao diretor dos Caminhos-de-Ferro do Ouest.” O resto da história não conto, porque tornaria esta resenha enorme, mas a verdade é que conseguiu tudo o que queria, e em grande estilo. 'E eu que não teria sequer coragem para ir instalar-me na montra da mercearia da esquina!', concluía Renoir.
Nesta biografia apenas senti falta de mais ilustrações (há algumas fotografias e reproduções, mas são poucas e todas a preto e branco). No entanto, nada que não se resolvesse rapidamente com uma busca na internet. Muito, muito bom. Não fossem alguns apartes tristemente misóginos, ainda que infelizmente enquadrados na época, levaria as 5 estrelas redondas, sendo assim, são 4.5, que não resisto a arredondar para cima :-)
March 10, 2021
Not only is this a book about Renoir, whose tableaux peer out of every other art store on every mall in North America (what a curious fate!), it is also a book about Paris. Born in 1841, Renoir was older than most of the other Impressionists with whom he grew friendly later. He also had the chance to see Paris as it was before the Commune and the war of 1870. He lived a good part of his life on the Butte in Montmartre and it is hard now to recapture the atmosphere up there among the hordes of tourists. Yet early on Sunday mornings with a light rain playing on the umbrellas of the artist's stands in the Place du Tertre, you can wander freely among the memories of the rue Lepic and elsewhere, and catch glimpses of Renoir (and others) as you pass through the old streets. Reading this book first will help.
Jean Renoir is a very famous artist in his own right, having made numerous films and become one of the most acclaimed directors in French cinema history. Here he has taken great pains to paint a fine portrait of his renowned father, this time with a pen. He has succeeded admirably.
Jean Renoir is a very famous artist in his own right, having made numerous films and become one of the most acclaimed directors in French cinema history. Here he has taken great pains to paint a fine portrait of his renowned father, this time with a pen. He has succeeded admirably.
February 21, 2021
Mi avvicino a Proust in modo ellittico accumulando (auto)biografie e immergendomi in romanzi français.
Questa l’avevo letto, abbreviata, in giovane età (i trascorsi sui volumi del Reader’s Digest 😊 ) e l’ho recuperata ora. Mantiene intatto tutto il suo splendore, la narrazione del figlio geniale (Jean) di un padre geniale (Pierre Auguste – ma la madre lo chiamava Auguste che tutte quelle RRRR la infastidivano!).
Mi accorgo di come ci sia un filo che unisce Dumas-Renoir-Chaplin (bio che ho molto amato), ed è la joie de vivre unita a una sconfinata capacità di continuare a fare sempre e comunque quello che li rende felici, creare. E farlo con una ricerca incessante della perfezione.
Per Renoir si traduce con la filosofia del turacciolo, ovvero farsi trasportare e non opporre resistenza (sembra facile, quando sei un genio e rivoluzioni l’idea di luce e pittura), anche se di resistenza ne ha fatta, ma a modo suo. Era contro il sentimentalismo e il pittoresco, che gli sembravano prodotti dell’era industriale.
C’è questo bellissimo aneddoto della sua amicizia con l’ultimo vecchissimo boia, e insieme si lamentavano dello scomparire dell’epoca del fatto-a-mano a favore della produzione in serie. Anche il boia – prima che la ghigliottina gli portasse via il lavoro, meccanizzandolo – aveva un’etica del “ben fatto”. “Solo i cattivi artigiani, i cattivi scrittori, i cattivi pittori, i cattivi santi, i cattivi carnefici fanno i sentimentali” dove sentimentalismo è il peggio del peggio, superato solo dal pittoresco (ironia della sorte, saranno proprio i suoi quadri – e l’invenzione dei colori in tubetto – a spronare i milioni di pittori della domenica a cimentarsi in quadretti sentimentali&pittoreschi), perché non fa andare al cuore delle cose, ma rimane in superficie (e mi ricorda un po’ papa Hem.)
Il suo sguardo sul mondo gli procura sempre uno stupore sincero (e sono andata a riguardarmi praticamente tutta la produzione sulla scia degli aneddoti collegati, dall’Altalena al Bal de la Galette, fino ai quadri degli ultimi anni, secondo Renoir, i più riusciti).
L’intreccio di letture degli ultimi mesi mi ha fatto sorridere e riflettere su due notazioni del figlio. La prima è aneddotica, su quello spilorcio moralista di Dumas figlio (in effetti, un tignino senza pari, in confronto allo spumeggiante padre. La seconda sulla rivoluzione del colore non solo in pittura, ma nel vestire. Renoir, secondo il figlio, avrebbe “sdoganato” i colori nell’abbigliamento, dove prima i bambini vestivano color pulce*, poi i francesi sono passati a imitare i quadri che li ritraevano, bambini e adulti (soprattutto femmine, a dire il vero 😊).
* Luigi XVI lancia il color pulce, che la fantasia dei tintori moltiplica in ogni tipo di sfumatura e derivati; ventre di pulce con la febbre del latte, vecchia pulce, schiena di pulce (non superano i ben più affascinanti fango di Parigi o merda d’oca, o coscia di ninfa commossa) [cit. Goncourt]
Questa l’avevo letto, abbreviata, in giovane età (i trascorsi sui volumi del Reader’s Digest 😊 ) e l’ho recuperata ora. Mantiene intatto tutto il suo splendore, la narrazione del figlio geniale (Jean) di un padre geniale (Pierre Auguste – ma la madre lo chiamava Auguste che tutte quelle RRRR la infastidivano!).
Mi accorgo di come ci sia un filo che unisce Dumas-Renoir-Chaplin (bio che ho molto amato), ed è la joie de vivre unita a una sconfinata capacità di continuare a fare sempre e comunque quello che li rende felici, creare. E farlo con una ricerca incessante della perfezione.
Per Renoir si traduce con la filosofia del turacciolo, ovvero farsi trasportare e non opporre resistenza (sembra facile, quando sei un genio e rivoluzioni l’idea di luce e pittura), anche se di resistenza ne ha fatta, ma a modo suo. Era contro il sentimentalismo e il pittoresco, che gli sembravano prodotti dell’era industriale.
C’è questo bellissimo aneddoto della sua amicizia con l’ultimo vecchissimo boia, e insieme si lamentavano dello scomparire dell’epoca del fatto-a-mano a favore della produzione in serie. Anche il boia – prima che la ghigliottina gli portasse via il lavoro, meccanizzandolo – aveva un’etica del “ben fatto”. “Solo i cattivi artigiani, i cattivi scrittori, i cattivi pittori, i cattivi santi, i cattivi carnefici fanno i sentimentali” dove sentimentalismo è il peggio del peggio, superato solo dal pittoresco (ironia della sorte, saranno proprio i suoi quadri – e l’invenzione dei colori in tubetto – a spronare i milioni di pittori della domenica a cimentarsi in quadretti sentimentali&pittoreschi), perché non fa andare al cuore delle cose, ma rimane in superficie (e mi ricorda un po’ papa Hem.)
Il suo sguardo sul mondo gli procura sempre uno stupore sincero (e sono andata a riguardarmi praticamente tutta la produzione sulla scia degli aneddoti collegati, dall’Altalena al Bal de la Galette, fino ai quadri degli ultimi anni, secondo Renoir, i più riusciti).
L’intreccio di letture degli ultimi mesi mi ha fatto sorridere e riflettere su due notazioni del figlio. La prima è aneddotica, su quello spilorcio moralista di Dumas figlio (in effetti, un tignino senza pari, in confronto allo spumeggiante padre. La seconda sulla rivoluzione del colore non solo in pittura, ma nel vestire. Renoir, secondo il figlio, avrebbe “sdoganato” i colori nell’abbigliamento, dove prima i bambini vestivano color pulce*, poi i francesi sono passati a imitare i quadri che li ritraevano, bambini e adulti (soprattutto femmine, a dire il vero 😊).
* Luigi XVI lancia il color pulce, che la fantasia dei tintori moltiplica in ogni tipo di sfumatura e derivati; ventre di pulce con la febbre del latte, vecchia pulce, schiena di pulce (non superano i ben più affascinanti fango di Parigi o merda d’oca, o coscia di ninfa commossa) [cit. Goncourt]
August 29, 2023
Usta yönetmen Jean Renoir, babası Aguste Renoir'i anlatıyor. Renoir, babasına en yakın insanlarla beraber kendi anılarını derleyip içeriden bir biyografiye imza atmış. Ressam Renoir'in yemek alışkanlıklarından komşuluk ilişkilerine kadar hic bir detayı atlamamış Jean Renoir.
Hem bir hafıza çalışması hem de bir tarih belgeseli gibi. 20.yyla beraber değişen toplum,makineleşme,yeni sanat akımları ve siyasal olayların insanlar üzerindeki etkilerini de görebilme şansını yakalıyorsunuz.Renoir bir bakıma Proustyen bir üslupla kendi Kayıp Zamanı'nin Peşine düşmüş.
Ben 96 yılı baskısını okudum. Umarim vizyon sahibi bir yayinevi bu kitabı daha iyi bir çeviri ve edisyonla tekrar basar.
Hem bir hafıza çalışması hem de bir tarih belgeseli gibi. 20.yyla beraber değişen toplum,makineleşme,yeni sanat akımları ve siyasal olayların insanlar üzerindeki etkilerini de görebilme şansını yakalıyorsunuz.Renoir bir bakıma Proustyen bir üslupla kendi Kayıp Zamanı'nin Peşine düşmüş.
Ben 96 yılı baskısını okudum. Umarim vizyon sahibi bir yayinevi bu kitabı daha iyi bir çeviri ve edisyonla tekrar basar.
January 22, 2018
Renoir, My Father - Jean Renoir
4 stars
“Among seekers of truth, painters perhaps come closest to discovering the secret of the balance of forces of the universe, and hence of man's fulfillment.”
I started this memoir/biography in November of last year. I was on the east coast for a family wedding, with several days to myself in Washington. I went to the Phillips Gallery to see their Renoir exhibit. This book was the perfect enrichment both before and after that experience.
The filmmaker, Jean Renoir, wrote to his publisher about his intentions for this book in 1953, “I would like to attempt to give form to my recollections of the conversations I had with my father mostly at the end of his life.” I’m not certain how much this book can be said to give ‘form’. It is roughly chronological, but wanders in time and topic as a conversation might. Sometimes, I was felt that Jean Renoir was attributing his own opinions and esthetic to his father. Maybe, it is impossible to separate one from the other. Without doubt, this book is an intensely personal look at the genius of an incredibly talented family.
This was a book that I could not read quickly. Whenever I sat down with it, I found myself diverted into internet searches for famous names, historical events, and many, many, images of paintings that I would love to see. The Phillips exhibit put many of Renoir’s most famous works in one place, which made reading about them so much more interesting. The book was more memoir than biography, and was filled with a great deal of famous name dropping. I doubt I will retain much of the details, but I appreciate the insight it gave to understanding Renoir’s work (beyond, ‘that’s such a pretty painting’).
“The world of Renoir is a single entity. The red of the poppy determines the pose of the young woman with the umbrella. The blue of the sky harmonizes with the sheepskin the young shepherd wears. His pictures are demonstrations of over-all unity. ....
Renoir believed in the Chinese legend that a mandarin can be killed at a distance by an unconsciously lethal gesture made in Paris.”
Jean Renoir wrote, in middle age, his memories of conversations with his crippled father. Jean was recovering from wounds received in the trenches of WW1. His father was slowly and painfully dying of rheumatoid arthritis. The loosely connected anecdotes are nostalgic and without bitterness. He has nothing but admiration and love for his parents. Rose colored glasses, maybe, but it made for easy reading.
“His nudes and his roses declared to men of this century, already deep in their task of destruction, the stability of the eternal balance of nature.”
I discovered that this book was the inspiration for the beautiful, 2012 French film, Renoir. It won several awards. I recommend it along with this enjoyable memoir, and a trip to see Luncheon of the Boating Party at the Phillips Gallery in Washington, D.C.
4 stars
“Among seekers of truth, painters perhaps come closest to discovering the secret of the balance of forces of the universe, and hence of man's fulfillment.”
I started this memoir/biography in November of last year. I was on the east coast for a family wedding, with several days to myself in Washington. I went to the Phillips Gallery to see their Renoir exhibit. This book was the perfect enrichment both before and after that experience.
The filmmaker, Jean Renoir, wrote to his publisher about his intentions for this book in 1953, “I would like to attempt to give form to my recollections of the conversations I had with my father mostly at the end of his life.” I’m not certain how much this book can be said to give ‘form’. It is roughly chronological, but wanders in time and topic as a conversation might. Sometimes, I was felt that Jean Renoir was attributing his own opinions and esthetic to his father. Maybe, it is impossible to separate one from the other. Without doubt, this book is an intensely personal look at the genius of an incredibly talented family.
This was a book that I could not read quickly. Whenever I sat down with it, I found myself diverted into internet searches for famous names, historical events, and many, many, images of paintings that I would love to see. The Phillips exhibit put many of Renoir’s most famous works in one place, which made reading about them so much more interesting. The book was more memoir than biography, and was filled with a great deal of famous name dropping. I doubt I will retain much of the details, but I appreciate the insight it gave to understanding Renoir’s work (beyond, ‘that’s such a pretty painting’).
“The world of Renoir is a single entity. The red of the poppy determines the pose of the young woman with the umbrella. The blue of the sky harmonizes with the sheepskin the young shepherd wears. His pictures are demonstrations of over-all unity. ....
Renoir believed in the Chinese legend that a mandarin can be killed at a distance by an unconsciously lethal gesture made in Paris.”
Jean Renoir wrote, in middle age, his memories of conversations with his crippled father. Jean was recovering from wounds received in the trenches of WW1. His father was slowly and painfully dying of rheumatoid arthritis. The loosely connected anecdotes are nostalgic and without bitterness. He has nothing but admiration and love for his parents. Rose colored glasses, maybe, but it made for easy reading.
“His nudes and his roses declared to men of this century, already deep in their task of destruction, the stability of the eternal balance of nature.”
I discovered that this book was the inspiration for the beautiful, 2012 French film, Renoir. It won several awards. I recommend it along with this enjoyable memoir, and a trip to see Luncheon of the Boating Party at the Phillips Gallery in Washington, D.C.
March 14, 2017
I read this book in 1996 when I still dreamed of things like spending my life as a pastoral painter and being appreciated in my town. I always liked Renoir's simple idea-less paintings a lot and learned they were a reaction against industrialization, when life was more simple. Renoir was a relatively simple man who said, "you have to be a little mad to paint," and he was just normal enough to pull it off without slashing off his ear, or jumping off a boat. I thought there was a noble virtue in this that the modern era missed by romanticizing the suicidal poets like the Romantics who thought a poem was worthless if it didn't make you want to kill yourself. I wanted a different life and this very engaging, well written, beautifully observant, vision of art, written by Pierre Augustus Renoir's son, is one of the world's wonders. It might really be a memoir, not creative non-fiction, or new journalism repackaged, but a reminiscence of the good parts of life, condensed in a time structure, rather than a three act story.
My only regret about this masterpiece is that it was too good, and made me wish that the pages I was living could come alive, but they were from a hundred years ago. Still, there were times the painterly vision of being a man observing his times and creating an expression were an eternal truth. As Jean Renoir said, the French never looked the same after Renoir painted them, but I paraphrase. This tale might be the greatest argument for a purely aesthetic life that I've ever read.
My only regret about this masterpiece is that it was too good, and made me wish that the pages I was living could come alive, but they were from a hundred years ago. Still, there were times the painterly vision of being a man observing his times and creating an expression were an eternal truth. As Jean Renoir said, the French never looked the same after Renoir painted them, but I paraphrase. This tale might be the greatest argument for a purely aesthetic life that I've ever read.
December 19, 2017
A most emotional and heart touching memoir book.
If you are a painter, or a son, or interested in the previous centuries' history - this book for sure will enrich you.
If you are a woman, a feminist, an open minded person, some of Renoir Senior's sexist ideas will annoy you greatly, yet the otherwise humanist ideas will enlighten you. How much ahead of his times he was!.
As I reached the end of the book I got immensely angry and frustrated: the painter is old and very sick, a physician teaches him to change his diet, it takes only a month to heal him, then the physician challenges him to start walking, and this man who for 2 full years was a complete invalid tied to his wheelchair, gets up, walks a few steps, which is a miracle - when I was compelled to remain in a hospital bed for 24 days, the first attempt of walking was a complete failure - -
and then this otherwise intelligent person says he won't walk, it takes too much of his energy, he'll rather invest all his energy in painting.
and no one tell him that it is just so with the first steps, it is only natural, walking is so healthy, just hold on, don't despair.
Renoir sits down and never gets up again - which brings upon him so much physical suffering.
Life is a struggle - for health, for sanity. Someone must write on the sky daily: Do Not Give Up, Ever.
As for the son, do you know his films? I love them. A real poet, a master.
If you are a painter, or a son, or interested in the previous centuries' history - this book for sure will enrich you.
If you are a woman, a feminist, an open minded person, some of Renoir Senior's sexist ideas will annoy you greatly, yet the otherwise humanist ideas will enlighten you. How much ahead of his times he was!.
As I reached the end of the book I got immensely angry and frustrated: the painter is old and very sick, a physician teaches him to change his diet, it takes only a month to heal him, then the physician challenges him to start walking, and this man who for 2 full years was a complete invalid tied to his wheelchair, gets up, walks a few steps, which is a miracle - when I was compelled to remain in a hospital bed for 24 days, the first attempt of walking was a complete failure - -
and then this otherwise intelligent person says he won't walk, it takes too much of his energy, he'll rather invest all his energy in painting.
and no one tell him that it is just so with the first steps, it is only natural, walking is so healthy, just hold on, don't despair.
Renoir sits down and never gets up again - which brings upon him so much physical suffering.
Life is a struggle - for health, for sanity. Someone must write on the sky daily: Do Not Give Up, Ever.
As for the son, do you know his films? I love them. A real poet, a master.
December 10, 2008
I loved this book. I'm a huge fan of Jean Renoir (the film maker), never that crazy about the work of his father the painter, but this book is wonderful. What I love about J Renoir is his menschlichheit (pardon my french) -- his art is great because he's a great soul. In this book, you see where he got it, as well as getting a real feel for regular 19th c life in Paris and throughout France, a broad cultural history of the period.
September 24, 2016
I thought the book was interesting in small pieces. The first two chapters were great because they had personal details about Renoir, like how he always noticed people's hands first. It also discussed his philosophy on life, and beliefs, and how they informed his art. One of my favorite lines was that "For Renoir, there was no petty or great events, no minute or major artists, no small or great discoveries." If all you did was read the first two chapters, you already got a lot out of the book.
After the first couple of chapters, the book discusses his life struggling to make it as an artist, how he meets his wife, his life with his wife, all of the places he has lived, and all of the different models who sat for him. I got a little bored in this section, because I lost track of all the different models. It was interesting to learn about certain figures, such as Paul Durand-Ruel, who was influential in helping the impressionists. It was also helpful to know more about the family and the nanny, since so many of his paintings are on this. But aside from that, it was difficult to get through the book. The end of the book discusses his arthritis, which is important to understand his art. I enjoyed this part of the book also, but it was towards the very end.
After the first couple of chapters, the book discusses his life struggling to make it as an artist, how he meets his wife, his life with his wife, all of the places he has lived, and all of the different models who sat for him. I got a little bored in this section, because I lost track of all the different models. It was interesting to learn about certain figures, such as Paul Durand-Ruel, who was influential in helping the impressionists. It was also helpful to know more about the family and the nanny, since so many of his paintings are on this. But aside from that, it was difficult to get through the book. The end of the book discusses his arthritis, which is important to understand his art. I enjoyed this part of the book also, but it was towards the very end.
September 2, 2008
Jean is quite a talent himself, and his narrative skills as a filmmaker are evident in this loving memoir of a son of a genius. The book opens with the wounded Jean thanking a German sniper for wounding him so that he might go home to recover in the company of his aging father, at his father's last home, where he will gather the bulk of the material for this memoir. And where to begin? From the birth of Pierre-Auguste, of course, through the rest of his remarkable life, always entertaining, touching, intelligent, and surprisingly funny. What lives enter the life of Renoir! Famous and non-famous alike, family and extended family, dealers and artists, anecdotes involving the likes of Dumas, Hugo, and any number of other historical persons; and of course the obvious gang, like Degas, Manet, Pissarro, Monet, Sisley, Bazille, Toulouse-Lautrec, and my favorite, Cezanne. It's a rich repast of stories and quotes from Renoir and there is too much to leave out in a summation like this. Renoir was an ideal man – or at least in his adult son's recollections, which is rarer than one might think.
March 15, 2020
This book on Renoir, the renowned Impressionist artist, written by his son Jean Renoir provides the reader with a useful historical background on France's art scene and political/military struggles. I have a real problem though with the biography's structure. It's based on an episodic style rather than the normal timeline I'm used to. It's a very rambly and highly anecdotal account of the artist's life. It does however illustrate Renoir's love of nature and his preference for the simple life plus his distaste of modern industrialized society. The last chapter is the best in the book. It's a very moving story about Renoir's last months and days. He managed to paint up until his death despite badly arthritic hands and fingers. Overall though, it was disappointing that the writer did not talk more about his father's actual paintings - how his art evolved, what subjects he really enjoyed, etc.
This review was written by Shawn Callon author of The Diplomatic Spy.
This review was written by Shawn Callon author of The Diplomatic Spy.
April 30, 2011
I've just picked this up again after finishing Memoirs of Hadrian. The discussions of the "new" artistic theories of the day, and Renoir's friendships with Pissaro, Sisley, Monet, etc. are very interesting. I am also enjoying the many digressions about life in Paris at the time; these scenes and vignettes are vividly described by Jean Renoir. It is definitely much more of a son's memoir of his father than a standard biography.
I'm not sure why his son feels so impelled to report, verbatim, what seems like every last one of Renoir's patronizing opinions about women - it is getting a little tedious, and I find I am skimming those sections. Hopefully all of that will settle down once Renoir marries Mme. Renoir.
I'm not sure why his son feels so impelled to report, verbatim, what seems like every last one of Renoir's patronizing opinions about women - it is getting a little tedious, and I find I am skimming those sections. Hopefully all of that will settle down once Renoir marries Mme. Renoir.
August 6, 2009
I was reading this in the summer and left it in CT. I wish my mom would send it back. It was a really good read1
I finally got this book back from CT, and I still love it!.
This book made me appreciate and love Renior even more. He reminds me so much of my Grandfather. He had wonderful witty and unique views on life just as Renoir.
It was written by his son and through the whole tone of the book you could feel the compasion and respect he had for his father and his work.
I thought he wrote too much about all the many places they lived even if they did not live there long or anything of importance happen. It was a little drawn out in that area, but other than that I loved this book.
I finally got this book back from CT, and I still love it!.
This book made me appreciate and love Renior even more. He reminds me so much of my Grandfather. He had wonderful witty and unique views on life just as Renoir.
It was written by his son and through the whole tone of the book you could feel the compasion and respect he had for his father and his work.
I thought he wrote too much about all the many places they lived even if they did not live there long or anything of importance happen. It was a little drawn out in that area, but other than that I loved this book.
June 17, 2010
I love Renoir's work and was interested in his biography since it was written so intimately by his son. I discovered that he was simple and down to earth in his lifestyle, I could really relate to his philosophy of life, especially his view of fate,family and economy. I also recently visited Paris and the descriptions of the city and the changes that occurred at the turn of the 20th century were so visually written that it solidified my memories of different areas, like Montmartre. Very artsy, very French, very readable.
November 18, 2014
Who better to tell the story of a great artist than his son! The book is filled with amusing anecdotes, historic photos, and stories about the "genius" as Jean Renoir calls his father. In his father's lifetime much of France was in flux with revolutions, changing governments and a great World War. Through it all, Renoir saw with amused eyes the bourgeoise, who with the nobility gone, thought of themselves as such. At times, when the author jumps back and forth in time and reminisces, it's not a smooth read. Yet this is a book I'd recommend to anyone who enjoys the Impressionists.
June 17, 2015
الكتاب في غالبه ممل حيث كان أسلوب الابن جان غير موفق. وتنقل بين مراحل حياة والده الرسام الشهير رينوار أحد الانطباعيين المؤسسين للحركة وكان رفيق مونيه وشريكه في السكن لفترة قصيرة وكان صديقا لسيزان وديغا، وتوقعت كلاما كثيرا عن حياة هؤلاء الرسامين ومعارضهم الأولى والتحديات التي واجهوها، لكن لم يتكلم عنهم إلا لماما وكان تركيزه على أحداث حياة والده أكثر مما هو على الرسم وعلى الحركة التي يمثلها.
الكتاب بالمجمل ممل والتسلسل غير سلس وتقسيم الفصول لم يعجبني وطويل على عكس ما هو متوقع من سينمائي.
الكتاب بالمجمل ممل والتسلسل غير سلس وتقسيم الفصول لم يعجبني وطويل على عكس ما هو متوقع من سينمائي.
April 7, 2008
Delightful biography written by a loving son. I learned
much about Renoir the husband, the father, the artist, the
friend and much about Paris and the times. My lasting impression of Auguste Renoir is that he loved life completely
and the world returned his affection. The book has made an
impact on how I see Renoir's art. Beautiful before, more
beautiful after.
much about Renoir the husband, the father, the artist, the
friend and much about Paris and the times. My lasting impression of Auguste Renoir is that he loved life completely
and the world returned his affection. The book has made an
impact on how I see Renoir's art. Beautiful before, more
beautiful after.
Read
May 8, 2011What would you like to know about the most loved painter in the world? Learn it from the person who loved and knew him best, his son. I learned a new respect and fascination for this Pierre Renoir and can tell you there can absolutely never be another man like him. You will be blessed by his outlook on life and by his loyalty and loves.
January 11, 2020
This was recommended about 10 years ago. Didn’t get on with it. Tried again at the end of last year and loved it. It’s no surprise the author is a filmmaker.
April 12, 2023
Fascinating book about not only Renoir but the sociological history of the era that he lived.
November 2, 2021
A remarkable book and one of the most charming and beautifully written books on an artist I’ve read.
August 5, 2011
Here continued my quest to read all the book club selections for the year. This was probably the hardest one to get through. Only the quest and the fact that I was reading it in small doses on the subway when I had nothing else to do but avoid eye contact with crazy people got me through.
Apparently, the New York Times said, apropos of this book, that Renoir was "unaffected, modest and genial."
I would say, apropos of this book, that he seemed like kind of an ass.
Often, Renoir's son relays pronouncements made by his father about life. Some of these are interesting. Some of them are things like women shouldn't know how to spell. Maybe I should give him more slack on his views towards women given that he lived at the turn of the twentieth century. Maybe. But isn't it still kind of strange to call someone "unaffected" and "modest" when they are given to making pronouncements. I know the point was to express the author's father's viewpoints, but he seemed awfully judgmental.
It's interesting to read a portrait of a life at that time, but the book drifts a lot from anecdote to anecdote about neighbors or friends without much in the way of a gripping narrative, or really, any narrative at all.
The person who called it, "one of the most engaging biographies ever written about an artist," should read Keith Richard's book.
Apparently, the New York Times said, apropos of this book, that Renoir was "unaffected, modest and genial."
I would say, apropos of this book, that he seemed like kind of an ass.
Often, Renoir's son relays pronouncements made by his father about life. Some of these are interesting. Some of them are things like women shouldn't know how to spell. Maybe I should give him more slack on his views towards women given that he lived at the turn of the twentieth century. Maybe. But isn't it still kind of strange to call someone "unaffected" and "modest" when they are given to making pronouncements. I know the point was to express the author's father's viewpoints, but he seemed awfully judgmental.
It's interesting to read a portrait of a life at that time, but the book drifts a lot from anecdote to anecdote about neighbors or friends without much in the way of a gripping narrative, or really, any narrative at all.
The person who called it, "one of the most engaging biographies ever written about an artist," should read Keith Richard's book.
May 11, 2017
A very interesting read. If you are not a lover of art and the Impressionists, I would lower the rating to a 3. I have always loved his paintings and it was fascinating to read of his life and work. And what better author than his son? I learned much -that the Impressionist name was a bit of a fluke, that they were considered an artistic group that broke away from traditional painting, and, at the start, they often worked together. (Renoir, Monet, Cezanne, Degas, Morisot among others). They were the first artists that painted purely for the sake of their art, and not specific commissions. The Impressionist period also "created" the first art dealer. (Paul Durand-Ruel) who recognized the amazing talents of Renoir and the other Impressionists.
Renoir painted until the end of his life, despite the fact that his later years, he was severely disabled from arthritis. The book also relates stories of Renoir's family life, and recounted the times in which he lived. There are several pages of illustration in the book (sadly in black and white) of his paintings and family. At times, the narrative was a little tedious, but, overall, it was a wonderful account of an amazing, inspired and dedicated artist.
Renoir painted until the end of his life, despite the fact that his later years, he was severely disabled from arthritis. The book also relates stories of Renoir's family life, and recounted the times in which he lived. There are several pages of illustration in the book (sadly in black and white) of his paintings and family. At times, the narrative was a little tedious, but, overall, it was a wonderful account of an amazing, inspired and dedicated artist.
May 29, 2016
This is a biography of one of my favorite artists, written by his son Jean with love and admiration. The book set my existence, in my mind, in Paris and some small towns the family visited during certain times of the year. The problems that the Impressionist painters had at first with public perception is detailed. It didn't seem that Renoir was too upset by it, he just kept painting. His son, Jean, shares Renoir's beliefs about many things with the reader, so we understand Renoir, who was basically an intelligent, well read man. The overall feeling that I got while reading this book was relaxation. I picked it up and relaxed into the story again and again.
September 17, 2012
Loved this book! You not only get insight into Renoir, but to many of the painters of that period. They were friends, comrades and that made it interesting. Plus it spans a time from about mid 1800s until Renoirs death in the early 1900s so you get to glimpse Paris in a very interesting time. It is quite a span - from Monmarte being farm land and a queen still in the palace, the impressionist movement and how they were riduculed- and it is fascinating as well as lovingly told. It is a fond remembrance which i appreciate. Some may find it lighweight I found it lovely
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