If you’re tired of Jacob Elordi’s haggard portrait staring back at you in the exhibition for this year’s Archibald Prize, Art Gallery of NSW offers repose in its parallel exhibition for ‘Alphonse Mucha: the Spirit of Art Nouveau’; which is running now until 22 September 2024 in the new Naala Badu building.
From the stained glass windows of St Vitus Cathedral in Prague, to movie posters, cigarette packets and Nestle tins, Alphonse Mucha had truly made his mark. Mucha covered the world with art nouveau at the turn of the century and traces of it can still be found today. Just google the Paris Metro or watch Sailor Moon!
In collaboration with the Mucha Foundation, the curators Tomoko Sato and Jackie Dunn have thoughtfully crafted an artistic journey. As unassuming visitors eagerly wander in to view Mucha’s ethereal faery women, they are spat out the other end with the harrowing visions of war and thought-provoking occult renditions of God irrevocably imprinted into their conscience.
Upon entering, viewers wereare greeted by Alphonse Mucha’s self-portrait, alongside his family. In the dark room, it almost seems as though they are glowing; brimming with life. This was a signature of Mucha’s style which became evident as viewers continued through the exhibition and were exposed to more of his works. Those with a keen eye will notice a halo crowning each figure’s silhouette. Emerging from this glowing form, intentional eyes peer out, almost as if they were sentient.
Although the works are not displayed in a chronological order, the structure of the exhibition itself inherently signifies where each stage of Mucha’s life and career ended and the next began. After the initial, intimate introduction to the artist and his family, viewers traverse through the subsequent corridor lined with Mucha’s studies for early illustrations.
As we inspect and admire the careful attention to detail applied in the studies for magazines and publications of folk tales, we also become eager pairs of eyes and ears to the early lore of Alphonse Mucha that was printed on the walls on which the visual media hung. Born in Ivancice, Moravia at the height of the Czech National Revival Movement, the many horrors of war and upheaval coloured the backdrop of Mucha’s early childhood. For the viewers, this laid the foundation of understanding Mucha’s lifelong allegiance to Czech patriotism as he stepped up and onwards in establishing himself as an artist.
At the end of Mucha’s metaphorically cramped, transitory childhood, the viewers are released into an open space. On the left there is a clear pathway into the crystallising of Mucha’s mainstream success, and on the right; an entry into a small room. It is easy to miss if the visitor is not paying attention. This room appears to be dedicated to Mucha’s personal philosophies; particularly his dedication to the Scottish Rite Freemasons. Despite the easily digestible route of the overall exhibition, it was a peculiar choice to parcel off this room as though it was an insulated part of Mucha’s life; one which did not touch the other aspects of his personal or professional business.
Here, one wall is draped with Mucha’s studies for his infamous illustrations of an occult rendition of Le Pater (the Lord’s Prayer). By including the preliminary sketches and preparatory works alongside the display of the final illustrations, the implicit Masonic symbology is made more apparent. For instance, in the breakdown of Mucha’s process composing the illustration for the line ‘Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors’, makes evident the incorporation of mandala-like structures around ‘God’, which are stylistically referential to the halo-like ornamentation in Masonic design. This grand image of God makes clear the deviation from traditional Christian characterisation of him as a benevolent, paternalistic figure, and adopts the Masonic vision of God as the ‘Great Architect’ whom the entire universe revolves around. He is not pictured as kind nor evil, but omnipotent. This particular image of God appears again and again in the following sketches as we move through the room.
The script on the wall explains that Freemasonry was not the only theology that Mucha devoted himself to. It explained that he had felt the influence of Sigmeund Freud and Carl Jung (as many artists did; almost as a rite of passage), and the general occult. Despite Freemasonry being classified as only one of the influences in Mucha’s life, the many photographs of Mucha in his Masonic regalia as a Supreme Commander of the Komensky Lodge in Prague, and later, the Sovereign Grand Commander of Czechoslovakia, hinted that it was more influential than the wall text had let on.
Upon exiting the room, the viewers begin to retrospectively bear witness to the flourishing professional relationship with emerging actress Sarah Bernhardt which catapulted both their careers, and watched as Mucha found his commercial success in Paris. Although there were identifiable and evident references to his interest in the occult, the artist’s Masonic roots were hardly mentioned again.
This omission was an absence that was felt, and I could not help but sense that it was one loose end which could not be tied neatly into Alphonse Mucha’s biography. It was hard to believe that Freemasonry was merely a component of Mucha’s identity; one that was so well-contained, that it had rarely leaked out into his works within the some 40-50 years of his professional career.
Moving through the exhibition, this was sparingly noted until there was a thematic shift midway. At this halfway point, the warmth of Mucha’s happy fantasies came to a staggering stop and the viewers were suddenly confronted with the chilling images of the realities of war and conflict.
As the works pictured the harrowing scarcity of life in all aspects during the Pan-Slavic disturbances to peace, it became clear that it was not only the occasional, implicit Masonic symbols which were indicative of Mucha’s theological roots, but the nature of the art itself. The Scottish Rite of Freemasonry which Mucha claimed was a ‘philosophical beacon’ during such a volatile period following the fall of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
The values of humanism, gratuity and service in Freemasonry proved to be quite compatible with Mucha’s personal advocacy for Pan-Slavism and the Czech National Revival Movement. As such, his theological loyalties are expressed in his works which speak on such heartwrenching wartime tales. This can be seen in depictions of helpless figures in Woman in the Wilderness and Russia Restituenda. Their defeated and imploring eyes can thus be understood as Mucha’s personal plea for universal compassion.
Although this was a satisfying conclusion which pieced together every major part of Mucha’s image, it did not come without some personal research (Google) and a little brainwork (putting that good old Art History major to use!). It was a curious choice to separate Mucha’s theological beliefs from the rest of his path paved by the curators of the exhibition; particularly when it could have rounded off the viewer’s understanding of the artist and his contributions more thoroughly and holistically. An aftertaste which lingered well after I had perused the gift shop, was the very question: why was Alphonse Mucha’s identity as a Freemason painted into the background?
