Rouault: The Catholic Artist Behind Some of the Finest Works of Christian Art

– Heather King, Angelus News (United States)

Rouault, a French expressionist and devout Catholic, was born in the Belleville neighborhood on the outskirts of Paris. “In the marginal neighborhood of labor and suffering, in the darkness, I was born. Guarding against pictorial vileness, I worked miles away from certain dilettantes,” he later wrote.

His father was a cabinetmaker, and Rouault’s first job was as an assistant to a stained-glass restorer. “My time there was brief, but it left an indelible, legendary mark on me,” he remarked. From then on, he would draw inspiration from the spirit of the anonymous medieval artists who created the stained-glass windows but chose not to sign them.

In 1908, he married Marthe Le Sidaner; they had four children.

As early as 1913, a critic named Gustave Coquiot exclaimed, “You have to be a monk to understand him.”.

A work that is more about humanity than politics

Rouault was deeply affected by the outbreak and aftermath of World War I. He became friends with the Catholic writer Léon Bloy, known for his hot temper, and later with the philosopher Jacques Maritain and his wife, Rāissa, both of whom were converts.

He painted fugitives, clowns, prostitutes, beggars, and corpses: the victims of war, materialism, and a complacent bourgeoisie. But Rouault’s work was human, rather than political.

As Rāissa Maritain observed, “The quality of a work does not depend on its subject matter, but on its spirit.” Jacques Maritain noted: “This kind of “realism” is by no means a realism of physical appearances; it is a realism of the spiritual meaning of what exists (and moves, suffers, loves, and kills); it is a realism imbued with the signs and dreams that are interwoven with the very being of things.”.

‘El Miserere’ Series of Engravings’

Rouault's masterpiece is considered by many to be the series of mixed-media intaglio prints titled “The Miserere,” which he exhibited in 1948. He was nearly 80 years old at the time.

With its subtle shades of black and gray, the series portrays the horror and sadness of human suffering, as well as every human being’s complicity in that suffering. “Are we not all convicts?” asks the title of one of the works. In another, a drawing of a conceited, well-fed man is titled “We Think We’re Kings.” A third, “Street of the Lonely,” could—with its evocation of existential isolation—be the street where I—or you—live.

The political turmoil, the threat of mass destruction, and the rise of the far right that characterized Rouault’s era have only intensified in our own time.

In the play «Rouault: A Vision of Suffering and Salvation» (William B. Eerdmans, $19.14), author William A. Dyrness noted:

In 1952, a writer for the religious magazine *La Croix* asked Rouault what he thought of religious or sacred art. As usual, Rouault refused to engage in the debate. He simply said that, to speak of art in the Church, one must first love painting.

For Rouault, creating art was also a form of prayer

In a 2010 interview for the quarterly literature and art magazine *Image*, artist Makoto Fujimura added:

“Rouault invites us not only to the surface of the painting, but also to a sacramental vision that understands painting as a mediator of a higher reality. For Rouault, to make art ”It was also a form of prayer. It was a daily discipline and ritual that brought him closer to God.".

“Although he was influenced by the Expressionists, he did not belong to that movement. He was not seeking to express himself; he wanted to sanctify himself in the process. His work focused on fidelity to inner realities, but also to the fragility of the world. He was deeply committed to those on the margins of society. By identifying with the poor, prostitutes, and marginalized people, he believed he would find Jesus—a deeply Catholic and biblical perspective, as evidenced in the writings of Isaiah and Jeremiah.”.

To that end, Rouault exemplified the vocation of art as a mission and a calling.

Matisse and Rouault, when asked if they would continue painting on a deserted island

Biographer Pierre Courthion has told the following story:

I once asked Matisse and Rouault the following question: Would they continue to paint a deserted island, where they had lost all hope of ever communicating with their fellow human beings again? Matisse’s answer was a resounding no: “There are no artists without an audience… An artist wants to be understood; a painter, to be admired.”.

Rouault, on the other hand, was more reserved: “I am sure I would continue to paint, even without a single viewer, even without any hope of having one.” I realized that for him, beyond the inevitable turning inward—which is the source of every work of art (even though this may seem, at first glance, self-centered)—creation leads to an act of generosity, a gift to the community, whether visible or invisible. This must be true for any man whose genius comes solely from God.

The most insignificant painting…

Finally, in Rouault's own words:

“The most insignificant painting—whether created in prison or in a palace, by whomever (perhaps by some poor wretch of a painter who never asked to be born or to be a painter)—this small, insignificant painting, no matter how technically unskilled it may be, will refute all our sensible and reasonable art scholars for perhaps a hundred years.”.

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This article was originally published in ‘Angelus News,’ and you can find it here.

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