Berthe Wegmann and Jeanna Bauck
Discovering the relationship between lesbian artists Berthe Wegmann and Jeanna Bauck has been a revelation, and it could not have come at a better time.
Berthe and Jeanna were both European painters born in the 1840’s. Although Berthe was a Dane and Jeanna a Swede, they managed to work together, study together, travel together, and—for long stretches of time—live together. They left a trove of letters, dating from the 1880’s to the 1920’s. But, more to the point, they left us their paintings of each other. And these are packed with codes of lesbian resistance.
Berthe and Jeanna were both European painters born in the 1840’s. Although Berthe was a Dane and Jeanna a Swede, they managed to work together, study together, travel together, and—for long stretches of time—live together. They left a trove of letters, dating from the 1880’s to the 1920’s. But, more to the point, they left us their paintings of each other. And these are packed with codes of lesbian resistance.
As lesbian poet Audre Lorde writes, “The erotic is a resource within each of us that lies in a deeply female and spiritual plane, firmly rooted in the power of our unexpressed or unrecognized feeling.” If this is true, and I believe that it is, then what happens when we find ourselves confronted by lesbian art that resonates with these “unexpressed or unrecognized” feelings? I believe there is an unleashing of this power. The paintings of these women, like metaphysical defibrillators, sent a current of lesbian electricity through my system, resetting the joyous rhythm my Sapphic heart.
But before I talk about these paintings and what they mean to me, let’s set the stage. This was the first generation of European women artists who had a real shot at becoming professional painters, because, prior to the mid-19th century, women had been denied access to all the traditional pipelines for advancement in the arts. There were, of course, the lucky few whose fathers were professional artists open-minded or financially strapped enough to train and apprentice their daughters. Grateful as we are to the Rosa Bonheurs and the Artemisia Gentileschis who won the parentage lottery, this does not mitigate the cultural loss from generations of unrealized female genius.
But before I talk about these paintings and what they mean to me, let’s set the stage. This was the first generation of European women artists who had a real shot at becoming professional painters, because, prior to the mid-19th century, women had been denied access to all the traditional pipelines for advancement in the arts. There were, of course, the lucky few whose fathers were professional artists open-minded or financially strapped enough to train and apprentice their daughters. Grateful as we are to the Rosa Bonheurs and the Artemisia Gentileschis who won the parentage lottery, this does not mitigate the cultural loss from generations of unrealized female genius.
Impressionist painter Matilda Browne, "In The Garden"
But the world was changing. The art schools were beginning to offer instruction to women, and recognized male artists were taking on women as students. Both Bertha and Jeanna had begun their training with private lessons—Berthe in Copenhagen and Jeanna in Munich. Then, in 1867, when she was twenty-one, Bertha moved to Munich, a German city with good exhibition opportunities and low living expenses. Four years later, she met Jeanna, who was already living there. Berthe was twenty-four and Jeanna was thirty-one. In short order, Bertha moved in and the women cohabited in Munich for nearly a decade.
Berthe and Jeanna, like many artists in Europe, were restless… There was this exhilarating movement coming out of France called “Impressionism.” The Impressionists were going outside and painting “en plein air.” Instead of cursing the fickleness of the elements, they actually celebrated the transitory effects of sunlight in their art through the rapid use of “broken” brush strokes, sometimes with unmixed pigments, making no attempt to blend. The immediacy of their startlingly vibrant paintings marked a radical departure from tradition.
There was also an interesting group of artists in Italy, the “Macchiaioli” painters. Influenced by the Impressionists, they were focused on the play of light and shadow, considering this contrast to be the major component of a painting.
Jeanna and Berthe began working en plein air and traveling to Italy for painting trips. In fact, Jeanna would come to be known for her landscapes.
Berthe and Jeanna, like many artists in Europe, were restless… There was this exhilarating movement coming out of France called “Impressionism.” The Impressionists were going outside and painting “en plein air.” Instead of cursing the fickleness of the elements, they actually celebrated the transitory effects of sunlight in their art through the rapid use of “broken” brush strokes, sometimes with unmixed pigments, making no attempt to blend. The immediacy of their startlingly vibrant paintings marked a radical departure from tradition.
There was also an interesting group of artists in Italy, the “Macchiaioli” painters. Influenced by the Impressionists, they were focused on the play of light and shadow, considering this contrast to be the major component of a painting.
Jeanna and Berthe began working en plein air and traveling to Italy for painting trips. In fact, Jeanna would come to be known for her landscapes.
One of the first women's classes at the Académie Julian
Then, in 1880, the Académie Julian in Paris did the unthinkable: They threw open their doors to women… and Jeanna and Berthe grabbed their palettes and brushes and headed to France. They rented rooms in a guesthouse on Rue des Bruxelles, in the 9th arondissement, and they also shared a studio. Women artists from all over Europe were coming to study at the Académie Julian, forming a dynamic, international, all-women community of students.
But before we consider those Paris years… who were Berthe and Jeanna, really?
Helen Thorell, a fellow painter who lived in the same guesthouse, wrote this about meeting Jeanna:
"Jeanna Bauck is one of the most adorable people I have met in my life. The first impression, i.e. her appearance is not appealing—she looks like a student with her short hair, but that similarity disappears as soon as you talk to her. She seems exceptionally mild, bright, modest and always with bon courage. She is 39 years old, which I almost could not believe, but she told me today. She is awaiting an intimate friend and moreover a prominent painter from Munich, Miss Wegmann, Danish, who will also be living here… I almost dare to say that Jeanna and I have already become good friends."
A decade later, the artist Pauline Becker, who was one of Jeanna's students, would write: "Jeanna Bauck […] is extremely practical. Everything she says, in
fact, is practical and at the same time wonderfully subtle. She is very modern, which means, in the good sense of the word, nothing more than youthful effervescence. She is in remarkable condition for someone fifty years old. I love her very much. Speaking with her gives me a feeling of great comfort. She is so
charming and innocent, has that kind of innocence that simply disarms you."
But before we consider those Paris years… who were Berthe and Jeanna, really?
Helen Thorell, a fellow painter who lived in the same guesthouse, wrote this about meeting Jeanna:
"Jeanna Bauck is one of the most adorable people I have met in my life. The first impression, i.e. her appearance is not appealing—she looks like a student with her short hair, but that similarity disappears as soon as you talk to her. She seems exceptionally mild, bright, modest and always with bon courage. She is 39 years old, which I almost could not believe, but she told me today. She is awaiting an intimate friend and moreover a prominent painter from Munich, Miss Wegmann, Danish, who will also be living here… I almost dare to say that Jeanna and I have already become good friends."
A decade later, the artist Pauline Becker, who was one of Jeanna's students, would write: "Jeanna Bauck […] is extremely practical. Everything she says, in
fact, is practical and at the same time wonderfully subtle. She is very modern, which means, in the good sense of the word, nothing more than youthful effervescence. She is in remarkable condition for someone fifty years old. I love her very much. Speaking with her gives me a feeling of great comfort. She is so
charming and innocent, has that kind of innocence that simply disarms you."
That's Berthe and Jeanna on the sofa. Berthe's arm disappears under Jeanna's, and her legs disappear under Jeanna's skirt. The painting is Anna Petersen's , "An Evening with Friends, by Lamplight," 1891.
Helen Thorell found it more difficult to befriend Berthe: “Bertha is a fragile nature, […] and it would not happen, even just for an hour that Jeanna would separate from her.” This dependence and introversion are a theme throughout Berthe’s life. Berthe wrote this about living apart from Jeanna, “…as long as she is not there, too, I feel drawn back and forth and have nowhere to gain a foothold.” In 1889, during a lengthy stay with Jeanna, Jeanna wrote this to a mutual friend: “Now in Munich she has become really unsociable, cannot stand talking to anyone, locks herself up in the studio, and doesn’t want to do anything but quietly sit and paint with me, read and keep silent! I am the only lucky one who is allowed to be around.”
But for now, they are together, and Paris was the place for early career painters. Achieving recognition for one’s work in Paris carried significant weight in cities outside of France, and Jeanna and Berthe were keen to make their mark. The biggest flex was having a painting accepted into the annual Salon, the official, two-hundred-year-old exhibition of the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. The Académie itself was closed to women, but anyone could submit their work to the judges.
But for now, they are together, and Paris was the place for early career painters. Achieving recognition for one’s work in Paris carried significant weight in cities outside of France, and Jeanna and Berthe were keen to make their mark. The biggest flex was having a painting accepted into the annual Salon, the official, two-hundred-year-old exhibition of the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. The Académie itself was closed to women, but anyone could submit their work to the judges.
"Summer Evening" by Jeanna Bauck
Jeanna had one of her plein air landscapes, Summer Evening, accepted into the 1880 Salon. The next year, she made it into the Salon again, but this time as the subject of a painting by her lover Berthe.
But before I talk about that miracle of a portrait, I want to set the scene:
Here are these are two brilliantly gifted painters in the early years of their career. The portrait is set in their studio... that most precious, rare, coveted, sacred, and sanctified “room of one’s own.” The artist Marie Bashkirtseff, a contemporary, had this to say about studios:
"In the studio, everything disappears, you don’t have a name, no family; you are no longer the daughter of your mother, you are yourself, you are an individual and you have art in front of you and nothing else. You are so happy, so free, so proud."
And this is a studio in Paris. And, most exciting of all, Jeanna and Berthe are middle-class women on the adventure of a lifetime, living "comme les garçons." That’s a French expression that has become an English idiom, meaning “as the boys do.” Berthe and Jeanna are living without chaperones or family, renting rooms in an arts district. They are taking their painting seriously—professionally… comme les garçons. They walk the streets alone or with other young women, they go out at night, they do as they please… comme les garçons.
But before I talk about that miracle of a portrait, I want to set the scene:
Here are these are two brilliantly gifted painters in the early years of their career. The portrait is set in their studio... that most precious, rare, coveted, sacred, and sanctified “room of one’s own.” The artist Marie Bashkirtseff, a contemporary, had this to say about studios:
"In the studio, everything disappears, you don’t have a name, no family; you are no longer the daughter of your mother, you are yourself, you are an individual and you have art in front of you and nothing else. You are so happy, so free, so proud."
And this is a studio in Paris. And, most exciting of all, Jeanna and Berthe are middle-class women on the adventure of a lifetime, living "comme les garçons." That’s a French expression that has become an English idiom, meaning “as the boys do.” Berthe and Jeanna are living without chaperones or family, renting rooms in an arts district. They are taking their painting seriously—professionally… comme les garçons. They walk the streets alone or with other young women, they go out at night, they do as they please… comme les garçons.
"Studio Interior" by Anna Norlander
No doubt, they are reading the just-published book Studying Art Abroad And How To Do It Cheaply, which offered this advice to female art students: “It only needs, however, the co-operation of a sufficient number of earnest female students to form a club, hire a studio, choose a critic, and engage models, to secure the same advantages now enjoyed only by men, at the same exceedingly low rates.” Comme les garçons. Jeanna and Berthe are doing what they love, and doing it all day long and often far into the night. They are living the dream. And painting it.
And their Paris studio is the setting of the painting titled The Artist Jeanna Bauck.
To me, it’s obviously some kind of sacred grove or temple. There is a massive vine across the top of the canvas, creating a bower effect. There has been no attempt to tame this plant, and it appears to be taking over the space. The leaves are not arranged for effect; they follow their own inclination, crowding toward the light from the window. The overarching presence of this vine suggests that the outdoors is either moving indoors, or perhaps the indoors is in the process of returning to nature.
And their Paris studio is the setting of the painting titled The Artist Jeanna Bauck.
To me, it’s obviously some kind of sacred grove or temple. There is a massive vine across the top of the canvas, creating a bower effect. There has been no attempt to tame this plant, and it appears to be taking over the space. The leaves are not arranged for effect; they follow their own inclination, crowding toward the light from the window. The overarching presence of this vine suggests that the outdoors is either moving indoors, or perhaps the indoors is in the process of returning to nature.
"The Artist Jeanna Bauck" by Berthe Wegmann. Pure Lesbian Joy.
“Under her own vine,” as the Hebrew scriptures would say, Jeanna sits enthroned not on a chair, but on a table, her table… which Bertha has painted at a giddy tilt, with a counter-tilting palette suspended on the wall above one of Jeanna’s landscapes. Jeanna, she-of-the-feral-arts, perches on her table surrounded by the tools of her craft and the wildness of nature. Her hair is cut short, comme les garçons, and in its feathery, blonde anarchy, it catches and reflects the light like a halo.
And what is our goddess doing amid all these tilting planes, underneath the undomesticated vine and that radiant nimbus of unruly hair? Well, clearly, she has been interrupted. We know this, because she has just closed her book, keeping a finger in it to mark the page.
Now, look… I am a lesbian who owes her life to books. Helen Keller put it perfectly: “Literature is my Utopia. Here I am not disenfranchised. No barrier of the senses shuts me out from the sweet, gracious discourses of my book friends.” And because I am a lesbian who loves books, I notice art that combines women and books. Don’t judge. And yes, apparently it is “a thing.” There is the 1903 marble monument to the Empress Elisabeth “Sisi” of Austria in Merano, Italy.
And what is our goddess doing amid all these tilting planes, underneath the undomesticated vine and that radiant nimbus of unruly hair? Well, clearly, she has been interrupted. We know this, because she has just closed her book, keeping a finger in it to mark the page.
Now, look… I am a lesbian who owes her life to books. Helen Keller put it perfectly: “Literature is my Utopia. Here I am not disenfranchised. No barrier of the senses shuts me out from the sweet, gracious discourses of my book friends.” And because I am a lesbian who loves books, I notice art that combines women and books. Don’t judge. And yes, apparently it is “a thing.” There is the 1903 marble monument to the Empress Elisabeth “Sisi” of Austria in Merano, Italy.
And here's a collage from across the centuries...
There is also the delightful 1972 series, “Books and Fingers,” by Jen Mazza, of which this is just a sampling...
Back to The Artist Jeanna Bauck... So the subject has been interrupted, but she is not disturbed. In fact, she is leaning forward eagerly, toward the source of the interruption, who must be Bertha herself. Jeanna is smiling, her lips parted. Her expression is one of ease and delight: “What is it, liebchen?”
And she does something else that is very comme les garçons: She crosses her legs. In 1881, ladies only crossed their ankles. Leg-crossing was the exclusive purview of males, at least in portraiture. But here’s the thing: Jeanna isn’t posing. That’s the point. Like the vine leaves over her head, Jeanna arranges herself as suits her nature. Just as they grow toward the window light, so she leans forward toward the light of her love. And in return, the painter is capturing an image of her lover being herself, because... what could be more beautiful?
And she does something else that is very comme les garçons: She crosses her legs. In 1881, ladies only crossed their ankles. Leg-crossing was the exclusive purview of males, at least in portraiture. But here’s the thing: Jeanna isn’t posing. That’s the point. Like the vine leaves over her head, Jeanna arranges herself as suits her nature. Just as they grow toward the window light, so she leans forward toward the light of her love. And in return, the painter is capturing an image of her lover being herself, because... what could be more beautiful?
Jeanna wears a smock. It’s a nice one, but it’s a working-woman’s garment. It has a job to do: keep the pigment off the dress underneath. Also… no corset, which explains her ability to hold that leaning-over pose. And how does she accessorize? Practically. She wears a watch.
She does have something on a gold chain hanging from her neck, but on closer inspection, one can see that it’s a “notebook necklace.” These were very small notebooks with gold or silver covers, usually with a writing implement fastened to one of the sides. Without pockets or cellphones, a notebook necklace was handy for keeping track of appointments, addresses, and errand lists. It signifies, again, a working woman. So… a watch and a notebook… but what about jewelry?
She does have something on a gold chain hanging from her neck, but on closer inspection, one can see that it’s a “notebook necklace.” These were very small notebooks with gold or silver covers, usually with a writing implement fastened to one of the sides. Without pockets or cellphones, a notebook necklace was handy for keeping track of appointments, addresses, and errand lists. It signifies, again, a working woman. So… a watch and a notebook… but what about jewelry?
Well… Yes. Jeanna’s jewelry in this portrait is no afterthought. It’s actually the secondary focal point of the painting, her face being primary. In fact, unlike her casual posture and demeanor, her hands appear to be deliberately posed, specifically to foreground her jewelry. The positioning of the wrists appears stiff and uncomfortable. She is having to support the hand holding the book.
Jeanna is, in fact, wearing a wedding ring and an engagement ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, a signifier of marital status since Roman times. She is showing us that she is a married… married, but yet not a wife--comme les garçons.
Berthe and Jeanna have married each other in secret and now they are telling the world without telling the world.
The Artist Jeanna Bauck is a painting bursting with lesbian joy, pride, love of self, love of studio, love of independence, love of the painter who is painting her, love of life, of spring, of art, of the world. I look at this painting, I look at the eyes of Jeanna, and I say, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes… Oh, yes!”
Jeanna is, in fact, wearing a wedding ring and an engagement ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, a signifier of marital status since Roman times. She is showing us that she is a married… married, but yet not a wife--comme les garçons.
Berthe and Jeanna have married each other in secret and now they are telling the world without telling the world.
The Artist Jeanna Bauck is a painting bursting with lesbian joy, pride, love of self, love of studio, love of independence, love of the painter who is painting her, love of life, of spring, of art, of the world. I look at this painting, I look at the eyes of Jeanna, and I say, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes… Oh, yes!”
And the Salon judges accepted it in 1881, because there was no way to say no. The painting was much noted at the exhibit and very well-received, even if some assumed, because of the extraordinary intimacy, that it must have been a self-portrait!
Back in Bertha’s hometown, however, the reception was decidedly different. In 1881, she wrote this in a letter to a fellow artist back in Paris: “My studies, and Jeanna’s portrait simply have no luck here, they look at them dumbfounded, and there is no one that comprehends one whit of my painting.” A year later, she wrote, “I despise the Danes with their philistinism, which pervades all their manners and tastes. Would you believe they found Jeanna’s portrait to be “flighty and wild”, this means to say as much as in Swedish “rusket” [unruly] and for the sole reason that she is not sitting neatly combed in a chair with her hands tidily in her lap, as in all their other portraits.”
I’m not sure that Bertha’s assessment of these Danish critiques is accurate. I remember when I was first coming out, I had a crush on a lesbian actor who identified as butch. Intrigued, I asked her, “What is ‘butch’?” She answered me with immense sadness: “Nobody can tell you, but everybody knows it when they see it.” I have never forgotten that, and I believe that the good people of Copenhagen, standing in front of The Artist Jeanna Bauck, knew exactly what they were seeing. And, unfortunately, their judgement fell more heavily on Jeanna than on the woman who painted her. The portrait was controversial enough outside of Paris to raise questions about Jeanna’s professionalism.
And so it was, four years later, Berthe would set out to make a second portrait of her beloved—one that would silence the critics. By then, the women had left their student days behind. Jeanna was back in Munich, opening a school for women artists and supporting her mother and sister. Berthe had returned to Copenhagen. In 1885, seeking medical treatment for rheumatism and anemia, Berthe was temporarily in Dresden, and Jeanna came to take care of her. It was during this time that Berthe painted the Portrait of Jeanna Bauck.
Back in Bertha’s hometown, however, the reception was decidedly different. In 1881, she wrote this in a letter to a fellow artist back in Paris: “My studies, and Jeanna’s portrait simply have no luck here, they look at them dumbfounded, and there is no one that comprehends one whit of my painting.” A year later, she wrote, “I despise the Danes with their philistinism, which pervades all their manners and tastes. Would you believe they found Jeanna’s portrait to be “flighty and wild”, this means to say as much as in Swedish “rusket” [unruly] and for the sole reason that she is not sitting neatly combed in a chair with her hands tidily in her lap, as in all their other portraits.”
I’m not sure that Bertha’s assessment of these Danish critiques is accurate. I remember when I was first coming out, I had a crush on a lesbian actor who identified as butch. Intrigued, I asked her, “What is ‘butch’?” She answered me with immense sadness: “Nobody can tell you, but everybody knows it when they see it.” I have never forgotten that, and I believe that the good people of Copenhagen, standing in front of The Artist Jeanna Bauck, knew exactly what they were seeing. And, unfortunately, their judgement fell more heavily on Jeanna than on the woman who painted her. The portrait was controversial enough outside of Paris to raise questions about Jeanna’s professionalism.
And so it was, four years later, Berthe would set out to make a second portrait of her beloved—one that would silence the critics. By then, the women had left their student days behind. Jeanna was back in Munich, opening a school for women artists and supporting her mother and sister. Berthe had returned to Copenhagen. In 1885, seeking medical treatment for rheumatism and anemia, Berthe was temporarily in Dresden, and Jeanna came to take care of her. It was during this time that Berthe painted the Portrait of Jeanna Bauck.
"Portrait of Jeanna Bauck" by Berthe Wegmann
In the first portrait, Berthe had painted Jeanna as an artist. This time she would paint her as a lady. Veil, check. Gloves, check. Absence of all color, check. Conspicuous consumption, check-check-check-check. Bourgeois to the hilt and “come il faut,” which is another French expression that has become an English idiom. It means “as it should be.”
Art historian Frances Borzello talks about how the female artist has traditionally had to use self-portraiture to reconcile “the conflict between what society expected of women and what it expected of artists.” ("Comme il faut" versus "comme les garçons?") According to Borzello:
“The problem for women – and the challenge – was that these two sets of expectations were diametrically opposed. The answer was a creative defensiveness. It is only through understanding the women’s desire to out-maneuver the critics by anticipating their responses that one can begin to make sense of why their self-portraits look as they do.”
Art historian Frances Borzello talks about how the female artist has traditionally had to use self-portraiture to reconcile “the conflict between what society expected of women and what it expected of artists.” ("Comme il faut" versus "comme les garçons?") According to Borzello:
“The problem for women – and the challenge – was that these two sets of expectations were diametrically opposed. The answer was a creative defensiveness. It is only through understanding the women’s desire to out-maneuver the critics by anticipating their responses that one can begin to make sense of why their self-portraits look as they do.”
So here sits Jeanna, upright and in a chair. If her legs are crossed, we can’t tell. She’s not going to show us her wedding rings, either. They’re under a glove. The hair has been captured by the netting of the veil and lies squashed under it.
Now, there is one small signifier: the pince-nez glasses. In 1885 ladies preferred the lorgnette, a pair of glasses with a long handle that could be held in front of one’s eyes. The lorgnette was impractical for reading anything more taxing than the hallmark on the bottom of a china cup. That Jeanna has pince-nez indicates that she does close work (writing, reading, or painting) for extended periods of time. It’s a mark of professionalism, and, of course, comme les garçons.
Now, there is one small signifier: the pince-nez glasses. In 1885 ladies preferred the lorgnette, a pair of glasses with a long handle that could be held in front of one’s eyes. The lorgnette was impractical for reading anything more taxing than the hallmark on the bottom of a china cup. That Jeanna has pince-nez indicates that she does close work (writing, reading, or painting) for extended periods of time. It’s a mark of professionalism, and, of course, comme les garçons.
The clothing in this painting is a total flex for Berthe: There's the satiny sheen on the scarf with the fringed edges, the translucent detail of the veil, the tufts of black ostrich feathers on the hat, the thin leather stretched taut over the hand, and the black silk bodice and skirt. A stunning display of technique.
But this is nothing to the masterpiece that is Jeanna's face. Jeanna is not a client or a model, sitting for a portrait and arranging her expression accordingly. She is a women who is looking at her lover of two decades, her lover who has made a painful career move back to her native country, away from Munich and away from Paris. She is looking at her lover who is unwell and who is painting, not in a studio, but in a borrowed and inadequately lit room.
But this is nothing to the masterpiece that is Jeanna's face. Jeanna is not a client or a model, sitting for a portrait and arranging her expression accordingly. She is a women who is looking at her lover of two decades, her lover who has made a painful career move back to her native country, away from Munich and away from Paris. She is looking at her lover who is unwell and who is painting, not in a studio, but in a borrowed and inadequately lit room.
It is difficult to believe that there have only been four years between the Paris studio portrait and this one.
This is the mature look of a woman who has had to make and to accept painful concessions in her art and in her life. In fact, this entire portrait represents a concession. Jeanna is struggling financially, while Berthe’s career in Copenhagen is so successful, she is turning down portrait commissions almost every week. Berthe is painting this portrait in hopes of advancing her partner's career. If accepted, it will hang in the Paris Salon, as a testimony to Jeanna’s middle-class respectability.
But there is something else. Jeanna is sitting for this portrait, because Berthe has been sick, too sick to work, and this is a project that has revived her interest in painting. And so, Jeanna is wearing tight, expensive, and uncomfortable clothing, as a concession to her long-distance lover who believes that a bourgeois portrait is all it will take to bring acceptance and recognition to an obvious lesbian. Jeanna’s face, full of tenderness, fatigue, and resignation, says it all. She is indulging her lover.
This portrait fills me with something more profound than joy. It fills me with poignant, beautiful, and powerful lesbian truths about loving women in a patriarchal world.
This is the mature look of a woman who has had to make and to accept painful concessions in her art and in her life. In fact, this entire portrait represents a concession. Jeanna is struggling financially, while Berthe’s career in Copenhagen is so successful, she is turning down portrait commissions almost every week. Berthe is painting this portrait in hopes of advancing her partner's career. If accepted, it will hang in the Paris Salon, as a testimony to Jeanna’s middle-class respectability.
But there is something else. Jeanna is sitting for this portrait, because Berthe has been sick, too sick to work, and this is a project that has revived her interest in painting. And so, Jeanna is wearing tight, expensive, and uncomfortable clothing, as a concession to her long-distance lover who believes that a bourgeois portrait is all it will take to bring acceptance and recognition to an obvious lesbian. Jeanna’s face, full of tenderness, fatigue, and resignation, says it all. She is indulging her lover.
This portrait fills me with something more profound than joy. It fills me with poignant, beautiful, and powerful lesbian truths about loving women in a patriarchal world.
And there is one more thing in this painting that I want to talk about. The chair. It is the ugliest chair I’ve ever seen, and I have seen and owned my share. It’s a chair that Goodwill might turn down. The color is ghastly, and the leather or the cloth is so shabby that the wooden struts of the chair back are beginning to wear through. The twisted braid has some kind of frayed, metallic thread that highlights the shabbiness.
Why would an artist choose, or allow, such an unattractive prop? Her subject is certainly dressed to impress. Why this monstrosity?
I have to conclude the chair is intentional. As intentional as the display of the wedding rings in the earlier portrait. The chair happened to be at hand, that’s all. It was there, so they used it. And that’s the point. The most elegant chair in the world or the most dilapidated... the difference is insignificant in the presence of Jeanna’s luminous spirit. And here is Audre Lorde again… “It does not pay to cherish symbols when the substance lies so close at hand.”
Jeanna needs no high-status chair to prop up her character. In fact, Berthe painted her in her artist’s temple in the 1880 portrait, but the public could not see it and would not understand it. So, now, what they get is the chair. The ugly one from someone else’s room, an example of Borzello’s “creative defensiveness.”
The painting was accepted into the 1885 Salon.
Why would an artist choose, or allow, such an unattractive prop? Her subject is certainly dressed to impress. Why this monstrosity?
I have to conclude the chair is intentional. As intentional as the display of the wedding rings in the earlier portrait. The chair happened to be at hand, that’s all. It was there, so they used it. And that’s the point. The most elegant chair in the world or the most dilapidated... the difference is insignificant in the presence of Jeanna’s luminous spirit. And here is Audre Lorde again… “It does not pay to cherish symbols when the substance lies so close at hand.”
Jeanna needs no high-status chair to prop up her character. In fact, Berthe painted her in her artist’s temple in the 1880 portrait, but the public could not see it and would not understand it. So, now, what they get is the chair. The ugly one from someone else’s room, an example of Borzello’s “creative defensiveness.”
The painting was accepted into the 1885 Salon.
Four years later Jeanna returned the favor, painting Berthe in “The Danish Artist Bertha Wegmann Painting a Portrait.”
Now, in my humble opinion, this is the quintessential butch self-portrait. Bear with me. Jeanna is painting her lover painting a man. She is standing behind Berthe, where she can see the subject and also the painting. The subject is a renowned Danish physician and psychiatrist. It’s quite a feather in Berthe’s cap to be commissioned by him, and Jeanna is going to paint the occasion as a giant letter-of-recommendation for all of Paris to see.
But back to the butch self-portrait. Jeanna quite literally has Berthe’s back. Berthe’s back is turned to us and her head blocks our view of the canvas. In essence, Jeanna has made the painting into a portrait of the back of Berthe’s head. Now, what do we know? We know that Berthe is reclusive. She doesn’t like being around people. She doesn't like being looked at. She wants Jeanna by her side all the time. We also know that, for career reasons, she has moved back to Copenhagen. And yet, this painting was made in Jeanna’s Munich studio. Is it possible that she has arranged an extended visit in order to execute this portrait? That Mr. Dethlefsen has had to travel to Munich for the sittings? And that the whole point is to have Jeanna in the studio for every one of his sittings?
Jeanna is standing outside of the frame, but offering critical support to her lover, holding the space and creating safety that allows Berthe to focus on her work without distraction. She is also creating a record of Berthe’s professionalism. Viewing this portrait through the lens of lesbian culture, Jeanna may not be visible, but her loving presence informs and animates every aspect of the picture.
And, yes, the painting was hung in the 1889 Salon
Now, in my humble opinion, this is the quintessential butch self-portrait. Bear with me. Jeanna is painting her lover painting a man. She is standing behind Berthe, where she can see the subject and also the painting. The subject is a renowned Danish physician and psychiatrist. It’s quite a feather in Berthe’s cap to be commissioned by him, and Jeanna is going to paint the occasion as a giant letter-of-recommendation for all of Paris to see.
But back to the butch self-portrait. Jeanna quite literally has Berthe’s back. Berthe’s back is turned to us and her head blocks our view of the canvas. In essence, Jeanna has made the painting into a portrait of the back of Berthe’s head. Now, what do we know? We know that Berthe is reclusive. She doesn’t like being around people. She doesn't like being looked at. She wants Jeanna by her side all the time. We also know that, for career reasons, she has moved back to Copenhagen. And yet, this painting was made in Jeanna’s Munich studio. Is it possible that she has arranged an extended visit in order to execute this portrait? That Mr. Dethlefsen has had to travel to Munich for the sittings? And that the whole point is to have Jeanna in the studio for every one of his sittings?
Jeanna is standing outside of the frame, but offering critical support to her lover, holding the space and creating safety that allows Berthe to focus on her work without distraction. She is also creating a record of Berthe’s professionalism. Viewing this portrait through the lens of lesbian culture, Jeanna may not be visible, but her loving presence informs and animates every aspect of the picture.
And, yes, the painting was hung in the 1889 Salon
“Portrait of the Swedish Painter Jeanna Bauck.” by Berthe Wegmann
And there is one more portrait that has come down to us. In 1905, Berthe painted the “Portrait of the Swedish Painter Jeanna Bauck.” Jeanna is sixty-five.
This time the chair is draped with some kind of expensive fabric. The style is more impressionistic, less focused on details. Jeanna has moved the rings to her right hand, possibly in acknowledgement that Berthe has been living with another woman for nearly a decade, a woman seventeen years younger than Berthe.
This time the chair is draped with some kind of expensive fabric. The style is more impressionistic, less focused on details. Jeanna has moved the rings to her right hand, possibly in acknowledgement that Berthe has been living with another woman for nearly a decade, a woman seventeen years younger than Berthe.
"Portrait of a Young Woman in a Blue Dress" by Berthe Wegmann. Toni Muller has been identified as the subject.
In 1893, at the age of forty-seven, Berthe met Toni Müller, who was thirty-one. In a letter to their mutual friend Helen Thorell, she wrote: "I have got a new friend who is living with me now, but Jeanna allows it, because it is a sweet quite young girl, actually a true child, I met her in the summer on Rügen, and she became so fond of me that she asked if she could come along with me. I like her a lot and her company is a great joy and comfort to me. Jeanna knows how much her company means to me and she is happy that I am not so alone anymore."
Jeanna was more ambivalent than Berthe’s letter would imply. Jeanna described her as “beautiful, energetic, domineering, but everything around her has a tendency towards the abnormal – otherwise endlessly good-hearted.” She also, occasionally, referred to her as “Berthe’s foster child.” But, as Berthe noted, Jeanna had allowed it.
Why? Because she lived in Munich and Berthe was in Copenhagen. Berthe, in her extreme isolation, needed a companion, a protector... and, as she aged, a caregiver. One more concession.
Jeanna was more ambivalent than Berthe’s letter would imply. Jeanna described her as “beautiful, energetic, domineering, but everything around her has a tendency towards the abnormal – otherwise endlessly good-hearted.” She also, occasionally, referred to her as “Berthe’s foster child.” But, as Berthe noted, Jeanna had allowed it.
Why? Because she lived in Munich and Berthe was in Copenhagen. Berthe, in her extreme isolation, needed a companion, a protector... and, as she aged, a caregiver. One more concession.
But something else had happened during the period between the portraits: World War I. Jeanna had remained in Munich, where the hardships of the Allied blockade were severe. During the war years, both food and fuel were in short supply. Hundreds of thousands of German civilians died from starvation and malnutrition, and another hundred thousand died of the Spanish flu in 1918. The borders were, of course, closed and the women could not visit each other. The war was followed by a revolution in the streets of Munich, and the economic chaos from reparations and hyperinflation.
It’s probable that Berthe sent money and packages of food to Jeanna. As Jeanna would later write, "I barely got through it alive."
Jeanna is not looking at Berthe in this portrait. She appears to be lost in her own thoughts. The book in her hands is now closed—finished, no longer half-read. Although the war has been over for seven years, it has taken a terrible toll. She has survived years of indescribable trauma. But the character, the inner resolve of Jeanna is still evident in the painting. This is the same inner resolve that took her to Paris in pursuit of her bliss. It’s the same inner resolve that manifest itself as tenderness in the 1885 portrait. It’s the inner resolve that had her lover’s back in 1889.
It’s probable that Berthe sent money and packages of food to Jeanna. As Jeanna would later write, "I barely got through it alive."
Jeanna is not looking at Berthe in this portrait. She appears to be lost in her own thoughts. The book in her hands is now closed—finished, no longer half-read. Although the war has been over for seven years, it has taken a terrible toll. She has survived years of indescribable trauma. But the character, the inner resolve of Jeanna is still evident in the painting. This is the same inner resolve that took her to Paris in pursuit of her bliss. It’s the same inner resolve that manifest itself as tenderness in the 1885 portrait. It’s the inner resolve that had her lover’s back in 1889.
Jeanna will live another twenty years, dying a few months after Berthe in 1926. When Berthe died, Toni, who by then had been her partner for three decades, entered a convent. As Berthe’s heir, Toni handled Berthe's estate with skill and dedication, holding two exhibitions and issuing invitations to specific museums to come and purchase the paintings. Toni saw to it that Berthe's papers would also be preserved. (These are still not accessible to the public.)
Unfortunately, Jeanna died without an heir and her paintings were sold quickly or destroyed along with her papers.
Unfortunately, Jeanna died without an heir and her paintings were sold quickly or destroyed along with her papers.
"Dandelions" by Berthe Wegmann
Both Jeanna and Berthe liked to paint wildflowers, preferring them to formally arranged, cultivated flowers. I want to end this essay with Berthe’s painting of dandelions, which were embraced at the time as a symbol for the suffragists, the women working to get the vote. Dandelions are common, hardy, and resilient. Resisting every attempt at eradication, they just keep coming back.
Like lesbians.
Like lesbians.
Interested in reading more about Bauck and Wegmann? Check out Becoming Artists: Self-Portraits, Friendship Images and Studio Scenes by Nordic Women Painters in the 1880s by Carina Rech.
