BONJOUR: A CRISPY ARTISTIC INQUIRY INTO THE ARTS BY CRISPY FLOTILLA

One of my favorite paintings ever is BONJOUR MONSIEUR COUBERT, by Gustave Coubert. As you can plainly see, someone is saying 'Bonjour' in this painting, and he is saying it to two men and a dog. It looks like a hunting dog. And the sky is blue, but not 'bonjour' blue. And the gentleman who is most likely saying it–although it is not entirely certain that he is saying it at all–is wearing an elegant pea-colored coat, cut in the oriental style. His fiery-red beard is long and luxurious, and he composes himself in an elegant fashion, extending his hat in one hand, while pressing his weight, ever so slightly, upon his cane with the other. Next to him you find his moribund companion, holding his hat, contrapostively, is a spirit of resignation with one hand, while holding his topcoat, in a manner that can only be called glum, with the other. Clearly, he has nothing to live for.

Why? We can speculate that he is homosexual, and perhaps threatened by the arrival and presence of Monsieur Coubert, whose rustic appearance and swarthy, earthy 'art' tonality is enhanced by a whitmanesque bearing and a beard which extends towards the two gentlemen in an uncompromising, erect fashion–though clearly it points more directly towards the gentleman with the fiery red beard, the elegant manner with cane, oriental coat and wait–what's this? Disco boots? No, I believe that they are simply 'spats'–a stiff fabric cover extending over the boot, worn during the period in order to protect the wearer from dirt, mud and the dust of unpaved roads. This was of course, before the discovery of penicillin.

Back to the depressed man: there are a few pretty red flowers near his feet. That should cheer him up. And I think all three gentlemen are standing on a pitcher's mound, which is interesting, to say the least. Perhaps the depressed man is not suffering from love: perhaps he has just pitched a terrible game of baseball, and the elegant man has ascended the mound to console him. Suddenly, Monsieur Coubert arrives and diverts his attention. Bonjour! But was baseball popular in Montpellier, France, in 1854? I don't believe so. Also, I don't think that pitchers wore longcoats or spats when they pitched, even in Montpellier, way back in 1854. And the crowds at this particular game seem to be rather modest for a sporting event of its stature.

Another curious notation: if someone is saying 'Bonjour' to Monsieur Coubert, why is nobody's mouth open? 'Bonjour!' is very difficult to say in a tight-lipped fashion, and the 'J' in French requires a particular and supple flexing and manipulation of the lips. Of course, if the gentlemen in question were in Seville, Spain, and Monsieur Coubert's first name was 'Juan' and the gentlemen were on a familiar basis with Monsieur Juan Coubert, the tight-lipped "Buenos Dias, Juan" could theoretically be accomplished, due to the musky, raspy and semi-silent quality of the Spanish viz. the French 'J.' I say 'theoretically' because as most European scholars know baseball was not a popular pastime in Seville during the Coubert period, nor did French people travel to Spain in the 19th century in order to greet painters–as a rule.

Now it seems that we are evading one other possible explanation, perhaps a more logical one, as to the author of BONJOUR in this delightful work. I am speaking of course of the dog: for if you examine the painting carefully, you can see that his mouth is opened entirely, although he is pointed in vaguely the wrong direction. Of course, you could say that he is panting (and perhaps confused), since it does get rather warm during baseball season (which can be disorienting), or you could simply say that it is he (or she or it) who is greeting Monsieur Coubert by name ("Bonjour Monsieur Coubert! Woof!") which is perhaps what makes the one gentleman so éperdu, and the other so smartly elegant.

It would also explain the raison d'être of the painting itself. If you name were Coubert, and upon a chance meeting upon a baseball mound in France two gentleman approached you in silence while their dog greeted you by name, wouldn't you feel compelled to reproduce the moment in art, in a realistic fashion, and right away?

Which is why we must conclude our study of Monsieur Coubert and let him be on his way. As we examine the painting, it becomes clear that his beard in not pointing towards either of the two gentlemen, but towards a place far outside the perimeters of the painting itself: the future. And in that future Monsieur Coubert will compose a work of dog and men and a miraculous event on a fairly normal day. We may not agree as to what the miracle is, but certainly, we all agree that a miracle it is, and that it is to be found painted.

BONJOUR is certainly one of my favorite works–is it one of yours, too? I certainly hope so. In the meantime, back to work you go. Au revoir, Monsieur Coubert!



all artwork, except likenesses of Lyndon B. Johnson, by Crispy Flotilla ® 2006