Wyeth and Nureyev: The Artist Meets
the Dancer
When Jamie Wyeth met Rudolf Nureyev in 1974 at a party,
he was immediately intrigued by the alluring dancer. He
approached him and asked if he could paint his portrait,
but Nureyev at first declined. Although Nureyev was constantly
photographed, Wyeth felt photography could not capture
the dancer's charismatic personality. Three years passed
before Nureyev would relent.
Wyeth was given permission to watch Nureyev rehearse
and perform and would sketch Nureyev from the wings of
the stage. On the night of Nureyev's performance of Pierrot
Lunaire on Broadway, Wyeth watched the dancer before
the show opened and marveled at his intensity and passion:
He started to go through his movements, and he'd throw
off clothing as he got warmer and warmer. He would get
into this frenzy. There were times when he looked at
me, but he wasn't even seeing. It would build into this
pitch. ... The curtain was down and I'd start to hear
the house filling, the muted voices through the curtain
and the orchestra turning up. And here was this silent
figure in his white makeup with his hair flying. He
was completely in his own world. 1
These initial sessions resulted in thirty small scale
portraits of Nureyev and the beginning of a friendship.
Soon after, Nureyev would frequently visit the Wyeths
home in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, where he was both envious
and intrigued by the close relationship of Andrew
Wyeth and his son Jamie. When Jamie brought Nureyev
to see his father's studio, the dancer was captivated
by the many costumes and props used by N.C.
Wyeth to create his illustrations.
Andrew and Jamie had already been known to try on these
costumes for fun. But now they had a third person to play
dress up with—Nureyev! He was particularly enamored
of a heavy red coat that Andrew claimed once belonged
to Ludwig of Bavaria, a coat that he requested each time
he would visit.
Nureyev had also become friends with Jamie Wyth's wife
Phyllis, whom he had met in a Manhattan restaurant in
1977. Phyllis, who broke her neck in a car accident early
in life, had been confined to using crutches in order
to walk. Nureyev admired her strength and enthusiasm and
the two immediately became friends.
But the relationship between the two artists was not
always jovial. Nureyev was often a difficult model. It
was nearly impossible to schedule time for the busy dancer
to take time out of his rehearsals and performances to
pose for Wyeth. Nureyev was also very sensitive about
how his body was portrayed, and he would insist on viewing
Jamie's work at every step.
In fact, when Wyeth asked another dancer to pose in Nureyev's
place for his initial sketches during a period when Nureyev
was hard to pin down, Nureyev was furious. His sensitivity
to depictions of his likeness prompted him to schedule
sittings with Wyeth on a regular basis.
It was only when Wyeth snapped at Nureyev during one
sitting that the two came to an understanding. Wyeth explained
that like Nureyev's interpretations of dance, Wyeth would
also be interpretive in his portraiture. For example,
much to Nureyev's dismay, Wyeth sketched the dancer wearing
a fur coat. Although Nureyev would not wear this coat
while dancing, Wyeth decided to use it in his Profile,
In Fur, Nureyev (Study #9) to emphasize his Russian
background.
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James Wyeth
Profile, In Fur, Nureyev (Study #9)
Combined mediums, 20 x 16
Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Wyeth
Wyeth Study Center |
| click image to enlarge |
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But despite any setbacks, Wyeth continued to depict Nureyev's
portraits. And he would sketch him meticulously. After
spending substantial time at a morgue sketching the human
body, Wyeth was well-trained in creating accurate depictions
of the human form. Still, he would use calipers to measure
the dancer's calf, shoulder, and wrists to ensure his
accuracy, and Wyeth's sketchbooks reveal his extensive
note-taking, indicating Nureyev's measurements and proportions.
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Photograph of
Jmaes Wyeth measuring Nureyev, 1977
Photo by Michael McKenzie
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| click image to enlarge |
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Although Nureyev was Wyeth's most difficult model, the
painter continued to be inspired by the dancer, not just
for his talent but for his personality.
He had a dangerous, feral quality about him, and an
infamous temper that could flare, then just as quickly
disappear. Yet there was also a sweet, childlike aspect
to the dancer that was evident to those who knew him
well. 2
Even after Nureyev's death, Wyeth captured Nureyev's
likeness on canvas. In some ways, it was easier to paint
the dancer without him in the room. Since Nureyev's personality
was so captivating, Wyeth would often find it difficult
to completely focus on his work.
In 2001, Wyeth painted large-scale works of Nureyev on
the stage. Since Wyeth had mastered drawing Nureyev's
likeness from years of measuring and sketching the dancer,
and because the artist could work without the model looking
over his shoulder, these later paintings reveal more of
Wyeth's own imagination.
Visual artists have been inspired by dancers for years.
The late 19th-century paintings and sculptures of French
Impressionist artist Edgar
Degas also reveal the beauty of the art of ballet
and of the dancers themselves.
Jamie Wyeth's portraits of Rudolf Nureyev, however, depict
more than just the beauty of a muscular dancer. They reveal
a complex individual, one whose passion for dancing helped
him to overcome all obstacles—from his father's disapproval
to the Russian government's disdain; an individual whose
defection
from his home country both launched him into stardom and
estranged him from family and friends.
1 Solway, Diane.
Nureyev: His Life. New York: William Morrow and Company,
Inc., 1998. p. 414.
2
Pamela J. Belanger, ed. Capturing Nureyev: James Wyeth
Paints the Dancer. Hanover, New Hampshire: University
Press of New England. 2002. p. 45.
