Pierre-Auguste Renoir, “The Luncheon of the Boating Party,” 1880-1881 (Photo: Wikimedia Commons )The Salon des Refusés of 1863 was the first notable Salon alternative. This led to the decline of the Paris Salon in the 1880s, and, most importantly, culminated in a new tradition: Salon alternatives. While the Academy would reject most modernist pieces, some famously managed to secure a spot, including Édouard Manet's nude Olympiain 1863 and John Singer Sargent's Portrait of Madame X, a contemporary portrait exhibited in 1884.įor the most part, however, pieces that did not adhere to the academy's traditional tastes were rejected, forcing forward-thinking artists to take the exhibition of their work into their own hands. The Academy's traditional taste was overwhelmingly accepted until the 19th century, when an increasing number of European artists began embracing the avant-garde. When selecting artwork, for example, they favored conservative, conventional subject matter-including historical, mythological, and allegorical scenes as well as portraiture-rendered in a realistic style. While the event's inclusivity increased over the years (in 1791, sponsorship switched from royal to government bodies, and, by 1795, submission was opened to all artists), its jury (established in 1748) rarely broke from tradition.
Sponsored by the French monarchy and set in the Salon Carré (a recently built room in the Louvre), the show featured work by recent graduates of the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture.
With so much else to talk about, the dreaded “So what do you do?” is finally out of commission.Jean-André Rixens, “Opening day at the Palais des Champs-Élysées,” 1890 (Photo: Wikimedia Commons )The inaugural Salon opened to a limited public in 1667. I started Odd Mondays in pursuit of better conversations, and I’ve found that ideas from the salon resurface during chats over lunch or coffee, during a party or a walk in the park. I now know that parasitic horsehair worms make crickets drown themselves, that men on St Kilda developed prehensile toes to climb cliffs for gannet eggs and that jerusalem artichokes are so called because their flowers resemble sunflowers (the Italian for sunflower is girasole). Odd Mondays has been going for two and half years and in that time I’ve learned so many peculiar facts. All the Odd Monday members feel part of the salon, so they’re happy to lend a hand – moving the furniture, taking the sausages out of the oven or pouring a drink. Everyone brings a bottle, so I just put out glasses and sometimes make a jug of gin and tonic. I’ll shove mess under the sofa, and serve sandwiches and sausage rolls which are quick to prepare. I don’t distract myself from the enjoyment of Odd Mondays by worrying about tidying the flat, or preparing fancy food. The Q&A leads on to the more informal discussion and debate that springs up as we mingle, refilling glasses, in the 20 minute gap between talks. Guests squeeze on to the sofa, three to an armchair, and scatter cross-legged across the floor – while I man the projector and slides, and chair a short Q&A at the end of the talk. We have three talks at each salon, lasting around 10-15 minutes: time enough to develop an idea, brief enough to keep the evening fast-paced. The shyer Odd Monday members might dread my tap on the shoulder and nagging emails, but I try to make up for it with a tipple of whisky to those in need, and people are always pleased to have done it. I won’t let people dodge their talk forever, and a speaker is blacklisted if they drop out at the last minute, unless they have a really good excuse. I’m pretty militant about enforcing the rules. Occasionally, an expert on a particular topic happens to be in the audience – after a film director talked about dissociative identity disorder in reference to Fight Club, a doctor at the salon answered questions afterwards. No one expects you to be an expert so you needn’t worry about being able to answer questions. This means that at Odd Mondays we are all amateurs. It is fascinating to learn something new about the topic – and also about the friend.
So we’ve had an architect speaking about fakes (a false meteorite, synthetic eggs, imitation works of art, and his own mockney accent), a writer explaining game theory, and someone in finance discussing Croatian klapa music. The second rule is that your talk can’t be about what you do for a living. If everyone takes part, there’s an atmosphere of collaboration rather than criticism – it’s much harder to heckle if you know you’re up next. The first rule of Odd Mondays is that all guests must at some point give a talk – although you will have plenty of notice, and the opportunity to postpone.
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