Monday Masterpiece: The Kiss.

When Klimt painted The Kiss in 1907, he was already used to accusations of obscenity.

At the turn of the century, he’d been commissioned by the University of Vienna to paint the ceiling of their Great Hall. His creation — Philosophy, Medicine and Jurisprudence — caused such a stir that he was accused of “perverted excess”. The paintings were never displayed to the public and Klimt had to repay the significant advance commission he’d received.

Filled with rapture, despair and unfettered material sexuality, Klimt’s triptych was simply too challenging for early twentieth-century Viennese tastes. One of the paintings had been awarded an honour at the World Exhibition in France but, Vienna at this moment, despite being rather avant-garde, was not fin-de-siecle Paris.? ?

The Kiss, by comparison, was far less salacious, but challenging enough to still be met with an outcry. A combination of the 1900 scandal and Klimt’s somewhat bohemian lifestyle had bestowed upon him something of a “bad boy” reputation. Because of this, in many ways, whatever he’d produced at this point was likely to be met with an assumption of sexual controversy. Had this not been the case, though, there are still aspects of The Kiss that would have been difficult for a post-Victorian and Central European audience to stomach at the time.

The painting is unequivocally and unapologetically a dedication to the beauty and rapture of sexual intimacy. Not only was this not a topic for polite conversation at the time, the fact that it shows an unmarried couple only compounds the luridness by early 20th century standards. And then, believe it not, the whole thing is made even more scandalous by the use of gold leaf.

When we see gold leaf used in modern artwork, it is largely perceived as luxurious or as an opulent form of decoration. In modern art, excessive use often results in the work being labelled (pejoratively) as “decorative,” which is thinly disguised code for a piece that focuses only on pleasing at a surface aesthetic level, rather than being underpinned by any depth of meaning.

While the use of gold leaf was regarded as decorative on furniture, mirrors, and even murals when Klimt was working, its use in paintings was still associated — as it had been since the medieval period — with religious subject matter. Klimt had been inspired by the gold in religious paintings from the Middle Ages; Byzantine mosaics; and illuminated medieval manuscripts, which were routinely decorated with gold and silver. The Kiss is not the only work by Klimt that makes use of gold: his catalogue has a “golden phase” during which he uses it prolifically; and The Kiss is also laden with silver and platinum in liberal measure. It is an arresting sight when one first sees it in the flesh, shimmering.

And so, using a material associated with sacredness and piety, Klimt depicts an unmarried couple engaged in what has always been interpreted as very earthly, desire-driven sexual intimacy. In this sense, it is practically blasphemous. And at 2 metres high, it is blasphemous on a scale that is hard to miss.?

Modern critics have started to cast some doubt on the loving nature of The Kiss, citing the “blank expression” on the woman’s face; the fact that the male subject’s hands are gripping her face and neck; and that whilst he is firmly in the paradise of a flower-strewn meadow, her feet teeter on the edge, apparently only just hanging on.?

The woman’s apparent “blank expression,” however, could equally be interpreted as bliss; and one could say the fact she has her arm draped around her partner’s neck suggests ardour. What is interesting, though, is her position as submissive and silent — a common feature of the female subject in the history of painting, especially when naked or in any kind of compromising position. It has been suggested that Klimt intended the woman in The Kiss to represent Ariadne, in which case the work could be seen as more narrative than controversial.

Today, we rarely look at Klimt’s most famous painting and see anything to be shocked by, and we probably don’t fear that by looking upon it we will be reduced to acts of moral turpitude. It is generally now seen as a romantic work of art and, as such, is often reproduced on greetings cards and prints, amongst other merchandise. I’m almost certain I saw it on some bathroom tiles a few years ago, and it is certainly widely manufactured as a shiny fridge magnet.

The Kiss was bought by the Belvedere Museum of Vienna before it was even finished, for five times the price that any painting had ever sold for in Vienna, and it has remained in the permanent collection there ever since. After the financial and reputational ruin that Klimt had experienced in the preceding ten years, it was a radical change in circumstances and one which transformed the public perception of his position as artist.

His influence on the art world since his death in 1918 has been somewhat scattered, which is surprising given the interest and value his work now cultivates. He was admired and imitated by his pupil Egon Schiele, and there’s no question of the nod to his work both in the Bauhaus and Russian Constructivist movements, but it is also true to say that his work otherwise sits in something of an influence vacuum. Perhaps this is due to his use of decorative techniques, or the imitation of his aesthetic in the worlds of fashion and theatre, both of which have seen the importance of “design” in his work and created theatre sets and fashion collections that pay tribute to the artist’s golden phase.

“All art is erotic,” wrote Klimt, and it is perhaps here where The Kiss creates its most interesting legacy — in getting us to think around love and desire. As a work of art, it has become symbolic of the very human experience of wanting and gratification; and as an accurate depiction of desire satisfied by the other, as well as the contentment that Romanticism insists always follows. That it is also one of the most popular works of art to visit, at a time when romantic relationships are said to be in turmoil in the western world, perhaps tells us much about its attraction and of Klimt’s ability, despite his self-declared non-conformity, to communicate a universal message about the meaning of love.