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Paul Gauguin:
Manao Tupapau (She Thinks of the Spirit
or The Spirit Watches Over Her)

by Shelly Couvrette


There is a feeling of intense distress and apprehension. The eerie and mysterious atmosphere, the flat, claustrophobic juxtaposing of objects and figures, and the hazy, distanced, and withdrawn subject all lend themselves to the overall sense of foreboding emanating from seemingly within the canvas. These feelings are evoked in the viewer by the use of color, the subject matter, and the manner in which that subject matter is treated by the artist.

The subject, a young Maori girl, reclines stiffly, face-downward, on top of a large bed. The tight, awkward handling of her naked body gives her a sense of dense firmness. Her limbs are solid and substantial, seeming plump and ripe. Her limbs are placed atop the pillow, on either side of her head, as if attempting to push away her uneasy thoughts. She is recoiling, shuddering inwardly, in fear and revulsion.

On the far side of the bed, keeping apparent vigil over her, stands an intimidating, shrouded figure of a spirit. Seen in profile, with its large, distended lips and its single, egyptianized eye, this hooded form from the nether-regions has great power to induce dread. The hand of the wraith is resting on the far corner of the mattress, whether in possessive threat or in warning it is unclear. The old hag seems to be reminding her, and through her the viewer, that death comes as an end.

The first emotion to be recognized in the second piece is an intense, almost tangible shame radiating out from the standing figure of a nude woman. Beyond this shame is an overall feeling of desolation, an utter lack of hope, as if all has been given up or lost. A choking claustrophobia emanates from her; a sense of too-quietness. There is almost a collapsing inward of the woman's soul, a denial of her self, in the face of evil. There is no recourse, no struggle, because she cannot comprehend the how or why of straining against a spirit. Even if she could conceive of rebelling against the spirit, it would be pointless; whatever she has lost is gone forever and is irretrievable. Her disparaging fear has been so strong that she can no longer feel it and so cannot recognize it as such; it is too large and too eternal. She feels only an uneasy numbness. She is tense and rigid, watching warily in an attempt to come to terms with this finality.

Visually, this feeling of claustrophobic blackness is embodied through the use of shading and an overall lack of depth in the picture plane. There is no real sense of time or place; everything but the immediate subject has been nullified. The background has been flattened, blacked out, and brought forward. It has been treated as a soft, warm, gauzy, enveloping curtain. It gently drapes the two figures, flowing around and behind them, while at the same time remaining utterly still and lending a sense of cushioned silence. Even the slight sense of a possible wafting breeze lifting and playing with the darkness is eerily quiet in an almost tomb-like stillness. The two figures, though they stand before the dark cloud, are pushed back into it.

The evil spirit seems to almost blend in with the background and to become a part of it. It is made up of the same stuff as the darkness of the night. Only the egyptian-like profile of the face can be seen, swathed entirely in a black cloak. It sits on the ground behind the girl, watching, scrutinizing the woman's every move. She is very much aware of its presence. Indeed, maybe it is the demon itself that causes her distress.

She stands, naked, in a three-quarter, full-length pose, at the center of the composition. She is attempting to cover herself with her left hand, the other held to her face in a gesture of fear and shame. Her body is vividly outlined in a bold, black line, giving her a flat, relief-like quality. Her figure is treated less darkly than either the background or the spirit, allowing her to remove herself from the spirit-realm. She alone reflects the little, ambiguous light that illuminates the scene.

The third piece, a treatment of the same general subject matter, echoes the themes of shame, fear, and guilt. Although there are some changes in the actual subject, the placement of the figures, depth, and tonal quality, none of these have much altered the primary mood and the theme of the work. The sense of dread and resignation are retained; the heavy, ponderous, claustrophobic quality has not been diluted by the addition of color and depth.

The subject of this work, a young woman, is now bathing in a brilliant magenta stream of spring. The water swirls and eddies around her in an urgent, vibrant, fuchsia mass. She still covers herself with a white cloth held in her left hand; her other hand still pressing against her cheek in anguish. She looks over her shoulder, almost as if she either could see or could sense the apparition behind her.

The evil spirit is here seen, as in the first painting, as the hooded form of an old hag. However, here she is garbed in a brilliant periwinkle shawl. She sits full-face, her eyes huge and staring, mesmerizing the viewer.

The first work, Manao Tupapau (She Thinks of the Spirit or The Spirit Watches Over Her, 73 x 92 cm), is a painting in oil on canvas. Painted in late 1892, it is the first work by Gauguin or any other artist to disclose a truly perceptive understanding of the Tahitian belief in the supernatural world.(1) Another work, also in oil on canvas, Parau Na Te Varua'Ino (Talk of the Evil and Malevolent Spirit, 91.7 x 68.5 cm), was painted as a companion piece to Manao Tupapau. Created in June, 1892, it also exemplifies his grasp of this people's profound belief in the spirit-realm. Related to Parau Na Te Varua'Ino thematically is a drawing of the same name. All of these works reveal Gauguin's quest for a means of portraying his ever-evolving perception of spiritual reality through the use of primitive symbolism.

In the nineteenth-century, many artists became disillusioned with the increasing industrialization of mainstream European society. The shift from production on an individual basis to large-scale factory manufacture brought about extensive and radical social and economic changes. Artists working in this period reacted against what they perceived as a growing distance of mankind from the close ties it had once enjoyed to the earth. They wanted to experience cultures that had not yet been spoiled by western civilization; cultures that were unsophisticated and untainted, retaining still their close spiritual ties to nature. These artists believed that undeveloped, pre-industrial cultures were uncontaminated and therefore superior to European societies. This romantic belief, called primitivism, was important to many artists working in France in this period. Beginning with the nineteenth-century Orientalist painters, such as Eugene Delacroix, the artist-as-adventurer was fascinated with pre-industrialized, non-western cultures. Gauguin's travels in Oceania were therefore not unprecedented, and were, indeed, a part of this trend.(2)

His ambition was to become identified as a profound thinker, an artistic philosopher(3) as, for him, artistic genius was the ultimate form of intelligence.(4) He felt that artists were somehow in touch with the very depth of the brain and the soul. He looked upon his art as embodying all that was wild and untamed in the very essence of man as an entity, identifying himself with both the child and the savage.

Gauguin dreamed of being a prophet. He wished to create an artists' colony, of sorts, in a remote, untamed land, where he could lead his fellow artists to new levels of enlightenment. Originally, he had planned to leave France with a group of his followers and create a community where they could develop their synthetic art. An isolated island country where the cost of living was comparatively low was their goal. After some time, the possibility of going to the South Seas was presented to them. On reading literature published by the French government, that painted a highly idealized and rosy picture in an attempt to lure potential colonizers, Gauguin and his entourage settled on Tahiti.

Slowly, support for this move began to dwindle. Either from a lack of commitment or the threat of the retraction of parental financial support, his followers gradually fell to the wayside. However, Gauguin remained undaunted. He continued his plans to emigrate, writing letters to the necessary government officials in an effort to obtain free passage. Finally, he was retained in a semi-official capacity, with the agreement of the French government to purchase one of his paintings upon his return to France. His immediate future thus secured, he completed plans to embark.(5)

As a sole artist, his goals in going to Polynesia were substantially different from those he had entertained as the potential leader of men. He could now concern himself with pursuing his personal artistic and theosophical agendas.

Gauguin had long been searching for his "Eden." His goal was to find a pure, wild, and untainted people on which he could draw for the expression of his own ideas.(6) Such a culture he hoped to discover in Polynesia. In September, 1895, he set sail from France, a pilgrim of sorts, in search of a primal communion between the pure soul and the art he wished to derive from it; responding to what he perceived as a savageness inherent in the Tahitian culture.

He had entertained notions of the superiority of primitive cultures long before he decided to set sail for Polynesia. He was of Spanish and Peruvian descent on his mother's side of his family, and from early in his life identified with this aspect of his heritage. He often referred to himself as a savage and was concerned with returning to what he identified with as his natural state.(7) He affected a gradual evolution from a civilized existence into one that was marked by a contact with the spirituality of nature. This savage identification began while he was still living in France, with an eye toward emigrating to a non-industrialized country. He wanted an opportunity to live among those who were still seen as barbarous; to become a participant in an uncivilized community before they were all tainted by the European imperialists.

When he finally reached Tahiti, however, it did not live up to his expectations. He discovered a people who were becoming more and more French; who were little by little giving up their ancient lifestyle.(8) What he encountered upon disembarking was an ugly shanty-town filled with Europeans -- exactly what he was attempting to escape.(9) In religion, social mores, and even dress, the natives had been "civilized" by the French. What remained was a culture in which many of the myths, many of the ancient religious beliefs, were no longer practiced or even remembered.(10) The introduction of Christianity aided in the eradication of the native beliefs to such an extent that the indigenous religion was no longer recognized in more than the shallowest sense.

In dress and social mores, the Tahitians found it easier to relent and conform to French ideals than to struggle against them. The colonists introduced bright, floral, muumuu-type dresses of ready-made fabric in an attempt to compel them to cover themselves. Europeans perceived these gaudy patterns as somehow "savage", and therefore fitting attire for the native inhabitants.(11) The Tahitians complied with these changes, at least on a superficial level, but did not actively participate in their own acculturation. The basic, underlying structure of their culture was retained. There was no uniform rate of cultural assimilation, however. Sections of Tahiti were more progressive than others. Rural, isolated areas were much more traditional than the larger centers that were heavily populated by Europeans.(12)

Papeete, the village where Gauguin first settled, was a sore disappointment to him. It was a dreary shanty-town much the same as any in Europe; in fact, exactly what he had been attempting to distance himself from. Aside from the large French population, the natives mimicked European fashions and society. He was much disillusioned by the failure of Papeete to live up to his expectations. He could either leave Tahiti in personal defeat or stay and attempt to recreate the tropical paradise of his dreams.(13)

In an attempt to uncover this fantasy "Eden", he moved to a more rural and undeveloped location. He finally settled in the village of Mataiea in the country. Although not entirely untouched by European contact, this district had managed to retain much of the essence of its original culture. He found he could uncover at least a basis for the beliefs he wished to pursue and the art he wished to produce.(14)

For Gauguin, religion, myth, and spirituality played important roles in his life. Indeed, they permeated it so thoroughly that they were virtually inseparable from it. He was on an eternal quest for new ways to define his Faith, and his perception of reality through that faith. He was exploring the ways myth could be exploited in his own search of the nature of reality.

When he reached Tahiti, Gauguin began to research the native religions. The appalling lack of knowledge by the people of their own religion was problematic. However, Gauguin attained a copy of Jacques Antoine Moerenhout's Voyages aux iles du grand ocean, a work dedicated to traditional Tahitian mythology. In it he discovered an approach to religion much akin to his own. Moerenhout frequently drew analogies between the native beliefs and classical Greek, Indian, and Egyptian religions. Moerenhout's synthetization of these myths influenced Gauguin's perception of them. The manner in which Gauguin presents Tahitian mythology in his paintings is wholly synthetic. Like Moerenhout, he joins his first- and second-hand knowledge of these beliefs with his pre-existing knowledge of Christian, Buddhist, and other religions.(15)

Gauguin was exploring the ways he could incorporate the primitive, pagan religion of Tahiti into his own theosophy, searching endlessly for different beliefs that would fit in with and compliment his own ever-evolving religion.(16) He drew on Tahitian religion for the expression of his own ideas in a never-ending process of attempting to define his own reality in terms of the vast and varied beliefs surrounding him. In doing so, he transposed numerous symbols and Oceanic mythology into his works of this period, juxtaposing them with themes from traditional European art and culture.(17) He was not necessarily concerned with chronicling the religion of the Maori people, but in borrowing from it what would be useful to him in expressing in his art his changing perception of reality.(18)

Gauguin spent his first weeks in Tahiti learning both its land and its people. He felt that this was necessary in order to paint them both appropriately.(19) In fact, it was not until Tehamana became his mistress in June of 1892 that he began to paint Manao Tupapau. The title of the painting, She Thinks of the Spirit or The Spirit Watches Over Her, has an apparently dual meaning. In order for the girl to be thinking of the spirit, the spirit must be near her.(20)

Manao Tupapau has its roots in an actual event that occurred not long after Tehamana came to live with Gauguin. Upon returning home quite late one night from the town of Papeete, Gauguin found his bungalow in complete darkness. Fearing that in his absence she might have left him, he lit a match. He found her, lying face-downward upon the bed, seized with fear. He perceived that her fear was of the tupapau; the demon of the Tahitians' nights.(21)

In a letter he wrote to his wife, Mette, Gauguin explained the subject and content of the painting, giving a detailed analysis of the work. However, his true interest seems to have been the musical quality to be found in the lines and colors. While they have a highly symbolic meaning, they are in the end meant to please the eye.(22)

Gauguin chose to pose his model in a face-downward position, in part, because the lines of her form appealed to him. He liked their movement and their lyrical quality. He knew, however, that painting her in this attitude would be problematic for the European audience he was hoping to interest in his work. He realized that the likeliest interpretation for her recumbent pose would be that she had been captured either just prior to or just after lovemaking. In order to alleviate this conclusion, he suffused her with fear. The expression on her face is one of wary terror. The logical source for her fear, in terms of her culture, is a fear of the Tahitian spirit of the dead; the tupapau.(23)

It is impossible to know if Gauguin's grasp of the Tahitian perception of these Tupapaus is legitimate or accidental. Regardless of this he has managed to capture their concept of these demons. He has depicted them in human form, as the natives must have pictured them. The Maoris accepted that the tupapaus could be of either male or female gender.(24) Gauguin chose to depict the specter swathed in black with a mask-like face. This face could perhaps be derived from the Marquesan tiki figures that Gauguin incorporated into others of his works.(25) The hand of the spirit rests threateningly upon the far side of the mattress. This gesture could be read as either the threat of death or the reminder that eventually death consumes all.

The Tahitians divide their day into two halves: daylight, or ao, and darkness, or po. With po they associate the tupapaus, and therefore they fear the night.(26) The tupapaus are the Tahitian embodiments of the spirits of death. They are a genuine and lasting threat to the native peoples, who associate them with the darkness of night.(27) They are so dreaded that the people never venture out of their homes at night without a light, and even then they never go alone. They also keep their homes lighted at night, without fail, in order to ward off the tupapaus.(28) Gauguin carried this over into his paintings, but in a manner that is true to his symbolist tendencies. Hi gave to po the color purple in order to add to its ominous quality.(29)

The realm of the spirit of the dead is separated from the human world by the upright form of the bed-post. This is a device Gauguin used in other works to mark the departure from the here-and-now, notably in Vision After the Sermon. Behind the bed lies the nether-region where the tupapau dwells.

Tehamana lies, frozen with terror, upon the bed. The cloth covering the mattress beneath her is of a sickly, greenish-yellow hue signifying an artificial, or unnatural, light source. It was necessary for Gauguin to illuminate the room in this manner. A common lamp would have been symbolic of daylight. This would have pressed back the darkness, and with the darkness, the tupapau. He also felt that this chartreuse color would complete the musical rhythm of the blue and orangey-yellow.(30) Tehamana's eyes are half-lidded, as if she is struggling to wake herself from a sleep filled with troubled dreams. The Tahitians accredit nightmares to the nearness of the tupapaus.(31)

Gauguin's knowledge of the tupapaus, often thought to have been taken directly from Moerenhout's book, cannot have done so. He must have gained his knowledge of these demons from some other, presumably native, source. In his book, Moerenhout gave them the name aromatua, while Gauguin referred to them as tupapaus. Manao Tupapau is important for this reason. It is the first painting by Gauguin, or any other Western artist, that reveals a true perception of the Tahitian belief in the supernatural.(32) Gauguin was willing to explore their beliefs with an open mind, giving them the same attention he had given to the natives of Brittany.(33)

Sometime in 1892 Gauguin made a pastel drawing entitled Parau Na Te Varua'Ino. The central figure is that of a Tahitian Eve. She shamefully covers herself with a small, white cloth in a gesture that looks back to the classic poses of Western Venuses. Here is represented Eve after the fall, in all her remorse. Behind Eve sits the varua'ino. In form this spirit is much like that of the tupapau. It is seen in profile, with a mask-like face and a single, egyptian-style eye. This varua'ino has drawn Eve to her ruin.

In June of 1892 Gauguin painted a companion piece to Manao Tupapau, entitled Parau Na Te Varua'Ino. In this painting, also, his rendering of the spirit entity illustrates that he attained his knowledge from the native people and not from Moerenhout's book. While Gauguin calls them varua'inos, Moerenhout uses the term varao taatas.(34) Unlike the tupapau, which is the spirit of death, the varua'ino is the ghost of a once living person. The Tahitian perception of the varua'ino is somewhat akin to the Western perception of ghosts.(35) Gauguin, in his theosophist fashion, has equated this spirit with his own concept of the Devil.(36)

In the painting, Eve also covers her genital area with a small cloth. Gauguin has chosen this way to symbolize her loss of chastity. She stands in the foreground amid a brilliant red stream. Red was a color Gauguin associated with both violent power and the creative imagination. In this painting it could be taken to symbolize either the blood of her first intercourse of the fires of Hell.(37)

The world of the spirit and the world of Eve are brought together by the red stream eddying about them both. The boundary between the two worlds has become indistinct. However, Gauguin has again used light to signify the different realms. The varua'ino is clouded in a damp darkness while Eve is standing in a sort of clearing bathed in light.(38)

The face of the varua'ino is decidedly mask-like, staring unblinkingly out at the viewer. Unlike the other two spirits, this one is seen in a full-frontal pose. The features of its face seem to be derived from the masks of the Dan tribe of Africa.(39) This, again, would point to Gauguin's habit of taking from different cultures and religions those concepts and symbols that best suited his needs.

Despite the fact that he was incorporating aboriginal religious symbolism into these works, Gauguin was not necessarily attempting to synthesize these beliefs with Christian religious ideology. In the case of Parau Na Te Varua'Ino he knew that Tahitian mythology had no parallel to the concept of original sin. In cloaking the biblical parable in native iconography, he was attempting to explore and question his own belief-system.(40)

Gauguin was concerned with the liberation of art from the direct depiction and recording of tangible and visual experience. He recognized the Impressionist's concern with the study of color in terms of decorative effect, but felt that they lacked freedom in their insistence upon veracity in the visual representation of the natural world. What he wanted to create was an art that was freed from its former concern with and reliance upon purely naturalistic and formal considerations. He set out to free color and composition from the need to represent functionally, using it instead for its decorative possibilities. Through exploitation of the decorative, he wished to infuse his art with feeling; synthesizing his art with the ideas and emotions he experienced.

He cautioned the small circle of artists surrounding him not to copy from the natural world too closely, stating his belief that all art is abstract. Again, he faulted the Impressionists for painting what was near the eye instead of what was near the soul. He felt that the artist should experience nature, dreaming in its midst, and then extrapolate from this experience an emotion. This emotion should, in turn, serve as the subject for a painting.(41)

Through time, he evolved what came to be known as his synthetist style. He stopped utilizing the sense of light and the atmospheric perspective associated with the Impressionists, turning instead to a more decorative mode of composition. He developed a style where-in all non-essential detail came to be omitted, as he concentrated on the depiction of essential motifs.(42) Gauguin was, in essence, a decorator who found his inspiration everywhere and in everything.(43) His two-dimensional compositions and his use of luminous, jewel-like colors applied in broad, flat, expansive patches, indicate these concerns. Objects and figures came to be more and more sharply outlined, while at the same time becoming increasingly uniform in color and tone.

This effect, known as cloissonism, was achieved through the bold, rhythmic, black outlining of individual, flat patches of color. It finds its origins in medieval art, especially stained-glass, manuscript illumination, and jewelry making. His paintings of this period are suffused with a brilliant, resonant color that is held in check by this cloisonnism. The reflection of the lush, tropical colors of Tahiti gives these works an energy that is at the same time vital and restrained.

His paintings are tapestry-like in their two-dimensionality, their overall sense of patterning, and their adaption of a form of horror vacuii. This is also reminiscent of medieval illuminated manuscripts. The flat, decorative motifs found on the carpet pages of Celtic bibles are closely related to Gauguin's decorative sensibility. In his works, there is a feeling that they are impossibly crammed onto the canvas. They seem to go on beyond the confines of the frames enclosing them, giving them at once the feeling of expanse associated with frescoes and the feeling of claustrophobia associated with European barbaric art.

In his use of color and line, Gauguin suggests in his paintings an urgent, rhythmic quality. Music was important to his art, and he often applied theories of music to his works. The harmony found in his use of undulating, sinuous lines and in his high-key palette he often referred to as the melodic, or the musical, facet of painting. Even in his finely tuned theories concerning art he likened his work to music, stating that the goal of both should ideally be the suggestion rather than the mere description.(44)

Paul Gauguin is so closely associated with the years he spent in Tahiti that it is difficult to take him out of their context. The myths surrounding the life of the artist during this time have made it difficult, if not impossible, to discern the actual man beneath them. There is a romantic mystique obfuscating any attempt to uncover the real Gauguin.(45)

Gauguin himself did not help to alleviate this confusion. His writings, most notably Noa Noa, are highly fictionalized accounts of his stay in Polynesia. There are many discrepancies to be found between the contents of his works intended to be published and the personal letters meant for his friends and family. The subject of many of his paintings and of Noa Noa, Tehamana, was never mentioned in the letters he wrote to France. Certainly, there were understandable motivations for this. His relations with his wife, Mette, though not ideal, were still salvageable. In his letters to her, he still retained some hope of either going home to her or bringing her to Tahiti to stay with him and begin a new life.

There is even some question as to the identity of Tehamana. In Noa Noa, she is given the name Tehura and is described as being of Tongan descent. She was tall, with bushy, kinky hair.(46) Attached to the inside of Gauguin's own copy of the book was a photograph of a woman who seems to correspond to this description. However, neither the photograph nor the description is anything like the woman Gauguin actually portrayed in his paintings, including a painting actually inscribed with the name Tehamana. Both this woman and the subject of Manao Tupapau and Parau Na Te Varua'Ino have straight hair.

Whatever Gauguin's motivations or intentions, he had a genuine desire to understand the Tahitian people. In this he was unquestionably successful. He had succeeded in his own mind in grasping the Tahitian character.(47) He painted the people as he saw them; filtering his perceptions through all the past perceptions in his life. He has been criticized for this theosophist/synthetist approach to his life and his art. However, it is impossible to create in any other way; one is the sum of one's experiences. If a person manipulates his or her experiences to gain the desired result, is it wrong? For this Gauguin has been faulted. He has done exactly what all artists since the beginning of time have done: he has taken from his life what he wished, rearranged it, and produced a work of art. An artist's experiences, whether manipulated or not, are still a part of the artist and so are viable sources upon which to draw for inspiration.




E-mail: shelly@cat-sidh.net
Copyright 2007 Shelly Couvrette





Bibliography

Amishai-Maisels, Ziva. "Gauguin's Early Tahitian Idols." The Art Bulletin, June 1978, pages 331-341.

Andersen, Wayne V. Gauguin's Paradise Lost. New York: The Viking Press, 1971.

Buser, Reverend Thomas, S.J. "Gauguin's Religion." Art Journal, summer 1968, pages 375-380.

Danielsson, Bengt. Gauguin in the South Seas. New York: Doubleday, 1966.

Field, Richard. Paul Gauguin: monotypes. Philadelphia: Philadelphia Museum of 1973.

Gauguin, Paul. The Writings of a Savage. New York: Viking Press, 1978.

Gauguin, Paul. Noa Noa. New York: Greenberg, Publishers, Inc., 1919.

Gowans, Alan. The Restless Art: A History of Painters and Painting 1760-1960. Philadelphia and New York: J.B. Lippincott Company, 1966.

Hoog, Michel. Paul Gauguin: Life and Work. New York: Rizzoli International Publications, Inc., 1978.

Rewald, John. Post-impressionism, from Van Gogh to Gauguin. New York: Museum Modern Art, Boston, 1978.

Solomon-Godeau, Abigail. "Going Native." Art In America, July 1989, pages 119-130.

Stuckey, Charles F. "Parau Na Te Varua'Ino". Gauguin. Chicago: The Art Institute of Chicago, 1988.

Stuckey, Charles F. "Parau Na Te Verua'Ino". Gauguin. Chicago: The Art Institute of Chicago, 1988.

Teilhet-Fisk, Jehanne. Paradise Reviewed: An Interpretation of Gauguin's Polynesian Symbolism. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press, 1983.

Wadley, Nicholas, ed. Gauguin. Oxford: Phaidon Press Limited, 1978.






Notes

1Jehanne Teilhet-Fisk, Paradise Reviewed: An Interpretation of Gauguin's Polynesian Symbolism (1983): 73.

2Charles F. Stuckey, "The First Tahitian Years," Gauguin (1988): 210.

3Alan Gowans, "Primitivism," The Restless Art: A History of Painters and Painting 1760-1960 (1966): 277.

4Daniel Guerin, The Writings of a Savage (1974): 4.

5Bengt Danielsson, Gauguin in the South Seas (1966): 31-53.

6Ziva Amishai-Maisels, "Gauguin's Early Tahitian Idols," The Art Bulletin (June 1978): 332.

7Danielsson, 36-37.

8Guerin, 53.

9Danielsson, 61.

10Amishai-Maisels, 331.

11Danielsson, 61.

12Teilhet-Fisk, 35-36.

13Teilhet-Fisk, 35-36.

14Teilhet-Fisk, 35-36.

15Amishai-Maisels, 340.

16Teilhet-Fisk, 38.

17Amishai-Maisels, 340.

18Amishai-Maisels, 341.

19Guerin, 57.

20Teilhet-Fisk, 71.

21Paul Gauguin, Noa Noa (1919): 76-77.

22Guerin, 63-64.

23Guerin, 63-64.

24Teilhet-Fisk, 73.

25Teilhet-Fisk, 73.

26Teilhet-Fisk, 72.

27Teilhet-Fisk, 72.

28Danielsson, 122.

29Teilhet-Fisk, 72.

30Guerin, 63-64.

31Teilhet-Fisk, 72.

32Teilhet-Fisk, 73.

33Teilhet-Fisk, 73-74.

34Teilhet-Fisk, 74.

35Teilhet-Fisk, 74.

36Teilhet-Fisk, 36.

37Teilhet-Fisk, 75.

38Teilhet-Fisk, 38.

39Teilhet-Fisk, 39.

40Teilhet-Fisk, 76.

41Guerin, 23-24.

42Danielsson, 24.

43Danielsson, 48.

44Teilhet-Fisk, 27.

45Abigail Solomon-Godeau, "Going Native," Art in America (July 1989): 120.

46Gauguin, Noa Noa, 65.

47Guerin, 57.