A New Orleans native, Virginie Amélie Avegno's odd beauty and natural grace attracted attention in 19th century Paris. In her, J.S. Sargent found his muse--a socialite, named, Madame Gautreau. Sargent wrote to his friend, Vernon Lee, "In a few days I shall be tackling the portrait of a great beauty ... she has the most beautiful lines."

Gautreau was many things to Sargent. Key among them was what she represented: an archetype of the modern female, a representation of the changing times--a Madame ***
He painted her, as he saw her.

Gautreau was Chic of her day. Cutting edge. "A flamboyant creature of rare beauty", was the collective sigh of artists who'd seen her.

Known for wearing lipstick on her ears (perhaps as a gesture of goodwill to the men of Paris), she fascinated Sargent--and other artists. Gustave Courtois and Antonio de La Gándara, among others, would paint her, too.

Sargent did not receive a commission for his painting of her. Just meeting Gautreau required the aid of his best social contacts. Then, the studies and sketches began. For weeks he labored; he drew her, studied her. In the end, he was only to humiliate her (and her mother) when he presented his life-size, singular vision to the Salon of 1884.

This painting would surely have fared better had it been a nude. But here was a fully-clothed society lady--almost, but for an ill-placed piece of her dress. There was a scandal. The people of Paris revolted. But this time it was the upper classes.

"This is an insolent woman ... ", said a critic of the day, "insolently displaying her beauty in a highly erotic way. An insolent work of art."

Insolent? I say . . . .

Sargent had overplayed his hand. His boundless confidence had driven his experimentation too far. His career ruined in Paris, he moved to London. Older. Wiser.