PARIS — The name Jacques-Louis David is almost synonymous with themes of revolution, French patriotism, and Neoclassical history painting. In any trip through the Louvre, one breezes past “Oath of the Horatii” (1784) and “Liberty Leading the People” (1830) alongside a million other Big Important French paintings.
In their opening statements, the curators of the Louvre’s first monographic show in 30 years, Sébastien Allard and Côme Fabre, fully acknowledge that the common usage of David’s work as an educational French history tool can strip him of his dynamism: It is “exploited at will by schoolbooks or advertisements,” and his association with Neoclassicism “imprison[s] his image in a cold formalism.” In this show, there is no major reveal of new evidence nor the advancement of novel theses, nor even particularly colorful, creative interpretation. No need. It is simply a magnificent exhibition of note-perfect curation, aided by jaw-dropping loans (assembling three versions of the 1793 painting “Death of Marat” is a flex). It walks viewers through the arc of David’s painterly style, including its eventual political usage, demonstrating the indispensability of academic art history as an analytical tool.
Jacques-Louis David, “The Oath of the Horatii” (1784)
It also demonstrates the fundamental importance of artistic style in transmitting a message — form, rather than just content — the very heart of art. David himself seemed keenly aware of this from the start, cycling through competing styles at the time. It is startling to observe early works that emulate the enduring style of Fragonard in lively, bright pastel colour, such as his 1773 “Death of Seneca,” which, for all its dark content, is a rather bright and jolly affair. Or the austere influence of Poussin, who was also operating at the time. It is equally informative to be shown three contemporary treatments of the subject “Bellisarius Begging for Alms” by different artists — François-André Vincent in 1776, Pierre Peyron in 1779, and David in 1784 — and walked through the differences in form, composition, and tone in explanatory captions. This is visual analysis — the backbone of art history — in full swing, and leads the viewer right up to the visual analysis of “Oath of the Horatii,” with its spaced-out composition of figures, monumentalism, historic detail, and emphatic moralizing tone. What a pleasure to appreciate its epic scale in the Napoleon exhibition space (how fitting) beneath the Louvre, instead of the usual daylit cattle farm upstairs.
Where art history is a subjective observer of the different modes of pictorial representation, David was on an active quest for the representational form that best expresses the idea of “truth.” We are told that though “Horatii” was a commission, he deviated from instructions to realize his ideas, valuing this over customer satisfaction. He appeared to understand the inherent silliness of depicting classicizing motifs of semi-nude warriors, flying swords, sandals, and obscure ancient myths with a painterly Realist style, as if these things could exist in the contemporaneous world. Indeed, Allard and Fabre point out his ambition for stylistic “purity” in a sequence of portraits in which he acknowledged the artificial set-up of studio sitting, stripping out unnecessary scenery and depicting faces with an accuracy and verisimilitude at odds with the flattery of his contemporaries. See, for instance, “Portrait of Anne-Marie-Louise Thélusson” (1790), in which austere starkness meets the rounded, statue-like modeling of flesh and drapery in an echo of classicism.
Installation view of Jacques-Louis David
It is perhaps unfortunate for this show — and students of French history everywhere — that David never completed his nearly 20 by 33 foot (6 x 10 meter) “The Tennis Court Oath,” a key moment in Revolutionary Republicanism, represented here in a preliminary sketch fragment (1791–92) and pen and brown ink (1791). The two studies — the first consisting of fully finished disembodied portrait heads floating amongst the line-drawn bodies in a white expanse, and the latter being too small, monochrome, and densely detailed to be particularly rousing — are inadequate in communicating how the “Tennis Court Oath” represented the key role of style in cementing the political zeitgeist. Allard and Fabre note: “the artist whose ‘Oath Of The Horatii’ had just established the classical theme in French painting, now addressed the representation of a contemporary event,” citing its modern clothing and setting on tennis courts of all places. It is with the marrying of classicizing with contemporaneous events, clothes, interiors, and faces that David chose to mark the apex of Revolutionary imagery. If only it had been realized.
As well as flawless visual analysis, the show is a triumph of loan power: The press release notes that 100 objects from around the world accompany the Louvre’s unparalleled collection of large-scale paintings. Along with key pieces such as “Napoleon Crossing the Alps from Reuiel-Malmaisson” (1800), “Mars Disarmed by Venus and the Graces” (1824) from Brussels, and “Death of Socrates” (1787) from The Met, we have many notable duplicates, which almost feels like showing off. Indeed, we see two versions of David’s 1812 portrait of Napoleon (from the National Gallery of Art, Washington, and from Fontainebleau) and the original “Death of Marat” from Brussels — mounted here in total darkness upon a dais in a concave niche — as well as copies from Versailles and the Louvre’s own collection facing it in a triumvirate. There was no need to include Ingres’s monumental 1812 “Romulus, Conqueror of Acron” from the Beaux-Arts in Paris as a counterpart to his “Intervention of the Sabine Women” of 1799, but here we are. An embarrassment of riches.
Jacques-Louis David, “The Death of Socrates” (1787), oil on canvas
Many artists tail off in twilight years, but David was exiled following the fall of the Empire in 1815 and restoration of the Bourbons. Now adrift with no political purpose, he turned toward a renewed trend for excessively silly, eroticizing neoclassicism, clearly seen in “Mars Disarmed by Venus and the Graces” (1824). It is paired here with another stupendous loan — Ingres’s “Jupiter and Thesis” (1811) from Aix-en-Provence. As if to justify David’s U-turn into sycophantic nymphs cavorting amongst winged semi-nudes with artfully placed doves and the like, Allard and Fabre suggest that it may have been a fatalistic shrug at the demise of his own politically charged history painting, or even a dig at Ingres’s wholehearted and unironic embracing of silly eroticism. These might be the only speculative interjections amongst an otherwise fact- and visual analysis-driven survey. The Louvre may have used the 200th anniversary of David’s exile as a reason to mount the show, but with this enormous spectacle, they match the seriousness of his intent. This is art history as it should be: told through close attention to the visual qualities and what contextual meaning they convey. Vive l’histoire de l’arte.
Jacques-Louis David, “Mars Being Disarmed by Venus” (1824), oil on canvas
Installation view of Jacques-Louis David
Jacques-Louis David, “The Tennis Court Oath” (1790–94), oil on canvas
Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, “Jupiter and Thetis” (1811), oil on canvas
Installation view of Jacques-Louis David
Jacques-Louis David, “Intervention of the Sabine Women” (1799), oil on canvas
Jacques-Louis David continues at the Louvre Museum (75001 Paris, France) through January 26, 2026. The exhibition was curated by Sébastien Allard and Côme Fabre, assisted by Aude Gobet.
