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Updated: June 24, 2025
A disciple of Ridolfo, also, was Carlo Portelli of Loro in the Valdarno di Sopra, by whose hand are some altar-pieces and innumerable pictures in Florence; as in S. Maria Maggiore, in S. Felicita, in the Nunnery of Monticelli, and, at Cestello, the altar-piece of the Chapel of the Baldesi on the right hand of the entrance into the church, wherein is the Martyrdom of S. Romolo, Bishop of Fiesole.
Precious gold dripped from his palette, and throughout the Rhone valley there are, it is whispered by white-haired old men the memory of whose significant phrases awakes one in the middle of the night longing for the valley of Durance that if a resolute, keen-eyed adventurer would traverse unostentatiously the route taken by Monticelli during his Odyssey the rewards might be great.
He was one whose brain a lunar ray had penetrated; but this ray was transposed to a spectrum of gorgeous hues. Capable of depicting the rainbow, he died of the opalescence that clouded his glass of absinthe. Pauvre Fada! It is only a coincidence, yet a curious one, that two such dissimilar spirits as Stendhal and Monticelli should have predicted their future popularity.
It is a mountain path in the south of France. The sun is disappearing behind a cluster of trees. Rocks in the foreground. The scheme of colour is low for Monticelli, the forms sharply accented. He could see line when he wished. The smaller example is an interior, as rich as Monticelli knew how to lay the colours on.
The simple-minded Monticelli had no psychology to speak of he was a reversion, a "throw back" to the Venetians, the decorative Venetians, and if he had possessed the money or the leisure he hadn't enough money to buy any but small canvases he might have become a French Tiepolo, and perhaps the greatest decorative artist of France.
Poor "Fada"! The "innocent," the inoffensive fool as they christened that unfortunate man of genius, Adolphe Monticelli, in the dialect of the South, the slang of Marseilles where he spent the last sixteen years of his life.
And then came Monticelli, the première danseuse, in a coat and skirt, and then some of her rivals. And as the terrible Director did not protest, the room continued to fill until it was full to the doors, where stood a semicircle of soiled, ragged scene-shifters and a few fat old women, who were probably dressers. Who could protest on such a night? The democracy of a concerted triumph reigned.
His adoration of Monticelli and his jewelled style led him to Impressionism. But colour for colour's sake or optical illusion did not long hold him. The overloaded paint in his earlier works soon gave way to flat modelling. His effects are achieved by sweeping contours instead of a series of planes. There are weight, sharp silhouettes, and cruel analysis.
Only, Monticelli would have made the peacocks the central motive with the women and trees as an arabesque." He was a portraitist who solemnly believed in the principle of decoration character must take its chances when he painted. Falcroft was successful with women's heads, which he was fond of depicting in misty shadows framed by luxurious accessories.
He had been a devoted pupil of Eugène Boudin and could paint the discreet, pearly gray seascapes of his master. But Turner and Watteau and Monticelli modified his style, changed his way of envisaging the landscape.
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