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Gustav Klimt: Gold, Pattern, and the Art of Embrace

Gustav Klimt prints, era by era: The Kiss, the woman in gold, and the shimmering Attersee landscapes, with the true stories behind them, all as framed canvas prints.
Gustav Klimt: Gold, Pattern, and the Art of Embrace - Canvas Classics

Gustav Klimt is the rare painter whose most famous picture is also his best. That almost never happens. Usually the crowd favourite is a pleasant minor work and the real achievement sits three rooms away, but with Klimt the gold, the pattern and the embrace all converge on one canvas and everybody, specialists included, agrees it is the one.

Getting there took him thirty years, and the road runs through imperial ceiling decoration, a public scandal that nearly ended his career, and a hundred quiet summers' worth of square landscapes almost nobody talks about. This guide walks the whole arc, era by era, with everything drawn from our Gustav Klimt collection.

A design for the Stoclet Frieze in Brussels, drawn at full size for craftsmen to execute in mosaic.

The Gold Engraver's Son

Klimt at twenty seven, still working in the polished academic manner that made him the establishment's favourite young decorator.

Klimt was born in 1862 outside Vienna, the second of seven children, to a gold engraver who struggled to find work. That detail matters more than most biographical trivia: the man who would eventually cover canvases in gold leaf grew up watching his father handle the material as a trade.

He entered Vienna's School of Applied Arts at fourteen and was so obviously gifted that he left as a working professional. With his brother Ernst and a friend he formed a decorating company that took commissions for theatres and public buildings, including the staircases of the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Allegory of Sculpture (1889) comes from these years and looks almost nothing like the Klimt people know.

The armoured goddess became the unofficial mascot of the Secession, the group of artists who walked out on the Vienna establishment in 1897.

Then in 1892 his father and his brother Ernst both died, within months of each other. Klimt stopped painting for years. What came back was different: darker, stranger, and no longer interested in pleasing the committee. Pallas Athene (1898) is the hinge. In 1897 he had helped found the Vienna Secession and become its first president, and this armoured goddess with her level, unfriendly stare is essentially a manifesto with a face.

A detail of a mural that no longer exists. Retreating SS troops burned the castle storing it in May 1945.

The manifesto had consequences. Vienna University commissioned three enormous ceiling paintings from him, and when Philosophy, Medicine and Jurisprudence were unveiled, professors signed petitions against them. Klimt eventually repaid his fee and took the paintings back, and he never accepted another state commission. Hygieia (1900 to 1907) is a detail from Medicine, and it is close to all we have: the originals were destroyed in a castle fire at the end of the Second World War.


The Golden Phase

Around 1901 Klimt began applying real gold and silver leaf to his canvases, a technique he took from Byzantine mosaics he saw in Ravenna. For roughly a decade he made the paintings that put him on every dorm wall in the world, and they are stranger and more deliberate than their popularity suggests.

Look at the patterns: rectangles on his robe, circles and ovals on hers. The whole painting is built on that one contrast.
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

The Kiss (1907 to 1908) was bought by the Austrian state directly off the wall of the exhibition where it first appeared, before Klimt had quite finished with it. It has never left the country since. The couple kneel at the very edge of a flower strewn cliff, which most reproductions crop out, and once you have seen the drop you cannot unsee it.

Klimt had the title beaten into the gold frame itself, and dealers still relabelled her Salome for decades because they found the biblical Judith too respectable.

Fulfillment, the panel at the top of this page, comes from the same gold years. It was made as a design for a dining room wall in Brussels.

Judith I (1901) was his first fully gilded triumph, and it caused a small identity crisis in the art trade. Klimt painted a biblical heroine holding the head of the general she had just killed; the market preferred to call her Salome, and the misnaming stuck so firmly that our own Judith II (1909) still carries both names.

A pregnant woman, a skull at her belly, three mourners at her feet. Klimt called it Vision when he showed it.

Hope II (1907 to 1908) shows what the gold was actually for. It is not decoration. The shimmer holds together a subject that would be unbearable in plain paint, and Klimt used that trick constantly: beautiful surface, difficult idea underneath.

Its long horizontal shape makes this one of the few Klimts that hangs naturally above a sofa or a bed.

Water Serpents II (1907) is the practical choice from this period. Most Klimts are square or upright, which limits where they can go; this one is built along a horizontal, so it solves the wall above a headboard in a way The Kiss never will.


The Woman in Gold, and the Portraits Without Any

Eight years after Judith I, the gold has thinned and the pattern has turned nervous and vertical.

The portrait at the top of this page has a second life as a court case. Adele Bloch-Bauer was a Viennese salon hostess, and her portrait was seized by the Nazis after the annexation of Austria and hung for decades in a state gallery under a neutral title. Her niece Maria Altmann fought Austria through the American courts and won it back in 2006. It sold that year for a sum that briefly made it the most expensive painting in the world, and it now hangs in New York. Klimt worked on it for three years and made well over a hundred preparatory drawings, and Adele is the only sitter he ever painted twice.

She was nine, and she stands with her feet planted like someone who has already decided she is not moving.

After about 1910 the gold drains away and the portraits get better. Mada Primavesi (1912 to 1913) is the finest child portrait of the century, and Portrait of Elisabeth Lederer (1914 to 1916) surrounds its sitter with Chinese figures.

Her family owned the largest Klimt collection in the world. Almost all of it burned in 1945 alongside the Faculty paintings.

The Lederers were Klimt's greatest patrons, and their collection met the same end as the university ceilings, in the same castle, in the same week of 1945. It is worth knowing how much of this artist we lost.

Seven figures tangled into one spiral. Count them and the composition suddenly makes sense.

The Virgin (1913) shows where the pattern went once the gold left: into colour, and into a knot of bodies so densely interlocked that most people never notice there are seven of them.


Summers on the Attersee

Every summer from 1900 Klimt left Vienna for the Attersee, a long lake in the Salzkammergut, and painted landscapes. They make up about a quarter of everything he ever produced, and they are the part of his work that collectors discovered last. Nearly all of them are square, and he composed them through a cardboard viewfinder or an opera glass, which is why they feel cropped out of something larger.

There is no sky and no horizon. Klimt tilts the ground up until the whole canvas is forest floor and trunk.
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

Beech Grove I (1902) is the one to start with. It is autumn beech forest reduced to vertical trunks and a carpet of copper leaves, with no sky at all, and it works in a room the way a good rug does. It reads as texture from across the room and as a real place up close.

Klimt reworked this canvas years after finishing it, which he did often and admitted rarely.

Pear Tree (1903) pushes further: the fruit and leaves become an all over mosaic of dabs, closer to the gold portraits than to anything a landscape painter was doing at the time.

Painted the same year as The Kiss, using exactly the same instinct for scattering small bright shapes across a field.
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

Mohnfeld (1907) is the summer counterpart to Beech Grove and the easiest Klimt landscape to live with, all red and green with the poppies functioning as pattern. Attersee (1900 to 1902) goes the other way entirely: almost the whole square is water, and the far shore is a thin band at the top.

Klimt rowed out onto the lake to paint it, which is the only way to get this viewpoint.

If that instinct for painting the same subject over and over sounds familiar, it should. Klimt was doing on the Attersee roughly what Monet was doing at Giverny in the same decade, and we traced that habit in our Monet guide. Klimt was also the man who brought the wider movement to Vienna: the 1909 exhibition he organised put Van Gogh, Gauguin and Munch in front of an Austrian audience for the first time, and you can read about the first of those in our Van Gogh guide.


Death and Life

It won first prize in Rome in 1911. Klimt then took it back and repainted the gold background grey, because he decided the gold was making death look too comfortable.

Death and Life (1910 to 1915) is the painting Klimt himself considered his most important figure composition, and the story of its revision tells you everything about him. He won the top prize at an international exhibition in Rome, and then took the canvas home and stripped the gold out of it.

The Italian state bought this in 1911, the same year Death and Life took the prize in Rome.

The Three Ages of Woman (1905) handles the same theme with more tenderness and less argument. Klimt died in February 1918 after a stroke, at fifty five, leaving a studio full of unfinished canvases.


Living With Klimt

The original was destroyed by fire in 1945. Every version you will ever see, including ours, descends from photographs.
And the same painting, framed on our bench.

A practical warning about the gold pictures: they need warm light. Under cool white LEDs the gold reads as mustard and the whole effect collapses. Bulbs at 2700K, or daylight from the side, and the leaf comes back. Malcesine am Gardasee (1913) has the opposite problem and none of the risk: it is a stack of pale Italian houses that will lift a dim hallway.

The central sunflower is shaped and posed exactly like the couple in The Kiss, painted a year later.

The second rule is not to hang two Klimts side by side. Both are pattern from edge to edge, and they cancel each other out. Give one the wall and let something plain sit next to it. Farm Garden with Sunflowers (1905 to 1906) is the exception that can carry a room on its own, and it is the friendliest entry point in the whole collection.


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Frequently Asked Questions

Why did Klimt use real gold leaf?

His father was a gold engraver, so he grew up around the material, and a trip to Ravenna showed him Byzantine mosaics using gold as a space. Our prints reproduce the leaf photographically, so you get the pattern and the warmth without a metallic surface that flares under a lamp.

Which Klimt suits which room?

Water Serpents II is horizontal and made for above a bed or sofa. The landscapes are square and work best alone on a narrow wall or at the top of a stairwell. The Kiss is the boldest choice in the collection and needs a plain wall and a decent gap on either side.

Are the colours accurate?

We print from high resolution public domain and museum open access files with archival pigment inks on cotton blend canvas, then stretch and frame each piece by hand. The workshop photographs above are our own finished pieces, shot on the bench before packing.

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