A Picture of Nothing
Look at the American label of Château Mouton Rothschild 1993. There is an empty space where a work of art should be.
It isn't a printing error. Nor was the château short of artists.
For decades, Mouton Rothschild had invited celebrated painters to create its vintage labels. Picasso, Chagall, Dalí and Miró were among them. For the 1993 vintage, the invitation went to Balthus.
His drawing showed a nude adolescent girl. It was recognisably his work: young female figures had appeared throughout his career, attracting both admiration and criticism.
In Europe, the illustration appeared on the bottle. In the United States, it did not.
The Drawing That Crossed the Atlantic
When the wine was prepared for release in 1995, American regulators initially approved the label.
But the image, along with promotional language accompanying it, attracted objections. As reported by the Los Angeles Times, a group of Napa Valley residents organised opposition, raising concerns about the sexualisation of a minor.
The American government had not banned the drawing. According to Château Mouton Rothschild's official archive, Philippine de Rothschild chose to withdraw the illustrated label from the US market and asked the authorities to cancel their original approval.
She could have commissioned another image. She could have redesigned the label entirely.
Instead, the château retained the pastel background and left the space once occupied by Balthus's drawing empty.
The Same Wine, Two Different Stories
I find the blank version more intriguing.
Not because I think the objections were necessarily wrong. A nude adolescent on an expensive bottle of wine raises questions that deserve consideration, even when the artist is famous.
And not because I know what Philippine intended. Perhaps the decision was primarily commercial. The United States was an important market, and withdrawing the image resolved an immediate problem.
What interests me is the result.
If she had replaced Balthus with another artist, the controversy might have disappeared from the object itself. Instead, the empty space seems to preserve a trace of the original choice.
There is also something rather personal about knowing what is missing.
Someone unfamiliar with the story might see an unusually restrained label. Someone who knows the history sees the absent drawing. The bottle holds a small secret, although nothing on its surface explains it.
Collectors eventually had two versions of the same vintage to consider. In a February 1997 review reproduced by Christie's, Robert Parker noted that the original illustrated label was selling for approximately $50 more than the blank American version.
The blank version was not necessarily the more valuable one.
But value and fascination are different things.
I would choose the bottle with the empty space.
I can't quite decide whether Philippine's solution was an elegant compromise, an act of loyalty to the artist, or simply a remarkably effective response to an uncomfortable situation. Perhaps it contains something of all three.
And perhaps you would have made a completely different decision.
Wine is never just wine. Sometimes the most interesting thing on a label is the picture you already know is missing.
