When the painter gives Bitter des Diablerets a face

Frédéric Rouge’s name can appear in a museum, but also in the history of a bottle. The Bitter des Diablerets website recalls that Henri Leyvraz entrusts the brand’s advertising to his painter friend. This relationship opens another chapter of Rouge’s career. An image no longer seeks only to hold a visitor before a canvas: it must attract attention quickly, associate a form with a name and remain recognisable when reproduced. The painter enters an economy of visual dissemination.

The brand dates its creation to 1876 with François Leyvraz. It indicates that his son Henri has a factory built in Aigle in 1900. These references place the collaboration in an environment close to Rouge’s. The painter was born in Aigle and, after his studies, works in this region before settling in Ollon. This is therefore not necessarily a departure towards a distant milieu: a local commercial activity calls on the skills of an artist who already knows its places and some of its participants.

The history preserved on the Fondation’s website associates Rouge with a label, then with posters featuring notably a chamois and a red devil. Choosing the devil plays on the name Diablerets. A geographical word can thus turn into a character. This shift is particularly effective for a poster: viewers do not need to read a lengthy explanation to grasp the connection. The character acts as a visual translation of the name, and its colour can give the image a power of immediate recognition.

The brand’s current communication mixes historical references with legendary accounts. A mysterious Dutch traveller and a story associated with the devil accompany the drink’s origin there. They must be received as elements of the commercial narrative, not as proven events. This distinction also helps us look at Rouge’s images. The painter is not necessarily drawing up a document about a lived belief. He can give form to an imaginary world intended to circulate, condensing an Alpine atmosphere and a product name into a memorable figure.

The brand’s website claims that the devil posters caused a scandal. Without a precise press dossier on the reactions of the time, we cannot measure its extent or assign it protagonists. The information must remain attributed to this brand history. It nevertheless reminds us that a commercial image can produce more than quiet recognition. A familiar figure moved into an advertising context can surprise. Its effectiveness then rests as much on the curiosity it provokes as on the simplicity of its elements.

Advertising work also alters the relationship between original and reproduction. A unique painting can be admired for the material deposited on its surface; a poster must survive different formats, locations and gazes. This passage requires clear organisation. Details that work in the closeness of a studio are not all useful when the image is encountered quickly. Rouge must therefore employ another way of composing while retaining his knowledge of drawing. The poster reveals a painter’s capacity to change destination without abandoning his craft.

In museums, boundaries between fine arts, graphic arts and communication sometimes make these activities secondary. They are less so when we follow a region’s visual memory. A repeated image can encounter many more people than a canvas exhibited only once. Bitter des Diablerets thus offers another route to understanding Rouge’s presence in the Chablais. His portraits give individuals a face; his landscapes fix views; his advertisements give a brand signs we can carry away, recognise and find again. Drawing crosses uses, and part of the artist’s history continues on ordinary supports.