Cézanne in Provence
This weekend Isaac and I hosted a couple of friends, one of whom was celebrating a birthday, so we had a special outing on Saturday that included a visit to the National Gallery of Art (Washington DC) and dinner at Annie's Paramount Steak House (Dupont Circle). We went to the National Gallery specifically to see the "Cézanne in Provence" exhibition, which we did see. There were lots of people, and a line, but the wait was tolerable and one could see the paintings despite the crowd.
It was a very impressive collection of paintings, too. There's always something a little unreal but satisfying about finally seeing a painting, in the canvas, that one has seen reproduced in books for years. I was surprised to notice a few details that had never struck me before. For one, his technique really wasn't very good — he was not a virtuoso with the paints like, say, John Singer Sargent. He also applied the paint in a surprisingly thin layer; the paint did not seem to be thinned in any way as a Renaissance master might do for fine detail, but just spread out in a thin layer. It was surprising how much unpainted canvas showed in many of the paintings.
Nevertheless, they're fabulous paintings — at least, many of them are. A still life with three skulls seemed rather uninspired to me. All his drawings and paintings of bathers: I would recommend he stick to the still lives and landscapes.
Some paintings that were familiar from reproductions were wonderful to see in person: that still life with peaches, that mountain in Provence that he painted obsessively, a haunting image of the Chateau Noir. Oddly, our friend with the birthday found the paintings basically cheerful, while I tended to feel there was something ominous and vaguely menacing about them. Perhaps it was just projection on my part.
There were also some that I'd never seen reproduced that were a delight to see for the first time; I particularly remember a portrait labelled something simple like "Portrait of a Peasant" painted in the most remarkable shades of blue. The expression on the face of the "peasant" was complex and enigmatic.
Given my jaded view of Americans as philistines, I'm always amazed at the number of people who will go to an exhibition like this and look at the paintings and consider and talk about them. I hate the crowds, but it does give me a bit of optimism that there's hope for us yet.
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on Monday, 6 March 2006 at 05.00
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I envy you the experience. Sounds like a wonderful evening.
More decades ago than I want to get into, I enjoyed visiting the Metropolitan, Guggenheim and Museum of Modern Art in New York. My recollections now are of a striking Rembrandt portrait, delightful Manet and Rodin exhibits — impressionists are my favorites — the exuberantly whimsical Jackson Pollack spatteramas, and the intricate grostesqueries of Max Ernst.
Thanks for summoning up the memories. I hope one day to get back that way and revisit the museums.