Nancy
and I have just spent a marvelous afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum seeing MATISSE:
IN SEARCH OF TRUE PAINTING. This
incredible exhibition (organized by The Met, in collaboration with the Statens Museum for Kunst,
Copenhagen, and the Centre Pompidou, Musée National d'Art Moderne, Paris), which
opened in early December, is on display until
17 March 2013, and it simply should not be missed!
Matisse
(1869–1954) was one of the greatest French artists of the first half of the 20th
century, and when he was good, he was extraordinarily
good. Some of his work is among our very
favorite art of all time.
This
show, MATISSE:
IN SEARCH OF TRUE PAINTING, has assembled some fabulous examples of his
painting—some that we haven’t seen since the amazing 1992 retrospective of his
work at MoMA, and some we have never seen. (While many of
these great works are from museums we frequently visit [the Met, MoMA, and the Pompidou Center in Paris], many are from
places we seldom get to [Baltimore, St. Louis, Washington, DC, Philadelphia], some
from places we never get to [Denmark, Switzterland,
Finland, Belgium, and Houston], and some are from private collections. This
fact alone would make the show a necessary experience. But, in addition, this show has attempted to
bring together some of the works Matisse did in pairs or trios or series, which
provides a most unusual insight into the process of his creativity. As described by Rebecca Rabinow
for the Metropolitan Museum's presentation of the show,
Throughout his career, he questioned,
repainted, and reevaluated his work. He used his completed canvases as tools,
repeating compositions in order to compare effects, gauge his progress, and, as
he put it, "push further and deeper into true painting." While this
manner of working with pairs, trios, and series is certainly not unique to
Matisse, his need to progress methodically from one painting to the next is
striking. Matisse: In Search of True Painting presents this particular
aspect of Matisse's painting process by showcasing forty-nine vibrantly colored
canvases. For Matisse, the process of creation was not simply a means to an end
but a dimension of his art that was as important as the finished canvas. (from the Met’s website)
The
comments I quote below from the Met’s online presentation of the exhibition
were written by Rebecca Rabinow, who, along with Dorthe Aagesen, are
the editors of—and important contributors to—the very well-done and informative
catalogue from the exhibition, Matisse: In Search of True Painting,
ed., D. Aagesen and R. Rabinow,
Yale University Press, 2012. (FYI: this
book is readily available from Amazon.com
at $31.50—far below the Met’s $50 price tag.)
My remarks below are highly personal and impressionistic (as, of course,
is the selection of images I have included in my online version of this review);
for a fuller presentation of images and a more extensive, room-by-room
scholarly commentary, I very much suggest you check out the
Met’s online description of the show.
I do include some of what I considered the Met’s most insightful
comments along with my own, below.
Room One
The
online description notes,
Matisse turned thirty in 1899, the year
he painted Still Life with Compote and Fruit (1899) and Still Life with
Compote, Apples and Oranges (1899). He had not yet received any critical
recognition and worried that he would be unable to support his growing family.
For an artist on a limited budget, still lifes were
an obvious and inexpensive subject. Rather than rework a single picture until
it reached a definitive state, Matisse painted these two interpretations on
identically sized canvases. It is not known which was begun first. Both are
related to a larger composition of that year, Sideboard and Table (Kunsthaus Zürich).
Here
are images of the two still lifes Rabinow
is describing. They are both quite lovely, and interesting juxtaposed with one another. (I rather liked the former more than the
latter.)
Still Life with Compote and Fruit, 1899
Oil on canvas; 18 1/8 x 21 7/8 in. (46 x 55.6 cm)
Mildred Lane Kemper Art Museum, Washington University in St. Louis
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Still Life with Compote, Apples, and Oranges, 1899 |
Room Two
In
1906, Matisse painted two versions of the Young
Sailor. I rather like the earlier
version better. With is Picasso-esque, powerful, proto-Cubist
feel.
Young Sailor I, 1906
Oil on canvas; 39 1/4 x 32 in. (99.7 x 81.3 cm)
Collection of Sheldon H. Solow
In
the reworking, Matisse has simplified the elements—especially the background,
which he has reduced to a monochromatic pink (which Rabinow
claims “evokes Van Gogh's L'Arlésienne, which Matisse had tried in vain to purchase
several years earlier).
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Young Sailor II, 1906 |
In
the 1907-8 Le Luxe
II, creates a much more interesting, forward-looking, and—to me—pleasing—version
of the earlier 1907 painting, Le Luxe I (also in the show, along with a charcoal on
paper he did of this composition).
Although based on an academic theme, Matisse’s originality and freedom
shines through in this painting.
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Le Luxe II, 1907–8 |
In his pair of nudes from 1909. Nude with a White Scarf (below) is to me
a very good work, while I liked his earlier Seated
Nude far less—as did he, I believe.
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Nude with a White Scarf, 1909 |
Nancy
and I were totally caught by surprise—and blow away—by his 1912 Acanthus (Moroccan Landscape) (below), with
the incredibly vibrant and resonant range of the purples and violets,
contrasting with greens.
Acanthus (Moroccan Landscape), 1912
Oil on canvas, 45 ¼ x 31 ½ in,
(115 x 80 cm)
Moderna Museet,
Stockholm
Matisse
painted several views of the interior of his studio (in Issy-les-Moulineaux, just southwest of Paris interior), including Nasturtiums
with the Painting "Dance" I (below). In the background he has painted a representation
his large 1909 painting Dance (now
part of the permanent collection at MoMA), which at
the time was propped against his studio wall; in the foreground there are
objects from his studio—a chair and a tripod table with a vase of nasturtiums
on top of it. The second version (not
included here), is much more heavily worked over and dense in comparison to the
thinness of the pigment of the first; but ultimately it is far less satisfying.
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Nasturtiums with the Painting
"Dance" I, 1912 |
Room Three
This
room contained four paintings Matisse did of the cathedral of Notre-Dame—all interesting,
but the two large ones from 1914 quite wonderful. They all are views from his studio and contain
elements of his studio within them—some obvious, others, as in the one from MoMA (below), as subtle as a vertical line suggesting the
frame of his window, and curved line suggesting the railing of his balcony. As the online description notes,
Matisse's pictures of Notre-Dame are not
a series per se, at least not in the way that Claude Monet methodically
depicted some thirty views of the façade of Rouen Cathedral during his two
visits to that city in 1892–93. For Matisse the view was part of his daily
life. "I never tire of it," he said. "For me it is always
new." The two larger paintings of 1914 underscore issues that engaged
Matisse in that year: means of representation, the role of color, and the
question of what constitutes a finished canvas.
We
both thought that the one from MoMA (first, below)
was quite fabulous in the evocativeness of its minimalism, the subtle
complexity of its textures, and the elegant beauty of its colors—in particular
his marvelous handling of the shades and saturations of the blues.
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Notre-Dame, 1914 While
not as sublime as the painting above, the Notre-Dame,
also from 1914, below is also wonderfully pleasing. |
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Notre-Dame,
1914 |
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1914
is also the year in which Matisse painted some interiors which rank among our
very most favorite pieces in his oeuvre. |
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One, his sublime Interior with Goldfish (below), is one we spend a great deal of
time looking at in the Beaubourg in Paris—and paused
twice to spend time with in this show.
The deep, rich blues of the interior are highlighted with contrasting
orange elements (the diagonal of the window ledge, the flower pot, and the
goldfish themselves, the outline of the pillow and piece of furniture on
which it is placed, and the mix of colors on the top surface of that piece of
furniture), which actually function powerfully in creating the compositional structure
of the painting. And the details
within the work are endlessly fascinating and satisfying: the curved line of
the fish bowl which mirrors the curve of the underside of the bridge; the way
that the stems of the plant carry one’s eye around to the line of the stairs
on the quay). It is an amazing work of
art. |
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Interior with Goldfish, 1914 Goldfish and Palette, also from 1914
(and an old friend from MoMA) is far more abstract and
les directly representational than the one above, and exists far more on the
surface plane of the painting itself. There is a Cézanne-like tilt to table on
which the fishbowl is standing; and there is an almost Picasso-like sense of
geometry. It is another painting of
his we cherish and spend a great deal of time taking in. |
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Goldfish
and Palette, 1914 |
In
1916-7 he painted Sculpture and Vase of
Ivy (below), which is the far more interesting of the two by this name (the
earlier one, done in 1916, is not shown here).
In the later version, the deep blues add
meaningfully to the richness of the painting—and effect that is enhanced by
introducing the contrasting vertical tan element of the left side of the
composition. The tilted-forward top to
the dresser adds a Cézanne-like quality and tension to the composition—and there
is something reminiscent of Cézanne in the appearance of the fruit on that surface.
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Sculpture and Vase of Ivy, 1916–17 |
There
is only one of the three paintings of Laurette I
found at all interesting, and it was Meditation (Portrait of Laurette), below. Concerning the woman herself, the online
notes tell us that,
Laurette was the first
professional model with whom Matisse worked over a prolonged period. She posed
for him for six or seven months in 1916–17, a period of intense creativity that
resulted in some fifty pictures of her. Her presence was instrumental in
reorienting Matisse as he abandoned the restrictions inherent in painting in
pairs and fully embraced larger series.
As
with many of the good paintings of Matisse, this one seems to have elements
that are reminiscent of Cézanne—in this case some good allusions to his
portraits of Mme. Cézanne.
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Meditation (Portrait of Laurette), 1916–17 |
Room Four
The Open Window
(Room at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage) of 1917-8 (not
included here), is by far the least interesting of the three included in this
show. His 1918 Interior at Nice (Room at the Hôtel
Beau-Rivage) (below), an
almost identical view of the very same elements from the identical perspective,
is wonderfully different in the details of its presentation—and thus a much better painting, with much more
life in it.
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Interior at Nice (Room at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage), 1918 |
The
third of this group, Interior with a Violin
(Room at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage), also from
1918, is almost totally different from the other two, even though it is
essentially the same scene in the same hotel room. It is an exciting painting, with an intensity
created by the contrast between the blacks and grays of the interior and the blues
and greens in the bright light outside the window—with the counterpoint, of
course of the intensely bright blue of the interior of the violin case, and the
highlights of yellow and orange inside the room.. According to the online notes:
Matisse repeatedly returned to Interior with a Violin, painting over
his earlier composition. The predominant use of black and gray felt fresh to
him and enhanced his impression of "the silver clarity of the light in
Nice." Matisse considered it to be a particularly important work and later
commented that in this canvas he had used black to paint light.
I
had never heard his use of the phrase, “used black to paint light”—but I love
it!
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Interior with a Violin (Room at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage), 1918 |
Room Five
This
room features three paintings which are 1920 variations he painted of a spot on
the beach under the cliffs at Étretat. Neither of us found them to be very good or
interesting. I’d suggest sticking with
the far better paintings done of this area by Gustave
Courbet and Claude Monet.
The
three still lifes included from this period are
slightly better, but nothing to get excited about.
Room Six
The Large Blue
Dress
of 1937 (below) is not a particularly satisfying painting—particularly in its
subject matter, which we both found more off-putting than engaging. The details of line, color, and composition,
however, are quite interesting and merit close examination.
The Large Blue Dress, 1937
Oil on canvas; 36 1/2 x 29 in. (92.7 x 73.7 cm)
Philadelphia Museum of Art
Room Seven
Room
Seven contains a totally fascinating presentation of works from 1945. In December 1945, there was an exhibition of six
of Matisse’s paintings at the Galerie Maeght, in which each painting was accompanied by a series
of black and white photographs recording stages of that painting’s evolution. In this room, sets of three of the paintings
and accompanying photographs from that Galerie Maeght exhibition are presented.
We
were completely entranced by these presentations—but I must confess that both
Nancy and I misinterpreted the nature
of what was being shown in this room! We
thought these were multiple studies Matisse had done for each painting, not
photographs of stages of the paintings themselves. (We do not read the descriptions on the walls
of these exhibitions; we look directly at the work itself and develop our own
reactions. Only later do we consult the
catalogues and/or online information to get the curator’s take on what we have
seen.) Although wrong about the physical
nature of what we were viewing, it turns out we were not so off about the
meaning and artistic nature of what we were looking at. As the online notes say,
Matisse embraced the opportunity to put
his process on display at the Galerie Maeght. He repeatedly insisted to Aimé
Maeght that the only point of the exhibition was to
present "the progressive development of the artworks through their various
respective states toward definitive conclusions and precise signs." The
photographs proved that the paintings were the result of a complex process. By
agreeing to make them public, Matisse tacitly acknowledged that their presence
added to the viewer's understanding and appreciation of his work.
And
Dorthe Aagesen, co-editor
for the catalogue, wrote in one of her pieces in the catalogue, “Painting as
Film” (pp. 159f):
The photographs of Still Life with
Magnolia reveal how the painting gradually fell into place. Viewed as a whole, they may seem at first to
describe a linear progress towards a specific end, a movement toward
simplification and clarity as superfluous details are culled away, elements are
rendered more distinctly, and differences are accentuated so that each element
becomes a sign. Yet, upon close
inspection, they may also be viewed as a sequence of different—and, in
principle, equally valid—“takes” on how the final painting might have
looked. According to Marguerite Duthuit [Matisse’s daughter and often used source about his
works], her father had his works photographed only when he felt that they had
reached a certain stage of completion.
This suggests that in addition to capturing stages of the creative
process, the photographs were intended to capture different versions of a given
motif that had proved productive for that process. They may therefore be regarded as analogous
to the multiple canvasses that Matisse employed as he worked out various
versions of a painting.
The
least interesting of the three was his 1929 La
France (not shown here), a woman in a huge gown (described by the online
notes as “patriotic” and “dating to the early days of World War II.” The only thing of interest to me was the
subtle variations Matisse went through in the positioning of the woman’s arms
and elbows (which extend outward on both sides of her): at some stages they were more rounded in
overall form, at some more angular—but these minor variations greatly affected
the feel of the composition.
The
very most interesting was his 1941 Still Life with Magnolia (below).
The final painting is a good—but not great—one; but the process of
getting there was riveting. The online
note quoted him as having said, “He has put all of his strength into its
creation,” and that it was one of his favorites. Looking at the photographic record of the
stages of its progression (which we erroneously had taken to be separate
studies made for the final painting) was riveting: how it simplifies, combines,
changes emphasis; how problems appear and are resolved. I have included (below the image of the
finished painting) a reproduction of a page from the catalogue that shows all
six of the photographs of this painting included in the exhibit. We both we totally taken by “c,” the photograph
from 3 October 1941—and in particular by the way he has condensed the
representation of the flower and leaves into a marvelously draughtsman-like
composition. It was a version that we
both individually focused on as most exciting to each of us.
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Still Life with Magnolia, 1941 |
a. 7 September, b. 8 September, c. 3 October,
d. 6 November, e. 18 November, f. (final) December
The
third, The Dream from 1940 (shown
below), is also more interesting for its progression than for its end product. There are 14 photographs (8 of which I have included
below the image of the finished painting) of stages of the painting studies,
taken over the period January-September.
I must say I completely fell in love with the very first, from 7 Jan,
which I incorrectly took to be a perfectly wonderful drawing in its own right. The online notes report that The Dream, “engrossed him for almost a year.
He told his son that at first it was ‘very realistic, with a beautiful woman
sleeping on a marble table amid fruit, [and it] has become an angel sleeping on
a violet surface.’"
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Room Eight
During
the War, Matisse ended up spending time in Vence, in
Provence; as the online notes say,
Matisse had the opportunity to leave
France at the beginning of World War II. He refused. "I would have felt I
was running away," he said. Health problems necessitated major surgery in
1941, and he spent the following years recuperating; worrying about his wife
and children, who were active in the French Resistance; and working as best he
could. Matisse remained in Nice until summer 1943, when, as a precaution
against bombing attacks, he moved farther inland. He created his final painted
series during the five-and-a-half years he spent in Vence,
while living in a rented house known as the Villa le Rêve
His
1946 Interior in Venetian Red (below), is a very simple still life which owes its specialness to
the off centered composition—two thirds of it is on the left half of the
painting—and the fact that the background is a rather uniform but intensely
rich shade of Venetian red. The effect
is quite stunning. Add to this the
playful abstraction of the evocation of the table and the floor tiles, and it
is a very effective work.
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Interior in Venetian Red, 1946 |
There
are three paintings in this room from 1948, all quite interesting. There is his rather playful Large Red
Interior, again wonderfully enhanced by the flattened walls (even across the
corner of the room) done in vibrant red—enlivened even further by the areas of brilliant
white, and the playful house pets in yellows at the bottom.
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Large Red Interior, 1948 |
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The second,
Interior with Egyptian Curtain (below), |
I am afraid would do better without its
Egyptian curtain—which makes it far too busy for my taste. The palm tree outside the window is fabulous—and
the pink table with its white bowl of fruit below the window is also wonderful. The fact that all of this is punctuated by
the mostly vertical diagonal if the curtain works quite powerfully—except the
brightly colored pattern of the curtain, while great in itself, seems
overpowering in combination with everything else going on in the painting. To me, a near miss at
greatness on this one.
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Interior with an Egyptian Curtain, 1948 |
The
third painting from 1948, Interior with
Black Fern (below), is a very interesting painting, but also just a bit too
busy for my taste. Nevertheless, its
individual elements are quite wonderful—the red tiles of the walls, the bright,
speckled yellow of the floor and striped yellow of the chair, and the stylized
woman in white sitting in that chair, and not least of which being the whole
idea of a black fern.
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Interior with Black Fern, 1948 |
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