Hey, Tuesday. Thanks for the long weekend, America. Hope yours was as lovely
as mine. I was in Philadelphia with my family- the Northeast was in fine
form this weekend, with that hint of chill in the air that I find
irresistible. Perfection. I do get homesick in the Fall. Sigh...
final days of the late period Renoir show at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Going to that museum is good enough by itself- I have always been completely
obsessed with it- the Twombly room, the Nevelson sculpture outside framing
the sky, the medieval armor room. It's such an incredible place- probably my
favorite art museum of all, for nostalgic reasons more than anything, I
suppose. I remember wanting to live in it as a child. (Yes I had quite an
imagination...thinking big even back then). So back to the Renoir show- Renoir was the first artist I can recall being
inspired by when I was still in ponytails and knee socks. When I look back
now, I can see why. I have always been drawn to figurative art- whether it's
fashion illustration or photography, and of course, painting. Renoir's use
of the figure in his painting is pivotal to his works. Many people in the
art world have been dismissive of Impressionism, but judging from the
crowds, the masses don't agree. The show was filled with paintings of
beautiful people from Renoir's everyday life- his son, his son's nanny, his
wife. Of course, the marshmallowy nudes that have been widely panned are
there as well, and I find them quite beautiful. And that's the thing about
Renoir I find really wonderful- his paintings are simply pleasant to the
eye- beautiful people in lovely costumes doing every day things, but so
elegantly and pretty, with a gorgeous soft palette. As a child I was
mesmerized by his depiction of creamy skin, rosy cheeks, and refined French
life. I guess my point is this- sometimes I just want to look at pretty
pictures, of pretty people and pretty things. What's so wrong with that?
Many feel that art should ignite, provocate, and incite. Of course it
should, but when you gaze at a Renoir you feel warm, happy, and seduced by
his beautiful and sensuous depiction of everyday French life, and that is
enough for me. I remain a fan, and would perhaps live in a Renoir painting
if I could.
Towards the end of his life, Renoir was stricken with severe rheumatoid
arthritis, which made it almost impossible for him to paint. With the help
of an assistant, he continued to paint as he moved to the South of France,
and continued to paint until the end of his life. He once said, "the pain
passes, but the beauty remains". I agree. And I thank Monsieur Renoir for
relieving me of some pain and stress this weekend as I gazed upon his lovely
canvases. Needless to say, I'm ecstatic to go to Paris and see more beauty
at every turn. Because sometimes, I just want to look at pretty things.
something from childhood that moved you and go check it out again through
adult eyes? It's fun to look at the stuff that formed you as a young one- do
it today. XO