Popular, Pretty, and Pedestrian

This past weekend I visited The National Gallery here in Washington, in part to meet up with friends from out of town, and in part to see the current exhibition, “Gustave Caillebotte: The Painter’s Eye”. The show, which runs through October 4th, explores the work of a lesser-known, but critically important member of the French Impressionist movement. While today Caillebotte (1848-1894) is not quite a household name, the reader is probably familiar with one of his images in particular, “Paris Street, Rainy Day” of 1877, at the Art Institute of Chicago. It has been reproduced on everything from iPhone covers to bed linens.

Part of the reason for his relative obscurity is that, unlike many of his contemporaries, Caillebotte did not have to paint for a living.  He sold very few works in his own lifetime, and even today most of his paintings remain in private hands. Hence, if you do go see the exhibition, which will be moving on to the Kimbell in Dallas-Fort Worth in November through February, you will not be permitted to take photographs.

It does not surprise me that Caillebotte is not as well-known today as his peers, for I must confess that the overall experience of seeing his work was underwhelming. More recent attempts to reevaluate his work notwithstanding, Caillebotte was not a particularly talented painter. There are occasional flashes of brilliance, but for the most part the works in this show are rather ho-hum. One rather large portrait of a French dandy, for example, put me in mind immediately of a similar portrait I saw last month in Norfolk by Caillebotte’s contemporary, the French realist painter Henri Fantin-Latour (1836-1904), and not in a good way.  Although virtually identical in subject matter, size, and even in the way the two gentlemen are dressed, Caillebotte’s painting is flatly painted, uninteresting, and tells me nothing about the sitter, whereas Fantin-Latour’s is gloriously executed, intense, and piercingly psychological.

Thus, while looking at the work of Caillebotte in this exhibition, we are meant to see how, as a member of the Impressionists, he was challenging the accepted notions of art in his day, in the way his figures look over balconies, or across bridges, or squat on the floor doing their work.  Yet all one sees is someone who usually chose to paint people from behind probably because, from viewing the other paintings in the show, he couldn’t paint faces very well. His “painter’s eye”, frankly, could have used a stronger pair of spectacles.  

The problem with this exhibition is that one walks away from the experience not simply unmoved by this painter, but largely unimpressed – ahem – with French Impressionism. While I am wading into treacherous waters in doing so, I will lay the fault for this not only at the feet of Caillebotte himself, but also at those of the movement itself. For it seems to me that Caillebotte, like many of his colleagues, was simply trying too hard to do something different, rather than concentrating on becoming a good artist.

Since today, prints of French Impressionist art are such an ubiquitous choice for hotel lobbies, waiting areas in doctor’s offices, and college dorm room walls, they do not shock us as they did those who saw them for the first time. Almost perversely, these images have become emblematic of the so-called “Establishment”, collected by very wealthy people to decorate luxury apartments on Fifth Avenue and vacation homes in Sag Harbor. They are the acceptable face of a type of art which supposedly decried artifice, but paradoxically sought to achieve the natural through artificial means – which of course is what art has always done.

A way to consider how the intended collective impact of French Impressionism has lost its strength is to ask yourself when was the last time that you found one of these paintings, shocking. Certainly they shocked Paris in the 19th century, looking for all the world like unfinished preparatory sketches, or the work of a child who had not quite grasped the principles of linear perspective. However more than this, today exhibition catalogues and museum placards often inform us that the shock was also due to their radical departure from acceptable themes in Western art.

This is something of an oft-repeated canard in art history and criticism, which it falls to me to stop from continuing to squawk.

While it is true that the Salon system of art competition in Paris in the 19th century tended to favor submissions exploring grand themes, it was hardly a bold, new idea in Western art to paint still lives, landscapes, or genre scenes – i.e., people doing ordinary things – often to great critical and popular acclaim.  By the time the French Impressionists came along many European artists, most notably the Spanish and the Dutch, had already created great masterpieces along these lines for hundreds of years. Even in France itself, painters such as Chardin, Van Loo, and the Le Nain Brothers had been painting such images for kings and queens, dukes and cardinals, centuries before the French Impressionists were even born.

For all their supposed shock value then, thematically speaking most of French Impressionism is, on the whole, a collection of pleasant, rather bland images.  Today, these images offer little or no challenge to the viewer, in the way that the Old Masters still can and do. Don’t believe me? Ask yourself whether you would feel more comfortable allowing an 8-year-old child to flip through a coffee table book, unsupervised, which reproduced the work of Monet, or one which catalogued the work of Caravaggio – or Titian, or Rembrandt, or Goya.  

Now, this is not to say that French Impressionism must be entirely dismissed as a genre, swept away as one must the entire oeuvre to date of someone like, say, Tracy Emin. If you cannot appreciate a Cézanne, particularly one of his later landscapes, then you need to rethink your level of art education. Not every work of art, after all, needs to look like a tableau or a photograph. As it happens, there are many paintings by the French Impressionists which I love – Monet’s “Woman with a Parasol – Madame Monet and Her Son” here at The National Gallery, for example, or Pissarro’s “Route to Versailles, Louveciennes” at The Walters in Baltimore.

That being said, one must recognize the fact that, whatever it may have meant to their contemporaries, today the art of these painters means something quite different to contemporary society. It is popular, pretty, and pedestrian. In effect, French Impressionism has become the “Dancing Queen” or “Come On Eileen” of the art world. And that is perfectly fine, as far as it goes, but it is often just a question of surface treatment. Personally, I require something more than just a pretty face from my art – assuming of course, that the artist is even capable of painting one.

image

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “Popular, Pretty, and Pedestrian

  1. I think perhaps the greater departure of the French Impressionist wasn’t of subject but of process. Before the French Impressionist period there was an established method to painting. The canvas was treated a certain way, and the pigments and eventual subject was built in specific layers and in some geographic areas even the palette was regulated. Artist being who there are often broke the rules but mostly because of cost not for the sake of expression. If an artist wanted to sell their works they had to comply. Resistance was futile.
    I don’t know for sure, but I think industrialization was already breaking down the school/apprentice system in bits and pieces (though it took eventual centuries) and that made room for the rule breakers to sell more, and that made for the French Impressionist. I my humble (really, inadequate) opinion, the best of the French Impressionist were those willing to explore heavier, but still moderate, impasto but not give up entirely on the hierarchal system of painting, They had solid under layers and used glazing as well. The very best were those that used glazing generously, but wisely keeping it subtle or even a bit hidden. I think Van Gogh side stepped glazing effectively, but keep the idea alive in his work by using a double loaded brush. He keenly realized it could never be exactly even, so he emphasized one color over the adjacent, one spectrum of the palette, warm or cool, over the other. Later Pissarro did much the same with pointillism.

    Liked by 1 person

    • PS, though William doesn’t recommend Caillebotte for any special effort, if anyone travels through DFW and they can extend their stop over, the Kimball is well worth a look. It takes about 45-60 minutes to get there and only 2-4 hours to properly enjoy the museum (it is small), but I always enjoy it there. Their permanent collection is good and they have a very nice cafe and atrium. It is relaxing environment.

      Like

  2. Far from being “rather ho-hum,” Caillebotte’s “Paris Street, Rainy Day, 1877,” is seen by some people as a stinging critique of Haussmann’s reconstruction of Paris. Those empty thoroughfares, those disconnected people going their own way under their umbrellas, those uniform vistas, all speak to a city of lonely individuals, unlike–so the argument goes–citizens of the neighborly medieval villages that Haussmann and Napoleon III destroyed.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Ha, ha. Perhaps this is another reason why they don’t allow photos — nothing as jarring as a painting with a poorly painted face 😳

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s