Americans In Paris

This past summer I went to see the 'Americans in Paris' show at the MFA and I was just blown away. I've always had a soft spot for the impressionists, and Sargent is hands-down my all-time favorite artist, but this show was simply extraordinary (with the exception that it was rather heavy on the Cassatts, who I have never been particularly fond of. Had there been seven galleries of nothing but Sargents, I'd have crapped myself with glee!) and I came away from it with some very clear-cut ideas that I hadn't had before seeing such a large body of work from so many artists of the period in one space. For example, in seven galleries of paintings, there was but one tiny Prendergast oil which I had never seen before, and immediately upon viewing it realized that as brilliant as he was in watercolor, his magic simply doesn't translate to oil. It was disappointing. And Childe Hassam. He was magnificent when he first landed in France, but by the time he had returned to the States, his work was diluted, washed-out and stilted. In my opinion, he had lost his greatness while in Paris and came home a far worse artist for it.

I was in a lather when I first got wind of this show coming to Boston, and especially when I heard that Sargent's Madame X was to be one of the stars of the show. I adore this painting and all the controversy surrounding it in its day (Strapless: John Singer Sargent and the Fall of Madame X by Deborah Davis details both Sargent's and Gautreau's lives and the fall from grace they both endured through their own follies, this painting included- it's a great book) and I couldn't wait to pay it a visit in person. So imagine my surprise after boring my family to death with "Madame X is coming! Madame X is coming!" for months in advance of this show, only to get there, intentionally save it for last, passing it by without so much as a glance to come back to it after I had seen everything else, and then find that it wasn't the painting I kept gravitating back to over and over again (though spectacular a work it still is in my opinion).

No one was more surprised than I that after all my pre-show Sargent hysteria, my favorite turned out to be a small Metcalf oil of red poppies that I had never seen in person before, nor most likely ever will again as it's in a private collection. That and a very tiny Homer (who if you ask me would never rate even in my top 20, as as an artist he simply has never kindled a spark in me) that I also couldn't tear myself away from, and which was also from a private collection. As they were both in the same gallery, I thought if my husband could fake a seizure, I might have enough time to whip out a sharp blade, cut the two from their frames and pile-drive my way through the nosy crowd that would have gathered around my husband's limp form and make my way to freedom with my two little treasures before they were ever missed (the idea of only seeing these two pieces as pictures in a book again after being dumbstruck in their presence was more than I could bear). And as the only alarmed piece in the show was Whistler's Arrangement In Grey and Black, I might have had a shot at it, but my husband refused to be an accomplice, meanie that he is.

I was in the galleries for several hours, way longer than anyone accompanying me would have liked to have been there, with my nose pressed nearly up against most of the canvases going over brush strokes and light with maddening detail. I wanted to absorb every nuance of every canvas. And when my husband had finally persuaded me to leave, I suggested we pick up a few more tickets and go again, but alas no one else felt as strongly as I did about reliving this period in art so soon after our first visit, and going alone sucks. I don't particularly like to do anything alone, but in this case if I didn't take someone with me, who could I bore with my endless art prattle? Strangers aren't quite so tolerant as those we are close to. And being escorted from a museum for being a public nuisance isn't exactly at the top of my Things To Do Before I'm Dead list. So as such, I never did go back, but it was a hell of a rush while I was there.