On the large scale, the opera "Aida" is about a series of battles between Egypt and Ethiopia. The action takes place in Memphis, which is then the capital of Egypt. In one of these battles, the Princess of Ethiopia—that's Aida—has been captured, and she now lives as a slave, with no apparent duties, in the household of the pharaoh.
On the personal scale, the opera is about conflicted loyalties. Aida's problem is that she has fallen in love with the Egyptian general who will lead the army on its next invasion of her country. She sings touchingly of her love for her homeland and her father; she longs to return there. But her passion for the general overwhelms her, and she also longs for a peaceful life with him. She worries that he might be killed in battle, and fears that he might kill her father and brothers. Her conflicting emotions are so painful that she longs to escape in death; death is her only solace.
The general, Radamès, is not so conflicted. He has it worked out that if he can capture Ethiopia, he can win Aida for his wife, as a sort of reward. Radamès problem is that the Pharoah's daughter, Amneris, has a crush on him, and expects him to marry her. His passion for Aida is so great that he would rather be dead than live without her; for him too, death is the only solace.
It's a good thing that these folks are so eager for death, because that is the way it turns out. In the next battle, Aida's father, the King of Ethiopia, is captured and brought to the Egyptian court, where he observes the enemy general's love for his daughter. He pressures Aida to trick Radamès into telling her the route that the Egyptian army would use for its next invasion of his country. Naturally, he is overheard by Amneris, who betrays him to the priests. The priests condemn him to be entombed alive. But who should turn up in the tomb but Aida, who wants to share his fate. So the last, rather lengthy, portion of the opera shows them expiring in each other's arms, singing a poignant duet.
So the plot has a dismal trajectory, but many 19th century operas did. It's not unusual for the protagonists to end up dead, and it's not unusual for them to sing beautifully with their dying breath. The connection between love and death was taken for granted in those days, representing perfect forms of peacefulness. For the composer, the game was to see who could express passion, longing, struggle, suffering, and despair most beautifully. On that score, it's pretty hard to beat the composer of "Aida," Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901). Certain passages of the music popped out from the dense and somewhat comical background with a sound that was sublime, as beautiful as a blooming rose or dawn-tinged clouds.
The intensely personal arias and duets of Aida, Radamès, and Amneris are mixed with grand scenes of public ceremonies and rituals. There's one for the choosing of the general, one for sending the army off to battle, and a grand triumphal parade when they return, bringing with them prisoners of war. The set and the costumes for the the Pharaoh's court are elaborate and grand. Entertainers please the court and the audience with clever songs and dances. The triumphal parade even features live horses. "Aida" is known for its spectacle.
This particular performance, from the Metropolitan Opera in HD broadcast to local cinemas, had some drawbacks. Most importantly, Roberto Alagna, the French tenor who sang the part of the general, Radamès, is a small man, shorter than average and fairly trim; he always seems to be straining to fit a part that is too big for him. He was wearing clunky boots with inch-thick bases, but he was still shorter than the two women who adored him, who were both taller than average and quite chunky as well. The role of Aida was sung by Liudmyla Monastyrska, a Ukrainian soprano, and Amneris was sung by Olga Borodina, a Russian mezzo-soprano. Singers are cast for their voices, not for their looks. At his best, Alagna's voice is ringing and clear, noble and true. Monastyrska is capable of going from sweetly rippling high notes to growling depths with no air of strain. Borodina has a big rich voice, too commanding for the dreamy, self-involved character she was playing. The king of Ethiopia, Amonasro, was sung by baritone George Gagnidze, who tended to dominate the scene with his hammy acting.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Monday, July 6, 2015
J.M.W. Turner: Painting Set Free
It seems rather rude to have three first initials. They stand for Joseph Mallord William. I wonder if his friends called him Joe. He was born in 1775, so his career extends into the early 19th century. This was a period of romanticism and spiritualism in painting. He liked to quote the poetry of Lord Byron, and sometimes wrote poetry of his own to complement his paintings.
An exhibit of the paintings from the last few decades of his life, currently at the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park, is called "Painting Set Free" because he upended painting as it was known in his time, opening up new approaches that have influenced painters ever since.
What he really loved was landscape painting, but he was a little self-conscious about this because in his time it was ranked below history painting, so most of his landscapes and seascapes are associated with well-known stories from Roman or British history, especially in the early part of his career. Later he began depicting current events and contemporary interests.
No matter what the subject, all his paintings are dominated by atmospheric light effects, sometimes driven to imaginary heights. He developed skill at accurate rendering of a scene early on, but as he aged, his work became less detailed, more vague, approaching abstraction; sometimes light in itself becomes the subject. Seeking for atmospheric effects, his brushwork became loose and free, imitating the movements of wind and waves. This bravura brushwork was mind-blowing to his contemporaries and freed his successors to brush the paint expressively, to let the hand's movement support the painting's meaning.
My favorite paintings were from the 1830s when he was still using a lot of realism. One of his greatest works depicts a horrible fire that consumed the British Parliament in 1834. Turner actually witnessed this conflagration himself and made sketches at the time. It's ironic that horrible disasters like fire, volcanic eruptions, and atomic explosions can be quite beautiful when depicted in art, and the great fire is beautifully done. By contrast, the bridge across the Thames is an accurate architectural rendering. The dark streaks in the water, when examined closely, become various types of boats, and the muddy cloud around the bottom resolves into a crowd of onlookers on the opposite shore.
Below is a very traditional work. It's ostensible subject, the god Mercury talking to the monster Argus, is just an excuse. What do you actually see? The mellow sun of the late afternoon lights up a distant port, a hovering castle, a lone tree, a babbling creek, a few cows in the foreground—and a couple of guys talking. They could be fishing or drinking beer. You may not have been any place quite this beautiful in reality, but you have been in settings that gave you the same rich, peaceful feeling. Who needs mythology?
Two of his dreamiest paintings depict Rome. One imagines ancient Rome at the height of its power. To make it more interesting, he adds a story. In his day, all the educated men—the academics, art collectors, and critics who formed his audience—would know the story of Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus, but does it really matter? First we see a sunset with the moon rising; we see the grandeur that is Rome, with its great forums and towers and the mighty bridge across a river. We see people on both shores of the river. One boat crosses the river, where a small group of women await it. It is of minor interest to know that Agrippina, the woman in the small boat, is transporting back to Rome the ashes of her husband, Germanicus, who was killed in Antioch as a result of rivalries in the Imperial family. Her act had long been seen as a symbol of wifely devotion, but Turner also thought the murder heralded the decline of Imperial Rome. The light expresses fading glory.
Its companion piece depicts Modern Rome, modern to the artist in the early 1800s. It shows Rome in picturesque ruins, occupied by cattle. The painting is constructed in three bands. The top section, almost half the picture, is limpid blue sky, perhaps in the early morning. Across the middle is a pink and yellow atmosphere that resolves into highly detailed renderings of well-known buildings, including modern churches as well as the ancient coliseum and the forum. Across the bottom, so muddy it seems insignificant, people are camping and goats are grazing; the rise and fall of the Roman Empire was an important subject in British education.
What fascinates me about Turner is that the closer you look, the more detail you see. He doesn't throw his whole meaning on the surface; he drags you closer and forces you to keep looking.
Venice is one of the most atmospheric cities in the world, and Turner loved it there, returning frequently to paint picturesque vistas. Notice that his palette is becoming more restrained; shades of white dominate this image.
During the 1840s, some of his paintings come close to ditching subject matter altogether. In this depiction of a snow storm at sea, the steam-boat is little more that a dark blob in a swirl of dark and light; in fact, the whole image reminds me of a black hole sucking in everything around it, even the light.
In the next painting, supposedly of a sea monster at sunrise, what you see is weak sun irradiating a hazy fog; the ocean is barely indicated and the monster is a slightly darker blob with eyes. The subject is the thinnest excuse to paint foggy morning light; your eye is drawn toward a yellow pool like your soul being drawn toward spiritual depths.
The story goes that Turner's dying words were, "The sun is god." You could certainly believe that he felt this way. Here's his version of the Apocalypse, the last days of the world; an angel in the middle of a golden aura announced the end. If you study the vague swirl around the figure you can see scenes of violence from the Old Testament, but from a distance it looks a lot like a close-up of the sun with its solar flares.
For the last three paintings of his life, he returned to a mythical interpretation of the history of Rome. The story of Aeneas and Dido is complicated to explain, though well-known at the time, and the figures in the paintings are unpleasantly muddy to view. The following example shows that what Turner really wanted to render in paint was a radiant shaft of light pouring through the middle of a darkish landscape, dividing it in half. For what? Perhaps to represent the gap between good intentions and action? Perhaps to show the force of destiny infusing the situation? He just wanted to focus on that light, like the light at the end of the tunnel when you pass into the afterlife.
I'm not saying Turner is my favorite painter—haziness and muddiness can be hard to take—but he was an important influence on the history of painting because he was a great talent and he had a great mind. I was happy to have paid him a visit.
An exhibit of the paintings from the last few decades of his life, currently at the de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park, is called "Painting Set Free" because he upended painting as it was known in his time, opening up new approaches that have influenced painters ever since.
What he really loved was landscape painting, but he was a little self-conscious about this because in his time it was ranked below history painting, so most of his landscapes and seascapes are associated with well-known stories from Roman or British history, especially in the early part of his career. Later he began depicting current events and contemporary interests.
No matter what the subject, all his paintings are dominated by atmospheric light effects, sometimes driven to imaginary heights. He developed skill at accurate rendering of a scene early on, but as he aged, his work became less detailed, more vague, approaching abstraction; sometimes light in itself becomes the subject. Seeking for atmospheric effects, his brushwork became loose and free, imitating the movements of wind and waves. This bravura brushwork was mind-blowing to his contemporaries and freed his successors to brush the paint expressively, to let the hand's movement support the painting's meaning.
My favorite paintings were from the 1830s when he was still using a lot of realism. One of his greatest works depicts a horrible fire that consumed the British Parliament in 1834. Turner actually witnessed this conflagration himself and made sketches at the time. It's ironic that horrible disasters like fire, volcanic eruptions, and atomic explosions can be quite beautiful when depicted in art, and the great fire is beautifully done. By contrast, the bridge across the Thames is an accurate architectural rendering. The dark streaks in the water, when examined closely, become various types of boats, and the muddy cloud around the bottom resolves into a crowd of onlookers on the opposite shore.
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| The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, 1834 I shot all the photos in this post on my iPad. |
Below is a very traditional work. It's ostensible subject, the god Mercury talking to the monster Argus, is just an excuse. What do you actually see? The mellow sun of the late afternoon lights up a distant port, a hovering castle, a lone tree, a babbling creek, a few cows in the foreground—and a couple of guys talking. They could be fishing or drinking beer. You may not have been any place quite this beautiful in reality, but you have been in settings that gave you the same rich, peaceful feeling. Who needs mythology?
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| Mercury and Argus, 1836 |
Two of his dreamiest paintings depict Rome. One imagines ancient Rome at the height of its power. To make it more interesting, he adds a story. In his day, all the educated men—the academics, art collectors, and critics who formed his audience—would know the story of Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus, but does it really matter? First we see a sunset with the moon rising; we see the grandeur that is Rome, with its great forums and towers and the mighty bridge across a river. We see people on both shores of the river. One boat crosses the river, where a small group of women await it. It is of minor interest to know that Agrippina, the woman in the small boat, is transporting back to Rome the ashes of her husband, Germanicus, who was killed in Antioch as a result of rivalries in the Imperial family. Her act had long been seen as a symbol of wifely devotion, but Turner also thought the murder heralded the decline of Imperial Rome. The light expresses fading glory.
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| Ancient Rome: Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus, 1839 |
Its companion piece depicts Modern Rome, modern to the artist in the early 1800s. It shows Rome in picturesque ruins, occupied by cattle. The painting is constructed in three bands. The top section, almost half the picture, is limpid blue sky, perhaps in the early morning. Across the middle is a pink and yellow atmosphere that resolves into highly detailed renderings of well-known buildings, including modern churches as well as the ancient coliseum and the forum. Across the bottom, so muddy it seems insignificant, people are camping and goats are grazing; the rise and fall of the Roman Empire was an important subject in British education.
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| Modern Rome—Campo Vaccino, 1939 |
Venice is one of the most atmospheric cities in the world, and Turner loved it there, returning frequently to paint picturesque vistas. Notice that his palette is becoming more restrained; shades of white dominate this image.
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| The Dogano, San Giorgio, & Citella, 1842 |
During the 1840s, some of his paintings come close to ditching subject matter altogether. In this depiction of a snow storm at sea, the steam-boat is little more that a dark blob in a swirl of dark and light; in fact, the whole image reminds me of a black hole sucking in everything around it, even the light.
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| Snow Storm—Steam-Boat off a Harbour's Mouth, 1842 |
In the next painting, supposedly of a sea monster at sunrise, what you see is weak sun irradiating a hazy fog; the ocean is barely indicated and the monster is a slightly darker blob with eyes. The subject is the thinnest excuse to paint foggy morning light; your eye is drawn toward a yellow pool like your soul being drawn toward spiritual depths.
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| Sunrise with Sea Monsters, c. 1845 |
The story goes that Turner's dying words were, "The sun is god." You could certainly believe that he felt this way. Here's his version of the Apocalypse, the last days of the world; an angel in the middle of a golden aura announced the end. If you study the vague swirl around the figure you can see scenes of violence from the Old Testament, but from a distance it looks a lot like a close-up of the sun with its solar flares.
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| The Angel Standing in the Sun, 1846 |
For the last three paintings of his life, he returned to a mythical interpretation of the history of Rome. The story of Aeneas and Dido is complicated to explain, though well-known at the time, and the figures in the paintings are unpleasantly muddy to view. The following example shows that what Turner really wanted to render in paint was a radiant shaft of light pouring through the middle of a darkish landscape, dividing it in half. For what? Perhaps to represent the gap between good intentions and action? Perhaps to show the force of destiny infusing the situation? He just wanted to focus on that light, like the light at the end of the tunnel when you pass into the afterlife.
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| Mercury Sent to Admonish Aeneas, 1850 |
I'm not saying Turner is my favorite painter—haziness and muddiness can be hard to take—but he was an important influence on the history of painting because he was a great talent and he had a great mind. I was happy to have paid him a visit.
Saturday, June 27, 2015
San Francisco's Museum District: Center of Diversity
It started with the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, on Third Street, near the Convention Center, and by now there are five museums in that district around Third and Mission, and another is planned. SFMOMA is a major institution with a national reputation for its great collection. Currently it is closed because it is undergoing a huge expansion; the new wing towers above the old. But the smaller museums all around it are humming. The first arts institution to nestle in nearby was the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, right across Third street. This is not a museum, but a center that offers a program of art exhibits and theater presentations of the most avant-garde type. On Mission Street, between Third and Fourth, is the Contemporary Jewish Museum, located in a re-purposed PG&E power station. Tucked into a slot in the St. Regis Hotel Tower, with an entrance on Mission Street, is the Museum of the African Diaspora. Directly across the street is a storefront housing the California Historical Society, and moving up Mission toward New Montgomery Street you will find a Cartoon Art Museum and the GLBT Historical Society. It would be easy to fill a day museum-hopping. All of these places are small—a half-hour or an hour is plenty for a visit—but taken together they provide an experience of the city's cultural diversity and vitality.
Many other artists were represented, for a total of fifty works of art; about six or eight were important. If you are interested in contemporary African American art, Thomas, Wiley, and Ofili are the artists to watch for.
After a pleasant stroll through Yerba Buena Gardens, we came to the Contemporary Jewish Museum, a venue for exhibits of both art and history. The most striking thing about this museum is its architecture. Originally, the PG&E power station was in a handsome brick building with traditional decoration. Internationally famous architect Daniel Libeskind was brought in to expand it and turn it into a museum. His addition looks like an irregular shipping container dropped on one corner. Since it is a dark mass in the shade of taller buildings, it's impossible to get a good photo of it.
No photography is allowed within, except for the foyer where a 90-foot long work of art composed of geographical globes is suspended from the ceiling.
The main exhibit was called "Night Begins the Day." This contained quite a range of artworks that were loosely united by the nebulous theme. Most of the works were interesting, and well-displayed, but only a few artists were famous, such as Josiah McElheny and Fred Tomaselli.
It's not like these museums are about "them"—some group of "others" that we don't have to care about. In principle, all of us derive from the African Diaspora, since Africa was the home of the first humans, who then migrated to different regions and mutated into different types. As far as Jewish culture is concerned, their historical role in creating and conserving American culture can hardly be overstated. Remember that "God Bless America" was composed by Irving Berlin, who meant it with an immigrant's passion. Museums expand our perspective.
The museum district will be enhanced by the addition of the Mexican Museum. Currently located in Fort Mason it is destined to occupy a fine old building on the corner of Mission and Third. The Mexican Museum has a good collection, but its location is out of the way and not good for art. A museum of Latino art would be a perfect complement to the Mission Street cultural corridor.
On a recent afternoon, we managed to fit in two of these venues.
The Museum of the African Diaspora attracted us with an exhibit called "Portraits and other Likenesses," a selection of work by African-American artists drawn from SFMOMA. The most interesting aspect was a tableau of a living room designed by Mickalene Thomas. Thomas is best known for her colorful portraits of Black women looking bold and sassy. Often the setting for the portrait is a cluttered room that expresses the sitter's personality. This tableau appeared to be the setting for one of her portraits, but I now wonder if the tableau was in itself the work of art. It is upholstered and decorated in a manic, mismatching style that embraces what is cheap and ordinary. It was so real that I tried to walk into it, to take a photo of a painting inside the room, but so strange that it was surreal. Photos were not allowed but I found this photo on the internet that looks very much like what we saw.
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| Tableau by Mickalene Thomas, born 1971 Internet Grab |
There was also a movie that Thomas made about her mother, a classy and resilient person. There were some prints of her paintings, but none of her wildly patterned paintings themselves, which was a disappointment.
Mickalene Thomas' male counterpart is Kehinde Wiley, who became famous for painting Black men in the manner of the Old Masters.
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| Kehinde Wiley, born 1977 Alexander the Great Jan's iPad |
Thomas and Wiley are contemporary, living African American artists. Historical precedent for their approach was set by Robert Colescott. His work is still very powerful. Across the bottom of this painting is the legend, "Wishing on a Prime Time Star."
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| Robert Colescott, 1925-2009 Colored TV Jan's iPad |
Another contemporary painter, Chris Ofili, is best known for his paintings that incorporate elephant dung and sparkles. The exhibit had a good example, but it was in terrible light. I'm including it here because of the similarities in style and attitude with the previous examples. The painting rests on two balls of elephant dung, and a similar ball is used as a pendant in a necklace. He created quite an uproar when he titled a similar painting featuring elephant dung, The Holy Virgin Mary.
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| Chris Ofili, born 1968 Princess of the Posse, 1999 iPad photo |
After a pleasant stroll through Yerba Buena Gardens, we came to the Contemporary Jewish Museum, a venue for exhibits of both art and history. The most striking thing about this museum is its architecture. Originally, the PG&E power station was in a handsome brick building with traditional decoration. Internationally famous architect Daniel Libeskind was brought in to expand it and turn it into a museum. His addition looks like an irregular shipping container dropped on one corner. Since it is a dark mass in the shade of taller buildings, it's impossible to get a good photo of it.
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| Contemporary Jewish Museum by Daniel Libeskind iPad photo |
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| David Lane Lamp of the Covenant iPad photo |
It's not like these museums are about "them"—some group of "others" that we don't have to care about. In principle, all of us derive from the African Diaspora, since Africa was the home of the first humans, who then migrated to different regions and mutated into different types. As far as Jewish culture is concerned, their historical role in creating and conserving American culture can hardly be overstated. Remember that "God Bless America" was composed by Irving Berlin, who meant it with an immigrant's passion. Museums expand our perspective.
The museum district will be enhanced by the addition of the Mexican Museum. Currently located in Fort Mason it is destined to occupy a fine old building on the corner of Mission and Third. The Mexican Museum has a good collection, but its location is out of the way and not good for art. A museum of Latino art would be a perfect complement to the Mission Street cultural corridor.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Death of a Salesman: Still Relevant after all these Years
Death of a Salesman is a beautifully written play by Arthur Miller, one of the foremost dramatists of the first half of the 20th century. It concerns day-dreaming versus realistic thinking as realized in the life of a traveling salesman. Toward the end of the play, one of the minor characters sums up the theme: A salesman's gotta dream; it comes with the territory.
The San Jose Stage Company recently revived this classic. Yesterday was the final show of the run, and it was a terrific performance. All the actors conveyed their lines with just the right attitude, just the right tone, just the right pacing. We have seen this play in movies and on TV with big-time actors and big-time emoting, but Miller's lines are even more convincing when delivered by more regular people in a more normal way.
The San Jose Stage Company has a very nice playhouse, just the right size, about 250 seats on three sides of a projecting stage, with no curtains. Even at the back of the house, we were only 10 rows from the action, and the seats are tiered so we could see fine.
During the intermission we happened to meet a traveling sales woman. She was quite excited because a play written long ago related to her current concerns.
But everyone has the problem of what to do about dreams. Somehow you gotta have dreams, but they can get you into a lot of trouble, and keep you from finding yourself. Your real self has to be grounded in reality, as well as you can figure it out.
The San Jose Stage Company recently revived this classic. Yesterday was the final show of the run, and it was a terrific performance. All the actors conveyed their lines with just the right attitude, just the right tone, just the right pacing. We have seen this play in movies and on TV with big-time actors and big-time emoting, but Miller's lines are even more convincing when delivered by more regular people in a more normal way.
The San Jose Stage Company has a very nice playhouse, just the right size, about 250 seats on three sides of a projecting stage, with no curtains. Even at the back of the house, we were only 10 rows from the action, and the seats are tiered so we could see fine.
During the intermission we happened to meet a traveling sales woman. She was quite excited because a play written long ago related to her current concerns.
But everyone has the problem of what to do about dreams. Somehow you gotta have dreams, but they can get you into a lot of trouble, and keep you from finding yourself. Your real self has to be grounded in reality, as well as you can figure it out.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
LA County Arboretum: Glamorous Garden
What makes a public arboretum glamorous? Peacocks, for one thing. The Arboretum boasts a resident flock of wild peacocks, strutting and posing like starlets.
A wide range of exotic and mature plants is attractively arranged. You can tell these plants have been here a long time because of their great size.
Artfully designed and carefully maintained gardens are part of the glamour.
And for a final glamorous touch, there's even a Hollywood set: a Queen Anne style cottage that was used in an old TV show called "Fantasy Island." Many's the time I've watched Tattoo call out "Da plane, da plane" from the tower.
This cottage points us toward the history of the Arboretum. This land was originally part of Rancho Santa Anita, a large fertile area with good water resources. In 1875 it was purchased by an investor and real estate speculator known as "Lucky" Baldwin. It was he who imported the peafowl from India to adorn the estate, and it was he who built a woodwork encrusted cottage as a Guest House.
Friendly docents provide background information.
The Arboretum is located in Arcadia, but you can feel the nearness of Hollywood.
These wood relief carvings hanging in the Visitor Center express the mood.
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| I took this and all the photos in this post with my iPad. |
Artfully designed and carefully maintained gardens are part of the glamour.
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| The Rose Garden |
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| Queen Anne Cottage |
Friendly docents provide background information.
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| Docent and Dan |
These wood relief carvings hanging in the Visitor Center express the mood.
Friday, May 22, 2015
The Norton Simon Museum: One of the Great Private Art Collections
Pasadena is the home of one of the world's greatest private art collections: The Norton Simon Museum. It's a wonderful thing when an ambitious and successful businessman turns his attention to art. He collects art with the same systematic and aggressive approach that he uses in business, and he has so much money to put into play. And then, the most wonderful part is that he feels an urge, a necessity, to share his treasure with the general public. And the result is that for a mere $12 adult admission, any ordinary person can live like royalty for an afternoon, experiencing one masterpiece after another. Norton Simon said that an art museum is like a substitute for a church, and I agree: a place to worship beauty, truth, and creativity.
As you enter the parking lot (parking is free), this dominating work by Barbara Hepworth, one of the foremost sculptors of the mid-20th century, announces that this place is about Art.
You might recognize the museum's façade: it is the first building on the route of the Rose Parade down Colorado Boulevard.
As you enter the parking lot (parking is free), this dominating work by Barbara Hepworth, one of the foremost sculptors of the mid-20th century, announces that this place is about Art.
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| Barbara Hepworth Four-Square (Walk-Through), 1966 I took this photo and all the photos in this post with my iPad |
The grounds of the museum features some extraordinary trees.
The front garden has several important works by Auguste Rodin, the foremost sculptor of the late 19th and early 20th century.
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| Auguste Rodin, 1840-1917 Saint John the Baptist, 1878-1880 |
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| A serpentine waterway complements the shape of the museum. Across the pond is a sculpture by Maillol. |
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| Aristide Maillol, 1861-1944 The Mountain, 1937 |
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| Ancient tree trunk has a sculptural quality. |
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| This smoke tree complements the brick facing. |
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| This sculpture by Henry Moore blends in with the tree behind it. |
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| Henry Moore, 1898-1986 Draped Reclining Woman, 1957-58 |
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| Henry Moore, 1898-1986 Family Group #1, 1949 |
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| Aristide Maillol, 1861-1944 Three Nymphes, 1930-1937 |
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| Barbara Hepworth, 1902-1975 Assembly of Sea Forms, 1972 |
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| James Whistler, 1834-1903 Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1 (Portrait of the Artist’s Mother), 1871 |
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| Édouard Manet, 1832-1883 Émile Zola, 1868 |
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| Paul Cézanne, 1839-1906 The Card Players, c. 1892-1896 |
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| Paul Cézanne, 1839-1906 Vase of Flowers, 1880-81 |
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| Henri Fantin-Latour, 1836-1904 White and Pink Mallows in a Vase, 1895 |
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| Claude Monet, 1840-1926 The Artist’s Garden at Vétheuil, 1881 |
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| Camille Pissarro, 1830-1903 The Poultry Market at Pontoise, 1882 |
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| Vincent van Gogh, 1853-1890 The Mulberry Tree, 1889 |
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| Vincent van Gogh, 1853-1890 Portrait of the Artist’s Mother, 1888 |
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| Pierre Bonnard, 1867-1947 Portrait of Leila Claude Anet, 1930 |
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| Vasily Kandinsky, 1866-1944 Open Green, 1923 |
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| Vasily Kandinsky, 1866-1944 Heavy Circles, 1927 |
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| Henri Matisse, 1869-1954 Nude on a Sofa, 1923 |
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| Pablo Picasso, 1881-1973 Woman with a Book, 1932 |
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| Diego Rivera, 1886-1957 The Flower Vendor (Girl with Lilies), 1941 |
Here are a few outstanding works from the 1700s. Notice how polished they look, as though the human hand were not involved.
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| François Boucher, 1703-1770 The Beautiful Country Woman, c. 1732 |
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| Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, 1755-1842 Theresa, Countess Kinsky, 1793 |
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| Marie-Geneviève Bouliar, 1763-1825 Self-Portrait, 1792 |
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| Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, 1780-1867 Baron Joseph-Pierre de Mortatieu, 1805 |
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| Rembrandt van Rijn, 1606-1669 Portrait of a Bearded Man in a Wide-Brimmed Hat, 1633 |
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| Rembrandt van Rijn, 1606-1669 Self-Portrait, c. 1636-1638 |
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| Baciccio, 1639-1709 St. Joseph and the Infant Christ, c. 1680 |
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| Jan Brueghel the Younger, 1601-1678 Flowers in a Gilt Tazza, c. 1620 |
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| Rachel Ruysch, 1664-1750 Nosegay on a Marble Plinth, c. 1695 |
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| Peter Paul Rubens, 1577-1640 The Holy Women at the Sepulchre, c. 1611-1614 |
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| Frans Hals, 1580-1666 Portrait of a Young Man, 1650-1655 |
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| Jacopo Bassano, 1510-1592 The Flight into Egypt, c. 1544-1545 |
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| Jan Massys, 1509-1575 Susanna and the Elders, 1564 |
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| Botticelli, 1444-1510 Madonna and Child with Adoring Angel, c. 1468 |
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| Raphael, 1483-1520 Madonna and Child with Book, c. 1502-03 |
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