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"Gardens at Daubigny," by Vincent Van Gogh

“Gardens at Daubigny,” by Vincent Van Gogh

…walk into a bar. Oops, never mind. That’s another blog for another time.

Seriously, though, if you walk into the Phillips Collection here in DC you’ll meet them all – and more. Gaugin to Picasso: Masterworks from Switzerland, now on view, showcases some 60 works from the Staechelin and Im Obersteg Collections, normally on view in the Kunstmuseum in Basel. Rudolf Staechelin and Karl Im Obersteg were contemporaries of Duncan Phillips, the founder if this, the first museum of modern art in the United States, and like him, collected widely in the mid-nineteenth and twentieth centuries. This vivid show is the first to bring selected works from these collections to America.

"Nafea faa ipoipo (When Will You Marry," by Paul Gaugin

“Nafea faa ipoipo (When Will You Marry?),” by Paul Gaugin

Van Gogh’s “Gardens at Daubigny,” was painted in July, 1890, in the height of a glorious summer in Auvers, France. This is one of several paintings the artist made of Daubigny’s gardens, but the only one to feature a small black cat in the foreground. He wrote his brother Theo that it was “a picture I’ve had in my mind ever since I came here.” Tragically, Van Gogh took his life on July 29, 1890. Current thinking suggests that Van Gogh may have been bi-polar, with periods of frenzied painting and writing–Van Gogh wrote 800 letters in his lifetime–followed by periods of deep depression. That he could paint these gardens with such joy and take his own life shortly thereafter gives this swirling, wiggling image a kind of awful poignancy.

"Mont-Blanc with Pink Clouds," by Ferdinand Hodler

“Mont-Blanc with Pink Clouds,” by Ferdinand Hodler

The magnificent, “Nafea Faa Ipoipo (When Will You Marry?),” 1892, was painted during Paul Gaugin’s first stint in Tahiti. This enigmatic image of two Tahitian girls was recently sold to a private buyer, perhaps Qatari, according to a February 15, 2015 article in The New York Times. The selling price of $300 million was neither confirmed nor denied by a tight-lipped seller, none other than Rudolf Staechelin’s 62 year old grandson. News of the sale shocked Basel and sent some 7,500 people to the Kunstmuseum to see it before the gallery closed for renovation. The buyer, whoever he or she is, will take possession in January 2016. The present day Staechelin said, “In a way it’s sad…but…private collections are like private persons. They don’t last forever.” So…we’re even luckier to see this work before it may disappear from view.

"Kneeling Nude on Yellow Ground," by Cuno Amiet

“Kneeling Nude on Yellow Ground,” by Cuno Amiet

I have mixed feelings about this artist. While I find Gaugin’s penchant for going native more than a little condescending, and his involvement with a thirteen-year-old Tahitian girl (with his wife and child at home in France) repugnant, this painting is breathtaking. As a colorist, Gaugin is a master. I love the interplay between the two figures, the curving, sensuous body of the girl in native dress, and the stiff, upright carriage of the one in Western dress. Both look away from the viewer, in different directions, while the figure behind holds up a portentous hand, like a figure in a religious allegory.

"Study of Murnau--Landscape with Church," by Wassily Kandinsky

“Study of Murnau–Landscape with Church,” by Wassily Kandinsky

Another work still in the Staechelin collection is Ferdinand Holder’s “Mont Blanc with Pink Clouds,” 1918. The colors are so delicate yet so ravishing, the piece looks edible. It put me in mind of the paintings of Augustus Vincent Tack, who was an advisor to Duncan Phillips and whose art Phillips admired and collected. The iridescent, almost abstract image is flattened, yet seductively deep.

Speaking of ravishing: Swiss artist Cuno Amiet’s “Kneeling Nude on Yellow Ground,” 1913, is a knock-out. I love the quivering intensity of this girl’s body, her fixed gaze. It’s as if she’s intently waiting for her cue, maybe a cymbal crash, to leap up and take her place in the dance. She appears to be one of several nymphs in a frieze, perhaps representing spring.

Color, color, color! You could get drunk on the color in this show.

"The Frog," by Suzanne Valadon

“The Frog,” by Suzanne Valadon

Kandinsky’s “Study of Murnau—Landscape with Church,” 1909 blew me away. I love the way the landscape seems to tumble off the canvas, the riotous color, the yellow clouds flying up into the sky. Even the building looks impermanent, as if about to explode.

The gem of the show for me is Suzanne Valadon’s “The Frog,” 1910, in pastel and oil on paper. Valadon—the only woman in the show—was an artist’s model in Montmartre, a fall from a trapeze having ended her career as a circus performer. She modeled for Puvis de Chavannes, Pierre-August Renoir, and Toulouse Lautrec, among others, who encouraged her to pursue a career as a painter. Seductive, independent, and headstrong, she lived outside bourgeois rules, giving birth at 18 to a son, the artist Maurice Utrillo. Here, her “frog,” about to climb into a bathtub, shows a more muted palette than many of the works in this show, but the vigorous outlining is there, as is the coiled energy of the model.

"Absinthe Drinker," by Pablo Picasso

“Absinthe Drinker,” by Pablo Picasso

Picasso’s famous “Absinthe Drinker,” 1901, is displayed in the center of the gallery with a wonderful bonus painting on the reverse. Our drinker is bathed in color, but her eyes are dead, her face expressionless. The influence of Toulouse Lautrec and Gaugin are evident in the outlining and bold color. On the other side (Picasso was poor and canvas was in short supply) is a wild painting that was much more to my taste: “Woman at the Theater.” Isn’t she great? Here is a sophisticated Parisienne, whose gimlet eye misses nothing, nailing the viewer with a jaded expression as the theater crowd buzzes around her.

"Woman at the Theater," by Pablo Picasso

“Woman at the Theater,” by Pablo Picasso

Thirty years later, Picasso would paint very differently, reducing “Sleeping Nude,” 1934, to a series of orbs and swooshes, her head thrown back dramatically. But color and outlining are still important to him and to these collectors whose mutual eye and taste can be seen in works that span decades. Many other wonderful artists are represented here—Modigliani, Cezanne, Utrillo (Suzanne Valadon’s son), Pissarro, Manet, and Chaim Soutine among them.

"Sleeping Nude," by Pablo Picasso

“Sleeping Nude,” by Pablo Picasso

The show will be up until January 10, 2016.

http://www.phillipscollection.org/events/2015-10-10-exhibition-staechelin-im-obersteg

 

 

"Composition in Green," by Werner Drewes, 1935

“Composition in Green,” by Werner Drewes, 1935

Entering this ambitious exhibition, I immediately headed for the third floor where I knew I’d find artists at the heart of this modern collection: Marsden Hartley, Arthur Dove, John Marin, and Mark Rothko. It’s not that I didn’t want to see the earlier years, it’s just that I knew the third floor would likely take the entire time I had–it did. And it was enthralling. As the artist Kenneth Noland put it when he was living in Washington, DC in the fifties, “Going to the Phillips is like going to church.” Amen.

"Blue Still Life," by John Graham, 1931

“Blue Still Life,” by John Graham, 1931

This show, which takes up the entirety of the newer wing (showcasing more than 160 works by 120 artists) , represents the return of paintings and sculptures that have been travelling since 2010, both around the world (Madrid, Tokyo) and in the United States (Nashville, Ft. Worth, Tampa). It’s astonishing how many of the works seen here were first shown in a museum by Duncan Phillips, the Collection’s visionary founder—he began the collection in 1921 as the nation’s first museum to be entirely devoted to modern art.

"Maritime," by Karl Knaths, 1931

“Maritime,” by Karl Knaths, 1931

The first room, “The Legacy of Cubism,” gives us a purely American version in John Marin and Karl Knaths, who drew inspiration from nature; Stuart Davis and John Graham, who were influenced by Picasso’s exploration of objects for their own sake; and George GK Morris and Ilya Bolotowsky, who were pure abstractionists.

Shame on me, an ardent Phillips fan, for not knowing many of these artists well, if at all. If you’re like me, this show is a revelation with many “new” artists to enjoy. Among them, Werner Drewes, who was one of the 39 founding members of Abstract American Artists, and who studied with Kandinsky at the Bauhaus—you can see the influence in “Composition in Green,” 1935. Tucked in a corner by the elevator, this small painting literally grabbed me as I walked in. What energy, color and life!

"Abstraction, 1940," 1940, by Ilya Bolotowsky

“Abstraction, 1940,” 1940, by Ilya Bolotowsky

John Graham, a Russian born in Kiev who studied with John Sloan at the Art Students League, was also unfamiliar. Phillips was his first patron and admired Graham’s adaptation of Picasso’s use of heavy outlining in “Blue Still Life,” 1931. Despite its rather formal approach, there is something mysterious hidden in those shapes, and something satisfying about the way the artist resolves the composition.

While I’m confessing my art ignorance, let’s move on to Karl Knaths, whose large Provincetown-inspired painting, “Maritime,” 1931, was another discovery. The excellent notes accompanying the painting tells us that Knaths was influenced by Stuart Davis. He went on to influence many Washington artists himself, teaching for years at the Phillips Collection.

"Still Life with Saw," 1930, by Stuart Davis

“Still Life with Saw,” 1930, by Stuart Davis

Also new to me was Ilya Bolotowsky, another founder of the American Abstract Artists. His “Abstraction 1940,” 1940, echoes Miro in its charming biomorphism.

The stand-out work in the room entitled “Still Life Variations” is Stuart Davis’ “Still Life with Saw,” 1930. During his1928 year in Paris, Davis fell under the sway of the surrealists. This painting, with its recognizable yet flattened objects floating in space, may have had surrealist origins, but it’s all his own.

"Red Polygons," by Alexander Calder, 1950

“Red Polygons,” by Alexander Calder, 1950

“Degrees of Abstraction,” the third room, offers up this intriguing quote from Alexander Calder: “I think I am a realist. . . I make what I see. It’s only the problem of seeing it . . . the universe is real, but you can’t see it. You have to imagine it. Once you imagine it, you can be realistic about reproducing it.”

A mobile, “Red Polygons,” 1950, an untitled stabile, 1948, and a stand-alone sculpture, “Hollow Egg,” 1939, are all lit to great advantage, with fanciful shadows moving on the white gallery walls.

"Black Sea," by Milton Avery, 1959

“Black Sea,” by Milton Avery, 1959

I’m not a Milton Avery fan, but was struck by the dramatic “Black Sea,” 1959, which was influenced by his friendships with Mark Rothko and Adolph Gottleib, both of whom are present in this show.

"Rose and Locust Stump," by Arthur Dove, 1943

“Rose and Locust Stump,” by Arthur Dove, 1943

Arthur Dove, we learn, works “at the point where abstraction and reality meet.” How beautifully they meet in “Rose and Locust Stump,” 1943. This is the one I would steal and take home, given the chance.

Morris Graves gives us the luminous “Chalice,” 1941, gouache, chalk, and sumi ink on paper. This brooding piece finds an echo across the gallery in “Full Moon,” 1948, by Thedoros Stamos. Seeing reverberations in this painting of the work of Arthur Dove and Albert Pinkham Ryder, we learn that Phillips often paired this piece with Arthur Dove in the gallery.

"Chalice," by Morris Graves, 1941

“Chalice,” by Morris Graves, 1941

Acquired two years after the artist’s death, Jackson Pollack’s “Collage and Oil,” 1951, appealed to Phillips for its Asian aesthetic. Full of movement and intensity typical of this artist, it reads as a scroll.

"Collage and Oil," by Jackson Pollock, 1951

“Collage and Oil,” by Jackson Pollock, 1951

Another stop-you-in-your tracks piece, Kenneth Noland’s “Inside,” 1950, was the first to be shown in a museum. One is struck by the thought: what if Duncan Phillips had not taken up Noland, or the many other “unknowns” of the day? We’d be so much the poorer.

“Interior View of Ocean,” 1957, by Richard Diebenkorn, was the first by the artist to be acquired by the Phillips Collection. Duncan Phillips was introduced to the California artist by his nephew, Gifford Phillips, Diebenkorn’s primary patron. Paired with the evocative, “Girl with Plant,” 1960, both paintings are good examples of Diebenkorn’s Matisse-influenced figurative period. (See my blog post, “In Love with Diebenkorn, the Berkeley Years.”)

"Inside," by Kenneth Noland, 1950

“Inside,” by Kenneth Noland, 1950

In the room labeled “Abstract Expressionism,” Adolph Gottleib’s “The Seer,” 1950, stands out. With all the whimsy of Paul Klee, this large work appears to point the way to Jasper Johns’ fascination with targets and arrows.

"Interior View of Ocean," 1957, by Richard Diebenkorn

“Interior View of Ocean,” 1957, by Richard Diebenkorn

Bradley Walker Tomlin (another artist new to me) gives us a breath of spring air (which we all need right about now) in his “No. 8,” 1952, one of his “petal paintings,” in charcoal and oil on canvas. Nearby is Kenzo Okada’s “Footsteps,” 1954—a Japanese rock garden in the fog. Both lyrical paintings evoke the subtle Asian sensibility that Phillips often sought.

"The Seer," by Adolph Gottlieb, 1950

“The Seer,” by Adolph Gottlieb, 1950

The final small room gives us these treasures: Sam Francis’ “Blue,” 1958, Morris Lewis’ “Number 182,” 1961, and a late Rothko on paper, “Untitled,” 1968.

"No. 8," by Bradley Walker Tomlin, 1952

“No. 8,” by Bradley Walker Tomlin, 1952

As you have gathered, this one floor of this massive show has so much important art, it could well stand on its own. Stay tuned for floors one and two—or better yet, meet me there and we’ll enjoy it together!

“Made in America” is on view until August 31, 2014.

http://www.phillipscollection.org/exhibitions/index.aspx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1913 Armory Poster

1913 Armory Poster

The Phillips Collection in Washington, DC, has a knack for mounting shows that pull together beautiful art, thoughtful curator-ship, and illuminating ephemera. “History in the Making: 100 Years after the Armory Show” is no exception.

At the core of this exhibition is evolution: specifically, how the collection’s founder, Duncan Phillips, grew from—dare we say it?—a callow youth with a limited imagination into the visionary whose eye and intellect created this enduring modern art museum. In 1913 at age 26, Phillips, along with thousands of others, viewed the explosive show of avant-garde art in the 69th Regiment Armory in New York City. Appalled, especially by the Cubists, he later wrote a scathing paper trouncing the show: “… the air of studios in New York is charged with much talk about painting, talk that is full of fanaticism and mystification and real concern for the future of art … an International Exhibition of Modern Art quite stupefying in its vulgarity.”

"The Blue Room," 1901, by Pablo PIcasso

“The Blue Room,” 1901, by Pablo PIcasso

The Phillips show presents examples of Armory painters its founder had scorned and then collected avidly. Accompanying the show is an informative cell phone gallery tour.

“That they are doing something new cannot be denied,” Phillips said of the Armory artists, “although just what it is that they are doing, no one has yet perceived.” Picasso was just as puzzling to Phillips as the rest of the Cubists, but by 1927 he acquired “The Blue Room,” 1901, a safe choice for a first Picasso. Moody and intimate, it’s easy on the eye and not nearly as challenging as “Standing Female Nude, which was shown at the Armory.

"Standing Female Nude," by Pablo Picasso

“Standing Female Nude,” by Pablo Picassoeasy on the eye and not nearly as challenging as “Standing Female Nude,” which was shown at the Armory.

 

The French artist, Odilon Redon, showed his painting,

"Mystery," by Odilon Redon, 1910

“Mystery,” by Odilon Redon, 1910

“Silence” in the Armory show. Phillips acquired “Mystery,” 1910, seen here, in 1925. The sad-eyed woman seems to rise out of the swirl of flowers, or to be hiding behind it, as if she has no connection to the blooms.

“Sketch for Painting with White Border,” 1913, by the Russian painter Wasily Kandinsky, was acquired by Phillips in 1953. Hung near the Redon, the painting vibrates with jewel-like colors, and takes the eye for another circular journey. Kandinsky’s “Improvisation 22,” shown at the Armory, came in for the same ridicule as the Cubists, but canny Alfred Stieglitz, the photographer and modern art promoter, snapped it up for a reduced price of $500.

"Sketch for Painting with White Border," 1913, by Wasily Kandinsky

“Sketch for Painting with White Border,” 1913, by Wasily Kandinsky

"Flowers-Bouquet (Tulip Bulbs)", 1920-3, by Walt Kuhn

“Flowers-Bouquet (Tulip Bulbs)”, 1920-3, by Walt Kuhn

The Armory featured several American painters including Walt Kuhn. Here we see “Flowers-Bouquet (Tulip Buds),” 1920-23—almost an abstract, but not quite. Kuhn was among the founders of the Association of American Painters and Sculptors, the group that mounted the Armory show, and in 1912 traveled abroad to find paintings to include in the exhibition.

"Standing Woman," 1920, by Alexander Archipenko

“Standing Woman,” 1920, by Alexander Archipenko

Nearby hangs Alexander Archipenko’s “Standing Woman,” 1920, acquired in 1953. Crafted from oil and gesso on papier-mâché, this piece calls to mind the work of my father, James W. (Red) Boyers, who developed his own bas-relief technique. Red wasn’t a Cubist, however, as his piece “Transmigration,” 1969,

"Transmigration," 1969, by James W. (Red) Boyers

“Transmigration,” 1969, by James W. (Red) Boyers

shows. He took inspiration from natural forms, Native American imagery, and his own vocabulary of shapes.

Another American, Allen Tucker, known as “the American Van Gogh” in the early 20th century, put together the catalogue for the Armory Show where he exhibited five of his own paintings. He’s represented

"The Red Barns," 1923, by Allen Tucker

“The Red Barns,” 1923, by Allen Tucker

here by “The Red Barns,” 1923, which Phillips acquired in 1926. Our cell phone curator tells us that Tucker and Phillips met shortly after the Armory show and Phillips praised Tucker’s “vibrant” landscapes.

At the time of the Armory show, Phillips had called the actual Van Gogh “an unbalanced fanatic.” But in 1926, around the same time he bought the Tucker, he decided to buy his first van Gogh, one of five in the Collection. (Incidentally, the Phillips plans an exciting fall show which will examine Van Gogh’s repeated treatment of the same or similar images. Opening October 12, 2013, the show will bring together 13 of van Gogh’s “repetitions,” in some cases reunited for the first time in many years.)

"Resurrection," 1885, by Albert Pinkham Ryder

“Resurrection,” 1885, by Albert Pinkham Ryder

Finding Albert Pinkham Ryder’s “Resurrection,” 1885, among the jarring canvasses at the Armory must have felt to Phillips like he had run into an old friend. Considered an “old master,” Ryder, with his highly abstracted brooding scenes, clearly shows the roots of modernism in 19th century romanticism.  Ryder’s “Moonlit Cove,” also owned by the Phillips Collection, was shown at the Armory and will be included in the New York Historical Society’s fall show, “The Armory Show at 100.”

"Two in a Boat," 1891, by Theodore Robinson

“Two in a Boat,” 1891, by Theodore Robinson

American Impressionist Theodore Robinson was, like Tucker, new to me. His “Two in a Boat,” 1891, was hung in an Armory gallery devoted to important French, English, American, and Dutch painters, including John Henry Twachtman, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Gustave Courbet, Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, and others. Phillips viewed him as a “painter’s painter” and acquired this charming watercolor in 1920. A close friend of Monet, Robinson’s gestural brush strokes were influenced by European techniques, but his “careful rendering” of the figures here belies the 19th century realism of Winslow Homer and Thomas Eakins.

"Mont Sainte-Victoire," 1886-7, by Paul Cezanne

“Mont Sainte-Victoire,” 1886-7, by Paul Cezanne

Phillips first encountered Paul Cezanne at the Paris Salon Triennial in 1912. The exhibitors, including Cezanne, were “no more than a bunch of damn fools.” But by 1925, Cezanne was a “towering genius” in Phillips’ estimation. He bought “Mont Sainte-Victoire,” 1886-7, a softly rendered version of the mountain range near Cezanne’s home in the south of France.

The smaller room holds some of the most fascinating items in this show: a glass case full of Phillips’ original type-written monographs, journals, and letters, and the walls are hung with prints and small paintings.

"Purple Mountains," 1924, by Arthur B. Davies

“Purple Mountains,” 1924, by Arthur B. Davies

Among them, Arthur B. Davies’ sweet pastel landscape, “Purple Mountains” was made to accompany a 1924 monograph on the artist’s work by Duncan Phillips. Arthur Davies was president of the association that mounted the Armory show where he was represented by six works. Over the years, Phillips was to acquire 30 of Davies’ evocative landscapes. Phillips admired Davies’ “adventurous and anti-academic spirit,” our curator tells us, but mistrusted his foray into Cubism. This brings us to the most charming artifact in the show: Phillips’ journal in which he recounts how Arthur Davies “took his education in hand.” Placing a piece of glass over one of his realistic paintings, Davies “marked in chalk the contour of the masses,” then pulled away the glass with its “skeleton” tracings. Phillips saw that a “…Cubist picture is like a world rising out of chaos.”

Well worth lingering over, “History in the Making: 100 years after the Armory Show” will be on view at the Phillips Collection through January 5, 2014. http://www.phillipscollection.org/exhibitions/2013-08-01-exhibition-armory-show.aspx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Plums, Pears, Nuts and a Knife," 1926

“Plums, Pears, Nuts and a Knife,” 1926

I’ve always thought Picasso was over-rated, but never believed anyone agreed with me. After seeing this stunning show at the Phillips Collection in Washington, DC, I find that I’m not alone. Duncan Phillips, the founder of the Phillips Collection, felt that that Braque had advanced “the amazing innovations of Picasso.” Just so. In 1927 Phillips went on to say, “Braque is one of the few modernists who interests me and I must have a good example by him.” He paid $2,000 for “Plums, Pears, Nuts and a Knife,” 1926, the first Braque painting to be acquired by a U.S. museum.

Mariah Boone, the lead character in my novel, Still Life with Aftershocks, was heard to say, “Yes, a still life must be still, but it doesn’t have to be dead.” All throughout this show, I felt Mariah was looking over my shoulder enjoying the life pulsing from these works. Occasionally we high-fived each other when no one was looking.

"The Round Table," 1929

“The Round Table,” 1929

The show’s curator has assembled some 40 works from Braque’s “overlooked” mid-career and hung them in such a way that the viewer can see his evolution from the 1920s—“intimate and classical”—to the 1930s—“bold and ornamental—to the 1940s—“personal, daily life.” Many of these works are owned by the Phillips Collection and others have been drawn from varied institutions and private collections in the U.S and Europe.

“The Round Table,” 1929, is the first work in which Braque used sand, along with oil and charcoal, aiming for a tactile, layered effect. Among the many joys of this show are the profusion of quotes from Braque: “The guiding light of Cubism was the materialization of this new space which I could feel. So I began to paint mainly still lifes … another way of conveying the desire which I’ve always had to touch things.”

"Still Life with Grapes and Clarinet," 1927

“Still Life with Grapes and Clarinet,” 1927

Purchased in 1929 as a mate to “Plums, Pears, Nuts and a Knife,” “Still Life with Grapes and Clarinet,” 1927, brings together, almost as a collage, the images that Braque continued to paint over and over for decades. In this way, the show reminded me of another superb one the Phillips mounted some years ago: Giorgio Morandi lovingly, meticulously, rendered the same objects in a seemingly infinite number of combinations, light, and perspectives.

"The Napkin Ring," 1929

“The Napkin Ring,” 1929

In the second room a table sitting among the paintings tells a fascinating story. “The Napkin Ring,” an inlaid marble floor panel, one of four, was based upon four paintings made in 1929 for the Paris apartment of Alexandre P. Rosenberg. When the Germans confiscated the building in 1940, it was converted into the “Institute for the study of Jewish Questions.” Somehow the floor panels survived. The Rosenberg family (the full story needs to be told) managed to retrieve them in 1949 and had them made into tables. Now, the original painted panels are at the Cleveland Museum of Art, gifts from the Rosenberg family. The craftsman who made the table received direction from Braque and managed to reproduce the floating knife, filmy table cloth, and vivid lemon in stone.

"Still Life on Red Table Cloth," 1934

“Still Life on Red Table Cloth,” 1934

In the next room are paintings from Braque’s major exhibitions in Europe and the U.S. Carl Einstein, a friend and critic said of the 1933 Kunsthalle show in Basel, Switzerland, “Braque tirelessly varies the same motif and . . . heightens it . . . slowly and patiently he raises his aims.” You can see this process at work in “Still Life on Red Table Cloth,” (1934) and “Still Life with Guitar,” (1937 – 38). “The viewer retraces the same path as the artist,” Braque said, “and as it is the path that counts more than the thing, one is more interested by the journey.”

"Still Life with Guitar (Red Curtains)," 1937 - 38

“Still Life with Guitar (Red Curtains),” 1937 – 38

At around this time he also said, “In painting, the contrast between textures plays as big a role as the contrast between colors,” and, “It is all the same to me whether a form represents different things to different people, or many things at the same time.” This statement seemed particularly apt in referring to  “Glass with Fruit Dish,” 1931. Very abstract, this painting was inspired by Greek vase paintings that Braque saw in the Louvre. In it he carved thin lines in the black paint. “Objects do not exist for me except in so far as a rapport exists between them … it is the in- between that is the real subject of my pictures,” Braque said. Indeed, you can dwell in the in-between for hours in this show.

"Still Life with Pink Fish," 1937

“Still Life with Pink Fish,” 1937

“Still Life with Pink Fish,” 1937, with its wonderful acid green, was shown in Braque’s first U.S. retrospective, along with “Le Gueridon,” 1935, a long panel featuring the same wild wallpaper as in “Pink Fish.” This striking motif appears again and again in subsequent paintings to marvelous effect.

"Vase, Palette, and Mandolin," 1936

“Vase, Palette, and Mandolin,” 1936

At around “Vase, Palette, and Mandolin,” 1936, Braque’s epigrams on his art became hard to fathom and quite a lively discussion sprang up between several museum-goers, me, and the young staffer whose job it was to stand around and make sure no one touched any of those seductive surfaces. Braque said, “…the object is a dead thing. It comes to life when it is activated.”  What did he mean by “activated”? Brought to life by the artist’s enlivening vision? Further on, he says, “A still life is no longer a still life when it is no longer within arm’s reach.” One woman exclaimed, “That makes no sense at all!” We grappled with its meaning but didn’t have much success. It was a little like a Bob Dylan lyric which you intuit to be true, even if you couldn’t possibly say why.

"Mandolin and Score (The Banjo)," 1941

“Mandolin and Score (The Banjo),” 1941

“Mandolin and Score (The Banjo), 1941, is a knockout with its graphic persimmon tablecloth and wildly undulating banjo strap. “Studio with Black Vase,” 1938, is familiar from visits to Washington’s Kreeger Museum. This is the first appearance of a skull in Braque’s work, but he doesn’t use the skull as a reminder of human mortality as others have done. For him, “A skull is a beautiful structure and it is used to waiting.” Perfect subject matter for a maker of still life.

"Wash Stand before the Window," 1942

“Wash Stand before the Window,” 1942

“Wash Stand before the Window,” 1942, frames the open sky in a way that was eerily familiar. What did it remind me of? Suddenly it came to me, and after soaking up as much of Braque as I could for one visit, I went downstairs to find Pierre Bonnard’s “The Open Window,” 1921, one of my favorite paintings. Could Braque have seen it? One can only speculate and feel fortunate to be able to see both of them in this jewel of a gallery.

"The Open Window," by Pierre Bonnard, 1921

“The Open Window,” by Pierre Bonnard, 1921

The show, which was organized with the Mildred Lane Kemper Art Museum at Washington University in St. Louis, will be on view until September 1, 2013.