A Woman on Her Own

When you search for the art of Mary Cassatt in most museums, it’s hard to know where to look. Born May 22, 1844, Cassatt is often placed alongside the
French Impressionists with whom she worked and studied. Other times, her American nationality takes precedence and she appears in the American wing. What can’t be disputed, however, is her vital presence in the history of late nineteenth century art and the long history of women in art. Cassatt’s Mary At the Theater (above, from 1879) shows the influence of Edgar Degas, her greatest friend and teacher among the Impressionists. The same vibrant, almost pulsating pastel strokes Degas used in his works appear in Cassatt’s portrait set at the theater, a passion she shared with Degas. Thanks to the wealth of her family, Cassatt could pursue a career in art against all the obstacles society and the art world placed in the way of women artists.

After studying at the PAFA in a patronizing atmosphere where, she complained, “There was no teaching” for women, Cassatt traveled to Europe to study the Old Masters first hand. Jean-Léon Gérôme, who also taught Cassatt’s old PAFA classmate Thomas Eakins, began the string of male teachers and mentors that continued with Thomas Couture before ending with Degas and Pissarro. Whereas some other women artists pursued art as a way to obtain a husband, Cassatt remained focused on her career, never marrying. The domestic life she sacrificed for herself became her greatest subject in such works as The Child's Bath (or The Bath) (above, from 1893). The tender intimacy of these parent and child images demonstrates Cassatt’s psychological depth, even though such intimacies could only come for her with nieces and nephews.

I remember seeing in late 2006 Cassatt’s Little Girl in a Blue Armchair (above, from 1878) during the Americans in Paris: 1860-1900 show at the at the Met and being blown away. It’s hard to appreciate the sheer size of the painting in reproduction, which is as sprawling as the child herself. The freedom of the brushstrokes gives this work a tremendous energy, which is itself a paradox considering the lazing posture of the little girl. Cassatt not only copied the Impressionists but internalized the spirit of their movement. No other American so beautifully translates the French mystique of the Impressionists to an American setting. Cassatt was fortunate in that her family’s fortune freed her to follow her dream and pursue it all the way to Europe. How many other artists—women, African-Americans—would have flourished given a similar chance? Looking at Cassatt’s paintings, you truly appreciate how much more there could have been.

Decline and Fall

When history painting was en vogue in nineteenth-century France, Thomas Couture ranked among the top tier of the genre. Born December 21, 1815, Couture painted his epic Romans in the Decadence of the Empire (above) in 1847, announcing himself as a force in the Paris Salon. A student of Antoine Jean Gros and Hippolyte Delaroche, Couture absorbed the neo-classicism of Jacques-Louis David (Gros’ teacher) as well as the Romanticism of Eugene Delacroix and Theodore Gericault (friends of Delaroche). Amidst such esteemed company, Couture held his own as the art world around him began to evolve from the days of David to the new age of Manet.

Artists of the next generation, most notably Edouard Manet, Henri Fantin-Latour, and Pierre Puvis de Chavannes sought out Couture as a teacher. Couture’s Female Head (above, from 1857) demonstrates how he began to adopt some of the conventions of the time after history painting began to lose its prized place in the art world. Couture paints a young, modern woman with a confident look in her eye, mirroring the new assertive female of the nineteenth-century yearning for equal rights. Perhaps learning something from his students, Couture tired of the stuffiness of the Salon and went on his own way, teaching and painting free of all constraints.

Sadly, Couture could never fully bridge the generational gap and embrace the new wave led by Manet. His Damocles (above, from 1866) shows a return to the classical themes of his younger days. Couture’s ability to infuse a psychological life to his figures always remained, regardless of his choice of genre. We truly believe that Damocles dreads the infamous sworld perilously hanging above him. In his later days, Couture couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the work of his independent students, especially Manet. Looking at Manet’s The Absinthe Drinker, Couture snapped, “There is only one absinthe drinker, and that’s the man who painted this idiotic picture.” The painter of grand history paintings couldn’t abide the emphasis on the present and the individual artist. When asked to write his autobiography, Couture lamented that "biography is the exaltation of personality—and personality is the scourge of our time." Couture never gave in to the temptation of personality, preferring to slip gently into the shadows of the past.

Caught in the Middle

In late nineteenth century France, as the battle between the establishment Salon and outsider Impressionists heated up, finding the middle ground where both sides could agree was no easy task. In his many public murals and paintings, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes walked that fine line and appealed to both sides of the argument. Born December 14, 1824, Puvis’ work takes the classicism of the Salon and adds a neo-Symbolist flavor that caught the eye of younger artists such as Gauguin, Seurat, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Rodin. In works such as The Poor Fisherman (above, from 1881), Puvis could use the Salon-approved technique to depict the everyday life of the common man. Beneath that, however, Puvis added the unique psychological touches that make this more than just an image of a fisherman and his family.

After studying first under Eugène Delacroix and later under Thomas Couture, Puvis struck out on his own, often adding a religious side to the Romanticism he learned from his teachers. His Magdalena (above, from 1869) shows Mary Magdalene (of Da Vinci Code fame) standing in a desolate landscape contemplating mortality in the form of a skull. Again, Puvis takes a common religious subject and adds a twist, in this case a Hamlet-esque interior life that fleshes out the standard Biblical account of the first female disciple of Christ. Puvis depicted many scenes from the Bible, including the tale of the Prodigal Son, always going beyond the letter of the text and placing himself inside the head of the subject. This psychological insight makes Puvis seem quite modern today, which makes me wonder why his reputation has suffered so long.

Works such as Young Women by the Sea (above, from 1879) illustrate easily how Rodin could find Puvis so inspiring. Puvis' classical nudes in lively, dramatic poses easily appealed to Rodin’s interest in reviving the sculpted figure and resurrecting the vivacity that Michelangelo had injected into his sculpted and painted figures, both nude and clothed. In contrast to the scenery around Magdalena, the landscape and seascape behind these three figures conveys peace and harmony. The Eden-like vibrations coming off of this work could make it seem trite if not for the individualization of the three figures through their unique poses, which lend a graceful sense of movement to each of them. Puvis ranks among the many Salon painters of late eighteenth century France who have fallen thanks to the rise of Impressionism, which swept clean the memory banks of art history for that time. Hopefully, Puvis' time will come again and he will be seen as a hidden modernist in the guise of conservatism.