Not so sure - As if

As my time here in Paris continues to lengthen, I have noticed that the "givens," especially cultural ones, ideas, judgements, simple à priori conventions that I took as standard and written in stone, do not always necessarily cross cultural boundaries, even the most apparently shared and pervious ones.

The first is the ever prevalent idea that one is taught in art history classes throughout the anglo-saxon world: "The Triumph of the New York School."

Mark Tansey, The Triumph of the New York School, Oil on Canvas, 1984, 74 x 120 inches

The old gambit of this historicist interpretation of the rise of the New York school is that post-war America, New York in particular, took over from Paris to become the new "center" of the art world.  The heroes of Abstract Expressionism took over from the "old masters" of Modernism, and became the new leaders of the "avant-garde."  Of course, such simplistic definitions of triumph and of the idea of modernity do not necessarily hold water, but for an American artist, it is not a matter of dispute.  It is a given.  The triumph of abstraction is another example of this type of thinking.  It tells a nice story, but it isn't necessarily an absolute reality--perhaps except for the self-proclaimed members of the historicist argument.

As a foreigner here in France, it has taken time and lots of it to get to know people, to get beyond their centuries ingrained reticence, to begin to understand their thoughts.  And of course, the American interpretation of post-war triumph in the avant-garde is not shared by all here.  Indeed, the triumph of Impressionism and the School of Paris, may not be shared by all.  It appears to me that the different figures of our so-called New York School, may be seen by others, specifically here, certain French minds, to be just that, different artists with more or less successful careers, each artist painting more or less successful paintings.  For example, Mark Rothko may be truly loved and appreciated as a visionary poet, but that appreciation may not necessarily extend to either Pollock, de Kooning, or Kline.  And our American Pop Art mountain, well, despite his auction prices, Warhol to some is just clearly another pompier painter like Bouguereau (also one must add, one of the most influential and appreciated artist of his lifetime, if that is in itself a standard to judge art).

The Edward Hopper retrospective here in Paris right now at the Grand Palais, is the single most successful exhibition here this season, un évènement, so to speak .  It is the first time that the Parisian public have had a chance to see in person paintings that have been reproduced over and over again in magazines and newspapers, book-covers and other of the multitude of knick-knacks that dominate our simulated world.   I was at the retrospective with a group of friends, including a gentleman, in his late 70's, who had little knowledge of Hopper.  To this Frenchman, who feels that his sensibilities are more in tune with the 18th century of Fragonard, Hopper appeared to be stridently severe, antiseptic, and rigid.  Speaking with other friends, of a younger generation, culture vultures if you will, over dinner more recently, strangely, the same disappointment was noted--not contesting the beauty of many of the paintings in the retrospective, they spoke of leaving the exhibition with great reservation, not moved by the coldness of Hopper's paintings and their lack of "subtlety."  Of course, this is just anecdotal evidence, and I have no way of knowing what the majority of people here think of Hopper, despite the good press and reviews in the journals.  The evidence is in the paintings though, Hopper painted some truly magnificent pieces, they are there, individual and present at the Grand Palais.

I stopped by quickly at the Musée d'Orsay this past week as I had just finished reading a short biography on Paul Cézanne and wanted to see some of his work.  The museum had recently gone through some refurbishing and most of Cézanne's mature work is again up on the 5th floor, amongst the "impressionists".  The Musée d'Orsay is dedicated to showing the art of the 19th century, and as such, it has the luxuriant excuse of allowing itself to exhibit some of the most ghastly academic salon pompier paintings that the French state had acquired over the reigns of its restored monarchies, its Second Republic and its Second Empire, as well as its Third Republic . . .  On entering the main exhibition area, one is currently assaulted by not only the ever-present Thomas Couture confection of the "Decadence of the Romans" but, instead of the large Courbet masterpieces that once hung in juxtaposition against this bonbon, one is subjected to one after another of the most putrid examples of academic salon paintings, triumphantly exhibited in the main hallway of the former train station, as official an endorsement as one can imagine.

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, "Les Oréades", 1902, oil on canvas

One can understand the museum showing perhaps one example of each pompier painter, but to have all these enormous Bouguereaus and Company performances in full view in its main hallway, I wonder if there isn't another aesthetic being celebrated here.  Of course, the excuse is that the salon paintings are so large, they do need all the space available in the hallway.  Large indeed.

In order to visit the Cézanne paintings, one has to go up to the 5th floor ("for the light" one is told, but I wonder if it isn't just a sort of banishment), and lamentably, it is to come to an understanding that the French State has, compared to the reserves available for a small city like Philadelphia, not many Cézanne masterpieces in its reserves.

Paul Cézanne, "Pommes et oranges," Oil on Canvas, 1890

Is the triumph of the so-called "School of Paris" also subject to debate?  Of course, looking at the paintings themselves, there is no question that Cézanne is arms and shoulders a greater artist, a greater painter and a greater visionary than Bouguereau.  Luckily for us, he continued in his endeavor despite gaining absolutely no official recognition during his lifetime.  That recognition, even if it is an absolute given today, is not easily forthcoming on a visit to the Musée d'Orsay.  One has to go to the Barnes Foundation, now in Philadelphia, to see Cézanne's monumental Card Players. 

And facing Seurat's "Poseuses" on the other side of the main hallway of the Barnes Foundation, one has another Cézanne -- 

Paul Cézanne, Les Grandes baigneuses, 1895-1906, Oil on canvas, 52 x 86 inches

And down the street at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, another:

Paul Cézanne, Les Grandes baigneuses, 1895-1906, Oil on canvas, 83 x 99 inches

The main question one actually should ask is why these monumental Cézanne paintings are not at the Musée d'Orsay but instead in Philadelphia?  If they were, the main hallway of the old train station would not be filled with trite foamy ridiculous spectacle.  And most importantly, there would be no space left for those horrid bombastic pompiers.