Yesterday, I managed to get out to the Marmottan. This was an interesting museum, one that I had never heard of until I saw a segment about it and the latest show on tv. In addition to the permanent collection of Monets, they had a special show called 'Collection Privees' featuring, as you might expect, works from various private collections.
First of all, there was a line when I arrived at 4pm, which surprised me. It turns out that there were several groups of French tourists, doing just what I was doing: taking in the show before it ends on the 10th. This meant that there were some serious crowds in the tiny gallery, so I slipped past them to take in the permanent collection, where few of them bothered to go.
This was quite a disappointment, as it turns out. Reading about the creation of the collection, I learned that it was the result of a gift from Michel Monet, Claude's oldest son and last survivor, in the sixties. Apparently, he had inherited the remainder of Monet's works (after all the best ones had been purchased), and gave them to the Marmottan, in exchange, no doubt for some money and plenty of faux prestige. I can tell you that these were positively the worst works by Monet that I have ever seen. These were the very dregs, basically, the stuff that no one wanted to buy and that, I am sure, the painter himself would have burned, had he had the chance. So...I blasted through that, then returned to the collection privee, after the crowds thinned out, where I saw a very nice Lautrec (The Laundress) and a spectactular Redon (Apollo's Chariot). All the rest (including some Sisleys and Seurats) was just average and most was just detritus.
Then, I wandered upstairs to see the rest of the permanent collection, the stuff that was there before Michel Monet turned the Marmottan into the 'Monet Museum'. Here I found a lot of laughable 17th and 18th century paintings, some pretty remarkable 14th century triptychs and some interesting illuminated manuscript pages, though the latter were very poorly lit (I suppose to keep from damaging them).
But the best was yet to come. It turns out that for some reason--familial I think--the Marmottan has a large number of paintings by Berthe Morisot. She was not just a painter (and a reasonably good one) but was also the subject of a number of paintings by other impressionists. I rounded the corner to one gallery and there, amidst a group of lackluster paintings by Morisot and some dreadful watercolors by her niece (or something like that) was a tiny painting (maybe 12 x 16) of Morissette herself.
I was stopped cold, transfixed and delighted. Before I even looked to see who painted it, I spent a good ten minutes just taking it in, resonating with the pure joy that comes from just such encounters with delightful and delicious art. Then, I had a look to see who the painter was: Edouard Manet. I can't say I was surprised (she was a subject in a number of his paintings, most notably The Balcony), but I was even more delighted to see this one for the first time. Just looking at it, I had the sense that this was a painting of a beloved by a lover. Her eyes were magnetic, her look smoldering. Geez even I wanted her--my thoughts were, quite frankly, carnal.
When I got home, I looked it up: 'Did Manet and Morisot have an affair?' As it turns out, probably yes, but as with so many things, it was complicated. He was married when they met, and she ended up marrying his brother Eugene. There's no proof of their affair, of course, unless you count that painting. And I do--I mean, it's right there for all to see.
It goes to show that sometimes one finds a pearl in the oyster, eh? It's the reason I have a love/hate relationship with museums. Thanks Lynda ;^)
First of all, there was a line when I arrived at 4pm, which surprised me. It turns out that there were several groups of French tourists, doing just what I was doing: taking in the show before it ends on the 10th. This meant that there were some serious crowds in the tiny gallery, so I slipped past them to take in the permanent collection, where few of them bothered to go.
This was quite a disappointment, as it turns out. Reading about the creation of the collection, I learned that it was the result of a gift from Michel Monet, Claude's oldest son and last survivor, in the sixties. Apparently, he had inherited the remainder of Monet's works (after all the best ones had been purchased), and gave them to the Marmottan, in exchange, no doubt for some money and plenty of faux prestige. I can tell you that these were positively the worst works by Monet that I have ever seen. These were the very dregs, basically, the stuff that no one wanted to buy and that, I am sure, the painter himself would have burned, had he had the chance. So...I blasted through that, then returned to the collection privee, after the crowds thinned out, where I saw a very nice Lautrec (The Laundress) and a spectactular Redon (Apollo's Chariot). All the rest (including some Sisleys and Seurats) was just average and most was just detritus.
Then, I wandered upstairs to see the rest of the permanent collection, the stuff that was there before Michel Monet turned the Marmottan into the 'Monet Museum'. Here I found a lot of laughable 17th and 18th century paintings, some pretty remarkable 14th century triptychs and some interesting illuminated manuscript pages, though the latter were very poorly lit (I suppose to keep from damaging them).
But the best was yet to come. It turns out that for some reason--familial I think--the Marmottan has a large number of paintings by Berthe Morisot. She was not just a painter (and a reasonably good one) but was also the subject of a number of paintings by other impressionists. I rounded the corner to one gallery and there, amidst a group of lackluster paintings by Morisot and some dreadful watercolors by her niece (or something like that) was a tiny painting (maybe 12 x 16) of Morissette herself.
I was stopped cold, transfixed and delighted. Before I even looked to see who painted it, I spent a good ten minutes just taking it in, resonating with the pure joy that comes from just such encounters with delightful and delicious art. Then, I had a look to see who the painter was: Edouard Manet. I can't say I was surprised (she was a subject in a number of his paintings, most notably The Balcony), but I was even more delighted to see this one for the first time. Just looking at it, I had the sense that this was a painting of a beloved by a lover. Her eyes were magnetic, her look smoldering. Geez even I wanted her--my thoughts were, quite frankly, carnal.
When I got home, I looked it up: 'Did Manet and Morisot have an affair?' As it turns out, probably yes, but as with so many things, it was complicated. He was married when they met, and she ended up marrying his brother Eugene. There's no proof of their affair, of course, unless you count that painting. And I do--I mean, it's right there for all to see.
It goes to show that sometimes one finds a pearl in the oyster, eh? It's the reason I have a love/hate relationship with museums. Thanks Lynda ;^)
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