In appreciation of Mary Cassatt

Making connections

The Reading Lesson, Mary Cassatt. Photo from Wikipedia.

I saw Mary Cassatt yesterday.

Albeit not an unknown quantity — successful in her time and well regarded amongst experts — Cassatt is still a member of the millennia long cohort of women in fine arts, undervalued and underrepresented in the eyes of the modern global audience.

A staunch impressionist, she should certainly be counted in the elite roster (with Berthe Morisot), alongside Degas, Cézanne, and Renoir, but… mmm… nope, not quite.

Google trends, over the past five years, for Cassatt, Degas, Cézanne, Renoir and Morisot. Screenshot by author.

A relentless worker and a major innovator, she came-up with hosts of novelty techniques, especially in color printing and soft-ground etching, along with unique compositional strategies emphasizing asymmetry and original vantage points.

Most if not all of her subjects were women from her class (she was a well-off socialite from Philadelphia who emigrated to Paris), quite often with their offspring.

Not my world and not really my jam, to be honest.

I am much more of a chop-chop-whoosh-splash-Artemisia kind-of-person.

Judith Slaying Holofernes, Artemisia Gentileschi. Photo from Wikipedia.

But then, was it ever about the subject?

Does it even matter?

If it does, then it shall be pointed out that acclaimed rococo luminary François Boucher was actually a smut purveyor for royalties, painting lascive butt poses of 14 years old who would then get shipped to the king to become part of their brothel if the king liked what they saw on the canvas, with the gentle patronage of the Madame de maîtresse-en-titre.

Boucher’s run-of-the-mill teenager soft-porn, circa 1750. Photo from Wikipedia.

Yes, François Boucher was very much the XVIIIth century equivalent of a OnlyFans photographer in cahoots with Ghislaine Maxwell — and that would be putting it charitably.

Not that there is anything wrong with prostitutes or portraying them (although 14 years old prostitutes may legitimately raise a few eyebrows), nor nude painting (although there is indeed quite a difference between routine bawdiness as a quick flap support, and a masterpiece worth keeping around in a museum).

But then, there is a line somewhere between painting and pimping, and Boucher certainly crossed it a few times.

Don’t take my word for it — and before someone serves you some idiotic mumbling about the fact that “these were different times that we should not judge at the ell of ours” — just read what Diderot, Jean-François Millet and the Goncourt brothers had to say about Boucher: “un entraineur”, “une canaille” — a scoundrel and a ponce.

If on the other hand the subject does not matter, then what exactly would be wrong with painting small acts of care? Not manly enough?

To reinforce that point, it turns out that Cassatt was not particularly in love with kids — albeit a very secretive person whose personal life she safeguarded closely, she never had any baby herself, and dedicated her life to other pursuits than changing diapers.

A closer examination will further show that her paintings were not enamored goosey goosey gander snapshots, pandering to the needs of her audience raging maternal hormones, but carefully constructed studio compositions, routinely enlisting working class staff into modeling and showcasing subtle(r) social interactions largely ignored in fine arts before her.

Little Girl in a Blue Armchair

Little Girl in a Blue Armchair, Mary Cassat. Photo from Wikipedia.

… is probably Cassatt best known painting.

As I was ruminating on Boucher unwarranted legacy, this made me think evidently of Jean-Honoré Fragonard’s La Gimblette — a disturbing piece of paraphilia using the same elements as Cassatt, from yet another smut-peddler, albeit a somewhat subtler one — and a student of the former. The apple never falls very far from the tree, as it seems.

Well, again, and regardless of the moral angle of it — left as an exercise to the reader — there is painting a masterpiece on one side, and churning out titillating doodles on the other.

I had not previously seen “In the Loge”

In the Loge, Mary Cassatt. Photo from Wikipedia.

I particularly like the composition: a woman watching with binoculars something or someone we do not get to see, off frame — top left, the background dude checking her out, whom she might be ignoring deliberately.

I like to think that this is Cassatt’s tit for tat response to Renoir similarly titled La Loge (four years older), with the same elements: a woman as the main character, this one breaking the fourth wall, whilst the dude behind her is looking at something or someone else we do not get to see, off-frame.

La Loge, Renoir. Photo from Wikipedia.

The striking differences between the two paintings further outline each painter relationship and attitude towards their subject — Renoir, who was of modest origins, was very much looking up to the riches of the upper class — while Cassatt, born in it, perfectly at ease with her subjects and treating the fancies as decorum, gets to unearth an interesting under-current of dynamics that is painting a different portrait of women, and of that specific slice of time and society.

Cassatt’s lady is an active, central participant, maintaining a certain defiant social facade, with no consideration whatsoever for the viewer or her peeking admirer.

Renoir’s woman is passive, half-absently taking the pose for the painter and for everybody, and is a walking display of opulence. By all means, she is a trophy wife, that the hubby is flashing around and ignoring at the same time.

La Toilette

La Toilette, Cassat. Photo from Wikipedia.

Another piece that is hitting hard.

Was Cassatt aware of Hokusai’s “Woman”?

Likely.

Hokusai. Photo from Wikipedia.

Was she aware of Berthe Morisot woman at her toilette?

Most definitely.

Berthe Morisot. Photo from Wikipedia.

Was Bruce Davidson aware of any of these when he shot *Cathy fixing her hair in a cigarette machine mirror*?

Maybe? Maybe not?

Whether purposeful or not does not matter in the least.

Meaning is a byproduct of contemplation, as someone said — and making connections is the privilege of the viewer.

I do not love Cassatt. Actually, I am not big on impressionists generally. Nothing personal.

But with pieces normally scattered around and held at the Met, in DC, Philly… — it would have been a shame not to seize the too rare an opportunity to glimpse at the Woman at Work.

What you then make out of it is up to you.

I make connections.