The National Gallery exhibition, now over, was Impressionist Interiors, thereby smoothly catering to the main cultural interests of the middle classes who go to this kind of thing: Impressionism and Interiors. Some of the paintings that were supposed to be there never made it (lost in the post). And it could just as easily been called Degas and Friends. But that is no complaint. My angle here is just to reproduce the experience of dawdling through the rooms and stopping and staring, and thinking, idly. I also want to help the middle classes who go to this kind of thing. Many of them look at the gobbets of prose to the right of the picture and move on as though it was a treasure hunt. Relieved to be in the world of moveable type (such as you might find in a newspaper), they don't know that the thing to do is have a look.
Right, this, by Degas, did not appear at the exhibition, but it's very similar to one that did. Same pose, same light. As my art history teacher said: "It's alright to enjoy this, she's there for the scopic... taking!" What's great about Degas' nudes is that he gets the essentials: bums and breasts. As the middle classes say in galleries: "Very modern, in that sense."
This is Marxism! The maid carrying the basket and the well-off man are caught in the economic Real, therefore, they are painted in hard classicist colours. The well-dressed woman and her child can afford to be sentimenalised, therefore, they are painted in pleasure-giving Impressionist light. Don't be afraid, though, it is a beautiful picture.
Well, that's enough looking at pictures for today! Do go to the Hugh Lane show and the Chester Beatty show of Rembrandt prints. They're great.
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