Human Habitation: Exploring the Interior with the American Pre-Raphaelites
Critique 1:
At first, they seem somewhat at odds with the open-aired dreamscapes surrounding, but upon further consideration, they’re more similar than not. William John Hennessy’s “Mon Brave,” for example, captures a woman gazing longingly upon a portrait of her beloved away at war, her hair laying about her shoulders, her cheek resting lovingly against the frame. Above the portrait is a wreath of leaves, the walls a bright, airy blue, florals laying about the top of the foyer table, light reflecting off of her black dress, perhaps for mourning.
Then, there’s Thomas Charles’s Farrer’s “Self-Portrait, Sketching” in pencil with Chinese white, Farrer gazing curiously at the spectator, sitting askew, as if he’s drawing them, the window in the background wide open, leaves draping within the house. The room has a few scattered objects lying about, but in many ways it’s sparse, a space mainly filled by at and thought.
Henry Farrer’s “On the Coast of Maine” features sky meeting land, two figures sitting on the tip of the coast, their legs dangling into the great expanse of the sky. Small sailboats, too, dot the waters, clouds floating in the sky. The human figures are, if anything, almost an afterthought in the painting, only a small inclusion in the work of art.
It made me consider, also, how the other landscapes within the exhibit have a clear painter behind the canvas— such as Ruskin’s vibrantly colored “Fragment of the Alps”— a scene of rocks and lichen, deep evergreens and dark blues.
In many ways, the more I considered it, the more I realized that these interior portraits-- these depictions of small humans within the boundless outdoors, and the landscapes with an invisible painter, all are very much the same. It’s this idea of human habitation, the presence of humans finding their place within a natural world that was significantly less “settled” than it is today. Even in the interior settings, there’s a wildness creeping in the windows, the floral decor, the colors of the insides.
All in all, it’s a beautiful exhibit, that I, obviously, believe is quite conducive to reflection, particularly upon early American sensibility and life. It’s the sort of thing that makes me want to chuck my iPhone out of my car window, these Civil War era depictions that remind of how it feels to read Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” the intermingling of nature and man, loafing in the grass, realizing and exhilarating in both the smallness of man, our attempts to nest and create a place to build our lives-- reveling in the multitudes of the outdoors and the richness of creation that is perhaps, within us all. It’s the overlap of realism and romanticism— the groundedness of what was once “here,” and "now,” the revel of religious experience and earthly enjoyment.
Currently at the National Gallery of Art, until July 21, 2019, visitors can join the Gallery in celebrating the 200th
birthday of famous art critic John Ruskin by exploring the exhibit “The American Pre-Raphaelites: Radical Realists.”
With over ninety paintings, the exhibit allows visitors to witness not only how Ruskin himself worked, but also how
his opinion greatly influenced the works of other renowned artists.
birthday of famous art critic John Ruskin by exploring the exhibit “The American Pre-Raphaelites: Radical Realists.”
With over ninety paintings, the exhibit allows visitors to witness not only how Ruskin himself worked, but also how
his opinion greatly influenced the works of other renowned artists.
The entrance into this exhibit is an onset of sea- foam greens, sky blues, and swirling marble. It’s an open and airy
space, emulating the natural wonder captured within the watercolor depictions throughout the space. Unsurprisingly,
the exhibit is primarily a group of landscapes that depict the natural world-- abundant waterfalls, green valleys and
lush forests. But, amidst these specific studies, it was paintings of the interior that caught my attention-- these figures
and portraits of the indoors, all amid the other imagery of the sublime.
space, emulating the natural wonder captured within the watercolor depictions throughout the space. Unsurprisingly,
the exhibit is primarily a group of landscapes that depict the natural world-- abundant waterfalls, green valleys and
lush forests. But, amidst these specific studies, it was paintings of the interior that caught my attention-- these figures
and portraits of the indoors, all amid the other imagery of the sublime.
At first, they seem somewhat at odds with the open-aired dreamscapes surrounding, but upon further consideration, they’re more similar than not. William John Hennessy’s “Mon Brave,” for example, captures a woman gazing longingly upon a portrait of her beloved away at war, her hair laying about her shoulders, her cheek resting lovingly against the frame. Above the portrait is a wreath of leaves, the walls a bright, airy blue, florals laying about the top of the foyer table, light reflecting off of her black dress, perhaps for mourning.
"Mon Brave" by William John Hennessy (from here).
Then, there’s Thomas Charles’s Farrer’s “Self-Portrait, Sketching” in pencil with Chinese white, Farrer gazing curiously at the spectator, sitting askew, as if he’s drawing them, the window in the background wide open, leaves draping within the house. The room has a few scattered objects lying about, but in many ways it’s sparse, a space mainly filled by at and thought.
"Self-Portrait, Sketching," by Thomas Charles Farrer (from here).
It made me consider, also, how the other landscapes within the exhibit have a clear painter behind the canvas— such as Ruskin’s vibrantly colored “Fragment of the Alps”— a scene of rocks and lichen, deep evergreens and dark blues.
"Fragment of the Alps" by John Ruskin (from here).
All in all, it’s a beautiful exhibit, that I, obviously, believe is quite conducive to reflection, particularly upon early American sensibility and life. It’s the sort of thing that makes me want to chuck my iPhone out of my car window, these Civil War era depictions that remind of how it feels to read Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” the intermingling of nature and man, loafing in the grass, realizing and exhilarating in both the smallness of man, our attempts to nest and create a place to build our lives-- reveling in the multitudes of the outdoors and the richness of creation that is perhaps, within us all. It’s the overlap of realism and romanticism— the groundedness of what was once “here,” and "now,” the revel of religious experience and earthly enjoyment.
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