A Tale of Two van Dycks

The most celebrated painting in the collection of the Huntington Library is, of course, Thomas Gainsborough's The Blue Boy. The Huntingtons collected many other great works by Gainsborough, as well as significant paintings by Joshua Reynolds, J. M. W. Turner, and John Constable. However, the work that always holds my attention longest and makes me smile at its deft brushwork, lush color, and sheer beauty is Anthony van Dyck's Anne Killigrew, Mrs. Kirke, and so it and a companion piece– rather than Gainsborough's famous work–are the subjects of this installment of "Permanent Collections," my series about paintings in American museums.

While perusing the Huntington's website to plan my most recent visit, I came across an image of van Dyck's portrait, and immediately my interest in Anne Killigrew...uh...pardon the pun, grew. "Isn't that the same pose of the woman in the van Dyck portrait at the MFA?" I asked myself. Off I went to the website of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and, sure enough there I saw Isabella, Lady De La Warr standing and gesturing just like Anne Gilligrew. Moreover, I discovered that the MFA's painting has the same props and background as the Huntington's. Heck, the skirt of the dress has the same folds.

Although I visit the MFA regularly, I had never previously made the connection between van Dyck's two portraits because, in part,  Isabella, Lady De La Warr, languished in storage for many years. And while I can comment on the quality of van Dyck's handling of paint and use of color in the Huntington's painting, there's not a lot I can say about the MFA's van Dyck. It's hung too high for viewers to get a good look at the painting and fully appreciate it. 

Looking at the MFA's van Dyck or any other painting in the William I. Koch Gallery is so frustrating. When the gallery was closed for renovation a few years ago, I had hoped that it's salon-style hanging scheme would be abandoned once it reopened and that all the paintings on display would be available for close-up inspection. No such luck. The salon-style scheme remains, with many paintings too high up on the walls to be fully appreciated. For example, Rubens' monumental painting, Head of Cyrus Brought to Queen Tomyris would probably be a fabulous visual treat to view at eye level, but it remains in the same upper corner where it has hung for at least twenty years. Moreover, those paintings that hang at a reasonable height are protected by a knee-high stanchion that keeps viewers at more than arm's length and thus unable to look carefully at surface details. And the lighting in the gallery is far from ideal.

Thankfully, the Koch Gallery's salon style has not been adopted in the nearby art of the Netherlands galleries. For as long as I have been visiting the museum, this space has featured a single row of paintings. And the van Dyck normally on view in one of these rooms, Peeter Symons, offers an opportunity to fully engage with one of the painter's works, as well as some exemplary Rembrandt portraits among others. Here's hoping the MFA one day sees fit to provide Peteer Symons with the pleasure of Lady De La Warr's company in this space.

Pin Matisse on Avery

"Some critics like to pin Matisse on me....But I don't think he has influenced my work." *

It's hard to believe that Milton Avery actually made that statement.

Just take a look at some of his paintings, like Tree Fantasy (Whitney Musuem of American Art, New York), March on the Balcony (Phillips Collection, Washington, DC) and Seated Blonde (Walker Art Center, Minneapolis). Avery's brushwork, sophisticated use of color, and his masterful reduction of forms to simple, playful, sketch-like approximations all show a fluent understanding of Matisse's style as well as a skillful appropriation of it. In addition, March on the Balcony is a picture of a woman seated by a window overlooking the sea--a favorite subject of Matisse once he moved to Nice. And where did Avery paint March on the Balcony? Also in the South of France, in St. Tropez.

A lot of space could be spent considering the reasons for and implications of Avery's implausible denial of Matisse's influence. But I don't want to spend my time--or yours--speculating. Instead I'll just be glad that he learned so much from the French master that he created paintings like the one above, Bicycle Rider by the Loire, the next work in my series "Permanent Collections."

As the painting's title indicates, Avery did not restrict himself to the Riviera when in France. Besides a sojourn into the heart of the country, which produced Bicycle Rider by the Loire, Avery traveled to Paris and made at least one picture along the Seine. That painting, The Seine (Whitney Museum) is one of my favorite Avery landscapes. But I've decided to focus on Bicycle Rider by the Loire, simply because it makes me chuckle and because of the institution that owns it, the Flint Institute of Arts.

That's right Flint, Michigan--mostly known for rusting factories, economic woes, and its poisonous water--has an art museum. And Bicycle Rider by the Loire, is a representative example of the impressive quality of the museum's collection of American paintings. If you take look at its website, you'll find that the FIA also owns fine works by Mary Cassatt, Lee Krasner, Jacob Lawrence, and John Singer Sargent. I got a kick out of discovering that the museum owns a painting by Don Eddy, a former teacher of mine.

The FIA also has a fairly extensive group of 19th and early 20th century French paintings, with works by Courbet, Corot, Sisley, Boudin, Renoir, Bonnard and Vuillard. In 2006 the museum a small Matisse painting from 1921.

Bicycle Rider by the Loire was donated to the FIA in 1990, along with paintings by Josef Albers and Willem De Kooning, and a small sculpture by Alexander Calder. All four works were bequeathed to the museum by Mary Mallery Davis. People like Mary Mallery Davis intrigue me. You find their names in museums across the country. The information cards next to paintings tell us that they were generous and fortunate enough to own great works of art. But other than that, who were they?

From a web search, I have discovered that Mary Mallery Davis was a painter, but I haven't learned much more. I'd love to know how she got her hands on Bicycle Rider by the Loire. Maybe she met Avery at one of the various artists' colonies where he spent his summers in the 1950s. Or maybe she met him through other creative circles. Or maybe she simply saw the painting in a gallery and bought it. Who knows?

However Mallery Davis acquired Bicycle Rider by the Loire, the people of Flint are fortunate that she did. I love the enigmatic silliness of the robed figure on two wheels. Is he a monk? Or could the figure be a woman in a long dress? The figure's shrunken head makes the rest of the body seem large in contrast. How does a person of such apparent girth maintain balance? And how does a bike with its rear hub so far off center manage to function properly?

These silly conundrums are the by-products of Avery's thoughtful formal decisions. The small head draws the viewer's attention to the biker's body, an organic shape that stands out against the geometric forms that indicate the river and its bank. When I look at the body, I immediately notice the curved edge of its back crossing the horizontal edge of the far side of the river. This intersection is the most dynamic part of the painting, and it seems to provide the biker with the energy necessary to propel him across the canvas.

The off-center rear hub also activates the picture. If Avery had placed it at the middle of its wheel, the rear hub--like its forward counterpart--would rest on the abutting edges of the river and bank. The bicycle would then seem locked in place, thereby draining the painting of its energy. A simple yet well thought-out decision that makes all the difference. Without it, Bicycle Rider by the Loire would bore, and the Flint Institute of Arts would be a little less remarkable.



*James R. Mellow, "Sun, Surf and Subversion," Art News 81:10 (12/82) p. 80; quoted by Robert Hobbs in Milton Avery: The Late Paintings, pg. 49.