In search of the essence of painting (Matisse and de Heem)

Several weeks ago, I began a little study of Matisse's still life after Jan de Heem's "Table of desserts", which has turned into something much longer and deeper than I expected, and even involved my own painting studies. Here are these paintings again, side by side. If you are interested in larger images, click here.

To conclude this adventure, which I have shared with you in six blog posts so far, I want to summarize what I have understood and learned as a result. 

Here are the major steps of my journey: 

• The initial comparison of two paintings, and the questions I wanted to explore: 

• What are Matisse's "modern principle of construction", and 
• How and, more importantly, why has he changed the abstract structure of the painting?

It is obvious from the first sight that Matisse reveals the internal geometric structure of the painting, hidden in de Heem's original; and also that he has moved two major triangles of de Heem's composition upwards, so that their apexes are no longer located within the picture plane, but outside, above its upper edge. It also seems that turning the lute towards the viewer, showing its strings, is part of the same overall change Matisse is after. However, I don't really know at that point what this change is all about: the explicit geometric grid can be preliminarily understood as a sign of modernity, but the reason for moving the triangles remains a mystery to me.   

• The study leads me to learn more about de Heem's life and work, and discover the conspicuously special place this particular still life has in this context: as a "bridge", an apparent attempt of synthesis between two quite distinct traditions he belonged to, the Dutch Golden Age and the Flemish Barocco (and possibly, two lives he lived). Follow the link above if you want to look at some of his other works and see for yourself.
• Returning to the comparison between de Heem and Matisse, I focus on the locus of simplicity vs. complexity within two compositions: de Heem foregrounds the complexity of detail and form within the still life set-up against the backdrop of simple and straightforward overall design of value areas; Matisse simplifies the things being painted, moving the complexity "outwards", into the overall design of the picture plane. One result is that de Heem's composition is endocentric and somewhat downward-oriented, "closed" within the picture plane with a clear area of focal interest in the lower part, whereas Matisse's construction is exocentric, moving outwards from the center in all directions and outside the picture plane, with no clear foci of interest within.   
• Armed with the understanding I have gained so far, I engage in a "practical" analysis of this remarkable interaction between two masters: I took two (roughly) impressionistic, and fairly similar to one another, still lifes of my own, and attempted to push one of them towards de Heem's principles of composition, and the other one, towards Matisse's. The utmost relevance of the overall value design becomes even clearer in the process; I understand better the formal essence of Matisse's modifications, but not its inner significance (yet). Here are the results of this work again, with original studies in the top row, and the new versions, in the bottom row:

• And here comes the breakthrough: the work on my own still lifes leads me to the discovery of a "hidden" substance of de Heem's painting, represented by the heap of books behind the drapery, near the apex of the right-hand major triangle. This discovery sheds new light on the synthetic, intermediate position of this work in de Heem's ouvre; as though an expression of an uneasy, hidden compromise. It also reveals an additional change made by Matisse: he downplayed the books on the right, but decidedly opened up the landscape behind the window, near the top of the left-hand triangle, barely visible in de Heem's original. 
• In the last post of the series, where I show the final images of my own still lifes and lament neglecting in my analysis (initially, at least) the fundamental, unbreakable link between meaning and form in painting, between a paintings' inner harmony and outer construction. 

But now, at least, the link has revealed itself with utmost clarity: just think of these still lifes in terms of the oppositions between open(ed) vs. close(d), reveal vs. hide, outwards vs. inwards, and their formal structures and their inner significance come into the focus of awareness, and, what's more essential in the domain of painting, become indistinguishable. 

In Studio with Masters: composition and meaning

Still life without a mandoline. 2009-2013. Original versions in the top row. 20"x20" each.

This collage is a preliminary result of "painter's" approach to analysis of Matisse's still life after de Heem's "Table of desserts" (if you want to read earlier posts in this sequence, or see Matisse's and de Heem's originals, please look up the "In Studio with Masters" tag on this blog). In the top row, you see two impressionistic still life studies I did in December 2009-January 2010; the bottom row shows them reworked, pushing the left one towards de Heem's approach to composition, and the right one, towards Matisse's "modern principles of construction". 

Although I am still in the process of absorbing and formulating the results of this analysis, there is one major lesson already clear. It's nothing new, but, as it seems, still not quite learned well enough (by me, at least). I began this series with a certain frustration with the discussion of Matisse's work on MOMA website and its focus on superficial matters of technique, which seemed so much beside the point of this work. The thing is, I know from experience that, if something frustrates me, it means, quite often, that I do something very similar myself without realizing it: it's almost always easier to notice such things in others than in oneself. 

And so it was in this case: I was focusing on the overall structure of composition and value design as though they could be detached from the content of a painting, its meaning and its message, and understood on their own. And that's simply not how great paintings come to exist. Of course, I was mislead by the "identity" of the subject matter in both paintings; and yet, the subject matter and the meaning aren't the same: de Heem's meaning is "hidden" together with his books; and Matisse's, in his still life opening up to the landscape beyond it. 

But in any event, it was my focus on composition that lead me to discover these meanings eventually: de Heem "closing up" his design with simplified darker value areas of the background; Matisse opening it up with stark value contrasts all over the place, "split" chiaroscuro as it were. And that was my initial focus in reworking my own still lifes, so I'll close this post with a posterized black-and-white version of the same collage, which shows this "evolution" from impressionism: back in time towards de Heem, and forwards, to Matisse: 

 

 

In Studio with Masters: invisible edges of life

The second month of working on Matisse & de Heem interaction (thinking, writing, painting), and it's only during today's painting session that I've noticed a most important thing about de Heem's still life. Now that I see it, I am having a hard time understanding how I could have missed it before, but that's the truth: only an attempt to "push" a still life of my own towards de Heem's approach to composition that has brought me to see this meaning, "hidden" in plain view. 

Still life after Matisse after de Heem

Still life without a mandoline (after Matisse after de Heem).
Work in progress, 20"x20", oil on canvas

It's now the fourth week that I am spending with Matisse, de Heem, and their interaction across time, trying to figure out why and wherefore Matisse chose de Heem's still life as an anchor point for his version. In case you've missed the previous posts, they are the three most recent ones under the "In Studio with Masters" tag. 

I've suspected for some time that, in order to understand Matisse properly, I will have to repeat his endeavor in some way or another, probably taking another Flemish or Dutch still life as my anchor point. I will probably do it later on, but for now, I recalled that I have a series of three 2009 still lifes which I can try and use to explore Matisse's ideas and intent, using them as "underpaintings" for my reworks. Not that the process itself is new to me, but this time, I thought, I would consciously try to understand Matisse, not just to rework a painting... 

In Studio with Masters: Matisse vs. de Heem (Part 3)

Two weeks ago, I began an analysis of Matisse's still life after de Heem, in an attempt to clarify for myself the essence of re-design undertaken by Matisse. Here are these two paintings again, in their chronological order:

Jan Davidsz. de Heem. A Table of Desserts. Oil on canvas. 149 x 203 cm (58.7" x 79.9"). 1640.

In Studio with Masters: Jan Davidsz. de Heem

Last week, I started an analysis of Matisse's still life after de Heem's "A table of desserts"; to be frank, I had imagined it would be one blog post, but the more I think about it, the more interesting things emerge, so I've decided to stay longer on this topic, to go into this analysis more deeply, because the contrast between these two paintings seems to touch some essential, fundamental  questions about painting, and life, and art, and time. 

In Studio with Masters: Matisse and de Heem

Henri Matisse.  Still Life after Jan Davidsz. de Heem's 'La Desserte'. Oil on canvas. 71 1/4" x 7' 3" (180.9 x 220.8 cm). 1915
Image courtesy of Wikipaintings

Matisse painted this still life after de Heem's "A table of desserts" (1640), a painting he had copied much earlier as a student. According to a commentary on MOMA website, his idea was to remake the painting based on "the methods of modern construction". This kind of work seems, therefore, ripe with opportunities to learn more about how he understood these "methods of modern construction" of paintings. What stays unchanged, and what follows the time's spirit?

Simple truth miscalled simplicity

Fremont hills from Quarry lakes. 12"x12". Oil on canvas panel. 2012

My mind keeps returning to Henri Matisse's exhibition and my first thoughts about it. 

Why? Because it suddenly opened to me a new way to look at my own process. See, I knew that, quite often, the best (or, at least, the favorite) of my paintings emerge in several leaps, the first attempt being much more realistic and "complex" than the final result. 

Fremont hills from Quarry lakes (the first version)

This painting above is just one example. Here is how the first attempt looked like: a greener grass (to put it mildly), much more color complexities overall, more modeling of shape in the trees, more detail in the background. In many other works, the difference between their beginnings and the final result is even more drastic: in a sense, the whole "Nothingness" series is about my coming to terms with this process of elimination, this search for the essential.

I used to assume that this is a matter of my overall evolution, that it's the older works that need this kind of revamping, while now that I know the general direction of what I am trying to achieve, I might "skip" the first part of the process. What the Matisse exhibition has shown to me is that's not the case, and not something to try and achieve. If he began "from scratch" every single time, why should it be easier for me? There are, in the end, no shortcuts on this path. Or if there are, they would lead you to some sort of trivial simplicity, not to simple truth. 

In a sense, I felt something along these lines from the very beginning: every time I heard or read the common painting/drawing advice to start with simplified shapes and add complexity and detail later, I felt that the simplicity that can be laid out in the beginning is just not the same simplicity that makes a great painting and is worth striving for. The Matisse exhibition just made this understanding crystal-clear, brought it in the sharp focus of ultimate clarity.   

 

Child-like

Henri Matisse. The Large Blue Dress. 92.7 x 73.6 cm. O/c. 1937

One of the highlights of our recent trip to NYC was Henri Matisse's exhibition in the Metropolitan Museum, an exhibition particularly interesting to a painter because of its focus on the process, the search (rather than just the result). As it seems, Matisse was quite keen on having a record of this search, first by letting earlier stages alone and starting afresh on new canvases (to the delight, one must assume, of his collectors), and later by hiring photographers to document intermediate stages (quite similar to what many of us do now as a matter of daily routine). 

Although the exhibition spans many decades, the general direction of his search remains constant: from a more realistic drawing towards simplicity of shapes and lines; from quite muted, washed down colors towards brightness and intensity. In sum, towards being child-like. It was really striking, at times, to see how long and hard his each new path towards the "child-like" simplicity and brightness remained, always starting from nearly the same point which one can, for lack of a better word, call "reality". 

I've chosen this work to illustrate this post because its (usually hidden) process was most surprising for me. I am using an image from Wikipaintings here, because, if my memory serves, it represents the colors of the original more accurately than the images on the Met website (especially the blue from the title), but here is the story of this painting and its documentation from the exhibition website. Maybe the large blue dress, made by Matisse's friend and model, Lydia Delectorskaya, herself, specifically for this painting, and also exhibited, side by side with the painting, adds to the effect. An intensely bright silk dress, with simple straightforward lines and in Matisse's favorite shade of blue, as though made with the intention to make the process shorter, its starting point somewhat closer to the desired result. But the path of Matisse's search for the final painting, as the photographic evidence shows, was still quite windy and long. 

To tell the truth, the question remains with me, is it really essential to begin anew every time? Was it necessary to study this real woman, in all richness of realistic detail, to arrive at this stylized image, its pure lines and flat bright color areas? Did he know his final destination, or at least its rough outlines, from the very beginning, or was he hoping, every time, to arrive somewhere else?