French Kiss-off
A new MFA exhibit offers a study in how some blustering Americans put Parisians in a tizzy.
- John Singer Sargent, Madame X (Madame Pierre Gautreau), 1883-1884. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Arthur Hoppock Hearn Fund; courtesy, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.
Ah, those fussy Frenchmen. Long before they got around to ridiculing our foreign policy, they were scoffing at our young artists, taking shots at the hordes of eager Americans who came to Paris to hone their chops in the late 19th century. The bawdy Yanks didn’t help matters much; intent on making art rather than friends, many didn’t even bother to learn French. And the art had a way of causing a fureur, too. Considered tame by today’s tastes, the must-see controversy on display in the MFA’s “Americans in Paris” exhibit can be a little tough to spot. Here’s a primer on what passed for uproarious.
Hair-esey
Want to rile the prudes of Paris? Get creative with women. When Lowell native James McNeil Whistler painted his mistress with hair falling on her shoulders in 1862, he was courting serious controversy. “Well-brought-up ladies did not show up looking so disheveled,” notes MFA curator Erica Hirshler. Whistler’s Symphony in White, No. 1: The White Girl shows his Irish lass with a vacant stare and—gasp!—a full head of hair. It set the art scene ablaze.
X-Rated
Famous here for his religious murals in the Boston Public Library, the unholy dustup John Singer Sargent caused in 1884 with his Madame X ended his career in Paris. Singer showed his model aloof and in all her voluptuous glory. For a risqué exclamation point, he painted one strap of her dress falling off her shoulder. He held on to the racy portrait for years and quietly went back and painted the strap into a more ladylike position. Without regrets, he called the painting the “the best thing I have done.”
Avant-Girled
Mary Cassatt didn’t show skin to push the envelope. She just proclaimed that she was a serious painter at a time when women were scrubbing dishes. Cassatt really turned heads when she rejected the official Parisian tastemakers and aligned herself with upstart impressionists like Edward Degas. Cassatt’s Mother About to Wash Her Sleepy Child sure looks tender, but the fierce effort behind it was anything but.
Hair-esey
Want to rile the prudes of Paris? Get creative with women. When Lowell native James McNeil Whistler painted his mistress with hair falling on her shoulders in 1862, he was courting serious controversy. “Well-brought-up ladies did not show up looking so disheveled,” notes MFA curator Erica Hirshler. Whistler’s Symphony in White, No. 1: The White Girl shows his Irish lass with a vacant stare and—gasp!—a full head of hair. It set the art scene ablaze.
X-Rated
Famous here for his religious murals in the Boston Public Library, the unholy dustup John Singer Sargent caused in 1884 with his Madame X ended his career in Paris. Singer showed his model aloof and in all her voluptuous glory. For a risqué exclamation point, he painted one strap of her dress falling off her shoulder. He held on to the racy portrait for years and quietly went back and painted the strap into a more ladylike position. Without regrets, he called the painting the “the best thing I have done.”
Avant-Girled
Mary Cassatt didn’t show skin to push the envelope. She just proclaimed that she was a serious painter at a time when women were scrubbing dishes. Cassatt really turned heads when she rejected the official Parisian tastemakers and aligned herself with upstart impressionists like Edward Degas. Cassatt’s Mother About to Wash Her Sleepy Child sure looks tender, but the fierce effort behind it was anything but.
Originally published in Boston magazine, June 2006
