"Fashion Junkies"

Quite A Mysterious Picnic

George Bellow's 1924 oil painting, "The Picnic," attracted me instantly. It was my third favorite piece that day, because the stark contrasting colors and juxtaposition of relaxation and play with the foreboding storm clouds and darkness, is a concept something I relate to.
When I was a little girl, my mother told me that, "in life there will be mountains and valleys, so always remember when you get stuck in a valley to keep moving towards the next mountain top," and it has always stuck with me. I believe that it has because I have battled many ups and downs in my life with difficult past experiences and through battling mental illness. This is why I immediately sat on the floor in front of this painting without even reading the plaque. I felt like I was the girl in the pink dress. She stands on a little peaked hill, with one side bright green, and the other darkly shadowed, which suggests that change is coming and that she is in a position of importance in the scene. Her back is to the viewer, as she faces the darkness ahead, as if she is merely acknowledging that it is coming as she talks to the figure beneath her. The high-vantage perspective that the artist takes also creates a sense of power, especially with the power behind the thunderstorm across the lake. Maybe the lake is a symbolic divider between the playful picnic scene and the vast dark mountains ahead. The artist utilizes a lot of leading line to the figures and contrast in shade to add drama to a seemingly harmless picnic. Also, the way the artist blends the paints is similar to how I like to blend oils, so I also really liked that aspect.
Overall, "Picnic," was strangely relatable to me, and the composition, color choices, and mysterious narrative made it my third favorite piece at the BMA that day.

This Side of Matisse Caught Me Off Gaurd

Each year, the art classroom in my elementary school had a different artist's work hung above each of the six tables. For some reason, I remember the year that Henri Matisse's paintings floated above my classmates and my head as we worked. My teacher at the time chose the brighter pieces he did which had thick brush lines, and freer forms. I remember thinking that they looked a little silly, being so bright and having such thick lines, and odd, organic shapes. I particularly remember the table which my teacher called, "The Purple Robe,". So, naturally, since we visited the BMA, and it has been on display there for years, I went to see it. After viewing it and having a few memories of how my love of art first began to blossom in that basement classroom, I spotted this piece. Before even looking at who painted it, I just stared at it for a few minutes. The frame surrounding it looks as though it were recovered from the shore in the painting. I looked at the placard, and was surprised to see it read, "Henri Matisse". It certainly did not ascribe to the Matisse I had known so long ago!
There were no outlines, and only a few thick brush strokes used. Most importantly, where were the bright colors and people?! I felt tricked and confused. So, I stared and stared. The longer I stared, the more I fell in love with the natural form of the sea arch, the stark contrasts of the sky, and how the layers of space gave it a feeling of depth. What I ogled at the most was the water; every time I saw one shadow or highlight I would find a shape of a new one, which hinted at deeper water, or rocks, or a glare of sunlight. My initial surprise at the difference between the distinct style which I had prescribed him to have in elementary school to this painting had just seemed to wash away with the waves in the painting. I quickly found myself playing, "I spy," with the water. This is somewhat odd because the shadow lines in the arch, the rocks in the foreground and the horizon line lead the eye right to the tiny sailboat out beyond the arch, but I honestly did not care about it, just the water and the new increase in appreciation I had found in his 1920 oil, "The Pierced Rock".