Luncheon of the Boating Party

Last month both Smithsonian and NPR had short posts about Renoir’s Impressionist masterpiece, Luncheon of the Boating Party, each writer looking for the food amidst a celebration of post prandial camaraderie. They are right in concluding that this perfect lunch and near perfect painting is not at all about food. Smithsonian’s writer was on target regarding the setting, but his counterpart at NPR is incorrect in describing Renoir’s painting as a luncheon set in a Paris Café.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Luncheon of the Boating Party (Le déjeuner des canotiers) 1880-81; oil on canvas 51 in x 68 in (129.9 cm x 172.7 cm).

Part of The Phillips Collection in Washington D.C. since 1923

The scene is Maison Fournaise, an open-air café on the Ile de Chatou where the social classes mixed and mingled enjoying some time away from the bustle of Paris. In its heyday the Maison was a popular hangout for artists, welcoming a miscellany of customers that included businessmen, society women, actresses, writers, critics, seamstresses, and shop girls—a diversity embodying a new, modern Parisian society. Parisians went to Maison Fournaise to rent row boats, to eat a good meal, and perhaps stay the night.

Luncheon of the Boating Party shows a group of Renoir’s friends relaxing on a balcony at the Maison Fournaise along the Seine river in Chatou, France, the artist’s focus seemingly on the social aspect of the experience, a composition reflecting the changing character of French society in the late nineteenth century. Painter and art patron, Gustave Caillebotte, is seated backwards on a chair in the lower right; Renoir's future wife, Aline Charigot, is across the table playing with a small dog. On the table is fruit, wine and a scatter of half eaten grapes. A diagonal railing divides the composition, the forefront crowded with figures, the background all but empty, except for two figures: Louise-Alphonsine Fournaise and her brother, Alphonse Fournaise, Jr. The painting is alive with the play of light coming from the river and onto the balcony. Close examination reveals how the light is reflected throughout the composition. Renoir called Maison Fournaise the most beautiful spot in all the environs of Paris and his painting shows a moment of light dappled pleasure on the balcony of the café.

We see the painter’s genius in bright dabs of thick paint that shape the tableware, in contrast to the feathered brushstrokes that create a background landscape. Areas of white, such as the tablecloth and men’s singlets are mirrors of reflected color. The dog appears to be brown, but is actually a combination of violets, greens, and yellows that blend in the viewer’s eye. Flourishes of red and white spot the canvas bringing to the whole an effect of changing light.

Renoir worked on the painting over a period of months, but in spite of his drawn out pace there is a freshness of vision that surpasses the changes, the rearrangement of figures. One late addition was the striped awning at the top of the painting. Beyond his control, he was compelled to work on individual figures when his models were available. Unlike his work on other paintings, for Luncheon of the Boating Party Renoir made no preliminary sketches or drawings, and that is perhaps a reason for the months he spent bringing the work to completion.

Like others of the Impressionist school, Renoir rejected the formalism of academic painting with its careful drafting of historic scenes. Renoir wanted to capture real life, with a focus on the mundane from country roads to domestic pleasures. He sought to draw attention to ordinary people going about their everyday lives. Luncheon of the Boating Party is a combination of categories—landscape, still life, portraiture and genre painting—all in one composition.

Kuroda Seiki: Painting Light

In writing about Japanese artist Tsuguharu Foujita recently, the name Kuroda Seiki was mentioned as a teacher of Foujita. In Foujita’s younger years Kuroda (1866-1924) was already firmly established as an important artist in Japan, one who had spent ten years in France studying and one whose contribution in bringing Western painting to Japan is obvious from the label, “Father of Modern Japanese Western-Style Painting.”

Kuroda’s original purpose in going to Paris had been to study law, but while there he met several painters who encouraged him to paint. Not a new idea for the twenty year-old Kuroda who had been painting as a hobby for several years, and in a letter to his father he wrote: “Everyone says that Japanese art does not equal Western art, and is strongly urging me to study painting. In addition, I have also been told that I have the fundamental skills to take up painting, and that if I were to study, I would become a very good painter, that my study of painting would be more meaningful for Japan than the study of law.”

In 1886 Impressionism was already a reckoning force in Paris and while honing his painting skills through academic training, Kuroda also began to absorb the theories of that school. He began to mature as a painter around 1890. Prior to that time he had occasionally taken short sketching trips, but in May of 1890 his work began to show great progress during a stay in the village of Grez, where he settled for some months. Kuroda began to paint in the ‘plain air’ style that was a big part of Impressionism. The Impressionists had already shown the effect of natural light and Kuroda was learning to paint light.

Four years after returning to Japan Kuroda was a recognized and well-regarded artist not only in his own country, but internationally as well. By the time of his death in 1924 his impact on Japanese art was enormous. One of his major contributions was in convincing his fellow Japanese of the validity of the nude figure as a subject for art.

A woman sits enjoying the cool against a background of Ashino Lake and mountains on the far shore—the ideal image of an elegant Meiji era woman. Painted in 1897, the work is titled Lakeside.

Kuroda shows a young girl seated at a window concentrated on her reading. Her right hand is about to turn the page and the red and dark blue clothing stands out against the lighter background. In her face we see highlights of white reflected from the window light. The brush strokes are quick with visible strokes, characteristic of the Impressionist style. Reading, 1891.

This shows a triptych of three nudes, a work that created a near scandal when first exhibited. Wisdom, Impression, Sentiment; painted in 1897.

Withered Field, 1891; the French village of Grez on the Loing River. Kuroda noted that the winter landscape was more picturesque than the summer.

In this work, A Girl with Red Hair, painted in 1892, rather than the girl, Kuroda’s focus seems to be on depicting the sunlight shining on the girl’s red hair and the vivid lustre of the leaves. One of the most Impressionistic works Kuroda produced while in France, it was painted in Grez-sur-Loing.

A Nap, painted during a stay in Kamakura in 1894; midsummer sunlight filtered through trees on a sleeping girl is captured in strokes of red and yellow. This work goes beyond mere ‘plain air’ and demonstrates the artist’s skill with light, a strong characteristic of the Impressionists.

Visconti’s Van Gogh

Visconti is an almost new member of the fountain pen brotherhood, only beginning in 1988 to handcraft writing instruments in Florence, Italy. By the time I first discovered Visconti pens, I was already devoted to Pelikan and Montblanc pens from Germany, and Sailor pens from Japan. In this light, Visconti had a rough time attracting my attention. Once or twice in various pen shops I sampled a Visconti fountain pen, but never had the inclination to buy one. Always had trouble with their nibs, which impress me as hard and inflexible. I would like to think the 14K gold nibs write more smoothly than the steel nibs, which all seem to have an unbending resistance I don’t care for.

I have here in my possession now (temporarily at least) a Visconti Van Gogh Maxi in the tortoise shell design. The Maxi comes in a range of about seven colors or designs, and the tortoise shell version, for some reason is the least visible. It appears that a good many of the US online dealers don’t carry the Van Gogh Maxi in tortoise shell. The one I have here in front of me came from Shosaikan in Tokyo, a pen boutique with a huge inventory of fountain pens.

If I were buying a Van Gogh Maxi for myself, the tortoise shell just might be my choice, but hopefully one with a 14k gold nib, instead of steel. Interesting choice of options to my mind, but Visconti makes the Maxi with a 14K gold nib, as well as a steel nib version. Not sure I understand the reasoning behind that.

A little about the creation of the tortoise shell and other designs…

Visconti came up with a process they call ‘press mould’ using natural resin and vegetal components to produce colors of great depth and translucency. According to Visconti’s boast, patterns vary from pen to pen and no two are the same. This I cannot see myself, but they also brag that the press mould gives the illusion of being hand-painted, recalling the impressionist paintings of Vincent Van Gogh. I have to draw the line there. These pens evoke the impressionism of Van Gogh about as much as Andy Warhol soup cans. Just another example of ad agency bull. No need really, because the colors and patterns in the Van Gogh Maxi series are all beautiful without allusion or pretense to impressionist art.

One interesting thing about the pen is its pocket clip, which opens rather wider than most. The description says that the wider opening makes putting the pen in your pocket easier. Maybe so, though I myself don’t generally put fountain pens in my pocket. There is a somewhat large screw on the back of the cap which secures this wide-mouth clip.

Writing with the steel-nibbed Visconti, even on my favorite paper—Clairefontaine 90g—is sometimes a struggle. Too many skips on downstrokes and on the curve of more than a few letters. I don’t seem to have as much trouble with the steel nibs on my Lamy pens, and the feel of the Visconti nib is altogether different.

The Van Gogh is a handsome pen, and there are things I like about it, but for it to ever be a fountain pen I am likely to pick up often, a nib change would be necessary.

Coloring Outside the Lines

Lines for his most recent exhibition began forming days before the opening. Only minutes after the gallery doors opened, all thirty-three paintings on exhibit were sold. That brought his earnings to $285,400. There is currently a waiting list of 2000 people interested in buying his work. The painter, Kieron Williamson celebrated his 8th birthday on August 4.

It all started in 2008 on a family vacation to Cornwall, southwest of London, when Kieron asked his parents for a piece of paper so he could draw the pretty scenery. According to his mother, the boy’s first pictures were typically child-like, but he showed concentration and a devotion to practice, which surprised her. It was this that encouraged mother and father to enroll the boy in art classes. Obviously, there’s been no looking back.

Instructors quickly noticed Kieron’s rare ability for seeing and mixing color. He began with watercolors, but didn’t shy from different media and moved on to acrylics and then oil. A short look at two or three of the young painter’s landscapes show that his sense of perspective, and of shading are both that of a much more mature painter. But then we recall that Mozart and Picasso were child geniuses.

People often compare Kieron’s work to greats like Monet and Picasso, but ask master Williamson and he’ll tell you that he likens his painting to that of British impressionist Edward Seago. Compare the two and you might see a similarity in style.