Matisse

I was on the MOMA site the other day, checking out what’s on exhibit now that the museum (and others) are open again.

The newest thing is the show by sculptor Alexander Calder (who I love). But what I ended up lingering over were images from the museum’s Henri Matisse collection, which are pretty much always there (I think…I don’t follow this closely enough to speak with certainty).

I was looking specifically at a kind of ring around the Rosie painting of nude figures, called “Dance.”

I went to art museums a lot as a kid. My mother is an artist. She either brought me along for lack of a babysitter, or because she was actually trying to expose me to this stuff. Whatever the reason, the result is that encountering some art, for me, is a nostalgic albeit blurry blast from the past.

In this case, I remember seeing Dance as a kid and thinking: “Wow, that guy really can’t paint.”

The figures are very impressionistic, with misshapen limbs, etc. Seeing it again, I don’t know what to say about it (my mother would). Just because I’ve seen this stuff before doesn’t mean I’m smart about it. But I don’t feel as inclined as my childhood self to judge it harshly.

What I do remember is, on perhaps the same visit as the first time I saw this, or another one, seeing a collection of Matisse’s cut outs. And being wowed. Not by the art, especially. By the story of how they came to be.

The cliff note version, as I understood it circa age 8 or so, was that the artist had, in his later years, become ill, confined to bed or a wheelchair, largely, and partially lost his eyesight.

Undeterred, somehow, he turned to “drawing with scissors,” cutting shapes out of paper painted by assistants, and pinned on the wall (also by assistants, I believe). There was certainly an exploration of new ideas there. But, as importantly, the new form of art suited his limited mobility and failing eyesight…and he was still creating.

I don’t know enough about art to talk about what he created. Frankly, I like his paintings more. But I remember being moved and impressed by his drive to create, and his persistence, even as a little kid.

Did they remind me of my brother at the time? I don’t know. Maybe it was an echo. Maybe I “saw” people who refused to be put down by circumstances, and liked them for it.

But they’re the kind of stories, and memories, and reflections that are piling up on me now as I look beyond my brother to other examples of people who managed to thrive despite what the universe threw at them.

So, color me a Matisse fan, even if I can’t tell you much about his art.