Matisse on the mind.

Last summer I had a fling with Henri Matisse. I trace its roots to the day that I saw "The Snail" at the Tate Modern in London during the late spring. It got stuck in my head, and Matisse's style of simplified-complexity became a background narration for my summer months. I read his biography, talked about his work to uninterested bystanders, and bought a book that showcased his pieces. Eventually the slight-obsession-phase ran its course. But he has kept a bit of my heart since then.

I think the reason Matisse has been so important to me is that he is the first artist that I have ever loved outside of peer influence. Let's just say that his work isn't commonly hung as posters in college dorm rooms, nor is it generally seen at those calendar kiosks in the mall. He surprised me, and I understood him.

Peter Schjeldahl has a write up on my favorite French modernist in the most recent edition of The New Yorker, and I wanted to share a couple of quotes from the article here:

"Anyone who doesn't love [Matisse's work] must have a low opinion of joy." Okay, so this sounds a bit art-elitist, but it made me laugh.

"Picasso and Matisse are poles apart aesthetically. Matisse told his students, 'One must always search for the desire of the line, where it wishes to enter, where to die away.' Picasso's line has no desire; it is sheer will. Form builds in Picasso, flows in Matisse. Picasso uses color. Colors enter the world through Matisse like harmonies through Mozart." See? Matisse gets to be the artistic underdog. Sure Picasso was inspired, but he was also doted on by the French intellectual community. Matisse was compelled by the integrity of his art. He couldn't cater to the luxury of public applause. Perhaps my bias is showing, but, oh, how I do love Henri.