style="font-size:15px;"> The Four Seasons
1859–1860
Oil on canvas, 314 × 104 cm each
Musée du Petit Palais, Paris
When Paul Cézanne died in October 1906 in Aix-en-Provence, the Paris newspapers reacted by publishing a handful of rather equivocal obituaries. “Imperfect talent,” “crude painting,” “an artist that never was,” “incapable of anything but sketches,” owing to “a congenital sight defect” – such were the epithets showered on the great artist during his lifetime and repeated at his graveside.
Two Women and Child in an Interior
1860
Oil on canvas, 91 × 72 cm
Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow
This was not merely due to a lack of understanding on the part of individual artists and critics, but above all to an objective factor – the complexity of his art, his specific artistic system which he developed throughout his career and did not embody in toto in any single one of his works.
Uncle Dominic as a Monk
1865
Oil on canvas, 65.1 × 54.6 cm
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Cézanne was perhaps the most complex artist of the nineteenth century. “One cannot help feeling something akin to awe in the face of Cézanne’s greatness,” wrote Lionello Venturi. “You seem to be entering an unfamiliar world – rich and austere with peaks so high that they seem inaccessible.”
Man in a Cotton Hat
1865
Oil on canvas, 79.7 × 64.1 cm
Museum of Modern Art, New York
It is not in fact an easy thing to attain those heights. Today Cézanne’s art unfolds before us with all the consistency of a logical development, the first stages of which already contain the seeds of the final fruit. But to a person who could see only separate fragments of the whole, much of Cézanne’s œuvre must naturally have seemed strange and incomprehensible.
Bread and Eggs
1865
Oil on canvas, 59 × 76 cm
Cincinnati Art Museum, Cincinnati
Most people were struck by the odd diversity of styles and the differing stages of completion of his paintings. In some paintings, one saw a fury of emotion, which bursts through in vigorous, tumultuous forms and in brutally powerful volumes apparently sculpted in colored clay; in others, there was rational, carefully conceived composition and an incredible variety of color modulations.
The Strove in the Studio
1865–1868
Oil on canvas, 42 × 30 cm
Private Collection, London
Some works resembled rough sketches in which a few transparent brushstrokes produced a sense of depth, while in others, powerfully modeled figures entered into complex, interdependent spatial relationships – what the Russian artist Alexei Nuremberg has aptly called “the tying together of space.”
Portrait of the Artist’s Father
1866–1867
Oil on canvas, 119.3 × 198.5 cm
National Gallery of Art, Washington DC
Cézanne himself, with his constant laments about the impossibility of conveying his own sensations, prompted critics to speak of the fragmentary character of his work. He saw each of his paintings as nothing but an incomplete part of the whole.
The Abduction
1867
Oil on canvas, 93.5 × 117 cm
The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge
Often, after dozens of interminable sessions, Cézanne would abandon the picture he had started, hoping to return to it later. In each succeeding work he would try to overcome the imperfection of the previous one, to make it more finished than before: “I am long on hair and beard but short on talent.”
The Black Scipion
c. 1867
Oil on canvas, 107 × 83 cm
Museu de Arte, São Paolo
Exactly a month before his death, Cézanne wrote to Émile Bernard: “Shall I attain the aim so ardently desired and so long pursued? I want to, but as long as the goal is not reached, I shall feel a vague malaise until I reach the haven, that is, until I achieve a greater perfection than before, and thus prove the tightness of my theories.”
The Temptation of Saint Anthony
1867–1870
Oil on canvas, 57 × 76 cm
E. G. Bührle Foundation, Zurich
Such thoughts, shot through with bitterness, are a tragic theme recurring in Cézanne’s correspondence and conversations with his friends. They are the tragedy of his whole life – a tragedy of constant doubting, dissatisfaction, and lack of confidence in his own ability.
Murder
1867–1870
Oil on canvas, 65.4 × 81.2 cm
Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool
But here, too, was the mainspring of his art, which developed as a tree grows or a rock forms – by the slow accumulation of more and more new layers on a given foundation. Often Cézanne would take a knife and scrape off all he had managed to paint during a day of hard work, or in a fit of exasperation throw it out of the window.
