“Goya to Impressionism: Masterpieces from the Oskar Reinhart Collection” exhibition at the Courtauld Gallery, London

Earlier this year, I went to the Courtauld Gallery to see a special exhibition of the masterpieces from the Oskar Reinhart Collection (of Winterthur, near Zurich). 

It was a wonderful show - full of exciting paintings which had never been seen in England before.

Oskar Reinhart was born from a wealthy Winterthur family who ran a leading international trading company. More interested in art than business, he began collecting seriously in 1919. He eventually had to step back from the firm to devote himself fully to building his collection. This included impressionists and Renaissance works. He built a gallery which he then bequeathed to the Swiss Confederation, which opened to the public in 1970.

Rating: 4/5 ★★★★☆

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Still Life with Three Salmon Steaks by Francisco de Goya

Wow. Breathtaking. 

This painting was part of a group of twelve still lifes painted by Francisco de Goya.

Painted during the Peninsular War - within the Napoleonic Wars - against Napoleon’s France.  According to the gallery:

Still life must have seemed a neutral subject matter at a time of censorship and political upheaval. However, the raw realism of these salmon steaks, isolated from any context, their flesh rendered in blood red, suggests the brutality of war. 

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Man with Delusions of Military Rank by Théodore Géricault

A powerful and rueful painting.

This man is suffering from a mental illness.

Théodore Géricault was a painter of French Romanticism. This painting was created as part of a series of portraits (which were never exhibited during his lifetime) of patients in an asylum, around 1822.

It’s a touching and empathetic painting - his small cap, hospital tag, v. gaunt cheeks, and an anxious & distressed look.

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Laura Cumming, in her review “The week in art: Goya to Impressionism; Linder: Danger Came Smiling – review” (Guardian, Feb 2025), wrote an eloquent encomium about this painting which I enjoyed reading:

There are not many portraits you wait all your adult life to see, but so it is with A Man Suffering from Delusions of Military Rank, painted by Théodore Géricault some time after The Raft of the Medusa in 1819. This shattering image of a man with no name is in Britain for the first time, loaned by a small Swiss museum a dozen miles outside Zurich.

To see it with your own eyes is to have a sense of who this man might really be, whether the title seems right, and why Géricault painted him in the first place: all of them unresolved mysteries.

The man is gaunt and elderly and sunk in anxiety, or suspicion. He looks away from us towards some other world. He is dressed – or dressed up, perhaps by somebody else? – in white shirt, black gilet and cloth sash over one shoulder. Around his neck hangs what looks to modern eyes like a dog tag, numbered 121, and on his head is a tattered hat with red piping and tassel. Perhaps it is the hat of Napoleon’s military police, hence the delusions of rank. Or perhaps the tag gives the number of his hospital ward.

But all the historic interpretations of this painting – that this is a study of monomania, painted for a Parisian doctor specialising in madness – fall away when you stand before the actual portrait. Géricault has sat with this man in Paris, heard him breathe or even speak, watched his gaze slide away into the distance. Who knows where or for how long he has been confined. The portrait is so empathetic and dignified, but so loose in its excitable rapidity, that Géricault’s own state of mind becomes part of the picture’s content. It is anything but a diagnostic illustration.

One of a fabled series of 10 “insane” portraits, scattered after Géricault’s premature death at 32, it disappeared for years, eventually bought by the Swiss art collector Oskar Reinhart (1885-1965) in the 1920s. It has been hanging in his pristine white villa in Winterthur ever since. The private collection of this Hanseatic merchant became a public museum in the 1950s, and now a tranche of its greatest masterpieces has arrived in the once-private collection of his merchant contemporary Samuel Courtauld in London. Goya to Impressionism is a jewel of an exhibition.

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The Wave by Gustave Courbet

A powerful seascape by the French Realist painter Gustave Courbet.

I’m always so delighted to see an artist paint the foamy white bubbles on the crash bursting of a wave, or at its collapsing peaks.

They’re a force of nature which the artist seizes and then pours onto his canvas for our delectation. See also: The Wave by Gauguin (right). 

This painting was - for its time - quite radical. Important for his stylistic (thick and expressive) brushwork - textured surface created by thickly applied paint via a palette knife. This would be influential.

Fellow blogger Debra (“She who seeks”) recently posted about Hokusai. This painting also traces its inspiration to those magnificent Japanese woodblock prints of the 19th century. 

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The Hammock (Le Rêve) by Gustave Courbet

A feeling of carefree escapism?

Being one with nature. This was early among Courbet’s ouvre.

According to wikipedia, it was “submitted to the Salon of 1845 at the Louvre in Paris, but rejected by the authorities.”

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Marguerite de Conflans Wearing Hood by Édouard Manet

Just wonderful.

Manet’s loose impressionistic brushwork crates a canvass “texture” to her delicate garments and accentuates her thoughtful and engaging gaze. The dark background really illuminates her presence alongside those diaphanous fabrics. 

It’s a beautiful portrait.

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Self-portrait by Paul Cézanne

I’ve never seen Paul Cezanne as a younger man. He painted this when he was only 27. Claude Monet bought it.

Aged 41.

He seems measured, deliberate & composed - and yet perhaps a little anxiety in his hand raised to his cheek? 

It’s also a bit of a dark painting and the overall effect is a bit inscrutable?

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Don Quixote and Sancho Panza by Honoré Daumier

From Miguel de Cervantes.

Bold colours, loose brushstrokes, and almost abstractions.

It’s a funny painting - I’ll have to think about it more.

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The Little Reader (La Petite Liseuse) by Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot

Excellent - it’s that feeling of quiet inner peace.

Camille Corot was the teacher of Berthe Morisot. I think this is an interesting connection. 

Here he paints a woman entranced by a novel.

The posture, the face, and the environment all suggest a sense of serenity. 

Moreover, she feels so contemporary. Unlike the Rococo, she isn’t dancing, or posing alluringly, or doing anything at all. In fact, she doesn’t seem to care or notice the viewer - which perhaps invites the viewer to contemplate their relationship with the female object?

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Confidences by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Again, we see Renoir’s masterful use of light which adds to fleeting sense of the impressionist interaction. 

And, for me, once again ... a certain want in the visage. 

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Portrait of Victor Chocquet by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Lovely painting.

It’s nice to see Renoir paint a man. Victor Chocquet was a French art collector (wiki).

There is something irresistible about Chocquet’s gaze, and a certain charm & delicacy to his personality.

I like the open shirt, the feeling of an easiness about him and perhaps he’s a little bit of a thinker.

The light flowery background is a nice touch.

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The Milliner by Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Beautiful brushstrokes forming her blouse. A lovely painting.

A working lady engrossed, confident, careful, against a light-greeny floral backdrop of swirling petals. 

I love those small & loose wisps of hair at the nape of her neck.

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Barges on the Canal Saint-Martin by Alfred Sisley

Great.

Sisley is an underrated impressionist.

Once again, fabulous waves rippling the water capturing the overcast atmosphere of the surface of the water which contrasts with the graded wooden finish of the barges.

And the sky’s calmful clouds are a beautiful contrast to the energy of the water.

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The Break-up of the Ice (La Débâcle) by Claude Monet

Another wow.

Monet’s mind-blowing watery effect.

The unripplied surface, a soft palette of colours across every surface, and those white brushstrokes of ice on the surface.

I feel I need to put on a jumper looking at this !

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Blue Roofs of Rouen by Paul Gauguin

Another wow.

The palette saturation is wonderful - azurean sky, then green hills, blue roofs, and red-browny fields.

This painting doesn’t like like a Gauguin yet. 

And yet, even so, his use of negative space in the foreground adds, I think, an allegorical tone to the work. Once again, Gauguin uses humans in a large & overbearing field which, to me, evokes a feeling of gloom, pity and/or despondency. For example, see Harvest: Le Pouldu by Paul Gauguin:

Harvest: Le Pouldu by Gauguin.

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Château Noir by Paul Cézanne

Cezanne is a difficult painter.

He does something beautiful - but why? 

Is it the limited form, the limited colours, the limited use of perspective, the melding of objects near and far ?

Not sure, but it does work. And brilliantly - sometimes he’s paintings are absolutely engrossing.

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Still Life with a Curtain, Jug and Fruit by Paul Cézanne

Another one of Cezanne’s enduring themes.

It’s obvious why he’s described as the father of modernism. It’s his intellectual challenging of art in producing something that doesn’t cohere - but has an immersive stunning effect.

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The Sickward of the Hospital at Arles by Vincent van Gogh

This is new to me.

And I had already seen so much of Van Gogh recently.

Poor Van Gogh. This is a window into his world - having spent weeks recovering from a mental breakdown. 

People huddled by the heater, a heavy atmosphere, solemn and lonely.

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The Clowness Cha-U-Kao by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

Toulouse-Lautrec doesn’t do much for me, I don’t think.

Cha-U-Kao was a popular entertainer of 1890s’ Paris and a recurring subject of his.

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At the Café by Édouard Manet

Exhilarating to see this.

Manet’s brushwork is fascinating - the richness, the loose strokes etc... I always love poring over the details of his paintings.

And his subject is focused on the everyday and it’s fascinating. A recurring theme is Parisian bars - e.g. A Bar at the Folies-Bergère: 

I had already seen the twin to this painting at the National Gallery. It was a delight to see the other half at the Courtauld before it went to the National Gallery.

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Portrait of Mateu Fernández de Soto by Pablo Picasso

Hmm ... not sure how I feel about a painting.

This was recently in the news, according to artnet:

Beneath the melancholy hues of Portrait of Mateu Fernández de Soto by Pablo Picasso, conservators have uncovered a long-hidden secret—an earlier painting of a mysterious woman, concealed for over a century ... Painted in 1901, when Picasso was only 19, this artwork marks one of the earliest pieces from his renowned Blue Period—a phase that lasted until roughly 1904 and was characterized by a monochromatic palette dominated by cool cerulean tones. It depicts Picasso’s friend and fellow Spanish artist Mateau Fernández de Soto.

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Le Pilon du Roi (The King’s Peak) by Paul Cézanne

Wow .... I give up now.

Cezanne has won me over.

I could just walk into this painting.

Édouard Manet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir at the Courtauld

This post is a few impressionist paintings from my recent visit to the Courtauld.

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A Bar at the Folies-Bergère by Manet - 1882

This was Manet’s last masterpiece.

Manet was never fully appreciated by the public. He submitted this to the Paris Salon of 1882 to negative reception. Critics just didn’t get it, they found it unsettling. He became disillusioned and ill. In April 1883, he died two weeks, after a leg amputated below the knee, due to syphilitic infection. Monet and Zola would help carry his coffin. 

And what a great painting - a complex composition involving a mirror (and, therefore, undoubtedly postulating something about the Parisian 19th century “reality”), and executed quite beautifully. Alluring.

What is fascinating is the expression on the barmaid’s face as she leans onto the bar itself.

Is she trying to recall something, or just feeling a bit tired?

Her energy certainly feels discordant with the overall tone and energy of the surrounding.

One of my favourite little bits of details is the feet of the trapeze artist at the top left.

Such radiant and sumptuous tangerines. They glisten in their bowel.

And the champagne bottles! Manet signs his name on the cover.

According to the gallery:

In this work, Manet created a complex and absorbing composition that is considered one of the iconic paintings of modern life.

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Study for “Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe” (Luncheon on the Grass) by Manet - 1863

This was a preparatory work for the masterpiece at the Musée d’Orsay.

It’s very interesting and makes you think.

This painting’s subject was considered shocking and scandalous in its depiction of the “everyday” and unidealised with the inversion of Renaissance traditions of the female figure.

As above, Manet draws inspiration from the contemporary and everyday ordinary people — in opposition to the academy.

 

 A nude woman casually lunching with two fully dressed men.

They don’t even seem to notice her; and she confronts the viewer with her direct gaze.

I think the lady in the background is a nod to Titian’s “Reclining Venus”.

Turban is part Medieval European Fashion. 

The chaperon/turban (along with the cape) a nod to Renaissance clothing - Jan van Eyck?

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Banks of the Seine at Argenteuil by Manet - 1874

So vivid and beautiful.

Apparently, Manet painted this while staying with Claude Monet over a summer break. Claude Monet’s wife and son are posing along the embankment.

Swift brushstrokes creating amazing ripples on the water surface.

Paul Gauguin’s legacy and his Tahitian painting

I recently visited the Courtauld Gallery at the Strand in London. 

I revisited Paul Gauguin’s famously mysterious and captivating “Nevermore”; and got to see “Te Rerioa” (The Dream) for the first time. 

The more I delve into art history, the more incredible and groundbreaking Gauguin is. I must admit that I have a soft-spot for him; and it is hard to know where one should stand concerning his behaviour in the Polynesian chapter of his life.

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With that said, Nikhil Krishnan has written in the Daily Telegraph recently (“Racist sexual predator? That isn’t Paul Gauguin’s full story”) reviewing Sue Prideaux’s biography of Paul Gaugin.

She argues that we ought to reassess his standing and tarnished reputation a bit more fairly — especially against the present zeitgeist of identity politics and cancel culture. I will write more about this particular point soon; but here’s a classic example from the wonderful BBC.

Nikhil Krishnan’s main points:

1. Gauguin did not bring syphilis to Polynesia. Analysis of his teeth evinced no traces of cadmium, mercury or arsenic which was used to treat the disease. The introduction of syphilis to Tahiti and the other Pacific Islands can be traced to the late 18th century with European explorers.
2. It is unfair to criticise Gauguin as being a mere “colonialist” who abused Tahitian women and disdained the locals. She argued and proves that Gauguin devoted himself to fighting for the rights of Tahitians under the stuffy French colonial rule he despised. Writing:

Certainly Gauguin’s presence in Tahiti wouldn’t have been possible had he not been French; nor was he exactly a saint. His “marriages” to girls in their early teens were regarded with alarm even in an age with different attitudes to the age of sexual consent. But he was no ideologue: he used every opportunity to decry, eloquently and publicly, French policies in Tahiti. He was a stout defender of the indigenous culture of Polynesia against the attempts of missionaries, both Protestant and Catholic, to destroy every last trace of it. Prideaux finds evidence of Gauguin’s attitudes in a long-lost manuscript of a long, illuminating essay, Avant et après (“part memoir, part last testament”) that has only recently been made available to researchers.

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Nevermore by Gauguin

Very captivating.

This is probably Gauguin’s 15-year-old “companion” while living in Tahiti which makes it a difficult subject. If I’m not mistaken, the culture at the time on Tahiti permitted this kind of “relationship”. I am entirely sure about this as a matter of historical fact, but it raises a question of whether it matters?

There is a feeling of unease and pathos. While not at rest, it seems her hand might be asking tears, or just her posture. She’s anxiously observing two figures in the background.

The face bears emotion through the shades of colour.

And a hint of a tear?

This is really beautiful and the Tahiti southern Pacific themes are obvious in the flowers embellishing the walls.

Why “Nevermore”?

The painting’s title associates the bird on the ledge with Edgar Allan Poe’s poem ‘The Raven’. In it, a poet, driven mad by the death of his lover, hears a raven endlessly repeating ‘nevermore’. This sense of loss may allude to Gauguin’s disillusionment at the destruction of Tahitian culture by French administrators and Church missionaries.

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Te Rerioa (The Dream) by Gauguin

Painted only weeks after Nevermore.

It's quite striking. Here are 2 silent, rather distant, women. They are watching over a sleeping baby. Ancient Egyptian style cat (lack of 3D effect).

I like the position and posture of the seated lady with her chin in her hands. 

The room is ornately decorated with elaborate wood reliefs.

“Vanessa Bell: A Pioneer of Modern Art” - Courtauld exhibition

I recently visited an exhibition on Vanessa Bell: she was described as a “Pioneer of Modern Art”.

I was initially apprehensive about her being a so-called "pioneer". But, she truly is. The mantle is deserved.

She was a leading artist among the avant-garde Bloomsbury Group. They were an eclectic bunch who advanced literary and artistic modernism in Britain at the beginning of the 20th century. Her connections among the Bloomsbury Group are defining: wife of art critic Clive Bell, sister to Virginia Woolf, and the lover to Roger Fry (long-time companion of painter Duncan Grant).

Vanessa Bell is considered pioneering for her contributions to modernist art, the Bloomsbury Group, and the artistic and cultural landscape of her time.

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A Conversation

A very charming and engaging oil painting. It makes you ask questions. 

For me, as with Studland Beach (which I've just blogged about), I get some vague impression or feeling of exclusion.

Vanessa Bell gives us three ladies (everyday female experience) in some purposeful conversation with a flattened perspective. The forms of the ladies is rather abstract in shape and with muted colours. 

I do love the arched-and-raised hand — with the other resting nonchalantly. It’s an interesting & intuitive posture which I haven’t seen much of in paintings.

But, ultimately, the viewer is kept at bay.

The arrangement of flowers at the background adds a beautiful contrast to the darker atmosphere of the ladies. Also positioned near the ladies’ mouths which suggests real colour to be gleaned there.

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Design for a folding screen - Adam and Eve

This is about sexual freedom.

Reminded of the vibrant colours and flattened forms of Henri Matisse.

This depicts Adam and Eve in a verdant Eden — with no serpent in sight. According to the Courtauld, it’s related to the sexual freedom embraced by the Bloomsbury set:

The scene appears to encapsulate the sexual freedom embraced by Bell and other members of the Bloomsbury group. The dynamic nudes appear to be dancing in an enveloping golden light, wholly at ease in their bodies and their environment.

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Arum Lilies and Iris

Beautiful. 

The arrangement of lilies (“still life”) has been matched by such a beautiful ceramic vase which seems to have been painted with even more resplendency. According to the Courtauld:

Giving the vase such attention underscores the importance of every element of the domestic environment in creating the aesthetic of the Bloomsbury interior.

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Still Life at a Window

Vanessa Bell likes the subdued colours. This was painted in Paris — after WW1.

The way the light floods into the room through the window is beautiful. The white reflecting sheen on the base of the ceramic vessel is subtle but amazing.

Amazing flowers and patterned curtains.

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The Omega Workshop Rugs

At 33 Fitzroy Square in London. Founded by Roger Fry, Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant in 1913, the Workshop was a design enterprise. 

Embracing the vibrancy & simplified forms of the then contemporary movements (e.g., Cubism, Fauvism etc.), many of the designs can be considered British art’s earliest forays into abstraction. (None of the designs were signed. Roger Fry believed they should be anonymous, believing their art should sell entirely on their own merits rather than on the reputation of a particular artist.)

 

Left – The design for Lady Ian Hamilton’s rug 1914.

The squared paper provided a framework for working out the abstract design.

Right – As per Courtauld, the use of collage “to create discrete blocks of colour reveals Bell’s interest in Cubist collages”.

Bell was interested in obtaining the effect of mosaic in her paintings. 

She noted how the white spaces left between the patches and black lines were introduced to add brilliance to the colours.

In this application, she was indebted to Cézanne.

While her designs don't hold much personal interest, I do recognise her broad skills and accomplishment as a designer. She seems to have produced innovative textiles and furniture designs that blended post-impressionist fine art with applied arts.