When it comes to art, I’ve always been a sympathetic observer, which is another way of saying I’m a dilettante. I appreciate many of the paintings I look at, but haven’t bothered to learn much about what goes on behind the scenes. When it comes to history, I’m much the same way- which is another way of saying I’m an ignoramus, though an enthusiastic one. Such is the lot of the pseudo-intellectual.
But one thing I’ve learned is that art history can be a compelling subject, when it touches upon some other area one is actually interested in. For me, that area is music- more specifically classical music. And to be even more specific, the impressionistic period.
While a freshman in college, I was casting about for a major. Since I was a drummer, and had nary a clue about what I wanted to do in life, I chose music as a major. And though I eventually discovered that the only way someone could make a living with music was as a teacher- something I loathed to become involved in- I did gain a lot from beginning piano classes and Orchestra, for that is where I was introduced to Ravel, Debussy and Satie. Though initially attracted to the Russians (Mussorgsky, Shostakovich and Rachmaninoff), and a Hungarian pianist named Bela Bartok, it was the French Impressionistic composers whose music caught my heart and ear. Their melodies and arrangements were ethereal and calming; they made me think of faraway places I could have sworn I’d been to, yet never visited.
It wasn’t long before I discovered that Impressionism wasn’t restricted to music, but was also an important part of the art world, from 1860-1920. What really got my attention was the fact that the dreamy state I went into while listening to Debussy’s “Clair De Lune” could be seen in paintings by Monet, Seurat and Degas. And so began a lifelong love of Impressionistic artwork.
But a love of Monet’s or Degas’ style doesn’t need to begin with classical music. This is where the Taschen publication “Impressionism” comes in. I found the book after a tour of the Getty Museum, which holds one of the more impressive gift shops I’ve ever seen- as well it should, given its location.
The store offered a selection of Taschen books, the one on Impressionism catching my eye. I like big heavy tomes, as a rule, and this one didn’t disappoint. At 704 square bound pages, it’s two inches thick, and measures six inches wide by seven-and-a half tall, making it small enough to hold in one’s hands- though it could be unwieldy for some, as it weighs five or six pounds.
The book is divided into two parts: Part I: Impressionism in France, and Part II: Impressionism in Europe and North America. One interesting thing is the comments about Section Two, the editor reminding us that though “this art may not always be strictly Impressionist, it nonetheless owed a debt to the French artists even when their style was translated into a different national artistic idiom.”
Both sections cover the 1860-1920 period, and do so beautifully. Alongside a running commentary that guides readers through the years and lives of the 236 painters featured is a multitude of full-color paintings- probably over one-thousand of them- that fill the first 640 pages. To say this is a visual feast would be no exaggeration.
What follows the pictures is a sixty-three-page Directory of Impressionism that lists sectional notes, short bios and photos or sketches (where possible) of the painters, as well as a list of illustrations and painting locations. Due to its small font size, this last section packs a lot of information into its limited space.
And though my 25th anniversary edition has recently been updated- and also available in two volumes and hardback- this is an excellent book for those like myself who want to get their feet wet, but not go in over their heads.