Following the scenic drive around Antibes, we headed back into the hinterlands of the south of France, away from the coast. Up in the hills it can be very peaceful, and there was a modern art museum created by the Maeght Foundation.
(not my photo of the Maeght Foundation, perhaps because I was too tired to take photos while there.)
Along with their permanent collection (which had works by Giocometti, Calder and Miro, and the usual bunch of modern artists, etc.), they also had a career retrospective of a French artist named Gerard Garouste.
I had not heard of him before, but I was curious enough to check it out. I think they are works that require a bit more of my focus and study, but in this short time I interpreted that he was trying to revive certain techniques of El Greco, especially. Certain features similar to El Greco are the fuzzy painterly methods (which might also be seen in works by Blake and Delacroix and other proto-impressionists), and the elongated figure forms. To be sure, he took this elogation several degrees further than El Greco ever did, magnifying the deformations to grotesque malformations that seemed to have hints of Dali. There are also obvious political and social commentaries in his paintings, such as Hitler's book Mein Kampf on the back of a donkey. However, I am sure that there must be more to it than these blatant symbols reflect. I think that it is often the case that such obvious use of symbols might hide deeper messages beneath the surface.
I really did love the environment where this museum was housed, up in the hills surrounded by woods, with quiet and peaceful sculpture gardens that allowed me to relax in the late afternoon.
Next we went to the Matisse Chapel.
I had read about this place in books, and seemed fascinated by the idea that even into the 20th century, religious places were still asking world renowned artists to paint interiors. Certainly, the most famous example of this is Michelangelo painting the ceiling and back wall of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City. Perhaps it is this tradition that still entices the imagination of artists all over the world. (In fact, a few months ago, I attended a fundraiser for a certain popular artist who, instead of waiting to be asked to paint a church or chapel, had designs to build his own sort of chapel in upstate New York; I also recall that a few years ago, my favorite living artist, Gerhard Richter, had designed a stained glass window in a church in Germany.) However, entering this small chapel that belonged to some nuns, I was very underwhelemed by a few black line drawings of standing or dancing figures (typical of Mattisse) that went from floor to ceiling. Perhaps recalling that in the Sistine Chapel, every space was covered by something, the bareness of this chapel, bareness that is only intensified by Mattisse's elegant line drawings, was a bit surprising. After reflecting on the difference between this chapel, which is used by nuns, and the Sistine Chapel, used by the College of Cardinals, the distinct bareness here is completely appropriate, and further expresses a feeling of the austere life the nuns choose to live.
(not my photo of the Mattisse Chapel, where the fierce nuns prohibited photos, perhaps so that they could sell their own.)
There were also a few stained glass windows that resembled some of the flowery effects of his earlier collages. Accompanying the exhibition were a couple of priest smocks that Mattise designed, following the same flowery motif. I imagine the nuns are grateful that Mattisse has given them a meager source of income as an arts destination that allows them to continue doing God's work.
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