Naked People

Adam & Eve by Julia Trops

MEN HAVE PENISES. Women have vaginas. Both have breasts and nipples. And depending on the circumstances, they can all change size and shape.

Really, that’s all there is to it. Except that all of it is also remarkable and wonderful. So why the fuss about displaying nude art, even when it gets “graphical?”

Unfortunately, when it is treated poorly—and especially when it is forbidden—nude art becomes offensive not for what it shows but for how it corrupts the natural beauty and sensuality of the human body. Treated well, it conveys an evocative poignancy as nothing else can.

Even more unfortunately, there are people who, for a variety of reasons, have an extreme or disturbed relationship to sex and sexuality. But nude art displayed in galleries is not, to my knowledge, breeding or worsening those exceptions to the rule. And even though I just got my second email in two days from my daughter’s kindergarten about purported sex offenders approaching children, I would not keep her from nude art.

Sketch by Robert Henri

I remember when our female neighbor in California died of cancer last year. We knew it was happening and when it finally did, my daughter asked if she could go see Constance in her bed where she had died at home. We went and my daughter stood next to Constance’s motionless body for a few minutes, studying her face. Then she said, “The difference between people who are alive and dead is that when they’re dead they don’t have lips.” And we walked back across the lawn to our house.

Some hours later, my daughter asked if she could go see Constance again, so we did. Once again, she innocently, fearlessly studied the dead body (I was more uncomfortable than she was). She then walked outside where a group of adults were sitting with morose faces and declared, “Constance is not dead. Her spirit is alive all over the sky.” Needless to say, the mood changed. And we once more walked back to our house.

Sex, death, and life need exploration. The more, the better. The more freely, the healthier. The more beautifully, the happier. We don’t have to advertise or share or endlessly discuss all of them. But they are all there as the largest forces in our lives whether we know it or not. •

O! Henri at The Gibbes

First thing to do: go upstairs in The Gibbes Museum to the main gallery to the exhibit of The Eight (thru Mar 22, 2009). Walk to the far left corner and find the portrait of Juan, a Mexican boy in a brown hat by Robert Henri (1865–1929). Try to settle for a few minutes in front of this portrait.

Peer into those almond-brown eyes that gaze at you so assuredly. Feel the charm of this boy. Notice his sensuous lips and full cheeks, the slightly flaring nose, his alert ears, relaxed shoulders, and loose clothing, and the ease with which the whole figure rests in its depth of canvas.

After a few minutes, wander among the other paintings, but half way through come back and look at this portrait again. Then, before you leave the exhibit, return for a final look. This is a superb way to visit a gallery. Go right to one of the best pieces, come back for a second look, and pay a final visit before leaving. It helps you see and appreciate more.

Something that makes Robert Henri’s portraits so enjoyable is that he combined an impressionist’s style with a realist’s depiction of his subjects. The brush strokes seem spontaneous and casual. Details appear imperfect. But the effect is that you are not distracted by the painterly aspects of Henri’s style. Instead, you are led into the character of his sitter.

Last thing to do: go downstairs to the back gallery and visit the Gibbes-owned portrait by Henri: The Green Fan (Girl of Toledo). Take your time with this 1912 jewel of the permanent collection. View it from different angles and distances.

Henri is sometimes compared to the Dutch master, Frans Hal, who is distinguished by his candid portraits and masterly brush strokes. But the comparison is insufficient because Henri’s talent was inferior. He could not wield a brush the way Frans Hal could. On the other hand, Henri’s temperament was less whimsical. He saw more profoundly into his subjects and rendered them with more dignity and depth.

Like all good portraitists, Henri looked boldly into his subject’s personas and daringly painted not only what he saw but what he perceived about them. The result is one of the most insightful body of portraits by a twentieth-century American artist.

Henri was also a renowned teacher who insisted that the art of painting is as much, if not more, about seeing than about painting, which is evident in his work. The more you study his portraits, the more you realize how much he penetrated the inner world of his subjects. The longer you look, the more his technique becomes secondary and the more transparently his subjects reveal themselves to you, which is the height of portraiture.

All too often, an artist’s technique—be it in painting, music, or drama—stands in the way of our being able to get at and fully enjoy the essence behind it. Henri understood this and cautioned his students about it while teaching them to focus on what they saw rather than on how they painted. Seeing was the thing, the real art. Painting was simply a result.

Henri’s preferred teaching method—which, as he explained, is hard to employ—was to have students look at a model in one room, then go to an adjoining room and draw or paint from memory. He did not want them to just copy the model. He wanted them to really ‘see’ what they were trying to capture on their canvases. As he said, “An interest in the subject, something you want to say definitely about the subject; this is the first condition of a portrait.”

It’s also a way to look at a Robert Henri portrait. What did he see? What was it that he wanted to say definitely about the subject? One clue is that, like all great portraitists, he was adept at finding a pose and posture that would match his sitters’ facial features and echo that ‘something’ in their inner character.

Something else you may want to do: get a copy of Henri’s notes to his students, The Art Spirit, Harper & Row. It is an inspiring series of comments about how to see, how to paint, and how to live.

See more of Henri’s paintings here.

The Gibbes Museum
135 Meeting Street
Get direections