The Voyage of Life

Thomas Cole, The Voyage of Life: Childhood, 1842, The National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

You know that moment when a painting catches your eye in passing and immediately draws you in. You literally have to stop, back up and stare and then stare some more. Then you go home and you're still thinking about the painting. That feeling is what makes me love art.

This summer I took the littles to the National Gallery for their wonderful kids program, Stories in Art. If you are local to the DC area and haven't attended one of these, I hope you will. It is a great introduction to the museum and to art in general, plus it is perfectly suited to the little ones interests and attention spans. As the group of kids and parents paraded through the museum in search of Thomas Moran's, Green River Cliffs we passed through a small circular room that connected two galleries. On each of the four curved walls were Thomas Cole's The Voyage of Life series. I was immediately struck by their grand size. Each of the four paintings takes up nearly the entire wall it is hung on. That coupled with the intimacy of the small room only further causes the viewer to be absorbed into the paintings and the story told. The second aspect I noticed was (no surprise) the importance of light. It is what pulls the pilgrim through each painting. In the first painting the light feels warm and safe; inviting and yet full of promise. As a mother to two boys growing up way too quickly I also see pride and hope for what the child will do.

The Voyage of Life: Youth, Thomas Cole, 1842, The National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

The second painting is also breathtakingly beautiful. Again, the light is full of promise of what is to come. My head tells me to be wary of dreaming about a castle in the sky, which in this case is literally a castle in the sky but I can't quite help but want to cheer this ambitious child on. After all isn't that the American dream? Given the time period in American life when these paintings were created, it isn't a stretch to think that was on the artist's mind.

With the little bit of research I did on Cole, I learned that throughout his career he painted with driving purpose. While I think every artist has a point of view, Cole was telling a story about the importance of God in man's life. I especially enjoyed learning that this set of paintings is actually a duplicate. The first were restricted from public view by the owners so he painted a second set and exhibited those. I can't imagine the frustration an artist must feel when giving up their life's work and the control over it. But I digress... the reviews tell me I should see the dangers ahead but I'll be honest I don't, at least not directly. All I see is passion and excitement and ambition in this second painting.

The Voyage of Life: Manhood, Thomas Cole, 1842, The National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

And here we come to the fall. There is no question what Cole is telling us. Mankind is flawed. Mankind will fail. Mankind can not be his own savior. And yet again, there is hope. The light will never leave you, but you must choose to turn and follow it. Umm hello! I might have been distracted by the naiveté in the first two paintings but his message is blindingly clear in the third painting. As I near *gulp* my 40's I relate to this painting more than the others. Not because I feel I'm rushing head first into dangerous waters but because, like the man's boat I'm a little weathered by time and that is ok. Not to say I don't grimace at those three stubborn wrinkles on my forehead but for the most part I'm ok with my life choices. And as I get a little older I find that I am more interested in becoming a better person than a successful person.

The Voyage of Life: Old Age, Thomas Cole, 1842, The National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

I find the last of Cole's paintings the least relatable. Its striking, beautiful, peaceful and reflective but I don't relate. Not yet at least. I recently attended a funeral for the father of a friend of mine who had died of cancer and it got me thinking about what we all want for our loved ones at the end of their lives. Peace. To me that is the most striking aspect of this painting. Hope is never lost and in the end may we all find peace.


Cheers, 
Ouiser

Allies Day Remembered

Allies Day, Childe Hassam, 1917
National Gallery of Art, Washington DC

As I was driving in my neighborhood this morning I noticed someone had hung three flags, The American flag, the Union Jack and the French flag in front of their home. It reminded me of one of my very favorite paintings, Childe Hassam's Allies Day. 

It rather fitting to post it today, as its the anniversary of the first of two parades held in New York City to celebrate the end of World War I. On a side note, I'm a lover of parades. I'm lucky to live in a city that seems to feel the same. Old Town Alexandria has a certain small town charm that offers the perfect setting for parades. 

I've always had a soft spot for Impressionist paintings. They were some of the first first paintings that drew me into museums. And it was those first experiences that fostered an interest and eventually a love of art in many different forms. Childe Hassam was the first American artist that I was as enthralled with as those French rebels. It is easy to fall in love with Paris, the Normandy coast and the gardens of Giverny but what Hassam, and several other American artists of his day offer is an alluring look into our own backyard. I love to travel but appreciating your own cities and country side can be just as inspirational. 

If I could paint, which is a big IF, I would paint the enormous, sixty year old trees in our back yard whose long branches sway softly in the breeze. As the sun sets at night and I sit on our porch I feel as if I've escaped into the country. Ya know, that is until I hear a train passing, an ambulance blaring or one of the kids yelling at me for any variety of reasons. 

What do you see in your everyday life that could be made beautiful with an Impressionist's eye? 

Cheers, 
Ouiser