Matisse in New Yorkers, New Yorkers

I am getting handier at breast feeding but it is an activity that often requires the use of at least one, if not both, hands. This rather complicates reading. Well, a nearly 900 page Penguin paperback specifically, as it does not want to stay open on its own. I have managed to read the baby books, which spread their pages more invitingly open and don't have a driving narrative requiring frequent page turns. I really would like to know what happens to Daniel Derronda and Mirah and, to a lesser degree, Gwendolen, but it's just not practical. It's rare that I've put down a book unfinished and I'm pretty sure this is the first time I am putting off a book for physical reasons. As an erstwhile art historian, I have conquered totting 50+ lbs. of monographs single handedly and now I have been defeated by a paperback with an expired copyright.

My solution -- let's be honest , while I am waiting for Netflix to send me my next Buffy disc -- is the glorious magazine. Before Yelena was born, Eli commented about my littering every room in our home with magazines open to an article that "I'm in the middle of--Don't lose my place! Don't put it back!" I guess I finish books, but not articles. This nasty habit of mine is now coming in handy since now, wherever I plop down to nurse there is bound to be an Atlantic, New Yorker or, for frivolity, a Wired awaiting me. (My Commentary subscription ran out and I suspect I didn't renew it because the paperstock they're printed on is too thick to fold back neatly, so I'd actually have to finish their articles.)

One notable article I just finished in the New Yorker was a review of a biography of Matisse. One problem with reading about art in a newspaper or magazine is the author citing paintings but not being able to look at the actual images. I have a pretty good visual memory, so when the author cites something canonical like Picasso's "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon" or mentions Matisse's goldfish painting or the portrait of Madame Matisse I can visualize it but, when mentioning something a little less well known I'd really love to be able to refer to said image. The article really made me think, "Wow, I wish I had a monograph of Matisse," only to realize, a day later, "You silly girl, you do own a Matisse monograph." Before Yelena conked out in her sling (hence why I'm able to write such a long post) I was showing her a few paintings. She did not find them as interesting as our play earlier with Morris the Borris the Moose II who grazes on pixels on top of the computer monitor, but I think it was a pretty good start.

Authors make much of a rivalry or dichotomy between Picasso and Matisse. Even I fell into the trap and asked Eli who he prefers. Sagely, he replied that he didn't feel like he had to choose. So often, almost structural pairs are set up in art: designo or colore, Rubens or Poussin, Ingres or Delacroix, Picasso or Matisse. But it's not like their oeuvres form some continuum with one on each end. The opposite of Delacroix is not Ingres but some really crappy painter (I could not choose between the two at gunpoint). The opposite of Matisse isn't Picasso, it's a void of innovation or an empty wall (Dada jokes aside). They weren't the Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton of the art world. Picasso did disparage Matisse's work during their heyday, but the New Yorker author also mentions that at the end of Matisse's life, when he was essentially an invalid and doing his beautiful cutouts, "Picasso... was a frequent and welcome visitor." I envision two old lions, none who rivaled them in their lives, reminiscing and talking about art on a plain none else could share.