Hudson River Landscapes at Peabody-Essex

Twisted! Thomas Cole's painting (right) c. 1850, is very similar in composition to that of Claude's, c. 1650, (left). They're even the same size. 

The Peabody-Essex Museum in Salem, MA, is hosting a traveling exhibition of nineteenth-century American landscapes on loan from the New York Historical Society. Salem is the only New England stop on the tour, and definitely worth a visit, if only to view the paintings by Thomas Cole (not to mention all the wonderful pagans in their witchy-warlocky-Octobery outfits). In a few days, I'll post a report on Cole's works, which includes a masterpiece series rarely shown to such advantage titled "The Course of Empire." Painting - The American Vision, closes on November 6.

But it so happened that just the day before my visit, I'd been studying the nineteenth-century English landscapists (Cole was born in England) and their relationship to the old masters, in particular their debt to Claude Lorrain.

Claude, as he's called, perfected a branch of northern European landscape painting in which the artist fashions "perfect" pastoral scenes more ideal than any in fact. As a young man, Claude led a footloose life in and around Rome, where "pure" landscapes, despite the popularity of those by Dutch masters, were frowned upon as unworthy of serious painting. Claude got around this by having small figures added to his paintings, sometimes even by other artists, thus providing a narrative pretext, often mythical, sometimes Biblical, for the imaginary scenery he loved to paint. Tastes change, and the world soon came to his doorstep, and Claude became one of the most celebrated - and imitated - landscape painters in all of history.

For proof, one need look no further than the Hudson River paintings being shown at the Peabody-Essex. Hudson River pioneer Thomas Cole is generally lauded as "the father of American landscape painting," and so he was, but in the zeal to establish the Hudson River School as the first native art movement in America, the debt to European models is often overlooked. And the more one looks, I'm afraid, the more deep that debt appears. 

Reduced to a formula, Claude's paintings (which are gorgeous masterpieces, don't get me wrong) consist of a broad, horizontal expanse of bucolic countryside pervaded by a warm, golden glow, as of evening, framed by foreground trees and tiny figures in the foreground, with the background receding dreamily into hills bathed in atmospheric violets and blues, often some water in the middle-to-foreground space.

Like his friend Nicolas Poussin, Claude's composites regularly included imaginary ruins suggestive of the pastoral tradition established by Roman writer Virgil. Not only did Thomas Cole do the same, but as shown by a comparison of the two paintings below, he adopted the whole raft of Claudian conventions, including composition, light, warm greens, and the handling of foliage.

Claude Lorrain,  Landscape with Merchants, 1635

Thomas Cole, Dream of Arcadia, 1838

Even the proportions of Cole's most Claude-like paintings shamelessly match those of Claude's. The following FOUR nineteenth-century American paintings from the Peabody Essex show follow basically the same horizontal, Claudian format of framing foreground trees, watery middle distance, and atmospheric mountains receding majestically in the background distance. They're by Asher B. Durand, Jasper Cropsey, Thomas Hill, and Albert Bierstadt respectively.

Even the one Inness on view (below) doesn't stray radically far from the same European motifs. 

Of course, none of these painters would be considered an "imitator" of Claude or Poussin or the Dutch old-master landscapists like Jacob van Ruisdael and his circle. They each updated the old models with North American scenery and their own 19th century sensibilities. That's what artists did for centuries, until the 20th century established the cult of originality, in which works of "striking originality" were supposed to spring like Athena, fully formed, from the intense brow of the maverick individual. And today, of course, it's all about "infringement."

I still believe that studying and copying the techniques of worthy masters is the best way to learn anything. It's just sort of striking to me, I guess, that a show titled "The American Vision"can actually on closer inspection be found to owe such a serious debt to the traditional European conventions of landscape art. 

White Mountain Art

Just back from a well-received lecture I gave with a colleague of mine from Chester College on White Mountain art and artists. This time we gave the presentation at The Balsams, a grand hotel in Dixville Notch. I tried to give context for the arc of American landscape painting from the 1820s to about 1870 and today with a focus on the twin lights of White Mountain art as these painters saw it: the pastoral vistas and the sublime precipices of the White Mountain range.

The following essay of mine appeared in the catalogue of an exhibition of White Mountain art mounted by The Banks Gallery. It appears in the book “Visions in Granite II,” published in 2008 by Blue Tree in Portsmouth, N.H.

New Hampshire’s White Mountains played a crucial and still under-appreciated role in the coming of age of American art. Arriving in the midst of nineteenth century America’s desire for a worthy symbol of national identity, the artistic “discovery” of the White Mountains was a key moment in the establishment of a nationalist aesthetic under the banner of the liberat

ion of American painting from European models. In the 1820s, before the opening of the American West, the White Mountain region offered unparalleled expansive pastoral views coupled with the most rugged peaks and chasms accessible at the time. During the nineteenth century, their majestic views and picturesque valleys proved irresistible to hundreds of artists, both men and women, who found in them not only a dazzling beauty but a Romantic Eden full of sublime portent and seemingly endless creative possibility.

Lancaster hunter-trapper Timothy Nash discovered the area known as Crawford Notch in 1771 while tracking a moose over Cherry Mountain. He correctly matched the gap he spotted to his south with Native American lore describing a steep-walled pass through the mountains. He made his way there, pushed through it, and kept going all the way to Portsmouth to tell the governor about it. He was promised that if he could get a horse through the Notch from Lancaster, which was doubtful, and then build a road in from the east, a good chunk of the land was his. He and a partner had to lower the horse over a few boulders with ropes, but they succeeded, and the first carriage road to the White Mountains opened in 1775. The Crawford family, the first to permanently settle there, ran a well-known inn and tavern at the base of Mount Washington, the Mount Crawford House, for years.

Early nineteenth-century paintings and engravings of Crawford Notch provided the country’s first glimpses of the magnificence of the White Mountains. Massachusetts landscapists Thomas Doughty and Alvan Fisher traveled to the White Mountains in the 1820s and ‘30s, and a Romantic painting of the Notch by Fisher made a sensation when he exhibited it in Boston in 1834. But Thomas Cole’s celebrated 1839 work, A View of the Mountain Pass Called the Notch of the White Mountains, now in the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., inaugurated a whole new ideal in American art.

A critic writing that year in New York’s art newspaper The Knickerbocker hailed Cole’s painting as a “truly American picture,” in no small part because of the “boldness of the scenery itself.” Grand with towering mountain peaks and lush with streams, lakes, and valleys, the White Mountains more than anywhere else in the nation seemed to offer early-to-mid nineteenth century artists and writers a distinctly American synthesis of picturesque beauty and sublime grandeur superior even to European antecedents. Cole, considered a major pioneer of the so-called Hudson River School style, singled out New Hampshire and its “wild” mountains as uniting all of the quintessentially “American” qualities of the new world’s landscape. In his influential “Essay on American Scenery,” published in the American Monthly Magazine’s January 1836 issue, Cole rhapsodized that:

“in the mountains of New Hampshire there is a union of the picturesque, the sublime and the magnificent; there the bare peaks of granite, broken and desolate, cradle the clouds; while the vallies (sic) and broad bases of the mountains rest under the shadow of noble and varied forests …. although in some regions of the globe nature has wrought on a more stupendous scale, yet she has nowhere so completely married together grandeur and loveliness – there [one] sees the sublime melting into the beautiful, the savage tempered by the magnificent.”

Hallmarks of nineteenth century Romanticism, the “sublime” and the “picturesque” represented two poles of emotional response to nature; the picturesque spoke to nature’s beauty and its Platonic symbolism of the harmony between the human and the divine; the sublime spoke to mortality and the insignificance of human life in the face of the violent, impersonal forces of nature.

In Crawford Notch, Cole, who was a strongly didactic and dramatic narrative painter, depicted a tense, forbidding, dangerous wilderness such as the public had been led to expect from cautioning guidebooks and “reports from the interior.” At the bottom of the steep, broken cliffs of the pass, Cole included the deserted cabin of the famous Willey family. In 1826, a massive landslide in Crawford Notch drove the valley’s first pioneering family, that of Samuel Willey, Jr. his wife, five children, a hired man and a boy, from out of their homestead and to their deaths, perversely sparing the cabin they’d evacuated. Adjacent to it, Cole depicted a larger homestead, perhaps the Crawfords’, as emblematic of the Jeffersonian ideal of small holders contentedly cultivating their share of the land. Above them, blue sky battles a passing storm. Dead trees throw up blanched, contorted branches while foreground shadow darkens the looming stumps of trees downed by axes and nature’s caprice.

Nathanial Hawthorne blended traditional elements of the sublime and the picturesque in his sketch of the Willey incident in “The Ambitious Guest,” in which “the lowly cottage,” its hearth “piled high with the driftwood of mountain streams” and “the splintered ruins of great trees” is engulfed by the “unutterable horror of catastrophe” in “a cataract of ruin.” The “Willey Disaster,” as it came to be known, kindled interest as its story reverberated along the eastern seaboard, confirming early reports of the dangers of this “wild” region. For artists, however, the vacant Willey cabin, standing abandoned to the elements, instantly created a “ruin” emblematic of the darker forces in nature, furnishing artists such as Cole with a pictorial theme worthy of earlier European art’s “Gothick sublimity.”

Over the succeeding decades, Crawford Notch, Mount Washington and Chocorua and the rest of the White Mountains provided more than just compelling subject matter. Then, as now, they provided an ideal site for artists seeking American scenery illuminated by high Romanticism’s twin lights: nature’s primeval sublimity and “picturesque” – and unforgettable – beauty.