22010 Visionary: The Paul G. Allen Collection Part 1

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AUCTION VISIONARY: THE PAUL G. ALLEN COLLECTION PART I 9 November 2022 at 7:00pm VISIONARY: THE PAUL G. ALLEN COLLECTION PART II 10 November 2022 at 10:00am Christie’s Rockefeller Plaza 20 Rockefeller Plaza New York, NY 10020 VIEWING: 29 OCTOBER – 9 NOVEMBER 2022

HEADS OF SALE Max Carter +1 212 636 2091 mcarter@christies.com Johanna Flaum +1 212 468 7174 jflaum@christies.com

AUCTION CODE AND NUMBER In sending absentee bids or making enquiries, this sale should be referred to as VISIONARY-22010

ABSENTEE AND TELEPHONE BIDS Tel: +1 212 636 2437 Christie’s has a direct financial interest in each lot of property listed in this catalogue. For certain lots, Christie’s has funded all or part of our interest with third party guarantors. These lots will be noted with symbols on the sale landing page on christies.com. The sale for each lot is subject to the Conditions of Sale, Important Notices and Explanation of Cataloguing Practice which are set out online, with other important sale information at christies.com.

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Paul G. Allen: A Man for all Seasons 14

Paul Gauguin and the Romance of the World’s Fair 22

John Quinn, The Armory Show and Les Poseuses 32

Alfred H. Barr, Jr. and the Fathers of Modernism 44

Lots 1-5 56-77

Coding Vision: Jasper Johns and the Pointillists 78

Lots 6-16 88-147

A Different Country: Imagination and the Landscape Tradition 148

Lots 17-26 158-203

Genius of Place: The Enduring Myth of Venice 204

Lots 27-33 216-251

Lucian Freud’s Large Interior, W11 (After Watteau) BY WILLIAM FEAVER 252

Lots 34-47 258-329

The Future Tense: Painting Beyond Time 330

Lots 48-61 342-399

Essays 401




“I believe that good art helps us see the world around us a little differently… [it] gives us fresh perspectives, even sometimes a little stronger sense of purpose.” PAUL G. ALLEN

Paul G. Allen’s achievements were remarkable. Before the age of 30, the computer software company he co-founded had transformed how the world worked, yet his unstinting curiosity led him to continue seeking change across the fields of arts, culture, conservation, science, and technology. This superlative collection of art is just one aspect of his legacy, but one that represents the spirit of a true visionary, who saw these remarkable objects as the perfect lens through which to view and understand the world. To survey his collection is to follow the principal threads of modern art, aesthetics, and collecting across centuries. Over 500 years ago, the exquisite finish of Botticelli, and later, Brueghel, and Canaletto gave way to Turner’s late experiments with atmosphere and light. Manet and Monet led the Impressionist impulse to capture fleeting sensations; Seurat, Signac, and the Pointillists broke them down into their component parts; Van Gogh charged them with deep feeling and expression. Cezanne built still lifes and landscapes with flattened, architectural brushwork. Picasso, following Cezanne and the far-flung influences of Gauguin shattered visual perceptions and, between the world wars evolved to remake them. Johns disassembled them once more; Bacon, Freud, and Hockney brought them back together. As a visionary innovator himself, Allen was drawn to these pioneering artists, each of whom produced art that was ahead of their time. Portrait of Paul G. Allen. Photo: Béatrice de Géa. Courtesy of Vulcan.



Paul G. Allen’s intellectual range stood him in good stead at school and he became an accomplished scholar at Lakeside School in Seattle, where he first met fellow pupil Bill Gates. He scored a perfect 1600 on his SAT test and enrolled at Washington State University, but dropped out after two years to work as a computer programmer for Honeywell in Boston. His friend Bill Gates was studying nearby at Harvard, and as the early microcomputers began to emerge, the pair realized that the future lay not in large-scale mainframe computing, but in the new world of personal computers. Allen suggested to Gates that they write software for a fledgling company that he had seen on the cover of Popular Electronics magazine.

Paul G. Allen at the World’s Fair, Seattle, 1962. © Paul G. Allen Family.

Paul G. Allen with a guitar in class. © Paul G. Allen Family.

The origins of Paul G. Allen’s visionary curiosity might be traced back to his early encounters with art. As a child, his family owned a book about Pablo Picasso’s late career, a period in which the artist was working in different media including painting, sculpture, ceramics, even constructing toy hats out of paper for the local children. Spending hours leafing through the pages of this book the young Allen became fascinated by the range and breadth of Picasso’s creativity, opening the young boy’s mind to the possibility of art being a vehicle for innovation and inspiration. “I drew a lot,” he later recalled, “mainly rockets, robots, and other kinds of scientific apparatus,” but admitted he didn’t use art just to capture something’s likeness, “I used art as a way to think about things.”

His response to the art he saw was that of intellectual curiosity, as well as emotional resonance. He was fascinated to see the world through the eyes of another person, and to witness what they thought was important. “The way [the artist is] trying to express it could be mysterious or enigmatic or elusive,” Allen said, “Or it could be celebrating the beauty of certain scenes or the chaotic nature of things, the strange nature of things. There are so many different ways that a painter can be trying to get these elements across.” Sometimes it was simply the pure beauty of the object; when he saw Monet’s large-scale water lily murals at The Museum of Modern Art in New York he declared, “They are so beautiful that they bring a tear to your eye. That’s the amazing power of art.”

At one point during his childhood, the Allen family welcomed a Japanese exchange professor to stay with them and he gave them a netsuke, a small carving of a lion with a ball in its mouth. This object fascinated Allen, and he would spend hours looking at it and wondering how the creator of this magical piece managed to get the ball in the animal’s mouth. Allen’s parents would take him to what is now the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture in Seattle to see the collections of Northwest Native artists. Later, as a young adult, he would visit the Seattle Art Museum and also make trips further afield including to London, where on his first visit to the city in the early 1980s, he went to the Tate Gallery and he saw his first painting by Roy Lichtenstein, works by Claude Monet, and John Everett Millais’s enchanted Ophelia.

Allen grew up to become a true polymath: co-founder—along with Bill Gates—of Microsoft; philanthropist (particularly in the fields of the advancement of science, technology, education, and the arts); an NBA and NFL team owner, and an advocate for developing new forms of urban communities that put technology and culture at the heart of better and healthier living. The curiosity instilled in him by his Picasso book would later manifest itself in a number of innovations that he helped to develop and which would go on to change the world and how it operated. “Back in the Renaissance, people didn’t draw sharp distinctions between art, science, philosophy and the natural world,” Allen once pointed out. “They saw them as different strands of the same braid.”

By 1975, the pair were in Albuquerque, New Mexico where a startup firm called MITS had developed one of the world’s first personal computers. The issue for the company was that they had no software to run it, and this is where Allen and Gates spotted an opportunity to supply their new Microsoft Basic system. The software proved to be so successful that within a year they had sold it to third-party manufacturers such as NCR (National Cash Registers), Citibank and General Electric to run on their machines. Allen was a pragmatic programmer and liked nothing more than to assess an issue, roll-up his sleeves and dive right into the knottiest of problems. As a pair they were highly successful, and by April 1979 Gates and Allen were back in Seattle and their BASIC interpreter had become the first microprocessor software system to surpass a million dollars in sales and was installed on more machines than any other program in the world.

Allen’s unique and cogent approach to business meant that his skills were highly transferable and could be utilized by many different types of organizations. In the spring of 1988 he acquired the Portland Trail Blazers professional basketball team and at the age of thirty-five became the youngest owner in the NBA. He was the first to admit he wasn’t a natural athlete, but he was a huge fan, and for successful NBA ownership to work, he believed you had to be a fan first and businessman second. He faced the challenges of running a successful professional sports franchise with gusto, reaching the championship finals on several occasions. As in his career at Microsoft, Allen knew his strengths, and provided suggestions on issues where he knew he could add value, and became wise counsel on the occasions where other people needed a sounding board. Whereas Allen entered the NBA as a fan, he became involved in the NFL out of a sense of civic duty. In 1996, he was approached by a consortium of local Seattle politicians who were looking for a buyer for the Seattle Seahawks football team. He agreed to a multi-million dollar option to acquire the Seahawks, on condition that the city and state authorities agreed to the financing of a new stadium. Under Allen’s ownership, the team rose from relative obscurity to reach the Super Bowl in 2006 and 2015, and winning the title itself in 2014. Ahead of the 2006 NFC title game, Allen was chosen to raise the Twelfth Man flag, and was introduced to the crowd “His Dad took him to Husky games. He saved our Seahawks, built the NFL’s most beautiful stadium… Welcome, Paul G. Allen.”

Paul G. Allen playing the guitar. © Vulcan.



“…after a while you start wondering what it would be like to live with amazing pieces like this in your own living spaces and to have them give you those same kind of feelings in daily life.” PAUL G. ALLEN

Ever since he was a boy, Allen had been fascinated by space. After Yuri Gagarin became the first man to launch into space in April 1961, Allen went out onto to his front porch to see if he could see the Russian cosmonaut high up in the sky. He read every book he could get his hands on, and even turned the closet in his bedroom into a makeshift rocket. As an adult, his thoughts turned again to the future of space travel and what he might do to advance the frontiers of manned space flight. He teamed up with Burt Rutan—the renegade genius of modern aerospace engineering—to develop SpaceShipOne, an experimental air-launched rocket-powered sub-orbital aircraft. The unique design allowed for the wings to “hinge upwards” to create the drag needed to allow the aircraft to re-enter the earth’s atmosphere safely while retaining stability. Rutan’s unconventional design worked and in 2004 it was awarded the prestigious Ansari X Prize for a nongovernmental organization to produce a reusable crewed space craft. Allen’s investment in SpaceShipOne was done on the basis of all of his investments: find the best people and give them the room to operate. Paul G. Allen’s interests continued to be broad and far-reaching. In addition to raising Seattle’s reputation as a location for top tier sports, he also sought to turn the Pacific Northwest city into a cultural hub. In 2000 he founded what became the Museum of Pop Culture (MoPOP), a Frank Gehry-designed building filled with over 120,000 objects from the worlds of music, film, TV, and popular culture. The organization’s mission is to celebrate creative expression as a life-changing force to inspire and connect communities. Allen’s own passion for rock ‘n’ roll and science fiction began in childhood, and inspired his own pop culture collection which included the white Fender Stratocaster that Jimi Hendrix played at Woodstock, and a Starfleet tunic worn by Leonard Nimoy in Star Trek, both objects which Allen later donated to the museum.

As his interest in art developed, he began to consider establishing his own collection. “It’s great to make a pilgrimage to museums,” Allen said, “but after a while you start wondering what it would be like to live with amazing pieces like this in your own living spaces and to have them give you those same kinds of feelings in daily life.” Art became a vehicle with which Paul G. Allen could explore the world around him and engage directly with people of different times and different cultures. He admitted to being a rather spontaneous collector, sometimes seeking out works by artists that intrigued and interested him and waiting for the works to become available, yet at the same time not being afraid to act if the right opportunity arose. Landscapes would become a common theme, encompassing some of places he loved the most—particularly London and Venice—but also paintings which gave him a broader sense of place. “People talk about how our brains are wired to look at landscapes and to see what is going on in them—so there’s something about landscapes that seems almost universally attractive. It’s a way of looking outward, but at the same time the artist is putting his own expression into the depiction of the landscape…they are windows onto different realities,” he said. Art became a reflection of Paul G. Allen’s life. For him, it encompassed many things: beauty, emotion, and a portal into other worlds both past and present—something that can be seen in both the scope and breadth of the works he collected. Allen’s natural and constant curiosity was an unbreakable thread which ran throughout his life; his business success was the result of his continuous questioning, and his art collection enabled him to pursue these passions in new and unexpected ways. For him, the collection was a source of intellectual sustenance, a place for him to continue his quest. “I believe that good art helps us see the world around us a little differently,” Paul G. Allen determined, “[it] gives us fresh perspectives, even sometimes a little stronger sense of purpose.”

Paul G. Allen viewing multimedia art at the Seattle Art Fair. © Vulcan. 18





The story of modern art in late nineteenth century Paris can be told in part through the series of increasingly ambitious, evermore dazzling World’s Fairs that the city hosted. Since 1851, when London hosted the first show of this kind in Joseph Paxton’s magnificent glass edifice, the Crystal Palace, these all-encompassing exhibitions—fifteen in total were staged across the globe from this year through 1900—stunned visitors, offering countries the opportunity to reinforce their industrial, cultural, for a time, colonial, and later, technological development. Markets could be expanded as a nation’s commodities were proudly displayed. Audiences could likewise experience many of these novel products and innovations. For many, a visit to a World’s Fair offered the first opportunity to witness the latest feats of human ingenuity: electricity, the telephone, elevators, television. For a smaller group of visitors, however, it was the often extensive art exhibitions that formed a central part of these shows which offered the greatest inspiration—or in many cases, the most vehement reaction. In France in particular, the showcasing of past and current artistic triumphs served to influence and incite artists as they forged their own path within the competitive art world of Paris. Individual experiences of these exhibitions serve to illuminate just how important these shows were, not just for the artists themselves, but for the shaping of the modern art market and the formulation of artistic factions and movements. One artist in particular, Paul Gauguin, was deeply influenced by the succession of World’s Fairs that took place in Paris. For Gauguin, a former stockbroker turned artist, the many Expositions Universelles offered him a range of inspiration. In particular, the national pavilions of far-flung countries conjured a seemingly real experience of a different kind of civilization. Disenchanted with the west and with his repeated failure to find artistic recognition, Gauguin imbibed these displays with ardent wonder. They planted the seed for his journey to Tahiti, which would forever alter the course of his art, and the story of modern art as a whole. It was not just the visual inspiration he found in the Fairs, but the strategies of showing his work were also inspired by the various art exhibitions, both sanctioned and independent, that took place at the same time. Finally, it was to the 1900 World’s Fair that Gauguin looked for artistic validation as he neared the end of his peripatetic life. Exposition Universelle, Paris, 1889. Photo: Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-24999.



View of the Crystal Palace in Sydenham, London 1854. Photo: Smithsonian Libraries Photo Archive.

Courbet’s pavilion at the 1855 Exposition Universelle, Paris. Photo: © Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Following the enormous success of Prince Albert’s 1851 Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations, Paris, not to be outdone by London, staged its own Exposition four years later. France was then under the new reign of Emperor Napoleon III and as a result, the fair was used as a means of reflecting the legitimacy and might of the Second Empire. It was here, in 1855, that the “world of art” would be introduced as an archetype of human achievement parallel to the world of science.

While this bold move did not attract many visitors, it was to have major repercussions on a younger generation of artists. Courbet’s aim to “interpret the manners, the ideas, the aspect of my time, in terms of my own evaluation, in a word, to produce living art” (quoted in ibid., p. 17) was at the time radical. Both Courbet’s art and his exhibition and publicity strategies laid the foundations for many of the revolutionary artistic developments that would follow. In 1863, fueled in part by Courbet’s daring act, the Salon des Refusés was held in the Palais de l’Industrie, a building constructed for the 1855 fair. It was there that Manet first showed Le déjeuner sur l’ herbe (1863, Musée d’Orsay).

Including a range of art exhibitions both national and international, this elaborate artistic spectacle was dominated by two one-man shows: the Romantic rebel, Eugène Delacroix, and the stately NeoClassical master, Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. In itself, the concept of a single artist retrospective was novel. The exhibition strategy would be increasingly employed in the years that followed as a means of promoting and making a market for an artist’s work. Along with the two exhibitions of these nineteenth-century artistic leaders, artists from twenty-eight countries were shown in this exhibition, which was described as “the most remarkable collection of paintings and sculpture ever brought within the walls of one building” (quoted in J. Rewald, The History of Impressionism, New York, 1961, p. 15). Five thousand artworks lined the galleries of the Palais des Beaux-Arts, touching frame to frame in rows that stretched to the top of the ceiling. Another one-man exhibition could also be seen at the 1855 Exposition. The Realist revolutionary, Gustave Courbet, had been offered a show in the official exhibition, but declined to participate on account of two of his most important works having been rejected by the jury, including the notorious L’atelier du peintre (1854-1855, Musée d’Orsay, Paris). Instead, he defiantly constructed his own exhibition space, named the Pavillon du Réalisme, adjacent to the official show.


By 1867, France’s Second Empire was in what proved to be its final years, and the Exposition Universelle of that year in many ways stands as the zenith of its reign. Parisians found themselves living in an altogether new city following the radical renovations led by Baron Haussmann in conjunction with Napoleon III. Manet’s L’Exposition de 1867 (Nasjonalmuseet, Oslo), a seemingly innocuous panoramic vision of the grounds of the fair and city beyond, in fact serves as a subversive critique of Second Empire Paris. For the first time, other countries were invited to erect a pavilion at the fair, opening up worlds and cultures previously unimaginable to the general public. This would have a particular influence on a number of artists working in Paris at this time. The Japanese art they found in the country’s pavilion precipitated the vogue for Japonisme that pervaded the city and its artists, including Claude Monet and Vincent van Gogh, in the years that followed. The Salon of 1867, which coincided with the fair, had a particularly reactionary jury, rejecting the work of Paul Cezanne, Manet, Monet, Pissarro, Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Alfred Sisley. As a result, Manet decided to follow the earlier example of Courbet and stage his own


The 1889 Exposition Universelle was pivotal for Gauguin in another way too. Having found a less than enthusiastic reception to his art, he decided that he needed to free himself from the conventions of civilized society and experience a more “primitive” existence far away from the concerns of the Parisian art world. Born in Peru, Gauguin had been brought up in a middle-class family in Paris. The World’s Fair helped alight a keenly felt desire in the artist to escape the bounds of his class and discover a new and more authentic way of life. “You know that I have Indian blood, Inca blood in me, and it’s reflected in everything I do. It’s the basis of my personality; I try to confront rotten civilisation with something more natural,” he wrote to Theo van Gogh (quoted in G.T.M Shackelford and C. Frèches-Thory, Gauguin Tahiti: The Studio of the South Seas, exh. cat., Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais, Paris, 2003, p. 4). Following a trip to Panama and Martinique in 1887, the colonial exhibition held as part of the 1889 fair validated Gauguin’s belief that he needed to leave Europe for good. The reconstructions of colonies and cultures captured his imagination, offering a visual incarnation of what he believed he would find in the far away world of the tropics. “Hindu dancers can be seen in the Javanese village,” he wrote to Bernard. “All of the art of India is on display there, and the photographs I have from Cambodia literally come alive there” (quoted in C. Becker, Paul Gauguin: Tahiti, Berlin, 1998, p. 98).

Edouard Manet, L’Exposition Universelle de 1867, 1867. Nasjonalmuseet, Oslo.

pavilion. “To exhibit is to find friends and allies for the struggle,” he declared in the catalogue of his exhibition (quoted in Salon to Biennale: Exhibitions that Made Art History, London, 2008, vol. I, p. 11). Manet’s allies had already coalesced to form a group that was beginning to espouse the “New Painting.” Visiting both Manet and Courbet’s exhibitions not only galvanized their desire to continue to create art that broke away from Salon and historical convention, painting outside the expectations of society, but offered a previously unseen path for public exhibition. Courbet once again also staged his own show. This time he built his pavilion in bricks and mortar with the intention to rent it out to other artists following the exhibition. It was this possibility that offered the group of soon-to-be Impressionists the idea of holding their own show there after having tried—and failed—to have their work accepted into the Salon. Though Courbet’s pavilion as a site for their exhibition never came to fruition, the concept of an independently organized show did: the First Impressionist Exhibition was held eight years later in the studio of the photographer, Nadar. By the time of the 1889 Exposition Universelle—the fair famous for the unveiling of the Eiffel Tower— this nascent group of artists had pioneered Impressionism. Having been exposed to the grand displays of France’s revered masters, as well as the plethora of more radical examples over the course of the World’s Fairs, they had forged their own form of modern art, which had been at first scorned, before gradually becoming accepted, like their own predecessors’ work before

them. In the Centennial Exhibition that was held for this fair, the work of Manet, including his notorious Olympia (1863, Musée d’Orsay, Paris), once so derided when it was shown in the Salon of 1865, as well as his contemporaries, Monet, Pissarro and Cezanne, was included—an unimaginable feat in 1867. Georges Seurat, La Tour Eiffel, circa 1889. Fine Art Museums of San Francisco. Photo: © NPL - DeA Picture Library / Bridgeman Images.

In 1889, however, these artists were still considered radical, and while the exhibition’s curator, Roger Marx, had been bold enough to include them, he was unable to ensure that the younger generation, including the likes of Gauguin, could be shown. “The State increasingly protected mediocrity and professors who suited everyone,” Gauguin later reflected. “Yet alongside these pedants, courageous fighters have come along and dared to show: paintings without recipes... All of twentieth-century art will derive from them... We would like to have seen these independent artists in a separate section in the Exhibition” (quoted in J. Jonnes, Eiffel’s Tower, New York, 2009, p. 93).

In 1891, Gauguin’s dreams finally became reality as he set sail for Tahiti. While he would find the reality of life in South Seas very different from these idealized displays in Paris, these images stayed with him for the rest of his life, underpinning many of the paintings of his Tahitian period. By the time of the 1900 Exposition Universelle, Gauguin was in the midst of his second and final stay in French Polynesia. The renown of this fair was such that even in far-off Tahiti, the artist received word of the exhibitions planned. This time, two new exhibition spaces were to be built for the grand display of French art. The Grand and Petit Palais— both of which still stand today—were constructed next to the new Pont d’Iéna that connected them to the Left Bank. The Petit Palais was to show French art through 1800; the Grand Palais, a Centennial Exhibition that featured painting and sculpture as well as decorative art and furniture from 1800 through to 1900—though in reality it ended in 1890.

In the spirit of the independent shows that Courbet and Manet had in their time organized in conjunction with the Exposition Universelle, Gauguin sought to hold his own exhibition of his work. Constrained by a lack of funds, instead, with the help of fellow artist Emile Schuffenecker, he set up a show in the Café Volpini. Perfectly situated next to the art section of the fair, the café was temporarily empty while the owner awaited the arrival of mirrors to line the interiors. In consequence, Gauguin and a number of carefully picked contemporaries, including Emile Bernard and Armand Guillaumin—Van Gogh had declined to be included—held a show of works under their self-named title “Groupe Impressioniste et Synthétiste.”

Unlike the previous 1889 fair, when the art of his generation was still considered too radical, by the turn of the century it seemed that his art would finally be accepted into this hallowed roster of artists who had come before him. In September 1899 he wrote that he wanted to Construction of the Eiffel Tower, circa 1889. Paris.



Pablo Picasso arrived in the autumn of 1900. He had made his longawaited and much longed for first trip to the city to see his submission, Les dernières moments, displayed in the Spanish pavilion. While his visit was underwhelming—his painting was hung high and poorly lit—this trip changed the artist’s life. The Centennial exhibition would have offered Picasso an art education like no other, as he regarded the work of David, through Ingres and Delacroix, Corot and Courbet, ending with Manet’s Déjeuner sur l’herbe—a painting to which he would return half a century later—and one of Monet’s Nymphéas. From this time onwards, Paris became the artist’s ultimate goal. He returned numerous times over the following years, finally settling in the unrivaled “capital of the arts” in 1904. Exhibition of the “Groupe Impressioniste et Synthétiste” held at the Cafe Volpini, 1889.

complete a series of works for the Exposition Universelle. He intended to paint a new cycle of works centered around a single theme specifically for the show, a “total Gauguin environment where he was the complete ring master—no comparisons, no escape for the visitor” (D. Sweetman, Paul Gauguin: A Life, New York, 1995, p. 473). He was too late, however. He did not ship his group of paintings, most of which centered around monumental, paradisical images of femininity and motherhood, until January 1900. In the end, he was represented in the Centennial exhibition by a single Breton landscape.

Though Picasso and the rest of the world missed seeing Gauguin’s latest 1899 Tahitian scenes at the 1900 Exposition, it was just six years later that the artist’s desire for his work to be seen in an immersive, large scale show was realized, when a posthumous retrospective was held for Gauguin at the 1906 Salon d’Automne. There, Picasso would have come face to face with Maternité II. This is one of the finest of the artist’s paradisical depictions of monumental Tahitian figures pictured in Edenic settings, all of which were painted with daringly abstracted, expressive color and sinuous arabesque lines. For Picasso, who was already in the midst of the move towards the great modernist movement, Cubism, Gauguin’s canvases were revelatory, offering him an artistic vision that broke both with the Western tradition of the nude as well as conventions of pictorial space and form. His often daring, now iconic Tahitian oeuvre would continue to inspire both artists and collectors as the rest of the century unfolded.

The result of his desire to produce a group of defining works for this century-beginning Exposition was a series of monumental visions of Tahitian women, transformed into archetypes of femininity rendered in the artist’s signature vibrant, fantastical palette. The Paul G. Allen Collection’s Maternité II was one such work—an embodiment not only of the distinct style that Gauguin had forged in Tahiti, but of the continuous importance that the World’s Fairs had exerted over the life and career of the artist—even after he had set up a home for himself across the world. Instead of shipping this work back to Paris, however, Gauguin chose to keep it in his possession, remaining with him until his death. Along with the Grand and Petit Palais, a host of other landmarks were constructed for the 1900 Exposition Universelle. The Gare d’Orsay— now the Musée d’Orsay—was built on the Seine, while the famed Art Nouveau entrances to the city’s new Métro were also designed especially for this event. It was to the newly built Gare d’Orsay that Pablo Picasso, La sortie de l’Exposition Universelle, Paris, 1900. Private collection. © 2022 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.





JOHN QUINN, THE ARMORY SHOW AND LES POSEUSES When the International Exhibition of Modern Art opened in New York in February 1913, it was greeted by an avalanche of articles in the press. One headline proclaimed “It Will Throw a Bomb Into Our Art World and a Good Many Leaders will be Hit,” while others described the show as an invasion, charting the arrival of such revolutionary artworks in the terms of a military engagement. More commonly known as the Armory Show, due to its location in the cavernous Sixty-Ninth Regiment Armory on Lexington Avenue, this ambitious exhibition was a watershed moment in the reception of modern art in America, introducing audiences to the very latest developments of the avant-garde. Organized by the Association of American Painters and Sculptors, the show welcomed thousands of eager visitors over the course of its month-long run. Faced with an extensive display of bold, challenging works, set against burlap-covered partitions that divided the space in a honeycomb arrangement, the Armory Show swiftly became notorious, drawing both ire and praise from visitors and critics alike. One thing was clear to all—the cultural landscape of America would be forever transformed.

Installation view of Gallery H of the Armory Show, New York, 1913. Photo: Bettmann / Contributor / Getty Images.


While the exhibition had originally been conceived as a showcase for contemporary American art, the scope of the show had expanded in 1912 when the head of the Association, Arthur B. Davies, had been alerted to an ambitious exhibition then taking place in Cologne, Germany. Organized by a group of enthusiastic supporters of modern art, the Sonderbund offered a comprehensive view of the most cutting-edge avant-garde artists active in Europe, and was filled with a dazzling array of works by the Impressionists, the Post-Impressionists (including over one hundred paintings by Van Gogh, as well as Verger avec cyprès in the present collection, and Henri Edmond Cross’s Rio San Trovaso, Venise), the latest experiments by the Cubists, and the startling new compositions of the Italian Futurists. Amazed by the catalogue for the exhibition, Davies dispatched a short note to his colleague Walt Kuhn, who promptly set sail for Europe in order to catch the show in person before it closed. Taking direct inspiration from the Sonderbund, the organizers of the Armory Show decided to include a section dedicated to the radical new art movements sweeping through Europe, charting a history through modernism that began with the work of Eugène Delacroix and Francisco de Goya, and continued through to the leading figures of the contemporary avant-garde. It was this aspect of the Armory Show that proved to be the most revolutionary, sending shockwaves through the art establishment and challenging American audiences to completely reconsider their view of fine art.


“The passion for having things and collecting things and doing things and being something is a cursed, damnable passion after all.” JOHN QUINN

politics and its bourgeoning literary revival, building a vast network of contacts that included the Yeats family, Lady Augusta Gregory, Douglas Hyde, and John Millington Synge.

John Quinn. Photographer unknown.

Among the vast array of works on show stood Georges Seurat’s Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version). One of just two Seurats included in the show, it was the only example of his figurative compositions to make it to the Armory and offered an insightful glimpse into the artist’s bold pointillist technique. It was here, amongst the Duchamps and Picassos, the Brancusis and Matisses, that the work first caught the eye of one of the most pioneering connoisseurs of his day, the New York attorney John Quinn. An active participant in the organization and promotion of the exhibition, Quinn’s legendary collection would be profoundly influenced by his experiences at the Armory Show. Born in April 1870 to Irish immigrants, John Quinn grew up in Fostoria, Ohio, the son of a baker. His mother Mary was an important influence on his early education, encouraging his love of literature, while his insatiable drive and photographic memory swiftly propelled him to the top of his class. Quinn’s legal career began when he enrolled in night classes at Georgetown University, while working for the then Secretary of the Treasury, former Ohio governor Charles Foster. Following his graduation in 1893, Quinn left Washington D.C. to study international law at Harvard, and subsequently moved to New York, where he quickly made a name for himself in financial circles as a brilliant litigator, later establishing his own boutique law firm in the city. While New York in the early years of the twentieth century was a stimulating, dynamic environment—a magnet for innovation and ambition—Quinn’s attention was drawn across the Atlantic, to the land of his forefathers. Delving into his Irish heritage, he took an active interest in the country’s


From his youth, Quinn had fostered a passion for collecting, beginning with rare books and first editions. As he became increasingly involved in cultural circles, he began to purchase autograph manuscripts of contemporary authors, from Joseph Conrad to James Joyce. Gradually his collecting practices evolved, moving to prints and drawings, and then fine art and paintings, focusing on artists whom he had met through his activities in Ireland, such as John Butler Yeats and his son Jack, as well as George Russell (AE). From there, his tastes expanded to include contemporary American artists—most notably the painters involved in The Eight, such as Arthur Davies and Maurice Prendergast—and British painters such as the Romanticist Augustus John, who fed Quinn’s growing interest in the European avant-garde. While he showed an interest in Impressionism, buying paintings by Edouard Manet and Camille Pissarro, Quinn’s acquisitions through the opening decade of the twentieth century were primarily focused on his circle of friends and acquaintances. Indeed, in many ways his rapidly growing art collection during this period was a reflection of his friendships and wider passions, built with an intention to support rather than accumulate—he was a patron more than a traditional collector, offering stipends in exchange for future works, or purchasing several compositions at once in order to provide a stable income for a struggling artist. However, as the new decade dawned, Quinn began to redirect his attention to France, and the revolutionary artists that were making a name for themselves within the Parisian avant-garde. Though a fleeting trip to the French capital in 1911 proved disappointing, leaving little time for gallery visits, Quinn was intrigued by news of Roger Fry’s exhibitions in London dedicated to Manet and the Post-Impressionists, and wrote letters to a number of friends and acquaintances asking them for their thoughts on the endeavor. In 1912, he took the plunge


Armory Show entry form for Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version). Photo: Walt Kuhn Family papers and Armory Show records. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.

Vincent van Gogh, Autoportrait, circa 1887. Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford.

Paul Cezanne, Madame Cezanne en robe rayée, 1883–85. Yokohama Museum of Art. Photo: Bridgeman Images.

and purchased a trio of masterpieces by the leading figures of PostImpressionism from Ambroise Vollard—a painting by Paul Cezanne of his wife, Hortense; a searching self-portrait by Vincent van Gogh from the final years of his life; and a daring, vibrant 1902 Tahitian scene by Paul Gauguin. These compositions not only marked a distinctive shift in the direction of Quinn’s interests, proving him to be amongst the most forward-thinking collectors in America, they also served as important anchors within the international section of the Armory Show, standing as key loans which reinforced the Association’s claims that there was a market for such works among New York collectors.

quinn-1913-armory-show). On one memorable evening, he was found wandering the halls of the Armory building with none other than the former president of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt, discussing the works with uninhibited zeal.

Quinn proved to be a central figure in the organization and staging of the show. Alongside loaning a considerable number of works from his own personal collection of contemporary British, Irish and American art, he helped incorporate the society and served as its legal representative, as well as providing financial backing and helping to secure the venue for the exhibition. He delivered a triumphant speech at the opening night festivities, boldly proclaiming the show an “epochmaking” event that represented “the most complete art exhibition that has been held in the world during the last quarter century,” and over the following weeks invited prominent figures from the worlds of business, politics and literature to attend, often personally escorting them around the show (quoted in H. Eakin, Picasso’s War: How Modern Art Came to America, New York, 2022, p. 45). Quinn himself visited the exhibition “almost every evening for from half an hour to an hour or two, that I could spare,” explaining, “it was a genuine refreshment to me. I never got tired of going around” (T. Nadan, “John Quinn and the 1913 Armory Show,” https://www.nypl.org/blog/2013/12/05/john-


For Quinn, the Armory Show represented a rare opportunity for true revolution in the American cultural landscape—in his mind, social progress was inseparable from advances in the arts, and by introducing the American public to the leaders of the artistic avant-garde on such a grand scale, he believed dramatic change was inevitable. In an article for Arts and Decoration, Quinn wrote: “Up to this time those who like myself are interested in vital contemporary art, have had to go abroad to see it… But all the work [in the Armory Show] has been assembled with one aim, to bring before the art lovers of New York the work of modern artists that shows vitality, intensity, depth of feeling, imaginative insight or love of abstract beauty, the art of men who have had the courage to shun with scorn effete sentiment, the ‘pretty’ as well as the petty, the tedious story-telling picture, and the cheap confectionery that dealers so easily sell and that nauseates the lover of vital art. There will be in this exhibition the work of artists whose chief aim has been to render the vibration or rhythm of life in form and color, of others whose aim has been the beautiful and not mere prettiness, and of men the best of whom have saved themselves from the taint of insincerity. Many people, in literature as in art, look with fear on what is new. They shudder at the idea of fundamental change. But life means growth, and should mean progress… Growth is life; stagnation, the failure to grow, is the great tragedy of art” (J. Quinn, “Modern Art from a Layman’s Point of View,” in Arts and Decoration, March 1913, pp. 155-156).

However, few seemed willing to embrace such change. Sales from the exhibition were limited, while reporters described visitors doubled over with laughter in the gallery space, eagerly hunting out the most challenging new works which they would loudly denounce or even openly ridicule. But amongst a few forward-thinking collectors, the Armory Show represented an extraordinary opportunity. According to records from the show, Quinn was one of the earliest people to purchase works from the exhibition. Over the course of the Armory Show’s run, he spent $5,808.75 on a diverse array of artworks, including two bronzes by Raymond Duchamp-Villon, three paintings by the sculptor’s brother Jacques Villon, as well as works by André Derain, Paul Signac and Odilon Redon. In the 1938 publication Story of the Armory Show, Walt Kuhn noted that it was Quinn’s bold purchases and confidence that stimulated others to buy, most notably Arthur Jerome Eddy, who would go on to acquire some of the exhibition’s most controversial and challenging works of art.

Marcel Duchamp, Nu descendant un escalier no. 2, 1912. Philadelphia Museum of Art. © Association Marcel Duchamp / ADAGP, Paris / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York 2022. Photo: The Philadelphia Museum of Art / Art Resource, NY.

The true impact of Quinn’s experiences at the show would only begin to emerge after the exhibition closed, however. The Armory Show opened his eyes to new art styles and techniques that he had previously dismissed, sparking a new appreciation for the art of Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso, while also introducing him to new artists such as Duchamp-Villon, Gino Severini, and Constantin Brancusi. Writing to a friend in the midst of the exhibition, he explained the great appeal of the new art he discovered there: “I enjoy a visit to the Armory with its pictures more than I would to an old cathedral. This thing is living… When one leaves this exhibition he goes outside and sees the lights streaking up and down the tall buildings and watches their shadows and feels that the pictures that he has seen inside after all have some relation to the life and color and rhythm and movement that he sees outside” (quoted in J. Zilczer, The Noble Buyer: John Quinn, Patron of the Avant-garde, exh. cat., Hirschorn Museum and Sculpture Gardens, Washington, D.C., 1978, p. 27). This new appreciation for such vital, contemporary art dramatically shaped Quinn’s buying activities over the course of the following decade. He acquired Marcel Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase no. 1, a companion piece to the composition which had caused such a sensation at the show in 1913, while several Brancusi sculptures made their way into his collection following an exhibition at Alfred Stieglitz’s 291 gallery in 1914.

The Rude descending a staircase (Rush-Hour at the Subway), in The New York Evening Sun, 20 March 1913. News clipping from scrapbook compiled by Harriet S. Palmer.The Museum of Modern Art Archives. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.


where each work from his collection lived among the jumble, and frequently ventured into the stacks to pull out a painting or sculpture he thought might delight or challenge a particular guest. However, by 1918 Quinn had begun to reconsider his collecting practices. A sudden health scare early in the year led to him being hospitalized for surgery to remove a cancerous growth in his stomach and, though he was soon on the road to recovery, the experience forced him to reconsider both his position and his legacy. In the aftermath of his surgery, Quinn was compelled to narrow his approach to collecting, focusing his acquisition strategy on masterworks by a select group of the artists he admired most. He vowed to no longer buy purely in order to support friends, writers and artists, providing financial assistance in order to grant them the freedom to pursue their creative work independently. As he explained to Marcel Duchamp, “I have come to the time in my modest career of collector when I desire to add only works of first-rate importance and not more sketches or tentative work” (quoted in ibid., p. 45). Instead, he drafted a list of the artists he wished to pursue, and vowed to commit to only the very best examples of their oeuvre, holding out if need be for the greatest works.

Henri-Pierre Roché, Constantin Brancusi and John Quinn, in Parc du Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Paris, 30 July 1921. Photo: Musée National d’Art Moderne / Centre Georges Pompidou / Paris / France.

However, the biggest shift in Quinn’s taste came with the Cubists—by March 1915, he had purchased six major oil paintings by Picasso, marking the beginning of a life-long passion for the Spaniard’s work, which would see him acquire over fifty compositions by the artist in less than a decade. Quinn’s foresight and exceptional eye for quality allowed him to acquire a wealth of art at modest prices, and he continued to buy voraciously through the rest of the decade, feeding his new-found appreciation for French modernism with purchases both directly from artists and through renowned galleries and dealers. During the dark years of the First World War, he extended his patronage to a number of leading figures of the avant-garde, assisting artists who fled to America, sending money to those who remained in Europe, and writing letters of support to artists who found themselves on the Front Lines. By the end of the decade, his eleven-room apartment was filled completely with his extensive collection—pictures hung on almost every wall, sculptures sat variously on tables, desks, shelves, even the floor, while canvases stood back to back in dense piles, propped against the walls in nearly every room, or stacked in closets and underneath beds. Recalling the layout, Quinn’s companion Jeanne Robert Foster recounted the effect of the cluster of Brancusis that stood in the foyer: “they hit you when you [entered]… The ensemble was stupendous. The paintings behind them were lovely… Redons John owned… Along between the pillars [which separated the foyer from the living and dining rooms] were Chinese ceramics…” (quoted in ibid., p. 38). Thanks to his photographic memory, Quinn was able to recall immediately


To assist him in this endeavor, he approached a man known as “The Great Introducer,” Henri-Pierre Roché. A writer by profession, Roché had been a popular figure among avant-garde circles in Paris before the First World War, frequenting the Stein’s salons, and cultivating friendships with a number of important modern artists, including the Duchamp brothers, Braque, Picasso and Derain. He had come to Quinn’s attention while stationed in New York during the War, and the collector decided to invite him for lunch at his apartment. Before they sat down to eat, Quinn gave Roché a tour of his collection, showing him through the stacks of paintings and sculptures. The Frenchman was astonished by the diversity and quality of Quinn’s holdings, particularly the most daring recent compositions by the Cubists. Quinn successfully persuaded him to act as his agent or “informant” in Paris—his primary goal would be to seek out great works of art to add to the collection, and to negotiate with artists and dealers on Quinn’s behalf. As for Quinn, the direction was now clear: “I am going to try to limit my purchases, as much as possible, to first rate examples… to works of museum rank or what we refer to here as star pieces” he wrote to Roché (quoted in H. Eakin, op. cit., 2022, p. 118).

Henri Matisse, Nu bleu: Souvenir de Biskra, 1907. Baltimore Museum of Art. © 2022 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: The Baltimore Museum of Art: The Cone Collection, formed by Dr. Claribel Cone and Miss Etta Cone, BMA 1950.228.


The Quinn Seurats

Their partnership proved to be highly successful, with Roché’s keen eye and network of contacts yielding a number of great masterpieces that, after a short deliberation, made their way across the Atlantic to New York. Quinn was an exacting client, requiring extensive written descriptions from Roché on potential purchases, supplemented by photographs of works under consideration. On other occasions, Quinn requested that a third party, most often a trusted friend or acquaintance, view a painting or sculpture and offer their opinion before he would commit. However, decisions were made swiftly if he was already intimately familiar with a particular work. In this regard, the memory of the Armory Show remained central to Quinn’s practices— during the early 1920s, he purchased works by many of the artists he had first discovered at the show, including several compositions that he had originally encountered in person at the exhibition. Most notably, in December 1920 he paid $4,500 for Henri Matisse’s Nu bleu: Souvenir de Biskra, a copy of which had been burned in effigy during the Chicagoleg of the show.

Georges Seurat, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), 1888.

Georges Seurat, Jeune femme se poudrant, 1888-1890. The Courtauld, London.

Georges Seurat, Temp Gris, Grande Jatte, 1886-1888. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, The Walter H. and Leonore Annenberg Collection.

Georges Seurat, Le cirque, 1890-1891. Musee d’Orsay, Paris. Photo: Scala / Art Resource, New York.

However, it was the pointillist paintings of Seurat that held particular sway over Quinn’s imagination during the opening years of the 1920s— between 1921-24, he purchased an extraordinary group of masterworks by the artist, numbering five oil paintings dating from his final years, as well as a handful of exquisite works on paper. While some of these were purchased through public auction, others were private sales through some of the great connoisseurs of Seurat’s oeuvre, including the artist’s close friend and fellow Pointillist, Paul Signac, from whom he purchased the iconic composition Le Cirque (De Hauke, no. 213; Musée d’Orsay, Paris), and the renowned art critic and writer Félix Fénéon, whom Quinn had visited during his important trip to Paris in 1921. Temp Gris, Grande Jatte (De Hauke, no. 177; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) appears to have been his first purchase of one of the artist’s paintings, acquired from Walther Halvorsen in Paris in 1921. The following year, Quinn added three more Seurat works to his collection—he began with La Poudreuse (De Hauke, no. 200; The Courtauld Institute of Art, London), bought at the Kelekian sale in January, but was dismayed to learn he had missed out on Le Chahut (De Hauke, no. 199; Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo) at the Goetz sale just a month later, as the catalogue had not reached him in time. Shortly thereafter he acquired Le Crotoy, amant (De Hauke, no. 194; Detroit Institute of Art), and Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), which had remained entrenched in Quinn’s memory since the Armory Show. Like Matisse’s Nu bleu: Souvenir de Biskra, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) was in the possession of the French connoisseur and collector Alphonse Kann, who had purchased the work around 1910, and loaned the canvas to the Armory Show in 1913. Quinn had visited Kann at his art-filled villa during his 1921 sojourn to Paris, perhaps on the suggestion of Félix Fénéon, and recalled a discussion between the two on the topic of the ideal modern art collection. It may have been during this visit that Quinn encountered Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) once again— the painting had not been publicly exhibited since before the First World War, with the Armory Show being among the final opportunities to see it in person before the outbreak of the conflict. The intervening years had done nothing to lessen its striking visual power and, though

“John Quinn was one of the four or five people in all the world who discovered everything that vibrated, everything that moved.” JEAN COCTEAU

Quinn had spent a large sum of money on new acquisitions in recent months, he was enchanted and agreed to purchase the painting a few months later for $5,500. In acquiring Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), Quinn’s avant-garde adventures had come full circle—one of the very works which had initially sparked his interest in Seurat, and indeed inspired him to begin collecting paintings by the French avantgarde in the first place, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) now stood as a central “star piece” within his own collection, a testament to the impact the Armory Show had in shaping his pioneering appreciation of modern art. Quinn’s concentrated pursuit of Seurat’s work would prove to be among his final battles in the realm of collecting—in July 1924 he passed away from intestinal cancer, aged fifty-four. In his final will, he decreed that his extensive collection be sold to benefit his sister Julia and niece Mary, with the exception of Seurat’s Le Cirque, which was to be gifted to the Louvre. The family chose to retain Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), one of the few masterpieces kept aside from the eager dealers and collectors who flocked to purchase works from the auctions that were staged in both Paris and New York. For the forward-thinking supporters of modern art in New York, the break-up of Quinn’s extraordinary collection was regarded as a travesty and an inestimable loss to American culture, prompting some to call for the establishment of a museum dedicated to modern art. By the end of the decade, such a project would be underway, guided by three pioneering female collectors—Lillie P. Bliss, Mary Sullivan, and Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, who together founded New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA). Quinn’s dedication to promoting the cause of modern art would continue to have long-lasting ramifications on the shape and direction of the institution during its early years. Visiting the memorial exhibition dedicated to Quinn’s collection in 1926, Alfred J. Barr, the first director of MoMA, was astounded by the concentrated view of modern art it offered, tracing the ways in which these revolutionary artists overlapped and diverged from one another. Barr recognized that Quinn’s collecting represented a much greater endeavor than just purchasing for pleasure, later saying: “Had he lived another decade, what a wonderful president of the Museum of Modern Art [Quinn] would have made” (quoted in H. Eakin, op. cit., 2022, p. 209).

Georges Seurat, Le Crotoy, amant, 1889. Detroit Institute of Arts.





ALFRED H. BARR, JR. AND THE FATHERS OF MODERNISM “Gauguin whose burning color and exotic sentiment conceal somber power; Van Gogh the master—and victim—of spontaneous artistic combustion; Cezanne arriving by patient trial and error at conclusions which have changed the direction of the history of art; Seurat who proves that great art can proceed from cool exquisite calculation; here are four painters!” So Alfred H. Barr Jr. concluded his first foreword in the catalogue for the Museum of Modern Art, New York’s inaugural exhibition in 1929, Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat, Van Gogh. The story of the Museum’s conception, its mission, and some of the complexities of its legacy today is in part centered around these four Post-Impressionists. These artists formed the foundation of Barr’s story of the development of modern art, which in turn assisted in shaping the tastes and collecting habits across America and beyond throughout the twentieth century. Each of these now revered masters are represented in the Paul G. Allen Collection with masterpieces that rank among the finest of their various oeuvres—a rare feat of connoisseurship within the landscape of collecting. Modern art arrived en masse on the shores of Manhattan in the form of the Armory Show in 1913. This notorious exhibition introduced America to Fauvism, Cubism, Futurism and more, the work of Cezanne, Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso and Marcel Duchamp—whose Nude Descending a Staircase was the star of the show—evoking widespread scandal, shock and condemnation. “The Armory Show is pathological! It is hideous!” the New York Times declared. Though the exhibition had a seismic effect on a handful of daring collectors, most notably John Quinn, the wider viewing public was not ready for these artists. It was not until the beginning of the 1920s that modern art truly began to take hold in the city. In 1921, New York’s doyen of the museum world, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, held what was then considered a controversial show of Impressionism, Post-Impressionism and early twentieth-century art, providing many—including Barr—a first and much desired opportunity to experience of the work of Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cezanne and others. To name but a few events that took place: in 1923, J.B. Neumann brought modern German art to the city via his New Art Circle Gallery. This same year, across the East River, New Yorkers were offered an opportunity to see

Installation view of the exhibition, Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat, Van Gogh, November-December 1929, The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Photographic Archive. The Museum of Modern Art Archives. Photograph by Peter Juley. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.



Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, circa 1941-1945. Photographic Archive. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.

Lillie P. Bliss, circa 1924. Bliss Family Papers, New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.

the latest in contemporary Russian art at an exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum. In 1926, John Quinn’s treasure trove of Picassos, Gauguins, Matisses, Brancusis and more was revealed to the public in his memorial exhibition. Katherine Dreier’s Société Anonyme also held the landmark International Exhibition of Modern Art this year. A.E. Gallatin’s Gallery of Living Art opened in New York University in 1927—the closest the city came to having a museum of modern art. Momentum for the modern was building—a trend that was keenly followed by three women: Boston textile heir, Lillie P. Bliss, Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, and Indianapolis born art teacher and collector, Mary Quinn Sullivan. Each had an interest in contemporary art. Bliss had already amassed a notable collection of Post-Impressionism. In her expansive apartment on Park Avenue could be found works by Cezanne, Edgar Degas, Odilon Redon and Seurat, among others. She had worked closely on acquiring many of her masterpieces with artist and Armory Show organizer, Arthur B. Davies, who had long espoused to her and many others the need for a museum of modern art in the city. Also in Davies’s circle were Rockefeller and Sullivan. After the artist’s death in 1928, each woman felt compelled to fulfil his deeply desired vision. The trio were brought together by serendipity. Bliss and Rockefeller met by chance on holiday in Egypt in the winter of this year. Rockefeller and Sullivan, already an acquaintance of Bliss, happened to be on the same return crossing back to America at the end of their trip. Each was ambitious and socially aware—and crucially had the means—to recognize that the modern European art they so admired and collected was not readily accessible to view in New York. They realized that between them they could potentially fill this gap in American museology.


Mary Quinn Sullivan. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/ Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.

The three women began their campaign for the initiation of a museum of modern art at the beginning of 1929. “During the spring a small group of New York people got together and took a first step toward a museum of modern art in New York,” Rockefeller said, “my husband is not at all interested in modern painting so that I have to go into it myself in a very modest way… in this Museum we are eager to show the pictures of younger men” (quoted in H.S. Bee and M. Elligott, eds., Art in Our Time: A Chronicle of the Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2004, p. 21). Her son, Nelson A. Rockefeller later recalled, “It was the perfect combination… [they] had the resources, the tact, and the knowledge… More to the point, they had the courage to advocate the cause of the modern movement in the face of wide spread division, ignorance, and a dark suspicion that the whole business was some sort of Bolshevik plot” (quoted in ibid., p. 22). Having recently been thrown off the board of trustees of the Albright Knox in Buffalo for acquiring a Picasso, A. Conger Goodyear was swiftly recruited to be chairman of a committee to form the proposed museum. He in turn brought in investor, collector, and art professor, Paul J. Sachs—his course in museum connoisseurship at Harvard University’s Fogg Museum was legendary—who accepted on the condition that he choose the first director. It was at this point that the 27-year-old Princeton alumnus and Wellesley professor, Alfred H. Barr Jr., Sachs’s former student and first recommendation, was introduced to the founders of the Museum. Arriving at the Rockefeller’s summer house in Maine for his interview, he was found to have “just the right combination of talent, education, and temperament, if not the presence, to be chosen for the job. But more than that, he was passionately devoted to bringing order and


“I have looked in the telephone book, and can find no trace of any similar institution in New York.” FRANK CROWNSHIELF TO A. CONGER GOODYEAR, 28 JUNE 1929

basis of The Museum of Modern Art. Along with his teaching, Barr took long trips across Europe, finding affirmation for many of his views, as well as seeing firsthand the latest artistic developments. Now that the Museum had a board and a director, its mission began to take shape. It would stand within the cultural landscape of the city in the same way that the Musée du Luxembourg existed with the Louvre in Paris, or the Tate with the National Gallery in London—as a site for the display of contemporary art. In addition to showing the art of the time, it would in due course, Barr wrote in 1929, “establish a… collection of the immediate ancestors, American and European, of the modern movement” (quoted in ibid., p. 212). It was in 1931, when, upon Bliss’s death she bequeathed her collection to the Museum, that this ambitious aim was transformed into a nascent reality. Alfred H. Barr, Jr., circa 1930. Photographic Archive. The Museum of Modern Art Archives, New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.

scholarship to an admittedly complex situation engendered by the very nature of modern art” (S.G. Kantor, Alfred H. Barr, Jr., and the Intellectual Origins of the Museum of Modern Art, Cambridge, 2002, p. 211) and was soon offered the job. “This is something I could give my life to— unstintedly” (quoted in ibid., p. 189), he wrote at the time.

The complexities of this dual, and didactic, mission—to exhibit cutting edge contemporary art while at the same time show the earlier influences that informed it—were immediately evidenced when it came to picking the Museum’s first exhibition. While Sachs and Barr advocated for “Paintings by Nineteen Living Americans,” Rockefeller and her cofounders favored a show of the founding “fathers” of Modernism, Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat and Van Gogh. Living artists would have to wait.

Barr’s education, both formal and informal, inspired his pioneering, teleological, taxonomic and formalist approach to the development of twentieth-century art. His vision shaped not only the Museum, but art criticism more widely—his study of the movements and artists of modernism still informing the way it is discussed, exhibited and analyzed today.

On 8 November 1929, just ten days after Black Tuesday and the stock market crash, a show of around a hundred works opened across six galleries in the Heckscher Building at 730 Fifth Avenue. It was an immediate success. According to Goodyear, just under 50,000 people visited in a month, with over 5,000 alone flooding the modestly-sized galleries on the exhibition’s last day.

As a student at Princeton, Barr had been deeply influenced by the Medieval course taught by Charles Rufus Morey. He conveyed the art of this epoch as part of a pluralistic whole that encompassed architecture, sculpture, and decorative arts. Barr went on to take Sachs’s museum course at Harvard, before taking up a teaching position at Wellesley in 1926. It was there that he conceived and taught the first undergraduate course in modern art in America. Adapting Morey’s model, he traced the developments of twentieth-century art along with its nineteenth-century sources and influences, as well as combining contemporary photography, music, design, film and architecture. This approach to modern art would ultimately form the

The radical curation was balanced by the exceptional quality of the works on view. Made up of loans from European collectors and dealers including Samuel Courtauld, Jacques Doucet, Alfred Flechtheim and Paul Rosenberg, as well as from the founders’ and trustees’ own collections—Stephen Clark, Chester Dale, among others—the exhibition consisted of thirty-four Cezannes, twenty-one Gauguins, seventeen Seurats, and twenty-eight Van Goghs. This was a truly landmark exhibition. It was the first time these artists had been shown on this scale in the city. It was also rare that these four seminal figures were featured together, enabling viewers to take in the diversity of their work and techniques and how these impacted subsequent developments. “Quality disarms,” wrote one critic. Another in Art News said, “If the exhibition has a flaw it is that of too great power” (quoted in H. Eakin, Picasso’s War: How Modern Art Came to America, New York, 2002, p. 213). “In one move,” Forbes Watson wrote, “our youngest museum has stamped itself upon the public’s imagination by the superb quality of the pictures it has chosen to exhibit, by good taste, elegance, dignity, seriousness of purpose” (quoted in op. cit., 2002, p. 218).

Front cover of the exhibition catalogue, Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat, Van Gogh, NovemberDecember 1929, The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/ Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.

This show paved the way for the acceptance of these artists both on a public and private level. These four artists remained the founding figures of any collection of modern or twentieth century art—a legacy that continues today. “Just as the great Armory Show of 1913 was the opening gun in the long, bitter struggle for modern art in this country, so the foundation of the new museum marks the final apotheosis of modernism and its acceptance by respectable society…,” wrote Lloyd Goodrich (quoted in op. cit., 2004, p. 30). Barr’s first catalogue for the exhibition stood as the exemplar by which he would continue to abide for future years. With clear, concise prose, he laid out each artist’s development, and, crucially, delineated the various cross-currents and influences that fed into and out of their oeuvres. Barr regarded Post-Impressionism as an epoch of equal importance with the Renaissance, therefore it was logical that he should position these four artists as the originators of modernism and by extension, the Museum itself. The central status with which Barr endowed these four artists would never falter in the years that followed. In 1933, Barr created his “Torpedo Diagram of Ideal Permanent Collection” as part of a presentation on the development of the Museum’s collection to the trustees. With the nose of the torpedo as the present, and the tail as the ever-receding past, these artists remained at the base of the original mission.

Business card of Alfred H. Barr, Jr., Director, The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Albums, 1. The Museum of Modern Art Archives, New York. 1929. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.


Art historian, Margaret Scolari—the soon-to-be wife of Barr—described her experience of the exhibition, “The walls are faced with monk’s cloth of a neutral though warm beige. The pictures are hung much lower than in any museum or commercial gallery, approximately fifty inches from the floor to the center of the picture. The paintings are not hung according to the strict laws of symmetry… Sometimes the pictures are hung in groupings for reasons of affinity or contrast… The impression of the galleries is of something new” (quoted in op. cit., 2004, p. 31).

“Torpedo” Diagram of Ideal Permanent Collection. Alfred H. Barr, Jr. Papers, 9a.7A. The Museum of Modern Art Archives, New York. 1933. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/ Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.


Barr was conscious that while the Museum had swiftly evolved since its opening in 1929, it was yet to broach what the young director believed was the most challenging, yet most central development in the story of modernism: Cubism. His interpretation of modern art both led up to and stemmed from this watershed movement. Yet, audiences were still wary of the most cutting edge of the avant-garde. Against a background of rising Fascism and an increasingly fraught political landscape in which modern art was an easy target to deride, denigrate, and label as dangerous and unpatriotic, Barr sought to awaken the public to the wider story of modern art, placing it within a broader context to enable greater comprehension and appreciation. At the top of the diagram were once again placed the four masters who had in many ways inaugurated the Museum. Barr believed that the course of modern art could be traced back to the fundamental problem that each of these artists had confronted at the beginning of the century: a rejection of mimesis in the depiction of reality. From these artists followed the now well-known “isms” that constituted these decades of reaction and experimentation, all of which, for Barr, led to a final, ultimate destination: abstraction.

Dust jacket with chart prepared by Alfred H. Barr, Jr., of the exhibition catalogue, Cubism and Abstract Art, The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1936. The Museum of Modern Art Library, New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.

While today, this teleological conception of modern art has been reconsidered, expanded or radically altered, Barr’s quartet of masters still remain the fundamental, often elusive, core of collections of twentieth-century art. Van Gogh’s instinctive feel for nature expressed through daring color and expressive handling; Gauguin’s fantastical, dreamlike visions of another world; Seurat’s precision, and Cezanne’s relentless, geometricizing scrutiny can be found in innumerable ways in the art of those that followed. To have four works of such quality, each of which speaks to these varied yet vital artistic aims, in a single private collection is a remarkable moment—and a reminder that the legacy of Barr and his singular vision lives on today.

Three years later, the artistic development that Barr outlined was further elucidated in what is one of his most distinctive contributions to twentieth-century scholarship: his diagram for the 1936 exhibition, Cubism and Abstract Art. “I still recall vividly its heraldic power,” Robert Rosenblum recalled in 1986, “for it proclaimed, with a schema more familiar to the sciences, an evolutionary pedigree for abstract art that seemed as immutable as a chart tracing the House of Windsor or the Bourbon Dynasty… The skeletal clarity and purity of this diagram were fleshed out in the text itself, which, step by step, generation by generation, movement by movement, outlined in the most pithy and impersonal way the visual mutations and the historical facts that accounted for the thrilling invention of a totally unfamiliar art belonging to our century and to no other. In doing this, Barr played the role of Christopher Columbus. He not only laid down for future historians and for any interested laymen the essential data for understanding the dizzying inventory of isms that erupted before, during, and after the First World War, but he also forged a precise objective language that could describe, without obscure polemic and with a riveting specificity, the actual look of this new art” (quoted in op. cit., 2004, p. 45).


“It was all due to Alfred Barr…” PHILIP JOHNSON


“Just as the great Armory Show of 1913 was the opening gun in the long, bitter struggle for modern art in this country, so the foundation of the new museum marks the final apotheosis of modernism and its acceptance by respectable society…” LLOYD GOODRICH

Van Gogh







PICASSO (1881-1973)

Quatre baigneuses signed and dated ‘Picasso 21’ (lower right) oil on panel 4 x 6 in. (10 x 15.1 cm.) Painted in 1921 $600,000-800,000



“I also often hear the word evolution. Repeatedly I am asked to explain how my painting evolved. To me there is no past or future in art. If a work cannot live always in the present it must not live at all. The art of the Greeks, of the Egyptians, of the great painters who lived in other times, is not an art of the past; perhaps it is more alive today than it ever was.” PABLO PICASSO (“Picasso Speaks: A Statement by the Artist,” The Arts, New York, May 1923)

PROVENANCE: John Quinn, New York (by July 1922). Paul Rosenberg, New York (1926, then by descent); sale, Sotheby Parke Bernet & Co., London, 3 July 1979, lot 23. Acquired by the late owner, 1998.

EXHIBITED: New York, The Museum of Modern Art; The Art Institute of Chicago; The City Art Museum of Saint Louis; Boston, Museum of Fine Arts; San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; Cincinnati Museum of Art; Cleveland Museum of Art; New Orleans, Isaac Delgado Museum; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; Pittsburgh, Carnegie Institute; Utica, MunsonWilliams-Proctor Institute; Durham, Duke University; Kansas City, William Rockhill Nelson Art Gallery; Milwaukee Art Institute; Grand Rapids Art Gallery; Hanover, Dartmouth College; Poughkeepsie, Vassar College; Wellesley College; Virginia, Sweet Briar College; Williamstown, Williams College; Bloomington, Indiana University Art Center Gallery; Alton, Monticello College and Maine, Portland Art Museum, Picasso: Forty Years of his Art, November 1939-April 1943, p. 103, no. 153 (illustrated; titled Four Classic Figures). New York, The Museum of Modern Art and The Art Institute of Chicago, Picasso: 75th Anniversary Exhibition, May-December 1957, p. 55 (illustrated; with incorrect medium). New York, Duveen Brothers, Inc., Picasso: An American Tribute, April-May 1962, no. 14 (illustrated; with incorrect medium). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, p. 19 (illustrated in color; with incorrect medium).

LITERATURE: M. Raynal, Picasso, Munich, 1921 (illustrated, pl. 61; dated 1922 and with incorrect medium). A.H. Barr, Jr., Picasso: Fifty Years of his Art, New York, 1946, p. 117 (illustrated; titled Four Classic Figures). M. Gieure, Initiation à l'oeuvre de Picasso, Paris, 1951, pp. 71 and 333 (illustrated, fig. 48). C. Zervos, Pablo Picasso, Paris, 1951, vol. 4, no. 278 (illustrated, pl. 98; with incorrect medium). F. Elgar and R. Maillard, Picasso, Paris, 1955 (illustrated). B.L. Reid, The Man from New York: John Quinn and his Friends, New York, 1968, pp. 551-552 and 683, note 61 (titled Four Classic Figures). J. Palau i Fabre, Picasso: From the Ballets to the Drama, 1917-1926, Cologne, 1999, p. 510, no. 1017 (illustrated, p. 269; titled Four Naked Bathers and with incorrect medium). U. Weisner, ed., Picassos Klassizismus: Werke 1914-1934, exh. cat., Kunsthalle Bielefeld, 1988, p. 323, no. 43a (illustrated).





CALDER (1898-1976) Untitled standing mobile—sheet metal, wire and paint 22Ω x 34 x 5 in. (57.2 x 86.4 x 12.7 cm.) Executed circa 1942 $2,500,000-3,500,000



“Just as one can compose colors, or forms, so one can compose motions.” ALEXANDER CALDER

PROVENANCE: George H. Hamilton, New Haven (acquired directly from the artist, 1949). Private collection, Vermont. Private collection, New York (acquired from the above, 1999). Acquired from the above by the late owner, circa 2000.

This work is registered in the archives of the Calder Foundation, New York, under application number A18552.





MAGRITTE (1898-1967)

Leçon par observation: Ecrits et dessins par René Magritte signed and titled 'Lessons by Observation: writings and drawings by René Magritte' (upper left) gouache, watercolor and brush and pen and India ink on paper 13º x 17√ in. (33.7 x 45.5 cm.) Executed in 1953 $700,000-1,000,000



“The use of speech for the ordinary purposes of life imposes a limited meaning on words designating objects. It would seem that everyday language sets imaginary boundaries to the imagination.” RENE MAGRITTE

PROVENANCE: André Breton, Paris (commissioned from the artist). Private collection (gift from the above); sale, Sotheby’s, London, 7 December 1999, lot 51. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.





STEICHEN (1879-1973) The Flatiron signed and dated 'Steichen MDCCCCV' (lower right) gum-bichromate over platinum print Sheet: 19 x 14 3/4 in. (48.3 x 37.5 cm.) 1904, printed 1905 $2,000,000-3,000,000



“The romantic and mysterious quality of moonlight, the lyric aspect of nature made the strongest appeal to me…” EDWARD STEICHEN

PROVENANCE: John (grandnephew of the artist) and Liz Steichen (by descent from the artist). Keith de Lellis, New York (acquired from the above, January 1992). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2001.

LITERATURE: E. Steichen, A Life in Photography, Doubleday, Garden City, 1963 (another print illustrated, pl. 32). The Collection of Alfred Stieglitz: Fifty Pioneers of Modern Photography, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1978, p. 143 (another print illustrated, pl. 58). A. Stieglitz, Camera Work: A Pictorial Guide, New York, 1978, p. 39 (another print illustrated, pl. VIII). The Art of Seeing: Photographs from the Alfred Stieglitz Collection, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1978 (another print illustrated, pl. 29). E. Steichen, Steichen: The Master Prints 1895-1914, New York, 1978, p. 135 (another print illustrated, pl. 56). P. Roberts, Alfred Stieglitz: Camera Work, the Complete Illustrations, Cologne, 1997, p. 278 (another print illustrated). J. Smith, Edward Steichen: The Early Years, Princeton, 1999, pp. 18-20 (another print illustrated). Edward Steichen, exh. cat., The Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, 2000, p. 67 (another print illustrated, pl. 26). E. Steichen, Steichen's Legacy: Photographs 1895-1973, New York, 2000, p.168 (another print illustrated, pl. 143). Edward Steichen: Lives in Photography, exh. cat., Jeu de Paume, Paris, 2008, p. 144 (another print illustrated, pl. 103). Stieglitz, Steichen, Strand, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2010 (another print illustrated, pl. 61-63).



David Hockney in Kenneth Tyler’s backyard, Bedford Village, 1979. Photo: Kenneth Tyler. National Gallery of Australia, Canberra, Gift of Kenneth Tyler, 2002. Artwork: © David Hockney.





HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

Four Different Kinds of Water signed 'Hockney' (on the reverse of the left canvas); signed again 'Hockney' (on the reverse of the second canvas from left) acrylic on canvas, in four parts Each: 14 x 10 in. (35.6 x 25.4 cm.) Painted in 1967 $3,000,000-5,000,000



“I remember flying in on an afternoon, and as we flew in over Los Angeles I looked down to see blue swimming pools all over, and I realized that a swimming pool in England would have been a luxury, whereas here they are not…” DAVID HOCKNEY

PROVENANCE: Kasmin, Ltd., London. Tony Richardson, London (acquired from the above, by 1969). Private collection, Los Angeles (acquired from the above). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 1999.

EXHIBITED: New York, Landau-Alan Gallery, New Paintings and Drawings, MarchApril 1967. Manchester, Whitworth Art Gallery, Paintings and Prints by David Hockney, February-March 1969, no. 24. London, Whitechapel Art Gallery, David Hockney: Paintings, Prints and Drawings, 1960-1970, April-May 1970, p. 64 (illustrated, p. 64, pl. 67.3). Kestner-Gesellschaft Hannover, David Hockney, May-June 1970, p. 33 (illustrated, no. 40).

LITERATURE: V. S. Naipual, “Escape from the Puritain Ethic” in Daily Telegraph Magazine, 10 December 1971. N. Stangos, ed., David Hockney by David Hockney, My Early Years, London, 1976, p. 301, no. 195 (illustrated, p. 162). N. Stangos, ed., Pictures by David Hockney, London, 1979 (illustrated, p. 56). D. Hockney, Hockney’s Pictures, London, 2004, p. 360 (illustrated in color, pp. 68-69). M. Gayford, A Bigger Message: Conversations with David Hockney, New York, 2011, p. 244 (illustrated in color, p. 196). D. Hockney, David Hockney—A Bigger Book: Chronology, Cologne, 2016, p. 90.



“Because of my computer background, I’m attracted to things like Pointillism or a Jasper Johns ‘numbers’ work because they come out of breaking something down into its components—like bytes or numbers, but in a different kind of language.” PAUL G. ALLEN



“When something is new to us, we treat it as an experience. We feel that our senses are awake and clear. We are alive.” JASPER JOHNS

In 1954, a young artist awoke from a vivid dream. In it, he recalled, he had seen himself painting the American flag. The next day, he assembled newspaper and a bed sheet, and began to build his vision. From layers of encaustic emerged the familiar stars and stripes; yet, embalmed in the process of their own making, they seemed somehow strange. The work posed a question that would change the course of twentieth-century art. Was it a painting, a concept, a real flag—or all three?

Jasper Johns with his work, Gemini G.E.L, Los Angeles, 1968. Photo: Malcolm Lubliner. Artwork: © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. © 2022 Jasper Johns and Gemini G.E.L. / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY, Published by Gemini G.E.L.


Discharged from U. S. military service, where he served in the Korean War, the twenty-four-year-old Jasper Johns had recently returned to New York. There, amid the heyday of Abstract Expressionism, he found a city that had taken its place as the new center of the global art world. His American flag, however, was far from a simple patriotic gesture. Seemingly ubiquitous yet charged with myriad layers of material and meaning, Johns’s version asked the viewer to catch themselves in the act of encountering it. As his practice evolved, the artist continued to interrogate subjects that had been “seen and not looked at”: the everyday signs, objects and images that “the mind already knows” and which, as a result, the eye had failed to question. By inviting the onlooker to see the quotidian afresh, Johns offered a fundamental challenge to Abstract Expressionism. Art should not aspire to transcendence, he proposed, but should root us firmly to the ground, asking us to confront the ways in which we divine meaning from the world around us. When that bolt of enlightenment hits, he wrote, “we feel that our senses are awake and clear. We are alive” (quoted in G. Jespersen, trans. S. de Francesco, “Mode med Jasper Johns,” Berlingske Tidende, 23 February, Copenhagen, 1969, p. 14).


“Overheard at an 1894 Neo-Impressionist exhibition: ‘It’s done mechanically?’ ‘No, Monsieur, by hand.’” REPORTED BY THADÉE NATANSON


In 1884, seven decades prior, a parallel seismic shift was emerging in Paris. It was during that year that Georges Seurat and his young disciple Paul Signac met for the first time while organizing the inaugural Salon des Indépendants. Together, they would fan the flame of the Neo-Impressionist movement they called “divisionism” or “chromoluminarism”, but which would come to be more widely known as “Pointillism”. They, too, proposed a break with the prevailing aesthetic of their time: where Johns reacted against the emotive rhetoric of Barnett Newman, Mark Rothko and others, Seurat and Signac sought to counter the “instinctive and instantaneous” gestures of their Impressionist forebears, championing instead a “deliberate and constant” method that appealed to science in its perceptual rigor. Engaging with the chromatic theories of Michel-Eugène Chevreul, James Maxwell, Hermann von Helmholtz, O. N. Rood and David Sutter, they applied contrasting hues in tiny, discrete dots, relying on human sight to “mix” them from a distance. The results, much like Johns’s works, contained electrifying moments of revelation: in the blink of an eye, chaos and confusion became order and meaning, bringing us one step closer to comprehending how we truly see the world.

In an edition of La revue blanche, published in 1894, Thadée Natanson reported a conversation overheard at a recent Neo-Impressionist exhibition. “It’s done mechanically?” somebody asked. “No, monsieur, by hand,” came the answer (“Expositions,” La revue blanche 6, 1894, p. 187). For Seurat, in particular, such observations spoke to the very essence of Pointillism. Working in an era that regarded science and technology as instruments of progress, he placed logic and order at the center of his thinking, describing his paintings as “toiles de recherches et si possible de conquête” (“research canvases, conquests if possible”). The elusive sensory properties of light, color and nature, he believed, could be rationalized and controlled, informed not only by the teachings of color theory but also by the production of extensive drawings and studies. These works—among them Femme debout, en toilette de ville (1884-1885), a preparatory work for his masterpiece Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte (1884-1886, Art Institute of Chicago)—essentially served as laboratories for calculating the DNA of his paintings. The results, like any good experiment, were both measurable and repeatable, appealing to the ideals of regularity and clarity that underpinned contemporary scientific discourse.

Both Johns and the pointillists delighted in the friction between image and data. All three, in a sense, were technicians, seeking to abstract the units of currency that, in turn, allowed viewers to extract meaning from visual phenomena. For Seurat and Signac, the ineffable flux of nature— fervently chased from dawn to dusk by the Impressionists—could be broken down into individual bytes of line and color. Deriving from the French word “point”, meaning “stitch”, Pointillism sought quite literally to thread together these fragments, building sentences, paragraphs and entire theses in the language of light. Johns, meanwhile, eschewed the Abstract Expressionists’ notion that art’s purpose was sublimation, suggesting instead that it could be found in the most basic nuts and bolts of everyday life. Letters, numbers and maps could all be deconstructed, stripped of their signifying potential and rebuilt as mirrors onto our own ways of seeing. Like the pointillists, Johns was— and remains—a semiotician of sorts, seeking to dissect the grammar of visual structures. For all three artists, a single question loomed large: is it possible to codify the mysteries of human vision?

At the same time, however, Seurat believed strongly that his works should enhance—rather than stifle—the unquantifiable pleasures of sight. Indeed, it was ultimately in defense of this mission that the artist produced his grand show piece Les Poseuses (1886-1888, Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia). Following the unveiling of Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte at the eighth and final Impressionist salon in May 1886, some critics complained that his works were cold, detached and, by extension, unable to represent life. Les Poseuses, along with its associated companions including Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), offered a virtuosic riposte. Against an immaculate reproduction of Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte, Seurat depicts a nude model in three different stances. She is not “posing” in the traditional sense, but rather appears off-duty: seated with her back turned, gazing distractedly into the distance, and idly putting on stockings. Seurat’s aim was to show that he could depict the unsung banalities of everyday life with just as much structural rigor as an idealized, halcyon summer afternoon of leisure. What he actually achieved, however, was an image far more revolutionary in its claim.


in character. With each iteration, a jolt occurs, forcing us to question what we are seeing and how. In this way, Seurat is not simply depicting a “realistic” subject, but rather dramatizing—for the sake of his detractors—his fundamental claim to realism. It was the same idea that Johns would pick up decades later: that while fragmenting and sequencing the things we know might initially render them alien, it ultimately furnishes us with a better picture of how individual pieces of data coalesce into “reality”. As much as both Seurat and Johns relied on strategies of repetition, equally important was the tension between opposing forces. “Art is Harmony”, wrote Seurat. “Harmony is the analogy of opposites” (quoted in R. L. Herbert, Seurat and the making of La Grande Jatte, exh. cat., The Art Institute of Chicago, 2004). It was a belief he would pass on to Signac, who—after Seurat’s untimely death in 1891—would take Pointillism into daring new territory, gradually moving away from the strict scientific aspirations of his forefather in favor of a more subjective approach to contrast and luminosity. At the time of Concarneau. Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto), Signac was still closely allied to Seurat’s teachings, whose understanding of opposing hues owed much to Chevreul’s 1839 book The Principles of Harmony and Contrast of Colors. A chemist by training, Chevreul developed his ideas about chromatic perception while working for a Parisian tapestry firm that wished to improve the quality of its dyes. He realized that the problem was not the chemical make-up of each hue, but rather the juxtaposition of colors that was affecting their intensity. The idea that contrasting tones could activate one another’s optical brilliance was deeply instructive to both Seurat and Signac: for the latter, it became “a religion, a philosophy”.

Georges Seurat, Femme debout, en toilette de ville, 1884-1885.

Comparison with Johns’s Numbers offers something of an explanation. At first glance, the latter appears little more than a string of digits; closer inspection reveals that the numbers shift by one place on each row, creating a sequence that reads both horizontally and vertically. Yet, bathed in the dappled light that glistens across the work’s aluminum surface, they start to lose their semantic purpose: as we follow the repeated patterns, the sense of what they represent begins to crumble before our eyes. In similar fashion, in Usuyuki Johns turns a glimpsed reflection that he saw bouncing off the surface of a moving car into an abstract visual code that requires no deciphering. Seurat, too, plays with this slippage. In every element of the picture, meaning is displaced and destabilized. The image of Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte is both familiar and uncanny, reproduced in precise detail yet cropped to the extent that it appears suspended upon a strange virtual plane. The women, too, are not individuals, but altered simulacra of one another, their simultaneity creating a sequence almost numeric


“Take an object. Do something to it. Do something else to it.” JASPER JOHNS

While Johns did not study color theory in any formalized manner, he nonetheless understood the power of opposition. “I am concerned with a thing’s not being what it was,” he said in 1964, “with its becoming something other than what it is, with any moment in which one identifies a thing precisely and with the slipping away of that moment” (quoted in “Interview with G. R. Swenson,” in K. Stiles and P. Selz,eds., Theories and Documents of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles and London, 1996, p. 324). Small False Start eloquently encapsulates this notion: patches of color are sporadically inscribed with labels—some correct, some complementary, some rendered in contrasting tones. Some induce a genuine “false start” in the viewer; others serve to emphasize the vibrancy of the color in question. In Concarneau. Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto), Signac plays with similar ideas. His yellow forms glow more brightly for their deep blue shadows; the sea and sky, conversely, sparkle with sapphire tones thanks to the tiny dots of yellow embedded within them. The “symphonic” structure of the broader series, meanwhile—with individual movements titled after musical tempi—chimes with the synesthetic ambition of Johns’s art, where words become color and numbers become texture. The idea of opposition is also played out on a larger scale within Johns’s art, notably in the stream of grisaille works which collectively run parallel to his chromatic games. This tendency is illustrated in his 1960 Map, which—unlike its famous colorful counterpart of 1961—cleaves to an exclusively grayscale spectrum. As art historian Barbara Rose has explained, such works reveal that “over the course of his career the artist has had a doppelganger lurking in the shadows, a twin who is moody, melancholy and obsessed with death. These gray works as it turns out are often the twins of brightly colored pieces, their dark opposites suggesting another world on the other side of a mirror” (“Jasper Johns: ‘Take an object. Do something to it. Do something else to it,’” RA Magazine, 7 September, London, 2017). In Map, geographical demarcations are put through a stress-test, their borders barely legible amid Johns’s undulating monochrome tapestry. The work plays devil’s advocate to Pointillism’s view of the world as a dazzling prism of color: the further we zoom out, it suggests, the more it dissolves into an impenetrable mass of gray areas. The relationship between Johns and the pointillists ultimately collapses its own set of geographic and temporal boundaries. Working worlds apart, and in radically different contexts, both fixated on bringing to life the way in which knowledge is formed. The starting point, for each, was deformation: turning the familiar into something unrecognizable. In doing so, their works liberated the viewer from passive modes of perception, impelling them to unstitch learnt convention and to scrutinize with open eyes the things they thought they knew. Both, too, looked beyond their own timeframes. Though supremely haptic in their approach, each—in their own ways—anticipated a brave new world in which “points” would become pixels, rows of numbers would become lines of code, and “reality” would have its virtual double.

Paul Signac, circa 1930. Photo: Hulton Archive / Getty Images.

“… genius simplifies, eliminates, sacrifices. It knows that there are always too many objects …” PAUL SIGNAC


Paul Signac, Concarneau. Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto), 1891.





SIGNAC (1863-1935)

Concarneau, calme du matin (Opus no. 219, larghetto) signed and dated ‘P. Signac. 91’ (lower left); inscribed with Opus number ‘Op 219’ (lower right) oil on canvas 25√ x 32 in. (65.7 x 81.3 cm.) Painted in 1891 $28,000,000-35,000,000



“One walked up to the paintings and strove to understand the orchestration of these choruses: drops of color uniting their expressiveness for the sake of the harmony of the whole…” PAUL ADAM



Henri-Nicolas Lejeune, France (acquired from the artist, 1891). Henri Lejeune, Saint-Cloud (by descent from the above); sale, Sotheby Parke Bernet & Co., London, 27 June 1977, lot 13. Bluestone Corporation, New York. Private collection (until 1993). Private collection; sale, Christie’s, New York, 18 November 1998, lot 28 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

F. Fénéon, "Paul Signac" in La Plume, 1 September 1891, p. 299. E. Demolder, "Le Salon des XX Bruxelles" in L'Artiste, March 1892, p. 226. "Clôture du Salon des XX" in L'art moderne, 13 March 1892, p. 82. A. Alexandre, "Indépendants" in Paris, 18 March 1892, p. 2. "Instantanés. Paul Signac" in Gil Blas, 20 March 1892, p. 1. F. Javel, "Signac" in Gil Blas, 20 March 1892, p. 3. C. d'Hennebaut, "Salon des Indépendants" in Moniteur des arts, 25 March 1892, p. 1. L'art moderne, 27 March 1892, p. 1. E. Cousturier, "Société des Artistes Indépendants" in L'En-dehors, 27 March 1892, p. 3. J. Christophe, "Salon des Artistes Indépendants" in La Plume, 1 April 1892, no. 71, p. 157. "Exposition des Artistes Indépendants" in Entretiens politiques et littéraires, April 1892, vol. IV, no. 25, p. 189. P.M. Olin, "Les XX" in Mercure de France, 1 April 1892, pp. 342-343. F. Fénéon, "Au Pavillon de la Ville de Paris, Société des Artistes Indépendants" in Le chat noir, 2 April 1892, p. 1932. C. Saunier, "Les Indépendants" in La revue indépendante, April-June 1892, vol. XXIII, nos. 66-68, p. 43. G. Geffroy, "Les Indépendants" in La vie artistique, 1893, p. 370. Signac, exh. cat., Musée du Louvre, Paris, 1963, p. 45. J. Halperin, Félix Fénéon: Oeuvres plus que complètes, Paris, 1970, vol. I, pp. 198 and 212.. F. Cachin, Paul Signac, Milan, 1971, p. 51 (incorrectly titled Return of the Trawlers, scherzo). "The Sale Room" in Apollo, November 1977, vol. 106, no. 189, pp. 429 and 431 (illustrated, p. 429, fig. 3). H. Belbeoch, Les peintres de Concarneau, Paris, 1993, p. 100 (illustrated in color). R. Thomson, Monet to Matisse: Landscape Painting in France, New York, 1994, pp. 145-146. L. Tansini, "Van Gogh et Basquiat triomphent à New York" in Journal des arts, 4 December 1998. T. Rodrigues, ed., Christie's Review of the Year 1998, London, 1999, p. 74 (illustrated in color). R. Roslak, “Symphonic Seas, Oceans of Liberty: Paul Signac’s La Mer, Les Barques (Concarneau)” in Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide, Spring 2005, vol. 4, no. 1, p. 19 (illustrated in color, fig. 5; titled Larghetto (opus 219)). F. Cachin, Paul Signac: Catalogue raisonné de l’œuvre peint, Paris, 2000, p. 204, no. 215 (illustrated; illustrated again in color, p. 41). C. Homburg, ed., Neo-Impressionism and the Dream of Realities: Painting, Poetry, Music, exh. cat., The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C., 2014, p. 40 (illustrated in color, p. 174, fig. 129).

EXHIBITED: Brussels, Neuvième exposition annuelle des XX, February 1892, no. 4 (titled Larghetto (Op. 219)). Paris, Pavillon de la ville de Paris, Huitième exposition des Artistes Indépendants, March-April 1892, p. 69, no. 1128 (titled Matin, Concarneau). New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, May-June 1981, January-June 1983 and October 1983-June 1985 (on extended loan). Paris, Galeries nationales du Grand Palais; Amsterdam, Van Gogh Museum and New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Signac, February-December 2001, p. 206, no. 54. Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, p. 25 (illustrated in color, p. 24). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 82-85, no. 17 (illustrated in color, p. 83; detail illustrated in color, pp. 84-85).

Paul Signac on board Olympia, 1895. Photo: Paris, Archives Signac.





SEURAT (1859-1891)

Femme debout, en toilette de ville black Conté crayon on paper 12¡ x 7¡ in. (31.5 x 18.7 cm.) Drawn in 1884-1885 $1,000,000-1,500,000



“[Seurat’s drawings are] the most beautiful ‘painter’s drawings’ that ever existed. Thanks to Seurat’s perfected mastery of values, one could say that his ‘black-andwhites’ are most luminous, and even more full of color than many a painting in oil.” PAUL SIGNAC



André Teissier, Mâcon (1927). Maurice Renou, Paris. André Derain, Paris; Estate sale, Galerie Charpentier, Paris, 22 March 1955, lot 11. Baronne Alix de Rothschild, Paris (by 1959, then by descent). Galerie Schmit, Paris. Sarec, S.A., Geneva (acquired from the above, 20 March 1985). Parana Development Company, Lugano (acquired from the above, 1988). Galerie Schmit, Paris. Acquried from the above by the late owner, 2001..

H. Dorra and J. Rewald, Seurat: L'oeuvre peint, biographie et catalogue critique, Paris, 1959, p. 143, no. 133a (titled Promeneuse, étude pour 'La Grande-Jatte'). C.M. de Hauke, Seurat et son oeuvre, Paris, 1961, p. 202, no. 623 (illustrated, p. 203). L. Hautecoeur, Seurat, Milan, 1972, p. 89, no. 34 (illustrated). A. Chastel and F. Minervino, Tout l'oeuvre peint de Seurat, Paris, 1973, p. 101, no. D 34 (illustrated). R.L. Herbert, Georges Seurat, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1991, p. 179, note 3. M.F. Zimmerman, Les mondes de Seurat: Son oeuvre et le débat artistique de son temps, Paris, 1991, p. 184, no. 347 (illustrated). R.L. Herbert, Seurat and the Making of La Grande Jatte, exh. cat., The Art Institute of Chicago, 2004, pp. 264-265, no. H 623 (illustrated, p. 269).

EXHIBITED: Paris, Galerie Paul Rosenberg, Exposition Seurat, February 1936, no. 120. Paris, Galerie L.-G. Baugin, Dessins de maitres des XIXe et XXe siècles, MayJune 1959. Paris, Galerie Charpentier, Chefs d'oeuvres de collections françaises, 1962, no. 93. Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, A Closer Look: Portraits from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, December 2016-March 2017.

Detail of Georges Seurat, Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte, 1885-1886. The Art Institute of Chicago. Photo: The Art Institute of Chicago / Art Resource, NY.







SEURAT (1859-1891)

Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) oil on canvas 15Ω x 19æ in. (39.3 x 50 cm.) Painted in 1888 Estimate on Request



PROVENANCE: Jules F. Christophe, Paris (by 1892, then by descent). B.A. Edynski and Max Hochschiller, Paris (by 1908). Galerie Bernheim-Jeune et Cie., Paris. Alphonse Kann, Paris (by 1910, until at least 1917). Marius de Zayas, New York (by 1921). John Quinn, New York (by 1922). Julia Quinn Anderson, New York (by descent from the above, 1924). Mary Anderson Conroy, New York (by descent from the above). Henry P. McIlhenny, Esq., Philadelphia (acquired from the above, 1936); sale, Christie’s, London, 30 June 1970, lot 16 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Artemis, Luxembourg (acquired at the above sale). Heinz Berggruen, Paris (acquired from the above, 1973). Private collection (1997). Private collection (1997). Acquired by the late owner, 3 December 1999.

EXHIBITED: Paris, Pavillon de Ia Ville de Paris, Cours Ia Reine, Société des artistes indépendants, 8me exposition, March-April 1892, p. 66, no. 1083. Paris, Galerie Bernheim-Jeune & Cie., Exposition Georges Seurat, December 1908-January 1909, p. 13, no. 70. Paris, Galerie Bernheim-Jeune & Cie., Nus, May 1910, no. 105. New York, Armory of the Sixty-Ninth Infantry; The Art Institute of Chicago and Boston, Copley Hall, International Exhibition of Modern Art, February-May 1913, nos. 455, 371 and 198, respectively. Copenhagen, Royal Museum, Fransk Malerkunst fra det 19nde Aarhundrede, May-June 1914, p. 43, no. 192. New York, Galleries of Joseph Brummer, Paintings and Drawings by Georges Seurat, December 1924, no. 17. The Brooklyn Art Museum, 1926. Cambridge, Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University and Philadelphia Museum of Art, French Artists of the 18th and 19th Centuries, 1936-1937, no. 190. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Inaugural Opening of the French Gallery, 1937. Paris, Exposition Universelle, Palais national des arts, Chefs-d'oeuvre de I’art français à l'Exposition Internationale de 1937, 1937, pp. 199-200, no. 414 (dated 1887-1888). New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Art in Our Time, May-September 1939, no. 75 (illustrated). Baltimore Museum of Art, Exhibition of Modern Painting "Isms" and How They Grew, January-February 1940. Detroit Institute of Arts, The Age of Impressionism & Objective Realism, 1940, no. 38. Worcester Art Museum, The Art of the Third Republic, February-March 1941, no. 17 (illustrated). Philadelphia Museum of Art, Masterpieces of Philadelphia Private Collections, May 1947, p. 73, no. 27. New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., A Loan Exhibition of Six Masters of PostImpressionism, Benefit of Girl Scout Council of Greater New York, April-May 1948, p. 57, no. 51 (illustrated on the frontispiece). New York, M. Knoedler & Co., Inc., Seurat: Paintings and Drawings, Loan Exhibition for the Benefit of the Home for the Destitute Blind, April-May 1949, no. 19 (illustrated).


Philadelphia Museum of Art, The Henry P. McIlhenny Collection, 1949. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Diamond Jubilee Exhibition: Masterpieces of Painting, November 1950-February 1951, no. 81 (illustrated). Paris, Musée de l'Orangerie, De David à Toulouse-Lautrec: Chefs-d'oeuvre des collections américaines, 1955, no. 52 (illustrated, pl. 90). The Art Institute of Chicago and New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Seurat: Paintings and Drawings, January-May 1958, pp. 16 and 33, no. 136 (illustrated in color). San Francisco, The California Palace of the Legion of Honor, The Henry P. McIlhenny Collection, June-July 1962, no. 38 (illustrated in color). Utica, Munson-Williams-Proctor Institute and New York, Armory of the Sixty-Ninth Regiment, 1913 Armory Show: 50th Anniversary Exhibition, February-April 1963, p. 211, no. 455 (illustrated in color, p. 24). London, David Carritt Ltd., Seurat: Paintings and Drawings, NovemberDecember 1978, p. 63, no. 23 (illustrated). Kunsthalle Bielefeld; Baden-Baden, Staatliche Kunsthalle and Kunthaus Zürich, Georges Seurat: Zeichnungen, October 1983-May 1984 (illustrated in color, pl. 11; dated 1887-1888). Geneva, Musée d'art et d'histoire, Berggruen Collection, June-October 1988, p. 72, no. 25 (illustrated in color, p. 73; illustrated in color again on the cover). Paris, Galeries nationales du Grand Palais and New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Georges Seurat, April 1991-January 1992, pp. 292-294, no. 191 (illustrated in color, p. 293; illustrated in color again on the cover). London, The National Gallery, Seurat and "The Bathers", July-September 1997, pp. 146-147, no. 60 (illustrated in color, p. 147, pl. 172). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, pp. 18-19 (illustrated in color). New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Seurat's Circus Sideshow, February-May 2017, p. 130 (illustrated in color, p. 55, fig. 49; dated 1887-1888). London, The National Gallery (on extended loan).

LITERATURE: L. Cousturier, Seurat, Paris, 1921 (illustrated, pl. 22; dated 1887-1888). J.H. Langaard, "Georges Seurat" in Kunst og Kultur, 1921, vol. 9, p. 34 (illustrated; titled Toilet). A. Lhote, Georges Seurat, Rome, 1922 (illustrated, pl. 9). W. Pach, "Georges Seurat" in The Arts, March 1923, p. 163 (illustrated). W. Pach, Georges Seurat, New York, 1923 (illustrated, pl. 4). G. Coquiot, Seurat, Paris, 1924, p. 233 (illustrated). John Quinn: Collection of Paintings, Watercolors, Drawings and Sculpture, New York, 1926, no. 125 (illustrated). L. Cousturier, Georges Seurat, Paris, 1926 (illustrated, pl. 27; dated 1887-1888). O. Sitwell, "Les Poseuses" in Apollo, June 1926, vol. 3, p. 345. R. Rey, La renaissance du sentiment classique dans la peinture française à la fin du XIXe siècle, Paris, 1931, p. 142. C. Roger-Marx, Seurat, Paris, 1931 (illustrated, pl. 14; dated 1887-1888). Edouard-Joseph, Dictionnaire biographique des artistes contemporains 1910-1930, Paris, 1934, vol. III, p. 293 (illustrated).


“Art is Harmony. Harmony is the analogy of opposites, the analogy of similarities of tone, of tint, of line.” GEORGES SEURAT

M. Renard, "In the Day of the 'Poseuses'" in Verve, January-March 1939, no. 4, p. 72 (illustrated in color). R. Fry, Last Lectures, London, 1939. p. 16-2 (illustrated, pl. 5). R.J. Goldwater, "Some Aspects of the Development of Seurat's Style" in The Art Bulletin, June 1941, vol. XXIII, no. 2, p. 119. J. Rewald, Georges Seurat, New York, 1946, p. 106 (illustrated, pl. 83). R. Huyghe, "Trois Poseuses de Seurat" in Bulletin des musées de France, August 1947, no. 7, p. 12 (detail illustrated, fig. 10). J. Rewald, Georges Seurat, Paris, 1948 (illustrated, pl. 89). R. Cogniat, Seurat, Paris, 1951 (illustrated, pl. 40). J. Rewald, Post Impressionism: From Van Gogh to Gauguin, New York, 1956, p. 107 (illustrated in color). R. Bernier, "Le musée privé d'un conservateur" in L'Oeil, March 1957, no. 27, p. 22 (illustrated; with incorrect dimensions). R.L. Herbert, "Seurat in Chicago & New York" in The Burlington Magazine, May 1958, p. 152. C.D. Gaitskell, Art Education in the Elementary School, New York, 1958, p. 15 (illustrated). C. McCurdy, ed., Modern Art: A Pictorial Anthology, New York, 1958, p. 57 (illustrated, fig. A39; dated 1887-1888). M. Schapiro, "New Light on Seurat" in Art News, April 1958, vol. 57, no. 2, p. 23 (detail illustrated, fig. 2). J. Canaday, Mainstreams of Modern Art, New York, 1959, p. 336 (illustrated, fig. 410). H. Dorra and J. Rewald, Seurat: L'oeuvre peint, biographie et catalogue critique, Paris, 1959, pp. 220-221, no. 179 (illustrated, p. 221). C.M. de Hauke, Seurat et son oeuvre, Paris, 1961, vol. I, p. 144, no. 184 (illustrated, p. 145). R.L. Herbert, Seurat's Drawings, London, 1962 (illustrated, pl. VII). M.W. Brown, The Story of The Armory Show, New York, 1963, p. 289 (illustrated). W.I. Homer, Seurat and the Science of Painting, Cambridge, 1964, pp. 167-175 (illustrated, fig. 48). J. Russell, Seurat, New York, 1965, p. 282 (illustrated in color, pp. 208-209, pl. 186). B.L. Reid, The Man from New York: John Quinn and his Friends, New York, 1968, p. 560 (illustrated).


P. Courthion, Georges Seurat, New York, 1969, p. 136 (illustrated in color, p. 137). J. Herbert, ed., Christie's: Review of the Year 1969/1970, London, 1970, pp. 117-118 (illustrated in color, p. 116; illustrated in color again on the cover). A. Chastel and F. Minervino, Tout l'oeuvre peint de Seurat, Paris, 1973, pp. 105-106 (illustrated, p. 105; illustrated again in color, pl. XLIII). L. Hautecoeur, Les Impressionnistes: Seurat, Milan, 1974, p. 43 (illustrated in color). H. Haacke, Seurat's Les Poseuses (Small Version), New York, 1975. N. Broude, ed., Seurat in Perspective, Englewoods Cliffs, 1978, pp. 46-47. J. Zilczer, “The Noble Buyer”: John Quinn, Patron of the Avant-Garde, exh. cat., Hirschhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, D.C., 1978, pp. 52 and 186. J. House and M.A. Stevens, Post-Impressionism: Cross-Currents in European Painting, exh. cat., Royal Academy of Arts, London, 1979, pp. 16-17 (illustrated, p. 17, fig. 6). P. Georgel and A.-M. Lecoq, La peinture dans la peinture, exh. cat., Musée des beaux-arts, Dijon, 1982, p. 150 (illustrated, fig. 171). S. Greenspan, "Berggruen's Picassos" in Art & Auction, April 1985, vol. VII, no. 9, p. 109 (illustrated in color). J. Rewald, Seurat: A Biography, London, 1990, p. 155 (illustrated in color). S. Moore, Framing Modern Masters: A Conversation with Heinz Berggruen, London, 1991, pp. 4 and 7 (illustrated in color; illustrated in color again on the cover). M.F. Zimmermann, Les mondes de Seurat: Son oeuvre et le débat artistique de son temps, Paris, 1991, p. 333, no. 458 (illustrated in color). S. de Vries-Evans, The Lost Impressionists: Masterpieces from Private Collections, Niwot, 1992, p. 129 (illustrated in color). P. Smith, Seurat and the Avant Garde, New Haven, 1997, p. 116 (illustrated in color, fig. 127; detail illustrated in color, p. 117, fig. 128). L. Nochlin, Representing Women, London, 1999, p. 218 (illustrated, fig. 148). S. Lemoine, ed., From Puvis de Chavannes to Matisse and Picasso: Toward Modern Art, Milan, 2002, p. 25, no. 4 (illustrated in color).


Installation view featuring Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) from the exhibition “Painting, Sculpture, Prints,” in the series, “Art in Our Time: 10th Anniversary Exhibition,” at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, May 10, 1939–September 30, 1939. Photographic Archive. The Museum of Modern Art Archives, New York. IN85.1. Photograph by Eliot Elisofon. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.





O'KEEFFE (1887-1986)

White Rose with Larkspur No. I signed with initials ‘OK’ in the artist’s star device (on a piece of the original backing) oil on canvas 36 x 30 in. (91.4 x 76.2 cm.) Painted in 1927 $6,000,000-8,000,000



“I realized that were I to paint the same flowers so small, no one would look at them because I was unknown. So I thought I’ll make them big like the huge buildings going up. People will be startled; they’ll have to look at them—and they did.” GEORGIA O’KEEFFE

PROVENANCE: Dr. Constance Friess, New York (gift from the artist, 1946). Private collection (by descent from the above, 1975). Menconi & Schoelkopf Fine Art, LLC, New York (acquired from the above, 2006). Private collection, Las Vegas (2006). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2013.

EXHIBITED: New York, The Intimate Gallery, O’Keeffe Exhibition, January-February 1928, no. 16. New York, The American Women’s Association Clubhouse, Exhibition of Paintings (1924-1937) by Georgia O’Keeffe, March-April 1937, no. 9. New York, The Downtown Gallery, Art Our Children Live With: A Loan Exhibition of American Art, December 1957, no. 28. Amherst, Mead Art Museum, circa 1996-2006 (on extended loan).

LITERATURE: Arts Magazine, 1957, vol. 32, p. 56 (titled White Rose with Larkspur). N. Callaway, ed., Georgia O’Keeffe: One Hundred Flowers, New York, 1987, no. 42 (illustrated in color). B.B. Lynes, Georgia O’Keeffe Catalogue Raisonné, New Haven, 1999, vol. 1, p. 345, no. 596 (illustrated in color). M. McQuade, Stealing Glimpses: Of Poetry, Poets, and Things in Between, Louisville, 1999, p. 169. H. Drohojowska-Philp, Full Bloom: The Art and Life of Georgia O’Keeffe, New York, 2004, p. 277. J. Stuhlman and B.B. Lynes, Georgia O’Keeffe: Circling Around Abstraction, West Palm Beach, 2007, p. 31. J.A. Barter, et al., American Modernism at The Art Institute of Chicago: From World War I to 1955, Chicago, 2009, p. 130 (illustrated in color, fig. 52).

Alfred Stieglitz, Georgia O’Keeffe at Lake George, 1918. Photo: Bridgeman Images.





PICASSO (1881-1973)

Tête classique signed ‘Picasso’ (lower left); dated ‘12-2-23- (on the reverse) black Conté crayon, charcoal and estompe on rose tinted paper 24√ x 18æ in. (63 x 47.8 cm.) Executed on 12 February 1923 $3,000,000-5,000,000



“I paint only what I see. I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it, maybe differently from other epochs in my life, but I’ve never painted anything but what I’ve seen and felt.” PABLO PICASSO (A. Jakovsky, “Midis avec Picasso”, Arts de France, no. 6, Paris, 1946, pp. 3-12)

PROVENANCE: The Zwemmer Gallery, London (acquired from the artist). Rae H. Eckman, New York; Estate sale, Christie’s, New York, 7 November 1979, lot 33. Anon. sale, Sotheby’s, London, 27 June 1995, lot 28. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: London, The Zwemmer Gallery, An Exhibition of a Collection of Fifty Drawings by Pablo Picasso, February 1937, no. 31.

Claude Picasso has confirmed the authenticity of this work.








GAUGUIN (1848-1903) Maternité II signed and dated ‘Paul Gauguin 1899’ (lower right) oil on burlap 37º x 24 in. (94.7 x 61 cm.) Painted in Tahiti in 1899 Estimate on Request



“Art is an abstraction. Derive it from nature as you dream in nature’s presence, and think more about the act of creation than the outcome.” PAUL GAUGUIN

PROVENANCE: The artist; Estate sale, Papeete, 2 September 1903, lot 104. Jean Cochin, Paris (acquired at the above sale). Denys Cochin, Paris (1906). Galerie Bernheim-Jeune et Cie., Paris (acquired from the above, 28 February 1910). Alphonse Kann, Paris (acquired from the above, 28 February 1910). (possibly) Michel Manzi, Paris (circa 1915). Dikran Khan Kélékian, Paris and New York (by 1920); sale, American Art Association, New York, 30-31 January 1922, lot 152. Bourgeois Gallery, Paris (acquired at the above sale). Adolph Lewisohn, New York (by 1926). Sam Lewisohn, New York (by descent from the above, circa 1942). Wildenstein & Co. Inc., New York (acquired from the above, 1942). Mrs. Henry Huttleston Rogers Jr. (acquired from the above, 1943, until at least 1948). Wildenstein & Co. Inc., New York (acquired from the above). Edwin C. and Florence Vogel, New York (acquired from the above, 1952). David Rockefeller, New York (acquired from the above, 1956). John Seward Sr. and Barbara Piasecka Johnson, Princeton (acquired from the above, circa 1975, until at least 1990). Nevill Keating Pictures, Ltd., London. Private collection (acquired from the above, circa 1997); sale, Sotheby's, New York, 4 November 2004, lot 15 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.


Paul Gauguin, 1891. Photograph by Louis Maurice Boutet de Monvel.


Paris, Grand Palais des Champs-Elysées, Société du Salon d’Automne, 4me Exposition, October-November 1906, p. 201, no. 213. London, Grafton Galleries, Manet and the Post-Impressionists, November 1910-January 1911, p. 19, no. 41 (titled Négresses). The Brooklyn Museum, Paintings by Modern French Masters Representing the Post-Impressionist and their Predecessors, March-April 1921, no. 119 (illustrated; titled Natives of Tahiti). New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Loan Exhibition of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Paintings, May-September 1921, p. 12, no. 48 (illustrated). New York, Union League Club, Exhibition of ‘Modern’ Pictures Representing Impressionist, Post-Impressionist, Expressionist and Cubist Painters, April 1924, no. 17. Cleveland Museum of Art, Fifty Years of French Art, October-November 1926. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Summer Exhibition: Painting and Sculpture, July-September 1933. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Modern European Art, October 1933, p. 3.


San Francisco Museum of Art, Paul Gauguin: Exhibition of Paintings and Prints, September-October 1936, p. 17, no. 19 (illustrated). The Brooklyn Museum, Gauguin Prints and Drawings, June-October 1938. San Francisco, Treasure Island, Masterworks of Five Centuries: Golden Gate International Exposition, February-October 1939, no. 148 (illustrated, pl. 148; dated circa 1896). New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., A Loan Exhibition of Paul Gauguin, April-May 1946, p. 63, no. 7 (illustrated, p. 21). New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., Six Masters of Post-Impressionism, April-May 1948, p. 27, no. 17 (illustrated, p. 34; dated 1896). New York, Paul Rosenberg & Co., Collector’s Choice: Masterpieces of French Art from New York Private Collections, May-April 1953, p. 66, no. 27 (illustrated, p. 67; dated 1896 and with incorrect support). Paris, Musée de l’Orangerie, De David à Toulouse-Lautrec: Chefs-d’œuvre des collections américaines, April-July 1955, no. 30 (illustrated, pl. 76; dated 1896). New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., Gauguin: Loan Exhibition for the Benefit of the Citizens' Committee for Children of New York City, Inc., April-May 1956, p. 19, no. 45 (illustrated, p. 57; dated 1896). The Art Institute of Chicago and New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gauguin: Paintings, Drawings, Prints, Sculpture, February-May 1959, pp. 56-57, no. 61 (illustrated in color on the frontispiece; dated circa 1896). New York, M. Knoedler & Co., Inc., Impressionist Treasures from Private Collections in New York, January 1966, p. 18, no. 10 (illustrated; dated 1896). Stockholm, Etnografiska Museet, Nationalmuseum, Gauguin i Söderhavet, March-April 1970, pp. 94-95, no. 53 (illustrated, p. 74). Tokyo, The National Museum of Art and Aichi Prefectural Art Gallery, Paul Gauguin, March-June 1987, p. 142, no. 120 (illustrated in color, p. 141). Warsaw, Royal Castle, Opus Sacrum: From the Collection of Barbara Piasecka Johnson, April-September 1990, pp. 278 and 280-281, no. 49 (illustrated in color, p. 279; detail illustrated in color, p. 281, fig. 2). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, pp. 6-7 and 17 (illustrated in color, p. 16). Seattle Art Museum, Gauguin and Polynesia: An Elusive Paradise, FebruaryApril 2012, pp. 297 and 368, no. 296. Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, A Closer Look: Portraits from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, December 2016-March 2017.

LITERATURE: Vizzavona, ed., Recueil: Oeuvre de Paul Gauguin; Photographies de E. Druet, Bretagne, vol. 1 (illustrated). Vizzavona, ed., Recueil: Oeuvre de Paul Gauguin; Photographies de E. Druet, Œuvres diverses, vol. 8 (illustrated twice). V. Segalen, "Gauguin dans son dernier décor" in Mercure de France, June 1904, no. 174, p. 682. C.J. Holmes, Notes on the Post-Impressionist Painters: Grafton Galleries, 1910-1911, London, 1910, pp. 23-24, no. 41 (titled Négresses). D. MacCarthy, "The Exhibition at the Grafton Galleries: Gauguin and Van Gogh" in Spectator, 26 November 1910, pp. 902-903. M. Puy, "Paul Gauguin" in L'art décoratif: Revue de l'art ancien et de la vie artistique moderne, April 1911, no. 151, p. 183 (illustrated; titled Tahitiennes). C. Morice, Paul Gauguin, Paris, 1919, p. 164 (illustrated). A. Alexandre, Collection Kélékian: Tableaux de l'Ecole française moderne, Paris, 1920 (illustrated, pl. 41). H.E. Field, "The Metropolitan French Show" in The Arts, May 1921, vol. I, no. 5, p. 2. S. Haweis, "Paul Gauguin: Artist" in International Studio, May 1921, vol. LXXIII, no. 290, p. 95 (illustrated, p. 97; titled Natives of Tahiti). Art in America, August 1921, vol. 9, no. 5, p. 213. W.S. Blunt, My Diaries: Being a Personal Narrative of Events; 1900-1914: The Coalition against Germany, New York, 1922, vol. 2, p. 329. F. Watson, "American Collections: No. 3; The Adolph Lewisohn Collection" in Arts, July-December 1926, vol. 10, p. 33 (illustrated, p. 33). H. Hertz, "Paul Gauguin" in Art in America and Elsewhere, April 1927, vol. 15, no. 3 , p. 150 (illustrated). S. Bourgeois, The Adolph Lewisohn Collection of Modern French Paintings and Sculptures, New York, 1928, p. 162 (illustrated, p. 163). S. Bourgeois, "The Passion of Art Collecting: Notes on the Adolph Lewisohn Collection" in Art News, 14 April 1928, vol. XXVI, no. 28, p. 64.


A. Alexandre, Paul Gauguin: Sa vie et le sens de son œuvre, Paris, 1930, p. 267 (illustrated; titled Pastorale Taïtienne). F. Cossio del Pomar, Arte y vida de Pablo Gauguin, Madrid, 1930, p. 364 (illustrated, p. 325, pl. LV; titled Tahitianas/Escena Tahitiana). R.H. Wilenski, French Painting, Boston, 1931, p. 289 (dated circa 1896). S. Bourgeois and W. George, "L'art français du XIXe et du XXe siècles à la collection Adolphe et Samuel Lewisohn" in Formes: Revue internationale des arts plastiques, September-October 1932, no. 28-29, p. 303 (illustrated, p. 302). C. Kunstler, Anciens et Modernes: Gauguin, Paris, 1934, p. 164 (illustrated, p. 77). G.L. McCann Morley, "The Gauguin Exhibition" in San Francisco Art Association Bulletin, September 1936, vol. 3, no. 4, p. 5. S.A. Lewisohn, Painters and Personality: A Collector's View of Modern Art, New York, 1937, pp. 61-62 (illustrated, p. 58, pl. 29). "Gauguin et Victor Segalen" in L'amour de l'art, December 1938, no. 10, p. 384. J. Rewald, Gauguin, Paris, 1938, p. 167 (illustrated, p. 141; dated circa 1896). S.A. Lewisohn, "Four Memoirs of the Growth of Art and Taste in America: The Collector; Personalities Past and Present" in Art News Annual, 1939, vol. 37, no. 22, p. 154 (illustrated, p. 69). R. Cogniat, Gauguin, Paris, 1947 (illustrated, pl. 94; dated circa 1896). C. Kunstler, Gauguin: Peintre maudit, Paris, 1947 (illustrated, pl. 36). L. van Dovski, Paul Gauguin oder die Flucht vor der Zivilisation, Olten, 1950, pp. 281 and 351-352, no. 332 (dated 1896). J. Loize, De Maillol et Codet à Ségalen: Les amitiés du peintre Georges-Daniel de Monfreid et ses reliques de Gauguin, Paris, 1951, p. 133, no. 360 and p. 162, no. 553 (titled Trois Tahitiennes). C. Estienne, Gauguin, Geneva, 1953, p. 84 (illustrated in color, p. 85; dated 1896). A.M. Frankfurter, "Collectors and Modern Million-Dollar Taste" in Art News, March 1953, vol. 52, no. 1, p. 24 (illustrated in color, p. 24; dated 1889). C. Chassé, Gauguin et son temps, Paris, 1955, p. 148. B.H. Friedman, "Current and Forthcoming Exhibitions" in The Burlington Magazine, June 1956, vol. 98, no. 639, p. 212 (dated 1896). H. Read, "Gauguin: Return to Symbolism" in Art News Annual, 1956, no. 25, pp. 125 and 145 (illustrated in color, p. 145; dated 1889). R. Goldwater, Paul Gauguin, New York, 1957, p. 134 (illustrated in color, p. 135; dated 1896). C. Sterling, Musée de l'Ermitage: La peinture française de Poussin à nos jours, Paris, 1957, pp. 132 and 134 (dated 1897-1899). G. Wildenstein, "L'idéologie et l'esthétique dans deux tableaux-clés de Gauguin" and "Vente des oeuvres d'art, livres et objets ayant appartenu à Gauguin: 2 septembre 1903" in Gazette des beaux-arts, special issue, Gauguin: Sa vie, son œuvre; Réunion de textes, d'études, de documents, 1958, p. 137 (illustrated, p. 152, fig. 19; dated 1896) and pp. 205 and 207, respectively. R. Puig, Paul Gauguin, G.D. de Monfreid et leurs amis, Perpignan, 1958, p. 35 (titled Tahitiennes). "Ausstellung Paul Gauguin" in Die Weltkunst, June 1959, no. 11, pp. 9-11. M. Denis, Journal, 1921-1943, Paris, 1959, vol. 3, p. 241. R. Huyghe, Gauguin, Paris, 1959, p. 75 (illustrated in color; dated 1896). J. Richardson, "Shorter Notices: Gauguin at Chicago and New York" in The Burlington Magazine, May 1959, vol. 101, no. 674, p. 191, no. 61. M. Malingue, "L'homme qui a réinventé la peinture" in Gauguin, Paris, 1960, p. 124. M. Rheims, "La cote des Gauguin" in Gauguin, Paris, 1960, p. 221 (titled Les Trois Vahinées). H. Perruchot, La vie de Gauguin, Paris, 1961, p. 334, note I and p. 386. A. Langer, Paul Gauguin, Leipzig, 1963, p. 63 (illustrated in color, pl. 71; dated 1896). G. Wildenstein, Gauguin, Paris, 1964, vol. I, pp. 245-246, no. 582 (illustrated, p. 245). C. Chassé, Gauguin sans légendes, Paris, 1965, p. 141 (illustrated, p. 140; with incorrect support). B. Danielsson, Gauguin in the South Seas, London, 1965, p. 211. A. Kantor-Goukovskaïa, По͵Ά Гоген ЖизнΆ и твоͺчество, Leningrad, 1965, p. 162 (dated 1896). P. O'Reilly, Catalogue du Musée Gauguin: Papeari, Tahiti, Paris, 1966, p. 128. P.C. Nicholls, Gauguin, New York, 1967, p. 30 (illustrated in color, pl. 65). W.V. Andersen, Gauguin's Paradise Lost, New York, 1971, p. 248 (illustrated, p. 345, fig. 131).


G. Mandel Sugana, L'opera completa di Gauguin, Milan, 1972, p. 112, no. 403 (illustrated, p. 110). L. van Dowski, Die Wahrheit über Gauguin, Darmstadt, 1973, pp. 220-221 and 273, no. 332 (dated 1896). B. Danielsson, Gauguin à Tahiti et aux îles Marquises, Papeete, 1975, p. 221. P. Leprohon, Paul Gauguin, Paris, 1975, pp. 271 and 317. E. Fezzi, Gauguin: Every Painting, New York, 1980, vol. II, p. 76, no. 561 (illustrated, p. 77). Z. Amishai-Maisels, Gauguin's Religious Themes, New York, 1985, pp. 288, 305308, 325, 333, notes 67, 68 and 72, and p. 546 (illustrated, fig. 138). R. Goldwater, Primitivism in Modern Art, Cambridge, 1986, p. 77 (dated 1896). M. Malingue, La vie prodigieuse de Gauguin, Paris, 1987, p. 303. R. Brettell, F. Cachin, C. Frèches-Thory and C.F. Stuckey, The Art of Paul Gauguin, exh. cat., National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 1988, p. 423. J.B. Bullen, ed., Post-Impressionists in England, London, 1988, pp. 113 and 127. F. Cachin, Gauguin, Paris, 1988, p. 239. A. Kantor-Goukovskaïa, A. Barskaïa and M. Bessonova, Paul Gauguin: Musée de l'Ermitage, Musée des Beaux-Arts Pouchkine, Paris, 1988, p. 144 (illustrated). P. Daix, Paul Gauguin, Paris, 1989, pp. 304, 354 and 356. G. Manceron, "Segalen et Gauguin" in Gauguin: Actes du colloque Gauguin; Musée d'Orsay, 11-13 January 1989, Paris, 1991, pp. 41 and 47, note 51. C. Christensen, "The Painting Materials and Technique of Paul Gauguin" in Studies in the History of Art, 1993, vol. 41, p. 94. Paul Gauguin e l’avanguardia russa, exh. cat., Palazzo dei Diamanti, Ferrara, 1995, pp. 120 and 126. N. Margolis Maurer, The Pursuit of Spiritual Wisdom: The Thought and Art of Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin, Madison, 1998, pp. 171-172 (illustrated in color, fig. 373). S.A. Stein, "From the Beginning: Collecting and Exhibiting Gauguin in New York" in The Lure of the Exotic: Gauguin in New York Collections, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2002, pp. 166-168 and 230, note 83 (illustrated in situ at the Lewisohn apartment, p. 160, fig. 62; illustrated again in situ at the 1921 exhibition, p. 167, fig. 64). P. Laudon, Tahiti-Gauguin: Mythe et vérités, Paris, 2003, p. 120. G. Manceron, "Koké et Tépéva: Victor Segalen dans les pas de Gauguin" in Gauguin Tahiti: L'atelier des tropiques, exh. cat., Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, Paris, 2003, pp. 325 and 330, note 26. K. White, "Parvenir à la béatitude" in Paul Gauguin: Héritage et confrontations; Actes du colloque des 6, 7 et 8 mars 2003 à l'Université de la Polynésie Française, Papeete, 2003, pp. 225-226 (titled Femmes sur le bord de la mer). A. Gruetzner Robins, "'Manet and the Post-Impressionists': A Checklist of Exhibits" in The Burlington Magazine, December 2010, vol. CLII, no. 1293, p. 787, note 54. M. Jakobi, Gauguin-Signac: La genèse du titre contemporain, Paris, 2015, p. 191, no. 143 (illustrated). M. Stone, "The Most Expensive, Over-The-Top Pieces of Art Owned by Tech Billionaires" in Business Insider France, 9 May 2015 (illustrated in color). P. Zegers, "Gauguin, Cat. 102, The Rape of Europa, from the Suite of Late Wood-Block Prints" in Gauguin Paintings, Sculpture, and Graphic Works at The Art Institute of Chicago, 2016 (illustrated in color, fig. 1.28). D. Wildenstein, S. Crussard and R.R. Brettell, Gauguin: Catalogue Raisonné of the Paintings, 1891-1903 (digitalprojects.wpi.art/artworks/gauguin/ introduction), no. W582 (illustrated in color).

Installation view of Loan Exhibition of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Paintings, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1921. Present work on far wall, fourth from the left.





SARGENT (1856-1925)

The Façade of La Salute, Venice signed 'John S. Sargent' (lower right) watercolor, gouache and pencil on paperboard 14Ω x 21º in. (36.8 x 54 cm.) Executed circa 1903 $800,000-1,200,000



“Sargent’s watercolors obey the requirement of art in the most important way: they remain fresh forever, they endure.” DONELSON HOOPES



Ferdinand Joseph Conway Wertheimer (by 1925). Mrs. Joan Young Conway (wife of the above, by descent, 1953). David Mathias (nephew of the above, gift from the above). Kay Mathias (wife of the above, 1992). Katherine Mathias (Mrs. Edward Holden), Kent (daughter of the above). Private collection, New York (2001). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2012.

“Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours” in Globe, 9 April 1904. “Royal Water-Colour Society Centenary Exhibition” in Morning Post, 9 April 1904, p. 5. “The Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours” in Observer, 10 April 1904. B.N., “Royal Society of Water-Colour Painters” in Westminster Gazette, 11 April 1904. E.G.H., “Artistic Centenary; Hundredth Exhibition of Royal Water Colour Society, The Spring Show” in Daily Mail, 12 April 1904. "Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours. The Centenary Exhibition" in The Manchester Guardian, 12 April 1904, p. 6. “Royal Society of Painters in Water Colour” in Daily Telegraph, 13 April 1904, p. 11. “The Centenary Exhibition of the Old Water-Colour Painters” in Guardian, 20 April 1904. A.M., “The Water Colour Society” in Pall Mall Gazette, 18 April 1904, p. 2. N. Wilkinson, Yvette in Venice and Titania’s Palace, Oxford, England, 1923 (illustrated in color on the frontispiece; titled The Steps of Santa Maria della Salute). W. Adelson, et al., Sargent Abroad: Figures and Landscapes, New York, 1997, pp. 180 and 204-205 (illustrated in color, p. 204, pl. 210; titled On the Steps of the Salute and dated circa 1906). W. Adelson and E. Oustinoff, “John Singer Sargent’s Venice: On the Canals” in The Magazine Antiques, November 2006, vol. 170, no. 5, pp. 134 and 137 (illustrated in color, p. 134, fig. 3). R. Ormond and E. Kilmurray, John Singer Sargent: Venetian Figures and Landscapes, 1898-1913, Complete Paintings, New Haven, 2009, vol. VI, pp. 12, 49, 54, 60, note 167; pp. 71-72, 76-77, 141, 178, 182, note 1 and pp. 195 and 233, no. 1032 (illustrated in color, p. 77).

EXHIBITED: London, Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours, Centenary Exhibition, 1904, no. 107. London, Claridge Gallery, Loan Exhibition of Water Colours by the Late John S. Sargent, R.A., July 1925, no. 7 (titled The Steps of the Salute, Venice). New York, Coe Kerr Gallery, John Singer Sargent: His Own Work, May-June 1980, no. 32 (illustrated; titled A Scene in Venice and dated circa 1907). New York, Coe Kerr Gallery and Boston Athenaeum, Americans in Venice: 18791913, October-December 1983, p. 54, no. 36 (illustrated in color; titled A Scene in Venice and dated circa 1906). New York, Adelson Galleries, Sargent Abroad: An Exhibition, NovemberDecember 1997 (illustrated in color, pl. 14; titled On the Steps of the Salute and dated circa 1906). Ferrara, Palazzo dei Diamanti, Sargent e l’Italia, September 2002-January 2003, pp. 275 and 290-291, no. 54 (illustrated in color, p. 291; titled Sui gradini della Salute and dated circa 1906). Los Angeles County Museum of Art and Denver Art Museum, Sargent and Italy, February-September 2003, pp. 41 and 196 (illustrated in color, p. 41; titled On the Steps of the Salute (On the Grand Canal) and dated circa 1906). Boston, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum and Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, Gondola Days, April-December 2004, pp. 257 and 275 (illustrated in color, p. 257, fig. 205; titled On the Steps of the Salute, Venice and dated 1906). New York, Adelson Galleries, Sargent’s Venice, January-March 2007, pp. 2-3, 99 and 103-104 (illustrated in color on the frontispiece, pp. 2-3, fig. 97; titled On the Steps of the Salute and dated circa 1904). Venice, Correr Museum, Sargent and Venice, March-July 2007, pp. 67 and 76 (illustrated in color, p. 67; titled On the Steps of the Salute and dated circa 1904). New York, Michael Altman Fine Art & Advisory Services, John Singer Sargent: An Exhibition of Over Forty Paintings, Drawings, and Watercolors, Fall 2013, no. 12 (illustrated in color).





BONNARD (1867-1947)

Deux corbeilles de fruits signed ‘Bonnard’ (lower right) oil on canvas 23√ × 32 in. (60.4 × 81.2 cm.) Painted circa 1935 $3,000,000-5,000,000



“It’s not a matter of painting life. It’s a matter of giving life to paintings.” PIERRE BONNARD

PROVENANCE: Galerie Bernheim-Jeune et Cie., Paris (acquired from the artist, 1935). Paul Ebstein, Paris (gift from the above, 1935). Léon Delaroche, Paris (circa 1935). Private collection, Paris (by descent from the above, 1998). Private collection, Europe; sale, Christie's, New York, 8 November 2006, lot 73 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

LITERATURE: F. Jourdain, Pierre Bonnard ou Les vertus de la liberté, Geneva, 1947 (illustrated in color). R. Söderberg, Bonnard, Stockholm, 1949, p. 51 (illustrated). J. and H. Dauberville, Bonnard, Catalogue raisonné de l'oeuvre peint, Paris, 1973, vol. III, p. 422, no. 1539 (illustrated).







CEZANNE (1839-1906)

La Montagne Sainte-Victoire oil on canvas 25¬ x 31√ in. (65.2 x 81.2 cm.) Painted in 1888-1890 Estimate on Request



“There are treasures to be taken away from this country, which has not yet found an interpreter worthy of the riches it offers.” PAUL CEZANNE

PROVENANCE: Ambroise Vollard, Paris. Auguste Pellerin, Paris (acquired from the above). Jean-Victor Pellerin, Paris (by descent from the above, 1929). Georges A. Embiricos, Lausanne. Heinz Berggruen, Paris (acquired from the above, 1982, then by descent); sale, Phillips, de Pury & Luxembourg, New York, 7 May 2001, lot 5. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Geneva, Musée d’art et d’histoire, Berggruen Collection, June-October 1988, p. 32, no. 6 (illustrated in color, p. 33). London, The National Gallery, Van Gogh to Picasso: The Berggruen Collection at The National Gallery, 1991-1998 (on extended loan). Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Sammlung Berggruen, 1998-2000 (on extended loan). Berlin, Sammlung Berggruen, Cezanne in Berlin 28 Werke aus den Staatlichen Museen und aus Privatbesitz, October 2000-January 2001, pp. 55-58, no. 14 (illustrated in color, pp. 56-57). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, p. 13 (illustrated in color, p. 12). The Hague, Gemeentemuseum, Cezanne, Picasso, Mondriaan: In nieuw perspectief, October 2009-January 2010, no. 35 (illustrated). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 26-27 and 78, no. 16 (illustrated in color, p. 79; detail illustrated in color, pp. 80-81; detail illustrated in color again, p. 27, fig. 5).

LITERATURE: L. Venturi, Cezanne: Son art—son oeuvre, Paris, 1936, vol. I, p. 207, no. 662 (illustrated, vol. II, pl. 212; dated 1890-1894). J. Rewald, Paul Cezanne, London, 1939 (illustrated, fig. 66; dated circa 1890). E. Loran, Cezanne’s Compositions, Berkeley, 1943, p. 100 (illustrated, pl. XXIII). J. Rewald, Paul Cezanne: A Biography, New York, 1948 (illustrated, fig. 86; dated circa 1890). J. Rewald, Cezanne, London, 1950 (illustrated, fig. 66). R.W. Ratcliffe, Cezanne's Working Methods and Their Theoretical Background, Ph.D. diss., Courtauld Institute of Art, University of London, 1961 (dated 1889). S. Orienti, The Complete Paintings of Cezanne, New York, 1970, p. 120, no. 751 (illustrated; dated 1890-1894). G.A. Embiricos, “Cezanne et la répétition” in Connaissance des Arts, May 1978, no. 315, pp. 69-70 (illustrated in color, p. 69; dated 1890-1894). Paul Cezanne, France, {circa} 1904. Photograph by Gaston Bernheim. Photo: API / Contributor / Getty images.



J. Rewald, Cezanne: A Biography, New York, 1986, p. 276 (illustrated in color, p. 177). J.-J. Lévêque, La vie et l’œuvre de Paul Cezanne, Courbevoie, 1988, p. 209 (illustrated in color). “Gateway to Modernity: Paul Cezanne in Swiss Collections” in Du, September 1989, no. 9, p. 57 (illustrated in color). H. Düchting, Paul Cezanne: Natur wird Kunst, Cologne, 1989, p. 210 (illustrated in color; dated 1890-1894). B. Ely, “La plus haute sommité du department” in Sainte-Victoire Cezanne, exh. cat., Musée Granet, Aix-en-Provence, 1990, p. 147 (illustrated in color, fig. 107). S. Moore, Framing Modern Masters: A Conversation with Heinz Berggruen, London, 1991, pp. 17 and 76-77, no. 19 (illustrated). C. de Lartigue, Les paysages de Paul Cezanne, Lyon, 1995, p. 113 (illustrated in color; detail illustrated in color, p. 115; dated circa 1890). P. Sollers, Le paradis de Cezanne, Paris, 1995, pp. 118-119 (illustrated). D. Coutagne et al., Les sites Cezanniens du Pays d’Aix: Hommage à John Rewald, Paris, 1996, p. 69. J. Rewald, The Paintings of Paul Cezanne: A Catalogue Raisonné, New York, 1996, vol. I, pp. 414-415, no. 631 (illustrated, vol. II, p. 213). P. Smith, Interpreting Cezanne, London, 1996, p. 43 (illustrated, fig. 34). B. Ely, “Gardanne, Montbriand and Bellevue” in Cezanne in Provence, exh. cat., National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 2006, p. 157 (illustrated in color, p. 156, fig. 5). P. Machotka, Cezanne: The Eye and the Mind, Marseille, 2008, p. 159 (illustrated, fig. 235). D. Coutagne, “P. Cezanne, sur la colline de la Constance-Valcros" in SPLA Pays d’Aix Territoires, June 2015, p. 78 (illustrated). D. Bonfort, ed., Dans les pas de P. Cezanne, Aix-en-Provence, 2016, p. 30 (illustrated). Cezanne, Jas de Bouffan: Art et histoire, Lyon, 2019, p. 86 (illustrated in color, fig. 71). G.-P. and F. Dauberville, Paul Cezanne chez Bernheim-Jeune, Paris, 2020, p. 448, no. 113 (illustrated, p. 449). P. Cezanne, Paul Cezanne dépeint par ses contemporains, Lyon, 2021 (illustrated, fig. 56). W. Feilchenfeldt, J. Warman and D. Nash, The Paintings, Watercolors and Drawings of Paul Cezanne: An Online Catalogue Raisonné (www. cezannecatalogue.com), no. FWN 258 (illustrated in color).





KLEE (1879-1940)

Bunte Landschaft signed, dated and inscribed 'Klee 1928 E 2' (upper right); signed and dated again, titled and inscribed '1928. E 2. bunte Landschaft Klee Notiz! Tempera! unter Glas zu halten!!' (on the stretcher) oil and tempera on incised plaster on board mounted by the artist to the stretcher 8¡ x 14º in. (21.4 x 36 cm.) Executed in 1928 $1,200,000-1,800,000



“The creative impulse suddenly springs to life, like a flame, passes through the hand onto the canvas, where it spreads further until, like the spark that closes an electric circuit, it return to its source: the eye and the mind.” PAUL KLEE

PROVENANCE: Galerie Alfred Flechtheim, Berlin and Dusseldorf (on consignment from the artist, 1928). Alex Vömel, Dusseldorf (on consignment from the artist, until sold November 1934); (possibly) Hermann Lange, Krefeld. Moderne Galerie Otto Stangl, Munich. Private collection, Germany (acquired from the above, 1982); sale, Christie’s, London, 8 December 1999, lot 64. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Brussels, Galerie Le Centaure, Paul Klee, R. Sintenis, December 1928, no. 38. Paris, Galerie Georges Bernheim et Cie, Paul Klee, February 1929, no. 37. Berlin, Galerie Alfred Flechtheim, Paul Klee, October-November 1929, no. 103. Dusseldorf, Galerie Alfred Flechtheim, Paul Klee: Aquarelle, Zeichnungen und Graphik aus 25 Jahren, February-March 1930, p. 7, no. 29 (dated 1914). Dusseldorf, Kunstverein für die Rheinlande und Westfalen and Galerie Alfred Flechtheim, Paul Klee, June-July 1931, p. 10, no. 57.

LITERATURE: C. Rümelin, "Klees Umgang mit seinem eigenen Oeuvre" in Balingen, 2001, p. 219, no. 78. The Paul Klee Foundation, ed., Paul Klee: Catalogue Raisonné, 1927-1930, Bern, 2001, vol. 5, p. 243, no. 4684 (illustrated; illustrated again in color, p. 207).





VAN GOGH (1853-1890)

Parc à Arles avec un coin de la Maison Jaune reed pen and brown ink over pencil on paper 13æ x 10¿ in. (35 x 25.9 cm.) Drawn in 1888 $3,000,000-5,000,000



PROVENANCE: Theo van Gogh, Paris (acquired from the artist, 7 May 1888). Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, Paris (by descent from the above). Vincent W. van Gogh, Amsterdam (by descent from the above). Egbert Jan and L.F. Kuipers, The Netherlands (gift from the above, May 1942). Dr. Johannes Egbert Kuipers, The Netherlands (by descent from the above, December 1979). Nancy Whyte Fine Arts, Inc., New York (September 2000). Acquired from the above by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Arles, Ancien Hospital van Gogh Arles, Van Gogh et Arles, February-May 1989, p. 50, no. 20 (illustrated in color, p. 51; titlted Un jardin public de la Place Lamartine). Otterlo, Rijksmuseum Kröller-Müller, Vincent van Gogh Drawings, March-July 1990, pp. 218 and 247, no. 171 (illustrated in color, p. 246; titled Parc municipal sur la place Lamartine and dated April-May 1888). Amsterdam, Van Gogh Museum, 1989-September 2000 (on extended loan).

LITERATURE: J.-B. de la Faille, L'oeuvre de Vincent van Gogh: Catalogue raisonné, Paris, 1928, vol. I, p. 144, no. 1476 (titled Parc à Arles). W. Muensterberger, Vincent van Gogh: Drawings, Pastels, Studies, New York, 1947, p. 57 (illustrated; titled Park at Arles). V.W. van Gogh, ed., The Complete Letters of Vincent van Gogh, London, 1958, vol. II, pp. 552-556, letter 480. J.-B. de la Faille, The Works of Vincent van Gogh: His Paintings and Drawings, Amsterdam, 1970, pp. 514 and 664, no. 1476 (illustrated, p. 514; with incorrect provenance). J. Hulsker, "The intriguing drawings of Arles" in Bulletin of the Rijksmuseum Vincent van Gogh, 1974, no. 4, pp. 27-30. C.W. Millard, "A Chronology of Van Gogh's Drawings of 1888" in Master Drawings, 1974, no. 2, pp. 158 and 165. J. Hulsker, The Complete Van Gogh: Paintings, Drawings, Sketches, Amsterdam, 1977, p. 319, no. 1409 (illustrated; with incorrect provenance). F. Erpel, Vincent van Gogh, die Rohrfederzeichnungen, Munich, 1990, no. 18 (illustrated). J.-B. de la Faille, Vincent van Gogh: The Complete Works on Paper, Catalogue Raisonné, San Francisco, 1992, vol. I, pp. 384-385, no. 1476 (illustrated, vol. II, pl. CLXIII; with incorrect provenance). L. Heenk, Vincent van Gogh's Drawings: An Analysis of their Production and Uses, PhD. diss., London, 1995, p. 178. J. Hulsker, The New Complete Van Gogh: Paintings, Drawings, Sketches, Amsterdam, 1996, p. 319, no. 1409 (illustrated). L. Jansen, H. Luijten and N. Bakker, eds., Vincent van Gogh: The Letters, The Complete Illustrated and Annotated Edition, London, 2009, pp. 70-74, letter 602 (illustrated in color, p. 72). “I have anin enormous drawing do, because I’doflike towhich do inas thehis of Japanese prints. but strike while the iron’s Vincent van Gogh wrote to brother Theo inin April 1888 (Letter 594, L. Jansen, H. Luijten and N. Bakker, eds., Vincent van Gogh: The Letters, The Complete Illustrated and Annotated Edition, London, 2009, 4,allowed p. 46). His move tofavorite Arles in the year precipitated aofrenewed interest infactors, this work played a dual role with painting atoften this bothpainting. interchangeable parts of and his as he moved between these Executed reed pen and brown ink, Gogh Parc ànew Arles avec un coin de la Maison Jaune pictures a corner gardens that bordered Place Lamartine, the site ofwas the Yellow House, where Van Gogh had moved May 1888. The foliage and trees, cut and wild grass, hidden corners and views, Gogh unending supply motifs, making this one of his subjects of Arles. WithAs aexpansive host different of varying weights—rapid, finework lines, thicker staccato dots andtime, dashes—here, VanThe Gogh harnessed thepractice versatility of reed pen, aofmedium hetwo had readopted to create a drawing that is alivewas withasmovement and atmosphere. Van Gogh decided toinamount take up of drawing notto long after heworking had arrived indrawings Arles. obsession with Japonisme haddo ledanything him tothe to the south, so it hot,” also inspired his desire to work inhis this medium, creating his own drawings the manner of prints. He had already acquired a more number of these ukiyo-e and was influenced bythe the calligraphic handling of these works as well ascreate theearlier flattened perspective they employed. Practically too, offered Van ways of fundamentally altered allof aspects ofThis hisI can’t practice. When, inrelocate April 1888, Theo van Gogh encountering financial difficulties, Van Gogh turned to drawing as in ainofway ofstrokes, conserving his precious paint supplies. He soon found thatexpansive with pen inkoffered he could work despite of theofweather—especially the notorious winds of the local mistral. a result ofand bothvaried ofmarks these Van Gogh he was freed fromstrokes, the pressure he so felt when spontaneity instinctiveness of many his drawings isapproaches. a reflectioninofArles, this sense of liberation. “I wish paint little of a worry to work with as pen and paper… With paper, whether it’s a letter I’m writing or a drawing I’m working on, there’s never a misfire” (Letter 638, op. cit., p. 139). Reed pen was adrawing tool plentiful supply due to proliferation reeds along theJust banks ofstyle the canals inthe Arles. medium transformed Van Gogh’s draughtsmanship. Offering a great versatility—it could be used like a brush torange create wider asJapanese well as finer lines, and required frequent reinking which ledand to the range ofVan weight in an many of whims the marks—the reedvol. pen Van Gogh to broader, more fluent, works onmedium. paper, asGraphic thefound present masterfully demonstrates.



“I’m always trying to figure out where the future’s going, looking outward in a certain way, so maybe that’s why I find landscapes interesting. It’s as if they are windows onto different realities... When you look at a painting, you’re looking into a different country, into someone else’s imagination—how they saw it. I like that aspect of landscapes.” PAUL G. ALLEN




The experience of viewing the world around us is universal, yet also deeply personal. Landscape painting thus affords the rare, profoundly affecting opportunity to perceive the world through another’s unique sensibility. Above all other genres, moreover, landscape offers a metaphor for the act of viewing that underpins the very experience of art. The visual field of the artist and the frame of the image are understood to be one and the same, as Alberti codified in his 1435 treatise Pictura (On Painting)—“First of all, on the surface on which I am going to paint, I draw a rectangle of whatever size I want, which I regard as an open window through which the subject to be painted is seen.” The masterworks in the Paul G. Allen Collection trace, in an idiosyncratic and highly individual way, the evolution of the landscape genre over four centuries—from the idealized settings of the Old Masters, to the deeply felt explorations of the Impressionists, to the fantastical world of the Surrealists, in which the classical conventions of landscape painting are repurposed for new expressive ends. A common thread unites the paintings, though: their powerful evocation of the artist’s subjective, sensory response to the natural world. This theme is introduced in the very earliest significant treatment of landscape in the collection: Jan Brueghel the Younger’s remarkable group of allegorical paintings on the theme of The Five Senses. Although these are not pure landscapes (the genre at the time was considered inferior to history painting, which encompassed classical, mythological, biblical, and allegorical themes), landscape nevertheless plays a key role across the sequence in framing the exegesis of sensory experience. Inspired by then-fashionable depictions of collector’s cabinets and market scenes, Brueghel’s paintings categorize a teeming abundance of natural and man-made things—artworks and musical instruments, arms and armor, exotic flora and foodstuffs—according to the senses that they engage. In all but one painting, landscape is introduced as a view outward from a covered portico, establishing a polarity between interior and exterior, enclosure and expansiveness. The landscape itself constitutes an idealized rendering of castles and their immaculately tended grounds—nature as an extension of human achievement, cultivated to serve human needs.



A transformative moment in the history of landscape painting came with the advent of Impressionism. Building on the innovations of their 19th century predecessors from Turner to Courbet, the Impressionists elevated landscape in the hierarchy of genres and made it the principal vehicle for their radically modern re-interpretation of the possibilities of painting—one that explicitly centered their own subjective experience. Working en plein air, they sought to capture the momentary vagaries of nature, using a broken, visible touch that encodes the presence of the artist in the landscape and serves as a proxy for his or her personal sensations before the motif. No landscape in the collection better exemplifies this new expressive immediacy than Van Gogh’s Verger avec cyprès—painted in Arles in early spring 1888, the culminating moment of the most purely Impressionist period in the artist’s short career. The motif of the orchard in bloom embodies the spirit of optimism and renewal that had seized Van Gogh upon his arrival in the South of France just weeks earlier. The artist’s intense response to the landscape of Provence is manifest in the heightened palette and unfettered handling that he used to describe his new surroundings—“I follow no system of brushwork at all,” he reported, “I hit the canvas with irregular strokes which I leave as they are.” In this jubilant canvas, Van Gogh renders nature as a freely lifeaffirming force, the confetti-like profusion of blossoms bursting forth untrammeled against the linear geometry of fencing and furrows that represent man’s incursion into the landscape. As the 19th century drew to a close, a mounting drive toward abstraction yielded an expanded syntax of landscape, embodied in Monet’s Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé. True to his Impressionist roots, Monet rendered London’s industrialized landscape at a specific, fleeting moment—here capturing his singular perception of the vista from the east-facing window of his hotel, as the afternoon sun filtered through the haze of smoke and fog and gently illuminated the arches of Waterloo Bridge. At the same time, the enveloping atmosphere of London afforded Monet new liberties in his treatment of the motif, enabling him to push the boundaries of his long-standing Impressionist practice. He suppressed anecdotal detail, muffled the industrial din, and dematerialized tangible form, absorbing the contemporaneity of the cityscape within a timeless, nearly abstract symphony of color. This same duality—between the artist’s unique, sensory experience of nature and its transformation into an abstract, painted motif— underlies Klimt’s magisterial Birch Forest. Working en plein air, deep in the woods near Lake Attersee, Klimt eschewed the traditional expansiveness of landscape. Instead, he painted the birch trunks and



“The force of nature has always intrigued me.” PAUL G. ALLEN

forest floor at close range, replicating for the viewer his own physical and psychological absorption in nature. The scene is unmoored from the Impressionists’ specificity of time and place—there is no trace of the sky, no hint of daylight, no sense of movement. It is this very stillness, though, that most forcefully conveys Klimt’s direct, immediate response to his motif—the air of mystery, the inner magic, the spiritual fullness that he sensed in the age-old forest. Klimt’s painterly means and working mode further heighten the expressive impact of Birch Forest. He used a piece of cardboard with a hole cut in it to center his vision and frame a section of the landscape— evoking Alberti’s conceptual window and the notion of “windows onto different realities.” In its repudiation of recessive depth, however, the resulting image is less like a window than a wall. Trees, leaves, and ground are subsumed into an all-over, tapestry-like pattern of abstract shapes that asserts the flatness of the picture plane; the square format of the canvas further underscores this effect. Klimt draws the viewer’s attention insistently to the picture surface, where the materiality of the paint—a sensual mesh of differing colors and textures—evokes a tactile response that mirrors the artist’s own visceral sensation before his woodland motif. Nearly a half-century after Klimt painted Birch Forest, Magritte took up the theme of the landscape as a site of mystery and revelation in the eerily unsettling Surrealist tour de force, La voix du sang. The canvas depicts an immense, solitary tree silhouetted against the nocturnal sky, conjuring the memory of the vast, primordial forests that once blanketed Europe from end to end—the mythical dwelling-place of spirits and gods. In the trunk of the tree, most unexpectedly, are nestled three small cupboards, one containing a sphere, another a tiny house with windows aglow; the contents of the third are hidden behind a partially closed door. In characteristically Magrittean fashion, the image defies literal decoding, challenging the viewer’s preconceived notions of reality in order to lay bare the mystery that Magritte believed was inherent in the everyday world.



Heightening the disquieting power of the painting is the traditionally illusionistic style that Magritte has used to render the landscape, here reclaimed and repurposed for expressive ends. Renouncing the visible, broken touch of the Impressionists and the incipient abstraction of Klimt’s Birch Forest, Magritte depicted his great tree with the crispness of the Old Masters and placed it within a classically receding vista, with a winding path that leads into depth. These long-standing conventions of landscape painting—immediately legible and reassuringly familiar— stand in stark counterpoint to the incongruous juxtaposition of objects, amplifying the tension between reality and fantasy that underpins the Surrealist project. Throughout the landscapes that we have considered, the concept of a threshold has been implicit—whether in the boundary between interior and exterior, the perimeter of the visual field, or the metaphorical window onto another reality. In Andrew Wyeth’s hauntingly beautiful Day Dream, this theme of liminal space takes center stage. Although the setting is an interior—the upstairs western bedroom at Eight Bells, the Wyeth family home in Port Clyde, Maine, where the artist’s model Helga lies sleeping—the open windows seem to bring the outside in: the encompassing white atmosphere feels palpably like daylight and the sheer canopy billows in a gentle breeze. Rather than proffering a distant view of the landscape (the prospect into depth is blocked by the tipped-up plane of the sea), the windows here admit a wholly other realm of sensation into the chamber. Within this ambiguous space, at once indoors and out, Helga’s nude, sleeping form embodies—quite literally—the shape of the artist’s dreams and desires. Wyeth paints her at close range, suggesting an intimacy between artist and model; yet she is displayed in radiant isolation, cloistered behind the sheer curtain which allows gaze but not touch. And thus we come full circle. In the Brueghel paintings that inaugurate the exploration of landscape in the collection, each of the five senses is personified by an allegorical female figure in an interior, which opens onto a panoramic vista. In Wyeth’s Day Dream, by contrast, the view through the window is short-circuited, and Helga’s very real body takes the place of the absent landscape subject—the locus of the artist’s singular experience, the “different country” of his imagination.





KLIMT (1862-1918) Birch Forest signed ‘GUSTAV KLIMT’ (lower left) oil on canvas 43¡ x 43º in. (110.1 x 109.8 cm.) Painted in 1903 Estimate on Request



PROVENANCE: Adele and Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, Vienna (acquired from the artist). Seized by the Viennese Magistrate, May 1938 (following the Nazi Anschluss of March 1938). With Dr. Erich Führer, Vienna (the state-appointed administrator for Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer). Städtische Sammlung, Vienna (acquired from the above, November 1942). Österreichische Galerie, Vienna (transferred from the above, 1948). Restituted to the heirs of Adele and Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer by the Republic of Austria, March 2006; sale, Christie's, New York, 8 November 2006, lot 51 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Vienna Secession, XVIII. Ausstellung, Gustav Klimt, November-December 1903, no. 3 or 4. Berlin, Zweite Ausstellung des Deutschen Künstlerbunds, 1905, p. 21, no. 112. Vienna, Kunstschau, 1908, p. 47, no. 9. Venice, IX. Esposizione Internazionale di Venezia, 1910, p. 60, no. 3 (titled I faggi). Kunsthaus Zürich, Ein Jahrhundert Wiener Malerei, May-June 1918, p. 12, no. 60 or 66. Vienna, Österreichische Staatsgalerie, Neuerwerbungen 1918-1921, June 1921, p. 11, no. 52. Vienna Secession, Klimt-Gedächtnisausstellung, XCIX. Ausstellung der Vereinigung Bildender Künstler Wiener Secession, June-July 1928, p. 12, no. 39. (possibly) Bern Kunsthalle, 1937, no. 4 Vienna, Ausstellungshaus Friedrichstrasse, Gustav Klimt Ausstellung, February-March 1943, no. 10 (illustrated). Amsterdam, Stedelijk Museum, Austria, 1956, no. 121. Kunsthalle Bern, Kunst aus Österreich, February-March 1957, no. 44 (dated 1905). St. Gallen, Kunstmuseum, Kunst aus Österreich, 1957, no. 29. Tokyo, Sezon Museum, Vienna at the Turn of the Century–Klimt, Schiele and their Time, October-December 1989. Madrid, Museo Reina Sofia, Viena 1900, October 1993-January 1994, p. 189, no. 347 (illustrated in color). Los Angeles County Museum of Art and New York, Neue Galerie, Gustav Klimt: Five Paintings from the Collection of Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, April-October 2006 (illustrated in color). Belvedere Wien, Gustav Klimt und Die Kunstschau 1908, October 2008-January 2009, p. 290 (illustrated in color; dated 1904). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 16, 18-19, 26, 29 and 86, no. 18 (illustrated in color, p. 87; illustrated in color again on the cover).

Installation of the Kunstschau, Vienna, 1908. Photograph by Moriz Nähr.


LITERATURE: H.O. Miethke, Das Werk Gustav Klimt, Vienna, 1914, vol. 4 (illustrated, pl. 6). Mitteilungen Staatsgalerie, 1921, no. 52. M.J. Liechtenstein, Gustav Klimt und seine oberösterreichischen Salzkammergutlandschaften, 1951, no. 25. I. Hatle, Gustav Klimt, ein Wiener Maler des Jugendstils, Graz, 1955 (dated 1905). E. Pirchan, Gustav Klimt, Vienna, 1956, no. 75 (illustrated). F. Novotny and J. Dobai, Gustav Klimt, Salzburg, 1967, p. 334, no. 136 (illustrated; illustrated again, fig. 50). J. Dobai and S. Coradeschi, L'opera completa di Klimt, Milan, 1978, p. 102, no. 123 (illustrated; illustrated again in color, fig. XXVI). F. Novotny, "im Zusammenhang–Im Gegensatz" in Gustav Klimt: Goldene Pforte, Salzburg, 1978, p. 215. J. Dobai, Gustav Klimt: Landscapes, London, 1981, pp. 19 and 72 (illustrated, p. 19, fig. 22; illustrated again in color, p. 73, pl. 19). S. Partsch, Klimt: Life and Work, London, 1990, pp. 103 and 285 (illustrated in color, p. 102, fig. 30). G. Frodl, Klimt, Cologne, 1992, p. 144 (illustrated in color, p. 145). G. Frodl, Gustav Klimt in der Österreichischen Galerie Belvedere Wien, Salzburg, 1992, p. 85 (illustrated in color). A. Weidinger, Neues zu den Landschaften Gustav Klimts, Ph.D. diss., Salzburg, 1992, p. 101. G. Fliedl, Gustav Klimt: The World in Female Form, Cologne, 1998, p. 95 (illustrated). S. Partsch, Klimt: Life and Work, Germering, 1999, p. 103, no. 30 (illustrated in color, p. 129). S. Koja, ed., Gustav Klimt Landscapes, New York, 2002, p. 215 (illustrated in color, pl. 21; detail illustrated in color). S. Lillie, Was einmal war. Handbuch der enteigneten Kunstsammlungen Wiens, Vienna, 2003, p. 204. S. Koja, "'Frisch weht der Wind der Heimat zu...' Neue Beobachtungen zur Topographie von Klimts Landschaftsbildern" in Belvedere. Zeitschrift für Bildende Kunst, 2007, pp. 214-215. S. Lillie and G. Gaugusch, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, New York, 2007, pp. 43-44, 71-72, 78, 86 and 91 (illustrated in color). A. Weidinger, ed., Gustav Klimt, Munich, 2007, p. 281, no. 174 (illustrated in color).

Gustav Klimt, {circa} 1909. Photograph by Pauline Hamilton.





MARTIN (1912-2004) Untitled acrylic and graphite on canvas 60 x 60 in. (152.4 x 152.4 cm.) Executed circa 1999-2000 $4,000,000-6,000,000



“The function of an art work is the stimulation of the sensibilities, the renewal of memories of moments of perfection... To make works of art that stimulate sensibilities and renew moments of perfection an artist must recognize the works that illustrate his own moment of perfection.” AGNES MARTIN

PROVENANCE: David and Renze Nesbit, New Mexico (acquired from the artist, 2000). Dominique Lévy Gallery, New York. Anon. sale, Sotheby's, London, 15 October 2015, lot 7. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.





HEPWORTH (1903-1975) Elegy III signed, dated and numbered ‘Barbara Hepworth 1966 3/6’ (on the top of the base); inscribed with foundry mark ‘Morris Singer Founders London’ (on the back of the base) bronze with brown and green patina Height: 55 in. (139.5 cm.) Conceived in 1966 and cast in 1967 $3,000,000-5,000,000



“Sculpture, to me, is primitive, religious, passionate, and magical—always, always affirmative.” BARBARA HEPWORTH

PROVENANCE: Marlborough Fine Art, Ltd., London (acquired from the artist, June 1968). Marlborough-Godard Gallery, Toronto (acquired from the above). Private collection, Canada (acquired from the above, 1976, until at least 1995). Haunch of Venison, London. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2003.

EXHIBITED: London, Tate Gallery, Barbara Hepworth, April-May 1968, pp. 49 and 61, no. 169 (another cast illustrated in situ at the Rietveld Pavilion, p. 48; titled Hollow Form with Color). London, Marlborough Fine Art, Ltd., Recent Acquisitions, July-August 1968, no. 17 (illustrated).

LITERATURE: A. Bowness, ed., The Complete Sculpture of Barbara Hepworth 1960-1969, London, 1971, no. 429 (another cast illustrated, pl. 158). S. Bowness, ed., Barbara Hepworth: The Plasters, the Gift to Wakefield, London, 2011, p. 146, no. 26 (plaster illustrated in color, p. 147; other casts illustrated in situ at The Morris Singer foundry, p. 56, pl. 50).

Elegy III is included as BH 429 in the Hepworth catalogue raisonné of sculptures being revised by Dr. Sophie Bowness.





MAGRITTE (1898-1967)

La voix du sang signed ‘Magritte’ (lower right) oil on canvas 31¿ x 23¿ in. (79.1 x 58.6 cm.) Painted in 1948 $12,000,000-18,000,000



“The visible things the world has to offer are rich enough to constitute a poetic language evoking the mystery without which no world or thought would be possible.” RENE MAGRITTE

PROVENANCE: Alexander Iolas Gallery, New York (acquired from the artist, 8 August 1949). Adelaide de Menil, Houston (acquired from the above, 1 January 1955); sale, Christie's, New York, 11 November 1997, lot 167. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: New York, Hugo Gallery, René Magritte, May 1948, no. 21. (possibly) Brussels, Galerie Lou Cosyn, Les tableaux parlants de René Magritte, February-March 1949. The Hague, Gemeentemuseum, Facetten van hedendaagse schilderkunst: België, Luxembourg, Nederland, June-August 1949, no. 66 (illustrated). New York, Hugo Gallery, Magritte, March-April 1951, no. 5 (illustrated on the cover). Dallas, Museum for Contemporary Arts and Houston, Museum of Fine Arts, René Magritte in America, December 1960-February 1961, no. 24 (illustrated). New York, Albert Landry Galleries, René Magritte in New York Private Collections, October-November 1961, no. 50. Little Rock, Arkansas Art Center, Magritte, May-June 1964 (illustrated; detail illustrated on the cover). Houston, Rice University, Institute for the Arts, Secret Affinities: Words and Images by René Magritte, October 1976-January 1977, p. 26. Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, p. 134, no. 33 (illustrated in color, p. 315).

LITERATURE: L. Scutenaire, Magritte, Antwerp, 1948, p. 13 (illustrated, pl. 20). P. Demarne, Rhétorique, September 1961, no. 3 (illustrated). D. Sylvester, Magritte, New York, 1969, p. 8. C. Moser, "Magritte's Show is One Step Beyond Surrealism” in Houston Chronicle, 3 October 1976. D. Sylvester, ed., René Magritte: Catalogue Raisonné, Oil Paintings, Objects and Bronzes, 1931-1948, London, 1993, vol. II, p. 419, no. 668 (illustrated).





LE SIDANER (1862-1939)

La Sérénade, Venise signed ‘Le Sidaner’ (lower left) oil on canvas 53√ x 72º in. (137 x 183.5 cm.) Painted in 1907 $1,500,000-2,500,000



“Another surprise may well await us when we set foot in Venice having crossed the Grand Canal by gondola and in late afternoon end up at Saint Mark’s, the Piazzetta and the Doge’s Palace, the fleshy color of which is gilded by the last rays of the sun.” HENRI LE SIDANER PROVENANCE: Galerie Georges Petit, Paris and M. Knoedler & Co., Inc., New York (14 February 1927, until January 1931). André Beauguitte, France; Estate sale, Hôtel Drouot, Paris, 19 November 1986. Anon. sale, Sotheby's, London, 1 July 1987, lot 158. Private collection (acquired at the above sale); sale, Sotheby's, New York, 14 May 1998, lot 164. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: London, Goupil Gallery, Venise: Lueurs et lumières, par Henri le Sidaner, March 1907, no. 4 (titled Musique sur l’eau, le soir). Paris, Salon de la Société Nationales des Beaux-Arts, Henri Le Sidaner, 1907, no. 769. Pittsburgh, Carnegie Institute, Henri Le Sidaner, April-June 1909, no. 169. Pittsburgh, Carnegie Institute, Henri Le Sidaner, October 1927, no. 131. The Brooklyn Museum and San Francisco, Palace of the Legion of Honor, Henri Le Sidaner, 1928, no. 93. Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, p. 98, no. 22 (illustrated in color, p. 99; detail illustrated in color, pp. 100-101).

LITERATURE: “London Exhibitions” in The Art Journal, 1907, vol. 69, p. 154 (titled Musique sur l’eau, le soir). The Spectator, 9 March 1907 (titled Musique sur l’eau, le soir). “The Goupil Gallery” in The Builder, 9 March 1907, vol. 92, p. 289 (titled Musique sur l’eau, le soir). Le Figaro Illustré, May 1907. L. Vauxcelles, Salons de 1907, 1907, p. 30. "An American Salon at Pittsburgh: Annual Carnegie Exhibition" in American Art News, 8 May 1909, vol. VII, no. 30, p. 2. C. Mauclair, Le Sidaner, Paris, 1928, p. 53 (illustrated). La gazette de l'Hôtel Drouot, October 1986. Le Figaro Magazine, 15 November 1987. Y. Farinaux-Le Sidaner, Le Sidaner: L'oeuvre peint et gravé, Paris, 1989, p. 104, no. 202 (illustrated). Y. Farinaux-Le Sidaner, Henri Le Sidaner: Paysages intimes, Paris, 2013, p. 91 (illustrated in color).







VAN GOGH (1853-1890)

Verger avec cyprès oil on canvas 25æ x 31√ in. (65.2 x 80.2 cm.) Painted in Arles in April 1888 Estimate on Request





Theo van Gogh, Paris (acquired from the artist, 7 May 1888). Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, Paris (by descent from the above). Andries Bonger, Amsterdam (by 1905, until at least 1912). D'Audretsch Art Gallery, The Hague. Jack Niekerk Art Gallery, The Hague. Howard Young Art Gallery, New York (1928). N.H. Holston, New York. J.K. Newman, New York; sale, American Art Association, New York, 6 December 1935, lot 39. Carroll Carstairs Art Gallery, New York (acquired at the above sale). Charles Shipmand and Joan Whitney Payson, New York (by 1938, until at least 1960). Acquired by the late owner, 22 June 1998.

J.-B. de la Faille, L'oeuvre de Vincent van Gogh: Catalogue raisonné, Paris, 1928, vol. I, p. 157, no. 551 (illustrated, vol. II, pl. CLII). Art News, 30 November 1935, vol. 34, p. 22. The New York Times, 7 December 1935, p. 15. W. Scherjon and J. de Gruyter, Vincent van Gogh's Great Period: Arles, St. Rémy and Auvers sur Oise (Complete Catalogue), Amsterdam, 1937, p. 53, no. 21 (illustrated, p. 52). J.-B. de la Faille, Vincent van Gogh, Paris, 1939, p. 400, no. 575 (illustrated; titled Spring Time). V.W. van Gogh, ed., The Complete Letters of Vincent van Gogh, London, 1958, vol. II, pp. 545-546, letter 477, pp. 549-556, letters 478 and 480, pp. 561-564, letters 484 and 486, pp. 573-576, letter 492 and pp. 598600, letter 504 and vol. III, pp. 430-431, letter W 3, p. 478, letter B 3 and p. 480, letter B 4. Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Charles S. Payson, New York, 1960 (illustrated in color; dated 1888-1889). J.-B. de la Faille, The Works of Vincent van Gogh: His Paintings and Drawings, Amsterdam, 1970, p. 232, no. F 551 (illustrated; titled Orchard in Blossom with Yellow Enclosure). P. Lecaldano, L’opera pittorica completa di Van Gogh, Milan, 1971, vol. 2, p. 205, no. 486 (illustrated, p. 204; titled Frutteto in fiore (con recinto e cipressi)). J. Hulsker, The Complete Van Gogh: Paintings, Drawings, Sketches, Amsterdam, 1977, p. 317, no. 1396 (illustrated). M. Schapiro, Vincent van Gogh, New York, 1980, p. 52 (illustrated in color, p. 53; titled Orchard, Springtime). W. Feilchenfeldt, Vincent van Gogh & Paul Cassirer, Berlin: The Reception of Van Gogh in Germany from 1901 to 1914, Zwolle, 1988, p. 103 (titled Orchard in Blossom with Yellow Enclosure). I.F. Walther and R. Metzger, Vincent van Gogh: The Complete Paintings, Cologne, 1993, vol. II, p. 328 (illustrated in color; titled Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom). J. Hulsker, The New Complete Van Gogh: Paintings, Drawings, Sketches, Amsterdam, 1996, p. 317, no. 1396 (illustrated). I.F. Walther and R. Metzger, Vincent van Gogh, New York, 1996, p. 103 (illustrated). J. Ten Berge, T. Meedendorp, A. Vergeest and R. Verhoogt, The Paintings of Vincent van Gogh in the Collection of the Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, 2003, p. 215 (illustrated in color; titled Orchard with Blossoming Peach Trees). L. Jansen, H. Luijten and N. Bakker, Vincent van Gogh: Painted with Words, the Letters to Emile Bernard, exh. cat., The Morgan Library and Museum, New York, 2007, p. 141, no. 13 (illustrated in color). L. Jansen, H. Luijten and N. Bakker, eds., Vincent van Gogh: The Letters, The Complete Illustrated and Annotated Edition, London, 2009, vol. 4, p. 38, letter 590, pp. 52-53, letter 596, pp. 56-58, letter 597, pp. 61-64, letters 599-600, pp. 70-74, letter 602, p. 79, letter 606, p. 81, letter 608, pp. 96-98, letter 615 and pp. 152-153, letter 631 (illustrated in color, p. 52, fig. 1; illustrated again in color, p. 57, fig. 9, p. 61, fig. 6, p. 67, fig. 17, p. 73, fig. 11, p. 81, fig. 8, p. 96, fig. 3 and p. 152, fig. 2; titled Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom). W. Feilchenfeldt, Vincent van Gogh: The Years in France, Complete Paintings 1886-1890, Dealers, Collectors, Exhibitions, Provenance, London, 2013, p. 143 (illustrated in color; titled Orchard in Blossom with Yellow Enclosure). R. Skea, Vincent’s Trees, London, 2013, pp. 77 and 122 (illustrated in color, pp. 76-77). R. Kendall, S. van Heugten and C. Stolwijk, Van Gogh and Nature, exh. cat., Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, 2015, pp. 135-136 (illustrated in color, p. 136, fig. 102; titled Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom).

EXHIBITED: Amsterdam, Stedelijk Museum, Vincent van Gogh, July-August 1905, p. 26, no. 169. Cologne, Internationale Kunstausstellung des Sonderbundes Westdeutscher Kunstfreunde und Künstler zu Köln, May-September 1912, p. 22, no. 22 (titled Blühender Obstgarten and dated 1887). Haarlem, Teylers Museum, Vincent van Gogh, April-May 1923, no. 14 or 29. New York, Reinhardt Galleries, Loan Exhibition of Paintings from Memling, Holbein and Titian to Renoir and Picasso, in Aid of the Greenwich House Health Center, February-March 1928, no. 22 (illustrated; titled Garden at Arles). New York, Carroll Carstairs Gallery, French Impressionists and After, December 1935-January 1936, no. 10. New York, M. Knoedler & Co., Inc., Fourteen Masterpieces: Van Gogh, Loan Exhibition for the Benefit of the Home for the Destitute Blind, March-April 1948, no. 1 (illustrated; titled Printemps, près d'Arles). Houston, Contemporary Arts Museum, Vincent van Gogh, February 1951, pp. 21, 38 and 49, no. 11 (illustrated in color, p. 39; titled Springtime (Orchard)). New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., Loan Exhibition: Van Gogh, for the Benefit of the Public Education Association, March-April 1955, p. 21, no. 27 (illustrated, p. 42; titled Springtime). New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Van Gogh in Arles, OctoberDecember 1984, p. 51, no. 12 (illustrated in color; titled Orchard with Peach Blossom). Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, Vincent van Gogh: Paintings, March-July 1990, pp. 114-115, no. 43 (illustrated in color, p. 117; titled Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, p. 23 (illustrated in color; titled Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom). London, Royal Academy of Arts, The Real Van Gogh: The Artist and His Letters, January-April 2010, pp. 203-204, no. 111 (illustrated in color, p. 204; titled Orchard with Peach Trees in Blossom).





DALI (1904-1989)

Le spectre de Vermeer signed and indistinctly dated ‘Salvador Dalí’ (on the stretcher) oil on canvas 8√ x 6¡ in. (22.3 x 16.1 cm.) Painted circa 1934 $4,000,000-6,000,000



“Every day the Dutch amaze me more. Vermeer of Delft is the summum in painting.” SALVADOR DALÍ



Julien Levy Gallery, New York (1934). Josephine Boardman Crane, New York. Louise Crane, New York (by descent from the above); Estate sale, Christie's, New York, 13 May 1998, lot 306. Private collection (acquired at the above sale); sale, Sotheby's, New York, 7 November 2007, lot 53. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

Ninety-Three Oils by Salvador Dalí: 1917-1970, Cleveland, 1973, p. 157 (illustrated). Salvador Dalí... A Panorama of his Art, Cleveland, 1974, p. 157. R. Descharnes and G. Néret, Salvador Dalí, The Paintings, Cologne, 1994, vol. I, p. 223, no. 500 (illustrated). R. Hughes, The Portable Dalí, Amsterdam, 2003, p. 140 (illustrated in color; illustrated in color again on the frontispiece). M.A. Roglán and S. DeMaria, eds., Dalí: Poetics of the Small, 1929-1936, Dallas, 2018, p. 46 (illustrated in color, p. 47, fig. 37). M. Aguer, Salvador Dalí: Catalogue Raisonné of Paintings (www.salvador-dali.org), no. 365 (illustrated in color).

EXHIBITED: New York, Julien Levy Gallery, Paintings by Salvador Dalí, November-December 1934, no. 13 (titled Masquerader, Intoxicated by the Limpid Atmosphere). Venice, Palazzo Grassi and Philadelphia Museum of Art, Dalí, September 2004-May 2005, p. 237, no. 142 (illustrated in color).

Portrait of Salvador Dalí wearing an ascot tie with a sweater, circa 1935. Photo: New York Times Co./ Getty Images.






The Piazza San Marco, Venice, looking east towards the basilica oil on canvas 24Ω x 37Ω in. (62.2 x 95.3 cm.) $5,000,000-7,000,000



PROVENANCE: (Probably) Marshall Johann Matthias von der Schulenberg, Palazzo Loredan, Venice; sale, Christie’s, London, 13 April 1775, lot 49 or 50. John Christopher Cankrien, Hull; sale, Christie’s, London, 4 June 1853, lot 67 (as ‘an important work of high quality’). Henry Farrer, London (acquired at the above sale). The Reverend Frederick Leicester; sale, Christie’s, London, 19 May 1860, lot 155 (as ‘A work of the most brilliant quality’). Henry Farrer, London (acquired at the above sale). Col. the Hon. Edward Douglas Pennant, later 1st Baron Penrhyn of Llandygai, Penrhyn Castle, Gwynedd, North Wales (by 1860). Hugh Napier Douglas-Pennant, 4th Baron Penrhyn (by descent from the above). Lady Janet Douglas Pennant (by descent from the above). Private collection, Europe (acquired from the above, August 2009); sale, Sotheby’s, London, 3 December 2014, lot 11. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Manchester, Art Treasures Exhibition, 1857, no. 830.

LITERATURE: (Probably) G. Redford, Art Sales, vol. II, London, 1888, pp. 221-222. A. Douglas Pennant, Catalogue of the Pictures at Penrhyn Castle and Mortimer House in 1901, Bangor, 1902, no. 76. W.G. Constable, Canaletto, Oxford, 1962, vol. II, p. 188, no. 9 (with incorrect provenance: incorrectly said to have been in the Higginson collection at Saltmarshe and offered Christie's, London, 4-6 June 1846). L. Puppi, L'opera completa del Canaletto, Milan, 1968, p. 97, no. 84D. G. Berto, Canaletto, Milan, 1981, no. 84d. A. Corboz, Canaletto. una Venezia immaginaria, Milan, 1985, vol. II, p. 626, no. P 199 (illustrated).





BOTTICELLI (FLORENCE 1444/5-1510) Madonna of the Magnificat tempera, oil and gold on panel, tondo Diameter: 24æ in. (62.9 cm.) Estimate on Request





Rev. J.M. Rhodes, Florence (acquired in Florence in the late 19th century). Ayerst Hooker Buttery, London. Julius Böhler, Munich (1926). Thomas Agnew & Sons, London (acquired from the above, 16 November 1951). Mount Trust Collection (Captain and Mrs. Vivian F. Bulkeley-Johnson) (acquired from the above, 31 December 1951); sale, Christie's, London, 1 December 1978, lot 113 (as Botticelli and Workshop). The Matthiesen Gallery, London; P. & D. Colnaghi & Co., London and Rosenberg & Stiebel, New York (by 1978). Barbara Piasecka Johnson Collection (acquired from the above, 1980).

M. Hauptmann, Der Tondo: Ursprung, Bedeutung und Geschichte des Italienischen Rundbildes in Relief und Malerei, Frankfurt am Main, 1936, p. 190, no. 3 (under note 2, as a ‘Wiederholung’). D. Sutton, "The Mount Trust Collection" in The Connoisseur, October 1960, vol. CXLVI, no. 588, p. 103 (illustrated, p. 104, fig. 5; as Botticelli). St. J. Gore, "In Memoriam: Horace Buttery" in Apollo, vol. LXXVII, June 1963, p. 495 (illustrated, fig. 2, p. 495; as Botticelli). "The Early Renaissance in Tuscany" in The Burlington Magazine, March 1965, vol. CVII, no. 744, p. 109 (as Botticelli). R. Lightbown, Sandro Botticelli: Complete Catalogue, London, 1978, vol. II, p. 44 (under the entry for the Uffizi Madonna of the Magnificat, no. B29, as a reduced version). D. Sutton, "I. Early Italian Painting Reconsidered" in Apollo, vol. CXXV, p. 6 (illustrated, p. 6, fig. 5; as Botticelli). B.L. Brown, ed., 2001: An Art Odyssey 1500-1720, Classicism, Mannerism, Caravaggism & Baroque, exh. cat., London, 2001, p. 30 (illustrated in color, p. 31; as Botticelli). A. Cecchi, Botticelli, Milan, 2005, p. 279, note 70 (as Workshop of Botticelli). F. Zöllner, Sandro Botticelli, Munich and New York, 2005, p. 210 (under no. 36, as a contemporary copy or replica). P. Matthiesen, Visions & Ecstasy: G.B. Castiglione’s St Francis, exh. cat., London, 2013, p. 16 (illustrated, p. 17, fig. 2; as Botticelli). R.J.M. Olson, "Botticelli’s Madonna of the Magnificat: New Discoveries about its Iconography, Patron and Serial Repetition" in Sandro Botticelli (1445-1510): Artist and Entrepreneur in Renaissance Florence, Proceedings of the International Conference held at the Dutch University for Art History, Florence, 20-21 June 2014, Florence, 2015, pp. 140-145 (illustrated, p. 141, fig. 7; as Botticelli and Workshop). M. Gianeselli in Botticelli: Artiste & Designer, A. Debenedetti, ed., Paris and Brussells, 2021, exh. cat., p. 190 (under no. 43, as a variant).

Acquired through Matthiesen Fine Art from the above by the late owner, 1999.

EXHIBITED: London, The National Gallery, 1960-1978 (on extended loan). London, Agnews, Horace Buttery, 1902-1962: A Memorial Exhibition, JuneJune 1963, p. 8, no. 13 (as Botticelli). London, Wildenstein & Co., Ltd., The Art of Painting in Florence and Siena from 1250-1500, February-April 1965, no. 60 (illustrated, fig. 54; as Botticelli). Warsaw, Royal Castle, Opus Sacrum: The Collection of Barbara Piasecka Johnson, April-July 1990, pp. 88 and 90-93, no. 13 (illustrated in color, p. 89; entry by L. Puppi; as Botticelli and workshop). London, The National Gallery, Renaissance Florence: The Art of the 1470’s, October 1999-January 2000, p. 328, no. 84 (illustrated in color, p. 329; entry by N. Penny; as Botticelli). Seattle Art Museum, April 2007-January 2008 (on loan, as Botticelli). San Francisco, Legion of Honor, Truth & Beauty: The Pre-Raphaelites & The Old Masters, June-September 2018, p. 152 (illustrated in color, pl. 71; as Botticelli). Seattle Art Museum, A Cultural Legacy: A Series of Paintings from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, November 2019-March 2020 (as Botticelli).





CROSS (1856-1910)

Rio San Trovaso, Venise signed ‘Henri Edmond Cross’ (lower left); titled 'Rio san Trovaso' (on the stretcher) oil on canvas 28æ x 36º in. (73 x 92 cm.) Painted between September 1903-January 1904 $2,000,000-3,000,000



“In a gondola on the small canals—Silence—mystery—light…” HENRI EDMOND CROSS

PROVENANCE: Théo van Rysselberghe, Brussels (acquired from the artist, 1904). Victor Freiherr von Mutzenbecher, Berlin (1912). Marie Lange, Germany. Private collection, Germany (by descent from the above); sale, Christie's, London, 3 December 1990, lot 18. Private collection, Belgium; sale, Sotheby's, London, 21 June 2004, lot 38. Private collection, United States (acquired at the above sale); sale, Christie's, New York, 6 May 2009, lot 21. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Brussels, La Libre Esthétique, Exposition des peintres Impressionnistes, February-March 1904, p. 27, no. 23. Krefeld, Kaiser Wilhelm Museum, Exposition d'Art Français, May-July 1907, p. 17, no. 28 (titled Ponte Moro (Venise)). Cologne, Städtische Ausstellungshalle, Internationale Kunstausstellung der Sonderbundes, May-September 1912, no. 188 (illustrated, fig. 26; titled Canale grande). Munich, Bayerische Staats-Gemäldesammlungen (on extended loan). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, p. 88, no. 19 (illustrated in color, p. 89; detail illustrated in color, pp. 90-91).

LITERATURE: The artist's handbook, July-August 1903. Letter from H.E. Cross to C. Angrand, 3 February 1904. Letter from H.E. Cross to C. Angrand, 7 February 1904. "Petite chronique" in L'art moderne, 3 April 1904, p. 116. Letter from T. van Rysselberghe to O. Maus, 1904. F. Fénéon, ed., “Les carnets d’H.E. Cross” in Bulletin de la vie artistique, 1 July 1922, no. 13, p. 302. I. Compin, H.E. Cross, Paris, 1964, pp. 208 and 220. D.E. Gordon, Modern Art Exhibitions 1900-1916, Munich, 1974, vol. I, p. 224, no. 1019 (illustrated). J.-J. Levêque, Les années de la Belle Epoque: 1890-1914, Paris, 1991, p. 452 (illustrated in color). B. Schaefer, 1912 Mission moderne, Die Jahrhundertschau des Sonderbundes, exh. cat., Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Cologne, 2012, p. 561, no. 188 (illustrated in color).

This work will be included in the forthcoming catalogue raisonné of Henri-Edmond Cross being prepared by Patrick Offenstadt.



“You become sensitive to the fact that places with special light attract painters, and you want to experience that through their eyes.” PAUL G. ALLEN



GENIUS OF PLACE: THE ENDURING MYTH OF VENICE For many, Venice occupies a unique place in the imagination. A floating city amid the sheltered waters of a lagoon in the Adriatic Sea, it is an extraordinary location at once intensely familiar and otherworldly. The intricate network of canals ensure that water is a constant presence throughout the cityscape, glimpsed through gaps between buildings or at the end of a narrow street, the light bouncing off its surface and causing reflections to dance along walls or on the undersides of bridges. Writing upon his return to London after a sojourn in the city, Charles Dickens proclaimed: “nothing in the world that ever you have heard of Venice, is equal to the magnificent and stupendous reality… The gorgeous and wonderful reality of Venice is beyond the fancy of the wildest dreamer…” (quoted in J. Forster, The Life of Charles Dickens, vol. II, London, 1873, p. 139). From the Renaissance onwards, visitors to La Serenissima have been enthralled by its strange romance, by the layers of history that permeate every corner of its architectural landscape, as it floats improbably on the waters of the lagoon. A city at once constantly changing and timeless, its centuries-old character shifting under the effervescent light and misty atmosphere from one moment to the next, it has proved to be a site of endless inspiration for artists, writers, poets and painters alike, each of whom have sought to translate the beauty of Venice through their own personal vision. The Paul G. Allen Collection contains a number of artistic treasures devoted to the city, each composition a reflection of the individual voices who found in Venice a subject rich with possibilities. Discussing this focus on the ethereal location in his collection, Mr. Allen described the unique appeal the city has held for painters through the centuries: “Places with unique light, either through fog or reflections off the water… create a certain mood. Both the antiquity of Venice, and the light, and the architecture, all blend together to create special moods that I think painters were attracted to” (“Seeing Nature: Inspiration,” https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=19tRDCCz_Fg). From the compositions of Canaletto from the mid-1700s, to the dreamlike visions of J.M.W. Turner almost a century later, and the paintings of Thomas Moran and John Singer Sargent, Edouard Manet, Henri-Edmond Cross and Henri Le Sidaner, these works reveal the ways in which artists working in a myriad of different styles and media responded to the floating city. And though they may have been drawn to many of the same sites, each artist found in their experiences a different vision of Venice, capturing its serene luminosity and unique setting through a highly personal lens. View across the Piazza San Marco towards the Basilica di San Marco, Venice, circa 1875. Photo: Carlo Ponti / George Eastman Museum / Getty Images.



An important center of maritime trade, Venice was among the most significant cities in Italy for many centuries, rich in splendor and architectural grandeur. In the early eighteenth century, the Venetianborn painter Giovanni Antonio Canal, best known as Canaletto, popularized many of the key painterly vistas of the city in his exquisitely rendered vedute, recording the cityscape with a precision and clarity that made him popular among visitors partaking in a Grand Tour. Focusing on a concentrated repertoire of monuments and views, Venice became a stage for the artist, with Canaletto returning to the same settings time and again to explore new ideas of figures or lighting, or to highlight the pageantry of a distinctly local festival or event. However, the cityscape of Venice itself remained the central protagonist, its churches, public buildings and palazzi the primary focus of his sumptuous scenes. While his paintings give the impression of a faithful recording of reality, compositions such as The Piazza San Marco, Venice, looking east towards the basilica and The Grand Canal, Venice, Looking South-East from San Stae to the Fabbriche Nuove di Rialto also highlight how carefully composed Canaletto’s paintings were, the perspective deftly manipulated, the choice of sightlines deliberate, in order to achieve a beautiful, poetic image of Venice. By the end of the century, a sustained period of political turmoil and conflict had left a devastating imprint on Venice. As the 1800s dawned, it was widely viewed as a modern-day Atlantis, a place of unique and unparalleled beauty at risk of disappearing, lost to the very waters of the lagoon which gave it its magical air. The precariousness of the city, combined with its recent hardships, led writers such as Lord Byron to lament its decline from a place of great wealth and Renaissance pageantry, to one of inevitable decay and gradual ruin. In 1818 the fourth part of Byron’s poetic travelogue Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage was published, in which the central character ponders the contrasts between the contemporary Italy he finds himself wandering through and the splendor of its past. At the poem’s opening, Byron conjures a vision of Venice as a place of almost fanciful beauty, whose destiny appears inevitable, its monuments, history, culture, set to be reclaimed by the surrounding water. Such rhetoric fueled the romantic mystery of Venice for visitors, casting it as a location living on borrowed time. It was against this backdrop that Joseph Mallord William Turner first arrived in the city in 1819. Though familiar with the topography of Venice through the numerous paintings of the city that graced English collections, Turner was captivated by the peculiar light and effervescent atmosphere of La Serenissima. He returned to Venice on two more occasions, in 1833 and 1840, producing a rich group of pencil studies and watercolors during each trip. Unlike the precision and detail of Canaletto, it was the unique atmosphere of the lagoon, the blend of mist and fog that crept in and blanketed the city, blurring the lines of the buildings, the monuments, the gondolas as they moved through the water, that drew his attention. In these works, as well as the many oil paintings he completed upon his return to England, Turner set out to capture an impression of the ways in which both the weather and the light transformed the visitor’s experience of Venice, constantly changing and altering the city before them.


Palazzo Vendramin Calergi in Venice, 1880s. Private collection. Photo: Fine Art Images / Heritage Images / Getty Images.


In Depositing of John Bellini’s Three Pictures in La Chiesa Redentore, Venice Turner produces an invented view as he imagines the delivery of a trio of Giovanni Bellini paintings to the church of Il Redentore via an extravagant aquatic procession. As with Canaletto, Turner was prone to amending and editing his views to achieve a particular effect, adjusting the placement of a building or adding elements, in order to achieve a more picturesque scene. In Depositing of John Bellini’s Three Pictures in La Chiesa Redentore, Venice Turner includes multiple landmarks in ideal rather than actual locations, most notably the Basilicas of San Marco and Santa Maria della Salute, generating an evocative, dream-like portrait of the cityscape, shaped by first-hand studies from Venice, but ultimately defined by the artist’s own memory and imagination. Turner’s paintings of Venice would have a lasting impact on generations of artists to come, becoming an iconic part of the identity and legend of La Serenissima. The American Thomas Moran was one such painter, having encountered several of Turner’s works on a visit to London in the 1860s. His 1888 composition Glorious Venice in the Allen Collection can be seen as an homage to Turner, selecting a similar view to the artist’s Bridge of Sighs, Ducal Palace and Custom House Venice: Canaletti Painting (circa 1833, Tate Britain, London), infusing the scene with his own subtle approach to color and virtuosic handling of paint. For almost every visitor to Venice it is the water itself, cutting through the heart of the city, that holds the greatest fascination. The experience of gliding through the city’s intricate network of canals and waterways aboard a boat, preferably a sleek black gondola, offers a fascinating perspective on Venice, drawing us into the city in a way like no other. “One way—the original way—of looking at such facades is from a gondola,” wrote Joseph Brodsky, “this way you can see what the water sees…” (Watermark, London, 2013, p. 126). In his elegant portrait of the winter sojourns he spent in the city, Brodsky vividly recounted his own first experience of meandering the canals one evening aboard a gondola: “The night was cold, moonlit and quiet. There were five of us in the gondola, including its owner, a local engineer who, together with his girlfriend, did all the paddling. We moseyed and zigzagged like an eel through the silent town hanging over our heads, cavernous and empty, resembling at this late hour a vast, largely rectangular coral reef or a succession of uninhabited grottoes. It was a peculiar sensation: to find yourself moving within what you’re used to glancing across— canals; it felt like acquiring an extra dimension” (ibid., pp. 127-128).

The Grand Canal in Venice, 1894. Photo: Bettmann / Getty Images.


It was this alternate perspective on Venice that sparked Edouard Manet’s imagination most, providing the artist with inspiration for a pair of canvases during his visit to Venice in 1874. This was the artist’s second and final sojourn in the city, and though he quickly fell under the spell of Venice, he struggled with capturing the city in his work— according to the French artist Charles Toché, who often followed Manet on his painting excursions, the canvases were reworked extensively as he sought to capture the scenes he had chosen: “Now and then he would make a gesture of annoyance that set his boat rocking, and I would see his palette knife scraping away with ferocity” (quoted in A. Vollard, Recollections of a Picture Dealer, New York, 2002, p. 152). Both Le Grand Canal à Venise and its companion piece, now in the Shelburne Museum in Vermont, adopt a closely cropped vision of the Grand Canal


“For this is the city of the eye; your other faculties play a faint second fiddle.” JOSEPH BRODSKY

and its surrounding palazzi and churches. Seen from the level of the water, Manet vividly captures the sensation of traveling through the city by boat, immersing the viewer in the flow of traffic of the Grand Canal, catching unexpected views and vistas of familiar sites, while the light glances off the surface of the water and into the eyes. Similarly, John Singer Sargent often worked from the bow of a gondola, focusing his eye on the local play of life that filled the streets in quieter stretches of the city—indeed, the prow of his boat can be glimpsed in many of his pictures from Venice, firmly planting the viewer in this watery world. Unlike Manet, who stayed just a month, Venice was something of a second home for Sargent, with the artist spending almost every summer there between 1898 and 1913. He was intimately familiar with the landscape, and as a result his compositions are rich in nuance and observation, conveying the experience of the spectator as they traverse the city’s network of canals, passing under bridges, or turning corners, catching unexpected views of Venice’s famous architectural monuments, or local citizens as they went about their daily business. In his exquisite watercolor The Façade of La Salute from 1903 Sargent conveys a dynamic sense of the congestion that could strike within Venice’s waterways, as a cluster of different vessels overlap and converge before the dramatic steps of the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute, situated near the busy intersection of the Grand and the Giudecca Canals. The neo-impressionist Henri-Edmond Cross’s Rio san Trovaso, Venise, painted the same year, offers a startlingly different vision of the city. Choosing a picturesque view that combines water, sky, built and natural environments, Cross depicts a typically bustling stretch of canal in an unnaturally silent moment, free of all human presence. The artist, who travelled very infrequently due to chronic health issues, was astonished by the world he found in Venice: “This exceptional city does not only engender surprise,” he wrote, “it also contains the supreme Beauty which imposes recollected silence” (letter to C. Angrand, September 25 1903; quoted in I. Compin, H. E. Cross, Paris, 1964, p. 59). Inspired by the brilliant play of sunlight as it dances across the water, Cross utilized a series of intense color contrasts to capture the waterway



“I have learned to know a Venice in Venice that the others never seem to perceive.” JAMES ABBOTT MCNEILL WHISTLER

in its myriad of hues, employing his distinctive pointillist technique to render the shimmering effects of the reflections and unique quality of light that La Serenissima was renowned for. Henri Le Sidaner took a different approach than most artistic visitors to Venice with his 1907 composition, La Sérénade, Venise, portraying the atmospheric city by night. A masterful study in the subtleties of tone and the dazzling effect of color, the composition is built around the interplay between deep, velvety shadows and the soft, hazy light cast by the lanterns that are dotted through the scene. While the Doge’s Palace remains clearly visible on the other side of the water, its vast walls punctuated by rhythmic rows of arches, Le Sidaner’s primary focus is on the flurry of gondolas floating in the middle of the lagoon, their elegantly attired passengers gathered together for a musical performance, the “serenade” of the title. Small touches of light on the far bank cast shimmering reflections through the water, drawing our eyes back to the gathering of fashionable tourists in the foreground. Le Sidaner’s nocturnal views of Venice were warmly received when they were first exhibited in Paris, with one commentator emphasizing that with these paintings he had captured the “true Venice.”

Alfred Stieglitz, Reflections - Venice, 1894, 1897. Photo: Heritage Images / Contributor.


However, as each of these artists discovered in their own way, capturing a so-called “true” vision of Venice was a Sisyphean task—it is a city in constant flux, not only shifting in response to the weather, the water, the light, but also the personal experiences of the visitor. Through the diverse visions of Venice featured in the Allen Collection, we can catch a glimpse into the ways in which the magical nature of the city can enchant, beguile and obsess painters, leaving an indelible imprint on their memories. It was a fascination that Mr. Allen not only understood, but shared: “Venice has an air of romance and mystery,” he explained, “so you feel you’re taken back into previous eras…” (M-A. Prior, “A Conversation with Paul G. Allen,” in Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, exh. cat., Portland Art Museum, 2015, p. 15).




MANET (1832-1883)

Le Grand Canal à Venise signed ‘Manet’ (lower left) oil on canvas 22¬ x 18√ in. (57.5 x 47.9 cm.) Painted in fall 1874 $45,000,000-65,000,000



Alvin Langdon Coburn, Grand Canal, Venice, 1908. The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.The frontispiece for Henry James, The Wings of the Dove, 1906-1907. © The Universal Order. Photo: Courtesy of the J. Paul Getty Museum.

“The truth is that our only obligation should be to distil whatever we can from our epoch, though without belittling what earlier periods have achieved.” EDOUARD MANET

PROVENANCE: Jean-Baptiste Faure, Paris (acquired from the artist, January 1875). Galerie Durand-Ruel et Cie., Paris (acquired from the above, 10 August 1906). Mr. and Mrs. William H. and Ethel Crocker, Hillsborough, California (acquired from the above, 10 August 1906, then by descent until at least 1953). Provident Security Co., San Francisco (by 1966, until at least 1977). Private collection (by 1990). Marc de Montebello, New York (acquired from the above, July 1993). Private collection (1993). Acquired by the late owner, 15 February 2000.

EXHIBITED: Paris, Galerie Durand-Ruel et Cie., Oeuvres de Manet, 1896. Paris, Galerie Durand-Ruel et Cie., Les Manet de la Collection Faure, March 1906, p. 12, no. 19 (dated 1875). London, Sulley's, Paintings by Manet in the Collection of M. Faure of Paris, June 1906, no. 17 (dated 1875). San Francisco, The California Palace of the Legion of Honor, Exhibition of French Painting from the Fifteenth Century to the Present Day, June-July 1934, p. 55, no. 119 (illustrated). Kansas City, William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art, Mary Atkins Museum, Exhibition French Impressionist Landscape Painting, November-December 1936, p. 5, no. 18. New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., Edouard Manet, March-April 1937, p. 35, no. 21 (illustrated, p. 67; dated circa 1874). San Francisco Museum of Art, Contemporary Art: Paintings, Watercolors and Sculptures Owned in the San Francisco Bay Region, Fifth Anniversary Exhibition, January-February 1940, p. 18, no. 19 (illustrated). Vancouver Art Gallery, The French Impressionists, March-April 1953, p. 25, no. 60 (illustrated, p. 50). New Haven, Yale University Art Gallery, Pictures Collected by Yale Alumni, MayJune 1956, no. 73 (illustrated). Philadelphia Museum of Art and The Art Institute of Chicago, Edouard Manet, November 1966-February 1967, p. 145, no. 126 (illustrated; dated 1875). New York, Wildenstein & Co. Inc., One-Hundred Years of Impressionism: A Tribute to Durand-Ruel, for the Benefit of the New York University Art Collection, April-May 1970, no. 31 (illustrated; dated 1875). Paris, Galeries nationales du Grand Palais and New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manet, April-November 1983, pp. 373-375, no. 147 (illustrated in color; dated 1875). The Art Institute of Chicago, Manet and the Sea, October 2003-January 2004, p. 85 (illustrated in color, p. 152, pl. 65). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, pp. 7 and 21 (illustrated in color). Basel, Fondation Beyeler, Venice: From Canaletto and Turner to Monet, September 2008-February 2009, p. 146 (illustrated in color). Fondazione Musei Civici di Venezia, Manet: Return to Venice, April-August 2013, p. 201, no. 80 (illustrated in color, p. 76, fig. 56; illustrated again in color, p. 195; detail illustrated in color on the divider).


Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 25 and 66 (illustrated in color, p. 67).

LITERATURE: J.L., "Exposition d'oeuvres de Manet chez Durand-Ruel" in La chronique des arts et de la curiosité, 12 December 1896, no. 39, p. 367. R. Bouyer, "Les Arts" in L'Image, 1897, p. 59. A. Proust, "Edouard Manet, Inedit" in La revue blanche, February 1897, p. 203. Catalogue de la Collection Faure, Paris, 1902, no. 39. T. Duret, Histoire d'Edouard Manet et de son oeuvre, Paris, 1902, p. 108, no. 205 (illustrated). F. Wedmore, "Manet in Bond Street" in The Standard, 15 June 1906. Criticus, "A Realist, a Seer and Others" in The Family Herald, 30 June 1906. J. Meier-Graefe, Edouard Manet, Munich, 1912, p. 314. A. Proust, Edouard Manet: Souvenirs, Paris, 1913, p. 166, no. 79 (dated 1875). E. Waldmann, Edouard Manet, Berlin, 1923, p. 59 (illustrated; dated 1875 and with incorrect provenance). J.-E. Blanche, Manet, Paris, 1924 (illustrated, pl. 31; dated 1875). E. Moreau-Nélaton, Manet raconté par lui-même, Paris, 1926, vol. 2 (illustrated, fig. 194). A. Tabarant, Manet: Histoire catalographique, Paris, 1931, no. 239 (illustrated). P. Colin, Edouard Manet, Paris, 1932, pp. 42-43. P. Jamot and G. Wildenstein, Manet, Paris, 1932, vol. I, p. 149, no. 246 (illustrated, vol. II, p. 138, fig. 272). M. Florisoone, Manet, Monaco, 1947, p. 61 (illustrated). A. Tabarant, Manet et ses oeuvres, Paris, 1947, p. 610, no. 243 (illustrated). G. Bataille, Manet, Lausanne, 1955, p. 109. J. Richardson, Edouard Manet: Paintings and Drawings, London, 1958, p. 126 (illustrated, pl. 50). M. Venturi and S. Orienti, L'opera pittorica di Edouard Manet, Milan, 1967, p. 105, no. 207 (illustrated; illustrated again in color, pl. XXXIV; dated 1875). G. Bazin, Edouard Manet, Milan, 1972, p. 79 (illustrated; dated 1875). D. Rouart and D. Wildenstein, Edouard Manet: Catalogue raisonné, peintures, Paris, 1975, vol. I, p. 192, no. 230 (illustrated, p. 193; illustrated again in color, p. 8; dated 1875). A.C. Hanson, Manet and the Modern Tradition, London, 1977, p. 173 (illustrated, fig. 126; titled Blue Venice). K. Adler, Manet, Oxford, 1986, p. 177 (titled Blue Venice and with incorrect provenance). J. Wilson-Bareau, "L'année impressionniste de Manet: Argenteuil et Venise en 1874" in Revue de l'art, 1989, no. 86, p. 30 (illustrated, fig. 5; titled Vue de Venise). P. Rylands, "Manet: Venice" in The Burlington Magazine, July 2013, vol. 155, no. 1324, pp. 510-512 (illustrated in color, p. 510, fig. 71).




O'KEEFFE (1887-1986)

Red Hills with Pedernal, White Clouds oil on canvas 20 x 30 in. (50.8 x 76.2 cm.) Painted in 1936 $4,000,000-6,000,000



“It’s my private mountain. It belongs to me. God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it.” GEORGIA O’KEEFFE ABOUT THE CERRO PEDERNAL

PROVENANCE: Doris Bry, New York. Private collection, New York (1968). Doris Bry, New York. Private collection, Alpine (acquired from the above, circa 1985); sale, Sotheby’s, New York, 21 May 2003, lot 119. Kippy Stroud, Philadelphia (acquired at the above sale); Estate sale, Christie’s, New York, 19 May 2016, lot 10. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: New York, An American Place, Georgia O’Keeffe: The 14th Annual Exhibition of Paintings with Some Recent O’Keeffe Letters, December 1937-February 1938, no. 24. Kunsthaus Zürich, Georgia O’Keeffe, October 2003-February 2004, pp. 108 and 194, no. 42 (illustrated in color, p. 108). Santa Fe, Georgia O’Keeffe Museum; Columbus Museum of Art and Wilmington, Delaware Art Museum, Georgia O’Keeffe and New Mexico: A Sense of Place, June 2004-May 2005, pp. 98-99 and 131, no. 27 (illustrated in color, p. 99, pl. 42).

LITERATURE: D. Bry and N. Callaway, Georgia O’Keeffe in the West, New York, 1989, p. 31 (illustrated in color). B.B. Lynes, Georgia O’Keeffe: Catalogue Raisonné, New Haven, 1999, vol. I, p. 561, no. 899 (illustrated in color) and vol. II, Appendix III, p. 1128 (illustrated in situ at the 1937-1938 An American Place exhibition, fig. 67). H. Drohojowska-Philp, Full Bloom: The Art and Life of Georgia O’Keeffe, New York, 2004, p. 364. N.H. Reily, Georgia O’Keeffe, A Private Friendship, Part I: Walking the Sun Prairie Land, Santa Fe, 2007, p. 358. B.B. Lynes, ed., Georgia O’Keeffe, exh. cat., Milano, 2011, p. 17 (illustrated in color, fig. 5). J.F. VanVoorst, What’s Great About New Mexico?, Minneapolis, 2015, pp. 14-15 (illustrated). J. Souter, O’Keeffe, New York, 2016 (illustrated in color).

Todd Webb, O’Keeffe Photographing the Chama River, New Mexico, 1961. ©2022 Todd Webb Archive.





JOHNS (b. 1930) Map encaustic on printed paper mounted on Masonite 8Ω x 11 in. (21.6 x 27.9 cm.) Executed in 1960 $3,000,000-5,000,000



“Johns’s art is a constant reminder that the truth is not a given, but rather is revealed through the layered and shifting meanings uncovered through the process of perception.” ROBERTA BERNSTEIN AND EDITH DEVANEY



Robert Rauschenberg, New York (gift from the artist, 1960). Robert Rauschenberg Foundation, New York (acquired from the above, 1999). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2013.

M. Kozloff, Jasper Johns, New York, 1969 (illustrated, pl. 59). L. Alloway, “Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg” in Art Since MidCentury: The New Internationalism, Greenwich, 1971, vol. 2, pp. 201-216. Jasper Johns, exh. cat., Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, 1977 (illustrated, p. 45). 4 Artists and the Map: Image/Process/Data/Place; Jasper Johns, Nancy Graves, Roger Welch, Richard Long, exh. cat., Spencer Museum of Art, University of Kansas, Lawrence, 1981, p. 8 (illustrated). R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns’ Paintings and Sculptures, 1954-1974: “The Changing Focus of the Eye,” Ann Arbor, 1985, p. 27. J. Yau, A Thing Among Things: The Art of Jasper Johns, New York, 2008, p. 53 (illustrated in color, p. 52, fig. IV). D. Wood, J. Fels and J. Krygier, Rethinking the Power of Maps, New York, 2010, p. 201. R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture, 1965-1970, New York and New Haven, 2017, vol. 2, p. 170 (illustrated in color, p. 171, no. P85). R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture, 1954-1970, New York and New Haven, 2017, vol. 5 (illustrated in color, p. 122, no. P85). Jasper Johns: “Something Resembling Truth,” exh. cat., London, 2017, p. 244.

EXHIBITED: New York, The Jewish Museum, Jasper Johns, February-April 1964, no. 50. Pasadena Art Museum, Jasper Johns, January-February 1965, no. 45. New York, Gagosian Gallery, Jasper Johns: The Maps, February-March 1989 (illustrated in color, p. 11). London, Royal Academy of Arts; Cologne, Museum Ludwig; Madrid, Centro de Arte Reina Sofía and Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, Pop Art, September 1991-January 1993, no. 122 (London: illustrated in color, p. 312, pl. 13; Cologne: illustrated in color, pl. 17; Madrid: illustrated in color, p. 64). Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal, Pop Art, October 1992-January 1993, no. 76 (illustrated in color, p. 70, fig. 12). The Art Institute of Chicago and New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Jasper Johns: Gray, November 2007-May 2008, p. 320 (illustrated in color, pl. 38). Institut Valencià d'Art Modern, Jasper Johns: Las huellas de la memoria, February-April 2011, p. 257 (illustrated in color, p. 79). New York, Gagosian Gallery, The Private Collection of Robert Rauschenberg, November-December 2011, p. 368 (illustrated in color, p. 183; illustrated in color in situ, pp. 345, 347 and 363). Paris, Gagosian Gallery, Micro Mania, April-May 2012. New York, Whitney Museum of American Art, Jasper Johns: Mind/Mirror, September 2021-February 2022, p. 69, no. 20 (illustrated in color).

Jasper Johns in his studio, New York, 1966. Photo: David Gahr / Getty Images.



Jasper Johns’ Map in Rauschenberg’s Broadway studio, New York, 1964. Photo: Ugo Mulas. Courtesy Robert Rauschenberg Foundation Archives. © Ugo Mulas Heirs. All rights reserved.



JOHNS (b. 1930)

Small False Start signed, dated and partially titled 'J. Johns 1960 FALSE START' (on the reverse) encaustic, acrylic and paper collage on fiberboard 21√ x 18º in. (55.6 x 46.4 cm.) Executed in 1960 $45,000,000-65,000,000



“The visual and intellectual strength of Johns’s art derives from a symbiosis of idea, form, and process.” ROBERTA BERNSTEIN AND EDITH DEVANEY

PROVENANCE: Leo Castelli Gallery, New York. Mr. and Mrs. Charles M. Clark, Seattle (acquired from the above, 1960). Joseph H. Hazen and Lita Annenberg Hazen, New York (acquired from the above, November 1961). Anon. sale, Christie's, New York, 7 November 1989, lot 76. Stephen and Nan Swid, New York (acquired at the above sale). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2000.

EXHIBITED: Minneapolis, University of Minnesota, University Gallery, Paintings by Jaspers Johns, May-June 1960. Jerusalem, Israel Museum; Cambridge, Harvard University, Fogg Art Museum; Los Angeles, University of California, Dickson Art Center; Berkeley, University of California, Powerhouse Gallery; Houston, Museum of Fine Arts and Honolulu Academy of Arts, Paintings from the Collection of Joseph H. Hazen, May 1966-August 1967, no. 13 (detail illustrated in color on the cover). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, Color & Pattern, April-July 2017.

LITERATURE: H. Rosenberg, “Jasper Johns: 'Things the Mind Already Knows'” in Vogue, February 1964, vol. 143, no. 3, pp. 174-177. M. Kozloff, Jasper Johns, New York, 1969 (illustrated, pl. 57). R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture, 1954-1970, New York and New Haven, 2017, vol. 2, p. 164, no. P82 (illustrated in color, p. 195). R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture, 1954-1970, New York and New Haven, 2017, vol. 5 (illustrated in color, p. 121, no. P82).

Jasper Johns in his studio, New York, 1966. Photo: David Gahr / Getty Images. Artwork: © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY.





RICHTER (b. 1932)

Apfelbäume signed, dated and inscribed '650-2 Richter 1987' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 28¡ x 40º in. (72 x 102.2 cm.) Painted in 1987 $5,000,000-7,000,000



“My landscapes are not only beautiful or nostalgic, with a Romantic or classical suggestion of lost Paradises, but above all ‘untruthful’… and by ‘untruthful’ I mean the glorifying way we look at Nature.” GERHARD RICHTER

PROVENANCE: Private collection, Cologne (acquired from the artist). Anon. sale, Phillips, New York, 18 May 2000, lot 28. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Sprengel Museum Hannover, Gerhard Richter Landscapes, October 1998-January 1999 (illustrated in color, p. 98). Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art; Seattle Art Museum and New York, Grey Art Gallery and Study Center, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-July 2018, p. 140 (illustrated in color, p. 141 and detail illustrated in color, p. 143).

LITERATURE: A. Thill, et. al., Gerhard Richter Catalogue Raisonné, 1962- 1993, OstfildernRuit, 1993, vol. III, no. 650-2 (illustrated in color). Weltkunst, July 2000, no. 7 (illustrated, p. 1315). D. Elger, Gerhard Richter: Maler, Cologne, 2002, pp. 341 and 398. M. Jacobus, Romantic Things: A Tree, a Rock, a Cloud, Chicago, 2012, pp. 57-60 (illustrated, p. 59, fig. 2.7). D. Elger, Gerhard Richter: Catalogue Raisonné, 1976-1987, Ostfildern, 2013, vol. 3, p. 635, no. 650-2 (illustrated in color).

Gerhard Richter, Landschaften, 1986. © Gerhard Richter 2022 (0191).



Alberto Giacometti in his studio, 1957. Photograph by Robert Doisneau. Artwork: © 2022 Alberto Giacometti Estate / Licensed by VAGA and ARS, New York.





GIACOMETTI (1901-1966)

Femme de Venise III signed and numbered ‘5/6 Alberto Giacometti’ (on the left side of the base) and inscribed with foundry mark ‘Susse F Paris’ (on the back of the base) bronze with brown and green patina Height: 46¬ in. (118.4 cm.) Conceived in 1956 and cast in 1958 $15,000,000-20,000,000



“What is important is to create an object capable of conveying a sensation as close as possible to the one felt at the sight of the subject.” ALBERTO GIACOMETTI



Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York. Private collection, New York. Galerie de l’Elysée (Alex Maguy), Paris. Gilbert H. Kinney, Washington, D.C. (1973). Arnold Herstand & Company, New York (February 1984). Private collection, Switzerland (acquired from the above, 15 February 1984). Galleria Pieter Coray, Lugano (acquired from the above, May 2000). Kent Gallery, Inc. New York (acquired from the above). Acquired from the above by the late owner, May 2000.

H. Kramer, New York Times, 13 January 1966. R. Hohl, Alberto Giacometti, New York, 1971, pp. 142-143 (another cast illustrated, p. 119). Alberto Giacometti: A Retrospective Exhibition, exh. cat., The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 1974, pp. 24-25. J. Dupin, Alberto Giacometti, Paris, 1978, no. 87. B. Lamarche-Vadel, Alberto Giacometti, Paris, 1984, pp. 144-145. J. Lord, Giacometti: A Biography, New York, 1985, pp. 355-357. Y. Bonnefoy, Alberto Giacometti: A Biography of his Work, Paris, 1991, p. 402 (another cast illustrated in color, pl. 378). The Alberto Giacometti Database, no. 4456.

EXHIBITED: Lugano, Galleria Pieter Coray, Alberto Giacometti, March-May 1984, no. 7 (detail illustrated). Kunsthalle Vienna; Edinburgh, Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art and London, Royal Academy of Art, Alberto Giacometti, February 1996-January 1997, pp. 24 and 176, no. 176 (illustrated, p. 176; illustrated again in color, pl. 60). Hiroshima Prefectural Art Museum; Shizuoka Prefectural Museum of Art and Tochigi, Ashikaga Museum of Art, Alberto Giacometti, February-July 1997, p. 86, no. 39 (illustrated). Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, Alberto Giacometti, June-October 1998, p. 101, no. 74 (illustrated, p. 63, fig. 35). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, The Figure in Process: de Kooning to Kapoor 19552015, December 2015-February 2016, pp. 10 and 19 (illustrated in color, p. 18).





WYETH (1917-2009) Day Dream signed 'A. Wyeth' (lower left) tempera on panel 19 x 27º in. (48.3 x 69.2 cm.) Painted in 1980 $2,000,000-3,000,000



PROVENANCE: The Armand Hammer collection (1981). Armand Hammer Museum, Los Angeles. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2011.

EXHIBITED: Paris, Galerie Claude Bernard, Andrew Wyeth: Temperas, Aquarelles, Drybrush, Dessins, 1980-1981, no. 29 (illustrated in color on the cover). Washington, D.C., Corcoran Gallery of Art, 1981. Beijing, National Art Museum, The Armand Hammer Collection of Paintings, 1982. Maine, Portland Museum of Art, Maine Light: Temperas of Andrew Wyeth, May-September 1983. Washington, D.C., National Gallery of Art, American Paintings from the Armand Hammer Collection: An Inaugural Celebration, January-February 1985 (illustrated in color). West Palm Beach, Norton Museum of Art; Palm Springs Desert Museum; Leningrad, Hermitage Museum; Moscow, U.S.S.R. State Art Gallery; Novosibirsk, Regional Picture Gallery; Odessa Fine Art Museum; Kiev State Museum of Ukranian Fine Arts; Tblisi, State Museum of Art of the Georgian S.S.R.; Louisville, J.B. Speed Art Museum and Holyoke, Heritage State Park, The Armand Hammer Collection: Five Centuries of Masterpieces, November 1985-August 1987. New York, Hammer Galleries, Realism: A Continuing American Exhibition, November-December 1987 (illustrated in color). Chadds Ford, Brandywine River Museum of Art and Portland Museum of Art, The Helga Pictures: Then and Now, September 1992-October 1993. Palm Springs Desert Museum, The Armand Hammer Collection: Five Centuries of Masterpieces, January-March 1996. Atlanta, High Museum of Art and Philadelphia Museum of Art, Andrew Wyeth: Memory & Magic, November 2005-July 2006, pp. 22, 24, 74, 191 and 214, no. 89 (illustrated in color, p. 191, pl. 68).


“The heart of the Helga series is that I was trying to unlock my emotions in capturing her essence, in getting her humanity down” ANDREW WYETH

LITERATURE: "Arts Reviewed" in Connoisseur, January 1981, pp. 15-16 (illustrated). J. Campagne, "Les 'crayons' d'Andrew Wyeth" in Nice Matin, 1 January 1981 (illustrated in color). "Lettre d'un amatuer deboussole" in Le Figaro, 2 January 1981, p. 13 (illustrated). P. Courcelles, "Arts Plastiques" in Revolution, 29 January 1981 (illustrated). R. Micha, “Lettre de Paris: Andrew Wyeth” in Arts International, JanuaryFebruary 1981, vol. 24, nos. 5-6, pp. 232 and 234 (illustrated). O. Findsen, "A guerilla guide to the Hammer collection" in The Cincinnati Enquirer, 16 April 1981, p. C5. J. Walker, The Armand Hammer Collection, Los Angeles, 1985, p. 218, no. 125 (illustrated). The Connoisseur: An Illustrated Magazine for Collectors, 1986, vol. 216, nos. 839-899, pp. 85 and 87. S. Lingemann, "Kunstler Sehen Amerika" in Architectural Digest, May 1986, pp. 9-14 (illustrated in color). "The Helgas: Lifting the Wyeth Veil" in The Philadelphia Enquirer, 12 August 1986 (illustrated). "Wyeth's Secret" in Times Standard, 13 August 1986, p. 11 (illustrated). P. Richard, “Portrait of an Obsession” in The Washington Post, 17 August 1986, p. 1 (illustrated). B. Barol, C. McGuigan and P. McKillop, "Wyeth's Secret Cache" in Newsweek, August 1986, p. 3. B. Barol, C. McGuigan and P. McKillop, “Andrew Wyeth’s Secret Obsession” in Newsweek, August 1986, p. 51 (illustrated in color). T. Hoving, "The Prussian - Andrew Wyeth's Secret Paintings (1972-85)" in Connoisseur, September 1986, pp. 84-87 (illustrated in color). "Ein Bilderschatz in der alten Muhle wird zue Presseund Preissensation" in Art - Das Kunstmagazin, November 1986, pp. 88-92 (illustrated in color).

"Top Guns" in Life, January 1987, p. 37 (illustrated in color). J. Wilmerding, Andrew Wyeth: The Helga Pictures, Washington, D.C., 1987, pp. 7, 11, 19, 26, 30-31, 169 and 199, no. 206 (illustrated in color, p. 169, no. 206). B. Shunju, Gakano Tsuma Tachi, Japan, 1993 (illustrated in color). R. Meryman, Andrew Wyeth: A Secret Life, New York, 1996, pp. 350-51. A.A. Anderson and P.E. Bolin, eds., The History of Art Education: Proceedings of the Third Penn State International Symposium, State College, Pennsylvania, 1997, p. 568. W. Vaughan, ed., Encyclopedia of Artists: Robbia-Zurbarán, Oxford, 2000, p. 93. J.B. Jiminez, Dictionary of Artists’ Models, New York, 2001, p. 523 (illustrated). H. Kruger, Zarte Blume Hoffnung, Cologne, 2005 (illustrated in color on the cover). D. Kuspit, "Shameless and Unashamed" on Artnet, 6 October 2005 (illustrated in color). G. Gehman, “The Wry World of Wyeth: Retrospective Explores Magical Realism of an American Icon” in The Morning Call, 26 March 2006. H. Adams, "Wyeth's World" in Smithsonian Magazine, June 2006, pp. 84-92 (illustrated in color). BBC Scotland, Michael Palin in Wyeth's World, documentary film, 2013. D. Cateforis, Rethinking Andrew Wyeth, Berkeley, 2014 (illustrated in color). R. Hughes, The Spectacle of Skill, New York, 2015, p. 638. T.J. Standring, Wyeth: Andrew & Jamie in the Studio, New Haven, 2015, p. 136. Wyeth, documentary film, 2018.

This work will be included in Betsy James Wyeth’s forthcoming catalogue raisonné of the artist’s work.

Andrew Wyeth. © Bruce Weber.



Lucian Freud with Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau), 1983. This is the first time this photograph has been published. Photo: Bruce Bernard. © Estate of Bruce Bernard, courtesy Virginia Verran. Artwork: © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.





By William Feaver There they are sat, perched together on the bed, not quite at ease with the position they are in. Their names, scanning left to right, are Celia, Bella, Kai and Suzy. The child laid on the floor is a late substitute for May (a Freud granddaughter, whose mother changed her mind about allowing her to sit.) She’s Star, and she’s not bothered about being caught looking at the painter. The grown ups on the other hand appear confident enough as sitters, understanding as they do that they are being required to be themselves while serving as somewhat emblematic figures participating in a charade initiated by Freud for various reasons. The most basic—the prime essential—being that he wanted to prove to himself that he was still capable of working on an ambitious scale. This “six footer” (the term used by John Constable referring to his grandest works) was to test to the utmost his powers of concentration. In the months of sessions over two years, 1981-1983, the sitters rarely, if at all, posed together, so the execution of the painting required, for Freud, a constant pressure to relate one person to another without discrepancy. “I hadn’t done anything like it at all before.” The outcome was a masterpiece. Not least because the painting took on the quality of a performance realized to such a degree that it shone in its way like nothing else. It arose from the promptings of a rather murky reproduction of a small Watteau owned by Baron Heini Thyssen, one of those dark little outdoor scenes in which Pierrot is teased, poor soul, and promises of love get blown this way and that. Freud liked the cadences and the sense of lingering occasion. In his top floor Holland Park studio, however, such a scene could only be realized by dint of vigorous translation and make-believe. “I took a while setting it up. It took quite a lot of staging.” Blinds were drawn, obscuring the view over West London through all but one window. A verbena plant came to represent shrubbery or forest glade, backing into in windy looking stretches of raw plaster. As for the sitters, they dressed lightly. “The clothes were old clothes, on the whole. Slightly costumey. I wanted the setting to be a slightly deliberate setting. It’s the nearest thing I’ve ever come to casting people rather than painting them. But they’re still portraits, really. They are also characters. A slight bit of roleplaying they are doing, but I didn’t try and forget who they were. In the end they are just there.”



For example, Bella Freud became the Commedia del Arte Columbine. “Bella had a mandolin because I wanted to use the instrument” Freud said. “I liked the thing of a person with an instrument. It was a kicking off point.” Over the months many adjustments were made. Ali Boyt (son of Freud and Suzy Boyt) dropped out to be replaced by his half brother Kai who in true Pierrot fashion now sits nonplussed by those pressing in around him. Consolidation and, over all, amplification, as Freud exercised his passion for full-bodied presence, involved entertaining the perceptions of others, this being a painting descended or derived to a significant degree from the two great Titians then on show in the Scottish National Gallery: Diana and Calisto and Diana and Actaeon, (“Titian’s women: the more I looked at the pictures the more I saw in them.”) For this great tableau, a fête champêtre adjourned indoors to the sky lit room with the exposed pipes and, in place of a French fountain a Thames Water dribbling tap, became Freud’s resounding tribute to marvels of the past. (Even the foreground figures of Las Meninas can be said to prefigure this alignment of interconnecting players.) “I’m interested in all that aspect of things,” Freud said to me. “The people and to what degree they are affected by being near each other—that’s one reason why I like Hals so much—not cold-shouldered but each wrapped up in themselves.” Their presence and positioning, each one preoccupied, every hand individually braced or relaxed, signal awareness of so many precedents. This is how accomplishments ultimately align. Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau) speaks as much about stubborn modernity as it reflects great moments from the past.





FREUD (1922-2011)

Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau) oil on canvas 72º x 78 in. (185.4 x 198.1 cm.) Painted in 1981-1983 Estimate on Request



“They choreographed themselves as themselves, you might say ... I didn’t try and forget who they were. In the end they are just there.” LUCIAN FREUD



James Kirkman, London (acquired from the artist, 1983); sale; Sotheby's, New York, 14 May 1998, lot 33 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

L. Gowing, Lucian Freud, London, 1982, pp. 202-203 and 206 (illustrated). J. Keates, "Relics of Delight" in Harpers & Queen, October 1983, pp. 252253 (illustrated). G. Norman, "Freud Completes his Grand Masterpiece" in The Times, 13 October 1983, p. 28 (illustrated). Art Monthly, November 1983, no. 71 (illustrated on the front cover). M. Vaizey, “The Genius Who Might Have Been,” The Sunday Times, 6 November 1983, p. 40. L. Gowing, "A Little Help From His Friends" in The Sunday Times Magazine, 6 November 1983 (detail illustrated, p. 34). W. Packer, "Perhaps a Masterpiece" in Financial Times, 8 November 1983 (detail illustrated). R. Cork, "Analyzing Freud..." in The Standard, 10 November 1983 (illustrated). L. Gowing, Lucian Freud, London, 1984 (illustrated in color, pls. 178-180). M. Peppiatt, "A L'intérieur d'une Oeuvre" in Connaissance des Arts, March 1984, p. 45 (illustrated in color). A. Dunne, "Slimmed Down, But Still A Visual Treat" in Sunday Press, 25 March 1984 (detail illustrated). "As of Now" in Magill, April 1984 (illustrated, p. 40). D. Leavitt, Familiedans, Amsterdam, 1985 (detail illustrated in color on the front cover). J. Russell, "Art View: The Best and Biggest in Pittsburgh" in New York Times, 17 November 1985, p. H29. W. Feaver, "British Accent" in ARTnews, April 1987, vol. 86, no. 4, p. 119 (illustrated in color, p. 118). J. McEwan, "Report From London, Best and Brightest" in Art in America, July 1987, vol. 75, no. 7, p. 34 (illustrated in color). R. Hughes, Lucian Freud: Paintings, London, 1987, pp. 22-24 (illustrated in color, no. 68). W. Feaver, "Artist's Dialogue: Lucian Freud—A Reasonable Definition of Love" in Architectural Digest, July 1987, vol. 44, no. 7, p. 38 (illustrated in color). J. Allen, "Lucian Freud and Frailties of the Flesh" in Washington Times, 17 September 1987, p. E2. A. Artner, “Mind Over Matter: The Transcendent Realism of Lucian Freud,” Chicago Tribune, 11 October 1987 (illustrated, p. K20). B. Homisak, "Realist Lucian Freud Paints Modern Psyche" in TribuneReview, 25 October 1987. J. Tully, "Morisot, Freud & Labarthe: D.C. Trio jud" in Art World, OctoberNovember 1987. M. Stevens, "The Unblinking Eye" in The New Republic, 9 November 1987, p. 31. "Freud, L'Homme Aux Pinceaux" in Liberation, 21 December 1987, p. 31. J. Perl, "Wrinkles" in The New Criterion, February 1988. "Opportunity to Analyze Freud" in Independent, 1 February 1988.


Lucian Freud standing on his head, with daughter Bella, circa 1985. Photo: Bruce Bernard. © Estate of Bruce Bernard, courtesy Virginia Verran

London, Thomas Agnew & Sons, Lucian Freud, 1983. Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery and Dublin, Trinity College, Douglas Hyde Gallery, Peter Moores Liverpool Project 7: As of Now, November 1983-February 1984 (detail illustrated on the exhibition poster). London, Tate Gallery, The Hard-Won Image: Traditional Method and Subject in Recent British Art, July-September 1984, p. 34, cat. no. 52 (illustrated in color). Pittsburgh, Carnegie Institute, Carnegie International, November 1985-January 1986, p. 131 (illustrated in color). London, Royal Academy of Arts and Stuttgart, Staatsgalerie, British Art in the 20th Century: The Modern Movement, January-August 1987, pp. 77, 308-309 and 427, no. 241 (illustrated in color, p. 329). Washington, D.C., Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden; Paris, Musée national d'art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou; London, Hayward Gallery and Berlin, Neue Nationalgalerie, Lucian Freud Paintings, September 1987-June 1988, p. 96, no. 68 (illustrated in color). Rome, British Council at Palazzo Ruspoli; Milan, Castello Sforzesca; Liverpool, Tate Gallery; Tochigi, Prefectural Museum of Fine Arts; Nishinomiya, Otani Memorial Art Museum and Tokyo, Setagaya Art Museum, Lucian Freud: Paintings and Works on Paper 1940-1991, October 1991-September 1992, no. 38 (Japan: illustrated in color, p. 68, no. 25). Sydney, Art Gallery of New South Wales and Perth, Art Gallery of Western Australia, Lucian Freud, October 1992-March 1993, p. 45, no. 27 (illustrated in color). London, Whitechapel Art Gallery; New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art and Madrid, Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Lucian Freud: Recent Work, September 1993-June 1994, pp. 20 and 179, no 12 (illustrated in color, p. 49). Saint-Paul de Vence, Fondation Maeght, Bacon-Freud: Expressions, JulyOctober 1995, p. 207, no. 49 (illustrated in color, p. 141). London, Tate Britain; Barcelona, Fundación ”la Caixa” and Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art, Lucian Freud, June 2002-May 2003, p. 222, no. 95 (illustrated in color, p. 36). London, National Portrait Gallery and Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, Lucian Freud: Portraits, February-October 2012, pp. 24, 29-30, 218, 234 and 247, n0. 62 (illustrated in color, pp. 130-131). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, The Figure in Process: de Kooning to Kapoor 19552015, December 2015-February 2016, pp. 11 and 24 (illustrated in color, p. 25). Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, The Shape of Time, March-July 2018, pp. 77-81. Seattle Art Museum, A Cultural Legacy: A Series of Paintings from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, July-November 2019.


The Birmingham Post, 4 February 1988 (illustrated). R. Snell, "The Intimacy of Strangers" in Times Literary Supplement, 4-10 February 1988. M. Shepherd, "Couchside Manner" in The Sunday Telegraph, 7 February 1988. M. Vaizey, "The Plain Face of Genius" in The Sunday Times, 7 February 1988. W. Packer, "Frailties of the Flesh Exposed" in Financial Times, 9 February 1988 (illustrated). E. Knippers, Jr., "Alienation and the Flesh: The Paintings of Lucian Freud" in Eternity, March 1988, pp. 68-70 (illustrated). G. Rump, "Leidenschaftlich Wirklichkeitsgetreu" in Impression, March 1988, p. 62. G. Gowrie, "The Migration of Lucian Freud" in Modern Painters, Spring 1988, pp. 5-11. Freud, Works on Paper, exh. cat., South Bank Centre, London, 1988, p. 21 (illustrated). A. Hicks, The School of London, London, 1989, p. 48 (illustrated, pl. 27). U. Hoff, “Variation, Transformation and Interpretation: Watteau and Lucian Freud,” Art Bulletin of Victoria, no. 31, Melbourne, 1990, pp. 29-31 (illustrated, fig. 6). M. Rabino, "I sei Eremiti della Scuola di Londra" in Arte, June 1990, pp. 69-74 (illustrated). R. Cork, "Modern Portraiture in Great Britain: Innovation and Tradition" in Artstudio, summer 1991, p. 56 (illustrated). L. Pratesi, "I Giovanni Pierrot dallo Sguardo Fisso Nel Vuoto" in La Repubblica, 5 October 1991 (illustrated). C. Naylor, ed., Contemporary Masterworks, Chicago and London, 1991, p. 95 (illustrated, p. 94). "Recent Exhibitions" in The Artist, February 1992, p. 37 (illustrated in color). T. Lubbock, "On the Couch in Freud's Truth Room" in The Independent on Sunday, 9 February 1992 (illustrated). J. Hamilton, "Arts: Exhibition 1" in The Spectator, 15 February 1992. M. Lothian, "Freud: Paintings and Works on Paper" in Arts Review, March 1992, p. 89 (illustrated in color). W. Feaver, "Inside Freud's Mind" in ARTnews, September 1993, vol. 92, no. 7, p. 141 (illustrated in color). M. Kimmelman, “Review/Art; Lucian Freud: The Self-Exposed” in New York Times, 17 December 1993, section C, p. 1. B. Bernard and D. Birdsall, eds., Lucian Freud, London, 1996, pp. 20 and 355 (illustrated in color, pl. 171). Lucian Freud, exh. cat., Tel Aviv Museum of Art, 1996, p. 19 (illustrated). D. Mellor, Interpreting Lucian Freud, London, 2002, pp. 31 and 33 (illustrated in color, p. 32; illustrated in color again on the front cover). Lucian Freud, exh. cat., Museo Correr, Venice, 2005, p. 21 (illustrated in color). L. Freud and S. Smee, Freud at Work, New York, 2006, p. 49 (installation view illustrated in color in situ). S. Smee, Lucian Freud 1922-2011: Beholding the Animal, Cologne, 2012, pp. 72 and 74 (illustrated in color, p. 73). D. Dawson, A Painter’s Progress: A Portrait of Lucian Freud, New York, 2013, p. 258 (illustrated in color in situ, pp. 258-259). Lucian Freud, exh. cat., Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, 2013, pp. 51 and 56 (illustrated in color, p. 55). P. Hoban, Lucian Freud: Eyes Wide Open, Boston and New York, 2014, p. 113. M. Gayford, Lucian Freud, New York, 2018, pp. 50 and 294 (illustrated in color, p. 51). C. Paul, Self-Portrait, New York, 2020, p. 74 (illustrated in color, p. 90). W. Feaver, The Lives of Lucian Freud: Fame, 1968-2011, New York, 2021, pp. 157-158 (illustrated in color).

Bella Freud, Celia Paul and Lucian Freud in his studio, 1983. Photo: Bruce Bernard. © Estate of Bruce Bernard, courtesy Virginia Verran.





TANGUY (1900-1955)

Un grand tableau qui représente un paysage signed and dated ‘YVES TANGUY 27’ (lower right) oil and grattage on canvas 45æ x 35¿ in. (116.1 x 89.3 cm.) Painted in 1927 $2,500,000-3,500,000



“Should I seek the reasons for my painting, I would feel that it would be a self-imprisonment.” YVES TANGUY

PROVENANCE: Galerie Surréaliste, Paris (acquired from the artist, 1927). Ambassador and Mrs. Henri Hoppenot, Saïgon (by 1927, until 1957). Mr. and Mrs. William P. Mazer, New York (by 1963). Private collection, Tokyo (by 1982); sale, Christie’s, New York, 7 November 1995, lot 41. Anon. sale, Christie's, London, 8 December 1999, lot 61 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Paris, Galerie Surréaliste, Yves Tanguy et objets d'Amérique, May-June 1927, no. 17. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Yves Tanguy, June-October 1955 (illustrated in color, p. 31). New York, The Museum of Modern Art; Los Angeles Museum of Art and The Art Institute of Chicago, Dada, Surrealism and their Heritage, MarchDecember 1968, p. 242, no. 310 (illustrated, p. 102, fig. 138). New York, Acquavella Galleries, Inc., Yves Tanguy, November-December 1974, no. 5 (illustrated in color). Paris, Musée national d’art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou and Baden-Baden, Staatliche Kunsthalle, Yves Tanguy rétrospective, June 1982-January 1983, p. 86, no. 30 and 21, respectively (illustrated in color, p. 30). New York, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, Yves Tanguy: A Retrospective, January-February 1983, p. 17, no. 30 (illustrated in color on the cover). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 30 and 116 (illustrated in color, p. 117).

LITERATURE: Transition, September 1927, no. 6, p. 113 (illustrated). A. Breton, Le surréalisme et la peinture, Paris, 1928 (illustrated, pl. 69). M. Jean, “Tanguy in the Good Old Days” in Art News, September 1955, vol. 54, no. 5, pp. 30-31 (illustrated in color, p. 31). P. Matisse, Yves Tanguy: Un recueil de ses oeuvres, Paris, 1963, p. 58, no. 63 (illustrated, p. 59). W. Rubin, Dada and Surrealist Art, New York, 1969, p. 197 (illustrated in color, pl. XXVII). P. Waldberg, Yves Tanguy, Brussels, 1977, p. 75 (illustrated). S. Korb, M. Wilcox and A. Wilkie, eds., Christie's Review 1999-2000, London, 2000, p. 271 (illustrated in color). K. von Maur, “Yves Tanguy or ‘The Certainty of the Never-Seen’” in Yves Tanguy and Surrealism, exh. cat., Staatsgalerie, Stuttgart, 2000, p. 123 (illustrated in color, fig. 95).






The Five Senses: Sight, Touch, Hearing, Taste and Smell oil on panel, Touch with the coat of arms of the city of Antwerp and the stamp of the panel maker Guilliam Aertssens (active 1612/13-1638?) Sight and Smell, 27¬ x 44¬ in. (70.2 x 113.3 cm.); Hearing, 27 x 43 in. (68.6 x 109.2 cm.); Taste, 27 x 43¡ in. (68.6 x 110.1 cm.) and Touch, 27¡ x 44¬ in. (69.5 x 113.3 cm.) four with two sets of inventory numbers: the first with 'N75' and 'No:138.'; the second with 'N73' and 'No:153.'; the third with 'N7*' and 'No: 140' and the fourth with 'N..' and 'N 151' (all lower right) a set of five (5) $4,000,000-6,000,000





Charles VI, Holy Roman Emperor, Vienna (by 1720, then by descent in the Imperial Collection, deaccessioned by 1796). Josef Karl Ritter von Klinkosch, Vienna (by 1873); Estate sale, Miethke, Vienna, 2 April 1889, lots 27-32 (as Jan Brueghel the Elder and Hendrick van Balen; with incorrect provenance from Archduke Leopold Wilhelm). Isidore Ritter von Klinkosch (acquired at the above sale). Baron Wodianer, Vienna (by 1906-1907). Anon. sale, Hôtel Drouot, Paris, 20 April 1907, lots 3-7 (as Jan Breughel the Elder and Hendrick van Balen). Marino Vagliano (acquired at the above sale, then by descent). Private collection; sale, Christie’s, New York, 3 October 2001, lot 98 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

F. Storffer, Neu eingerichtes Inventarium der Kayl. Bilder Gallerie in der Stallburg welches nach denen Numeris und Maßstab ordiniret und von Ferdinand à Storffer gemahlen worden, 1720, vol. I, nos. 123, 131, 133, 142 and 144, a painted inventory of the Imperial Collections in Vienna, the original held in the archive of the Gemäldegalerie, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (as by Leux (sic Luyckx)). A.J. von Prenner, Theatrum artis pictoriae, Vienna, 1728 (engraved, as attributed to Hans Jordaens). A.J. von Prenner and F. van Stampart, Prodromus, 1735, a preliminary catalogue of the Imperial Collections of Austria in the Stallburg Gallery, Vienna. Listed in the Inventarium über die in der Kaiserl. Königl. Bildergallerie vorhandenen Bilder und Gemälde, 1772, inv. nos. 128 (Smell), 138 (Sight), 140 (Touch), 151 (Hearing), and 153 (Taste), the original held in the archive of the Gemäldegalerie, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna. C. von Mechel, Verzeichnis der Gemälde der Kaiserlich Königlichen Bilder Gallerie in Wien, Vienna, 1783, p. 140, nos. 4-8 (as by Leux (sic Luyckx)). A.J. von Prenner and F. van Stampart, "Prodromus (1735)" in Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses, Vienna, 1888, vol. VII, pls. 6 and 7. T. von Frimmel, Geschichte der Wiener Gemäldesammlungen, Leipzig and Berlin, 1899, p. 184. E. Ebenstein, "Der Hofmaler Frans Luycx" in Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorische Sammlungen des Allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses, 1906-1907, vol. XXVI, pp. 216-218, nos. 123, 131, 133, 142 and 144. T. von Frimmel, Lexikon der Wiener Gemäldesammlungen, Munich, 1914, vol. II, p. 404. S. Speth-Holterhoff, Les Peintres Flamands de Cabinet D'Amateurs au XVIIe Siècle, Brussels, 1957, pp. 113-114 and 207, note 74 (as by Hans Jordaens). M. Díaz Padrón, Museo del Prado. Catálogo de Pinturas, I, Escuela Flamenca, Siglo XVII, Madrid, 1975, pp. 40-46, under nos. 1394-1398. K. Ertz, Jan Breughel der Jüngere (1601-1678): Die Gemälde mit kritischem Oeuvrekatalog, Freren, 1984, vol. I, pp. 69 and 344-348, nos. 178-183 (illustrated, pp. 344-345 and 347-348; Hearing illustrated in color, pl. 37). A. Scarpa Sonino, Cabinet D'Amateur, Le Grandi Collezioni d'Arte nei Dipinti dal XVII al XIX Secolo, Milan, 1992, p. 22ff. M. Díaz Padrón and M. Royo-Villanova, David Teniers, Jan Brueghel y Los Gabinetes de Pinturas, exh. cat., Madrid, 1992, pp. 133, 138 and 146, under nos. 11, 12 and 14. M. Díaz Padrón, El Siglo de Rubens en el Museo del Prado. Catálogo Razonado de Pintura Flamenca del Siglo XVII, Madrid, 1995, vol, I, pp. 264287, under nos. 1394-1398 (Sight illustrated, p. 264; Hearing illustrated, p. 274; Smell illustrated, p. 278; Taste illustrated, p. 280 and Touch illustrated, p. 284).

EXHIBITED: Vienna, Österreichisches Museum für Kunst und Industrie, Gemälde aus dem Wiener Privatbesitze, 1873, pp. 22-23, nos. 86-90. Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007. Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 34-35, nos. 1-5 (illustrated in color, p. 35).

ENGRAVED: J.A. Prenner, Theatrum artes pictoriae (the earlier copies by Storffer are reproduced by Ebenstein, op. cit., pp. 192-193, figs. 9-13).







RIVERA (1886-1957) The Rivals signed and dated 'Diego Rivera 1931' (lower right) oil on canvas 60 x 50 in. (152.4 x 127 cm.) Painted in 1931 $7,000,000-10,000,000



“The Diego Rivera exhibition at The Museum of Modern Art is an event of historical importance, for it means that our country has finally discovered that a great artist dwells on the same continent.” THE NEW YORKER, 26 DECEMBER, 1931

PROVENANCE: Abby Aldrich Rockefeller and John D. Rockefeller, Jr., New York (acquired from the artist, 1931). Peggy and David Rockefeller, New York (gift from the above, 1941); Estate sale, Christie's, New York, 9 May 2018, lot 424 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Diego Rivera, December 1931-January 1932, pp. 39 and 53, no. 44 (illustrated). Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Museum of Art, Diego Rivera, February 1932, no. 44. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Exhibition 17: Summer Exhibition, Painting and Sculpture, June-October 1932, no. 32.160. The Art Institute of Chicago, A Century of Progress: Exhibition of Paintings and Sculpture, June-November 1933, no. 738 (illustrated). New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Modern Works of Art: Fifth Anniversary Exhibition, November 1934-January 1935, p. 33, no. 135 (illustrated). Dallas Museum of Fine Arts, The Centennial Exposition: Catalogue of the Exhibition of Paintings, Sculptures, Graphic Arts, June-November 1936, no. 4. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Summer Exhibitions: Paintings and Sculpture from the Museum Collection and on Loan, June-November 1937. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, Diego Rivera: Murals for The Museum of Modern Art, November 2011-May 2012. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Diego Rivera's America, JulySeptember 2022, p. 54, no. 28 (illustrated in color).

LITERATURE: B. Wolfe, Diego Rivera: His Life and Times, New York, 1939, no. 142 (illustrated). J. Barnitz, et al., The David and Peggy Rockefeller Collection: Art of the Western Hemisphere, New York, 1988, vol. II, pp. 237-238, no. 146 (illustrated). Diego Rivera: Catálogo General de Obra de Caballete, Mexico City, 1989, p. 132, no. 991 (illustrated).

Installation view of Diego Rivera, The Rivals (second from right), Modern Works of Art: 5th Anniversary Exhibition, The Museum of Modern Art, November 19, 1934-January 20, 1935. Also on view (from left to right): Giacomo Balla, Dinamismo di un cane al guinzaglio (Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash), 1912, Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York; David Alfaro Siqueiros, Proletarian Victim, 1933, The Museum of Modern Art, New York; and José Clemente Orozco, Zapata, 1930, Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago. Artworks: © 2022 Banco de México Diego Rivera Frida Kahlo Museums Trust, Mexico, D.F. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / SIAE, Rome. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / SOMAAP, Mexico City. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / SOMAAP, Mexico City. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.





KLEE (1879-1940)

Schicksalstunde um dreiviertel zwölf signed, dated and numbered 'Klee 1922 184.' (upper left) oil on chalk-primed muslin mounted on panel 16¿ x 19 in. (41 x 48.2 cm.) Executed in 1922 $1,800,000-2,500,000



“We construct and keep on constructing, yet intuition is a good thing, you can do a good deal without it, but not everything. Where intuition is combined with exact research it speeds up the progress of research…” PAUL KLEE



Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, Paris. Karl Nierendorf, New York (acquired from the above, by 1938). Duncan and Marjorie Phillips, Washington, D.C. (acquired from the above, circa 1939). Reichenbach collection. Berggruen et Cie, Paris (acquired from the above, 1955). Private collection, Europe (acquired from the above, 1956, then by descent); sale, Christie’s, New York, 1 November 2011, lot 5. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

H. Read, "Klee: Imagination and Phantasy" in XXe siècle, 1938, no. 4, p. 34 (illustrated). K. Nierendorf, ed., Paul Klee, Paintings, Watercolors 1913 to 1939, New York, 1941, p. 7 (illustrated, pl. 12). W. Grohmann, Paul Klee, London, 1954, pp. 84, 192, 198 and 392, no. 66 (illustrated, p. 392). R. Verdi, "Paul Klee's 'Fish Magic': An Interpretation" in The Burlington Magazine, March 1974, pp. 151 and 154, note 20. M. Rosenthal, "Paul Klee's 'Tightropewalker': An Exercise in Balance" in Arts Magazine, September 1978, p. 111, no. 10. M.L. Rosenthal, Paul Klee and the Arrow, Ph.D. diss., The University of Iowa, 1979, p. 140. S.L. Henry, "Paul Klee's Pictorial Mechanics from Physics to the Picture Plane" in Pantheon, 1989, p. 154 (illustrated, fig. 22). Vergleiche: Wintertag kurz vor Mittag, 1992, no. 2839. The Paul Klee Foundation, ed., Paul Klee: Catalogue Raisonné, 1919-1922, Bonn, 1999, vol. 3, p. 448, no. 3009 (illustrated; illustrated again in color, p. 408). J. Helfenstein and E.H. Turner, ed., Klee and America, exh. cat., The Menil Collection, Houston, 2006, p. 229 (illustrated, fig. 54). E. Smithgall, "A Little House of Klee at the Phillips: Paul Klee's Legacy on Washington Color-Field Artists" in Ten Americans: After Paul Klee, exh. cat., Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern, 2017, p. 17.

EXHIBITED: Stuttgart, Kunstgebäude am Schlossplatz, Neuer deutscher Kunst, MayAugust 1924, p. 14, no. 91. Dresden, Graphisches Kabinett Hugo Erfurth and Kunstverein Erfurt, 7 Bauhausmeister, February-April 1925. Kunsthalle Bern, Paul Klee, February-March 1935, p. 3, no. 13. Kunsthalle Basel, Paul Klee, October-November 1935, p. 3, no. 10. Kunstmuseum Lucerne, Paul Klee, Fritz Huf, April-June 1936, no. 10. New York, The Museum of Modern Art, 1938 (on loan). Paris, Musée des arts décoratifs, Collection d'expression française, JulyOctober 1962, p. 18, no. 112 (with incorrect support). Strasbourg, Château des Rohan, La grande aventure de l'art du XXème siècle, June-September 1963, p. 43, no. 99 (with incorrect support).



Brice Marden with the present work, London, 2000. Photo: Neville Elder / Corbis via Getty Images. Artwork: © 2022 Brice Marden / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.





MARDEN (b. 1938)

The Attended signed and dated '1996-9 B. Marden' (on the reverse) oil on linen 82 x 57 in. (208.3 x 144.8 cm.) Painted in 1996-1999 $15,000,000-20,000,000



“I didn’t start off with the characters in the upper right and then work down and over as I had before with the calligraphy paintings. There aren’t any columns anymore or things connecting columns. I just went into these [paintings] and started a line. It seemed much more intuitive at that point.” BRICE MARDEN



The artist. Matthew Marks Gallery, New York. Private collection, Connecticut (acquired from the above, 2007). Anon. sale, Sotheby's, New York, 13 November 2013, lot 12 (world auction record for the artist at the time of sale). Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

D. Kietsch, "Forward Motion" in South Florida Sun-Sentinel, 19 December 1999, sec. D, p. 10. M. Brown, "Driven to Abstraction" in The Daily Telegraph, 28 October 2000, sec. A, p. 11. R. Dorment, "One Look and You Feel You Could Look Forever" in The Daily Telegraph, 15 November 2000, p. 26. Post Magazine, 16 November 2000 (illustrated). S. Hemming, "Brice Marden, Serpentine Gallery" in Daily Express, 17 November 2000 (illustrated). L. Cumming, "The Brice is Right: After a 20-Year Gap, Brice Marden's Abstracts Go on Display in London. About time" in The Observer, 19 November 2000, p. 10 (illustrated). M. Glover, "Abstraction's Rich Possibilities" in The Independent, 21 November 2000, p. 10 (illustrated). C. Darwent, "Shy, Assertive, Even Lonely, His Wriggly Lines are Moody Trails. Brice Marden, Serpentine Gallery, London" in The Independent on Sunday, 26 November 2000, p. 5. C. McQuaid, "Capturing Eastern Spirit in a Spectacle of Paint" in The Boston Globe, 24 January 2002, sec. D, p. 1 (illustrated in color). Coalition for the Homeless/11th Annual Artwalk, New York, 17 October 2005, p. 7 (illustrated in color).

EXHIBITED: Miami Art Museum and Pittsburgh, Carnegie Museum of Art, Brice Marden: Work of the 1990s, February 1999-August 2000. London, Serpentine Gallery, Brice Marden, November 2000-January 2001, p. 65, no. 25 (illustrated in color; illustrated in color again on the cover). Boston University Art Gallery, Looking East: Brice Marden, Michael Mazur, and Pat Steir, January-February 2002, p. 55, no. 12 (illustrated in color, p. 65, pl. 10; detail illustrated in color on the cover). New York, Matthew Marks Gallery, Brice Marden: Attendants, Bears, and Rocks, May-June 2002, no. 30 (illustrated in color). Zürich, Daros Collection, Brice Marden, June 2003-January 2004, p. 120, no. 18 (illustrated in color).

This work will be included the artist’s forthcoming catalogue raisonné.



Max Ernst and Dorothea Tanning playing chess, Sedona, Arizona, 1948. Photograph by Bob Towers.





ERNST (1891-1976)

Le roi jouant avec la reine signed 'Max Ernst' (on the front) bronze with brown patina Height: 39Ω in. (100.5 cm.) Conceived in 1944 and cast in 1953-1961 $8,000,000-12,000,000



“A hypothetical king and queen playing a game involving kings and queens—there is no end to the interpretations that could be put upon such a situation.” DOROTHEA TANNING

PROVENANCE: Alexander Iolas Gallery, New York (probably acquired from the artist). Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Randall Shapiro, Chicago (acquired from the above); sale, Sotheby's, New York, 10 November 1992, lot 50. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: The Art Institute of Chicago, The Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Randall Shapiro Collection, 1985, p. 58, no. 56 (illustrated, fig. 46).

LITERATURE: M. Ernst, Beyond Painting and Other Writings about the Artist and his Friends, New York, 1948, p. 78 (plaster illustrated, p. 79). C. Giedion-Welcker, Contemporary Sculpture: An Evolution in Volume and Space, New York, 1955, p. 244 (another cast illustrated). P. Waldberg, Max Ernst, Paris, 1958, p. 409 (another cast illustrated). F. Hazan, Dictionnaire de la sculpture moderne, Paris, 1960, p. 88 (another cast illustrated; titled Le roi jouant aux échecs avec sa reine). J. Russell, Max Ernst: Life and Work, New York, 1967, no. 147 (another cast illustrated). W. Spies, S. and G. Metken, Max Ernst: Oeuvre-Katalog, Werke 1939-1953, Cologne, 1987, p. 86, no. 2465,I (another cast illustrated). W. Spies, Max Ernst: Sculptures, maisons, paysages, exh. cat., Musée national d'art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris, 1998 (plaster illustrated, p. 135; another cast illustrated).





MONET (1840-1926)

Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé signed and dated ‘Claude Monet 1903’ (lower left) oil on canvas 25æ x 39Ω in. (65.4 x 100 cm.) Painted in 1899-1903 Estimate on Request



“This is Waterloo Bridge, with its dense vehicular and pedestrian traffic, illuminated by a ray of sunshine. It brings to mind a carnival procession, a floral garland in the middle of this...indeterminate space, this foggy river where little tugs work relentlessly and small boats graze, like smoke, along the surface of the undulating water...” OCTAVE MIRBEAU

PROVENANCE: Galerie Durand-Ruel et Cie., Paris (acquired from the artist, June 1904). Paul Cassirer, Berlin (acquired from the above, September 1904). Ulrich Boschwitz, Berlin (circa 1916). Paul and Gabrielle Oppenheim-Errera, Brussels and Princeton (1916); Estate sale, Christie’s, New York, 11 November 1997, lot 107. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Paris, Galerie Durand-Ruel et Cie., Monet, May-June 1904, no. 23. Berlin, Galerie Paul Cassirer, Monet, September 1904, no. 7. Princeton University Art Museum, April 1989-September 1997 (on extended loan).

LITERATURE: R. de Bettex, "Echos de partout: Claude Monet" in La République française, 10 May 1904, p. 1. R.M. Ferry, "Notes d'art: La Tamise par M. Claude Monet" in La Liberté, 18 May 1904, p. 3. G. Kahn, "L'exposition Claude Monet" in La Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1 July 1904, vol. 31, no. 565, pp. 82-88 (illustrated). G. Denoinville, Sensations d'art, Paris, 1906, p. 135. L. Venturi, Les archives de l'Impressionnisme, Paris, 1939, vol. I, pp. 393-394. D. Wildenstein, Claude Monet: Biographie et catalogue raisonné, Lausanne, 1979, vol. IV, p. 182, no. 1591 (illustrated, p. 183); p. 365, lettres 1723-1724 and p. 427, pièces justificatives 169-170. P.H. Tucker, Claude Monet: Life and Art, New Haven, 1995, p. 173. D. Wildenstein, Monet: Catalogue raisonné, Cologne, 1996, vol. III, p. 697, no. 1591 (illustrated in color). H. von Bernard Echte and W. Feilchenfeldt, Kunstsalon Paul Cassirer: Die Ausstellungen 1901-1905, Zurich, 2011, p. 551 (illustrated in color). Frederick Hollyer, Waterloo Bridge, 1877.





BENTON (1889-1975) Nashaquitsa signed and dated 'Benton 53' (lower left) oil on canvas 22º x 27º in. (56.5 x 69.2 cm.) Painted in 1953 $1,500,000-2,500,000



“Martha’s Vineyard had a profound effect on me…It freed my art from the dominance of narrow urban conceptions and put me in a psychological condition to face America.” THOMAS HART BENTON

PROVENANCE: Jules Worthington (acquired from the artist, 1956). Private collection, Brooklyn (acquired from the above, 2003). Andrew Thompson Fine Art, New York (acquired from the above, 2011). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2011.

EXHIBITED: Martha's Vineyard, Carol Craven Gallery, Thomas Hart Benton: Original Drawings and Paintings, August-October 2003. New York, Owen Gallery, Off the Northeast Coast, October-December 2003, pp. 70-71 (illustrated in color, p. 70; detail illustrated, p. 71).

LITERATURE: Owen Gallery, Benton on the Vineyard, exh. cat., New York, 2008, pp. 24-26 (illustrated in color, p. 24, fig. 6).

This work will be included in the forthcoming Thomas Hart Benton catalogue raisonné being prepared by the Thomas Hart Benton Catalogue Raisonné Foundation. Committee Members: Dr. Henry Adams, Jessie Benton, Anthony Benton Gude, Andrew Thompson and Michael Owen.





HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

Winter Timber signed, dated and titled 'Winter Timber David Hockney 2009' (on the reverse of the upper left canvas) oil on canvas, in 15 parts Overall: 108 x 240 in. (274.3 x 609.6 cm.) Painted in 2009 $10,000,000-15,000,000



“Suffolk has its Constable, and West Yorkshire had its Turner. But before Hockney, nobody has ever really bothered to look at East Yorkshire like this, with his passion and savor.” LAWRENCE WESCHLER

PROVENANCE: PaceWildenstein, New York. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2009.

EXHIBITED: New York, PaceWildenstein, David Hockney: Paintings 2006-2009, October-December 2009, p. 83 (illustrated in color, pp. 5 and 66-68). London, Royal Academy of Arts; Guggenheim Museum Bilbao and Cologne, Ludwig Museum, David Hockney RA: A Bigger Picture, January 2012-February 2013 (illustrated in situ in the studio on the exhibition poster). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, Color & Pattern, April-July 2017.

LITERATURE: C. Kino, "Hockney's Long Road Home" in New York Times, 18 October 2009, section AR (illustrated in situ in the studio, p. 1). L. Mouillefarine, “David Hockney: Gentleman iPainter” in Madame Figaro, 29 October 2010. M. Gayford, A Bigger Message: Conversations with David Hockney, New York, 2011, p. 242 (illustrated in situ in the studio, p. 77). M. Livingstone, David Hockney: My Yorkshire, London, 2011 (illustrated in color, pp. 55-56). H. Chu, "Home, In a New Light" in Los Angeles Times, 12 February 2012 (illustrated in color, p. E1). H. Obrist, “More Power” in Parkett, vol. 92, June 2013 (illustrated in color, p. 198). H. Holzwarth, David Hockney, A Bigger Book, Cologne, 2016, p. 418.





RICHTER (b. 1932)

Ohne Titel signed, dated and inscribed '687-4 Richter 1989' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 44¿ x 40º in. (112.1 x 102.2 cm.) Painted in 1989 $6,000,000-8,000,000



“[My paintings]…are about a possibility of social existence. Looked at in this way, all I am trying to do in each picture is to bring together the most disparate and mutually contradictory elements, alive and viable, in the greatest possible freedom.” GERHARD RICHTER

PROVENANCE: Anthony d'Offay Gallery, London. Paolo Vedovi, Paris/Brussels (acquired from the above). Private collection, Europe (acquired from the above, 1995). Anon. sale, Sotheby's, London, 26 June 2012, lot 11. Private collection. Anon. sale, Christie's, New York, 12 November 2014, lot 5. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Rotterdam, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Gerhard Richter 1988/89, October-December 1989 (illustrated in color).

LITERATURE: B. Buchloh, ed., Gerhard Richter Catalogue Raisonné, 1962-1993, Ostfildern-Ruit, 1993, vol. III, p. 186, no. 687-4 (illustrated in color). D. Elger, Gerhard Richter: Catalogue Raisonné, 1988-1994, Ostfildern, 2011, vol. 4, p. 210, no. 687-4 (illustrated in color).

Gerhard Richter in his studio, 1994. Photo: Benjamin Katz © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/ VG Bild-kunst, Bonn. Artwork: © Gerhard Richter 2022 (29092022).





O'KEEFFE (1887-1986)

Autumn Leaf II signed with initials ‘OK’ in the artist’s star device (on the original backing) oil on canvas 32 x 21 in. (81.3 x 53.3 cm.) Painted in 1927 $4,000,000-6,000,000



“I always look forward to the Autumn—to working at that time—and continue what I had been trying to put down of the Autumn for years.” GEORGIA O’KEEFFE

PROVENANCE: The Downtown Gallery, New York. Mrs. Albert D. Lasker, New York (acquired from the above, 1961); sale, Sotheby Parke-Bernet, New York, 25 April 1980, lot 246. Kennedy Galleries, Inc. and Robert Miller Gallery, Inc., New York (acquired at the above sale). Thea Westreich Art Advisory Services, Inc., New York. Private collection (acquired from the above, 1984); sale, Sotheby’s, New York, 29 November 2012, lot 10. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: New York, The Intimate Gallery, O’Keeffe Exhibition, January-February 1928, no. 29 (titled Autumn Leaf - B). Tulsa, Philbrook Museum of Art, Georgia O’Keeffe Retrospective Exhibition, October-November 1952. Dallas Museum of Fine Arts and Delray Beach, Mayo Hill Galleries, An Exhibition of Paintings by Georgia O’Keeffe, February-April 1953, no. 6 (titled Autumn Leaves II). Amherst College, Mead Art Building, 13 Painters 40 Years, May 1956. New York, The Gallery of Modern Art, The Twenties Revisited, JuneSeptember 1965. Tulsa, Philbrook Museum of Art; Oakland Museum of Art; Baltimore Museum of Art and New York, National Academy of Design, Painters of the Humble Truth: American Still Life Painting, September 1981-July 1982, pp. 266 and 292-293, no. 99 (illustrated, p. 266, fig. 11.11; titled Autumn Leaves No. 2). New York, Kennedy Galleries, Inc., The American Tradition: Paintings and Sculpture of the Twentieth Century, April-May 1983, p. 17. Santa Fe, Georgia O’Keeffe Museum (on extended loan).

LITERATURE: Newsweek, 1965, vol. 66, p. 84 (titled Autumn Leaves). International Art Market, 1980, vol. 20, p. 190, no. 246 (titled Autumn Leaves No. 2). B.B. Lynes, Georgia O’Keeffe: Catalogue Raisonné, New Haven, 1999, vol. I, p. 353, no. 605 (illustrated in color). H. Drohojowska-Philp, Full Bloom: The Art and Life of Georgia O’Keeffe, New York, 2004, p. 278.

Alfred Stieglitz, Georgia O’Keeffe: A Portrait, 1921.







TURNER, R.A. (LONDON 1775-1851)

Depositing of John Bellini’s Three Pictures in La Chiesa Redentore, Venice oil on canvas 29 x 45Ω in. (73.7 x 115.6 cm.) Painted in 1841 $28,000,000-35,000,000



“The seeds of recent techniques of the French Impressionists, of Claude Monet and his school…are found in Turner’s oeuvre… A half-century before Manet, Monet and Renoir, might Turner, perhaps, have created the Impressionist school?” ÉMILE VERHAEREN PROVENANCE: Charles Birch, Westfield House, Edgbaston and Metchley Abbey, Harbourne near Birmingham. Joseph Gillott, Birmingham (acquired from the above, December 1847). Thomas Rought, London (acquired from the above, January 1849). Lloyd Brothers and Co., London; sale, Foster, London, 13 June 1855, lot 60 (unsold). Thomas Agnew & Sons, London (acquired from the above, 1857). Richard Hemming, Bentley Manor, Bromsgrove (acquired from the above). Mrs. Maude Cheape (née Hemming), Bentley Manor, Bromsgrove (by descent from the above). Thomas Agnew & Sons, London (acquired from the above, 1892). Sir John Pender, Middleton Hall, County Linlithgow, Foots Cray Place, Sidcup, Kent and Arlington House, London (acquired from the above); sale, Christie's, London, 29-31 May 1897, lot 84. J.P. Morgan, New York (acquired at the above sale, through Agnew, then by descent). Myron Charles Taylor, U.S. Ambassador to the Vatican, New York (acquired from the above, circa 1947). Wildenstein & Co. and Thomas Agnew & Sons, London (acquired from the above, 1961). Colin Tennant, 3rd Baron Glenconner (acquired from the above, 1961). Private collection (acquired from the above, 1969). Marlborough International Fine Art Establishment. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 16 June 1999.

EXHIBITED: London, Royal Academy of Arts, Summer Exhibition, 1841, no. 277. Paris Exhibition, Loan Collection and Exhibits in the British Royal Pavilion, 1900, no. 39. London, Whitechapel Art Gallery, Modern Pictures by Living Artists, Pre-Raphaelites and Older English Masters, March-April 1901, no. 164. London, Royal Academy of Arts, Exhibition of Works by the Old Masters and Deceased Masters of the British School, 1910, no. 167. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, An Exhibition of Paintings lent by Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan, 1913-1914, pp. 12-13 (illustrated, p. 13). Boston, Museum of Fine Arts, An Exhibition of Paintings, Drawings, and Prints by J.M.W. Turner, John Constable, and R.P. Bonnington, March-April 1946, pp. 10-11, no. 15. London, Leggatt Brothers, English Painting c. 1750-1850, October-November 1963, pp. 10-11, no. 9. London, Thomas Agnew & Sons, Paintings and Watercolours by J.M.W. Turner, R.A., November-December 1967, pp. 42-44, no. 29. Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007.


London, Tate Britain; Paris, Galeries nationales du Grand Palais and Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado, Turner and the Masters, September 2009-September 2010, pp. 178-181, no. 68 (illustrated in color, p. 181). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, no. 10 (illustrated in color).

LITERATURE: J. Burnet and P. Cunningham, Turner and His Works, London, 1852, p. 119, no. 212. W. Thornbury, The Life of J.M.W. Turner, R.A., London, 1862, vol. II, p. 229; 2nd ed., London, 1877 pp. 170, 329 and 579. Pictures, Drawings and Sculpture Forming the Collection of Sir John Pender, London, pp. ix and 75, no. 136 (illustrated, p. 164). "Paris Exhibition Number" in Art Journal, 1900, p. 193 (illustrated). C.F. Bell, A List of the Works contributed to Public Exhibitions by J.M.W. Turner, R.A., London, 1901, pp. 142-143, no. 228. Sir W. Armstrong, Turner, London, 1902, p. 234 (illustrated). T. Humphrey Ward and W. Roberts, Pictures in the Collection of J. Pierpont Morgan: English School, 1907 (illustrated). W.G. Rawlinson, The Engraved Work of J.M.W. Turner, R.A., London, vol. II, 1913, pp. 297 and 351. A.J. Finberg, In Venice with Turner, The Cotswold Gallery, London, 1930, pp. 139 and 156; revised ed. by H.F. Finberg, 1961, pp. 383 and 506, no. 542. J. Gage, Colour in Turner: Poetry and Truth, London, 1969, pp. 96, 243 and 252, notes 91 and 215. M. Butlin and E. Joll, The Paintings of J.M.W. Turner, New Haven and London, vol. I, 1977, pp. 220-221, no. 393 and vol. II (illustrated, pl. 384). A. Wilton, J.M.W. Turner: His Art and Life, London, 1979, p. 205. J. Gage, ed., Collected Correspondence of J.M.W. Turner, Oxford, 1980, pp. 182-184. E. Joll and M. Butlin, L’opera complete di Turner, 1830-1851, Milan, 1982, p. 209, no. 462 (illustrated). J. Chapel, ‘The Turner Collector: Joseph Gillott 1799-1872’, Turner Studies, winter 1986, vol. VI, no. 2, p. 46. L. Herrmann, Turner Prints: The Engraved Work of J.M.W. Turner, New York, 1990, p. 243. I. Warrell, Turner and Venice, exh. cat., London, 2003, pp. 183-189 (illustrated in color, p. 189, fig. 205).

ENGRAVED: J.T. Willmore, A.R.A., 1858.




PARRISH (1870-1966) Hilltop signed and dated 'Copyright 1926/Maxfield Parrish' (lower left) oil on panel 35æ x 22º in. (91 x 56.5 cm.) Painted in 1926 $2,000,000-3,000,000



“It will be of two girls under a big tree at the top of a hill, with a great distance beyond, late afternoon all flooded with golden light…” MAXFIELD PARRISH ABOUT THE PRESENT WORK

PROVENANCE: Private collection, Massachusetts; Estate sale, Christie’s, New York, 2 December 1988, lot 178. American Illustrators Gallery, New York (acquired at the above sale). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 1997.

EXHIBITED: Tokyo, Isetan Museum of Art; Osaka, The Museum of Art, Kintetsu; Yamanashi Prefectural Museum of Art and Stockbridge, Norman Rockwell Museum, Maxfield Parrish: A Retrospective, April-December 1995, pp. 50, 125, 166-167 and 180, no. 72 (illustrated in color, p. 125).

LITERATURE: Reinthal and Newman, The House of Art print, published circa 1926-1927. Thomas D. Murphy Company calendar, published 1942. C. Ludwig, Maxfield Parrish,New York, 1973, pp. 138-139, 144-145 and 215, no. 722 (illustrated, p. 139, fig. 91). A. Gilbert, Maxfield Parrish: The Masterworks, Berkeley, 1992, pp. 154 and 157 (illustrated in color, fig. 7.7). L.S. Cutler, J. Goffman and American Illustrators Gallery, Maxfield Parrish, New York, 1993, pp. 2, 4 and 8 (illustrated in color on the frontispiece, p. 2). L.S. Cutler and J.G. Cutler, Maxfield Parrish: A Retrospective, San Francisco, 1995, p. 127 (illustrated in color). A.M. Gilbert, Parrish and Photography, Plainfield, 1998, p. 29. L.S. Cutler and Judy A.G. Cutler, Maxfield Parrish, San Diego, 2001, pp. 118-119 (illustrated in color, p. 118). L.S. Cutler, J.G. Cutler and the National Museum of American Illustration, Maxfield Parrish and the American Imagists, Edison, 2004, p. 262 (illustrated in color). A.G. Smith, Maxfield Parrish: Master of Make-Believe, Washington, D.C., 2005, p. 93.



“I was drawn by nature to people who, like me, were eager to see what might come next and wanted to try to make it happen. From my youth, I’d never stopped thinking in the future tense.” PAUL G. ALLEN




“We, the abstractionists of today will be regarded as the ‘pioneers’ of absolute art, who had the good fortune, through clairvoyance, to live perhaps centuries ahead of our time.” Wassily Kandinsky’s prescient statement captures not only his own legacy, but that of a number of pioneering artists who, in reaching beyond their own epoch, ensured their art became timeless (“A New Naturalism?” in K.C. Lindsay and P. Vergo, eds., Kandinsky: Complete Writings on Art, New York, 1994, p. 481). From Paul Cezanne’s shimmering visions of Provence to Kandinsky’s radical new language of abstraction, and Alberto Giacometti and his unremitting desire to convey how the human form appeared to him—a concept further explored in defiantly painterly terms by Lucian Freud, and in expressive ones by his contemporary, Francis Bacon—Paul G. Allen was drawn to artists who “were eager to see what might come next and wanted to try to make it happen.” Closing this arc of these artists is David Hockney, whose inventive quest to portray the world around him echoes that of Cezanne a century prior. It was the fundamental problems posed by the representation of reality that drove each of these artists in their varied pursuits. Working across decades, countries, media and styles and termed a variety of labels and “isms,” their dedication to this inherent challenge led to the creation of art that remains today as relevant as when it was first made. In breaking the boundaries of contemporary convention, their work existed beyond the parameters of their own time. It was the widely varied solutions that these artist found to their corresponding dilemmas that pushed along artistic progression over time. Perhaps no other artist working in the closing years of the nineteenth century did more to shape, influence and inspire art of the following decades than Paul Cezanne. His dogged pursuit of his artistic goals, and the paintings and drawings he created as a result of this singular resolve, stand as monuments of modern art, their power still reverberating as mightily today as when they were created.



“With hindsight, Cezanne’s status seems inevitable, but for any truly ambitious artist, critical affirmation in one’s lifetime is the only assurance that counts.” KERRY JAMES MARSHALL

Cezanne began with an Impressionist approach to nature—the objective rendering of the world around him—and transformed this into a cerebral, yet deeply felt art form. Reality and our perception of it lay at the heart of his art, as he laid bare the processes of representation. “At the core of the Cezannian revolution,” Alex Danchev wrote, “is a decisive shift in the emphasis of observation, from the description of the thing apprehended to the process of apprehension itself. Cezanne insisted that he painted things as they are, for what they are, as he saw them” (Cezanne: A Life, London, 2013, p. 338). It was this essential element of his practice that germinated through the opening decades of the 1900s into a plethora of artistic styles and approaches—perhaps most importantly Cubism. For Cezanne, for whom true international recognition and acclaim was reached in the immediate years following his death, this was perhaps the ultimate goal: “I am a milestone, others will come who…,”—he left his sentence unfinished—before asserting, “At my age, you dream of eternity” (quoted in ibid., p. 335).

Paul Cezanne in his studio in Les Lauves, 1904. Private collection. Photo: Fine Art Images / Heritage Images via Getty Images.

Writing in 1912, six years after the Post-Impressionist’s death, Kandinsky mused, “Cezanne made a living thing out of a teacup, or rather in a teacup he realized the existence of something alive. He raised still life to such a point that it ceased to be inanimate… His color and form are alike suitable to spiritual harmony. A man, a tree, an apple, all were used by Cezanne in the creation of something he called a ‘picture,’ and which is a piece of true inward and artistic harmony” (quoted in ibid., p. 109, from ‘On the Spiritual in Art’, 1912). Upending the traditional tools of representation—perspective, tonal modeling, line and descriptive color—Cezanne’s work nevertheless remained faithfully rooted in nature itself. A leading pioneer of abstraction, Kandinsky was one of many artists who picked up where Cezanne left off. He developed his unique form of abstraction through the depiction of the landscape, which he distilled to a vocabulary of geometric forms and emotionally resonant colors that would remain the bedrock of his art for the rest of his career. Kandinsky was deeply conscious of the future and how his art fit within this. He believed the role of an artist was in part to act as an innovator, harnessing the discoveries of his own age to forge new aesthetic possibilities as well as new ways of understanding the world—both emotional and spiritual.


Kandinsky, circa 1926. Photograph by Elfriede Reichelt.


“the greatest art always returns you to the vulnerability of the human situation.” FRANCIS BACON

Cezanne once remarked that “All that we see gets dispersed, goes away. Nature is always the same, but nothing remains of it, of what appears to us. Our art has to give the feel of its duration, together with the facts, the appearance of all its changes. It has to make us sense it as eternal” (quoted in Cezanne and Beyond, exh. cat., Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2009, p. 382). Working decades apart, this inherent dichotomy in the depiction of reality was central to the work of Giacometti, who felt a strong kinship to the French master. Following his breakthrough Surrealist works, he was inexorably drawn to the challenge of distilling his vision of the world around him—principally the figure—in threedimensional form. Perhaps most famously the elongated, attenuated figures that emerged from his studio from 1947 onwards appear both to be from a bygone epoch and yet are definitive of an age traumatized and dehumanized by the Second World War. Men stride forwards and women appear motionless, like hieratic deities—as the iconic Femmes de Venise group masterfully demonstrates. They remain today icons of humanity in its rawest, most elemental form.

Alberto Giacometti, 1957. Photograph by Robert Doisneau. Artwork: © 2022 Alberto Giacometti Estate / Licensed by VAGA and ARS, New York. Photo: Photo by Robert DOISNEAU / Gamma-Rapho / Getty Images.

Lucian Freud once described Giacometti’s figures as a “whole new tribe of people” (quoted in ibid., p. 392). In the same way, Freud’s intense scrutiny of his sitters enabled him to create his own artistic dynasty. Perhaps nowhere is this so masterfully evidenced than in his Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau). With meticulous scrutiny and deft pigment Freud rendered human presence physical in his art. Nothing escaped his gaze—facial features were given the same attention as the pattern of a floorboard or the fold of a piece of clothing. In an age where abstraction reigned supreme, Freud’s magnificent painterly deifications of reality—so specific in their nuance and detail—defy the context of their creation, existing as powerfully today as when they were painted. It was likewise the figure that served as the prime site of artistic experimentation for fellow School of London painter, Francis Bacon. While Freud lavished the surface of things in order to imply a greater depth, Bacon ripped off the façade of the human form to reveal the complex inner realms that lay beyond. Tapping into this most elemental aspect of humanity—as Bacon himself described it, “the

Francis Bacon and Lucian Freud. Photograph by Harry Diamond,1974. National Portrait Gallery, London. Photo: © National Portrait Gallery, London / Art Resource, NY.



“The entire art of the past, from all epochs, all civilizations, emerges before me; everything occurs simultaneously, as if space has taken the place of time.” ALBERTO GIACOMETTI

greatest art always returns you to the vulnerability of the human situation” (quoted in D. Sylvester, About Modern Art: Critical Essays, 19482000, London, 1997, p. 455)—his works remain today as mesmerizing and viscerally haunting as when he painted them. It is not just the ability of Bacon’s work to shock viewers, but, as David Sylvester put it in 1954, “there are other works, mainly recent ones, which depend not at all for their impact upon making our flesh creep and whose disturbing effect resides far less in its premonitions of disaster than in the sheer weight of its sense of reality” (ibid., p. 55). This sense of reality, or as Bacon called it, “the brutality of fact,” lends his work a timelessness, as relevant to contemporary audiences as past ones. Another regenerator of the figurative tradition in the post-war era was David Hockney. In many ways a “Neo-Impressionist,” he reveled in the depiction of the world around him—from California pools to the hedgerows and woods of his native Yorkshire. While continuing the mantle of those artists working over a century prior, Hockney continuously explores the technicalities of art and image making, pushing the potentials of painting as a vehicle for capturing reality through his experimental embrace of technology. Harnessing these new methods of pictorial creation, his art continues to pursue the same problems that drove Cezanne, and yet remains at the forefront of contemporary life. “An artist is answerable only to himself,” Charles Baudelaire wrote in 1855. “He promises nothing to the centuries to come save his own works. He stands caution only for himself. He dies childless. He has been his own king, his own priest, and his own god.” In the confrontation of the fundamental problems of art making, this handful of artists reached beyond their own time, their work remaining vital, illuminating and forever portending the future.


David Hockney, 1982. Photo: Ira Nowinski / Corbis / VCG via Getty Images.




KANDINSKY (1866-1944) Tiefes Braun signed with monogram and dated ‘24’ (lower left) oil on canvas 32æ x 28¬ in. (83.3 x 72.7 cm.) Painted between April-June 1924 $10,000,000-15,000,000



PROVENANCE: Karl Nierendorf, New York (by 1937). The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York (acquired from the estate of the above, 1948). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 7 March 2000.

EXHIBITED: Dresden Kunstgenossenschaft, Secession, July-September 1924, p. 43, no. 418. Wiesbaden, Neues Museum; Barmen; Bochum and Dusseldorf, Nierendorf Gallery, January-November 1925, no. 16. New York, College Art Association, Kandinsky: A Retrospective View, 1937, no. 4 (titled Composition 271). New York, Nierendorf Gallery; Cleveland, Museum of Art and Cambridge, Germanic Museum of Harvard University, Kandinsky, 1937, no. 4. New York, Nierendorf Gallery, Group Exhibition, April-May 1939. New York, Nierendorf Gallery, Kandinsky, March 1941, no. 6. New York, Nierendorf Gallery, Works by Kandinsky, December 1942-February 1943. New York, The Museum of Non-Objective Painting, In Memory of Wassily Kandinsky, 1945, p. 106, no. 78. New York, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum; Paris, Musée national d'art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou and The Hague, Gemeentemuseum, Vasily Kandinsky: A Retrospective Exhibition, JanuaryApril 1962, p. 70, no. 54 (illustrated in color, p. 78). Cambridge, Busch-Reisinger Museum, Harvard University, Bauhaus Faculty, November-December 1966, p. 19. New York, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, Kandinsky, Klee, Feininger: 3 Bauhaus Painters, 1970. Baden-Baden, Staatliche Kunsthalle, Wassily Kandinsky: Gemälde, 19001944, July-September 1970, no. 56 (illustrated in color). New York, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum; Los Angeles County Museum of Art and Minneapolis, Walker Art Center, Vasily Kandinsky, 1972 (illustrated). Munich, Haus der Kunst, Wassily Kandinsky, November 1976-January 1977, p. 82, no. 63 (illustrated, p. 87). New York, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum of Art, Concentrations I: Nine Modern Masters from The Guggenheim Museum and Thannhauser Collections, 1974. Venice, Palazzo Grassi, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, Thannhauser Collection: From Van Gogh to Picasso, From Kandinsky to Pollock, Masterpieces of Modern Art, 1990, p. 248, no. 64 (illustrated in color, p. 249). Montreal, Museum of Fine Arts, Masterpieces from The Guggenheim, February-April 1992, p. 188, no. 66 (illustrated in color). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, Color & Pattern, April-July 2017.


Installation view of “The Work of Wassily Kandinsky” 10 February - 7 March 1937, Cleveland Museum of Art, 1937. Tiefes Braun is visible on the far right. Art work: © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: 1937, Cleveland Museum of Art Archives.


The Artist's Handlist II, no. 271. W. Grohmann, Wassily Kandinsky: Life and Work, New York, 1958, p. 334, no. 159 (illustrated, p. 362). A.Z. Rudenstine, The Guggenheim Museum Collection: Paintings 18801945, New York, 1976, vol. 1, p. 314, no. 107 (illustrated, p. 315; detail of the reverse illustrated, p. 314). B. Sell Tower, Klee and Kandinsky in Munich and at the Bauhaus, Ann Arbor, 1981, p. 144 (illustrated, p. 152, fig. 30). V.E. Barnett, Kandinsky at the Guggenheim, New York, 1983, p. 168, no. 93 (illustrated; titled Deep Brown, No. 271). H.K. Roethel and J.K. Benjamin, Kandinsky: Catalogue Raisonné of the Oil Paintings, 1916-1944, London, 1984, vol. 2, p. 670, no. 714 (illustrated). G. Levin and M. Lorenz, Theme and Improvisation: Kandinsky and the American Avant-Garde, 1912-1950, exh. cat., The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C., 1992, p. 214 (illustrated, fig. 6.7). G. Faigin, "Review: Who Knew? Paul G. Allen Collection Does Abstration at Pivot Art + Culture" in The Seattle Times, 18 May 2017.




JOHNS (b. 1930) Numbers signed and misdated 'J. Johns 1963-78' (on the reverse) aluminum 57¡ x 43¬ in. (145.7 x 110.8 cm.) Conceived in 1963 and cast in 1968 $15,000,000-20,000,000



“Johns emphasizes process to a degree that borders on obsession… [showing a] persistent and precise method that consists of exploring the boundaries of each medium with tools borrowed from one another, in order to ultimately erase those boundaries, as well as any hierarchies, with which they are traditionally associated.” CARLOS BASUALDO PROVENANCE: Acquired from the artist by the late owner, 2001.

EXHIBITED: Vancouver Art Gallery; Regina, Norman Mackenzie Art Gallery and Montreal, Musée d'Art Contemporain, New York 13, January-July 1969 (titled Aluminum Numbers and dated 1969). Philadelphia, Institute of Contemporary Art, University of Pennsylvania, Grids, January-March 1972 (dated 1963-1969). Akron Art Institute, Grids: Format and Image in 20th Century Art, MarchMay 1979 (illustrated; dated 1963-1978). Atlanta, Heath Gallery, Out of the South: An Exhibition of Work by Artists Born in the South, October 1982, p. 17, no. 3 (illustrated; dated 1963-1978). Sydney, Art Gallery of New South Wales; South Brisbane, Queensland Art Gallery; Melbourne, National Gallery of Victoria and Houston, Menil Collection, Pop Art, 1955-1970, February-August 1985, p. 47 (illustrated in color; dated 1963-1978). Houston, Menil Collection and Leeds City Art Gallery, Jasper Johns: The Sculptures, February-June 1996, p. 103 (illustrated in color, p. 96; dated 1963-1978). Philadelphia, Museum of American Art of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Pop Abstraction, February-April 1998 (dated 1963/1978). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, pp. 26-27 (illustrated in color; dated 1963-1978). New York, Whitney Museum of American Art, Jasper Johns: Mind/Mirror, September 2021-February 2022, p. 85, no. 38 (illustrated in color).


Jasper Johns in his studio, New York, 1966. Photo: David Gahr/Getty Images. Artwork: © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY..


R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture; Sculpture, New York and New Haven, 2016, vol. 4, p. 84, no. S42 (illustrated in color, p. 85). R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture, 1954-1970, New York and New Haven, 2017, vol. 5, no. S42 (illustrated in color, p. 213).




HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

Queen Anne's Lace Near Kilham signed, dated and titled 'David Hockney 2010/2011 Queen Ann's [sic] lace near Kilham' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 67 x 102º in. (170.2 x 259.7 cm.) Painted in 2010-2011 $8,000,000-12,000,000



“I don’t think there is a place in the natural world, that we could think was ugly. It tends only to be man-made things that can be called ugly. I have never seen an ugly natural landscape.” DAVID HOCKNEY

PROVENANCE: LA Louver Gallery, Los Angeles. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2011.

EXHIBITED: London, Royal Academy of Arts; Guggenheim Museum Bilbao and Cologne, Ludwig Museum, David Hockney RA: A Bigger Picture, January 2012-February 2013, pp. 248-249 (illustrated, pl. 122).





ERNST (1891-1976)

Paysage avec lac et chimères signed ‘Max Ernst’ (lower right) oil on canvas 20 x 26 in. (50.8 x 66 cm.) Painted circa 1940 $2,000,000-3,000,000



“Everything that is fortuitous and can surprise us will stimulate our imagination, and as soon as we begin to wonder we begin also to think of ideas and subjects that reason alone would never suggest to us.” MAX ERNST

PROVENANCE: Peggy Guggenheim, New York. Dwight Ripley, New York. E.V. Thaw & Co., New York. Leonard C. Yaseen, New York. Serge Sabarsky Gallery, New York. Acquavella Galleries, Inc., New York. Gerrit Lansing, Connecticut. Anon. sale, Christie's, New York, 19 May 1981, lot 355. Private collection, United States (acquired at the above sale); sale, Sotheby's, London, 25 June 1991, lot 35. Anon. sale, Christie's, New York, 9 May 2000, lot 509. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: New York, M. Knoedler & Co., Inc., Surrealism in Art, February-March 1975. Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007, pp. 22-23 (illustrated in color). Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, pp. 30 and 132, no. 32 (illustrated in color, p. 133).

LITERATURE: W. Spies, Max Ernst, Werke 1939-1953, Cologne, 1987, p. 27, no. 2354 (illustrated).





BACON (1909-1992)

Three Studies for Self-Portrait signed, dated and titled 'Study for Self-Portrait 1979 Francis Bacon' (on the reverse of each canvas) triptych—oil on canvas Each: 14 x 12 in. (35.6 x 30.5 cm.) Painted in 1979 $25,000,000-35,000,000



“So far as my work has any quality, I often feel perhaps it is the triptychs that have the best quality.” FRANCIS BACON

PROVENANCE: Marlborough Fine Art, Ltd., London. Private collection, Europe (acquired from the above, 1979, then by descent). Anon. sale, Christie's, London, 8 December 1999, lot 72. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Palma de Mallorca, Pelaires Centre Cultural Contemporani, Marlborough in Pelaires, August-October 1990 (illustrated in color, p. 37). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, The Figure in Process: de Kooning to Kapoor 1955-2015, December 2015-February 2016, pp. 11 and 23. Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, A Closer Look: Portraits from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, December 2016-March 2017.

LITERATURE: M. Harrison, ed., Francis Bacon: Catalogue Raisonné, 1971-1992, London, 2016, vol. IV, pp. 1174-1175, no. 79-02 (illustrated in color, p. 1174).




Francis Bacon, London, 1975. Photo: Arnold Newman Properties / Getty Images. Artwork: © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022. 362





BOURGEOIS (1911-2010)

Black Flames stamped with initials, numbered and stamped with foundry mark '3/6 L.B.' (lower edge) bronze, paint and stainless steel Height: 69Ω in. (176.5 cm.) Conceived in 1947-1949 and cast in 1989. This work is number three from an edition of six plus an artist's proof. $1,500,000-2,500,000



“I am not interested in art history, in the academies of styles, a succession of fads. Art is not about art. Art is about life, and that sums it up.” LOUISE BOURGEOIS



The artist. Cheim & Read, New York. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 1999.

Louise Bourgeois: Selected Works 1946-1989, exh. cat., Rhona Hoffman Gallery, Chicago, 1989 (another cast exhibited). Louise Bourgeois: Bronze Sculpture and Drawings, exh. cat., Linda Cathcart Gallery, Santa Monica, 1990 (another cast exhibited). Louise Bourgeois: Bronzes of the 1940s and 1950s, exh. cat., Galerie Karsten Greve, 1990 (another cast exhibited). C. Meyer-Thoss, Louise Bourgeois: Designing For Free Fall, Zürich, 1992, p. 56 (another cast illustrated). Louise Bourgeois Personages, 1940s / Installations, 1990s, exh. cat., Laura Carpenter Fine Art, Santa Fe, 1993 (another cast exhibited). Louise Bourgeois: Sculptures, exh. cat., Kestner-Gesellschaft, Hannover, 1994 (another cast illustrated, pl. 8). Louise Bourgeois, exh. cat., Helsinki City Art Museum, 1995, p. 82 (another cast illustrated). Louise Bourgeois, exh. cat., MARCO, Museum of Contemporary Art of Monterrey, 1996, p. 48 (another cast exhibited and illustrated, pl. 7). Louise Bourgeois, exh. cat., Gallery Paule Anglim, San Francisco, 1996 (another cast exhibited). Louise Bourgeois: The Forties and Fifties, November-December 1996 (another cast exhibited). =–Louise Bourgeois: Homesickness, exh. cat., Gallery Joseloff, Harry Jack Gray Center at University of Hartford, Westford, 1997, p. 53 (another cast exhibited and illustrated, pl. 18). R. Crone, et. al., Louise Bourgeois: The Secret of the Cells, Munich, 1998, p. 60 (another cast illustrated). Twentieth Century American Sculpture at the White House, exh. cat., The White House, Washington, D.C., 1999 (another cast exhibited). Louise Bourgeois, exh. cat., Minneapolis Institute of Arts, 1999 (another cast exhibited). View From Denver, exh. cat., The White House, Washington, D.C., 2000 (another example exhibited). Louise Bourgeois: The Personages, exh. cat., C&M Arts, New York, 2001 (another cast illustrated, pl. 6). Louise Bourgeois: The Early Work, exh. cat., Krannert Art Museum, University of Illinois, Champaign, 2002, p. 79 (another cast illustrated). The Esquire House 2004 Los Angeles, 9 Beverly Ridge Terrace, Beverly Hills, 2004 (another cast exhibited). 20th Anniversary Exhibition, exh. cat., Galerie Karsten Greve, Paris, 2009, p. 126 (another cast illustrated in color in situ at the exhibition). Louise Bourgeois, Structures of Existence: The Cells, exh. cat., Haus der Kunst, Munich, 2015 (another cast exhibited).

EXHIBITED: Denver, Ginny Williams Gallery, Bourgeois: Four Decades, OctoberDecember 1990. Denver, Ginny Williams Family Foundation, Louise Bourgeois, October 1993-March 1994. Aspen Art Museum, National Council Member’s Show, February-April 1994. Musée d'Art Contemporain de Montréal, Louise Bourgeois: The Locus of Memory, April-September 1996. Birmingham, Hill Gallery, Six From Storm King, September-October 1998.

Louise Bourgeois with The Visitors Arrive at the Door, circa 1944. Photo: © The Easton Foundation. Artwork: © The Easton Foundation/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY.


The original painted wood version of Black Flames resides in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.




TANSEY (b. 1949)

Bridge Over the Cartesian Gap signed, dated and titled 'Tansey 1990 'Bridge over the Cartesian Gap' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 87 x 108 in. (221 x 274.3 cm.) Painted in 1990 $3,000,000-5,000,000



PROVENANCE: Curt Marcus Gallery, New York. Diane Keaton, Los Angeles. Curt Marcus Gallery, New York. Private collection, United States. Anon. sale, Christie's, New York, 12 November 2013, lot 55. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: New York, Curt Marcus Gallery, Mark Tansey, March 1990. Kunsthalle Basel, Mark Tansey, April-May 1990 (illustrated in color). Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Milwaukee Art Museum; Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth; Boston, Museum of Fine Art and Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, Mark Tansey, June 1993-November 1994, pp. 52-53 and 114, no. 18 (illustrated in color).

LITERATURE: J. Miller, "Mark Tansey: Curt Marcus Gallery" in Artforum, summer 1990 (illustrated, p. 166). A. C. Danto and C. Sweet, Mark Tansey: Visions and Revisions, New York, 1992, pp. 110-111, 132 and 143 (illustrated in color). M. Friedman, ed., Visions of America: Landscape as Metaphor in the Late Twentieth Century, New York, 1994, pp. 168-169 and 173 (illustrated in color, fig. 1). P. Loubier, "Les Allégories de Mark Tansey au crepuscule du modernisme" in Parachute, 1998, vol. 91, p. 50 (illustrated in color). M.C. Taylor, The Picture in Question: Mark Tansey and the Ends of Representation, Chicago, 1999, pp. 44-45, 47-49, 79 and 95.






The Grand Canal, Venice, Looking South-East from San Stae to the Fabbriche Nuove di Rialto oil on canvas 18Ω x 30¬ in. (47 x 77.8 cm.) $2,500,000-3,500,000



PROVENANCE: (probably) Joseph Smith, later British Consul, Venice. Daniel H. Farr, Philadelphia. Alfred Pillsbury, Minneapolis. Minneapolis Institute of Arts, Minneapolis. Rosenberg and Stiebel, New York (by 1957). Acquired in 1959 for the Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Castagnola, Switzerland. Private collection, United Kingdom (acquired from the above, circa 1980); sale, Christie's, London, 4 July 1997, lot 120. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: Rotterdam, Museum Boymans-Van Beuningen, Collectie ThyssenBornemisza (Schloss Rohoncz): 110 Meesterwerken europese Schilderkunst van de XIVe-XVIIIe eeuw, November 1959-January 1960, no. 98. Essen, Museum Folkwang, Sammlung Thyssen-Bornemisza: 110 Meisterwerke der europäischen Malerei des 14. Bis 18. Jahrhunderts, January-March 1960, no. 98. Pfäffikon, Seedamm-Kulturzentrum and Geneva, Musée d'art et d'histoire, Art Vénitien en Suisse et au Liechtenstein, June-November 1978, p. 180, no. 160 (illustrated, p. 39; detail illustrated in color, pl. IX). Seattle, Experience Music Project, DoubleTake: From Monet to Lichtenstein, April 2006-January 2007. Maine, Portland Art Museum; Washington, D.C., The Phillips Collection; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; New Orleans Museum of Art and Seattle Art Museum, Seeing Nature: Landscape Masterworks from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, October 2015-May 2017, no. 6 (illustrated in color).

LITERATURE: W.G. Constable, Canaletto, Oxford, 1962, vol. II, pp. 290-291 and 606, no. 246(a) (as 'certainly by Canaletto' and datable to '1730 or a little earlier'). L. Puppi, L'opera completa del Canaletto, Milan, 1968, no. 120B. The Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Castagnola, 1969, vol. I, p. 56, no. 52 and vol. II, p. 274. J.G. Links, Views of Venice by Canaletto engraved by Antonio Visentini, Toronto and London, 1971, p. 52. J.G. Links, Canaletto: The Complete Paintings, St. Albans, 1981, p. 44, under no. 120. E. Martini, La pittura veneziana del Settecento, Udine, 1982, p. 81 (illustrated in color, pl. XX). A. Corboz, Canaletto. Una Venezia immaginaria, Milan, 1985, vol. II, p. 632, no. P 226. D. Succi, ed., Canaletto & Visentini: Venezia & Londra, exh. cat., Venice, 1986-1987, pp. 47 and 240, under no. 23 (illustrated, p. 47, fig. 28; where Visentini’s print is erroneously said to be after the Harvey painting (entry by D. Succi)). A.B. Kowalczyk and M. Da Cortà Fumei, eds., Bernardo Bellotto 17221780, exh. cat., Venice and Houston, 2001, p. 78, under no. 11 (entry by C. Beddington).

ENGRAVED: A. Visentini in his Urbis Venetiarum Prospectus Celebriores, Venice, 1742, Part II, no. 5.





TURNER, R.A. (London 1775-1851)

The Lungernsee by Moonlight, Switzerland pencil and watercolor with some pen dipped in color, on wove paper watermarked 'JWhatman/ 1846' 15º x 22º in. (38.4 x 56.2 cm). Executed circa 1848 $2,500,000-3,500,000



“[Turner is] the link between tradition and Impressionism.” HENRI MATISSE PROVENANCE: Sophia Caroline Booth. Lewin Barned Mozley; sale, Christie’s, London, 27 May 1865, lot 183 (titled A Mountain Lake in Switzerland; evening effect; to Vokins). with Thomas Agnew and Sons, London. John Heugh; sale, Christie's, London, 24 April 1874, lot 83 (titled Lake Nemi, to Agnew). with Thomas Agnew & Sons, London. John Knowles (acquired from the above); sale, Christie's, London, 19 May 1877, lot 92 (to Agnew). with Thomas Agnew & Sons, London. William Carver (acquired from the above). Mrs. Williams. C.W. Dyson Perrins. Anon. sale, Sotheby's, London, 26 April 1959, lot 68. Leggatt and Agnew (acquired at the above sale). Mrs. C.W. Garnett (by 1967). with Richard Green, London. Guy and Myriam Ullens; sale, Sotheby's, London, 4 July 2007, lot 4. Acquired at the above sale by the late owner.

EXHIBITED: London, Leggatt Brothers, Turner, 1960, no. 13 (titled Lake Nemi). London, Agnew's, 150th Anniversary Exhibition: Paintings and Watercolours by JMW Turner, RA, 1967, no. 78 (titled Lake Nemi). Tokyo, National Museum of Western Art, and Kyoto Municipal Museum of Art, Turner, 1986, no. 111 (titled Lake Nemi). London, Tate Gallery, Turner: The Final Years, 1993, no. 68 (titled Lake Nemi). London, Royal Academy of Arts, Turner: The Great Watercolours, 2000, no. 109 (titled A Swiss Lake and dated circa 1848). Kunsthaus Zürich, William Turner, Licht und Farbe, 2002, no. 187 (titled A Swiss Lake: The Lungernsee and dated circa 1848).

LITERATURE: W. Armstrong, Turner, 1902, p. 268 (titled Lake Nemi and dated circa 1840 (Mrs Williams)). A. Wilton, The Life and Work of JMW Turner, Zürich, 1979, p. 487, no. 1560 (titled Lake Nemi). E. Joll, Turner, London, 1986, pp. 268-269, no. 111 (titled Lake Nemi and dated circa 1848-1850). R. Upstone, Turner: The Final Years, London, 1993, p. 66, no. 68 (titled Lake Nemi). I. Warrell, Through Switzerland with Turner, London, 1995, p. 155, Finished Watercolours of c. 1845-51, no. 7 (titled possibly Lake Nemi). E. Shanes, Turner the Great Watercolours, London, 2000, p. 237, no. 109 (titled A Swiss Lake and dated circa 1848). A. Wilton, William Turner, Licht und Farbe, Ostfildern, 2002, pp. 243 and 360, no. 187 (titled A Swiss Lake: The Lungernsee and dated circa 1848). J. Piggott, "Salerooms Report" in Turner Society News, no. 107, December 2007, p. 14. E. Shanes, The Life and Masterworks of J.M.W. Turner, London, 2008, pp. 238-239 (titled The Lungerer See, Switzerland, and dated circa 1848). D. Hill, "The Lungernsee and Brunig Pass" in Sublimesites online blog, 1 February 2014. M. Krause, "Mrs Booth’s Turners" in British Art Journal, 2021, vol. XXII, no.1, p. 8.





JOHNS (b. 1930) Usuyuki signed and dated 'Jasper Johns 1979-'81' (on the reverse of the left canvas) triptych—oil and charcoal on canvas, in artist-appointed frame Each canvas: 27¡ x 15º in. (69.5 x 38.7 cm.) Framed: 29¡ x 49º in. (74.6 x 125.1 cm.) Executed in 1979-1981 $10,000,000-15,000,000



“My experience of life is that it’s very fragmented. In one place, certain kinds of things occur, and in another place, a different kind of thing occurs. I would like my work to have some vivid indication of those differences. I guess, in painting, it would amount to different kinds of space being represented in it.” JASPER JOHNS

PROVENANCE: Leo Castelli Gallery, New York. Douglas S. Cramer, Miami (acquired from the above, by May 1983). Samuel and Ronnie Heyman, New York (acquired from the above, 1998). Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2015.

EXHIBITED: Houston, Janie C. Lee Gallery, Janie C. Lee Honoring Leo Castelli, March-April 1982. New York, Craig F. Starr Gallery, Jasper Johns: Usuyuki, October-December 2006. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Jasper Johns: Mind/Mirror, September 2021-February 2022 (illustrated in color, p. 126, no. 24).

LITERATURE: R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture; Painting 1971-2014, New York, 2016, vol. 3, p. 88, no. P220 (illustrated in color, p. 89). R. Bernstein, Jasper Johns: Catalogue Raisonné of Painting and Sculpture; Painting 1971-2014, New York, 2016, vol. 5, p. 172, no. P220 (illustrated in color).

Jasper Johns in his studio, Stony Point, New York. Photo: Hans Namuth. Courtesy Center for Creative Photography, University of Arizona © 1991 Hans Namuth Estate. Artwork: © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY.





FRANCIS (1923-1994)

Composition in Blue and Black oil on canvas 77 x 51º in. (195.6 x 130.2 cm.) Painted in 1955 $4,000,000-6,000,000



“Color is light on fire. Each color is the result of burning, for each substance burns with a particular color.” SAM FRANCIS



Arthur Tooth & Sons Gallery, London. E.J. Power, London. Ronald O. Perelman, New York (1994). Gagosian Gallery, New York. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2001.

R. Melville, "Exhibitions" in Architectural Review, April 1957, vol. 121, no. 723, pp. 269-270 (illustrated). R. Jacobs, "Jazz ou la peinture investie/ Jazz or the Invested Painting" in Aujourd'hui, July 1958, no. 18 (illustrated). Time Magazine, 4 August 1958 (illustrated). I. Penn, "8 New York Painters with International Influence" in Vogue, October 1959, p. 90 (illustrated). N. Ponente, Modern Painting: Contemporary Trends, New York, 1960, p. 139 (illustrated). Y. Tono, Sam Francis: The Flesh of Mist, Tokyo, 1964 (illustrated on the front cover). Contemporary American Painters, Geneva, 1966, p. 4 (illustrated). Sam Francis: Paintings 1947-1990, exh. cat., Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art, 1999, p. 34 (illustrated, fig. 32). D. Burchett-Lere, ed. Sam Francis: Catalogue Raisonné of Canvas and Panel Paintings, 1946-1994, Berkeley, 2011, p. 69, no. 170 (illustrated, fig. 72; illustrated again on DVD I).

EXHIBITED: Iserlohn, Haus der Kunst and Kunstmuseum Düsseldorf, Junge amerikanische Kunst, April-June 1956, no. 23 (illustrated). Cambridge, Arts Council Gallery; New York, City Art Gallery; Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery; Newcastle, Hatton Gallery and Nottingham, University Art Gallery, New Trends in Painting: Some Pictures from a Private Collection: Tachisme and Action Painting, October-May 1957, p. 11, no. 27. London, Arthur Tooth and Sons, Ltd., The Exploration of Paint: Karel Appel, Jean Dubuffet, Sam Francis, Paul Jenkins, Jean-Paul Riopelle, January-February 1957, no. 15 (titled Blue and Black). New York, Museum of Modern Art; Kunsthalle Basel; Milan, Galleria Civica d'Arte Moderna; Madrid, Museo Nacional de Arte Contemporáneo; Berlin, Hochschule für Bildende Künste; Amsterdam, Stedelijik Museum and Brussels, Palais des Beaux-Arts, The New American Painting, April 1958-January 1959, no. 13 (illustrated). Paris, Musée national d’art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Jackson Pollock et la nouvelle peinture américaine, January-February 1959, no. 12 (illustrated). New York, Museum of Modern Art and London, Tate Gallery, The New American Painting, February-September 1959, p. 31, no. 12 (illustrated). London, Tate Gallery, Painting and Sculpture of a Decade, 1954-1964, April-June 1964, pp. 208-209, no. 258 (illustrated). Düsseldorf, Kunsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, Kunst aus USA nach 1950, October 1977-January 1978, p. 23 (illustrated). Bonn, Kunst- und Ausstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, Sam Francis, February-April 1993, pp. 106-107 (illustrated). New York, Cohen Gallery, Sam Francis: The Fifties, May-June 1993 (illustrated). Berlin, Martin-Gropius-Bau and London, Royal Academy of Arts, Amerikanische Kunst im 20. Jahrhundert: Malerei und Plastik 1913-1993, MayDecember 1993. Hong Kong, Kwai Fung Hin, Rue de Moulin Vert, May-June 2018.

Sam Francis in his studio, New York, 1957. Photo: Arnold Newman / Getty Images. Artwork: © 2022 Sam Francis Foundation, California / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.





HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

The Conversation signed, titled and dated 'The Conversation 1980 David Hockney' (on the reverse) acrylic on canvas 60 x 60 in. (152.4 x 152.4 cm.) Painted in 1980 $5,000,000-7,000,000



“Now what I have always longed to do was to be able to paint like I draw, most artists would tell you that, they would all like to paint like they can draw… I am beginning to find the way.” DAVID HOCKNEY



Gilbert de Botton, London. Private collection, Chicago (by 2002). Private collection, Chicago (acquired from the above, 2012). Richard Gray Gallery, Chicago. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2016.

S. Howgate and B. Stern Shapiro, David Hockney: Portraits, London, 2006, p. 29, no. 14 (illustrated). M. Livingstone and K. Heymer, Hockney's Portraits and People, London, 2005 (illustrated on the cover). M. Livingstone, David Hockney, London, 1996, p. 213, no. 162 (illustrated). N. Stangos, David Hockney: That's the Way I See it, London, 1993, p. 48, no. 41 (illustrated). P. Webb, "Hockney in Recline," The Observer, 16 October 1988, section 5, p. 5. P. Webb, Portrait of David Hockney, New York, 1988, pp. 180 and 200. C. Sykes, David Hockney: The Biography, 1975-2012, New York, 2014, p. 174.

EXHIBITED: New York, Rosenberg and Stiebel, Collecting at the Top: The Tate International Council, May-June 1988. Tokyo, Odakyu Grand Gallery; Gunma, The Museum of Modern Art; Funabashi, The Seibu Museum and Osaka, Umeda Hankyu Gallery, David Hockney, April-October 1989 (illustrated, pl. 16). Jerusalem, The Israel Museum, British Figurative Painting of the 20th Century, November 1992-February 1993, pp. 53-54 (illustrated). Chicago, Richard Gray Gallery, David Hockney: The Thrill is Spatial, November 2013-January 2014, pp. 9-10 (illustrated). Seattle, Pivot Art + Culture, A Closer Look: Portraits from the Paul G. Allen Family Collection, December 2016-March 2017.

David Hockney, Paris, 1979. Photo: Derek Hudson / Getty Images.





MIRO (1893-1983) Oiseau signed and numbered 'Miró 4/6' (on the left leg); inscribed with foundry mark 'FONDERIA BONVICINI VERONA ITALIA' (on the right leg) bronze with dark brown patina Height: 78æ in. (200 cm.) Conceived in 1981 and cast in 1986 $4,000,000-6,000,000



“It is in sculpture that I will create a truly phantasmagoric world of living monsters.” JOAN MIRO

PROVENANCE: Galerie Maeght-Lelong, Paris. Danese Gallery, New York. Acquired by the late owner, 1999.

LITERATURE: D. Lelong, Joan Miró: Sculptures, catalogue raisonné, 1928-1982, Paris, 2006, p. 360, no. 391 (another cast illustrated in color).







THIEBAUD (1920-2021) Café Cart signed and dated '♡ Thiebaud 2012' (lower left); signed and dated again '♡ Thiebaud 2012' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 30 x 40 in. (76.2 x 101.6 cm.) Painted in 2012 $3,000,000-5,000,000



“He… sees large truths in small things.” VIRGINIA M. MECKLENBURG

PROVENANCE: Acquavella Galleries, New York. Acquired from the above by the late owner, 2012.

EXHIBITED: New York, Acquavella Galleries, Inc. Wayne Thiebaud: A Retrospective, October-November 2012. pp. 156 and 186 (illustrated in color, p. 157).












Quatre baigneuses


signed and dated ‘Picasso 21’ (lower right) oil on panel 4 x 6 in. (10 x 15.1 cm.) Painted in 1921

Untitled standing mobile—sheet metal, wire and paint 22Ω x 34 x 5 in. (57.2 x 86.4 x 12.7 cm.) Executed circa 1942



“Picasso in the 1920s becomes a modern Michelangelo.” KENNETH SILVER

Featured in Alfred H. Barr Jr.’s landmark retrospective of the artist held at The Museum of Modern Art, New York in 1939, Picasso: Forty Years of his Art, Quatre baigneuses of 1921 presents a timeless, arcadian idyll, a vision of ancient Italy or Greece perhaps. While both style and subject matter would appear to seem at odds within the modernist avant-garde, Picasso’s Neo-Classicism was not only perfectly in keeping with the prevailing “Return to Order” that dominated the post-war art world, but at the same time, his daringly overt, sometime parodic, exaggerated embrace of this idiom at this time ensured that he continued to pave the way for his contemporaries. “By explicitly embracing history,” Michael Fitzgerald has written, “Picasso escaped the strictures of an increasingly rigid modernism to define a more vital alternative” (“The Modernists’ Dilemma: Neoclassicism and the Portrayal of Olga Khokhlova,” in Picasso and Portraiture, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1996, p. 297).

Paul Cezanne, Grandes baigneuses, 18951905. National Gallery, London. Photo: Luisa Ricciarini / Bridgeman Images.


At the time that Picasso painted Quatre baigneuses, his artistic imagination was steeped in the classical world of the past. Successive stays in the south of France in the preceding years, including Juan les Pins in 1920, meant that Mediterranean classicism had seeped in to his psyche, as he began producing depictions of nude men and women reclining on the beach, alone or in groups, in both oil paint, pastel, as well as pencil drawings.

These volumetric nudes reached their apogee in Picasso’s art the following year. More and more compositions flowed from Picasso’s hand, as he explored evermore complex arrangements of figures and gradually increased their size and form. As the present work demonstrates, Picasso transformed his bathers into weighty, monumental figures, their bodies enlarged and rounded, painted with dappled strokes that lend the sense they are carved from stone. In this way, Picasso formed his own Neo-Classical idiom, borrowing different parts of the antique in the creation of a novel aesthetic. Carefully framed by the terracotta-colored walls, with an expansive vista stretching out beyond, Quatre baigneuses offers a window onto a faraway world—an escapist vision of a different era. At the time that Picasso painted the present work, his personal life was in the midst of change. In February 1921, his wife, Olga, had given birth to the couple’s first child, a son, Paul. A Russian-born ballet dancer whom Picasso had met when she was performing with the Ballets Russes in 1917, Olga had a clear vision of how she wanted her and her husband to live: as key members of the Parisian beau monde, holidaying in the fashionable south of France, and part of the social whirl of the city. After Paul’s birth, Françoise Gilot later described, “Olga’s ambitions made increasingly greater demands on [Picasso’s] time… then began his period of what the French call le high-life, with nurse, chambermaid, cook, chauffeur and all the rest, expensive and at the same time distracting. In spring and summer they went to Juan-les-Pins, Cap d’Antibes, and Monte Carlo, where—as in Paris—Pablo found himself more and more involved with fancy dress balls, masquerades, and all the other high jinks of the 1920s, often in company with Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, the Gerald Murphys, the Count and Countess Etienne de Beaumont, and other international birds of paradise” (quoted in J. Richardson, A Life of Picasso: The Triumphant Years 1917-1932, New York, 2007, vol. III, p. 173). Gradually, the couple’s marriage deteriorated, and Picasso’s desire to be part of this bourgeois world waned. Regarded in this context, the present work can be seen as an escapist fantasy of an alternate realm.

Alexander Calder’s Untitled epitomizes the artist’s self-assured displays of color, form, and movement—three elements with which he revolutionized the genre of sculpture. The origins of this unique combination can be found in the artist’s formative years spent in Europe, yet it became a resolutely American art form and changed how the art world regarded sculpture. Executed a decade after Calder originally devised this “mobile” form, the present work displays the early promise of this new kinetic type of sculpture, and is one of the most elegant examples of Calder’s work from this pivotal period. It set the tone for both this new art form, and of Calder’s mastery of it, marking him out as one of the most innovative and forward thinking artists of his generation. Supported on three elegantly turned legs, Calder engineers a complex arrangement of metal armatures which in turn support a series of counterbalanced colored discs. Suspended in mid-air, each circular form springs into life when it comes into contact with a breath of wind; while each moves independently, it also forms part of a graceful holistic arc that sweeps through 360°. Calder’s standing mobiles have been described as his “most spectacular creations from this period” (M. Prather, Alexander Calder, exh. cat, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 1998, p. 141). When they were first exhibited at the Pierre Matisse Gallery in New York in 1941, Art News reported that it was the artist’s best show to date, while a reviewer for the New York Sun mused, “What niceties of balance and mechanical adjustment all this indicates leave the layman lost in wonder. For these mobiles have no motive power of their own. Yet the mere passing of a person through the room sets them in motion and weaves his slow or brusque movement into visible harmonies and suggestive as the strains of music” (quoted in ibid., p. 141). Calder’s development of his iconic mobile form was indebted to a visit he made to the Paris studio of Piet Mondrian in October 1930. The American artist acknowledged that his “conversion” to abstraction was a result of this visit, which had been like “the baby being slapped to make his lungs start working” and giving him “the shock that converted me” (quoted in J. Perl, Calder. The Conquest of Time: The Early Years, 1898-1940, New York, 2017, p. 338). What struck him was not necessarily the paintings that he

saw, but the light and the whiteness of the space, and Mondrian’s use of color, particularly black, red, and—of course—the white. After this visit, Calder recognized that abstract art could become something physical, something three-dimensional, and a wraparound experience. The organic forms in the present work also have much in common with those of Calder’s close friend, the painter Joan Miró. The pair met in Paris in 1928 and Miró arguably became Calder’s greatest confidante from that time forward. Both were interested in bringing elements of spontaneity into their art, and both sought to depict elements from nature through the use of abstract forms. There are clear parallels between the work of the two artists as both Calder and Miró incorporate floating biomorphic forms which are connected by delicate black lines in their work. In the case of Miró, the forms float against atmospheric backgrounds, while in the case of Calder, they literally float in the air. One of Calder’s most accomplished works from this period, Untitled is a prime example of the artistic form that would come to dominate the rest of his career. His innovative use of color, movement and organic forms infused new life into a genre that had—literally—been static for millennia. This work is the result of both Calder’s unfettered imagination and his unparalleled technical skill. His unique ability to produce works that contain both aesthetic and kinetic dynamism mark him out as one of the most important artists of the twentieth century. This work is registered in the archives of the Calder Foundation, New York, under application number A18552.

Joan Miró, L’échelle de l’évasion, 1940. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © Successió Miró / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris 2022. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / Licensed by Art Resource, NY.








Leçon par observation: Ecrits et dessins par René Magritte signed and titled 'Lessons by Observation: writings and drawings by René Magritte' (upper left) gouache, watercolor and brush and pen and India ink on paper 13º x 17√ in. (33.7 x 45.5 cm.) Executed in 1953

(1879-1973) The Flatiron

signed and dated 'Steichen MDCCCCV' (lower right) gum-bichromate over platinum print Sheet: 19 x 14 3/4 in. (48.3 x 37.5 cm.) 1904, printed 1905



Leçon par observation: Ecrits et dessins par René Magritte was commissioned by André Breton in late 1952, for a special edition of the American magazine Flair that he was working on alongside Marcel Duchamp. Writing to Magritte on the 27 December, Breton requested the artist produce a new version of his celebrated series of illustrations known as Les mots et les images, which had appeared in the final issue of the seminal Surrealist journal La Révolution surréaliste in December 1929. Featuring a mixture of eighteen aphorisms and images, Les mots et les images acted as something of a manifesto for Magritte’s visual strategies at that point in his career. Questioning the relationship between an object, its image and its name, the work probed our understanding of reality in a completely novel way, forcing us to reconsider the link between what we see and the language we use to describe it, an idea that would eventually lead to the artist’s famed painting La trahison des images (Sylvester, no. 303). Rather than revisiting the imagery from Les mots et les images, in Leçon par observation: Ecrits et dessins par René Magritte Magritte chose to elaborate on the original concept, creating an updated version which offered a glimpse into the ideas that were occupying his imagination at this time. The vignettes feature a number of motifs that had appeared in recent paintings or gouaches, such as the artist’s 1951 selfportrait Le sorcier (Sylvester, no. 766) and La main heureuse (Sylvester, no. 1340), or indeed contain imagery that would inform future Les mots et les images in La Révolution surréaliste, no. 12, December 1929. © 2022 C. Herscovici / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Banque d’Images, ADAGP / Art Resource, NY.

compositions, including Le bon exemple (Sylvester, no. 793) and Le carrousel d’Esclarmonde (Sylvester, no. 788). Though the images often revel in the humorous and the absurd, such as the man on all-fours being taken for a walk on a leash by a well-dressed couple at lower left, the accompanying texts lend a more serious, contemplative note to the composition. Statements such as “However far one may be from an object, one is never completely separated from it,” and “The comprehension of exactitude does not hinder the pleasure of inexactitude,” conjure an intriguing juxtaposition between the almost philosophical musings of the artist and the amusing motifs they accompany. Leçon par observation: Ecrits et dessins par René Magritte is also unusual within Magritte’s oeuvre for its use of English as the primary language for the textual elements. A decision no doubt driven by Flair’s audience, the resulting text is filled with minor misspellings and slippages, which add another layer of complexity to Magritte’s message, causing us to question our understanding of the work. Though the special edition of Flair was never realized, an inscription in Breton’s hand on the reverse of Leçon par observation: Ecrits et dessins par René Magritte indicates that he had intended to publish the illustrations in color, spread over two pages. After plans for the project fell apart, the original watercolor remained with Breton, and was later gifted to a friend.

Edward Steichen’s The Flatiron, 1904, undeniably one of the artist’s greatest works, is a triumph of technical darkroom prowess and Pictorial aesthetics. Showcasing the young artist at the height of his powers, the print of The Flatiron offered here is grand in scale, painterly in first impression, definitively photographic in the underlying structure of the piece, moody in atmosphere, and containing a richness of color that is entrancing and mysterious to the naked eye (for a scholarly essay on Steichen’s work of this period, and on The pond–Moonlight, the only true counterpart to the present work, see D. Bethel in Important Photographs from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, auction cat., New York, 14-15 February, 2006). A giant of the field of photography, Steichen stands alongside Alfred Stieglitz as one of the two most prominent figures who inarguably did more to shape the dialogue around photography as an art form than any others of their era. An artist, educator, publisher, eventually curator for The Museum of Modern Art and overall life-long champion of photography—Steichen remains one of the most engaging artists whose mastery of the high-drama of photographic image-making remains unmistakable and intact today. The 1890s witnessed the establishment of two movements, one high-brow, the other more populist: the Arts and Crafts movement, as elucidated by William Morris, and the other the efflorescence of the readily available box camera, with Kodak as king. “Entwined with the pictorialist’s ambition to make photographs morally salutary—an Arts and Crafts ideal—was the Aestheticist notion of earning them value and status as art objects” (J. Smith, Edward Steichen: The Early Years, Princeton, 1999, p. 9). Steichen steps onto this stage in the spring of 1900, a twenty-one year-old artist from Milwaukee—a painter and photographer—making his way to Paris to view Auguste Rodin’s pavilion at the Exposition Universelle. During his stop in New York, he took the opportunity to show Stieglitz his work. By the end of that unplanned meeting, Stieglitz had purchased three platinum prints, and Steichen had left behind a handful of prints to be used by the great “father of American photography” as he saw fit, either for publication or exhibition. A rich collaborative friendship began.

The Flatiron building, with its distinct prow-like shape, was designed by Daniel H. Burnham and had been completed in 1902. Steichen’s image of the building was at once lofty, moody and reminiscent of Japanese woodblock prints, which were in fashion at this time. The print is enhanced by the addition of multiple layers of color on top of the oversized platinum print, and in their coloring, recall James McNeill's Whistler’s Nocturnes. In this labor-intensive technique, the underlying structure of the image is first printed onto the platinum paper. One or more washes of potassium (or ammonium) bichromate are mixed with gum Arabic and infused with whatever watercolor pigment one chooses which are then brushed directly onto the platinum print and exposed to light. This layering process can be manipulated by hand (or brush) and repeated any number of times, adding a great amount of depth. Steichen was an unrivalled master of this technique. The results “lent itself to painterly evocations of the perceptual continuities between substances and spaces, surface and depth” (quoted in ibid., p. 162; see also for a discussion of print processes used by Steichen at this time). Given their difficulty of execution, the time involved, as well as costs, these various limitations precluded Steichen from making platinum-gum prints in any great number. At the time of this writing, only four examples of this image as platinum-gum prints are known to exist, three of which form part of the collection at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. This is the only known example in private hands. This particular print remained in the family, passing to John and Liz Steichen and later to Paul G. Allen, where it has remained for the last approximately twenty years.

James Abbott McNeill Whistler, Nocturne in Blue and Gold: Old Battersea Bridge, circa 1872-1875. Tate Gallery, London. Photo: © Tate, London / Art Resource, NY.

Steichen was an absolute master in the darkroom, and an innovative experimenter. Steichen’s darkroom work falls into four general printing categories: platinum, gum bichromate, direct carbon, and the gorgeous platinum-gum combination technique. The print we offer here falls into this last category. It is a particularly stunning example of what is perhaps his most iconic urban image.




HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

Four Different Kinds of Water signed 'Hockney' (on the reverse of the left canvas); signed again 'Hockney' (on the reverse of the second canvas from left) acrylic on canvas, in four parts Each: 14 x 10 in. (35.6 x 25.4 cm.) Painted in 1967 $3,000,000-5,000,000 David Hockney’s paintings of swimming pools are among the most iconic works of the post-war canon. Along with Andy Warhol’s Campbell’s Soup Cans and Roy Lichtenstein’s comic book-inspired canvases, they capture the exuberance of the age when Pop Art was born. Yet, as much as they are a celebration of pop culture, Hockney’s California inspired paintings are also a response to one of the most difficult technical challenges faced by artists: that of how to paint water. Executed the same year as A Bigger Splash (1967, Tate Gallery, London), Four Different Kinds of Water is comprised of four elements, each of which responds directly to that challenge. Ripples, shadows, reflections, and even the mass of the body of water itself are all reflected here in new and bold ways, they are Hockney’s solutions to the challenges that he relishes, and a triumph of both visual aesthetics and painterly technique.

Ed Ruscha, Pool #2, 1968, printed 1997. Tate, London. © Ed Ruscha. Photo: © Tate, London.

Each of the four intimately scaled canvases depicts fundamentally the same scene: an almost abstract view of a swimming pool complete with the accoutrements needed for a fun day in the water. Yet each presents a radically different view of that subject and of the qualities and characteristics of what is essentially a colorless and amorphous form. In order to meet the challenge, Hockney depicts the play of light and the reflections on both the surface of the pool and on the body of water below. Thus we see the undulating ripples of the water as they lap

against the edge of the pool, the dark shadows cast by the sides, and the edge of the pool in the water below, the fading sunlight as it tries to penetrate the depths of the water, and, finally, the shadows that dance across the bottom of the pool caused by the ripples on the surface. While Hockney has ostensibly painted a swimming pool, he has also painted something so much more: “The swimming pool paintings I did were about transparency: how would you paint water… The swimming pool, unlike the pond, reflects light. Those dancing lines I used to paint on the pools are really on the surface of the water. It was a graphic challenge” (quoted in M. Gayford, A Bigger Message: Conversations with David Hockney, New York, 2011, p. 195). The origins of Hockney’s iconic subject can be found in 1964, when he made his first trip to California. At the age of just 26 he had traveled from the UK, and as his plane descended into LAX airport he was overwhelmed by a sense of anticipation and excitement. “I remember flying in on an afternoon, and as we flew in over Los Angeles I looked down to see blue swimming pools all over, and I realized that a swimming pool in England would have been a luxury, whereas here they are not… (quoted in C. Simon Sykes, David Hockney The Biography 1937-1975: A Rake's Progress, London, 2011, p. 142). He had reached what he regarded as the promised land. “Hockney’s fascination,” writes Nikos Stangos, “was… bringing together many of the themes he most loved: the paradox of freezing in a still image what is never still, water, the swimming pool, this man-made container of nature, set in nature which it reflects, the play of light in water…” A consummate student of art history, Hockney would also have been fully aware that it was a task that had also occupied the minds of many of his artistic heroes. “The challenge to his imagination and creative ability of mastering a new technique, learning its limitations, accepting these limitations and transcending them is the same as that which has provided the fuel in all new phases of his work” (David Hockney: Paper Pools, New York, 1980, pp. 5-6). Hockney’s paintings of swimming pools have become some of the most loved canvases of his career. Four Different Kinds of Water takes the level of technical achievement of these paintings and builds on it a step further and in the process, introduces a whole new level of interest to these works. They are a demonstration of Hockney’s constant desire to innovate and invigorate the medium of painting, and prove once again why he is one of the most important painters of his generation.



“The painter has played on his keyboard of colors in the same way that a composer handles the diverse instruments to orchestrate a symphony.” 6



SIGNAC (1863-1935)

Concarneau, calme du matin (Opus no. 219, larghetto) signed and dated ‘P. Signac. 91’ (lower left); inscribed with Opus number ‘Op 219’ (lower right) oil on canvas 25√ x 32 in. (65.7 x 81.3 cm.) Painted in 1891 $28,000,000-35,000,000

Writing to the critic Félix Fénéon in September 1891, Paul Signac reported that he, his partner Berthe Roblès, and his friend Georges Lecomte were “wild with happiness” as they enjoyed the late summer sunshine in the small fishing village of Concarneau (quoted in R. Roslak, “Symphonic Seas, Oceans of Liberty: Paul Signac’s La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau),” in Nineteenth-Century Art Worldwide 4, no. 1, spring 2005, p. 28). After a tumultuous few months, in which his close friend and artistic colleague Georges Seurat had died unexpectedly at the age of just 31, Signac left Paris at the beginning of the summer, setting sail in his new boat, the racing yacht Olympia, in search of respite and inspiration. Situated on the southern coast of the Breton peninsula, not far from Pont-Aven, Concarneau became Signac’s base for this extended sojourn, offering him the perfect mixture of motifs and recreational activities—the artist had initially been drawn to the area by the series of summer regattas that were taking place along this stretch of the coast, several of which he competed in. It was during this stay, immersed in the rhythms and everyday rituals of the local fishing community, that Signac created the masterful and harmonious quintet of seascapes collectively known as La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau). Described by Fénéon as paintings that “cause a harmonious and nostalgic dream to blossom in the light,” these canvases stand among the artist’s most important pointillist works, and reveal the highly poetic vision that underpinned Signac’s art during this period of his career (quoted in M. Ferretti-Bocquillon, A. Distel, J. Leighton and S. Stein, eds., Signac: 1863–1935, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2001, p. 12).

Paul Signac on board Olympia, 1895. Photo: Paris, Archives Signac. Théo van Rysselberghe, Signac sur son bateau, 1886. Private collection.


For several years Signac had been experimenting with creating concentrated series of interconnected paintings, focusing primarily on images of water, in the form of rivers or the sea. From his views of Portrieux (Cachin, nos. 164-178), Cassis (Cachin, nos. 181-187) and SaintBriac (Cachin, nos. 205-208), to his meditative visions of the Seine at Les Andelys (Cachin, nos. 119-128) and Herblay (Cachin, nos. 188-196), he captured the timeless character of these watery landscapes, reveling in the play of reflections and light as it bounced off the surface of the water. Signac’s choice of view and motif within these compositions were often shaped by his own personal experiences as an avid yachtsman, a passion which had emerged during his youth—he purchased his first boat while still a teenager, marking the beginning of a life-long affair with the water that would see him own over thirty individual sailing crafts. As a result, he was particularly attuned to the shifting moods of the water, capturing the subtle changes that occurred with the slightest alteration in the direction of the wind or the tide. In many ways, the La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau) series can be seen as the culmination of these explorations, eloquently charting the shifting character of the sea at various times of day and in different weather conditions, while nevertheless remaining a harmonious, unified set when considered in concert with one another. At the same time, they are unique among Signac’s oeuvre, thanks to the addition of a musical subtitle to each of the canvases: scherzo (Cachin, no. 213), larghetto (the

present lot), allegro maestoso (Cachin, no. 217), adagio (Cachin, no. 220) and presto finale (Cachin no. 219). These additional titles, under which the quintet were originally exhibited in 1892, reveal the importance of music to Signac’s pointillist practice during these years, which the artist felt offered a powerful connection to the aims of the Neo-Impressionist technique. Concarneau. Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto) occupies the second position within this landmark series, depicting a flotilla of local sardine boats on a calm summer’s morning, their colorful sails arranged in regular, rhythmical patterns as they depart the harbor and head towards the horizon. Executed in a richly modulated array of complementary tones of orange and blue, the painting is a powerful illustration of the luminous, effervescent quality of Signac’s pointillist technique, at an important turning point in the history of the movement. Conceived in terms of tonalities, rhythms and harmonies, Signac’s pointillist paintings achieved an effect that was at once still and controlled, and yet alive with a thousand points of pigment, which shifted between small, precise dots of paint to longer, almost rectangular strokes that seem held together by a strange, internal gravity. Each touch of color was carefully considered for the effect it would bring to the canvas, from the initial swathes of luminous pigment which demarcate the underlying structure of the landscape, to the tiny points of color added at the final stage of the composition’s creation to reinforce the drawing or to enhance the subtle nuances Signac detected in the view. In Concarneau. Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto) the virtuosity of the pointillist technique is revealed in the gently rippling surface of the water, conveyed through subtly variegated passages of blue brushwork punctuated by small touches of yellow and orange to denote the play of light on the undulating sea. Similarly, Signac’s subtle manipulations in the density of his brushstrokes across the sky create a richly luminous tapestry of points that elegantly evoke the bright, clear tones of early morning sunlight and the crisp atmosphere of the day before the heat of the sun truly makes itself known.

The flotilla of fishing boats cut through the water at a serene pace as they depart the safety of the harbor, their distinctive sails arranged across the canvas in a regular, rhythmic pattern gradually receding into the distance. While firmly rooted in the fishing culture of Concarneau, the arrangement of the boats and the emphasis on flat, clear forms reveal the influence of Japanese prints, recalling the seascapes of artists such as Utagawa Hiroshige and Katsushika Hokusai. Like many of his contemporaries, Signac had fallen under the spell of japonisme during the 1880s and is known to have visited an exhibition of Japanese prints staged by the École des Beaux-Arts in the spring of 1890, where he was captivated by a number of Hiroshige’s landscape views, studying them at length. At the same time, the careful arrangement of the boats have led several commentators to compare them to musical notes within a score, the rippling water resembling the lines of sheet music, each vessel or rock acting as a visual representation of a musical sound. Signac’s theories regarding the connection between music and the visual arts had been percolating for several years by the point he embarked upon the La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau) series, influenced in part by his readings of Charles Baudelaire’s collection of essays Curiosités esthétiques and L’art romantique, several excerpts of which he included in his seminal treatise, D’Eugéne Delacroix au néoimpressionnisme. He often used musical analogies to describe different aspects of pointillism—a single touch of color on the canvas echoed “a note in a symphony,” while in the act of creation the Neo-Impressionist painter was reminiscent of a composer, directing individual instruments to create a harmonious whole. However, Signac believed it was in the experience of viewing a Neo-Impressionist painting that his most evocative comparison with music can be seen: “To listen to a symphony, one doesn’t situate oneself among the brass but in a place where the sounds of the diverse instruments blend in the way the composer wanted them to. After that one could enjoy dissecting the score, note by note, and in doing so study the manner of its orchestration. In the same way, in front of a divided picture, it will be advisable first to stand far enough away to perceive the impression of the whole, then stop and come closer to study the play of colored elements” (quoted in R. Roslak, op. cit., 2005, p. 18).

Paul Signac, Concarneau. Le Sardinier. Opus 218 (scherzo), 1891. Private collection. Paul Signac, Concarneau. Calme du soir. Opus 220 (allegro maestoso), 1891. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.


As Françoise Cachin has pointed out: “This was a preoccupation shared by all the Symbolist writers and painters. The system of harmonizing color schemes by combining divided colors reminded them of the role of notes and melodic lines in musical compositions” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 2001, p. 165). Signac had been explicitly emphasizing the connection between musical structure and his work since 1887, assigning opus numbers to his paintings in place of traditional titles. “Wouldn’t it be preferable,” the artist explained, “if instead of being encumbered by a subject and a title, the painter, like the musician, were to title his work Op. no….? His repertoire would thus be infinitely varied and his freedom would not be restrained by the subject” (quoted in ibid., p. 76). However, he brought this concept to its most dynamic and intriguing expression in the La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau) paintings. By identifying each canvas with a separate musical term in the form of a subtitle, Signac encouraged his viewers to consider the group as a pictorial symphony, each painting representing a different stage or movement in his examination of its central theme—the timeless passage of fishing boats as they traverse the sea. Signac achieves a sense of internal harmony across the series through a number of common features that tie the canvases together visually. For example, each composition holds a similar horizon line, dividing the scene into roughly equal expanses of sky and sea, while the same fishing vessels, with their distinctive sails and profiles, recur as the central motif in each work. They are also united by a color palette centered on the interplay of complementary tones of blue and yellow, covering the full spectrum of both colors, from violet to indigo, pale gold to vibrant orange. At the same time, this overall sense of harmony was counterbalanced by a through-line of contrast and variety, in which each canvas retained a sense of its own individuality. By focusing on different times of day and weather conditions, as well as subtly shifting the viewpoint so that the series begins close to shore before advancing farther out to sea, and back again, Signac conjures varying moods from one canvas to the next, fulfilling his goal for “unity in variety” or “variety in unity” (quoted in R. Roslak, op. cit., 2005, p. 21). This is particularly evident in the different sense of movement that fills each scene. For example, in Concarneau. Pêche à la sardine. Opus 221 (adagio), the boats appear almost stationary, the lack of any wind forcing the fishermen to pull in their sails and row themselves to shore at a slow pace. In contrast, Concarneau. Rentrée des chaloupes. Opus 222 (presto finale) contains a dramatic sense of fast, diagonal movement as it depicts the return of the fishing fleet to shore amid a heavy squall or storm, each boat buffeted sideways by the wind. It is here that the link between the canvases and their musical subtitles are most evident, with each term representing a different tempo, from extremely slow to fast-paced. In the present composition, Concarneau.

Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto), the overall atmosphere of the painting evokes the slow tempo suggested by the larghetto subtitle. The boats appear to edge smoothly through the still water, the gentle strength of the breeze indicated by the raised sails of each vessel, which hold their shape but do not appear to billow. Their evenly paced movement contrasts with the stillness and permanence of the large rock in the foreground, and the edge of the harbor just glimpsed on the right hand edge of the composition, their presence acting as anchors within the landscape. As Robyn Roslak has noted, it was this interplay between the subtitles and movement within the canvases that make the La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau) series “more complex and evocative than Signac’s earlier marines-in-series, none of which contain musical titles or represent natural or human activity in such a measured or harmonic way” (ibid., p. 35). Concarneau. Calme du matin. Opus, 219 (larghetto) made its public debut at the Neuvième exposition annuelle des XX in Brussels in February 1892, alongside the other four paintings from the series. This was an important event for the Neo-Impressionists, marking their first large scale public exhibition following Seurat’s untimely death. Alongside a large posthumous showing of Seurat’s oeuvre, which Signac was integral to organizing, the exhibition offered an important opportunity to showcase and promote the continued relevance and potential of the pointillist style, in the wake of this great artistic loss. Signac felt acutely the pressures associated with the exhibition—as Marina FerrettiBocquillon has explained, “The future of the Neo-Impressionist school lay in his hands”—and as such, the paintings he chose to include may be seen as an important statement of his commitment to the style, demonstrating not only the poetic potential of the pointillist method, but also a future direction for the movement (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 2001, p. 109). In contrast to the vast number of Seurat’s works on show, Signac was represented solely by the five La Mer: Les Barques (Concarneau) paintings at the exhibition, allowing visitors to concentrate on the power of the series and his harmonious vision. Signac exhibited the five paintings as a group again later that year at the Salon des Indépendants in Paris, at which point he updated their titles, adding a more descriptive heading to each canvas, in addition to the opus numbers and musical subtitles. The series received favourable attention from critics reviewing the show, with Edmond Cousturier writing: “With the recent pages of his symphonic La Mer, M. Signac continues to grace his canvases with the most lavish harmonies to enchant the eye” (quoted in ibid., p. 166). The series proved equally popular with collectors, with each of the compositions finding buyers quickly. The present work appears to have been the first painting to leave Signac’s studio, acquired just weeks after its completion in late 1891 by Henri-Nicolas Lejeune.

Paul Signac, Concarneau. Pêche à la sardine. Opus 221 (adagio), 1891. Museum of Modern Art, New York. Paul Signac, Concarneau. Rentrée des chaloupes. Opus 222 (presto finale), 1891. Private collection.




SEURAT (1859-1891)

Femme debout, en toilette de ville black Conté crayon on paper 12¡ x 7¡ in. (31.5 x 18.7 cm.) Drawn in 1884-1885 $1,000,000-1,500,000

Executed in a rich interplay of delicate strokes, Femme debout, en toilette de ville powerfully illustrates the captivating, compelling quality of Georges Seurat’s character studies in conté crayon, a material that he returned to repeatedly throughout his career and employed for his most successful drawings. Originally created as part of the artist’s extensive preparations for his monumental canvas Un dimanche d’été à l’Ile de La Grande Jatte, this exquisite work on paper records one of the central characters within the parade of elegantly attired figures that populated Seurat’s famous composition, many of whom he observed by chance during his visits to the Ile de La Grande Jatte. As Seurat himself explained in a letter to the critic Félix Fénéon dated 20 June 1890, he completed his first studies for Un dimanche d’été à l’Ile de La Grande Jatte at the same time that he began painting the large-scale composition, and over the following year and a half would move back and forth between drawings, outdoor sketches, and preparatory canvases in his studio, gradually changing and altering the final composition as his ideas developed. In Femme debout, en toilette de ville perhaps the most iconic figure within the final composition is singled out for study—the young woman wearing a fashionable walking dress, replete with a close fitting bodice Fashion illustration (detail) from Paris illustré, supplement, 35bis (October 1885), p. 4

and large bustle, who promenades with a male companion and a pet monkey. Exuding a refined elegance and clear sense of self-possession as she surveys the scene before her, the woman’s sumptuous, ostentatious attire grants her a clear prominence among the rest of the crowd, marking her out as a uniquely fashion-forward creature. Here, Seurat carefully studies the woman’s pose, analyzing the effect of subtle shifts and alterations in her posture and costume, as he worked to refine her character. For example, though her arms are only summarily sketched—one resting against the folds of her skirt, the other lifted to waist height, where it will grasp the handle of a parasol in the final composition—they are captured in soft, supple lines that analyze the distribution of weight within the limb, conveying a sense of relaxation that disappears in the oil painting. Similarly, Seurat plays with the height of his figure’s hat, raising its crown and adopting a sharply tapered design, while also adding full-length sleeves to the jacket. However, it is the woman’s skirt, with its highly fashionable “faux-cul” (literally, “fake-bottom”) that Seurat’s process of refinement is most evident. Mid-way through the process of painting Un dimanche d’été à l’Ile de La Grande Jatte, Seurat decided to enlarge the bustle of the woman’s dress, modifying its profile over the course of several drawings and oil studies in response to changing Parisian tastes, which favored evermore voluminous designs during the period 1884-1886. Here, Seurat examines the fall of the fabric, and the soft, rippling pleats of the skirt, capturing a sense of the layers of material and complex pattern of folds required to achieve the desired effect. By adopting a profile view, he may have been deliberately echoing images from contemporary fashion advertising and display, where models were typically shown side-on in the latest ready-to-wear designs in a manner that emphasized the exaggerated volume of the bustle. The rich materiality of Femme debout, en toilette de ville has appealed to a number of collectors through the twentieth century. Most notably, the drawing was acquired by the artist André Derain, and remained in his personal collection until his death in 1954. The work was subsequently purchased by Baronne Alix de Rothschild, an important collector and patron of the arts, who headed several French and international committees working for the promotion of art and music around the world.




SEURAT (1859-1891)

Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) oil on canvas 15Ω x 19æ in. (39.3 x 50 cm.) Painted in 1888 Estimate on Request

When Georges Seurat’s grand, tour-de-force Un dimanche d’été à l’Île de La Grande Jatte (De Hauke, no. 162; The Art Institute of Chicago) made its debut at the eighth and final Impressionist Exhibition in May 1886, it caused a sensation, launching the artist to the very forefront of the avant-garde and establishing his reputation as one of the most exciting voices of his generation. A monumental work that stood over six feet tall and ten feet long, the painting drew widespread attention in both the press and amongst the general public, who were astonished by its large cast of characters, conjured through a myriad of carefully placed, precise, colorful dots. While it was clear to contemporary viewers that the startling effect of Seurat’s innovative pointillist technique hailed the work as a bold new masterpiece of modern art, some commentators questioned whether the methodical, carefully planned application of paint would prove suitable for capturing a diverse range of subjects and scenes, particularly the subtle tones and soft contours of the human figure. In typical Seurat fashion, the artist did not respond to such criticism with a written statement of intent or defense in the papers. Instead, he retreated to his studio and began work on another largescale canvas which would meet the challenge head-on and showcase the full expressive potential of pointillism. The resulting composition, Les Poseuses (De Hauke, no. 185; The Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia), was to become one of the artist’s most celebrated and iconic works, a bold riposte that not only answered his critics directly but which also captured a sense of Seurat’s pioneering spirit and revolutionary vision, as he examined one of the most familiar and traditional motifs from the history of art through a thoroughly modern lens. Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) is an extremely rare work associated with this project—unlike other large-scale canvases from Seurat’s oeuvre such as La Grande Jatte or Une baignade à Asnières (De Hauke, no. 92; National Gallery, London), the artist created only a handful of drawings and oil studies in preparation for the final composition of Les Poseuses, the majority of which are now in the collections of esteemed museums around the world, including The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, and the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. Painted in 1888, the present composition is believed to have been created during the final stages of the painting’s completion, perhaps even after the canvas was finished, and is the most complete and refined version of the scene among the associated works. For much of the twentieth century, this small canvas has been the primary means for scholars and the public to study Seurat’s intricate play of color and light, and the complex compositional arrangement of Les Poseuses, as the larger canvas remained sequestered away in the collection of the Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia. As such, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) has played a pivotal role in the development of Seurat’s reception through the past century, its extensive exhibition and publication history a testament to its influence across the decades.


Seurat most likely began ruminating on the idea for Les Poseuses in the summer of 1886, while the eighth Impressionist exhibition was still open to the public. The critic Arsène Alexandre recalled meeting the artist during these months, and described the intense focus with which Seurat embarked on his latest painting, “working away with unbelievable concentration, cloistered in a little studio on the boulevard de Clichy, denying himself everything, spending all his slender means on expensive work. This time he meant to prove that this theory, so well suited to pleinair subjects, was applicable to large-scale figures and interiors” (quoted in R. L. Herbert, ed., Georges Seurat: 1859-1891, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1991, p. 273). The space mentioned by Alexandre was the artist’s new studio at 128bis, boulevard de Clichy. Here, as Gustave Kahn so evocatively recalled, Seurat had “a tiny cell containing a low, narrow bed opposite some old canvases turned to the wall, the Baignade and some marines. The white-walled studio was hung with souvenirs from the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, a small picture from Guillaumin, a Constantin Guys, some pictures by Forain, canvases and drawings to which he had grown accustomed and that had become colored patches on the wall, a red divan, a few chairs, a small table with some favorite journals, books by young writers, brushes and paints, and a wad of tobacco. Leaning on and completely concealing the panel, La Grande Jatte…” (quoted in ibid., p. 404). This light-filled space, intended purely for art making, became the setting for Les Poseuses, its simple furnishings and cluster of pictures on the wall providing the backdrop to the trio of models, who appear to be waiting for the day’s activities to begin. The initial studies for Les Poseuses appear to have sprung directly from the figure, as Seurat began to test his technique in the depiction of the nude, perhaps prompted by discussions with Félix Fénéon during this period. The central character seems to have been the first element to emerge from the artist’s imagination, appearing in both a loosely worked oil study (De Hauke, no. 179; Musée d’Orsay, Paris) and a drawing (De Hauke, no. 664; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York) in 1886. As the year progressed, the artist created several more painted studies, from a small sketch of the overall compositional plan (De Hauke, no. 180; Private collection), to a trio of refined paintings examining each of the individual women in isolation (De Hauke, nos. 181-183; Musée d’Orsay, Paris). Though the precise ordering of their creation cannot be definitively established, together these studies reveal the gradual evolution of Seurat’s ideas, as he clarified each of the various elements in his pictorial puzzle and began to settle on the details of their final forms. For example, between the first study of the central figure and the Musée d’Orsay panel of the same character, the woman’s pose shifts, as she adopts a contrapposto stance that allows for a more natural, and relaxed impression. She also appears more mature and confident than the delicate adolescent suggested in the initial drawing and oil sketch, her direct gaze and forthright stance suggesting she was an established model, with plenty of experience.

In a letter to Paul Signac dated June 1887, Camille Pissarro mentioned that Seurat was making headway with Les Poseuses, informing their mutual friend that he “has already finished some of the background” (quoted in ibid., p. 277). In keeping with Seurat’s working practice on his previous large-scale canvases, the artist created a series of finely worked drawings in conté crayon at this time, as he refined his vision of certain elements within the composition. Unlike La Grande Jatte, where the majority of these sketches focused on individual characters within the crowd, the drawings associated with Les Poseuses center on the objects and accoutrements of the studio, from the costumes and accessories scattered around the space alongside the models, to the furniture that frames them. In Coin de l’atelier; Le fourneau (De Hauke, no. 661; Musée d’Orsay, Paris), Seurat presents an unusually cropped view of the small stove at the corner of the studio, examining the fall of the shadows in the space between it and the nearby stool, covered in softly draped fabrics. According to Fénéon, the present Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) was a replica of the finished composition, rather than a carefully constructed study produced as the artist refined the scene over the course of its completion, as indicated in the exhibition catalogue for the 1892 Paris Indépendents, where the work made its public debut. If Fénéon’s assertion is correct, this would make it the only instance in which Seurat created a reduced version of one of his large-scale toiles de lute ("canvases of combat"), a term he used to describe his most ambitious compositions. However, rather than a small replica which stood as a souvenir, or a loosely finished aide-de-memoir of the completed work intended for future reference, the present oil appears to have been a more complex venture, as Seurat attempted to solve several painterly issues that he had encountered while creating the larger painting. For example, in Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) Seurat uses larger, more visible dots of pigment in his study of the interplay of complementary colors through the scene, generating a livelier, more vibrant surface that appears to vibrate before the eye. From the earliest stages of its development, Seurat had intended Les Poseuses to stand as a dynamic, monumental showcase for the pointillist technique. The artist believed such a painstaking, carefully applied method could combat the prevailing spontaneous, “disordered” style of Impressionism, offering instead an art of permanence, of order and logic. Seurat’s method was largely influenced by the theories of French chemist Michel-Eugène Chevreul (1786-1889), which he learned of while studying at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. In his essay De la Loi du contraste simultané des couleurs, published in 1839, Chevreul showed that one color affects an adjacent color through a complementary nuance in tone. Applied to painting, this meant that color pigments were no longer mixed either on the palette or directly on canvas, but instead placed as small dabs side by side; the color or lighting effect taking place, from a suitable distance, in the observer's eye. In an 1890 letter from Seurat to Fénéon, the artist explained that he also knew the book Modern

Chromatics, with Applications to Art and Industry, published by American physicist Odgen Rood in 1879, and translated into French two years later. Rood made the distinction between color as light and color as pigment; in his view, mixing pigments reduced their luminous effect. Around 1884, Seurat progressively assimilated these theories into his own vision of optical effects, beginning with his numerous oil panels, and culminating in La Grande Jatte. By rooting his technique in the most recent scientific theories, Seurat proclaimed his faith in the ability to construct order out of sensory data, to subject even the most ephemeral aspects of color and light to close observation and translate it into a repeatable, artistic pattern. In Les Poseuses, and its associated studies, Seurat pushes the method to new experimental ends, eschewing the bright sunlight and vibrant tones of the fashionable attire seen in La Grande Jatte, and instead adapting it to explore a more complex, nuanced palette. This is seen most clearly in the luminous, milky complexions of the three models, which seem to glow against the pale lilac expanse of the studio walls, a highly sophisticated effect achieved through an intricate network of dots, that convey not only the delicate play of light as it falls from an unseen window, but also the subtle shifts in skin tone across their bodies. However, a number of contemporary commentators felt that the highly refined, almost polished surface of the final Les Poseuses was overly harsh on the eye, losing some of the sensual allure of the nude female forms. As Signac remarked in 1897, the miniscule points of pigment on such a large scale “gave a mechanical finish to this fine painting… The plain portions, such as the wall, covered with these tiny strokes, as unpleasant, and the labor seems futile and harmful, giving a grey tonality to the whole” (quoted in ibid., p. 292). Instead, it was in works such as Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) that Seurat’s pointillism was at its most dynamic, conveying the scene through a complex, homogenous skein of colored dots. Indeed, struck by the almost abstract qualities of the studies for Les Poseuses, Linda Nochlin has evocatively conveyed the richness of the artist’s technique in these works, describing them as “a miracle of diaphanous impalpability, of floating atomic particles of color, perceptual atoms that at once deconstruct the solid mass of the body yet merge to suggest form and volume, veiling and constructing the body at the same time” (“Body Politics: Seurat’s Poseuses,” in Representing Women, London, 1999, p. 232). In the present canvas, Seurat’s pointillism is fresher, the hues more vibrant, the dots more prominent and harmonious in shape and size, resulting in softer contours and a tightly woven tapestry of complementary tones that reveals the sheer complexity of Seurat’s technique. Instead of the overall silvery tone of the final, larger painting, in Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) the palette is warmer, its tones richer, while the more dynamic pattern of dots captivates the eye and keeps it moving from one form to the other, causing objects to slowly dissolve and reform from one moment to the next.

Georges Seurat, Étude pour ‘Les poseuses’, 1886-1887. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photo: © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Robert Lehman Collection, 1975. Georges Seurat, Poseuse debout, de face, étude pour “Les poseuses”, 1886-1887. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Georges Seurat, Poseuse de face, 1887. Musée d’Orsay, Paris.


However, it was not only in the application of paint that Seurat forged a radical new idiom. Having challenged the Impressionists on their own turf in both La Grande Jatte and Une baignade à Asnières, in Les Poseuses Seurat seemed to be issuing his own challenge to the great masters of the past, from Raphael to Ingres, deliberately invoking classical precedents in his depiction of the female nude. As Françoise Cachin has noted, the artist’s choice of subject in Les Poseuses announced “that Seurat’s ambition lay in applying a then-new and controversial method (pointillism) to a grand genre theme: the nude trio of women, so often seen in mythological works such as those depicting the Judgement of Paris, the Three Graces, or the Hesperides” (exh. cat., op. cit., 1991, p. 273). Having studied at the esteemed Ecole des Beaux-Arts as a youth, Seurat was steeped in tradition, and remained acutely aware of the art of the Old Masters throughout his career. Unusually, very few drawings of the female nude survive from Seurat’s time at the school, the majority of his academic studies from life focusing on the male model. Instead, Seurat’s visions of the female nude were shaped by the work of other artists, most notably Jean-August-Dominique Ingres and Eugène Delacroix, as well as the great masterpieces of classical sculpture that he discovered at the Louvre. According to Signac, when Edgar Degas encountered La Grande Jatte for the first time, he said dryly to Seurat, “You have been in Florence, you have. You have seen the Giottos” (quoted ibid., p. 174). While no other commentators specifically referenced Giotto, many highlighted the similarities between Seurat’s figures and early Renaissance art. In Les Poseuses, the allusions to the art of the past are more clearly indicated. The central figure recalls several of the artist’s drawings from his student years, where studying and sketching antique sculpture was a common practice, both at the Louvre and from the collection of plaster casts in the school. Not only does her contrapposto stance invoke the techniques and traditions of antique sculpture, but also the manner in which she subtly shields her pubic area from view by clasping her hands in front of her body contains echoes of the famous Venus Pudica pose, a common motif in which the bathing goddess, surprised by the arrival of an onlooker, covers herself to protect her modesty. However, rather than the dramatic contorted pose typically used to convey the sudden shock of such a situation, Seurat’s model stands tall and proud—looking directly forwards, she meets the artist’s gaze with a distinct confidence. Similarly, Robert Herbert has suggested that the celebrated Spinario may have been a source for the pose of the young woman seated to the right, removing or putting on her stockings. In the individual oil study

Georges Seurat, Poseuse de dos, 1887. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, La Grande Baigneuse, 1808. Musée du Louvre, Paris.


dedicated to this character, Seurat shows the woman with no stockings, further emphasizing the connection to the classical sculpture of a young boy removing a thorn from his foot. The final model, seated on the red divan with her back to the viewer, has a more contemporary reference point, her sensual curves and relaxed pose recalling Ingres’s La Grande Baigneuse, which had entered the collections of the Louvre to much fanfare in 1879. Seurat greatly admired Ingres throughout his career, keeping several reproductions of his work as reference material in his studio, and copying a number of the artist’s masterworks in both drawing and painting. The overall simplicity of the La Grande Baigneuse must have appealed to Seurat, its ability to convey the soft, voluptuous form of the female nude, as well as an impression of her demeanor through subtle cues in body language and pose, offers a captivating reimagining of the classical nude. By also referencing the recent achievements of the great master, Seurat may have been positioning himself as Ingres’s heir apparent among the avant-garde, an artist who could marry tradition with a dynamic, modern sensibility completely his own. A number of other avant-garde artists were working along similar lines at this time, testing the limits of the Impressionist style by returning to the example of the Old Masters, from Paul Cezanne’s Trois baigneuses of 1879-1882, to Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s Les grandes baigneuses of 18841887, which Seurat likely saw at Georges Petit’s international show in the summer of 1887. However, Seurat forged his own path within this milieu, eschewing the idealizing vision of the nude female in nature, and instead definitively rooting his scene within his own era, drawing the viewer into the world of the painter. While the subject of the model in the artist’s studio was a long established tradition, one which was equally popular in Academic painting of the period, Seurat examined the motif through his own contemporary experience. Rather than suggesting a timeless, almost allegorical vision of artistic creativity, in Les Poseuses Seurat boldly emphasizes the modernity of his subject— these are contemporary working women, whose attitudes, stance and accessories place them firmly within the society and culture of the late nineteenth century. Seurat further emphasizes the painting’s place in time by including a clearly identifiable portion of the monumental La Grande Jatte along one side of his new composition, hanging the work in the corner of the studio where the models arrange themselves. Its presence within the scene not only places the viewer squarely in the late 1880s, and the aftermath of the eighth Impressionist exhibition, it also allows for a series of intriguing

“The Panathenaeans of Phidias formed a procession. I want to make modern people, in their essential traits, move about as they do on those friezes, and place them on canvases organized by harmonies of color, by directions of the tones in harmony with the lines, and by the directions of the lines.” GEORGES SEURAT

visual counterpoints to arise, an interplay that encourages us to compare and contrast the two scenes side by side, highlighting the developments of Seurat’s style in the intervening years. Immediately, the differences are apparent—firstly, the artist moves his figures from a brightly-lit park to an interior setting, where they are bathed in a soft, even light; secondly, he removes the rigid formalities of display and social ritual that governed his characters in a public setting, allowing his trio of women to stand, unadorned and relatively relaxed, as they pose before the artist; and thirdly, he distills the scene down to just three figures, all of whom appear lost in their own thoughts, oblivious to the actions of those around them, unconcerned about being observed, despite their state of undress. Indeed, while La Grande Jatte examined the theme of modern spectacle and fashion amid the bright, sunlit expanse of a park, Les Poseuses presents the cloistered, highly personal act of artmaking, as well as the practical toil and labor that took place behind the scenes. Seurat solidifies the connection between the studio scene and the painting on the wall through a series of visual cues, such as the addition of different accessories and pieces of clothing scattered through the room, which recall the costumes of the various characters in La Grande Jatte. For example, the red parasol and hat propped against the stool to the right appear to be those of the seated girl with a bouquet in the earlier painting, while the blue dress with red dots in the foreground echoes that of the woman walking through the park. Indeed, every item of clothing glimpsed in the studio finds an echo among those in the picture behind. Similarly, Seurat plays with the sense of space and threedimensionality within the scene, allowing for a humorous effect in which the “painted” dog from La Grand Jatte appears to jump up at the ribbon

on the handle of the “real” parasol in the studio in which the models are posing. Finally, Seurat employs accents of color scattered throughout the room to link the eye back to the large painting on the wall, as seen in the way the prominent green of the grass and trees of the latter is picked up by the notes of green in the stockings and bag hanging on the wall, uniting the left of the painting with the right. These connections are more clearly visible in the vibrant palette of Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) than in the large version of the painting, reinforcing the notion that Seurat may have initially conceived the smaller canvas in order to examine the compositional structure and color patterns anew, working through the various questions and issues that had arisen while he was in the midst of finishing the painting. Through these carefully considered linkages and allusions, Seurat establishes different layers of reality within the canvas, allowing the eye to weave in and out of the “artificial” painting and the “real” world of the studio. At the same time, he blurs the lines between the two, drawing our attention to the carefully curated world of the artist’s space, and the artificiality underpinning such so-called “natural” scenes as La Grande Jatte, where each element is chosen and refined by the artist, most often painted not from life, but within the highly controlled environment of the studio. As Françoise Cachin has pointed out, the title for the work, “Poseuses,” is an intriguing choice, one which adds another layer of potential meaning and context to the composition. In French, the term modèle would usually have been the more appropriate title for Seurat’s figures, denoting their profession as artist models. In contrast, a poseur or a poseuse in contemporary parlance was used most frequently to describe a person whose

Georges Seurat, Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte, 1885-1886. The Art Institute of Chicago. Photo: The Art Institute of Chicago / Art Resource, NY.


attitudes, movements and pose were carefully studied and deliberately designed to garner attention, “one who, out of vanity, seeks to attract notice by an artificial or affected manner” (ibid., p. 273). As the women in Seurat’s studio appear the very opposite of this, their apparently unself-conscious postures suggesting a more natural, spontaneous situation, the title could be seen to be more relevant to the parade of fashionable Parisians glimpsed in the canvas behind. As such, Seurat appears to slyly question, who is really the poseuse? In doing so, he returned once again to the central, core concerns of his artistic vision, examining the interplay between the ideal and real, nature and artifice, which ran as a through-line in his largest and most successful figure paintings. Seurat’s bold assertion of the models’ identities, their professionalism and roles as modern working women, would have a lasting impact on a number of artists through the early twentieth century. For example, Henri Matisse adopts a similar approach in his masterful early work Carmelina (1903-1904), in which his voluptuous Italian model is seen posing in the studio. Like Seurat’s models, she is portrayed straight-on and in a naturalistic, unidealized manner, holding herself upright with a strength and poise that speaks to her skills as a model. She makes no attempt to hide her modesty with the white cloth draped over her thighs, instead meeting the artist’s gaze straight on, confronting his watchful, professional eye with a confidence and energy. Matisse enhances the connection between the artist and his subject by including his own reflection in the mirror behind her. Glimpsed in the act of observation, the painting emphasizes the professional connection between the two figures as they work together, each contributing to the act of creation, continuing the themes of Seurat’s monumental composition. During this period, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) was in the collection of the journalist, critic and close friend of the artist, Jules F. Christophe, who had written a number of articles on Seurat and his work prior to his death, including the significant profile on the painter included in the April 1890 issue of Hommes d’aujourd’hui. Announcing the artist’s untimely passing just over a year later, he wrote “A sudden stupid sickness carried him off in a few hours when he was about to triumph: I curse providence and death” (La Plume, 1 September 1891). The painting remained in Christophe’s collection until his death, before it was purchased by the renowned art collector Alphonse Kann. A close friend of Marcel Proust, Kann was believed to have been one of the principal models for the character Charles Swann in the author’s 1908 novel À la recherche du temps perdu. Revered for his keen eye and extraordinary taste, Kann had earned a reputation as an elegant connoisseur of classical sculpture and Renaissance painting in Paris during the opening decades of the Twentieth Century, before he began to diversify his collecting activities to concentrate increasingly on the acquisition of nineteenth-century and modern art. Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) was among Kann’s earlier purchases of Neo-Impressionism, acquired circa 1910, and he loaned the work to several important exhibitions, most notably the infamous 1913 Armory Show in New York.

Raphael, Les Trois grâces, 1503-1508. Musée Condé, Chantilly, France. Henri Matisse, Carmelina, 1903-1904. The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. © 2022 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

One of the key organizers of that seminal exhibition, the financial lawyer John Quinn, would go on to acquire Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), purchasing the work in 1922. A first generation Irish-American, Quinn was one of the most important collectors of modern and avant-garde art of his generation. A well-known figure in New York’s progressive art circles through the early decades of the Twentieth Century, Quinn was a fervent supporter of modern art, directly supporting artists financially, providing

funds to launch important exhibitions and spearheading initiatives to promote vanguard culture in America. Between 1911 and 1924, Quinn assembled an extraordinary collection of modern art, numbering approximately 2,500 paintings, works on paper, and sculptures by more than 150 European and American artists. Although he continued to purchase liberally through the 1920s, Quinn became more selective in his purchases as his tastes matured, and sought out specific works to add to his collection, including several examples from Seurat’s oeuvre. Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) was among the small number of works retained by the Quinn family after the great collector’s death, remaining with them until 1936, when it was acquired by Henry P. McIlhenny, a former Curator of Decorative Arts and later Chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. In 1975, the rich provenance of Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version) provided direct inspiration for an artwork by the German-born conceptual artist Hans Haacke. A pioneering activist, most of his work after the late 1960s focused on institutional critique, examining the art world and the systems of exchange between museums, corporations and corporate leaders that existed behind the scenes. Alarmed by contemporary events, including the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., as well as the war in Vietnam, Haacke felt compelled to examine the underpinnings of society at large, unveiling the systems that informed and shaped such events. Through the 1970s, he drew attention to the financial or ideological interests that shaped and determined the activities of cultural institutions, from exhibitions and curatorial decisions, to sponsorship and collecting, as he sought to challenge the idea that art could be a neutral space, existing in an isolated bubble. In the piece titled Seurat's «Les Poseuses» (Small Version) 1888-1975, Haacke systematically researched the provenance of the present work, charting the history of the canvas from the point it left the artist's studio, through its many different owners, right up to 1975. Speaking about this work, Haacke explained the motivation behind his focus on Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version): “I was interested in the phenomenon of art investment. In the course of the research I discovered that this painting by Seurat had been acquired by a newly formed international art investment company with the beautiful name Artemis. I then followed its history... and I discovered a number of interesting things... It is an incredibly story. I have learned a lot about the underpinnings of high culture from it” (quoted in Y.-A. Bois, D. Crimp and R. Krauss, “A Conversation with Hans Haacke,” October, Vol. 30, Autumn, 1984, p. 37). From this painstaking research, he created a series of framed textual panels, describing each of the previous owners’ biographical details, including obscure political or ideological connections they had, alongside the acquisition information: purchase, inheritance or expropriation. Haacke chose a deliberately restrained style for presenting his findings, using a clearly legible type-face that echoed official documents and newspapers, and displaying the biographies within simple black frames. As a result, the information appears as purely factual, allowing the viewer to draw their own conclusions from the content. Installed in a carefully arranged linear sequence with a photographic reproduction of the painting, these panels charted the manner in which Seurat’s painting acquired a monetary value, which then steadily grew over the years, transforming it from a personal expression of the artist’s vision to a commodity, partially owned by an investment group.

Pablo Picasso, Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907. Museum of Modern Art, New York© 2022 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.



“When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it—it’s your world for a moment. I want to give that world to someone else.” GEORGIA O’KEEFFE


O'KEEFFE (1887-1986)

White Rose with Larkspur No. I signed with initials ‘OK’ in the artist’s star device (on a piece of the original backing) oil on canvas 36 x 30 in. (91.4 x 76.2 cm.) Painted in 1927 $6,000,000-8,000,000

Georgia O’Keeffe’s most iconic subject is the flower—magnified to confront the viewer with femininity in its boldest, and often most provocative, form. O’Keeffe began painting her flower pictures in 1918, and they were exhibited for the first time by her dealer and future husband Alfred Stieglitz in 1923. They immediately caused a sensation. By 1927, the year she painted White Rose with Larkspur No. I, O’Keeffe was the most famous female artist in America. The present work epitomizes her transformation of one of nature’s most delicate objects into a strong artistic statement, at once both intimate and monumental. In 1927, O’Keeffe created five paintings of white roses, including the present work and White Rose with Larkspur No. II, in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. This composition was no doubt one of the artist’s favorites—she hung the related work in her bedroom in

Edward Steichen, Lotus, Mount Kisco, New York, 1915. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 The Estate of Edward Steichen / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Imogen Cunningham, Magnolia Blossom, 1925. M.H. de Young Museum, San Francisco. © 2022 Imogen Cunningham Trust. All rights.


Abiquiu, New Mexico, before it was acquired by the museum in 1980. Both paintings delight in the details of the soft petals of the white flower against dark green leaves and blooms of blue larkspur. The present version has a particularly tactile quality, nearly compelling the viewer to reach out to feel the pillowy soft rose petals beautifully folding and furling to create soft shadows on the canvas. As Katherine Hoffman describes, “the white rose is reborn, representing a world of delicate sensitivity, as it is gently embraced by the blue and purple tones of the protective larkspur” (An Enduring Spirit: The Art of Georgia O’Keeffe, Metuchen, 1984, p. 103). While delicate in feel, blossoms boldly proliferate across, and seemingly beyond, the entire canvas. The larkspur take over the entire field of vision, blurring at the edges to become simply gradations of pure color.

The result is an all-over, almost patterned effect, which skirts the line between representation and abstraction. This aspect of White Rose with Larkspur No. I is further explored in O’Keeffe’s three other works of this 1927 series: Abstraction White Rose (Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe); White Rose, Abstraction with Pink (Private collection); and Ballet Skirt or Electric Light (White Rose—Abstraction) (Art Institute of Chicago). Each iteration plays with an increased degree of magnification and abstraction, until the natural form of the white rose is reduced to just patterns in shades of white and gray, swirling over the canvas and inviting the viewer into the flower’s depths. O’Keeffe’s creative amplifications and distortions in her significant flower paintings, such as White Rose with Larkspur No. I, spurred charged interpretations by critics, which added to the notoriety surrounding O’Keeffe as a female artist. Lloyd Goodrich explains, “The forms were flower forms, but they also suggested the forms of the body, its subtle lines, its curves and folds and hidden depths; and the colors and textures recalled the fineness and bloom and delicate colors of flesh. This ambivalence of imagery, which is characteristic of O’Keeffe and part of the depth and power of this art, this sexual magnetism beneath the visible forms, added to the spell and mystery of her flower paintings, and made them among her most sensitive and living creations” (Georgia O’Keeffe, New York, 1970, p. 18). While O’Keeffe would consistently deny sexual interpretations of her work, the fact that they were painted by a woman in a male-dominated art world only added to the scandal, while also further cementing O’Keeffe’s celebrity.

The focus on the monochromatic form of a white rose in this 1927 series also particularly illustrates the connection between O’Keeffe’s paintings and the art of her friends and contemporaries working in the medium of photography. Part of O’Keeffe’s infamy derived from her modeling nude for Stieglitz’s portrait photographs, and in 1922 she explained that photography had “been part of my searching” (quoted in Georgia O’Keeffe, London, 2016, p. 12). Employing the photographic techniques of the detailed close-up and magnified image, as well as of the cropped edges of the picture plane, O’Keeffe’s close study of objects paralleled photographers such as Paul Strand, Edward Steichen and Edward Weston’s use of the camera to turn natural still-life forms into abstract images. Seen as both sensual and spiritual, their photographs and her paintings, like White Rose with Larkspur No. I, manifest the same duality. Endlessly engaging with their ambiguity, O’Keeffe’s flower paintings continue to mesmerize viewers a century after their first debut, and to embolden female artists of today to further push the boundaries of their place within the canon. O’Keeffe explained of her inspiration behind this most iconic segment of her career, “In the twenties, huge buildings sometimes seemed to be going up overnight in New York. At that time I saw a painting by Fantin-Latour, a still life with flowers I found very beautiful, but I realized that were I to paint the same flowers so small, no one would look at them because I was unknown. So I thought I’ll make them big like the huge buildings going up. People will be startled; they’ll have to look at them—and they did” (Georgia O’Keeffe: The Poetry of Things, Washington, D.C., 1999, p. 48).

Georgia O’Keeffe, White Rose with Larkspur No. II, 1927, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. © 2022 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Georgia O’Keeffe, Abstraction White Rose, 1927. Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe. © 2022 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Georgia O’Keeffe, Ballet Skirt of Electric Light (White Rose—Abstraction), 1927. Art Institute of Chicago. © 2022 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.



PICASSO (1881-1973)

Tête classique signed ‘Picasso’ (lower left); dated ‘12-2-23- (on the reverse) black Conté crayon, charcoal and estompe on rose tinted paper 24√ x 18æ in. (63 x 47.8 cm.) Executed on 12 February 1923 $3,000,000-5,000,000

“To me there is no past or future in my art. If a work of art cannot live always in the present it must not be considered at all. The art of the Greeks, of the Egyptians, of the great painters who lived in other times, is not an art of the past; perhaps it is more alive today than it ever was” (“Picasso Speaks: A Statement by the Artist,” The Arts, New York, May 1923, in D. Ashton, ed., Picasso on Art: A Selection of Views, New York, 1972, p. 4). Pablo Picasso made this statement in 1923, in the midst of his radical Neo-Classical period. Fusing a host of artistic sources and styles that spanned everything from Ancient Greek statuary to the art of French masters, Nicolas Poussin and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Picasso forged his own, distinctly novel idiom. Far from being a retrograde or atavistic reembrace of historical sources however, his plunder of the past enabled him to remain firmly at the forefront of the post-war avant-garde. Since the years of the First World War, Picasso had been working simultaneously in both a cubist and a figurative, classically-inspired style, able to switch between these seemingly distinct artistic idioms. Within the immediate post-war period, this look backwards, to the art of antiquity and Classicism was prevalent across the European avant-garde. Known as le rappel à l’ordre or the “Return to Order,” a term Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Madame Moitessier, 1856. National Gallery of Art, London.

coined by the poet Jean Cocteau, this cultural movement manifested itself through the increasing appearance of classical themes, motifs and styles, as a host of artists mined the past in order to fulfil the ideological need for unity, order and stability to counteract the horror and destruction wrought by four years of all-out war. Executed in 1923, Tête classique is one of a group of classically-inspired female figures, Picasso’s own form of Roman and Greek goddesses, that dominated the artist’s work throughout the early 1920s. It was this year, however, that saw an emergence of monumental magisterial, elegant and enigmatic Neo-Classical portraits, often portrayals of his wife, Olga, to which the present work is closely related. With these works, Picasso conceived a new pictorial idiom for the female figure. The garlanded woman of the present work is more evocative of Botticelli’s Flora or one of Poussin’s female figures than of ancient statuary. Her pose—head gently turned, and index finger raised to her ear—intrigued Picasso at this time. The origins can be found in the figure of Arcadia in the fresco, The Recognition of Telephus by Hercules, which Picasso saw in Naples in 1917. In her statuesque portrayal and graceful handling, the protagonist of the present work also calls to mind the artist’s “Raphael-esque” depictions of the female figure at this time. These works transport the viewer from Paris to a long-lost epoch. As Joseph Palau i Fabre has described, “Picasso’s poetry verges on the unreal, in the sense that if often manages to situate the present in the past or the future, one step away from legend. Here we are not in rue la Boétie in 1923 but in Florence, or at least in the Italian Renaissance” (Picasso: From the Ballets to Drama, 1917-1926, Barcelona, 1999, p. 364). Yet, while evoking various sources, Picasso’s figures defy exact identification with a specific antique or classical example. In the present work, the protagonist could just as easily be a contemporary woman as the first century image of the figure of Arcadia. As Elizabeth Cowling has written, “It is a case of visual metaphor or simile rather than imitation or pastiche; the modern woman is equated with a Greek or Roman goddess and embodies some indefinable state midway between actuality and the immutability of an ancient work of art” (Picasso: Style and Meaning, London, 2002, p. 411). As he played with all these sources, reconfiguring them with a powerful monumentality and simplicity, he created an entirely novel form of “Picassified” Neo-Classicism; a compelling amalgam that set the shape-shifting artist apart from his peers.



“There, in Tahiti, in the silence of the lovely tropical night, I can listen to the sweet murmuring music of my heart, beating in amorous harmony with the mysterious beings of my environment. Free at last, with no money troubles, and able to love, to sing and to die.” PAUL GAUGUIN


GAUGUIN (1848-1903) Maternité II signed and dated ‘Paul Gauguin 1899’ (lower right) oil on burlap 37º x 24 in. (94.7 x 61 cm.) Painted in Tahiti in 1899 Estimate on Request

Paul Gauguin, Maternité (I) (Femmes au bord de la mer), 1899. The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg. Photo: Bridgeman Images. Paul Gauguin, Ruperupe, 1899. The Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow.


“I have come to an unalterable decision,” Paul Gauguin wrote in the autumn of 1894, a year after his inaugural exhibition of Tahitian works in Paris had been met with outrage and satire. “—to go and live forever in Polynesia without this eternal struggle against idiots” (quoted in G.T.M. Shackelford and C. Frèches-Thory, Gauguin Tahiti: The Studio of the South Seas, exh. cat., Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, Paris, 2003, p. 89). Existing in dire financial straits and unable to find a receptive audience for his art, he decided to leave France again and return to the South Seas. After organizing a sale of his works at Hôtel Drouot in an attempt to gather funds for his trip, in July 1895, he traveled to Marseille where he boarded a steamer and set sail to French Polynesia. He would never again return to France.

While Gauguin’s letters from his second stay in Tahiti tell of a life marked by constant ill health—he was suffering early symptoms of syphilis—as well as of his never ending financial woes, it was during this time that he created some of the finest works of his career, including the famed D’où venons-nous? Que sommes-nous? Où allons-nous? of 1897-1898 (Wildenstein, no. 561; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston). Gauguin’s mastery of the figure depicted in evermore fantastical, decorative settings enabled him to create compositions permeated with mystery and magic, his experimental use of color and arabesque lines further infusing these works with a daring level of abstraction.

As Richard Brettell has written, “… the paintings of late 1898 and much of 1899 are of fabulous quality. In them, perfectly realized human forms move effortlessly through pulsating, colored realms. Trees and shrubs occasionally define stately spaces. Yet, more often, colored areas become landscapes without the distracting presence of bark, leaves, or roots… [A] sense of fullness and metaphysical clarity persists in most of the great paintings produced by Gauguin in the last year of the nineteenth century. And, almost as if he were unable to carry this perfection forward, no paintings survive from the year 1900” (The Art of Paul Gauguin, exh., cat., National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 1988, p. 393). The monumental and mysterious Maternité II, painted in 1899, dates from this miraculous moment of Gauguin’s career. It is one of a closely related group of works that depict often classically posed, Tahitian women within paradisical settings—the rest of which are now in museum collections. Here, three women are pictured within a verdant, yet abstracted, Edenic realm. Seated on the ground is a mother nursing her baby. She is flanked, or perhaps protected, by two standing figures, one of whom holds a basket of fruit, the other a chain of flowers,

offerings perhaps for their kneeling, Madonna-like companion. They both look outwards to meet the viewer, as if questioning their presence in regarding this quiet, intimate scene of motherhood. Taking the theme of maternity, a subject rich in art historical precedent, Gaugin masterfully transformed this motif into an exotic idyll, both personal and transcendent of a specific time and place. With this work Gauguin offers a timeless vision of femininity and motherhood, a verdant ode to fertility. A reflection of the importance it held for the artist is the fact that he chose to keep it in his possession until his death. This is one of two versions of this composition. The first, Maternité I (also known as Femmes au bord de la mer) (Wildenstein, no. 581), was acquired by Sergei Shchukin and is now housed in the State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg. In this work, Gauguin included more anecdotal detail to the same trio of figures—a dog stands next to the mother, while fishermen and figures are seen in the background. In the present, more closely cropped painting, Gauguin expunged these quotidian elements. With the palette heightened into tones of acid yellow and pink, a more daring, highly dreamlike, spectral atmosphere pervades.

Paul Gauguin, D’où venons-nous? Que sommes-nous? Où allons-nous?, 18971898. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.


“How safe they are on dry land, those academic painters with their trompe l’oeil of nature.

“It is really life in the open—an intimate life all the same, among the thickets and the shaded brooks; these women whispering in an immense palace which Nature herself

We alone are sailing free on the ghost-ship, with all our fantastical imperfections.” has decorated with all the riches that Tahiti holds.” PAUL GAUGUIN PAUL GAUGUIN

Gauguin had first realized his longing to escape the staid conventions and decadence of Europe for a simpler existence when he first ventured to the South Seas in 1891. Disappointed by his lack of recognition in the Parisian art world, he had first thought about traveling to Madagascar, before settling on Tahiti as the place to realize his unfulfilled artistic desires. He was deeply inspired by the Exposition Universelle of 1889, in which a colonial exhibition featured reconstructions of France’s colonies across the globe, as well as by Pierre Loti’s popular contemporary novel, Le Mariage de Loti, which told the story of a sailor’s love affair with a native Tahitian. As a result, Gauguin was filled with idyllic visions of life in an exotic, far away paradise. “My entire life,” he wrote to his friend Émile Schuffenecker in 1890, “is now spent in the hope of this promised land” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 2003, p. 20). Gauguin set sail for Tahiti in April 1891. He was initially disappointed: the country was far from his dream of an uncivilized “primitive” land. Eleven years prior to his arrival, the country’s capital, Papeete, had submitted to colonial rule, essentially becoming a French enclave in the South Seas, governed with the same laws and rules, and filled with the same class hierarchies and conventions as France itself; a far cry from the Maori idyll that the artist had envisioned.

Paul Gauguin, Te Ave No Maria (Le Mois de Marie), 1899. The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg. Paul Gauguin, Les Seins aux fleurs rouges, 1899. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Paul Gauguin, Trois Tahitiens, 1899. National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh.


Traveling further afield to another, more remote village, Mataiea, Gauguin found a place that was more reflective of his imagined version of Tahiti. He remained there until August 1893, immersing himself in local life. He was fascinated by the appearance, daily rituals, gestures, language and lives of Mataiea’s inhabitants. This combination of wonder and isolation is encapsulated in many of the works Gauguin created during this first Tahitian sojourn, the artist’s enthrallment reflected in the saturated colors and arabesque lines that define these works.

When Gauguin arrived in Papeete for the second time two years later, he found the town even more developed—there was now electricity—and more French than when he had left. He immediately wanted to travel to the more remote Marquesas Islands, though, after participating in an official two month voyage to the Leeward Islands, decided to stay in Tahiti. He settled in Punaauia, south of the capital, on the coast. Gauguin’s art from this second trip differed from his first. While the essential motifs remain the same—native figures in luscious, often fantastical settings—his abiding artistic concerns had changed in the intervening years. Instead of scenes of daily life, a kind of ethnographic diary of the world he encountered and the life he lived in Tahiti at this time, his works from 1896 onwards are less descriptive, increasingly imaginary, and more transcendent of a specific time or place. Brettell describes, “His late work is more obviously mediated than the earlier, and he created works of art as if to decorate a new mythic universe” (exh. cat., op. cit., 1988, p. 391). Gauguin also brought more reference imagery with him on this trip, including numerous reproductions of artworks, including what would become a key influence on his art of this period: a photograph of the Javanese temple of Borobudur. Monumental figures, such as those in Maternité II, preside over Gauguin’s art, often referencing both classical compositions and in some cases more contemporary references. After a period of intense despair and ill health at the end of 1897 and beginning of 1898, which culminated in a failed attempt to end his life, Gauguin entered a period of heightened creativity. Following the completion of the ambitious, self-conscious masterpiece and great summation of his artistic and philosophical beliefs, D’où venonsnous? Que sommes-nous? Où allons-nous?, in 1899 he painted another

monumental canvas, Ruperupe (Wildenstein, no. 585; The Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts, Moscow)—itself derived from Faa Iheihe of the previous year (no. 569; Tate, London). The present work and a number of others from this year are closely related to this most mystic and paradisical of canvases. It is possible that Gauguin painted this group with the intention of including them in the 1900 Exposition Universelle. In September 1899, he wrote to Daniel de Monfreid that he planned to send “about ten canvases” for the show (Letters de Gauguin à Daniel de Monfreid, Paris, 1950, p. 150). He had left this endeavor too late however, and the works did not arrive in time to be included. In paintings such as The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Les seins aux fleurs rouges (no. 583), Trois Tahitiens (no. 573; National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh), and Te Ave No Maria (Le mois de Marie) (no. 586; The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg)—as well as Maternité I, Gauguin employed the same cast of characters which he recomposed in different works. The central, flower-bearing figure of Maternité II, likely taken from the frieze of the Borobudur, itself derives from the left figure of the three grace-like trio of Ruperupe. She appears in each of the other works of this closely related group. Similarly, the figure holding what appears to be a basket of mangos, turning away from the viewer, can be seen again in Trois Tahitiens. While the essential pose of the character is similar, Gauguin adjusted their gestures or expressions, moving their gaze to impart varied emotions or imply different relationships within the context of the composition. The present work and the rest of this small series can be seen as meditations on the nature of femininity and female beauty. Filled with flower or fruit bearing women, a sense of abundance and plenty pervades. Gauguin had long been enthralled by the women he encountered in Tahiti, conveying his captivation as well as his inability to fully comprehend his new neighbors. “…as rigid as statues,” he described in a letter of 1899, in words that perfectly describe the figures of Maternité

II, “something indescribably ancient, august, religious in the rhythm of their pose, in their singular immobility. In dreaming eyes the blurred surface of an unfathomable riddle” (quoted in The Lure of the Exotic: Gauguin in New York Collections, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 2002, p. 132). In his art of this time, Gauguin often reinterpreted traditional female icons—Venus, Eve or the Madonna—into Tahitian figures and settings. In the present work, the trio of women is reminiscent of Renaissance depictions of the Virgin, Christ and Saint Anne. Gauguin had already painted a Tahitian Madonna scene in 1891, La orana Maria (no. 428; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). Like Maternité II, the Tahitian figure of the Virgin Mary, together with her child, are flanked by two worshipful attendants. Though known as Maternité, there is no evidence to suggest that Gauguin himself gave the present work and its companion piece this name (R. Brettell, exh. cat., op. cit., 1988, p. 422). Indeed, the Hermitage’s version has also been referred to as Femme au bord de la mer. Nevertheless this title has led to interpretations of Gauguin’s personal life at this time. In April 1899, his vahine, Patura had given birth to a son, whom they named Emile, the same name as the artist’s first born son with his wife, Mette. It remains unknown why exactly Gauguin produced two versions of this same subject. Though he had employed this practice earlier in his career, Brettell has noted that this was rare in the latter decade of his life. What is clear is that in the present work Gauguin was keen to further heighten the expressive potential of color. Upon first arriving in Tahiti at the beginning of the 1890s the vibrant tones of the tropical landscape had deeply affected the artist. “Everything in the landscape blinded me, dazzled me,” he described in Noa Noa, his autobiographical writing of this first visit. “Coming from Europe I was constantly uncertain of color… and yet it was so simple to put naturally on to my canvas a red and a blue… Why did I hesitate to pour that gold and all that rejoicing

Leonardo da Vinci, La Vierge, l’Enfant Jésus et sainte Anne, dit La Sainte Anne, 1503-1519. Musée du Louvre, Paris. Paul Gauguin, Ia Orana Maria, 1891. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Sandro Botticelli, La Primavera, detail of Mercury and the Three Graces, circa 1480. Uffizi Gallery, Florence. Photo: Scala / Art Resource, NY.


“Color! What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams.” PAUL GAUGUIN

of sunshine on to my canvas? Old habits from Europe, probably—all this timidity of expression” (Noa Noa: Voyage to Tahiti, trans. J. Griffin, Oxford, n.d., p. 20). By the time that he painted the present work, Gauguin’s handling of color had developed to reach a new level of potent visual expression. More vibrant in hue than its companion piece, the present work dazzles. An abstract, cadmium yellow sky streaked with a pink cloud serves as the backdrop to the trio of colors—intense blue, crimson red and emerald green—that structure the foreground. These bold tones impart a sense of majesty and monumentality to this scene, elevating it from a quotidian image of Tahitian daily life to a mythical vision of femininity. This radical use of color had a deep impact on the young Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso when they saw the first iteration of Maternité exhibited at the gallery of Ambroise Vollard in Paris in the autumn of 1903. The flatness of color, the decorative lines and the narrative enigma, as well as the embrace of an alternate civilization would play a defining role in the work of both artists. In Matisse’s Le Luxe of 1907, a similar trio of women—one of whom crouches down, and another presents a bouquet of flowers to their standing idol—is set within an expansive, timeless landscape. Constructed with planes of flattened forms, this work owes a debt to Gauguin’s Tahitian work, bearing a striking compositional resemblance to Maternité II. Gauguin remained a central influence to the great French master throughout his life, so much so that in the 1930s he made his own voyage to the tropics. While he sent Maternité I back to Paris in a consignment in 1900, Gauguin chose to keep the present Maternité II in his own collection. After the artist’s death in May 1903, the entirety of his possessions, including this painting, were sold in an auction in Papeete. This work was acquired from the sale for 150 francs by Jean Cochin, possibly for his father, Denys, a French naval officer, into whose collection it entered in 1906. “[...] At the Papeete sale, Cochin told me, ‘I bought for one hundred and fifty francs

(the amount of my pay that I had just received and that I had on me) the painting of the “Three Vahines” that we also called Maternité; Governor Petit, my competitor, had only offered one hundred and thirty-five. As Morillot had a room ashore; I left the painting with him during my stay in Oceania; when I returned to Europe, I brought it home between two shirts; Maurice Denis re-lined it for me after my return to France’” (C. Chasse, Gauguin et son temps, Paris, 1955, pp. 147-148, quoted in D. Wildenstein, Gauguin, Paris, 1964, p. 245). Four years later, Cochin sold the canvas to Bernheim-Jeune, from which point onwards, it entered a number of highly distinguished collections which continued to the present day. From the collection of the Lewisohn family, to that of Edwin Vogel and David Rockefeller, this painting has a particularly esteemed provenance. In addition, the painting also has a rare exhibition history. In 1906, it was included in the artist’s major retrospective at the Salon d’automne at the Grand Palais, Paris. The great collector of modern art, Alphonse Kann, who bought the work from Bernheim-Jeune in 1910—the same year that he also acquired Georges Seurat’s Les Poseuses in the present collection—lent it to the landmark London show, Manet and the PostImpressionists, a critical moment in the dissemination of avant-garde art in the United Kingdom. Eleven years later, it was included in another watershed exhibition. Loan Exhibition of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Paintings held at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1921 was a critical moment in the introduction of French modernism to American audiences. Though met with widespread disdain, this show was a crucial catalyst for some of the leading figures in the city’s art world, including John Quinn and Alfred H. Barr, Jr., among others. The work was latterly included in the large scale retrospective of the artist held in the Art Institute of Chicago and The Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1959.

Lewisohn apartment, 881 Fifth Avenue, New York City, circa 1939. The present work is on the right.




SARGENT (1856-1925)

The Façade of La Salute, Venice signed 'John S. Sargent' (lower right) watercolor, gouache and pencil on paperboard 14Ω x 21º in. (36.8 x 54 cm.) Executed circa 1903 $800,000-1,200,000

“Not less vivacious in treatment is a view of The Façade of the Salute, which, vigorously direct in its freedom of workmanship, possesses the unity of tints in a high key conductive to complete suggestion of open air.” THE MORNING POST, 1904.

John Singer Sargent formed an abiding love for and fascination with Venice's unique patina that informed his depictions of the mysterious floating city for over thirty years. Sargent first encountered Venice on a trip with his family in 1870 at the age of fourteen and paid nearly annual visits to the city from 1898 to 1913. While some of Sargent’s earliest imagery focused on inhabitants, his mature Venetian subjects demonstrated his considerable interest in the architecture of the city. He was particularly struck by the aging Renaissance and Baroque façades and peculiar ambiance that defined the city in the nineteenth century, which he transformed into some of his most successful images. The Façade of La Salute is a dynamic example of Sargent’s mature Venetian aesthetic, while serving as a window into the life and travels of one of the most celebrated American artists at the turn of the twentieth century.

John Singer Sargent, Santa Maria della Salute, 1904. Brooklyn Museum. Photo: © Brooklyn Museum of Art / Purchased by special subscription / Bridgeman Images.

The Façade of La Salute depicts a view looking southwest toward the Roman Catholic church Santa Maria della Salute, also known as the Salute. To the right of the church is what was formerly the abbey church of San Gregario, now a private residence. The present work and Santa Maria della Salute (Brooklyn Museum, New York) are the only watercolors in Sargent’s oeuvre depicting boats by the steps of the Salute. In order to view Venice from this unique vantage point, Sargent set out in a gondola to approach the city from the water, capturing the vivid imagery in dazzling watercolor tones. Watercolors produced in this manner, including The Façade of La Salute, have the effect of a snapshot, echoing contemporary photography with their cropped, close-up views, tilted perspective and fluctuating angles. Sargent exhibited the present work at the 1904 Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours, London. A contemporary critic from the Westminster Gazette praised “the huddle of boats and gondolas at the steps of the Salute,” while another from the Pall Mall Gazette opined, “The white of the fisherman’s shirt is thickly loaded, for the large daylight can bear the comparative dimness of the opaque color.” Another from the Morning Post commented, “Not less vivacious in treatment is a view of ‘The Façade of the Salute’, which, vigorously direct in its freedom of workmanship, possesses the unity of tints in a high key conductive to complete suggestion of open air” (quoted in R. Ormond and E. Kilmurray, John Singer Sargent: Venetian Figures and Landscapes, 1898-1913, Complete Paintings, New Haven, 2009, vol. VI, p. 77, 77n2). The present work was illustrated as a frontispiece in Neville Wilkinson’s 1923 story Yvette in Venice and Titania’s Palace. A friend of Wilkinson, Sargent painted the author in watercolor on the bridge at Wilton House near Salisbury, Wiltshire. The present work is also one of six Venetian watercolors originally owned by Ferdinand Joseph Conway Wertheimer (1881-1953) who was the son of one of Sargent’s greatest patrons, the dealer Asher Wertheimer (1844-1918). Asher Wertheimer commissioned a dozen single and group portraits directly from Sargent, ten of which are now in the Tate, London.



“Draw your pleasure—paint your pleasure—express your pleasure strongly.” PIERRE BONNARD


BONNARD (1867-1947)

Deux corbeilles de fruits signed ‘Bonnard’ (lower right) oil on canvas 23√ × 32 in. (60.4 × 81.2 cm.) Painted circa 1935 $3,000,000-5,000,000

Bonnard in the dining room at Le Cannet, circa 1942. Photograph by André Ostier. Bonnard’s Studio Wall at Le Canet, 1946. Artwork: © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.


By the 1930s Pierre Bonnard had long since cemented himself as a key figure in the history of French painting. A founding member of Les Nabis, along with the likes of Maurice Denis, Paul Sérusier, and Edouard Vuillard, Bonnard had explored the expressive dimensions of modern painting in the late nineteenth century. Yet, while his fellow Nabiim tended towards the mystic and even cultic, Bonnard came to distinguish his own work as ultimately more human. He opted to capture the rooms he inhabited with a warmth and emotive character only working from personal memory could afford. As Bonnard wrote, “The artist who paints the emotions creates an enclosed world—the picture—which, like a book, has the same interest no matter where it happens to be. Such an artist, we may imagine, spends a great deal of time doing nothing but looking, both around him and inside him” (quoted in Bonnard, exh.

cat., Tate Gallery, London, 1998, p. 9). Bonnard’s vividly-colored and masterfully-composed domestic scenes and still lifes, like Deux corbeilles de fruits, circa 1935, would become hallmarks of the artist’s later oeuvre. The present work reveals Bonnard’s ability to synthesize an array of artistic influences, both contemporary and historic. Here, Bonnard appropriates the dynamic diagonal compositional order, tilting perspective, and imaginative use of color of Paul Gauguin. In a photograph of Bonnard’s studio taken the year before the painter’s death, a postcard of Gauguin’s 1888 masterpiece La vision du sermon (National Galleries Scotland, Edinburgh) is seen tacked to the wall. Gauguin’s striking scene was a favorite of Bonnard’s as a young artist and remained a major influence throughout his career.

Works such as Deux corbeilles de fruits also bear the influence of Paul Cezanne’s dogged interrogation of space through the still-life genre. However, the artist’s Copernican revolution occurred in 1890 when he was struck by the beauty of Japanese woodcut prints in an exhibition organized by Siegfried Bing at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. “It was through contact with these popular images,” he explained, “that I realized that color could express anything, with no need for relief or modeling” (quoted in Pierre Bonnard: Early and Late, exh. cat., Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C., 2002, p. 202). This expressive potential of color was a lifelong interest. On 16 April 1927, Bonnard scrawled into his notebook, “Proximity of white, lending a luminosity to some bright colored spots” (quoted in Bonnard: The Late Paintings, exh. cat., Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C., 1984, p. 69). Formal musings like these were made manifest in his interior paintings such as the present work. In depicting tablecloths, Bonnard found an inexhaustible subject, allowing him to explore the juxtaposition of white with adjacent, vibrant colors. In Deux corbeilles de fruits, the deep maroon of the table runner takes on an enlivened, almost undulating character when straddled by the white wall and checkered tablecloth bordering it. Bonnard experimented with different reds in additional still lifes to great effect during this period of his work—the thick cardinal stripe in Coin de table of 1935 (Dauberville, no. 1534), held at the Musée d’Orsay, Paris, is brightened through the artist’s deft formal strategy. Bonnard’s formal experimentation would never eclipse the great personal warmth and intimacy of his interior works—in fact, these formal innovations served to bolster the artist’s expression of personal experience and affections, not to detract from them. Dita Amory explains, “In order to paint an object he needed to be familiar with it, to see it sympathetically, or as having its own personality. Once, when asked to consider some charming ensemble as a potential still life, he

responded simply, ‘I haven’t lived with that long enough to paint it.’” She concludes that Bonnard’s approach to the still life was “at once humble and heroic” in this regard (Pierre Bonnard: The Late Still Lifes and Interiors, New Haven and London, 2009, p. 26). Working on multiple canvases simultaneously, Bonnard painted in a curiously meticulous and exploratory manner, repeatedly building up and effacing his progress as he went. Lucy Whelan takes this aspect of his process to be crucial in yielding the contemplative, wistful mood of his paintings. She remarks that Bonnard’s later works, “appear to have grown organically through a gradual accumulation of marks, suggesting a process of laying brushstrokes down and sometimes wiping them away with the rag in his left hand, without prior decision or planning.” She continues, “This is not about spontaneity, or at least not the spontaneity of loose, bravado brushwork of so many of his predecessors. Rather, Bonnard’s paintings seem to be formed from a thousand tiny decisions piled on top of one another” (Pierre Bonnard Beyond Vision, New Haven, 2022, p. 136). Deux corbeilles de fruits encapsulates this process, its fields of built-up color and texture create a sense of flux and profusion. What results is a picture that is simultaneously elusive and wrought with cognitive flavor—a still life full of human life. Since its creation, Deux corbeilles de fruits has remained largely hidden from public view—passing through a series of private collections, it has never been seen in a public exhibition dedicated to Bonnard’s work. It was purchased almost immediately after its creation by Léon Delaroche of Paris, who acquired a number of the artist’s paintings through the 1930s, spanning the many decades of Bonnard’s oeuvre. While Delaroche also purchased works by Camille Pissarro and Vuillard during these years, he appears to have favored Bonnard’s paintings.

Pierre Bonnard, Coin de table, 1935. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Paul Cezanne, La Corbeille de pommes, circa 1893. The Art Institute of Chicago.


“Look at the Sainte-Victoire there. What élan, what imperious thirst for the sun, and what melancholy in the evening, when all that weight sinks back!... Those blocks were made of fire. There’s still some fire in them.” PAUL CEZANNE


CEZANNE (1839-1906)

La Montagne Sainte-Victoire oil on canvas 25¬ x 31√ in. (65.2 x 81.2 cm.) Painted in 1888-1890 Estimate on Request

The Mont Sainte-Victoire looms large over the Provençal landscape, dominating both the history of this corner of southern France as well as the story of modern art. Paul Cezanne’s name is indelibly wedded to this natural landmark. Over the course of the 1880s, working in the countryside around his native Aix-en-Provence, he painted an inaugural, magisterial sequence of landscapes that depict the sweeping panorama over the Arc valley, stretching east towards the Mont SainteVictoire in the distance. These now-iconic vistas constitute Cezanne’s first sustained pictorial confrontation with the towering mountain. More than a compelling motif to which he returned again and again in his dogged pursuit of artistic enlightenment, Sainte-Victoire became part of Cezanne’s identity, a veritable talisman of his innermost self. Mont Sainte-Victoire. Photograph by John Rewald. The present lot in the home of Auguste Pellerin.


La Montagne Sainte-Victoire, painted in 1888-1890, dates towards the end of the group, when the artist had moved away from the more classically constructed compositions of the early 1880s to instead depict a more radical and abstracted conception of the landscape. Presenting an

unimpeded view of the mountain, this work is filled with a majestic visual drama, heightened by Cezanne’s revolutionary use of color. Myriad layers of strokes vibrate across the canvas, creating the perspective and compositional depth of the scene. One of the most vividly colored works of this series, this painting exemplifies the artist’s meticulous observation and masterful technique. Formerly in the esteemed collections of Auguste Pellerin, George Embiricos, and Heinz Berggruen, the present work is one of only two of this group to remain in private hands. Other paintings of the series are housed in museums including The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, The Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia, The Courtauld Gallery, London, and the Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Cezanne returned to the Jas de Bouffan, his family’s estate in Aix, in October 1881 after an extended stay of two and a half years in the north, at Melun, Paris, Pontoise, and Medan. During this period, he had increasingly sought to transmute the vagaries of the natural world into the forms of an ideal, abstract order—“to make of Impressionism something solid and enduring,” he claimed, “like the art in museums.”

He fully realized this lofty goal upon his retreat to Aix—to the arcadian countryside of his youth, resonant with memory and emotion—where the grand, open vistas, imbued with the timeless spirit of Nicolas Poussin, lent themselves admirably to the fulfillment of his purpose. “The fruit of Cezanne’s Parisian experiences, both visual and technical, appears in the pictures he painted on his return to the Jas de Bouffan; they constitute a virtual rediscovery of Provence,” John Rewald wrote. “He sees it now in terms of colored planes organized in a firm, almost architectural construction, irreconcilable with the doctrines of Impressionism” (Cezanne Landscapes, Paris, 1958, n.p.). The 1880s was a decade of great emotional turbulence for Cezanne—a disastrous affair with an unidentified woman, the painful break with his childhood friend, the author, Emile Zola, following the publication of L’Oeuvre, his abrupt decision to wed his long-time companion Hortense, and, in 1886, the death of his father. Throughout, the landscape around Aix provided him with a haven in which he could develop his art in neartotal seclusion. Despite the upheavals of his personal life, his painting at this time became evermore steady and monumental, as he moved to embody the classical ideals of permanence and immutability for which he was striving. It was during this time that Cezanne began what would be a lifelong confrontation with the Mont Saint-Victoire. The abiding unity and certitude that characterize the present painting reflect the deep love and knowledge of his native countryside that Cezanne derived from his youthful exploits there.

Cezanne painted the present canvas from a hilltop in the Bellevue estate. One of the largest properties in this area to the east of Aix, it encompassed a bastide together with farm buildings, stables, and a former chapel, accompanied by land that included fields, olive trees and vineyards. Bellevue bordered the manor house at Montbriand, a farm on the outskirts of Aix that Cezanne’s sister, Rose, and her husband Maxime Conil, had purchased in 1884. The property, which was an easy walk from the Jas de Bouffan, provided the artist with numerous landscape motifs throughout the 1880s—most importantly the panoramic, unimpeded view of the stately Sainte-Victoire. Bruno Ely has suggested a specific viewpoint for the present work, “A few dozen meters away from the Bellevue house, near the Valcros road, was almost certainly the spot selected by Cezanne for the present work” (“Gardanne, Montbriand, and Bellevue,” in Cezanne in Provence, exh. cat., National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 2006, p. 156). PierreAuguste Renoir, who visited Cezanne in Aix on a number of occasions, painted the same viewpoint in his Mont Sainte-Victoire of 1888-1889 (Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven). The olive grove that serves as the foreground of his canvas has been eliminated by Cezanne, a device that allowed him to create the stage-like band of green that leads the eye into the ascending panorama that unfolds beyond. “Wherever Cezanne went in the serenely beautiful countryside around Aix,” Rewald has written, “he could be sure of finding grandiose vistas, brilliant colors, and picturesque forms. From a hilltop, for example, he could look over an immense valley to the conical summit of the Mont Sainte-Victoire. In such a landscape, the dominant forms are so massive

Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Mont SainteVictoire, circa 1888-1889. Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven. Vincent van Gogh, Les Alpilles avec oliviers, 1889. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.


“In seeking to reconcile transience and permanence, Cezanne committed himself,

“Nature is always the same, but nothing remains of what we see of it. It is our art

body and soul, to the integrity of the brushstroke. The act of mark making was

that must convey the sense of permanence, capture the elements in all their changing

an act of faith in its transformative potential. Each stroke testified to an ongoing

forms. It should give us a taste of the eternal. What lies beneath? Perhaps nothing,

revision of intention.”

perhaps everything. Everything, you understand?” ALEX DANCHEV

that the details are reduced to insignificance, and the large planes and clearly-traced lines…lent themselves admirably to the fulfilment of Cezanne’s purpose, which was ‘to paint like Poussin, but from nature’” (quoted in Cezanne, exh. cat., Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1996, pp. 255-259).

Paul Cezanne, La Montagne SainteVictoire vue de Montbriand, circa 18821885. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Paul Cezanne, La Montagne SainteVictoire au grand pin, circa 1887. The Courtauld Gallery, London. Paul Cezanne, La Montagne SainteVictoire au grand pin, 1886-1887. Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.


Rather than portraying Mont Sainte-Victoire in the distance, framed or partially obscured by a single pine tree, as in the earlier works of the series (FWN, nos. 184-185, 234-235), in La Montagne Sainte-Victoire, Cezanne opted for a more dramatic and daring composition, picturing the great landmark centrally and from a closer viewpoint. As the decade unfolded, Cezanne gradually abandoned the classical repoussoir devices, as well as the specific natural and manmade elements of the Arc valley that he had included at the beginning of the decade—the viaduct, diagonal road, and the houses that dotted the valley—to instead allow the mountain its full dominance. In removing recognizable details, Cezanne moved a step forward in his desire to fully translate the sensation of standing within nature. “For a long time I was quite unable to paint Sainte-Victoire,” he later reminisced. “I had no idea how to go about it because, like others who just look at it, I imagined the shadow to be concave, whereas in fact it is convex, it disperses outward from the center. Instead of accumulating, it evaporates, becomes fluid, bluish, participating in the movements of the surrounding air” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 2006, p. 160).

As Cezanne described, in the present work, he has rendered the mountain in a palette of soft blues, as well as lilacs and pinks, lending this monumental landmark a sense of ephemeral lightness that perfectly captures the effect of visual perception, rather than the weighty reality, of this mass. Horizontal planes impart perspective, as areas of verdant green give way to rich ochres and terracotta, before the cooler toned mountain rises, no less dominant despite its recessive position amid the landscape. “Nature isn’t at the surface; it’s in depth,” Cezanne once explained. “Colors are the expression on this surface, of this depth. They rise up out of the earth’s roots: they are its life, the life of ideas” (quoted in N. Athanassoglou-Kallmyer, Cezanne and Provence: The Painter and his Culture, Chicago, 2003, p. 180). Tracing the outline of the mountain top, Cezanne has endowed this structure with a solidity and monumentality that belies the flatness of the hovering strokes that define its form. The sky too appears heavy, a massive realm that meets the mountain as its equal. A single stroke of color hangs just above the mountain’s peak, the outline of a cloud that seems electrified by the proximity of the mountain. “Those blocks were made of fire,” Cezanne was said to have remarked to Joachim Gasquet of the mountain. “There’s still some fire in them… note how, when large clouds pass overhead, their shadows quiver on the rocks as if burnt up, instantly consumed by a mouth of fire” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 1996, p. 468).


Cezanne’s transformation of the observed motif into an abstract formal structure—an image of nature held in dynamic equilibrium—is echoed in the novel way that he applied paint to canvas. In place of the spontaneous, broken touch that the Impressionists used to signify a fleeting moment en plein air, Cezanne here laid down pigment in a tapestry-like weave of brushstrokes that flattens the image and unifies the composition. Each stroke was carefully deliberated over and meticulously applied. The result is that these flecks, patches, and shimmers of color quiver across the surface of the canvas, simultaneously bringing this vista to life, while at the same time, declaring the inherent falsity of the painted image. “Cezanne’s sensations of the Sainte-Victoire are endlessly astonishing,” Alex Danchev described. “The strokes become shreds; appearance is transmuted into apparition” (Cezanne: A Life, London, 2013, p. 343). Though this series of 1880s views of the Mont Sainte-Victoire was painted from the same general vantage points near Montbriand and Bellevue, the present work is unique in its close up viewpoint. The first four views feature the mountain in the distance, the valley offering a broad panorama of this scene, which is either intersected or framed by a solitary pine tree. The latter four works present the landmark more prominently, though never with as much prominence as in the present work. After he painted the Barnes Foundation’s Mont Sainte-Victoire in 1892-1895 (FWN, no. 296), Cezanne, seeking fresh inspiration, drew closer to the base of the mountain and painted it rising up from the isolated grounds around Bibémus quarry and the Château Noir.

The Mont Sainte-Victoire continued to captivate the artist for the rest of his life. Between 1902 and his death in 1906, he produced a second sequence of Sainte-Victoire paintings from the crest of Les Lauves, the hill north of Aix where he built his last studio. In these late works, the mountain has been detached from the terra firma of the valley and abstracted into an icon, floating ethereally in the southern light, pointing toward the heavens. “Look at the Sainte-Victoire there,” Joachim Gasquet remembered Cezanne exclaiming, his fervent adoration and deep emotional connection with this landmark clear, “What élan, what imperious thirst for the sun, and what melancholy in the evening, when all that weight sinks back!” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 1996, p. 468). Created with a powerful emotional intensity, the Sainte-Victoire landscapes demonstrate how Cezanne negotiated the irrefutable facts of reality, and the seemingly illusory, ephemeral nature of our perception of it. The mountain exists as solid, unyielding mass, yet appears from afar as a constantly shifting screen of light and color. Cezanne’s great achievement was to distil these contradictory aspects of vision into pictorial form, capturing the transience and permanence of the world through harmonious strokes of color upon canvas. In so doing, he fundamentally altered the possibilities of painting. “All that we see dissipates and disappears, does it not?” Cézanne asked. “Nature is always the same, but nothing remains of what we see of it. It is our art that must convey the sense of permanence, capture the elements in all their changing forms. It should give us a taste of the eternal. What lies beneath? Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. Everything, you understand?” (quoted in A. Danchev, Cézanne: A Life, London, 2013, p. 339).

Paul Cezanne, La Montagne SainteVictoire, circa 1890. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Paul Cezanne, La Montagne SainteVictoire, circa 1888. Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam. Paul Cezanne, La Montagne SainteVictoire, 1892-1895. The Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia.


“I proceed very slowly, for nature reveals herself to me in very complex form and constant progress must be made. One must see one’s model correctly and experience it in the right way and furthermore express oneself with distinction and strength.” PAUL CEZANNE

The first owner of La Montagne Sainte-Victoire was the legendary collector Auguste Pellerin (1852-1929). Pellerin made his fortune through the manufacture of margarine, which was distributed across Europe. This enabled him to begin collecting, first acquiring conventional objets d’art and porcelain, as well as works by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot. It was not long before his taste changed, as he became drawn to some of the most radical art of his day. Starting with Impressionist works by Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, Berthe Morisot, and Alfred Sisley, he went on to amass an extraordinary collection of Edouard Manet, including Un Bar aux Folies-Bergère (The Courtauld Gallery, London). Henri Matisse painted his portrait twice; the first Pellerin rejected, the second, an intense, austere, radical rendering of the collector, he preferred (Auguste Pellerin II, 1917, Centre Pompidou, Paris). With an extraordinary prescience, Pellerin continued to evolve his collection, soon selling a large portion of his Impressionist paintings so that he could focus almost entirely on a new discovery: Cezanne. One

of the first collectors of the artist, Pellerin quickly amassed arguably the greatest collection of his work ever known, numbering over a hundred paintings and watercolors. In his home in Neuilly-sur-Seine hung La Montagne Sainte-Victoire. Presiding over the staircase was the monumental Grandes baigneuses now in the Philadelphia Museum of Art (FWN, no. 981), with portraits including Madame Cézanne en robe rouge (FWN, no. 493; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), as well as a number of the artist’s self-portraits. La Montagne Sainte-Victoire remained in Pellerin’s collection until his death in 1929, at which point it passed to his son, Jean-Victor. Subsequently the painting was acquired by the Greek shipping magnate, George Embiricos, whose collection also included works by Pablo Picasso and Francis Bacon, among others. It moved from one notable collection to another when it was purchased by one of the leading dealers and collectors of the twentieth century, Heinz Berggruen, before being acquired by Paul G. Allen in 2001.

Georges Braque, Arbres, 1908. Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris. Pablo Picasso, Maisons sur la colline, 1909. Nationalgalerie, Museum Berggruen, Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin. © 2022 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.




KLEE (1879-1940)

Bunte Landschaft signed, dated and inscribed 'Klee 1928 E 2' (upper right); signed and dated again, titled and inscribed '1928. E 2. bunte Landschaft Klee Notiz! Tempera! unter Glas zu halten!!' (on the stretcher) oil and tempera on incised plaster on board mounted by the artist to the stretcher 8¡ x 14º in. (21.4 x 36 cm.) Executed in 1928





Parc à Arles avec un coin de la Maison Jaune Weaving together a series of simplified architectural and organic forms into a colorful, cohesive and playful tapestry that stimulates and teases the eye, Bunte Landschaft captures the spirit of invention and experimentation that persisted throughout Paul Klee’s career. Painted in 1928, this richly worked composition emerged during a period of intense activity for the artist—at this time, he was a key member of the faculty at the famed Bauhaus in Dessau, where he had garnered a reputation as a fascinating, highly contemplative teacher, who possessed “profound truth and astounding knowledge” (quoted in M. Baumgartner, A. Hoberg and C. Hopfengart, eds., Klee and Kandinsky: Neighbors, Friends, Rivals, exh. cat., Lenbachhaus, Munich, 2015, p. 318). Enriched by this stimulating environment and his teaching activities, Klee was able to reflect on his own creative process at length, examining the roots of his artistic vision and analyzing the path of its expression in his work, a process that allowed him to push the boundaries of his art in new directions. In the present composition, Klee uses a mixture of plaster and tempera paint to achieve a shimmering, multi-hued, highly textured surface, into which the artist carved the outlines of a small rural village and its surrounding landscape. Klee enthusiastically investigated the expressive potentials of various materials through these years, probing the processes required for different media, recording every step of his explorations on the reverse of the canvas or jotting his notes down on sheets of loose paper as he went along. According to contemporary reports, he preferred to work completely in private, keeping the door to his studio locked and only admitting colleagues and friends at specific times. Rolf Bürgi described the almost magical air that clung to this hallowed, personal space, following a visit in 1925: “Klee’s studio was like an alchemist’s kitchen. In the middle there were several easels, one chair… Everywhere paint powder, oils, little bottles, little boxes, matchboxes. Whatever he needed for painting he made himself” (quoted in S. Frey and J. Helfenstein, eds., Paul Klee Rediscovered: Works from the Bürgi Collection, London, 2000, p. 186).

Jean Dubuffet, Les Grandes Artères, 1961. Private collection. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris.

In Bunte Landschaft windows and walls, doorways and pathways, clock towers and steeples are distilled down to their basic geometric shapes and then delicately carved into the surface of the plaster in an intricate pattern of forms. Klee had been fascinated by architectural studies since the earliest days of his career, writing in his diary in 1902 “Everywhere I see only architecture, linear rhythms, planar rhythms” (quoted in The Klee Universe, exh. cat., Neue Nationalgalerie, Berlin, 2008, p. 231). Here, the buildings are immersed in a field of bright, pastel pigment, their luminous tones imbuing the landscape with an almost joyful atmosphere, while an ambiguous sense of perspective leads the eye into a series of alternate directions. Between the structures, flowing arabesques and rhythmical linear elements suggest trees, bushes and plants, hinting at the carefully manicured gardens, allotments and flower beds that punctuate the landscape. As Christina Thomson has noted, in works such as Bunte Landschaft the artist successfully combined a sense of the man-made with the organic world: “Klee causes real architectural forms to collide with invented or symbolic elements, mixing the familiar with the visionary and space with dream. The result is fantastical cities, castles in the air, and dream worlds that fuse into a singularly dynamic architectural cosmos: nothing is rigid and purely geometric; everything pulsates, swells, flows, hovers, or glows… Klee blurs the boundary between the built and the grown, the constructive and the organic” (quoted in ibid., pp. 231-232). The first recorded owner of Bunte Landschaft was the renowned German art dealer Alfred Flechtheim, who acquired the work from Klee in the same year it was created. Flechtheim played a central role in cultivating Klee’s reputation outside of Germany through the late 1920s and early 1930s, most notably in France. He actively sought to build networks of artistic and cultural exchange between the two countries during these years, exhibiting the latest examples of the French avant-garde in his galleries in Dusseldorf and Berlin, and showcasing contemporary German artists in the shows he organized in Paris. Bunte Landschaft was clearly part of Flechtheim’s strategy for promoting Klee in this context, with the work traveling to Brussels for an exhibition in December 1928, before moving to Paris, where it was included in a solo-show dedicated to Klee at the Galerie Georges Bernheim et Cie in February 1929.

reed pen and brown ink over pencil on paper 13æ x 10¿ in. (35 x 25.9 cm.) Drawn in 1888 $3,000,000-5,000,000

“With paper, whether it’s a letter I’m writing or a drawing I’m working on, there’s never a misfire.” VINCENT VAN GOGH

“I have an enormous amount of drawing to do, because I’d like to do drawings in the style of Japanese prints. I can’t do anything but strike while the iron’s hot,” Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo in April 1888 (Letter 594, in L. Jansen, H. Luijten and N. Bakker, eds., Vincent van Gogh: The Letters, The Complete Illustrated and Annotated Edition, London, 2009, vol. 4, p. 46). His move to Arles earlier in the year precipitated a renewed interest in this medium. Graphic work played a dual role with painting at this time, both interchangeable parts of his practice as he moved between these two approaches. Executed in reed pen and brown ink, Parc à Arles avec un coin de la Maison Jaune pictures a corner of the gardens that bordered the Place Lamartine, the site of the Yellow House, where Van Gogh had moved in May 1888. The range of foliage and trees, cut and wild grass, hidden corners and more expansive views, offered Van Gogh an unending supply of motifs, making this one of his favorite subjects of Arles. With a host of different marks of varying weights—rapid, fine lines, thicker strokes, staccato dots and dashes—here, Van Gogh harnessed the versatility of reed pen, a medium he had readopted in Arles, to create a drawing that is alive with movement and atmosphere.

he so often felt when painting. The spontaneity and instinctiveness of many of his drawings is a reflection of this sense of liberation. “I wish paint was as little of a worry to work with as pen and paper… With paper, whether it’s a letter I’m writing or a drawing I’m working on, there’s never a misfire” (Letter 638, op. cit., p. 139). Reed pen was a tool in plentiful supply due to proliferation of reeds along the banks of the canals in Arles. This medium transformed Van Gogh’s draughtsmanship. Offering a great versatility—it could be used like a brush to create wider strokes, as well as finer lines, and required frequent reinking which led to the range of weight in many of the marks—the reed pen allowed Van Gogh to create broader, more fluent, expansive and varied works on paper, as the present work masterfully demonstrates.

Vincent van Gogh, Jardin public sur la place Lamartine, 1888. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.

Van Gogh decided to take up drawing not long after he had arrived in Arles. Just as his obsession with Japonisme had led him to relocate to the south, so it also inspired his desire to work in this medium, creating his own drawings in the manner of Japanese prints. He had already acquired a number of these ukiyo-e and was influenced by the calligraphic handling of these works as well as the flattened perspective they employed. Practically too, drawing offered Van Gogh new ways of working which fundamentally altered all aspects of his practice. When, in April 1888, Theo van Gogh was encountering financial difficulties, Van Gogh turned to drawing as a way of conserving his precious paint supplies. He soon found that with pen and ink he could work despite the whims of the weather—especially the notorious winds of the local mistral. As a result of both of these factors, Van Gogh found he was freed from the pressure



“Our eyes are directed at the essentials, the purely artistic, unobstructed by theme and content. It becomes apparent that, in these works, Klimt achieved his real greatness.” STEPHAN KOJA


KLIMT (1862-1918) Birch Forest signed ‘GUSTAV KLIMT’ (lower left) oil on canvas 43¡ x 43º in. (110.1 x 109.8 cm.) Painted in 1903 Estimate on Request

“I get up early in the morning, usually around 6 am, sometimes earlier sometimes later. If I get up and the weather is fine I go into the nearby forest. I am painting a small beech grove, mixed with a few conifers,” so Gustav Klimt described life in the picturesque village of Litzlberg, situated on Lake Attersee in Austria, in the summer of 1903 (Letter to M. Zimmerman, August 1903, quoted in S. Koja, ed., Gustav Klimt: Landscapes, Munich, 2006, p. 27). Filled with the stillness, mystery and timelessness that characterizes the greatest of Klimt’s landscapes, Birch Forest was painted during this idyllic summer retreat. Here, Klimt has pictured a segment of a densely wooded birch forest with exquisite, meticulously rendered detail. The elegant, otherworldly silver trunks ascend, “like columns in a cathedral created by nature,” Johannes Dobai described, from a dappled bronze carpet of fallen leaves (Gustav Klimt Landscapes, London, 1988, p. 17). A multitude of hues, gold, russet, and sage make up this mosaic-like accumulation of strokes, a contrast to the deep green foliage that lines the top of the closely cropped canvas. With his distinctive artistic technique, including

his newly adapted pointillist-style brushstrokes, Klimt transformed this quiet corner of a woods into a shimmering vision of subtle color, pattern and light. Landscape scenes comprise almost half of Klimt’s oeuvre from the time that he began painting this genre in the 1890s. They stand as an encapsulation of his idiosyncratic style as well as an expression of the importance that nature held for the artist. “It is no exaggeration to say that those who carefully study the landscapes will discover the complete Klimt,” Stephan Koja has written, “become intimate with his artistic sensibility and concerns, and discover the essence of Klimt’s art: his coloristic brilliance, precisely detailed pictorial composition, omnipresent sensuality, controlled by the distancing from the object, and the rigid organization of the surface” (ibid., p. 9). The landscape as a motif provided Klimt with a solace and solitude that he desired at times following the intensity of his life as an established leader of the Viennese avant-garde. During the autumn and spring

of each year, he focused on his famed portraits and allegorical compositions. When the summer months arrived, Klimt, like the rest of the wealthy and intellectual circles of the city, left Vienna to enjoy what was known as Sommerfrische. Keen to escape the heat and dust of the city, many, including the artist, traveled to Salzkammergut, a picturesque and rural area to the east of Salzburg. For artists, writers, thinkers and intellectuals, this period offered time and space for new inspiration and undisturbed work while immersed in the wonders of nature. Klimt spent the Sommerfrische with members of the Flöge family. His brother, Ernest, had been married to Helene Flöge. After Ernest’s death, Klimt remained close to their family, a guardian to their daughter, and companion of Helene’s sister, Emilie. Year after year the family spent this summer retreat together, holidaying from 1900 until 1912 in the picturesque villages that stood on the banks of the Attersee. It was during these periods of respite that Klimt painted the majority of his landscape scenes. Painted within nature, rather than in the confines of his city studio, this genre offered a form of escapism for the artist, far removed from the demands of his commissions and his public life. “For Klimt, the landscape—in its luminous utopian quietude—became a genre to complement his late portraits of wealthy female clients in highly crafted, hermetic, and aestheticized settings” (C.E. Schorske, in ibid., p. 11). His landscape scenes were painted purely for himself, reflecting a sense of wonder and fascination at the world around him, as well as enabling him to let his artistic vision take flight as he honed his visual language. The sense of quiet solitude, isolation, and peace that emanates from Birch Forest can be seen to reflect this.

Until 1907, Klimt and the Flöge family stayed in the guesthouse of the Litzlberg brewery on Lake Attersee. If the weather was clement, Klimt would set out to paint his surroundings, focusing on different aspects of the countryside, including the lake, orchards, flower-filled meadows and garden scenes. Their summer home had a small woods behind, and it is likely there that Klimt painted his wooded landscapes, including Birch Forest. So frequently did the artist make his way to the dark depths of the woods, laden with his paint materials, that the locals named him the Waldschrat, or “Forest Demon” (ibid., p. 27). Klimt once described how he chose his landscape compositions. “With a viewfinder,” he explained, “that is a hole cut into a piece of cardboard, I looked for motifs for landscapes I wanted to paint and found many or—if you prefer—few” (Letter to M. Zimmerman, August 1903, ibid., p. 27). With its intense focus on a carefully demarcated scene—the multi-layered and multihued woodland floor and the dense battalion of the birches stretching into the distance as far as the eye can see—the present work encapsulates Klimt’s use of this technique. As in many of his landscapes, any glimpse of sky is absent, deliberately excluded so to feature only the kaleidoscopic detail and color of this quiet corner of nature. Not even a shadow or glimmer of light has made its way through the trees’ canopy, the luminous blue petals of the two plants that grow in the immediate foreground the only indication that daylight must at times penetrate this silent world. This pictorial effect is heightened by the square format of the canvas. This is one of the most distinctive and important features of Klimt’s landscapes. While imparting a sense of symmetrical harmony to the expansive realm of nature, the square also removes the traditional

Gustav Klimt, Birch Forest I, circa 1902. Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen Dresden. Gustav Klimt, Pine Forest I, 1901. Kunsthaus Zug, deposit of Foundation Collection Kamm. Gustav Klimt at the Attersee lake, circa 1910. Photo:Imagno / Getty Images.



“The painterly texture of Klimt’s work, especially in his later paintings, gains in

“Refinement is a…distinctive feature in his landscapes… The dense web of brushstrokes

material density. It fuses into one precious whole, evenly covering the surface of the

merges the spatial zones into a suspended curtain of color, impenetrable…and

canvas in a refined riot of color, coming close to a decorative abstraction.”

holding our glances captive like the veiled picture of Sais.” STEPHAN KOJA

horizontality usually so inherent in landscape painting. In Birch Forest, the verticality of the trees, together with their interconnecting branches and foliage, obscures any horizon line. Despite this lack of recession the scene does not feel flat. Playing with pictorial depth was one of the key features of Klimt’s work, particularly his landscapes, as he conceived a new mode of presenting compositional space. The numerous, overlaid speckles, flecks, and strokes of color of the present work replace the traditional perspectival methods of imparting depth. As a result, the composition still appears as if a window onto another world.

Hugo Henneberg, Beech Wood in Autumn, circa 1898. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Egon Schiele, Autumn Trees, 1911. Private collection. Lucian Freud, Painter’s Garden, 2003. Private collection. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.


In removing a natural vanishing point and subverting the viewer’s expectations of pictorial depth, the focus of the composition becomes the masterfully worked picture surface itself. Klimt has constructed this scene with myriad strokes that add a sense of lush materiality to the composition. This is accentuated by the deliberate refinement of the horizontal strokes that make up the bark surface of several of the thicker trees. “The initial phase of the painting can still be seen,” Koja has described Birch Forest, “the background is finely brushed, making clear how slowly and carefully Klimt worked and also that he corrected, when necessary. Paintings such as this permit us to follow almost every individual stage in the painting procedure” (ibid., p. 67). The result of this process is a magical effect in which Klimt transports the viewer to

experience the sensation of standing amid the landscape. So minutely has he rendered the detail that one can almost feel the cool, damp atmosphere of this wooded world. It is this devotion to detail—each one of the tree trunks bears a different pattern, the marks on the bark like eyes staring out to greet the viewer’s own gaze—that defines Klimt’s oeuvre as a whole. Indeed, the connection between his clear delight in capturing the myriad details and colors that exists within the landscape and that which can be felt in his sensual and splendidly ornate images of woman in his portraits has been noted by writers. “In addition to the feeling for form, there is an amazing sense of the voluptuous atmospheric power of colors,” Richard Muther has described. “A miserable nature, a nature working in the service of man, a sedate nature, peaty bogs and steaming fields were never painted by Klimt. In his work, even the lake is not threatening or gloomy. It resembles a beautiful woman’s silk gown, shimmering and flirtatiously sparkling with blue, grass green, and violet tones. Klimt always remained an eroticist… The motifs themselves are scarcely different from those painted by hundreds of others, but one recognizes Klimt on account of the tenderness, the lascivious softness of the feeling for nature” (quoted in ibid., p. 68).


The motif of birch trees and forests was a popular subject for artists at this time. A group of “forest fir motifs” was shown in the Thirteenth Exhibition at the Secession in 1902, which included Klimt’s earlier works of this theme. Artists including Ferdinand Hodler, Fernand Khnopff, Piet Mondrian, as well as photography of the period, had all captured scenes such as this, entering into the German Romantic tradition which hailed the forest as a place of mystery. Klimt’s own depictions of birch and pine trees reflect his stylistic development within these opening years of the twentieth century. The artist’s depictions of these subjects in 1900 and 1901 are more naturalistically rendered in comparison to the more radically executed Birch Trees and others painted in 1902 and 1903. The main impetus for this shift was Klimt’s increased exposure to Neo-Impressionism. Viennese audiences had first witnessed Pointillism in the form of Théo van Rysselberghe’s work when it was exhibited in the city in 1899. This was followed by the inclusion of Paul Signac’s art in the 1900 Secession exhibition. Three years later, a major show of French Impressionism and Post-Impressionism was included too, which featured Georges Seurat’s Un dimanche d’été à l’île de la Grande Jatte of 1885-1886 (Art Institute of Chicago).

Keenly aware of international artistic developments that were taking place around him, Klimt allowed these advances to influence him, yet he retained his idiosyncratic style at the core. Over the course of these years, Klimt began to adopt the smaller, more defined brushwork employed by the Neo-Impressionists, replacing his earlier slightly looser Impressionist-inspired brushwork. He did not however employ this technique in accordance with the color theories espoused by Seurat and Signac, nor as a means of conveying objectively rendered light effects. Rather, Klimt adopted the dot-like brushstroke to express the richness and diversity of tones and textures that comprised his carefully selected landscape scenes. “Klimt’s inner passion was for making his understanding more real—focusing on what constituted the essence of things behind their mere physical appearance,” Johannes Dobai has written (op. cit., 1988, p. 12). This brushwork meant that his compositions became tighter and more condensed, the intensity and precision of detail leading to a novel sense of abstraction absent in his earlier works of this genre. Atmospheres are intensified and the sensation heightened, as Birch Forest masterfully shows.

Gustav Klimt, Pear Tree, 1903. Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge. Vincent van Gogh, Tree Trunks in the Grass, 1890. Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo.


“Whoever wants to know something about me—as an artist, the only notable thing— ought to look carefully at my pictures and try to see in them what I am and what I want to do.” GUSTAV KLIMT

In the autumn of 1903, when Klimt was back in his studio in Vienna, he selected Birch Forest to be included in the Secession held in NovemberDecember of that year. This exhibition was particularly important for Klimt on a personal level—it was dedicated solely to him, serving as the first one-man show of his career. From this point onwards, Birch Forest was included in a number of seminal exhibitions. Klimt chose to include it in the first Kunstschau held in Vienna in 1908. The artist, along with a number of other avant-garde leaders, organized this show following their split from the Secession three years earlier. The architect, Joseph Hoffmann designed a unique exhibition space, intended to be a Gesamtkunstwerk, for this large scale exhibition.

Birch Forest was acquired from Klimt by the now legendary collectors, Adele and Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer. Adele Bloch-Bauer was an important patron of the artist and a leading figure in Viennese society. Married to the industrialist and banker, Ferdinand Bloch, together they formed an impressive collection of paintings and decorative arts. In addition to their two portraits of Adele—she was the only woman Klimt ever painted twice—the couple’s collection of oil paintings by the artist consisted of four other works, all of which were landscapes: Schloss Kammer on the Attersee III of 1909-1910 (no. 171; Österreichische Galerie Belvedere), Apple Tree I of 1912 (no. 180; Private collection), Houses at Unterach on the Attersee, circa 1916 (no. 199; Private collection) and Birch Forest.

Klimt’s work formed a centerpiece of this show. In a gallery designed by Kolo Moser, dedicated to the artist, he included Birch Forest as well as other key works including The Three Ages of Woman (Novotny, no. 141; Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna, Rome), The Kiss (no. 140; Österreichische Galerie Belvedere), Portrait of Fritza Riedler (no. 143; Österreichische Galerie Belvedere), Poppy field (no. 149; Österreichische Galerie Belvedere) and Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I (no. 150; Neue Galerie, New York). Two years later, Birch Forest featured again in the IX Venice Biennale, one of just twenty-two works carefully selected by the artist.

Their collection was seized by the Nazi authorities in the days following the Austrian Anschluss in 1938. In 2006, five of their six works—the present work, Houses at Unterach on the Attersee and Apple Tree I and both Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I and II (nos. 150 and 177) were restituted to the heirs of the Bloch-Bauers. The so-called “Woman in Gold,” or Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I was acquired by the Neue Galerie, New York, where it remains today. The other four works, including Birch Forest, were sold at Christie’s, New York in November 2006.

Adele Bloch-Bauer (1881-1925), circa 1915. Private collection. Photo: Fine Art Images / Heritage Images / Getty Images. Gustav Klimt, Adele Bloch-Bauer I, 1907. Neue Galerie, New York. Photo: Neue Galerie New York / Art Resource, NY.




MARTIN (1912-2004) Untitled acrylic and graphite on canvas 60 x 60 in. (152.4 x 152.4 cm.) Executed circa 1999-2000



HEPWORTH (1903-1975)

Painted at the dawn of a new millennium, and during a period regarded as the pinnacle of Agnes Martin’s prodigious career, Untitled emerges as a sublime example of the artist’s singular vision. For more than forty years, Martin created serene paintings composed of poetic grids and stripes; with almost religious devotion and her distinctive attention to the subtleties of line, surface, tone, and proportion, she created a visual language that expresses quiet magnitudes in spite of their seemingly simple façades. In its majestic scale, patient precision, and joyous infusion of color, Untitled is a stand-out painting from an extraordinary body of work. Experiencing Untitled is perhaps akin to the visual sensation of looking away after peering at the sun for a moment too long; our overwhelmed receptors are often slow to reacclimate from the intense light, causing memories of color to momentarily dance across our field of vision, dressing our immediate surroundings in a hazy glow. With its rhythmic stripes of pale blue, soft apricot, and chalky yellow, Untitled similarly draws in the viewer with a magnetic pull. From afar, one nearly squints to make out the faint washes of color from the ground, but once firmly inside the painting’s orbit, the subtle striations come alive. Indeed, as the powdery hues fall in line before the viewer, Untitled hushes its surrounding environs to envelop its audience in a radiant energy, and the colors of the canvas suddenly seem to exist more truthfully within our eyes than on the painted surface.

Barnett Newman, Shining Forth (to George), 1961. Musée National d’Art Moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris. © 2022 Barnett Newman Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: © CNAC/MNAM, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, NY.

While the palette and horizontality of Untitled do seem to conjure images of sunrise or sunset, Martin was keen to point out that her compositions are not intended to be direct depictions of nature or its many forms. “A lot of people say that my work is like landscape. But the truth is that it isn’t because there are no straight lines in nature. My work is non-objective, like that of the Abstract Expressionists. But I want people, when they look at my paintings, to have the same feelings they

Elegy III

experience when they look at a landscape so I never protest when they say my work is like a landscape. But it’s really about a feeling of beauty and freedom, that you experience in a landscape” (quoted in I. Sandler, Art Monthly, no. 169, September, 1993). Indeed, while her work has been linked to Minimalism, Martin herself felt aligned most with the Abstract Expressionists. By 1967, when she famously left behind New York and its relentless art scene in exchange for the tranquility and isolation of New Mexico, Martin had already garnered significant attention from emerging Minimalist artists like Donald Judd (who wrote about her work twice), Carl Andre, and Sol LeWitt. Ultimately, however, her art was not an intellectual exercise, but an emotional one. The grid, and later, the stripes, would become for Martin what the color-field became for Mark Rothko, what the "zip" became for Barnett Newman, or what paint, itself, became for Ad Reinhardt: a compositional motif as gateway to convey subjective states and to intimate the existence of other, higher realities. Speaking of Martin’s mature body of work, Olivia Laing notes, “It isn’t easy to catch the workings of these paintings in words, since they were designed to dodge the burden of representation, to stymie the viewer in their incorrigible habit of searching for recognizable forms in the abstract field. They aren’t meant to be read, but rather responded to, enigmatic triggers for a spontaneous upwelling of pure emotion” (Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency, New York, 2020, p. 24). About everything and nothing all at once, superbly balanced and resonating with a quiet bliss, Untitled is a supreme example of this very divine ambiguity which exists at the core of Martin’s best and most sophisticated work. When a painting is powerful, we can’t help but to analyze every square-inch of the surface—every singular brushstroke—in an effort to uncover the very thing which incites such a rare emotional response. Untitled, however, defies language and logic. Ultimately there is no visual analysis, nor biographical analysis, which could do the painting justice, or could somehow articulate the reality of its presence. As Martin, herself, once wrote, “You wouldn’t think of form by the ocean” (quoted in A. Wilson, "Linear Webs," Art and Artists, 1:7, October 1966, p. 49).

signed, dated and numbered ‘Barbara Hepworth 1966 3/6’ (on the top of the base); inscribed with foundry mark ‘Morris Singer Founders London’ (on the back of the base) bronze with brown and green patina Height: 55 in. (139.5 cm.) Conceived in 1966 and cast in 1967 $3,000,000-5,000,000

The hollowed out ovoid is one of the defining forms of Barbara Hepworth’s oeuvre. Inspired by the dramatic, undulating landscape of her home in St. Ives, Cornwall, and demonstrating her innate understanding of her materials and her ability to carve, shape or sculpt them, for Hepworth, this motif had a universal resonance. As she described, “the closed form, such as the oval, spherical or pierced form (sometimes incorporating color) which translates for me the association and meaning of gesture in landscape; in the repose of say a mother and child, or the feeling of the embrace of living things, either in nature or in the human spirit” (quoted in P. Curtis and A.G. Wilkinson, Barbara Hepworth: A Retrospective, exh. cat., Tate Gallery Liverpool, 1994, p. 82). Conceived in 1966, Elegy III was cast from a wood carving executed the previous year: Hollow Form with White (BH 384; Tate, London). Cast in an edition of seven, with this work Hepworth harnessed the aesthetic potentials of bronze. The polished elm wood surface of Hollow Form with White has been transformed into the gleaming, timeless metal, and the white painted interior replaced with a richly evocative green-blue patina. Other casts of Elegy III reside in the Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo and the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden, University of California, Los Angeles.

the colors of the world around her into her work. “The color in the concavities plunged me into the depth of water, caves, or shadows deeper than the carved concavities themselves,” she once explained (quoted in ibid., p. 82). The luminous aqua-toned hollows of the present work conjure the ever-changing turquoise flecked Atlantic that bordered her Cornish home. The title, Elegy, also adds a poignancy to this work. Hepworth had first used this title in the middle of the Second World War, reflecting perhaps the melancholy that pervaded these years. In returning to this title, Hepworth was possibly, Matthew Gale and Chris Stephens have written, reiterating her “belief in the affirmation of abstract form in contrast to the destruction of war” (Barbara Hepworth, Works in the Tate Collection and the Barbara Hepworth Museum St Ives, London, p. 2001, p. 232).

Two stages in the preparation for patination of two casts of Elegy III at Morris Singer, together with a cast of Dual Form circa 1967.

Elegy III is the third and final work of a closely related trio of sculptures, all of which share the same title. The first two, Elegy and Elegy II (BH 131 and 134; Private collection and Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh), are wood carvings executed in the mid-1940s. With their pierced ovoid forms, these works reflect an essential shift that occurred in Hepworth’s work at this time. In July 1942, Hepworth and her family had moved to a new, larger house on Carbis Bay in St. Ives. Though the war raged on, Hepworth now had the space to begin carving again. “A new era seemed to begin for me… There was a sudden release… now I had a studio workroom looking straight towards the horizon of the sea and enfolded (but with always the escape for the eye straight out to the Atlantic) by the arms of land to the left and right of me” (quoted in ibid., p. 81). From this point onwards, the Cornish landscape played an essential role in Hepworth’s sculpture, as Elegy III demonstrates. She began not only to hollow out and pierce forms, imparting a sense of the rolling hills, cavernous cliffs, and rugged coastline, but also to incorporate



“The words dictated by our blood sometimes seem mysterious to us. Here it seems we are ordered to open up magic niches in the trees.” RENE MAGRITTE


MAGRITTE (1898-1967)

(quoted in ibid., p. 155). That year, Magritte painted the first iteration of La voix du sang (Sylvester, no. 625; Private collection). Sylvester notes the ample changes between the earlier L’arbre savant and this painting: “the scene is now nocturnal, the tree in full leaf, and there are now three cupboards, as against four, in the trunk; the top, as before is ajar, the others contain a sphere and a house” (ibid., p. 384).

La voix du sang signed ‘Magritte’ (lower right) oil on canvas 31¿ x 23¿ in. (79.1 x 58.6 cm.) Painted in 1948 $12,000,000-18,000,000

Manuscript illustration from Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” 1864. Illustration of a cork harvest from the Larousse encyclopedia. Giorgio de Chirico, Le chant d’amour, 1914. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / SIAE, Rome.


“The words dictated by our blood sometimes seem mysterious to us. Here it seems we are ordered to open up magic niches in the trees.” These words were René Magritte’s only direct attempt to explain the evocative title shared by an iconic series of paintings including La voix du sang. Translated by David Sylvester as Blood Will Tell, or literally, “the voice of blood,” the turn of phrase conjures a viscerally eerie mood, a feeling that something sinister might be lurking just beneath the canvas. But to Magritte, something else is afoot: a moment of beautiful compulsion, of being beckoned by that which eludes us—a call from the soul “to open up the magic niches in the trees” (“On Titles,” in K. Rooney and E. Plattner, eds., René Magritte: Selected Writings, Richmond, 2016, p. 115). Magritte famously resisted interpretations of his work that amounted to the one-to-one decoding of symbols: a house always symbolizes “x”, or a sphere “y”. The artist’s brief words on the present work push us to consider this compelling work as more than Surrealist algebra. La voix du sang is Magritte’s ode to the fantastical moment of stumbling across a rabbit hole, and the mysterious, prelinguistic urge to tumble down. It’s little surprise Claude Spaak argues that Magritte first found the germ of what would become La voix du sang in Lewis Carroll’s Victorian classic Alice in Wonderland (D. Sylvester, ed., René Magritte, Catalogue Raisonné, London, 1993, vol. II, p. 208). The Surrealists considered the mind-

warping and playful tale to be a rich premonition of their intervention in modern art in the twentieth century. Certain lines must have made a lasting impression on Magritte; Carroll writes, “[Alice] noticed that one of the trees had a doorway leading right into it. ‘That’s very curious!’ she thought, ‘but everything's curious today: I may as well go in.’ And in she went” (Alice’s Adventures Underground, manuscript written and illustrated 1862-1864, p. 66). Carroll illustrated this charming moment of childhood curiosity on the page opposite the text. David Sylvester suggests that this literary influence, along with an illustration of cork harvesting in the Petit Larousse encyclopedia, inspired Magritte to paint L’arbre savant, 1935 (Sylvester, no. 384; Private collection). It was here that Magritte first rendered the image that would become La voix du sang. A rootless tree trunk fashioned with four cubbies occupies an ambiguous setting. This tree qua cabinet contains a collection of dutifully-rendered objects: a small bunch of metal wire, a pyramid, and a lit candle. The top door is ajar, perhaps opening or closing, hiding a fourth object from the viewer. It would be twelve years before Magritte returned to the subject in an oil painting—only after the Second World War and the artist’s corresponding “Renoir period” came to a close. In 1947, Magritte returned to his widely-beloved style with tenacity and verve, recapturing what his art dealer and friend Alexandre Iolas described as “the mysterious, poetic quality of [his] former pictures”

Magritte’s new selection of objects contained in the cabinet-like tree deepen the mystery of the image—where there was prior a lit candle, a house with lights in the windows is tucked neatly into the lowest cubbyhole. The scale of the scene becomes simultaneously incomprehensible and fascinating. Magritte’s deft employ of paradoxical scale is clearly seen in one of the artist’s favorite paintings: Chant d’amour, 1914 by Giorgio de Chirico (The Museum of Modern Art, New York). Magritte said of De Chirico’s masterpiece, “This triumphant poetry supplanted the stereotyped effect of traditional painting. It represented a complete break with the mental habits peculiar to artists who are prisoners of talent, virtuosity and all the little aesthetic specialties. It was a new vision through which the spectator might recognize his own isolation and hear the silence of the world” (quoted in ibid., p. 61). Magritte would paint two further canvases the following year titled La voix du sang, 1948 (Sylvester, nos. 660 and 668; Private collection and the present lot). In the former, Magritte experimented with foreclosing the natural scenery surrounding his subject, obscuring all but a sliver of the view with a red curtain. In the present work (the latter of the 1948 canvases), Magritte changed course, doing away with the red curtain altogether and reframing the scene to include the entirety of the tree with a generous swath of picturesque scenery. The vista stretches far behind the grassy foreground and stars dapple the sky, framing the tree’s dark canopy. The image of the cabinet-like trunk is still central to the composition, but now a world surrounds it. Much more than in previous iterations, in the present work, Magritte imbues viewers with an unexpectedly rich impression of natural beauty.

Sylvester suggests the influence of German Romantic painter Caspar David Friedrich in La voix du sang (D. Sylvester, Magritte, London, 1969, p. 8). Friedrich showcases a moment of nonoptional revelation in the experience of the natural sublime. The Romantic’s passionate landscapes suggest that humanity is at home in God’s world, that beauty is evidence of things not seen. Magritte, however, suggests something else. As the artist once stated, “I think the picturesque can be employed like any other element, provided it is placed in a new order or particular circumstances” (quoted in H. Torczyner, Magritte: The True Art of Painting, New York, 1977, p. 120). Magritte leverages the picturesque landscape with his strikingly surreal tree to propose that we might truly be at home, not in the world uncovered, but the world concealed. Where Friedrich sees mystery as something to be answered by the absolute sublime, Magritte intensifies the mystery of the world as such in his picturesque scene. To completely uncover the world, to Magritte, would be to have nothing left to inhabit. Magritte would revisit the imagery of La voix du sang habitually, both in the close-cropped and the full-scene compositions, executing gouaches, lithographs, and two final canvases in oil in 1959 and 1961 (Sylvester, nos. 905 and 928; Museum moderner Kunst, Siftung Ludwig, Vienna and Private collection) at the request of Alexander Iolas and on commission, respectively. It is telling that when Magritte was commissioned to design a monumental mural to envelop those who step into the Casino Communale at Knokke-le-Zoute, the imagery of La voix du sang featured prominently among his most renowned motifs. The painting was acquired by the photographer, collector, and philanthropist Adelaide de Menil in 1955, and remained in her esteemed collection for over forty years. Inheriting her interest in modern art from her parents Dominique and John de Menil, Adelaide built an eclectic collection over the years, combining paintings, sculptures and objets d’art by artists such as Alexander Calder, Alberto Giacometti and John Chamberlain, alongside a diverse array of objects from her extensive travels around the world with her partner Ted Carpenter, an anthropologist and author. Adelaide’s early interest in Magritte was most likely influenced by her parent’s extensive holdings of the artist’s work, leading her to purchase La voix du sang from Magritte's dealer, Iolas, when she was just twenty years old.

René Magritte, La voix du sang, 1959. Museum moderner Kunst Stiftung Ludwig, Vienna. © 2022 C. Herscovici / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photograph of the mural that Magritte was commissioned to paint for the interior of the Casino Communale at Knokke-le-Zoute. Artwork: © 2022 C. Herscovici / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.



LE SIDANER (1862-1939)

La Sérénade, Venise signed ‘Le Sidaner’ (lower left) oil on canvas 53√ x 72º in. (137 x 183.5 cm.) Painted in 1907 $1,500,000-2,500,000

Capturing Venice in all its atmospheric splendor, Henri Le Sidaner’s monumental La Sérénade, Venise pictures the Grand Canal with one of the city’s great landmarks, the Doge’s Palace, rising on the bank opposite. In the foreground a group of gondolas filled with figures are gathered to listen to a musical serenade. Cloaked in inky-blue shadows, they are illuminated by the multi-colored lamps that radiate from this nocturnal scene. Taking the place of the moon, these glowing orbshaped lights multiply the glittering light effects in the scene. Having first visited Venice in the early 1890s, Le Sidaner returned to the famed floating city in 1905. Perhaps in part inspired by the earlier retrospective exhibition of James McNeill Whistler at the Ecole des BeauxArts in Paris, whose visions of Venice exerted an important influence on artists at this time, Le Sidaner arrived in the autumn of this year. This trip offered him a very different impression of the city than when he had first visited at the beginning of the 1890s. This time, the artist embraced the legendary atmospheric qualities of Venice—light reflections, fog, rain and sun—and was particularly drawn to depicting these ephemeral effects at night. “He shows the true Venice,” a critic described when a selection of works from his Venetian stay were shown in Paris in 1906, “the familiar Venice, Venice true to life and lost in a dream” (“Les Salon de 1906,” in La Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1906, quoted in Henri Le Sidaner: A Magical Impressionist, exh. cat., Kunstammlungen Chemnitz, 2009, p. 43). Finding that his Venice paintings were met with critical success, Le Sidaner returned again in the fall of 1906, and remained there with his family until February of the following year. He once again fell under the

spell of the coloristic—as well as evocative—visual effects the city offered. It was during this stay that Le Sidaner and his wife, Camille, took evening gondola rides to enjoy the music played from an orchestra boat on the Grand Canal. It was these idyllic interludes that inspired the present work. The artist produced a number of sketches of the various elements of the scene, including a depiction of his wife, Camille, who appears as the seated female figure in the immediate foreground of the finished work (Farinaux-Le Sidaner, no. 967) (see Y. Farinaux-Le Sidaner, Henri Le Sidaner, Paysages intimes, Château de Saint-Rémy-en-l’Eau, 2013, p. 88). Le Sidaner had long been interested in the Symbolist equivalence between art and music. Here, he brings this to life, marrying the sounds of this evening entertainment with the vivid atmosphere and rich colors and light of Venice. Le Sidaner’s Impressionistic views of Venice pre-date Claude Monet’s own series of Venetian views, which he painted during his first and only campaign in the city in the autumn of 1908. The artists' depictions of the canals and bridges, churches and palazzi have often drawn comparison, as both sought, in varying ways, to capture the famed effects of light and color. Though similar, Le Sidaner differed from his contemporary in his love of nocturnal scenes. In the present work, he has employed an Impressionist, and, in the dappled brushwork, a Pointillist, handling with which to capture the ceaseless sparkling lights reflecting on water, distilling something of the mysterious atmosphere of this magical city.

Claude Monet, Le Palais ducal, 1908. The Brooklyn Museum, New York.



“The act of metamorphosis by which Van Gogh reinvented himself in Arles is one of the most startling phenomena of his career… After a matter of weeks in Provence… Van Gogh had established a consistency of execution and a clarity of formal means that 22

have defined his creative personality ever since. Classic images followed each other in


breathtaking succession...”




Verger avec cyprès oil on canvas 25æ x 31√ in. (65.2 x 80.2 cm.) Painted in Arles in April 1888 Estimate on Request

On 20 February 1888, Vincent van Gogh arrived in Arles to find the Provençal town covered in snow. This was the artist’s first experience of southern France, a place he had imagined as a Promised Land, a utopia which he believed would be like Japan, a country that fascinated him. He also had hopes to found an artist’s colony, the “Studio of the South,” which, he wished, would attract other like-minded artists to the area. While Van Gogh’s vision of an artistic community was never realized, his move to the south marked the beginning of the artist’s mature career. Over the course of the fifteen months that he lived in Arles, his work changed from its Impressionist-inspired Paris handling, to the intensely colored, often impastoed and increasingly expressive paintings for which he is now renowned. He worked at an intensive pace, creating an outpouring of paintings and drawings that stand among the finest of his short yet extraordinary career as an artist. “The act of metamorphosis by which Van Gogh reinvented himself in Arles is one of the most startling phenomena of his career,” Richard Kendall has written. “If the years in Paris had been profoundly formative, the pictures he made there were arguably as remarkable for their breadth of experimentation and diversity of scale, subject, and finish as for their individual distinction. After a matter of weeks in Provence, however, Van Vincent van Gogh, Fleur d’amandier, 1890. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam. Vincent van Gogh, Nature morte, branche d’amandier, 1888. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.


Gogh had established a consistency of execution and a clarity of formal means that have defined his creative personality ever since. Classic images followed each other in breathtaking succession...” (Van Gogh’s Van Goghs: Masterpieces from the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, exh. cat., National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., 1998, p. 90). Verger avec cyprès was painted in the spring of 1888, not long after the artist had arrived in Arles. This painting belongs to the landmark series of fourteen canvases depicting orchards in blossom that stands as Van Gogh’s first major body of work in the south (Faille, nos. 394, 399, 403-406, 513, 551-557). Not only did this group validate for the artist his decision to move to the south, but they mark a moment of jubilant rebirth following the privations he had experienced Paris—heralding the start, quite literally, of the flowering of his art that would take place over the following months. With their assured handling and luminous, delicate palette, these paintings demonstrate Van Gogh’s great love of nature and his innate ability to read the colors, atmosphere and distinct qualities of a landscape and translate these into pictorial form. Of this defining series, the present work is one of only five to remain in private hands. The majority can be found in museums including the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo and The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

The freezing temperatures in Arles—it was the coldest winter on record when Van Gogh arrived—initially thwarted the artist’s exploration of the area, though he painted a few scenes, including the Langlois Bridge. An auspicious precursor of the great series of orchards that would soon follow are two still lifes of a single sprig of almond blossom in a glass that the artist painted in February, while still mostly holed up indoors (Faille, nos. 392 and 393). When milder weather finally arrived, the artist was greeted with a sight that affirmed his abiding belief that he found in Provence a Japan of the south. The myriad fruit trees that proliferated all over this area of France burst into flower, providing Van Gogh with his very own cherry blossom festival. “The orchards were his utopia: there it was, before his very eyes” (I.F. Walther and R. Metzger, Vincent van Gogh: The Complete Paintings, Cologne, 2001, p. 331). Over the course of a few weeks, Van Gogh proceeded to paint fourteen canvases that capture different views of an orchard in blossom. Apricot, cherry, peach, pear and plum trees serve as beacons of possibility in the artist’s world as he plunged headlong into his new surroundings and memorialized the annual, life affirming advent of spring. Ronald Pickvance has suggested that Van Gogh painted this series from a single orchard, though the exact location has never been identified (exh. cat., op. cit., 1984, p. 45). Enthused by the motif he had found, and likely having received permission from the orchard’s owner, he set out to create “a Provence orchard of tremendous gaiety,” capturing a variety of views of the various trees that grew there (Letter 592, in L. Jansen, H. Luijten and N. Bakker, eds., Vincent van Gogh: The Letters, The Complete Illustrated and Annotated Edition, London, 2009, vol. 4, p. 42). “He maintained an insider’s view of the characteristic Provençal orchard,” Pickvance wrote, rarely portraying the environs that lay beyond this blossoming world

he had discovered (ibid., p. 45). In addition, he never included a human figure in his compositions and very occasionally added signs of any human presence—a rake and scythe in one, and a ladder in another. It is nature in its state of annual renewal and rebirth that serves as the sole protagonist of these scenes. While in some works, Van Gogh honed in on a single tree, in Verger avec cyprès he depicted a more expansive view. Here the frigid, furrowed and shadowless ground, rendered with a tapestry of delicate, linear strokes in hues of pale blue, pink and green, leads towards the peach trees that explode with boughs of pale confetti-like petals. The same principal statuesque tree had served as the protagonist of a slightly earlier work in the series—Pêcher roses en fleurs (Souvenir de Mauve) (Faille, no. 394; Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo), as well as the closely related Verger en fleurs (Faille, no. 404; Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam). The orchard is lined by a cane fence, installed to protect the trees from the mistral that regularly swept through Provence. Just visible beyond is a battalion of cypress trees—the likes of which the artist had never seen before from his life in the north. This symbol of the region would soon become a ubiquitous element of Van Gogh’s work there. These too were intended as protection for the fruit trees, their looming presence in the present work serving as a bold visual contrast to the delicate, dazzling petals of the trees. Van Gogh described the inception of the orchard series on 25 March, when he remarked to his brother, the Paris-based art dealer, Theo, “I’ve just done a clump of apricot trees in a little fresh green orchard” (Letter 589, op. cit., 2009, p. 32). Just five days later, now writing to his sister, Willemien, he said he had a total of six paintings of blossoming fruit trees. “And the one I brought home today would possibly appeal to

Vincent van Gogh, Amandier en fleur, 1888. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam. Vincent van Gogh, Les pruniers en fleurs, 1887. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.


“And the one I brought home today would possibly appeal to you—it’s a dug-over “The orchards were his utopia: there it was, before his very eyes.”

patch of ground in an orchard, a wicker fence and two peach trees in full bloom, pink against a sparkling blue sky with white clouds and sunshine.” INGO WALTHER AND RAINER METZGER VINCENT VAN GOGH TO WILLEMIEN VAN GOGH

you—it’s a dug-over patch of ground in an orchard, a wicker fence and two peach trees in full bloom, pink against a sparkling blue sky with white clouds and sunshine” (Letter 590, ibid., p. 38). The letters that follow detail the artist in the throes of painting. “I’m in a fury of work as the trees are in blossom,” he wrote to Theo at the beginning of April, ever clearer on his artistic aim with the series (Letter 592, ibid., p. 42). On 12 April, he embarked upon the present canvas. “I’m busy with the fruit trees in blossom,” he told Theo, “pink peach trees [the present work], yellow-white pear trees [Faille, no. 513; Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo]. I follow no system of brushwork at all; I hit the canvas with irregular strokes which I leave as they are, impastoed, uncovered spots of canvas…” (Letter 596, ibid., p. 52).

Vincent van Gogh, Un coin du verger, 1888. National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh. Vincent van Gogh, Le verger rose, 1888. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam. Vincent van Gogh, Le verger blanc, 1888. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.


Van Gogh considered Verger avec cyprès as a pendant to the KröllerMüller’s aforementioned Verger entouré de cyprès. Painted from similar vantage points, the latter continues the view from the right hand side of the composition of the present work. The day after he had announced to Theo the commencement of these two works, Van Gogh expanded on an idea to create decorative ensembles based on this motif. Realizing the commercial potential of these bucolic springtime scenes, Van Gogh wanted to produce two triptychs of the orchards, and continue the following year to once again picture the landscape in bloom. He sketched out the first three paintings he had created as a trio, remarking

that the present work and the Kröller-Müller’s work were “still only in the state of embryos or foetuses” (Letter 597, ibid., p. 56). These were, Van Gogh continued, “supposed to represent a very large orchard with a border of cypresses and large pear and apple trees” (ibid., p. 58). As Van Gogh’s description of his technique in the present work shows, he worked fast and assuredly on these paintings, clearly conscious that this spectacle would not last long, and was at the mercy of the notorious Provençal mistral. “In the intervals,” he wrote to Theo on 11 April, while encountering firsthand the barraging winds that so often swept through the area, “sunshine that made all the little white flowers sparkle. It was so beautiful!” (Letter 595, ibid., p. 50). The present work has a particularly pointillist handling. The sky and blossom are rendered with an array of speckled dots of color—the “irregular strokes” that Van Gogh described. This effect was the defining characteristic of this work. As he later wrote to Theo, “The orchard study you mention—where there’s a lot of stippling—is one half of the main subject of the decoration” (Letter 615, ibid., p. 96). The artist had visited the studio of Georges Seurat on the day before he had left Paris in February—this work is perhaps a reflection of the distinctive style that the Neo-Impressionist had pioneered, as well as of the Impressionism he had imbibed in Paris. Yet, crucially, Van Gogh was not, like the pointillist, employing a regulated, meticulous method of color application, but

rather, was using this technique in accordance to his own means of expression, as a way to capture the sparkling intensity of light and color of this spring day in the orchard. While his handling varies across the series, from the delicate, impastoed surface of the present work, to the bolder, broader strokes in some of the others, Van Gogh’s attention to color unites each of the fourteen canvases. Faced with the blue skies and a high, bright sun, fresh shoots of green grass, and the luminous white and pink flowers of the trees, Van Gogh intensified his palette—and in some cases, imagined it—in order to fully convey the atmosphere that lay before him in these scenes. He explained this to Willemien, “You understand that the countryside of the south can’t exactly be painted with the palette of Mauve, say, who belongs in the north and is and always will be the master of gray. But today’s palette is definitely colorful—sky blue, pink, orange, vermilion, brilliant yellow, bright green, bright wine red, violet. But by intensifying all the colors one again achieves calm and harmony” (Letter 590, ibid., p. 38). The motif of the flowering tree also stood as the embodiment of Van Gogh’s desire to discover the characteristics of Japan that he had seen primarily in the myriad woodcuts that proliferated in Paris at this time. There, the artist had fallen in love with the idea of the country. He purchased a number of these prints, many of which featured the

region’s signature blossoming cherry trees. Describing his train journey to Arles in a letter to Paul Gauguin, Van Gogh recalled how he was constantly watching “to see ‘if it was like Japan yet’!” (Letter 706, ibid., p. 332). Shortly after arriving in Arles, he wrote to Emile Bernard, “…this part of the world seems to me as beautiful as Japan for the clearness of the atmosphere and the gay color effects” (Letter 587, ibid., p. 28). While the motif of the blossoming orchard would be the most direct element of Japonisme that Van Gogh found in Arles, this subject enabled him to understand his new setting, and develop a novel palette and handling with which to describe this in painterly form. It was Van Gogh’s heightened response to the landscape, and his ability to translate its everchanging qualities that lent his depictions of the world around him the intensity of expression and feeling for which he is renowned. With the orchard series, Van Gogh perfectly captured “the pellucid atmosphere and limpid colors of a Provençal spring,” (exh. cat., op. cit., 1984, p. 45). Just a few months later, when the fields of wheat had turned into vast squares of gold and ochre, he similarly distilled these essential qualities, creating a series of harvest works that convey the sun-scorched environs of southern France. Van Gogh would continue to revel in the eternal rhythms of nature, as season moved to season with a constancy that seemed to evade his own mental state. In many ways this inaugural series of orchards in blossom marks the beginning of this concept serving as a central motif in his work. As Ingo Walther and

Vincent van Gogh, Pêcher roses en fleurs (Souvenir de Mauve), 1888. Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands. Vincent van Gogh, Verger entouré de cyprès, 1888. Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands. Vincent van Gogh, Verger en fleurs, 1888. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.


“In the intervals, sunshine that made all the little white flowers sparkle. It was so beautiful!” VINCENT VAN GOGH

Rainer Metzger have described, “Van Gogh was seeking the transient in the eternal; he was seeking that moment in reality that would validate his vision of a better life… This moment would make true what had been so assiduously planned in his imagination. Van Gogh was rarely to find a subject that fitted this endeavor and also pleased the eye as thoroughly as the trees in blossom did. They were timeless yet transient, fragile yet with the solid presence of icons” (op. cit., 2001, p. 333). On 7 May 1888, Van Gogh sent Theo his first consignment of canvases from Arles, which included the present work, as well as the others from the orchard series. This marked the beginning of a practice that would continue throughout the artist’s time in the south. After Theo’s untimely death, Verger avec cyprès passed to his widow, Johanna van Gogh-Bonger, who was responsible for cementing the artist’s

reputation following the loss of her husband. She was crucial to the large retrospective exhibition that took place at the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam in the summer of 1905, in which the present work was included. This show was critical in disseminating the artist’s work to a wide European audience, especially influencing the nascent German Expressionist group. The painting remained in the family’s collection, moving to Johanna’s son, Vincent, and then to Andries Bonger by 1905. It was latterly in the collection of Joan Whitney Payson. A member of the renowned Whitney family, Payson led an eccentric life: along with her philanthropic endeavors, she was passionate about racing, Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works, which she collected, and was also the majority owner of the New York Mets.

Jean-François Millet, Printemps,1868-1873. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Photo: Bridgeman Images. Claude Monet, Le Printemps, 1873. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.




DALI (1904-1989)

Le spectre de Vermeer signed and indistinctly dated ‘Salvador Dalí’ (on the stretcher) oil on canvas 8√ x 6¡ in. (22.3 x 16.1 cm.) Painted circa 1934 $4,000,000-6,000,000

Johannes Vermeer, The Art of Painting, 1666-1668. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna. Photo: Bridgeman Images.

Alain Bosquet once asked Salvador Dalí, “If all mankind were to disappear within an hour and you had the right to rescue one single painting, not by you, which would you select?” (Conversations with Dalí, New York, 1969, p. 31). The surrealist titan responded directly, forgoing half-measures and playful misdirection. The answer was clear: Johannes Vermeer’s The Art of Painting (1666-1668; Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna). Between 1934 and 1935, during a period of immense critical and popular acclaim, Dalí produced a series of four oil paintings—two on canvas, two on panel—titled Le spectre de Vermeer de Delft. A loving, intensely personal ode to the old master of Delft, these works mark an important moment of quiet reflection amid Dalí’s meteoric rise to fame. The present work, dutifully rendered in an intimate scale, provides a glimpse not only into the psyche of the artist, but into the nature of artistic influence itself.

Me," 1939, http://digitalarchives.queenslibrary.org/browse/new-yorksalutes-me). In the stunning fidelity of Vermeer’s fine brushwork and masterful composition, in works such as The Art of Painting, Dalí found rich strategies to sublimate his unconscious intuitions into hyperreal masterpieces. In both the present work and Vermeer’s, the principal figure is seen with his back to the viewer, looking deeper into the pictorial plane—the surrounding scenes seem to spill out from these figures’ kenotic gaze. In Le spectre de Vermeer de Delft, the figure bears a distinctive Vermeer-esque frock and hat, but his setting is transfigured. The painter’s mahlstick has become the specter’s crutch, and as he kneels, his right leg resembles that of a table. As the specter gazes over the walled midground and towards a distant ridgeline, light spills across the scene from right to left, perpendicular to the viewer—a trace of Vermeer’s studio remains in this new world.

In 1934, Dalí found himself on top of the artworld; during his first trip to the US, he held six solo exhibitions in New York alone. Triumphantly, he penned a statement titled “New York Salutes Me.” He wrote, “New York: why, why did you erect my statue long ago, long before I was born, higher than another, more desperate than another ("New York Salutes

Dalí’s painting evokes something beyond his clear admiration for the Dutch master. Dalí brings himself to the fore, evoking a sense of simultaneous kinship with and distance from this disembodied Vermeer. The specter’s kneeling seems to reference Dalí’s 1933 self-portrait, Moimême à 10 ans quand j'étais l'enfant-sauterelle (complexe de castration) (Salvador Dalí Museum, Saint Petersburg, Florida). The rolling hills in the distance resemble the numerous Port Lligat landscapes Dalí painted throughout his career. Yet the specter remains shrouded in mystery, residing in the shadowy foreground of the piece. He is elongated, footless, and otherworldly. These disparate visual elements come together to yield a wistful and undeniably personal tableau, but the tone is ultimately ambiguous by design. An early success of Dalí’s “paranoic-critical method,” the present work is the result of a spontaneous outpouring of Dalí’s associative powers to create what the artist called “hand painted dream photographs” (quoted in M.A. Roglán, “In Pursuit of the ‘Specter of Vermeer’: Dalí and the Painter of Delft,” in Poetics of the Small 1929-1936, Dallas, 2018, p. 48). Vermeer’s paintings would continue to haunt and inspire Dalí in the years to come, with works such as: Apparition de la ville de Delft, 1936 (Private collection); L’image disparaît, 1938 (Dalí Theatre-Museum, Figueres); Copie classique de ‘La Dentillière’, circa 1955 (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York); and Peintre paranoïaque-critique de la ‘Dentellière’ de Vermeer,’ circa 1955 (The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York). Through the figure and works of Vermeer, Dalí brings the act of painting itself into his surreal world.





The Piazza San Marco, Venice, looking east towards the basilica oil on canvas 24Ω x 37Ω in. (62.2 x 95.3 cm.) $5,000,000-7,000,000

Few subjects gained Canaletto the recognition as the greatest vedutista of his age like his views of the Piazza San Marco looking towards the basilica. The present painting is a particularly successful and early example of this quintessential view.

Canaletto, The Piazza San Marco in Venice, circa 1723–1724. Photo: © Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid. Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid. Canaletto, Piazza San Marco, late 1720s. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photo: Purchase of Mrs. Charles Wrightsman Gift,The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.


Canaletto first depicted the Piazza San Marco in an exceptionally large-scale canvas measuring more than two meters in width, which is today in the collection of the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum in Madrid. The painting is generally regarded as the signal masterpiece of Canaletto’s early career, the prime example of his rough and ready approach to painting in the period. It can be securely dated by the fact that the square’s pavement is in the process of being replaced by the white geometrical design of Andrea Tirali (1660-1737), work on which commenced in 1723. Between 1725 and 1727 the decorative paving on either side of the central zone, shown in an unfinished state in the Madrid painting, had been completed. Canaletto next treated the subject in a work datable to the end of the 1720s, now in The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Already in the work in New York, Canaletto’s palette has changed from the subtle earth tones of the Madrid painting to a scheme that is lighter and more colorful. The present painting, with its more refined handling of paint and crisply delineated architectural

elements, probably dates to between the example in New York and the slightly later canvas from the series of views at Woburn Abbey, which is datable to circa 1733-36. A fifth example in the Harvard Art Museums in Cambridge, Massachusetts, is likewise traditionally dated to the first half of the 1730s. Several further paintings probably date to the years around 1740 or later, including: Sotheby’s, London, 4 December 2013, lot 39 (datable to 1738-39); Fitzwilliam Collection, Milton Hall, Cambridgeshire (engraved by Antonio Visentini in 1742) and Christie’s, New York, 12 January 1996, lot 38 (datable to the early 1750s). Constable (loc. cit.) also mentions a replica of the present version sold Christie’s, London, 28 June 1974, lot 78. Though there has been no unanimity on the dating of this painting, scholars have generally associated it with the early years of the 1730s. Lionello Puppi (loc. cit.) was the first modern scholar to propose a date for the painting, describing it as a version of the Woburn canvas which he dates to circa 1730-31, when the Duke of Bedford was in Venice. André Corboz (loc. cit.) believed the painting to have been executed at the beginning of what he defined as Canaletto’s second phase between 1731 and 1746, while neither W.G. Constable nor J.G. Links proposed a precise date. At the time of the painting’s 2014 sale, Charles Beddington confirmed his belief that the painting dates to around 1730.

While Canaletto frequently subordinated topographical accuracy to pictorial concerns, here he provides a highly accurate rendering of the site viewed from the tower of the church of San Geminiano, since replaced by the Ala Napoleonica of the Palazzo Reale which today houses the Museo Correr. The only notable change is the removal of one window on the Campanile. The Piazza San Marco, punctuated on its eastern side by the basilica and Campanile, has, for centuries, been among the most recognizable monuments in the world. The basilica, dedicated to the city’s patron saint, was begun in or around 1063 and combines disparate influences—Byzantine, Romanesque, Gothic and Islamic—into a unified whole that reflects the Piazza’s central position as a convening space for Venetians and foreign visitors alike. The Campanile, the tallest structure in Venice, reached its final height in 1514 when the belfry and spire were rebuilt in the Renaissance style to an earlier design by Giorgio Spavento (d. 1509). Immediately to the south (right) of the Campanile is the Palazzo Ducale, the Doge’s residence and, until Napoleon, the seat of Venetian government. The arcades of the Procuratie Vecchie (completed 1532) enclose the north side of the square, while those of the Procuratie Nuove (completed 1640), viewed through the long shadow of a late spring afternoon, run along its southern edge. At the far end of the Procuratie Vecchie is the Torre dell’Orologi (clock tower). Beyond is the Merceria, leading to the Rialto and the city’s commercial heart. Canaletto tirelessly depicted the square’s incidental details: clothing lines to dry laundry, market stalls outside the basilica and a broad spectrum of characters from all parts of society who go about their daily activities. In contrast to the static figures found in Canaletto’s later works, here they contribute to the sense of Venice as a kinetic, bustling city with people on the move. A NOTE ON THE PROVENANCE While nothing is known of the painting’s provenance before the midnineteenth century, it may very well be one of two views of the Piazza San Marco that were included among roughly 150 paintings sold from the collection of Marshall Johann Matthias von der Schulenberg at Christie’s on 12-13 April 1775 (the Canalettos were lots 49 and 50 on the second day and were described as from "the best time of the master"). Schulenburg, along with Consul Smith, was the greatest foreign patron

of painters and collector of pictures in Venice in the eighteenth century and came to own six works by Canaletto. Schulenberg’s records indicate that he paid Canaletto thirty-two and thirty zeccini for the two views on 10 March and 30 April 1731, respectively (see A. Binion, ‘From Schulenberg’s Gallery and Records,’ The Burlington Magazine, CXII, no. 806, May 1970, p. 303). The paintings were each said to measure 4 by 6 quadri, or roughly the size of the present canvas. Whether or not the painting arrived in England at the time of the Schulenberg sale, it subsequently passed through the hands of several particularly distinguished English collectors. Its first recorded owner was John Christopher Cankrien, recorded in his posthumous sale as "Late Consul for the Netherlands, at Hull". This painting proved to be the second most expensive lot in his sale, behind only Sir Edwin Henry Landseer’s Intruding puppies. The painting was next owned by the Reverend Frederick Leicester, son of Charles Leicester (c. 1767-1815), the younger brother of John Fleming Leicester (1762-1827), 1st Baron de Tabley of Tabley House, Cheshire, who coincidentally was the first owner of Cankrien’s Landseer. In 1828, Frederick married the baron’s widow, Giorgiana-Maria, the youngest daughter of Lt. Col. Cottin. Leicester’s collection was modest in scale but of exceptional quality. This painting achieved one of the highest prices at Leicester’s sale, exceeded only by works by or given to Aelbert Cuyp (The Wallace Collection, London), David Teniers II (National Gallery, London), Gonzales Coques and Jan and Andries Both. The Canaletto was probably acquired from Leicester’s sale by the London dealer Henry Farrer (1798-1866) on behalf of Colonel Edward Douglas-Pennant (1800-1886), later 1st Baron Penrhyn. Penrhyn had made a fortune in the Welsh slate industry by developing one of the two largest slate quarries in the world and was then outfitting Penrhyn Castle in Llandygai, Gwynedd, North Wales, a neo-Norman structure built by his father, George Dawkins-Pennant, from 1822 to 1837. The first Baron assembled a particularly fine collection of Old Master paintings from a variety of schools, including further view paintings by Canaletto and Bernardo Bellotto, Rembrandt’s 1657 Portrait of Catharine Hooghsaet and Jan Steen’s Burgher of Delft and his Daughter.

Canaletto, Piazza san Marco, Venice, circa 1730-1734. Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge. Photo: © President and Fellows of Harvard College.


“More than any other painting by Botticelli, [the Madonna of the Magnificat] has in our own days gone to fix the popular notion of him as an artist.” HERBERT HORNE 1908


BOTTICELLI (FLORENCE 1444/5-1510) Madonna of the Magnificat tempera, oil and gold on panel, tondo diameter: 24æ in. (62.9 cm.) Estimate on Request

This sublime depiction of the Madonna and Child with three angels by Sandro Botticelli, with its serene, languid figures, luminous palette and rich, mordant gilding, is a variant of the artist’s celebrated tondo in the Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence, known today as the Madonna of the Magnificat. Most likely commissioned by a wealthy patron and intended to hang within a domestic setting for private devotion and contemplation, this painting has been little known outside of the UK where it was exhibited at the National Gallery on two occasions, on long term loan from 1960-1978 and subsequently as part of the 1999-2000 Renaissance Florence exhibition. It has spent the last forty years in two of the greatest private collections of the modern era. The composition’s tondo format was a particular specialty of Botticelli, the most successful and inventive painter of these circular panels. Botticelli must have found particular excitement in the pictorial challenges created by the format. A painting such as this would have been hung high, above eye level and was intended to mimic a convex mirror, the composition inflating slightly at the center and receding at its edges. Few artists so understood the tondo’s constraints and were able to create such compositional harmony imbued with profound symbolism. Sandro Botticelli, Madonna del Magnificat, circa 1483. Uffizi Gallery, Florence. Photo: Erich Lessing / Art Resource, NY. Workshop of Sandro Botticelli, Madonna del Magnificat, circa 1490. The Morgan Library & Museum, New York.


Of all Botticelli’s tondi, the Madonna of the Magnificat is perhaps the most remarkable. Herbert Horne, writing in 1908, enthused that "more than any other painting by Botticelli, [the Madonna of the Magnificat] has in our own days gone to fix the popular notion of him as an artist" (op. cit.). In the present variant, Botticelli has adjusted the composition to a more intimate scale, presumably at the request of his patron, to about half the diameter of the Uffizi panel and rethought the configuration, omitting the two outermost angels holding aloft the crown. He also gave wings to the angels which do not appear in the Uffizi panel and has made other more minor adjustments throughout. In the Allen tondo, as in the Uffizi painting, the Virgin holds the Christ Child in her lap and taps her quill against an inkwell while gazing downward at the book before her. The text is clearly legible and can be identified as the Song of Zacharias from the Gospel of Luke (1:72-79) on the left-hand page, where Zacharias gives praise to God for the birth of his son John, the precursor of Christ and on the right-hand page the Magnificat, based on the Gospel of Luke (1:46-49). The text in the present painting, however, is more elaborate and the book itself is of a superior level of quality. The Virgin’s face, which is beautifully preserved, has a more relaxed expression and the artist changed his treatment of her veil, altering the position of its layers and trimming it in gold. A small damage in the face of the Christ Child, though sensitively restored, has resulted in a loss of the shadow which would have provided a contour to his jaw line and modelling in his upturned face.

Scholars have universally regarded the Uffizi painting as a work from Botticelli’s early maturity, though there has been no unanimity as to its specific dating. Joseph Archer Crowe and Giovanni Battista Cavalcaselle, among the painting’s earliest commentators, placed it in the 1470s, while the artist was still under the influence of Filippo Lippi (1864, p. 416). Horne (1908, pp. 120-122) dated the painting to 1481, immediately before the artist departed for Rome. Hermann Ulmann, meanwhile placed it after the artist’s Roman sojourn, shortly after 1482 (1893, pp. 120-121), a view shared by August Schmarsow (1923, p. 68), Adolfo Venturi (1925, pp. 46-47, 110), Carlo Gamba (1936, pp. 147-148), Giulio Carlo Argan (1957, pp. 95-98) and Roberto Salvini (1958, II, p. 39, tav. 1). Yukio Yashiro (1929, pp. 160-161, 241), Raimond van Marle (1931, pp. 93-95) and Ronald Lightbown (1978, p. 43) agreed with Horne’s initial hypothesis, with Lightbown citing the painting’s close relationship with both the San Martino and Sistine frescoes. Zöllner (2005, p. 209) has broadly agreed with the traditional dating of the painting to circa 148082. Moritz Hauptmann (1936, p. 190) suggested the yet later date of circa 1485, a dating with which Lionello Venturi (1937, pl. 70) and Sergio Bettini (1942, pp. 32-33, 48) concurred. Today, it is somewhat unanimously considered to date from the early 1480s. There is little doubt, however, that the present tondo was painted at a separate moment from that of the Madonna of the Magnificat, in the second half of the decade closer to 1490. In terms of the artist’s handling, the Allen tondo is more akin to works like the, albeit much larger, San Barnaba altarpiece of 1488, also in the Uffizi and currently hanging in the same gallery as the Madonna of the Magnificat. There are notable parallels in its linear treatment of Christ’s drapery, as compared to

the softer treatment in the Uffizi tondo, and in the crisp deliberation of the outlined forms, particularly in the case of the angels. Olson draws specific comparison between the present painting and Botticelli’s similarly small-scaled Madonna del Libro of circa 1480-81 (Museo Poldi Pezzoli, Milan) though suggests a slightly later date of circa 1483-87 for the Allen tondo(op. cit.). The small scale and subtle rendering evident in the present panel serve to bridge Botticelli’s early works with those of his artistic maturity in the 1490s. Indeed, in scale the present painting is nearly identical to the artist’s Madonna del Padiglione of circa 1490-93 (Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, Milan). This latter period is characterized by the stylistic delicacy seen in other small-scale works like Saint Augustine in His Study, the Calumny of Apelles (both in the Uffizi) and The Last Communion of Saint Jerome (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York). Six contemporary copies, replicas and variants of the Madonna of the Magnificat are known or documented today. Of these related works, only the Allen tondo, exceptional in its quality, is considered to be largely by the master himself. Surviving examples from Botticelli’s workshop are in the Musée Fabre, Montpelier (circa 1485), the Morgan Library, New York (circa 1490) and two fragmentary ovals in the Kunstmuseum, Bern. Two further panels are recorded, one in the Palazzo Canigiani, Florence (see W. Bode, in Der Cicerone, II, 1879, p. 544) and another, seemingly poor, example which was sold at Kunsthaus Heinrich Hahn, Frankfurt am Main, 17 April 1934, lot 34. By the late 1480s Botticelli was running a thriving, successful and extremely busy workshop such that the majority of works he produced were, inevitably, executed with a degree of collaboration. Such is Sandro Botticelli, Madonna and Child with Saints from the San Barnaba Altarpiece, circa 1480-1488. Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy. Photo: © Summerfield Press / CORBIS / Corbis via Getty Images. Sandro Botticelli, Madonna del Libro, circa 1480-1481. Museo Poldi Pezzoli, Milan.


likely the case with this painting: Nicholas Penny, Laurence Kanter and Christopher Daly who know the painting first hand, and Carl Strehlke who has studied photographs and technical imaging, consider the principal parts, such as the figures of the Madonna and Child, to have been executed by Botticelli himself, and certain lesser passages, such as the angels’ drapery, to have been worked on with assistance. Previously Federico Zeri and Ronald Lightbown had concurred with the attribution to Botticelli, the latter confirming his view when consulted prior to the sale of the painting to Paul G. Allen in 1999 (verbal communication with Patrick Matthiesen). The superior quality of the Allen panel puts it amongst the best of all such variants produced by Botticelli in his workshop from the 1480s onward.

Infrared reflectogram of the present lot.


Botticelli’s desire for invention is still evident in this closely related variant. Even those elements that most conform to the Uffizi painting are not mechanically copied from the earlier work, as is revealed by infrared reflectography and x-radiography (available by request). The technical imagery reveals underdrawing in two media: fluid, freehand brushstrokes, mapping out the contours of the Virgin’s drapery, and then finer line drawing, outlining the forms though with various pentimenti. There are notable adjustments to the position of several fingers, further changes in the hair of the two angels nearest the Virgin and to the contours of the leftmost angel’s face. The images also

suggest the pietra serena arch, made of a single piece of stone, was executed in two campaigns. In the first, the shadowed interior was much thinner so the Madonna’s head did not touch it. Later, the width of this area was increased so the two forms overlapped one another. This served two purposes: to integrate these two elements of the composition and to create a heightened sense of illusionistic recession into depth. Though its early history is unknown, the present painting has a particularly distinguished provenance since its acquisition by the Reverend J.M. Rhodes in Florence at the end of the nineteenth century. In the second half of the twentieth century the painting formed part of two distinguished collections. It was acquired from Agnews in 1951 for the Mount Trust Collection, which, in addition to British and European works, included an important selection of Chinese art that was exhibited at the Victoria & Albert Museum in 1970. While in the Mount Trust Collection, the painting was placed on long-term loan to the National Gallery, London, between 1960 and 1978. Funds from its sale in the latter year benefited the Gallery. The painting then entered the collection of Barbara Piasecka Johnson, one on the most voracious collectors of Old Masters of the 1980s and 1990s, before being acquired by Paul G. Allen in 1999.



CROSS (1856-1910)

Rio San Trovaso, Venise signed ‘Henri Edmond Cross’ (lower left); titled 'Rio san Trovaso' (on the stretcher) oil on canvas 28æ x 36º in. (73 x 92 cm.) Painted between September 1903-January 1904 $2,000,000-3,000,000

“In [Cross’s] work one can sense the joy of painting, the love of delicate harmonies, an inexpressible hesitation, mystery and unexpectedness. He is at once a cold, methodical thinker, and a strange and troubled dreamer.” PAUL SIGNAC

In July 1903, Henri-Edmond Cross and his wife embarked upon a short sojourn to Italy, traveling from Paris through Lucerne, Milan and Verona, before reaching the fabled city of Venice, where they settled in to “a beautiful room by the Grand Canal five minutes from Saint Mark’s” (letter to Signac, August 1903; quoted in F. Frank, M. Ferretti Bocquillon, O. Westheider, and M. Philipp, eds., Color and Light: The Neo-Impressionist Henri Edmond Cross, exh. cat., Museum Barberini, Potsdam, 2018, p. 249). During the following five weeks, the artist explored the city extensively, falling under the spell of Venice’s incontestable magic, filling his notebooks with drawings and watercolors of the canals and the shimmering reflections of the light on the lagoon. “Venice is like life itself, symbol of this wonderful existence…” Cross wrote in his journal. “And the admirably varied and lively architecture is like a prolongation of this intense life right to the sky, of this maximum of life given by the canals as well as the lovely water and its infinite reflections… It is a reversal of all our usual ways of seeing” (quoted in ibid., p. 122).

Rio San Trovaso, Venice, 1890. Photo: RIBA Collections.


Upon his return to the south of France, Cross began a series of approximately fifteen canvases dedicated to La Serenissima drawing on the sketches and studies from his trip, which were filled with a new sense of light and color. In Rio San Trovaso, Venise Cross focuses on a quiet, sunlit canal, devoid of traffic, the only nod towards human presence being the empty gondola that bobs on the surface of the water along the edge of the canal wall. A notation from the artist’s journal, dated

15 July 1903, records the atmosphere of a similar scene, discovered as he wandered through the city’s waterways: “In a gondola on the small canals—Silence—mystery—light…” (quoted in I. Compin, H. E. Cross, Paris, 1964, p. 212). Bright sunlight dances across the row of buildings that line the edge of the canal, conjuring a myriad of colorful reflections that ripple along the surface of the water. There is a fluidity and liberalism to Cross’s brushwork during this period of his career, which was a direct result of his attempts to marry the chromatic principles of divisionism with a new expressiveness that reflected the artist’s own personal response to the landscape. As he explained to Signac in 1895, his ultimate aim was to have “technique cede its place to sensation” (quoted in ibid., p. 42). Here, Cross applied the jewel-toned pigments in long, rectangular dashes that shift direction as they describe different elements within the scene, lending the composition an internal dynamism and rhythm, as he attempts to convey a feeling of being submerged in the unique play of light that fills the Venetian landscape. By February 1904, a number of the Venice paintings were complete, and Cross chose to exhibit the present work at the Libre Esthétique in Brussels. In the same year Théo van Ryssleberghe, Cross’s Neo-Impressionist colleague, acquired Rio san Trovaso, Venise. The work then passed to the important Lange Collection in Germany by 1907, from which it was lent to the momentous Sonderbund exhibition in Cologne in 1912.


“The lagoon mirrors the sky, and at the same time acts as a great stage for the boats and their passengers, the masts, the banners...” EDOUARD MANET


MANET (1832-1883)

Le Grand Canal à Venise signed ‘Manet’ (lower left) oil on canvas 22¬ x 18√ in. (57.5 x 47.9 cm.) Painted in fall 1874 $45,000,000-65,000,000

A notable arrival was documented in Venice’s Gazzetta di Venezia on 13 September 1874. The “Signori Manet”—Edouard Manet and his wife, Suzanne Leenhoff—had disembarked in the famed floating city. After a successful sale of one of his works to a wealthy American collector, Manet was able to leave Paris and journey to Venice. There, the couple was joined by the artist’s friend, James Tissot, who had relocated to London during the Franco-Prussian War. Taking rooms in the Grand Hotel, situated near the Piazza San Marco, they spent around a month in the city. On this, Manet’s second and final visit to La Serenissima, he painted just two works, both titled Le Grand Canal à Venise (Wildenstein, nos. 230 and 231). The present painting is one of this rare and iconic pair—the other, which was acquired by Tissot before Louisine Havemeyer, is now held in the Shelburne Museum, Vermont. In both of these works, Manet honed in on a small section of the Grand Canal—the central, bustling artery of the mirage-like city. With these closely cropped vistas, he not only captured the spectacular effects of light upon the water for which the city is so revered, but also reveled in the dynamic interplay of architecture and human activity within this timeless setting.

Edouard Manet, photographed by Nadar (Gaspard-Félix Tournachon.) Photo: GL Archive / Alamy Stock Photo. Edouard Manet, Le Grand Canal à Venise, 1875. Shelburne Museum, Vermont.


Two gondolas intersect the vista of the present work, the perfectly observed tip of the vessel on the left entering into a striking visual dialogue with the soaring, striped palli, and the undulating dome of the church of Santa Maria della Salute in the distance. Standing opposite the soft pink and pearlescent colored palazzi, a single figure,

the gondolier, slowly paddles into the painting. Rendered with Manet’s signature instinctive brushstrokes and passages of pure, unmixed color, the painting demonstrates the same fidelity to compositional structure that defines so much of Manet’s work. While seemingly a snapshot of daily life on the Grand Canal, this scene is anything but unplanned, each element of the dynamic and carefully layered composition existing in perfect accord. Le Grand Canal à Venise stands as Manet’s pictorial response to Venice, a city so steeped in art historical heritage that it has by turn beguiled, inspired, overwhelmed and daunted artists throughout time. Entering into a lineage that included Canaletto, Francesco Guardi, J.M.W. Turner, and James McNeill Whistler, Manet’s two depictions of the city at once reference those that had gone before him, while being completely of his time. Perhaps no other artist was so adept at mining the art of the past and marrying the grandeur, simplicity and, on occasion, motifs of the old masters, with definitively modern subjects and handling. Manet had scandalized audiences with his art since the early 1860s, taking scenes from contemporary Paris and translating these with his penetrating eye and daring, direct style. Manet applied this same artistic sensibility to his depictions of Venice. Taking a view so well-known as to verge on kitsch—captured ad infinitum both in the annals of art history as well as in everyday ephemera—Manet transformed the Grand Canal into a radically executed scene that stood at the forefront of modern painting.

Shortly before he left for Venice in the autumn of 1874, Manet had spent a productive summer at his family home in Gennevilliers, a small town outside Paris situated across the Seine from Argenteuil. There, the artist frequently saw Claude Monet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir, both of whom had returned to the picturesque suburb following the landmark First Impressionist exhibition that they had staged in Paris in the spring—though notably, Manet, the oft-regarded leader of the “New Painting”, had declined to exhibit with his younger colleagues. It was in and around Argenteuil, where a few years earlier, Manet had helped Monet secure a house to rent, that the artists painted together, sharing thoughts, ideas, and motifs. This summer marked the moment that Manet came the closest to espousing the essential tenets of the newly named Impressionism. He had begun to work outside in the years prior to this summer, his palette gradually lightening as he increasingly sought to capture the effects of light and atmosphere upon his scenes of modernity. Yet, as John Rewald has written, “It was in Argenteuil where he watched Monet paint, that Manet was definitely convinced to work out-of-doors” (The History of Impressionism, 1973, p. 341). A new, brightly colored palette came to dominate his work of this period. He pictured scenes of suburban leisure en plein air, as well as depictions of Monet at work on his studio boat and at ease with his family in their garden, using a similar painterly handling and tonality as his Impressionist friends. Like Monet, it was to scenes of boating in and around the Seine that Manet was primarily drawn. In works such as Bords de la Seine à Argenteuil (Wildenstein, no. 220; The Courtauld, London) and Argenteuil (Wildenstein, no. 221; Musée des Beaux-Arts, Tournai)—“perhaps the most truly Impressionist work of his career” (quoted in Manet, 1832-1883, exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1983, p. 353)— Manet masterfully captured the subtle, shimmering effects of light across the water as well as his protagonists. Yet, the very fact that this work is seen as the most Impressionist work of Manet’s oeuvre demonstrates the complexities that govern his relationship to this movement. Unlike Monet or Renoir’s work at around this time, the figure remains steadfastly at the heart of Manet’s works. In Argenteuil, the nuanced, yet unknowable tension that seems to define the couple’s poses and the woman’s inscrutable gaze imparts a sense

of narrative that is often absent in the Impressionists’ renderings of similar subjects. This intensity is also imparted thanks to Manet’s rigorous compositional structure, which he constructs using thick, resolute brushstrokes—unlike the ever lighter, shorter marks of his peers. A scaffold of intersecting verticals and horizontals demarcates this seemingly spontaneous view of life on the banks of the Seine, reflecting the fact that the artist likely finished it in his studio, rather than en plein air. Perhaps it was the pictorial results of this summer spent near the sundappled banks of the Seine, amid boats and pleasure seekers—as well as his Impressionist friends—that encouraged Manet to visit Venice not long after. Le Grand Canal à Venise and its pendant piece of the same name appear to show Manet building on his recent developments. He employed the same high keyed, bold palette used to great effect in the depiction of the water and reflections of the luminous blue lagoon. As Anne Coffin Hanson has summarized, “During his stay at Argenteuil in the summer of 1874, Manet had been fascinated by the shimmering river under the open sky. In his scenes of Venice he again used the same lively brush strokes, the same contrast of light, shadow, and reflection. He continued as well his intense, unvaried colors and his strong blacks, creating a sunlit atmosphere which surrounds his forms but does not dissolve them” (Edouard Manet, 1832-1883, exh. cat., Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1966, p. 145). It could also have been a sense of rivalry that spurred Manet to tackle Venice, a place where effects of light and color—the predominant Impressionist concerns—dominate perhaps more than any other. It seems that Monet—whom Manet had once described as the “Raphael of the water”—was not far from Manet’s mind when he captured the luminous blue waters of the lagoon in the present work (quoted in Manet and the Sea, exh. cat., Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2004, p. 206). Manet’s name had once again been confused with Monet’s by critics reacting to the First Impressionist exhibition—a device purposefully employed to enact a stinging critique of the former’s work. “M. Monet is establishing a place for himself while his near homonym remains stationary,” one writer remarked (quoted in B. Archer Brombert, Edouard Manet: Rebel in a Frock Coat, Boston, 1996, p. 354). Nowhere could an artist better hone their skills at the depiction of water than Venice, and perhaps Manet’s decision to paint there was in part spurred on by his need to prove that he too could master this most ephemeral of motifs.

Edouard Manet, Argenteuil, 1874. Musée des Beaux-Arts, Tournai. Photo: HIP / Art Resource, NY. Edouard Manet, Bords de la Seine à Argenteuil, 1874. On loan to The Courtauld, London.


Much had changed in Manet’s life by the time of his second visit to Venice. Just over two decades earlier, in 1853, he had made his first trip to Italy as a young student, while in the studio of Thomas Couture. Traveling with his brother, Eugène, Manet had arrived in a city under Austrian rule. At this time, Manet was studying and making copies of the work of the Old Masters. Titian in particular would play an important role in Manet’s work, the Venus of Urbino serving as a precursor for his notorious Olympia (Wildenstein, no. 69). Returning again in 1874, the city was now part of a unified Italy and Manet had established himself at the forefront of contemporary painting in Paris. No longer did he need to study the work of the past on this trip, but sought subjects of daily life on the city’s busy waterways as the subjects for his art. Though little specific detail of Manet’s activities during his 1874 trip exists, the painter, Charles Toché, who had met the artist by chance in the Caffé Florian on the Piazza San Marco, and spent time with the artist for the duration of his stay, provided invaluable descriptions of the artist and his time in the city. Ambroise Vollard later recorded his recollections. “In Venice I used to go and join [Manet] almost every day. The lagoons, the palaces, the old houses, scaled and mellowed by time, offered him an inexhaustible variety of subjects. But his preference was for out-ofthe-way corners. I asked him if I might follow him in my gondola. ‘As much as you like,’ he told me. ‘When I am working, I pay no attention to anything but my subject’” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 1983, p. 374). From his reminiscences, it appears that Toché was present at the time Manet began Le Grand Canal à Venise, his words providing a fascinating insight into the conception of this work. “I shall not forget Manet’s enthusiasm for the motif,” he recalled, “the white marble staircase against the faded pink bricks of the façade, and the cadmium and greens of the basements. Oscillations of light and shade made by the passing barges in the rough water that drew from him the exclamation, ‘Champagne-bottle ends floating!’ Through the row of gigantic twisted posts, blue and white, one saw the domes of the incomparable Salute, dear to Guardi. ‘I shall put in a gondola,’ cried Manet, ‘steered by a boatman in a pink shirt, with an orange scarf—one of those fine chaps like a Moor of Granada’” (ibid., pp. 374-375). The low, water-level view of this bustling scene suggests that Manet painted it from a gondola. Louisine Havemeyer, who acquired the pendant Le Grand Canal à Venise from the artist’s travel companion James Tissot, described how Manet had finished her canvas in situ, “He had just decided to give it up and return home to Paris. On his last afternoon in Venice, he took a fairly small canvas and went out on the Grand Canal just to make a sketch to recall the visit; he told me he was so pleased with the result of his afternoon’s work that he decided to remain over a day and finish it” (ibid.,p. 375). However, as with so many of his works that appear to be painted en plein air, Manet likely amended and finished the painting in his studio—as the pentimenti of the domes of the Salute suggest.

Just over thirty years later, Monet arrived for the first and only time in Venice—a place which at first he declared “too beautiful to be painted” (quoted in J. Pissarro, Monet and the Mediterranean, exh. cat., Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, 1997, p. 49). Of the thirty-seven depictions of the city that he painted, a small series of six canvases render a closely related view to that which Manet had portrayed in Le Grand Canal à Venise. Monet painted these canvases from the steps of the Palazzo Barbaro—the same ones that can be seen in the present work—where he was staying, picturing the Grand Canal, palli and the Salute from water level, as his predecessor had done before him. As such, Le Grand Canal à Venise forms part of the important dialogue that exists between Manet and Monet. Manet was a crucial supporter and benefactor of Monet during the earlier years of his career. In 1869, he had invited the younger artist to join the avant-garde group of artists and writers who gathered in the Café de Guerbois. These meetings formed a crucible for the development of Impressionism. Manet’s technical innovations and subversive subject matter were of great importance to the younger Monet. Later, in the 1870s, it was Monet’s vitality and painterly instinctiveness that would prove an important example to Manet. Together, both artists’ depictions of Venice tell of a lifelong admiration for each other, offering an insight into the lives and careers of these two great innovators of Modernism. Le Grand Canal à Venise was first acquired by one of Manet’s most important collectors, the opera singer, Jean-Baptiste Faure. Faure had made his debut at the Paris Opéra in 1861. Over the course of his life, he was widely renowned, performing in numerous roles. Just as prolific as his performances was his desire to collect modern art. He had initially acquired a large collection of Barbizon school works, which he dispersed in the early 1870s when he discovered the work of Manet and the Impressionists. From this time onwards, Faure became the most important collector of Manet’s work—at one point he owned sixty-seven pieces by the artist, including Le déjeuner sur l’herbe and Le Bon Bock (Wildenstein, nos. 67 and 186). He also posed for the artist on a few occasions, including Portrait de Faure dans le rôle d’Hamlet (no. 257). This painting crossed the Atlantic in 1906, when it was acquired by the California-based banker and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. William H. and Ethel Crocker. The Crocker family had made their fortune in the creation of the Transcontinental Railroad. Ethel was a key patron of Impressionism on the west coast at this time, introducing the work of Manet, Monet, Camille Pissarro, Paul Cezanne, Edgar Degas and others to audiences in and around San Francisco.

Claude Monet, Le Grand Canal, 1908. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. View of the Grand Canal.




O'KEEFFE (1887-1986)

Red Hills with Pedernal, White Clouds oil on canvas 20 x 30 in. (50.8 x 76.2 cm.) Painted in 1936 $4,000,000-6,000,000

Combining emotional response with meditation on form and color, Georgia O’Keeffe uniquely infused her panoramic landscapes of the American Southwest with a sense of spiritual wonder. While faithful to creating representative paintings of her surroundings, O’Keeffe distilled each scene to evoke, as Sarah Greenough has described, “the passion and intensity of the life in the Southwest but also its ultimate mystery and impenetrable sense of otherness” (Modern Art and America: Alfred Stieglitz and his New York Galleries, Washington, D.C., 2000, p. 460). Capturing in vibrant hues one of the artist’s favorite formations of the New Mexico landscape, Red Hills with Pedernal, White Clouds conveys O’Keeffe’s deep love and appreciation for this enchanted land. O’Keeffe made her first prolonged visit from New York to New Mexico in 1929. She felt an instant connection to the region, which stirred her to return for extended stays almost annually before eventually moving permanently in 1949. After initial years staying in Taos and Alcalde, in 1934 she was looking for a new home base in the area and discovered the perfect location at Ghost Ranch, located in the Chama River Valley approximately sixty miles northwest of Santa Fe, near Abiquiu. Renting a cottage on the land for several summers, she eventually bought her own house on seven acres of the Ranch in 1940. One of O’Keeffe’s favorite natural wonders visible along the horizon line at Ghost Ranch was the Cerro Pedernal. Covered with dark green pines and deciduous trees, the top of the mesa is nearly ten thousand feet above sea level and has been worn to an odd angle by erosion. Infatuated by the form and stimulated by the spirituality of the site, O'Keeffe began to use the mesa as a recurrent motif in her paintings. Between 1936 and 1958, she executed twenty-seven depictions of the Pedernal, twenty of which are in public collections, including the Brooklyn Museum; Gilcrease Museum, Tulsa; Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe; Minneapolis Institute of Arts; Munson-Williams-Proctor Art

Institute, Utica; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo; New Mexico Museum of Fine Arts, Santa Fe; Norton Museum of Art, West Palm Beach; Orlando Museum of Art; Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; and Yale Museum of Art, New Haven. She spiritedly expressed her love of this natural landmark when she declared, “It's my private mountain. It belongs to me. God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it” (quoted in L. Lisle, Portrait of an Artist: A Biography of Georgia O'Keeffe, New York, 1980, p. 235). One of her first paintings of the site, Red Hills with Pedernal, White Clouds captures the beloved Pedernal in the distance, with the crisp outlines and subtle modeling of forms simultaneously creating a sense of sculptural depth and flattened design. The work explores how the Southwestern light enabled O’Keeffe to see clearly over great distances, with the horizontal format and layered composition conveying a striking sense of the region’s expansive panoramic views. O’Keeffe also delights in painting the nuances of this unique landscape; for example, she illustrates the area at the top of the blue Pedernal that had suffered a forest fire, leaving a green area of deciduous growth in the summer in a shape she described as a “deer leaping over the mountain” (Maria Chabot—Georgia O’Keeffe, Correspondence, 1941-49, Santa Fe, 2003, p. 200). Similarly, the warm coral hills in the foreground are bisected by a painterly gray stripe, representing a contrasting silt layer within the local rock formations. While the landscape is recognizable as a specific place, in Red Hills with Pedernal, White Clouds O’Keeffe distills each representational element to its essence in order to create her most impactful, personal recording of the scene. With its wide range of hues, from warm reds to cool blues, the present work is among O’Keeffe’s most vibrant and joyful New Mexico landscapes, providing a glimpse into her passion for the views that would endlessly inspire during her long and storied career.

Georgia O’Keeffe, The House I Live In, 1937. Yale Museum of Art, New Haven. © 2022 Georgia O’Keeffe Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

Georgia O’Keeffe in Taos, New Mexico, 1929. Photo: Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe / Art Resource, NY.


Georgia O’Keeffe in Taos, New Mexico, 1929. Photo: Georgia O’Keeffe Museum, Santa Fe / Art Resource, NY.


“I’m interested in things which suggest the world rather than suggest personality. I’m interested in things which are rather than in judgments. The most conventional things, the most ordinary things—it seems to me that those things can be dealt with 29

without having to judge them; they seem to me to exist as clear facts not involving


aesthetic hierarchy.”



(b. 1930) Map

encaustic on printed paper mounted on Masonite 8Ω x 11 in. (21.6 x 27.9 cm.) Executed in 1960 $3,000,000-5,000,000

Included in Jasper Johns’s catalogue raisonné as the first of his iconic Maps, this intimately-scaled jewel-like painting chronicles the artist’s pivotal contribution to the momentous shift that took place in the trajectory of twentieth-century art history. Building on his Targets, Flags, and Numbers, with his Maps, Johns continued his separation of the sign from the signified—in the present example dissolving the familiar patchwork of American states in a flurry of gestural brushstrokes. Map is one of just eight paintings Johns completed in the 1960s utilizing this subject matter. The other examples are held in major private and institutional collections including The Museum of Modern Art, New York, the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, and the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles. Given by the artist to his close friend Robert Rauschenberg, and in whose collection it remained until his death, Map is a both a personal and pivotal summation of the practice of one the most important artists of the post-war period. Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg, New York, 1958. Photo: Fred W. McDarrah / MUUS Collection via Getty Images. Jasper Johns, Flag, 1954-1955. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.


Map marks the beginning of what is widely regarded to be one of Johns’s most important and influential groups of paintings. Comprising a printed paper map given to him by Rauschenberg, Johns then overpainted the state boundaries and names in a series of energic brushstrokes in shades of gray. Disrupting the familiar rigidity of the geographical borders in this way prompts questions about how these borders are demarcated: what historical, political, social, economic and geographical factors go into creating the recognizable silhouettes of states we know today? In

addition, as in many cases there are often no physical reminders of these boundaries on the landscape itself, how permanent are they anyway? Johns challenges what we know—or what we think we know—opening up a whole litany of deeply conceptual questions. The artist’s adoption of a gray palette in Map is also interesting, something he did to avoid what he called “the color situation,” saying it “suggested a kind of literal quality that was unmoved or immovable by coloration and thus avoided all the emotional and dramatic quality of color" (quoted in R. Francis, Jasper Johns, New York, 1984, p. 37). Coming of age as part of the generation of Abstract Expressionists who regarded color as paramount—think Mark Rothko’s floating fields of intense reds, or Barnett Newman’s vistas of pure primary colors—Johns’s use of monochrome would have been as conceptually arresting as it was visually striking. This was clearly an idea that he was working through with his Map paintings as he alternated between monochrome and polychrome throughout the series. Beginning with gray in the present work, he made a dramatic switch to color with Map from 1961 (The Museum of Modern Art, New York) before turning to a variegated gray and muted color version in 1961-1962. Later Johns returned to predominantly black-and-white with his 1962-1963 version (now in the collection of the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles). After this, all of the subsequent Maps were painted in monochrome tones ranging from soft whites to dark grays.

Johns’s concerted consideration of his Maps, along with his Flags, during the 1960s has led scholars and critics to discuss the symbolism in his repeated use of these motifs. “When the flags are seen in conjunction with Johns’s recurrent, simultaneous depictions of maps of the United States,” writes Scott Rothkopf, curator of the artist’s recent retrospective organized jointly by the Whitney Museum of Art and the Philadelphia Museum of Art, “they inevitably serve as wellsprings for meditations on the nation and its history, present and even future” (“First Motifs,” in C. Basualdo and S. Rothkopf, eds., Mind/Mirror, Philadelphia Museum of Art and Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, 2021, p. 58). Yet Johns himself has repeatedly said that none of these motifs were chosen with any political connotation in mind, merely that they are a “thing the mind already knows,” connecting his work to a lived experience, while at the same time allowing him to focus his attention on mark-making, color, and medium (ibid., p. 57). During his entire career, Johns has been steadfastly interested in issues of representation. By exploring different media and taking his motivation from objects and forms he encountered every day, he became the bridge between the two great movements of twentieth-

century American art, that of abstraction and Pop. Yet unlike Rothko and Pollock, or Warhol and Lichtenstein, Johns focused his attention not on the emotional pull of his work, focusing instead on an interrogation of the iconography of his chosen subject. He saw that these cultural motifs—maps, numbers, the alphabet etc.—were so ingrained in our consciousness that their formal beauty had often been overlooked. Thus, perception became Johns’s area of concern—how the viewer consumed and interpreted these forms—and in doing so he rejected the traditionally dogmatic approach of figuration and abstraction. However, rather than abandon them completely, he merged the two, investing the viewer with an active and more vital role in the process. Johns’s Maps, including the present example, formed a pivotal part of his oeuvre, and by closely examining the underlying structure of the very world that supported his practice, Johns gave rise to new inquiries into the nature of art, and at the same time produced some of the most perceptive and celebrated works of our time.

Jasper Johns, Map, 1962. Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Jasper Johns, Map, 1961. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, NY.


“Johns’s art is a constant reminder that the truth is not a given, but rather is 30

revealed through the layered and shifting meanings uncovered through the


process of perception.”



(b. 1930)

Small False Start signed, dated and partially titled ‘J. Johns 1960 FALSE START’ (on the reverse) encaustic, acrylic and paper collage on fiberboard 21√ x 18º in. (55.6 x 46.4 cm.) Executed in 1960 $45,000,000-65,000,000

Exhibited only once since the 1960s, Jasper Johns’s Small False Start is an early masterpiece by one of the world’s greatest living artists. Its rich and dynamic surface displays Johns’s ever present interrogation of the artistic process, a life-long project which resulted in some of the most important and influential art works of the post-war canon. One of three works that Johns painted between 1959-1960 to explore perceptual cues and play the linguistic against the visual, it is with works such as this that the artist considers the fundamental questions of art. As such, Small False Start sits alongside the artist’s iconic Flags, Targets, and Maps as part of the pantheon of twentieth-century masterworks. Jean (Hans) Arp, Untitled (Squares Arranged according to the Laws of Chance), 1917. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Kurt Schwitters, Construction for noble ladies (Konstrucktion edle fur Frauen), 1919. Los Angeles County Museum of Art. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Georges Braque, Homage à J.S. Bach, 1911-1912. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, New York.


Small False Start is a kaleidoscope of color, medium, process, and meaning. Onto raw unprimed fiberboard Johns lays down a patchwork of colored paper; small pieces torn by the artist and then affixed to the surface. Tearing each piece by hand permeates the composition with a dynamic sense of energy, both within the individual elements themselves, and also together as they appear to jostle up against each other. Sometimes overlapping, sometimes leaving crevices in between adjacent elements, this time-consuming process results in tectonic plates of vibrant color. Evoking the Dada-ism of Kurt Schwitters and Jean (Hans) Arp and his collaged paper works such as his Untitled (Collage with Squares Arranged according to the Laws of Chance) (1917, The Museum of Modern Art, New York), far from embracing chance, as Arp did, Johns carefully controls his composition to achieve his desired results. Onto this highly active surface Johns then stencils a series of words: ORANGE,

BLUE, GRAY, YELLOW, and RED among them. They serve as players in a visual game of perception in that the color used does not match the word it spells out, let alone the passage of color on which it sits. This unraveling of the conceptual conceit of art is what lies at the heart of much of Johns's work. In addition to the conceptual nature of art, central to Johns's concerns during this period was his investigations of different material and process. To the collaged paper elements, in Small False Start, Johns introduces two further elements: encaustic—first used six years earlier in his iconic Flag (1954-1955, The Museum of Modern Art, New York), and rivulets of acrylic paint that streak across the surface of the work. The encaustic acts to add substance to the composition, giving a degree of materiality to the surface, while the applied daubs of paint counteract this, imbuing the surface with a distinct sense of vitality and energy. The result is a painting which fizzes on both a conceptual and a visual level, a work that rewards close and considered inspection, and one of the paintings that would go on to define the rest of the artist’s long and illustrious career. In the late 1950s, Johns began to break the link between the visual and perceptual meaning of language. Before this, the artist had incorporated individual numbers and letters into his compositions, but purely on formal grounds. He had also included some words, such as "Tennyson" in his eponymous 1958 gray painting, now in the collection

of the Des Moines Art Center. In Out the Window (1959, Private collection), words struggle to manifest themselves in the chromatic chaos, but it is only with works such as False Start, Jubilee, and particularly Small False Start that we get a clear picture of what Johns is trying to achieve. It is only by freeing both the words and the colors they spell out from their literal and conceptual functions that we get a true representation of abstraction, and subsequently true freedom from the representational qualities of art. Writing in the catalogue for the artist’s 2018 retrospective organized by the Royal Academy of Arts in London, the curators Roberta Bernstein and Edith Devaney succinctly characterized the essence of the artist’s career. “The visual and intellectual strength of Johns’s art,” they write, “derives from a symbiosis of idea, form, and process. He has chosen to develop his practice through the traditional categories of painting, sculpture, drawing, and printing: within each category he has embraced innovative approaches, and in many works he has dissolved the boundaries between them” ("Something Resembling Truth," in R. Bernstein, ed., Jasper Johns, exh. cat., Royal Academy of Arts, London, 2018, p. 12). For Johns this symbiosis began in earnest with Flag (1954-1955, The Museum of Modern Art, New York), his early masterpiece that transcended the conventional boundaries of art by thinking about subject, meaning and materiality in a different way. Flag is simultaneously a physical object (a painting) and a representation of a physical object (a flag); it is also the representation of an idea, an idea of "American-ness" and all that this stands for. Even in its physical execution—comprised of a cut bedsheet, oil paint, newsprint, and encaustic—it speaks to its object-ness and its myriad meanings.

Yet, Johns was nothing if not a contrarian, for at the same time as he was utilizing a monochrome palette for several of his Maps, he was also painting a select number of canvases in a panoply of high-keyed hues, dealing specifically with the issue of color. Along with False Start and the monochrome Jubilee (both painted in 1959), Small False Start investigates the meaning of different colored pigments in both a visual and representational sense. In the present work, stenciled words spell out the names of colors—sometimes in those colors, sometimes not—hovering over passages of vivid pigment that may or may not represent the nomenclature on display. Thus, the word yellow may be depicted in blue pigment sitting over a block of vibrant red. “The idea is that the names of the colors will be scattered about on the surface of the canvas,” the curator Richard Francis wrote, “and there will be botches of color more or less on the same scale, and that one will have all the colors by name, more than by visual sensation” (Jasper Johns, New York, 1984, p. 37). Johns’s natural curiosity extended beyond interrogating the formal aesthetic qualities of his subject matter, to include his materials and processes too. In the catalogue to the recent retrospective organized jointly by the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York and the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the curators Carlos Basualdo and Scott Rothkopf highlighted the importance of materials to the artist’s practice. “Throughout his work,” they wrote, “Johns emphasizes process to a degree that boarders on obsession… [showing a] persistent and precise method that consists of exploring the boundaries of each medium with tools borrowed from one another, in order to ultimately erase those boundaries, as well as any hierarchies, with which they are traditionally associated” (“On ‘Jasper Johns’,” in C. Basualdo and S. Rothkopf, eds., Jasper Johns: Mind/Mirror, exh. cat., Whitney Museum of American Art,

Jasper Johns, Jubilee, 1959. Private collection. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Photo: Mayor Gallery, London / Bridgeman Images. Jasper Johns with flag painting, Pearl Street studio, 1955. Photo: Robert Rauschenberg. Artwork: © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY..


“Johns rewards the eye by the sensuous handling and palpable textures of his surfaces…” ROBERTA BERNSTEIN

New York and Philadelphia Museum of Art, 2021, p. 20). We can see this in Johns’s use of use of newspaper, bed sheets, encaustic and other "non-traditional" materials in the works we have already discussed. It can also be seen in his use of aluminum in Numbers (1963-1978). Johns has been working in metal—in a more traditional sense—since the late 1950s and his early cast sculptures of lightbulbs, Ballantine beer cans and paint brushes soon became some of his most provocative early work. In Numbers (1963-1978), the artist continues his investigation into the formal qualities of his subject matter, but by executing the sequence of digits in pressed aluminum, Johns embraces the physical properties of the material (rather than the subject) to create meaning by casting another light (literally) over the work. “By his combination of uneven, tactile surfaces, shifting light, numbers… Johns collapses the different cycles of time that we all inhabit as well as acknowledges that the social domain from, or triumphant over, nature” (J. Yau, “Jasper Johns New Sculpture and Works on Paper,” The Brooklyn Rail, July-August 2011, online” https://brooklynrail.org/2011/07/artseen/jasper-johns-new-sculptureand-works-on-paper).

Robert Rauschenberg, Skyway, 1964. Dallas Art Museum. © 2022 Robert Rauschenberg Foundation / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Bridgeman Images.

Throughout his career, and through his wide ranging interest in different media, Johns is fundamentally interested in issues of representation. Bridging the gap between abstraction and Pop, he sought inspiration in the forms and images that he saw around him. Yet he differed from other artists of his generation like Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein in that his interest in the iconography of his chosen subject matter is based on their formal associations and how that changes (or not) in the context of their use in art. Of Johns’s work, Bernstein noted “Their subjects were not drawn from the topical mass media but were intrinsic to culture and deeply ingrained in human consciousness. Their uncertain status, hovering between art work and the thing itself, focused

attention on the process of perception, how reality is represented through visual signs, and how the viewer interprets those signs. In this, they did not so much reject abstraction and subjectivity as forge a new way to integrate abstraction with representation and make more apparent the viewer’s role in investing the art work with meaning” ("Jasper Johns’s Numbers: Uncertain Signs," in R. Bernstein and C. E. Foster, eds., Jasper Johns: Numbers, exh. cat., Cleveland Museum of Art, 2003, p. 12). Jasper Johns is one of the twentieth-century’s most prolific and innovative artists. He has done more than any other artist to interrogate the creativity of the artistic process, resulting in a body of work that is as vital and invigorating as it is broad. From painting to sculpture, Johns is the master of his chosen medium, excited by their formal properties and investigating and manipulating them to push at the boundaries of art. A disciple of both Marcel Duchamp and Pablo Picasso, his long career runs the gamut of multiple artistic movements taking sustenance from many but never falling fully into one category. Johns, along with Robert Rauschenberg, ignited the idea that would lead to American Pop Art and the subsequent movements beyond. Never predictable and always thoughtful, his paintings and other works strike a careful balance between their international status as icons, and the more personal, intimate pull that they elicit in each individual viewer. “Johns’s art is a constant reminder that the truth is not a given,” concludes Bernstein and Devaney, “but rather is revealed through the layered and shifting meanings uncovered through the process of perception. Fixed habits of seeing, feeling, and thinking render the truth invisible. A flicker of grace occurs when the senses are awakened and new ways of experiencing the world, even ordinary objects in the world, provide a glimpse of that truth” (exh. cat., op. cit., 2018, p. 12).

Andy Warhol, Do It Yourself (Landscape), 1962. Museum Ludwig Köln. © 2022 The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.



“Every beauty that we see in landscape —every enchanting color effect, or tranquil scene, or powerful atmosphere, every gentle linearity or magnificent spatial depth 31 GERHARD

or whatever is our projection; and we can switch it off at a moment’s notice, to reveal only the appalling horror and ugliness.”



(b. 1932)

Apfelbäume signed, dated and inscribed ‘650-2 Richter 1987’ (on the reverse) oil on canvas 28¡ x 40º in. (72 x 102.2 cm.) Painted in 1987 $5,000,000-7,000,000

Demonstrating the astonishing pull of nature, Gerhard Richter’s Apfelbäume is a celebrated example of the artist’s contemporary contribution to the grand tradition of European landscape painting. Picturing the haunting form of three trees veiling over a pasture of rolling hills and pale gray fog, the present work is one of only three paintings the artist completed of this subject matter, one of several quasi-Romantic subjects that he explored in the 1980s. Building on his earlier astronomical studies and seascapes, the present work represents the culmination of Richter’s conceptual engagement with the idea of landscape. Based on a photograph included in Atlas, the artist’s compendium of source images, Apfelbäume is swathed in soft muted hues of mossy green and cool silver, a choice that enhances the perception of focus embedded within the original snapshot. Here, Richter ultimately surrenders to the abstract, and in the process produces one of his most atmospheric and evocative canvases. The result becomes an investigation of painting that questions the very nature of it, both through the illusions of space it creates, and the material existence of it.

Gerhard Richter, Düsseldorf, 1971. Photo: Angelika Platen. Image: bpk Bildagentur / Angelika Platen / Art Resource, NY. Paul Cezanne, Le clos Normand (Hattenville), 1882. The Albertina, Vienna.


In this lifelong pursuit of painting, Richter has explored the dichotomy between reality and illusion. It was through his early body of photopaintings, which deliberately mimicked the blurred effects of the camera, that he first came to explore abstraction: figuration, he believed, was no less deceptive than non-representational idioms. His return to photorealism in the 1980s, at a time when his abstract works were becoming increasingly complex, demonstrates his lack of distinction between the two modes. Neither free elaboration nor precise reproduction, he believed, could bridge the cavernous abyss between man and nature. Writing in 1986, Richter explained that “My landscapes are not only beautiful or nostalgic, with a Romantic or classical suggestion of lost Paradises, but above all 'untruthful' … and by 'untruthful' I mean the glorifying way we look at Nature— Nature, which in all its forms is always against us, because it knows no meaning, no pity, no sympathy, because it knows nothing and is absolutely mindless: the total antithesis of ourselves, absolutely inhuman” ("Notes, 1986," quoted in H-U. Obrist, ed., Gerhard Richter. The Daily Practice of Painting. Writings and Interviews 1962-1993, Cambridge, 1995, p. 124). Though bathed in the glow of familiarity, the present

work ultimately casts its subject matter as a distant mirage: vacant, unattainable and unheimlich, as disarming and alien as any of his abstract panoramas. As Robert Storr writes, “Those who approach Richter's landscapes with a yearning for the exotic or the pastoral are greeted by images that first intensify that desire and then deflect it” (Gerhard Richter: Forty Years of Painting, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2002, p. 67).

by propagandists during the war years of Richter's own youth and which have informed so many of Anselm Kiefer's and Georg Baselitz's works concerning German national identity. While Richter's mountain scenes, seascapes and cloud pictures are informed by an echo of the epic that recalls a haunted past, there is also an enduring sense of nostalgic wistfulness, of contemplation, of the rolling and fertile countryside in Richter’s apple trees.

Though painted in acknowledgement of the masters such as Nicolas Poussin or Caspar David Friedrich, artists who wove grandiose hymns to the majesty of nature, Richter’s landscapes ultimately disrupt such traditions. Working in the aftermath of the Second World War, which had seen the heroic narratives of German Romanticism exploited by propaganda, Richter sought to emphasize the artificial nature of all imagery. As we approach the work, its delicate pastoral exterior dissolves before our eyes, leaving us to stare at an impermeable assembly of attentive brushstrokes. Beautiful, serene and yet ultimately unyielding, Apfelbäume draws upon the early nineteenth-century aesthetics celebrating love of the soil, of the forests and of the mountains related to the sense of homeland which had been so abused

1987, the year in which Apfelbäume was painted, marks the highpoint of Richter's landscape paintings. Within these Romantic images of the German countryside, the manner in which the artist alters the distance between the trees, and changes the focus of the composition, reveals the way in which he is treating this figurative view with almost abstract intentions. It is no coincidence that 1987 was also a triumphant year for Richter's Abstraktes Bilder and that the two genres, which seem at first so diametrically opposed, should have an intense interrelationship. This is evident in the determined focus on the artist’s hand in Apfelbäume, ever so evident in the branches of the trees in contrast between the soft sfumato of pearl fog that renders the sky so enticing and ethereal as it falls over Richter’s verdant greenery. Nicolas Poussin, Landscape with Travellers Resting, circa 1638-1639. Photo: © National Gallery, London / Art Resource, NY. Caspar David Friedrich, Solitary Tree, 1822. Alte Nationalgalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Photo: bpk Bildagentur / Alte Nationalgalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin / Art Resource, NY.


“I keep coming back to these women... around them space vibrates. Nothing is any longer at rest. Perhaps because each angle... or curve, or lump, or crest, or torn tip of metal are themselves not at rest. Each of them still emits the sensibility that created them.” JEAN GENET


GIACOMETTI (1901-1966)

Femme de Venise III signed and numbered ‘5/6 Alberto Giacometti’ (on the left side of the base) and inscribed with foundry mark ‘Susse F Paris’ (on the back of the base) bronze with brown and green patina Height: 46¬ in. (118.4 cm.) Conceived in 1956 and cast in 1958 $15,000,000-20,000,000

In 1955 Alberto Giacometti received an invitation from the French state to represent the country at the Venice Biennale in June of the following year. Scheduled to take place at the same time was the artist’s first retrospective in Switzerland, held at the Kunsthalle Bern. These two events marked a seminal moment in the artist’s career, a point at which he received official recognition in both his native and adopted homes. In preparation for these two landmark shows, at the beginning of 1956, Giacometti entered a period of intense creativity, producing a landmark series of standing nude women that would become known as the Femmes de Venise.

Alberto Giacometti, the nine bronze versions of the Femmes de Venise, 1956. They are, from left to right, numbers II, IV, VI, IX, VII, V, VIII, I, and III. Photograph courtesy of Alex Matter. © 2022 Alberto Giacometti Estate / Licensed by VAGA and ARS, New York.


This renowned group of figures was the result of an intense vision. Using a single armature, Giacometti worked and reworked the clay figures time and time again. He built up, broke down, and reworked his figures as he continuously modeled them. He desired that these new sculptures should be understood as having evolved by means of this exploratory, metamorphosing process: instead of aiming towards a final and conclusive state, he wanted to reveal the very act of making the figures by tracking their changing and varied states. Asked whether he thought the final product was better after more reworkings, he replied, “Absolutely not. Maybe no better than the first time. It’s rather that in realizing something very quickly and in a way successfully, I mistrust the speed. That’s to say, I want to begin again to see if it’ll succeed as well the second time” (quoted in D. Sylvester, Looking at Giacometti, New York, 1994, p. 85).

Once he was satisfied with the figure or felt he had achieved a result that interested him the most at that moment, he asked his brother, Diego, to make a plaster cast of the clay figure—this would serve as the final product. As David Sylvester described, “the last of the states was no more definitive than its predecessors. All were provisional. And from his point of view, every head and standing figure was a state, hardly more than a means towards doing the next” (ibid., p. 85). By May 1956, Giacometti had followed this process to create a total of fifteen plaster figures. He chose to exhibit ten of these at the Venice Biennale in two groups—one of four, and one of six “works in progress.” A further five were shown at his retrospective in Bern, titled there as Figure I through V. The following year, Giacometti selected a total of nine of these plasters—eight from Venice and one from Bern—to cast in bronze, titling them all Femmes de Venise, regardless of the one that had been shown in Switzerland. The group of nine were first displayed together in 1958 at the Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York. “The Femmes de Venise,” Christian Klemm has written, “mark the halfway point in Giacometti's mature work; they bring together the different characteristics of his figures. The evocative name, which binds the individual figures into one group despite their differences, had an enhancing effect: as the figures became legendary, they came to be regarded as the epitome of his art. The extremely small, distant heads and the innovatively sloping pedestals, from which the over-size feet

grow, still make them seem like revelatory, illusionistic visions… The tension in the mingling of goddess and concubine, of Egyptian cult image and decomposing corpse, is seen nowhere as vividly as in this group” (Alberto Giacometti, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2001, p. 218). Each figure in this group of nine are individual—varying in appearance, dimensions, and proportions. Though they are numbered one through nine, this does not necessarily reflect the order in which they were initially modeled. While unique, some of the works share certain characteristics—the diminutive scale of the heads, for example. In contrast to some of the more naturalistically rendered anatomies, particularly I and IV, the present Femme de Venise III, like its close relations II, VII and IX, is elegantly elongated and more abstracted. With its flattened torso and arms tightly attached to its body, it is reminiscent of the ancient Egyptian statuary so admired by the artist. Yet, in contrast to this antique aesthetic, the present work is endowed with a contemporary haircut, a short bob, perhaps derived from the artist’s depictions of his wife and muse, Annette. The Femmes de Venise stand at an important moment of transition in Giacometti’s art, serving as a compelling synthesis particularly with his work with the human figure. In 1947, the artist had a breakthrough when he began to model his iconic, attenuated figures. These works were created from memory, as the artist sought to reconcile perception and reality in a single sculpture. At the beginning of the following decade, the artist found that he had exhausted this avenue of aesthetic and expressive creation, and as a result, returned to working directly from life, using both his brother Diego, and new wife, Annette, as models for both his painting and his sculpture. As a result, his depictions of female figures became more individualized. While the hieratic, frontal posture remained, these standing nudes differed from his earlier, more “visionary” works—less a statement of universal humanity, and more a portrayal of a unique person, endowed with a distinct physical presence. When he began his new series of standing women in 1956, Giacometti employed both strands of artistic discovery, combining insights he had taken from his life studies, while still pursuing an inner vision of

his subject. Giacometti, therefore, did not work from a living model while modeling the Femmes de Venise. In this way, the Femmes de Venise marry the hieratic, timeless anonymity and distance of the late 1940s figures, with the greater individuality of his work from life. As a result, the works change as the viewer regards them—from afar they appear as a homogenous group; from close up, they transform into a tribe of women, each one distinct in appearance and form. This dichotomy was described by the novelist and playwright Jean Genet, of whom Giacometti was a great admirer, in “The Studio of Alberto Giacometti,” published in 1957. Genet recounted how he was repeatedly drawn to the Femmes de Venise during the numerous visits he made to the sculptor’s studio: “They give me this odd feeling: they are familiar, they walk in the street, yet they are in the depths of time, at the source of all being; they keep approaching and retreating in a sovereign immobility. If my gaze attempts to tame them, to approach them, then—but not furiously, not ranting or raging, simply by means of a distance between them and myself that I had not noticed, a distance so compressed and reduced it made them seem quite close—they take their distance and keep it: it is because this distance between them and myself has suddenly unfolded. Where are they going? Although their image remains visible, where are they?” “I can't stop touching the statues: I look away and my hand continues its discoveries of its own accord: neck, head, nape of the neck, shoulders... The sensations flow to my fingertips. Each one is different, so that my hand traverses an extremely varied and vivid landscape... The backs of these women may be more human than their fronts. The nape of the neck, the shoulders, the small of the back, the buttocks seem to have been modeled more lovingly than any of the fronts. Seen from three-quarters, this oscillation from woman to goddess may be what is most disturbing: sometimes the emotion is unbearable... I cannot help returning to this race of gilded—and sometimes painted—sentries who, standing erect, motionless, keep watch” (quoted in E. White, ed., The Selected Writings of Jean Genet, Hopewell, 1993, pp. 317, 323, and 324).

The Femmes de Venise at the Pierre Matisse Gallery, New York, 1958. © 2022 Alberto Giacometti Estate / Licensed by VAGA and ARS, New York. Giacometti working on the plaster version of Femme de Venise V in his Paris studio, 1956. Photograph by Isaku Yanaihara. Fondation Alberto et Annette Giacometti, Paris. © 2022 Alberto Giacometti Estate / Licensed by VAGA and ARS, New York.



WYETH (1917-2009) Day Dream signed 'A. Wyeth' (lower left) tempera on panel 19 x 27º in. (48.3 x 69.2 cm.) Painted in 1980 $2,000,000-3,000,000

With an original blend of simplicity and intricate detail, Andrew Wyeth is best known for elevating the everyday into timeless visions of poignant beauty. In his masterful Day Dream, Wyeth updates the archetypal female nude into both an artistic study of light and atmosphere, as well as a psychologically engaging analysis of secret intimacy. Depicting the artist’s most notorious model Helga Testorf, Day Dream balances a crisp, monochromatic palette with detailed tempera brushwork to eternalize one of the most fruitful relationships of his career as a lasting image of ethereal beauty. In the 1970s, Wyeth was at a crossroads. After completing almost four hundred works over thirty years, mostly inspired by the Kuerner family, his neighbors in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, he faced an inspirational crisis when the patriarch of the family, Karl, became ill. A new muse entered in the form of Helga Testorf, a 38-year-old German woman helping around the Kuerner home as a nurse. For the following fifteen years, from 1971 to 1985, Wyeth created 240 works featuring Helga. He later confessed, “I was entranced the instant I saw her…Amazingly blond, fit, compassionate. I was totally fascinated by her” (quoted in Andrew Wyeth: Helga on Paper, New York, 2006, p. 12). While the majority of the series was kept secret, a select few paintings of Helga, including Day Dream, were shown and sold during these years of creation. The extent of the series was only later revealed in August 1986, appearing as headline news on the covers of Time and Newsweek. From contemplative to titillating, the Helga works have captivated audiences ever since with their intense intimacy.

Andrew Wyeth, Wind from the Sea, 1947. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. © 2022 Andrew Wyeth/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.


Wyeth completed over 35 drawings and watercolors of Helga in various poses of sleep, including three drawings and two watercolors directly related to the present work. In Day Dream he immerses Helga’s form within the bright west-facing upstairs bedroom of Eight Bells, the Wyeth family home in Port Clyde, Maine. Central to the work’s success is his signature medium of tempera. Under closer inspection, the swathes of analogous whites and tans explode with detail as the artist delights in the nuances of the diverse textures and the subtleties of his brushwork. The result is a subtle radiance that floods the composition, almost from beneath. As seen in many of Wyeth’s best works, Day Dream notably includes windows—a signature motif prevalent throughout his career, perhaps most famously in Wind from the Sea (1947, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.). In Day Dream, Wyeth uses the two open windows and the transparent canopy between Helga and the viewer to explore concepts of physical and emotional distance. As Anne Knutson writes, “Wyeth associates the liminal spaces of thresholds with psychological states of thinking, imagining, and dreaming; the paintings become magical chambers where dreams are played out.” More specifically, Day Dream “explore[s] the intersection of desire, sleep, and dreams. The window, which suggests boundaries that cannot always be crossed with impudence, intensifies the illicit potential of these paintings of sleeping nudes” (Andrew Wyeth: Memory & Magic, Atlanta, 2005, p. 75). Wyeth himself declared, “The heart of the Helga series is that I was trying to unlock my emotions in capturing her essence, in getting her humanity down” (quoted in op. cit., 2006, p. 15). Over the years of painting Helga in intimate privacy, Wyeth gained a familiarity with his muse, yet also maintained a barrier between subject and artist as their interactions were kept secret. The results of this intense relationship are mesmerizing pictures that juxtapose elements of purity and openness with tones of concealment and distance. Day Dream epitomizes this careful balance that made the Helga series a phenomenon and further established Andrew Wyeth among the icons of twentieth-century art.


“... the focus of the whole painting is Lucian himself. They’re there because of Lucian.” WILLIAM FEAVER


FREUD (1922-2011)

Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau) oil on canvas 72º x 78 in. (185.4 x 198.1 cm.) Painted in 1981-1983 Estimate on Request

Lucian Freud and Bella in front of present work, 1983. Photo: Bruce Bernard. © Estate of Bruce Bernard, courtesy Virginia Verran. Jean-Antoine Watteau, Pierrot content, circa 1712. Museo Nacional ThyssenBornemisza, Madrid. Lucian Freud, Portrait of a Man, 1981-1982. Museo Nacional ThyssenBornemisza, Madrid. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.


A masterpiece of human observation, and an icon of twentieth-century art, Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau) (1981-1983) stands among the defining achievements of Lucian Freud’s oeuvre. Representing his grand magnum opus of the 1980s, its monumental scale, unprecedented ambition and extraordinary technical virtuosity heralded a thrilling new era in the artist’s practice, marking the dawn of what would come to be widely recognized as his greatest period. Spanning almost two meters in both height and width, the work was Freud’s largest painting to date at the time, and his first canvas to feature more than two sitters. It was also the first of only a handful of works to engage directly with a painting from art history: namely Jean Antoine Watteau’s Pierrot content (circa 1712; Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid). Transposing the French master’s fête galante to the interior of his studio, Freud replaces Watteau’s commedia dell’arte cast with a line-up of some of his favorite muses, seating lovers and offspring side by side. “The link,” he said, “is me” (quoted in Lucian Freud, exh. cat., Tate Britain, London, 2002, p. 37). It is a snapshot of his world, and a portrait of the act of looking at it, every inch of its surface animated by the raw, piercing scrutiny of the artist’s gaze.

Perhaps more than any other work in Freud’s oeuvre, the painting dramatizes his central ideas about art. Freud’s works were neither narrative nor symbolic: his interests began and ended solely with the vital intricacies of the person or object that lay before him. His meticulously-wrought surfaces told only the story of his eye and hand, capturing the elusive sensations of coming to know the world through paint. Watteau’s tableau—a parable of jealous affection played out through theatrical archetypes—offered the perfect foil. While Freud’s complex personal life was arguably ripe for translation—his grouping brings together former lover Suzy Boyt, her son Kai, the artist’s own daughter Bella and his then-lover Celia Paul—the work is not, at heart, a portrait of family drama. His muses, though clothed in costume-like garments and shrouded in near-cinematic suspense, are not coded with extrinsic meaning. They are there, instead, as intensely-observed instances of the human condition, their huddled forms living and breathing through every brush stroke. The power of paint to seal the world alive—from the light that dances in the figures’ eyes, to the near-audible stream of the running tap—is the work’s true subject. Its

composition, more rich and multifaceted than ever before, is a powerful assertion of the artist’s prowess: even in the guise of theater, Freud proclaims, his work never loses its grip on the visceral reality of seeing. Originally held for fifteen years in the personal collection of Freud’s dealer James Kirkman before being acquired by Paul G. Allen, the work bears a distinguished history. Before it was even finished, it featured on the cover of Lawrence Gowing’s seminal 1982 book: the first major monograph on Freud’s practice. The text concluded with an account of the painting in progress: “as I write,” he explained, “each [expression] is resolving in the painter’s hands, and each in its own way” (quoted in L. Gowing, Lucian Freud, London, 1982, p. 206). Upon completion, it was unveiled in an historic one-painting exhibition at Thomas Agnew and Sons on Bond Street, its status already canonized: “Lucian Freud Completes His Grand Masterpiece”, ran the announcement in The Times. Since then, the painting has been shown in almost every major exhibition of Freud’s work: from his celebrated touring retrospective organized by the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington D.C., in 1987, to his wildly successful solo exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in 1993, to his landmark retrospective at the National Portrait Gallery, London, the year after his death in 2012, where it occupied pride of place at the entrance to the show. An avid admirer of the Old Masters—from Rembrandt and Hals to Chardin, Ingres and others—Freud had first encountered Watteau’s painting in a catalogue. The work, an early canvas, offered a pageant of rivalry and courtship: the clown Pierrot sits at the center, giddy from the attention of the two women either side of him, who in turn are flanked by two men competing for their affections. The original, belonging to Baron Thyssen-Bornemisza, was shown at the Royal Academy of Arts, London, in 1981, as part of a showcase of his collection. Freud was painting a portrait of the Baron at the time, and included a detail of the work in the background of the finished canvas—Portrait of a Man (1981-1982)—wittily placing the Baron’s head in place of Pierrot. Freud had originally intended to make a copy of the painting, and made a preliminary study in 1980; “then I thought, why don’t I do one of my own?” he recalled (quoted in ibid., p. 202). In 1977, the same year that Thyssen acquired the work, Freud had moved into a new studio in Holland Park—the W11 postcode of the present painting’s title. Its

upper floor room was both spacious and sparse, its matrix of windows, skylights and blinds offering endless possibilities for careful, tightlycontrolled lighting. It was the perfect setting for a challenge of this scale: Freud ordered a fine Dutch canvas, and began to set his stage. One Sunday in 1981, the artist brought together his chosen muses for the first time. Together, they charted a sizeable portion of his life and work. Suzy Boyt, seated on the right, had first met Freud as a young student at the Slade School of Art in the 1950s: notably, she featured in the pivotal masterwork Woman Smiling (1958-1959), which marked his early embrace of naturalist impasto. Their children Ali, Rose, Ib and Susie would similarly punctuate Freud’s practice, as would Kai— Suzy’s fifth child—whom the artist regarded as a son. The artist Celia Paul, seated on the left, had also met Freud through the Slade, some twenty years after Suzy. Throughout their decade-long relationship she featured in major portraits including Naked Girl with Egg (1980-1981; British Council Collection), Girl in a Striped Nightshirt (1983-1985; Tate, London) and Painter and Model (1986-1987; Private collection), as well as giving birth to Freud’s youngest child Frank the year after the present work. Bella—daughter of Freud’s 1960s muse Bernardine Coverley, and now a celebrated fashion designer—played an equally significant role in his art. Aged twenty at the start of the present work, she had sat for her father since childhood, featuring in ambitious full-length paintings and intimate portrait heads that pushed the artist’s work in bold new directions throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Despite featuring on the cover for the 1985 Dutch translation of David Leavitt’s Family Dancing—a collection of short stories about familial disfunction—Freud’s fragmentary cast was not designed to reconcile his disparate relationships. More simply, it was a reflection of his lifelong predilection for working from those he knew well. “Everything is autobiographical,” he later explained, and—when asked about the link between the present work’s sitters—would state quite plainly that “I’m the connection” (quoted in ibid., p. 202). This understanding was borne out in his method: after Freud had sketched the composition onto canvas, the group never visited the studio en masse again, sitting either in pairs or on their own in long, somewhat irregular sessions. “I didn’t want to make too much about the unity, the fact that people are sitting next to each other, know each other very well, not at all, or slightly,” Freud explained (quoted

Lucian Freud, Woman Smiling, 1958-1959. Private collection. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images. Lucian Freud, Girl in a Striped Nightshirt, 1983-1985. Tate, London. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.


“...there is only one painting conceived by Freud as a deliberate paraphrase from an old master, and that is perhaps his own masterpiece ... It is as though Freud has chosen to rework a painting of the utmost theatricality in order to assert his own in W. Feaver, The Lives of Lucian Freud: Fame 1968-2011, London, 2020, p. 154). The figures, in this sense, are largely locked in their own worlds, “rehearsing themselves as themselves” (quoted in ibid., p. 202). As Celia Paul recalls, “when he was with a person, nobody else mattered to him,” and—as such—“all the individuals are sort of isolated in their own inner space” (quoted in P. Hoban, Lucian Freud: Eyes Wide Open, Seattle, 2014, p. 114). Much like David Hockney’s celebrated 1969 double portrait Henry Geldzahler and Christopher Scott, they are tethered to one another solely through the force of the artist’s gaze.

Lucian Freud, Large Interior. Paddington, 1968-1969. Museo Nacional ThyssenBornemisza, Madrid. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images. Lucian Freud, Two Plants, 1977-1980. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.


Despite this, however, Freud entered spiritedly into the game of mapping his protagonists onto Watteau’s charade. He showed his muses a reproduction of the painting, and explained his intention to create a similar composition, asking each of them to choose old clothes with a “costumey” feel. Kai, clad in yellow, inhabits the position of Pierrot: “he’s the subject,” Freud asserted (quoted in op. cit., 1982, p. 202). Bella, in heels and a striped dress, stands in for Pierrot’s mistress Columbine, her thumb poised upon the mandolin strings in halted serenade. Celia and Suzy, each dressed in florals, turn their bodies inwards, closeting the group: Suzy holds a fan, while Celia rests her hand on Bella’s knee. At one point Freud contemplated adding a figure under the bed, suggesting his early love Lorna Wishart; instead, he placed a child at the feet of the group, originally proposing his granddaughter May before selecting a girl named Star—the little sister of Ali Boyt’s girlfriend. Relegated to the floor, she shatters the fourth wall of Freud’s dreamlike restaging, her gaze meeting the viewer’s and—by extension—the artist’s. Conscious of his precarious liaison with notions of “role play” and “casting”, Freud explained that the child’s function was solely to “break the Watteau”: to banish the realm of fantasy and trope, and to return the viewer to the living dialogue between artist and muse that ultimately lay at the work’s core (quoted in R. Hughes, Lucian Freud: Paintings, London, 2002, p. 14).

Other elements of the composition, too, serve as jolts back into Freud’s world. The enchanting woodland glade of Watteau’s fantasy land becomes the stark interior of the studio, riddled with exposed pipework and bare plaster: Freud deliberately omitted the white tiles around the sink. The artist drew the blinds on all but one of the windows, forcing the unseen skylight to bathe his subjects in an ethereal overhead glow. Beyond, a warped glimpse of the artist’s West London neighbourhood quivers in the distance, replacing—perhaps—the illuminated patch of landscape in Watteau’s scene. Pierrot’s woodland bench becomes an iron bedstead, acquired by Freud in 1977 for £7 at a house sale: originally from the servants’ quarters, and broken over time, it barely accommodates its subjects, forcing them into squashed proximity. Watteau’s fountain becomes a running tap: the only hint of movement in an otherwise frozen scene, “counteracting”—suggests Angus Cook—“the dryness of the paint” (“seeing things,” in Lucian Freud: Recent Drawings and Etchings, exh. cat., Matthew Marks Gallery, New York, 1993, n.p.). Watteau’s trees, meanwhile, are reduced to the tangled remains of an indoor plant that Freud had chopped down: variously identified as a verbena or a pelargonium, its anthropomorphic form threatens to engulf the group entirely. Beyond these acts of staging, however, it is in the work’s painstaking, meticulous surface that Freud’s rewriting is most keenly felt. Flecks of Cremnitz white pick out shafts of light upon Kai’s nose and Bella’s collarbone; the bristles of his hog’s hair brush comb their way through Celia’s hair, Suzy’s fan and the tasselled hem of Bella’s dress. Every pattern, crease and fold of their clothing is rendered with crisp, focused precision: at times thick with impasto, at others dispersed into a shimmering glaze. Light and life courses through the veins on their intricately-wrought hands and feet, and glows radiantly beneath the shadows on their skin. Fleeting emotional states—melancholy, resolve, pensiveness, uncertainty, longing—flicker across their disconnected

mistrust of theater... One is made poignantly aware of Freud’s desire to show how the strictest formal expressiveness of the body comes from the body’s own forms and not from the narratives it can be made to enact.” ROBERT HUGHES, 1987

faces. The studio and its contents, too, are subject to the same scrutiny. The gleam of the copper piping, the painterly, near-abstract swirl of the plaster, the coarse bristle of the blanket upon the bed: all come alive at the artist’s touch. Freud reportedly relished painting the flowing grain of the floorboards; even the plug socket, once noticed, shines like an object of wonder. It is not the archaic strum of the mandolin but rather the banality of the running tap that becomes the picture’s music, the sound of water hitting enamel dripping its way through every brushstroke. Read as a whole, it is an image of how reality appears under close, extended viewing: vibrant, alive and as endlessly absorbing as any costume play. Freud’s presence in the work is equally palpable in its internal frame of reference. In the early 1980s, the artist began to take his place on the international stage, featuring in the seminal group exhibition A New Spirit in Painting at the Royal Academy of Arts, London, in 1981, and

receiving a Companion of Honor in 1983. Throughout the ensuing years, his celebrity grew: his debut American retrospective in 1987 led critics to declare him the greatest living realist painter, and—by 1993—queues were forming along Fifth Avenue to gain entrance to his blockbuster show at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Poised on the brink of this trajectory, the present work offers something of a retrospective in miniature. Aside from the sitters themselves, other elements of the painting are deeply familiar: the plant, each leaf so vividly and precisely wrought, recalls Freud’s recently-completed botanical triumph Two Plants (1977-1980; Tate, London), famously conceived as hundreds of miniature “portraits” of leaves. The child at Suzy’s feet is curiously reminiscent of her own daughter Ib, who struck a similar pose in the 1968-1969 work Large Interior, Paddington. The view from the window, meanwhile—rendered hazy and dreamlike by the glass—echoes Freud’s haunting urban landscapes from the early 1970s, offering a snapshot of the London locale that became such a vital part of the artist’s existence.

Gustave Caillebotte, Les raboteurs de parquet, 1875. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Photo: © RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, NY. Lucian Freud, Two Japanese Wrestlers by a Sink, 1983-1987. Art Institute of Chicago. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.


“... every inch of it—the clothes, the walls, the floor, the faces, the view through the window—constitutes a tiny masterpiece of depiction.” WALDEMAR JANUSZCZAK

At the same time, however, the work stands as a powerful sign of things to come. The iron bedstead would become the scene of some of Freud’s greatest artistic triumphs, while the sink would feature again in the 19831987 painting Two Japanese Wrestlers by a Sink (Art Institute of Chicago). More broadly, however, the work’s challenge ushered in a profound new sense of grandeur and scope that would drive Freud’s practice into extraordinary territory over the next two decades. Its ground-breaking scale—the same size, almost, as his favourite Constable landscapes— paved the way for his legendary large-format portraits of Sue Tilley and Leigh Bowery during the 1990s, the vastness of the canvas elevating their grandiose forms to near-operatic proportions. His embrace of compositional complexity, too, would find continued expression in masterworks such as Large Interior, Notting Hill (1998) and Evening in the Studio (1993), the latter consciously forged in the spirit of the present work’s ambition. Freud would also rekindle his dance with art history on select occasions: a 1992 photograph captures him posing with Leigh Bowery in imitation of Gustave Courbet’s The Painter’s Studio (1855), while the turn of the millennium saw him restage Paul Cezanne’s L'après-midi à Naples (circa 1875) in the unique shaped-canvas painting After Cezanne (2000; National Gallery of Australia, Canberra).

Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau) takes its place within a long lineage of artistic paraphrases: from Pablo Picasso’s takes on Eugène Delacroix’s Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement (1834), to Francis Bacon’s reworking of Diego Velázquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X (circa 1650). Was Freud, as he entered his seventh decade, taking stock of his own art-historical positioning? Perhaps, more plausibly, Watteau was simply another muse. Like everything else his eyes touched, Freud takes full possession of the painting’s pantomime, transforming its whimsical fancy into a clear-sighted expression of how he saw the world. His players are those who, thus far, had accompanied him on the journey, each a painterly incarnation of what it means to know another person. The result, writes Robert Hughes, is “a painting of the most steely concision, a veritable manifesto of Freud’s deeper intentions: to assert, with the utmost plastic force, the advantages of scrutiny over theatre” (Lucian Freud: Paintings, London, 1987, p. 24). Away from the enchanted woodland glade, Freud weaves another kind of magic: a fête galante played out in the courtship of pigment and fiber, preserving the world and those he loved within it.

David Hockney, Henry Geldzahler and Christopher Scott, 1969. Private collection. © David Hockney. Pablo Picasso, Les femmes d’Alger (Version ‘O’), 1955. Private collection. © 2022 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.



36 JAN




(ANTWERP 1601-1678)


The Five Senses: Sight, Touch, Hearing, Taste and Smell

Un grand tableau qui représente un paysage

oil on panel, Touch with the coat of arms of the city of Antwerp and the stamp of the panel maker Guilliam Aertssens (active 1612/13-1638?) Sight and Smell, 27¬ x 44¬ in. (70.2 x 113.3 cm.); Hearing, 27 x 43 in. (68.6 x 109.2 cm.); Taste, 27 x 43¡ in. (68.6 x 110.1 cm.) and Touch, 27¡ x 44¬ in. (69.5 x 113.3 cm.) four with two sets of inventory numbers: the first with 'N75' and 'No:138.'; the second with 'N73' and 'No:153.'; the third with 'N7*' and 'No: 140' and the fourth with 'N..' and 'N 151' (all lower right) a set of five (5)

signed and dated ‘YVES TANGUY 27’ (lower right) oil and grattage on canvas 45æ x 35¿ in. (116.1 x 89.3 cm.) Painted in 1927 $2,500,000-3,500,000

Infused with a deep sense of mystery, Un grand tableau qui représente un paysage is a powerful early example of Yves Tanguy’s great series of enigmatic, Surrealist landscapes. Painted in 1927, it emerged during one of the most intensive and productive periods of the artist’s career, as he delved into the recesses of his imagination and experimented with a near-automatic technique, arriving at the mature style that he would become renowned for. After first delineating a background landscape whose hazy colors and forms would articulate the mood of the picture, the painting would then be left to dry for a day or so, during which time the artist ruminated upon the shapes before him, contemplating the potential direction of the composition. Tanguy would then instinctively begin to populate the canvas with a series of intuitively arrived-at forms, modelled and shaped by spur of the moment decisions. “The element of surprise in the creation of a work of art is, to me, the most important factor,” he later explained. “The painting develops before my eyes, unfolding its surprises as it progresses. It is this which gives me the sense of complete liberty, and for this reason I am incapable of forming a plan or making a sketch beforehand” (“The Creative Process,” in Art Digest, vol. 28, no. 8, 1954, p. 14). Yves Tanguy, Terre d’ombre, 1927. Detroit Institute of Arts. © 2022 Estate of Yves Tanguy / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: © Detroit Institute of Arts / Gift of Lydia Winston Malbin / Bridgeman Images.


Having grown up in Locronan, in the Finistère province in far west Brittany, Tanguy’s dreams of the marvelous had always revolved around and been inspired by the sea, which remained in his imagination an undeniable and ever-present manifestation of the great unknown. During the 1920s, the artist returned to this familiar landscape, spending a number of weeks each summer exploring the coastline extensively, making excursions to nearby peninsulas with rugged cliffs, and visiting the myriad Neolithic monuments that were scattered throughout the surrounding environment. These visits exerted a growing influence on his paintings from 1926 onwards, resulting in hallucinatory visions that he conjured from the depths of his subconscious, but which retained a clear affinity with the sea. In Un grand tableau qui représente un paysage the color palette is particularly suggestive of a wild, rugged coastal scene, its richly variegated blue-grey tones invoking the depths of the ocean. The deep foreground plane appears as a sandy expanse, undulating towards the shoreline, while a large stone monolith occupies the left hand side of the scene, its sheer face suggesting a cliff, a sea-stack, or an ancient menhir. A host of strange, phantasmagorical figures and forms are dotted throughout the scene, lit by an unseen source that causes strong, silhouetted shadows to fall over the ground, while wispy tendrils appear to float upwards, like clusters of seaweed caught in the breeze. Un grand tableau qui représente un paysage was included in Tanguy’s inaugural solo-exhibition, Yves Tanguy et Objets d’Amérique at the Galerie Surréaliste in Paris from May to June, 1927. In his preface to the exhibition, André Breton praised the new direction within the artist’s oeuvre explaining that it “allows him to venture as far as he wants and to give us images of the unknown…” (Yves Tanguy et Objets d’Amérique, exh. cat., Galerie surréaliste, Paris, 1927). The painting was purchased shortly after the exhibition by Henri Hoppenot and his wife, Helena, and remained in their collection for the following three decades. While visiting a group exhibition in Washington, D.C. in the 1950s Tanguy encountered Hoppenot, who was by then a high-ranking diplomat, serving as French Ambassador to the UN Security Council. Hoppenot invited Tanguy to the ambassador’s residence to see Un grand tableau qui représente un paysage in person, an offer Tanguy happily accepted, proclaiming that he found it “a fantastic experience to see one of my children again after twenty-five years” (quoted in K. Von Maur, ed., Yves Tanguy and Surrealism, exh. cat., The Menil Collection, Houston, 2001, p. 125).


These five paintings depicting allegories of the Five Senses are near contemporary versions of a celebrated series by Jan Brueghel the Elder and Sir Peter Paul Rubens (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid). The works are counted among the chefs d’oeuvres of Jan Brueghel the Younger and represent a rarely encountered intact set of these desirable subjects. According to Klaus Ertz, they were painted "shortly after 1626" (loc. cit.), when Jan had returned from several years in Italy where he enjoyed the patronage of leading figures like Cardinal Federico Borromeo (1564-1631). Like the prototypes, this set may well be the product of a collaboration by Jan the Younger and another, as yet unidentified, artist who painted the personifications and accompanying putti. Ertz’s dating of these panels is well-supported by the historical record. Two of the Prado set are dated 1617 (Sight) and 1618 (Taste), while the appearance of Mariemont in Hearing reflects the completion of building work that took place in the years 1617-1618 and may therefore have been executed slightly later. The reverse of the panel depicting Touch in the present series bears the panel maker’s mark of Guilliam Aertssen, who was admitted to the Antwerp guild as a master frame-maker and tableau-maker in 1612 and appears to have been active at least until 1638. While the panel maker’s mark does not preclude the set from being contemporary with Jan the Elder’s prototypes, on stylistic grounds they would seem to date to nearly a decade later. The Prado series by Jan the Elder and Rubens were already listed in the inventory of the Alcázar in 1636, which provides a terminus ante quem for the present series, which was painted in Antwerp. The inventory noted that the set was given by the Duke of Neuberg, in all probability the Count Palatine and Duke Wolfgang Wilhelm von der Pfalz-Neuberg, to the Cardinal Infant Ferdinand, who in turn gifted them to the Duke of Medina de las Torres. The Duke had converted to Roman Catholicism

and became an important ally to the Spanish crown as the ruler of the Duchy of Cleves, which was united with the Duchy of Jülich and was a central point of debate between the Habsburgs and the Dutch during the Twelve Years’ Truce (1609-21). While it is not known when the Duke himself acquired the Prado series, the evident references to the Archducal couple, Albert and Isabella, in the paintings suggest the set may well have been executed for them and that they gifted the paintings to the Duke for raisons d’état. The Duke died in 1628 and the paintings must have arrived in Spain before 10 April 1633, the day in which the Cardinal Infant left Spain for the Netherlands via Genoa, to provide time for him to gift them on. Much like the Prado set, this series was in all probability an important commission, though the identify of its patron is unknown. The paintings first appear in 1720 in the possession of the Emperor Charles VI in Vienna. The original patron may well have been a cleric, owing to a notable difference in this series, most evident in the depiction of Smell: while in the Prado painting the personifications tend to be nude or semi-nude, in this series they are draped. Dictates of decency required that personifications be depicted in such fashion. It has further been suggested that this individual may have owned Rubens’ Virgin and Child in Berlin, which Jan the Younger substituted for a similar but not identical painting seen in the right foreground of his father’s depiction of Sight. Series of the Seasons, Months of the Year and Four Elements proved exceedingly popular in both painting and print in the Lowlands in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. However, Brueghel and Rubens updated the earlier Mannerist traditions by adapting them to the thenfashionable depictions of collector’s cabinets and market scenes of the type popularized by Joachim Beuckelaer. It is in works like the Prado and present series that this revolution found its fullest expression.


“Diego Rivera is, as everyone knows, the leading painter of frescoes of his time and perhaps the first great painter of the modern American continent. His name, long famous in Mexico, has recently come to general attention in his country through his frescoes in San Francisco and his one-man show in The Museum of Modern Art in New York.” FORTUNE, FEBRUARY 1932


RIVERA (1886-1957) The Rivals signed and dated 'Diego Rivera 1931' (lower right) oil on canvas 60 x 50 in. (152.4 x 127 cm.) Painted in 1931 $7,000,000-10,000,000

From 1931 onwards, Diego Rivera achieved unprecedented success in the United States extending from the east to the west coasts. The artist received mural commissions in San Francisco, and later in Detroit, New York, and Chicago (the latter never realized). However, his crowning achievement came in 1931 when he was honored with a one-person exhibition at The Museum of Modern Art in New York, second only to Henri Matisse, who had been the subject of a retrospective earlier that same year.

Frances Flynn Paine, Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera in front of Rivera’s History of Mexico: From the Conquest to the Future, 1929-1930, Palacio Nacional, Mexico City, 1931. Vicente Wolf Collection. Photo by Peter Riesett. © 2022 Banco de México Diego Rivera Frida Kahlo Museums Trust, Mexico D.F. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.


Rivera’s growing prestige was not only the result of the critical acclaim received for his al fresco murals in some of the most well-known public buildings in Mexico City, such as the Palacio Nacional de Bellas Artes and the Secretaría de Educación Pública, but also for his participation in the Paris avant-garde circles as a distinguished cubist and follower of Paul Cezanne, a friend of Pablo Picasso’s and of others who were part of the Galerie L’Effort Moderne, whose director was Léonce Rosenberg. As such, Rivera was not only the foremost painter of the post-Revolution

Mexican Mural Movement, but also, in the eyes of Alfred Barr, the artist’s work undoubtedly reflected universal dialogues with the history of art, from Antiquity and the Italian Renaissance to the School of Paris.

works of the 1930s. The monumental oil painting titled, The Rivals, was completed in a makeshift studio aboard the Morro Castle—the ship that in November 1931 transported Rivera and Frida Kahlo to New York.

In June 1931, while in Mexico, Rivera was visited by arts promoter, Frances Flynn Paine, to discuss the preparations for his New York exhibition. Flynn Paine, was acting in representation of Abby Aldrich Rockefeller, the staunch arts patron, and founder and promoter of MoMA’s programs, and who, since 1930, with the support of Alfred Barr had been planning an exhibition of the artist’s work at The Museum of Modern Art. It was also Flynn Paine, who was charged with the task of ensuring that several important works by Rivera entered Abby Rockefeller’s personal collection, including this magnificent painting rarely on public view since 1937. Abby, who was married to John D. Rockefeller, Jr., had first visited Mexico in the early 1890s, during the Belle Epoque era of Porfirio Díaz and became fascinated with Mexican culture; as such it was not unusual that years later, she would acquire one of Rivera’s most emblematic

Commissioned by Abby Rockefeller, the work remained in her collection until the early 1940s when it was then gifted to her son David Rockefeller and daughter-in-law Peggy on the occasion of their nuptials. In this painting, Rivera puts his unparalleled skills as a painter and colorist on full display no doubt to impress his benefactor, the principal supporter of his MoMA retrospective. The scene, inspired by "la fiesta de Las Velas", depicts an annual tradition indigenous to the Isthmus region of Oaxaca for which women wear embroidered huipiles or blouses, attractive gold jewelry and their hair pulled into moños (buns) and, enaguas or skirts in bright colors. The feast has indigenous roots, and is celebrated during the month of May in honor of family patron saints, amidst exotic palm trees, and papel picado or delicately cut multicolor sheets of tissue paper strung from the roofs to enliven the festivities.

Yet the theme, so profoundly Mexican, is not necessarily the painting’s most captivating feature, but rather the modern use of multiple planes coupled with the artist’s chromatic sensibility which Rivera makes full use of to resolve the painting. The vibrant tones and the sinuousness of certain compositional elements echo the decorative and sensual qualities found in Matisse’s paintings of the 1930s, including works such as La Conversation. For Abby Rockefeller, whose incredible largess as an arts patron had also extended to Matisse, the subject of a recent MoMA retrospective, the aesthetic affinities between the two international modern painters must have seemed undeniable. Prof. Luis-Martín Lozano, art historian

Henri Matisse, La Conversation, 1938. Collection SFMOMA, Bequest of Mr. James D. Zellerbach. © 2022 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. The traditional celebration of ‘Las Velas’ as practiced today in Oaxaca, Mexico, 2016. © Frank Coronado.



KLEE (1879-1940)

Schicksalstunde um dreiviertel zwölf signed, dated and numbered 'Klee 1922 184.' (upper left) oil on chalk-primed muslin mounted on panel 16¿ x 19 in. (41 x 48.2 cm.) Executed in 1922 $1,800,000-2,500,000

Painted in 1922, Schicksalstunde um dreiviertel zwölf emerged at a crucial point in Paul Klee’s career. Less than a year prior to its creation, the artist had been invited by Walter Gropius to join the faculty at his progressive artistic school, the Bauhaus, in Weimar, offering the artist the position of Master of Form in the book-binding workshop. Klee quickly immersed himself in life at the school, and was swiftly appointed to further roles in the glass-painting studio and on the school’s revolutionary foundation course. The artist spent the opening years of his tenure at the Bauhaus diligently developing his teaching methods, consolidating his own personal experiences as an artist and clarifying the techniques he had previously adopted instinctively, in order to define and communicate the methodological and theoretical foundations of his art to his students. Schicksalstunde um dreiviertel zwölf is one of a series of mysterious, whimsical compositions that Klee produced during the early years in Weimar, conjuring delicate line drawings of townscapes, plant forms, and mountainous landscapes against richly modulated color fields. While these playful poetic fantasies often drew inspiration from the world of theater, ballet, opera, music and fairy tales, Klee’s narratives remained distinctly elusive, their dramatic play of action existing within a dream-like atmosphere. In the present work, the title focuses our attention on the countdown of the clock on the right, which reads 11:45, its pendulum marking the minutes until midnight. The conical shape with two balls in the upper zone of the painting repeats the swinging Paul Klee in his Bauhaus Studio in Weimar, Germany, 1924. Photograph by Felix Klee. Photo: Lebrecht Authors / Bridgeman Images.


motion of the pendulum, while the moon to its right echoes the shape of the glowing clock face, suggesting a parallel between cosmic and earthly time. At the bottom left of the scene, a girl rushes away, past a house that seems to be on the brink of toppling over, while above the characters “3/4 !” appear in bold lettering in the sky, the exclamation mark imbuing the scene with a sense of shock and urgency. Indeed, each element within the composition appears to emphasize the march of time, reminding the young woman of the portentous hour, hurrying her along on her journey. In the large mountain in the center of the composition, the vegetation and trees that line the slopes are grouped together in distinctive bands, their forms recalling the bars of a musical score. Music was an integral part of Klee's life from his earliest childhood—his father was a music teacher, his mother a trained singer, and he himself an accomplished violinist. Many of his lectures at the Bauhaus centered on the parallels between music and color theory, and he persistently sought to translate the temporal qualities of music into visual form through his paintings. Here, the allusions to music lend an additional theatrical dimension to the composition, conjuring a sense of the soundscape that forms a backdrop to the action—one can almost imagine the toll of the bell in the clock tower as it rings through the landscape, a warning that time is running out. Schicksalstunde um dreiviertel zwölf featured in several important exhibitions of Klee’s work through the 1920s, before being acquired by Daniel-Henry Kahnweiler, then the sole agent for Klee’s work in Europe. In 1938, Kahnweiler granted the dealer Karl Nierendorf, who had recently emigrated to New York from Berlin, exclusive rights to represent the artist in America. Writing in April of that year to the collector Duncan Phillips, Nierendorf explained the deal he had struck with the artist: “I made a contract with Klee such as no art dealer in the world would do. Regardless of what sale I might make, I guaranteed Klee an amount each year upon which he could live well and work without care for his material welfare” (quoted in C. Lanchner, “Klee in America,” in Paul Klee, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1987, p. 101). The present canvas passed from Kahnweiler to Neirendorf around this time, and shortly thereafter was acquired by Phillips, who had begun collecting the artist’s work early in the decade, and had redoubled his efforts as the 1930s drew to a close. The painting was also featured in a lavishly illustrated monograph on Klee that Nierendorf published in English in 1941, which marked an important step in establishing Klee’s reputation in America.


“It’s hard to look at paintings... but very, very rewarding. I mean like it’s strenuous to listen to a great piece of music... You have to be able to bring all sorts of things together in your mind, your imagination, in your whole body... It’s something very deep and felt.” BRICE MARDEN


MARDEN (b. 1938)

The Attended signed and dated '1996-9 B. Marden' (on the reverse) oil on linen 82 x 57 in. (208.3 x 144.8 cm.) Painted in 1996-1999 $15,000,000-20,000,000

Brice Marden with work. Photo: Neville Elder. Artwork: © 2022 Brice Marden / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Agesander, Athenodorus and Polydorus of Rhodes, Lacoön and His Sons, 1st century. Museo Pio Clementino, Vatican Museum, Rome. Photo: Archive Timothy McCarthy / Art Resource, NY.


Brice Marden’s The Attended is one of a series of six paintings inspired by the artist’s travels in Asia. The freely drawn calligraphic lines are spontaneous and full of spirit, while the underlying translucent ground displays the artist’s more contemplative mood; the colorful ribbons that meander across the surface of this large-scale canvas fill it with sinuous lyrical abstraction without overwhelming it. Unlike many of Jackson Pollock’s paintings, for example, where the artist’s painterly swirls appear to respect the sanctity of the picture plane, Marden’s lines are imbued with a free-spirit, and when they come into direct contact with the edge of stretched canvas they are sometimes constrained by it, but at other times they appear to break free and push beyond them to enter another dimension. The art critic Peter Schjeldahl once likened their twisting forms to the writhing snakes being wrestled into submission in the Vatican Museum’s classical masterpiece The Laocoon. However, they were actually inspired by Chinese script that the artist had experienced on his visits to Asia in the 1980s; these lines possess a confidence and elegance that is intrinsic to the finest examples of Marden’s paintings from this period.

Beginning in the 1980s with his Cold Mountain series, Marden created works in a literal calligraphic style, beginning in the top right-hand corner of the composition and working largely downwards, moving left column by column. In the 1990s, a new more confident, and totally independent and self-contained, series emerged, and by the end of the decade, Marden had let go of this strictly calligraphic model: “I didn’t start off with the characters in the upper right and then work down and over as I had before with the calligraphy paintings. There aren’t any columns anymore or things connecting columns. I just went into these [paintings] and started a line. It seemed much more intuitive at that point” (quoted in E. Wilson, “Brice Marden, Work of the 1990s: Paintings, Drawings and Prints,” in Carnegie Magazine, May/June 2000). The meandering forms that snake through The Attended illustrate what, for Marden, had now become purely intuitive. Given over to the literal flatness of the picture plane, reduced to solely four colors, limited to nothing but line, the painting exists within another, purely pictorial realm. The fact that Marden described this process as “intuitive” indicates his overall mastery of his own practiced pictorial idiom.

Painted over the course of several years (1996-1999), repeatedly tracing and re-tracing, Marden allows the painting to lead beyond itself, beyond what Richard Shiff terms “knowledge and self-knowledge” (quoted in “Force of Myself Looking,” in G. Garrels, ed., Plane Image: A Brice Marden Retrospective, New York, 2006, p. 40). Inherently, the work evokes the passage of time and the boundlessness of eternity. The eye naturally follows the path scoped out by the soft colors, over and through, loopthe-loop, an endless number of times. The process—in both Marden’s execution and in the viewer’s reading—is akin to walking a labyrinth towards an unseen destination. His chosen title for this series—Attendant or Attended—is evocative of something greater than the abstraction of the painting’s surface. Literally, the works are named for Chinese funerary sculptures from the Han period called attendant figures. These earthenware objects, meant to accompany the deceased into the afterlife, often depicted men and women standing, kneeling or dancing. Meant to be viewed in the round, the figure’s dynamic positions might have influenced Marden’s careful and deliberate system of layered, curvilinear bands of color, which loop and swirl in endless combinations. The word, which indicates “one who attends or waits for another,” and indeed, the Chinese attendant figures literally “attended to” the deceased for all eternity. Now in his 80s, Marden still inspires many contemporary artists today as “one of the most important abstract artists of his generation, his work…a touchstone for contemporary art” (G. Garrels, ibid., p. 22). Born in 1938 in Bronxville, New York, Marden went on to receive traditional arts education at the Boston University School of Fine and Applied Arts, followed by a MFA at Yale University’s School of Art and Architecture. In 1966, he had his breakout solo show at Bykert Gallery in Manhattan; a retrospective at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York followed soon after in 1975. In the early 1970s, Marden first visited the Greek island of Hydra where he was so enamored of the island’s beauty and serenity that he eventually established a studio there in addition to his Manhattan studio.

From the mid-1980s through the early 1990s, Marden pursued the inspired integration of calligraphic East Asian-inspired gestures into his work. Later on, the curved lines became more ropelike and brightly colored, adopting the confident rhythm of the present work. In the early 1990s, Marden was the subject of a major traveling show of recent work, the 1991 Brice Marden—Cold Mountain at the Dia Art Foundation in New York, which traveled well into 1993 to the Walker Art Center, the Menil Collection, the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, and the Kunstmuseum. His work of the 1990s was also the subject of a 1999 exhibition that traveled from the Dallas Museum of Art to the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington D.C. In 2006, Marden was the subject of a major forty-year retrospective that traveled from the Museum of Modern Art in New York to the San Francisco Museum of Art to the Hamburger Banhof in Berlin. When asked about why he painted, Marden replied, “I paint because it's my work. And I paint because I believe it's the best way that I can pass my time as a human being. I paint for myself. I paint for my wife. And I paint for anybody who's willing to look at it. Really at heart for anybody who wants to see it. And when I say see it, I mean see it. I don't just mean look at it. Well, I do everything I can in terms of what I put out for people to look at. I mean I supply them with all the information I possibly can. And they just have to take care of it from there on in. As in anything, you know, like the more responsive, the more open, the more imaginative you are when you deal with something, the much better experience it will be...It's hard to look at paintings. It's really difficult, a very strenuous kind of activity but very, very rewarding. I mean like it's strenuous to listen to a great piece of music. Very complicated. You have to think a lot. You have to be able to bring all sorts of things together in your mind, your imagination, in your whole body. Really get off on it. It's a very high experience. It's something very deep and felt” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 2006, p. 17).

Brice Marden, Cold Mountain 6 (Bridge), 1989-1991. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. © 2022 Brice Marden / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Brice Marden, Study for the Muses (Eaglesmere Version), 1991-1994/1997-1999. The Art Institute of Chicago. © 2022 Brice Marden / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: The Art Institute of Chicago / Art Resource, NY.


“When I come to a dead end in my paintings, which repeatedly happens, sculpture provides me with a way out. Because sculpture is even more like playing a game than painting is. In sculpture, both hands play a role, just as they do in love.” MAX ERNST

40 MAX

ERNST (1891-1976)

Le roi jouant avec la reine signed 'Max Ernst' (on the front) bronze with brown patina Height: 39Ω in. (100.5 cm.) Conceived in 1944 and cast in 1953-1961 $8,000,000-12,000,000

During the summer of 1944, Max Ernst rented a beach house in Great River, on the south shore of Long Island, with his partner Dorothea Tanning. The artist had planned on spending several leisurely weeks relaxing and swimming, enjoying the weather and an extended break away from the city. However, the ever-present mosquitoes soon drove Ernst inside, leading him to screen off the garage and convert the space into a small studio. Here, he immersed himself in creating sculptures, expanding upon the small plaster forms he had experimented with in France during the mid-1930s, before the outbreak of the Second World War, to create unique carvings in mahogany and dynamic assemblages in plaster. The artist’s gallerist, Julien Levy, and his future-wife, the artist Muriel Streeter, joined Ernst and Tanning during their summer sojourn, and Levy was instantly taken with the originality of the sculptures: “I feel terribly impressed, and I confess in confidence to Dorothea that Max has suddenly become the greatest sculptor in the modern world” (quoted in W. Spies, Max Ernst: Sculptures Maisons Paysages, exh. cat., Musée national d’art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris, 1998, p. 132).

Max Ernst in his Sculpture Garage, Great River, Long Island, 1944. Photographer unknown. Artworks: © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris. Max Ernst and His Chess Set at the Chess Exhibition, “The Imagery of Chess”. 1945. Photo: The Art Institute of Chicago / Art Resource, NY.


Le roi jouant avec la reine is among the most important sculptures to have emerged during this highly productive time, rooted in a subject that preoccupied the artist intensely—the strategic maneuvering of chess. Ernst was an avid player and enthusiast of the game, a passion

he shared with all three of his companions that summer, and had been dismayed to find that there was not a proper chess set to be found anywhere in Great River. As a result, he and Levy set about creating their own, utilizing a series of familiar objects they had discovered around the house—Levy reportedly used eggshells from breakfast as molds for his pieces, the rounded bottoms designed for use in the sand, while Ernst created assemblages using a host of empty containers and kitchen utensils, flouting tradition by making his Queen the largest piece in the set. The project sparked Levy and Ernst’s imaginations, leading them to conceive of an exhibition devoted to artist-designed chess sets, along with a series of artworks inspired by the game, entitled “The Imagery of Chess.” Opening that December at Levy’s gallery in midtown Manhattan, the show featured an exciting group of dynamic, avantgarde designs by thirty two artists, including new work by Alexander Calder, Man Ray, Yves Tanguy, Isamu Noguchi, Tanning, and Ernst, and was informally curated by Marcel Duchamp. Making its debut at the exhibition, Le roi jouant avec la reine offered a powerful Surrealist vision of the game. Initially conceived in plaster, the sculpture centers on a large hybrid figure, the King of the title, as he studies the board mid-way through a match. Before him stand different pieces from Ernst’s latest designs for chess figures, including the tall,

canonical Queen, who towers over the sextet of pieces before her, each awaiting their own turn to move and join the fray. The King’s hand hovers next to the Queen, either readying himself to initiate a move or gently shielding her from harm, as if aware of an on-coming attack by his opponent. An elegant study in pure form and concise volumes, Ernst may have drawn inspiration for the character of the King from Native American sculptures and artefacts, particularly the painted wooden Kachina figures of the Hopi and Zuni tribes, a large collection of which he had amassed upon his arrival in America. Indeed, the rectangular head of the King, surmounted by a pair of curving horns, recalls several sculptures from Ernst’s collection, visible in a 1942 photograph by James Thrall Soby. The most visually compelling aspect of the sculpture, however, lies in the sense of tension Ernst generates in the spaces between the forms. There is a palpable feeling of suspense as we await the next move, watching to see how the game unfolds and the dynamics shift. It was in this aspect of chess, Duchamp argued, that its true beauty could be found: “A game of chess is a visual and plastic thing… The pieces aren’t pretty in themselves, any more than is the form of the game, but what is pretty—if the word “pretty” can be used—is the movement… In chess there are some extremely beautiful things in the domain of movement, but not in the visual domain. It’s the imagining of the movement or of the gesture that makes the beauty, in this case. It’s completely in one’s gray matter” (quoted in P. Cabanne, Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp, London 1987, pp. 18-19). In Le roi jouant avec la reine, Ernst enhances this tension by engaging the viewer directly in the game being played— when standing before the sculpture, we inevitably take the position of the King’s opponent, occupying the other side of the chess board.

In many ways, the sculpture is built on the study of opposition and power dynamics, using the rich associations of the game and its history to suggest multiple layers of potential meaning. For example, by allowing the Queen, traditionally the most powerful piece on the board, to be dominated and controlled by the King, Ernst suggests a dangerous power imbalance between the two, in which she has no agency in the proceedings. She holds the ability to protect or eliminate all of the other pieces on the board before her, but remains beholden to the whims of the King’s controlling hand. While this may be seen as a commentary on the sexual dynamics between men and women, many contemporary commentators saw in “The Imagery of Chess” the shadow of the ongoing war in Europe—in a time of conflict, chess stood as a controllable, table-top symbol of ritual warfare, a battle built on logic and strategy, that at once echoed the wider context of world politics, and stood in stark opposition to the apparent chaos and madness being waged by those in power. After “The Imagery of Chess” closed, Ernst presented the plaster version of Le roi jouant avec la reine to his friend Robert Motherwell, who later recalled: “Max Ernst made some haunting sculpture in white plaster, including The King Playing with the Queen. Angry at its general rejection, and moved by my admiration, he gave me The King … on the spot. I barely managed to get it into my little Nash convertible” (quoted in H.H. Arnason and D. Ashton, Robert Motherwell, New York, 1982, p. 106). Almost a decade later, Jean and Dominique de Menil organized for the sculpture to be cast in bronze, ensuring the fragile original was saved for posterity.

Exhibition catalogue for “The Imagery of Chess: A Group Exhibition of Paintings, Sculpture, Newly Designed Chessmen, Music and Miscellany,” at the Julien Levy Gallery, New York, December 1944. Artwork: © Association Marcel Duchamp / ADAGP, Paris / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York 2022. Photo: © Philadelphia Museum of Art / Gift of Jacqueline, Paul and Peter Matisse in memory of their mother, Alexina Duchamp, 1998 / Bridgeman Images Marcel Duchamp, Portrait de joueurs d’echecs, 1911. Philadelphia Museum of Art. Artwork: © Association Marcel Duchamp / ADAGP, Paris / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York 2022. Photo: The Philadelphia Museum of Art / Art Resource, NY. Dorothea Tanning, Endgame, 1944. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris.


“A single theme in these canvases, single and yet different: the Thames. Smoke and fog; forms, architectural masses, perspectives, a whole deaf and rumbling city in the fog… the multiple drama, endlessly changing and subtly varied, somber or 41 CLAUDE

enchanting, agonizing, delightful, florid, tremendous, of reflections on the waters of the Thames.”




Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé signed and dated ‘Claude Monet 1903’ (lower left) oil on canvas 25æ x 39Ω in. (65.4 x 100 cm.) Painted in 1899-1903 Estimate on Request

In 1899, Claude Monet began work on what would become the largest body of paintings he had yet produced. The artist had arrived in London on 15 September of this year, accompanied by his wife, Alice, and step-daughter, Germaine Hoschedé. The purpose of this trip was for the family to visit Michel Monet, the son of the artist, who was staying in the capital at the time to improve his English. Monet, however, had long been contemplating a painting campaign in the city, and, though this trip was purportedly a holiday, he had brought his paint supplies with him. Staying on the sixth floor of the fashionable Savoy Hotel, which stood on the banks of the Thames, between Waterloo Bridge and Charing Cross Bridge with views of the Houses of Parliament beyond, Monet was instantly inspired. What was initially supposed to be a month long holiday became a six week trip. Leaving his family to sightsee together by day, he converted one of the rooms of their suite into a studio and commenced the great series of works known as the Vues de Londres. From his hotel window, the heart of London stretched before him, the sky frequently filled with the capital’s notorious fog, or by contrast, bathed in the soft autumnal light.

Waterloo Bridge, 1917. Photo: Mary Evans Picture Library. Claude Monet, 1899. Photograph by Nadar. Photo: Bettmann / Contributor / Getty Images.


Monet made two subsequent trips back to England’s capital, in the springs of 1900 and 1901. Over the course of this sustained project, he painted almost a hundred views of the city, the majority of which featured three principal motifs: Waterloo Bridge, Charing Cross Bridge, and the Houses of Parliament. For the first two subjects, the artist painted from his hotel room; for the third, he stood outside St. Thomas’s Hospital, on the opposite bank of the river, and captured the iconic British landmark with the sun setting behind. Rendered with a richly worked, multi-layered and multi-hued haze of delicate lilac, blue and violet tones, Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé captures the river in the afternoon, as the westerly moving sun penetrated the dense atmosphere that had built up over the course of the day to gently light up the wide arches of the bridge. Sky, land and water are painted with the same palette, as Monet transformed the bustling urban cityscape into a delicate harmony of color and light. Specific anecdotal detail has been softened, immersed in the evanescent haze of smoke and fog that Monet loved so much. While a single boat moves silently across the still waters, the reflections of its red sails cascading down the river in bold strokes, a cavalcade of carriages and cars cross the bridge in a glittering procession, their lights gleaming amid the soft blue and lilac world that Monet has conjured.

It was to this scene—Waterloo Bridge with the smoke stacks and factory chimneys of the south bank rising magisterially beyond—that Monet returned most frequently. This series stands as the largest group within the Vues de Londres, numbering a total of forty-one works (Wildenstein, nos. 1555-1595). Over half of these canvases are now housed in major museums. Monet chose the present Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé to feature in his critically acclaimed 1904 exhibition, Claude Monet: Vues de la Tamise à Londres at the Galerie Durand-Ruel. Monet captured his view of Waterloo Bridge in a remarkably varied number of ways. Some were painted in the morning, when the sun was rising to the east, behind the bridge, sometimes shining through its arches, while the canvases from later in the day, such as the present work, show the sun illuminating the columns that ornamented the bridge. While all have subtly shifting palettes, ranging from luminous blue and violet, to soft green, or more naturalistically-toned, the compositional structure also changes. In some works, the horizon line is very high, removing the far bank of the river entirely to make the expansive waters the primary focus; in others, more factories are present beyond as he played with the angle of the diagonal sweep of the bridge, depending on the overall atmospheric effect with which he was trying to engage. Monet reveled in two central aspects: the rippling water and its reflections, and the multi-hued sky above, two of the most ephemeral, elusive elements of a landscape. “For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right,” he once stated, “since its appearance changes at every

moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life, the air and the light, which vary continually… For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere that gives subjects their true value” (quoted in J. House, Monet’s London: Artists’ Reflections on the Thames, Ghent, 2005, p. 33). This concept is embodied in Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé. Here, the scene takes on a mystical quality, the physical components—the bridge, factories, omnibuses and carriages—of this misty view dematerialized into a symphony of color, the industrial din and sense of movement muffled by the sense of all-encompassing silence and stillness that pervades. Waterloo Bridge itself was a relatively new feature on London’s central waterway. Designed by John Rennie, it had opened in 1817, at first requiring tolls to cross from bank to bank, though these were scrapped not long after. The bridge formed—as it continues to do today—an important part of the infrastructure of the city, leading, in Monet’s time, to the wharfs and factories that stood on the south bank. Formed of nine arches flanked by Doric columns, topped by an entablature and cornice, the bridge became a beloved landmark. The sculptor Antonio Canova remarked upon visiting London that this was “the noblest bridge in the world,” “alone worth coming from Rome to London to see” (quoted in G. Seiberling, Monet in London, exh. cat., High Museum of Art, Atlanta, 1988, p. 49). The bridge as Monet painted it no longer exists today. In 1934, it was destroyed due to poor traffic flow and unstable foundations. As a result, Monet’s extensive visions of this architectural feature now stand as important records of a part of London that has long disappeared.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Rain, Steam and Speed—The Great Western Railway, 1844. National Gallery, London. Photo: © National Gallery, London / Art Resource, NY. James Abbott McNeill Whistler, Nocturne in Blue and Silver: Cremome Lights, 1872. Tate Gallery, London. Photo: © Tate, London / Art Resource, NY.


“My practiced eye has found that objects change in appearance in a London fog more and quicker than in any other atmosphere…” CLAUDE MONET

Much of Monet’s correspondence home spoke of London’s capricious weather. “I can’t tell you about this fantastic day,” he wrote to Alice. “What marvelous things, but only lasting five minutes, it’s enough to drive you crazy. No, there’s no land more extraordinary for a painter” (quoted in D. Wildenstein, Claude Monet: Biographie et catalogue raisonné, Paris, 1985, vol. IV, letter 1593). As Monet quickly discovered, the sun could shine at one moment, transforming the Thames into a spectacle of sparkling gold reflections, before minutes later disappearing behind thick cloud or blocked out entirely as the infamous fogs descended. Monet even witnessed the city covered in snow. It was however, to the fast metropolizing Victorian city’s notorious fog that he was most drawn. As he famously declared, “What I like most of all in London is the fog. Without the fog, London would not be a beautiful city. It’s the fog that gives it its magnificent breadth. Those massive, regular blocks become grandiose within that mysterious cloak” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 1988, p. 55). Monet was not the first artist to attempt to render that which Londoners regarded as a wholly troublesome, dirty and unpleasant meteorological effect. James McNeill Whistler’s depictions of the Thames in the early 1870s had transformed the sometimes impenetrable smoke and fog into symphonic arrangements of color. Oscar Wilde noted in The Decay of Lying, “To whom, if not to [Whistler], do we owe these lovely silver mists that brood over our river and turn to faint forms of fading grace… At present, people see fogs not because there are fogs but because poets and painters have taught them the mysterious loveliness of such effects. There may have been fogs for centuries in London—I daresay there were—but no one saw them, and so we don’t know anything about them. They didn’t exist until art had invented them” (quoted in Impressionists in London: French Artists in Exile, 1870-1904, exh. cat., Tate Britain, London, 2017, p. 228).

Whistler himself, in his famous “Ten o’Clock” lecture of 1885 had described, “And when the evening mist clothes the riverside with poetry, as with a veil, and the poor buildings lose themselves in the dim sky, and the tall chimneys become campanili…and the whole city hangs in the heavens and fairyland is before us…”(quoted in ibid., p. 228)—strangely prescient words that could just as easily be applied to Monet’s own depictions of the capital, including Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé. Monet was keenly aware of Whistler’s contributions to the contemporary depiction of London. The pair were close acquaintances and Monet had described the artist successfully capturing “that mysterious cloak” of London fog, which made “those regular, massive blocks [of the city] grandiose” (quoted in P. Tucker, Monet in the '90s: The Series Paintings, exh. cat., Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1989, p. 266). It was, Paul Tucker has written, “his uncanny power to evoke the mystery of early evening light on the Thames in his numerous Nocturnes, which Monet surely thought of when he began his own London series” (ibid., p. 266). Entering into this artistic lineage also meant confronting the art of British master, J.M.W. Turner. It would have been impossible for an artist—especially one so concerned with atmospheric effects of light and color—not to have masterpieces such as Rain, Steam, and Speed—The Great Western Railway (1844, National Gallery, London) or The Burning of the House of Lords and Commons, 16th October, 1834 (1834-1835, Philadelphia Museum), in mind when beginning a series based in the city, and especially around the Thames. “Few landscape painters in the history of art had been as inventive or as passionate, or had captured nature’s elusive ways with as much power and poetry… Turner, therefore, was a soulmate, a guide, and a special challenge for Monet. If one were going to be a truly great landscape painter, this was necessary Peter Doig, Cobourg 3+1 more, 1994. Private collection. © Peter Doig. All Rights Reserved, DACS 2022. Clyfford Still, PH-151, 1950. Clyfford Still Museum, Denver. © 2022 City & County of Denver, Courtesy Clyfford Still Museum / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.



“Little by little, things were illuminated with a gleam and it was delicious to see, feebly illuminated by an invisible sun, like an ancient star, this grandiose landscape that then delivered its secrets.” GUSTAVE GEFFROY

business to settle” (ibid., p. 267). Turning sixty in 1900, Monet was at this time keenly aware of his own legacy and was engaged in a nostalgic revisiting of some of his earlier motifs. His monumental London series now stands among the greatest depictions of the city, his name firmly integrated within the great canon of artists who have distilled the appearance and atmosphere of the British capital. For Monet, an artist who had for years honed his ability to capture fleeting, ephemeral atmospheric effects, London’s distinctive and unpredictable climate presented the ultimate challenge, testing the limits of the Impressionist tenets he had founded some decades prior. Given the fast changing weather, Monet worked on multiple canvases at a time, each one capturing a different effet, as he moved from painting to painting to depict the spectacular cityscape that unfolded and altered before his eyes.

Claude Monet, Waterloo Bridge, le point du jour, 1899-1901. National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. Photo: Bridgeman Images. Claude Monet, Waterloo Bridge, effet de soleil, 1899-1901. Art Institute of Chicago. Photo: The Art Institute of Chicago / Mr. and Mrs. Martin A. Ryerson Collection / Bridgeman Images.


On 1 March 1900, he wrote that he was at work on forty-four canvases at once (D. Wildenstein, op. cit., 1985, letter 1521); eighteen days later, “something like sixty-five paintings covered with colors” (ibid., letter 1532). At the end of the month, he said he would be returning to Giverny with a total of eighty paintings (ibid., letter 1543). This ambitious, complex working process was witnessed first-hand by John Singer Sargent who, upon visiting Monet at the Savoy, was surprised to find him desperately searching through a stack of more than eighty canvases as he sought to find the one that most closely aligned to the current conditions (P.H. Tucker, Monet in the 20th Century, exh. cat., Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 2000, p. 27). “Today was a day of terrible struggle,” he wrote dejectedly to Alice in March 1900, “and it will be the same until the day I leave. Only I needed more canvases, for the only way of achieving something is to start new ones for all kinds of weather, all kinds of harmonies, it is the

real way, and, at the beginning, one always expects to find the same effects again and finish them, hence these unfortunate alterations which are useless” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 2017, p. 232). After three great campaigns in London over a period of three years, Monet decided that he would finish many of his paintings in his Giverny studio. By this time he had decided to work on the canvases as a single unified whole, each painting existing in harmony with the others—a truly radical endeavor. “I'm not in London unless in thought, working steadily on my canvases,” he wrote to Durand-Ruel, who was eagerly awaiting the results of Monet’s project, “I cannot send you a single canvas… because, for the work I am doing, it is indispensable to have all of them before my eyes” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 1988, p. 80). Monet chose the finest thirty-seven of the London canvases to show at Durand-Ruel's gallery in May 1904, eighteen of which were Waterloo Bridge canvases, including the present work. The exhibition was a resounding critical and financial success and firmly established Monet as among the greatest living artists, his renown spreading across Europe and beyond. Marc Joël of La Petite Loire called the show, “marvelous...one of the most beautiful demonstrations of pure art,” while Georges Lecomte believed that Monet had never “attained such a vaporous subtlety, such power of abstraction and synthesis” (quoted in exh. cat., op. cit., 1989, p. 267). Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé was acquired from Durand-Ruel by the German dealer, Paul Cassirer, who included it in his exhibition of the artist later that year. He sold the painting to Ulrich Boschwitz, a German writer. It has remained in the same collection for over two decades.



BENTON (1889-1975) Nashaquitsa signed and dated 'Benton 53' (lower left) oil on canvas 22º x 27º in. (56.5 x 69.2 cm.) Painted in 1953 $1,500,000-2,500,000

As the twentieth century’s champion of rural America, Thomas Hart Benton dedicated himself to an honest portrayal of the nation’s singular landscape. Among his many inspirations, the small Massachusetts island of Martha’s Vineyard had a significant impact on the artist’s defining style. Emblematic of the everyday American subject matter he sought to champion, Nashaquitsa represents the culmination of the great Regionalist master’s craft. In 1920, Benton first sought refuge from the sweltering summer days of New York on Martha’s Vineyard. Sparsely populated at the time—well before it became a popular vacation destination—the island provided new clarity with which Benton developed his singular artistic language. As the artist himself reported, “Martha’s Vineyard had a profound effect on me. The relaxing sea air, the hot sand on the beaches where we loafed naked, the great and continuous drone of the surf, broke down most of the tenseness which life in the cities had given me. It separated me from the Bohemias of art and put a physical sanity into my life for four months of the year….It freed my art from the dominance of narrow

Thomas Hart Benton in the doorway of his studio on Martha’s Vineyard.


urban conceptions and put me in a psychological condition to face America” (quoted in P. Burroughs, Thomas Hart Benton: A Portrait, New York, 1981, p. 100). Newly energized, Benton painted with vigor—applying techniques from his range of studies including portraiture, illustration and abstraction to an entirely different subject: the American landscape. While he would eventually move to the Midwest, Benton continuously returned to Martha’s Vineyard throughout his career, and his island scenes always maintained a place of prominence. He eventually purchased a home on the Vineyard in the area of Chilmark, and in the 1950s purchased another small cottage on Nashaquitsa Pond, also known as Menemsha Pond, for his son T.P. to stay. When T.P. moved away in 1960, Benton relocated his studio to the structure and continued to paint many depictions of the surrounding landscape. The area was a favored subject not only for Benton but also for his famed pupil, the Abstract Expressionist master Jackson Pollock, who painted T.P.’s Boat in Menemsha (circa 1934, New Britain Museum of American Art, Connecticut). Painted with a brilliant blend of cerulean blues and verdant greens, Nashaquitsa embodies Benton’s instantly recognizable and decidedly modern style. The artist imbues the work with a sense of motion by using sinuous forms—each rendered in flowing complementary and contrasting colors. Typical of Benton’s best paintings, these techniques result in a spiraling configuration, which pulls each individual element into a unifying scheme of visual rhythm. As exemplified by Nashaquitsa, by stripping the birds-eye vista down to its basic elements, Benton produces a modernist triumph emblematic of his mature aesthetic on Martha’s Vineyard. As Henry Adams describes, Benton’s work from this period is among his most successful. “Benton’s later paintings of Martha’s Vineyard are the most serene and lyrical. They express a slight shift of both location and mood….What’s wonderful about all these paintings is the lyrical harmony of different forms. There’s a sense of calm and serenity not found in Benton’s earlier work” (Benton on the Vineyard, exh. cat., Owen Gallery, New York, 2008, p. 26).


“Trees are never more alive than in winter, you can virtually see the life force, thinned but straining, pulsing, the branches stretching palpably, achingly towards the light.” DAVID HOCKNEY


HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

Winter Timber signed, dated and titled 'Winter Timber David Hockney 2009' (on the reverse of the upper left canvas) oil on canvas, in 15 parts Overall: 108 x 240 in. (274.3 x 609.6 cm.) Painted in 2009 $10,000,000-15,000,000

Henri Matisse, Vue de Collioure et la mer, 1911. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: © Succession H. Matisse/ DACS 2022 / Photo © Boltin Picture Library / Bridgeman Images. Vincent van Gogh, Champ de blé aux corbeaux, 1890. Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam. Photo: HIP / Art Resource, NY.


David Hockney’s Winter Timber is a celebration of the act of painting, executed by one of the world’s greatest living artists. Measuring nearly twenty feet across, the present work captures the stark beauty of his beloved Yorkshire countryside in a palette of bold Fauvist hues. Combining the formal rigor of the seasonal treescape with the richness of his striking violet and blue palette results in a painting which resonates with both painterly and aesthetic virtuosity. Painted in 2009, it also marks the triumphal phase of Hockney’s late career; famous for his iconic 1960s paintings of Californian swimming pools, in 2002 he returned to England to produce these celebrated large-scale landscapes. Exhibited at Hockney’s seminal exhibition David Hockney RA: A Bigger Picture, organized by the Royal Academy in London in 2012—and which later traveled to the Guggenheim Bilbao and the Museum Ludwig Cologne—Winter Timber sets itself apart as one of his most heroic paintings to date. The monumental scale of Hockney’s landscape results in a painting that emits the palpable sense of the dramatic beauty that Hockney saw in the Yorkshire landscape. Depicting a copse of majestic, tall trees, a

series of strong verticals dominate the upper portion of the canvases. The fastidious nature of these solid upright forms is disrupted only by delicate branches that emerge from the trunks at acute angles. In the middle-ground, this verticality is contrasted by the horizontal arrangement of the freshly felled trees that lie to the side of the country lane, their pale color contrasting with the dark tomes of their living counterparts. The foreshortening of their limbs acts to draw the eye into the composition, contrasting with the dominant vertical of the totemic trees (as Hockney termed them) such as the one that stands guard over its fallen comrades. Finally, the gentle curve of the country lane as it sweeps through the composition offsets and softens the strict rigidity of the rest of the overall composition. Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this painting is Hockney’s striking use of color. Building on the tradition of his Fauvist forebears, the non-naturalistic pigments work to convey the winter scene with a palpable sense of poetic drama. Hockney recognizes that these bold hues are in fact a true reflection of the shades and tones produced by the long shadows cast by the low sun on northern winter days. “Winter

is all about line…,” he notes. “People have it all wrong imagining it to be a time when the world goes all dead. Trees are never more alive than in winter, you can virtually see the life force, thinned but straining, pulsing, the branches stretching palpably, achingly towards the light” (quoted in L. Weschler, “David Hockney: Painting again in East Yorkshire,” in David Hockney: Recent Paintings, exh. cat., Pace Wildenstein, New York, 2009, p. 11). Here he has learnt from Henri Matisse, and paintings such as Vue de Collioure et la mer (1911, The Museum of Modern Art, New York). “… anyone studying [Matisse],” Hockney has said, “will say a great deal of his painting is about color and form, but to deny the poetry and the sentiment in his painting is to deny some of the art, to diminish it” (quoted in C. Simon Sykes, David Hockney. The Biography, 1975-2012: A Pilgrim’s Progress, London, 2014, p. 53). Along with Matisse, and his other hero Vincent van Gogh, Hockney utilizes color to symbolize the psychological and emotional links he has with the landscape. To understand the revolutionary nature of Hockney’s landscapes it seems necessary to go back to the beginning of the artist’s career and his dramatic move to America. In 1966, fed up with what the young Hockney regarded as the repressive nature of postwar British society, he boarded a flight to the United States, and after an initial stop in New York, eventually arrived in Los Angeles, a place he described as “the promised land… the world’s most beautiful city” (quoted in A. Sooke, “The Bewitching Allure of Hockney’s Swimming Pools,” BBC Culture, online: www.bbc.co.uk/culture). Growing up in the industrial town of Bradford, the attractions of California would have been obvious. Apart from the vastly different climate, childhood memories of the hardship of wartime Britain and the austerity that followed would have seemed a world away from the beach and consumer culture of America. Hockney’s paintings of swimming pools and palm trees have become some of the most iconic and recognizable images of the postwar canon. In addition to the exoticism and eroticism of their subject matter, they are also examples of Hockney’s interest in the technicalities of painting and image making—something which continues to carry through to his

landscapes today. In the case of his swimming pools, he was intrigued by the technical challenges of rendering formless, colorless, and constantly shifting bodies of water. The resulting paintings such as A Bigger Splash (1967, Tate Gallery London), and Peter Getting Out of Nick’s Pool (1966, National Museums Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery), have become part of the ‘60s cultural lexicon. Scholars have also placed Hockney’s work in a wider artistic dialogue about the nature of Eden, with the swimming pool being Hockney’s own earthly version of Paradise. In 2002, Hockney made a dramatic shift and moved from focusing his subject matter on portraits to painting landscapes. Done in part as a way of exploring a new medium for him—that of watercolor— his paintings soon morphed from small sketches to monumental presentations. In early 2008, he moved into a new, much larger, studio and the scale of his new surroundings invigorated him. “I felt twenty years younger. I stopped feeling frail and started feeling energetic… I think it will make a difference to the work and to me being in a bigger space” (quoted in M. Gayford, A Bigger Message: Conversations with David Hockney, London, 2011, p. 76). In many ways, his emotional connection to the landscape is what makes Hockney’s landscapes so striking. They are the physical representations of a particular place and time, but as with most landscapes—and particularly with Hockney—they are also a window onto his own reality. Each painting becomes part of Hockney himself. As with Gustav Klimt’s landscapes, the quietness, stillness and majesty of the landscapes of East Yorkshire are intrinsic to Hockney’s own being, “Painting nature during these years,” concludes curator Marco Livingstone, “has accentuated Hockney’s appreciation of the preciousness of each moment and of life itself” (“The Road Less Traveled,” in M. Livingstone and E. Devaney, David Hockney: A Bigger Picture, exh. cat., Royal Academy of Arts, London, 2012, p. 25). Thus, after six decades of being one of the most important and innovative painters of his generation, his paintings of his native Yorkshire may be Hockney’s most personal and lasting legacy.

David Hockney, The Arrival of Spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire in 2011, 2011. Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris. © David Hockney.


“I want to end up with a picture that I haven’t planned. This method of arbitrary choice, chance, inspiration and destruction may produce a specific type of picture, but it never produces a predetermined picture. Each picture has to evolve out of a painterly or visual logic: it has to emerge as if inevitably.” 44



RICHTER (b. 1932)

Ohne Titel signed, dated and inscribed '687-4 Richter 1989' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 44¿ x 40º in. (112.1 x 102.2 cm.) Painted in 1989 $6,000,000-8,000,000

Gerhard Richter in his studio, 1994. Photo: Benjamin Katz © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/ VG Bild-kunst, Bonn. Artwork: © Gerhard Richter 2022 (23092022). Gerhard Richter, Eis 2 (Ice 2), 1989. Art Institute of Chicago. © Gerhard Richter 2022 (0194). Photo: © Art Institute of Chicago / Through prior gift of Joseph Winterbotham; gift of Lannan Foundation / Bridgeman Images.


Dating from a highpoint in Gerhard Richter’s career, Ohne Titel is a dazzling example of the artist’s "abstract paintings." Richter used these paintings to thoroughly investigate the process of painting, questioning the nature of composition and forging a new path that advanced the conceptual rigor that had been typical of his earlier practice. Painted in 1989, Ohne Titel was exhibited that same year at a major retrospective of the artist’s work at the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam. Richter was invited to produce a series of new work that brought together his past and present practice; the result was a series of magnificent grayscale canvases which combined his earlier love of monochrome with his later practice of continually laying down and then subsequently scraping off layers of paint, resulting in the dynamic painterly surface that we can see in the present example.

dark, and from high-keyed primary colors through to delicate variations of more organic hues, the painting becomes a bejeweled combination of both color, energy and mystery.

To create these dynamic surfaces, Richter puts down layer upon layer of contrasting colored paint. Just as the surface begins to dry, he drags a hard-edged squeegee across the canvas, challenging the primacy of the painted surface and opening up schisms and pools of rich vibrant color. Here, in Ohne Titel, sparks of vibrant red and shocks of electric blue roil up through the earlier layers of dark and silver pigment. From light to

“Abstract paintings,” Richter argued, “visualize a reality, which we can neither see nor describe but which we may nevertheless conclude exists. We attach negative names to this reality; the unknown, the ungraspable, the infinite, and for thousands of years we have depicted in terms of substitute images like heaven and hell, gods and devils. With abstract painting we create a better means of approaching what can

This unique approach to painting is Richter’s direct response to the fundamental question about the function of painting in the age of mechanical reproduction. Looking back on the creation of his abstract canvases, Richter stated, "I had the hope, carried by a fresh wind, to make something free, clear, open, crystal, visible, transparent, a utopia" (quoted in R. Storr, Gerhard Richter: Forty Years of Painting, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 2002, p. 305). He embarked on a search for pictorial form that would go beyond what he could already fathom, and therefore beyond any preconceived composition.

neither be seen nor understood because abstract painting illustrates with the greatest clarity, that is to say, with all the means at the disposal of art, 'nothing'... [in abstract paintings] we allow ourselves to see the un-seeable, that which has never before been seen and indeed is not visible” (quoted in J. Fineberg, Art Since 1940: Strategies of Being, London, 2000, p. 374).

Ohne Titel is particularly notable in this regard as it encompasses both the depths of the dark recesses and the brightness of the whites, all with a hint of fiery reds and delicate greens and blues. Evoking the landscapes of the European Romantic artists such as Caspar David Friedrich and J.M.W. Turner, paintings such as this examine our deep psychological relationship to nature.

The resulting effect is exhilarating, the eye reeling from its cavalcade of brilliant, alabaster white and gunmetal gray. Breaking through from beneath this screen are apertures of radiant color, which transcend the great depths of its remarkably rich and thickly laden paint surface. Through each subsequent addition and subtraction of paint, Richter engenders a remarkably modulated canvas, both romantic and elegiac, which denies representation yet invokes illusions from its sublime chaos. This rich texture is translated into the viscous, tactile ripples of white paint, which spread like a glacial moraine across the canvas.

The intricacy and delicacy of this particular work shines through the abundant layers of skillfully applied paint to make the surface come alive with both aesthetic and intellectual resonance. Richter's tussles with the formal nature of the differences between abstraction and figuration manifest themselves on the surface of this work with dramatic effect. With his planes of flat color interspersed with streaks of liquid iridescence, the artist teases us, pulling our understanding one way, then the other. This paradox lies at the very heart of Richter's work and makes him undoubtedly one of the most exciting and influential painters working today. In his hands, the medium of paint has been rejuvenated and Richter has taken the lead in ensuring that it remains at the forefront of artistic expression.

The 1989 exhibition in Rotterdam began with a group of his now iconic Gray paintings from 1966-1976, with subsequent paintings selected and organized around the grayscale, moving from monochromatic gray paintings, through his searing, bold photo-paintings, until his striking October 18, 1977 cycle depicting the deaths of members of the German terrorist group, the Baader Meinhof. The final group of paintings in this exhibition consisted of large-scale virtuosic abstracts of which the present work formed a part. The exhibition focused on tonality, or the extent to which Richter used the gray scale in works of seemingly contrasting subject matter.

The painting was previously in the collection of Marvin and Florence Gerstin, major art collectors who acquired an exceptional selection of works of art that represented the most important artistic movements of the last half century; works, such as the present example, that define the traditional divisions between abstraction and figuration.

Caspar David Friedrich, Monk by the Sea, 1808-1810. Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin. Photo: Bridgeman Images. © Gerhard Richter 2022 (0185). Joseph Mallord William Turner, Valley of Aosta: Snowstorm, Avalanche, and Thunderstorm, 1836-1837. Art Institute of Chicago. Photo: The Art Institute of Chicago / Art Resource, NY. © Gerhard Richter 2022 (0184).



O'KEEFFE (1887-1986)

Autumn Leaf II signed with initials ‘OK’ in the artist’s star device (on the original backing) oil on canvas 32 x 21 in. (81.3 x 53.3 cm.) Painted in 1927 $4,000,000-6,000,000

Georgia O’Keeffe reinvented the still-life tradition with her daring paintings of the 1920s, which elevated small gems she found within nature to become monumental totems of life and beauty. Beyond the flowers that established her fame, O’Keeffe continuously sought inspiration from elsewhere in the natural world, from the vibrant autumnal leaves of Upstate New York to the bleached bones and skulls that would fascinate her in the American Southwest. In each case, as Marjorie P. Balge-Crozier writes, “she radically altered the scale and presentation of her subjects in ways that make us equally aware of the art and the artist as well as the thing represented—a truly modern contribution to a venerable Western tradition” (Georgia O’Keeffe: The Poetry of Things, Washington, D.C., 1999, p. 42). An iconic example of these efforts, her striking Autumn Leaf II of 1927 uniquely transforms the simple leaf into a powerful subject to be closely studied and admired. In 1918, O’Keeffe began to regularly depart New York City to spend time at the family estate of her dealer and later husband Alfred Stieglitz in Lake George, New York. Creatively stimulated by the environment, Georgia O’Keeffe, Large Dark Red Leaves On White, 1927. The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. © 2022 The Georgia O’Keeffe Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

she would spend most of every summer and early fall there over the next decade. The artist took long walks along paths throughout the property, seeking peace within the wooden landscape and gathering pieces of nature that captivated her. She particularly enjoyed witnessing the changing colors of the local foliage, writing, “I always look forward to the Autumn—to working at that time—and continue what I had been trying to put down of the Autumn for years” (quoted in Modern Nature: Georgia O’Keeffe and Lake George, Glen Falls, New York, 2013, p. 43). Indeed, the colors of autumn became a recurring theme in O’Keeffe’s work; she first concentrated on painting the leaf in 1922 and would complete almost thirty canvases in the series by 1931, ranging in size from small studies to large-scale paintings like the present work. Several are in institutional collections, including the Art Institute of Chicago; Brooklyn Museum of Art; Columbus Museum of Art, Ohio; Dayton Art Institute, Ohio; Frederic R. Weisman Art Museum, Minneapolis; McNay Art Museum, San Antonio; Milwaukee Art Museum; New Mexico Museum of Art, Santa Fe; Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.; and Rhode Island School of Design, Providence. The focus on leaves as the central subject of these works rather than background filler was truly innovative, as Balge-Crozier explains, “Leaves by themselves do not turn up in the history of still-life painting until O’Keeffe elevates them to that privileged position” (op. cit., 1999, p. 54). In Autumn Leaf II, O’Keeffe positions her oak leaf to fully dominate the picture plane, reverberating across the canvas in seemingly endless layers that echo just slightly off beat from each other. Basking in warm autumnal hues, ranging from dark red and burgundy to brighter crimson and orange, she employs a boldly outlined central stem to bisect the composition and emphasize the verticality of a natural form usually looked down upon from above. Her intense focus on the form almost approaches portraiture. The leaf’s separation from the life force of the tree as well as its angular irregularities—for example, what appear to be small gaps in the leaf’s lower edge—also suggest a memento mori interpretation. “These tiny fissures may be a reference to the disintegration that occurs with fallen leaves or a comment on her failing relationship with Alfred Stieglitz,” Erin B. Coe writes. With this symbolic element integral to the power of O’Keeffe’s seminal leaf series, Coe continues, “Of all her Lake George subjects, the leaf pictures are perhaps her most personal and autobiographical statement that O’Keeffe left of her years in northern New York” (op. cit., 2013, p. 64). Georgia O’Keeffe by Alfred Stieglitz, 1918.




TURNER, R.A. (LONDON 1775-1851)

Depositing of John Bellini’s Three Pictures in La Chiesa Redentore, Venice oil on canvas 29 x 45Ω in. (73.7 x 115.6 cm.) $28,000,000-35,000,000

Praised by the Art Union following its exhibition at the Royal Academy in 1841 as, "A gorgeous picture; full of the highest and richest poetry" and today recognized as a masterpiece of Turner’s late career, this view of a procession of gondolas toward the sixteenth-century Redentore is the largest of the artist’s Venetian views painted after 1840. Turner’s late Venetian views represent not only a high point in the artist’s career but are defining works for the development of British art and Romantic landscape painting in general. Executed with extraordinarily bold, abstracted touches of paint that evoke atmosphere and fleeting light, these paintings equally provided a guide post for subsequent generations of artists like Claude Monet, Henri Matisse—who described Turner as "the link between tradition and Impressionism"—and Mark Rothko. Just as Turner would come to influence later artists, so, too, was he indebted to his predecessors, whose works gave structure to even his most revolutionary paintings. From an early date, Turner sought to emulate the two greatest French landscapists of the seventeenth century: Nicolas Poussin and Claude Lorrain. As time progressed, he cast his net further afield, ultimately laying claim to the artistic inheritance of a dizzying array of artists, among them Raphael, Antoine Watteau, Anthony van Dyck, Jacob van Ruisdael, Jan van Goyen, Rembrandt, even the sculptor and architect Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Turner’s rivalry with these earlier artists was often explicitly referenced in his choice of titles for works like Port Ruysdael (exhibited 1827; Yale Center for British Art, New Haven) and Watteau Study by Fresnoy’s Rules (exhibited 1831; Tate Britain, London). In his later years, Turner’s interests turned to the work of Canaletto, the greatest of all vedutisti. Much like Canaletto, the English artist may have been drawn to Venice because, to quote Ian Warrell, "Venice offered unparalleled source material to a talented topographer with a passion for light and water" (op. cit., p. 14). However, in Turner’s hands Canaletto’s rigidly structured views of Venice are taken from a lower angle which in turn enabled the artist to revel in the ephemeral play of light and reflections. Nor did Turner share Canaletto’s penchant for temporal accuracy. His paintings seamlessly, if paradoxically, blend contemporary landmarks like the lighthouses on the harbor of San Giorgio Maggiore with more historicizing figures that recall an unspecified past. Light-filled images of Venice represent one of the largest and most important aspects of Turner’s mature work. Between 1833 and 1846, the artist sent paintings of Venice to the annual Royal Academy exhibitions in all but two years. Venetian paintings also constituted one-third of his total output in the period (see Warrell, op. cit., p. 14). However, despite Venice’s centrality to Turner’s late career, it is notable that he spent comparatively little time in the city itself. Over the course of three visits in the years 1819, 1833 and 1840, Turner resided in Venice for fewer than four weeks, far shorter than the nearly six months he would spend in Rome.


Turner’s Italian trip of 1819 marked only the third time he had crossed the English Channel and his attention was chiefly directed at the Eternal City, where he had the opportunity to study the Roman Campagna which had previously proved to be an unerring muse for his hero, Claude. The journey lasted six months, but Turner appears to have spent little more than five days in Venice, arriving on Wednesday, 8 September, as recorded in the daily list of arrivals by the Gazzetta Privilegiata di Venezia. Despite his relatively brief stay, Turner filled four sketchbooks with roughly one hundred and sixty pages of pencil sketches, many with multiple sketches to a page, and produced a small series of extraordinary watercolor studies that captured the unique quality of Venetian light. He transcribed all the major sites—the buildings around the Piazza and Bacino di San Marco, the Arsenale and a number of views from the Grand Canal around the Rialto Bridge—as well as many of the principal works of art in the city’s churches, Accademia, Doge’s Palace and Palazzo Barbarigo. Rather surprisingly, these sketches and watercolors did not materialize into fully realized oil paintings upon his return to England. Only one canvas, a large, unfinished view of the Rialto Bridge (Tate Britain, London) possibly intended as a pendant to his Rome from the Vatican (Tate Britain, London), is known from the period that immediately followed this journey. Over the course of the 1830s, Turner began to depict Venetian views in oil in earnest, perhaps in competition with contemporaries like Richard Parkes Bonington (1802-1828), whom Turner greatly admired and who had earlier discovered Venice’s potential as a motif in painting. Even before the 1833 Royal Academy exhibition (in which Turner showed two Venetian views) had closed, the painter was again on his way to Venice, with the Gazzetta Privilegiata indicating his arrival on 9 September of that year. He appears to have spent little over a week in the city, his trip having been funded by his patron Hugh Andrew Johnstone Munro of Novar (1797-1864) with the understanding that Turner would complete for Munro a watercolor of Venice to cover the expenses. Turner concentrated much of his second trip on parts of the city that had previously remained foreign to him—the eastern district of Castello; the churches of San Pietro, San Marco, Santa Giustina and Santa Maria Formosa and the waterfront of the Fondamente Nuove. These and other sites were recorded in some two hundred sheets of sketches distributed across three sketchbooks.

the wide Giudecca Canal. These locations filled roughly two hundred sketchbook sheets and, crucially, as many as one hundred and fifty watercolors. Several of these would become starting points for his finished oils of the 1840s. The canvases that resulted from his second and third visits were among Turner’s most commercially successful subjects, with roughly half of them finding buyers immediately after their exhibition. Unlike so many of his later works, the Venetian views equally enjoyed critical acclaim. In its 1 June 1842 issue, the Art Union even proclaimed that "Venice was surely built to be painted by Canaletto and Turner…The Venetian pictures are now among the best this artist paints." Turner’s Depositing of John Bellini’s Three Pictures in La Chiesa Redentore, Venice is one of three Venetian subjects, all views in or from the Giudecca Canal, which Turner exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1841. The others included his Giudecca, La Donna della Salute and San Giorgio (Private collection), which sold at Christie’s, New York, 5 April 2006, lot 97 for $35,856,000, then a world auction record for the artist, and View of Venice: The Ducal Palace, Dogana and Part of San Giorgio (Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin College, Ohio). The present painting is unique within Turner’s later Venetian subjects: after 1840, Turner employed a standard canvas measuring roughly 62 x 92 cm, with the present painting the only Venetian painting of this period executed on a larger scale. It is also the only Venetian view exhibited in 1841 whose subject is not pure landscape. As Butlin and Joll noted in their 1977 entry on the painting, through the ostensibly historical subject "Turner was probably depicting an imaginary scene rather than recording an historical event, even allowing for the way Turner was wont to transform such events by imposing his own version on them. His intention was presumably, as on other occasions, to pay tribute to a revered Old Master" (loc. cit.). Ian Warrell has similarly pointed out that Turner is likely to have imagined this event and associated it with the traditional festivities of the church marked by building a floating processional route across the Giudecca Canal each July. Canaletto had likewise previously depicted this event in a painting (Constable and Links 1976, no. 644).

The three paintings visible in the leading gondolas have been tentatively identified as works from the Sacristy of the Redentore, which were in Turner’s time believed to be by Giovanni Bellini. None of the pictures in the Sacristy are thought to be by Bellini today, but at least four of the Madonnas suggest the influence of the Venetian master. These include paintings now variously given to Alvise Vivarini, Francesco Bissolo, Lazzaro Bastiani and Rocco Marconi. The paintings in Turner’s canvas are handled on such a small scale so as to make it impossible to identify them with certitude. However, Turner’s contemporary interest in the early Renaissance was very much in keeping with current trends in which there was growing esteem for Italian artists of the fifteenth century. Despite having been painted in Turner’s London studio in early 1841, the present painting and the other two exhibited in that year each radiates the unique qualities of Italian light. They are also testament to Turner’s newfound interest in the Giudecca’s wide span of water. Turner completed a series of watercolors, including some on gray paper—ideal for use in bright Italian light due to its less reflective surface and flat tone—of this part of Venice while visiting the city in 1840. One such essentially monochrome sheet appears to have served as a model for this painting (Tate Britain, London). Both drawing and painting view the Redentore, a Palladian church built in thanksgiving to God following the end of an outbreak of the plague that decimated Venice in 1575-76, from the west. Though less evident in the watercolor, in the painting a number of Venice’s principal monuments, including the churches of Santa Maria della Salute and La Zitelle, appear in the middle distance. Like many of Turner’s Venetian views, the painting was generally well received by contemporary critics. On 5 June 1841, the Atheneum approvingly wrote that it was "so much less extravagant than his late Turnerisms," while a little over a month earlier The Times described it as "a finely painted picture, full of crotchety colouring, but grand." The Spectator on 8 May referred to it as "a pageant of painting," while the greatest praise came from the Art Union, as quoted above. Only Turner’s traditional nemesis, Blackwood’s Magazine, could find anything negative to say, noting with typical rhetorical flourish in their September issue that it "could only please a child whose taste is for gilt gingerbread."

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Giudecca, La Donna della Salute and San Giorgio. Private collection. Joseph Mallord William Turner, View of Venice: The Ducal Palace, Dogana and Part of San Giorgio, 1841. Allen Memorial Art Museum, Oberlin College.

Turner’s final visit to Venice took place in the late summer of 1840 and may have been precipitated by his recognition of the commercial prospects of Venetian subjects. The Gazzetta Privilegiata records his arrival on Thursday, August 20, and he remained in the city until Thursday, September 3, when he departed for Trieste. As he had on previous visits, Turner focused much of his attention on the waters of the Bacino and the Grand Canal, where he paid particular attention to


“This chap Turner…he learned a lot from me.” MARK ROTHKO

The painting appears to have enjoyed something of a similar appeal among the buying public. While on exhibition, a "Mr. Collard" must have considered purchasing it (see Finberg, loc. cit.). Turner had evidently initially quoted his would-be patron—whether by accident or design—a lower price but returned by saying the price was, in fact, 350 guineas, exclusive of copyright or permission to engrave (shortly after Turner’s death, just such an engraving was commissioned by the London printers Lloyd Brothers and Co. from the engraver James Tibbetts Willmore). It is not known whether Mr. Collard purchased the painting in the end, though no connection between him and the painting’s first known owner, Charles Birch, is known.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, The Redentore, Venice, and Other Churches, from the Canale della Giudecca, 1840. Tate, London. Photo: Tate. Joseph Mallord William Turner, Approach to Venice, 1844. National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. Photo: Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington.


Commentators have often noted how the final phase of Turner’s career was supported in large part by new patrons who were generally selfmade men. Charles Birch, who made his fortune from coal mines, was no different. A discerning collector of contemporary British paintings, Birch came to own no fewer than eleven paintings by Turner, including such masterpieces as The Burning of the Houses of Lords and Commons, October 16, 1834 (c. 1834-35; Philadelphia Museum of Art), The Grand Canal: Scene – a Street in Venice (c. 1837; The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens, San Marino, CA), Rockets and Blue Lights (Close at Hand) to Warn Steamboats of Shoal Water (1840; Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, MA) and Approach to Venice (fig. 5[HJ4] ; 1844; National Gallery of Art, Washington). Birch possessed equally important works by Sir David Wilkie, Sir Edwin Henry Landseer and John Constable, including the latter’s The Opening of Waterloo Bridge (Tate Britain, London), The Leaping Horse (Royal Academy, London) and the Foster version of The Lock (sold Sotheby’s, London, 9 December 2015, lot 44).

Owing to the vagaries of the coal trade, Birch was compelled to sell works from his collection at various points in the 1840s and 1850s. A number of pictures were disposed of in a sale held by Foster and Son on 15 February 1855, among them The Lock, which achieved £903, an auction record for the artist that would remain unbroken for more than a decade. In December 1847 Birch sold the present painting to his good friend and neighbor in Edgbaston, the celebrated collector Joseph Gillott. Having made his money through machine manufacturing of steel pens, Gillott—like Birch—was a man whose wealth he owed to industry. And, much like Birch, Gillott took a particular shining to Turner’s art. But unlike Birch, whose focus was on Turner’s late career, Gillot’s appetite for the artist was omnivorous. His collection included late works like the present painting and Turner’s Calais Sands (1830; Bury Art Museum) alongside early paintings like The Junction of the Thames and the Medway of 1807 (National Gallery of Art, Washington). The particular appeal of Turner’s Depositing of John Bellini’s Three Pictures in La Chiesa Redentore, Venice among titans of industry in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries—indeed, down to the present day—is evident by the names of its subsequent owners. By the end of the nineteenth century, the painting had been acquired by Sir John Pender, who struck it rich laying transcontinental submarine cables for the telegraph. At his 1897 posthumous sale, the painting was acquired by Agnew’s on behalf of the American financier and benefactor J.P. Morgan, in whose family it descended until the middle of the twentieth century. The painting was then acquired by the industrialist Myron Charles Taylor, then the chief executive of U.S. Steel. It is only fitting that the painting’s current owner’s achievements in the realm of technology and philanthropy continue this august history.



PARRISH (1870-1966) Hilltop signed and dated 'Copyright 1926/Maxfield Parrish' (lower left) oil on panel 35æ x 22º in. (91 x 56.5 cm.) Painted in 1926 $2,000,000-3,000,000

No other early twentieth-century American artist so firmly captured the public imagination as Maxfield Parrish. By 1925, one in four households in the country owned a print of his masterwork Daybreak (Private Collection), which outsold all reproductions but those of Paul Cezanne and Vincent Van Gogh. Following his runaway success with this work, Parrish sought to create a fresh but equally compelling image “to be a rich gold tone, and needless to say, as beautiful as possible, with a great landscape behind the figures…” (quoted in C. Ludwig, Maxfield Parrish, New York, 1973, p. 143). The result was the present work Hilltop, reproduced as a print in three sizes by The House of Art from 1926-1927. Opening our eyes to an idyllic world of wonder and delight, Hilltop mesmerizes viewers of today just as it did when first published almost a century ago. While Parrish began his career as an illustrator, he wanted compositions like Hilltop to speak for themselves. For example, when asked to write a paragraph to accompany Daybreak, he declined, explaining, “To my mind if a picture does not tell its own story, it’s better to have the story without the picture…the picture tells all there is, there is nothing more” (quoted in ibid., p. 143). Hilltop accordingly provides a fully immersive experience, transporting the viewer to ponder the captivating beauty

Maxfield Parrish, Daybreak, 1922. © Maxfield Parrish Family Trust / Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY.

of nature alongside Parrish’s muses. Despite his earlier statement, Parrish wrote while in progress on the present work, “It will be of two girls under a big tree at the top of a hill, with a great distance beyond, late afternoon all flooded with golden light, and needless to say, depending upon the message carried by the figures—their joy or quiet contemplation of the environment” (quoted in ibid., p. 142). Parrish prized honesty and innocence in his subjects, choosing to pose his family and friends in lieu of professional models. For Hilltop, his models were the daughters of his friend, the notable U.S. Court of Appeals Judge Learned Hand. Working in his studio with paper cut-outs, photography and props, he carefully designed his composition using the principles of ancient Roman and Greek formulas to create harmonic proportions. He then employed a time-consuming glazing technique inspired by Old Master painters. Beginning with a white ground, he applied paint directly from the tube, layering pure pigment and varnish over and over to achieve a heightened vibrancy and a smooth, richly luminous surface. The enamel-like saturation, coupled with the variegated light coming through the foliage, is a trademark of Parrish’s work and adds to the mystical environment. Yet, while artfully imbued with an otherworldly atmosphere, the setting of Hilltop is grounded in Parrish’s close study of the natural environment surrounding his home “The Oaks,” located near the Connecticut River that forms the border of New Hampshire and Vermont. The property appealed to Parrish for its extraordinary view, as he poetically described, “through old oak trunks and branches…a sense of great space and glorious things in store for you…hills and woodlands, high pastures, and beyond them, more and bluer hills, from New Hampshire on one side and Vermont on the other, come tumbling down into the broad valley of the Connecticut, with one grand mountain over it all” (quoted in ibid., p. 17). In Hilltop the artist focuses on the detailed contours of these natural wonders, elevating them to Edenic idealism while anticipating the pure landscape paintings which would dominate his career in subsequent years. A portal into a fantastical realm, Hilltop glows with an otherworldly magic, drawing the viewer into the tapestry of Parrish’s imagination.



“The combination of theoretical speculation and practical work is often a necessity for me, but it is at the same time a great joy. I am also convinced that such a combination is the direct line to the future: we must keep them hitched together.” WASSILY KANDINSKY


KANDINSKY (1866-1944) Tiefes Braun signed with monogram and dated ‘24’ (lower left) oil on canvas 32æ x 28¬ in. (83.3 x 72.7 cm.) Painted between April-June 1924 $10,000,000-15,000,000

Painted in 1924, Tiefes Braun is an ambitious exercise in pictorial contrasts, showcasing Wassily Kandinsky’s continuously bold explorations into the expressive potential of abstraction through the 1920s. At this time, the artist was immersed in the invigorating community of the revolutionary Bauhaus in Weimar, where his interactions with the students and fellow teachers fueled his creative energies, leading him to re-examine and refine his approach to form, color and composition. Filled with a powerful sense of dynamism, Tiefes Braun explores the tensions that arise between different elemental shapes when juxtaposed, aligned and contrasted against one another. Examining the interactions between a collection of angular geometric forms arranged in a complex network across the canvas, the painting is a testament to Kandinsky’s ceaselessly inventive artistic vision, which continued to evolve and unfold throughout his mature years.

Wassily Kandinsky, circa 1926. Photograph by Elfriede Reichelt. Irene Guggenheim, Wassily Kandinsky, Hilla Rebay and Solomon R. Guggenheim, outside Kandinsky’s house at the Bauhaus, Dessau, circa 1930. Photograph by Nina Kandinsky.


Kandinsky’s art was profoundly shaped by his experiences at the Bauhaus through the 1920s—attracted by the school’s inclusive educational program and welcoming attitude towards his artistic and theoretical activities, he joined the faculty in 1922 following an invitation from the school’s founder, Walter Gropius. The Bauhaus was filled with stimulating interactions between the many students and masters, designers and architects, painters and engineers that gathered there. It was this highly engaging atmosphere that inspired Kandinsky to explore

new themes and subjects in his art, pushing his theories and practices to new levels of innovation. As Master, and subsequently Professor, at the school, the artist engaged young students in his theories of form and color during the lessons he taught, from the wall-painting workshop, to the first year preliminary program, as well as in his “Free Painting Classes.” Herbert Bayer, recalling Kandinsky’s lessons, explained that “the practical work was amplified by discussions about the nature of color and its relationship to form. Each flowed into the other: theory and practice… Kandinsky’s ideas about the psychology of colors and their relationship to space provoked especially animated discussions” (quoted in F. Whitford, Bauhaus, London, 1984, pp. 98-99). In many ways, Kandinsky found these discussions and lessons as instructive as his students—they allowed him to explore ideas and concepts he had been wrestling with for years, and would prove essential to shaping his seminal treatise, Punkt und Linie zur Fläche (Point and Line to Plane). Highly regarded on its publication, this text became an intellectual touchstone for Kandinsky’s students and colleagues at the Bauhaus, and subsequently influenced generations of artists throughout the twentieth century. While this book offers a key to understanding many of Kandinsky’s paintings of the Bauhaus years, particularly in the different character he assigned to varying types of lines, he never intended it as a formal manual, to be followed religiously.

Instead, Kandinsky insisted on the continued importance of personal intuition and spontaneous inspiration in the act of creation: “Art is never produced by the head alone,” he insisted (“Art Today,” in Cahiers d’Art, Paris, 1935, p. 83). In Tiefes Braun the predominant diagonals and use of piercing, angular and intersecting geometric forms are clearly reflective of the Constructivist aesthetic Kandinsky had absorbed during his time in Russia, recalling the compositions of Kazimir Malevich and El Lissitzky. However, they are combined with several rounded and organic looking forms that appear to echo the artist’s earlier lyrical abstractions, which took their inspiration from the unique rhythms of the landscape. From the sharply pointed zig-zagging line that cuts across the canvas from right to left, its shape recalling the schematic rendering of a mountain range, to the rhythmically curved elements and arches that evoke clouds, rainbows and sunrises, different forms hint at the possible origins of the composition in the natural world. At the same time, these landscape associations are counterbalanced by the neighboring clusters of sharp-edged geometric forms, revealing the evolution of Kandinsky’s style during these years, as his focus sharpened on the dynamics of interrelating and contrasting abstract elements. Alongside this, from 1924 onwards, Kandinsky began to examine the perceptual effects of color in a more concentrated manner, experimenting with a richer palette in his works. He was fascinated by the interrelationships among colors and forms, and the ways in which the shape, size and placement of varying hues within a composition could affect the reading of normative spatial effects. In the present work, the canvas is flooded with color—the “deep brown” of the title— which the artist modulates in an organic, fluid manner, introducing subtle shades of deep red, soft beige, pink, yellow and deep, chocolate brown to its expanse. Gradually shifting from one hue to the other, the artist achieves a chromatic dynamism across the painted ground, as contrasts between brighter and darker shades add a new level of intensity to different elements within the composition, or conjure an alternate sense of a lighter or heavier atmosphere. Alongside this, Kandinsky plays with color contrasts and saturation in the cluster of geometric shapes that dominate the left hand side of the canvas, creating a sense of transparency within their forms by altering the hue of

an element as it overlaps and interacts with a neighboring shape. This effect causes the planes to shift before our eyes, with some appearing to recede and others moving towards the front of the picture plane, in a way that animates the composition, imbuing it with a vivid sense of internal energy. Exhibited extensively by the artist through the mid-1920s, Tiefes Braun was formerly in the collection of The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York, which acquired the painting from the estate of the influential art dealer Karl Nierendorf. A wealthy business mogul, Solomon R. Guggenheim had begun collecting non-objective art in 1929, after the artist Hilla Rebay introduced him to the work of Kandinsky and the German avant-garde. Guggenheim’s decision to begin purchasing Kandinsky’s work may have been driven in part by his own passion for innovation and ingenuity, two concepts which had been the pillars of his numerous business ventures over the years. Describing his desire to collect non-objective art, he explained: “Pioneering always attracted my attention… The first time I saw non-objective painting in Europe I was enchanted by its appeal and I saw in this art a medium for the American painter to exceed the past…” (quoted in Kandinsky, exh. cat., The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 2010, p. 14). Guggenheim would acquire more than one hundred and seventy works by Kandinsky over the course of his life, and envisioned a grand museum project dedicated to non-objective art, centered on his impressive collection. Plans for such an institution were already in motion when the Nierendorf collection became available in 1948. Guggenheim and Rebay had initially come to know Karl Nierendorf through their shared enthusiasm for Kandinsky’s painting, purchasing several of the artist’s works through his eponymous Berlin gallery in the 1930s. Their connection strengthened when Nierendorf relocated to New York to escape the darkening political climate in Europe, where he reopened his gallery on 53rd Street, in January 1937. When Nierendorf died suddenly from a heart attack in 1947, at the age of 58, he had not executed a will in the United States, leading his estate to pass into the courts. In early 1948 The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum purchased the entirety of the Nierendorf collection from New York State, adding many important Expressionist, Surrealist, and early Abstract Expressionist works to its permanent collection, including Tiefes Braun. Wassily Kandinsky, Schaukeln, 1925. Tate, London. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Wassily Kandinsky, Blaues Bild, 1924. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. © 2022 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.


“Numbers exist only in the imagination. We write them every day, we use them all the time, but they remain stubbornly abstract in a peculiar way.” 49



JOHNS (b. 1930) Numbers signed and misdated 'J. Johns 1963-78' (on the reverse) aluminum 57¡ x 43¬ in. (145.7 x 110.8 cm.) Conceived in 1963 and cast in 1968 $15,000,000-20,000,000

Acquired directly from the artist in 2001, having been in his personal collection for over three decades, Numbers is one of Jasper Johns’s seminal works. Together with Flags, Targets, and Maps, this rendering of a sequence of numbers from 0 to 9 forms the central core of a career that spanned one of the most dramatic periods in twentieth-century art history—the polemic shift from Abstract Expressionism to Pop. It is also one of his most visually simple, yet conceptually complex works, and speaks to the essential elements of Johns’s practice. With this seemingly simple numerical sequence he began to explore the complicated relationship between form and meaning, both in terms of their cultural associations and how this relates to the relevance of modern art. As such, this particular example has been widely exhibited, including in the recent major retrospective Jasper Johns: Mind/Mirror, organized jointly by the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Whitney Museum of American Art, and provides ample evidence of Johns’s unique combination of intellectual exploration and artistic processes.

Jasper Johns, Numbers in Color, 1958-1959. Albright Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: © Bridgeman Images. Jasper Johns, 0 through 9, 1961. Tate, London. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Tate, London / Art Resource, New York. Jasper Johns, Numbers, 1963. Philadelphia Museum of Art. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.


Gridded, gray, and cast in aluminum, the instantly recognizable Numbers is the product of Johns’s technical virtuosity, conceptual brilliance, and singular attentiveness to form and import. This masterwork combines these features to gorgeously demonstrate the richness of open-ended, expansive, and recombinant meaning. The work achieves this conceptual aim while balancing the abstraction inherent to numbers with detailed, consciously concrete renderings that draw attention to surface and thus to the nature of the artwork as an object. In the manmade system of mathematics, a series of finite digits, zero through nine, are capable of producing the infinite.

In Numbers, the logical repeating forms of figures and structuring grids become unmanageably expansive in a parade of signifiers. In this canonical work, digits (taken from a commercially available stencil) from zero to nine have been cast into a grid. When asked by art critic Leo Steinberg whether he used stenciled numbers and letters because he liked the typography or simply because the stencils came that way, Johns famously replied with an enigmatic, “But that’s what I like about them, that they come that way” (quoted in L. Steinberg, “Jasper Johns,” in Metro, May 1962, p. 94). The formatting of the present grid into repeating rows of discrete rectangles of digits has been determined by the sequence of numbers. These are among the most recognizable of Johns’s motifs, a selection of everyday objects and forms that the artist took as his starting point in his explorations of meaningmaking and perception. These ubiquitous digits served as what the artist described as, “things the mind already knows”—forms that one regularly encounters and instantly recognizes but rarely considered as forms (quoted in W. Hopps, “An Interview with Jasper Johns,” Artforum 3, March 1965, p. 34). However, Johns made the perceptive leap that the abstraction and flatness of numbers actually aesthetically connected them with the flat surfaces of Abstract Expressionism. Yet in contrast to the emphasis on spontaneity, subjective experience, and free-flowing brushwork that characterized that particular movement, Numbers is emotionally disengaged and highly controlled, an exercise in the experience of looking that takes numbers as its starting point in order to crucially “work on other levels” (Johns, quoted in Jasper Johns Flags, 19551964, exh. cat., Anthony d'Offay Gallery, London, 1996, p. 15).

Numbers pits the mind and the eye against one another, producing a system that undoes and proceeds to rebuild logic. On one level, the present work is a collection of flat, abstract forms rendered in nuanced gray tonalities. Catherine Craft explicates in a monograph on Johns: “In selecting recognizable subjects, Johns seemed to reject prevailing abstract modes of painting, yet his subjects themselves—flags, targets, numbers—each possessed a vital characteristic of classical abstraction, namely a flatness rendering them all indistinguishable from the picture plane itself” (Jasper Johns, New York, 2009, p. 10). This work can be viewed as an allover nonrepresentational field, a flat plane that draws attention to its hand worked surface. Yet the mind, primed and anxious to draw meaning from the abstraction, picks out digits, identifying the recognizable, logical form of numbers and grids. The half-life of this logic quickly breaks down once more, as the sequential gridding ends up functioning not only to organize the numbers but also to deconstruct them. Poet John Yau has noted that Johns’s aesthetic approach takes construction and deconstruction as two sides of the same coin: “It is Johns’s belief that both form and dissolution must be present in his work that underlies all his choices” ("Jasper Johns’s Preoccupation," The American Poetry Review, vol. 35, no. 1, January/February 2006, p. 44). Thus, in keeping with the very best work by Johns, Numbers flickers between abstraction and representation, refusing to fully alight upon either. Its contemplative aesthetic is not one of emptiness, but of mutability, of the ways in which perception can frequently break down and shift. This work touches upon several key moments in Johns’s aesthetic trajectory. The piece has the wealth of gray tones—Johns is frequently heralded as a singular tonalist—that characterize Johns’s work from the ‘60s onward and have come to be the subject of major exhibitions including the retrospective “Gray” at the Art Institute of Chicago and The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York in 2007-2008.

At the same time, Numbers clearly emerges from that groundbreaking moment in the mid-to-late 1950s when Johns first turned to everyday objects and forms as his subject, in a move away from the Abstract Expressionism that dominated New York’s avant-garde at the time. In 1952, two years prior to the artist’s now near-mythic destruction of all of his early work, Johns first produced collages in grids. 1955 witnessed the introduction of numbers to Johns’s work when the artist created a series of encaustic and collage paintings each featuring a single numeral; the series was entitled Figures. In 1957, Johns first combined his exploration of digits with a gridded format in the sequential number grid, which quickly became recognized as some of his most important work. Ultimately, Johns developed four subsets of his celebrated numeral motif: Numbers (a number grid), Figures (a single number), 09 or Ten Numbers (an abbreviated ten-unit number grid), and 0 through 9 (a superimposition of numbers). Contemplative and painstaking variation on a theme in this manner is of course the hallmark of Johns, as he creates permutations of a form or object across media. As one art historian stated perceptively of Johns’s motifs, “The theme has been a pretext for the variations played on it” (A. Graham-Dixon, “Flags of convenience,” The Independent, 2 July, 1996, n.p.). In the manmade system of mathematics, a series of finite digits, zero through nine, are capable of producing the infinite. In Johns’s hands they poetically swell into a conceptual expanse that dwarfs the humans who originally prescribed their form and meaning. The beauty inherent to numbers—both in their flat, abstracted, curves and lines, and in their capacity to express the ineffable—is frequently unexamined due to their quotidian nature. Yet to the insightful Johns, the ordinary provides rich grounds for vital perceptive exploration.

Andy Warhol, 129 Die in Jet (Plane Crash), 1962. Museum Ludwig, Köln. © 2022 The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Roy Lichtenstein, 10 Cents, 1961. © Estate of Roy Lichtenstein.



HOCKNEY (B. 1937)

“…the fiercest, most joyous, most sustained, and most prolific bout of painting of his entire career.”

Queen Anne’s Lace Near Kilham LAWRENCE WESCHLER

signed, dated and titled ‘David Hockney 2010/2011 Queen Ann’s [sic] lace near Kilham’ (on the reverse) oil on canvas 67 x 102º in. (170.2 x 259.7 cm.) Painted in 2010-2011 $8,000,000-12,000,000

Lawrence Weschler, “‘I call these my figure paintings,’ Hockney says to me one day, and I rise warily to the bait: But, David, there are no figures in them. ‘You,’ he says a merry gleam in his eye, ‘are the figure’” (ibid., p. 11). Working in this way, the artist has stated that he wants to submerge the viewer in an intensely physical experience of place.

In 2002, David Hockney—regarded as one of the foremost figurative artists of his generation—made a dramatic shift in his practice; he began to focus on painting landscapes. What started as a way for the artist to explore the new medium (for him) of watercolor, soon morphed from small sketches into monumental canvases that reverberated with an epic sense of scale and a stunningly vibrant palette. These majestic landscapes were described by one critic as “…the fiercest, most joyous, most sustained, and most prolific bout of painting of his entire career” (L. Weschler, “David Hockney: Painting again in East Yorkshire,” in David Hockney: Recent Paintings, exh. cat., Pace Wildenstein, New York, 2009, p. 9). Universally celebrated for his 1960s paintings of California, Hockney’s new work marked a return home of sorts, to Yorkshire—the county in England where he was born and which he subsequently left lured by the pleasures and freedoms of California. For over a decade, these familiar English landscapes provided him with the inspiration for much of his subsequent oeuvre, and have resulted in a blossoming of his practice in both traditional and more experimental mediums (particularly that of digital art), confirming his reputation as one of the most innovative and influential artists working today.


Queen Anne’s Lace Near Kilham is a triumph of contemporary landscape painting. In a departure from the historic traditions of the genre, Hockney banished the sweeping vista in favor of presenting a carpet of wild Queen Anne’s Lace. The flower, which flourishes in the heat of high summer, covers the field in a swathe of lush green foliage topped with crowns of delicate white flowers. Interspersed amongst the titular flowers are other meadow plants, the different organic forms woven into the organic tapestry the artist lays out before us. Three large trees stand majestically in the rear of the field casting a protective cloak of shade over the scene, the shadows rendered in Fauvist purples and smoky pinks. As the blanket of Queen Anne’s Lace withdraws towards the horizon, it dissolves into pointillist variegated dots that recede into the distance. Hockney’s landscapes were a radical departure for the artist. For a painter famous for his character studies of friends, family, lovers, and other people from his social circle, his landscapes contain no human figures whatsoever. In addition to their bold aesthetics, their lack of figures is arresting, but—as Hockney once explained to the writer

Another remarkable aspect of Hockney’s landscapes is the physical investment he makes in each canvas. He often visited his chosen location many times over the course of a year, each time reacting differently to the view as it changed over the seasons. Sometimes he paints from life, at other times he takes photographs which he later works from in his studio. He paints in all weathers, and neither rain, snow or scorching sunshine stops him from capturing the moments that enthrall him. His former assistant recalled how he would often be woken early in the morning by Hockney when the artist realized that the light would be just right for a day’s painting. Canvases, paints, and brushes would be packed into the artist’s small van and driven to the chosen location. Hockney worked at a feverish but considered pace, using the viscous properties of the oil paint to capture the nature of the scene before him. Sometimes he worked on a single canvas (such as Queen Anne’s Lace Near Kilham), but later he would work on a more monumental scale, painting a series of large-scale canvases that would be joined together to complete the finished scene.

Paintings such as these update the grand tradition of British landscape painting initiated by the likes of John Constable and J.M.W. Turner. Constable was very much on Hockney’s mind during this period after he visited a major retrospective of the nineteenth-century artist’s paintings at Tate Britain in 2006. He was especially impressed by what are known as the “six footers,” a series of monumental canvases Constable produced beginning in 1819, in which the artist used the size of his large six-foot canvases to assert his belief in the importance of landscape painting, a genre which up to this point had often been regarded as an inferior form of art. Like Constable, Hockney believes the sense of place is what defines the specificity of his paintings, and of the locations they venerate. Although familiar with these landscapes as a child, Hockney found an immense sense of pleasure in seeing them again with new eyes; the same sense of joy and awe which Hockney experienced on first setting eyes on the Californian swimming pools seems to be present in these landscapes too. Painted en plein air, they not only depict the physical landscape, they also become part of it too. Painted at speed, so as to capture the constantly changing light conditions, Hockney adroitly harnesses the viscosity of the oil paint to capture the energy of the ever-changing landscape. It is a medium “so responsive to spontaneity,” writes curator Marco Livingstone, “and to the slightest movement of hand or wrist, [it requires] great discipline and diligence of method” (“The Road Less Travelled,” in M. Livingstone and E. Devaney, David Hockney: A Bigger Picture, exh. cat., Royal Academy of Arts, London, 2012, p. 25). Now painting in his ninth decade, here Hockney continues the painterly interrogation of his world he began over half a century ago, with spectacular results.

Vincent van Gogh, Maïs vert, 1889. National Gallery, Prague. Photo: HIP / Art Resource, NY.

Albrecht Dürer, The Great Piece of Turf, 1503. Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna. Photo: Bridgeman Images.

John Constable, Study of the Trunk of an Elm Tree, circa 1821. Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Photo: Bridgeman Images. .

Lucian Freud, Garden, Notting Hill Gate, 1997. Private collection. © The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2022 / Bridgeman Images.


51 MAX

ERNST (1891-1976)

Paysage avec lac et chimères signed ‘Max Ernst’ (lower right) oil on canvas 20 x 26 in. (50.8 x 66 cm.) Painted circa 1940 $2,000,000-3,000,000

Formerly in the collection of Peggy Guggenheim, Paysage avec lac et chimères emerged during a period of great unrest and turmoil in Max Ernst’s life. At the outbreak of the Second World War in September 1939 Ernst had been living with his paramour Leonora Carrington, a young, English-born Surrealist artist and writer, in an early eighteenth-century farmhouse in the village of Saint Martin d’Ardêche. Though the storm clouds of war had been brewing on the horizon for many months, the declaration still came as something of a shock to the two painters—as a German national, Ernst was immediately interned as an enemy alien by the French authorities, and sent to a prison camp known as Les Milles, near the town of Aix-en-Provence. Though released after several weeks through the intercession of the poet Paul Eluard, he was detained once again in May of the following year. When he eventually managed to escape, shortly before his official release, Ernst returned to the farmhouse to discover that Carrington, lost in an ever-worsening spiral of despair and growing psychosis, had been persuaded to sell their house and its entire contents, before fleeing to Spain in the company of friends. Ernst spent the rest of 1940 waiting for news of Carrington, while also trying to organize his own escape plan from France.

Max Ernst and Leonora Carrington in St Martin d’ArdeÌche, 1939. Photograph by Lee Miller. Photo: © Lee Miller Archives 2022.

Despite the upheaval and often harrowing circumstances he was living in, Ernst continued to work intensely throughout this period. During his internment, he had begun to experiment with the semi-automatic technique of decalcomania, working alongside the German artist and fellow detainee Hans Bellmer, to create random patterns of Rorschach-like marks made by pressing a smooth surface such as paper or glass against thinned paint. Pioneered by Oscar Domínguez as a technique for working in gouache, Ernst adapted the process to oil paint with great success, using stencils to restrict the movement of the fluid pigment, limiting it to certain portions of the canvas. As with the discovery of frottage in the 1920s, decalcomania gave Ernst’s art a new intensity and vigor, leading to “a marvelous expansion of his visual world” (W. Spies, ed., Max Ernst, exh. cat., Tate Gallery, London, 1991, p. 230). Over the course of 1940, he produced a series of eerie landscapes in which strange creatures poured forth from the spontaneous patterns, their forms seeming to grow out of the coagulated vegetation and geological formations conjured by the passages of decalcomania, and then given shape by subtle touches of Ernst’s paintbrush. In Paysage avec lac et chimères, these fantastical creatures remain partially camouflaged by their surroundings, so that the eye strains to pick them out. Nevertheless, their presence lends an unsettling note to the landscape, as if an innocuous stony outcrop may suddenly come to life. In the foreground, a large figure with the head of a bird strides forward, their gaze locked on the viewer as their slender fingers caress the rough surface of the rock-face. Though in Greek mythology the Chimera was traditionally a monstrous, fire-breathing creature that combined various body parts of a lion, a goat and a snake, the term was often used interchangeably to describe any fantastical hybrid-beast. Such creatures figured prominently in the works of both Carrington and Ernst during these years, a reflection of their shared interest in mythology, witchcraft, European folklore, and the occult. Writing in 1942, Henry Miller explained that such hybrid characters were a central element in the unparalleled inventiveness of Ernst’s fantastical landscapes of these years: “The chimaeras, the unearthly vegetation, the symbolic episodes, the haunting passages which lead us in the twinkling of an eye from the fabulous to the invisible and frightening realities… are not dream images any more than they are accidents. They are the product of an inventive mind endeavoring to translate in worldly language experiences which belong to another dimension… They are compact with wonder and mystery, awesomely real. A glow emanates from them which arises neither from the day world nor the night world” (“Another Bright Messenger,” in View, Series II, no. 1, April 1942, New York).



“I’ve done a lot of self-portraits, really because people have been dying around me like flies and I’ve had nobody else left to paint but myself.” 52 FRANCIS BACON


BACON (1909-1992)

Three Studies for Self-Portrait signed, dated and titled 'Study for Self-Portrait 1979 Francis Bacon' (on the reverse of each canvas) triptych—oil on canvas Each: 14 x 12 in. (35.6 x 30.5 cm.) Painted in 1979 $25,000,000-35,000,000

Staging a triple encounter with his own visage, Francis Bacon’s Three Studies for Self-Portrait is a vivid and visceral example of the artist’s celebrated self-portrait triptychs. Painted in 1979, its rich skeins of color and texture writhe and shimmer against a blazing orange backdrop, articulated in near-cinematic sequence. The work takes its place within the extraordinary, career-defining sequence of self-portraits that Bacon produced during the 1970s and 1980s: a period of tragedy and triumph that saw him push the genre into profound new territory. Following the devastating death of his great love and muse George Dyer in 1971, the artist had begun to stare his own mortality directly in the eye, pouring his grief and sorrow into powerful confrontations with his own likeness. Flickering with the spirit of Rembrandt, Picasso and others who charted the passage of life across their features, the present work is one of only seven self-portrait triptychs of this size painted in the 1970s: another from 1979 is held in The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, with later examples held in the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen and the Honolulu Museum of Art.

Francis Bacon, Three Studies for a SelfPortrait, 1979. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022. Photo: © The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Image source: Art Resource, NY.


Far from slowing down as he entered his eighth decade, Bacon continued to breathe new life into his practice. The present work’s rich and complex surface, in particular, bears witness to the thrilling array of techniques that the artist brought to bear upon his own countenance during this period. The spectral pallor of his flesh is layered with electric veils of blue and pink, their ribbed textures demonstrating Bacon’s use of his corduroy jacket as a printing material. In places, the paint is chalky

like pastel; elsewhere, it is thick with tactile impasto. Amid the painting’s abstract strata and schisms, moments of clarity emerge: a strand of hair, perfectly defined; an ear, rendered in intricate detail; the curve of a lip or nostril; an eye, staring directly at the viewer. Though Bacon typically worked from photographs, he would also study his own face in the mirror, letting his stubble grow for several days and using pots of Max Factor pancake make-up to practise swirls and distortions upon his features. Here, this approach breeds three images charged with the very feeling of flesh itself, each arrested in living motion. Bacon’s self-portraits of the 1970s stand among the twentieth century’s most daring and poignant explorations of the human condition. Cathartic, mournful and near-obsessive in their spiraling iterations, they witness a giant of his time coming to terms with his own mortal transience. The decade saw Bacon acknowledged as one of the world’s greatest living painters, with major retrospectives at the Grand Palais in 1971 and The Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1975, as well as the publication of his landmark interviews with the critic David Sylvester. At the same time, however, it was a period of overwhelming loss. Though the artist had long been sanguine about life’s fleeting nature—declaring the earth a “vast lump of compost” and its inhabitants “potential carcasses”—Dyer’s death had plunged him into turmoil. The tragedy, which took place on the eve of Bacon’s Grand Palais exhibition, was a haunting reminder of the death of his previous lover, Peter Lacy, who had passed away shortly before the opening of the artist’s Tate retrospective

in 1962. Around the time of the present work, moreover, Bacon had been deeply affected by the death of his close comrade and muse Muriel Belcher—founder of The Colony Room—whose passing marked the end of an era at his beloved Soho haunt. The deaths of his great friend Sonia Orwell, and his sister Ianthe, would follow in quick succession. After years of painting his social circle, it was within this context that Bacon truly began to turn inwards. Self-portraiture had not been entirely absent from his earlier practice: his first attempt, dating from 1956, resides in the Museum of Modern Art, Fort Worth, with other notable examples including a 1958 canvas held in the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington D. C., and an impressive large single panel of 1963 housed in the National Museum and Gallery, Cardiff. In the aftermath of Dyer’s death, however, the act of painting himself became something akin to a compulsion: of the 53 named self-portraits within Bacon’s oeuvre, 29 were painted in the 1970s, many in tandem with the harrowing “black triptychs” produced in his lover’s memory. “I’ve done a lot of self-portraits, really because people have been dying around me like flies and I’ve had nobody else left to paint but myself,” he explained. “… One of the nicest things that Cocteau said was: ‘Each day in the mirror I watch death at work.’ This is what one does oneself” (quoted in D. Sylvester, The Brutality of Fact: Interviews with Francis Bacon, London, 1975, pp. 129-133). The present work takes its place within this remarkable outpouring. Among its companions are magnificent single heads held in the Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris and the Musée Cantini, Marseilles, as well as large-scale canvases held in the Art Gallery of New South Wales and the Von der Heydt-Museum Wuppertal. A profound sequence of works from 1973 depicts Bacon with a watch: a poignant memento mori, and a rare example of an illustrational device within his practice. In certain works, his form looms like a ghostly beacon in the darkness; elsewhere, he houses his body within a space frame or windowless interior, as if tormented by the trappings of the world. On occasion, Bacon would insert his self-portrait into just one triptych panel, featuring alongside Dyer and Lucian Freud in 1973, and as a painting within a painting in the late 1991 masterwork Triptych (The Museum of Modern Art, New York). The range of his self-representations was—and remains—staggering in ambition. “Feeling less constrained about pulling apart and recreating his own looks than he did with those of his friends and lovers,” writes Michael Peppiatt, “Bacon was at his freest and most inventive in his selfportraits” (Francis Bacon: Studies for a Portrait, London, 2021, p. 156).

Within this diverse output, the self-portrait triptychs occupied a particularly notable place. As a format, the triptych had fueled Bacon’s practice for more than three decades, aspiring less to the condition of grand narrative altarpieces than to the aesthetics of cinema. The triptychs “are the things I like doing most,” said Bacon, “and I think this may be related to the thought I’ve sometimes had of making a film. I like the juxtaposition of the images separated on three different canvases. So far as my work has any quality, I often feel perhaps it is the triptychs that have the best quality” (quoted in D. Sylvester, Looking Back at Francis Bacon, London, 2000, p. 232). Bacon famously described his visual imagination as a “grinding machine” into which images fell like slides: a process that found affinity with the films of Sergei Eisenstein and Luis Buñuel—among others—as well as the sequential photographs of Eadweard Muybridge. The present work, with its three shifted stances, offers a vivid demonstration of this tendency, capturing Bacon’s enduring aspiration to trap his subjects alive. Light flickers in his eyes; words seem to strain at his lips. “The rest”—as his beloved Shakespeare once wrote—“is silence.” The fourteen-by-twelve inch portrait, too, was similarly significant for Bacon. Since the 1960s, wrote the critic John Russell, these intimate, concentrated heads had been “the scene of some of Bacon’s most ferocious investigations,” their impact comparable to the “after-echo” left by a fired gun (Francis Bacon, London, 1993, p. 99). As the artist grew older, this effect intensified, in concert with a broader sense of clarity and distillation that came to define his later practice. Arriving at the realization that reality can be “summed up with so much less”, the artist began to reduce his gestures and palette to their bare essentials, using defined strokes, saturated colors and often cropping his subjects—here losing an entire eye. The present work, notes Martin Harrison, is the first smaller-format painting to employ the searing cadmium orange backdrop that Bacon typically reserved for his larger canvases—among them his seminal 1944 masterwork Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion (Francis Bacon: Catalogue Raisonné, 1971-1992, London, 2016, vol. IV, p. 1174). The addition of blue and pink overlayers, “printed” onto the surface with Bacon’s jacket, imbues the work with a striking, almost Poplike intensity: Andy Warhol, notably, would produce his own electrifying series of late self-portraits just seven years after the present work.

Francis Bacon, Study for Self-Portrait, 1973. Private collection. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022. Francis Bacon, Self-Portrait, 1971. Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022. Photo: © CNAC/MNAM, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, NY. Francis Bacon in his Reece Mews studio, London, 1977. Photo: © Carlos Freire. Artwork: © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022.


“Feeling less constrained about pulling apart and recreating his own looks than he did with those of his friends and lovers, Bacon was at his freest and most inventive in his self-portraits.” MICHAEL PEPPIATT

Throughout history, painters have used their own image as a barometer for their art. Bacon’s idol Pablo Picasso painted himself from the ages of 15 to 90, completing his final haunting iteration in 1972. Vincent van Gogh, another of his great heroes, painted more than 35 self-portraits in his 37 years of life, while Bacon’s contemporary Lucian Freud charted his ageing form in everything from intimate portrait heads to full-frontal nudes. For Bacon, however, it was Rembrandt’s self-portraits that truly set the standard. “If you take the great late self-portraits of Rembrandt,” he stated, “you will find that the whole contour of the face has changed time after time; it’s a totally different face” (quoted in Irrational Marks: Bacon and Rembrandt, exh. cat., Ordovas Gallery, London, 2011, p. 7). Moreover, he explained, Rembrandt’s self-portraits went beyond mere facial likeness, offering instead microscopic insights into his hand. They were “almost completely anti-illustrational … a coagulation of nonrepresentational marks”: a foreshadowing of Abstract Expressionism, he proposed, trained upon the recording of fact (quoted in D. Sylvester, The Brutality of Fact, in ibid., p. 58). In Rembrandt’s self-portraits, Bacon believed, the artist ultimately dissolves into his art. It is this, too, that fundamentally underpins the present work. It is not simply a record of appearance, but a record of process: a repository of action, feeling and intuition, channelled through the face that Bacon knew better than any other. For an artist who devoted his life to transferring the impulses of his nervous system onto canvas, it offers a vivid dramatization of the moment at which flesh ends and paint begins. “Bacon’s portraits are the interrogation on the limits of the self,” wrote Milan Kundera. “Up to what degree of distortion does an individual still remain himself? To what degree of distortion does a beloved still remain a beloved being? For how long does a cherished face growing remote through illness, through madness, through hatred, through death still become recognizable? Where lies the border beyond which a ‘self’ ceases to be a ‘self’?” (“The Painter’s Brutal Gesture,” in F. Borel, Bacon Portraits and Self-Portraits, London and New York, 1996, p. 12). In Three Studies for Self-Portrait, Bacon proposes that paint can give form to those boundaries, enacting the shift from figure to figment that defines how we come to know ourselves. Rembrandt van Rijn, Self-Portrait at the Age of 63, 1669. National Gallery, Pablo Picasso, Autoportrait, 1972. Private collection. © 2022 Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Francis Bacon, Self-Portrait, 1956. Museum of Modern Art, Fort Worth. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022.

Francis Bacon, London, circa 1970s. © The Estate of Francis Bacon. All rights reserved / DACS, London / ARS, New York 2022.




TANSEY (b. 1949)


Bridge Over the Cartesian Gap



signed, dated and titled 'Tansey 1990 'Bridge over the Cartesian Gap' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 87 x 108 in. (221 x 274.3 cm.) Painted in 1990


Black Flames stamped with initials, numbered and stamped with foundry mark '3/6 L.B.' (lower edge) bronze, paint and stainless steel Height: 69Ω (176.5 cm.) Conceived in 1947-1949 and cast in 1989. This work is number three from an edition of six plus an artist's proof. $1,500,000-2,500,000

Louise Bourgeois’s totemic sculpture Black Flames is emblematic of the evocative and mysterious forms that the artist produced throughout her life. Evoking the upright silhouette of her iconic Personage sculptures, which were executed during the same period, the present work exudes an existential presence that exists far in excess of its physical dimensions. The organic form along with its tactile surface creates an object that yearns to be touched, yet its darkly ominous palette and flame-like form creates a portentous atmosphere—a dichotomy that is present in the very best examples of the artist’s work. Standing nearly six-feet tall, Black Flames soars upwards towards the sky. Emerging from the ground, Bourgeois assembles an assortment of geometric and animate forms that speak to her own lived experience. Rigorous lines sit next to supple curves, in what the artist herself called, “the duel between the isolated individual and… shared awareness. At first…,” she continued, “I made single figures without any freedom at all… Later tiny windows started appear...” (quoted in J. Helfenstein, Louise Bourgeois: The Early Works, exh. cat., Krannert Art Museum, UrbanaChampaign, 2002, p. 34). Black Flames is symptomatic of these new forms, its tall vertical reach punctuated by a single open “window” near the center of the work.

Louise Bourgeois, SPIDER, 1947. © 2022 The Easton Foundation / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Christopher Burke.

The clustering and twisting, together with the juxtaposed and fissured elements, creates a self-generating volatility in the work’s varying weights and densities, as if disjunctive forms are compressed into a

narrative sequence. These seemingly incongruent modules create a spiraling sense of ascent, as the heat from the flame rises, taking us with it. Reinterpreting the anthropomorphic shape as a series of conspicuously unstable disparate parts, slightly askew, there is, nevertheless, a pleasing rhythmic surge as the form reaches the pinnacle. Separated segments are expressive as well as sensitive to the enclosing space, eliciting a relationship of positive and negative where the interstices beckon the viewer to approach, creating a reciprocal responsiveness, in the sense that Bourgeois has expressed, where “the emotional responsiveness of the separate but interlocking parts” exist permanently (“Taped Interview,” 1979, in D. Wye, Louise Bourgeois, exh. cat., The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1983, p. 23). Although intentionally abstract and resolutely non-figurative, Bourgeois did admit that these sculptures were also reminiscent of individuals—or at least the psychological entities contained within them. These are works which stand at the height of an average person at slightly over five feet tall, and were “conceived of and functioned as figures, each given a personality by its shape and articulation, and responding to one another. They were life-size in a real space…” (quoted in J. Helfenstein, “Personnages: Animism versus Modernist Sculpture,” in Louise Bourgeois, exh. cat., Tate Modern, London, 2007, p. 207). The early loss of her mother and a difficult relationship with her father meant that the artist often found it difficult to maintain intimate and lasting relationships with other people. Yet, cast in bronze, these enigmatic forms are designed to evoke the whole range of human emotions. “The psychological tension between intimacy and isolation, between silence and dialogue becomes the starting point” (ibid., p. 207). Black Flames, together with her other upright sculptural forms are among Bourgeois’s most celebrated works. With clear parallels to the stacked forms of Constantin Brancusi, this work has been widely exhibited and cited in literature about the artist. A unique wooden version of the present work is in the permanent collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Personal experience and artistic expression are inextricably entwined in Bourgeois’s art; building on her own deeply felt experiences and her extraordinary aesthetic imagination, she created works that convey universal feelings of desire, anxiety and distress. Bourgeois has declared, “In my sculpture, it's not an image I'm seeking, it's not an idea. My goal is to re-live a past emotion. My art is an exorcism” (quoted in Louise Bourgeois: Works in Marble, exh. cat., Galerie Hauser and Wirth, Munich, 2002, p. 20).


Bridge Over the Cartesian Gap captures Mark Tansey’s mastery of monochromatic figurative painting with his definitive precision and quick wit. The artist’s methodically executed canvases often present complex ideas from history, literature, or philosophy, investigating different realities, and mixing together the conceptual with the formal, and the fictional with the metaphorical. Pictured in the present work is a monumental bridge of stone that floats impossibly above a delicate sky of clouds. Traversing across the bridge are several figures, each holding an object ranging anywhere from the mundane to the fantastical. One figure struts across with a larger than life canoe raised above their head; one dashes to the edge of the canvas, suitcase in hand; some partner together to hoist ladders and wheelbarrows across the sky; one figure even struggles at the start of his journey across, weighed down by the heft of another human being. Close inspection reveals that the stone bridge is marked with quantities of text, the majority of which Tansey’s hand has obscured to the human eye. Of the small excerpts that are readable is the Belgian deconstructivist theorist Paul de Man’s Blindness and Insight, a text that probes the line between visual and textual representation. De Man argues that those who rely solely on the close reading of critical texts to discern meaning are blind to meaning itself, for the mechanisms of representation outside of text—those of visual representation—helps to inform meaning. Tansey engages this argument directly, refusing the viewer the ability to discern meaning from the text alone; in a practice of training the eye to look at all forms of representation to acquire knowledge, the viewer must grab elements of the text and consider them in relationship to the figures crossing the bridge. Here, we see Tansey playing with the viewer, denying them access to this textual knowledge, thus requiring the eye to discern meaning from the few legible words and the figurative elements in the work. As is consistent with Tansey’s working process, this play between writing and meaning is rooted in the artist’s wry and literalist humor, leaving viewers to contemplate larger theoretical discourses with canoes and piggy-back rides as their visual cues.

Painted in 1990, Bridge Over the Cartesian Gap is one of a remarkable series of paintings completed that year, when Tansey’s discovery of the graphic potential of texts and the textuality of paintings led to an extraordinary creative eruption. Since 1987, his paintings have interrogated post-structuralist ideas. His engagement with the history of painting was borne from the pervasive sentiment in the 1970s that painting was declared dead, favoring alternative methods of artistic creation. As a painter in a world where painting was dead, Tansey’s guiding aim was to make pictures about picture making and the capacity of painting to synthesize larger discourses. Tansey’s chosen medium is nearly as exacting as fresco. He starts by applying a consistent layer of gesso to the canvas, then covering that base with a layer of monochromatic paint, in the present lot, a cadmium red. With painstaking attention to detail, Tansey employs various tools and techniques to wipe and scrape away at the monochrome layer, revealing varying hues of the gesso underneath and unearthing the composition within. Akin to a sculptor coaxing remarkable figurations from a block of marble, Tansey elucidates his figures and landscapes from layers of paint with an exacting, photorealistic precision. Miraculously, through a process of erasure—which typically raises notions of destruction—Tansey creates a fantastical and complex world. As the work dries, different forms and effects emerge that both incorporate time and temporality into his painting strategy. Bridge Over a Cartesian Gap is a physical document of Tansey’s process, illuminating both the artist’s mastery of skill and his innovative, critical approach to the history of painting.

René Magritte, La clef de verre, 1959. Menil Collection, Houston. © 2022 C. Herscovici / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photo: Banque d’Images, ADAGP / Art Resource, New York.

The original painted wood version of Black Flames resides in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.







The Grand Canal, Venice, Looking South-East from San Stae to the Fabbriche Nuove di Rialto

(London 1775-1851)


(VENICE 1697-1768)

The Lungernsee by Moonlight, Switzerland

oil on canvas 18Ω x 30¬ in. (47 x 77.8 cm.)

pencil and watercolor with some pen dipped in color, on wove paper watermarked 'JWhatman/ 1846' 15º x 22º in. (38.4 x 56.2 cm). Executed circa 1848



In the course of the second half of the 1730s, Canaletto produced a number of his most important and successful works. Shortly after the middle of the decade he had completed his famous series of twentyfour canvases which remain intact at Woburn Abbey as well as a series of twenty-one pictures painted for the Duke of Marlborough which were dispersed by the Harvey Trustees in 1957. Among the Harvey series was Canaletto’s only other depiction of this view, a work now in a London private collection. Like many of his most successful works, the view is taken from a seldom depicted part of Venice and shows the stretch of the Grand Canal between the church of San Stae (roughly equidistant from the Scalzi and the Rialto) and the bend immediately before the Rialto Bridge. The composition gained wide dissemination through Antonio Visentini’s series of prints after paintings by Canaletto for the Prospectus Magni Canalis Venetiarum. The prints were, in turn, used as a publicity tool through which the marchand-amateur Joseph Smith, one of Canaletto’s most ardent supporters, advanced the artist’s career, namely by attracting English patrons. The publication was produced in two parts. The first edition, published in 1735, contained prints after fourteen paintings that, as the title-page indicated, were in Smith’s house and which would remain there until 1762. In 1742, twenty-four additional plates were added, most of which had already passed through Smith’s hands, including three pictures from the Woburn series and eight or nine from the Harvey series as well. The painting selected to represent the Grand Canal at San Stae was not the one in the Harvey series but the present work.

View of the Grand Canal and the Church of San Stae in Venice, Antonio Visentini, after Canaletto, 1742. Photo: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.


Smith’s future residence, the Palazzo Mangili Valmarana, shown before it was remodeled following his acquisition of the property in 1740, can be made out in the distance of the present painting. Little else has changed with this view since Canaletto’s time, save the removal of the picturesque chimneys and sailing vessels and the addition of a vaporetto stop at the Campo San Stae on the right. The most prominent structure is Domenico Rossi’s shimmering white façade of 1709-10 for the church of Sant’ Eustachio, known as San Stae, surmounted by Antonio Corradini’s sculptures of the Redeemer, Faith and Hope. Among the works of art commissioned for the interior of the church were altarpieces by Sebastiano Ricci, Giovanni Battista Piazzetta and Giambattista Tiepolo (all in situ). On its far end is the small Scuola of the Gold-Beaters’ Guild of 1711, where the Ponte Giovanelli crosses the Rio di San Stae and leads to the Palazzo Coccina Giunti Foscarini Giovanelli, where Doge Marco Foscarini was born in 1695. The magnificent Ca’ Pesaro, which was designed by Baldassare Longhena, begun in 1652 and today houses the Gallery of Modern Art, is found somewhat farther down the canal. Two small houses are hinted at between Ca’ Pesaro and the equally lavish Palazzo Corner della Regina (1724-7), named after Caterina Cornaro, Queen of Cyprus, who was born on the site in 1454. In the distance can be seen the Fabbriche Nuove di Rialto, designed by Jacopino Sansovino in 1554 to serve as the seat of the magistrates in charge of all customs and duty, which today houses the Court of Venice. Along the north side of the Grand Canal are equally notable buildings, including, from the left, the Palazzi Barbarigo, Zulian, Ruoda and Gussoni Grimani della Vida. Beyond the Rio di Noale are the Palazzi Boldù Ghisi Contarini and Fontana Rezzonico, with the obelisks. Comparison with the Harvey painting demonstrates how, despite showing exactly the same stretch of the Canal, Canaletto was able to examine every detail anew and address some of the architectural inaccuracies of his earlier painting. While the viewpoint of the Harvey painting is that of a man standing in a gondola, here Canaletto has raised the viewpoint to something near twenty feet above the water level. This, in turn, necessitated that he shift the angles of all the buildings as far as the middle distance. Similarly, in the present painting Canaletto has successfully rendered the projecting marble panels at the base of the façade of the church and the moldings on the façade of the Scuola of the Gold-Beaters.

J.M.W. Turner created this magically ethereal view around 1848 as part of his very last batch of Swiss subjects. He was by then seventy-three, and no longer able to travel abroad, but his long-standing practice of setting down quick pencil sketches and watercolor impressions as he journeyed across Europe meant he was still able to summon up countless locations as vividly as if he was working on the spot. Because the watercolor only came to light in the 1860s, over a decade after Turner’s death, and had not been exhibited in his lifetime, it had not acquired an official title. Curiously, however, while its connection with Switzerland was recognised when it first appeared at Christie’s in 1865, its subject thereafter was mistakenly thought to depict Lake Nemi, the volcanic crater to the south-east of Rome. It was only as recently as 2001 that Professor David Hill proposed the scene actually depicted the Lungernsee, one of the chain of small lakes the traveller encounters when ascending from Lucerne to the Brunig Pass before going down into the Bernese Oberland at Meiringen. (See Wilton 2001, and Professor Hill’s extended discussion of a related view of the Lungernsee at Hill 2014.) One of Turner’s sketchbooks at Tate Britain charts his progress along this route, and includes a couple of views of the Lungernsee. The composition developed in the present watercolor was anticipated in a rudimentary sketch that compressed the panorama looking southwards down the lake, past the humped farmland at Bürglen on the right, and on to the enclosing slopes at Lungern, at the foot of the Brunig Pass, above which are the jagged peaks of the Wellhorn (Between Lucerne and Thun sketchbook, TB CCCXXIX f.25 a; Tate, D33181). But a closer approximation to the layout of the scenery as depicted here can be found in one of a group of color sketches, all measuring roughly 24 x 36 cms, and seemingly observed directly on the spot. (Formerly in the collection of Sir Abe Bailey, and now at the South African National Gallery, Cape Town (1517); Wilton 1979, p. 487, no. 1561. The present work and this group will also be discussed in Ian Warrell’s forthcoming article, "Turner’s Last Group of Swiss Watercolours".) As in several others of the batch, Turner established lively contrasts between mustard yellows or earthy greens and the mauve shadows infused with ultramarine, which, in the case of the Lungernsee study, are all soothed by the luminous seagreen of the lake’s waters. Many of these elements were transposed into the larger version of the scene considered here, most notably the path of reflected light from the waxing crescent moon, which recalls the subtle impact made by moonlight in a watercolor called The New Moon, one of the celebrated watercolors painted in Venice in 1840 (Christie’s, 10 July 2014, lot 209, Venice: The New Moon—The Dogana from the steps of the Hotel Europa). Compared with its preliminary sketch, the colors of The Lungernsee by

Moonlight are greatly distilled, built up in translucent washes, or with flecks of paint to evoke twilight. The surface of the paper is also rubbed or dabbed, introducing highlights, and in other places Turner left traces as he worked with his fingers. As Eric Shanes noted, "a pulsing sense of energy passes through everything" (Shanes 2008, p. 238). Yet this dynamism also relies on a rigorous planning of the underlying structure in details such as the unpainted, or reserved areas of white paper that draw attention to the brilliant snow-capped mountains. As in the series of late oil paintings in which Turner reworked much earlier Liber Studiorum images, like Norham Castle, Sunrise (c. 1845, Tate), it is debatable whether this watercolor should be considered a finished work. Its appearance was arguably complete for Turner himself (and the twenty-first century eye), but the two related Swiss subjects he produced for John Ruskin indicate that he may have given aspects of the image more definition prior to offering it to a potential collector (Wilton 1979, p. 486, nos. 1550 and 1552). By the late 1840s Turner had already treated the larger and more famous lakes of Switzerland, especially Lucerne. That fact prompted Henry Wemyss to speculate that Turner’s interest in the modest Lungernsee arose from its recent fame as the site of a widely publicised engineering project. Beginning in 1788, a scheme had got underway to lower the water level in the lake in order that the land exposed could be turned to agricultural use. In order to achieve this feat a tunnel was dug from the Sarnersee below, eventually burrowing up below the lake floor of the Lungernsee. The final stage, in January 1836, involved explosives, following which the water successfully drained away; the new level eventually settling at almost 20 meters lower than previously. This Swiss triumph was extensively reported during the next 18 months throughout Britain, so that Turner must have known of it prior to finding it discussed in his copy of Murray’s Handbook for Travellers in Switzerland (1838) (Murray pp. 59-61. For press coverage, see, for example, London Courier and Evening Gazette, 29 April 1837; Globe, 29 April 1837; Weekly True Sun, 7 May 1837; The Belfast News-Letter, 12 May 1837). Given Turner’s interest in so many contemporary progressive endeavors, it is not surprising to find him absorbing the changes wrought by this human intervention on the landscape. This is more noticeable in the preliminary color study, where the colorless flanks of the lake indicate their relative newness (see The Morning Post on 5 October 1840, which considered the visual impact regrettable, to say the least). By contrast Turner minimizes this glaring feature in The Lungernsee by Moonlight, adding figures and a herd of cows in the foreground that introduce a pastoral quality suggestive of the benefits possible for the local agricultural economy. We are grateful to Ian Warrell for his help in preparing this catalogue entry.


“[Johns’s Map paintings] struck me as the most beautiful works I had seen by a living 57

artist—until the Usuyuki series of crosshatch paintings that he did fifteen years later.”




(b. 1930) Usuyuki

signed and dated ‘Jasper Johns 1979-’81’ (on the reverse of the left canvas) triptych—oil and charcoal on canvas, in artist-appointed frame Each panel: 27¡ x 15º in. (69.5 x 38.7 cm.) Framed: 29¡ x 49º in. (74.6 x 125.1 cm.) Executed in 1979-1981 $10,000,000-15,000,000

Jasper Johns’s Usuyuki is a radically intellectual and visually captivating composition that displays the artist’s famed crosshatching motif, one that he developed and mastered over the course of a seminal decade in his career. The artist’s highly arranged, hatched, and bundled forms are at once bold, resolutely flat and grounds for a whirling threedimensionality. Steadfastly open-ended, the colored palette at hand serves as a vehicle of multiple meanings; it promotes a Duchampian viewing experience in which the feelings, thoughts, and experiences the viewer brings to the work serve to “complete” it. A rich open-endedness that emphasizes experiential perception accordingly suffuses the piece. At this stage in the artist’s career, Johns began to expand his search for inspiration, moving beyond the ubiquitous (flags, maps and numbers) to art historical and quotidian references. Johns has spoken extensively on his inspiration for the famed crosshatching that dances across this triptych, attributing the motif to a chance sighting of a car in motion on the highway that he immediately knew would make compelling fodder for the canvas. “I only saw it for a second, but I knew immediately that I was going to use it. It had all the qualities that interest me— literalness, repetitiveness, an obsessive quality, order with dumbness, and the possibility of a complete lack of meaning…with the possibilities

Jasper Johns, Usuyuki, 1977-1978. Cleveland Museum of Art. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Photo: © Cleveland Museum of Art / Leonard C. Hanna, Jr. Fund / Bridgeman Images. Edvard Munch, Self-portrait, Between the Clock and the Bed, 1940-1942. Munch Museum, Oslo. Photo: Scala / Art Resource, New York.


of gesture and the nuances that characterize the material—color, thickness, thinning—a range of shadings that become emotionally interesting” (quoted in S. Kent, “Jasper Johns: Strokes of Genius,” in K. Varnedoe, ed., Jasper Johns: Writings, Sketchbook Notes, Interviews, New York, 1996, p. 259). Johns then merged this snatched glimpse of a car on the highway with inspiration taken from iconic works including Edvard Munch’s Self-Portrait Between the Clock and the Bed, which, too, features a thinly laid bedspread patterned with Johns’s signature crosshatching trademark. Close inspection reveals the intricacy of the artist’s referential mind and the various degrees of inspiration that he coalesced to achieve what he considered to be a perfect composition. The turn of the decade at the end of the 1970s marked a clear shift in Johns’s output as he began to trade in the gestural energy of his Maps and Flags for a new language, one defined by repetition, a lack of obvious context, and unusual visual depth. Johns repeats this pattern of crosshatching in various different media over the course of this critical decade, asserting both the artist’s technical prowess and the importance of this visual iconography. This is a composition of great versatility, potential and universality, one that agreed beautifully with the artist’s working methods. During the time of the present example’s

conception, Johns was confidently executing this pattern in both prints and traditional paintings, both mediums musing off of one another. It was also to appear in another celebrated series of paintings from the 1980s, Dancers on a Plane (1980-1981, Tate Gallery, London). The name translating to “light snow” in Japanese, the title Usuyuki came to the artist as he was reading a Kabuki story of the same name that poetically contemplates the fleeting nature of life’s beauty. Here, Johns captures both the serenity of nature and the sentimentality of humanity in his choice of palette and composition. Most prominent are the hues of wintertime; icy blues and snowflake whites blanket the triptych, colliding with stormy charcoal gray passages that elucidate the feeling of an oncoming snowstorm. Beneath the snow lies a mystical range of hues that originate from every part of the rainbow. Like the sun that lies behind a storm cloud, passages of sunset orange, glowing reds, sunny yellows, spring greens and lavender purples peek through the composition. Etched irreverently onto the perfected system of crosshatchings are a number of uniformly sized circles. Like footprints in the snow, these circles walk across the triptych and offer the viewer respite in spontaneous passages as they scan this energized picture. The present painting is an example of stellar tonal and textural depth,

with Johns’s choice of oil paint and charcoal allowing him to execute a picture with enamoring turbulence. Though Johns remains devoted to the parameters of his signature crosshatching, he paints each dash with an electrifying energy. Paint runs in every direction, ricocheting off of itself and dashing in staccato sprints. In this work, Johns advances the distance placed between the artist’s hand and the canvas, foregoing gesturalism—and the associated individuality it appoints to the artist—completely; rather, Johns transforms each brushstroke into a predetermined network of patterns. Setting the foundations of Minimalism, a movement whose aim was to eradicate any hint of an artist’s intervention with pristine uniformity, Johns utilizes repetition and mirroring as a means to conceal his hand. He contains his medium and his own hand, assigning every element of the composition to this sequence. Yet, though predetermined, there is an uncanny life that Johns succeeds at breathing into this canvas, an exhaustive density of surface that buzzes with the energy of endless mark-making. A dizzying seduction of light and color, Usuyuki is like a kaleidoscope, built from recognizable elements yet ever-changing, glowing from within with the warmth of a wonderous rainbow. Jasper Johns, Between the Clock and the Bed, 1981. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Photo: © The Museum of Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Resource, New York. Jasper Johns, Dancers on a Plane, 19801981. Tate Gallery, London. © 2022 Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Photo: © Tate, London / Art Resource, New York.


58 SAM

FRANCIS (1923-1994)

Composition in Blue and Black oil on canvas 77 x 51º in. (195.6 x 130.2 cm.) Painted in 1955 $4,000,000-6,000,000

Painted in Paris in 1955, Sam Francis’s Composition in Blue and Black is a chromatically rich and sumptuous canvas that serves as a visual essay on the visceral power of color. This work was produced during a pivotal period of the artist’s career when he began to move away from painting largely dark monochromatic compositions and began unlocking his compositions to investigate the interplay of color and light. In the present work, Francis opens up his dense formal arrangement to include bursts of other colors, producing a kaleidoscopic luminosity that reverberates with optical intensity. Widely exhibited during the artist’s lifetime, this work sits at the vanguard of postwar abstract painting. Along with contemporaries such as Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollock and Grace Hartigan, Francis’s work from this period has been described as “totally ‘new’—a unique and indigenous—kind of painting… whose influence can clearly be seen in the artists of Europe as well as in other parts of the world” (Press Release, The Museum of Modern Art, New York, April 1959). Francis packs the surface of his composition with an assembly of vibrant colorful cells; pools of color that range from impenetrable jet black to regal blue, the intensity of these pigments appears to make these organic forms materially vibrate. Interspersed in between these bands of dominant color are flickers of contrasting lighter tones. Warm reds and yellows occupy the edges of the composition, whereas the center is occupied by a molten core of intense white pigment. Throughout the composition, trails of liquid paint meander throughout the surface of the work, imbuing it with a dramatic sense of energy and dynamism as the animated surface—constantly in motion—roils and churns as color bubbles up to surface.

beginning in 1950, where he fell under the spell of the French colorists such as Henri Matisse, Claude Monet and Pierre Bonnard—all artists who were sensitive to both the continuity of space and the hedonism of color. The all-over composition and the vibrant palette of color is testament to the sheer joy that Francis received from the painterly process. Although his explorations of the physical and meta-physical qualities of light are clearly underpinned by poetical and philosophical ideas, it is the skill with which he transfers these to the canvas that make Francis stand out as one of the pre-eminent colorists of the twentieth century. Whilst others explored the use of color in figurative forms, Francis felt that images, with their figurative renderings, interrupted the celebration and exploration that drive his own paintings. Composition in Blue and Black is a superb example of the artist’s infinitely subtle explorations of both color, and, crucially, the physical sensations that this formal element produced.

Claude Monet, Nymphéas, 1916. National Museum of Western Art, Tokyo.

This work is the physical manifestation of the shimmering, miragelike world of light crystallized in the form of color that Francis first experienced during a prolonged stay in hospital between 1943 and 1947. The influential curator James Johnson Sweeney explained that the artist was fascinated by the “play of light on the ceiling, the dawn sky and sunset sky effect over the Pacific, when his cot was wheeled out on the hospital balcony. What most interested him... was the quality of light itself... not just the play of light, but the substance from which light is made” (quoted in P. Selz, Sam Francis, New York, 1975, p. 34). This interest was developed further during the time that the artist spent in Paris



“The weakness of a lot of paintings today [is their] emphasis has been totally on form and not on content. It seems to me that really great pictures—and I’m interested in making pictures—must achieve a balance.” DAVID HOCKNEY


HOCKNEY (b. 1937)

The Conversation signed, titled and dated 'The Conversation 1980 David Hockney' (on the reverse) acrylic on canvas 60 x 60 in. (152.4 x 152.4 cm.) Painted in 1980 $5,000,000-7,000,000

The Conversation is one of David Hockney’s famed double-portraits, paintings which he began in the 1960s and continued to produce throughout much of his career. They feature a selection of his friends— fellow artists, curators, writers, and fashion designers—resulting in a body of work that contains some of his most intimate paintings. Works such as Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy (1970-1971, Tate Gallery, London), American Collectors (Fred & Marcia Weisman) (1968, Art Institute of Chicago), and My Parents (1977, Tate Gallery, London) offer up an examination of the human condition and the contradictions inherent in human relationships. At the same time, The Conversation is also a painterly tour-de-force combining the artist’s unique style and his riotous use of color. The tensions inherent in both the spatial and psychological relationships on display are testament to Hockney’s reputation as one of contemporary art’s most accomplished painters, and an artist who taught us all again how to look at paintings. In this evocative portrait, the curator Henry Geldzahler and the writer, curator, and editor Raymond Foye sit together, their eyes locked in an intense gaze. The positioning of Geldzahler’s body, leaning forward, his arm resting on his crossed leg, and Foye’s ponderous gaze would appear to indicate the pair have been caught in the midst of an engaging discussion, with Foye contemplating his response to Geldzahler’s vociferously put question. Such is Hockney’s skill as a David Hockney, Mr. and Mrs. Clark and Percy, 1970–1971. Tate Gallery, London. © David Hockney. Photo: Tate, London / Art Resource, New York.


painter that like the American artist Edward Hopper, the intensity of the discussion is almost palpable without hearing a word that is said. This sense of drama is enhanced by the setting, a somewhat plain room decorated with two mismatched chairs and a simple folding screen. The lack of decoration and "props" removes a layer of narrative, denying the viewer context and a chance to decipher what exactly is going on; as onlookers, our only option is to study the faces intently. As a consummate draughtsman, Hockney captures the shadows of the light falling across their features perfectly, leaving us with a lingering sense of intrigue. At the time The Conversation was painted, Henry Geldzahler was Cultural Commissioner for New York City, having left his job as the first ever curator of twentieth-century art at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1978. He was responsible for a number of landmark exhibitions at the museum including, in 1969, New York Painting and Sculpture: 1940-1970, a groundbreaking survey that revolutionized the public perception of contemporary American art. He included over four hundred works by forty-three artists such as Jasper Johns, Roy Lichtenstein, Willem de Kooning, Jackson Pollock, Andy Warhol, and Mark Rothko. He was also an early supporter of Pop Art, and Warhol famously claimed that Geldzahler gave him most of his good ideas, including that for his famous Death and Disaster series. “Everyone knew him," wrote Paul

Richard, “He dined with the best people, Claes Oldenburg and others cast him in their happenings, his photo made the papers” (“The Painter and His Subject,” The Washington Post, 30 March 1979, p. 8). His friend Raymond Foye was a writer, curator, editor and publisher. In 1980, he had moved to New York where he worked for the Petersburg Press, supervising the fine art print division. It was here that Foye came into contact with many artists of the day including Johns, Lichtenstein and Hockney himself. The present work was painted at a pivotal point in Hockney’s career, at a time when he embraced a bolder form of painting. “Van Gogh’s influence on Hockney can be seen in many pictures from this period… such as The Conversation with its bright yellow screen framing the figures and Henry Geldzahler and his new lover, the editor and publisher Raymond Foye,” writes the artist’s biographer Christopher Simon Sykes. “He began to use color at full strength and apply the paint in a much bolder fashion, making his brushstrokes more obvious” (David Hockney The Biography, 1975-2012: A Pilgrim’s Progress, London, 2014, p. 104). Hockney himself recognized this shift in his work, “I now realize sometimes I’ve been laboring over things, therefore not being expressive enough… Now what I have always longed to do was to be able to paint like I draw, most artists would tell you that, they would all like to paint like they can draw… I am beginning to find the way” (quoted in ibid., p. 105).

The intimate nature of Hockney’s portraits is derived from the fact that in most instances he was painting people he knew well. Like some of his near-contemporaries—other figurative artists such as Francis Bacon and Lucian Freud—Hockney has tended to take his subjects from the world around him. Early success led to a degree of security that meant he no longer needed commissions, meaning that—essentially—all his portraits were painted entirely for personal reasons. Speaking in 1976, four years before the present work was painted, Hockney made a statement that seemed to foreshadow the new direction he was about to take. “The weakness of a lot of paintings today [is that their] emphasis has been totally on form and not on content. It seems to me that really great pictures—and I’m interested in making pictures—must achieve a balance” (David Hockney by David Hockney, London, 1976, p. 61). The Conversation succeeds on both counts; it is simultaneously a story and an essay on the technique of painting. In this work, Hockney crystalizes the purpose of the double portrait, locating the duality not only in his choice of subject matter, but also in his approach to pictorial representation itself.

Vincent Van Gogh, Docteur Paul Gachet, 1890. Musée d’Orsay, Paris. Photo: Erich Lessing / Art Resource, NY. Edward Hopper, Nighthawks, 1942. Art Institute of Chicago. © 2022 Heirs of Josephine Hopper / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.



THIEBAUD (1920-2021) Café Cart


signed and dated '♥ Thiebaud 2012' (lower left); signed and dated again '♥ Thiebaud 2012' (on the reverse) oil on canvas 30 x 40 in. (76.2 x 101.6 cm.) Painted in 2012

MIRO (1893-1983) Oiseau signed and numbered ‘Miró 4/6’ (on the left leg); inscribed with foundry mark ‘FONDERIA BONVICINI VERONA ITALIA’ (on the right leg) bronze with dark brown patina Height: 78æ in. (200 cm.) Conceived in 1981 and cast in 1986 $4,000,000-6,000,000

Joan Miró in the Son Boter Studio, Palma de Mallorca, circa 1973. Photograph by Francesc Català-Roca. © Fons Fotogràfic F. Català-Roca - Arxiu Històric del Col·legi d’Arquitectes de Catalunya. Artwork: © Successió Miró / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris 2022.

Towards the end of his career, the distinctive figures of women and birds manifested themselves in the art of Joan Miró in a new way. These quintessential motifs appeared in three dimensions, taking the form of monumental bronze sculptures. This group of figures are often regarded as the crowning works of Miró’s career, as he created icons of femininity and the natural world with his abstract, fantastical language of form. With works such as Oiseau—other casts of which are housed in The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston and the Iris and B. Gerald Cantor Center for Visual Arts, Stanford—Miró attained an artistic freedom akin to that which he had channelled into his two-dimensional production, giving form to his world of floating, imagined signs and shapes, and in so doing, creating an entirely novel form of sculpture. As Jacques

Dupin wrote, “Miró’s approach and conception of sculpture offered him an immediate contact with a reality that, in painting, was attainable through the screen of an elaborately constructed language” (Miró, Barcelona, 2004, pp. 361 and 367). The bird is one of the most frequent motifs of Miró’s oeuvre. He regarded these animals as the connection between the earthly and cosmic realms, their capacity for flight the embodiment of the artist’s liberated, poetic visual imagination. While the scale and monumentality of the present work seems at odds with the gravity-defying nature of bird in flight, here this abstracted, anthropomorphic figure is endowed with a magnificence and timelessness, as if from a primeval era. Miró first considered creating large, free-standing sculptures in the early 1940s. In a notebook from this time, he wrote, “…it is in sculpture that I will create a truly phantasmagoric world of living monsters; what I do in painting is more conventional.” He also described his desire to build himself a “big studio, full of sculptures that give you a tremendous feeling of entering a new world… unlike the paintings that are turned facing the wall or images done on a flat surface, the sculptures must resemble living monsters who live in the studio—a world apart” (quoted in M. Rowell, ed., Joan Miró: Selected Writings and Interviews, Boston, 1986, p. 175). It was not until the 1950s that Miró finally attained this long-desired, expansively-sized studio. He found he had space and light, and, with its large windows, he drew endless inspiration from the outside world.


Presenting a dazzling display of Wayne Thiebaud’s iconic cakes and pastries, Café Cart is a nostalgic return to the artist’s origins. Painted in 2012, this work continues his painterly exploration of confectionary and baked goods as a way of capturing the contemporary zeitgeist of the American psyche. Thiebaud’s first exhibition of this subject matter at Allan Stone’s New York gallery during the early 1960s began a prodigious artistic career that would span decades, during which his continued reimagination of the traditional still-life genre would garner both delight and critical acclaim. Carefully-rendered quotidian culinary characters within Café Cart showcase Thiebaud’s artistic maturity and technical prowess, enticing the viewer visually while simultaneously eliciting sweet, hazy memories of a bygone era. Eight meticulously-plated pastries, pies, cakes and candies are carefully arranged on the top of the cart, rendered in the artist’s sensuous brushstrokes. Chromatically rich hues result in glowing silhouettes formulated by pools of cool blue and flickering strokes of yellow and green. The “halation” of these prismatic shadows have become one of Thiebaud’s most celebrated features. Glossy strokes of nearly-neon shades of green, yellow and orange conjure mouth-watering notes of citrus, while rich, chocolatey-browns and creamy pinks imbue a moist decadence. The luxuriant impasto of the meringue, glistening ooze of macerated berries, and playfully patterned candies are juxtaposed against a pressed white tablecloth, crisp both in shade and lineation. Thiebaud’s placement of the desserts in the upper half of the composition creates a lowered perspective, presenting the medley of confections at eye-level, just as the viewer would catch a glimpse of

the café cart rolling past in real time. The deep burgundy background surrounds the café cart like curtains that would frame a stage, the cart and its contents becoming the center of the viewer’s focus. “Staring fixedly at an object does something to expand time,” Thiebaud has written. “The more you look at it, the more the edges, the inside and the minute particles quiver. It is almost as if it is loaded and you recognize a kind of stillness which tends to vibrate. When I stroke around the object with a loaded paintbrush it is calculated to echo the presence of that object” (quoted in J. Coplans, Wayne Thiebaud, exh. cat., Pasadena Art Museum, 1968, p. 35-36). Thiebaud’s use of seriality and imagery rooted in objects intended for consumption reflect the artist’s background in commercial advertising that was shared by many of his contemporaries of the Pop Art movement, such as Andy Warhol and Claes Oldenburg. However, Thiebaud’s emphasis on shadow and form calls upon traditions of realism, evoking a reverence for the still lifes of Giorgio Morandi and even the Dutch Masters centuries prior. The deceptively simple subject matter is a still life reimagined, emboldening its presence as a meditative reflection on American life à laEdward Hopper and Norman Rockwell. The artist’s nuanced approach to incorporating and absorbing traditions of a variety of art historical movements produces a style which is entirely his own. Café Cart is a testament to Thiebaud’s stylistic mastery, reappraising his iconic confectionary motifs with undiminished reverence and agility to create a painting that is both emotionally evocative and visually satiating.

Wayne Thiebaud, Cakes, 1963. National Gallery, Washington, D.C. © 2022 Wayne Thiebaud / Licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY.

Not long after moving into his new studio, Miró was commissioned by Aimé Maeght to create sculpture for his foundation in the south of France. As a result, he began to work in bronze, and by the late 1960s, sculpture had come to dominate his artistic production. These three-dimensional works were comprised of two distinct types: those he initially modeled in clay, and others assembled from found objects, or “raw materials” as the artist called them. The former are, like the present work, usually smooth and exaggeratedly volumetric, their monumental forms and overt plenitude and wholeness projecting an iconic presence in the spaces in which they preside.





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6 BIDDING SERVICES The bidding services described below are a free service offered as a convenience to our clients and Christie’s is not responsible for any error (human or otherwise), omission, or breakdown in providing these services. (a)Phone Bids Your request for this service must be made no later than 24 hours prior to the auction. We will accept bids by telephone for lots only if our staff are available to take the bids. If you need to bid in a language other than in English, you must arrange this well before the auction. We may record telephone bids. By bidding on the telephone, you are agreeing to us recording your conversations. You also agree that your telephone bids are governed by these Conditions of Sale. (b)Internet Bids on Christie’s LIVE™ For certain auctions we will accept bids over the Internet. For more information, please visit https://www.christies.com/buying-services/ buying-guide/register-and-bid/. As well as these Conditions of Sale, internet bids are governed by the Christie’s LIVE™ Terms of Use which are available at https://www.christies.com/LiveBidding/ OnlineTermsOfUse.aspx. (c)Written Bids You can find a Written Bid Form at any Christie’s office, or by choosing the sale and viewing the lots online at www.christies.com. We must receive your completed Written Bid at least 24 hours before the auction. Bids must be placed in the currency of the saleroom. The auctioneer will take reasonable steps to carry out written bids at the lowest possible price, taking into account the reserve. If you make a written bid on a lot which does not have a reserve and there is no higher bid than yours, we will bid on your behalf at around 50% of the low estimate or, if lower, the amount of your bid. If we receive written bids on a lot for identical amounts, and at the auction these are the highest bids on the lot, we will sell the lot to the bidder whose written bid we received first.


4 BIDDING The auctioneer accepts bids from: (a)bidders in the saleroom; (b)telephone bidders; (c)internet bidders through Christie’s LIVE™ (as shown above in paragraph B6); and (d)written bids (also known as absentee bids or commission bids) left with us by a bidder before the auction.

5 BIDDING ON BEHALF OF THE SELLER The auctioneer may, at his or her sole option, bid on behalf of the seller up to but not including the amount of the reserve either by making consecutive bids or by making bids in response to other bidders. The auctioneer will not identify these as bids made on behalf of the seller and will not make any bid on behalf of the seller at or above the reserve. If lots are offered without reserve, the auctioneer will generally decide to open the bidding at 50% of the low estimate for the lot. If no bid is made at that level, the auctioneer may decide to go backwards at his or her sole option until a bid is made, and then continue up from that amount. In the event that there are no bids on a lot, the auctioneer may deem such lot unsold.

6 BID INCREMENTS Bidding generally starts below the low estimate and increases in steps (bid increments). The auctioneer will decide at his or her sole option where the bidding should start and the bid increments.

7 CURRENCY CONVERTER The saleroom video screens (and Christies LIVE™) may show bids in some other major currencies as well as US dollars. Any conversion is for guidance only and we cannot be bound by any rate of exchange used. Christie’s is not responsible for any error (human or otherwise), omission or breakdown in providing these services.

8 SUCCESSFUL BIDS Unless the auctioneer decides to use his or her discretion as set out in paragraph C3 above, when the auctioneer’s hammer strikes, we have accepted the last bid. This means a contract for sale has been formed between the seller and the successful bidder. We will issue an invoice only to the registered bidder who made the successful bid. While we send out invoices by mail and/or email after the auction, we do not accept responsibility for telling you whether or not your bid was successful. If you have bid by written bid, you should contact us by telephone or in person as soon as possible after the auction to get details of the outcome of your bid to avoid having to pay unnecessary storage charges.


We may, at our option, refuse admission to our premises or decline to permit participation in any auction or to reject any bid.

You agree that when bidding in any of our sales that you will strictly comply with all local laws and regulations in force at the time of the sale for the relevant sale site.



Unless otherwise indicated, all lots are subject to a reserve. We identify lots that are offered without a reserve with the symbol • next to the lot number. The reserve cannot be more than the lot’s low estimate, unless the lot is subject to a third party guarantee and the irrevocable bid exceeds the printed low estimate. In that case, the reserve will be set at the amount of the irrevocable bid. Lots which are subject to a third party guarantee arrangement are identified in the catalogue with the symbol °X.

3 AUCTIONEER’S DISCRETION The auctioneer can at his or her sole option: (a)refuse any bid; (b)move the bidding backwards or forwards in any way he or she may decide, or change the order of the lots; (c)withdraw any lot; (d)divide any lot or combine any two or more lots; (e)reopen or continue the bidding even after the hammer has fallen; and (f)in the case of error or dispute related to bidding and whether during or after the auction, continue the bidding, determine the successful bidder, cancel the sale of the lot, or reoffer and resell any lot. If you believe that the auctioneer has accepted the successful bid in error, you must provide a written notice detailing your claim within 3 business days of the date of the auction. The auctioneer will consider such claim in good faith. If the auctioneer, in the exercise of his or her discretion under this paragraph, decides after the auction is complete, to cancel the sale of a lot, or reoffer and resell a lot, he or she will notify the successful bidder no later than by the end of the 7th calendar day following the date of the auction. The auctioneer’s decision in exercise of this discretion is final. This paragraph does not in any way prejudice Christie’s ability to cancel the sale of a lot under any other applicable provision of these Conditions of Sale, including the rights of cancellation set forth in sections B(3), E(2)(i), F(4), and J(1).

In addition to the hammer price, the successful bidder agrees to pay us a buyer’s premium on the hammer price of each lot sold. On all lots we charge 26% of the hammer price up to and including US$1,000,000, 20% on that part of the hammer price over US$1,000,000 and up to and including US$6,000,000, and 14.5% of that part of the hammer price above US$6,000,000.

2 TAXES The successful bidder is responsible for any applicable taxes including any sales or use tax or equivalent tax wherever such taxes may arise on the hammer price, the buyer’s premium, and/or any other charges related to the lot. For lots Christie’s ships to or within the United States, a sales or use tax may be due on the hammer price, buyer’s premium, and/or any other charges related to the lot, regardless of the nationality or citizenship of the successful bidder. Christie’s will collect sales tax where legally required. The applicable sales tax rate will be determined based upon the state, county, or locale to which the lot will be shipped. Christie’s shall collect New York sales tax at a rate of 8.875% for any lot collected from Christie’s in New York. In accordance with New York law, if Christie’s arranges the shipment of a lot out of New York State, New York sales tax does not apply, although sales tax or other applicable taxes for other states may apply. If you hire a shipper (other than a common carrier authorized by Christie’s), to collect the lot from a Christie’s New York location, Christie’s must collect New York sales tax on the lot at a rate of 8.875% regardless of the ultimate destination of the lot. If Christie’s delivers the lot to, or the lot is collected by, any framer, restorer or other similar service provider in New York that you have hired, New York law considers the lot delivered to the successful bidder in New York and New York sales tax must be imposed regardless of the ultimate destination of the lot. In this circumstance, New York sales tax will apply to the lot even if Christie’s or a common carrier (authorized by Christie’s that you hire) subsequently delivers the lot outside New York.

Successful bidders claiming an exemption from sales tax must provide appropriate documentation to Christie’s prior to the release of the lot or within 90 days after the sale, whichever is earlier. For shipments to those states for which Christie’s is not required to collect sales tax, a successful bidder may have a use or similar tax obligation. It is the successful bidder’s responsibility to pay all taxes due. Christie’s recommends you consult your own independent tax advisor with any questions.

E WARRANTIES 1 SELLER’S WARRANTIES For each lot, the seller gives a warranty that the seller: (a) is the owner of the lot or a joint owner of the lot acting with the permission of the other co-owners or, if the seller is not the owner or a joint owner of the lot, has the permission of the owner to sell the lot, or the right to do so in law; and (b) has the right to transfer ownership of the lot to the buyer without any restrictions or claims by anyone else. (c) If either of the above warranties are incorrect, the seller shall not have to pay more than the purchase price (as defined in paragraph F1(a) below) paid by you to us. The seller will not be responsible to you for any reason for loss of profits or business, expected savings, loss of opportunity or interest, costs, damages, other damages or expenses. The seller gives no warranty in relation to any lot other than as set out above and, as far as the seller is allowed by law, all warranties from the seller to you, and all other obligations upon the seller which may be added to this agreement by law, are excluded.

2 OUR AUTHENTICITY WARRANTY We warrant, subject to the terms below, that the lots in our sales are authentic (our “authenticity warranty”). If, within 5 years of the date of the auction, you give notice to us that your lot is not authentic, subject to the terms below, we will refund the purchase price paid by you. The meaning of authentic can be found in the glossary at the end of these Conditions of Sale. The terms of the authenticity warranty are as follows: (a) It will be honored for claims notified within a period of 5 years from the date of the auction. After such time, we will not be obligated to honor the authenticity warranty. (b) It is given only for information shown in UPPERCASE type in the first line of the catalogue description (the “Heading”). It does not apply to any information other than in the Heading even if shown in UPPERCASE type. (c) The authenticity warranty does not apply to any Heading or part of a Heading which is qualified. Qualified means limited by a clarification in a lot’s catalogue description or by the use in a Heading of one of the terms listed in the section titled Qualified Headings on the page of the catalogue headed “Important Notices and Explanation of Cataloguing Practice”. For example, use of the term “ATTRIBUTED TO…” in a Heading means that the lot is in Christie’s opinion probably a work by the named artist but no warranty is provided that the lot is the work of the named artist. Please read the full list of Qualified Headings and a lot’s full catalogue description before bidding. (d) The authenticity warranty applies to the Heading as amended by any Saleroom notice. (e) The authenticity warranty does not apply where scholarship has developed since the auction leading to a change in generally accepted opinion. Further, it does not apply if the Heading either matched the generally accepted opinion of experts at the date of the auction or drew attention to any conflict of opinion. (f) The authenticity warranty does not apply if the lot can only be shown not to be authentic by a scientific process which, on the date we published the catalogue, was not available or generally accepted for use, or which was unreasonably expensive or impractical, or which was likely to have damaged the lot. (g) The benefit of the authenticity warranty is only available to the original buyer shown on the invoice for the lot issued at the time of the sale and only if on the date of the notice of claim, the original buyer is the full owner of the lot and the lot is free from any claim, interest or restriction by anyone else. The benefit of this authenticity warranty may not be transferred to anyone else. (h) In order to claim under the authenticity warranty you must: (i) give us written notice of your claim within 5 years of the date of the auction. We may require full details and supporting evidence of any such claim; (ii) at Christie’s option, we may require you to provide the written opinions of two recognised experts in the field of the lot mutually agreed by you and us in advance confirming that the lot is not authentic. If we have any doubts, we reserve the right to obtain additional opinions at our expense; and (iii) return the lot at your expense to the saleroom from which you bought it in the condition it was in at the time of sale. (i) Your only right under this authenticity warranty is to cancel the sale and receive a refund of the purchase price paid by you to us. We will not, under any circumstances, be required to pay you more than the purchase price nor will we be liable for any loss of profits or business, loss of opportunity or value, expected savings or interest, costs, damages, other damages or expenses.

(j) Books. Where the lot is a book, we give an additional warranty for 21 days from the date of the auction that if any lot is defective in text or illustration, we will refund your purchase price, subject to the following terms: (a)This additional warranty does not apply to: (i) the absence of blanks, half titles, tissue guards or advertisements, damage in respect of bindings, stains, spotting, marginal tears or other defects not affecting completeness of the text or illustration; (ii) drawings, autographs, letters or manuscripts, signed photographs, music, atlases, maps or periodicals; (iii) books not identified by title; (iv) lots sold without a printed estimate; (v) books which are described in the catalogue as sold not subject to return; or (vi) defects stated in any condition report or announced at the time of sale. (b)To make a claim under this paragraph you must give written details of the defect and return the lot to the sale room at which you bought it in the same condition as at the time of sale, within 21 days of the date of the sale. (k) South East Asian Modern and Contemporary Art and Chinese Calligraphy and Painting. In these categories, the authenticity warranty does not apply because current scholarship does not permit the making of definitive statements. Christie’s does, however, agree to cancel a sale in either of these two categories of art where it has been proven the lot is a forgery. Christie’s will refund to the original buyer the purchase price in accordance with the terms of Christie’s Authenticity warranty, provided that the original buyer notifies us with full supporting evidence documenting the forgery claim within twelve (12) months of the date of the auction. Such evidence must be satisfactory to us that the property is a forgery in accordance with paragraph E2(h)(ii) above and the property must be returned to us in accordance with E2h(iii) above. Paragraphs E2(b), (c), (d), (e), (f) and (g) and (i) also apply to a claim under these categories. (l) Chinese, Japanese and Korean artefacts (excluding Chinese, Japanese and Korean calligraphy, paintings, prints, drawings and jewellery). In these categories, paragraph E2 (b) – (e) above shall be amended so that where no maker or artist is identified, the authenticity warranty is given not only for the Heading but also for information regarding date or period shown in UPPERCASE type in the second line of the catalogue description (the “Subheading”). Accordingly, all references to the Heading in paragraph E2 (b) – (e) above shall be read as references to both the Heading and the Subheading.


4 YOUR WARRANTIES (a) You warrant that the funds used for settlement are not connected with any criminal activity, including tax evasion, and you are neither under investigation, nor have you been charged with or convicted of money laundering, terrorist activities or other crimes. (b) Where you are bidding on behalf of another person, you warrant that: (i) you have conducted appropriate customer due diligence on the ultimate buyer(s) of the lot(s) in accordance with all applicable anti-money laundering and sanctions laws, consent to us relying on this due diligence, and you will retain for a period of not less than 5 years the documentation evidencing the due diligence. You will make such documentation promptly available for immediate inspection by an independent thirdparty auditor upon our written request to do so; (ii) the arrangements between you and the ultimate buyer(s) in relation to the lot or otherwise do not, in whole or in part, facilitate tax crimes; (iii) you do not know, and have no reason to suspect, that the funds used for settlement are connected with, the proceeds of any criminal activity, including tax evasion, or that the ultimate buyer(s) are under investigation, or have been charged with or convicted of money laundering, terrorist activities or other crimes.

F PAYMENT 1 HOW TO PAY (a) Immediately following the auction, you must pay the purchase price being: (i) the hammer price; and (ii) the buyer’s premium; and (iii) any applicable duties, goods, sales, use, compensating or service tax, or VAT. Payment is due no later than by the end of the 7th calendar day following the date of the auction (the “due date”). (b) We will only accept payment from the registered bidder. Once issued, we cannot change the buyer’s name on an invoice or re-issue the invoice in a different

name. You must pay immediately even if you want to export the lot and you need an export licence. (c) You must pay for lots bought at Christie’s in the United States in the currency stated on the invoice in one of the following ways: (i) Wire transfer JP Morgan Chase Bank, N.A., 270 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017; ABA# 021000021; FBO: Christie’s Inc.; Account # 957-107978, for international transfers, SWIFT: CHASUS33. (ii) Credit Card We accept Visa, MasterCard, American Express and China Union Pay. Credit card payments at the New York premises will only be accepted for New York sales. Christie’s will not accept credit card payments for purchases in any other sale site. (iii) Cash We accept cash payments (including money orders and traveller’s checks) subject to a maximum global aggregate of US$7,500 per buyer. (iv) Bank Checks You must make these payable to Christie’s Inc. and there may be conditions. Once we have deposited your check, property cannot be released until five business days have passed. (v) Checks You must make checks payable to Christie’s Inc. and they must be drawn from US dollar accounts from a US bank. (d) You must quote the sale number, your invoice number and client number when making a payment. All payments sent by post must be sent to: Christie’s Inc. Post-Sale Services, 20 Rockefeller Center, New York, NY 10020. (e) For more information please contact our Post-Sale Services by phone at +1 212 636 2650 or fax at +1 212 636 4939 or email PostSaleUS@christies.com. (f) Cryptocurrency (if applicable): You may either pay for a lot in the currency of the sale or by a cryptocurrency permitted by us. The invoice will set forth the purchase price in the currency of the sale and where permitted by us, a specified cryptocurrency. Partial payment in cryptocurrency is not permitted. Where the purchase price is payable in a specified cryptocurrency, the invoice will include both the amount due in the currency of the sale as well as a cryptocurrency amount. The cryptocurrency amount will be calculated by us based on the most recent published CME CF Ether-Dollar Reference Rate (BRR and ETHUSD_RR) index rate as determined by us, and will be disclosed in the invoice. The amount of cryptocurrency specified in the invoice is the amount of cryptocurrency that must be paid to us if that is the payment option you select regardless of whether the conversion rate at the time of auction or when you pay the invoice or at any other time is different. In the event that we are required to return any amounts to you hereunder, you agree to receive such amounts in the fiat amount of the saleroom.

2 TRANSFERRING OWNERSHIP TO YOU You will not own the lot and ownership of the lot will not pass to you until we have received full and clear payment of the purchase price, even in circumstances where we have released the lot to you.

3 TRANSFERRING RISK TO YOU The risk in and responsibility for the lot will transfer to you from whichever is the earlier of the following: (a) When you collect the lot; or (b) At the end of the 30th day following the date of the auction or, if earlier, the date the lot is taken into care by a third party warehouse as set out on the page headed ‘Storage and Collection’, unless we have agreed otherwise with you.

4 WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU DO NOT PAY (a) If you fail to pay us the purchase price in full by the due date, we will be entitled to do one or more of the following (as well as enforce our rights under paragraph F5 and any other rights or remedies we have by law): (i) we can charge interest from the due date at a rate of up to 1.34% per month on the unpaid amount due; (ii) we can cancel the sale of the lot. If we do this, we may sell the lot again, publically or privately on such terms we shall think necessary or appropriate, in which case you must pay us any shortfall between the purchase price and the proceeds from the resale. You must also pay all costs, expenses, losses, damages and legal fees we have to pay or may suffer and any shortfall in the seller’s commission on the resale; (iii) we can pay the seller an amount up to the net proceeds payable in respect of the amount bid by your default in which case you acknowledge and understand that Christie’s will have all of the rights of the seller to pursue you for such amounts; (iv) we can hold you legally responsible for the purchase price and may begin legal proceedings to recover it together with other losses, interest, legal fees and costs as far as we are allowed by law; (v) we can take what you owe us from any amounts which we or any company in the Christie’s Group

may owe you (including any deposit or other partpayment which you have paid to us); (vi) we can, at our option, reveal your identity and contact details to the seller; (vii) we can reject at any future auction any bids made by or on behalf of the buyer or to obtain a deposit from the buyer before accepting any bids; (viii) we can exercise all the rights and remedies of a person holding security over any property in our possession owned by you, whether by way of pledge, security interest or in any other way as permitted by the law of the place where such property is located. You will be deemed to have granted such security to us and we may retain such property as collateral security for your obligations to us; and (ix) we can take any other action we see necessary or appropriate. (b) If you owe money to us or to another Christie’s Group company, we can use any amount you do pay, including any deposit or other part-payment you have made to us, or which we owe you, to pay off any amount you owe to us or another Christie’s Group company for any transaction.

5 KEEPING YOUR PROPERTY If you owe money to us or to another Christie’s Group company, as well as the rights set out in F4 above, we can use or deal with any of your property we hold or which is held by another Christie’s Group company in any way we are allowed to by law. We will only release your property to you after you pay us or the relevant Christie’s Group company in full for what you owe. However, if we choose, we can also sell your property in any way we think appropriate. We will use the proceeds of the sale against any amounts you owe us and we will pay any amount left from that sale to you. If there is a shortfall, you must pay us any difference between the amount we have received from the sale and the amount you owe us.

G COLLECTION AND STORAGE (a) You must collect purchased lots within seven days from the auction (but note that lots will not be released to you until you have made full and clear payment of all amounts due to us). (b) Information on collecting lots is set out on the storage and collection page and on an information sheet which you can get from the bidder registration staff or Christie’s Post-Sale Services Department on +1 212 636 2650. (c) If you do not collect any lot within thirty days following the auction we may, at our option (i) charge you storage costs at the rates set out at www.christies.com/storage. (ii) move the lot to another Christie’s location or an affiliate or third party warehouse and charge you transport costs and administration fees for doing so and you will be subject to the third party storage warehouse’s standard terms and to pay for their standard fees and costs. (iii) sell the lot in any commercially reasonable way we think appropriate. (d) The Storage conditions which can be found at www. christies.com/storage will apply. (e) In accordance with New York law, if you have paid for the lot in full but you do not collect the lot within 180 calendar days of payment, we may charge you New York sales tax for the lot. (f) Nothing in this paragraph is intended to limit our rights under paragraph F4.

H TRANSPORT AND SHIPPING 1 SHIPPING We would be happy to assist in making shipping arrangements on request. You must make all transport and shipping arrangements. However, we can arrange to pack, transport, and ship your property if you ask us to and pay the costs of doing so. We recommend that you ask us for an estimate, especially for any large items or items of high value that need professional packing. We may also suggest other handlers, packers, transporters, or experts if you ask us to do so. For more information, please contact Christie’s Post-Sale Services at +1 212 636 2650. See the information set out at https://www.christies. com/buying-services/buying-guide/ship/ or contact us at PostSaleUS@christies.com. We will take reasonable care when we are handling, packing, transporting, and shipping. However, if we recommend another company for any of these purposes, we are not responsible for their acts, failure to act, or neglect.

2 EXPORT AND IMPORT Any lot sold at auction may be affected by laws on exports from the country in which it is sold and the import restrictions of other countries. Many countries require a declaration of export for property leaving the country and/or an import declaration on entry of property into the country. Local laws may prevent you from importing a lot or may prevent you selling a lot in the country you import it into. (a) You alone are responsible for getting advice about and meeting the requirements of any laws or regulations which apply to exporting or importing any lot prior to bidding. If you are refused a licence or there is a delay in getting one, you must still pay us in full for the lot. We may be able to help you apply for the appropriate licences if you ask us to and pay our fee for doing so. However, we cannot guarantee that you will get one. For more information, please contact Christie’s PostSale Services Department at +1 212 636 2650 and


PostSaleUS@christies.com. See the information set out at https://www. christies.com/buying-services/buying-guide/ ship/ or contact us at PostSaleUS@christies.com. (b) You alone are responsible for any applicable taxes, tariffs or other government-imposed charges relating to the export or import of the lot. If Christie’s exports or imports the lot on your behalf, and if Christie’s pays these applicable taxes, tariffs or other governmentimposed charges, you agree to refund that amount to Christie’s. (c) Endangered and protected species Lots made of or including (regardless of the percentage) endangered and other protected species of wildlife are marked with the symbol ~ in the catalogue. This material includes, among other things, ivory, tortoiseshell, crocodile skin, rhinoceros horn, whalebone certain species of coral, and Brazilian rosewood. You should check the relevant customs laws and regulations before bidding on any lot containing wildlife material if you plan to import the lot into another country. Several countries refuse to allow you to import property containing these materials, and some other countries require a licence from the relevant regulatory agencies in the countries of exportation as well as importation. In some cases, the lot can only be shipped with an independent scientific confirmation of species and/or age, and you will need to obtain these at your own cost. (d) Lots containing Ivory or materials resembling ivory If a lot contains elephant ivory, or any other wildlife material that could be confused with elephant ivory (for example, mammoth ivory, walrus ivory, helmeted hornbill ivory) you may be prevented from exporting the lot from the US or shipping it between US States without first confirming its species by way of a rigorous scientific test acceptable to the applicable Fish and Wildlife authorities. You will buy that lot at your own risk and be responsible for any scientific test or other reports required for export from the USA or between US States at your own cost. We will not be obliged to cancel your purchase and refund the purchase price if your lot may not be exported, imported or shipped between US States, or it is seized for any reason by a government authority. It is your responsibility to determine and satisfy the requirements of any applicable laws or regulations relating to interstate shipping, export or import of property containing such protected or regulated material. (e) Lots of Iranian origin Some countries prohibit or restrict the purchase, export and/or import of Iranian-origin “works of conventional craftsmanship” (works that are not by a recognized artist and/or that have a function, (for example: carpets, bowls, ewers, tiles, ornamental boxes). For example, the USA prohibits the import and export of this type of property without a license issued by the US Department of the Treasury, Office of Foreign Assets Control. Other countries, such as Canada, only permit the import of this property in certain circumstances. As a convenience to buyers, Christie’s indicates under the title of a lot if the lot originates from Iran (Persia). It is your responsibility to ensure you do not bid on or import a lot in contravention of the sanctions or trade embargoes that apply to you. (f) Gold Gold of less than 18ct does not qualify in all countries as ‘gold’ and may be refused import into those countries as ‘gold’. (g) Watches Many of the watches offered for sale in this catalogue are pictured with straps made of endangered or protected animal materials such as alligator or crocodile. These lots are marked with the symbol Ψ in the catalogue. These endangered species straps are shown for display purposes only and are not for sale. Christie’s will remove and retain the strap prior to shipment from the sale site. At some sale sites, Christie’s may, at its discretion, make the displayed endangered species strap available to the buyer of the lot free of charge if collected in person from the sale site within 1 year of the date of the auction. Please check with the department for details on a particular lot. For all symbols and other markings referred to in paragraph H2, please note that lots are marked as a convenience to you, but we do not accept liability for errors or for failing to mark lots.



(a) We give no warranty in relation to any statement made, or information given, by us or our representatives or employees, about any lot other than as set out in the authenticity warranty and, as far as we are allowed by law, all warranties and other terms which may be added to this agreement by law are excluded. The seller’s warranties contained in paragraph E1 are their own and we do not have any liability to you in relation to those warranties. (b) (i) We are not responsible to you for any reason (whether for breaking this agreement or any other matter relating to your purchase of, or bid for, any

lot) other than in the event of fraud or fraudulent misrepresentation by us or other than as expressly set out in these conditions of sale; and (ii) we do not give any representation, warranty or guarantee or assume any liability of any kind in respect of any lot with regard to merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose, description, size, quality, condition, attribution, authenticity, rarity, importance, medium, provenance, exhibition history, literature, or historical relevance. Except as required by local law, any warranty of any kind is excluded by this paragraph. (c) In particular, please be aware that our written and telephone bidding services, Christie’s LIVE™, condition reports, currency converter and saleroom video screens are free services and we are not responsible to you for any error (human or otherwise), omission or breakdown in these services. (d) We have no responsibility to any person other than a buyer in connection with the purchase of any lot. (e) If, in spite of the terms in paragraphs I(a) to (d) or E2(i) above, we are found to be liable to you for any reason, we shall not have to pay more than the purchase price paid by you to us. We will not be responsible to you for any reason for loss of profits or business, loss of opportunity or value, expected savings or interest, costs, other damages, or expenses.

J OTHER TERMS 1 OUR ABILITY TO CANCEL In addition to the other rights of cancellation contained in this agreement, we can cancel a sale of a lot if : (i) any of your warranties in paragraph E4 are not correct; (ii) we reasonably believe that completing the transaction is, or may be, unlawful; or (iii) we reasonably believe that the sale places us or the seller under any liability to anyone else or may damage our reputation.

2 RECORDINGS We may videotape and record proceedings at any auction. We will keep any personal information confidential, except to the extent disclosure is required by law. However, we may, through this process, use or share these recordings with another Christie’s Group company and marketing partners to analyse our customers and to help us to tailor our services for buyers. If you do not want to be videotaped, you may make arrangements to make a telephone or written bid or bid on Christie’s LIVE™ instead. Unless we agree otherwise in writing, you may not videotape or record proceedings at any auction.

3 COPYRIGHT We own the copyright in all images, illustrations and written material produced by or for us relating to a lot (including the contents of our catalogues unless otherwise noted in the catalogue). You cannot use them without our prior written permission. We do not offer any guarantee that you will gain any copyright or other reproduction rights to the lot.

4 ENFORCING THIS AGREEMENT If a court finds that any part of this agreement is not valid or is illegal or impossible to enforce, that part of the agreement will be treated as being deleted and the rest of this agreement will not be affected.


controversy or claim is related to proceedings brought by someone else and this dispute could be joined to those proceedings), we agree we will each try to settle the Dispute by mediation submitted to JAMS, or its successor, for mediation in New York. If the Dispute is not settled by mediation within 60 days from the date when mediation is initiated, then the Dispute shall be submitted to JAMS, or its successor, for final and binding arbitration in accordance with its Comprehensive Arbitration Rules and Procedures or, if the Dispute involves a non-U.S. party, the JAMS International Arbitration Rules. The seat of the arbitration shall be New York and the arbitration shall be conducted by one arbitrator, who shall be appointed within 30 days after the initiation of the arbitration. The language used in the arbitral proceedings shall be English. The arbitrator shall order the production of documents only upon a showing that such documents are relevant and material to the outcome of the Dispute. The arbitration shall be confidential, except to the extent necessary to enforce a judgment or where disclosure is required by law. The arbitration award shall be final and binding on all parties involved. Judgment upon the award may be entered by any court having jurisdiction thereof or having jurisdiction over the relevant party or its assets. This arbitration and any proceedings conducted hereunder shall be governed by Title 9 (Arbitration) of the United States Code and by the United Nations Convention on the Recognition and Enforcement of Foreign Arbitral Awards of June 10, 1958.

saleroom notice: a written notice posted next to the lot in the saleroom and on www.christies.com, which is also read to prospective telephone bidders and notified to clients who have left commission bids, or an announcement made by the auctioneer either at the beginning of the sale, or before a particular lot is auctioned. subheading: has the meaning given to it in paragraph E2. UPPER CASE type: means having all capital letters. warranty: a statement or representation in which the person making it guarantees that the facts set out in it are correct.




6 Property in which Christie’s has an ownership or financial interest

Name(s) or Recognised Designation of an artist without any qualification: in Christie’s opinion a work by the artist.

“Boucheron”: when maker’s name appears in the title, in Christie’s opinion it is by that maker.

From time to time, Christie’s may offer a lot in which Christie’s has an ownership interest or a financial interest. Such property is identified in the catalogue with the symbol 6 next to its lot number. Where Christie’s has an ownership or financial interest in every lot in the catalogue, Christie’s will not designate each lot with a symbol, but will state its interest in the front of the catalogue.


“Mount by Boucheron”: in Christie’s opinion the setting has been created by the jeweller using stones originally supplied by the jeweller’s client.

º Minimum Price Guarantees On occasion, Christie’s has a direct financial interest in the outcome of the sale of certain lots consigned for sale. This will usually be where it has guaranteed to the Seller that whatever the outcome of the auction, the Seller will receive a minimum sale price for the work. This is known as a minimum price guarantee. Where Christie’s holds such financial interest we identify such lots with the symbol º next to the lot number.

º ♦ Third Party Guarantees/Irrevocable bids Where Christie’s has provided a Minimum Price Guarantee, it is at risk of making a loss which can be significant if the lot fails to sell. Christie’s sometimes chooses to share that risk with a third party who agrees prior to the auction to place an irrevocable written bid on the lot. If there are no other higher bids, the third party commits to buy the lot at the level of their irrevocable written bid. In doing so, the third party takes on all or part of the risk of the lot not being sold. Lots which are subject to a third party guarantee arrangement are identified in the catalogue with the symbol º ♦.

10 REPORTING ON WWW.CHRISTIES.COM Details of all lots sold by us, including catalogue descriptions and prices, may be reported on www. christies.com. Sales totals are hammer price plus buyer’s premium and do not reflect costs, financing fees, or application of buyer’s or seller’s credits. We regret that we cannot agree to requests to remove these details from www.christies.com.


In most cases, Christie’s compensates the third party in exchange for accepting this risk. Where the third party is the successful bidder, the third party’s remuneration is based on a fixed financing fee. If the third party is not the successful bidder, the remuneration may either be based on a fixed fee or an amount calculated against the final hammer price. The third party may continue to bid for the lot above the irrevocable written bid.

auctioneer: the individual auctioneer and/or Christie’s. authentic: a genuine example, rather than a copy or forgery of: (i) the work of a particular artist, author or manufacturer, if the lot is described in the Heading as the work of that artist, author or manufacturer; (ii) a work created within a particular period or culture, if the lot is described in the Heading as a work created during that period or culture; (iii) a work for a particular origin source if the lot is described in the Heading as being of that origin or source; or (iv) in the case of gems, a work which is made of a particular material, if the lot is described in the Heading as being made of that material. authenticity warranty: the guarantee we give in this agreement that a lot is authentic as set out in paragraph E2 of this agreement.

Third party guarantors are required by us to disclose to anyone they are advising their financial interest in any lots they are guaranteeing. However, for the avoidance of any doubt, if you are advised by or bidding through an agent on a lot identified as being subject to a third party guarantee you should always ask your agent to confirm whether or not he or she has a financial interest in relation to the lot.

¤ Bidding by interested parties When a party with a direct or indirect interest in the lot who may have knowledge of the lot’s reserve or other material information may be bidding on the lot, we will mark the lot with this symbol ¤. This interest can include beneficiaries of an estate that consigned the lot or a joint owner of a lot. Any interested party that successfully bids on a lot must comply with Christie’s Conditions of Sale, including paying the lot’s full buyer’s premium plus applicable taxes.

buyer’s premium: the charge the buyer pays us along with the hammer price. catalogue description: the description of a lot in the catalogue for the auction, as amended by any saleroom notice.

Post-catalogue notifications

condition: the physical condition of a lot.

In certain instances, after the catalogue has been published, Christie’s may enter into an arrangement or become aware of bidding that would have required a catalogue symbol. In those instances, a pre-sale or pre-lot announcement will be made

due date: has the meaning given to it paragraph F1(a).

Other Arrangements

If we have provided a translation of this agreement, we will use this original version in deciding any issues or disputes which arise under this agreement.

estimate: the price range included in the catalogue or any saleroom notice within which we believe a lot may sell. Low estimate means the lower figure in the range and high estimate means the higher figure. The mid estimate is the midpoint between the two.


hammer price: the amount of the highest bid the auctioneer accepts for the sale of a lot.

Christie’s may enter into other arrangements not involving bids. These include arrangements where Christie’s has advanced money to consignors or prospective purchasers or where Christie’s has shared the risk of a guarantee with a partner without the partner being required to place an irrevocable written bid or otherwise participating in the bidding on the lot. Because such arrangements are unrelated to the bidding process they are not marked with a symbol in the catalogue.

You may not grant a security over or transfer your rights or responsibilities under these terms on the contract of sale with the buyer unless we have given our written permission. This agreement will be binding on your successors or estate and anyone who takes over your rights and responsibilities.


We will hold and process your personal information and may pass it to another Christie’s Group company for use as described in, and in line with, our privacy notice at www.christies.com/about-us/contact/privacy and if you are a resident of California you can see a copy of our California Consumer Privacy Act statement at https:// www.christies.com/about-us/contact/ccpa.

8 WAIVER No failure or delay to exercise any right or remedy provided under these Conditions of Sale shall constitute a waiver of that or any other right or remedy, nor shall it prevent or restrict the further exercise of that or any other right or remedy. No single or partial exercise of such right or remedy shall prevent or restrict the further exercise of that or any other right or remedy.

9 LAW AND DISPUTES This agreement, and any non-contractual obligations arising out of or in connection with this agreement, or any other rights you may have relating to the purchase of a lot (the “Dispute”) will be governed by the laws of New York. Before we or you start any court proceedings (except in the limited circumstances where the dispute,

Christie’s Group: Christie’s International Plc, its subsidiaries and other companies within its corporate group.

Heading: has the meaning given to it in paragraph E2. lot: an item to be offered at auction (or two or more items to be offered at auction as a group). other damages: any special, consequential, incidental or indirect damages of any kind or any damages which fall within the meaning of ‘special’, ‘incidental’ or ‘consequential’ under local law. purchase price: has the meaning given to it in paragraph F1(a). provenance: the ownership history of a lot. qualified: has the meaning given to it in paragraph E2 and Qualified Headings means the paragraph headed Qualified Headings on the page of the catalogue headed ‘Important Notices and Explanation of Cataloguing Practice’. reserve: the confidential amount below which we will not sell a lot.




“Attributed to …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion probably a work by the artist in whole or in part. “Studio of …”/“Workshop of …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a work executed in the studio or workshop of the artist, possibly under his supervision.

QUALIFIED HEADINGS “Signed Boucheron / Signature Boucheron”: in Christie’s qualified opinion has a signature by the jeweller.

“Circle of …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a work of the period of the artist and showing his influence.

“With maker’s mark for Boucheron”: in Christie’s qualified opinion has a mark denoting the maker.

“Follower of… ”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a work executed in the artist’s style but not necessarily by a pupil.


“Manner of… ”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a work executed in the artist’s style but of a later date. “After …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a copy (of any date) of a work of the artist. “Signed …”/“Dated …”/ “Inscribed …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion the work has been signed/dated/inscribed by the artist. “With signature …”/“With date …”/ “With inscription …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion the signature/ date/inscription appears to be by a hand other than that of the artist. The date given for Old Master, Modern and Contemporary Prints is the date (or approximate date when prefixed with ‘circa’) on which the matrix was worked and not necessarily the date when the impression was printed or published.

CHINESE CERAMICS AND WORKS OF ART When a piece is, in Christie’s opinion, of a certain period, reign or dynasty, its attribution appears in uppercase letters directly below the Heading of the description of the lot. e.g. A BLUE AND WHITE BOWL 18TH CENTURY If the date, period or reign mark mentioned in uppercase letters after the bold type first line states that the mark is of the period, then in Christie’s opinion, the piece is of the date, period or reign of the mark. e.g. A BLUE AND WHITE BOWL KANGXI SIX-CHARACTER MARK IN UNDERGLAZE BLUE AND OF THE PERIOD (1662-1722) If no date, period or reign mark is mentioned in uppercase letters after the bold description, in Christie’s opinion it is of uncertain date or late manufacture. e.g. A BLUE AND WHITE BOWL

QUALIFIED HEADINGS When a piece is, in Christie’s opinion, not of the period to which it would normally be attributed on stylistic grounds, this will be incorporated into the first line or the body of the text of the description. e.g. A BLUE AND WHITE MING-STYLE BOWL; or The Ming-style bowl is decorated with lotus scrolls… In Christie’s qualified opinion this object most probably dates from Kangxi period but there remains the possibility that it may be dated differently. e.g. KANGXI SIX-CHARACTER MARK IN UNDERGLAZE BLUE AND PROBABLY OF THE PERIOD In Christie’s qualified opinion, this object could be dated to the Kangxi period but there is a strong element of doubt. e.g. KANGXI SIX-CHARACTER MARK IN UNDERGLAZE BLUE AND POSSIBLY OF THE PERIOD



Terms used in a catalogue or lot description have the meanings ascribed to them below. Please note that all statements in a catalogue or lot description as to authorship are made subject to the provisions of the Conditions of Sale, including the authenticity warranty. Our use of these expressions does not take account of the condition of the lot or of the extent of any restoration. Written condition reports are usually available on request.


A term and its definition listed under ‘Qualified Headings’ is a qualified statement as to authorship. While the use of this term is based upon careful study and represents the opinion of specialists, Christie’s and the consignor assume no risk, liability and responsibility for the authenticity of authorship of any lot in this catalogue described by this term, and the authenticity warranty shall not be available with respect to lots described using this term.

“In the style of …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a work of the period of the master and closely related to his style.

“Marked Fabergé, Workmaster …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion a work of the master’s workshop inscribed with his name or initials and his workmaster’s initials. “By Fabergé …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion, a work of the master’s workshop, but without his mark.

“Bearing marks …”: in Christie’s qualified opinion not a work of the master’s workshop and bearing later marks.

Art Nouveau 1895-1910 Belle Epoque 1895-1914 Art Deco 1915-1935 Retro 1940s

HANDBAGS Condition Reports The condition of lots sold in our auctions can vary widely due to factors such as age, previous damage, restoration, repair and wear and tear. Condition reports and grades are provided free of charge as a courtesy and convenience to our buyers and are for guidance only. They offer our honest opinion but they may not refer to all faults, restoration, alteration or adaptation. They are not an alternative to examining a lot in person or taking your own professional advice. Lots are sold “as is,” in the condition they are in at the time of the sale, without any representation or warranty as to condition by Christie’s or by the seller. Grades in Condition Reports We provide a general, numeric condition grade to help with overall condition guidance. Please review the specific condition report and extra images for each lot before bidding. Grade 1: this item exhibits no signs of use or wear and could be considered as new. There are no flaws. Original packaging and protective plastic are likely intact as noted in the lot description. Grade 2: this item exhibits minor flaws and could be considered nearly brand new. It may never have been used, or may have been used a few times. There are only minor condition notes, which can be found in the specific condition report. Grade 3: this item exhibits visible signs of use. Any signs of use or wear are minor. This item is in good condition. Grade 4: this item exhibits wear from frequent use. This item either has light overall wear or small areas of heavy wear. The item is considered to be in fair condition. Grade 5: this item exhibits normal wear and tear from regular or heavy use. The item is in good, usable condition but it does have condition notes. Grade 6: this item is damaged and requires repair. It is considered in fair condition. Any reference to condition in a catalogue entry will not amount to a full description of condition, and images may not show the condition of a lot clearly. Colours and shades may look different in print or on screen to how they look in real life. It is your responsibility to ensure that you have received and considered any condition report and grading. References to “HARDWARE” Where used in this catalogue the term “hardware” refers to the metallic parts of the bag, such as the buckle hardware, base studs, lock and keys and /or strap, which are plated with a coloured finish (e.g. gold, silver, palladium). The terms “Gold Hardware”, “Silver Hardware”, “Palladium Hardware” etc. refer to the tone or colour of the hardware and not the actual material used. If the bag incorporates solid metal hardware this will be referenced in the lot description.

POST 1950 FURNITURE All items of post-1950 furniture included in this sale are items either not originally supplied for use in a private home or sold as collector’s items. These items may not comply with the provisions of the Furniture and Furnishings (Fire) (Safety) Regulations 1988 (as amended in 1989, 1993 and 2010, the “Regulations”). Accordingly, these items should not be used as furniture in your home in their current condition. If you do intend to use such items for this purpose, you must first ensure that they are reupholstered, restuffed and/or recovered (as appropriate) in order that they comply with the provisions of the Regulations.



SYMBOLS USED IN THIS CATALOGUE The meaning of words coloured in bold in this section can be found at the end of the section of the catalogue headed ‘Conditions of Sale’

IDENTITY VERIFICATION From January 2020, new anti-money laundering regulations require Christie’s and other art businesses to verify the identity of all clients. To register as a new client, you will need to provide the following documents, or if you are an existing client, you will be prompted to provide any outstanding documents the next time you transact. Private individuals: • A copy of your passport or other government-issued photo ID • Proof of your residential address (such as a bank statement or utility bill) dated within the last three months Please upload your documents through your christies.com account: click ‘My Account’ followed by ‘Complete Profile’. You can also email your documents to info@christies.com or provide them in person.


Christie’s has a direct financial interest in the lot. See Important Notices and Explanation of Cataloguing Practice.

Lot offered without reserve which will be sold to the highest bidder regardless of the pre-sale estimate in the catalogue.



Properties in which Christie’s or another Christie’s Group companyhas an ownership or financial interest. See Important Notices and Explanation of Cataloguing Practice.


Christie’s has a direct financial interest in the lot and has funded all or part of our interest with the help of someone else. See Important Notices and Explanation of Cataloguing Practice.


Lot incorporates material from endangered species which could result in export restrictions. See Paragraph H2(b) of the Conditions of Sale.


See Storage and Collection pages in the catalogue.


Lot incorporates material from endangered species that is not for sale and shown for display purposes only. See Paragraph H2(g) of the Conditions of Sale.

A party with a direct or indirect interest in the lot who may have knowledge of the lot’s reserve or other material information may be bidding on the lot.


Please note that this lot is subject to an import tariff. The amount of the import tariff due is a percentage of the final hammer price plus buyer’s premium. The buyer should contact Post Sale Services prior to the sale to determine the estimated amount of the import tariff. If the buyer instructs Christie’s to arrange shipping of the lot to a foreign address the buyer will not be required to pay the import tariff, but the shipment may be delayed while awaiting approval to export from the local government. If the buyer instructs Christie’s to arrange shipping of the lot to a domestic address, if the buyer collects the property in person, or if the buyer arranges their own shipping (whether domestically or internationally), the buyer will be required to pay the import tariff. For the purpose of calculating sales tax, if applicable, the import tariff will be added to the final hammer price plus buyer’s premium and sales tax will be collected as per The Buyer’s Premium and Taxes section of the Conditions of Sale.

Please note that lots are marked as a convenience to you and we shall not be liable for any errors in, or failure to, mark a lot. 10/08/2022


Organisations: • Formal documents showing the company’s incorporation, its registered ofice and business address, and its oficers, members and ultimate beneficial owners • A passport or other government-issued photo ID for each authorised user



Specified lots (sold and unsold) marked with a filled square (Q) not collected from Christie’s by 5.00pm on the day of the sale will, at our option, be removed to Christie’s Fine Art Storage Services (CFASS in Red Hook, Brooklyn). Christie’s will inform you if the lot has been sent offsite.

Lots will only be released on payment of all charges due and on production of a Collection Form from Christie’s. Charges may be paid in advance or at the time of collection. We may charge fees for storage if your lot is not collected within thirty days from the sale. Please see paragraph G of the Conditions of Sale for further detail.

Please email your documents to info@christies.com or provide them in person.

Please contact Christie’s Post-Sale Service 24 hours in advance to book a collection time at Christie’s Fine Art Services. All collections from Christie’s Fine Art Services will be by pre-booked appointment only.

If the lot is transferred to Christie’s Fine Art Storage Services, it will be available for collection after the third business day following the sale.

Please be advised that after 50 days from the auction date property may be moved at Christie’s discretion. Please contact Post-Sale Services to confirm the location of your property prior to collection.

Tel: +1 212 636 2650 Email: PostSaleUS@christies.com

SHIPPING AND DELIVERY Christie’s Post-Sale Service can organize domestic deliveries or international freight. Please contact them on +1 212 636 2650 or PostSaleUS@christies.com.

Tel: +1 212 636 2650 Email: PostSaleUS@christies.com Operation hours for both Christie’s Rockefeller and Christie’s Fine Art Storage are from 9:30 am to 5:00 pm, Monday – Friday.

Long-term storage solutions are also available per client request. CFASS is a separate subsidiary of Christie’s and clients enjoy complete confidentiality. Please contact CFASS New York for details and rates: +1 212 636 2070 or storage@cfass.com STREET MAP OF CHRISTIE’S NEW YORK LOCATIONS

Christie’s Rockefeller Center 20 Rockefeller Plaza, New York 10020 Tel: +1 212 636 2000 PostSaleUS@christies.com Main Entrance on 49th Street Receiving/Shipping Entrance on 48th Street Hours: 9.30 AM - 5.00 PM Monday-Friday except Public Holidays

Christie’s Fine Art Storage Services (CFASS) 62-100 Imlay Street, Brooklyn, NY 11231 Tel: +1 212 974 4500 PostSaleUS@christies.com Main Entrance on Corner of Imlay and Bowne St. Hours: 9.30 AM - 5.00 PM Monday-Friday except Public Holidays






WRITERS: Emily Bivins Anna Campbell Eleazer Cohen Jennifer Duignam Emily Rose Fitzgerald John Hawley Darius Himes Stephen Jones

Paige Kestenman Annabel Matterson Jack Nelson Taylor Nemetz Jonquil O’Reilly Laura Phillips Flavia Poccianti Caroline Seabolt


Anne Homans

SPECIAL THANKS: Sarah Buccarelli Quincie Dixon Andrea Dauhajre Elena Ferrara Ava Galeva Alexandra Gesar Vlad Golanov Andrés González Allison Houghton Rebecca Jones Julie Kim

AJ Kiyoizumi Matthew Masin Kathryn Mooney Margaux Morel Charles Parsons Joseph Quigley Rusty Riker Erica Thorpe Cara Walsh Mercedes Weidmer

We thank William Feaver and Ian Warrell for their contributions.

ILLUSTRATIONS: Inside dust jacket: Lot 41, Claude Monet, Waterloo Bridge, soleil voilé, 1899-1903. Inside front cover 1: Lot 17, Gustav Klimt, Birch Forest, 1903. Inside front cover 2: Lot 25, Alessandro Filipepi, called Sandro Botticelli, Madonna of the Magnificent, 1444/5-1510. Pp. 6-7: Lot 34, Lucian Freud, Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau), 1981-1983. Opposite Sale Details: Lot 27, Edouard Manet, Le Grand Canal à Venise, 1874. P. 10: Lot 52, Francis Bacon, Three Studies for Self-Portrait, 1979. Pp. 12-13: Lot 48, Wassily Kandinsky, Tiefes Braun, 1924. (Detail) Pp. 20-21: Lot 14, Paul Cezanne, La Montagne Sainte-Victoire, 1888-1890. P. 25: Lot 11, Paul Gauguin, Maternité II, 1899. (Detail) P. 29: Lot 11, Paul Gauguin, Maternité II, 1899. (Detail) Pp. 30-31: Lot 8, Georges Seurat, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), 1888. P. 35: Lot 8, Georges Seurat, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), 1888. (Detail) P. 39: Lot 8, Georges Seurat, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), 1888. (Detail) Pp. 43-43: Lot 22, Vincent van Gogh, Verger avec cyprès, 1888. P. 47: Lot 14, Paul Cezanne, La Montagne Sainte-Victoire, 1888-1890. (Detail) P. 51: Lot 11, Paul Gauguin, Maternité II, 1899. (Detail) P. 52: Lot 22, Vincent van Gogh, Verger avec cyprès, 1888. (Detail)

P. 53: Lot 8, Georges Seurat, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), 1888. (Detail) P. 79: Lot 6, Paul Signac, Concarneau, calme du matin (Opus no. 219, larghetto), 1891. (Detail) P. 83: Lot 8, Georges Seurat, Les Poseuses, Ensemble (Petite version), 1888. (Detail) Pp. 86-87: Lot 6, Paul Signac, Concarneau, calme du matin (Opus no. 219, larghetto), 1891. (Detail) P. 149: Lot 17, Gustav Klimt, Birch Forest, 1903. P. 150: Lot 36, Jan Brueghel the Younger, The Five Senses: Sight, Touch, Hearing, Taste and Smell. P. 153: Lot 22, Vincent van Gogh, Verger avec cyprès, 1888. (Detail) P. 154: Lot 20, René Magritte, La voix du sang, 1948. P. 157: Lot 33, Andrew Wyeth, Day Dream, 1980. (Detail) P. 331: Lot 48, Wassily Kandinsky, Tiefes Braun, 1924. (Detail) P. 332: Lot 14, Paul Cezanne, La Montagne Sainte-Victoire, 1888-1890. (Detail) P. 335: Lot 32, Alberto Giacometti, Femme de Venise III, 1958. P. 336: Lot 34, Lucian Freud, Large Interior, W11 (after Watteau), 1981-1983. P. 339: Lot 50, David Hockney, Queen Anne’s Lace Near Kilham, 2010-2011. Pp. 548-549: Lot 33, Andrew Wyeth, Day Dream, 1980. (Detail) Opposite Acknowledgements: Lot 4, Edward Steichen, The Flatiron, 1905. Opposite Index: Lot 37, Diego Rivera, The Rivals, 1931. P. 560-inside back cover : Lot 22, Vincent van Gogh, Verger avec cyprès, 1888.



Bacon 52 Benton 42 Bonnard 13 Botticelli 25 Bourgeois 53 Brueghel 36


Calder 2 Canaletto 24, 55 Cezanne 14 Cross 26


Dalí 23


Ernst 40, 51


Francis 58 Freud 34


Le Sidaner 21


Magritte 3, 20 Manet 27 Marden 39 Martin 18 Miró 60 Monet 41


O’Keeffe 9, 28, 45


Parrish 47 Picasso 1, 10


Richter 31, 44 Rivera 37


Gauguin 11 Giacometti 32

Sargent 12 Seurat 7, 8 Signac 6 Steichen 4




Hepworth 19 Hockney 5, 43, 50, 59


Johns 29, 30, 49, 57


Kandinsky 48 Klee 15, 38 Klimt 17

Tanguy 35 Tansey 54 Thiebaud 61 Turner 46, 56


Van Gogh 16, 22


Wyeth 33