The Barnes Foundation is hosting an exhibit showcasing 90 works by William Glackens
By Ilene Dube
ON a gray day in late November, I find myself craving color — something to prevent the external dreariness from making its way inward. The paintings of William Glackens, on view at the Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia through Feb. 2, 2015, offer a tonic, an immersion into ochres and turquoise, pumpkin and periwinkle, pattern and brushwork.
Glackens’ (1870-1938) canvases of New York’s Washington Square Park, Central Park and beach scenes describe those places, yet also transcend them. It becomes the world of William Glackens, a world influenced by Matisse, Cezanne, Renoir and the French Modernists.
William Glackens includes 90 major paintings and works on paper from American collectors. There are also 48 works by Glackens hanging in the permanent galleries (and an additional 23 in storage). When the Barnes puts on a solo exhibition of one of its own, it honors the will of its founder and keeps the salon-style hangings intact — yet the rotating exhibitions add new light and insight into the permanent collection. The exhibition on Glackens — whose vision informed the collection — is the most successful since the museum opened in Center City more than two years ago.
”Having it here is the jewel in the crown,” says Curator Avis Berman.
Glackens was the buyer for Albert C. Barnes. He helped to build the collection that is the foundation of the Barnes. The good doctor, who was to go on to make a fortune in the pharmaceutical business, first met Glackens at Philadelphia’s famed Central High School, where his talents were already emerging in the graphic arts. Glackens became one of the most sought after artist-reporters of the day, working for Collier’s, McClure’s, Scribner’s and The Saturday Evening Post. At night, he went to PAFA, then moved to New York City to continue his newspaper work.
A Philadelphia native, Glackens traveled to Belgium, France and the Netherlands with his mentor Robert Henri, then leased a studio in Paris for a year where he took in the boulevards, cafes, gardens and “louche” entertainment.
In pen-and-ink, pastel, watercolor, conte crayon, charcoal and drypoint, Glackens documented people on the streets — women in long-sleeve dresses and big hats, men in suits and top hats — much like Walker Evans did in New York with a camera. Glackens uses crosshatching to show a beach scene at Coney Island, figures negotiating a sandy terrain in bare feet, resting on benches, parading in front of photo booths and beer stands.
Among the works is a magnificent portrait of Mr. Barnes himself, seated in a chair, reading through wire rims, a handlebar mustache under his nose.
Since Glackens’ early trips, there’s been an important Philadelphia-Paris connection. The Barnes’ 181 Renoirs (more than any other collection in the world), 69 Cezannes (more than in the Louvre), 59 Matisses, 46 Picassos, 21 Soutines, 18 Rousseaus and 16 Modiglianis make the City of Brotherly Love stiff competition for the City of Lights. Both cities have a Rodin Museum, and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway was designed by French urban planner Jacque Greber to be the Champs Elysee of Philadelphia.
An expert in depicting the seedier quarters of the city — he was fascinated by the characters, sights, customs and fashions — Glackens always conveys a joy in drawing. Ironically, joy was not his experience, according to a recollection by his son, Ira — Glackens actually disliked doing the drawings.
His wife, Edith Dimock (four of her paintings are in the Barnes collection), was a feminist and independently wealthy. “She was legendary for being the only women to stand up to Barnes,” says Ms. Berman. “She populates Glackens’ paintings, both foreground and background.”
Glackens himself was shy, rarely putting himself in his paintings. One painting shows him as a cheap Vaudevillian — he immersed himself in the worlds of theater and Vaudeville. But the painting was never exhibited outside the artist’s dining room until now.
”He was good at painting little children,” said Ms. Berman. “He didn’t paint them as little dolls, but has them pushing and fighting, running and climbing trees — he was a true realist.”
He painted the world he saw — Central Park, near his home, and the beaches he summered at with his family. Ira hated to pose; his sister Lenna loved to don colorful, patterned, exotic garb in which to model. Glackens’ portraits were influenced by Matisse, with pattern on pattern, and containing still lifes in the background.
The beach scenes are similar to those of Maurice Prendergast, a peer as well as wallmate in the permanent collection. They are also quite like still lifes, with bathers under umbrellas like a repeating pattern of flowers.
There is so much going on in Glackens’ urban paintings. In “Patrick Joseph Went and Bought Himself a Grocery Store on Monroe Street” (even the title has a lot going on!), two women are conversing in front of the shop as wind blows their skirts. The shopkeeper, in an apron, leans on a pole in the doorway, looking out at a girl leading a small child, while shoppers squeeze the fruit in bins on a street that is lined with fire escapes on tenements and a bridge connecting the buildings. Where’s Waldo?
In Washington Square, hundreds of people are skating, pushing sleds, collecting alms for the poor, riding trolleys, smashing snowmen, directing traffic, holding on to their hats. All of life — shaking sheets from a fire escape, playing baseball, caring for children — takes place here. His titles alone tell a story: “Far from the Fresh Air Farm: The Crowded City Street With Its Dangers And Temptations Is A Pitiful Makeshift Playground For The Children.”
From 1925 to 1932 he moved his family to France. “He loved food and wine, and it may have been because of prohibition,” says Ms. Berman. “He developed a looser treatment of beach scenes and dancers.”
Supplementing the rich collection of paintings is a vitrine with Mr. Glackens’ notebooks, showing the prices he paid for works by Renoir, Picasso, Sisley, Cezanne, Bonnard and the like. In a letter, Mr. Barnes addresses Mr. Glackens by his nickname. “Dear Butts, I want to buy some good modern paintings.” Barnes sent Glackens on a buying trip with $20,000 — $500,000 in today’s dollars.
Mr. Glackens was a good shopper — he came back with 33 works by the artists who would become among the most important of art history, including Cezanne, Bonnard, Van Gogh, Picasso, Pissarro and Renoir. The works became the cornerstone of Barnes’s fabled collection. At the same time, Barnes became Mr. Glackens’ most important patron.
There is also correspondence and photographs of the men’s friendship, from the Barnes Archives. The letters discuss modern art and the business of art purchases, but also show the close friendship. Apparently the two shared a fondness for home-brewed cider wine.
”The most valuable single educational factor to me has been my frequent association with a lifelong friend who combines greatness as an artist with a big man’s mind,” wrote Barnes.
Mr. Glackens admired the experimentation he saw among the European painters and in his own work demonstrated a preference for the abstract core of a composition rather than its narrative character, a hallmark of Modernism.
”He’s been hidden for 50 years and deserves a fresh look,” says Ms. Berman.
William Glackens is on view at the Barnes Foundation, 2025 Benjamin Franklin Parkway, Philadelphia, through Feb. 2, 2015. www.barnesfoundation.org.