Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Samuel Palmer in New Haven

Samuel Palmer
At Hailsham, Sussex - Storm Approaching
1821
watercolor
Yale Center for British Art
(painted at age 16)

Samuel Palmer
Cow-lodge with Mossy Roof
ca. 1829
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Barn with Mossy Roof, Shoreham
ca. 1830
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
The Bright Cloud
ca. 1831-32
watercolor
Yale Center for British Art

One morning he pulls off his diamond ring, and writes upon the glass of the sash in my chamber this line 

'You I love, and you alone.'

I read it, and asked him to lend me his ring, with which I wrote under it thus 

'And so in love says every one.'

He takes his ring again, and writes another line, thus 

'Virtue alone is an estate.'

I borrowed it again, and I wrote under it 

'But money's virtue; gold is fate.'

He coloured as red as fire to see me turn so quick upon him, and in a kind of rage told me he could conquer me, and writes again thus 

'I scorn your gold, and yet I love.'

I ventured all upon the last cast of poetry, as you'll see, for I wrote boldly under his last 

'I'm poor: let's see how kind you'll prove.'

This was a sad truth to me; whether he believed me or no, I could not tell; I supposed then that he did not.  However, he flew to me, took me in his arms, and kissing me very eagerly, he called for pen and ink, and then told me he could not wait the tedious writing on glass, but, pulling out a piece of paper, he began and 
wrote again 

'Be mine, with all your poverty.'

I took the pen, and followed him immediately, thus 
                         
'Yet secretly you hope I lie.'

He told me that was unkind, because it was not just, and that I put him upon contradicting me, which did not consist with good manners, any more than with his affection; and therefore, since I had insensibly drawn him into this poetical scribble, he begged I would not oblige him to break it off; so he writes again 

'Let love alone be our debate.'

I wrote again 

'She loves enough, that does not hate.'

This he took for a favor and so laid down the cudgels, that is to say, the pen; I say, he took it for a favor, and a mighty one it was, if he had known all.  However, he took it as I meant it, that is, to let him think I was inclined to go on with him, as indeed I had all the reason in the world to do, for he was the best-humored, merry sort of a fellow that I ever met with, and I often reflected on myself how doubly criminal it was to deceive such a man."

 Daniel Defoe, from Moll Flanders (1722)

Samuel Palmer
Harvest Moon
ca. 1833
oil on paper, mounted on panel
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
The Weald of Kent
1833-34
watercolor
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
The Timber-Wain
1833-34
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Rocky Landscape in Wales
ca. 1835-36
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
View from Rook's Hill, Kent
1843
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Wilmot's Hill, Kent
1851
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Sunset
ca. 1861
watercolor
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Opening the Fold - Early Morning
ca. 1880
wash drawing
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Rock-slip near Boscastle
before 1881
gouache, colored chalks
Yale Center for British Art

Samuel Palmer
Rustic Contentment
before 1881
watercolor, gouache
Yale Center for British Art

Monday, June 26, 2017

Two Tiepolos and Jean-Antoine Watteau

Giambattista Tiepolo
Allegory of Virtue and Nobility
ca. 1740-50
oil on canvas
Museo Poldi Pezzoli, Milan

Giambattista Tiepolo
Rinaldo enchanted by Armida
ca. 1742-45
oil on canvas
Art Institute of Chicago

"Armida's craft, her sleight and hidden guile
You partly wot, her acts and arts untrue,
How to your camp she came, and by what wile
The greatest lords and princes thence she drew;
You know she turned them first to monsters vile,
And kept them closed up in secret mew,
Lastly, to Gaza-ward in bonds them sent,
Whom young Rinaldo rescued as they went.

What chanced since I will at large declare,
To you unknown, a story strange and true.
When first her prey, got with such pain and care,
Escaped and gone the witch perceived and knew,
Her hands she wrung for grief, her clothes she tare,
And full of woe these heavy words outthrew:
'Alas! my knights are slain, my prisoners free,
Yet of that conquest never boast shall he,

He in their place shall serve me, and sustain
Their plagues, their torments suffer, sorrows bear,
And they his absence shall lament in vain.
And wail his loss and theirs with many a tear.'
Thus talking to herself she did ordain
A false and wicked guile, as you shall hear,
Thither she hasted where the valiant knight
Had overcome and slain her men in fight."

 from Book 14 of Gerusalemme Liberata by Torquato Tasso, translated into English by Edward Fairfax in 1600 and published as Godfrey of Bulloigne, or, The Recovery of Jerusalem

Giambattista Tiepolo
Drapery study for St Pascal Baylon
ca. 1767-69
drawing
Museum Kunstpalast, Düsseldorf

Giandomenico Tiepolo
Triumph of Pulcinella (Venice)
ca. 1760-70
oil on canvas
Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen

Giandomenico Tiepolo
The Storyteller (Venice)
ca. 1773-77
oil on canvas
Blanton Museum of Art, Austin, Texas

"Familiar though his name may be to us, the storyteller in his living immediacy is by no means a present force.  He has already become something remote from us and something that is getting even more distant.  . . .  Experience which is passed on from mouth to mouth is the source from which all storytellers have drawn.  And among those who have written down the tales, it is the great ones whose written version differs least from the speech of the many nameless storytellers.  Incidentally, among the last named there are two groups which, to be sure, overlap in many ways.  And the figure of the storyteller gets its full corporeality only for the one who can picture them both.  "When someone goes on a trip, he has something to tell about," goes the German saying, and people imagine the storyteller as someone who has come from afar.  But they enjoy no less listening to the man who has stayed at home, making an honest living, and who knows the local tales and traditions.  If one wants to picture these two groups through their archaic representatives, one is embodied in the resident tiller of the soil, and the other in the trading seaman.  Indeed, each sphere of life has, as it were, produced its own tribe of storytellers.  Each of these tribes preserves some of its characteristics centuries later.  . . . The actual extension of the realm of storytelling in its full historical breadth is inconceivable without the most intimate interpenetration of these two archaic types.  Such an interpenetration was achieved particularly in the Middle Ages in their trade structure.  The resident master craftsmen and the traveling journeyman worked together in the same rooms, and every master had been a traveling journeyman before he settled down in his home town or somewhere else.  If peasants and seamen were past masters of storytelling, the artisan class was its university.  In it was combined the lore of faraway places, such as a much-traveled man brings home, with the lore of the past, as it best reveals itself to natives of a place."

 Walter Benjamin, from his 1936 essay on Nikolai Leskov, The Storyteller. It was translated by Harry Zohn and published in English in 1969 in Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, edited by Hannah Arendt

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Study of Woman's Head
ca. 1720
drawing
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Seated Young Woman
ca. 1715-17
drawing
Morgan Library, New York

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Diana Bathing
1715-16
drawing
Albertina, Vienna

O latest born and loveliest vision far
    Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-regioned star,
    Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
           Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
            Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
    From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
    Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
       
O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
    Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
    Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'ed
    From happy pieties, thy lucent fans
    Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired,
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
           Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
    From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
    Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
             
 from Ode to Psyche by John Keats (1820)

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Lesson in Love
ca. 1716-17
oil on panel
Nationalmuseum, Stockholm

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Pleasures of Love
ca. 1718-19
oil on canvas
Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Feast of Love
ca. 1718-19
oil on canvas
Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden

"It has taken many accidents, many surprising coincidences (and perhaps many efforts), for me to find the Image which, out of a thousand, suits my desire.  Herein a great enigma, to which I shall never possess the key: Why is it that I desire So-and-so?  Why is it that I desire So-and-so lastingly, longingly?  Is it the whole of So-and-so I desire (a silhouette, a shape, a mood)?  And, in that case, what is it in this loved body which has the vocation of a fetish for me?  What perhaps incredibly tenuous portion  what accident?  The way a nail is cut, a tooth broken slightly aslant, a lock of hair, a way of spreading the fingers while talking, while smoking?  About all these folds of the body, I want to say that they are adorable.  Adorable means: this is my desire, insofar as it is unique: "That's it! That's it exactly (which I love)!"  Yet the more I experience the specialty of my desire, the less I can give it a name; to the precision of the target corresponds a wavering of the name; what is characteristic of desire, proper to desire, can produce only an impropriety of utterance.  Of this failure of language, there remains only one trace: the word "adorable" (the right translation of "adorable" would be the Latin ipse: it is the self, himself, herself, in person)."

– Roland Barthes from A Lover's Discourse, translated by Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1978)  

Jean-Antoine Watteau
Heureux age! Age d'or! (Happy age! Age of gold!)
ca. 1716-20
oil on panel
Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, Texas

Jean-Antoine Watteau
L’Amante inquiète (The Uneasy Lover)
ca. 1717-20
 oil on panel
Musée Condé, Chantilly

Jean-Antoine Watteau
The Italian Comedians
ca. 1720
oil on canvas
National Gallery of Art, Washington DC

TJ Clark explains the Bourgeoisie (and Petty-Bourgeoisie)

Annie Louisa Swynnerton
The Sense of Sight
1895
oil on canvas
Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool

"Obviously there are difficulties in making, and sustaining, a distinction between 'bourgeois' and 'petty bourgeois' as terms of class analysis.  But I believe the distinction is real, and I do not want my talk in the text of class 'cultures' and 'formations' to give the impression that I fail to see the distinction is ultimately one of economic power.  A bourgeois, for me, is someone possessing the means to intervene in at least some of the important, large-scale economic decisions shaping his or her own life (and those of others).  A bourgeois, for me, is someone expecting (reasonably) to pass on that power to the kids.  A petty bourgeois is someone who has no such leverage or security, and certainly no such dynastic expectations, but who nonetheless identifies wholeheartedly with those who do.  Of course this means that everything depends, from age to age and moment to moment, on the particular forms in which such identification can take place.  The history of the petty bourgeoisie within capitalism, is therefore a history of manners, symbols, subcultures, 'lifestyles' necessarily fixated on the surface of social life.  . . .  No need to be oversubtle about these things.  Sometimes symbols and lifestyles have class inscribed on them in letters ten feet tall.  What could be more disarmingly bourgeois, in the old sense, than the First Class section on an international airflight?  And what more dismally petty-bourgeois than Coach?  (Those in Business Class  or what one sardonic airline calls Connoisseur  would take a bit more ad hoc class sorting, some going up, some going down.  A lot depends in this case on particular styles of corporate reward to middle management, which vary from country to country and phase to phase of the business cycle.)  Anyway, the rough balance of numbers on a 747 over the Atlantic seems to me instructive for the balance of numbers in the world at large."

Cecil Beaton
Models in front of Pollock
1 March 1951
Vogue

Cecil Beaton
Model in front of Pollock
1 March 1951
Vogue

"On 1 March 1951, Vogue magazine published four pages of photographs, black and white and color, by Cecil Beaton.  In them Irene and Sophie showed off a range of the season's evening dresses in front of pictures by Pollock from a show just closed at Betty Parsons.  Beaton had ideas about how the pictures and dresses matched.  He reveled in the analogy between Lavender Mist's powdery transparency  or the transparency his lighting gave it  and that of the chiffon and fan.  The fan struck a Whistlerian note.  He tweaked Irene's black cocktail dress into a to and fro of diagonals which made it quite plausibly part of Pollock's Autumn Rhythm behind.  And so on.  The effects were not subtle, and did not need to be.  Hedging his bets just a little, the Vogue subeditor informed readers that "the dazzling and curious paintings of Jackson Pollock, which are in the photographs on these four pages, almost always cause an intensity of feelings."

"The Vogue photos raise the question, then, of what possible uses Pollock's work could anticipate, what viewers and readers it expected, what spaces it was meant to inhabit; and, above all, the question of how much a structure of expectation can be seen, by us in retrospect, to enter and inform the work itself, determining its idiom.    . . .   What else, we might say, did modernism expect from the public realm?  What else did it think art was for?  What Pollock invented from 1947 to 1950 was a repertoire of forms in which previously marginalized aspects of self-representation  the wordless, the somatic, the wild, the self-risking, the spontaneous, the uncontrolled, the "existential," the beyond or before our conscious activities of mind  could achieve a bit of clarity, and get themselves a relatively stable set of signifiers.  A poured line with splatters now could be taken to stand  taken quite casually  for "sustained paroxysms of passion" (1956), or "ravaging aggressive virility" (1949); another "suggests the fluids of life, intermingling, expanding and undergoing gradual chemical change" (1952); it "has an ecstatic, irritable, demanding force" (1959); it "is done in great, open black rhythms that dance in disturbing degrees of intensity, ecstatically energizing the powerful image in an almost hypnotic way" (1950); and so on."

"What do these readings of Pollock add up to?  It seems as if there are aspects of experience  and you will notice that the family resemblances between them are strong  that the culture quite urgently (and to a degree, quite suddenly) wants represented, perhaps because it sees it can make use of them; because its organizing powers have come to need a more convincing account of the bodily, the sensual, the liberated, in order to extend  maybe to perfect  their colonization of everyday life.  Of course the Vogue photographs give that process of recuperation a somewhat glib, superficial form: we think we can condescend to the models' outdatedness: fashions change, art endures.  But the process these photos glamorize is not glamorous, and not incidental: it is one that the practice of modernism knows lies in wait for it, and may prove its truth."


Hans Namuth
Pollock painting
photograph
1950
National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

"What the juxtaposition is meant to suggest is simply that abstract art has lived for much of its life in productive anxiety about the uses the culture might make of it.  In particular it has claimed (not only in 1920) that the orders art would discover by doing away with resemblance would be the opposite of easy or enticing: they would not simply be "decorative."  The claim was serious, and had real effects.  But insofar as the claim is testable by looking at what society actually did with abstract works of art, then we could say that indeed they have been thought to be decorative, and put through their paces in that spirit.  They have seemed the appropriate backdrop to ballgown and bolero, to the black-tie "do" at the local museum, and the serious business of making money."

"Of course, someone might reasonably reply at this point that any culture will use art as it sees fit, and that the very idea of art resisting such incorporation is pie in the sky.  At a certain level of high cynicism, there is no answer to that.  At other levels, a few unsatisfactory answers occur.  Yes, this idea about art's relation to its host culture is pie in the sky; but so are most, perhaps all, other ideas about art's purposes and responsibilities  art as the vehicle of Truth or transcendence, for one; art as distilling the hard possibilities of Geist; art as opening onto a territory of free play and pleasure; art as putting an end to reference and being able to live off its own resources; art as Universal and Particular (seeing the world in a grain of sand); or art as the real form  the pure expression  of Individuality.  The pie in these cases is so far in the sky as to be considerably less visible, to my way of thinking, than the pie we are looking at  the pie of resistance and refusal."  


Rome
Head of Athena (The Treu Head)
AD 140-150
marble
British Museum

"Years ago, writing about Clement Greenberg, I quoted him saying in a footnote, by way of apology for his own artistic preferences: "It's Athene whom we want: formal culture with its infinity of aspects, its luxuriance, its large comprehension." And I added to the list other qualities we tend to associate with high art (that European episode) at its best and worst: "intransigeance, intensity, and risk in the life of the emotions, fierce regard for honor and desire for accurate self-consciousness, disdain for the commonplace, rage for order, insistence that the world cohere."  These are specifically feudal ruling-class superlatives, I said then, and ones the bourgeoisie believed (for a time) it had inherited." 

– quoted passages from In Defense of Abstract Expressionism (chapter 7 and its notes) in Farewell to an Idea by T.J. Clark (Yale University Press, 1999)

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Asger Jorn 1914-1973

Asger Jorn
Letter to my son
1956-57
oil on canvas
Tate Britain

Asger Jorn
Paris by night
1959
oil on canvas
Collection Pierre Alechinsky, Paris

"If this frame of reference for Abstract Expressionism turns out to work at all, one of the things it ought to be good for is rethinking the stale comparison between America and Europe.  European painting, after the war, alas, comes out of a very different set of class formations.  Vulgarity is not its problem.  In Asger Jorn, for example  to turn for a moment to the greatest painter of the 1950s  what painting confronts as its limit condition is always refinement.  Painting for Jorn is a process of coming to terms with the fact that however that set of qualities may be tortured, exacerbated, or erased, they still end up being what (European) painting is; and the torture, exacerbation, and erasure are discovered in practice to be refinement  that is, the forms refinement presently takes if a painter is good enough.  They are what refines painting to a new preciousness or dross (it turns out that preciousness and dross are the same thing)."  

Asger Jorn
Disquieting Ecstasy
1956
oil on canvas
Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels

Asger Jorn
Happy New Year
1958
oil on canvas
Museo Reina Sofia, Madrid

Asger Jorn
Fugitive and Dutch Windmill
1953
oil on canvas
private collection

"In calling Jorn the greatest painter of the 1950s I mean to imply nothing about the general health of painting in Europe at the time (nor to deny that Jorn's practice was hit and miss, and the number of his works that might qualify as good, let along great, is very small).  On the contrary.  The cliches in the books are true.  Jorn's really was an end game.  Vulgarity, on the other hand, back on the other side of the Atlantic, turned out to be a way of keeping the corpse of painting hideously alive  while all the time coquetting with Death."

Asger Jorn
Soul for Sale
1958-59
oil and sand on canvas
Guggenheim Museum, New York

Asger Jorn
The Black Flight
1955
gouache on paper
Tate Britain

Asger Jorn
Untitled
1956
oil on canvas
Guggenheim Museum, New York

Asger Jorn
Jungle Drama
1952
oil on masonite
Essl Museum, Vienna

"An Asger Jorn can be garish, florid, tasteless, forced, cute, flatulent, overemphatic; it can never be vulgar.  It just cannot prevent itself from a tampering and framing of its desperate effects which pulls them back into the realm of painting, ironizes them, declares them done in full knowledge of their emptiness.  American painting  by contrast  and precisely that American painting which is closest to the European, done by Germans and Dutchmen steeped in the tradition they are exiting from  does not ironize, and will never make the (false) declaration that the game is up.  Hofmann and de Kooning, precisely because they are so similar to Jorn in their sense of "touch" and composition, register as Jorn's direct opposites."

 from the chapter In Defense of Abstract Expressionism from Farewell to an Idea: Episodes from a History of Modernism (Yale University Press, 1999)

Asger Jorn
Aganaks
1950
watercolor, gouache
Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris

Asger Jorn
Le Bon Sauvage
1969
oil on canvas
Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris

Asger Jorn
Kyotosmorama
1969
oil on canvas
Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris

Asger Jorn
Untitled
1956-57
oil on canvas
Peggy Guggenheim Collection, Venice

Asger Jorn
Green Ballet
1960
oil on canvas
Guggenheim Museum, New York

In 1964 the Guggenheim Foundation in New York awarded Asger Jorn one of its lucrative Fellowships, electing him to the honor without prior notice. The text of his telegram of response is reproduced below --

"GO TO HELL WITH YOUR MONEY BASTARD—STOP—REFUSE PRICE (sic) —STOP—NEVER ASKED FOR IT—STOP—AGAINST ALL DECENSY (sic) MIX ARTIST AGAINST HIS WILL IN YOUR PUBLICITY—STOP—I WANT PUBLIC CONFIRMATION NOT TO HAVE PARTICIPATED IN YOUR RIDICULOUS GAME.  JORN"

Interior Landscapes of Europe, 1659-1911

Jan Steen
Fantasy Interior with Jan Steen and the family of Gerrit Schouten
ca. 1659-60
oil on canvas
Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City

Johann Atzelt
Giants' Hall, Dresden, with Moorish Ballet
ca. 1678
engraving
Kupferstichkabinett, Dresden

Jan van der Heyden
Room Corner with Curiosities
1712
oil on canvas
Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest

"There was no visible light  inside the room; a soft, celestial glow entered, depending on the need each object had to be more or less perceived; incense burners exhaled delicious perfumes; intertwined ciphers and ornamental motifs hid from the eyes the flames of the lamps that magically illuminated this place of delights.  The side where we had come in showed latticed porticoes ornamented with flowers, and before the statue an altar on which shone a flame, and at the base of this altar a cup, crowns of flowers, and garlands; a temple of lighthearted design completed the decor of this side.  Opposite was a dark grotto, the god of mystery watching over the entrance, and the floor, covered with a plush carpet, imitated grass.  On the ceiling, mythological figures were hanging garlands; and on the side opposite the porticoes was a canopy under which were piles of pillows with a baldachin upheld by cupids."

 from No Tomorrow (Point de landemain) by Vivant Denon, first published in French in 1777, translated by Lydia Davis, 2009

Jean-François de Troy
Le Déjeuner d’huîtres (Luncheon of Oysters)
1735
oil on canvas
Musée Condé, Chantilly

Jean Charles Delafosse
A Masquerade
1770-80
watercolor
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

Hilaire Thierry
Salon in Empire taste
ca. 1820
watercolor
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

Charlotte Bosanquet
Library at Dingestow
1840s
watercolor
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

Alexandre Dominique Denuelle
View of the Picture Gallery at Château d'Eu
1844
watercolor, gouache
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

Franz Heinrich
Sala del Thorvaldsen, Rome
1845
watercolor, gouache
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

The careful watercolor (above) depicting Sala del Thorvaldsen, Rome would seem to bear some connection with celebrated Danish artist Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770-1848). He lived in Rome from 1797 to 1838. He was also for many years, while there, the best-known living sculptor in Europe. When Thorvaldsen's workshop in Rome reached its height of productivity about the year 1820 he was employing forty assistant to carry out his intentions and seldom actually carved anything with his own hands. Mark Twain and Czar Alexander I were among his warmest fans. The mere name "Thorvaldsen" in contemporary journalism became a sort of synonym for "Artist." The general trend of these facts encourages the idea that Thorvaldsen himself might in his great Roman days have possessed just such a grandiose audience-chamber as the one in the watercolor. But it is also possible that the space belonged to somebody else entirely and was called after Thorvaldsen simply because it contained some of his work. Curator's notes from Cooper Hewitt do not address the question of the room's ownership or possible use.

Eduard Gaertner
Concert Room of Sans Souci Palace, Potsdam
1852
watercolor, gouache
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

Félix Duban
Architectural Fantasy in the style of Pompeii
1856
watercolor
Musée d'Orsay, Paris

Anton von Werner
Quarters of German troops outside Paris, October 1870
1894
oil on canvas
Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin

Henry Edward Lamson
Library Interior
ca. 1900
watercolor, gouache
Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum

South Kensington Museum
Newly-built Ceramics Galleries
ca. 1910
gelatin silver photograph
Victoria & Albert Museum, London

Carl Fredrik Hill
Oriental Interior
before 1911
pigment on cardboard
Malmö Konstmuseum, Sweden