Some people believe that John Singer Sargent’s paintings are too perfect, too sweet, and too beautiful. I am not one of those people. I simply adore his work. If I had a month left of this life, and could choose, I think one of those days would be spent standing stock still on the creaky floors of the Tate Museum in London whiling away the precious minutes staring at his work.
One of the first you encounter-or that simply snatches out at you in that wonderful old place is Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose, the title of which was lifted from the light-hearted lyrics of a popular song of the time.
The story of its birth is a lovely little one, first conceived in the magnificent garden of the Lavington Rectory in 1884 when Sargent was staying with the Vickers family. The idea (a purely fanciful one to be sure) was to capture, not the most perfect sunset, but the affect of the most perfect sunset has, in terms of color, shadows and light on a scene. But it was more than that. How about the artificial light of Chinese lanterns at the precise moment of twilight when lanterns and sun are at perfect equilibrium? Sargent was a strict follower of Impressionism-he painted exactly what he saw-not what his imagination wanted him to see. So, he painted for only minutes each day. Minutes.
He began by using a friend’s young daughter who was only 5 at the time as a model. They put a wig on her to lighten her hair and then propped the darling thing up as if she were lighting a Chinese lantern.
One of the first you encounter-or that simply snatches out at you in that wonderful old place is Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose, the title of which was lifted from the light-hearted lyrics of a popular song of the time.
The story of its birth is a lovely little one, first conceived in the magnificent garden of the Lavington Rectory in 1884 when Sargent was staying with the Vickers family. The idea (a purely fanciful one to be sure) was to capture, not the most perfect sunset, but the affect of the most perfect sunset has, in terms of color, shadows and light on a scene. But it was more than that. How about the artificial light of Chinese lanterns at the precise moment of twilight when lanterns and sun are at perfect equilibrium? Sargent was a strict follower of Impressionism-he painted exactly what he saw-not what his imagination wanted him to see. So, he painted for only minutes each day. Minutes.
He began by using a friend’s young daughter who was only 5 at the time as a model. They put a wig on her to lighten her hair and then propped the darling thing up as if she were lighting a Chinese lantern.
He worked on the picture, from September to early November 1885, and again at the Millets's new home, Russell House, Broadway, during the summer of 1886, completing it some time in October of that year. Each chance he could get; he would dress the children in white sweaters which came down to their ankles, over which he pulled the dresses which appeared in the picture. Even in the cold, he painted. When the roses in the garden gradually faded and died, he requisitioned artificial substitutes, which were affixed to the withered bushes.The picture was bought for the Tate Gallery in 1887, under the terms of the Chantrey bequest, largely at the insistence of the Royal Academy President, Sir Frederic Leighton. A portrait by Sargent of Mrs. Barnard (1885), made at the same time as Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose, is also in the Tate.
His work is beauty itself. If you have ever the chance to see it-please, do yourself the favor and do.
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