A New Hero

I have many heroes, but today I add a new one to the list. In literature my hero is Hector of the Shining Helmet, defender of idyllic Troy from the barbarians at the gate. The Bible has a slew of heroes to choose from but I’ll stick with Joshua bin Nun, for obvious reasons. In science Galileo, who refused to back down from his researches even knowing the fate of those who preceded him tops the list, though modest Isaac Newton is close behind. Of American presidents I’ll stick with Kennedy, hero of my youth. In sports Gil Hodges wins the prize. His denied entrance to the Hall of Fame is a modern day equivalent of Hector being defeated outside the walls of Troy by the Achilles and Athena.

Except for Joshua, none of these fellows was actually Jewish, except in my mind. But the new guy is. One rainy day we drove to the Clark Museum in Williamstown to see the special exhibition called “Pissarro’s People”. (It’s there for another month if you have the inclination to make the drive.) I didn’t know much about Camille (since he’s my new hero we are now on a first name basis) other than vaguely that he was an early exemplar of the Impressionist School of French painting. What I didn’t know was that he was a Sephardic Jew. In fact, that morsel might be a clue to his personality and world outlook. Now, the world outlook of which I speak is not exclusively Jewish (it was shared by his exact contemporary Leo Tolstoy—1828-1910)—but Jews of his time, 1830-1903 and later, or some Jews, hold a similar perspective.

Pissarro is sometimes called the “Dean of Impressionism” or its “father”. He was an older member of that group that included Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cézanne, Degas, etc. which broke with the sanctified traditions of Beaux-Arts formalism to create the more fluid art that gave the idea of passing reality rather than perfected views of the past. So why is a guy who painted fuzzy a hero? Not because of his skill (which is indisputable) nor because of his courage in defying the establishment (also indisputable) but because of how he lived and painted. His real rebellion was against the self-satisfied bourgeoisie to whom material possessions were the be all and end all, who treated laborers as if they were replaceable cogs. He married Julie Vellay (1838-1926) one of his mother’s maids, a woman he loved for who, not what, she was, and to whom he remained devoted for the rest of his life. That he would see in the maid servant virtue was reflected in his paintings of peasants who worked his rural lands. They are shown during hard work and deserved leisure. They are respected, not revolutionary as suggested in Jean-François Millet’s “The Gleaners”. To Pissarro the peasants he painted from the mid-1870s on were interesting people living interesting lives best shown in their collective markets, kind of like what is now springing up as nostalgic throwbacks such as the Saturday morning and Wednesday afternoon Blackstone Blvd. farmers’ markets, a place to see and be seen, to meet and to gossip, to buy (Blackstone Blvd farmers’ market prices are not for peasants) and to sell, a place other than the church to congregate. It’s a romantic image ignoring the smells and feel of cow dung and the backbreaking labor of sowing and reaping, but to Pissarro (and to Tolstoy, both of whom worked side by side—at least on occasion—with their peasants) it was the forecast of what was to come, a time when labor, peasant labor in this case, would own the land and determine what was to be bought and sold and for how much, the profits distributed according to effort and need. Think kibbutz.

In the end, Camille realized that this edenic vision was not to be and he drew a series of sketches called Turpitudes Sociales (Social Disgraces), Hogarthian depictions of life in the industrialized cities with a prediction of the uprising of the workers against those who exploited their labor. (You can find the complete set at http://www.clarkart.edu/exhibitions/pissarro/content/slideshow-turpitudes-sociales.cfm)

So, my new hero in art is the Jew, Camille Pissarro—not because he’s Jewish but because his Jewishness colors his work in a way I’d never realized until I saw his people at the Clark.