I must admit I love oil paintings. I love the lush surface and the flexibility that oil paint gives an artist to create illusions. I also have to confess that Edgar Degas is probably my favorite artist in the world. You can stand in front of this painting and say to yourself, “O.K., I’m ready to do some work; give me something to work with,” and there is Miss Hortense staring you right in the face. Portraits and paintings with figures always capture my imagination. I wonder if the portrait really reveals anything of the character. Or, is the face just a mask, the figure just an excuse for the artist to show how well he or she can paint the shimmering folds of a silk dress? I see that this one reveals something of Miss Hortense—she is not entirely approachable. She turns her head to look at me, supposedly interrupted in the act of eating something—is it a slice of apple? But Miss Hortense is definitely not a mischievous child caught in the act. She is posed in a good dress and hat. She’s maybe ten, going on fifty.
I see how the faded flowered wallpaper in the background makes a plane. The table, covered by an embroidered cloth, provides the illusion of space in front of the wallpaper. I notice how her figure, defined by her white apron and shawl, is balanced by the cloth in the basket on the other side of the table. The cloth in the basket seems to be almost sliding off the table, the same way her dress flows off the edge of the painting on the other side. There is just a hint of a silver plate in the center of the table. But I am most intrigued by those dancing black lines running down her back. I can feel the artist’s hand making those lines just before he stopped painting. I wonder why. And her hands—it almost looks as if Degas had trouble getting them right. Is the painting unfinished? Has it faded over time to reveal the change he made? The label tells me that because he didn’t bring along any canvas when he went to visit the Valpinçon family, he painted it on some mattress covering they had around. I don’t think he painted this for us, or even for the Valpinçon family. He painted it because as an artist, he had to paint. It didn’t matter to him that the hands weren’t perfect. It doesn’t matter to me, either. I love the calmness, the patterns, and the way the composition is balanced. This child/woman’s gaze draws me in. I walk away refreshed and calm, overwhelmed by beauty.