Day 293 - Remington

April 18, 2022

The placard introducing gallery 765 describes its holdings as dealing with the American West between 1860 and 1920.  In fact, several of the works on exhibit were made after that period. These include an iconic 1930 Georgia O'Keeffe painting of Ranchos Church in Taos; an Ernest Blumenschein landscape of Taos Valley painted in 1933 that is distinctive for its geometric forms and rich color contrasts; and a striking jar made in 1990 by Nathan Begaye, a Hopi-Navajo ceramist and painter, that depicts the sun god both as a traditional katsina and as a nude man whose well-muscled, triangular torso, six-pack abs, pubic hair, and genitals are on full frontal display. (I note that the Met has been diligent about using "katsina" rather than "kachina," but has not similarly substituted Dine' for Navajo - presumably because relatively few people would know the tribe's name for itself.)  Works seem to fit into this gallery because of their subjects, not their dates.

The first thing in the gallery that I look at is the subject of today's entry: an oil by Frederic Remington painted in 1902, roughly 24 inches high and 36 inches wide, entitled "A Reconnaissance." The scene shows three soldiers ascending a snow-covered ridge. Two in the distance are on foot, while one in the foreground is mounted and leading his companions' horses. I marvel at Remington's skilled brushwork. Dabs of white indicate footprints in the snow, wispy strokes of muted green form the grassy bushes that stick out of the white mantle covering the earth, firmer horizontal strokes of green capture the boughs of the evergreen trees in the background, and tiny dots of white against the blue sky suggest  stars emerging in the twilight. Evidently, there is enough light for the horses' bodies to cast shadows, which appear as blobs with legs. The picture's caption states that "By turning the figures away from the viewers, Remington creates an aura of moody mystery and enhances the suspense of an uncertain outcome." Well, maybe. But for me, the picture would work equally well with a completely different title. To me, the back view of the rider is a device for leading the viewer into the scene. You know that you are looking at a flat canvas, but you feel that you're climbing the hill right behind the mounted soldier.