COLLECTIONS & CRITIQUES

The Institute of Modern Art celebrated the opening of its new building on Beacon Street by presenting a retrospective exhibition of the works of George Rouault, an artist whose genuine passion for color affords a channel through which a mystical insight into certain aspects of life can be expressed.

There has been much discussion lately concerning the proper place of art in society. Most critics agree that art should be for the people; it should be removed from the stale, unhealthy atmosphere which in the past has bred pseudo-intellectuals and dilettantish connoisseurs. In short, if art is to justify its own existence, it must be something more than a patrician hobby.

The manner in which Rouault's paintings were first exhibited is diametrically opposed to decent aesthetic standards; a work of art has no functional value when--as was the case Monday night--it occupies a forgotten place on the wall of a room containing some of the finest stuffed shirts in the community. "How like Cezanne," they exclaim, as they bob up and down within their protective layers of starch. Perhaps the following quotations will better illustrate my point. The first two are from the remarkably fine catalogue which accompanied the exhibit. Writing of Rouault, the author states, "he would arrive promptly at four, puffing hard, his clothes rumpled, his eyes flashing the message of some thought which trouble him and sought expression. He would sit down heavily, remove his battered gray Homberg. . . He would then launch an impassioned tirade against Vollard or less gens de commerce." Contrast this with a newspaper account of the exhibition and opening. "Pots of yellow and white chrysanthemum lent a festive note, and the guests were served punch and hot bouillon with lrtiny sandwiches. . . Mrs. Wore her coronation gown of blue and silver brocade with bands of rhinestones, and was trying to discern which was the woman and which the hat in the painting entitled. "Woman With a Hat." (And Rouault, I say, is an artist of genius).

It is ironical that "les gens de commerce," and "patronizing opportunists," those people against whom Rouault would launch his berbal attacks, comprised the main body of the spectators who were first to attend this retrospective exhibit of his paintings.