Alberto Giacometti said that he could not get over "the violence of Bonnard," a quality he found lacking in Jackson Pollock when he compared the two. And, certainly, "violence" gets at the heart of Bonnard's paintings and drawings. Seductive, mystical and lovingly brutal could also describe the intensity of Bonnard's gorgeously clashing hues -- iridescent lemons, limes, crimsons and violets that shimmer like precious metals and gems; blacks and whites taken to the extremes of the spectrum; and deep purples and blues, no less than reds, oranges and yellows, that burn every color of fire.
Dave also sends: Complicated Bliss.
The installation, which is not strictly chronological, emphasizes Bonnard's tendency to move back and forth between relatively greater and lesser degrees of naturalism and abstraction. This gives the show something of the quality of a meditation, which is appropriate for Bonnard. His late self-portraits, two of which are included at the Metropolitan, suggest the asceticism of a Chinese sage, with close-cropped hair and long, narrow, all-seeing eyes. In the canvases of his last twenty years, which Bonnard did in his studio rather than from direct observation, the Impressionist insistence on working in front of the motif gives way to memories of the motif, so that perception turns out to be not so much a reality as a dream.
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