‘Matisse’s “Femme au chapeau”: A Modern Scandal’ Review: The Legacy of a Revolutionary Portrait
An exhibition at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art considers the controversial 1905 painting and the Salon that launched the artist and his fellow Fauvists to fame.
San Francisco
In late summer 1905, as Henri Matisse was preparing for the Salon d’Automne, he decided to add a portrait to the colorful landscapes he had created that year in Collioure, in southern France. Using spontaneous brushstrokes, he painted his wife, Amélie, with strange green skin (save for a rosy cheek and her ear), a direct gaze and an elaborate blue hat. Critics at the Salon raged. “A pot of paint has just been thrown in the public’s face,” howled one; another famously called Matisse and fellow artists in the Salon’s Gallery VII “wild beasts” (“fauves” in French). Even Leo Stein, the American expatriate proponent of avant-garde art, called it “brilliant and powerful, but the nastiest smear of paint I had ever seen.”
So began the life of the painting that birthed Fauvism, France’s first contribution to 20th- century modernism, and that is now the subject of “Matisse’s ‘Femme au chapeau’: A Modern Scandal” at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. With nearly 90 artworks and more than 60 historical documents and ephemera, the exhibition tells a three-part story: of the Salon, of the influence “Femme au chapeau” has had, and of the painting’s path to becoming a signature of the museum’s collection. Organized by chief curator Janet Bishop and former associate curator Maria Castro, now at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it remains on view through Sept. 13.
The first gallery introduces Matisse (1869-1954) and Amélie, including a pleasant landscape he painted on their Corsican honeymoon (1898); a portrait of her (c. 1900) by Albert Marquet; and some period hats and fans. On one wall, an animation (2026) of the Grand Palais, made with archival images by Google Arts & Culture Lab, recreates the Salon’s milieu and readies visitors for the next gallery.
There they will see a stripped-down version of Gallery VII, with 27 examples by all 10 artists, from Matisse and Marquet to André Derain and Maurice de Vlaminck, who contributed the 55 artworks displayed in that space. As if to underscore the radical turn these artists were making, the paintings are hung on an ornate plum-red wallpaper in a wainscoted gallery that harks back to the Grand Palais’s look.
Today, the artworks look tame: Their thick paint, loose brushstrokes and vibrant, often clashing colors no longer shock. If some, like Derain’s “Fishing Boats, Collioure” (1905), with its pale pink and orange waters, seem “unnatural,” a critics’ complaint, they are also beautiful.
What is obvious is Matisse’s superiority; little wonder that he was attacked. “Open Window, Collioure” (1905)—depicting sailboats on the water seen through a large window in a room with green, peach and hot-pink walls—is an early example of what became a signature motif. In “La Japonaise: Woman Beside the Water” (1905), Matisse uses big daubs of paint to portray a kimono-clad female who blends into her surroundings. And of course there is “Femme au chapeau”—the obvious star.
On the Salon’s last day, Stein bought it with his sister, Gertrude. They hung it in their apartment, soon to host their Saturday evening salons for artists and writers. The exhibition transports visitors there in the next gallery via another large-scale animated projection.
The following space shows how artists drew on “Femme au chapeau” through 1948. Jean Metzinger’s “Femme au chapeau” (c. 1906), Vlaminck’s “Femme au chapeau” (1906) and Kees van Dongen’s “Femme au chapeau fleuri” (1905) read as homages, exhibiting little innovation. Yasuo Kuniyoshi’s untitled still life (1934) goes furthest afield—seemingly unrelated until, under the compote, a grisaille image of Matisse’s masterpiece becomes clear, embellished by grapes Kuniyoshi painted atop Madame’s hat.
Here the exhibit detours. Gertrude and Leo Stein split their collection in 1913-14, with Gertrude taking “Femme,” which she soon peddled to her brother Michael and his wife, Sarah. In 1948, they sold it to Elise Stern Haas, a Levi Strauss heiress. In 1990, the painting was part of her large bequest to SFMOMA, which is honored here by the display of 26 other early 20th-century works she gave it, including paintings by Picasso, Georgia O’Keeffe and Diego Rivera.
The last gallery showcases art made since the 1950s. Richard Diebenkorn’s “Woman in Hat and Gloves” (1963) depicts his wife, seated cross-legged, in muted blues and grays. She faces in the opposite direction of “Femme,” but the shape of her face and pointed nose, and the way her large hat exceeds the picture frame, allude to Matisse. David Hockney, David Park, Wayne Thiebaud, Joan Brown and Mickalene Thomas all painted women in hats, each with a color, a pose, a gaze or another affinity with the Matisse, but none as inspired as Diebenkorn, who created something truly fresh out of his lifelong admiration for the French master. The one sculpture, Rachel Harrison’s “Hoarders” (2012), a large amorphous lump, accompanied by a digital monitor, trash can and purple carpet, hints at Matisse’s palette, but it looks irrelevant.
It is too much to expect artists to rise to Matisse’s level. But then maybe a better ending to this exhibition would have addressed the effect the “Modern Scandal” had on Matisse, who was distressed but undeterred by it. Fauvism soon faded, but color—bold, brilliant hues—remained among his hallmarks as he grew to become one of the 20th century’s greatest artists. Just a coda to this important episode would do.
Matisse’s ‘Femme au chapeau’: A Modern Scandal
San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, through Sept. 13