Georges Rouault, Sculptor of Color

With no small joy I learned today from a write up by Michael Kimmelman in Art Review of an exhibit of Rouault works at the Mitchell-Innes & Nash Gallery (“Georges Rouault: Judges, Clowns and Whores”). For too long Rouault's ouvre has been all but ignored, or turned into a footnote in the careers of Matisse, Picasso, and other, more easily categorized, less archaically "religious" artists.

As for Kimmelman's article, I found it good, though of course it misses the point by (as ever) placing the emphasis on Rouault's subject matter and his own proclaimed piety for the poor and martyred and misunderstood. His genius—and his contribution to art history—lies not with his subjects or themes but with his technique, a rapturously sensual grasp of the most humble materials--paint and knife. Square inch by square inch, he could give Rothko and any of the abstract expressionists a run for their money. But unless they have their faces rubbed in them, critics like Kimmelman tend to be too far-sighted. I submit that Rouault's real subject were those textures and colors that produce their own heavenly raptures in viewers, much as Rothko's canvasses would decades later. If only Rouault had abandoned subject matter completely! But that's not always possible, and he did the next best thing: he simply repeated the same subjects over and over, turning them into armatures for sculpted color.