BOOKS
665
And it's no minor accomplishment that
The Unknown Matisse
is accessible
to those less versed in the rancorous twists and turns of modern art's devel–
opment.
Spurling's model could have been John Rewald's landmark,
The
History oj Impressionism
(1961), which is equally readable. Her intent, by and
large realized, is parallel to that of Rewald, who cited in his preface the
famous nineteenth-century French historian and sociologist, Fustel de
Coulanges:
History is not an art, it is a pure science. It does not consist in telling
a pleasant story or in profound philosophizing. Like all science, it con–
sists in stating the facts, in analyzing them, in drawing them together
and in bringing out their connections. The historian's only skill
should consist in deducing from the documents all that is in them and
adding nothing they do not contain. The best historian is he who
remains closest to his texts, who interprets them most fairly, who
writes and even thinks only in that direction.
But as art history began to be shaped into a tool for social advocacy,
the joy of looking oddly has become a tragic casualty. There is no greater
insult to the
oeuvre
of Matisse and his faith in the power of purely visual
expression. Thankfully, Spurling's book soothes the slap. In fact, to remain
loyal to her object of scrutiny, she seems to follow Matisse's dictum from
his crystalline "Notes of a Painter": "Even when [the artist] departs from
nature, he must do it with the conviction that it is only to interpret her
more fully." Impartial research is a return ticket.
Spurling places Matisse in his rich historical, social and emotional con–
texts. Less than half the weight of most exhibition catalogues (yet over four
hundred pages), the book is replete with eclectic historical illustrations
and abundant reproductions of paintings. A map or two wouldn't have
hurt. The book begins with Matisse's birth in 1869 and tapers offjust after
the turn of the century, with Matisse nearly forty years of age. Almost
halfWay through his life, he was belatedly but firmly established.
The Matisse of 1908 is familiar to us. He had painted his revolution–
ary, large, figurative pastorals
(Luxe, calme et volupte,
1904-5, and
Le
Bonheur
de vivre,
1905-6), which remain jarringly enigmatic nearly a century later.
By 1908, he had come to the attention of an increasingly open-minded
clientele and had exhibited abroad. The idiosyncratic Russian collectors
Shchukin and Morosov spurred him on; so did such intellectually sharp
Americans as the Steins-Leo, Gertrude, Michael and Sarah-and later the
