In Times of Peril, There’s Rococo
Wandering the Metropolitan Museum of Art a few times every year is core to my being as a New Yorker. There’s much to see, so much appreciate, so much to be repatriated. The more traveling I do, the harder it is to bare the Met’s Oceanic Art, Ancient Near Eastern Art, Egyptian Art, and Islamic Art collections.
Recently I visited Cairo, seizing as many cultural opportunities as I could squeeze in, from trying koshari to visiting mainstay attractions like the Giza pyramids as well as the newly-opened Grand Egyptian Museum, which I cannot recommend enough. Having experienced the pyramids in person—their sheer size, construction, precision—it’s astonishing to me that 4,600 years ago it took the ancient Egyptians just 20 years to complete the Great Pyramid. And the thing is still standing. Like…your mind should be blown. Ancient Egypt was an extraordinary civilization. And entirely too much of that history has been looted and hoarded by the west under the guise of knowledge and beauty, and now sits in museums like the Met.
Great Pyramid of Giza (Khufu's pyramid), ca. 2600 B.C., 📷 2024
I was at the Met a few of weeks ago. With Cairo fresh in mind, I felt compelled to swing by the Egyptian Art wing. I made it halfway down one hall before the exceptionally high walls started closing in on me and had to turn around. All I could see were trophies of colonial conquest—precious ancient artifacts from Djoser, Saqquara, and Giza that modern-day Egypt and Egyptians have been robbed of. Going in, I was prepared to feel pissed off at what I saw. But the overwhelmed, depleted feeling that came over me instead? Did not anticipate that. But you know, these are trying times we live in. In that moment, staring at wall tiles from the funerary apartments of king Djoser led to thinking about cultural extraction, which led to thinking about cultural genocide, and thus a downward spiral ensued and I had to get out.
Wall tiles from the funerary apartments of king Djoser, ca. 2630–2611 B.C.
After I fled the halls of Egypt, I climbed the grand staircase towards the safety of the European Paintings collection. Straight to my beacon and forever favorite, El Greco. I could sit all day in that room staring at The Vision of Saint John, which is exactly what I did before reaching my threshold for aloof tourists. Then I started on my routine European wing meandering, passing familiar faces and places I’ve called friends for the last 20 years.
The Vision of Saint John, El Greco, ca. 1608–14
And that’s when I reached the room of mother effing Jean Honoré Fragonard and surprised the hell out of myself. Fragonard was a French Rococo master known for his stylistic manner of lightness, exuberance, frivolity, and play. His portrayal of aristocratic life, while technically excellent and even witty, has always been too fluffy and cotton candyish for my liking. Why should I care about an idealized version of rich people having the time of their lives? (I suppose this being a work of art, there are actual valid reasons to care, but let’s keep having fun.)
Fragonard is silly. His art never resonated with me. That is, until this particular day at the Met following my melodramatic (but not unwarranted!) spiral in the Egyptian wing, when I breezed by Marie Emilie Coignet de Courson (1716–1806) with a Dog and found myself doing a double take. This lady, this ridiculous woman, Marie Emilie Coignet de Courson, and her fucking dog. They made me smile. And I just stood there, in awe of how incredibly over-the-top and wonderful this painting was. It’s tackiness moved my soul.
Marie Emilie Coignet de Courson (1716–1806) with a Dog, Jean Honoré Fragonard, ca. 1769
The Met uses the word “electric” in its description of the portrait, and I wholeheartedly agree. Fragonard’s sweeping, vigorous brushstrokes are bursting with so much life I can’t help but comparing them to El Greco’s own frenetic approach. Which feels completely insane and wrong. But there it is. And so, a message to the ghost of Fragonard: I thank you for your art. I find it hilarious that after 20 years of rolling my eyes at your work, you finally got to me. I don’t know what that says about me or the state of world or whatever, but I am grateful to have stumbled upon your poofy pair when I did.