Who is the most famous American painter?
Which is not the same as asking, Who is the greatest American painter?(1) I had a particular artist in mind, but I wondered what the internet would offer as an answer. A Google search of the introductory question yielded very little response. The closest any entry came (the one at the top of the search list) was from a site that churns out top 10 list after top 10 list.(2) On that list, the number one place went to Andy Warhol—which I guess can reasonably be argued—for famous he was. It seems to me, though, that the painter who for many decades of the past century would have had claim to that title was Norman Rockwell.
My first thought when thinking about Rockwell is that there is no ambiguity in his work. His patriotic paintings—like The Four Freedoms—are straightforwardly patriotic. His comic vignettes—like the sailor whose arm is covered with the crossed-out names of previous girl friends getting the name of his latest amour tattooed below the others—are comic. Even his rare political commentary—like the portrait of the little black girl escorted by marshals on her way to integrate a school—is uncomplicatedly plain in its intent.
Consider this painting called “Walking to Church” from 1952:
It would seem to fit in with other Rockwell religion-themed paintings—the nuclear family neatly off to church—but with a little dig (perhaps) at boozehounds as they pass a shuttered bar and grill on that Sunday.
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But . . .
And this is what the whole blog is about: Another Rockwell painting—this one from 1959—entitled “Sunday Morning.”
I look at this Rockwell, and for once I see ambiguity. And I’m trying to figure out which side Rockwell is on.
Is he, as in the “Walking to Church” painting, celebrating Ozzie-and-Harrietish whitebread-eating middle-classness, all prim and proper coloring-within-the-lines? In which case, the pantomime villain is the father, still in his pajamas sprawled out in his chair with the Sunday papers messily on the floor, next to his breakfast. A slob in contrast to the oh-so-neat mother and daughters in their white gloves and son in his pants suit with bow tie and little peaked cap. And it’s maybe even worse. I suppose that the service the quartet are going to will feature an anodyne sermon, probably about good works. However, what if the minister (for I assume it’s a Protestant church they’re off to) is a Bible-thumping fire-and-brimstoner? Then those sweet churchgoers are implicitly leaving daddy behind to burn in hell.
When I first saw this painting years ago, I thought—and still think—that this painting is quite different from other Rockwells: that Rockwell has introduced ambiguity into his work, and behind that ambiguity lies satire.
When I looked, I saw the girls and the mother, with their holier-than-thou noses in the air, deliberately snubbing the father-and-husband who has spent all week working to provide for their neat little existence in their neat little suburban house and to pay for their barf-enducingly-cute little flowery hats and white gloves. The son, all quizzical, looks over to his father, as if wondering, is he my role-model? Can he fathom that the man deserves his day of rest?
To sum up:
If Rockwell is not doing what I think I see here (or is it, what I want to see here?), and is unambiguously on the side of the Bible-clutchers, then I hate this painting as much as I hate any painting.
But I hope Rockwell, like me, disdains the false piety of those who can go off to pray—with their noses in the air—without leaving a little love behind for the man sprawled in his chair.
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Now, I really would like to know your opinion. Am I right to discern an underlying satire in the painting? Or, perhaps I’ve got the satire wrong, and it’s directed at a father who is failing in his duty.
So, help me out on this. There’s a space below to offer your views. I really would like to know what you think.
Thanks.
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(1) A question I would never ask. I believe we shouldn’t descend to the invidious practice of attempting to measure greatness, but to gratefully accept all outstanding performances.
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