City Life

"Room in Brooklyn" (1932), by Edward Hopper

In The Art of Travel, Alain de Botton describes the city dweller's need to travel in the countryside by referencing the poems of William Wordsworth, who

"... proposed that nature - which he took to comprise, among other elements, birds, streams, daffodils and sheep - was an indispensable corrective to the psychological damage inflicted by life in the city.

The poet accused cities of fostering a family of life-destroying emotions: anxiety about our position in the social hierarchy, envy at the success of others, pride and a desire to shine in the eyes of strangers.  City dwellers had no perspective, he alleged, they were in thrall to what was spoken of in the street or at the dinner table.  However well provided for, they had a relentless desire for new things, which they did not genuinely lack and on which their happiness did not depend.  And in this crowded, anxious sphere, it seemed harder than it did on an isolated homestead to begin sincere relationships with others."

An excerpt from Wordsworth's "Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey":

[Nature] can so inform 

The mind that is within us, so impress 

With quietness and beauty, and so feed 

With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, 

Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, 

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all 

The dreary intercourse of daily life, 

Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb 

Our chearful faith that all which we behold 

Is full of blessings.

Rooms by the sea

"Rooms by the sea" (1951), Edward Hopper

Wish you were here

"Hotel Room" (1931), Edward Hopper

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

by David Gilmour and Roger Waters

About the song

Edward Hopper in DC (Take Two)

"Eleven A.M." (1926), by Edward Hopper

Earlier today, I was able to return with William to the East Wing of the National Gallery to spend a good two hours in the Edward Hopper exhibit. It was amazingly crowded, but still a wonderful show. I can't get over the size of the canvases, the vibrant colors, nor the solemnity of the moments portrayed.

Hopper's wife, Jo, was his primary model for most of his paintings, so it stands to reason that many of the women have a similar look. In fact, my favorite Hopper painting now seems to contain a fully dressed version of the women on this page...

"Evening Wind" (1921), by Edward Hopper

Edward Hopper in DC

"Room in New York" (1932), by Edward Hopper

The National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, is hosting an exhibition of Edward Hopper's work until January 21, 2008. This collection contains my favorite Hopper painting.

This past Thursday, I was able to sneak into the exhibit with only 35 minutes before the museum closed. (It's unjust that the National Gallery closes at 5 in the afternoon, the exact time that many taxpayers get off work, but I digress further.) Because of the late hour, I was unable to hear the audio tour, nor watch the overview video, which is narrated by Steve Martin. No matter. It was still the most extraordinary 35 minutes I've spent in many weeks - some thrilling combination of sensuality and wonder. I will be going back as soon as I can.

Automat

"Automat" (1927), by Edward Hopper

This is my favorite Edward Hopper image, and as you may know, I have a large version of it in my study. It was used by TIME magazine for a cover story on depression (August 28, 1995), but I don't associate Hopper's work with being sad or melancholy (as he said, "The loneliness thing is overdone"). In much of his art, Hopper seems to convey that human solitude can also be necessary, liberating, and even tranquil.

I fondly remember a conversation I had with Allan Jones, the painter. We were trying to figure out why Hopper's work often seemed to express a void or a vacuum. Allan pointed out that what many of these paintings are missing is the viewer himself. For example, here Hopper gives you an empty chair to sit in, if you want. Wouldn't you like to come in and be quiet for a while?