Breanne's Pick at The Met:

Ugolino and His Sons, modeled ca. 1860–61, executed in marble 1865–67

Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux (French, 1827–1875)

Saint-Béat marble

Ugolino, a traitor to Pisa, was banished to die of starvation with his sons and grandsons. In this haunting, dramatic, gut-wrenching sculpture by Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux, we see the torment in the father's face and features as his sons plead for him to eat them. Perhaps most disturbing, Ugolino seems to be considering it, so painful is his predicament.

Michaelangelo is all over this piece, as Carpeaux was a great student of the genius' work. Notice the perfect anatomy, the muscles, veins, sinews, all contracting in agony. Notice, too the oversized hands and feet, decidedly and purposely out of proportion as vessels of emotion.

To learn more of Ugolino, read Dante's Inferno.

To learn more about this sculpture, visit The Met's extraordinary website:

http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/67.250

Jeff's Met Picks: Rembrandt

Self-portrait

Rembrandt (Rembrandt van Rijn)  (Dutch, Leiden 1606–1669 Amsterdam)

The only museum in the world to house more Rembrandt paintings than The Met is the Museum het Rembrandthuis (or "Rembrandt House") in Amsterdam. This man took the medium of oils to new heights, and new depths, if you will, as his masterly application of hundreds of layers of glazes gave his work remarkable and unsurpassed dimension. His lavishly rich golden-toned works seem to radiate light from within. Rembrandt van Rijn painted himself many times over the course of his life. This is one of his last self-portraits and his honest, unforgiving eye portrays himself warts and all. I am always particularly struck by the wisdom emanating from his well-worn face, and a knowing sense of his psychology in an age that predates the formal science of psychology by some 200-plus years.

Jeff's Met Picks: van Gogh

Cypresses

Vincent van Gogh  (Dutch, Zundert 1853–1890 Auvers-sur-Oise)

van Gogh called cypress trees "Nature's perfect architecture." If you walk north through Central Park to The Met, you pass a grove of them on Cypress Hill. It is an especially fun thing to do if you are taking in the number of canvases of cypresses by van Gogh hanging in the museum. van Gogh's paintings are three-dimensional as he slathers on the paint with such abandon, the wide and wild paint strokes have an actual depth. Paintings in relief. The colors range from brilliant to putrid and the painting is at once a peaceful view of hilly countryside and a manic ride through the mind of one of the world's most celebrated artists, the man who sold one work out of his 2,100 in his lifetime, works that now sell regularly for 50 to 100 million dollars.

I wonder that van Gogh wasn't so much troubled as he was lonely. He may have had a social adjustment problem that today we would place on an autism continuum. He suffered from vertigo and inner ear infections, and as such, owns a piece of my heart. He cut off his ear out of pain, not out of love. He's been described as bipolar, epileptic, alcoholic (especially fond of absinthe), porphyric, and schizophrenic. And the end of his life is not often told correctly. A group of local youths in Auvers-sur-Oise taunted van Gogh for weeks, pretending to be his friend. It is very likely they lured him to a garden one day and shot him. He stumbled blocks to his room where he told the manager he had shot himself, despite no gun ever being found. He never told on the boys. He thought they were his friends.

His last words were: The sadness will last forever.

I remember all of that when I see this painting. A man longing for connection, giving life to the inanimate around him. And I do not find the painting sad or the product of a tortured mind. I find it joyful and telling from a man capable of ecstatic highs who paid our price with inconsolable lows.

Jeff's Met Picks: Picasso

The Blind Man's Meal

Pablo Picasso  (Spanish, Malaga 1881–1973 Mougins, France)

There was a recent retrospective of Picasso at The Met and all of his "periods" paintings were grouped together. I recall entering the "Blue Period" Room and likening it to a "cathedral of sadness." This painting is extraordinary on many levels. It shows Picasso's development from representational art to abstract expressionism. Hints of his "cubist" period to come are present in his rendering of the blind man's musculature, his clothing, the objects, but also present is Picasso's expert draftsmanship. He could render a human emotion with a line. The loneliness of this figure, groping for his wine, is heightened by the blue palette Picasso employs. And the honesty of the feeling is authentic. This was a particularly sad time in Picasso's life and, like all great artists, he turns that sadness into beauty.

Jeff's Met Picks: Duccio

Madonna and Child

Duccio di Buoninsegna  (Italian, active by 1278–died 1318 Siena)

The "Duccio," often nicknamed "The Mona Lisa of The Met" is the museum's most expensive acquisition. The previous Director of The Metroploitan Museum of Art, Phillipe de Montebello, made it a personal mission of his to acquire this masterpiece and raised the $4.5 million dollars it took to purchase it. It is a small devotional painting, remarkably small for it's price, and one that for centuries was placed behind votive candles for the intercession of prayer. In fact, one can see scorch marks along the bottom of the frame which is the original. (It is a minor miracle this painting never went up in flames!) Prior to Duccio, one never saw an interaction between Madonna and Child in this type of painting. But that one simple gesture of the Christ-child, gently sweeping away the veil on his Mother's head, turned the entire art world on it's head. God truly brought down to earth in this human gesture of affection. For this innovation, this painting is sometimes christened "the birth of Western Art."

Jeff's Met Picks: Yves Saint Laurent

Dress

Yves Saint Laurent, Paris  (French, founded 1962)

Artists have conversations with one another, challenging one another, shaping one another, sometimes outright copying one another as in this homage by Yves Saint Laurent to Piet Mondrian, the Dutch painter famous for a series of canvases much like the shift Saint Laurent created: Vertical and horizontal intersecting lines whose resultant blocks are occasionally filled with only the three primary colors. It was post-War 1919 Paris that led Mondrian to this revolutionary form of graphic abstractionism and harmony of pure color. It was the revolutionary 60s counter-culture in fashion that led Saint Laurent to refer to his predecessor in this now classic dress.

Jeff's Met Picks: de La Tour

The Fortune Teller

Georges de La Tour  (French, Vic-sur-Seille 1593–1653 Lunéville)

There are a number of de La Tour paintings at The Met. And one I like particularly more than this one called THE PENITENT MAGDALENE. But this painting, THE FORTUNE TELLER, always makes me giggle. The fatuous, pompous, skeptical, wealthy, young, doughy, prudish man turns his nose up at the old hag of a fortune teller, not realizing he is being totally ripped-off in a pick-pocketing scam by one of her accomplices. de La Tour was fascinated by light and its properties (as are/have been most painters, of course) but the dramatic lighting of this painting reminds me of the kind of stage lighting I am used to but predates de La Tour by some 250 years.

Jeff's Met Picks: Pollack

Autumn Rhythm (Number 30)

Jackson Pollock  (American, Cody, Wyoming 1912–1956 East Hampton, New York)

Zoom in on this painting and you will see that although seemingly arbitrary, there is an incredible sense of composition and color Pollack infuses into this very spontaneous work of art. Using splatters and "drip cans" suspended from strings, one can almost see the artist dancing around the canvas. I think of it as a painting of choreography. And as anguished and angry and troubled as Pollack was, I find myself feeling great joy whenever I stand before this. And in the midsts of the fury of the splashes, his muted palette gives me a sense of peace.

Jeff's Met Picks: Renoir

Madame Georges Charpentier (née Marguérite-Louise Lemonnier, 1848–1904) and Her Children, Georgette-Berthe (1872–1945) and Paul-Émile-Charles (1875–1895)

Auguste Renoir  (French, Limoges 1841–1919 Cagnes-sur-Mer)

I ALWAYS visit Madame Charpentier. The wife of a wealthy publisher, Renoir knew her husband who asked him to paint this seating. With it's vivid colors, it's forced perspective, the shifting gazes of the porcelain-complected subjects, and the formidable figure of Mme. Charpentier herself dominating the group in black, one's eyes are hurled around this painting in a frenzy of activity and motion, belying the quiet household setting, a loving one, as evidenced by the dog, "Fido" if you will, or the well-known symbol for fidelity in a marriage.

I have Renoir on my mind today. I must confess to having had grown less fond of him, him and his pretty paintings. They were commercially successful with their idealized subjects and doe-eyed models in a time when his contemporaries were struggling to eat. They lack the early signs of abstract expressionism of Cezanne, the primitive force of Gaughin, the ugliness of life in the rising bourgeoisie of Degas, the madness of van Gogh, and eventually, the brutal deconstructionism of Picasso. But he was an utter original, Renoir was. Copied poorly and ad nauseum for a century, I must remind myself that he was the first to apply color as boldly as he did, and, along with Monet, to start to dispense with the realism of his predecessors

Jeff's Met Picks: Brancusi

Bird in Space

Constantin Brancusi  (French (born Romania), Hobita 1876–1957 Paris)

February 19th is Brancusi's birthday. Don't know why I always remember that. His departure from his earlier mentor, Auguste Rodin and Rodin's very classical approach to sculpture, could not be more pronounced than in this sleek, soaring, expressionistic vision of a bird in flight. It is less the bird in flight than it is the very essence of flight itself. Surprisingly simple, it is I think, a masterpiece of both proportion and allegory, sensual and solid, and utterly modern in every good sense of the word. Happy Birthday, Constantin!

Jeff's Met Picks: da Vinci

The Head of the Virgin in Three-Quarter View Facing Right

Leonardo da Vinci  (Italian, Vinci 1452–1519 Clos-Lucé)

The Met's Collection is arguably the most eclectic in the world. Although Italy and France are home to his most famous works, da Vinci is well represented here in a number of studies and drawings like this one in charcoal. That he could achieve such a painterly quality, such realism, evoke such ethereal maternal affection with a piece of chalk is astounding. My favorite left-hander in history, he was equally adept with his right hand, endlessly curious, an inventor of ideas that would eventually dominate our lives 600 years later, an acutely accurate anatomist, a passionate liver of life, he was the very model of what we now call "The Renaissance Man."

Jeff's Met Picks: Leutze

George Washington: Man, Myth, Monument

Washington Crossing the Delaware

Emanuel Leutze  (American, Schwäbisch Gmünd 1816–1868 Washington, D.C.)

Yup! This is where it is!

Leutze's painting, in an age of limited media, made Washington a rock-star. And did much to promote his prestige, both actual and mythological, throughout the world. As an iconic painting, it is rife with factual inaccuracies. Among them: They are crossing the wrong way, it is daylight when they they in fact, crossed at night, the flag in not the flag Washington carried into battle, and Washington is standing. Not a good idea in a small boat. Fun fact: The figure behind Washington is future President James Monroe! I love this painting. And, if you didn't know, it is GYNORMOUS!

Jeff's Met Picks: Ingres

Joséphine-Éléonore-Marie-Pauline de Galard de Brassac de Béarn (1825–1860), Princesse de Broglie

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres  (French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris)

Ingres' mastery of his medium defies my vocabulary. The sheen of the silk, the airy lace about her head, the grace of her hands, and the serenity in her radiant face are all rendered exquisitely. That this woman, the Princesse of Broglie, would be dead in just a few years from tuberculosis, adds an element of sadness to the painting that I find so interesting. There is a knowing mortality to her enigmatic expression. But luckily for us, Ingres has made her eternal in her spot in the Robert Lehman Collection at The Met.

Jeff's Met Picks: David

Antoine-Laurent Lavoisier (1743–1794) and His Wife (Marie-Anne-Pierrette Paulze, 1758–1836), 1788

Jacques-Louis David (French, 1748–1825)

Oil on canvas

I see this massive painting every time I go to The Met. It hangs at the crossroads of some of my favorite collections. Painted by David, most famous for his "Death of Marat,"

that hangs in Belgium and is often referred to the painting that started the French Revolution, this painting of his is a masterpiece of portraiture, trompe l'oeil, and neoclassicism. M. Lavoisier, a genius in chemistry (he discovered the chemical composition of water!), went on to lose his head in the Reign of Terror, so it is particularly poignant to see him and his wife, who took all his notes in the workplace, in this moment of quiet, marital equality and happiness.

Jeff's Met Picks: Winogrand

El Morocco, 1955

Garry Winogrand (American, 1928–1984)

Gelatin silver print

I grew up seeing this image everywhere. Then, to see it hanging at the Met, I understood why. The composition is as perfect as any High Renaissance painting. We do not see him. We see her reaction. And it is feral, urban, specific to the Cafe Society of the NYC Supper Clubs of the 40s and 50s, and universal in its emotional life. It is one of the images that took the camera on its very long journey from novelty to its rightful destination as an instrument of serious art.

Jeff's Met Picks: Tiffany

Magnolia and Irises, ca. 1908

Louis Comfort Tiffany (American, 1848–1933); Tiffany Studios

Leaded Favrile glass

As beautiful as this is, we are slightly accustomed to the heights of craftsmanship L.C. Tiffany achieved in glass. Imagine, 100 years ago, seeing this virtual oil-painting in glass and being 100 times as awed by this sumptuous pastoral scene. I still can't figure out how he throws that bit of haze over the water of the river. Simply stunning.

Jeff's Met Picks: Cezanne

Mont Sainte-Victoire and the Viaduct of the Arc River Valley, 1882–85

Paul Cézanne (French, 1839–1906)

Oil on canvas

Cezanne painted Mont Sainte-Victoire many many times. This view always intrigued me. Why plant a tree right in the middle of the painting? But look what he has done. The tree, and the intersecting aqueduct in the distance, have divided the canvas into distinct quadrants, doing EXACTLY what he wanted to accomplish, as the description suggests: reveal the inner geometry of nature and make of Impressionism something solid and durable, like the art of museums.

Jeff's Met Picks: Monet

The Houses of Parliament (Effect of Fog), 1903–4

Claude Monet (French, 1840–1926)

Oil on canvas

This moody, sensual painting always haunts me. Monet's short but swirling brushstrokes wrap the eye inward to the ghostly Houses of Parliament on a bleak but satisfying afternoon, the sun aching to break the fog, but more likely, the soot of an industrialized London.

Jeff's Met Picks: Temple of Dendur

The Temple of Dendur, Roman period, ca. 15 B.C.

Egyptian; Dendur, Nubia

Sandstone

When Napoleon's troops stumbled upon this, they carved messages into the stone. So, here, in NYC, with Central Park looming on the other side of the great glassed Northern Wall of The Met, you can see an ancient Egyptian Temple marred by early 19th century French Graffiti!

Jeff's Met Picks: Hotel de Cabris

Boiserie from the Hôtel de Cabris, 18th century (ca. 1775–78, and later)

French (Paris); Made in Paris, France

Oak and plaster, painted and gilded; bronze-gilt, mirror glass, oak flooring

The Met is home to many lush and authentic period rooms. This one is among my favorites. "Boiserie" refers to the elaborate paneling, carved and gilded, that make up these extravagant walls. I'm a firm believer that no other art form is more informative about the culture that creates it than architecture. To take in the formality, the pomp, and the sobriety of this room is to take in the people that once roamed its oak floors, two hundred and thirty years ago.