![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I saw the J.W. Waterhouse exhibit at the Musée des Beaux Arts in Montreal this weekend; it now ranks as one of the best exhibits I've seen.
I'll admit, I spent as much time looking at how the exhibit was designed as I spent looking at the paintings themselves. The theme was black-on-black (and, having spent quite a while ranting about the whole white-wall exhibition technique, I was pleasantly surprised to see the opposite effect). All the walls were painted a mat black, the lights were muted, and the exhibit lettering was black vinyl (the lights were angled to create a reflection, so the words were visible, but very subtle). Each room was grouped by theme (the early years, the mystical, the garden/bower, etc) and the decor reflected that shift: the mystic room's centerpiece was a black velvet bench in the shape of a star; the bower had four black wooden benches and black plastic roses hanging down the partition wall; the study/drawings room had two black wood and black cushioned wingback chairs, a black vase with black flowers, and a fantastic compass rose circular black rug.
The paintings were all in their original (or at least close enough) frames, of heavy gilded gold. Black curtains framed some of the most important paintings, such as the famous Lady of Shalott. What was most striking of all, in my opinion, were the colors: rich and vibrant, with lots of shades of red and bright whites... until you chanced upon what was, for me, the show-stopper: Circe Invidiosa
I tried to pick the version that best represents the coloring, but there's no describing the richness of the green water she's pouring, or the blue of both her dress and the pond, subtly different. The blues and greens practically glowed against the gold frame and black wall. There's definitely something to be said for color choices in a gallery.
(It brings to mind the Egyptian statue I saw a few years ago, also at the MMFA: a white limestone statue, over life-size, on a dark, dark blue background. The image has stayed in my mind long after I've forgotten exactly what the statue depicted... and most of the rest of the exhibit, I'm sad to say).
I'll admit, I spent as much time looking at how the exhibit was designed as I spent looking at the paintings themselves. The theme was black-on-black (and, having spent quite a while ranting about the whole white-wall exhibition technique, I was pleasantly surprised to see the opposite effect). All the walls were painted a mat black, the lights were muted, and the exhibit lettering was black vinyl (the lights were angled to create a reflection, so the words were visible, but very subtle). Each room was grouped by theme (the early years, the mystical, the garden/bower, etc) and the decor reflected that shift: the mystic room's centerpiece was a black velvet bench in the shape of a star; the bower had four black wooden benches and black plastic roses hanging down the partition wall; the study/drawings room had two black wood and black cushioned wingback chairs, a black vase with black flowers, and a fantastic compass rose circular black rug.
The paintings were all in their original (or at least close enough) frames, of heavy gilded gold. Black curtains framed some of the most important paintings, such as the famous Lady of Shalott. What was most striking of all, in my opinion, were the colors: rich and vibrant, with lots of shades of red and bright whites... until you chanced upon what was, for me, the show-stopper: Circe Invidiosa
I tried to pick the version that best represents the coloring, but there's no describing the richness of the green water she's pouring, or the blue of both her dress and the pond, subtly different. The blues and greens practically glowed against the gold frame and black wall. There's definitely something to be said for color choices in a gallery.
(It brings to mind the Egyptian statue I saw a few years ago, also at the MMFA: a white limestone statue, over life-size, on a dark, dark blue background. The image has stayed in my mind long after I've forgotten exactly what the statue depicted... and most of the rest of the exhibit, I'm sad to say).
