Word: monticelli
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...this weren't enough, your reviewer has just returned from the basement of the Fogg where the Registrar's Office is temporarily sheltering oils by Modigliani (one of his most famous), Monet (a great Venetian study), Monticelli (a good still-life by this long underrated Impressionist master), Utrillo, Cezanne, Degas, Redon, and Rouault. This excellent collection, belonging to Dr. and Mrs. Erich Kahn, will soon be on display upstairs--"that is," Miss Elizabeth Strassman, the Chief Registrar, happily lamented, "if we can find any place for them...
...Midi sun. The most famous of the lot were by Fragonard, Daumier and Cezanne. (In maturity they learned to blend garlic with more subtle spices, and rose above their baroque beginnings to highly individual achievements.) But the star of the Louvre's show was a lesser man, Adolphe Monticelli, who remained typically Provencal throughout his career, was almost forgotten for a time, and is now enjoying his own little renaissance...
...lifetime (1824-86), Monticelli was a great success. From the day of his death his reputation unaccountably declined. His art was nervous, rich, and flickeringly intense. He loved to paint girls in bright gowns drifting like little flames through dark forests; sometimes he gave the same dreamlike quality to a straight portrait or still life. Technically, his work was very uneven. Being a romantic, he painted from the heart, and everything depended on how he felt at the moment. At his best, he evoked dusk in Provence as effectively as a great U.S. romantic, Albert Pinkham Ryder, suggested night...
Born in Marseille, Monticelli spent his middle years in Paris. When the.Germans invaded France in the Franco-Prussian War, he decided to go home again. He walked, stopping off at likely farmhouses and portraying the farmers' daughters to earn his keep. The journey took eight pleasant months. In Marseille he settled down to steady work in a red-shuttered studio and to a genial evening round of opera and absinthe. It is said that when admirers flocked about his cafe table to praise his work, the bald, bearded old Bohemian would blithely reply: "I don't know what...
Among the ruined olive groves and the drab, pathetic rubble of small Italian towns, exultant Frenchmen with glittering eyes were rubbing out the memory of June four years ago. Down the dusty, twisting road from the ancient hill village of Esperia, toward Monticelli and the pockmarked Liri Valley, buzzed a jeep with the shield of a general of France. "Voila le grand Charlie!" sweaty Frenchmen shouted to one another, and froze in proud salute...
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