Reflections on a Boston School Impressionist Education and the Absoluteness of Relatives in Art

        A similar relativity must be maintained in the degrees of sharpness whereby the apparent shapes in the field of vision are defined. Even a slight error of judgment in either of these areas may jeopardize the truth conveyed in a painting. The entire operation calls for a very perceptive eye, consummate draftsmanship and, above all, a firm intellectual grasp of the problem involved....comparatively few painters have carried it through even passably well.
                                     R. H. Ives Gammell


        It is essentially characteristic of the perceptual form that each single factor in the perception should have its meaning only in relation to all other factors; that all sizes. relationship of all lights and shades, all colors, etc., have only relative values. Everything depends on reciprocal relationships; everything influences the value of everything else. When we speak, therefore, of a total impression, we refer to the effect produced by the co-operation of all the factors in the perceptual form. Since the visual projection makes possible this conception of factors co-operating to form a unity, it follows that the single parts of which it is made up can have no meaning in themselves alone, but gain their significance only through that peculiar connection which constitutes their total unity. Accordingly, whenever in tracing the effect of a certain total appearance we are able to conceive the form of the object, it is because of the relationships existing between the various factors of the appearance. Hence if we try to represent pictorially our idea of form with the hope of producing a satisfactory total appearance we cannot succeed by translating kinesthetic ideas, piece by piece, into visual factors and then adding them together into one total appearance. In such a process we should not be considering at all the effects of the single factors as conditioned by their relations to the whole, but should be working, rather, as though each factor were perceived as isolated. We do not here deny the power of the spectator or of the artist as spectator to see at a glance everything represented on one canvas. We wish, rather, to emphasize the necessity of properly relating the parts of a picture in the process of composition.
                                     Adolf Hildebrand

        It has been observed that you can't pick your relatives and it is no less true in impressionism. For example, in laying in a painting you have a few initial anchoring points you may pick: Locations for top and bottom, or the extents of the lightest light and darkest dark. But after that, like it or not, you are their servants. After that, everything is relative to those choices and, of course, to all others in their turn.
        Of the more troubling conversations arising out of the anti-impressionist mindset presently troubling representational painting are allegations that impressionism a) led to, or encouraged poor education and b) led to, or encouraged the "moral relativism" of the age. The latter is a direct condemnation of impressionism originally expressed by Tolstoy. The former, sadly, may be attributed to Gammell himself. By indicting impressionism as a whole he indirectly implicates the men of the Boston School, his own teachers. To me this is a staggering misapprehension of the situation on both counts.
        In simple terms, Boston School impressionism requires more and not less education and discipline than run-of-the-mill photographic object painting. The Boston teachers, even by Gammell's own admission, provided as good a basic education as anyone anywhere in his day. The fact that there were so few practitioners of the kind of painting he wanted to do does nothing to diminish their commitment to teaching the traditional solid basics of drawing, painting and composition.
        The paucity of artists alive and running independent ateliers that could transmit the 'secrets' of salon paintings attests to to a loss of favor for that kind of work at the time. Put simply, it had run its course for the time being. Maybe it was, ironically, the photographic look of it that drained it of its magic as much as anything. For the moment the world was electrified by the more life-like impressions of certain artist' sunlit realities, more so than the stilted and over-stylized portrayals of ancient myths which meant nothing to them. The fact that the ignorant public couldn't differentiate between skilled impressionist craftsmen and hack imitators doesn't implicate either the craftsmen or their vision.
        Furthermore, indictments of a perceived moral relativism couldn’t be more misguided. For that matter, moral and religious language are much more easily lent to Impressionism’s defense than its condemnation. DeCamp’s entreaty that his students "paint straight and true like a Christian” wasn't any less an expression of his sincere love for all aspects of visual truth than it was a reflection of his religious background. The two could hardly have been thought to be in conflict. The particulars of one's religious faith aside, to be an impressionist is to be held spellbound before the light of the natural world and to endeavor to render it with the faith and honesty such love requires. This was a mindset shared as much by Gammell as any student of realism today. (Funny the irritation at the focus on light among apparently Christian moralizers. Didn't God Himself call forth light on the very first day?)
        However, the idea that in a painting all is in some sense "relative" is old news. Very old indeed, as it forms the very foundation of all aspects of good painting. I have in my studio a photographic enlargement of a note Gammell wrote and handed to me, stating that we paint visual facts not actual ones. The only visual facts are the apparent color, angles, proportions in relation to each other when reduced to two dimensions. When DaVinci talks about aerial perspective, he is demonstrating a relative truth: that the distant objects to our eyes appear less colored and less contrasty compared to things right before us. That is relative truth, as is all visual truth. That things appear smaller in perspective than similar things closer to the viewer demonstrates the relative nature of size to the viewer. To what does the word "relationship" attest but the apparent sizes, the sizes as they appear to this eye as they relate to other sizes?
        In fact the only absolute in painting is that everything is relative. Once you have settled on what is brightest in value or chroma, every value and chroma you make must be right in relation to that. Even when painting life size portraits in sight-size settings, the only actual size is the one which lies on the picture plane itself. Everything behind it will appear, and will therefore be drawn, smaller than actual. And all in front will appear larger to the eye. In other words, everything is subject to the relative size things appear to take in relation to each other from your viewing point.
        To cite another instance: consider the issue of relative values to actual values when doing a cast drawing. Thinking that by using the actual value of the white of the cast and its silhouetting dark note one can actually paint comparable effects of light, even in a classic studio setting, is demonstrably silly. It is ludicrously so under the open sky (as the wisdom that “one must be able paint the sun with the yolk of an egg” serves to remind.) 
        Where, then, is there room for moral condemnation of impressionism among people today, when it is merely the extension of the immutable laws of vision adduced and verified for centuries? I am afraid the reason for all this is to justify salon style painting techniques or - even more foolishly, the unfortunate use of absolutist based sight-size methods - as the only legitimate ways for representing reality truthfully. All others lead to perdition or modernism which is apparently, far worse.
        If you must have a fall guy for the chaotic state of representational art, instead of looking at artists who create truth out of color relations, like Monet, you might look at those who actually chose to randomize it: to bring chance into the equation. Acknowledged as the father of modern painting, Wassily Kandinsky, who was born to a wealthy Odessa family within a couple years of Benson and Tarbell, shared a common interest with Gammell in using painting to express non-visual ideas. He has far more in common with Gammell type imaginative painting than he has with impressionism and its love of the visual world for its own beauty. His drawing skills in any classic sense are non-existent, while his pernicious influence on the education of the artist is everywhere. And everyone agrees that he is the father of modern art. Rather than impressionism then, and I say this in only a partially tongue-in-cheek manner, perhaps it's reasonable to wonder whether, or to what extent, imaginative painting should be held responsible for modern art.

Wassily Kandinsky, Composition IV, 1911

Wassily Kandinsky, Composition IV, 1911

Claude Monet, Wheatstacks (End of Summer) 1890-1891

Claude Monet, Wheatstacks (End of Summer) 1890-1891

The Realism That Is Impressionism

        All great painters are more or less impressionists

                                                                                  Monet

        In short, a painter may properly be called an impressionist to just the extent that he renders aspects of nature as he saw them with unflinching honesty.

        Given its most complete expression in the art of Velasquez, who is still its greatest exemplar, its (impressionism's) aim has ever been to convey on canvas the impression made on the painter by the subject he elects to depict.”

                                                                                  R. H. Ives Gammell

       

[Velasquez' painting is a] "realism of general aspect."

                                                                                  Stevenson

        The realistic or truthful-as-possible depiction of people and things for use in paintings has pretty much always been a goal of representational painters. Pictorial subject matter depicting life as it is lived in reality, rather than its idealized, fantasized, or otherwise altered variant has 'always' been around as well. Romanticism in subject matter, no matter how realistic the drawing and stylization in the work's treatment of objects and people, falls outside the definition of realism.

         By the 1600's, the Dutch painters were not only known for their realistic depiction of daily life on the streets, but for actually painting peopled interiors directly from life. Even when depicting historical subject-matter such as Christ healing the sick, Rembrandt had done so realistically (even including a defecating dog in the foreground.) However, it's in Vermeer that we have the Dutch model for the modern impressionist - realist, one who sets up in their studio an entire scene of life just as it might have happened, and then painting it more or less exactly as they see it.

        Well, it's not quite that simple, because well before Vermeer something like this form of realism was already being practiced in Spain. Velasquez was raised on it, as evidenced by his early kitchen pictures. Yet from there, it was the direction in which he took this approach which had the greatest early impact on the emergence of realism in the 1800s -  particularly with Las Hilanderas and Las Meninas. His fluid, direct-painterly methods and the sense of life they conveyed stood him stand apart from the more typical, hard outlined and carefully modeled works, including his own, leading up to that time. So great was his influence in Boston that recipients of the traveling award at Boston's Museum School were sent to Madrid to copy in the Prado. Their inevitable painting choice, if not their actual assignment, was Velasquez' figure of a woman spinning in the right corner of Las Hilanderas.

                In that same Museum School training, directed as it was by Antwerp trained painter, Otto Grundman, Dutch painters were also extolled as examples for emulation. Typically great Dutch craftsmanship would be pointed out, yet with the advent of a new emphasis on light and color following the advent of Monet. The master of light, Jan Vermeer, became a painter of particular interest to those who would subsequently lead the Boston School. It isn't surprising that Museum School trained (and eventual teacher there) Philip Hale, would select Vermeer as the subject for a book. Hale's thesis, not only a singular written presentation of Vermeer's art, does a remarkable job in also introducing key tenets of Boston School impressionism. It should be read by anyone wishing to understand them. Paxton, who collaborated in Hale's research and analysis, is reported to have extolled Vermeer as his ideal of good painting - something Gammell clearly bought into as well. At times Paxton seems to be almost self-consciously imitating his work. As with Velasquez, graduates of the Museum School often copied Vermeer in Antwerp or elsewhere to complete their training

        As indicated, many of the Dutch were occupied with the idea of painting things just as seen; in the room, or on the table, before them. Still lifes, interiors, or genre scenes were most often set up and copied accurately, granting further impetus to the observation of visual truths. With some exceptions (Rembrandt being the most notable) conventions related to painting remained fairly uniform - dominated by the idea of drawing the figure or object pre-eminent, with its outlines executed first, and then its interior surface modeled with mid-tones rather like a modern day coloring book. With their finely articulated two-dimensional accuracy, and their continuous lines, Holbein's drawings often look as if traced on a glass. When Vermeer paints interiors, as in The Astronomer, he outlines each object in the same way. Even he is clearly operating from object outlines.

        Yet in Velasquez, who is obviously more interested in the larger visual impression for its own sake than Rembrandt, we see a real shift in the approach from the old way of painting. Velasquez's goal is to articulate the visual world as it appears, on its own terms, even when it includes an entire ensemble of people, and a variety of spaces. To execute such a complicated picture in a life-like way, he found new efficiencies: ways of getting more quickly to the point, and to the collection of relationships making up the big visual impression as we would call it today. His orientation is similar in certain ways to that of a French still-life artist named Jean Simeon Chardin, the other painter of key interest to Tarbell and the Boston school.

        Carolus-Duran and Dannat (the latter of which would have a major influence on Tarbell and Benson) as well as numerous others of their generation had found Velasquez' later approach well suited to their realist/impressionist ambitions. In the 1800's, some say as a result of the French Revolution of 1848 or even earlier, a realism understood as getting back to the depiction of life as it really is, began to dominate the visual arts. Sargent, who had adopted Carolus-Duran's approach almost exactly, had spent time in Spain working out his version of Velasquez' impressionism. Meanwhile Sorolla, Zorn, and our friends which made up the Boston School among many others dropped, for example, indirect and outline-first academic painting even when making imaginative pictures. Sargent's Oyster Gatherers of Calais and Smoke of Ambergris are examples.

        Yet even before that particular "French Revolution," the Dutch had already been developing painting along similar lines. Eventually, or one is tempted to say inevitably given their strong background in painting directly from life, landscape painting on location came to be attempted there. By the early 1800s, it was spreading south. At sixteen years of age, Monet is said to have found a Dutch trained painter, Boudin, painting on the beach. He put himself under his mentorship, eventually working with the artist's teacher, Jongkind - all in pursuit of the fascinating art of plein aire painting. Their approach to painting was also nearly outline free. By the time we get to Monet in particular, as he digs deeper into the study of the color of light directly before nature, it is clear that ever more effective and efficient processes for execution finally became de rigeur. At that point the methods of painting from life changed decidedly. And those of the Boston School were one of the more impressive in achieving all impressionism could hope for, what Gammell would go on to call the 'greatest evolution of impressionism.”

Velazquez, Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus, 1618-22

Velazquez, Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus, 1618-22

Velazquez, Las Hilanderas, 1657

Velazquez, Las Hilanderas, 1657

Representational Painting's Two Models

    “It cannot be too frequently pointed out to students of the period that both academicians and impressionists were justified in their respective aesthetic aims and that it is absurd to hold one type of painting to be a higher form than the other.   

    “...[T]hese objectives (of academic Lefevbre and the others) are alien to the impressionist endeavor which, as we have noted previously, aims to report the immediate impact of something seen and observed by the painter in its envelopment of light and atmosphere. Both ideals have suscitated great works of art, but each should be judged by its own criteria with the painter’s specific intent in mind .... a painter is obviously free to choose between these two mutually incompatible goals and his preference is usually determined by his native inclination.       

       “The word, 'impressionism' admirably suggests this purpose and differentiates it from a realism which seeks to imitate appearances rather than convey an artists reactions to those appearances...Indifferent to the world of the imagination they were deeply stirred by the world they saw about them.”                                                                                                                   R. H. Ives Gammell

    The evidence clearly supports the idea that representational pictures are of two basic sorts: imaginative, or pictures first seen in the mind and then pieced together like fiction writing in literature, and impressionistic, or pictures of the world as seen before the artist at the moment; a kind of "journalism of the senses" (though such an analogy may not entirely suffice.) For the purposes of this discussion, since it revolves around the teachings of Gammell, it is the key differentiation.

     Michelangelo's Sistine Ceiling, David's Oath of the Horatii, Leighton's Cymon and Iphigenia and most of the works of Gammell, are examples of the former. The creation of such works require many levels of preparation. The poses and groupings of the actors are drawn up as thumbnail sketches which are then most often worked up in detailed studies from live models. Clothing is studied in separate drawings, perhaps with the use of a manikin. Architecture is drawn out in some detail, often with three-dimensional models put to use. In Poussin's case, detailed dioramas were constructed which featured clay figures sculpted to scale. Elaborate layouts of all the elements are drawn onto paper, and traced or squared up onto the canvas or wall. Detailed grisaille studies of the parts and/or the whole are typically painted onto the surface before any color is added. The work proceeds in this complicated, indirect, and procedural vein ... ultimately leading to the final full color covering of paint for which many, if not all the parts, had been pre-painted as color studies. This form of the picture making craft is mechanically very complex, and has produced amazing results for those inclined to a work of the imagination. Creating a work in this way is a time consuming, and usually a very expensive proposition. The sort of work a wealthy government or church might have commissioned or promote in its institutions of art, but which a poor or middle income painter would have been hard pressed to endeavor. The Prix de Rome and a chance to study with masters of such painting in Rome was awarded by the government of France in specially designed competitions to young men who proved adept in its production.

    The word 'impressionism' was put to use by Gammell as the label for any paintings done from nature essentially just as the artist sees it before them, or as a reasonably proximal interpretation of what they see. Yet Monet and others of his plein air landscape painting circle were those first associated with the appellation. Speaking to the term's use as a descriptive for work done directly from life, R. A. M. Stevenson considers it understandable that “...[I]mpressionism was first fully made manifest in the work of a portrait painter.” Specifically Velasquez, (for whom his book is named and his inquiry prompted.) Still-lifes and interiors - like those of Chardin, Vermeer, or Velasquez - were initially set up, then painted on the spot as wholly pre-designed subjects. As their subjects stood before them as a gestalt, their process of execution was more direct and far more efficient than those of the imaginative painter. To paint a still-life, the impressionist will select and arrange the objects, select a lighting and vantage-point, decide the picture's size and proportions, stretch a canvas, and simply go to work. With figurative subjects, the model will be placed in a pre-arranged setting and assigned a pose which they will hold like a potato on a plate for as long as needed. The human model may be absent from the setting while the artist works on other elements, but ideally the ensemble is always together and apiece.

    The outdoor landscape is even less complicated, with the artist doing very little arranging - little more than looking around, finding a scene through their viewfinder, and setting canvas on easel. The only preliminary may be a small thumbnail drawing or a color study for initial review. From that point forward and without further ado, the impressionist directly renders what they sees before them with as much grace and efficiency as possible.

    Less direct methods may be used by some impressionists who will enact preliminary drawings of the scene or set-tup before them. The Gammell method for students included full value preliminary drawings of the whole, to be sized up and traced onto canvas, which is then laid in and subsequently finished one area at a time. This outline based method differs decidedly from that of the Boston School referred to by Gammell as the greatest evolution of impressionism. It is more closely tied to an older way, similar to that involved in producing Velasquez' early bodegónes; ways ultimately dropped by him in his quest for a more vivid expression of the visual effect, ways more commonly used by the imaginative painter.

    One final version of painting that would have to be considered 'impressionism' under Gammell's definition is the trompe l'oeil painting. It is treated historically as a deformity or a curiosity by comparison with the rest of impressionism, owing to its intentional exaggeration of detail and a tendency to reward a localized "looking in," rather than emphasize the truth of the larger impression. Having had to figure most things out for themselves, thanks to our widespread disconnect from the wisdom of the past, many of today's representational painters use curious combinations of any number of ways of handling visual truth even when working, as it were, "impressionistically."

    The fact that impressionist painting could be fairly readily undertaken by those without much financial support contributed to an increase in the number of those aspiring to be painters in the first place. A major onslaught of truly bad painting naturally accompanied this trend, as fewer and fewer acquired even a modicum of the necessary underlying skills. The destruction of the drawing base in our educational institutions, along with the failure of individual artists with skill to personally take responsibility for the success of the next generation are equally to blame in the damage done to representational art in the last hundred years. These realities in no way diminish the brilliance of impressionism's “greatest practitioners” in the Boston School, especially given the notion, as affirmed by Joseph Decamp, that it is the method “easiest to understand but hardest to do.” 

    Although imaginative artists have found that a key to their strength is in the ability to create a visually plausible scene, neither their operation nor their results would be usefully labeled impressionistic. They are not simply responding to the seen world as it is, but creating one of their own out of whole cloth. And although in that effort an understanding of perspective and chiaroscuro, the anatomies of plants, animals and people, interior and exterior architecture and even how they relate in the settings are very helpful to them, the impressionist painter finds thinking of these things can be an actual hindrance to their success; success which is significantly measured by truth to the look of nature. At best this kind of knowledge is primarily (and ought to be used as) a resource for checking one's work.

    Apart from accuracy of shape making and form interpretation, some compositional universals and, of course, skill in the oil medium, little of the complex technical craft of the imaginative painter is of use to the impressionist. It is inevitably piecemeal and object-based and would, if used by an impressionist, impair the hallmark unity of the visual whole. On the other hand, there is no question that the training undergone by the student of impressionism to see and accurately render the world before themselves visually would clearly benefit the imaginative painter in their quest for visual plausibility. All painters of stature speaking on the subject emphasize, before and all other considerations, the central importance of the mastery of the look of nature: key to understanding “la source” of art.

Gammel, The Predicament ,1958

Gammel, The Predicament ,1958

DeCamp, The Blue Cup, 1909

DeCamp, The Blue Cup, 1909

Jules Joseph LeFebvre, Judith, 1892

Jules Joseph LeFebvre, Judith, 1892

The Method is the School

THE BOSTON SCHOOL (An incomplete essay by Paul Ingbretson)

Introduction: The Method is the School

        “To discard the working methods evolved by the impressionist masters is to greatly reduce the scope of painting as an art.” - R. H. Ives Gammell

        “No great man is separable from his technique, and the difference between two great men lies largely in a difference of technique, for technique is truly the language of the eye... If this be granted, then technique is as important to an art as the body to man. Both of them appear and act for two hidden questionable partners, sentiment and soul...Technique, then, is the indivisible organic body of a man's conceptions, and cannot be rightly apprehended when studied in fragments.” - From Velasquez by R. A. M. Stevenson

        Numerous things have been written in the past thirty or so years referencing the Boston School. It has been credited with being the progenitor of the modern atelier movement of realist painting, while it is also darkly associated with the advent of bad education and “Modernism.” Strangely, it is arguably responsible for neither. As with the Boston School, the atelier movement training is based on the observation of nature. That training does not appear to differ much, in theory at least, from what Tarbell et al underwent at the old Boston Museum School within the first couple years of their study there, or what was being taught at Cowles, or the Pennsylvania Academy, or Art Student's League. The Boston School leadership of the Museum School (and the works of their students Gertrude Page, Gretchen Rogers and Leslie Thompson alongside them) suggests the same simple realist painting training that might have come from almost anywhere at the time, if better than most.
        Whatever they taught at the Museum School, the approach of its teachers to making paintings in their own studios could hardly have been more different from my own teacher, R. H. Ives Gammell's. Their definition of impressionism, presumably at least as broad as his, encompassed solid drawing as well as color-value based light effects. Yet Gammell's way of working was not impressionistic in the Boston School sense at all. In this writer's opinion, he simply sought to work the better qualities of impressionist color into a French academic way of working.
        Many will ask, “Isn't that exactly what they were doing? Isn't that what makes the Boston School so special?” Well, yes and no. While they did combine their good basic drawing training with impressionist light and color they did not do it Gammell's way. Rather than putting their new wine into an old wineskin they saw, as did other well-known painters of the day, that the successful combination of impressionist color and light with drawing and painting wet-into-wet would require rethinking the entire approach; an approach that found them working more like Velasquez or Chardin than Gerome or Bougeureau or their previous teachers at the Museum School or the Academe Julian. In their search for the new unity of approach necessary to their ambition they found, almost in concert, the Boston School approach. It is far closer to the way of Carolus-Duran as described in Kenyon Cox's Concerning Painting than the later outline based approach of Gammell.
        When Gammell said to me, “All I ever wanted was to paint one like Tarbell” it was clear that he meant the look and the magic of a Tarbell painting which is part and parcel of the Boston School approach. (By the way, in my humble opinion anyone today claiming the "Boston School" label should not only be teaching academic drawing and impressionist color, but the unified approach of its practitioners, Boston School painting understood as a process.) In the interest of full disclosure, anything else should be called "Gammell School" or "the new realism," or something else entirely. I should add that even though Gammell studied very briefly with the main exponents of the Boston School, it is clear that that education could not possibly have reached the point where he would have been given in a useful or understandable way the working methods of Tarbell or Benson. Unlike these men, Paxton, with whom Gammell did study at great length, is simply not the main actor. It is their work and not his that defined the Boston School.
        Among my purposes in writing about the Boston School is to bring awareness to categorical differences between simple realism (or what Stevenson in his Velasquez called "primitive realism" and primitive drawing) and Boston School, or truly impression-based painting and drawing. I would like thereby to encourage representational artists and students of painting not to overlook the real contribution of the school itself, its special value, and to offer those who love its orientation a chance to explore it more deeply. Theirs is truly a deep well, not to be overlooked by the wise. At the very least, a better understanding of it will help artists understand their own chosen approach better.
        Of course, I honestly believe that the ability to render what you see before your eyes - not just the drawing of proportion and gesture and form, but the light effects, the color relations, and the visual impression as a whole on its own orderly terms - is the basis of a sound education in the arts, period. No systematic teaching is as comprehensive as that of the Boston School when incorporated with the logic of its approach, its method, which  Gammell reminds is essential to its way of thinking. Unfortunately Gammell's overly broad definition of impressionism necessitates the inclusion of all methods ever used to articulate visual truth, without allowing for the dramatically different methods of different times and the necessary differences in their results. The work of Da Vinci or Bouguereau, considered impressionistic as being based on observations from life, are wrongly implied to share common methodologies with those of the Boston School itself.
        Though Boston School painters considered the information offered in a Boston Museum School education to be crucial to the success of any painter, their own personal working methods were simply not those of their school years, not those of the academies in which they studied in several particulars, and certainly not those of Da Vinci or Bouguereau. Further along in this essay we will focus on their work. We'll consider their working maxims and other conversations, and in particular the lay-in of their pictures, in an attempt to clarify the sound reasons for working as they did. We'll also differentiate their approach from other representational, or even what Gammell might have called “impressionist” painters. We will then demonstrate and discuss the advantages of their way of working from life, particularly for any painters who share their interests and goals.
        These considerations are based on almost 50 years of living around, looking at, and copying the actual work of Tarbell, Benson, DeCamp, and even Paxton, exploring in practice their approach. The conclusions are also a product of directly working with R. H. Ives Gammell in the Fenway Studios and having been involved in his discussions about the Boston School. My intention is not to sell the work of the Boston School per se, but simply to aid an understanding of it.


 

RH Ives Gammell, The Seamstress, 1923.

RH Ives Gammell, The Seamstress, 1923.

Edmund Tarbell, Woman Mending a Glove, 1935

Edmund Tarbell, Woman Mending a Glove, 1935