A Provençal Fountain 

Curator: This is Henry Herbert La Thangue's "A Provençal Fountain." La Thangue was part of a movement that took painting out of the studio and into the open air. Editor: Ah, I love that light! It’s so dappled and golden, really bathing the whole scene in warmth. Makes me feel nostalgic for something I’ve never even experienced. Curator: Yes, the Impressionistic technique really lends itself to that feeling. Look at the cobblestones, the way he renders the surface, it all points to a specific kind of labor and materiality. Editor: It’s interesting you say that. For me, it’s all about the life of the street. The woman drawing water, the pigeons scattered about… there’s a gentle hustle, isn’t there? I can almost hear the cooing and the splash of the water. It’s a quiet painting but quite bustling too. Curator: Right, but note how that contrasts with the grand fountain. A key infrastructure. It’s constructed with a kind of rough elegance; notice its relation to both function and decoration and how the work of crafting it is honored, even romanticized. Editor: I see that, but that lone figure at the fountain is much more compelling for me than all the stones. She brings such quiet dignity to the task, doesn’t she? It transforms a simple act into something beautiful and contemplative. I wonder what she’s thinking… Curator: Perhaps she’s thinking about how access to water shaped community. Or, how gender and labor intersected in daily Provençal life at the turn of the century! The everyday economies of its towns and how these intersect with class are present, yet slightly obscured in paintings like this. Editor: Okay, sure. But, honestly, it just feels nice to imagine her day. Art gives you that opportunity; you are momentarily displaced to a golden-lit afternoon by a Provençal fountain. Curator: Absolutely! And by paying attention to the art object, we are transported in a tangible, socially informed way. Editor: Well, put like that. Yes. We're each carried away, in our own way.