Art history is rarely mindful of those who don’t fit neatly into its narratives, and the painter Balthus (1908–2001), who passed away last year at age ninety-two, has never really been a part of its story. Scorned by his detractors for his unregenerate representationalism and for the erotic overtones of his pictures of young girls, Balthus was never a modernist, though he lived during its headiest years and counted many of its protagonists among his friends. So it seems fitting that, during a spring season in New York blooming with outstanding gallery shows of modern art, including one devoted to Arshile Gorky’s portraits and a breathtaking selection from the Washing- ton University Gallery of Art at Salander-O’Reilly, his final two paintings hung in a group show, virtually unremarked upon.1
Balthus, who was so concerned with how the past inhabits the present, would find so much difficulty belonging to either.
Seen on adjacent walls, the two related canvases—the medium-sized Midsummer Night’s Dream (1998–2000) and the large L’Attente(1995–2001)—were, to my eye, somewhat disappointing in overall effect, imbued by their coloration and imagery with a sweetness that has always been tasted in Balthus’s work but which, in this case, was too sugary. Nevertheless, both are masterful in the assurance of their presentation, and, coming at the end of a career equaled only by the very greatest artists, they demand close scrutiny. One