Life in the Fields (1876-77) Paul Cézanne & Irony

Personal Reflection

I saw my first Cézanne in Dublin's National Gallery. I approached this piece like I would any other. I steadied myself in front of it, and I stared. I thought: What do I know about the painting? What do I know of the style? What do I know about the painter himself? I stood for no less than twenty-odd minutes in front of this painting. Simultaneously, as I came to my conclusion, a couple walked up and began to view the work alongside me. While small talk has never been my forte, I asked if they knew much about Cézanne and his work. They responded that they did not but would like to. So I gave them a small overview of both the artist and this particular work. I began with Cézanne himself, and his lifelong alienation from other humans. From his father, to other artists and art critics, and finally his once-best friend Émile Zola. I transitioned into this particular painting, stating you can see such alienation in the ways he paints humans within his work: with broad indifference. He paints them as if they are as much of the environment as the foliage, house, and hills. Even in the portrait paintings completed of his wife and son, he shows estrangement from human affairs and emotion. This way of painting was certainly novel, and paved the way for post-impressionism. It was quite a lovely chat with the couple, and they seemed quite engaged and happy to listen despite my tangent on the nuances of Cézanne's work. Afterwards, they genuinely thanked me for the context, and we talked for a tad bit longer. As they left to view more of the gallery, I thought to myself the irony of the discussion. Cézanne, famously known for his detachment towards human interaction, brought three strangers together in a museum across the world and allowed them something he seldom achieved himself.