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A critic once wrote of Impressionist Robert Lewis Reid (1862-1929) that he was born “with an iris before his eyes.” While the words naturally evoke Reid’s proclivities for purple hues and flowery subjects — particularly women enmeshed in floral surroundings — they also speak to the casually resplendent quality that suffuses many of his works. 1897 was not a small year for Reid. The Ten American Painters (or simply “the Ten”), of which Reid was 10%, formed their rebellious little team that year. It was also the year Reid received the commission he might be best known for: the Library of Congress murals depicting allegories of the five senses (as well as the figures of Understanding, Knowledge, and Philosophy). A portrait commission in the same year as those other heavyweight artistic accomplishments might seem like a mere blip on Reid’s radar. But Emma Burbank Ayer (1845-1932) was a tour de force in her own right. In 1885, Ayer became the first non-Indigenous woman to climb into the Grand Canyon, a feat that drummed up enough attention and accolades to get a peak named after her. At the outset of the twentieth century, fed up with the lack of travel literature written on Northern Africa, Ayer decided to remedy the situation by traversing Algeria and Tunisia then publishing a book about it. She was an avid photographer and a strong swimmer (you had to be if you hoped to make it far, 19th-century women’s swimsuits being made of wool and all). In short, Emma Burbank Ayer wasn’t really one for sitting pretty. Reid’s portrait reflects that author and consummate adventurer in some unlikely ways. The brushstrokes are precise and alive, the rendering polished but also leaving a fair amount of open canvas. It’s the image of a woman in motion, always on to the next (though do note the brilliant daubes of white, yellow, and green to denote a necklace and ring, more than hinting at the wealth that allowed for Ayer’s specific lifestyle). It’s also a painting of a story still unfolding, with yet many blank spaces to fill with colorful tales. Feeling like it’d be nice to have a bit of elegant portraiture that might inspire you toward your own daring escapades? Drop us a line — we think Emma makes mighty fine company. (Wondering why you didn’t get a Fine Art of [ ] in February? We planned to send it on the 28th but didn’t want to overshadow the announcement for Erin Garrity-Duffey’s solo exhibit Working Memory. We’ll be back to a regular schedule moving forward!)
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