Transcendence, Aery, Aery, Glow
April 29, 2025
Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose is John Singer Sargent’s best work. I read an article on the artist recently, and it was said that during the Gilded Age, if you ever were at a lack for words in conversation with an heiress, you could ask her, “And how do you like your Sargent drawing?” In a world that is full of stuffy portraits of the aristocracy, Carnation was pushing the boundaries of what portraiture could be and forced people to see that Sargent was talented beyond that genre.
John Singer Sargent, Asher Wertheimer, 1898. Tate Britain, London. Oil on canvas, 147.5 x 98 cm
A “visual poem,” in the words of Caroline Corbeau-Parsons, Assistant Curator at the Tate Britain Museum where the painting is housed, is rather fitting. A serene, twilight scene with touches of luminescent lilac carnations and lilies, and peachy-pink lanterns floating around two little girls dressed in the silkiest white nightgowns you’ve ever seen rendered in oil; the painting is indeed poetic. But let’s be honest, as art connoisseurs, we’re already quite familiar with how well Sargent depicts fabrics, (he’s known for satin and silks as realistic as his faces). Carnation is poignant in how unposed, capricious, and light it is, especially when in comparison to portraits like Asher Wertheimer, (also by Sargent) that feel cold and constructed, like the set of a stage without its actors. By this time, the American-born artist already had a slew of famous elites he had created commissions for, and his name was revered as the portrait artist to get your likeness done by. Far removed from his typical work, Carnation has a raw quality that is not present in his other captures of the elite, although those are masterpieces all on their own. Take the girls for instance in Carnation; being children, they are in very natural motions of play, with no regard to how they look or will be portrayed to the world, unlike the aristocracy in all of Sargent’s other works who have been positioned to show off their fine dress and high status. They seek to paint a perfect picture, however fake it may be.
John Singer Sargent, Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose, ca, 1886. Tate Britain museum, London. Lithography and oil painting, 153.7 x 174 cm.
Although still a commission like much of his other work, this time from Sargent’s contemporary Frederick Barnard, the artist displays a lot more freedom in his composition. Not only has Sargent decided to depict a transient moment in time, but he has chosen to depict his subject in a less idealized manner. The children exhibit a sense of freedom that is not witnessed within the more restrained and mature subjects Sargent also painted. As youths, their portraits are not about class or status, but rather about the innocence and joy of childhood. Before meeting the two little girls he would be painting, Sargent had already practiced this composition, but hadn’t been fully satisfied as his model had “hair too dark” for his vision (we know this from a letter he wrote to a friend). When he met little Polly and her sister Dorothy, he knew their small frames and very fair hair would fit perfectly into a version of his softly-lit garden composition. Initially inspired by lanterns one evening in Pangbourne, a small village in England, Sargent spent the course of two long summers waiting patiently for twilight each day to set up his stage. Although carefully staged in setting, the sporadic moment of the girls who are not looking directly at us, but rather are fully engaged in lighting their lanterns, feels fleeting, like childhood. It makes us feel as if we are secretly looking through a hole at a rather magical moment, holding our breath so as not to startle the beautiful dragonflies at work.
Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose deviates from Sargent’s other titles, adding to the capricious nature of the scene with its rhythmic sequence of 3, then 2 repeated, then 1-beat, syllables. Up until this point, the artist’s titles were rather boring and literal, simply naming the person he had depicted. With this nomenclature, he gives us a hint of himself we have yet to see, a side that only his friends know. Also abandoned are the serious tones of browns and blacks he often uses to ground his figures. Born is a candy-colored fairyland, amidst a lush green, sprinkled in places by the soft, ethereal light of dusk.
For those who say the painting is a fluff piece, I say look at Sargent’s oeuvre; he’s already proven himself via technical proficiency that recalls Diego Velazquez. Velazquez practically held a monopoly on portraiture in 17th century Spain and nearby regions, and Sargent recalls the painter’s precise depictions of fabrics, faithful likeness of his subjects, and arresting glances. For those that argue that Sargent’s Madame X is a stronger work, I say, touché. Let’s evaluate: what makes that piece so popular? If it’s the controversial past when it was exhibited, then I would say bare shoulders and a fallen strap? Controversial, really? The art world has seen many female subjects that were even more disrobed than Madame Gautreau, the woman behind Madame X, who is only bare at the shoulders; so while this might make Madame X Sargent’s most well-known work, it certainly doesn’t make it the best. (Sargent did however repaint the piece with the shoulder strap as it was meant to be worn.) Sargent had chosen to focus on his subject’s fine, almost translucent, white skin and her side profile, but in doing so, we’ve lost the chance to read her face or gain any insight into who this woman is. It’s also very well-known that Sargent and Claude Monet were friends, and that Sargent adopted Monet’s technique of painting en plein air. But to anyone saying he’s just copying his close friend & mentor Monet, while I would agree that this is definitely Impressionist-inspired, Sargent doesn’t fully lose himself in shapeless blobs of color. Every flower petal, blade of grace, and ruffle of a dress is clearly depicted as it would be in front of our very eyes. While the colors chosen and softness of the scene does give in to Impressionistic tendencies, it’s one entirely of Sargent’s making. Trying to recover from the scandal that Madame X had caused as his entry for the Paris Salon in 1884, Sargent had to dig deeper if he wanted to maintain his status as the portrait artist of the time. Thus, Sargent was in a crisis when he began painting Carnation, and isn’t that when artists make their best work? We have depression and mental illness to thank for the genius of Vincent Van Gogh, Edvard Munch, Frida Kahlo; and now for John Singer Sargent. Although grateful for the commissions that had built his career, later in his life when he was finally able to get away the portraiture that he had grown so weary of, “especially of the Upper Class”, we see that what he really wanted to paint was landscapes, which he gives an inkling of here. While not a full-blown panoramic landscape, if referring to the origin of the Dutch word ‘landschap’ and its meaning: a patch of ground, Sargent does indeed give us foliage and fauna and a small patch of this secret garden the girls play in.
John Singer Sargent, Madame X, 1884. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City. Oil on canvas, 92.5 x 43.25 inches.
With his passing in 1925, Sargent left a collection of over 900 oil paintings, and the passion of his later life: watercolors, landscapes, and murals done for various institutions. But with Carnation, he left us with a reminder that art is not only about social status or other pretentious class superficiality. It is also about the power to elicit an emotional response. When I look at this painting, I feel happy. I feel like anything is possible. And I remember the magical moments of my youth when dusk arrived and I’d be called in for dinner. Although this meant the end of play for the day, it was the only time of day when the earth seemed still for a few quiet moments, bathed in ethereal candlelight as the sun said goodbye. This is the magic of Carnation.
Author Bio
Savannah Gallegos is currently an Art History major and French minor at Texas State University, with plans to move to Europe to pursue a Master’s and Doctorate’s in Art History. She loves to read about Baroque and European art, art critics by Peter Schjeldahl and Jerry Saltz, spending time with her 3 rescues dogs, and drawing.