Finding yourself.
It is 1872.
And in Paris, the artist Edgar Degas, age thirty-eight, is a demoralized former soldier in the French National Guard.
The Guard had been charged with the defense of Paris against the onslaught of German troops under the leadership of the Prussian Army.
But, despite four months of heroic effort, the Guard had failed to break the Prussian Army’s siege of the city.
Paris had fallen and the victorious Prussian Army had paraded through its streets.
The emperor, Napoleon III, had been captured and the French government had fallen.
Paris was in turmoil as the French people struggled to stand up a new government.
But Edgar’s younger brother René had come home from New Orleans to visit his family.
A happy interlude.
René had gone to New Orleans seven years earlier, right after the US Civil War, to work in the cotton trading business the Degas extended family operated there.
Edgar took René to the places where he had fought the Germans and they had talked.
As his visit came to an end, René asked Edgar to come with him to New Orleans.
It was a tempting suggestion.
Edgar’s art works were not what we now think of when someone mentions ‘Degas.’
His work ‘had gone stale,’ he said.
He was in search of a style that was fresh and meaningful yet drawn from everyday life.
Not the romanticized style of the times.
So, Edgar took up René’s suggestion and accompanied him to New Orleans.
From October 1872 until March of the next year, Edgar stayed with his extended family in a rented house on Esplanade Avenue and spent time in the family cotton trading business.
It was run by Edgar’s uncles and had been established by his grandfather, a Haitian of French descent, who had come to New Orleans in the early 1800s.
Edgar’s mother had been born in the city.
New Orleans was then in the Reconstruction Period following the Civil War.
It was a tumultuous time.
The city was still occupied by Federal troops, who had been there since the city’s capture in 1862.
But Edgar found the city a visual feast.
From a letter to a friend:
“Nothing pleases me more than the Black women of all shades, holding little white babies that are oh so white in their arms,
“in white houses with fluted wooden columns surrounded by orange-trees and magnolia gardens.
“The ladies in muslin in front of their little houses
“and the steamboats with two smokestacks, as high as the twin chimneys of factories
“and the fruit merchants with shops full to overflowing.
“And the lovely pure-blooded ladies and the beautifully planted quadroons.”
Edgar quickly went to work.
He painted portraits of his New Orleans family members,
and two scenes from the cotton trading office.
Eighteen paintings in total, plus a few drawings.
And when he left New Orleans, Edgar knew he had found the way forward.
Back in Paris, the critics said his new works were “inventive.”
In art, that’s a good thing.
Edgar served as one of the leading organizers of the first Impressionist art exhibition.
He displayed art works depicting dancers and racehorses and they were well received.
His art career took off.
In 1960s hippie talk, Edgar had “found himself.”
In New Orleans!
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I’ll see you tomorrow.
— Brenda
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