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The catalog gives a cursory but all-in-all sufficient explanation of the French academy's carrot-and-stick system for controlling the look and content of French art. The exhibition, in turn, is mercifully weak in its selection of the fussy classicism and fantastic pastoral landscapes usually associated with 17th-century Frogs like Poussin and Lorrain. Its cross-section of history painting and classical mythology is stronger, albeit definitely an acquired taste. The real jewels of the show are the "lesser" genres not normally associated with 17th-century French painting, especially portraiture and still life and what the curators call "everyday life," haunting depictions of peasants.
There are a few flaws. The wall text is composed primarily of micro-history about artists interesting mostly to specialists; unfortunately, it does little to place the paintings themselves into political and historical context for those unwilling to wade through the catalog. The result is an exhibition that is at best catholic and somewhat dry, and, at worst downright confusing for anyone who simply walks through the show. Moreover, visitors are unable to make the invited comparisons to Spanish masters in the Meadows collection, which is being rehung and thus unavailable for viewing.
But these are quibbles. For this is exactly the kind of show that the Meadows should be putting on, educational and smart and yet manageable for a wide audience of nonspecialists, interesting even for those who normally run from the putti and pastoral confections of 17th-century France.
The highlight of this hodgepodge of prints is a complete set of 52 prints by the "Dallas Nine." Published in limited edition in 1952, these Texas-themed works contain some powerful images of rural Texas recognizable to this day to anyone who ventures an hour and a half from Texas' major population centers.
The style perfected by these artists--part WPA and part folk art, with a dash of Mexican muralists and a pinch of Edward Hopper--is echoed today in the work of Texas artists like David Bates (whose mid-'80s print from the artist's State Fair series hangs around the corner for handy comparison). This suite still looks amazingly fresh and contemporary 50 years later, and is one of the best arguments for the merits of mid-20th-century Texas art. The Meadows would do well to consider recycling selections from this group in future shows, instead of trotting out the Goya prints at the slightest provocation, as they are wont to do.