Sitting in bed this Sunday morning and leafing through an old New Yorker article about Auguste Renoir’s nudes. The article is highly critical, quoting someone who called him the epitome of the ‘sexist male artist’. The article said that Renoir took ‘slavering joy in looking at naked women.’ As an antidote to this nonsense, I picked up one of my favourite art books and spent an hour of my own revelling is the serene glory of Renoir’s beautiful and self-contained women. How I love this artist, without reservation and with all my heart.
Love, Susie x