Thoreau's Rooster

An aged Robert Sterling Clark holds his wife, Francine’s, lace-gloved hand, whispering an undecipherable secret. Perhaps he is telling her how beautiful she looks in her black dress and white-ruffled collar. How her gold encrusted emerald pin brings out the green in her eyes. How she looks as radiant as she did on their wedding day 45 years earlier.
Or perhaps, how happy he is that they are unveiling their collection at their Clark Art Institute, backdropped with the most overlooked, yet most beautiful place he has ever been: Williamstown, Massachusetts.

Domergue, Jean Gabriel
Portrait of Robert Sterling Clark
Oil on canvas
21 3/4 x 18 1/8 (inches)

          When he began collecting art, Robert Sterling Clark wanted to establish a museum in his hometown of Cooperstown, New York. But as his collection grew, Clark considered leaving his artistic acquisitions to the Louvre, the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, and New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art.
          “It was only in the 1940s, when he and his wife were in their sixties, that Clark began seriously to consider setting up his own institution,” says David Brooke, former director of the Clark Art Institute. “He seems to have settled on Williamstown for various reasons: its relative ‘safety,’ a family association with Williams College, and a friendship with Professor Karl Weston, then director of the Williams College Museum of Art. And his recognition of the town’s natural beauty.”
          In 1955, the Clark Art Institute opened its doors to Williamstown, and the world.

Atalaya, Enrique
Circus Scene
Oil on panel
6 ½ x 14 7/8 (inches)

          Twenty-three snot-nosed six year-olds are ushered into the cavernous foyer of the Institute. Slabs of dark slate compose the walls of the gymnasium-sized lobby. High windows allow entrance to streams of sunlight. A few children begin shouting, answered by their echoes. Ms. Lataif raises her right arm – a signal for silence. But five students have wandered off into the gift shop to sample gourmet candy. Seven have collapsed in a cool corner. Two are playing with each other’s hair. One is crying. Three are rushed to the bathroom by a chaperone.
          My mother emerges from a massive wooden door.
          Even at the age of six, I am intimately familiar with the sting of embarrassment. My mother will be our guide during this boring field trip.
          “Good morning,” she says, straightening her “Robin” docent name tag. “Welcome to the Clark Art Institute.”

Stevens, Alfred
Memories
Oil on canvas
24 1/8 x 18 3/16

          I return to the Clark for the first time in ten years, gallery guide in hand. Compulsory elementary school field trips are a distant memory, recalled only when I sense the dampness of the vast lobby: dark, immense and overwhelming, preparing me to view one of the most prestigious art collections in the world. Nineteenth-century European and American painting. French Impressionism. English silver. Master drawing and prints. Sculpture. Decorative art from the Renaissance to the early twentieth century. Early photography.
          I stand near the entrance to the galleries. A familiar middle-aged mustached guard smiles between sips of coffee.
          “You’re not Robin’s daughter, are you?”

Madrazo, y Garreta, Raimundo de
The Afternoon Visit
Oil on canvas
38 5/16 x 28 3/4 (inches)

          During an Institute visit in second grade, I became so bored that I wandered off and picked my favorite work in the museum. My tastes led me to The Scout: Friends or Foes, c. 1900-05, by American painter Frederic Remington.
          This afternoon, in the same Nineteenth-century American Painting gallery, I take a break on the plush pink upholstered ball and claw bench. The museum remains the same. Chatty New Yorkers on weekend visits to Western Massachusetts are the expected patrons. Art buffs from all over the world stand in awe of Monet, Manet, Renoir, and Degas. School groups continue to follow docents through the labyrinth of galleries. Little girls pose like Degas’ dancer sculptures aside the gallery holding Monet’s coveted Rouen Cathedral paintings.
          Although frequented by tourists on the weekends, the Clark is eerily quiet this Thursday. Only the guard and I remain.
          “You still in school?” he asks, one hand on his generous belly, and one in his pocket as he enters the room.
          “Yes, I’m just home for the weekend.”
          “Tom’s still in school too. One more year,” he says. “Man, it’s always so dry in here. Wreaks havoc on my throat. But the moisture will kill the paintings.”
          “I know.”
          Silence.
          “So, is this your favorite?” He scratches the bald spot on the back on his head.
          “Yes.”
          “But this gallery’s not really popular. The painting’s kind of plain, don’t you think? Don’t you like the Impressionist galleries better?”
          “No.”
          “Why?”
          “This one always made sense to me,” I say. “It wasn’t as confusing as Monet’s Bridge at Dolceaqua or Renoir’s Peonies. It’s not muddled with ‘impressions;’ it’s filled with clear, concrete lines.”
          “Plus it’s got snow, right?” His cheeks bounce at his good humor.
          “Right,” I say, smiling. “I guess it reminds me of here. Of home.”

Moreau, Adrien
Contemplation
c. 1873
Oil on cavas
25 ¾ x 15 1/16 (inches)

          “It’s not unusual for a museum director to be asked, ‘What makes your museum special?’” says the Institute Director Michael Conforti. “It happens every day. Visitors, staff, donors. They all want to know. For me the key to the Clark’s special nature lies in the three aspects of its distinctive personality: its art, its unique setting, and its commitment to the generation of ideas.”
          Growing up in Williamstown, I took all the beauty and culture around me for granted. I ignored the rolling green hills that turn a purplish hue at sunset. Herds of cows grazing beside Route 7 didn’t impress me. The foliage that doubles Williamstown’s population during Columbus Day also brought traffic jams. Prestigious Williams College wasn’t anything special. The famed Williamstown Theatre Festival was commonplace. And I never visited the Clark Art Institute outside of school field trips.
          Every time I go home – past the local grocery, through scores of working farms, and down roads I’ve been traveling my entire life – I force myself to appreciate something new. Williamstown residents who can buy fresh corn from a neighbor, who can sit on their back deck and see every star on a clear night, and who drive past the massive marble columns of the Institute everyday don’t realize that their lives are not the norm, but the exception.

Duval-Lecamus, Pierre
The Lesson
c. 1826
Oil on canvas
12 13/16 x 9 11/16 (inches)

          The Clarks may be gone, but their art remains a northern Berkshire county fixture– a key force that attracts out-of-towners, but which also lies within ten miles of any Williamstown home. The Institute’s collection exceeds the town’s permanent population, but residents still scurry off to New York, London, Paris, and Rome for artistic excursions. Elementary schoolers are too young to appreciate the museum during their yearly field trips, yet local adults don’t make the time to visit.
          We all must learn to appreciate new things – especially those so close to home.
          Someday, I may even grow to love – or at least be grateful for – Monet’s Bridge at Dolceaqua.