By the side of Van Ostade or Brauer, for example,
one of Greuze's bits of humble life seems like an academic composition,
quite out of touch with its subject, and, except for its art, absolutely
lifeless and insipid.
In a word, his choice of subjects, of _genre_, is really no disguise at
all of his essential classicality. Both ideally and technically, in the
way he conceives and the way he handles his subject, he is only
superficially romantic or real. His literature, so to speak, is as
conventional as his composition. One may compare him to Hogarth, though
both as a moralist and a technician _a longo intervallo_, of course. He
is assuredly not to be depreciated. His scheme of color is clear if not
rich, his handling is frank if not unctuous or subtly interesting, his
composition is careful and clever, and some of his heads are admirably
painted--painted with a genuine feeling for quality. But his merits as
well as his failings are decidedly academic, and as a romanticist he is
really masquerading. He is much nearer to Fragonard than he is to
Edouard Frere even.
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