Monday, October 19, 2026

Art Eyewitness Review: Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art

 

Marcel Duchamp

Philadelphia Museum of Art

 October 10, 2026 - January 31, 2027  

Reviewed by Ed Voves

Original Photography by Anne Lloyd

The other day, I saw a nude descending the staircase of the Great Stair Hall of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I wasn't the least bit startled or amazed at the sight.

The "nude" was a digital projection of the celebrated painting by Marcel Duchamp. The original, Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) painted by Duchamp in 1912, is one of the most cherished works of art in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (PMA). 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2), 1912

Nude Descending a Staircase is currently one of the anchor works of a massive exhibition at the PMA devoted to Duchamp's controversial career. Three hundred paintings, drawings, sculptures, prints and photos are displayed, along with replicas of the once notorious "Readymades". 

 


Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. 

Marcel Duchamp is a very important exhibition for the PMA, both for the content on view in the exhibit galleries and for the foundational role that Duchamp's works have played in securing the Philadelphia Museum of Art's reputation as a great museum. 

After opening its neo-classical main building (replacing an earlier structure) in 1928, the PMA struggled to survive the Great Depression and the World War II years. In 1950, thanks to the efforts of Fiske Kimball, the dynamic head of the PMA, the celebrated Arensberg collection of Modern art was bequeathed to the museum. Over 1000 works of art entered the PMA collection, paintings by Matisse and Picasso, sculptures by Brancusi and works of all kind by Duchamp. Lots and lots of Duchamps.

The Marcel Duchamp exhibition previously appeared at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City during the past summer. A collaborative effort by the PMA and MOMA, the exhibition is the first, major survey of Duchamp's life and career since the 1973 retrospective, five years after his death. That exhibition was also organized by these two institutions. 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 The curatorial team of the Marcel Duchamp exhibition. 
 From left, Matthew Afron, PMA, Ann Temkin & Michell Kuo, MOMA

The curatorial team, Matthew Afron of the PMA and Ann Temkin and Michelle Kuo of MOMA, has assembled an encyclopedic display of Duchamp's oeuvre which we are unlikely to see again for many years to come.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 Gallery views of the Marcel Duchamp exhibit, showing (from top, left)
 Rotary Glass Plates (1920) & Rotary Demisphere (1925); Box in a Valise, Series F (1935-1941); Photo from Andy Warhol's film (1966)

Early sketches by Duchamp, signature paintings, mechanical devices that rivaled the crazy contraptions of the cartoonist, Rube Goldberg, several examples of the "box in a valise" series containing miniature recreations of his art works, a digital-loop showing Andy Warhol's 1966 short film of the aged Duchamp ... the list of Duchamp's works and related documents, photos and periodicals is prodigious.

It is interesting to note the difference in presentation by the curators of the two museums because of the way it reflects the contrasting facets of Duchamp's personality. 

MOMA's exhibit space was graced by pristine white walls (except for one gallery) and bright lights. It was an appropriate forum for considering the cultural impact of one of the most influential pioneers of Modernism.



Jonathan Dorado, Photo (2026), courtesy of MOMA
 Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Museum of Modern Art.

The PMA galleries stressed a different, more inscrutable Duchamp. With an abundance of darkened walls and a subdued ambiance accentuated by rows of glittering track lights, Duchamp the Magus of Modern Art held court.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Andy Warhol's four minute film of Duchamp is being shown, at right.

Which of the two personas was the "real" Duchamp? Or was he neither?



Marcel Duchamp and his brothers. Duchamp, Jacques Villon (center) and Raymond Duchamp-Villon (right), Puteaux, France, c. 1912.

Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) was the youngest of three brothers of a well-to-do French family from Normandy. All of his male siblings were artistically gifted, as was his sister, Suzanne, who created an impressive body of work related to the early surrealist movement, Dada. It was Duchamp's brother, Raymond who scored the first major success of their talented family, with several striking Modernist sculptures. Tragically, Raymond died while serving as a medic during World War I.

Duchamp's date of birth, 1887, is significant. So is the year of his first paintings executed to a highly professional standard - in a style recalling Bonnard - 1910. 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
Marcel Duchamp's The Chess Game, 1910

Duchamp was born the year following the last Impressionist salon. By the time Duchamp painted notable portraits of family members (above), Picasso was adapting Cubism to portraiture. One art movement after another had taken center stage during these years. Each had excited expectations of enduring success, only to lose momentum to the next "big thing."

Duchamp was, thus, a third generation Modernist. He earnestly responded to the latest revolutionary techniques. But the shifting tides of radical innovation soon made his early work appear out-of-date almost as soon as the paint dried.

In 1911-1912, Duchamp embraced Cubism and began to hit the mark. A striking Cubist painting, with one of the first of his cryptic titles, is particularly revealing of the transitional development of his work. 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
Duchamp's The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes, 1912

The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes (1912) was painted on the reverse of an earlier Symbolist-style work, entitled Paradise (Adam and Eve). Flipping the canvas over, Duchamp did not even bother to keep Adam and Eve upright. Perhaps, it was ironic commentary on the "fall of man."



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
Marcel Duchamp's Paradise (Adam and Eve), 1910-11

While Duchamp was completing The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes in 1911, he began working on the first version of much more important painting, Nude Descending a Staircase (No.1). The canonical version (No. 2), was unveiled in 1912. A final rendition, mostly drawn with pencil and pen and ink, was executed in 1916. All three are on display in the PMA exhibition.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
The three versions of Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase 

Nude Descending a Staircase (No.2) was a remarkable achievement. However, other artists in Europe were also attempting to depict the effect of rapid, sequential movement in their paintings. This was especially true of the Italian futurist, Giacomo Balla. As a result, Nude Descending a Staircase (No.2) was initially received in French cultural circles with some doubts about its status as a Cubist work of art. The controversy, however, soon subsided.

The reaction in the United States, when Nude Descending a Staircase (No.2) was displayed at the 1913 Armory Show in New York City, was an entirely different matter. 

The degree of hostility, outrage and denunciation which Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2) generated at the Armory Show is hard to credit today. The gallery where the painting was displayed was popularly known as the "chamber of horrors." Fortunately, for Duchamp, two Americans did favor this controversial work of art.

Walter and Louise Arensberg were an art-loving couple whose New York City apartment was the epicenter of interest in Modern art in America during the early years of the twentieth century. Walter was a chess enthusiast, like Duchamp. Louise was passionate about art. When Duchamp traveled to the U.S. in 1915, the Arensbergs embraced him as a personal friend and began purchasing his art for their collection.

Upon reaching New York, Duchamp was amazed at the welcome he received, considering the notoriety of Nude Descending a Staircase (No.2). A New York art gallery offered him $10,000 per year for his finished canvases. No doubt, the gallery owner envisioned sales of Cubist works to the Arensbergs and like-minded American enthusiasts for Modernism. Duchamp declined, claiming he was working on an experimental painting on glass. 

Duchamp was, indeed, already engaged in creating such a work, initially called The Large Glass. But there was an additional, more deep-seated reason for not accepting a gallery contract.

Painting was "washed-up", Duchamp confided to his friend, Constantin Brancusi, after visiting the Paris Air Show of 1912 where he studied the mechanics of an aircraft propeller. How could an oil-on-canvas compete with an airplane?



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2023)
 Installation view of Duchamp's The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (The Large Glass) in the PMA's Duchamp Gallery.

Once comfortably situated in America, Duchamp all but abandoned painting based on aesthetic principles, including Cubism. He played chess with Walter Arensberg and worked intermittently on The Large Glass. 

This huge, fragile work reputedly dealt with frustrated sexual desire. If this actually was the theme, it could only be guessed-at, given the obscure imagery painted on to the glass. The incomprehensible alternate title, The Bride Stripped Bare By Her Bachelers, Even, did little to resolve the mystery. 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2023)
 Detail views of Duchamp's The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (The "Bride" is at left, the "Bachelors" at right)

Duchamp stopped working on The Large Glass in 1923, only to spend years fixing it after it was badly damaged in transit following a museum display in 1927.

Had Duchamp completely abandoned art for chess-playing (first with Walter Arensberg, then competitively, as he did later), it is doubtful if he would merit more than a passing mention in art histories. But one thing can be stated with certitude. It was not Bride Stripped Bare or bizarre machinery serving no clear purpose which have secured Duchamp's place in the pantheon of Modern Art.

It was the Readymades. 

There they are in the PMA's exhibition galleries - or rather replicas of the long-lost original Readymades. Massed produced "things" of everyday use, rather than unique products of human genius.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Objects of ridicule and loathing to some, venerated talismans of the revolt against Classicism and commercialism to others. The curators sensibly place the Readymades on view, without commentary or vintage photos to help us appreciate their "shock of the new" impact when Duchamp first displayed them. 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 A large-scale 1930's replica of Duchamp's L.H.O.O.Q. (1919)

Judge for yourself. That is what Duchamp said was his intention, to "de-deify" the artist, giving the spectator the opportunity to decide if the mustache and goatee on a cheap print of Mona Lisa is in the same category as the original in the Louvre.

And then, there is Fountain. Judge for yourself? How can one do that for an object which is clearly not a work of art, even in reproduction?



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 A replica (made in 1950) of Duchamp's Fountain Readymade (1917)

According to text book versions of Modern art history, Fountain represents the birth of Conceptual Art. In the spring of 1917, Duchamp submitted this Readymade anonymously to the first exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists, of which he was an official. His intentions in doing so have been endlessly debated. If we accept the ideals of Conceptual Art, then Duchamp likely intended to make a statement that the idea behind a work of art is what is important, more than the actual work, itself.

Accepting this premise, the concept of an everyday, mass-manufactured object - even a urinal - can be a legitimate part or element of artistic discourse. Duchamp, the daring originator of this train of thought, is now extolled as the "Father of Conceptual Art." 

However, a growing body of evidence suggests that Duchamp was not the originator of Fountain, either as an idea or the actual urinal purchased from a hardware store. A German woman, Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven, active in the radical Dada group in New York, is now widely held to be the person responsible for this revolutionary  - or revolting - escapade.

Dada artists and poets like von Freytag-Loringhoven were in open rebellion against the unspeakable slaughter and stupidity of World War I. Duchamp was very active in Dada circles in New York, as his sister, Suzanne, was in Paris. 

Duchamp's role in the use of Readymades is best interpreted against the background of World War I, which the U.S. entered in April 1917. Duchamp's motivation for submitting Fountain was surely a brash and defiant repudiation of the escalating horror of his era.

However, by asserting that anything can be art by virtue of the concept behind it,  Duchamp bequeathed a problematical legacy for artists following his lead.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026)
 Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
 A 1964 edition of Bicycle Wheel appears at center.

This point is forcefully made in the perceptive entry on Duchamp in The Oxford Dictionary of Art, third edition, 2004. While acknowledging that "Duchamp's iconoclasm and experimental attitude have been enormously influential...", the Oxford entry concludes with the unsettling comments: 

[Duchamp's] wit and irony have been sadly lacking in most of his followers, however, and it could be argued that his influence has been disastrous, encouraging people of no discernible talent to believe that anything they do, say, or think is worthy of attention as art.

Strong words, indeed, and ones that, perhaps, we would rather not hear. But as I continue to reflect upon the truly great Marcel Duchamp exhibition at the PMA, these are words that I find impossible to easily dismiss from my mind.

***

Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved                                        

Original photography, copyright of Anne Lloyd

Introductory Image: Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) View of the Great Stair Hall and staircase of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. 

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2), 1912. Oil on canvas: 57 7/8 x 35 1/8 (147 x 89.2 cm.) Philadelphia Museum of Art

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) The curatorial team of the Marcel Duchamp exhibition. From left, Matthew Afron, PMA, Ann Temkin & Michell Kuo, MOMA

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Gallery views of the Marcel Duchamp exhibit, showing (from top, left) Rotary Glass Plates (1920), Yale University Art Center & Rotary Demisphere (1925), Museum of Modern Art; Box in a Valise, Series F (1935-1941), Alychio Art Collection/Marc Coucke, Belgium; Photo from Andy Warhol's 16mm. silent film of Marcel Duchamp (1966), collection of The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh.

Jonathan Dorado, Photo (2026), courtesy of MOMA. Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Museum of Modern Art, entrance to the exhibition galleries at MOMA, 2026.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Andy Warhol's four minute silent film of Duchamp is being shown, at right.

Marcel Duchamp and his brothers. Marcel Duchamp (left), Jacques Villon (center) and Raymond Duchamp-Villon (right), Puteaux, France, c.1912. Photographer unknown. Smithsonian Institution, Archives of American Art. 


Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Marcel Duchamp's The Chess Game, 1910. Oil on canvas: 44 7/8 x 57 11/16 (114 x 146.5 cm.) Philadelphia Museum of Art collection.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Duchamp's The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes, 1912.Oil on canvas: 45 1/8 x 50 3/4 in., (114.6 x 128.9 cm.) Philadelphia Museum of Art collection.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Marcel Duchamp's Paradise (Adam and Eve), 1910-11. Oil on canvas: 45 1/8 x 50 3/4 in., (114.6 x 128.9 cm.) Philadelphia Museum of Art collection.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) The three versions of Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase, 1911,1912, 1916. All three paintings are from the Philadelphia Museum of Art collection.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2023) Installation view of Duchamp's The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (The Large Glass), 1915-1923, in the PMA's Duchamp Gallery. Oil, varnish, lead foil, lead wire and dust on two glass panels: 9 ft 1 1/4 in. x 70 in. x 3 3/8 in. (277.5 x 177.8 x 8.6 cm.) Philadelphia Museum of Art collection.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Gallery view of the Marcel Duchamp exhibition at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) A large scale replica, made in 1930, of Marcel Duchamp's L.H.O.O.Q. (1919) Rectified Readymade: 25 1/2 x 19 in. (64.7 x 48.2 cm.) Centre Pompidou, Paris. Musee national d'art moderne - Centre de creation industrielle

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) A replica (made in 1950) of Duchamp's Fountain Readymade (1917). Porcelain urinal: 12 x 15 x 18 in. (30.5 x 38.1 x 45.7 cm.) Philadelphia Museum of Art Collection.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Gallery view of Marcel Duchamp at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. 1951 replica of the 1913 original Bicycle Wheel appears at center. Metal wheel mounted on wooden stool: 51 x 25 x 16 1/2 in. (129.5. x 63.5 x 41.9 cm.) From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, NYC.

 


Friday, September 25, 2026

Art Eyewitness Essay: Cloud Spotting with John Constable and Alfred Stieglitz

 


Cloud Spotting with John Constable & Alfred Stieglitz

Constable's Year by Susan Owens (Thames & Hudson, 223 pages, $35)

Chasing Clouds at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (Thru Feb. 28, 2027)

By Ed Voves  Original photos by Anne Lloyd

On the evening of September 12, 1821, John Constable painted a dramatic view of the sunset over Hampstead Heath.  

Constable was working outdoors. He used a palette loaded with dabs of oil paint, rather than his water color box, to create Hampstead Heath, looking toward Harrow at Sunset.

 

      John Constable,  Hampstead Heath, looking toward Harrow at Sunset, 1821

In this remarkable painting, Constable reversed the order of priority of sky and ground in landscape painting. The dramatic sky above is accorded the starring role. The soil beneath Constable's feet - and of the barely visible people traveling on the path in the foreground - is almost an afterthought.

Constable would later write of this shift of perspective. "It will be difficult to name a class of landscape in which the sky is not the key note," Constable affirmed, "the standard of scale and the chief organ of sentiment.” 



Ramsay Richard Reinagle, Portrait of John Constable, c. 1799

With this remark, John Constable, born 250 years ago, launched a hugely significant dialog with nature. In due course, our perception of the world around - and above -  us would change. Constable's "refocus" continued to resonate in works by John Singer Sargent and Alfred Stieglitz over a century later.

In this Art Eyewitness essay, I will comment on a new book from Thames & Hudson, Constable's Year by Susan Owens, a former curator at the Victoria and Albert Museum and author of a superb history of drawing. Then, we will shift our focus to the just-opened exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum, Chasing Clouds. 



To these insightful surveys, several photos by my wife, Anne, will be added, showing how sky and clouds can continue to strike an artistic "key note" - even when the vantage point is a studio or bedroom window.




Anne Lloyd, Studio Window Skyscapes, 2026

By the standards of the early nineteenth century, Constable's Hampstead Heath, mentioned above, was an oil sketch, not a finished work. Painting in the open air on the following day, September 13, 1821, Constable looked-up again at the clouds swirling overhead. Then, he made a very bold decision.

Constable decided to paint the sky.



John Constable, Study of altocumulus clouds, September 13, 1821

 No distant horizon line. No misty mountains. No path through the forest. Just sky and clouds, very accurately depicted and scientifically classified. Constable entitled his first "skyscape", Study of altocumulus clouds.

On the back of this oil on paper, Constable jotted the following notation,"13 September 1821. one o'clock. Slight wind at North West, which became tempestuous in the afternoon, With Rain all the night following."



John Constable, Cloud Study, September 25, 1821

During the remainder of the early autumn of 1821, Constable continued to paint oil sketches of the cloud-laden skies. As Susan Owens points out in Constable's Year, autumn, with its fading colors and falling leaves, little appealed to Constable. The September skies, with their "peculiar tone and beauty" were a different matter.

A year later, again in September, he was back for another season of "skying" from his favorite vantage points on Hampstead Heath. Constable painted cloud-filled skies, until he could write to his friend, Archdeacon Fisher, "I am the man of clouds."

However, another Englishman of Constable's era was also directing his attention skyward. In 1803, an amateur scientist named Luke Howard (1772-1864) published An Essay on the Modification of Clouds. In this illustrated book, Howard defined and described the cloud types with terminology still in use today: Cirrus, Cumulus and Stratus.

Constable was certainly familiar with Howard’s cloud "modification" (which then meant classification). In many respects, he was more than ready to embrace such close study of nature as an integral facet of art. In an 1836 lecture, Constable asserted:

Painting is a science, and should be pursued as an inquiry into the laws of nature. Why then may not landscape painting be considered as a branch of natural philosophy of which pictures are but the experiments?

Constable's actual practice of art was notably less definitive. He remained more a man of sentiment, rather than a practitioner of "painting as a science." 



John Constable, Hadleigh Castle, 1829

In 1829, Constable, grief-stricken over the death of his wife, painted Hadleigh Castle. Here the sky, though memorably executed, was treated as a backdrop to land and sea and the crumbling battlements erected by man.

Owen's book - compulsively readable, even for readers familiar with British art history - traces Constable's reactions to all four seasons of the year. Owens brilliantly correlates the annual rhythms of life in Regency England to Constable's creative efforts. Predictably, winter put him in a reflective, melancholy frame of mind. 

Constable had a lot more on his mind than the weather when he looked at clouds.

During the last years of his life, Constable wrestled with issues of mortality and morality. Was the sky, merely a "standard of scale" or was it "the chief organ of sentiment?” In 1839, two years after his passing, science, in the shape of photography, seemed to settle the issue. 

"From today, painting is dead," the artist Paul Delaroche exclaimed upon seeing one of the first photographs, a daguerreotype.

Delaroche's obituary for painting was premature, especially in regards to daguerreotypes. These one-of-a-kind pictures were produced from silver-coated sheets of copper, making them unsuitable for almost anything but portraits.

One of the most fascinating works of art in the Met's Chasing Clouds directly relates to the difficulties in trying to expand the range of early photography. In 1844, a pair of French "lensmen", Marie-Charles-Isidore Choiselat and Stanislas Ratel, took-up the challenge of creating a daguerreotype landscape.



Marie-Charles-Isidore Choiselat & Stanislas Ratel, Landscape, 1844

The result of this experiment is little short of miraculous. The astonishing mirror image of the cottage is a masterpiece in its own right. 

Yet, the daguerreotype of Choiselat and Ratel is an unsettling work. It is so focused on surface detail that there is little depth to the photo. And because of the slow exposure speed of daguerreotypes, not a trace of clouds can be seen. If any were in the sky at the time, these would have been moving too fast to be captured by Choiselat and Ratel! 

For artists and the scientific-minded of the Romantic era, the allure of clouds was too great to be resisted. The process of photography was still in its adolescence, when Gustave Le Gray and Charles Marville successfully addressed the problem of focusing on landscape and skyscape. 

Gustave Le Gray (1820-1884) approached this task by combining photographic negatives. This was a process already in use in studio photos, but Le Gray audaciously took it out-of-doors. Beginning in 1855, he took photos of the shoreline and the sky along France's Mediterranean coast, especially the seaport of Sète. He joined the negatives at the horizon line, almost seamlessly.



Gustave Le Gray, The Great Waves, Sète, 1857

Images like The Great Wave earned Le Gray international acclaim. He had succeeded in creating photographs with expertly focused expanses of sky and of land & sea. Moreover, he was able to evoke the pictorial interest and emotional impact of paintings like Constable's Hadleigh Castle.

While Le Gray was preoccupied with his remarkable combination technique, Charles Marville took some time-off from photographing the architecture of Paris to do a little "cloud spotting" for himself.

Marville was anything but a "romantic" photographer. His eye for precision and expert camera work would earn him the commission from Napoleon III to document the demolition of vast swathes of old Paris by Baron Haussmann in order to make way for the boulevards and public spaces of the new "city of light" Paris.

Yet, Marville was intrigued by the masses of clouds he could see from the window of his studio on the rue Saint Dominique. With the dome of the hospital, Les Invalides, as the center point, Marville adjusted the camera lens to focus on the skies, leaving the lower reaches of the scene in shadow. Since the silhouette of Les Invalides was instantly recognizable, the photo succeeded without the need to combined negatives.


Charles Marville, Cloud Study, Paris (top)1855-56; (below)1856-57

A year later, Marville tried again. This time, he achieved a more balanced focus of cloud structure and of architectural detail in the streets below. Given, the technology of the time, this ranks as one of the great achievements of early photography.

Both Le Gray and Marville were "pushing the envelope" of what was feasible for photographers during the 1850's. Though innovations in camera design and film quality were made later, a gulf continued to exist between vision and practice for much of the nineteenth century.

As Chasing Clouds at the Met shows, photography did not kill painting, even when it came to depicting clouds. Many artists continued to follow Constable's lead and kept painting the skies above. 



John Singer Sargent, Clouds, 1897

One of my favorites in the Chasing Clouds exhibition is a watercolor by John Singer Sargent. Sargent's Clouds was painted in 1897, exactly one year before a major technological innovation which would change photography and cloud spotting forever.

A new hand-held camera, the Graflex single-lens-reflex, was introduced by the Folmer and Schwing Manufacturing Company of New York City in 1898. Though bulky-looking to modern eyes, the Graflex had a rapid-shutter speed and portability that Gustave Le Gray and Charles Marville could only have dreamed of using.

In the hands of a skilled photographer, the Graflex was capable of producing masterpiece-caliber pictures. In the hands of Alfred Stieglitz (1864-1946), it did. 



Clara Sipprell, Alfred Stieglitz, 1932

Stieglitz used a Graflex to create his iconic The Steerage in 1907. A decade and a half later, Stieglitz tilted his Graflex upward and began taking cloud photos. Initially, he called this series, Music - a Sequence of Ten Cloud Photographs. Then, as the number of cloud photos escalated, the title was changed to Equivalents. 



 Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent,1924

Stieglitz prints of the Equivalent photos are prized possessions of a number of American art museums. But they cannot be shown on a long-term basis. Thus, Metropolitan Museum is doing art lovers a great service by presenting twenty-one Equivalents for their close inspection. Opportunities like this do not often occur.

In a short essay, published in 1923, Stieglitz explained his motivation for taking cloud photos:

I wanted to photograph clouds to find out what I had learned in 40 years about photography. Through clouds to put down my philosophy of life—to show that my photographs were not due to subject matter—not to special trees, or faces, or interiors, to special privileges—clouds were there for everyone. 

Thus, in looking toward the clouds, Stieglitz was grappling with Constable's dilemma. When depicting the skies, is the artist's goal to establish a "standard of scale" or to gain access to "the chief organ of sentiment?” 

Stieglitz' answer was one of ironclad certainty, nothing is "due to subject matter... clouds were there for everyone." 

Perhaps unconsciously, this assertion provides a clue for the way that the clouds became less-and-less identifiable and the images more cryptic as the Equivalent series evolved. Some of the cloud-filled skies look the ripples in a stream of water or a crust of ice on a frosted window in winter.



Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent, 1926


Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent, 1926

Other photos bore little resemblance to anything, including clouds. This ambiguity would lead to applause for Stieglitz from the connoisseurs of modern art and the embrace of the Equivalents as an important addition to the growing body of Abstract art. 

Stieglitz' effort to use cloud study to open a portal to personal feelings and insights was certainly a heroic endeavor. It took place over an extended period, 1922 to 1931. Over four hundred sky and cloud photos were taken, some of which were quickly presented in exhibitions such as Seven Americans in 1925 at the Anderson Galleries in New York. Others were not published or exhibited until many years later. 

Stieglitz' cloud photography was something of an on-going venture during his lifetime. Might we then interpret the Equivalents as an open-ended, never officially closed endeavor? Might we not add some of our own renderings of the ethereal realm above our heads?

Here to answer these questions and to conclude our essay is a selection of Anne's cloud studies. 


                                                                                   
                                                                                        


Anne Lloyd, Sky & Cloud Studies, 2022, 2024 & 2025  

There is no doubt in my mind, reflecting on Anne's photos, that Constable was correct in stating that the sky supplies the "keynote" of landscape art.




And clouds? Stieglitz was right, too. The clouds are "there for everyone."

***

Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved                                                                                          

Original photography, copyright of Anne Lloyd, all rights reserved

Book Cover of Constable’s Year by Susan Owens Courtesy of Thames & Hudson

Promotional Image for the Chasing Clouds exhibition, Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC

The Equivalent photos by Alfred Stieglitz, used in this review, are from the collection of the Art Institute of Chicago. These are comparable to those on display in the Metropolitan Museum’s exhibition, Chasing Clouds. The Met’s Stieglitz photos are currently embargoed for use in Internet articles and reviews.

Introductory Image:

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2014) A cloud study made at Haworth, Yorkshire, UK, near the Bronte Parsonage Museum.

John Constable Hampstead Heath, looking toward Harrow at Sunset, 1821 Oil on paper: 24.1 x 29.8 cm. (9 ½ x 11 ¾ in.) Private collection. Courtesy of Thames & Hudson

Ramsay Richard Reinagle, Portrait of John Constable, c.1799 Oil on canvas: 76.2 cm × 63.8 cm (30.0 in × 25.1 in) National Portrait Gallery, London.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2026) Studio Window Skyscapes, 2026.

John Constable, Study of altocumulus clouds, September 13, 1821. Oil on paper: 24.8 x 30.3 cm. (9 7/8 x 11 ½ in.) Yale Center for British Art. B1981.25.156

John Constable, Cloud Study, September 25, 1821. Oil on paper: 24.8 x 30.3 cm. (9 7/8 x 11 ½ in.) Yale Center for British Art. B1981.25.156 Courtesy of Thames & Hudson

John Constable, Hadleigh Castle, 1829. Oil on canvas: 122 x 164.5 cm. (48 1/8 x 64 7/8 in.) Yale Center for British Art. B1977.4.42Courtesy of Thames & Hudson

Marie-Charles-Isidore Choiselat & Stanislas Ratel, Landscape, 1844. Daguerreotype: 16.4 x 21.7 cm (6 7/16 x 8 9/16 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art. #1994.417J

Gustave Le Gray, The Great Wave, Sète, 1857. Albumen silver print from two glass negatives: 33.7 x 41.4 cm (13 1/4 x 16 5/16 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art. #1976.646

Charles Marville, Cloud Study, Paris (top) 1855-56. Albumen silver print from glass negative: 15.4 x 21 cm (6 1/16 x 8 1/4 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art. #2005.100.353; (below) 1856-57. Albumen silver print from glass negative: 16.7 x 20.6 cm (6 9/16 x 8 1/8 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art. #1987.1094

John Singer Sargent, Clouds, 1897. Watercolor on white wove paper: 35.6 x 25.2 cm. (19 x 9 15/16 in.) Metropolitan Museum of Art #50.130.30

Clara Sipprell, Alfred Stieglitz, 1932. Gelaton Silver Print: Image Sheet: 22.3 x 17.6 cm. (8 ¾ x 6 15/16 in.) National Portrait Gallery, Washington D.C. NPG 82.196

Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent, 1924.Gelatin silver print: Image: 9.6 × 12.1 cm (3 13/16 × 4 13/16 in.); Paper: 10.1 × 12.7 cm (4 × 5 in.): Art Institute of Chicago. Alfred Stieglitz Collection. #1949.793

Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent, 1926. Gelatin Silver print. Image: 11.9 × 9.3 cm (4 11/16 × 3 11/16 in.) Art Institute of Chicago. Alfred Stieglitz Collection. #1949.809

Alfred Stieglitz, Equivalent, 1926. Gelatin Silver print: Image: 11.6 × 9.2 cm (4 5/8 × 3 5/8 in.)Art Institute of Chicago. Alfred Stieglitz Collection. #1949.809

Anne Lloyd, Photos. Sky & Cloud Studies, 2022, 2024 & 2025

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2025) November Clouds, 2025.