Robert Henri and the Lady in Black Velvet A MONA Moment By Ron Roth Director Museum of Nebraska Art

Artist Robert Henri grew up in Cozad Nebraska, and went on to write one of the most influential art books of the Twentieth Century: The Art Spirit. In defining portraiture in the Art Spirit, Robert Henri writes, "An interest in the subject, something you want to say definitely about the subject; this is the first condition of a portrait. The processes of painting a portrait spring from this interest, this definite thing to be said. A special and particular vision is making itself clear."

And indeed, in a portrait of his friend, Eulabee Dix--Lady in Black Velvet-a portrait recently exhibited here at the Museum of Nebraska Art, we see, I believe, "this definite thing to be said, a particular vision making itself clear." The painting was executed in 1911 in New York City, Henri's home. We do not know how Henri and Dix met, or whether they discussed their mutual background growing up in Nebraska. Both were painters, actively engaged in a thriving New York art scene. Dix specialized in miniature portraits.

During the period in which Lady in Black Velvet was painted, Dix had left New York to start a residence with her new husband, Alfred Becker, in the Buffalo home of her mother-in-law--the beginning of years of discontent. Her clothes in this portrait are dramatic and theatrical, and reflect the aura of elegance which she insisted upon in her image to the world, Dix designed her own clothes, and had a great sense of style. Here Henri bathes the velvet in black, her gown receding into shadow. "Velvet," Henri wrote in the Art Spirit, "is rich, caressing, its depths are mysterious, obscure. The stroke loses itself, not a sight of it is visible." The dreamy shadows of the background and the velvet gown are all of a piece, and like a Rembrandt, we enjoy the drama of light and dark. We know from Dix' biographer, Joann Ridley, that indeed, her life was one of light and shadow, its own drama of dark, angry, psychologically charged episodes, obscure in their origins (including slapping her mother-in-law.) These times were counterbalanced by an indefatigable ability to survive, create art and by association, create artifice, an artifice of elegance and style. Like the wedding gown, the black velvet gown is a symbol of that self created artifice, one, I believe, which gave her life a sense of stability in the face of disappointments, failures, even poverty. Henri was too good a student of humanity not to make this association, though I admit, this is strictly a conjecture on my part. In this portrait, her envelopment in black elegance in no way deters our attention away from the fact of a face that is hard and joyless.