Promenades of an Impressionist
                        
                     
                                                         
                
                    Promenades of an Impressionist
                                            
                            By James Huneker
                            
                                11 Feb, 2020                            
                            
                         
                                        
                                                                        After prolonged study of the art shown at the Paris Autumn Salon, you ask yourself: This whirlpool of jostling ambitions, crazy colours, still crazier drawing, and composition—whither does it tend? Is there any strain of tendency, any central curre
                                ... Read more
                                                After prolonged study of the art shown at the Paris Autumn Salon, you ask yourself: This whirlpool of jostling ambitions, crazy colours, still crazier drawing, and composition—whither does it tend? Is there any strain of tendency, any central current to be detected? Is it young genius in the raw, awaiting the sunshine of success to ripen its somewhat terrifying gifts? Or is the exhibition a huge, mystifying blague? What, you ask, as you apply wet compresses to your weary eyeballs, blistered by dangerous proximity to so many blazing canvases, does the Autumn Salon mean to French art? Less