Studio

Studio

An entire drawing class has invaded the Moreau-Nélaton collection and its neighboring rooms on the second floor of the Sully wing (rooms 948-952). They have made themselves at home, in conquered territory. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, in twos and threes, or alone, they copy. Their clothes and materials are scattered across the ground and clutter up the benches. It’s impossible to sit down. They don’t see me standing by the wall. Before Corot’s landscapes and Delacroix’s Orphan Girl at the Cemetery, they show each other their drawings and make comments. They are good—they must be from an art school. Their professor, a young woman, passes among them and offers suggestions, corrections, praise. Suddenly, at the appointed hour, everything is put away in an instant. They vanish like a flock of sparrows or friars scattering in a Carpaccio painting. A single laggard sits lost in thought in a corner of the room, absorbed in his copying. I like that the museum is still a studio, as its founders wished.