The End of the Working Day
12:00 AM
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| Jules Breton, The End of the Working Day, 1886-1887 |
Just who in the hell is Jules Breton?
I certainly didn’t know when I stumbled across his work in a book laden with masterpieces from heavyweights Millais and Courbet. Though much less famous, Breton’s realist paintings have a certain element that those of Millais and Courbet lack: accurate depictions of rural life tinted by humble genre techniques. This combination thoroughly moves me in The End of the Working Day.
Much like his subjects, Breton labored tirelessly, although in a much less physical manner. Born and raised in northern French countryside, the prodigy traveled to places like Ghent and Paris so he could develop his skills among the most talented. As a young adult, Breton experienced a rude awakening provided by cosmopolitan Paris and its flourishing artists. Poor Breton struggled to find his place with the city-folk, which caused him to dwell upon his provincial past.
His upbringing comes to life in The End of the Working Day, a simple yet stunning tribute to the toils of farmers. Millet’s gleaners may personify the backbreaking work, but Breton’s workers emerge bathed in the colors of dusk, triumphant after a day filled with drudgery. The flowers, the composition, the palette—all combine to form an utterly peaceful painting. It was this piece that occupied my thoughts as I sat at my grandfather’s funeral. It reminded me of him in many ways, from the diligent work ethic of the peasants to the idyllic countryside, similar to the Kansas farm his family owned. Most of all, the beautiful rays that permeate the artwork brought to mind my grandpa’s love of sunsets. I listened to the minister talk about my dad and granddad, and how the two of them would admire those stunning skies together, even from hospital windows. Breton’s The End of the Working Day celebrates that precious moment: the calm and lovely flash when nature bids farewell.
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