22 essential works of art at the Huntington and the surprising stories behind them

The imposing Beaux-Arts mansion at the Huntington in San Marino, designed at the start of the 20th century by architects Myron Hunt and Elmer Grey, first opened to the public in 1928, just for a few weekday afternoon hours, following the deaths of founders Arabella and Henry E. Huntington. (They’re buried out on the lawn.) The railroad, shipbuilding and real estate tycoon (1850-1927) and his wife (1850-1924) were sometimes said to be America’s wealthiest couple, equivalent to billionaires today when their fortune is adjusted for inflation, and they had been spending lavishly on art for two decades. Their nonprofit was founded in 1919, partly to take advantage of brand new income tax deductions for charities, a government novelty lessening what was surely a hefty annual federal assessment, plus eventual estate taxes. For more than 30 years after it opened, their grand house-museum held the best art collection — by far — that the suburban Los Angeles public could see.

The Huntington’s Art Museum, once home to Henry and Arabella Huntington, boasts a large collection of European, American and East Asian art.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

L.A. has seen various major art museums blossom since the 1960s, but the Huntington collection is still enormously impressive. The centerpiece is European paintings, sculptures and decorative arts — especially 18th century British and, secondarily, French — while American art claims maturing depth. (Chinese and Japanese art holdings are modest.) A 2021 acquisitions partnership with the Ahmanson Foundation is bringing major additions, so far including exceptional paintings by Francisco Goya and Thomas Cole.

What follows is a selection of 22 works, chosen from the mansion and the Virginia Scott Steele Galleries for American Art, a short walk away. (The art’s locations are noted as “M1” or “M2” for the mansion’s two floors, or “S” for the Steele.) Note, however, that this is most definitely not a “best of” list. Some works would surely turn up on such a selection, but the aim here is instead to give an idea of the diverse pleasures that will be found throughout the place. The list is in chronological order.

Circa 1460; oil on masonite, transferred from canvas, originally on panel

(The Huntington)

The half-length Madonna is probably half of a diptych (the likely right-side panel is the portrait of soldier and nobleman Philippe de Croy, who would have commissioned it, housed in Antwerp’s Royal Museum of Fine Arts). It dates from the incomparable artist’s last years, when he was among the most popular Flemish artists working in Renaissance Europe. But after his death, Rogier fell off the radar and was almost completely forgotten — until the modern era. This is the only Van der Weyden painting on the West Coast, bought by Henry in 1926 in commemoration of his late wife, nicknamed Belle. (M2)

Circa 1490; tempera on wood

(The Huntington)

Since only the wealthy could afford to commission a portrait, it’s always worth pondering what features the painter employed to flatter the picky sitter. A Huntington label says the simplicity of the unidentified woman’s clothing implies modesty, while objects in the cupboard (such as the book) suggest various domestic virtues. True. But the profile pose is the biggest deal, since it links her to classical antiquity: She’s made into the legacy of the exalted faces stamped on Roman coins. (M2)

Circa 1490; tempera on wood

(The Huntington)

The handsome companion to the Huntington’s Ghirlandaio portrait of a woman, a pair thought to celebrate their wedding, differs most obviously in the pose: She’s in profile, like a noble Roman coin, while he’s in three-quarter view, starting to turn his gaze toward us. The man’s pose yields greater dimensional form that enhances spatial illusion and — importantly — visual interaction with the viewer. In short: The man is active, the woman is passive, and the old patriarchal system ruling society is represented and affirmed. (M2)

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1637; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

At 33, Van Dyck was named the very first “Principalle Paynter in Ordinary to King Charles I and his Queen,” which basically meant he was the royals’ go-to art guy, especially for portraits. This elegant, life-size portrait of Anne Kirke, dresser to Queen Henrietta Maria, presents her as suitably fashion-conscious — a decked-out 17th century supermodel — while incorporating a couple noteworthy status symbols, like acres of coppery gold satin (luxury) and the playful dog (fidelity). The rose bush at which she daintily points is a symbol of the Virgin Mary, suitable for a French Catholic Queen new to Anglican England. Charles I became arguably the greatest European art collector of all time, and in Sir Anthony he picked a gifted young artist who would rival his Flemish elder, Peter Paul Rubens. (M1)

Porcelain: 1300-1350, mounts: 1745-1749; stoneware with slip-trailed, molded and applied decoration, celadon glaze, gilt-bronze

(The Huntington)

The surface of a drop-dead gorgeous Yuan dynasty serving jug, its shape a voluptuous double gourd, is decorated with lush peonies. The gourd is a Chinese symbol of prosperity, and so are those peonies, while the green celadon evokes jade — in traditional Chinese culture more precious than gold.

As if that were not enough, when the bottle arrived in Louis XV’s France, it got encased in a gilded ormolu mount of Bacchanalian grapes, tendrils and leaves, thickly tangled at the top and nearly overwhelming the vessel. Abundance upon richness upon wealth! Huntington acquired it in 1911, perfect for a Gilded Age American railroad and real estate tycoon who was just settling into his new, 35,000-square-foot mansion. (M2)

1755; wool and silk with linen lining

(The Huntington)

Badly faded, the already fugitive colors of the tapestry especially vulnerable in Southern California light, a wittily erotic scene of a shepherd teaching a shepherdess how to blow the flute in a luxurious garden setting is one of six in the “Noble Pastorale” series designed by Boucher. In San Marino, would any tapestry subject other than garden frolics better suit the paneled library of an oligarch who cultivated elaborate gardens while collecting Old Master art? (M1)

1770; oil on canvas

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

Yes, that guy. “Blue Boy” is an icon, and icons are frequently disappointing when encountered in person, as the imposing image in the mind’s eye deflates the real thing a bit. But not this time. Ever since it underwent extensive conservation, undertaken in a lengthy public display in 2018 and 2019, attention has been riveted by the knockout performance of brushwork in this dazzling picture of a young 18th century man playing poised and assertive dress-up in a 17th century Van Dyck costume. Theater has been Britain’s leading art form for centuries, and this consummate work is painting as theater, both in subject and vivid paint-handling. Henry and Belle paid $728,000 for it in 1921, the equivalent of roughly $13 million today, making it the most expensive painting in its time. Given today’s bloated market, they got a bargain. (M1)

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1775; oil on canvas

(The Huntington )

Esteemed man of letters and industrious lexicographer Samuel Johnson wrote the first complete dictionary of the English language. So, he was mighty upset when Reynolds, his close friend, depicted him in softly brushed paint squinting at a text close up in clenched hands, emphasizing his genuine vision problems. One man’s unexpected image of determined concentration is another’s unkind teasing aura of defect. Either way, there’s nothing else like it. (M1)

After 1779; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

Henry was mad about George Washington, perhaps because of his role as a powerful pivot between aristocratic Britain and the sovereign United States. Nine paintings and sculptures of him are in the collection, including not one but two versions of Gilbert Stuart’s illustrious “dollar bill” portrait. A full-length picture by Peale, patriarch of the first American family-dynasty of painters (with sons Raphaelle, Rembrandt and Rubens), showed him leaning nonchalantly on a phallic cannon following victory in the Revolutionary War battle of Princeton. (Peale fought in it.) That painting, now in the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, was so popular that numerous copies were made, including this somewhat less atmospheric and not quite as detailed version by an unidentified hand. (S)

Circa 1784; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

One of a few non-British portraits on view in the mansion, the French picture is the only one by a woman — Vigée-Le Brun was court painter to Queen Marie Antoinette. She goes all out in magnificently representing the 44-year-old aristocrat. He’s a spectacle of sumptuous extravagance, from the fine Chantilly lace at his cuffs to the ostrich plumes on the hat tucked beneath his left arm.

The count was very rich — a slaver who owned Caribbean sugar plantations. His vast wealth depended on brutal exploitation for the labor-intensive production of sugarcane. Amid all the lavishness, you can practically see the revolutionary storm gathering in the air, which soon toppled the aristocracy. The count fled Paris — and so did Vigée-Le Brun. (M1)

1782; bronze

(The Huntington)

More than six feet tall, this sleek figure of the Roman goddess of the hunt is astonishing for something it takes a moment to realize: Despite all that hefty bronze — it weighs in at 747 pounds — the formidable Diana is delicately posed on a single foot’s tippy toes. She seems like she is as light as a feather, practically airborne as a goddess tracking a prey might be. This was Houdon’s very first attempt at a full-length sculptural figure, and the iron core support-rod hidden inside the hollow form did its job brilliantly to create the stunning illusion. Talk about being fleet of foot. (M2)

1822; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

The museum has dozens of paintings, watercolors and drawings by Constable, including what might be the greatest painting in its collection. When Constable painted this extraordinary landscape, one of a group of six he made of the countryside in his native Suffolk, size was on his mind. He made all of them big — six feet wide. That dimension was hardly ever used for landscapes, then a minor genre compared to Bible stories, aristocratic portraits or historical events.

England was on the brink of dramatic change, though, as rural life came under the mounting pressure of industrial transformation. The artist paired the obvious hard work of making these big, inventive pictures with the imagery of laborers toiling within them. Constable, a worker who was painting work, merged human order with nature’s design through the composition’s subtle but virtuoso geometries. (M2)

1859; marble

(The Huntington)

Hosmer’s pristine sculpture of Syrian queen Zenobia, nearly seven feet tall, is a bulky, visually solid column of pristine white marble — vertical, contained, motionless, folded in on itself despite cascades of ornamental drapery. She’s brilliantly composed to present a stoic image of enduring strength for an ancient ruler vanquished and humiliated by third century Roman captors. Zenobia, carved during the American’s lengthy stay in Rome (she was born and died outside Boston), arose as civil war loomed at home. The captive’s chains assumed a particular resonance. (S)

1864; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

Mount Chimborazo, once thought to be the world’s tallest peak, provided an almost hallucinatory backdrop in the sky for a scene of pastoral bliss among Ecuador’s Puruhá and Quichua tribes, which Church painted several years after his second trip to South America. As was common for landscape painters of his day, he compiled sketches and studies on site that formed the basis of paintings he assembled back in his Upstate New York studio. Part crisp documentary, part spectral memory, they conspired to help make Church America’s leading artist. (S)

Circa 1876-1882; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

Heade made more than 100 pictures of northeastern coastal salt marshes over his long career, starting in the fateful year 1859 as civil war threatened. Salt marshes are exceptionally productive tidal wetlands, an ecosystem where modern manmade farming principles could merge seamlessly with nature’s ancient daily rhythms. This gorgeous, contemplative postwar example of nature/culture equilibrium is illuminated by a ferociously blazing sun. The ambiguity — is it dawn or dusk? — is keyed to either the restorative promise of America’s 1876 centennial or the ruinous unraveling of Reconstruction. Or maybe it’s both. (S)

1910; stone

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

If the artist’s last name sounds familiar, that’s because she married Archer Huntington, Belle’s son by her marriage to Collis P. Huntington, Henry’s late uncle. (It’s complicated.) Anna Hyatt was a successful animalier — a sculptor of animals — a natural history subject that gained both upper- and middle-class popularity in 19th century Europe with the expansion of natural sciences. She was instrumental in bringing it to 20th century America. As a present for Henry’s birthday, Belle bought a pair of carved dogs, archetypal symbol of fidelity, sculpted by her daughter-in-law. (Scott Gallery Loggia, adjacent to Steele Galleries)

1916; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

Reiffel’s breakthrough painting is a hilly country scene, executed in rural Connecticut prior to his 1925 move to San Diego. A great, heaving landscape threatens to swallow whole the modest house, sheds, plowed field, wooden fences and other signs of human habitation glimpsed through densely painted trees. Forget spiritual uplift or meditative caution, common to conventional American landscape paintings. This turbulent, thickly painted canvas propels a sense of precarious human existence in a roiling world of natural beauty. (S)

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1924; oil on canvas

(The Huntington)

Birley was an adept if rather conventional, New Zealand-born academic portrait painter who was a favorite of Britain’s royal family — and thus an apparently appropriate choice for the puffed up Huntington Anglophiles. He painted Arabella not long before she died. Shrouded within a gloomy, dark green setting, heavily dressed in oppressive blue-black, crowned by a weightily veiled hat, gloved in fingerless black lace, and staring intently through owlish, black-rimmed eyeglasses, she’s a formidable figure almost in anticipatory mourning — a titan about to expire. At the mansion, she hangs across the entry hall from Birley’s rather tedious, boardroom-style portrait of businessman Henry, but she’s the odd duck you want to look at. (M1)

Circa 1935; oil and charcoal pencil on plywood

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

Was there a medium in which Wong did not excel? Painting, ceramics, lithography, kite-making, animation — he was the lead production illustrator on Disney’s 1942 film, “Bambi,” among work on other notable movies — and he flourished making murals for the WPA. Born Wong Gen Yeo in Kwangtung, China, he immigrated to California as a child but was denied citizenship for nearly three decades, blocked by the racist Chinese Exclusion Act. In this two-panel decoration, four witty, energetic monkeys cavort on an elegantly draped pine tree limb, inspired by classical Song Dynasty painting and made for his family’s popular restaurant in L.A.’s Old Chinatown. (S)

1941; oil on canvas

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

Dove was among the most radical of American painters in the first half of the 20th century, arguably the first to make an entirely abstract painting (circa 1910). At almost three feet wide, this relatively large (for Dove) late work, painted when he was ill and his production was slowed, offers no trace of representation in its intricate composition of interlocking linear and organic shapes, rendered in a range of neutral tones studded with deep greens. Autumnal in feel, the stretched canvas itself seems to merge a protective awning with a lattice for nature’s waning energies, rather than offering a description of them. (S)

1964; silkscreen and house paint on plywood

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

One of the sillier critical claims about this sculpture is that it is significant because it is visually indistinguishable from an actual Brillo box, an assertion that only works if you don’t really look at it. The sculpture is made from assembled plywood panels, not soft folded cardboard, a difference that is plain enough to see. The subject of all of Warhol’s 1960s work is art culture, not pop culture, and the Brillo box zinger was aimed at shining up stultifying elements of “rusty” Ab Ex painting, which had been dominant for a decade.

Modern esteem for the anti-illusionistic flatness of a painting’s picture-plane is taunted by repeating elements of the painted plywood panel five times, around four sides and on top, to construct the sculpture’s three dimensions. The red-white-and-blue logo, cresting in a witty all-American wave, was designed for Ohio’s Brillo company by James Harvey, a moonlighting Abstract Expressionist painter. Warhol’s pointed choice of steel wool pads, rather than another supermarket product, is a slyly autobiographical gesture: He grew up in Pittsburgh, America’s vaunted Steel Town. In sum — game, set, art match. (S)

2008 – present; mixed media

Visitors walk over a bridge called Listening to the Pines at the dedication of Liu Fang Yuan, or Garden of Flowering Fragrance at the Huntington.

(Annie Wells / Los Angeles Times)

The Huntington is of course known for its magnificent and diverse gardens, but the classical Chinese scholar’s garden is distinctive — a 15-acre example of land art, a form both experiential and contemplative. Its greatest achievements in East Asia predate by a thousand years contemporary Western Earthworks of the late 1960s. Liu Fang Yuan bases its primary structural principles on the nine celebrated classical gardens in the historic Ming Dynasty city of Suzhou, about 70 miles west of Shanghai. The garden is an exquisitely crafted microcosm of the natural world complete with myriad plants, perforated limestone rocks and reflecting lake, plus pavilions and artfully engraved calligraphy. Think of it as comprising the creatively contrived nature in a traditional Chinese landscape painting — but one you can walk into. And have lunch.