By Alexandra Segerdahl
New York City, USA
Edward Hopper is a master of solitude, and, in some cases, debilitating loneliness. He paints windows into a world not unlike our own, with iconic American scenes such as Nighthawks, a lonely, urban diner scene; Room in New York, a borderline voyeuristic scene of an anonymous couple; and many others. Still, he seems to favour the darker, quieter palettes of American life. For example, he reveals deserted gas stations, empty summer homes, and barren theatres, places usually filled with signs of life, yet to evoke tension in the viewer, he prefers to show us the absence of action or chaos. For me, there is no other painting in which this feeling is more present than in Hopper’s People in the Sun. Five people sit in wooden folding chairs on a patio-like area outside of an ugly, brutalist motel. There is a defined line between the concrete of the patio and the “amber waves of grain”, suggesting that the group of onlookers is separated from the natural world entirely. A skyline of “purple mountain majesties” sits far away. The palette chosen by Hopper, alongside the emptiness of the fields, mirrors the feeling of a liminal space – an area on the cusp of action between two destinations. Emotions of unease or déja vu are evoked through the lens of surrealism, not unlike sitting in a cafeteria after school has been let out for summer.
When observed, the indifference of the figures in the painting to the surrounding landscape, through their vacant expressions, is made clear to the viewer. If they are disinterested in the scenery around them, what exactly are they looking at? What are they waiting for? And, for such beautiful weather, why do they wear such heavy clothing? (They insist on wearing scarves, suits, and jackets.) Still, despite their clear frigidity, an older man in the foreground sits reclined, with loafers on and a comfortably placed pillow behind his head. The woman next to him sits composed, with a red scarf and an almost skeletal frame, like the very act of waiting has eaten away at her. Each figure draws a cold shadow behind them. A young man, similarly disinterested, sits half-way further back, still, engrossed in his book. These individuals’ chairs are lined up in rows, mirroring clearly the experience of sitting in a theatre. People wish to be entertained, sometimes being unaware of their own helplessness: they are waiting for a story whose ending is already predetermined. While watching a movie, after all, the story has already been told. Some believe that they can change the outcome just because they have bought front row seats. These anonymous figures sit and wait for such entertainment, searching for fulfillment – for agency – in something bigger than themselves.
Above all, Hopper highlights the emotional isolation of these figures, despite the scene being crowded with people. The silence in the piece seems almost Biblical. They look heavenward, as if offering themselves to the beautiful “spacious skies”, missing a part of themselves. They can feel it, and they know they need it back. Hopper forces the viewer to confront the absences in their lives by extension, his pieces being tranquil interpretations of us. The viewer and the viewed are divided by a frame, united by loneliness.
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