Half of what Edgar Degas made involves dancers, and almost none of it is about dancing. The curtain is usually down. Someone is scratching an ankle, adjusting a strap, waiting to be told what to do again.
That is the thing worth knowing before you hang one. These are pictures of work, made by a man who thought of himself as a realist and was irritated for forty years at being filed under Impressionism. Everything here comes from our Degas collection.
Draw Lines, Young Man
Degas was born in 1834 into a Paris banking family and trained under a pupil of Ingres. As a young man he was introduced to Ingres himself, and the advice he got was to draw lines, many lines, from memory and from life. He took it literally for the rest of his career.
Young Spartans Exercising (1860–1862) is what that training produced: a classical subject built from drawing rather than color. He started it in his twenties and was still altering it in old age, which tells you most of what you need to know about how he worked.
Study of a Male Nude (1858) comes from the same period and the same discipline, and it is the reason the late pastels hold together even when the color goes wild. He earned the right to be loose.
He showed in seven of the eight Impressionist exhibitions and helped organize them, then spent his life rejecting the name. He worked indoors, from drawings and memory, and insisted there was nothing spontaneous about his art at all. Our Impressionism explainer covers the argument he was having.
The Dancers Are Doing Their Jobs
The Paris Opera ballet Degas painted was not a glamorous institution. The girls were mostly poor, they trained from childhood, and their families depended on the wage. Subscribers were allowed backstage, which is exactly as grim as it sounds.
The Dancing Class (1874) and Ballet Rehearsal (1874) are rehearsal pictures rather than performances. The floor takes up half the canvas, figures get cut off at the edge, and the eye enters the room from an odd corner. He learned that framing from Japanese prints and from photography, and it still looks modern because almost nothing in Western painting looked like it at the time.
Ballet Dancer in Position (1877) is the study version of the same interest. If you want the subject without the room, this is the one.
These are quiet pictures despite the subject, so they suit a hallway, a stair wall or a bedroom better than a loud living room. The whole point is the moment before something happens.
Then the Color Arrives
His eyesight began failing in his thirties and got worse for the rest of his life. As it went, the work got bigger, closer and far more colorful. He moved heavily into pastel, which let him build color in layers and work by touch as much as by sight.
Four Dancers (1899), The Three Dancers (1895–1898) and The Dancers (1899) all come from the end of the 1890s, and they are the ones that surprise people who think of Degas as a careful draftsman. The tutus are orange and acid green. The faces barely exist.
Pastel also let him keep going when oil would have defeated him. He built these up in layers, fixing each one before adding the next, which is why the color sits on the surface rather than sinking into it.
The Green Dress (1888) is the clearest example of the late manner we carry, and it is the one we photograph most often on the bench because the greens read so strongly under shop light.
The Racetrack
The other subject he returned to for decades was the racecourse, and he treated it exactly like the ballet: the waiting, the milling about, the moment before. The Riders (1885) is riders gathering, not a race being won.
There is a technical story here too. In 1878 Eadweard Muybridge published photographs proving that a galloping horse does not move the way painters had been drawing it for two centuries. Degas paid attention, and the horses in his later work are built on what the camera showed rather than on the old convention.
The Bathers
In 1886 Degas showed a suite of nudes at the last Impressionist exhibition and upset a great many people. The women are drying themselves, crouching in tubs, twisting to reach their own backs. Nobody is posing. He said he wanted them seen as though through a keyhole.
After the Bath (1889), The Tub (1886) and Woman Bathing in a Shallow Tub (1885) are the ones we carry. They are the most private pictures he made, and they suit a bedroom or a dressing area where the intimacy is the point rather than a provocation.
The tubs are the tell. These are not marble baths in a villa, they are shallow tin basins in small rooms, and that is a large part of why the series read as impolite.
For the Paris he moved through after dark, our Toulouse-Lautrec piece picks up where these leave off. Lautrec idolized him and worked the same streets a generation later.
Hanging a Degas
Gold for the ballet, silver for the late pastels. The rehearsal pictures are warm and brown and go straight into gold. The acid greens and oranges of the 1890s sit better in silver, which keeps them cool.
Most of these are vertical or near square. That makes them the answer to a narrow wall, a stair return or the space beside a doorway, which is where most people run out of options.
Hang a pair, not a crowd. Two dancers facing into the room read as a considered choice. Five of them read as a dance studio.
Light them warm. Pastel color goes chalky under cool white bulbs and comes alive under something warmer.
Frequently Asked Questions
Why did Degas paint so many dancers?
Because the subject let him do what he actually cared about: bodies in awkward positions, artificial light, and composition. He had access to the Paris Opera through subscribers he knew and drew there for decades. Roughly half his output involves dancers, and most of it shows rehearsal rather than performance.
Which Degas works best in a small room?
The single figure studies. A rehearsal room scene needs distance to read, but a dancer in position or a bather is a tight composition that holds up at close range, which makes it right for a hallway, a bedroom or a narrow wall beside a door.
How are your prints made?
Each piece is printed to order on archival canvas from a file that runs to roughly 12,000 pixels on the long edge, and then a person applies real brushwork by hand over the print. The canvas is stretched over Appalachian Poplar stretcher bars and finished in an ornate imported resin frame in gold, silver or dark bronze. Nothing is warehoused, so your piece is made after you order it.
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