A few things about this essay. It was written for an Understanding Visual Art course. I didn’t see this piece in person; my cousin Sam did, and she immediately sent it to me and bought me the print. I cherish it so much.
So, yes, for continuity purposes, I fibbed in my opening paragraph.
I included it on my site because I had originally uploaded it for Sam to read. Turns out I quite like it, not just because it was shown to me by one of my most favorite people, but because everything I say about it (all 1,250 words) is remarkably linked to something quintessentially me: my love for the way children see the world (and how we may perceive them to our benefit as we age), my love for blues (and having the blues), and my love for tiny little black and tan dogs.
Read if you wish!
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Mary Cassatt’s Little Girl in a Blue Armchair (1878) is a painting I first saw in person when it was temporarily held at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in September 2024. Its soft, gentle hues and coziness struck me immediately. I see it as both a gorgeous and simple depiction of childhood and a piece that brings up memories of my own childhood with my silky terrier (or the three I’ve had over the course of my lifetime). It felt familiar in a significant way. What I love most about it is how Cassatt, especially for her time, shifts away from the stiff, formal portraits of children and leans into a relatable, unguarded moment of what being a kid can actually feel like.
This painting was done with oils on canvas and is set in what looks like a luxurious room. The space is almost overwhelmed by turquoise armchairs that seem to have a satin-like texture, which to me suggests an upper-class lifestyle. The brushstrokes on the chairs are loose and expressive, giving them an airy, Impressionist quality. Although the chairs dominate with their bold color, they ultimately frame and highlight the focal point of the little girl.
The little girl is dressed in what appears to be a festive outfit, with a green-and-red plaid dress and matching socks and headband. Her white satin dress peeks out beneath the plaid and looks slightly rumpled, showing her relaxed but possibly uneasy state. One of her arms rests behind her head in a carefree pose, while the other drapes casually next to her. Her shiny black shoes catch a hint of light. Her face is painted with much more precision and care compared to the chairs, which gives her an emotional presence that draws the viewer in.
Her pink lips are pursed slightly, and her eyes gaze off to the side. The slight furrow of her brow makes her look a bit bored, but also calm and accepting. Next to her, in another chair, a small black-and-tan dog sleeps peacefully, its body curled up and paws tucked under its chin. It’s as if the dog, despite often being wary of children, knows this one won’t bother it. The sense of trust and stillness between them makes the scene feel both heartwarming and intimate.
Cassatt’s use of light and color ties everything together beautifully. The detailed brushwork on the girl contrasts with the looser strokes on the chairs, adding a sense of movement and energy to the scene while keeping the focus on the child. The painting feels like an invitation to reflect on the quieter moments of childhood, moments that may not have been as rare as we often remember.
When I researched Cassatt and the history of this painting briefly for this essay, I came across a quote from her: “I love to paint children. They are so natural and truthful” (Cassatt). This view feels so clear in Little Girl in a Blue Armchair, where the little girl’s relaxed posture and introspective gaze reflect a sincere and unusual appreciation for a child’s escapist nature. I also learned that the little girl in the painting was the daughter of a friend of Edgar Degas, and the dog in the piece was a gift from Degas himself, purchased from another Impressionist, Ludovic-Napoleon Lepic. These connections reinforce how closely Cassatt worked within the Impressionist circle and how much this style influenced her work. The loose brushwork, the balanced use of light and shadow, and the emphasis on capturing a small, casual moment all tie her personal style to the broader Impressionist movement.
Cassatt grew up in the upper-middle class in Pennsylvania, but lived much of her adult life in France, so it’s no surprise that she takes special delight in creating this scene for us. Another notable feature of this painting is the richness of the room itself. Although it’s not a room Cassatt herself grew up in, there’s a natural ease in the way she reflects its tone and mood. This is a painter familiar with fine things. The armchairs, with their elegant texture, suggest refinement, and even the extravagance of the little girl’s fancy dress with coordinating accessories further emphasizes this. But it’s the little girl’s pose that strips away any judgment of this lifestyle. We see her as she is: a child with her dog, caught in a private moment that is restful and unbothered, a little bored, and maybe even uneasy in her need to be patient. While one part of the painting speaks to privilege, another part reflects something universal: the softness of a child waiting, quietly imagining, without the distraction of toys or friends. This duality between the symbols of privilege and the tenderness of a child’s idle waiting makes the painting both specific to its time and timeless in its humanity.
What makes this duality especially interesting is the idea that portraits, especially in the 19th century, were often carefully staged with ideal poses. Cassatt rejects this here and lets us see children through her eyes—truthful, imperfect, and entirely themselves. The asymmetrical composition and the carefree manner of the little girl do away with the rigidity of that traditional portrait. Instead, we feel as though we are catching a brief but special moment in time.
Another part of this painting that I love (probably the most because this type of dog holds a special place in my heart) is, of course, the small dog sleeping calmly in the chair. Its tiny frame, already one of the smallest among dogs, seems to shrink the longer you look, as if it’s being enveloped by the chair’s upholstery. The way it is nestled deeply into the cushion mirrors the tranquility of the room itself, amplifying the calmness that seems to envelop the entire scene. Cassatt’s inclusion of the dog’s presence feels both natural and comforting. It’s as if we know that this wouldn’t have been as special a painting without the dog. Her choice of blues also helps with this. The black coat of the dog pops perfectly against the richness of the blues. Instead of feeling jarring, as a sharp red might have done, or stiff and formal, like a mustard yellow hue, the color relaxes us along with its subjects. The dog also gives us permission to feel calm in the presence of the slightly furrowed brow of the little girl; if he is okay, we must surely be.
When I first saw this painting, I felt immediately connected to it, not because of the fineness of the chairs or the room itself, or because of the mesmerizing blues, but because of the moment Cassatt created. Impressionist painters thrive on creating movement with brushstrokes and highlighting short-lived scenes. Cassatt captured this scene by inviting us into the world of a child and her dog. I have had this moment as a child, rumpled dress and all, and whether this was Cassatt’s goal or not, I was reminded of a time when life felt as simple and easy as waiting in a soft chair. Cassatt’s ability to bring out something so personal through her work from a time period so long ago is what makes this, and those lovely blues, so unforgettable to me.
Paintings like Little Girl in a Blue Armchair reflect one of the most important purposes of art: to connect us, to preserve moments we can’t get back, and to show us that something powerful can always be felt in something ordinary.
Thoughts?