Ariella Budick’s Guide to the Frick Collection of New York

This article is part of FT Globetrotter’s guide to New York

I have always been guiltily grateful to robber barons like Henry Clay Frick, who compensated for their cruelty and rapacity with gifts that we continue to enjoy. Frick had better taste than his capitalist rivals, and although they all consulted the dealer Joseph Duveen, scoured Europe for art, and collected English portraits and Old Masters, it was he who left behind a collection that rivals that of the Metropolitan Museum in quality, if not in quality. in breadth. I was heartbroken when the Fifth Avenue mansion closed for renovations in 2020, though it was exciting, even eye-opening, to see all those masterpieces in exile in the incongruously modern Breuer Building at 75th and Madison. Fortunately, the original Frick will reopen in April 2025, expanded, reconfigured and restored, and I will be able to see my personal list of friends again in the intimate, domestic setting where they belong.

‘Saint Francis in the Desert’ (c1475-80) by Giovanni Bellini

'Saint Francis in the Desert' by Giovanni Bellini — ‘Saint Francis in the Desert’ by Giovanni Bellini © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

My favorite painting in a collection rich in wonder is a depiction of bliss so intense it leaves a mark. Francisco emerges from his cozy lair to greet a glorious morning just by the fact of his existence. You can feel the sweet clarity of the air and the warmth of the sunlight on the saint’s face; He barely notices the stigmata. The theatrical appeal of the panel makes it easy to miss the details: a shepherd and his flock patrolling the riverbank, a watchful heron balancing on a rock, a rabbit peeking out of a burrow. This religious work seems almost carnal to me in its description of earthly delight. lounge

‘Thomas More’ (1527) and ‘Thomas Cromwell’ (date unknown) by Hans Holbein the Younger

Holbein's portrait of Thomas More wearing a red and green velvet cloak, fur collar and black hat. — Holbein’s portraits of Henry VIII’s ministers, Thomas More. . . © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

Holbein's portrait of Thomas Cromwell in a green cloak and fur collar, seated at a velvet green table. — . . . and Thomas Cromwell © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

Holbein portrayed the two powerful Thomases who competed for the favor of Henry VIII and were victims of his deadly whims, a privilege that keeps them united in posterity as they were in life. More’s face competes for attention with her outfit, but her pensive expression, somber eyes, and colossal nose ultimately win out over the fluttering red velvet sleeves. Cromwell, in profile, betrays his Kissingerian cruelty. The brow furrows into a skeptical grimace and multiple chins disappear into a collar of fur. By placing the man behind a velvet-covered table covered with luxurious administrator’s accessories, Holbein offers us a portrait of silent and fearsome power. Lounge

“The Polish Horseman” (c1655) by Rembrandt van Rijn

Rembrandt's 'The Polish Horseman': a young man riding a gray horse in a misty brown landscape — Rembrandt’s ‘The Polish Horseman’ is referenced in Frank O’Hara’s love poem ‘Having a Coke with You’ © The Frick Collection, New York. Photo: José Coscia Jr.

I was a teenager when I first fell in love with this fine-featured, flowing-haired boy galloping through a misty landscape. And its appeal has not diminished. The poet Frank O’Hara felt it too when he wrote “Having a Coca-Cola with You” more than 60 years ago: “I would rather look at you than at all the portraits in the world / except possibly ‘The Polish Horseman’ occasionally and Anyway, It’s at Frick / which thank God you haven’t been to yet, so we can go together for the first time.” Those lines evoke the renewed sensual impact of seeing that image again and again. West Gallery

‘Countess of Haussonville’ (1845) by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres

Comtesse d'Haussonville (1845) by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres: a young woman in a blue silk dress and a red ribbon in her hair; reflected in a mirror behind her — Ingres “did justice to the model’s aura more than to her appearance” in his portrait of the Countess of Haussonville © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

A keen realist with a diamond-sharp line, Ingres knew when to leave literalism behind and in this portrait he did justice to the sitter’s aura rather than her appearance. “I was destined to seduce, attract, seduce and ultimately cause suffering to all those who sought their happiness in me,” the pale countess wrote. Adorned in bright blue silk that matches her eyes, endowed with translucent skin and rubbery limbs (plus an errant finger that appears, impossibly, in the mirror), she shines like an elegant model of youth. Not trusting Ingres to do the job well, he also left instructions for his remains to be embalmed, so that both his fleshly and artistic body could endure. Walnut Room, Second Floor

‘Arrangement in Black and Gold: Count Robert de Montesquiou-Fézensac’ (1891-92) by James Abbott McNeill Whistler

Whistler's portrait of the dandy and poet Count Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac: a mustachioed man in a charcoal suit holding a cane and a gray cape. — ‘A self-control so cold that it seems practically sociopathic’: Whistler’s portrait of the dandy and poet Count Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

Whistler’s dark lord provided raw material for three different literary characters (Proust’s decadent esthete Baron de Charlus, Jean des Esseintes, Huysmans’s libertine hero). À reboursand Wilde’s evil narcissist Dorian Gray), as well as this dark tour de force. In Whistler’s vision, the famous dandy merges with the darkness, so that he seems to merge and disappear at the same time. With his fine charcoal suit, pointed mustache, and moon-pale forehead, the glamorous count projects a self-possession so cold that he seems practically a sociopath. Oval Room

‘The Lady with the Bird Organ’ (c1751) by Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin

This woman stands out among the opulently dressed magnates, potentates and heiresses whose portraits populate The Frick. That’s because she is nobody, or rather, nobody, sitting by the window. It is a scene of comfortable captivity, the model in her cozy living room and her voluminous dress, the bird in its corner and its cage. The two are linked by the serinette, an organ used to teach canaries new melodies. Humans and birds share confined spaces and a similar destiny: they can sing and be admired, but not roam. Boucher anteroom, second floor

‘Cloud Study’ (c1822) by John Constable

Constable's 'Cloud Study': white and gray clouds against a pale blue sky — ‘A perfect fusion of feeling and reality’: Constable’s ‘Cloud Study’ © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

Frick did not own any, but two Great canvases by Constable: “Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop’s Garden” and “The White Horse”. But my attention is focused on a pair of much smaller oil-on-paper sketches that the museum acquired in 2000. Constable made them when he was going to “fly over the sky”: training his eyes, his hand and his heart in the movement constant of the atmosphere. His goal was to achieve a perfect fusion between feeling and reality, and the resulting studies were once improvised and meticulous, scientific and expressive: permanent records of the fleeting phenomena of nature. Small hallway, second floor

‘The Pond’ (1868-70) by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot

'The Pond' by Corot: a woman and a child next to a small lake, from which a cow drinks and around which trees are splashed — Henry Clay Frick was especially attracted to Corot’s later works, such as ‘The Pond’. © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

A woman and a child entertain themselves by the shallow waters of a rural swimming pool. Behind them, a cow sips from its placid waters and, beyond, a cozy cabin sits on a welcoming slope. The delicate scene is bathed in an atmosphere so dense it is almost liquid, and the breeze whispers through the air dotted with brilliant points of light. Frick was drawn to Corot’s later elegiac work, which moved away from naturalism and toward half-lit reverie. He evoked these landscapes from memory rather than painting them outdoors, and the term for them, “souvenirs,” hints at his melancholy. West Gallery

‘Julia, Lady Peel’ (1827) by Sir Thomas Lawrence

Portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence of Julia, the wife of Sir Robert Peel, wearing a plum-coloured fur-lined cloak, a white satin dress, gold jeweled bracelets and a black hat with a red plume. — The “effortlessly brushed details attract and captivate” in Lawrence’s portrait of Sir Robert Peel’s wife, Julia © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

His red hat with feathers calls from afar. Up close, the easily brushed details seduce and captivate. This portrait produces no depth: it’s all in the shiny surface, where Lawrence applied paint like butter on toast. Let your gaze pass from the marbled hands to the glittering jewels, through the satin of her sleeve to the plum-colored cloak lined with fluffy white fur, and finally to the hint of a landscape at the very edge of the frame. Approach that place and you might mistake it for a 20th-century abstraction. Julia’s husband was the distinguished politician Sir Robert Peel, but she also contributed to the glory of the nation simply by posing for this portrait, which launched her into the pantheon of painted beauties. Library

‘The Bullfight’ (1864) by Édouard Manet

Three bullfighters next to a fence and a glimpse of a bull at the top of 'The Bullfighters' by Manet — Manet’s response to the withering criticism of ‘La Corrida’ was to split it in two: The Frick has the upper half of the painting © The Frick Collection. Photo: Michael Bodycomb

Manet had never been to Spain when he recalled a tragic afternoon in a square of bulls. Critics mocked its whimsy, ignoring its creamy impasto and focusing on its off-kilter proportions. “A wooden bullfighter, killed by a horned rat,” one wag quipped. The artist responded by cutting the canvas in two. The lower section became “The Dead Bullfighter” (now in the National Gallery in Washington). Frick came out on top, a strangely composed but engrossing amalgamation of elements. The arena’s wooden fence divides a muddy jumble of three-figure spectators in bright suits and a barely visible hunk of bull. When Manet finally traveled to Spain and attended a bullfight, he found it “one of the most beautiful, strange and terrible spectacles that one can see.” But he already knew that because he had seen it in his mind. Impressionist Room, Second Floor

the frick1 East 70th Street, New York, NY 10021, reopens April 2025

Which of these 10 paintings from The Frick do you like the most and why? Tell us in the comments below. AND follow FT Globetrotter on Instagram at @FTGlobetrotter

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