When I say that I don’t like J. Alden Weir’s paintings, don’t misunderstand me. I was kicked out of my only art class at age 9 for drawing sketches of a battle including graphic illustrations of stick figures getting blown apart by WWII tanks & planes. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a tint or a tinge from a tincture. One of my favorite pieces of modern art remains the remains of an artist named Art, who, according to his will, was cremated and put on display. So, don’t judge Weir by my predilections.

Actually, I do like “On the Porch”, a Japanese inspired watercolor of two of his daughters painted here on his farm. But I don’t like “The Red Bridge”, where he contrasts a natural setting with a railroad bridge, and I find his landscapes to be too muted and subtle in color to hold my attention. Unlike some European impressionists, Weir didn’t typically paint laborers, preferring farm animals or his family (although he sold paintings to help the unemployed). In any case, tastes change, so creativity must overcome tastes.

Weir, the son of a West Point drawing instructor, helped found American Impressionism. Where his brother went to Hudson Valley, Julian went to Paris, where he overcame his initial horror of Impressionism to adopt some of the techniques. Soon he was back in the US, exhibiting impressionist paintings with his friends, Twachtman, Ryder, and others who organized a group of ten artists to promote the new style. His daughters grew up to be artists as well, and one married one of Brigham Young’s grandsons, Mahonri Young, whose studio is also on the Weir Farm.

While the tour of Weir’s house and studio is interesting, the magic of the place is in the artists who continue coming here to paint. Art colonies and communities constantly influence and depict each other, as when a student of Saint-Gaudens created a bronze relief of Weir. There’s an artist-in-residence, and a small army of artists of all levels who continue to see the new in the old barn, gardens, fields, forest, pond and porch. Some of their paintings are in bold, bright dramatic colors, which I like.

But honestly, real nature is subdued and muted in color. Light on leaves reflected in water is blurred. Roots and rocks on dirt trails near muddy banks are all shades of brown and gray. The real bear in the woods here isn’t kaleidoscopic. Nature is messy, mostly dully boring and awkwardly chaotic, with one tiny amphibian emerging from the algae to catch one’s eye on a stone before almost being trampled. Hmm, maybe I should go back and take another look at Weir’s landscapes.