When Matisse moved to Nice
In a world without peace
It was all that he dreamt it would be
After painting his room
To enlighten the gloom
He directed his brush at the sea.
For how was he to know
When he made the bay glow
He’d be leaving his mark for all time
While they weren’t queuing yet
For his take on sunset
In due course they would find it sublime.
As in just a few years
He’d have matrons in tears
Who had missed out when he was unknown
Each inspiring new work
Driving husbands berserk
When compelled to buy what they were shown.
He was part of a set
Connoisseurs won’t forget
Who saw life in a modernist way
Though their critics exist
They’re most often dismissed
As old fashioned and stuck on cliché.
In contemporary style
They’d enchant and beguile
With their technique and singular pattern
And their fame on the rise
It was no great surprise
They would soon be the toast of Manhattan.
With Cezanne and Renoir
Modern art had come far
But Matisse and Picasso stand out
For their time on the Cote
Made the art world take note
And allowed their rare talent to sprout.