What the Frick Is the Frick?

When I think of museums, typically my first thoughts are of whitewashed floors, white walls, and white noise. Beautiful though the art may be at art landmarks like the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Modern Art, these establishments often feel slightly cavernous and impersonal.

But fret not­—travel instead to the Frick Collection. Many Columbians are unclear about what the Frick Collection actually contains. Housed on the corner of 70th Street and Fifth Avenue, the museum is elegant, beautiful, homey—if you can call a sumptuous Fifth Avenue mansion homey—and features a collection meticulously selected by steel magnate and robber baron Henry Clay Frick in the home in which he once lived.

One of the Frick’s most pronounced attributes is the size of its collection. The Met, which obviously possesses equally magnificent works of art, can be tiring in both its breadth and depth. Alternatively, the tragically lesser-known Frick Collection features an impressive and beautiful assemblage primarily (though not exclusively) of post-Renaissance and pre-Impressionist European art, all within a relatively small and manageable building. While it is next to impossible to view everything that the Met or the MoMA have to offer in one afternoon, the same cannot be said of the Frick.

Unfortunately, the museum’s size serves conversely as one of its setbacks. This small institution is little known to those who are not looking for it, and its relative obscurity (compared to other brand names on Museum Mile) also contributes to the character of the collection. The Frick unquestionably exudes a slightly snobby, unwelcoming feeling—children under the age of ten are not permitted while those under sixteen must be accompanied by an adult.

Yet once inside the museum, these flaws, along with the hustle and bustle of the city, fade away. And while the entire collection merits both attention and praise, there are several highlights that should not be missed.

Two magnificent paintings hang in the room called the Living Hall. The first is of Thomas More, painted by Hans Holbein the Younger. A sixteenth-century scholar and statesman, More is portrayed powerfully. The richness of his plush velvet mantle is palpable while his gaze stares forcefully out of the frame. Across the room from this portrait is the painting St. Francis in the Desert by Giovanni Bellini. The monk stands alone on a mountain, his books set aside behind him as he opens his arms wide and stares into the heavens.

Incredibly, of the 35 paintings created by Johannes Vermeer still extant today, three of them are found in the Frick Collection. In the painting entitled Officer and Laughing Girl, it is interesting to take note of the many iconic Vermeer touches like the light streaming in from the left window, the map hung on the wall, and the ornate chairs.

While most of the art in the museum is displayed in rooms that at some point served a more practical purpose, such as the Dining Room or the Living Hall, there are a few rooms, like the West Gallery, designed and utilized exclusively for the exhibition of the collection.

The West Gallery, a long room decorated in rich, varying hues of green, features three exquisite paintings by Dutch master Rembrandt van Rijn. One of these paintings is a famous self-portrait of the artistic giant. The canvas is adorned with Rembrandt’s famous vibrant and visible brushstrokes, and it depicts the artist sitting clothed in gold and red, his gaze steadily meeting that of the viewer.

While the works of art in the museum are incredible in and of themselves, they are enhanced by the exquisite interiors of the mansion. Each painting and sculpture presides over a room filled with magnificent carpets and furniture. Indeed, a large part of the museum’s beauty and charm stems from the carefully yet seemingly effortlessly decorated rooms, whether it is the grand desks and bookcases in the library or the gilt and porcelain tri-topped table in the Fragonard Room.

When I turned ten years old, my mother kept me home from school one day to celebrate what she called my “Double Digit Day.” Among the things we did was take my first trip to the Frick. I felt so mature that day (partially owing to the fact that I was still a week away from my tenth birthday, and thus breaking the rules), and I was both enthralled and taken in by the magnificence and splendor of this beautiful museum. Ten years later, I remain under the spell of the Frick.