Little Journeys to the Homes of the Great - Volume 06 Little Journeys to the Homes of Eminent Artists — Context and Discussion

Journey as Frame

Each chapter begins with a literal journey—a train ride, a walk through a foreign city—that establishes setting before moving into biography. Hubbard describes the approach to an artist's home as a pilgrimage, using physical details to evoke character. For Corot, he traces the artist's Swiss parentage and the father's white cravat; for Raphael, he contrasts the painter's short life with his vast output. The journey motif recurs not as mere travelogue but as a structural device: the reader is led from exterior to interior, from public reputation to private life. Hubbard often notes the condition of the house or studio, using it as a metaphor for the artist's soul. This pattern gives the volume a cohesive rhythm, even as the subjects span centuries and countries.

The Artist as Outsider

Hubbard repeatedly emphasizes that great artists were misunderstood in their own time. Corot, he writes, was regarded as 'a harmless lunatic' whose paintings were hung in the 'Catacombs' of the Salon. Raphael, by contrast, was celebrated early, but Hubbard frames his success as a kind of limitation—the Pre-Raphaelites rebelled against his influence. The tension between neglect and acclaim runs through the volume: Velázquez, Gainsborough, and Bellini each receive similar treatment. Hubbard uses this pattern to argue that true genius is often unrecognized, a theme he reinforces with aphorisms like 'the stones that were cast at him have been gathered up and cemented into a monument.' The artist's home becomes a site of vindication, where the reader can witness the gap between contemporary scorn and lasting fame.

Digression and Anecdote

Hubbard's style is deliberately digressive. In the Corot chapter, he spends several paragraphs on Swiss education, manual training, and Pestalozzi before returning to the artist's biography. These asides are not random; they serve to place the artist within a broader cultural context. The Swiss digression, for instance, ties Corot's precision to national character. Similarly, the discussion of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in the Raphael chapter becomes a meditation on artistic movements and their contradictions. Hubbard's voice is opinionated and conversational, often using rhetorical questions or direct address. The effect is that of a lecture rather than a dry biography, with the reader invited to follow Hubbard's associative logic. This structure rewards patience, as the digressions often illuminate the artist's milieu.

Recurring Motifs: Homes and Hands

Two images recur across the volume: the artist's home and the artist's hands. Hubbard describes homes in detail—their location, architecture, and atmosphere—as extensions of the artist's personality. The hands appear in descriptions of craft: Corot's Swiss training in manual skills, Cellini's metalwork, Thorvaldsen's sculpture. These motifs reinforce Hubbard's belief that art is both spiritual and physical labor. The home is a sanctuary, the hands are tools. By returning to these images, Hubbard creates a unified portrait of the artist as a maker rooted in place. The volume's structure, moving from one home to another, mirrors this focus: each chapter is a visit to a sacred space where the artist's hands once worked.

Hubbard's Little Journeys rewards readers who enjoy a strong authorial voice and a willingness to follow tangents. The volume is best approached as a series of essays rather than a reference work; its value lies in Hubbard's distinctive perspective and the connections he draws between artists. Pay attention to the digressions—they often contain the most revealing insights. The recurring motifs of home and hand provide a thread through the diverse subjects, making the collection more than the sum of its parts.

Reading about Hubbard wandering through Corot's quiet studio, I remembered sitting in my grandfather's workshop after he died, tools still arranged on the pegboard. Both spaces felt like homes for someone absent. That same ache surfaced reading Labor's Martyrs: Haymarket 1887, Sacco and Vanzetti 1927 — A Reader’s Guide—how a life's meaning gets reshaped long after the person leaves the room.