‘Water Lilies, Reflections of Weeping Willows’ Exhibit Review: The Art of Seeing Without Sight

The MFA’s newly reimagined Gallery 252, which is dedicated to Claude Monet’s work, has found its centerpiece in “Water Lilies, Reflections of Weeping Willows” (1916-1919), a powerful work now on loan from a private collection. Towering in scale and tumultuous in texture, the painting marks a striking contrast to the more familiar and serene “Water Lilies” (1907) that has long anchored the room. With its jewel-toned palette and expressive brushwork, “Reflections” deepens the narrative of Monet’s artistic career, offering a more complicated and poignant portrait of the artist in the final decade of his life.

The work is unique among the MFA’s other Monet holdings: Painted nearly a decade after any other Monet in the museum’s collection, “Reflections” immediately announces itself as something different. The brushwork is more aggressive, more frantic — long, feverish strokes of aquamarine and green-brown swirl across the surface of the canvas like ripples disturbed by a sudden wind. This is not the meditative calm of earlier water lily paintings. It’s a storm brewing under the surface — a grappling not just with water and reflection, but also with deeper themes of time, aging, and the limits of vision.

By this point in his life, Monet was battling cataracts. His deteriorating eyesight has long been noted in art historical discussions of his later styles, but “Reflections” gives visceral shape to that struggle, especially as it’s placed as a centerpiece among the tranquility of the other pieces. The brushwork borders on abstraction, pushing representation to its limits. In the upside-down tree mirrored in the pond’s surface, the reflection becomes more real than the object — it’s as if Monet, aware of his fading sight, found refuge in what could only ever be seen indirectly. Reflections allow imprecision, inviting interpretation. In that sense, then, the choice to paint reflections instead of the trees themselves may be a defiant statement. If clarity will elude him, he seems to say, then let abstraction triumph.

This expressive freedom stands in bold relief to the neighboring “Water Lilies,” which is much smaller in scale and lighter in tone. There, Monet’s palette is airy and pastel: Pale greens, soft pinks, and sunlit yellows drift dreamily across the canvas in gentle, floating brushstrokes. The water is still, and the flowering lily pads rest like untroubled thoughts. The juxtaposition of these two works is deliberate and highly effective, highlighting not only Monet’s dramatic stylistic evolution but also his shifting emotional realm. Whereas the 1907 piece exudes calm and control, the later “Reflections” pulses with unease and urgency. Rather than a painter resigned to the twilight of his career, the canvas showcases a painter still searching, still wrestling with form, still furious about the constraints placed by his own body.

Color plays a critical role in both works, but it is much more daring in “Reflections.” The deep azures, cornflower blues, and forest greens dominate, punctuated by small but electrifying bursts of red and magenta and indigo. These hues seem almost too intense for a natural pond scene — but perhaps that is precisely the point. Monet’s palette, once rooted in plein air accuracy, becomes emotive and symbolic in his later work. Here, the water, weeping willows, and lily pads all dissolve into a chromatic reverie. The painting becomes less about what the eye sees and more about what the soul feels.

The re-curated museum room also reflects this new emotional complexity. Rather than a solely chronological layout, the gallery is organized to guide visitors through overlapping themes: light and atmosphere, color and emotion, perspective and abstraction. Each wall is anchored by a central idea, with an accompanying blurb to prompt viewers’ introspection as they stroll around the room.

The far wall, where “Reflections” hangs, is flanked by earlier works like “Morning on the Seine near Giverny” (both the 1896 and 1897 versions), inviting viewers to trace the river of Monet’s thought across decades. Elsewhere, visitors encounter the rugged cliffs of Les Petites Dalles in Normandy, the quiet fields of Vetheuil, and the sunrise-illuminated facades of Rouen Cathedral. It is clear that the room layout was carefully considered to play with contrast as much as the paintings themselves do. Darker, more somber works are hung beside vibrant, sunlit scenes. The eye is drawn across the space by these oppositions, reinforcing Monet’s constant dialogue between light and shadow, clarity and blur.

While the addition of “Reflections” provides an emotional and historical anchor to the room, it also raises some interesting questions about Monet’s approach and intention with his later works. Is this late style a descent into abstraction or a deliberate reinvention? Are these frenetic brushstrokes simply symptoms of physical impairment or purposeful symbols of artistic liberation? The painting resists easy answers, and that resistance is what makes it so compelling and what draws the eye back to the work again and again.

Ultimately, “Water Lilies, Reflections of Weeping Willows” is more than just a new loan. It is a necessary addition to the exhibit — one that both complicates and enriches the public’s understanding of Monet. The MFA has not just acquired a beautiful new piece; it has expanded and offered a deeper glimpse into the narrative that Monet created. In the process, the museum invites visitors to reconsider not just what they see but how they see — and to linger in, ponder, and appreciate the stories in between a bit more.