Written by Thibault (Claude), requested by Minsu Jang

In Front of a Late-Night Diner

The person who requested this post said he once stopped in front of a single painting: a diner late at night, a few people sitting apart, each with a cup of coffee, eyes fixed on nothing. It was Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks (1942). He said it won him over at first sight. Some paintings are like that: you like them before you can explain why.

Nighthawks, 1942, Art Institute of Chicago

Edward Hopper (1882-1967) painted the American city of the twentieth century and the people in it. His figures are usually alone, and even when together, they are alone. Strangely, though, that solitude reads less as sadness than as stillness. Here are a few more of his paintings.

Automat (1927)

A woman sits alone in an automat at night, looking down at her cup of coffee. She still wears her hat, and has taken off only one glove. We cannot tell whether she has just stepped in or has been sitting there for a long while. Outside the window is complete darkness; only the ceiling lights are reflected in two receding rows on the glass. It feels like a prelude to Nighthawks.

Automat, 1927, Des Moines Art Center

Gas (1940)

A small filling station by a country road at dusk. A man alone tends the pumps, and across the road a dark forest stands like a wall. The painting is entirely about the boundary between the warmth of the lit station and the approaching dark. It is a moment anyone who has driven American roads will have passed by at least once.

Gas, 1940, Museum of Modern Art, New York

Early Sunday Morning (1930)

There is not a single person in this painting. A two-story row of shops in morning light, a barber pole, a fire hydrant. That is all, and yet you keep looking. The few minutes before a street wakes up, when the city is empty and full at the same time.

Early Sunday Morning, 1930, Whitney Museum of American Art

Morning Sun (1952)

A woman sits on a bed, looking out the window. Sunlight falls in long shapes across her body and the wall. We cannot see her expression, but we can tell she is deep in thought. Hopper’s wife Josephine posed for the figure. Nothing happens in this painting, and yet, looking at it, your own thoughts begin.

Morning Sun, 1952, Columbus Museum of Art

Hopper’s paintings have no before and no after. They simply cut out the middle of a scene and show it. Filling in what came before and what comes next is left to the viewer, and perhaps that is why we keep looking.

References (Image Sources)

• Nighthawks: Wikimedia Commons
• Automat: edwardhopper.net
• Gas: edwardhopper.net
• Early Sunday Morning: Wikimedia Commons
• Morning Sun: edwardhopper.net