the genre and the animate world of the human subject looking at them of the bodi- ; liness of both sides of the subject-object divide, and of the corporeality this side of the pictorial surface. This clearly was what Cezanne's studio was all about: a place for studying the bodily relations—exchanges, substitutions, and affinities—between the human subject and the world of inanimate objects. For us, Cezanne's studio, and the objects placed within it, can also be a site to understand the curious changing of places, across his work, between animacy and inanimacy: in which the human body and face are stilled and crystalline like geological formations, while objects begin to vibrate with anthropomorphic life. One in particular of Cezanne's still lifes in watercolor, however, presses out- side the studio: in Hortensia of around 1895-1900 (pi. 10), the potted hydrangea (or more likely geranium) seems to seek escape from the confines of the studio in order to bridge the spaces between indoors and outdoors, still life and landscape. Painted at least a decade later than the sketchbook page discussed above (fig. 13), this Hortensia plays no word games and shares no intimate space with the face of Cezanne's wife; indeed it seems to brook neither intimacy nor enclosure, as it has even escaped the pot to which it belongs (a second, unfinished stem is found next to it, pentimento-like, within the pot), and leans with human fervor toward the win- dow, whose diagonal line of curtain opposes the sweep of its yearning slant. Like a romantic woman at the window (its floral character suggests its femininity, even without any association with one particular woman in Cezanne's life), it seems bent on release from its confinement to the interior, its stillness, its very condition of plantedness. And with its straining stem it is more alive than any portrait of Hortense (or anyone else) that Cézanne ever painted, as powerful as those portraits are. In between studio and open air, indoors and outdoors, are the potted plants that inhabit the garden—or the greenhouse—but make it into a close-up, walled-off space of confinement, an extension of the interior of house and studio, rather than something exterior to them. Such is the case of the potted geranium series (pi. 11) of a decade earlier than the so-called Hortensia, as well as of the series of trellis roses of the 18905. These begin to provide a scrim of foliage that mediates between horizontal and vertical surface, figure and ground, singular object and tapestry-like patterning, worked and unworked areas of paper—as if the earth on which the pot rests and the wall that separates the garden from the house or the world beyond the painter's prop- erty together have mutated into the flat surface of the paper on which the painter draws and paints. Such intermediate subjects had been taken up earlier by the gar- dening painters Monet, Renoir (fig. 29), and Caillebotte as well, as "modern life" vari- ations on the old subject of the flower piece, in which the flowers were now rooted in the nineteenth-century middle-class garden. But in Cezanne's case, the up-to-date context is missing; instead the subject asserts its in-betweenness, between indoor and outdoor study, still life subject and foliate sketch. Once fully outside, Cézanne, as we know, painted his landscapes and made landscape studies, few of which have anything interior about them, though anthro- pomorphism is everywhere in the air. Some of his landscape studies, however, are 67 THE LANDSCAPE OF STILL LIFE