On the first day of class, as we turned our attention to the witty and whimsical world of Rococo, a student exclaimed, “That’s so tea!”—a phrase that sparked a ripple of laughter and agreement across the room (Well, the online Zoom chat room!). But what exactly is “so tea,” and, more importantly, what does “tea” even mean in this context? Before the student had finished bringing me at least somewhat up to speed on the latest slang, a particular painting – one not so Rococo – had already leapt to mind…
Mary Cassatt ranks among the most celebrated American artists of the 19th century, a woman who boldly carved space for herself in the male-dominated Parisian art scene. Known for her intimate depictions of women and domestic life, Cassatt’s genius lay in elevating moments that might otherwise be dismissed as “ordinary,” giving the contemporary viewer unrestricted entry into the private sphere. One such moment can be found in her 1880 painting The Tea, aka Five O’clock Tea, where two women sit quietly in a parlor, a polished silver tea set gleaming between them. The work is disarmingly simple at first glance—and then… it isn’t. Look closer and you’ll find layers of artistic innovation, cultural influence, and a quietly sharp commentary on who these women are and what, exactly, they aren’t saying to each other in this moment.
Born in Pennsylvania to a wealthy family with decidedly mixed feelings about her artistic ambitions, Cassatt studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of Art before decamping to Paris in 1866. Since women were barred from the prestigious École des Beaux-Arts—because of course women wouldn’t know how to paint she points out sarcastically—Cassatt studied in private ateliers and by copying at the Louvre, proving that institutional gatekeeping was merely an inconvenience. She was admitted to the Paris Salon just two years later her painting, The Mandolin Player (1868), a rather traditional piece that does little to foreshadow her later achievements.
She continued to work, to paint, to show and, equally important, to look at the art others were creating. This habit led to what can only be described as the consequential turning point in her life. In 1875, Cassatt encountered Degas’ pastels in a Paris gallery window—an experience she later described with characteristic intensity: “I used to go and flatten my nose against the window and absorb all I could of his art. It changed my life. I saw art then as I wanted to see it.” Degas, for his part, had already noticed her work at the Paris Salon the year before, reportedly remarking, “There is someone who feels as I do.” Not nose-flattening good, but still high praise from a man not exactly known for dishing it out. It seems they were circling each other even before they ever met. By 1877 he had invited her to show in the Impressionist exhibitions, placing her alongside Monet, Renoir, and Pissarro. Where her male peers turned their painterly attention to haystacks, foggy riverbanks, and Parisian boulevards, Cassatt brought the same Impressionist sensitivity—candid observation, vibrant brushwork, an obsession with light—to salons, nurseries, and family parlors.
Degas introduced Cassatt to etching, pushed her toward unusual perspectives, and generally encouraged her to take compositional risks. Their friendship was long, artistically fertile, and, by most accounts, complicated in the way that close creative relationships between strong-willed people tend to be. Where Degas’ work often carried a sharp, unflinching edge—his ballet dancers are not quite the rosy vision most people imagine—Cassatt’s retained warmth, empathy, and the authority of someone painting from the inside.
Another crucial influence on Cassatt’s artistry was Japonisme, the 19th-century fascination with Japanese prints. When Japanese woodblock prints flooded Europe, Cassatt was captivated by their flat planes of color, decorative patterns, and unconventional cropping of scenes. These characteristics show up throughout her work, including The Tea. Notice how the background space flattens into fabrics and wallpaper, almost like paper patterns layered together. Gone is the illusionistic depth of traditional Western art; instead, we see compressed space, elegant shapes, and visual rhythms informed by the Japanese aesthetic.
Looking at “The Tea”
In The Tea, Cassatt presents what seems like an everyday social ritual in a painting that is trademark Cassatt in subject and style. Two women in a richly decorated salon, striped wallpaper climbing the walls, an elaborate fireplace mantle topped with blue-and-white porcelain—a nod to the Japonisme fashionable in both art and interior decor at the time. Layers of patterns and textures amplify the sense of theatricality in this space. In contrast to the visual complexity, the figures within the composition avoids any grand gestures. And yet within all of that visual richness, the figures themselves are conspicuously still. Cassatt captures subtle dynamics: the lean of one figure deep in thought, the slight barrier created by the cup, the delicate tension between presence and concealment. The tight framing, much like those Japanese prints she admired, heightens awareness of detail.
Cassatt’s real subject is not the room but the dynamic between the two women—and she delivers it through costume as much as gesture. The hostess is identifiable by her absence of accessories: no gloves, no hat, no armor for the public world. Her guest, by contrast, arrives fully equipped—long gloves, scarf, and hat signaling both proper decorum and the effort of having braved some brisk weather to get there. Fashion, in Cassatt’s hands, is never just fashion. It’s information.
The hostess sinks into her plush floral couch while her guest raises a teacup to her lips, glancing stage left as if waiting for the coast to clear. Are they sharing secrets? Locked in polite silence? Cassatt, wisely, refuses to tell us. The scene has paused at precisely the right moment—that charged interval between what’s been said and what hasn’t yet. The unanswered questions give the scene its mystery and pull us in, waiting for that moment of revelation. Cassatt knew that the most interesting conversations are rarely the ones you can fully hear.
What makes The Tea both remarkable and relatable is Cassatt’s ability to heighten the drama of an everyday moment. Through Impressionist brushwork, the flattening effects of Japanese prints, and a discerning eye for costume and gesture, she makes a case for the intimacy of small exchanges—for the idea that what happens in a parlor between two women is as worthy of serious artistic attention as anything happening on a boulevard or a racetrack.
The Tea is more than a simple portrait of two women, it is a study in perception: who speaks, who listens, what is revealed, and what remains concealed. She creates a space for the viewer to fill in the moment, to play their own part in filling out the narrative. In doing so, Cassatt crosses boundaries of culture, style, and time — her own way of saying, long before the latest trends on social media — that’s so tea.
Recommended Sources:
Mathews, Nancy Mowll. Mary Cassatt: A Life. Yale University Press, 1998.
National Gallery of Art. “Degas/Cassatt.” National Gallery of Art, www.nga.gov/exhibitions/2014/degas-cassatt.html.
Vollard, Ambroise. Degas: An Intimate Portrait. Translated by Randolph T. Weaver, Greenberg, 1927.