stack of Cezanne books from my library — *Cezanne books from my library*

Oysters: slimy, luxurious, and oddly popular in art history. But if you’re looking for them in Paul Cézanne’s work—you’re out of luck.

I’ve always been fascinated by Cézanne’s still lifes. I’ve written before about his influence on me, and I have shelves full of books on his work. He painted apples, pears, bottles, and folded cloth—over and over again. The repetition is almost obsessive. But in all those paintings, you won’t find a single oyster.

It’s honestly surprising, because oysters show up everywhere in the history of still life painting.

Oysters in Art History: From Luxury to Everyday

*"A New Variety" | 10×10” |* *Available*

Oysters have a long, opulent past. In ancient Greece and Rome, they were a delicacy reserved for the wealthy and powerful. The Roman poet Juvenal even mocked Rome’s obsession with oysters, describing how far people would go to get the freshest shellfish. For centuries, oysters were the food of emperors, kings, and aristocrats—an edible status symbol.

Fast forward to the 1600s, and oysters were practically a star in Dutch Golden Age still life painting. Artists like Willem Claesz Heda, Pieter Claesz, and Jan Davidsz de Heem painted oysters on silver platters, nestled next to lemons, goblets, and half-peeled oranges. These weren’t just pretty table settings. They carried meaning.

Oysters symbolized wealth and indulgence. Sometimes they hinted at sensuality or fleeting pleasure—part of the whole vanitas tradition. A painting of oysters, wine, and overturned goblets was a subtle reminder: life is short, enjoy it while you can. But the paintings also had a technical element: oysters, with their slick shells and wet sheen, showed off an artist’s skill. Capturing that shimmer was like flexing your artistic muscles.

In fact, the oysters in these paintings were often part of a specific genre called pronkstilleven, or "ostentatious still life," which was a showcase for both the patron’s wealth and the artist’s virtuosity. Heda, for instance, was a master of rendering textures, and the rough, knobby surface of the oyster shell offered a dramatic contrast to the polished gleam of a silver goblet or the soft velvet of a tablecloth. These painters used light and shadow to make the glistening, half-eaten shells seem almost alive, with their delicate, fleshy interiors laid bare. They were not merely rendering a meal but creating a multi-layered narrative about worldly goods, the passage of time, and the inevitable decay of all things. The half-peeled lemon, another common motif, was a visual pun: its sourness a reminder that a beautiful appearance can be deceiving. The oysters, in this context, were both a sign of luxury and a symbol of fleeting, even reckless, pleasure.

oyster painting by Manet — *Manet’s Oysters*

By the 1800s, oysters weren’t just for the rich anymore. Advances in harvesting and transport made them affordable to the masses. In cities like New York, Philadelphia, London, and New Orleans, oysters were everywhere. Street vendors sold them on the cheap—sometimes for less than the cost of meat or poultry. By 1889, you could get an oyster for just a penny. Suddenly, oysters were no longer exclusive—they were everyday food. And as oysters became part of daily life, they naturally found their way into art again.

Édouard Manet, one of Cézanne’s contemporaries, painted oysters in The Oyster Lunch. He wasn’t alone. Across Europe, oysters appeared in countless paintings of cafés, gatherings, and social meals. They were part of the culture.

So oysters have it all: history, symbolism, popularity. Which makes Cézanne’s total avoidance of them all the more interesting.

The Basket of Apples, a painting of apples, bottles, and bread by Cezanne — *“The Basket of Apples” by Paul Cezanne*

Cézanne’s World: Apples Over Oysters

Cézanne was a master of still life. But instead of oysters, he returned again and again to apples, pears, bread, bottles, and folded cloth. He once said he wanted to “treat nature by the cylinder, the sphere, and the cone.” For him, these everyday objects weren’t just objects. They were opportunities to study form, structure, and color.

Apples were his muse. Solid, round, patient—they didn’t spoil as quickly as oysters. He could move them around in his studio, stack them in bowls, or set them against patterned drapery. They were perfect for the slow, deliberate way he painted.

Oysters? They were the opposite. Slippery, smelly, and fleeting. Not exactly the ideal model for a painter who worked at his own unhurried pace.

Here’s where I come back to my own theory about art: people like to say artists choose objects for their symbolism, but more often, they paint what’s around them. Cézanne painted apples, bottles, and cloth because that’s what was in his home and studio. He didn’t live by the sea. He lived in Provence, surrounded by orchards, mountains, and rustic life. So of course he painted apples, not oysters.

It wasn’t about symbols. It was about what was at hand.

Why Cézanne Skipped the Oysters

still life oil painting of oysters on a plate in Paris by Melissa Anderson — *“Plenty to Share” | 10×10” |* *Available*

We’ll never know for sure why Cézanne avoided oysters, but it’s fun to speculate:

Too perishable. Oysters don’t sit still like apples. They spoil quickly, making them a nightmare for an artist who liked to study objects for weeks.
Too flashy. Oysters were tied to Parisian café culture, indulgence, and trendiness. Cézanne was more rustic, grounded, and earthy.
Too symbolic. While other artists leaned into moral or sensual symbolism, Cézanne avoided that. He wasn’t trying to tell us about fleeting pleasures. He was trying to capture form, permanence, and the truth of what he saw.
Too gooey. Let’s be honest—oysters are messy. Cézanne’s world was built on structure, not slime.

Compare him to Manet, who embraced oysters as a symbol of indulgence and social life. Or to the Dutch painters, who used oysters to show off technical skill and moral lessons. Cézanne was different. His choice of apples over oysters wasn’t an oversight. It was a statement.

Oysters may be glamorous, but apples are timeless. No shucking required.

This Artist's Fascination with Oysters

Cézanne may have avoided oysters, but for me, these bivalves are more than just a great menu item; they're a connection to Southern culture. Oyster roasts are a staple of community, celebrating everything from Thanksgiving weekends and wedding festivities to casual get-togethers. These gatherings usually take place in cooler weather, with people huddled around a steaming cooker. The oysters' rugged shells and slick innards become a focal point for the same sense of community and fellowship that Dutch painters once celebrated in their banquet scenes.

group of friends enjoying oysters in Paris — *Thanks for allowing me to capture this moment in Paris!*

I've also been inspired by the oysters piled high in Paris markets. A few years ago, I spent several weeks there and became a regular at the Bastille market. The market stalls' displays overflowed with glistening shells on beds of ice, ready to be opened and enjoyed. People would often meet up, bringing wine and bread to accompany a variety of fresh oysters. I used my best French to ask for permission to photograph the gathering, explaining that I wanted to paint the oysters. Everyone was happy to share the moment.

Back in my studio, whether from the Low Country or Europe, the paint on my palette for oyster shells varies. I use mixtures of earthy grays, browns, and whites. The inside of the shells can be an amazingly pearly white with occasional flecks of blue or purple. No two shells are the same, and with layers of paint, I try to form the craggy edges to make each one distinct.

That duality—the humble and the decadent, the earthy and the luxurious—is exactly what draws me to paint oysters. While Cézanne found endless fascination in the weight and permanence of apples, I find it in the texture and luminosity of oysters. For me, oysters embody the cultural richness of a place, whether it's the South where I live or the bustling coastal markets abroad. I suppose it's true that the canvas is my oyster.

Cézanne, An Every Day Kind of Guy

Oysters may have been the toast of Dutch banquets and Parisian cafés, but Cézanne preferred the humble apple. His choice reminds us that art doesn’t have to be about glamour or symbolism. Sometimes, it’s about the everyday objects right in front of us.

Which brings me back to Cézanne. He painted apples, bottles, and cloth because that’s what he lived with. No oysters in Provence, just orchards. And in the end, those apples became more than fruit—they became a revolution in how we see painting.

Oysters may be glamorous, but apples are timeless. No shucking required.