The Surprise

CHAPTER 1 THE RESTORATION

The surprise

I have dabbled with restoring vintage art to some degree or other for several years now, having repaired fames, removed varnish and touched up the paint on several primitive pieces. Therefore, I feel I am at least somewhat knowledgeable on the subject of painting restoration although far from expert. I know my limitations and recognized the restoration this painting needed was far beyond my limited skills set. I felt I lacked the ability to remove the varnish without possibly injuring the paint below. Since nobody knew what laid beneath the varnish (other than what was easily seen with the naked eye) I didn’t know if I could do any of the actual restoration painting once the varnish was removed. I was of the opinion this painting was simply too special for me to take on myself and decided I needed to place the project in the hands of people with far more experience and talent than my meager abilities would allow. I contacted Peter Schoenmann, Co-Diretor Parma Conservatory, 1100 West Cernak Avenue, Chicago, Ilinois 60608 and I dropped the framed painting off at their facility August 31, 2020. I left that meeting with the understanding they were to do whatever necessary to remove the dark varnish from the painting and I was to make the four-hour drive back up to their facility afterwards to make a plan of action as to where we would go from that point.

On September 23, 2020 Peter sent me an image to show where they were in the varnish stripping process.

Using language far beyond my understanding Peter informed me of the process they were using to remove what I thought was common damar varnish used in the early 1800’s during the time the Haro shop was on 30 Rue du Colombier. He told me instead of being a petroleum-based product it was a natural resin common to the art community for “many, many years” before Haro even went into business. In describing the work they were doing Peter used terms such as “dilute consolidating adhesive” and “render the paint in a planar position.” He may as well have been speaking French but I pretended to understand what he was saying and the conversation continued. I was dumfounded a few days later when Peter showed me the result of removing the resin. The painting was in far better condition than I could have ever hoped it would be.

What he showed me next changed my world as it turned me from being a small time, vintage arts dealer in possession of an old painting into a small-time vintage arts dealer suddenly in possession of a painting far, far older than I could ever imagine and possibly far more valuable than I could comprehend. After discussing the varnish/resin removal Peter sent me an image and told me, “What you are looking at now is the backside of the original canvass after we removed the lining.“ I could not believe what I saw.

Rather than looking at the backside of a painting that had been done on a relatively new “somewhat clean canvass" I was now looking at the backside of the original canvass that had been painted on. Without question somebody in the past (probably during a restoration process) had glued a blank canvass to the back of the original canvass to strengthen and protect the original. That process is called “lining the canvass” and once Peter and company removed the liner the entire original canvass was exposed.

According to Peter, the original canvass had been hand-hewn on a loom many years ago. As a result, the threads had a distinct “wavy” weave creating a somewhat course fabric as compared to modern canvass. When I enquired further, he consented it to be possible (but he was not saying definitely) the canvass could have been made in the 1600’s during Rubens’ lifetime. He did acknowledge that Param had recently had a canvass documented to be from the 1700’s with that looked like mine.

Bottom right (as viewed from back) section of canvass

I was certainly intrigued with the canvass and knew it is common knowledge Rubens preferred to paint on wooden panels for his large pieces but would use canvass when painting smaller ones that were subject to being shipped a longer distance. Is this the type of canvass he would have painted on?

I found the following article on canvass preparations to be very beneficial in my understanding the evolution of Rubens’ painting techniques and his use of canvass. While the article I was reading centered around the painting techniques in Spain I felt it did a wonderful job in describing the process in use during those times throughout Europe. It was published by the Mueseo Nacional del Prado:

(https://www.museodelprado.es/en/learn/research/studies-and-restorations/resource/the- evolution-of-preparations-for-painting-on/39cd7ac1-b445-49da-9362-61dbc19c5ed8 )

The evolution of preparations for painting on canvas in sixteenth century Spain

By Pantoja de la Cruz, Juan

(begin reference) “In the mid-sixteenth century, following the example of Italy, painting on canvas began to develop in Spain. In Northern Europe, however, the use of panels would continue as the main medium support for easel painting, especially for important works, and it was not until the seventeenth century that the use of canvas would finally prevail.

This shift towards the use of canvas as a support brought with it a new preparation procedure to prime it before the painting process began, since the system used for panels (applying thick coats of gypsum or calcium carbonate aggregated with animal glue), proved to be too rigid for such a flexible, deformable material as canvas.

The terminology employed to refer to the inner layers of a painting has always been confusing and, in a certain sense, contradictory. In this study we have opted for the following definitions:

• Preparation: is the modern term used to refer to the whole set of layers which are applied to the support to facilitate painting on it. The preparation comprises both the ground layer and the priming layer. • Ground layer: its role is to isolate the support. It is generally formed by a succession of layers; the innermost one is an organic sizing which acts as a sealant coating usually covered by other layers of inert materials, such as gypsum or calcium carbonate, with the aim of creating a smooth, flat surface. This succession of layers can be finished off with a final layer of animal glue or of drying oil which reduces the absorption of this porous surface. • Priming layer: this layer, which possesses a specific color freely chosen by the artist, will be in direct contact with the paint. Most often the priming layer is oil-based, something that also helps to seal the ground layer, and in this manner prevents the painting having a matte appearance. It is also possible to paint directly onto a colorless

ground layer, though this was infrequent in the period we are referring to and its usage was not been described as a commonplace practice in contemporary treatises.” (end reference.)

I found all of that to be highly interesting but was even more intrigued when I continued with Pantoja de la Cruz’s article;

(continue reference) “Arte de la Pintura [The Art of Painting] by Francisco Pacheco, was published posthumously in 1649. The Libro Tercero [Third Volume] and is the most interesting from the point of view of artistic techniques and it contains detailed descriptions of procedures to follow in choosing materials and tools, in preparing supports, mixing colors, etc. With regard to the application and composition of the ground layer and the priming layer, he considered a number of different systems and evaluates the suitability of each. Pacheco wrote, “Some prepare with a porridge made of flour or spelt meal, cooking oil and a little honey (a not very appetizing, almost edible, mixture) […] and once it dries, they apply pumice stone to it and prime it with oil.” (end reference) In other words, it is a very organic style ground layer (flour starch, oil, sugars from honey), but without any inert materials which therefore made it prone to deterioration when exposed to a damp atmosphere, something the author also points out. He goes on by describing other methods,

(start reference) Others ground with glove glue, which after drying is applied with the same again, tempered with finely sifted gypsum […] and they prime it with a brush once or twice

The process of preparing canvases was based on the tradition of preparing panels using thick successive layers of gypsum and animal-based glue, on top of which a thin, and generally light-toned, priming layer could be applied, which sealed the absorbent surface and provided it with a light base on which to build the painting.

Since the beginning of the sixteenth century painters from the north of Italy started to use brownish-red, grey or brownish-grey colored priming layers, with varying degrees of brightness, on top of a gypsum ground layer. By the seventeenth century, these colored oil-

based priming layers constituted a practice that had spread right across Italy, and about which there are ample references.

In the first half of the seventeenth century the use of colored priming layers would rapidly become widespread, setting the standards, with regard to the practice of painting, which would characterize both the schools of Seville and of Madrid.” (end reference)

With an understanding of the general practice of preparing canvasses during the Rubens era I wanted to compare his techniques with those standards. Many publications exist covering this topic but I offer this reference herein where Gifford delved into the specific matter while doing her examination of the piece, The Fall Of Phaeton by Rubens.

https://jhna.org/articles/rubens-invention-evolution-fall-of-phaeton

(begin reference)

JOURNAL OF HISTORIANS OF NETHERLANDISH ART

Rubens’s Invention and Evolution: Material Evidence in The Fall of Phaeton by E. Melanie Gifford

The fundamental structure of The Fall of Phaeton — a fine-weave canvas prepared with a single-layer, a yellow-tan ground based on ochre and clay minerals —shows that in Italy Rubens adjusted his practice to use locally available supplies. In Antwerp, both before and after his time in Italy, he often painted even large paintings on oak panels prepared with a double ground, a structure widely used in the north, typically choosing a mid-toned upper ground. After his return from Italy he often painted onto a streaky upper ground (or imprimatura). In Italy at this time, however, canvas was the typical support for easel paintings, and grounds based on earth pigments, like this one, would have been routinely available. It seems plausible that in both Flanders and Italy Rubens did not prepare his painting supports himself but purchased commercially prepared panels or canvases, choosing a mid-toned ground color that was consistent with his visual aims. (author’s note....as we will see later that mid-toned ground matches exactly what Peter found after removing the resin)

Though he may have adapted to local supplies, Rubens did not abandon his personal painting practices. At this early stage of his career, the visual qualities of the ground and painted sketch were already integral to his aesthetic. His choice of a mid-toned ground, rather than the darker red or orange grounds also common in Italy, (author’s note... as per above) was probably deliberate, as he left it visible in many areas. He laid out the design for his composition directly on the ground with a painted sketch, just as he did throughout his career in preparatory oil sketches such as A Lion Hunt of 1614–1615, where this design stage is the dominant image.”

(end reference)

In summation of the writings of Pantoja de la Cruz and Gifford I saw supportive evidence that the canvass I was now looking at met all the criteria to place its painting at some point around Rubens’ time. With the resin now removed the “mid toned” tan color Gifford referred to of the ground was now clearly seen on my canvass and obvious to the casual viewer. I was beginning to actually believe there was a definite possibility my painting was created at the hands of Peter Paul Rubens in his shop, perhaps in Belgium. If that were the case, in order to meet the standards of his work the canvass should be relatively heavy due to the excessive layers of ground and primer layers he would have applied at the time. With the liner removed the canvass measures 60.3 x 49.5 cm and weighed on a butcher’s scale at XXXX pounds, or (number) centimeters per square inch. For reference I weighed the canvass of a known Barbizon painting which measured (measure) to weigh (weight) or nearly half the weight on my Last Supper.

(insert images and measurement)

What was even more interesting was a small detail in the canvass Peter pointed out to me. Looking closely there are small tack holes on the very edges and those holes had been filled in with a mid-toned tan ground. Peter deduced the canvass had been tacked to something solid, perhaps a board, during its painting and the tack holes were filled in when the piece was mounted on stretchers. Because they are so close to the edge they likely would not have interfered with the painting.

It is common knowledge that Rubens would paint small a “modello” that would serve if you will as a model to show his client and afterwards paint a large scene using the modello as a guide. Was I looking at the back side of a Rubens modello that was painted while tacked to a board, sent to his client for approval and then used as a guide to paint by?

If that wasn’t enough to put me into shock the next image Peter sent absolutely put me over the edge. He sent a photo of a close-up of something written on the upper center of the backside of the original canvass.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. Obviously, it was the number 31 written in English followed by what looked to me to be two opposing flags. None of it made any sense to me at all so Peter sent me another photo where he had highlighted the same image.

He confirmed my analysis of the writing as being a coat of arms. Hidden behind a fairly new, “somewhat clean canvass” was the coat of arms for whom this painting belonged to. I was positively stunned. That coat of arms had no business being there,

With the revelation of the coat of arms the next obvious question became, “Who does this belong to?” For that I turned to my new friend Isabella and had her begin tracing it down. For added confirmation I sent the same request to Ms Rowena Ceft, Milan, Italy, to see what she could come up with. After many discussions back and forth we all three unanimously agreed the number 31 was indeed English language and the image to its right was a shield. We also agreed that the coat of arms was written on the backside to represent who the painting belonged to as compared it being written on the front side of the painting indicating the artist. Peter also agreed with that line of thought.

Rowena pointed out that it was interesting the stripe down the middle of the shield had a defined curve to it as compared to being in a straight line. That was a critical observation. Below are the types of “partitions” commonly used in heraldry and notice the straight line of the Bend.

Myself, Rowena and Isabella all agreed the 31 was written in English instead of Roman Numeral XXXI because the owner was probably either French, Italian or possibly Dutch. The owner certainly would not have been from any Country or Provence that used Roman Numerals such as in Rome or Spain. After more research we all concurred the numbers were representative of the colors the shield was covered with. The number 3 came first because the number was the symbolic color of the blood of Christ and it would cover everything. The number 1 represented the mark of the Divine so therefore, our deduction was that the owner of the painting was an entity whose coat of arms was a red shield with a yellow/gold/orange curved Bend partitioning the two sides and the owner was not connected with the Roman Empire or the Spanish countries to the south.

A shield with a straight Bend with a yellow/gold/orange stripe is what everyone keeps referring to whenever discussing this topic and is very common. A bend with a curve in it however is a rarity. The first we found belonged to Pope Eugene IV.

The main problems I had with accepting this as being the coat of arms in question is twofold, first the color scheme does not match 3-1 and more importantly Eugene IV lived two centuries before Rubens.

The second coat of arms with a curved bend we found belonged to the Noailles hierarchy, a prominent French noble family. Their name was derived from the castle of Noailles in the territory of Ayen, between Brive and Turenne in Limousin (in southwest central France) with roots dating back to the 11th century. However, the family did not obtain fame until the 16th century when its head, Antoine de Noailles (1504–1562), became admiral of France. We found no evidence as to the color scheme at the time of Antoine nor have we been able to determine if he designed his own coat of arms or simply continued to use the family crest when he came to power but we do know its curved Bend continued to be used until 1663.

Noailles Coat of arms Anne de Noailles, 1st Duke of Noailles (1614 - 1678) was the great-grandson of Antoine, and became 1st comte de Noailles. Rubens birth in 1577 places Rubens to be 37 years older than the 1st Duke with both men alive from the birth of Noailles in 1614 until the death of Rubens in 1640, a time span well within the confines of Rubens master painting years. Did Anne de Noailles commission Rubens to paint a scene of the Last Supper? The circumstantial evidence seemed to point that way. Both men were alive and the Noailles coat of arms was painted on the back of a small painting of Ruben’s Last Supper. Anne played an important part in the early years of the reign of Louis XIV, became captain-general of the newly won province of Roussillon, and in 1663 was established as duc de Noailles and peer of France. Two of Noailles' sons, Anne-Jules, 2nd duc de Noailles, and Louis-Antoine, Cardinal de Noailles, raised the Noailles family to its greatest fame.

Anne de Noailles 1613-1678

According to our research, in response to his rise in power in 1663 Anne changed the family coat of arms and implemented a straight Bend but retained the traditional 3-1 color scheme:

Coat of arms of the Dukes of Noailles as peers of France Creation date 1663 Monarch Louis XIV Peerage France First holder Anne de Noailles Present holder Hélie de Noailles Source: Wikiwand- Duke of Noailles

Working on the theory Rubens painted this small Last Supper piece sometime between 1614-1640 I wanted to see if we could determine if that date span tied in with the Haro Shop in France from 1824- 1847 in determining if the painting was at Haro’s for restoration. Isabella had set the Haro Shop dates with her translation of the shop sticker on the cross bars. Margo McFarland, an associate of Peter at Para Conservation and an expert in vintage paper spent time examining the sticker in fine detail and discovered there were worm holes in the cross bar BENEATH THE STICKER!

(picture)

That meant the Haro Shop sticker had been placed on the cross bar at some point after the worm holes were created. Margo also pointed out the existence of saw marks on the stretchers indicating the stretchers would certainly date back to the early 1800’s or before.

We now had probable confirmation of the timeline for the life of this painting:

• Creation by Rubens between 1614-1640 • Long period for worm holes to form • Arrived at the Haro Shop 1824-1847

Taking the extremes of both dates we find the least length of time between creation and first possible arrival at Haro to be 184 years and the longest length of time to be 233 years with an average of 208 years. After extensive research and discussions with local arborists I was not able to determine a date when the worm holes in the cross bars first began nor how long they went on because there are simply too many unknown variables to factor in, including:

• Type of wood • Moisture content of wood from start to finish • Other atmospheric considerations while the painting was hanging • The overall environment where the painting hung • The types of insects within the environment

What can be said with a fair amount of certainty is that enough time passed between painting creation and the time it arrived at the Haro shop that a renovation of the kind the Haro Shop specialized in would have certainly been in order. That determination left me with another major puzzle; if a restoration was performed at the Haro Shop between 1824-1847 why did it arrive at my house in Indiana with a “relatively new, somewhat clean canvas” which Peter subsequently removed? The answer is the painting was restored twice before I came into possession of it; first by the Haro shop and again later when the amateur, the one who did a poor job of repainting the hand of Jesus, applied the new lining as part of his or her restoration.

The evidence to support those statements is clearly undeniable. First, there are worm holes in the stretchers under the sticker as well as everywhere else you look.

(picture)

Secondly, after removing the resin from the surface unique patterns of painting irregularities could be seen all across the canvass. It was obvious there is a tan layer of ground below the original layer of paint (during canvass preparation) a blue layer of ground above the original layer and a white layer being the most recent. Peter informed me the painting had obviously been worked on three times previously evidenced by the three layers of ground;

• Tan ground (original base) applied before painting started • Blue ground applied when the painting was restored first by the Haro Shop • White ground applied with most recent restoration by the amateur

Peter went on to inform me that there is undoubted evidence the tan ground was applied over the entire canvass as it was being prepared for the application of paint. He explained that blue ground was in common use during European restorations during the 1700’s and 1800’s, exactly during the Haro existence and it sat on top of the original paint, meaning blue ground was probably used by the Haro Shop during their restoration (my assertion and not Peter’s). He further explained to me that white gesso-type grounds have only been around for the last century or so and it sits on top of the blue ground, evidence it was applied sometime after the blue ground, or during a second restoration of the painting.

Thirdly, there is a definite pattern of tack holes on all four sides of the stretchers. All along each stretcher are groups of holes where the canvass had been tacked and are too close together to have been made all at once when the canvass was first tacked to them. The canvass was first attached when the painting was created, removed and reattached as part of the restoration by Haro and finally removed and reattached once more by the amateur.

The image below shows all four stretchers laying on their sides to show the tack areas with patterns of three holes collectively.

Clear evidence the series of three tack holes were the result of the canvass being tacked to the stretches three separate times.

Conclusion from current restoration

The painting depicting Rubens’ Last Supper is original and painted by Rubens himself sometime between 1614-1640. Direct evidence for that is contained within the connections between the coat of arms on the backside belonging to the Noailles family and the timing of the lives of Rubens and Noailles.

Tack holes which were filled in with ground appear to substantiate the theory they were placed there by Rubens to secure it to a firm backing for painting as was his custom.

The painting has been restored twice previously evidenced by three layers of ground all period correct and the series of three closely positioned tack holes on the stretchers. The first restoration was done in the Haro Shop sometime between 1824-1847 evidenced by the shop sticker located on the stretcher cross bar.

Worm holes beneath the sticker support the time difference between the painting by Rubens and the restoration by Haro. The second restoration was done by an amateur who at the time of restoration glued a new canvass to the back of the original. Blacklight images show some of the areas of the painting the amateur worked on.

I was now 100% convinced this was not just another old painting and needed to be referred to in such manner that would be recognizable. I opted to refer to it as the “Patterson modello” not for the personal notoriety but for the sake of painting recognition.