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Home , Cerasi Chapel, Chiaroscuro, Godfried Schalcken, Govert Flinck, Rachel Ruysch, The Jewish Bride

HISTORY Journey Through a Thousand Years

“I Saw Eternity the Other Night”

Week Seven:

Baroque Art, an Introduction – Las Meninas – How Do You Paint Your Own Slave? – : The Power of Light and Dark – “’s Deposition” - “The Calling of St. Matthew” - van Rijn -Rembrandt Was a Genius, a Sage, and a Snob—and He Left behind a Mysterious Legacy - A of Global Dimensions: Antonio de Pereda’s “Still Life with Ebony Chest” - Flower Still Life

Dr. Esperanca Camara: “Baroque Art, an Introduction” From smARThistory (2015)

Gian Lorenzo Bernini, View to Cathedra Petri (or Chair of St. Peter), 1647-53, gilded bronze, gold, wood, stained glass (Apse of ’s Basilica, Vatican City, ) (photo: Steven Zucker, CC BY-NC- SA 2.0) Rome: From the “Whore of Babylon” to the resplendent bride of Christ When Martin Luther tacked his 95 theses to the doors of Wittenberg Cathedral in 1517 protesting the ’s corruption, he initiated a movement that would transform the religious, political, and artistic landscape of Europe. For the next century, Europe would be in turmoil as new political and religious boundaries were determined, often through bloody military conflicts. Only in 1648, with the signing of the Treaty of Westphalia, did the conflicts between Protestants and Catholics subside in continental Europe. Martin Luther focused his critique on what he saw as the Church’s greed and abuse of power. He called Rome, the seat of papal power, “the whore of Babylon” decked out in finery of expensive art, grand architecture, and sumptuous banquets. The Church responded to the crisis in two ways: by internally addressing issues of corruption and by defending the doctrines rejected by the Protestants. Thus, while the first two decades of the 16th century were a period of lavish spending for the Papacy, the middle decades were a period of austerity. As one visitor to Rome noted in the 1560s, the entire city had become a convent. Piety and asceticism ruled the day.

View of the Cerasi Chapel in in Rome with ’s altarpiece, The Assumption of the Virgin, 1600-01, oil on canvas, 96 × 61, and by Caravaggio on the side walls (The Crucifixion of St. Peter on the left, and The Conversion of Paul on the right) By the end of the 16th century, the Catholic Church was once again feeling optimistic, even triumphant. It had emerged from the crisis with renewed vigor and clarity of purpose. Shepherding the faithful—instructing them on Catholic doctrines and inspiring virtuous behavior—took center stage. Keen to rebuild Rome’s reputation as a holy city, the Papacy embarked on extensive building and decoration campaigns aimed at highlighting its ancient origins, its beliefs, and its divinely-sanctioned authority. In the eyes of faithful Catholics, Rome was not an unfaithful whore, but a pure bride, beautifully adorned for her union with her divine spouse. The art of persuasion: To instruct, to delight, to move While the Protestants harshly criticized the cult of images, the Catholic Church ardently embraced the religious power of art. The visual , the Church argued, played a key role in guiding the faithful. They were certainly as important as the written and spoken word, and perhaps even more important, since they were accessible to the learned and the unlearned alike. In order to be effective in its pastoral role, religious art had to be clear, persuasive, and powerful. Not only did it have to instruct, it had to inspire. It had to move the faithful to feel the reality of Christ’s sacrifice, the suffering of the martyrs, the visions of the saints.

Caravaggio, The Crowning with Thorns, 1602-04, oil on canvas, 165.5 x 127 cm (Kunsthistorisches Museum, ) The Church’s emphasis on art’s pastoral role prompted artists to experiment with new and more direct means of engaging the viewer. Artists like Caravaggio turned to a powerful and dramatic , accentuated by bold contrasts of light and dark, and tightly- cropped compositions that enhance the physical and emotional immediacy of the depicted narrative. Other artists, like Annibale Carracci (who also experimented with realism), ultimately settled on a more classical visual language, inspired by the vibrant palette, idealized forms, and balanced compositions of the High (see image above). Still others, like Giovanni Battista Gaulli, turned to daring feats of illusionism that blurred not only the boundaries between , sculpture, and architecture, but also those between the real and depicted worlds. In so doing, the divine was made physically present and palpable. Whether through shocking realism, dynamic movement, or exuberant ornamentation, seventeenth- century art is meant to impress. It aims to convince the viewer of the truth of its message by impacting , awakening the emotions, and activating, even sharing the viewer’s space.

Giovanni Battista Gaulli, also known as il Baciccio, The Triumph of the Name of Jesus, 1672-1685, Il Gesù ceiling fresco (Rome, Italy) The Catholic monarchs and their territories The monarchs of , Portugal, and France also embraced the more ornate elements of seventeenth century art to celebrate Catholicism. In Spain and its colonies, rulers invested vast resources on elaborate church facades, stunning, gold-covered chapels and tabernacles, and strikingly-realistic polychrome sculpture. In the Spanish , where sacred art had suffered terribly as a result of the Protestant iconoclasm (the destruction of art), civic and religious leaders prioritized the adornment of churches as the region reclaimed its Catholic identity. Refurnishing the altars of Antwerp’s churches kept ’ workshop busy for many years. Europe’s monarchs also adopted this artistic vocabulary to proclaim their own power and status. Louis XIV, for example, commissioned the splendid buildings and gardens of Versailles as a visual expression of his divine right to rule.

Peter Paul Rubens, Elevation of the Cross, 1610, oil on wood, 15 1-7/8 x 11 1-1/2 (originally for Saint Walpurgis, Antwerp (destroyed), now in Antwerp Cathedral) The Protestant North

In the Protestant countries, and especially in the newly-independent (modern-day Holland), the artistic climate changed radically in the aftermath of the Reformation. Two of the wealthiest sources of patronage—the monarchy and the Church— were now gone. In their stead arose an increasingly prosperous middle class eager to express its status, and its new sense of national pride, through the purchase of art. By the middle of the 17th century a new market had emerged to meet the artistic tastes of this class. The demand was now for smaller scale paintings suitable for display in private homes. These paintings included religious subjects for private contemplation, as seen in Rembrandt’s poignant paintings and prints of biblical narratives, as well as portraits documenting individual likenesses.

Judith Leyster, Self-Portrait, c. 1630, oil on canvas, 651 x 746 cm (National Gallery of Art, Washington) But, the greatest change in the market was the dramatic increase in the popularity of landscapes, still-lifes, and scenes of everyday life (known as ). Indeed, the proliferation of these subjects as independent artistic genres was one of the 17th century’s most significant contributions to the history of Western art. In all of these genres, artists revealed a keen interest in replicating observed reality— whether it be the light on the Dutch landscape, the momentary expression on a face, or the varied textures and materials of the objects the Dutch collected as they reaped the benefits of their expanding mercantile empire. These works demonstrated as much artistic virtuosity and physical immediacy as the grand decorations of the palaces and churches of Catholic Europe. In the context of European history, the period from c. 1585 to c. 1700/1730 is often called the Baroque era. The word “baroque” derives from the Portuguese and Spanish words for a large, irregularly-shaped pearl (“barroco” and “barrueco,” respectively). Eighteenth century critics were the first to apply the term to the art of the 17th century. It was not a term of praise. To the eyes of these critics, who favored the restraint and order of Neoclassicism, the works of Bernini, Borromini, and Pietro da Cortona appeared bizarre, absurd, even diseased—in other words, misshapen, like an imperfect pearl.

Francisco de Zurbarán, Saint Francis of Assisi According to Pope Nicholas V’s Vision, c. 1640, oil on canvas, 110.5 x 180.5 cm (Museum Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, Barcelona, Spain) “Baroque” – the word, the style, the period By the middle of the 19th century, the word had lost its pejorative implications and was used to describe the ornate and complex qualities present in many examples of 17th- century art, music and literature. Eventually, the term came to designate the historical period as a whole. In the context of the painting, for example, the stark realism of Zurbaran’s altarpieces, the quiet intimacy of Vermeer’s domestic interiors, and restrained classicism of Poussin’s landscapes are all “Baroque” (now with a capital “B” to indicate the historical period), regardless of the absence of the stylistic traits originally associated with the term. Scholars continue to debate the validity of this label, admitting the usefulness of having a label for this distinct historical period, while also acknowledging its limitations in characterizing the variety of artistic styles present in the 17th century. Dr. Beth Harris and Dr. Steven Zucker: “Las Meninas” and “How Do You Paint Your Own Slave?” From smARThistory (2015)

One of the foremost artists of the Spanish Baroque era was Diego Valasquez, well-known for his royal portraits as well as pictures of more ordinary folk. Follow the links to the videos: Video links: https://smarthistory.org/diego-velazquez-las-meninas/ https://smarthistory.org/velazquez-juan-de-pareja/

“Chiaroscuro Art: The Power of Light and Dark” From “The Yellow Sparrow” (2015)

Gerard Van Honthurst: “Supper With a Lute Player,” c. 1690, Uffizzi Gallery, The word chiaroscuro pretty much defines itself. The word Chiaroscuro itself is Italian, and roughly means, “light and dark.” Chiaroscuro art was first used to describe a type of on medium-dark paper where the artist created darker areas with ink and lighter areas with white paint. It refers to the use of highlights and shadows in a composition to create the illusion of light from a specific source shining on the figures and objects depicted. Sometimes, vigilant use of tonal contrasts is leveraged to suggest the volume and modelling of the subjects depicted. The first use of chiaroscuro-style three-dimensional shading (known as “skiagraphia” or “shadow-painting” in Ancient Greece) is traditionally ascribed to Apollodoros, the noted painter of 5th century Athens. Enduring in a somewhat primitive form during the era of (c.400-1400), the technique was refined in the West during the late Middle Ages and by 1400 was a standard feature in both gospel illuminations and paintings. Chiaroscuro was heavily used by the painters of the Renaissance period to make their paintings look truly three-dimensional and also a “reflection” of the real world. They realized that the contrast between areas of light and dark can heighten the impact of an image. As the Renaissance gave way to the Baroque, a style that emphasized drama and emotional intensity, some artists developed an exaggerated form of chiaroscuro known as , from the Italian word tenebroso, meaning gloomy or murky. The painting technique of chiaroscuro takes advantage of the special qualities of oil paint that replaced tempera as the medium of choice for painters in Europe during the Renaissance. Tempera paint, usually made with egg yolk, was opaque and acted more like enamel. It’s very difficult to model three dimensional figures using tempera. Unlike tempera, oil paint could be easily blended and shaded, built up in layers, or applied in translucent glazes. By applying light tones on top of dark, painters could create the effect of figures emerging from shadow. The term chiaroscuro can also be applied to drawing, but in a very specific way. A chiaroscuro drawing is made on medium-toned paper using both dark and light (usually white) lines to create the illusion of three dimensions. (1452-1519) is considered an important figure in the development of chiaroscuro, especially in his later works, but he’s best known for his use of another technique, , meaning smoky, in which the outlines of figures are softened, as if seen through a haze of smoke. He was the first artist to use value consistently across colours, achieving tonal unity in which a figure presents a single, swelling, homogeneously generated volume in contrast to the inevitably fragmented effects of colour-modelling.

Leonardo da Vinci: detail from “The Virgin of the Rocks” Describing his Chiaroscuro technique, Leonardo da Vinci had said: “I would remind you O Painter! To dress your figures in the lightest colors you can, since, if you put them in dark colors, they will be in too slight relief and inconspicuous from a distance. And this is because the shadows of all objects are dark. And if you make a dress dark there is little variety between the lights and shadows, while in light colors there will be greater variety.” Among the Baroque artists most strongly associated with Chiaroscuro technique are the Italian painter Caravaggio (1571-1610), the French painter (1593-1652), and Dutch painter Rembrandt van Rijn (1606-1669). However, it is believed that Chiaroscuro truly came to life in the paintings of Caravaggio during the late 16th century. Caravaggio used deep, dark backgrounds for many of his paintings. The high contrast in those paintings made for intensely powerful and dramatic works of art. Because of Caravaggio, Chiaroscuro became very popular, and today the word is often used to mean “high contrast” more than anything else. Sometimes the source of the intense illumination in a painting (whether by Caravaggio or other artists) was actually in the painting such as in religious works, where an angel or other holy figure actually illuminates the entire scene, other times the light source is simply a candle, or a fire.

Caravaggio: “Judith Beheading Holofernes,” c.1602 Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica at Palazzo Barberini, Rome

Caravaggio: “The Incredulity of Saint Thomas” All of these situations offered artists a chance to explore silhouettes and other extremes, and occasionally made the emphasis on light and shadow more important than the scene itself. Rembrandt knew the value of Chiaroscuro’s direct lighting. He softened edges and lessened the contrast of “true” Chiaroscuro to lend calmness to his paintings.

Rembrandt: “Philosopher in Mediatation” For painters today, dramatic lighting is a tool to be used intentionally, with care. When the focus of a painting is upon the form of objects, or the shape of a figure, then Chiaroscuro can be exceedingly helpful. Strong directional light lifts out details and features, and gives a true and flabbergasting three-dimensional appearance. While sometimes, Chiaroscuro can get a little harsh on portraits making them look unnatural to a certain extent or just too dramatic for what the artist is trying to portray. Well, now we guess you are in a position to decide for yourself whether the presence of high contrast in a Chiaroscuro artwork is helping or hurting the overall message of the painting. Dr. Beth Harris and Dr. Steven Zucker: “Caravaggio’s Deposition” and “The Calling of St. Matthew” From smARThistory (2015)

Follow this link to learn about one of Caravaggio’s most famous paintings, portraying the moment Christ was taken down from the Cross.

Link to the article: https://smarthistory.org/caravaggio-deposition/

Now watch this video about the masterpiece of chiaroscuro, “The Calling of Matthew,” also by Caravaggio.

Link to the video: https://smarthistory.org/caravaggio-calling-of-st-matthew/

Jennie Ellis Keysor: “Rembrandt Van Rijn” From Great Artists: Volume Two (1903)

Rembrandt: “Self Portrait at the Age of Thirty-Two”

"O mighty master! Shakespeare of the brush! Interpreting to eye, as he to ear, The story of earth's passion and its strife,— Thy genius caught the new day's morning flush, Saw glory in the common and the near, And on immortal canvas gave us LIFE!" —F. S. Hosmer

"Rembrandt was powerfully attracted by the ease with which the human emotions could be followed in the looks and gestures of such uncultivated children of nature as sailors, workmen, peasants and the beggars of the towns. . . . The illustrious School of Holland without Rembrandt would have lost its poetry, and the apex of its glory. . . . Rembrandt loves to tell us what ear has never heard, what eye has never seen." —Emile Michel "Rembrandt pleases the eye, but his superiority over every other painter in Holland, and his rank among the great artists of the world, are largely due to his pleasing the mind and the heart." —John C. van Dyke

Rembrandt: “Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Plato” The artist, perhaps more than any other intellectual worker, needs an atmosphere—that is, he needs to be among those who, like himself, are producing pictures. We feel this to-day and Rembrandt felt it in his time. The city of Leyden, beautiful, cleanly, and intellectual from the influence of its great university, lacked artists and studios and consequently the opportunities for improvement that every growing artist needs. On the other hand furnished these very requirements and so, once again, Rembrandt said good-bye to his family, , and his native city and journeyed by canal to Amsterdam, the city of his hope. The longings and homesickness of his early student days vanished, except on rare occasions when he gave himself up to moments of complete rest. He was on fire with zeal for his art, which no subject was too commonplace to grace. In this spirit he entered the motley city with its artists, its Jews, its merchants, and found for himself a place now high, now low, that he filled until his death, for Amsterdam was henceforth to be his home city. Although Rembrandt had led a quiet life at Leyden, studying from himself and members of his family, yet through these portraits his fame had spread far. He had often been asked by people of Amsterdam to paint their portraits. One famous writer of the time speaks enthusiastically of "this miller, this stripling." On arriving at Amsterdam his supply of money was limited and so it was necessary for him to find cheap quarters. Many pupils waited only the opening of his studio, so it was also necessary that these quarters be commodious. Such apartments he found in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. His pupils that gathered about him at once numbered among them men who afterwards became famous. Such were Govert Flinck, and Gerard Dow. He was not only original himself but he wished his pupils to develop their own individuality, and so the studio was divided into stalls, as it were, where each man could work out his own ideas. He made many friends in the city in spite of his taste for retirement. He was a constant and accurate observer of the varied life which is so striking a feature of Amsterdam. He was especially attracted by the beggars of every degree who thronged its streets in some quarters. His pictures of beggars would make a complete gallery of earth's unfortunates. For this class of subjects he used the etcher's art, perhaps, because he could return to the plates again and improve them. Three of Rembrandt's friends deserve special mention. They were Burgomaster Six, Hendrick van Ulenburgh, a print seller, and Doctor Tulp, the professor of anatomy in the surgeon's guild. Rembrandt was anxious to perfect himself in drawing and so he had attended many of Tulp's lectures and had become well acquainted with the professor. The guild wished their portraits painted in a group that it might be hung in the guild hall as a reminder of Doctor Tulp's great work. Rembrandt was selected to paint this picture. His excitement was intense over this, his first great commission. The desire of the guild was that the picture should represent Doctor Tulp lecturing to his class. Many subjects of this sort had been painted and engraved by previous artists, but there had been nothing that could be called a picture, only a monotonous line of portraits, among which it was impossible to distinguish the professor from the students. It never entered Rembrandt's mind that such a photographic representation would at all satisfy Doctor Tulp and his associates. His plan was to have a central point of interest about which to group his portraits. In a few sketches he produced his wonderful "Anatomy Lesson," the most famous doctor's picture ever painted.

Rembrandt: “The Anatomy Lesson of Doctor Tulp” There sits Doctor Tulp, with forceps in hand, explaining the intricacies of the tendons of the dead man's arm and hand. His listeners, seven in number, lean to hear and see, each with an individual and absorbed expression that never could have been obtained had the individuals "sat for their pictures," as we say. He had observed these men when they knew it not and, like the genius that he was, he carried his impressions accurately to his canvas. Our interest in the faces of the men who learn, and of him who teaches, almost makes us forget the dead body in the foreground. The surgeons were delighted with the picture, and the fame of it soon spread throughout Holland. Many men of note came to sit for their portraits. The "Anatomy Lesson" was painted in 1632, and it was the first of three great pictures which divide the artist's career and mark its beginning, its turning point and its climax. The other two are "" of 1642, and the wonderful "Cloth Makers" of 1661. Rembrandt went often to Hendrick's shop to look over the etchings, and other prints. Some times he found those by the German, Durer, or those by his fellow citizen, Lucas van Leyden. Indeed he did more than look at these treasures—he frequently bought a precious print for himself for which he gave no mean price. One other thing at the print shop of Hendrick interested the great artist. A beautiful young girl came also to see the newest prints, and to converse with her cousin, Hendrick, on a thousand subjects dear to them. This was Saskia van Ulenburgh, who afterward became as divinely associated with Rembrandt and his work as Beatrice with Dante, or Laura with Petrarch. She was shy enough at first, but the mighty master with his wondrous gaze soon became her idol by day, her dream by night. On the other hand, to the young artist she became the one thing delightful outside of his art.

Rembrandt: “Saskia as Flora"

Saskia was of a distinguished family. Her father was often at the home of William of Orange. He sat at table with the great leader just before he was assassinated. Both parents were now dead and Saskia lived with a sister. Rembrandt went himself to get the consent of his parents for his marriage with Saskia. After some delays the wedding took place, and Rembrandt, used to carrying treasures of great price to his home, now took thither, in Saskia, his revered wife, his greatest jewel. The happiest period of his life was that spent with Saskia. Speaking of Rembrandt's home reminds me of the artist's zeal for collecting art works, jewels, arms, and oriental stuffs. For these things he had an inordinate desire, and perhaps excused himself for many expensive purchases by making them adjuncts to his art. Before his marriage he had collected many of these things to adorn the home to which he was to bring his beloved bride. It is sad to relate that he often bought what he could not afford, and his failure to pay for what he bought finally brought ruin on himself. The house in which Rembrandt lived during his prosperity was a three story structure opening onto the Breedstraat at the entrance to the Jewish quarter of the city. Its situation here gave the artist fine opportunity for observing this interesting people for whom he always had a great liking. If we enter the house as it was in Rembrandt's occupancy, we shall find it little short of a palace.

Rembrandt: “” His own art and that of others greets us in the very hall-way, for even here are beautiful pictures. In the parlor are Spanish carved chairs upholstered with rich velvet. In the center stands an elaborately carved table of black walnut, loaded with portfolios of rare etchings and drawings. Upon the walls hang beautiful and costly pictures—here a head by , there a rich Venetian scene by Palma Vecchio. In the corners are cabinets filled with curious gems and beautiful vases, while on a little table yonder is spread a piece of rare tapestry from Tourney. Beyond is the dining room where Rembrandt and Saskia spent so many happy hours, and where he etched and painted her over and over again. Here was etched that dainty portrait of few strokes under which Rembrandt wrote, "Saskia, my three days' bride."

Rembrandt: “Saskia as a Bride” Here was the scene of that famous picture now in the gallery, in which Rembrandt, quite unlike his usual sedate self, holds on high a tall glass, while Saskia from her perch upon his knee, looks out at the spectator, with just a suggestion of a smile playing about her lips. On the table just at hand is a pie, gorgeously dressed out with the body and tail of a peacock. In this room, too, where armor of various dates graced the walls, was a picture, perfect in drawing and splendid in coloring, which the master valued very highly. It was by Rubens, Rembrandt's famous Flemish contemporary. Why these two men never met, why Rubens never mentions the great Dutch master is always a great mystery to the students of both men. To return to the dining room—the side-board was loaded with rare glass from Venice, silver tankards and a good wine, although the master seldom drank. There were marble wine coolers, and across one end of the room a great fire-place where roaring logs and dying embers alike gave comfort. Back of this was Saskia's room, all blue and white like the cloud-flecked sky on the day of their wedding. It was an ample room, and besides serving as sleeping apartment, it was a sort of living room for the family. We can imagine an evening with the artist's family in this room. The master sits at the table etching perhaps some new portrait of Saskia, or their boy, Titus. Saskia sits by occasionally dropping some cheerful remark while she plys her needle or tends the babe. Now and then she stops to comment on the work of her gifted husband whom she loved ever to address as "my master." On the next floor was the art school, where pupils were instructed for about sixty-five dollars a year each. There was also the studio where Rembrandt did his own painting of the various sitters who came to him. Hallowed indeed was this room. When the master was painting no one dared interrupt him. The king himself, had he dared enter that inspired presence, must needs wait until the artist had completed his sketch. Such was the home where Rembrandt and Saskia lived, where he entertained his friends and where he instructed his students. Here he knew the greatest joy that can come to man, and here he experienced the bitterest sorrows. Over its blessed threshold he had carried success and happiness, and from it he had gone a bankrupt and desolate man, bereft of family, friends and art treasures. He never tired of sketching his Saskia in some new attitude. She leaned upon the table with her smiling face shaded by a broad hat, and she was his youthful bride. He loaded her with jewels and oriental fabrics and she was "The Jewish Bride," or she sat upon his knee in one of his jocular moods, and it was "Rembrandt and his Wife" in their dining-room.

Rembrandt: “Rembrandt and his Wife” During all the nine happy years of their life together hers is the face to which he reverts over and over again. She revered her gifted husband, and yet, more worldly-wise than he, she must often have remonstrated with him for spending so freely for the art works which he loved so much, or for mingling so little with men of the outside world, even though it was life itself to her to have him with her in the home. Several children were born to them but all except one, Titus, died in infancy. This sorrow wore upon the beautiful young Saskia, and soon her health became broken. Rembrandt could not realize the sorrow that menaced him, but on it came, relentless as fate. Through the happy years Rembrandt had been busy indeed with various commissions. Besides the paintings and etchings of himself and Saskia, he had done many notable works. There was "The Shipbuilder and his Wife," now in Buckingham Palace. It seems only the handing of a letter to the builder by his wife, and yet in its sweet composure we read the record of a happy, well-spent life with yet more pleasure in it for this united, prosperous pair.

Rembrandt: “The Shipbuilder and His Wife” There, too, is "The Philosopher in his Cell," with its wonderful winding stairs and its masterful light and shade. There is "Samson's Wedding Feast," "Manoah's Prayer," and the fierce but effective so called portrait of the great Russian, "Sobieski." There were also "The Carpenter's Household," before referred to, and that inimitable "Lady with a Fan." Not one of these but is charming, but, if we seek to explain the charm, it eludes us and will not be analyzed. To nothing can we attribute it so much, I think, as to the master's wonderful power in the use of light and shade. By using transparent shadows and high lights very near together, Rembrandt found the best expression for his own thoughtful nature. Every town had its own military company, its civic guard, and worthy indeed had been the work they had done in the days of Spanish oppression. The guard had its guild hall which it took pride in decorating with the portraits of its members. Such pictures were usually paid for by a sort of tax imposed for the purpose on the members. Those of highest title paid most and the others according to their rank. In this way a considerable sum could be paid for a picture, and yet the burden fell heavily on no one individual. There was another side to it, however. The men who paid even a small sum expected to be prominent in the picture. It is easy to see that when there was a central theme about which everything subordinated itself it was not always possible to give the required attention to each individual. In 1642, the civic guard of Amsterdam wished such a picture, and they commissioned Rembrandt to paint it. He was determined, as always, that his portrait group should be something besides portraits—that there should be some action to unify the whole. With this in mind, he represented the whole company suddenly called out of their quarters and given the order to march. The captain and his lieutenant march in front with the light strongly concentrated upon them, while the men arm and load as they go. The standard bearer lifts the flag. There is varied movement and our interest in the cause of it all is intense. So precipitate has been the call and the response of these soldiers that people passing along the street have become mixed in the ranks—hence the presence of the children. One thing should be remembered and that is that the name "Night Watch" is entirely incorrect for this picture. It was given to the painting after it had hung in the guard hall many years and had become blackened by smoke and dirt. So far from its representing a night scene, the shadow of the captain's hand and arm is plain upon the coat of the lieutenant, and shows the precise position of the sun. It should be called "The Sortie of Banning Cock's Company," which would be plain to everyone, as Banning Cock was the name of the captain. In all copies of the picture which we have, it seems overcrowded, not enough marginal canvas—members of the company cut in two, etc. In making this criticism we must not forget that in 1715 the picture was removed to the town hall and, to make it fit into a given space, it was cut down several inches.

Rembrandt: “The Night Watch”

As before mentioned, the picture marked a turning point in the life of the artist. Only a few of the sixteen men who had contributed toward the picture were made prominent enough to please them. The exact meaning of the picture was not evident to all. What did the artist mean by the lighting? How did the witch-like little woman or girl happen to get in among the soldiers? Why were the weapons of the company so varied? There were few, indeed, who were pleased with the picture as a whole. What wonder that the artist became confused in the exuberance of his own thoughts, for his beloved Saskia lay dying! In spite of all these criticisms the picture stands to-day one of the masterpieces of the world, perhaps the chief attraction that draws the traveller to Amsterdam. Through "The Night Watch" and the death of Saskia, his double life of artist and home- lover was interrupted. Then followed dark days when patrons came not to the studio, and the lonely hours were filled with longing for "The touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that is still." The artist's work went on, but deeper and sadder subjects engaged his thought. During these years the face of the Saviour is very often found among his pictures. One of these, "The Supper at Emmaus," ranks high among the master's pictures and among all pictures. There sits the worn Christ, who knows the secrets of the tomb. He makes himself known to his companions. They are awed by the revelation to such an extent that we see their feeling in their extended hands, while the boy who serves them almost drops what he is carrying so excited is he by what he hears. As we study the face of the Christ we feel that he has indeed walked with death.

Rembrandt: “Supper at Emmaus”

The years wore on with our saddened artist. Public taste turned more and more to the Italians, and, more and more, native artists were neglected. Rembrandt suffered with the others. Moreover there were ugly rumors that the splendid house in which the artist lived was not paid for and that much of the money used in purchasing his art treasures had been borrowed and not repaid. The clouds thickened about our artist until 1658 when there was a sheriff's sale of all his belongings, studio effects and all. The house he loved so much, every room of which spoke to him of Saskia and her children, was bought by a shoemaker. The coveted etchings, prints, and paintings went to the highest bidders, and the master of all, Rembrandt, the world-famous artist, was led away to apartments in an inn. That auction must have been a stormy place, when, one by one his treasures were sold before his very eyes. We can imagine him offering a spirited protest when one picture by Palma Vecchio, and another by Raphael, were put up. How his heart must have ached as the heartless auctioneer put up some oriental drapery, some jewels with which, in those happy days now long gone by, he had decked Saskia and painted her. The many who had hailed the painter of "The Anatomy Lesson" as a new found genius, who had curiously eyed the mysteries of "The Night Watch" had by this time forgotten the bankrupt painter. There were a few friends, however, who stood by, and some of them of no mean degree, as Burgomaster Six, whose home was as open to the painter as if he had been a near relative. And one there was of humble station, Hendrickie Stoffels, the peasant maid who had long lived in his family, that stood beside her master in those gloomy years and helped to make his life less dark. Later on the artist, loving her for the sacrifices she had made for his sake, for the light she had brought to his declining years, married her. Even Hendrickie, young and robust as she was, was not spared for long to comfort the painter; she died seven years before him. Meantime Rembrandt had left the inn and settled in a little house on the Rozengracht. It was an humble abode compared with the home he had lost, but Hendrickie managed to make it restful and homelike. Titus, the son of Rembrandt and Saskia, was about nineteen when his father married. He too loved Hendrickie for what she had done to make his father happy, and he welcomed her to their home, such as it was. So well did she and Titus agree that they entered into a partnership as print-sellers and persuaded Rembrandt to allow them to have the exclusive sale of his pictures. They did this hoping to wholly relieve the artist from all concern in money matters in which he had proved himself such a child. At first he was not pleased with the plan, but he gradually came to see its excellence and the freedom it gave him to pursue his art unmolested. For years the little business prospered, Hendrickie and Titus agreeing perfectly. It seemed that peace had at last returned to crown the painter's closing years. But suddenly Hendrickie died and shortly after, Titus. The old artist, still loving his art, though sight and health were failing, stood alone in Amsterdam at the last end of his career as he had stood at the beginning. And what a solitary figure he made as he towered above those who had noted him not, rapt in the great thoughts that made his pictures so wonderful. Death came to him, we know not how, in 1669, for only a line in the parish register tells of his burial and the thirteen florins it cost. It was a strange and sad fate that the man destined to be the best known, the most honored of all the artists of Holland, should thus die like the day or the leaves of summer and "none take note of his departure"! The sumptuous house in the Breedstraat where Rembrandt lived still stands. The little cottage where Hendrickie and Titus made a home for the artist has disappeared. Even his grave, where we might hope for rest for the burdened man, when opened not long ago, was found to contain no body. As so, were it not for his works made up of drawings, etchings and paintings, a body of work which for power is above comparison with the work of any other artist, we might almost feel, as some say of Shakespeare, that he never existed. The great master's work, however, in each case is indisputable, and so we know our race has been blessed by a Rembrandt and a Shakespeare. It is pleasant for us to know that late in life, in 1661, Rembrandt received one more important commission. By the beauty, repose and balance of this work, excelling all his other great pictures, it shows that though the outward life of the man had been disturbed and sad beyond expression, yet there was inward repose and faith and power. I speak of that wonderfully simple but very powerful and beautiful picture, "The Cloth Makers," that now hangs in the Ryks Museum in Amsterdam.

Rembrandt: “The Cloth Makers” Five men, the chosen of their guild, sit about a table casting up the accounts of the guild for the year to find the gains and losses. There is little in the subject to call out the powers of an artist, but so wonderfully has Rembrandt treated it that those five buyers and the one servant represented in the picture tell us things never dreamed of in "The Anatomy Lesson" or "The Night Watch." Rembrandt is often called the Shakespeare of painters and I think with good reason. As we think over the work of each it seems that painter and dramatist are wonderfully alike in their treatment of life. "The Anatomy Lesson" is like those early plays of Shakespeare, where everything is plain. There is in them the self-satisfied air of gifted youth. In the middle of the poet's career, when family losses were pressing hard, came "Hamlet," beautiful, overflowing with meaning, but confused in its own richness—not clear. It was like "The Night Watch" of Rembrandt's career. And then, when age softened the soul and mellowed the intellect, see what lovely romances Shakespeare wrote—"Winter's Tale" and "The Tempest," where forgiveness rules and the end is crowned with sweet concord. Poet and painter agree in so representing life—Rembrandt and Shakespeare, the greatest in their lines of work, using different arts and a different language, read alike the secrets of life! Perhaps the most difficult thing to account for in Rembrandt's life was his complete ignorance of money matters, of practical life, while in his art he was a hero and the very acme of provident care. In practical matters he knew not persistency, in his art he could and did persist even though all patrons turned from him to the idols of Italy. In the list of years his art has triumphed, even though the artist died without creating a stir. Such was the man and artist, vacillating on the one hand, heroic on the other; a bankrupt from one point of view, the unique artist from the other. What a host of pictures stand among the world's great work to crown the hero artist—old women, with caps and crossed hands, who by their dear faces tell us that there is much left in the last days—still "The best is yet to be"; old men and young men; beggars in every conceivable attitude; portraits of himself from youth to age so that we know him at every stage as we would an old friend; scenes from the Bible that drive the truth home to us as never before did painter or preacher; calm landscapes where the lazy windmill drones in the sunshine; doctors, soldiers and cloth merchants doing the business of the world. What variety of subject! What unity of treatment, done, as no other could do them, by the concentration of light, by the deepening of shadows which at their blackest have a certain transparency.

Ian Shank: “Rembrandt Was a Genius, a Sage, and a Snob—and He Left Behind a Mysterious Legacy” From “Artsy” (2018)

Follow the link to this article to hear a little bit about the cloudy story of Rembrandt, a thoroughly modern but somewhat obscure man whose paintings contain far more of his mind than his writings do.

Follow the link: https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-rembrandt-genius-sage-snob-left-mysterious- legacy

Dr. Carmen Ripolles: “A Still Life of Global Dimensions: Antonio de Pereda’s Still Life with Ebony Chest” From SmARThistory (2018)

Still life pictures – images of collected inanimate objects – were largely the product of the Baroque era. It can be easy to pass them over, but a little extra time shows them for the masterpieces they are. Read this article to find out about them. Link to the article: https://smarthistory.org/pereda-still-life-w-ebony-chest/

Lynn Robinson: , Flower Still-Life From smARThistory (2015)

What would you consider today’s most coveted status symbols? A Mercedes or a Ferrari, a diamond Rolex or a designer handbag? A European villa? In Rachel Ruysch’s day it was a simple tulip. Looking at her floral still life paintings can reveal an entire hidden world—of wealth, status, even the economics of the world’s first financial crises. Growing up: Art and science

Godfried Schalcken, Portrait of the artist Rachel Ruysch, c. 1643-1706, oil on canvas, 71.8 x 62. 2 cm (Cheltenham Art Gallery and Museum) Rachel Ruysch grew up in Amsterdam, into a wealthy and prominent family of Dutch artists, architects and scientists. Her father, , was an eminent scientist and professor of anatomy and botany. He possessed a well-known collection of rare natural history specimens, which Rachel helped catalogue and record. He encouraged her artistic talents, careful observation of the natural world and scientifically accurate renderings of plants and flowers. At age fifteen, Ruysch began an apprenticeship with famous still life painter . By eighteen, she was already producing her first still life paintings and starting to establish her long and successful career. A working mother At twenty nine, Rusch married portrait painter Juriaen Pool, with whom she had ten children. Despite her enormous domestic responsibilities, she was remarkably prolific, producing more than 250 paintings over seven decades. Her works were in great demand, and she achieved widespread fame and international recognition. Considered one of the most successful artists of her day, contemporary Dutch writers called her “Holland’s art prodigy” and “our subtle art heroine.” Consumer society In 1648, the Netherlands became independent from Spain, ushering in a period of great economic prosperity. Flourishing international trade and a thriving capitalistic economy resulted in a newly affluent middle class. Wealthy merchants created a new kind of patronage and art market. Without a powerful monarchy or the Catholic Church to commission artworks (the Dutch were Protestants), artists produced directly for buyers. Like today, buyers purchased art either from professional dealers or from the artist in their studios. Subjects like big historical, mythological or religious paintings were no longer desired; buyers wanted portraits, still lifes, landscapes and genre paintings (scenes of everyday life) to decorate their homes. Proud of their newly independent country and trade wealth, they desired artworks that would reflect their success. In a competitive open market, artists began to specialize. Rachel Ruysch became known as one of the greatest flower painters of her time. Flowers: A national passion

Great Tulip Book: Semper Augustus, 1600-1699, gouache on paper, 12-1/8 x 7-7/8 / 30.8 x 20.0 cm (Norton Simon Museum) Ruysch’s career paralleled the growth of the Dutch horticultural industry and the science of botany. The Netherlands became the largest importers of new and exotic plants and flowers from around the world. Once valued primarily for their use as herbs or medicine, flowers became newly appreciated simply for their beauty and fragrance. They became prized luxuries and desirable status symbols for the wealthy. Botanists and gardeners sought the rarest specimens imported from overseas trade. The tulip, like the one featured prominently in Ruysch’s painting below, was the most exotic. “Tulip mania” Coveted for their intense and unusually varied colors, tulips were introduced into the Netherlands from Turkey in the late sixteenth century. The Dutch fell madly in love with them. Because it takes so long for a tulip to be grown from seed, demand far outpaced supply. The rarest and most valuable tulips were the variegated or “flamed” tulips, those with feathers of contrasting color on their petals. This exotic coloration was actually caused by a virus that infected the tulip, shortening its life span and making it even more sought after and valuable. The stage was set for a buying craze. Buyer beware: A cautionary tale?

Bruegel suggests the economic folly of tulip mania by depicting speculators as brainless monkeys in contemporary upper class dress (detail), Brueghel the Younger, Satire on Tulip Mania, c. 1640 (Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem) The word tulip mania is often used today to refer to certain types of economic crises. It describes a financial bubble caused by large numbers of people speculating on unproved commodities or companies. Tulip bulbs were so avidly desired in the seventeenth-century Netherlands that a “futures market” was born. Buyers bought bulbs still in the ground, speculating that they would be worth more in the future and could then be sold for a large profit. Prices rose steadily and irrationally. At the peak of tulip speculation in 1636, some bulbs sold for more than a skilled craftsman earned in ten years. A nursery catalog of the time notes that at the height of the madness, a rare “Semper Augustus” tulip sold for 5,200 guiders, more than the price of a fine house, a ship or twelve acres of land. In February, 1637, investors suddenly decided that tulip bulbs were grossly overpriced, and began to sell. Within days, panic ensued. With more sellers than buyers, demand for tulips evaporated. Prices plummeted, tulip bulbs lost 90% of their earlier value, and the market crashed. The world had just experienced its first financial bubble. Look closely: Microscopic detail

Rachel Ruysch, Flower Still Life, c. 1726, oil on canvas, 75.6 x 60.6 cm (Toledo Museum of Art, Toledo, Ohio) A successful Dutch still life painting was highly valued for its degree of skillful realism. Flowers Still Life depicts a profusion of scientifically accurate floral details. Each petal, stem, and leaf is minutely and precisely rendered. Textures are remarkably realistic, from the delicate paper thin poppy petals to the crinkly, brittle leaves. Looking closer still, we see that Ruysch has also meticulously depicted tiny insects: a caterpillar crawls on a stem, a bee gathers pollen from the center of a poppy, a white butterfly alights on a marigold. Mixed bouquet

A drooping marigold and other flowers spilling out of the vase (detail), Rachel Ruysch, Flower Still Life, c. 1726, oil on canvas, 75.6 x 60.6 cm (Toledo Museum of Art) Flower Still Life depicts a lush variety of different flowers, from popular common European blooms to rare overseas species. Ruysch combines a complex and intricate arrangement of poppies, snapdragons, roses, carnations, hollyhocks, marigolds, morning glories and a single red and white flamed tulip. Flowers lavishly spill out of the vase, filling the entire picture space. Some are in full bloom, others droop and wilt, as leaves and curving stems entwine throughout. While many of her contemporary flower painters used more symmetrical and formal compositions, Ruysch was known for these lively and informal looking arrangements. The flowers are asymmetrically arranged, leading the eye diagonally from the lower left drooping marigold to the upper right red poppy. Our eye is first attracted to the lightest flowers in the center, then to the brightly colored surrounding flowers, and finally out to the small darker flowers at the edges of the bouquet. Complementary colors create harmony, as warm yellows and rose balance cool blues and greens. Light alternates with shadow, enlivening the flowers as they stand out dramatically against the darker background. “Vanitas”: Hidden meanings? Some scholars believe there is another way to view Ruysch’s flower paintings. One common interpretation is to understand them in light of vanitas, a moral message common at the time. Taken from a passage in the Christian bible, it was a reminder that beauty fades and all living things must die. While still life paintings celebrated the beauty and luxury of fine food or voluptuous flowers, vanitas was a warning about the fleeting nature of these material things and the shortness of life. In Flowers Still Life, some flowers wilt and die while insects have eaten holes in the leaves. Wealthy Dutch consumers were being reminded to not become too attached to their material possessions and worldly pleasures; eternal salvation came only through devotion to God.

ATTRIBUTIONS

p. 1, Dr. Esperança Camara, "Baroque art, an introduction," in Smarthistory, June 9, 2015, accessed

October 1, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/a-beginners-guide-to-baroque-art/.

p. “Chiaroscuro Art: The Power of Light and Dark,” From “The Yellow Sparrow,” November 9, 2015, Accessed October 1, 2020, https://www.theyellowsparrow.com/chiaroscuro-art/

Jennie Ellis Keysor, “Rembrandt Van Rijn,” From Great Artists: Volume Two, Educational Publishing Company: New York, 1903, Gateway to the Classics Website, accessed October 1, 2020, http://www.gatewaytotheclassics.com/browse/display.php?author=keysor&book=artists2&story=remb randt

Lynn Robinson, "Rachel Ruysch, Flower Still-Life," in Smarthistory, August 8, 2015, accessed September 30, 2020, https://smarthistory.org/ruysch-flower-still-life/.