Michael Sweerts
Nov. 24th, 2002 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fabrisseOn my way to visit my former housemates in New York state, I picked up the "New Yorker" magazine. In it was an article by Simon Schama on an exhibit of paintings being held in Hartford, CT by a little known 17th century Dutch artist: Michael Sweerts.
For some reason, I thought the show was running into 2003, but, when I went to look it up, I discovered that it ended on December 1. And from November 24 - November 30, we have a houseguest.
Weekend trains from Boston to Hartford were highly inconvenient (5:30 a.m. or 1:00 p.m.), and I've yet to get a straight answer out of the Trailways or Greyhound sites. So when a housemate mentioned going to an event in New Jersey, I asked whether her route would take her through Hartford. In the end, she decided not to go to the event, but took me to Hartford yesterday anyway.
The show is very small, but no less powerful for its size. Mr. Schama mentions in the article and the placards near the paintings state that, in Sweerts studies of faces and moods, he is reminiscent of Vermeer -- until, and both sources note this as well, the viewer realizes that Sweerts predates Vermeer.
Even though the article had two pictures from the exhibit as illustrations, the overall effect was not at all what I expected. The first room dealt with true portraits, two of them self-portraits.
As is common, there were a couple of paragraphs detailing Sweerts biography on the wall. And the first little jolt hit me. Sweerts was baptized in Brussels at the church of St. Nicholas. This wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but that little church, near the Grand Place, was a place I often went to take refuge from tourists and other troubles when I was in downtown Brussels. I can picture the baptismal font. I've knelt by its altar, and, though Protestant myself, attended mass there. One of the etchings (by Henri Quittelier) on the wall of my living room is of this little church. Sweerts suddenly felt like a member of the family.
It also told me that Sweerts probably spoke Bruxellois dialect (which has elements from German, Spanish, Latin, and Hebrew as well as the more expected French and Dutch), that he was familiar with monumental architecture from a very early age, and that his family wasn't rich.
Even in this early room, it's obvious that he doesn't see things as others do. His technique is terrific; well, at least as far as I can tell. His style very obviously "Dutch." But the details aren't those found in Vermeer or Rembrandt or even Rubens. One of his self portraits is out of doors, the tools of his craft in his hand. The other shows a younger man contemplating a skull, but not in the arm extended Hamlet addressing Yorrick style nor in the "it's cool to have one of these on my desk" style of so many Dutch still lifes and portraits. This young man has his back to the viewer, he looks at us over his shoulder. And one index finger is exploring the nasal cavity of the skull.
There are two more standard portraits of his patron and his patron's son. A third portrait may or may not be part of the same family.
The next room is the largest, there are paintings in many different genres including more portraits, but these are of people from the street. A woman with her distaff, a man with a beer stein, another man who looks to be a bit of a wastrel are all shown with all their warts, but also with kindness.
I overheard one person say that Sweerts had a limited pallette. She wasn't wrong. However, living with seamstresses and textile geeks, I've been made aware of what dyes were possible before the aniline dyes of the nineteenth century. So, I think I'm fair in saying that Sweerts pallette was limited to colors that were actually possible in cloth.
One of the most remarkable paintings in the collection is in this second room. It's a portrait in the exotic style. A young man in a turban with a beautiful light blue shawl around his shoulders sits facing the viewer, but his eyes are looking elsewhere. The eyes are quite beautiful. He's holding a small bunch of freshly picked croci. This was the first of several paintings that made me feel that there was an extra layer. One that I might be missing.
The sign next to the work said this was different from any other work by Sweerts. It was a full seated portrait, but the sitter was obviously not a rich man, a patron, or an exotic no matter what he was wearing. The gesture toward the viewer with the nosegay seemed tentative, and it struck me that bulb flowers go off quickly once they're plucked and that croci are nearly the first flowers to be seen in the springtime. In the last room the plague outbreaks of the 17th century are mentioned. I wonder if this was a student of Sweerts (he ran two academies at different points: one in Rome, the other in Brussels) who had been claimed by plague.
No wife or mistress is ever mentioned in the biographical data given at the exhibit (the book was $50.00, so it'll be a while before I can afford it). The other potential, that Sweerts may have loved the young man and possibly been his lover, would also explain the showiness and tenderness of this beautiful piece.
There was also a dark portrait of a young man of obviously higher class. There are indications of wealth in abeyance, and one of the early titles for it referred to bankruptcy. This young man is also very attractive. His wardrobe is black, his air melancholy. The note pinned to the green cloth covering the table he's leaning on refers to a reckoning that all must give. For some reason I was struck by the fact that this picture emphasizes beauty and seems to equate it with wealth that has already been spent.
The next room had pictures that the commentary called "tronie", studies of faces that aren't full portraits and were used to teach students how to convey emotion through facial expression. Again, Sweerts used people who weren't upper or even middle class. Again, they are portrayed with a great deal of compassion. All of them are beautiful, even when the sitters aren't. There's one of an old woman who looks like a toothless Vanessa Redgrave that made me smile. She'd so obviously lived a full life.
The last two pictures in the room were portraits of upperclass children. The paintings were at most 6"x6", very small indeed. I listened to two women pick these bonny little kids apart (the girl looked to be about four and the boy maybe two years older.). By the end of it, these women were convinced that the girl had dwarfism (her hands seemed too small proportionally to her head to them, I thought that, like me, she just had small hands), and that the boy was probably sick or dead when the picture was painted. I am aware that I could be reading too much into what I felt in viewing these works.
The last room held seven pictures that were designed to be hung together. They had not done so for at least two centuries. These pieces illustrated "The Seven Acts of Mercy."
The New International Bible quotes Matthew 25: 35-36 as 'For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.' To these six exhortations was added the burial of the dead in order to make seven acts.
In all of these Sweerts shows the recipients in light with almost an inner glow. Those performing the deed have their faces shadowed or their backs to the viewer. All of these works forced me to think about compassion and charity in a way that I don't usually. When I give money, it's usually to support causes. When I give my time, it's often to support the arts. This was one person talking to another (comforting the sick, visiting the imprisoned) or one person distributing necessities to many others (feeding the hungry, refreshing the thirsty, clothing the naked). The burial of the dead took two people to lower the corpse (again bathed in light) into the waiting grave.
This leaves one painting, the sheltering of the stranger, that was different from the others. The monastery taking in travelers is over to the left of the painting. On the right there is a man in profile, bathed in light. There are two other men, one, whose face we can't see, is pointing to the monastery. The other, also in shadow, but clearly facing us, is Sweerts himself. He's almost like an afterthought, a "Where's Waldo" illustration. The descriptive sign referred to the story of Christ on the Road to Emmaus. I wonder if Sweerts, who ended his life in Goa after starting on a religious mission to China (he parted with the group in Istrakhan(sic?)), had a conversion experience during his travels from Rome back to the north. It's unclear from the grouping whether he's with the man going to shelter or the man giving directions. That we can see his face clearly would indicate the former; that there's no light shining on him would indicate the latter.
I went through this exhibit twice, yesterday. The first time gave me an overview; the second let me find the pieces that caught my focus. It was in many ways overwhelming. When I left the exhibit, I walked into a room filled with frivolous roccoco porcelain. One piece caught me more than any other, and I went to read the little blurb. It was Dutch, of a city in the distance. That's when I burst into tears.
For some reason, I thought the show was running into 2003, but, when I went to look it up, I discovered that it ended on December 1. And from November 24 - November 30, we have a houseguest.
Weekend trains from Boston to Hartford were highly inconvenient (5:30 a.m. or 1:00 p.m.), and I've yet to get a straight answer out of the Trailways or Greyhound sites. So when a housemate mentioned going to an event in New Jersey, I asked whether her route would take her through Hartford. In the end, she decided not to go to the event, but took me to Hartford yesterday anyway.
The show is very small, but no less powerful for its size. Mr. Schama mentions in the article and the placards near the paintings state that, in Sweerts studies of faces and moods, he is reminiscent of Vermeer -- until, and both sources note this as well, the viewer realizes that Sweerts predates Vermeer.
Even though the article had two pictures from the exhibit as illustrations, the overall effect was not at all what I expected. The first room dealt with true portraits, two of them self-portraits.
As is common, there were a couple of paragraphs detailing Sweerts biography on the wall. And the first little jolt hit me. Sweerts was baptized in Brussels at the church of St. Nicholas. This wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but that little church, near the Grand Place, was a place I often went to take refuge from tourists and other troubles when I was in downtown Brussels. I can picture the baptismal font. I've knelt by its altar, and, though Protestant myself, attended mass there. One of the etchings (by Henri Quittelier) on the wall of my living room is of this little church. Sweerts suddenly felt like a member of the family.
It also told me that Sweerts probably spoke Bruxellois dialect (which has elements from German, Spanish, Latin, and Hebrew as well as the more expected French and Dutch), that he was familiar with monumental architecture from a very early age, and that his family wasn't rich.
Even in this early room, it's obvious that he doesn't see things as others do. His technique is terrific; well, at least as far as I can tell. His style very obviously "Dutch." But the details aren't those found in Vermeer or Rembrandt or even Rubens. One of his self portraits is out of doors, the tools of his craft in his hand. The other shows a younger man contemplating a skull, but not in the arm extended Hamlet addressing Yorrick style nor in the "it's cool to have one of these on my desk" style of so many Dutch still lifes and portraits. This young man has his back to the viewer, he looks at us over his shoulder. And one index finger is exploring the nasal cavity of the skull.
There are two more standard portraits of his patron and his patron's son. A third portrait may or may not be part of the same family.
The next room is the largest, there are paintings in many different genres including more portraits, but these are of people from the street. A woman with her distaff, a man with a beer stein, another man who looks to be a bit of a wastrel are all shown with all their warts, but also with kindness.
I overheard one person say that Sweerts had a limited pallette. She wasn't wrong. However, living with seamstresses and textile geeks, I've been made aware of what dyes were possible before the aniline dyes of the nineteenth century. So, I think I'm fair in saying that Sweerts pallette was limited to colors that were actually possible in cloth.
One of the most remarkable paintings in the collection is in this second room. It's a portrait in the exotic style. A young man in a turban with a beautiful light blue shawl around his shoulders sits facing the viewer, but his eyes are looking elsewhere. The eyes are quite beautiful. He's holding a small bunch of freshly picked croci. This was the first of several paintings that made me feel that there was an extra layer. One that I might be missing.
The sign next to the work said this was different from any other work by Sweerts. It was a full seated portrait, but the sitter was obviously not a rich man, a patron, or an exotic no matter what he was wearing. The gesture toward the viewer with the nosegay seemed tentative, and it struck me that bulb flowers go off quickly once they're plucked and that croci are nearly the first flowers to be seen in the springtime. In the last room the plague outbreaks of the 17th century are mentioned. I wonder if this was a student of Sweerts (he ran two academies at different points: one in Rome, the other in Brussels) who had been claimed by plague.
No wife or mistress is ever mentioned in the biographical data given at the exhibit (the book was $50.00, so it'll be a while before I can afford it). The other potential, that Sweerts may have loved the young man and possibly been his lover, would also explain the showiness and tenderness of this beautiful piece.
There was also a dark portrait of a young man of obviously higher class. There are indications of wealth in abeyance, and one of the early titles for it referred to bankruptcy. This young man is also very attractive. His wardrobe is black, his air melancholy. The note pinned to the green cloth covering the table he's leaning on refers to a reckoning that all must give. For some reason I was struck by the fact that this picture emphasizes beauty and seems to equate it with wealth that has already been spent.
The next room had pictures that the commentary called "tronie", studies of faces that aren't full portraits and were used to teach students how to convey emotion through facial expression. Again, Sweerts used people who weren't upper or even middle class. Again, they are portrayed with a great deal of compassion. All of them are beautiful, even when the sitters aren't. There's one of an old woman who looks like a toothless Vanessa Redgrave that made me smile. She'd so obviously lived a full life.
The last two pictures in the room were portraits of upperclass children. The paintings were at most 6"x6", very small indeed. I listened to two women pick these bonny little kids apart (the girl looked to be about four and the boy maybe two years older.). By the end of it, these women were convinced that the girl had dwarfism (her hands seemed too small proportionally to her head to them, I thought that, like me, she just had small hands), and that the boy was probably sick or dead when the picture was painted. I am aware that I could be reading too much into what I felt in viewing these works.
The last room held seven pictures that were designed to be hung together. They had not done so for at least two centuries. These pieces illustrated "The Seven Acts of Mercy."
The New International Bible quotes Matthew 25: 35-36 as 'For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.' To these six exhortations was added the burial of the dead in order to make seven acts.
In all of these Sweerts shows the recipients in light with almost an inner glow. Those performing the deed have their faces shadowed or their backs to the viewer. All of these works forced me to think about compassion and charity in a way that I don't usually. When I give money, it's usually to support causes. When I give my time, it's often to support the arts. This was one person talking to another (comforting the sick, visiting the imprisoned) or one person distributing necessities to many others (feeding the hungry, refreshing the thirsty, clothing the naked). The burial of the dead took two people to lower the corpse (again bathed in light) into the waiting grave.
This leaves one painting, the sheltering of the stranger, that was different from the others. The monastery taking in travelers is over to the left of the painting. On the right there is a man in profile, bathed in light. There are two other men, one, whose face we can't see, is pointing to the monastery. The other, also in shadow, but clearly facing us, is Sweerts himself. He's almost like an afterthought, a "Where's Waldo" illustration. The descriptive sign referred to the story of Christ on the Road to Emmaus. I wonder if Sweerts, who ended his life in Goa after starting on a religious mission to China (he parted with the group in Istrakhan(sic?)), had a conversion experience during his travels from Rome back to the north. It's unclear from the grouping whether he's with the man going to shelter or the man giving directions. That we can see his face clearly would indicate the former; that there's no light shining on him would indicate the latter.
I went through this exhibit twice, yesterday. The first time gave me an overview; the second let me find the pieces that caught my focus. It was in many ways overwhelming. When I left the exhibit, I walked into a room filled with frivolous roccoco porcelain. One piece caught me more than any other, and I went to read the little blurb. It was Dutch, of a city in the distance. That's when I burst into tears.
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no subject
Date: 2002-11-24 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-24 03:48 pm (UTC)He did many paintings of artists at work. There was one in yesterday's show that showed several grinding their pigments and others sketching architechtural details.
I'm trying to find a way to afford the book from the show.
Re:
Date: 2002-11-24 03:50 pm (UTC)