Author:
Yaroshenko Victor Topics: Culture
01.02.2007
The National Gallery
A major exhibition of the works of Velazquez recently held at London’s National Gallery aroused enormous interest among both specialists and the
public. It was the latest in an outstanding series of major single-artist
exhibitions mounted by the gallery over a number of years including Vermeer,
Raphael, El Greco and Caravaggio. Bringing together a large quantity of an
artist
’s work allows us to see it with a fresh eye and assess its true significance in
a historical perspective. On display at the exhibition were forty-six works
assembled from the leading museums of Europe, the United States and Latin
America as well as other public and private collections around the world.
Without the inclusion of the eight works provided by the Prado Museum in
Madrid, it would have been a much more modest affair. The exhibition covered
every period of the artist
’s creative work, from the early genre compositions – bodegones or tavern scenes – to the magnificent late portraits.
Diego Rodriguez de Silva Velazquez lived from 1599 to1660. At first glance his
biography is simple, in no way to be compared with the unbelievable twists and
turns of fate in the life of his compatriot Cervantes (1547
– 1616).
Velazquez was born in the magnificent city of Seville, by the banks of the
Guadalquivir whose swiftly flowing waters are coffee-coloured from the local
soil.The brilliance of the sky and the dazzling Mudejar tiles, engender a
feeling for colour; the glorious rhythm of the arches and statues of the Casa
de Pilatos instils a sense of composition, while the tower of La Giralda, five
tiers higher in Velazquez
’ day, sweeping up into the sky, stirs the ambition.
Ambition had long been native to this city. Here Cristobal Colon (better known
to us as Christopher Columbus) lived, and found his final resting-place in
Europe
’s tallest cathedral.Nor is the Iglesio de San Pedro, a modest affair, on the
contrary, it is a church of baroque splendour where Diego Velazquez was brought
to be christened.
At the age of eleven (in 1610, the year of Caravaggio’s death), Diego’s fate was already decided. He was accepted for instruction, with board and
lodging, in the workshop of the famous artist and humanist Francisco Pacheco,
and it was here that he passed the next six years of his life until his coming
of age and admission to the guild of painters.
Pacheco himself was a brilliant artist, highly professional, displaying equal
mastery in a variety of techniques and styles; he painted in oils and tempera,
and could also work in fresco. The teacher of Velazquez and Zurbaran had a long
life and in his declining years published a book
“The Art of Painting”, which was to become more famous than his pictures. He had an affectionate
respect for books, and his library was famous in this city of ancient culture;
it was said that he even had manuscripts by the mysterious Leonardo da Vinci
and aquarelles by the master Raphael of Urbino.
Pacheco wrote: “From my earliest days, I have tried with especial dedication and devotion to
seek out detailed information about mythology and history from books and from
learned men. It would be good if artists were familiar both with secular and
with religious works.
”
His home was frequented by all the best people of Seville, the wealthiest city
in Spain at that time.
One possible visitor was Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra – the “old man, soldier, hidalgo and pauper” – who lived fifteen years, not his most glorious ones, in Seville. It was in
Seville prison, in 1602, that he started
“Don Quixote”. The first part of the novel saw the light of day in 1605, and the second part
appeared ten years later in 1615. Pacheco and his pupil doubtless read the
book, which was the talk of all Spain.
In the magnificent centre of present-day Seville, where the streets have from
time immemorial been hung with long strips of cloth against the sultry heat,
under a
sumptuous baroque arch there hangs a memorial plaque, stating that here lived
Cervantes. He served two terms in Seville prison, for a reason easily
understood and by no means unusual in our day: being a tax and excise official,
he had a protracted dispute between the bank where he deposited the money, and
the treasury, which 7,400 reals failed to reach. Cervantes, a maimed veteran of
the battle of Lepanto, was made the scapegoat.
In Naples, not far from the seafront and the castle of Castel Nuovo, next to the
hotel
“Mediterranean Renaissance”, where we were staying, I recently saw another memorial plaque, informing me
that this was the site of the barracks in which the soldier Cervantes (and his
younger brother Rodrigo) lived in 1574. He lay in hospital in Palermo for a
long time, recovering from the terrible wounds sustained in the battle against
the Turks at Lepanto. While returning to Spain in the galley
“El Sol”, he was captured by Algerian pirates, and spent a terrifying five years in
captivity, during which he made four daring attempts to escape.
From Naples, Velazquez also returned to Spain by sea, after a year and a half
spent in ardent study of Italian art.
We also sailed, from Palermo to Naples one starry January night, and from Naples
flew to London, hastening to the Velazquez exhibition before it closed on the
21st. of the month.
Velazquez’ works depicted all the brilliance of the twilight of the Spanish empire, which
had ruled half the world, the Netherlands, Italy and Sicily. The Spanish king
Philip IV with his Hapsburg looks (melancholy eyes bulging, lower lip
protruding, equine jaw projecting) had a long but unhappy reign.
Notwithstanding the
“Surrender of Breda”, and the grandiose equestrian portraits, he was powerless to arrest the decline
of his empire.
To the Marquis Spinola, yet another of Velazquez’ acquaintances with whom he travelled to Venice, “The Surrender of Breda” is one of the most famous battle paintings in the world, with major artistic
antecedents, from Ucello to El Greco. The battle itself fought on the 5th of
June 1625 and immortalised by Velazquez, did not have the same significance in
European history as the painting devoted to it had in the history of art. This
was no Waterloo.
Velazquez was not a visionary nor a mystic like El Greco, nor did he experience
borderline states like Caravaggio; he was an Andalusian, sober and pragmatic,
like his potter and water-sellers. The fiery nature, characteristic of the
contentious South, finds expression in him only in the passionate
“sarabande” of masks, in the virtuoso tap-dance of white on black.
Velazquez was born in 1599, the same year as Oliver Cromwell and Antony van
Dyck. Rembrandt would be born seven years later and lived almost as long.
Another brilliant contemporary, Frans Hals, fourteen years older, would survive
Velazquez by six years, and die a forgotten old man in the oblivion of a
poorhouse. King Philip himself would attend the funeral of Velazquez.
* * *
While not united, Europe was always closely bound into constantly changing
alliances, where all were constantly watchful of their neighbours, never losing
sight of dynastic claims, discontent among the nobles, court artists or new
authors. In Spain, a particularly sharp eye was kept on everything that went on
in England
– the bitterest enemy of the Catholic Kingdom. Admittedly, when the Prince of
Wales, Charles Stuart, came to the throne as Charles I, relations between the
courts became almost fraternal, but the countries
’ interests were still in competition.
In 1588, Philip II’s conflict with England had ended in catastrophe – the invincible Armada was scattered, driven off course and destroyed by days of
gale force winds. It is said that when news of this was brought to Philip II he
calmly said:
“I do not wage war with the winds”. Elizabeth of England gave thanks to heaven for averting the dreadful invasion.
In his book “The Art of Painting”, Pacheco, referring to the best examplars: Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo,
Coreggio, Titian and D
ürer, paid admiring tribute to his favourite pupil, Diego Velazquez, “my son-in-law”, as he constantly reminds the reader.
“Diego de Silva Velazquez, my son-in-law, takes (entirely justifiably) third
place in painting, after five years of study and training. Prompted by his
virtue, purity and other good qualities, and also in hope of his natural and
great genius, I gave him my daughter in marriage. And since it means more to be
a teacher than to be a father-in-law, no-one else can take away this honour...
”
(The book was published in 1649, when Pacheco was already eighty-five, and
Velazquez had turned fifty. The good relations and reputation still continued).
Pacheco also wrote:
“Wishing to see the Escorial, Velazquez travelled from Seville to Madrid in April
1622. He was very affectionately met by the two brothers Don Luis and Don
Melchior del Alcazar, but in particular by Don Juan de Fonseca, the court
chaplain, a great admirer of his art. At his request, Velazquez did a portrait
of Don Luis de Gongora, which achieved great fame in Madrid
”.
The portrait of the famous Spanish poet, on loan from Boston, was at the London
exhibition. This portrait marked the start of the new European painting.
Pacheco:
“In 1623, at the command of the Duke of Olivares, he was again summoned by this
same Don Juan and stayed at his house, where he was lodged and cared for. Here
he did his portrait: at one of the soir
ées, the portrait was taken to the palace by the son of the Conde da Peñaranda. In one hour, it was seen by the whole court, the prince and the king. It
received the highest possible acclaim
”.
The full-length portrait of the all-powerful Don Gaspar de Guzman Duke of
Olivares was loaned to the exhibition by the museum of Sao Paulo. It shows the
Duke in a black velvet jacket with red lilies (in
“Las Meninas” Velazquez will paint himself in the same garment), with gold chain and key.
“Velazquez was commanded to paint a portrait of the prince, but it seemed more
fitting first to do a portrait of his Majesty... This was done on 30 August
1623, to the delight of his Majesty... Velazquez also made a sketch of the
Prince of Wales, who gave him 100 ducats for it
”.
The 24 year old prince was the same age as Velazquez. A quarter of a century
later, as King Charles I, he would be executed at the behest of parliament and
Cromwell, following years of civil war. This was in 1649.
At that time, Velazquez was painting the “Venus del Espejo” (more generally known as the National Gallery’s Rokeby Venus), regarded as surpassing Titian himself, and the mysterious
canvas of the Sybil, Reading the Book of Fate (Dallas).
It is difficult to imagine two people more different than this artistic genius,
catholic, companion of kings, popes and cardinals, proud of his position as a
chamberlain, and the protestant Cromwell, sure of himself as the instrument of
the Lord, straightforward as a sword... And yet, by the time Velazquez was
already the darling of fortune, and a leading light in the world of art,
Cromwell was languishing in parliament as a back-bencher.
Cromwell’s statue, erected in the 19th century, stands in front of the British
Parliament, not far from the National Gallery, where Velazquez
’s pictures were hanging. Yet another of the patterns of fate.
The count-duke encouraged him with the promise that henceforth only he would
paint portraits of his Majesty (the promise was not kept
– Philip IV was also portrayed by other artists, for example Rubens, who came to
the Spanish court with a complex diplomatic mission from the deputy infanta
Isabella).
The count-duke commanded him to move with his family to Madrid, where on the
last day of October 1623 he was sent his title with a salary of twenty ducats a
month, plus payment for his works, and this also included a doctor and
medicines. Once when Velazquez was ill, the royal doctor was sent to him. After
this, he completed an equestrian portrait of the king; it was exhibited in the
main street opposite the church of San Felipe, as an object of admiration of
the whole court and the envy of other artists, of which I was the witness. His
Majesty commanded that as a reward he should be given 300 ducats and lodgings,
and also 300 ducats from the profits, and he was also given an apartment worth
200 ducats a year. Finally, he completed a large canvas with a portrait of king
Philip III, and then the
“Expulsion of the Moors”, which he painted for a competition with three court artists.
The composition “Expulsion of the Moors” has not survived: it was destroyed in the fire at the Alcazar in 1734.
Giuseppe Martinez, in his book entitled “Practical discourses concerning the most noble art of painting, its beginning,
middle and end, which enrich experience with the aid of examples of the
superlative productions of outstanding masters
”, wrote as follows about this picture:
“Envy never remains idle, and it began to strive to blacken the high regard in
which Velazquez was held, seeking out critics by a not entirely direct route,
who were emboldened to say that Velazquez could only paint heads. This came to
the ears of his Majesty, who always protected talented people, and in
particular Velazquez, and he commanded him to paint a picture depicting the
“Expulsion of the Moors from Spain”, which took place in 1610. In size, the picture must be five ells* high and
three and a half ells wide. This canvas was painted by Velazquez in competition
with the four best artists. Velazquez
’s picture was hung in the Great Hall of the palace, where this work still more
clearly revealed the artist
’s talent, since it was a most accurate rendering of the historical event”.
Now for one of the most shameful pages in European history, still relevant
today. After the fall of the Granada emirate, and the capture of Cordoba,
Granada and Seville in 1492, for a short time the coexistence of the Christian
and the, at that time brilliant, Muslim culture continued. The coexistence
ended in genocide
– the Arabs were killed in thousands, and burnt on pyres.
Many of them, in the desire to survive, adopted Christianity. Those Arabs who
had adopted Christianity were called Moriscos. The accusation was laid against
the Moriscos that their Christianity was external, and that their souls
belonged to Allah as before. In 1609, Philip II, with the launch of the
inquisition, undertook the final solution of the Morisco (and Jewish) question.
Half a million Moriscos, most of them peasants, experts in irrigation, were
expelled from Spain. The majority of the exiles went to northern Africa:
Morocco, Algeria and Tunis, where for some time there was even a republic of
the Moriscos.
“For this picture (The Expulsion of the Moors), the king considered it
appropriate to give him at the court the more distinguished position of
gentleman usher with the corresponding salary. In addition to this, fulfilling
his strong desire to see Italy, and the marvellous works of art there, the king
gave him permission for this, thus strongly inspiring him. For the journey, the
king gave him 400 ducats in silver, paying him his salary two years in advance.
On his departure, the count-duke gave him a further 200 ducats in gold, a medal
with a portrait of the king, and many letters of recommendation
”. Velazquez set out from Madrid with the Marquis Spinola in 1629. He stayed in
Venice, where he was accommodated in the Spanish envoy
’s house. On his way to Rome, he passed through Ferrara. Velazquez arrived in
Rome, where a cousin of the pope, cardinal Barberini, had already been in
favour for a year.
At his command, he was lodged in the Vatican palace, and he was given the keys
to certain rooms. The guards were given orders to admit him whenever he wanted
to come in to copy Michelangelo
’s “Last Judgment” and the works of Rafael of Urbino. Here he spent many days at great benefit to
himself.
In Rome, Velazquez also did the famous self-portrait, which is in my possession,
to the wonder of the connoisseurs and the glory of art. On the way from Rome,
he visited Naples, where he made a beautiful portrait of the queen to be given
to his Majesty. After a year and a half, he returned to Madrid, where he was
very well received.
His studio was in the king’s gallery. His Majesty had a key to it, and an armchair there so that he could
watch him painting, which he did almost every day.
Velazquez’ father was given three secretarial posts, each worth not less than 1000 ducats.
And he himself was granted the title of the guardian of the royal wardrobe
– a chamberlain, an honour which was striven for by many knights”.
* * *
Velazquez died a knight of the order of Santiago, suddenly, at the age of sixty,
after a short illness, on the 6th of August 1660. His wife Juana, who had borne
him two daughters, survived him by eight days. King Philip IV died five years
later, at the same age as his artist.
His place was taken by his son-in-law, Juan Batista del Maco, who was, as
Giuseppe Martinez noted,
“also a great artist, especially in the creation of figures no larger than an
inch, and in the copying of Titian
’s pictures”.
* * *
At the Velazquez exhibition in London, we were able to admire several of his
famous bodegones. Here were the very early pictures painted mostly in 1618:
“Three Musicians”, the “Woman Frying Eggs”, the famous “Tavern Scene” (from the Hermitage), the “Water-seller”, and three works making use of the same props. It is interesting to see how
Velazquez created his compositions using a minimum of objects: two carafes
– one white and one green glazed – two earthenware saucers and a copper pestle and mortar.
An extremely rare event was to have hanging side-by-side two versions of the
same subject, created four hundred years ago by the nineteen year-old artist.
From Dublin came the
“Kitchen Scene with the Supper at Emmaus”. It shows a servant girl at a kitchen table, her head bowed in thought or
possibly in prayer, beneath a painting of Christ at Emmaus. From Chicago came
the companion piece
“Christ in the House of Mary and Martha”. A servant girl pounds pepper in a mortar, on the table in the foreground is a
minimalist still-life of cloves of garlic, a red pepper, two eggs and four
little fish on a plate. In the right background we see the scene of Christ with
Mary and Martha as if in an upper room of the house. Immediately the subject is
transferred from the everyday to the metaphysical plane (
“give us this day our daily bread”).
In the tavern scene with its two tipsy youths, the familiar props already feel
like old friends: saucers, a green glazed jug and another, unfired, for water.
Done after the manner of Caravaggio, in
“The Water-seller of Seville”, the protagonist is as majestic as a Spanish grandee, and the rags sit upon him
nobly, like court apparel.
These early works by Velazquez, brought together, enable us to appreciate the
speed of his development.
Pacheco:
“Should one value bodegones? Of course, if they are painted as my son-in-law,
unequalled in this field, used to paint them.
In his youth, my son-in-law Diego Velazquez da Silva paid a peasant boy who
served him as a model. He depicted him in various aspects and poses: now
weeping, now laughing, and not halting in the face of any difficulties
”.
By an irony of fate, kings, popes, counts, cardinals and princes paid Velazquez
huge sums for portraits; but it all began with a nameless peasant boy, whom the
painter himself paid, and whom he immortalized.
Velazquez was an artist at a time of change; a time of debilitating civil and
pan-European wars. In his lifetime Spain entered an inescapable decline;
changing from ruler of half the world to a second-rank, backward European
monarchy.
There is some kind of mystery in the fact that an artist at the court of an
unfortunate monarch became one of the best portraitists of all time: the gleam
in the eyes of the cunning rogue Olivares, and the intense spirituality of
Gongora, the world weary wisdom of Aesop, the harsh line of the lips of the
archbishop de Valdesan, and the gaze of the pope Innocent X, trusting in
nobody; above all the anguish and the sadness-filled eyes of the king, whom
Velazquez had observed more closely than any of his other models.
Between us and Raphael, there is an historical abyss: we feel no connection with
him; we do not recognise his heroes. Between us and Velazquez, there is only
the painted surface, which he, like no other, knew how to transform into
treasure.
His technique baffled his contemporaries, and has made artists of the 20th
century his most diligent students.
Unfortunately, the Prado’s famous “Las Meninas” showing the family of king Philip IV with a self-portrait of the artist, in the
dress of a knight of the order of Santiago, was too fragile to travel to the
London exhibition. This picture is like the bible for artists: some love it for
its compositional complexity, and in spite of that its balanced harmony, others
for its virtuoso use of space, and still others for the exquisite colouring and
virtuoso brushwork. But everyone loves it for the self-portrait in the
left-hand corner. It was he
– Velazquez, who once and for all placed the painter on an equal standing with
the monarch. Calmly and steadily, he gazes out of the canvas into the years
flowing past him, ready to make the final, unerring brush-stroke.
London, 9 January 2007