The New Federalist December 20, 1999 Page 4

The Northern Renaissance, The Nation-State,

and The Artist as Creator
by Bonnie James
Johannes Vermeer: "The Art of Painting"; An exhibit at the National Gallery
of Art, Washington, D.C., Nov. 24, 1999 – Feb. 6, 2000

National Gallery of Art

The developmental principle characteristic of a Classical musical

composition, is a nested set of ironies, which converge upon a single,
pervasive metaphor. Each of these contrapuntal ironies, has the
quality of a necessary dissonance to be resolved. One must see the
 dissonance in this case not as some arbitrary dissonance, but as re-
flecting the same principle of irony underlying the Classical method
of sculpture associated with Scopas and Praxiteles, and Leonardo's
The Last Supper.
—Lyndon LaRouche, “On the Subject of Education,” November 1999
"The Art of Painting," Johannes Vermeer's most ambitious work, is on display at
the National Gallery of Art, through Feb. 6, 2000. Whether or not you were among
the 30.000 people who braved long lines in the cold and snow to see the NGA's
magnificent Vermeer retrospective in 1995, you will want to see this work; it was
not among the more than 30 paintings shown four years ago, since its condition did
not permit it to travel at that time. Now, however, it has been restored, and the
Kunsthistorisehes Museum in Vienna has made it available for this short time.
And, unlike the large Vermeer exhibit last time, no tickets are required, and there
are no lines to keep you waiting.
The National Gallery is able to present the painting in the company of four works
by Vermeer in its permanent collection, including "Woman Holding a Balance" and
"A Lady Writing." There are also displays in adjoining rooms, showing contempo-
rary maps, perspective studies, and works of other artists of the period.
As we explore "The Art of Painting" keep in mind that the numerous objects you
will notice in the picture are, in fact, not just symbols, but visual puns, similar to
the verbal puns in, for example, Classical poetry. Such a play on words (or im-
ages) will catch you by surprise, by posing a challenge to some axiomatic belief
you hold. It will appear to you as a contradiction, a paradox, which the painter
resolves metaphorically, through the use of carefully chosen images. The rest is up
to you: you must resolve the paradox yourself by creating a new idea in your own
mind.
Religious Wars
Johannes Vermeer was born in 1632 in Delft. Although the region comprising the
seven Northern provinces— what we call today the Netherlands-had fought for and
won its independence from the Spanish Hapsburg-dominated Low Countries
(today Belgium), in the 1560s, its status as an independent, sovereign nation was
not formally acknowledged until 1648, at the end of the Thirty Years War (1618-
48)—the culmination of more than a century of religious wars which had ravaged
Europe since the beginning of the Protestant Reformation in the early 16th century.
As we will see, this history is reflected in "The Art of Painting."
 National Gallery of Art

We know that Vermeer valued this painting highly: he kept it in his possession
from the time it was painted (1666-67), until his death in 1676, despite the fact that
he was in dire financial straits, and its sale would have brought in badly needed
income for his large family—he had eight dependent children at the time of his
death in 1676. Even more telling, when Vermeer died, his widow Catharina trans-
ferred title to the painting to her mother to keep it out of the hands of creditors!
Another clue to its importance to the artist is its title, "Die Schilderkunst" (trans-
lated as "The Art of Painting"); assigned by the artist, the title gives its poetic
subject, rather than a mere description, like "Girl with a Pearl Earring," as was
common in that time.
The first thing that strikes you when you look at the painting, is its size: it is much
larger, at 47 1/4" x 39 3/8", than any of Vermeer's other works. By contrast,
"Woman Holding a Balance," which hangs to the right of "Art of Painting," is only
16 3/4" x 15", about the size of most other Vermeers. The next thing you are likely
to notice, is, on the left-hand side of the painting, the heavy drapery, drawn back,
like a theater curtain, and, just inside, a chair, which seems to beckon you to enter
and sit down to watch the drama unfolding on the stage before you.
The stage is further set by a large map on the rear wall: it is a map of the Nether-
lands (turned sideways, from our point of view, since North is where we would
expect to see East). The map is is puzzling, because it is anachronistic: it dates
from before 1648, that is, before the Treaty of Muenster which recognized the
independent Dutch Republic. On either side of the map are representations of its
17 provinces and major cities. And dominating everything, hanging from the
ceiling in the center of the room, is an elaborate golden chandelier, decorated at the
top with the double-headed eagle, which everyone at the time would have recog-
nized as the symbol of the Spanish Hapsburg Empire.
'Reading' the Painting
How are we to read this? Is Vermeer expressing nostalgia for the grandeur of the
Empire? And who is the figure with downcast eyes, dressed in blue, the subject of
the "play within the play"? She stands before us, as the artist paints her, replete
with clues as to her identity; the strong light illuminates her face and the book
which she holds in her left hand. Her head is festooned with a crown of laurel
leaves; she holds a trumpet in her right hand. She is Clio, the Muse of history:
The laurel crown denotes honor, glory, and eternal life; the book has been identi-
fied as a volume of the Athenian historian Thucydides' Peloponnesian War, while
her trumpet suggests the idea of fame. Again, the emphasis on history, the past.
What are we to conclude? Does Vermeer, after all, long for the Empire, as has
been suggested by some art historians?
Although the artist has his back to the viewer, his presence is the most powerful of
all those on stage: a bright light falls on the black and white pattern created by his
jacket; he is in very sharp focus, while other objects on the stage are slightly
blurred, as they recede from him, effects which would be found with the use of the
camera oscura (literally, dark chamber) a box with a small hole to allow light
through, used to establish perspective. Yet the perspective lines converge at a point
just below the Muse's right hand—the hand which holds the trumpet (in fact, you
can see a pinprick in the surface of the picture, which turns out to be the "vanishing
point," thus, another paradox).
Ah, but remember: we are watching a drama unfold—note among the numerous
objects onstage, a Greek mask of the type used in Classical drama, lies on the table
in front of Clio—in fact, just below the vanishing point, so that we are sure not to
miss seeing it. Moreover, everything is carefully arranged in this picture—much
the way a playwright would fashion each character, their relationships, aspects of
the plot, each scene, to bring out the meaning of his story. Observe Clio's position
at the lower left corner of the map, so that her hand is placed just where the vertical
and horizontal lines of the map converge, a way of emphasizing her presence and
calling attention to the objects she holds. Note also, how the paper lying casually
on the table overlaps the edge, and takes us into the space of the artist.
Whose is the unseen hand behind all this? Look again at the artist, whose identity
is not revealed; he is not particularized. This is the idea of the artist as creator. He
will bring the Muse to life. Her eyes will open, her trumpet sound, her book be
read.
The light streams in from a source we cannot see, presumably a window at the left
of the stage, behind the curtain. It illuminates the artist's model; it shows us the
map of the nation on the wall. A shadow falls along a crease down the center of
the map—this crease defines the border between Southern provinces (the left-hand
side of the map), still under the control of the Spanish Hapsburg imperial dynasty,
and the Dutch Republic. The light falls on the painter and his canvas, and in a
humorous touch, enlivens his bright red stockings.
This is the light of Reason, the metaphor for the nation-state, which governs, not
by force of arms, or terror, like the Inquisition of Hapsburg Spain, but through the
development of the creative mental powers of the individual citizen. How do we
know that Vermeer harbors no feelings of nostalgia for the Empire? Look again at
the chandelier. Vermeer has made it clear he wants you to see it: it is painted in a
heavy impasto (paint applied thickly, with an almost sculptural effect); its surface
glitters, but it shines with a reflected light from the light source provided by the
artist, Vermeer. Look carefully: the chandelier is dark! The magnificent golden
chandelier, crowned with the Imperial Hapsburg double-headed eagle, gives forth
no light. There is not a single candle in its gaudy holders.
Vermeer is telling us that the lights of the Hapsburg Empire have gone out.