Carel Fabritius

Saskiavan Uylenburgh, Wife of the Painter, Rembrandt, (after Rembrandt),
1651, Carel Fabritius



Portrait of Saskia, 1633-34, Rembrandt

As an art instructor, I can remember only once or twice that one of my students so admired any of my paintings as to want to copy them. Though long a traditional means of learning to paint, today that sort of thing is not done very much. The emphasis is on personal creativity, even among the youngest student amateurs. Such copying, even with the words "after so and so" tacked on following the title, is frowned upon. Despite the attribution, it's considered little short of plagiarism. However, during the 17th century, during the Golden Age of Dutch painting, masters frequently taught their students using their own works as models, not too unlike a student today might draw or paint from a photo. Such student work allowed the instructor to draw precise, one-to-one comparisons between his own painting and that of his student. We are fortunate today to have an example of such an instructional technique in the works of student Carel Fabritius and his instructor, Rembrandt van Rijn. Rembrandt painted a portrait of his beloved wife, Saskia in 1633-34 (above, right). Fabritius made his version around 1651 (top). Of course, painting from a color portrait is somewhat easier than painting from life, but to my eyes, the copy by Fabritius is the better of the two.



View of Delft, 1652, Carel Fabritius--a study in complex perspectives.



Carel Fabritius, Self-portrait, 1650.

Carel Fabritius (left) was born near Amsterdam in  1622, the son of a carpenter (fabritius means carpenter in Latin). As was common practice at the time, the boy first trained to follow in his father's trade. However, around 1640, when he turned eighteen, Carel and his younger brother, Barent, became students of Rembrandt. The portrait of Saskia came near the end of this period. Then, in the early 1650s, Carel Fabritius (the more talented of the two) moved about thirty miles south of Amsterdam to Delft (above). There he opened a studio, and joined the painter's guild. It was the biggest mistake of his life. In fact, it cost him his life. Four years later, on October 12, 1654, a gunpowder magazine near his studio exploded, destroying about a fourth of the city and taking the life of the thirty-two-year-old artist, along with that of his student, Mattias Spoors, and a church deacon named Simon Decker, with whom they were consulting regarding a religious painting.

The Raising of Lazarus, 1643, Carel Fabritius

The Beheading of John the Baptist,
1643-44, Carel Fabritius.
(Is that Saskia in the role of Salome?)

Because of this senseless tragedy, only thirteen paintings by Fabritius are known to exist. Some of them are (not surprisingly) portraits. Others included religious works such as his 1643 Raising of Lazarus (above) and his Beheading of John the Baptist (left) from 1643-44, that had long been finished and were no longer in his studio. Hagar and the Angel (below) is a third religious work by Fabritius from this busy period in the artist's life as he studied under Rembrandt. Although some of the hallmarks of Rembrandt's style and choice of subject matter are present, Fabritius is considered the only one of Rembrandt's students to have veered away from his master in developing a distinctive style.  Despite his short life and still shorter career, Fabritius is said to have been a strong influence upon later Dutch painters such as Vermeer and Pieter de Hooch. In spite of his iconic stature as the best of the Delft painters, and his high-profile religious works, done while studying with Rembrandt, perhaps the artist's most touching portrait is that of an unknown figure, possibly a neighbor, his 1654 Goldfinich (bottom), quite likely his final painting.

Hagar and the Angel, 1643-44, Carel Fabritius
 

The Goldfinch, 1654, Carel Fabritius

Egbert van der Poel



View of Delft from the Southwest, 1615 , Hendrick Vroom

Egbert van der Poel--never heard of him, right? Neither had I until I was researching the Dutch genre painter, Jan Steen (05-13-13). and stumbled upon an artist, certainly not on the same level, but much more interesting. Egbert van der Poel was a Dutch landscape painter born in Delft, Holland, in 1621. Nothing unusual about that, Holland was rife with run-of-the-mill landscape painters all during its "Dutch Golden Age" of the 17th century, and van der Poel was one of them. Among his contemporaries were Jan Vermeer and Carel Fabritius, both of whom are highly admired today.

View of Delft, Jan van der Heyden,
--a quiet little town.

October 12, 1654 dawned pretty much like any other autumn day in Delft, Holland, a southern suburb of The Hague, famous then and now for its delicate blue on white ceramics. Shops were open, the cheese was selling well, painters were painting, children were playing outside, small boats moved up and down the town's many narrow canals delivering produce from the fall harvest. In the basement of a former Clarrisen convent near the center of town, around eleven a.m., Cornelis Soetens, a warehouse keeper, went to check on a secret government cache of about thirty to forty tons of gunpowder. Seconds later, for reasons never established, the entire magazine exploded in what has since been called the "Delft Thunderclap." The sound alone could be heard seventy miles away. Much of the central part of the town was flattened. Nothing was left of the convent/magazine but a hole in the ground which, this being Holland, quickly filled with water. Over one-hundred people were killed, thousands were injured. Among the dead was Egbert van der Poel's young daughter.

 

A View of Delft After the Explosion of 1654, Egbert van der Poel--
the aftermath of a 70,000 pound "bomb"

Carel Fabritius Self-portrait,
1645-49, dead at the age of 32.

Also among the dead was Delft's most famous painter, Carel Fabritius (left), a former student of Rembrandt, whose studio had been near the convent. All but about a dozen of his paintings were destroyed in the disaster. Egbert van der Poel was more fortunate. He lived on Dollenstraat somewhat further removed from the quarter part of the town destroyed by the blast. Despite the death of his daughter (or perhaps even because of his personal loss) van der Poel began sketching the disaster scene. The drawings led to his most famous painting, A View of Delft After the Explosion of 1654 (above). Much like photographers today would record the devastation of such a disaster, van der Poel's depiction (now in Washington's National Gallery of Art) records both the general scene and, in the foreground, the recovery effort. His work proved so popular, even though he moved his remaining family to Rotterdam, he spent the next several years copying his original scene including a version, similar to his first, depicting the moment of the explosion (below).



View of the Delft Explosion, 1654, Egbert van der Poel

 

Why Paintings Become Famous

Girl with a Pearl Earring, 1665, Jan Vermeer



It has always fascinated me to contemplate why some paintings down through the centuries have become so famous that even those who know only a little about art can instantly identify them, often even naming the artist. At the same time other works of art, by other artist, as well done and visually satisfying have remained virtually unknown. Why is Jan Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring (above) considered priceless while the painting below, Filling the Lamps, both having similar content, is totally unknown. The answer lies in the three major factors which determine a painting's monetary value--the lasting impact of the painting's style or content; a fascinating story or mystery attached to the painting; or the work's testament having to do with some tragedy, or hardship linking the artist to a particular work. There are other factors, of course, but those are the most common.

 

Filling the Lamps

Let's consider the artist first. Little is known of Jan Vermeer himself. Mostly he's admired for his masterful use of light and shadow. Vermeer did not leave many biographical traces and only about three dozen paintings by the artist survive today. In contrast, the artist who painted Filling the Lamps has never been recognized for any earthshattering effects as to style or technique, and his surviving works number in the hundreds. If you haven't already guessed by now, the artist was Jim Lane. Numerous theories abound as to whom Vermeer's sitter may have been. Some scholars maintain that it must be the artist’s daughter, Maria (the likely model for several other paintings currently attributed to Vermeer). On the other hand, there are those who believe the more salacious notion that she was Vermeer’s mistress. Regardless, it wasn’t until almost three centuries after Vermeer’s death that The Girl with a Pearl Earring was chosen for an exhibition poster at Washington's National Gallery of Art in 1995. Following that, the painting quickly rose to celebrity status. To my knowledge, Filling the Lamps has never been displayed publically. Moreover, I couldn't even tell you who owns it much less recall the name of the model.

 

Mona Lisa, 1503-06, Leonardo Da Vinci

On the other hand (either one will do), there's little doubt as to the above model's identity. Her name was Lisa Gherardini, though we might rightfully question: "Who the hell was Lisa Gherardini?" Leonardo, it seems, made her famous, but neglected to write her biography. Mona Lisa is considered by many to be the most well-known painting in the world. While today. you would be hard-pressed to find someone who couldn’t immediately recognize that crooked smile, this wasn’t always the case. Leonardo painted her in Florence, around 1507 (actually he worked on it over a period of three or four years). His Mona Lisa did not win much praise, however, until the early 20th-century. While it was admired within small circles of art critics and historians, few others had much interest in the painting at that time. Then, in the summer of 1911, things changed drastically. The Mona Lisa vanished from the walls of the Louvre. What followed was a media explosion, complete with ”wanted” posters plastered all over Paris. Crowds formed at police headquarters, and before long, short films and songs were made about the vanished painting. Overnight, a somewhat obscure work of art became the world’s most famous painting. More than two long years passed before Vincenzo Peruggia, a former employee of the Louvre, was arrested as he stupidly attempted to sell the painting to a director of Florence’s Uffizi Gallery. Peruggia claimed that, as an Italian patriot, he believed Mona Lisa belonged in an Italian museum. Following months of speculation and media coverage, Mona Lisa finally returned to the Louvre, where she remains the most visited painting in the museum. (Tip: if you want an up-close look, rent a wheelchair.)

 

Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, 1907, Gustav Klimt

With a story that In many ways is quite similar, Gustav Klimt's Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer, painted in 1907, was one of six Klimt works confiscated by the Nazis from an Austrian home during World War II. After the war, the works became part of the Galerie Belvedere’s collection. The Austrian government claimed the paintings had been willed to the museum and displayed Bloch-Bauer’s portrait under the title The Lady in Gold. In 1998, Adele Bloch-Bauer’s niece, Maria Altmann, began an eight-year legal battle to secure the painting of her aunt which had once hung in her childhood home. What many saw as a portrait by one of Austria’s most famous artists was actually an important part of Altmann’s past. After the violence and oppression that Altmann’s family experienced in Austria, she wanted the paintings in her new home in the United States. The case went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court before the Austrian government finally returned the Klimt paintings to Altmann. This most famous legal battle in art history, eventually inspired a movie starring Helen Mirren in 2015. The court case helped catapult the painting (by whatever name) to international fame.

 

A Lady and a Gentleman in Black, 1633, Rembrandt van Rijn

If you're starting to notice a pattern here, read on. If you walk through the galleries of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, you'll notice something rather peculiar. Thirteen empty frames hang on the walls. These frames serve as reminders of works of art that were stolen in 1990. During the early morning hours of March 18, 1990, museum security guards admitted two men who were disguised as police officers. Once inside, the men tied up the guards and proceeded to steal thirteen works with an collective value of $500-million. Despite a $5-million reward for information leading to the recovery of these paintings, the theft remains unsolved. Included in the heist were three paintings by Rembrandt, a Vermeer, a Manet, and several sketches by Degas. Apart from the most famous, A Lady and Gentleman in Black (above) included Rembrandt’s only known seascape. Both, were cut from their frames. More than a quarter-century later, experts are still puzzled by the choice of works, as even more valuable pieces were left untouched. The media attention surrounding the theft brought unparalleled attention to the stolen works.

 

Starry Night, 1889, Vincent van Gogh

And finally, two very dissimilar paintings by quite dissimilar artists, stand to break the mold.Neither have ever been stolen. The first, Starry Night, by Vincent van Gogh, is so well-known as to need little in the way of explanation. Like his tragic, foreshortened life itself, the painting has deeply haunting quality to be found in the work of few other artist before his time or since. Starry Night, painted in 1889 (less than a year before his suicide), is widely considered to be van Gogh's magnum opus. The piece was painted from memory and whimsically depicts the view from his room at the sanitarium where he resided in at the time.

 

The Goldfinch,  1654,
Carel Fabritius

Though the two paintings bear no physical resem-blance, the plight of The Goldfinch is, in many ways, no different from that of van Gogh as he neared the end of his life. It depicts a chained bird on its perch in front of a mundane background. The melancholic image of an animal tethered to this drab setting strikes a chord with many view-ers. When it was brought to the Frick Collection in New York in 2014, 200,000 people lined up to catch a glimpse of the famed bird. One part of the public’s fascination with this work may, like van Gogh, well be the artist’s own tragic ending. At the age of thirty-two, Carel Fabritius died in a careless explosion of gunpowder that destroyed a quarter of the city of Delft. Many of his paintings were destroyed in the explosion. The Goldfinch was painted in Fabritius’ final year and is one of about a dozen which survived. Another reason for the work’s rise to fame is Donna Tartt's 2014 Pul-itzer Prize-winning novel named for the painting. The intriguing novel, coupled with the fact that The Goldfinch is among the few remaining paint-ings by one of Rembrandt’s most promising students, suggests why this work continues to captivate viewers.






































 

Mention This, Not That

Could I have just a little of both?

My wife is a foodie. That is, she watches the Food Network on TV a lot, counts calories, reads labels, and is very conscious of what she eats. She also harps a lot when I don't follow her great example. My theory is, you only live once, and so what if my favorite cherry smoothie cuts one or two seconds off my lifespan with every sip. My wife also follows the "Eat this, not that" articles which often appear in magazines having to do with making wise choices as to similar food items. Along that same line of reasoning, I've decided to suggest certain, names people should mention in discussing art which are "healthier, lower in calories, and less pretentious" than the "brand name" artists with whom everyone is already familiar and who have become tired, overexposed household names. For instance, mention Leger, not Picasso.

 

Mention this...not that.       

Pablo Picasso was famous for Cubism. Some wit has labeled Fernand Leger Leger's art "Tubism" because of it is similar to Cubism only more rounded, sometimes having cylindrical qualities. Leger and Picasso knew one another and ran with the same Paris West-Bank crowd. And even though Leger was a few months older than Picasso (they were both born in 1881) there's no doubt who influenced whom. Both men took their brief flirtation with their favorite "ism," and worked at refining it, then moved on. Leger died in 1955 at the age of seventy-four. Picasso died twenty years later, in 1975, at the age of ninety-four. Picasso must have eaten a lot more of "this," not "that."

Mention this...not that.     

Rembrandt van Rijn is considered the greatest of the Dutch Golden Age painters. Carel Fabritius might well hold that high position of esteem had he lived past the age of thirty-two. Rembrandt died in 1669 at the age of sixty-three. The two were not exact contemporaries as were Leger and Picasso. Rembrandt, born in 1606, was sixteen years older than his talented young student. Fabritius died tragically on October 12, 1654, when a gunpowder magazine near his studio exploded, destroying about a fourth of Amsterdam, and taking the life of the young artist, along with that of his student, Mattias Spoors. As the self-portraits (above), painted when they were approximately the same age, demonstrate, the two were definitely cut from the same cloth.

Mention this...not that.       

Norman Rockwell is probably the best-known, most beloved American artist who ever lived. He had a whole host of imitators. Jon Whitcomb was not one of them. If anything, we find the iconic Rockwell imitating Whitcomb as seen in the comparison to two similar portraits of mid-20th-century movie stars Janet Leigh and Ann Margaret painted roughly at the same time. Whitcomb's stock in trade was beautiful women. Rockwell painted...well, rather ordinary women (to say the least). Rockwell, born in 1894, was twelve years older than Whitcomb, born in 1906, but both worked well into their eighties. Their style is similar, but only because public tastes demanded it. Rockwell's paintings told stories. Whitcomb's illustrated stories. If he tried, Rockwell could paint beautiful women too.

Mention this...not that. 

In 1940, the famed art critic, Clement Greenberg, called Hyman Bloom, "the greatest artist in America." Where was Jackson Pollock? Painting living room walls? Well, yes, that's not far from the truth, except they were more like post office walls. Pollock was working for the WPA Federal Art Project at the time. Clement Greenberg, later had a few kind words to say about Pollock too, words like "volcanic, undisciplined, explosive, and compulsive." (He meant them as a compliment.) Born in 1912, Pollock was, in fact, a year older than Bloom. I guess, you might say that the latter artist "bloomed" first.


Modern Art to mention...if you can.

These are only a few possibilities. If you want to dig a little, you might mention Gilbert Stuart and John Trumbull in the same breath (Trumbull being the less well-known). And the next time someone goes on about Claude Monet you might casually mention Blanche Hoschede Monet, who happened to be his stepdaughter and a highly talented Impressionist in her own right. If you really want to open up a can of worms, you can compare Peter Paul Rubens and Nicolas Poussin. Don't forget to mention the Poussinistes and the Rubenistes. In any case you'll sound more aesthetically astute if you mention the more obscure artists rather than the household names.

A mix of the famous and those who
should be more famous.

 

Nicolaes Maes

Boys Bathing, 1655-60, Nicolaes Maes
t's not likely this would ever be mistaken for a Rembrandt

Christ Before Pilate, 1649-50
Is it by Rembrandt or a student?

One of the problems faced today by those who are called upon to validate the works of famous artists from the past is the result of what has come to be known as the apprenticeship system. Although this means of training artists was largely replaced in Europe during he 18th-century with the advent of local or national art academies, it was, in fact, a very good, time-tested training system. Some art historians might even claim it was better than that which replace it. To bolster their argument, they might point out that very often the work of the master and that of his apprentice were so nearly alike that their attributions have been confused.



(Answer at bottom)

Interior of a Cottage, 1655, Nicolaes Maes.
If Rembrandt had painted genre scenes, they might well have looked like this.

Portrait of the Artist, Nicolaes Maes

Rembrandt van Rijn is a good case in point. For the most part, Rembrandt painted portraits and religious scenes (with the occasional erratic erotic image thrown in). Rembrandt had several apprentices over the course of his career, though his atelier was quite modest compared to that of some of the other Dutch Golden Age painters of his day. Even at that, his workshop has since come to be known as "The School of Rembrandt." They include such late 17th century Dutch daubers as Aart de Gelder, Willem Drost, Gerbrand van den Eeckhout, Carel Fabritius, and Nicolaes Maes. All of these have, at one time or another, had their work attributed to Rembrandt. It also works in reverse, some of Rembrandts paintings, even one of his earliest self-portraits (bottom), have been attributed to his students.

 

Woman Plucking a Chicken, 1656, Nicolaes Maes.

Portrait of Four Children, 1657,
Nicolaes Maes.

This phenomena, aside from being an indication of the value of the apprenticeship system, also serves to make the point that, either Rembrandt was an excellent teaching master, or his students were particularly adept. Actually, in this case, both are probably true. The fact that Rembrandt had fewer students than most of his Amsterdam peers meant that he could devote a great deal of time to their instruction. Likewise, imitation being an indication of devotion (as well as flattery), it's also likely that he was a very patient, kind, and thorough instructor. By the same token, when teaching is something of a sideline to an artist's own painting efforts, it's likely Rembrandt chose his apprentices quite carefully, taking on only the most promising applicants.

Diana and Her Companions, 1653-56, Jan Vermeer (very early work),
originally attributed to Nicolaes Maes.

Abraham Dismissing Hagar and Ishmael,
1653, Nicolaes Maes, originally
attributed to Rembrandt.
 

Nicolaes Maes was apparently one such student. His Abraham Dismissing Hagar and Ishmael (right), dated around 1653, was originally attributed to Rembrandt. Not only has Maes' work sometimes been mistaken for Rembrandt's, but what was thought to be one of his paintings, Diana and Her Companions (above), dating from around 1653-56, later turned out to be by Jan Vermeer. Maes' Card Players was originally attributed to Rembrandt as was his Reverie and Children with a Goat Carriage (photos of these are not available). Many times the deciding factor in making an attribution comes down to incidentals. Rembrandt's Self Portrait (below) is known to exist in at least five separate versions. Only the original has the signature scratched into the paint while it was still wet.



Self-portrait in a gorget, 1629,
Rembrandt van Rijn.

The painting, Christ Before Pilate

(top left) is by Nicolaes Maes.