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Your Responses to RembrandtRoom 23 in the National Gallery Painted four hundred years ago But caught in the weird light of your great genius With the steady sad mote of your eye you reply Oh, that this too, too solid paint would melt, You start looking at his self portraits. You look at him. You admire how his technique evolved until the paint brushes became alive, each of them having their own personality, intention, colour, direction. You notice his lack of vanity, even if he presents himself as proud, or defeated by time. What is he thinking? What is he waiting for? You wonder how he managed to be three people at the same time: the painter, the painted, the observer. Is this the holy trinity? The painting rushes from one to the other. By this time you are not out of it. You are in front of a mirror. The questions you ask him are answered by you, but through the paintings. You are opposite yourself, disguised as a painter who conceals a secret about you. These are your self portraits. You just came here to look at some paintings, and you end up thinking, writing... and seeing.
I was introduced to Rembrandt through his smallest work of art in the National Gallery, where the dead Christ lies draped across the Virgin Mary's lap. What fascinated me about the painting was the fact that about a third of it was done by another artist, possibly one of his students. By leaving the sky and ground to his fellow artist, he has been able to merge two separate styles, one of thin, detailed strokes and one of wide, loose ones. His use of browns, blacks and whites is fantastic, as it provides the illusion that the painting is in colour whereas that is the only thing that is lacking. The use of light in Rembrandt's painting sucks you into the picture, wrapping round you and spreading a very specific mood, even in his self-portraits, of which there are plenty! I look forward to coming back to the gallery and examining other artists' work. The worth of being a man. 'However much a man is worth, he will never have a higher worth than that of being a man.' My contemplation of Rembrandt's last portrait (1663) evoked this proverb in me, because it sums up the approach of Antonio Machado - a Spanish poet - towards the essence of a human being. In fact, Rembrandt manages to explain this hard search in the evolution of his self portraits. In the 1640 portrait, Rembrandt shows himself off in his luxurious clothes and in a proud pose. He is very conscious of his worth as a painter and he recognises himself as a successor to other great artists (Raphael, Leonardo, Titian...). But in the last self portrait, the one the National Gallery has, the painter renounces accessories; only his face comes through the brown depths of life's ups and downs. His ambitions and successes were behind him; loves, sadnesses, and gossip about his relationship with Hendrickje have been pushed into the background. Now, we have only a naked look, which hides more than it shows. During the brief time I contemplated this fascinating painting I felt myself naked, too. His look was like a muffled shout which called me to part with many things in my life. In the end, Rembrandt's highest worth is the same as mine: to be a man. Light and dark effects are probably the most obvious features Rembrandt's paintings possess. His painting skills are undoubtedly great, yet, if one looks closely at one of his portraits, one will eventually encounter much more than just plain paintings. There is something special, something beyond formal art, something that is able to discover one's innermost wishes, feelings, and personal disappointments - the soul. Rembrandt had this special ability to look beyond the outer appearance, he was able to show people's real being. Also he always paid special attention towards little, but highly important characteristics such as the hands, the eyes as well as the memories and experiences that over the years leave traits behind. And exactly these little things make his paintings so very human and almost personal to the viewer. Sometimes a painting really is able to say more than a thousand words. And this is why Rembrandt is an artist, using art to reveal the soul. There's just an old man and that old man looks with sad and sweet eyes at those who have adored him; but, we know, he's also looking at those who have put him down, yes! Those poor minds that couldn't understand his wonderful gift, a gift that only could have been loved after his death. With that little smile that old man must be thinking 'Yes, I was a great painter and Time will say that. Never mind. The important thing is that I have enjoyed the pleasure of painting. That was to me a bottle of wine in the desert of life. When I was young, I used to dream about sucess; now, lonely and old, I just dream about the peace we always hope will come at the end. That is the face of his last self-portrait. Of course we are inundated with the finest works of art and in this 21st century we can afford to be blasé since wonderful exhibitions are created out of the inspired passions of curators for us the looming public to queue and awe and thus be inspired by greatness. BUT when I visited the Rembrandt self portraits at the National Gallery and saw for myself, after a gruelling round of sightseeing, a single hair illuminated by the artist's conscious awareness of light, time, inter play and movement, I was so staggered that in all my days I will remember such genius. A single strand of hair. A moment eternal. Thank you, Rembrandt. You shared a piece of your soul with me. You painted, you created, as conscious man. A rare quality. Rembrandt: 'Portrait of Hendrickje Stoffels' The painting in the National Gallery collection known as 'Portrait of Hendrickje Stoffels' is really about love, and may be the most psychologically complex and deeply felt painting on that subject. The sense we have of the reciprocity of the gaze, with elements of candour, pleasure, affection and even amusement, all wrapped in an intense intimacy embodied in the fur wrap, is at the heart of this deeply personal, shared feeling. There is also the strangely flat, red edged shape in the foreground denoting a table, which we might find remininiscent, in its mystery, of the circles in the Kenwood House Self Portrait, but for its non-abstract particularity. Somehow this shape and the represented surfaces of materials reinforce our sense of the close human preoccupation of the painting. One hand of the sitter is in the warm interior of the fur. We occupy the space the painter, her lover, occupied. The long moments of depiction pass to and fro between her painted, and our real, eyes. This was one of Rembrandt's last paintings and the last depiction of himself. There are many self portraits, earlier ones often show a young man filled with confidence with his future ahead of him waiting to unfold. There is youthful arrogance in some of them; one where he echoes a pose of an earlier Renaissance painting. We see a young man in a hurry eager to make his mark on the world; there is a swagger to this man: the cut of his cloth perhaps a bit too rich? This later portrait is altogether different. The outward air of self confidence has disappeared and the painting is stripped of all ornament. What we have is an elderly man, dressed in a practical coat with hands clasped, coming out of the shadows. A man with a ruddy complexion and sallow jowls, his furrowed brow in contrast to the earlier self-portraits. We are confronted by a man looking resigned, perhaps looking back and taking stock of his life with all the experiences which have marked him both for good and ill: a life pitted with minor defeats? A painter once courted and successful who in later life was declared bankrupt, whose children all but one died before him. We see a face humbled by the experience of life, become tired by it. An old face no longer impressed by the vanities of life, there is melancholy in this portrait as well as resignation. If nothing else, portraits (especially self-portraits) can be deemed as objects which confront us with our own mortality. For Rembrandt we have a series of images from a young man to old age demonstrating the passage of time. As we look at this self-portrait his mortality becomes our mortality as the image of an old man looking down at us is a sign of our own future. What do we have in front of us as we look at this painting, an old man looking at us looking at him? We look and scrutinise and imagine that we can decipher the subject behind the surface paint. Perhaps naively we look into his eyes and as if reading a road map we peer at the lines on his face trying to see the mark of genius, if such things can be scratched upon the person. We look at him; he looks back at us, an act which has happened countless times before. We look at a painting of an old man with a red face and a big nose who would probably prefer now to be left alone to eat some herrings and draw.
On the square with Rembrandt I don't seem able to replace the expression 'exchange looks', unimaginative, as it sounds. Conceivably in 1640 we see him gazing, but I can't accept the romantic idea that I'm 'submitting to his gaze' or, indeed, his scrutiny; that is not what we undergo standing before the paintings, and I'm not convinced that he is inviting our scrutiny either. Rembrandt is not submitting himself to analysis, it's just an exchange of looks that admits we both know what is coming to us and what never has come to us. It sounds as though I am attempting to make it a reciprocal experience; obviously Rembrandt's time is spent elsewhere these days, but we contrive to exchange looks all the same. Why self portraiture? What market was there for it? What was there about it that people valued? I can only guess that it was their candour, same then as now, their honesty. Simply looking at yourself is like nothing else, you are not going to blush; you are not going to threaten yourself with an eyeful of broken glass for the way you are staring; you are not going to fool yourself, not for an entire lifetime anyway. Assuming Rembrandt used mirrors and used them with as much skill as the bomb squad, it is not possible that he deceived himself for long. I like the harmony of the concept: the painter and his sitter (Rembrandt and Rembrandt) have equal patience or lack of it, they'll both need to stretch their legs and massage their eyelids at the same time. I stress the sense of equality because we take Rembrandt, the painter's, place by running in out of the rain and standing here: Rembrandt, the sitter, treats us with the precise degree of intimacy, the precise attitude with which he treated Rembrandt, the painter. When Rembrandt looks at you, he is studying you in all of your genius, or all of your failure. The intimacy of it staggers me... The later self portraits aren't calculated, they don't advertise their technique (it's there for the enthusiast all the same; but I doubt Rembrandt, by that stage, was at all conscious of his methods). It's not a matter of how good are my beards, my plumage? It's a matter of how tired am I, how deeply do you share my disenchantment? The portraits don't look like works that anyone would order, they occur in the absence of a commission or the fuel to build a fire. Maybe Rembrandt possessed a tradesman's resolve; he might have refused to take up his brushes without money on the table. Perhaps he decided to go bankrupt fishing. Perhaps all of this portraiture has nothing to do with spending hours in front of the mirror, possibly he just caught a glimpse of himself; his reflection as he crossed a bridge over the Amstel or the inside of his glasses as he baited his hook. I have been visiting the National Gallery since I was twelve and have always made an effort to go and view the Rembrandts in the collection, especially one painting in particular, 'Woman Bathing in A Stream'. I must have seen it hundreds of times. Stood in front of it and looked and it is still as fresh today as the first time I saw it as a schoolboy. Who is this woman? Is she simply a work-a-day model? Is she the artist's mistress? Is she Bathsheba? It does not matter, for she is every-woman. The background is neither particularly clear nor detailed, making any conclusion of setting problematic; this very ambiguity adds an air of mystery, for indeed, she could a nymph or simply a milk maid washing here feet in a nearby stream. However, the sumptuousness of the drapery behind her may be at odds with a view that she is a simple common maid. Attentively she looks down at the water. Can she see fish swimming ahead or are there stones which she should avoid as she goes further into the water? The figure has pulled up her tunic to avoid it from getting wet and in doing so has exposed her thighs, making this one of Rembrandt's most evocative and sensual paintings, and perhaps in the process turned the viewers gaze into that of the voyeur. The colours are vibrant without being gaudy, with the use ochres so common to Rembrandt's pallet. Are these the colours of a Protestant north, sombre and understated? The painting is executed with free and confident brushstrokes; we can see dabs of colour on the tunic and the body itself, something more reminiscent of a modern painter. Simply observing the hands and knees - something which always fascinated me, as these are two of the most difficult areas of the body to paint convincingly - we can see how good a technical painter Rembrandt was. Looking at the painting we see a painter confident in his ability to render the human form in all its beauty and subtlety. Eyes...All I might say is eyes when I look at Rembrandt. Those portraits, how they want to say something, but can say nothing and then suddenly those eyes...This is the moment now the words are useless...The eyes, telling you everything; his dreams, hopes, pain, happiness...Like watching your soul deep inside. You are no more different than the man hanging over that wall or he is no more different than you. This is the magic of Rembrandt. Not only in his portraits but also his other paintings. Is it the mystery of chiaroscuro; his brilliant and wonderful use of light and shade that takes you into that world and makes you live in it; hypnotised by the light and focused to the point that he wants you to be, but unaware how he does it?! or is it his rich use of colour or luxuriant brushwork? I don't think I even want to think about how he does it, but will just continue living in his paintings, while watching them as an audience at the same time.
Rembrandt: 'Margaretha de Geer' 'I have come for the final sitting. He looks a quick glance and paints confidently. I hope it won't be too long this time. Previously, my back ached and my body stiffened. I managed to keep calm and still by gripping the chair. He studies me so closely. The lines on my face - does he know how those lines came? Can he see beyond the toothless old woman and imagine the beauty of sixty years ago? How can he paint my past, the loves that I knew and the shadows that slipped away long ago? No one remembers what the young woman looked like. As he paints, I dream and he cannot paint my dreams.'
'The best thing about Rembrandt is the sense of loss purveyed in his paintings. All of his portraits show successful people, who look well off but have an underlying mood of 'something's missing'. Rembrandt made a brilliant study of the unhappiness of wealth, and it's interesting that some of his poorer subjects appear more content. My favourite Rembrandt is the man in the lofty room. I love its intimacy, the contrast of light and dark, and the brilliant atmospheric setting.'
Rembrandt: 'A Woman bathing in a Stream (Hendrickje Stoffels?)' 'How long will I stand? 'Walking through time and these chambers full of paintings, I find it remarkable how incredible 17th- century painters were at painting a realistic human body. But although the bodies and faces are perfect, they are mere images, lifeless figures in a sphere-less world. Then I see Aechje, an 83 year-old woman looking like she's deep in thought, her eyes serious and a little sad, her mouth closed but doubtful, as if she has something to say but can't find the words. It's like she is looking at her own painting, the painting Rembrandt made of her, and she is touched by her own honest reflection.'
Kerri: Hello, is that Mr Rembrandt? Rembrandt: Yes? Who is this? I'm a little busy at the mome- Kerri: My name's Kerri; I'm calling from Avron Cosmetics. I've seen your self-portrait aged 63 and I thought you could use some moisturiser. Rembrandt: What? I'm afraid I don't unders- Kerri: You have many broken capillaries in your nose, and I think you need to exfoliate more often. Your skin is ... well, it's terrible. Rembrandt: Ah, I see. It's the thicker brush strokes. I'm an old man now; I think in broader, deeper, harsher marks. The smoothness and confidence of my youth has gone ... Kerri: Well, you could try our Elderflower Night Balm. Apply it before sleeping- Rembrandt: No, I think you misunderstand. The painting is not only of my skin - it's of my mind and my personality. Careworn, jaded, roughened by financial worries. I like to evoke the slackness- Kerri: For slackness I'd suggest the invigorating Peach Wash. And I'd follow it with a Mud Mask. Rembrandt: A mask, you say? Interesting. I often think that my face is the mask, and the portrait the real face beneath it. Nothing escapes my eye. Did you see my eyes in the portrait? Kerri: Mmm, yes. Very tired. We have a wonderful Peppermint Chill Mask. You put it in the fridge and then put it on your eyes. Rembrandt: My eyes... it's all in my eyes. I see everything. My other artists can copy my works and my style, but they can't see like I do. These eyes have seen so much - you see it all in the portrait. Kerri: Your eye lines are red- Rembrant: You saw that? Very good! I used a delicate brush - a vein of red like the wine I drink too much of. I'm afraid it has made my nose a little redder, too! Kerri: Look, Mr Rembrandt. I don't want to take up any more of your time. Could I send you our Variety Basket? It has all of the things I told you about. You'll look ten years younger! Rembrandt: But I don't want to, young lady! I like my face. It is a face which life has lived in. I have spent 63 years waiting to paint this face. Only now could I do it. Well, now I must go. I have someone sitting... Kerri: Can I send you a catalogue? Some free samples? Are you there Mr Rembrandt? Sir? Are you still there …?
'For the last thirty years I have been trying to work out why Rembrandt's 'Self Portrait at 63' is my favourite painting. I cannot visit the Gallery without going to look at it again, I can't even pass the Gallery on my way to somewhere else without going in to stand in front of it for five minutes, held by that gaze, and come away feeling the better for it. I admire so many different styles and periods of painting that I couldn't begin to assign second and third favourites, but I have no doubts about the first. Why this picture? Even given Rembrandt's eminence among painters this picture is not an obvious choice. Certainly, I enjoy paintings of old people, especially now I am of an age with them, so much more interesting than younger faces - look even at the younger Rembrandt in the same room, and feel how many more traces of life the painter of an older face has to work with. His painting of his beloved Titus in the Wallace Collection may be meltingly lovely, and haunting in its expression, but cannot absorb like an older face, marked by a lifetime's experience. But why am I so moved by the self portrait, when there are two other arresting paintings of elderly men nearby, St Paul and Jacob Trip, both more immediately attractive? Why does this simple brownish painting of a tired old man so draw and uplift me? After puzzling over this for so many years I think I now have the answer. It matters that we know it is a portrait of Rembrandt, aged 63. No-one can do more than guess at what the subject of a painting is actually feeling, or even what the artist is trying to convey. Here we may read that mesmerising gaze as dogged or resigned, serene or sad, but we know for a fact that he has suffered the grievous loss of Titus and Hendrickje, and is having to go on working to pay off his debts. This has been the most mysterious thing to me, because the painting feels like a triumph, a confident celebration, and what has this lonely old man got to celebrate? I think the answer is that it is a picture above all of a man who would say, if he could, 'here I am, I can no other': he cannot help but delight in doing what he does best, his craft, and this is what the painting celebrates. When he puts brush to canvas what he shows is the joy of looking with an artist's eye, and working at reproducing what he sees supremely well. This is why looking at this still painting of an old man is such a joyful experience - and why it is truly one of the National Gallery's greatest treasures.'
Looking his paintings I am dragged into a parallel dimension suspended between vision and reality. The features slowly vanish in the pure colour, involving the spectator in a vortex that projects as a fantastic journey. It seems I can live in the painting, see the subjects close and even hear the voices. I am in front of the picture of Christ and the adulterous woman, and I listen, affected, to the sermon of Jesus. The solemn atmosphere wraps around me and at a distance, I notice Rembrant watching, witnessing the torments he evokes in you. It was never mere technique In glowing and tender shades Rembrandt: 'The Lamentation over the Dead Christ' 'I'm going home. After all this suffering I'm going home. After my arrest and trial, by Pontius Pilate, I was displayed to the people who cried out "Crucify Him!", and so I was. The place of my crucification is here, outside the city walls of Golgotha. My cross has been set up between the crosses of two thieves, one of whom was converted. I personally enjoy Rembrandt for his people studies. The artist manages to depict human frailties and strength so well. In the painting of Anna and the Blind Tobit, we can see the humility and grace of the couple who have given themselves to God. The eyes have a very deep influence on me. The colours of the clothes make them so real. It's a scary painting. People look so worried. It's like there is a message from God. There are three people who look worried, the other three look calm. 'Look into my eyes, perhaps you will see what I see, feel what I feel. We are but lights burning in the darkness, beyond which we do not know. I am scared. I want to burn bright to reflect God's creation, but not so brightly as to compete with Him. In all I see I seek a truth, a balance, a reflection of what is and what should be. Perhaps when you look through my eyes you will see history, as I myself have seen, and those before me have seen. Look into my eyes and see the light, pass it on but watch also the darkness, for I do not know...' Rembrandt, 'Self Portrait at the Age of 63' 'They're here again - but last week the people who look as if they've raided my costume box were looking at me, and trying to copy my portrait. At least they had the grace to agree that it was difficult - and the two men who seemed to be in charge were fulsome in their praise of my technical skill. 'It's all in the nose - really. ... They say it's all in the eyes - that the eyes are the window to the soul and one might well be forgiven for thinking that such is the case in Rembrandt's self portraits, for it is the eyes that first capture your attention. But as far as this particular artist is concerned, I feel it is not his eyes but his nose that is the salient feature of these portraits. It's really all in the nose, and what a magnificent, regal nostril it is - aggressive, protruding, three dimensional. Even though he watches me as I move about the room, looking at him inside his paintings, I know he has felt each muscle of the body through his paintbrush, because they've twitched, even as I've watched. You generally look at a person and guess his being, but Rembrandt has seen and known the being first, and then painted it, with every detail and in any light. His paintings give an 'inside-out' life... the soul is outside, and shines on his characters and their features. When I see a Rembrandt picture, I'm very impressed by the eyes of the people. You can know what this person was thinking when Rembrandt did the picture. His first self portrait (1640) makes us appraise his young fresh look; his eyes are sad and his facial hair is blonde and sparse. He seems optimistic but in a soulful way, and obviously he wants to impress us with his talent but not in a flamboyant way. The collar of his coat appears rich and embroidered. By this time, he had been married for six years to Saskian, and had enjoyed the wealth and social connections that the union brought, and she obviously basked in the lifestyle his talent as a portrait painter brought. Only two years later she would be dead, and her place at home taken over by Hendrickje Stoffels... I think he reproduces a very complex reality, with characters who could show themselves only through their eyes, that are always shining, proud. In my opinion Rembrandt is to art what Beethoven is to music - the supreme master. Whatever artist entrances, and many do, I always return to the 'comfort' of Rembrandt. It is the reality of his work. He painted what he saw. He neither flattered nor decorated. His portraits within settings shared an equal attention to accuracy but these are never 'wooden'. His shipbuilder's wife is about to hand over the note then go through the door she has her hand on. She had been interrupted and is eager to be back to her household tasks. Brown is natural - although unflattering to pale European skins, it is 'us' - earthy, dust to dust, ashes to ashes. It is dark warmth, fecund, female. If Rembrandt had painted me, I (as a woman) would have opened up completely in all that fermenting brown. I think that Rembrandt is a magician of light. So, his paintings have lived. I'd like to be painted by him. Where God is, there let my soul be. A genial soul, alienated from his natural environment (his father's mill, his hometown). Rembrandt struggled for understanding and belonging in his life and work. Although he flaunted social conventions, he married twice. He despised the life of the burghers, yet painted them with compassion and sensitivity. Unappreciated and poor, he remained loyal to his children and his art, producing until the last year of his life. He brought Dutch painting to a different level of realism and beauty. 'I am tired. I no longer have my youth and dynamism. My brushstrokes have come to scrutinize my age. Once, I stood a proud man - young, natural and enthusiastic. But I am weary of this present world - in life, I have been blessed and damned. Rembrandt Rhyme in Hip Hop Tyme - Rembrandt dipped, he didn't drip, The use of light in a dramatic way, and the facial expressions are what struck me. Rembrandt is the brightness of the dark. His voice is ancient and actual, telling faces, relating shadows, trapping our eyes with the surprise of contemplating something new, under the four hundred years-old oil. Rembrandt, 'Self Portrait at the Age of 63', 1669. Do not guess, PLEASE. There have been too many rumours going on about my life in my final year. However, I am going to tell you the truth. You don't have to be a psychoanalyst or an expert in mind-reading to understand my thoughts. Just look into my eyes... I lost my wives. I lost my son. I went bankrupt. No one wanted my paintings anymore. What could I have done to avoid these misfortunes? Nothing! Simply nothing! IT IS FATE. I accepted it. When I had decided to be an artist for my career when I was young, I was prepared to live a life like that of a roller-coaster. At least I was crowned with glory and fame years ago. At least I was successful. At least you are still discussing my works after 400 years. I have no regret. I went for my dream and I don't need your sympathy. Go for yours and good luck! Rembrandt, 'A Woman bathing in a Stream (Hendrickje Stoffels?)', 1654. Why???? Why are all these people stopping in front of me? Looking at me? Speaking of me? Scaring me? I'm simply waiting for a moment of peace to complete my sweet bath... I fell for Rembrandt as a student. I worshipped him. Today, the smell of linseed oil in the next gallery takes me back 25 years. I would place my friends in front of 'Woman Bathing in a Stream' so I could tell them what it meant, but no words would come. I wanted to paint, not like that picture; I wanted to paint that picture. I wanted to be there, to feel how it was, my eyes exploring, my paint explaining, the astonishment of seeing someone else. Now I'm older, and so is Rembrandt. His 1669 self portrait is there, looking out. He's still explaining with his paint, still exposing and exploring. I'm not. I broke faith with that love, but he kept looking. He's not judging though. Just a look, that's more human than any I can imagine. If a picture paints a 1000 words (then why can't I paint you?). And why so brown? Rembrandt's talking pictures strongly contrast the dark and light in life, balancing the dark side with the Arcadian light. His awareness of positive and negative contrasts dramatically captures a freeze-frame moment of poetic quotation... The gasps and spills of 'Belshazzar's Feast' are like a scene from a film sketched in oil. Although the finished painting may take years to complete, its rich oils form the animated action and expression of just one second, which lives on with us... Only the curators know what happens next, and rewind them again for the next day. Is the world really like that? On the surprised, or melancholic faces of Rembrandt's paintings (including self-portraits) I see the despair of a child's face who sees the world for the first time. Rembrandt felt the need to shout out loud his feeling of incomprehension towards the world and towards himself. This feeling is directly related to the fact that he cannot stop portraying himself, of course, in search of a recognition of himself in this world. Once I see a painting of Rembrandt I feel as if it locks me inside it, almost like a new reality. I feel suffocated, similar to that feeling one experiences seconds before crying, as if I am about to experience an explosion of feelings that overtake you, and oppress you. Almost as a ritual of purification, by experiencing a subliminal force that will eventually set you free after the process gets to an end (a method often used by Turner). In this case I believe his characters (like the Philosopher in Meditation) to be a reflection of my self when standing, in that exact moment, in front of his brush strokes. I often hear of Rembrandt's ability to portray emotion, but two paintings at the National Gallery made me think that he can also portray acoustics in most extra-ordinary ways. Typically, in a 17th century Dutch painting a sense of location is conveyed via objects and clothes (drinking glasses, and music instruments in a tavern, for example). A viewer can assume whether a place is loud or quiet using our own mental imagery of a location. Rembrandt presents the sound of a place in a most unusual way: in 'The Woman Taken in Adultery' at the National Gallery I was struck by the acoustic effects made with the use of pigment. Echoes of the cathedral, the reverberations of their voices can be felt as if the viewer is transported into a vaulted room. Most other depictions of cathedrals evoke images of grandeur and architecture. Here, the treatment of light and shade around the towering walls and the subjects gives full acoustic effects. The painting 'Anna and the Blind Tobit' also conveys an acoustic effect: this time silence. A sense of almost painful silence, deathly quiet, even though both subjects are keenly aware of each other. Rembrandt is able not only to portray old age, emotions, atmosphere of place, but also gives that 4-dimensional sense rarely captured without the help of special effects in a movie theater. He is equally talented with visual effects: the portrait of 'Margaretha de Geer' can not only serve as a case study for skin disease being so anatomically precise and vivid with the depiction of her skin, but also leaves little to the imagination: we can guess precisely what she looked like, and yet, in a much more personal way than any photograph. It is an amazing combination of emotional state, depiction of decrepit old age, and a very real, almost photographic image of a human being. |
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