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Updated: May 20, 2025
Because it is a simpler matter to tell the truth than casuists admit I shall preface this little sermon on three hallucinated painters by a declaration of my artistic faith. I believe in Velasquez, Vermeer, and Rembrandt; the greatest harmonist, the greatest painter of daylight, and the profoundest interpreter of the human soul Rembrandt as pyschologist is as profound as Beethoven.
Joe was shocked again at how untouched and beautiful she was. He smelled freshly baked bread. "Smells good." "I didn't know how hungry you'd be. I made a quiche. You can warm it up tomorrow if you don't want it." "Are you kidding?" He led her into the apartment, and she took possession of the kitchen area. "I've got something for you," Joe said. He handed her a book on Vermeer. "Oooh," she said.
After Haarlem and Frans Hals you may realise that Manet and Sargent had predecessors; after a visit to The Hague the View of Delft may teach you that Vermeer was an Impressionist long before the French Impressionists; also that he painted clear light as it never before was painted, nor since. As for Rembrandt, the last word will never be said.
But he had no vogue in 1696, as the prices at the sale prove only too well. Vanzype gives the list, and its importance in any research of the Vermeer pictures is paramount.
Rubens, Velasquez, Rembrandt, Franz Hals, and Nicolaas Maas, Pieter de Hooch and Vermeer of Delft, Watteau and Chardin, Van Dyck, Titian, Tintoret, and Veronese were his true masters and his copies of their works are said by his enlightened critic, M. Arsène Alexandre, to have a masterly quality of their own, to be far removed from the conventionality of facsimiles, and to bear upon an underlying fidelity of transcription an impress of individual sentiment.
"Oh, my dear fellow, don't you know Vermeer? You're not civilised. You mustn't live a moment longer without making his acquaintance. He's the one old master who painted like a modern." He dragged Hayward out of the Luxembourg and hurried him off to the Louvre. "But aren't there any more pictures here?" asked Hayward, with the tourist's passion for thoroughness. "Nothing of the least consequence.
In his eyes there lurked the "dancing-madness" of which Robert Louis Stevenson writes. A latter-day pagan, with touches of the perverse, the grotesque, and the poetic; thus seems to me Frank Wedekind. Who owns the thirty-fifth canvas by Jan Vermeer of Delft? And are there more than thirty-five works by this master of cool, clear daylight?
The Morgan Vermeer in the Metropolitan Museum, a Vermeer of first-class quality, is not in some of the catalogues, nor is the Woman Weighing Pearls, now in the possession of P. A. B. Widener, of Philadelphia, to be found accredited to Vermeer in Smith's Catalogue Raisonné. But not much weight can be attached to the opinions of the earlier critics of Vermeer.
His artistic ancestry was Dutch; in the footsteps of De Hooch, the younger Teniers, Vermeer, Terburg, Kalf, he trod, rather plodded, producing miracles of light, colour, finish. A long patience his career, he never indulged in brilliancy for the mere sake of brilliancy; nevertheless he was an amazing virtuoso of the brush. He was born in the Rue de Seine, Paris, November 2,1699.
He is the eternal Sphinx of art, whether as portraitist, landscape painter, etcher, or revealer of the night side of life, of its bestiality, madness, cruelty, and terrific visions. But Velasquez and Vermeer are more sane. Anything I may write of Kubin, Munch, and Gauguin should be read in the light of my artistic credo.
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