There have been many articles written about this once-in-a-lifetime retrospective of 28 of Vermeer’s 37 known works, but the article I found the most intriguing is this one from The Guardian. What caught my interest were the author’s references to “immaculate,” “madonnas,” “sacred,” “grace,” and “annunciations” with respect to the women in some of Vermeer’s domestic interiors. Indeed, if you see these women as secular madonnas receiving the immaculate conception though a letter or a bath of light, then the very fact that these are interiors may be an artistic pun. From The Guardian, with my annotations in bold:
Vermeer takes from Pieter de Hooch’s
shining interiors, but rarely shows women at work to make them [the rooms or the women?] so
immaculate. A brush lies idle on a floor, maids have brought, or wait for,
letters. But only the marvellous Lacemaker,
from the Louvre [below], bends over her intricate task. Time is held in profound and
productive [or reproductive?] absorption,
which feels far more significant than the creation of any lace.
This is surely where the
notion of secular madonnas enters in. For what is the girl there for, in
Vermeer, if not to receive the extraordinary beneficence of his [or His?] light – a light like no other, more than any real room could contain.
For some it is supernatural, to others sacred; it feels the very essence of
grace. [Note that the Milkmaid below is pouring milk, something associated with infancy and the maternal.]
Vermeer’s annunciations – news from nowhere, by letter – have a stillness and quietude that does not seem related to the proposed scenario, any more than the reading, writing, gazing or weighing of (completely empty) scales. The sense of prolonged meditation seems to come from the creative [or procreative?] act itself.
Gregor Weber, the head of fine arts at the Rijksmuseum, seems to share The Guardian’s view that there is an element of faith in these seemingly secular paintings. Weber’s book, Johannes Vermeer: Faith, Light and Reflection, was published by the museum ahead of the opening in February. I have not read the book, but The Art Newspaper outlines Weber’s point of view:
Vermeer was brought up as a Protestant in the Dutch Reformed Church. Although it has long been known that his wife Catharina Bolnes was a Catholic, the full extent of his commitment to her religion may come as something of a surprise.
After their marriage they lived in a neighbourhood of Delft known as Papist's Corner (Papenhoek) and all of their 15 children were raised as Catholics. One son was named Ignatius, after the Spanish founder of the Jesuits, Ignatius of Loyola. The building next to their home was a Jesuit mission, which included a church with seating for 700 worshippers.
Weber writes: “Johannes and Catharine raised their children in that faith, following the requirements set by the Church… Thus, the assumption that he, too, converted to Catholicism becomes even more probable.”
The Catholic publication Aleteia describes how Catholicism was tolerated but not openly practiced in Vermeer’s 17th c. Delft. This need for discretion adds weight to my view that Vermeer might have coded his annunciations in a way that Italian artists were not constrained to do. From Aleteia:
Much has been written on the perils of being a Catholic during England’s long years of religious oppression. The heroes of this time are well known, and many became saints. Hardly any were painters. For two centuries after Henry VIII’s split from Rome, artists of any faith were so rare in England they had to be imported.
The situation was very different in the nearby Dutch Republic, which had an abundance of artists, many of them Catholic. The most famous is Johannes Vermeer.
Vermeer
became a Catholic for love.
His wife was from the old faith at a time that was still tough for those who
weren’t Calvinists in Holland. The Mass was held as unobtrusively as possible….
By the 17th century, attending Mass was no longer a serious crime, but
Catholicism was still a belief to be quiet about
Vermeer didn’t speak or write about
his faith and he almost never painted it. This an era when public sightings of
crucifixes and rosaries were still forbidden. His “Allegory of [the Catholic] Faith” [below] broke
all the rules.
Most obvious is the female subject gazing heavenwards but surely taking in the large tabletop crucifix next to her. There’s no attempt to hide this symbol, … Just in case anyone missed the crucifix, the backdrop is a painting of Christ’s crucifixion that hung in the artist’s home. The elaborate gilt chalice that glistens on the table is of a type that was banned in most Protestant countries. These were among the most dangerous sacramental items to own, looking quite different from the simpler, “reformed” model.
The female subject, who is thought be an allegory for the Catholic faith, is dressed luxuriously. The detail that is rarely mentioned is how close the blue-and-white color scheme comes to representations of the Virgin Mary.
There is a lot of supposition about Vermeer. Few facts are known about a man who went from some renown to total obscurity before becoming one of the world’s most respected artists in the 20th century. His name at least tells us something about him. The approved Dutch Protestant form of “John” was “Jan.” By using the more elaborate Latin word, “Johannes,” he was making a statement.
He made a similar statement with the
names of those of his 15 children who lived long enough to be baptized. Most
revealing of all is Ignatius Vermeer, no doubt a reference to the hidden Jesuit
church next door to the Vermeer home. His eldest son, also Johannes, later
became a priest.
All of which is very interesting, but I disagree that Vermeer almost never painted his faith. On the contrary, I find many of his paintings exude his Catholicism. The conventional wisdom is that the women in these paintings below are reading love letters brought to them by their maids. The presence of cupids in paintings is noted as proof.
But I see something quite different. I see surprise, melancholy, and foreboding in these paintings. I think the maids are secular symbols of the Archangel Gabriel, and these comfortably clad bourgeois women of the Golden Age are secular madonnas. (Some of these women even look pregnant.) Each reader is lost in her concentration on the Word; she does not wish to believe what her future holds. She is devastated by the knowledge that she will be the mother of the savior who will be sacrificed so that mankind can have eternal life. There is no joy in these paintings. There is no romance. There is only bewilderment, apprehension, and sorrow.
I think these paintings have a lot in common with this Annunciation by Antonino da Messina.
_-_Galleria_Regionale_della_Sicilia,_Palermo.jpg)
Or this Annunciation by Fra Angelico...
Or this one by Hans Memling...
Or this one by Da Vinci...
Or this one by Raphael...
Note that the angel and the light in these works are always on the left, while the madonnas are always on the right, just as Vermeer positions them. His maids are on the left, and the light enters the room from the left. His women/virgins/secular madonnas are always on the right. Coincidental? I don't think so, but I'm not an art historian, and this is just my way of adding a new layer of appreciation to what is already a feast for the eye.
I am also not a believer, but I recognize belief in Vermeer. Whether you agree is really immaterial (no
pun intended). These paintings are
absolutely glorious, and to see them gathered together like a reunion of 27 of his 37 children was an experience to be remembered. I photographed all of the works on display, but you as you will see better images online, plus The Girl With a Pearl Earring, I encourage you to watch the virtual tour. Still, I cannot resist including the two landscapes Vermeer painted. I wish he'd done more!
Keep it real!
Marilyn
Just amazing. I learned so much from your writing.
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