Thank you for coming.
Today, Lisha and I would like
to share some research we did
for the exhibition, that's
currently on view.
And the exhibition itself
is informed by quite a number
of research initiatives,
by a big team of scholars.
All of these
inform the final product,
the exhibition, and the catalog.
Our research was done
on the painting techniques
of the, so-called high life,
genre painters.
And our essay in this catalog
goes into more detail.
But today, we'd like to give you
just a brief taste of some
of our findings.
These paintings represent
a shift to a new, modern style
of painting that came about
around 1650.
And this immediately brings up
the question, of how
this sublime mode of painting
came about in just 20,
or 25 years.
My nickname for the exhibition
is "Vermeer
and some other guys."
Beca-- because, of course, this
is not--
though we have 10 Vermeer's
in the exhibition,
it's not exhibition
about a leader and followers.
Instead, it explores rivalry,
emulation, and admiration
among a network of peers.
If you consider
the spectacular painting by some
of the other artists, Frans Van
Mieries, on the left, Gerard ter
Borch, on the right,
you'll see that Vermeer is
clearly not
an isolated phenomenon.
If genre paintings,
as a category, depicts scenes
from daily life,
these are
idealized contemporary scenes,
which show the highest level
of society
with beautiful people,
and rich clothing,
and furnishings.
These were painted by artists
who were competing
for the attention
of the new generation
of committed and well informed
collectors.
Now the installation
and the exhibition groups
the paintings
by shared subjects, or themes.
But artists were also
aware of many different aspects
of each other's work.
If we consider, for example,
Caspar Netscher's Woman
at her Toilet, it shows echoes,
and perhaps pays homage
to his teacher, ter Borch's
painting of the same subject.
But Netscher, also, eloquently
weaves that reference together
with formal compositional
references to another artist's
work.
The table below an unseen
window, and the wash of light
over the woman in the rear wall,
and the framed painting, which
frames the woman herself,
in all these features,
connoisseurs would surely have
recognized and appreciated
the references to Vermeer.
But just as artists made
reference to other artists
compositions, they also were
aware of each other's manner
of painting.
And our project used
technical study to consider how
the manner of painting
created
this distinctive and beautiful
style.
We pose three questions.
We wanted to think
about collective style.
What did these artist have
to do, for their works
to be considered high life
genre,
and to appeal to buyers
of this elite market?
We considered personal style,
because buyers weren't just
seeking a generic high life
painting, they were very aware
of the differences
between artists, and collected
specific painters.
And we also considered
quotations of style,
not only compositions,
and looked to see how these
would illuminate
our understanding
of 17th century style,
and that attitudes
towards style.
Now we'll start by taking
a few minutes to lay out
the methodology
of our technical study.
Lisha and I traveled together
to examine 105 paintings by 12
artists.
Now, with this kind of a data
set, obviously, we weren't
carrying out in-depth analysis
of individual paintings.
Instead, we worked out
a consistent protocol
for the large group
that we were studying,
and we used two examination
methods in particular to give
a common thread to all
our observations.
I carried out
magnified examination of all
the paintings, and Lisa carried
out XRF analysis of most
of the paintings.
Magnification was carried out,
primarily, as the method
for identifying the handling
of paint,
and the development
of the compositions.
We use the laboratory
microscopes in the museums we
were visiting, or else we would
use a small hand-held microscope
that we could carry with us.
And I'll illustrate, just some
of what
we can see, with a painting
by Vermeer,
because his handling is not as
minute as some in the group,
so we can see a little more
easily, what I'm talking about.
With magnification, you can see
the painting sequence.
From the brown painted sketch,
with which he laid out
his design--
and there are glimpses of it
in here--
to these wonderful
dotted highlights, with which
Vermeer finished his painting.
And with even higher
magnification, we can also
visually characterize
the pigments, which are
the colorants that artists use
to color their paints.
Here, we see pigments that are
typical
of the beautiful deep blue
of Ultra Marine,
and the frosty yellow
of Lead-tin Yellow.
These observations, when
combined with Lisha's XRF
analysis,
offered solid identification
of the pigments present.
Now at this point,
Lisha will take over to discuss
the material analysis.
In addition
to microscopic examination,
as Melanie has just said,
X-ray Fluorescence Analysis,
also known as XRF, was performed
on most of the paintings
examined.
The image on the left,
shows me setting up
the handheld XRF.
Our XRF doesn't require taking
a sample
or having contact
with the painting,
it can be mounted on a tripod
and focused on a small area
of the painting.
The picture on the right
shows our set up taken, when
Melanie and I were examining
Vermeer's Milkmaid.
We were there one evening,
after hours, in the Hall
of Honor at the Rijksmuseum.
As I was wrapping up the XRF
analyses, I saw Rembrandt's
Night Watch in the background
being framed by my easel,
and couldn't resist taking
this picture.
XRF identifies the elements
present in the painting,
and this information is used
to help us assist
in the identification
of pigments.
Here is the detail of ter
Borch's Intruder,
of the loop player's
blue bodice,
to illustrate how pigments are
inferred using this technique.
X-rays from the instrument
excite the material
in the painting,
generating
characteristic x-rays, which
show up as peaks in a spectrum.
The XRF spectrum
from the blue bodice,
shows the presence of aluminum,
silica, and potassium,
as circled here.
This elemental profile
is
consistent
with natural Ultramarine Blue.
Ultramarine Blue is a costly ,
pigment made from lapis lazuli,
and a semi-precious stone,
and is frequently found in high
life paintings.
XRF can even identify drifts
of fine ultramarine-- impossible
to see with the naked eye--
to make the white satin
highlights even whiter,
as illustrated here, in a detail
of Metsu's Intruder.
And here's even a close up.
To keep track of all
our observations,
we created a Filemaker Pro
database of specific features
we were interested in tracking.
As you can see,
it was challenging to visualize
patterns,
by scanning through the columns
of data.
So then, we turned to Tableau,
a data visualization software,
as a starting point
to open new questions,
and consider our examinations
of individual paintings.
One view of Tableau plots
geographical relationships.
And here is a plot of cities,
in which all the paintings
examined were made.
The size of the circles
correspond to the number
of paintings from that area.
Clearly, high life genre
painting are not a localized
phenomenon in Holland.
One of the most essential
lessons of this project,
was how important colors,
and subtle distinctions
of color,
were to this group of artists.
They had a wide ranging palette,
and each color was chosen
for specific visual qualities.
An example of this,
is Dou's subtle choices
of blues.
A detail here of the table
carpet, reveals where a more
muted Green-blue Verditer was
used.
Blue Verditer was also used
in the Maid's skirt.
The brilliant blue curtain,
the sky, and the deep blue
of the tapestry was achieved
using Ultramarine Blue.
Considering the use
of red pigments,
here are two lush red velvet
jackets, frequently depicted
in high life paintings.
On the left, Dou creates the red
of his velvet jacket, by using,
mostly, an opaque Orange-red
Vermilion.
While ter Borch uses transparent
Red Lake.
In this closer detail,
you can see that Dou's paints
the deeper shadows
over the vermilion,
with glazes of a more purple-red
toned, Red Lake.
His variation of color,
and transparency, defines a play
of light on the gleaming folds.
In contrast, ter Borch painted
his jacket with a thickly
applied transparent deep Red
Lake,
to evoke the depth of color
in the rich velvet fabric.
Looking at the yellow's, van der
Neer achieves the three
dimensional effect
in the ribbons on the page's
costume,
by using two
different opaque yellow pigments
to model light and shade.
He first painted the duller,
more brown-yellow ocher color,
and then ran highlights
of bright reflective Lead-tin
Yellow along the edges, which
are outlined with black.
The primary green pigment
these artists use,
was Verdigris.
To catch the viewers eye,
van Mieris used a relatively
pure Verdigris
in his fine brushwork
in the chair,
along with some Lead-tin Yellow
highlights.
He placed less visual emphasis
on the work cushion,
with the muted green color,
created by mixing
into the Verdigris,
other pigments,
such as Iron Earth.
17th century Dutch artists
did not have many options
for green pigments,
and frequently complained
about the harshness
of Verdigris, and often chose
to mix blues and yellows
to expand the range of greens.
Using Tableau Visualization
Software, we began to look
for patterns in pigments used
by the artist.
Questions like, were costly
materials, such as Ultramarine
typical for high life genre
paintings?
Returning
to the geographical plots
of the cities in which all
the paintings studied were made,
and then mapping the paintings
in which Ultramarine Blue were
identified, reveals there was
no obvious regional focus.
In other words, the distribution
of Ultramarine Blue
is
similar
to the geographic distribution
of where the paintings were
made.
The cost of Ultramarine Blue
was extraordinary.
One ounce cost as much as 10%
of a typical craftsman's
annual income.
Even more extraordinary,
Ultramarine Blue was used, not
only for the obvious blue areas,
but even in under-paint.
One example of this,
is in a detail of the chair
in ter Borch's The Suitor's
Visit, where you can clearly see
the Ultramarine Blue peeking out
from beneath the green glaze.
Here is another view
of the data,
now in table format,
showing all the paintings
with blue pigments.
The vertical axis is the dates
of the painting.
The horizontal axis is artists
ranked by prices achieved,
with the left being the highest
price,
with van Mieris,
and the cheapest prices,
the lowest prices
being with de Hooch and Maes.
This is based on archival data
gathered by other colleagues
on the exhibition project,
and it's also in the catalog,
there's an essay.
High life genre is at the top
of the art market
in the mid 17th century,
Netherlands.
This period had
an enormous income disparity
for artists,
even among the elite high life
specialist.
Dou and van Mieris
obtained, by far, the highest
prices.
Dou once received
an astonishing 4,000 guilders
for one painting.
Vermeer, Netscher, van der Neer,
and ter Borch achieved very good
prices, often around 300 or more
guilders per painting.
Artists at the far right
of the graph, Ochtervelt, Steen,
and de Hooch, average 30 to 60
guilders per painting.
We then filtered the graph
to highlight occurrences
of Ultramarine Blue,
and found that was
widespread among this group.
So you can see here, the blue is
still ultramarine,
and the gray is a blue that's
not ultramarine.
But there still was a trend
associated with the painters
achieving the highest prices.
Looking at artists who don't
exclusively use ultramarine
became particularly informative.
Jan Steen's use of blue pigment
shows an intriguing variable
pattern.
He's an artist who usually
paints modest, low life scenes,
as seen here, in The May Queen,
where smalt was used
for the blue sky.
But on a few occasions when he
painted high life scenes,
as shown here, where ultramarine
was used in all four instances
related to his most
refined high life paintings
we examined.
This suggests the use
of Ultramarine Blue
is closely associated
with this style of painting.
Other variations in the use
of blue pigments,
by moderate and low priced
artists,
lead us
to other strategic choices.
de Hooch creates effects
reminiscent of Vermeer,
but more economically.
Vermeer exclusively used
Ultramarine Blue.
Vermeer would achieve the effect
of a cool light on a rear wall,
by adding ultramarine blue
into his white paint. de Hooch,
on the other hand,
mixed the inexpensive Blue Smalt
into the white rear wall,
to achieve a similar effect.
However, in the more important
details, such as the design
in the Delft tiles,
or the ribbons in the child's
dress, de Hooch would
selectively use Ultramarine Blue
where it really counted.
Melanie is now going to discuss
the consequences of how
these color choices affects
the paintings as we currently
see them today.
So despite these artists focus
on precious material,
their wide ranging palette
necessarily included
some unstable pigments.
Many of the pigments they used
did have a reputation
for high quality and long life.
Ultramarine Blue was certainly
cited that way in the sources.
But the Lake colors do have
a drawback.
Lakes are made by taking
a transparent pigment
and staining it with a dye,
the same dye that's used
for textiles.
And the dyes that are used
for textiles, as you know
from experience,
tend to fade when exposed
to light.
Exactly the same thing happens
in Lake pigments.
And Yellow Lake, made
with a yellow dye,
is particularly prone to fading
as we see in the sources.
But the nuance of color
was so important
to these artists,
that they seem to have accepted
this risk.
As Lisha showed you,
the blue dress in this painting
by ter Borch
was painted with Ultramarine
Blue.
XRF saw the characteristics
of ultramarine,
but we note that there also was
a peak for calcium, which
is typically associated
with Ultramarine Blue.
Lisha also analyzed the blue
found in the carpet.
And again, we found aluminum,
silica, and potassium.
But interestingly enough, there
is a much, much higher peak
for calcium.
Now from a previous study,
we strongly believe that this is
evidence-- in fact,
we are pretty convinced-- this
is evidence for the presence
of the Yellow Lake.
Because Yellow Lakes were cast
onto a calcium carbonate,
or chalk substrate.
So this is evidence
that a Yellow Lake was
mixed with the Ultramarine Blue.
In effect, we have now seen
that the dress and the carpet
design were not both blue.
The carpet, in the design part,
was green.
This realization has pushed us
to speculate graphically,
on how the painting might have
looked before the color change.
And we offer this
as an opportunity to recalibrate
our eyes to this possibility.
In the National Gallery
Painting, the color range seems
moderately limited.
There's a blue in the dress
and the carpet, and there's
a green in the chair.
But we were trying to imagine
the subtle increments of color,
that we knew
from other paintings,
must be present.
Now, we don't want to suggest
that we know
the exact original appearance,
so we have schematized
this image.
This schematic image allows us
to focus on the general effect
of the color harmonies.
And here, we can see two
distinct zones in this part
of the composition.
The lute player, in blue,
is leaning on a table
with a blue pattern,
and that forms one unit.
In front of this, there's
a deep green chair
as a separate unit, which serves
as an emphatic repoussoir
for the composition.
But if you make a small change,
and introduce a muted green
in the carpet,
instead of the blue,
the composition itself changes
subtly.
Now the color we've chosen
is based on our estimation
of the proportion of Ultramarine
Blue with a generous amount
of a Yellow Lake.
The subtler increments of color
translate into an equally subtle
incremental development
of space.
The table now occupies
a middle zone
between the green chair
and the woman in blue.
And in effect, the woman
at the lute
has a bit of breathing room.
Now color change is not
unique to this painting by ter
Borch, of course.
Now, we can't know exactly what
the original appearance must
have been.
But in one case, we actually
have zoological evidence.
These paintings by Garrit Dou
and Frans van Mieris
both show parrots.
Now parrots gave us
an opportunity to compare
to a known model.
At this point, the parrots look
fairly similar.
But actually, we realized they
were different species.
We saw the different pattern,
where the red falls
on their wings, or tails.
Van Mieris painted
an elegant subtle gray parrot,
an African gray.
But Dou originally painted
a much brighter bird.
Thanks to our colleagues
at the Smithsonian,
ornithology department,
we now know this is
a blue fronted Amazon.
For the head,
Dou left the ultramarine
under paint visible, creating
the blue front of the species
name.
But over most of the bird,
he glazed with a Yellow Lake.
The Yellow Lake is now faded
and murky, but the artist must
have needed this transparency
to at least
approximate the deeply saturated
yellow-green of the actual bird.
So far, our discussion of color
in general, and pigments
in specific, has mostly
considered the first
of the three questions we posed,
the collective style.
Those characteristics that
appear in most high life
genre paintings.
But if we turn
to our second question,
personal style,
we'll start by considering
the handling of paint.
Here, we see artists who balance
a creative collective
expectation to the style,
and their personal style.
Now fine scaled brushwork is
often interpreted
as a universal feature
of this group, and we wanted
to see if this is true.
Here, you are seeing
an early work by Gerrit Dou,
and Dou has remarkably fine
detail, even at this early
in his career.
He was seen as the father
of the leiden fijnschilders,
or fine painters.
And connoisseurs were
awed by his time consuming
technique.
And in fact, he boasted of it.
At one point,
when [? Saenredam ?] visited
his studio,
and admired broomsticks that Dou
was working on, Dou pooh poohed,
and said, oh no, it'll take
three more days of work
before it's done.
And this was a broomstick,
[? Saendredam ?] tells us this,
the size of a thumbnail.
Dou's student, Frans van
Mieries, was internationally
celebrated.
And he reached new levels
of refinement and finesse
with his almost invisible brush
strokes,
creating subtle distinctions
between fine materials.
But fine brushwork, we found,
was not, in fact, universal.
We definitely do see
personal variations.
Gabriel Metsu, has
a recognizable way of painting,
that evokes the effect
of fine painting
with a quick, fluent technique,
that is actually much more
efficient than someone like Dou
and van Mieris.
He creates
a convincing approximation
of fine brushwork
with crisp details,
that he creates something
like this final black contour
line, that throws
that little vessel into relief,
and makes it look much finer
than actually the strokes are.
And Vermeer's personal approach,
especially in later works,
like the Dublin work here,
doesn't even aspire
to fine handling.
Instead, he has a remarkably
abstracted and schematic effect,
an evocative image that's built
just out of planes of light
and shade.
So we wanted to quantify
these observations
about handling,
and find out just how
fundamental fine handling was
as a characteristic of high life
genre.
And another of these graphs.
Again, you'll see the artists
arranged by prices achieved,
at the left.
But this time, we're plotting
the prevalence
of fine brushwork.
Now, as you can see
from the different colors,
we did, as we guessed,
see a range.
And we labeled them,
green for the paintings
with the most fine scaled
handling, here's van Mieris,
again.
Purple for moderate handling,
there's Metsu.
And orange for comparatively
broad brush work, and here's
Vermeer.
If you look at the graph,
you'll see a general trend
towards fine handling
at the left, associated
with the higher prices.
But Vermeer reminds us,
that individuals are not always
in lockstep with trends.
He achieved high prices,
yet his personal style was
comparatively broad.
But if we ignore Vermeer, who
is the exception,
the overall trend now, is very
clear.
To achieve the highest prices
at the left at the chart,
fine handling, indicated
by green, is virtually
a requirement.
Moderate and comparatively broad
brush work is clustered
on the right.
And presumably, was less labor
intensive than the finest
handling.
If we look more closely
at variations of personal style,
we can look at paintings by Dou,
ter Borch, and Vermeer.
All three are clearly working
in a collective high life style,
yet each established
a distinctive personal way
of painting.
We know from sources
that knowledgeable collectors
took delight in recognizing
the so-called manner
of each artist.
So this was an important factor.
We can see this if we compare
the imported Turkish carpets
and tapestries, markers
of a wealthy household.
There are differences in the way
the artist applied their paints.
Now these differences do have
an economic consequence.
Some took longer, some were more
quick.
But also, they were
essential to carve out
the personal style
for each artist.
Dou's meticulous technique was
his trademark, and he was truly
obsessive with every thread
indicated,
by row upon row of separate dots
of paint.
Ter Borch works
with a distinctive stipple
touch, and his texture
of his dabbed touches
is mimetic.
It evokes the fuzzy surface
of the tufted carpet.
And Vermeer's carpet is
absolutely convincing,
but when you get up close,
with surprisingly little detail.
Instead, he conjures up
this carpet, simply by painting
the play of light.
For our third question,
we considered
that modern viewers--
we, as modern viewers-- think
we see artists quoting
each other's characteristic
style.
And certainly, among this group.
So we look for evidence of this,
and we wondered,
whether to quote someone's
style,
artists had to use
the identical technique.
Ter Borch
is famous for his depiction
of white satin,
and it was, in fact, lauded
in poetry about him.
He was the first to depict
this luxurious fabric
in genre paintings,
with his brilliant suggestion
of this wonderful fabric,
and it was
crucial for the development
of high life style.
Virtually, all these artists
adopted white satin
as a signifier of elegance.
Here, you see Metsu.
So the question was, did Metsu
have to replicate ter Borch's
methods to make
this wonderful satin?
Ter Borch created
his astonishing light effect,
and set the standard
for his fellow artists.
His yellow-gray harmony
is created in slowly worked
paint.
He painted yellow shadows,
then light gray highlights.
And then when these were dry,
thin white highlights, which he
blurred with a blending brush.
So you see
this wonderful smudged area
here, where he just dragged
a dry brush over the still wet
paint.
By contrast
of the translucent yellow
shadows, and the pure white play
of light,
create the light effects.
Metsu was far more efficient,
and until your very close up,
however, his paintings look
quite like ter Borch's.
Metsu worked all
with opaque paints,
but he implied ter Borch's
contrast of translucent shadow
and opaque white highlights.
He made his white highlights
cooler, as Lisha has already
showed you, by introducing
tiny amounts
of precious ultramarine.
And he imitated ter Borch's blur
of the blending brush
with a few little cross strokes.
And I hope you can get
some sense, that right here, he
just went, little hatch marks,
to create the more delicate
effect that ter Borch made.
Van Mieris also had a trademark
feature that was quoted by many.
He painted
the ineffable shimmering light
on rich velvet jackets,
usually red or rose colored.
Other painters-- and if you go
through the exhibition,
you'll see each of these effects
many times--
but other artist, especially
this chameleon, Metsu, made very
specific reference
to van Mieris's velvet.
Not only to the composition,
but to the fabric itself.
But what we found was that Metsu
was not using the same time
consuming technique that van
Mieris used.
He approximated the laborious
shaping of the tucked sleeve,
that van Mieris used.
And Metsu used just dashes
of white, and a few flecks
of Red Lake glaze.
We think that buyers must have
recognized the reference,
and maybe even appreciated
the witty shorthand with which
Metsu conjured it up.
And finally, we'll close
with evidence that artist saw
not only compositions, not only
some of these visual effects,
but specific painting
techniques,
as salient aspects
of their fellow painters style.
Cornelis de Man,
like for Vermeer,
was based in Delft.
And he clearly responds
to the more accomplished,
fellow, Delft artist.
His generally workman
like composition has high life
features.
There are scholars
in a well-appointed study,
there's a mirror, and there are
specifically
Vermeerian qualities,
the quiet focus of the figures,
and the wash of cool light.
Intriguingly, this detail
was pointed out to us
by our Dublin colleague
and cattelogue author, Adriaan
Waiboer.
This is a clear reference
to Vermeer, but how is it
painted?
A Washington audience will,
of course, recognize the detail.
But chairs with lion's head
finials
were not unique to Vermeer.
However, the quality
of floating light
is very special in Vermeer.
Vermeer's finial is painted
with a brilliant wet and wet
handling of paint.
De Man painted his finial
in the routine methods he used
to paint the rest
of his composition.
He laid out the finial
with dark brown mid-tones,
at the same time,
using the same palette he used
to paint the architecture,
the paneled would.
After the brown was dry,
he added a few ocher colored
dots and dashes--
some of these things here--
probably using
the exact same paint
he used for the highlights
on the figure nearby.
And after these had dried,
he added
a few final white spots.
Vermeer's method of painting
this, was to place varied tones
of highlight
onto wet brown paint.
He did not allow the paint
to dry before he put
on the highlights.
And his rounded touches
of light suffused
outward, into the mid-tones,
creating
this wonderful hovering effect.
But de Man, very
sensitively and cleverly,
recreated the effect
of Vermeer's
suffused highlights,
by blurring
those ocher yellow mid-tone
highlights.
Probably by dragging
a dry blender brush just
a smudge.
So you can see the streaks,
where he's dragged the paint.
To me, this confirms that de
Man, and probably his buyers,
saw the liquid quality
of highlights
as an essential feature
of Vermeer's style.
Both artists lived in Delft,
and so did most of their buyers.
De Man's buyers, almost
certainly, were less wealthy
than Vermeers.
And maintaining
his accostomed deficient
technique, allowed him to price
his work at a level
that they could afford.
But the culture of collecting
at this period
suggests that potential buyers
would have enjoyed de Man's
artistic wit.
Beyond broadly evoking high life
genre,
he tucked
in a specific and recognizable
Vermeerian detail as a clue.
Our modern fascination
for Vermeer's paintings
is well known,
and it's justified.
The exhibition in this study
offer us a small change
of perspective,
to see Vermeer's
mirrors remarkable works
in the context of an elite art
market that included
other remarkable artists
as well, Dou, ter Borch, van
Mieris, Metsu.
Collectively, they developed
a shared style that marked
their paintings
as precious objects
in their own right,
with refined palate,
and fine handling.
But each also carved out
his own niche.
And the delighted astonishment,
that 17th century art lovers
felt, we feel today as we are
confronted
with their distinct personal
styles.
From Dou's precise details,
van Mieris's
imperceptible brushstrokes,
ter Borch's suggestive stippled
handling, Metsu's
fluent efficient brushwork,
and Vermeer's magical light.
And Lisha and I would like
to thank our remarkably generous
colleagues, who gave us access
to their paintings,
and shared their observations
of the paintings they know so
well.
We also are very
grateful for generous travel
support, because we did a lot
of travel.
And we thank
our curatorial colleagues.
We work closely with Arthur,
here at the National Gallery,
and the National Gallery
of Ireland's Adriaan Waiboer.
Thank you very much.
[APPLAUSE]
