Thursday 25 April 2013

A difference between good and great

Following the recent BBC series on art from the low countries, I wanted to bathe in the glow of a Rembrandt or two on my recent trip to town. That may seem an odd turn of phrase but it is utterly appropriate. Here are two Flemish self portraits from about the same time by artists who had previously shared a studio and so knew each other's techniques well.


On the left is a well known self portrait by Rembrandt from 1640 and on the right is a self portrait by Jan Lievens from about 1638. Technically they are both supremely competent, doubtless having learned things from each other even though at this point Lievens was more under the influence of Van Dyck. They present themselves in very different ways despite the similar poses which, though interesting, is for another time. What I want to draw attention to today is one of the things that makes the last few percent of difference between the very good and the truly great - luminosity.

When walking through galleries of very brown, very Flemish paintings once in a while something sings out from the walls. Often it is a Rembrandt. While Lievens is in full control of the tonal values in his painting, using them to construct chiaroscuro and show the texture of the fabric to form a lively and lifelike painting, Rembrandt goes further. The tonality is in a different league; it subtly allows the paint to seem like it glows. It is hard to explain as some of it is due to a difference in technique (In the more important passages I think Rembrandt's tonality comes less from the underpainting and more from the top layers of colour), but mostly it is far less tangible. To a great extent the difference is down to the skill level and ability of the artist to perceive. The net effect is that certain paintings, like Rembrandt's best portraits, seem to gently glow. To stand before them is to believe that if you turned out all the lights you could still see them. This luminous quality and the ability to control it is a source of great magic, especially in portraiture. It means these few paintings don't bother being realistic. They don't bother being lifelike. Why would a painting be realistic when it can be real? Why would it be lifelike when it can have life? For me, that is one reason why a Rembrandt or a Leonardo da Vinci will always sing out from a room full of their competent contemporaries.

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