In
the last week of March 2009, I went to see
The Goldfinch, 1654 by Carel Fabritius’ (1622-54) in the National Gallery.
It was on loan from the Royal Cabinet of
Paintings, Mauritshuis, The Hague. It was the centrepiece of a tiny show Vermeer, Fabritus & De Hooch: Three
Masterpieces from Delft. The National Gallery of Ireland had painted the
walls a beautiful shade of sky blue, which set off this gem perfectly with its
companions; Woman Writing a Letter with
Her Maid by Johannes Vermeer which our National Gallery owned and The Courtyard of a House in Delft by
Pieter de Hooch also on loan. I knew the Vermeer well as a stunning work of
genius, so I did not look again at it. I looked at the de Hooch and was
impressed by the magical light of his scene of a courtyard. However, I still
thought of him as a poor man’s Vermeer. No, I had only come for one reason – to
see this little bird.
I
had first discovered The Goldfinch,
in my father’s Heron History of Art
books when I was a little boy and I instantly feel in love with it. However,
given its location in The Hague I doubted I would ever get to see it in person.
The reproduction of the painting in my old book was very crude, dark, warm and
yellowed with age - but magical all the same. So to see The Goldfinch in the flesh; the purity of the bone-whites and warm
and cool creams of the wall, the subtly modulated dusty blues of the bird box,
and the symphony of Naples yellow, burnt sienna and a myriad of flecked greys
and ochre’s that made up the bird’s plumage - was intoxicating.
It is
estimated that during the seventy-five years of the Dutch Golden Age, Dutch
painters made around five million oil paintings. That makes The Goldfinch, one of the most precious
moments of inspired genius in Dutch art - especially since most of Fabritius’s
other works had been destroyed in a catastrophic explosion in Delft.
Little
was known of Fabritius other than he was a star pupil of Rembrandt in Amsterdam
and an early teacher of Vermeer in Delft – whose technique he clearly
influenced. The history of art was full of hard luck stories, like when Camille
Pissarro’s studio was ransacked by Prussian soldiers and many of his paintings
were damaged or destroyed. But, Fabritius was even more unlucky. He was killed
with all his family in a fluke explosion at a gunpowder factory near his studio
that also destroyed much of Delft. He was only thirty-two when he died. The
fire also destroyed virtually all his paintings so that there were only about twelve
paintings left in the world by this precocious and unfulfilled master.
The Goldfinch was a small and deceptively simple
picture, just a solitary Goldfinch, perched and tethered by a slender chain, on
a rail in front of its feeding box. These little birds were common pets in the
Dutch Golden Age, where they were nicknamed puttertjes
or little water drawers due to their agility at taking in water. Some have seen
the Goldfinch as symbolic of Christ on the Cross. It was 355 years old, yet it was in immaculate condition, a
validation of Fabritius’ technique and the care taken over its preservation by
the Dutch who considered it one of the most beautiful paintings of its Golden
Age. Ironically, this masterful painting may never have been intended as framed
painting, but rather (given the thickness of the wooden panel) it might have
been meant as a door to another encased painting.
It was
a poem in paint, in which Fabritius had gone beyond mere trompe-l’oeil –and entered into the soul of this little Goldfinch. The
bird is captured almost in mid movement in a blur of brushstrokes. I looked at
it repeatedly thinking that at any moment it might to come to life, sing or try
to fly away. The brushwork was broad and direct but also very subtle and
measured. The ghostly shading of the white wall behind the bird alone was
beyond belief. I was astounded by Fabritius ability to shift even the tiniest
portions of the painting from super-fine detail to enigmatic suggestion - in
the space of a hairs breath. It was at once highly objective in its technique
and humane in its vision, fresh in its paint handling and reasoned in its
composition – based on an off-set x pattern. And it was the compositional
purity and strength of The Goldfinch
which drew me back to look and look again – even at home with the excellent
postcard I bought of it. It was as close to a perfect piece of painting - as I
had ever seen.