Worship Resources for December: 2. Vocation

Like other artists of his generation, Vermeer painted View of Delft, but chose an unusual location and perspective. Over half the painting is devoted to the sky, and nothing much appears to be happening apart from two groups of people standing at the harbour chatting. They are quite self-absorbed. They are so small, they do not engage with the viewer.

There are three striking things about his View. Firstly, the harbour is unusually quiet given that it was a major thoroughfare between Rotterdam and The Hague. Ships are neither coming in nor going out but moored peacefully in dock. There is no hustle and bustle from traders loading ships with merchandise nor any indication of a successful business network.

Secondly, the light is reserved for the skyline of the town. The long shadows in the calm water draw us from one bank to the other and up into the townscape. Whereas the sun has disappeared behind a very dark cloud, the long shadows imply that it should be lower in the sky for they are giving birth to dusk! The light shines on the Nieuwe Kerk. Perhaps because a king is buried here—William 1 of Orange?

Thirdly, the artist has chosen a detached perspective. He has painted this View of Delft from an upper storey. He is looking down on the water, the building and the people. Although there is historical accuracy, not least in the omission of the Nieuwe Kerk bell, which had gone for repair, Vermeer has adjusted the arrangement of rooftops and the distances between buildings to enhance his View.

There has never been a day in the history of Delft when the town could be viewed like this. In this way, Vermeer’s View transcends time and allows subsequent generations and even people of other nations to enter the painting, enjoy the View, and be touched by its quiet, peaceful ambience. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in celebrating Delft’s importance in the world but something much more significant.

‘Vermeer’s image originates in his mind’s eye which takes in reality as if seen through a spiritual filter, changes it into an image in its own right, composes it anew and intensifies it.’ writes Irene Netta. For her, the artist is not gazing at anything but is directing his gaze inwards. ¹

Perhaps it’s precisely because the King is not buried in the Nieuwe Kerk but is alive in the world giving a peculiar perspective on life and death and the lasting, untouchable things which still the body and quieten the soul, bringing peace to our whole being.

Vermeer’s attraction as an artist is that things are never what they seem. Although he and his wife had fifteen children, four dying in infancy, and they lived for most of their married life with his mother-in-law, Maria Thins, there is no evidence that any of his family appear in his paintings. Furthermore, he is not interested in painting family scenes, children at play, elderly women and men, the interiors of churches, buildings of architectural interest, political and contemporary events.

Neither does he paint himself. In ‘The Music Lesson’, you can see the artist’s easel reflected in a mirror and in The Art of Painting, the artist is presumed to be Vermeer but his back is turned to the viewer. He is wearing a black beret and a striped jacket which are similarly worn by one of the observers in an earlier painting, The Procuress. Because of this sartorial connection, the observer is considered to be Vermeer too. But we do not know for sure. The artist is elusive, and deliberately so.

It seems that The Art of Painting was a particular favourite. It was never sold, and after Vermeer’s death the family took steps to ensure that it wasn’t sold to pay back some of the painter’s debts. It is one of a few paintings which was signed by the artist and its title was given by him. It reveals some of Vermeer’s thinking about the art of painting.

The subject is Clio, the goddess of history. She wears a crown of laurel leaves on her head which the artist has started painting. She carries a book, perhaps of history and a trombone, a traditional symbol of fame. The woman doesn’t look at the artist. Her eyes are cast down towards the table, and its contents: in particular, a mask too big for her. Perhaps big enough for the artist? Or perhaps a death mask?

The artist’s studio is surprisingly elegant with its tiled floor, draped curtain and golden chandelier. Uncharacteristically, it is devoid of clutter—paint palette, assorted brushes, discarded papers, bottles of paint, mortar and pestle to crush the chemical to make the paint. Part of a leg has disappeared from the easel and the artist’s hand has been painted with little artistry. It appears to be swollen and misshapen.

Is this death to fame and a place in the history of art? Is Vermeer making some sort of statement about the insignificance of the artist compared to the significance of his art? Is the art of painting all about what the artist helps us to see about the world? Does his identity have any significance whatsoever compared to what he puts on the canvas?

What does he paint? Our focus is not the unusual starting point of the laurel wreath. It is the map which has taken centre stage in the composition. It is a luxury map of the Dutch Republic with twenty-six pictures of assorted towns and cities around its border. Curiously, the map and the pictures are not very detailed. What is of greater prominence are the cracks and fault lines which have been painted with extraordinary effectiveness.

It seems unusual that Vermeer should have chosen to highlight the map’s deformities albeit as a reflection of its age. But this is the art of painting not only to paint what is actually visible but to paint the way the light falls upon the object and illuminates it in a surprising way. The light illuminates the cracks not the cities. Vermeer is not really painting the goddess, the artist or the map but the light!

In the Prologue to St. John’s Gospel, John the Baptist is described as a witness to the light. He himself is not the light. ‘The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.’ ² Later on, when his disciples are concerned that more people are being attracted to the baptism of Jesus, John says, ‘He must increase, but I must decrease.’ ³

The nearest we get to a self-portrait of Vermeer is his back. What is important to him is the light and painting the light as it illuminates whatever it touches. Like the Baptist, he decreases in visibility as his focus on the light increases. The desire for fame and a place in history may be there but such is his restraint that it is hardly visible. As Elizabeth Jennings discloses in her poem, Seers and Makers:

There is one quality in common which

Artists and men of prayer

Display when we think back on them. They were

Eager to disappear

Within the words, paint, sound and praying: each

Wished to be hidden. Thus we can

Always mark off the honest from the sham. ⁴