Low Tide, by Simon de Vlieger (c. 1652)

Here is a suitably calming image to close out our week of snow, flooding, bad weather and a media Spike-d by phony outrage.

This lovely painting, done on board (as are the majority of de Vlieger’s work), can now be found in the Musée des Beaux-Arts de Strasbourg.  Painted when de Vlieger was around 50 years old, Low Tide is an atypically calm moment in the painter’s oeuvre, and a restorative balm for the end of our week.

Once again, the artist underscores his mastery of the sea by demonstrating his mastery of the sky.  Water is notoriously difficult to paint.  Most non-painters take it to be little more than a dab of blue paint, perhaps buffeted by some white to delineate waves. 

Water, however, is best represented as an inversion of whatever is above it.  Those finest representations of water are those that mirror the sky above.  De Vlieger’s sky is a medley of cool blues, off-whites and warm-ochre clouds (reflecting the setting light).  He then copies this color scheme in the calm, reflected ocean pools surrounding the distant ships and the nearby shoreline.  De Vlieger also creates mirror images of the ships, which almost seem to shimmer in the gloaming; especially clever is one that seems as though it’s reflecting off of the muddy sand.

What do we see in this picture?  Fishing ships (note the nets) at low tide, day over.  The sun sets brilliantly in the distance, the lit sky is quietly celebratory.  As with Seascape in the Morning, there is almost an undercurrent of grace to the moment.  A fisherman treks through the wet sand, looking at the beached boat pulling up its nets.  Here is a stunning realization of the quiet beauty of our every day lives.

It’s important to note, in this last entry for the week, de Vlieger’s capability at capturing fine details.  We saw from his drawing of the Ruins of Brederode that his initial thoughts were of light and dark, value and color.  But take a moment to look at the boats here.  The sails are not Impressionist dabs of color, but real hunks of canvas with different folds, weight pulling them from different directions.  Note the rigging, the beached anchor, the fine network of ropes in the distant-left ship.  These are not throwaways, but carefully captured detail that bring the picture more fully to life.

Though in a minor key, this is no minor picture.  Its sweet solemnity, its sense of closure and quietude, along with the evocation of light and color against actual objects, creates a minor masterpiece.

Seascape in the Morning, by Simon de Vlieger (1640-45)

After the storm comes the calm, both in real life and in art. (I’ve come to believe that art may be more important than life, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

We continue our weeklong look at painter Simon de Vlieger, who was born in Rotterdam in about 1601.  Above is Seascape in the Morning, executed by de Vlieger around 1640-45.  It is, simply, spectacular.

De Vlieger knows, as do all great artists, that the success of any seascape is not the depiction of the water, but, of the sky above it.  The sea, whether calm or stormy, is the vehicle for something much greater and more dramatic – the sky is all of its many magnificent manifestations.

It is the sky through which de Vlieger decides to tell his story.  Read from right to left, this seascape clearly tells the story of deliverance after travail.  To the right of the painting, where the sky is darkest, you see seaman working on their damaged boat.  A smoky fire burns (probably for either tar or pitch, used for sealing the boat beams), and the wooden structure for reeling in boats is clearly decaying from sea air and water rot.

In the foreground left, we see a boat of seamen, either rowing towards shore, but perhaps to one of the waiting boats in the distance.  A figure stands alone among them; this figure clearly stands in an attitude of prayer.  Whether this is a prayer of thanksgiving or a prayer of deliverance is unknown, but it would appear (from the attitude of the right-most rower) that they are heading ashore.

But, look at the ships in the middle distance.  A fully-rigged ship is heading towards the rising sun, and other ships become indistinct ghosts the closer they get to the distant horizon.

That the horizon is benevolent is evidenced by the columns of white light that penetrate through the clouds.  These rays of light illuminate the clouds, brightening them, and radiate clear beams of light that reach into the sky.  The quality of light is not unlike those that emanate from halos in religious iconography, and whether de Vlieger does this intentionally or unconsciously, the effect is the same.  It is morning, and we have survived to make another day.

This is an oddly … religious painting.  Without the benefit of any Christian iconography, de Vlieger paints a stunning story of trial and transcendence, or human suffering and the hope for heaven.  As so many of us continue to dig out from under the snow, it is a comforting image to retain.

More de Vlieger tomorrow!

Dark Landscape, by Simon de Vlieger (1640)

We thought the current weather makes a perfect opportunity to look at the work of under-appreciated artist Simon de Vlieger, starting with this suitably dark and brooding landscape, painted in 1640.

Many readers aren’t familiar with painter Simon de Vlieger, who was born in Rotterdam in about 1601.  (In a 1648 letter, he described himself as 47 – so 1601 or so would be right.)  Very little record of his early training as an artist survives, but historians believe he may have been a pupil of Jan Porcellia (c. 1584-21632).

He married Anna Gerridts van Willige in 1627, and the couple would return to Rotterdam throughout their lives, buying a house on the Schilderstraat in 1637 that served as an occasional retreat.  They moved in 1634 to Delft, where De Vlieger joined the Saint Luke’s Guild of painters.  

The peripatetic De Vliegers would become citizens of Amsterdam in 1643.  The artist’s decision to move there was undoubtedly related to a commission he received to provide two designs for the festivities honoring the arrival of Marie de Medici into the city on August 31, 1638.  He would also receive important commissions between 1638 and 1645 from the city of Delft for tapestry designs, for etchings, and to paint the organ doors for the Grote Kerk in Rotterdam, for which he received the considerable sum of 2,000 guilders on January 7, 1645. 

Although he may have lived in Rotterdam sporadically during these years, in September 1644 he sold his house there. Early in 1648 he received a commission to design the stained-glass windows for the south side of the Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam, a project that earned him 6,000 guilders.  In January 1649 De Vlieger left Amsterdam and bought a house in Weesp, a small town 10 miles southeast of the city. He died there in 1653.

The artist was one of the most important and influential painters of the 17^th century, and while the scope of de Vlieger’s commissions indicate his considerable success as an artist, his currency in contemporary art history is surprisingly low.  De Vlieger painted mostly dramatic seascapes – filled with stormy seas and grotesque outcroppings of rock.  Born long before the advent of Romanticism, de Vlieger can still be seen as a spiritual brother of the Romantics.  He cannot paint the placid, the peaceful or the ordinary; his imagination is larger-than-life, melodramatic and uncanny.

For today’s picture, we exchanged a seascape for a dark and stormy landscape.  If ever there was an evocative picture that speaks volumes with minimal detail, it would be this.  Look at what de Vlieger achieves with his restricted palette of blues, whites, and a little ochre.  The overcast sky promises storms and cold weather, while the trees – both living and dead – list to one side in the coming wind.  The massive roots of the trees are spread wide, as if wrapping a powerful grip into the earth itself to keep from blowing away.

The wind also affects the meagre scrub at the side of the road.  This powerful sweep of wind is underscored by the minimally depicted bird, whose wingspan and trajectory illustrate the wind.

Other brilliant touches abound.  The left-most tree spreads its dead fingers against the light-most part of the sky, while the leafy trees occupy the darkest; hence the details of both are not lost to the viewer.  The tree dead-center actually bucks the wind, shifting the other way to some degree.  Its mid-height branches almost give the tree the semblance of human resistance, as if its arms were spread and it refused to be swayed.

De Vlieger counterpoints the trees with the solitary figure making his way through the windy night.  There is a hint of a cane carried in his hand, which also accentuates the sturdy efforts of the trees around him.

More de Vlieger tomorrow!

Full Moon, Winter Crossing by Peter Fiore

It’s always a pleasure for us to cover contemporary artists here at The Jade Sphinx, and when coming across the fine work by artist Peter Fiore (born 1955), I wanted to take a closer look at one of my favorite paintings, Full Moon, Winter Crossing.

Fiore is predominantly a landscape painter; he has won a number of awards, including first place for landscape in the Art Renewal Center’s Annual Salon, along with receiving the Grand Prize in the America China Oil Painters Artist League (ACOPAL).

 

Fiore was born in Teaneck, NJ, and studied at Pratt Institute and later at the Art Students League in New York.  He is also a professional illustrator, collaborating on thousands of projects while also working on the faculties of Pratt, Syracuse University and the School of Visual Arts.  He lives with his wife, the sculptor Barbara Fiore, alongside the Delaware River in northeastern Pennsylvania.  Readers are encouraged to look at his Web site at:   http://www.peterfiore.com/.

Many of Fiore’s paintings are wintry landscapes.  As your correspondent considers this the most beautiful time of year – and thinks Pennsylvania among the most beautiful of places in the United States – I wanted to show you Full Moon, Winter Crossing, painted on linen and about 48x60 in diameter.  As Fiore writes on his Web site: I am especially drawn to the winter landscape. It is a time when the earth loses its leafy covering and reveals it's true self. Covered in snow, the world reflects light and creates a spectrum of colors that are both dramatic and beautiful.

Well… where to start on this wonderful picture?  First, I am struck by the stark beauty of the winter landscape.  The dead trees stand silent sentinel at the riverside, and bits of withered vegetation struggle to peek through the snow.  A small house is visible in the distance, but there are no lights in the window to connote a sense of hearth; there’s no fireside warmth on this night.

For Fiore, the river is a living thing.  It captures the moonlight and reflects it back, reshaped on the currents of water.  The shadows of the bridge create rich shadows which shimmy, and the water grows more darkly blue as the eye travels left, away from the moonlight.  And this is not the placid water of a summer day – this water flows.

Another striking thing about the picture is the quality of light.  Look at how Fiore plays the moonlight on the bridge top, illuminating the steel girders with yellow highlights.  More interesting, look at how he plays the light on the pier supporting the bridge or on the snow in the foreground:  shadows are not black (or brown washes), but nighttime blue in the cold evening light.  Even the moonlight that catches the rippling water has a quality of coldness that perfectly captures the season.

Despite the empty house and cool colors, there is still an element in the picture that is welcoming and beautiful.  This is not winter desolation, but, rather, winter in all of its cool, clear, crystalline beauty. 

One last thing – sometimes the power of a painter in not in the finished picture, but in the sensory associations it suggests.  Though there is nothing at all overt in the picture, what I sense looking at Full Moon, Winter Crossing is not the cold, nor the damp of the water, but a sense of quiet – the special muffled quality to the air that only a snowy winter day offers.  It is, like many interesting pictures, powerful in its suggestions as well as its representations.