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!