Whittoons

How do I love thee…let me count the surreal ways. So a friend requested an image of her favorite canine companion, and when I saw his startled face (or is it a look of high anticipation just as one utters, “WALK?”) with his droopy jowl, it spoke to me of Dali’s surreal view of the world. A little trippy maybe?

The inspiration of the Dali Dog came from a painting by Salvador Dali called, : “One Second Before the Awakening from a Dream Provoked by the Flight of a Bee Around a Pomegranate”. It is really hard to find the bee in the landscape, but the buzz must have been awesome…along with whatever stimulant buzz provoked the tenuous moment in his head.

Strolling above the Sound with the pungent smell of the mud flats wafting up the slope and seagulls crying of storms brewing, we came across two adjacent dry docks offering weathered pirate ships for sale. We checked with Lloyds of London yet they declined to invest (their loss), so we tossed in two dollars each and hauled the vessels to our shelter for refitting.

A thorough swabbing from poop deck to the deep hold and the hull gleamed. Two new portholes needed constructing, yet sails deployed easily, rigging was intact, and anchor chains deployed smoothly.

Next we decked the ships out with fitting flags and pennants to celebrate future successful plundering. Stella (the mermaid manatee) chose a classic Odalisque pose for posterity and Pussy (the Shiva Octopus) struck an “all hands on deck pose”.

Recruiting a crew was a challenge since boutique cruise lines were paying bonuses and free grog for genuine rogues. Long John Silver was off seeking buried treasure. So we took the drastic step of dragooning several crew members from other narratives:

the frog who stole grandfather’s teeth and Carl the robot from A Day With Wilbur Robinson, the bear and rabbit from I Want My Hat Back, and Owl from The Night Owl.

Though not happy, the crew settled in comfortably when they realized more adventures did await, and they could avoid being stuck in the same narrative day after day.

So now the refitted vessels sit at anchor waiting for two young Masters to go down to the sea in ships. Young Captains Horatio and Jack Aubrey are preparing their sea bags for the next voyage.

The Rijksmuseum had announced they had more tickets for this special exhibit…if you were willing to pay an exorbitant fee for a flight over, avoid jet lag with several shots of espresso and seek directions for a time slot in the middle of the night. We avoided this rush when my sister-in-law pushed the buy button several months ago and got 12 tickets. We were the last to commit due to a kitchen remodel (more on that later), and so spent a wad to get to Europe and find a decent double bed…but we had avoided major overseas adventures for three years and found every excuse to invest in the art immersion.

We do not have quite the fixation on Vermeer that my sister-in-law (Michele’s twin) and her husband. They are aiming to see all Vermeer paintings within their lifetime and this exhibit made that Bucket List goal achievable. We , on the other hand, are seeking all Caravaggios – (Oh, just because he was such a rogue and died young like many rock musicians in our time. And of course his use of light and renderings of subjects is extraordinary.) And we even came upon one in the Louvre by accident, The Fortune Teller, later in our trip.

So the exhibit halls were busy but paintings not unapproachable, if you wait patiently for the current to sweep you by the intimate works. These are not huge on the scale of some Delacroix, Gericault or Reubens paintings where you must stand back to be engulfed with scene like a Cinerama theater experience. These works demand close scrutiny so viewer etiquette is most critical. Some viewers just do not get it and stand for minutes upon minutes right smack in front of painting. I can admire their awe, but hell man get your butt in gear and move on. I guess I was experiencing art rude rage.

Our two grand nephews, age 3 and 7, were with us and have been exposed to enough art to actually have a glimmer of interest. Museum guards soon let me know even before climbing the stairs to the exhibit, that I would not be able to place the littlest on my shoulders for preferred viewing. So we maneuvered as best we could to make sure they saw most of the images, if from an almost ground level perspective. The Map Reader caught their attention. We often talk of past travel adventures with the kids, spinning a globe or searching maps to show the locations of past events. Yet soon enough , one inquisitive young one piped up, “I want to see penises and bottoms”. Wrong gallery for that exposure.

No mention is made of the theory that Vermeer might of taken advantage of a Camera Obscura to accurately depict perspective. At least they mention one piece has a pin hole, used to create single point perspective using thread. But one is amazed at the fixation with depth in such small studio spaces.

[Side note: Single point perspective in a painting first showed up in the fresco The Trinity by Masaccio (1427). His intent seems to have been to draw the viewer right into the moment by using the perspective of the onlooker.]

Vermeer also draws you into the scene so that at times you seem to be expected (an empty chair may beckon), or gazing on others you are privy to personal moments defying discretion. A voyeur of a Vermeer, as a young woman reads a love note. Or you may steal a glance through an open door of a disruption in the atmosphere of home life.

Check out another Love Letter painting for a contrast, painted almost a century earlier. Nothing secretive, this proposal is upfront and personal and you, the viewer are complicit. Quite the difference between the French and Dutch messages of love.

Here is another compare and contrast image. de Hooch painted very similar scenes to Vermeer but they were less intimate, more open and less claustrophobic.

By viewing many of the Vermeer paintings alongside each other, I realized how staged these setting were, with the same models or same outfits sometimes in the same room though unique details of wall hangings and art lent significance to the paintings meaning.

Patience and meticulousness were needed to complete these works. I gain great satisfaction in creating a political cartoon in a few hours, yet sitting for days and days to fastidiously apply thin, maybe even single hair brush strokes to a painting is beyond my comprehension. Perhaps people in those times were less easily distracted, and had more time to focus on the intimate details. The broad and quick brush strokes of Frans Hals at 80 years of age or the impressionist plain air landscapes, all have an air of spontaneity and vitality, even motion in still settings. Vermeer’s work is precious, capturing fleeting moments and setting them in amber.

Models probably yearned for the Camera Obscura, just to avoid holding a pose for eternity as Vermeer captured a glance, a look, a gesture for posterity. I empathize with the models. As a five year old, I sat for a portrait briefly and the artist took several photos of me to work from, so I did not suffer cramps holding the pose. What you do not notice, given the obligatory smile on my face, was that the family and the artist refused to let me wear my coonskin hat for the sitting. Unlike the portrait of a resolute Churchill that captured his indomitable spirit after the photographer Karst snatched his cigar away, I found my bliss and looked West. It, the actual skinned racoon, rested on my lap lending me aid and comfort. So I was not in full regalia as a Davy Crockett wanna-be, but the spirit of adventure settled over me. And we did move West shortly thereafter.

My second modeling opportunity occurred on a family trip to Europe when I was 13, retracing some of my Dad’s WWll action. Groggy from jet lag (we flew Icelandic Air , a prop jet, that took forever) , we wandered over to a restaurant area. Mom requested Dad go down steep steps for reconnaissance, to check out the Brush and Pallet situated underground. Given my parents love of art, this spot seemed appropriate. Dad gave the thumbs up and we descended into what would become, not Dante’s Inferno, but Tommy’s heaven. Waitresses wore smocks that reached down just over their hips and net stockings gripped their long legs. Toes tantalizingly peaked out from stiletto heeled shoes. When pouring water, their firm upper thighs were within inches of my face. We ordered, though I had a hard time focusing on the menu. As we received our first course, a curtain was pulled back at the end of the room revealing a nude model reclining on a sofa. Oh, Lordy could life get any better! My parents took this all in, and just kept on sipping their soup. I have no recollection of what was on my dinner plate, since with new glasses , I kept grabbing glances of the models who rotated, taking various Odalisque positions throughout the night. After dessert, my parents had me sit for a portrait to be drawn by a resident artist. RIGHT next to the stage! It was CRUEL. I was forced to keep my head facing away from the stage. I totally strained my peripheral vision to sustain me in this torture. The portrait failed to depict the blushing in my cheeks that was so evident to me. Hormones were raging. Maybe this was an inferno with temptation just out of reach, driving me insane with juvenile lust.

I modeled once as an adult, for an art school (Now called the Gage Academy). The founders lived next door, and I think they were desperate to find someone to sit in a class that focused on Titian’s technique . (Given the many years he painted and his evolving technical approaches over time, this class must have been intense.) My one stipulation was that I would not pose nude. Apparently baring all, was not necessary. I arrived fulled clothed for the part, with blue velvet hat, Afghan silk embroidered shirt and Afghan silk coat of many colors. I entered the studio with some trepidation, recalling a childhood incident when I was cast as Page in Sleeping Beauty (having been demoted from Prince after I actually kissed the “sleeping” beauty – to her utter disgust. I thought they were looking for verisimilitude with method acting.) I arrived to class in full costume, complete with tights and puffy shorts- only to find out I had the wrong day and everyone laughed and I retreated to a dark closet to change, totally embarrassed , and committed to never act again. This time it appeared no other models had shown up in a “period”costume, so rather than laugh me out of the room and force a retreat to a closet, they yearned for me to stay in character. I was in a Titian place suited to the moment. Yet sitting in one position for 25 minutes straight and only 5 minutes break before resuming a pose…well I think models deserve respect. They should demand a massage between sittings.

Exposing oneself to as many Vermeers as possible in a short amount of time, is perhaps admitting you are a glutton for punishment. Can one be overexposed? Does it add value in knowing that an artist produced so few works and those works are scattered around the globe, and to see them means a true seeking of beauty. In this Rijksmuseum setting, one can feel overwhelmed with such a large dose of the extraordinary. I felt a pang of guilt not spending enough time with any one piece (trying to avoid a “seen that, done that” posture), like moving too abruptly from friend to friend at a party. Am I doing them a disservice, being rude in turning my back on greatness?