208 – Some are born great

Frans Hals, Portrait of Catharina Hooft with her Nurse, 1619-20. Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Gemäldegalerie.

I have rarely been so excited at an exhibition as I was when visiting Frans Hals at the National Gallery. I was excited to go, yes, but on seeing the first paintings, the thrill increased. I’ve seen quite a few of them before, and yet they seemed more brilliant than ever. His handling of paint is second to none – unprecedented in its freedom and apparent spontaneity – and his ability to capture both the appearance and character of his subjects is also unparalleled. I have no doubt that he was a better painter than Johannes Vermeer, but was he a better artist? Well, that depends on how you define artistry, and it also relies on personal taste. I certainly think people should be queuing round the block to see this exhibition, but perhaps the fact that Hals was far more productive than Vermeer means that it does not seem so ‘special’. Or maybe it’s because there are no novels or films inspired by his work… But you must go – you’re in for a treat! Either that, or sign up for my talk this Monday, 16 October at 6pm. The following week I will look at another of the 17^th Century’s most dazzling artists, Peter Paul Rubens, whose output was even greater than that of Hals, but don’t let that blind you to his virtuosity and subtlety. In subsequent weeks I will introduce an intriguing exhibition currently in Hamburg, Ingenious Women, and return to the National Portrait Gallery for a third visit – looking at (some of) The Georgians. Before then, though, a new project: in-person tours. This is a trial, looking at the early Italian paintings in the National Gallery, which have been beautifully rehung and superbly lit in the lower galleries. I will give the same 90-minute tour twice, at 11:00am and 2:30pm on Thursday 9 November, and am limiting the numbers for a better experience. These links will take you to Eventbrite, which is better for in-person events than Tixoom, I believe.

This is a relatively early painting by Frans Hals, although he seems to have been a slow starter: he would have been about 37 or 8 when it was painted. Having said that, he was still working at the age of 80, so there was more than enough time for him to catch up. As an ‘early work’, though, there is absolutely no sense that he was still learning – it is a painting of the most profound brilliance, both in terms of its technique and its originality. The basic idea may seem quite simple, and yet it is entirely innovative. The rising merchant class of what would be recognised, about three decades after this was painted, as the Dutch Republic wanted you to know who they were, and so portraiture reached new heights. It was not only the pater familias who should be represented – and so commemorated for future generations – but also the lady of the house. She usually retained her own family’s name as a sign that she was from a background of equal status to that of her husband. And then there was the hope for the next generation, and the continuation of the greatness which husband and wife brought with them. Young Catharina Hooft is presented to us as the queen of the household, ruling over her domain, supported by her most loyal courtier, her nurse. And that is what is truly astonishing about this painting. In the tradition of family portraiture, which was still developing, boys were watched over by their fathers (to the right – our left – of the family), and were frequently shown learning what it was to be a man. On the left (our right), the girls are with their mothers, preparing to be good wives – and so, good mothers – with flowers (beauty), fruit (fertility) or dolls (maternity)… In this case, though, we have a servant, who receives almost as much attention as the young mistress. Portraits were usually of the great and the good, and servants, if included (and I can think of a couple of examples), tended to be in the background, or off to one side. Placing the nurse at the centre of attention is entirely unorthodox, but a stroke of genius.

Not much to see in this detail, you might think, and yet – Catharina’s dress takes up about one third of the surface of the portrait. Not a huge amount of fabric, admittedly, given the size of the subject, and yet, relative to the size of the subject no expense has been spared. Catharina Hooft was born on 28 December 1618, and would have been less than two – possibly less than one – when this was painted. To say that her skirts would reach to the floor implies that she was able to stand. They certainly allow for movement, as the dress is incredibly broad for her tiny frame. This wealth of material is overlaid by what appears to be a second, shorter overskirt attached to her bodice or jacket. Every square centimetre is richly embroidered – in gold – with stylised foliage and fruits, which not only emphasizes the enormous wealth of the family to which she belongs, but also the fact that the same wealth is reliant on her future fecundity for it to remain within the family down through the generations – not something that would have occurred to her just yet, I would imagine. She would marry at the age of 16, though.

As well as the overskirt, there are full-length embroidered sleeves and an embroidered cape attached across her shoulders, not to mention the most delicate starched lace cuffs and collar. She has multiple gold chains around her neck from which hangs a polished red jewel, as well as an equivalent gold bracelet and a gold belt (the last of these more subtle). The necklace frames a beautiful section in the lace panel which runs the length of her bodice, one of three octagonal details, the other two of which are disguised by the jewel and belt. In her left hand she is holding a rattle, with a teether that appears to be silver, set in a gold mount. However, it is more likely to be ivory (coral was another common material used for teething). There are also gold bells, which, as well as amusing the child, were also supposed to ward of evil spirits, as was coral, if used. The nurse is holding an apple, proffering it to her ward, and I can’t help seeing the apple and rattle as standing in for an orb and sceptre. In 1631 Velázquez would use this metaphor in a portrait of the young Balthasar Carlos, heir to the throne of Spain. The objects in question are held by one of the court dwarves, who stands in front of the Prince acting as a mock monarch. Hals, despite living in a republic which was in the process of freeing itself from Spanish rule, seems to have got there a decade earlier, and so Catharina appears as a proper little princess, heiress to the family fortunes.

Of course, the full force of the painting comes from the faces. Catharina is surprisingly self-possessed for one so young – but then, that was Hals’s great talent: the communication of character. She looks us straight in the eye, a pleasant smile on her face, her plump, pink cheeks glowing from her otherwise pale (and therefore, given the time, genteel) complexion. Her entirely delightful appearance is framed by a diadem-like lace fringe on her headdress, and the starched, lace-trimmed collar which we noted before. Light reflects from the collar onto the side of her cheek, helping to define the curve of her jaw. The nurse’s expression is more equivocal – a smile, yes, but one that speaks of duty and service. Her complexion is slightly swarthier – she is of humble origins, after all – and she does not look us fully in the eye: she has something on her mind, undoubtedly. Her headdress is not without ornament – thin bands of lace – and her simple ruff is fastened with a red ribbon, a hint of which can be seen where the collar parts at the front. And at this juncture is the most wonderful gesture, the action of a child who is not fully in command of their limbs, as Catherina reaches out to her nurse to touch, or hold, or show affection, or maybe distance – as if she were saying ‘don’t get too close – this is about me’. There are many elements which differentiate the status of the two subjects of this portrait, Catharina’s gesture being just one. The complexions, and the complexity of dress are two more, and there is also an interesting difference in the way the mouths are painted.

In both, the lips are divided by a simple painted line. For the nurse this is a particularly bold brushstroke, rough and ready like the woman herself. For Catharina it is far finer, and more delicate. But then, she is only one, or two at the most… It’s not a technique I noticed Hals using in the other portraits, but maybe I didn’t look closely enough, so I’m heading back in there now to check – I’ll let you know what I find on Monday. I’d love to tell you more about Catharina’s future – but I’ve said enough already. She does have a Wikipedia page of her own, though, so you can check there to see what happened next, and how she looked as a ‘grown up’. Well, at eighteen – but she’d been married for two years already by then, so…