Pen meets paint by uitgeverijdekunst

This book is publishe d on the occasion of the 200 year anniversar y of the Mauritshuis.

mauritshuis, den haag waanders uitgevers, zwolle

paintings writers m auritshuis

Foreword A museum is like a place of worship, somewhere we go for reflection and contemplation. We allow ourselves to be charmed by that which is elevated, masterful, unreal and impossible. A museum is like the Garden of Earthly Delights, where we perceive new colours, lines and shapes in every arbour and flowerbed. A museum is like a local pub, where big crowd pleasers occupy their familiar seats just like the regulars. But a museum is so much more. Especially a museum like the Mauritshuis, where many hundreds of people have worked and some have even lived since 1822. In 200 years the museum has become a vibrant institution, boasting many disciplines and flourishing largely thanks to its many friends and partners, who will remain nameless here because they are too numerous to list. All these people together have made and continue to make the museum what it is today. And all these people have loved and continue to love the museum. Former employees almost always wear a smile when talking about their time here. Every one of them cherishes their Mauritshuis memories and stories. Nevertheless we are all ‘mere’ passers-by, as the collection’s various memento mori so clearly show. We go. The collection remains. The collection inspires us, questions us, carries us away. Sometimes to an ancient myth which at first glance means little to us. Until we are told its meaning and can see something of the story in our own lives after all. A longing, a dilemma, one of life’s big questions. The sublime Mauritshuis collection has been inspiring its visitors for 200 years. At first they were exclusively well-to-do ladies and gentlemen; now the museum is open to all. Throughout all that time a great many artists, photographers, filmmakers, songwriters, dancers,

musicians, authors and poets have absorbed the paintings, from Vincent van Gogh to Marcel Proust, from the musicians of the Concertgebouworkest to the dancers of the Nederlands Dans Theater. In its bicentenary year the Mauritshuis will be celebrating its anniversary with as many festivities and as many people as possible. Nevertheless the paintings remain central: the streets of The Hague will be enhanced with murals modelled on the collection, sixteen photographers will create new work for the exhibition Flashback, and throughout the year the exterior of the Mauritshuis will be transformed into ‘an impossible bouquet’ in the style of De Heem’s painting from 1670 (see p. 362 for this bouquet, which could never have existed because the flowers bloom in different seasons). In short, the various art forms will join forces to engage in the drama, dance and dialogue together. In order to honour this eternal source of inspiration it struck us as a bold move to expose and surrender the collection to Literature, in this case living literature: we wanted a book in which 200 contemporary authors describe an art work of their choice. With the help of the Stichting Collectieve Propaganda van het Nederlandse Boek (cpnb), which promotes Dutch books, we began by drawing up a longlist of authors, ranging from up-and-coming talent to established names. The majority were Dutch writers, but there were also a few major international names. Most writers agreed immediately, although deadlines or other practicalities kept one or two from participating in the project. So it was that suddenly we had 200 authors participating, and we were fully booked. We asked them to ‘Produce a text in prose, letter form, poetry, a song, dream, conversation, contemplation, recipe or shopping list. Historical facts can play a role, but the author’s reflections are far more important to us.’ The writers selected their works from a list of 250 paintings (and a few statues and pastels), supplied by the senior curator Quentin Buvelot. We intentionally offered more works of art than there would be texts, so that there was sufficient choice. Thanks in part to the extremely enthusiastic cooperation of many publishers, for which we are extraordinarily grateful, our unsurpassed editor Daniëlle Hermans succeeded in bringing together the 200 texts within the limited time available. These contributions have been taken on without restrictions as to content; except for a little editorial work, virtually every stroke of the pen remains unchanged. This book, which sings the praises of 200 of the most beautiful, outstanding works from our museum – also known as the Sweet Shop, the Jewellery Box and

the Sugar Palace – is the optimal encapsulation of the Mauritshuis collection in the most human form possible. Readers will encounter scenes ranging from bawdy to mythical, prophetic to ominous, disconcerting to maddening, regal to unassuming. The stories are as rich as the collection itself. Adriaan van Dis, the first author we approached, did not hesitate in selecting Potter’s The Bull, which had captivated him as a young boy. We also consulted him about the Dutch title of the book, which needed to resemble the English title Pen meets Paint. He came up with ‘Pen over Penseel’ (‘pen on brush’), which we eventually pluralised to make it Pennen over Penselen. Publisher Marloes Waanders of Waanders Uitgevers had the courage to take on this – some might say megalomaniacal – project with us. As far as we know, no book has previously been published with contributions from 200 living authors (at the time of writing the honourable art historian and Rembrandt expert Ernst van de Wetering was still with us). And not without good reason. Embarking on such an endeavour requires great organisational talent and a healthy dose of bravura. Marloes turned to Bart van den Tooren, whose attentive and original approach has resulted in an exceptional book, a combination of classic and modern with which the Mauritshuis wholeheartedly identifies. The order of the texts is random: we begin with the works which entered the collection first; the last painting is our most recent acquisition. At the back is a list of all those who have contributed to the creation of this book. We dedicate this work to you, the generous contributors to Pen meets Paint. We hope you enjoy the fruits of these 200 pens. Ma r ti ne Gos s eli nk gen er a l d i r ecto r o f t h e m aur its h uis R e né e Jong e j a n b us i n ess d i r ec tor of t h e m aur its h uis

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beauty Praised all pictures preferred the prettiest. After a pause the one but prettiest became the prettiest. Later the ugliest proved to be the prettiest. How do we ever dare again to prattle of pretty.

The painter’s eye

hans holbein the younger (formerly at tribu ted to) P o r t ra i t o f a Wo m a n f r o m Southern Germany c . 1 5 2 0 -1 5 2 5

I feel the warm glow of the colours in which Holbein has portrayed his model’s clothing almost immediately. The warm yellow, like corn bleached in the sun, which radiates from the long veil in the portrait. The deep siennas, the red earth, hidden in the ochre brown of the jacket and the intricately detailed fur cuffs. Her lips, pressed together in silence, yearning for love, as she attempts to keep a straight face. The soft blush on her cheeks, her skin as smooth as that of a courtesan from the big city she has never been to. A healthy complexion — the light breeze from the Black Forest or the rough southern storm winds burned permanently into her face. The golden-blonde plait, a weapon with which to charm men, hidden underneath her headscarf. Then there are her amber eyes. Gentle and friendly, but with a determined glint too. Holbein has captured her unyielding expression masterfully here. Modestly dressed in her traditional Bavarian clothing, a presentable young farmer’s daughter. This uncompromising country girl exudes the deep warmth possessed by most German women. Perhaps she is the daughter of a rich gentleman farmer, wealthy enough to commission this portrait from the painter. You can tell from her nails that she works on the land, that her hands have recently been buried in the earth. The turquoise background symbolises her Catholic belief. She focuses resolutely on a non-existent horizon, only just managing to suppress a slight smile. Is there perhaps a look of disdain there? Is she impatient after sitting still for so long, not used to posing? Does she fear the painter? Or is she enchanted by the unfamiliar smell of turpentine, oil paint and linseed oil, is she watching the brush in the painter’s hand intently whenever it appears briefly from behind the canvas? Does the inconspicuous ring on the little finger of her left hand indicate that she is already promised to the son of another well-to-do gentleman farmer? Is she waiting, implacable, for the moment when she will crawl from her old skin like a shedding snake? When, in her new, natural skin, she will throw herself on the painter with lustful abandon. Pulling the headscarf from her hair, smoothing her plait, roughly tearing off her heavy clothes. Her straining breasts popping out from her ivory blouse, the pink satin nipples finally free to be squeezed between the painter’s finger and thumb. Holbein will not be able to explain what he has painted, just how he painted it. He will never tell us what he meant by it. Except that there could be no greater pleasure than bringing into being, with perfect brushstrokes, this tender portrait of a young Germanic goddess, an ode to the German Woman.

Wo o d e d L a n d s c a p e w i t h H u n t e r s a n d F o r t u n e Te l l e r

That group of people by the lightning-struck tree: are they heading for the safety of the houses in the valley, or will they turn off down the dark path beneath the oak trees? As soon I saw this painting by twenty-three-year-old Abraham Govaerts, my thoughts turned to a journey that I made — four hundred years later — through the eastern highlands of the Democratic Republic of Congo, following in the footsteps of a rebel who was born there. It was quite a dangerous journey but, just like the figures in Govaerts’s painting, I had no choice: it was one I had to make. The rebel had blood on his hands; I wanted to go back to his younger years, to a time when he was still innocent. I flew to the main town of Minembwe in an sc.7 Skyvan and began my journey from there, on foot through the biblical landscape. I was travelling with David, a young guide who had been assigned to me by the serving colonel, and a changing group of porters. Civilian militias roamed the hills, they took their name Maji Maji (Water Water) from the myth that bullets bounced off them like water. We stayed close to the market-stall holders who travelled from village to village, their wares on their backs, singing to keep up their courage. The people in the highlands live in round huts and cook inside on open wood fires. White smoke streamed from the straw roofs; from a distance the huts looked just like pots of stew. In the evenings, we sat by the fire and listened to stories about unlucky trekkers who had succumbed to malaria or been robbed by the Maji Maji and left for dead in the woods. Just like Govaerts’s travellers, we always stopped when we came across groups walking in the opposite direction and asked each other about what we had experienced on the road so far, what we had each seen and heard. After which, somewhat reassured, we continued our journey through the sinister landscape.

Vincent Icke abraham bloemaert Th e F e a s t o f t h e G o d s a t t h e We d d i n g of Peleus and Thetis 1638

Just as bankers package together individual mortgages, making them so toxic that they destabilise the entire world economy, priests package up individual beliefs to create religions with destructive power. Of all the countless belief systems out there, the Greco-Roman pantheon strikes me as the most comprehensible: a universe model in which the gods are reflections of ourselves. No aspect of humanity is foreign to the Olympians. They are cruel, gentle, lustful, chaste, underhand, open-hearted, brilliant and foolish. They too were at the mercy of fate. But the consequences of their divine actions were usually more gruesome than any brought about by humans: the dirty trick played here resulted in the complete devastation of Troy. The gods could be magnanimous too. One day I would like to paint the final scene from Ovidius’s story about Baucis and Philemon, with the two intertwined trees. Speaking of love: anyone who wants to know quite what a bunch of good-for-nothings these gods were ought to read the story of Orpheus and Euridice. When it comes to religious brutality, the wedding of Peleus and Thetis falls somewhere in the middle of the scale. Bloemaert’s painting depicts the prelude to the Judgement of Paris, who hands the Apple of Discord to Venus because she had promised him the most beautiful woman on earth. This all fits with the ‘male gaze’ with which the work was painted, completely in line with the prevailing mores, thirty centuries ago right up to today. Venus knew that the woman was already married, of course, but that was all part of the fun for the gods. These omnipotent beings had to cause some chaos, to stop themselves from going out of their minds with boredom up there on Mount Olympus. This painting is a beautiful illustration of what religion does, lying low in the undergrowth of the human soul. The painter observes, takes aim and, with a sharply pointed paintbrush, brings the entire concept of religious belief down with a single shot.