James Thornhill

18th Century Neoclassical Oil Painting of the Trojan War: Briseis & Achilles

circa 1710

Abraham van CUYLENBROCH (1620-1658) Diana With Her Attendants in a Grotto 1651 signed oil on panel 12.2 in x 15.7 inches, inc. frame; 31 x 40 cm Provenance: Sale of Sotheby's Lo...

Aftrer Anthony VAN DYCK - maybe Studio (1599, Antwerp – 1641, London) Flemish Double Portrait of George Villiers, 2nd Duke of Buckingham (1628-1687) & Lord Francis Villiers (1629-1648) Oil on Canvas 170 x 147 cm Anthony Van Dyck (1599-1641) No painter has done more to define an era than Anthony van Dyck. He spent only seven and a half years of his short life (1599- 1641) in England. He grew up in Antwerp, where his precocious talent was recognised by Peter Paul Rubens, the greatest painter of his age. He worked in Rubens’s studio and imitated his style as a religious artist, painting biblical scenes redolent of the lush piety of the counter-reformation. But soon he was on the move. In 1620, he visited London for a few months, long enough to paint a history picture, The Continence of Scipio, for the royal favourite, George Villiers, Marquess of Buckingham, and a portrait of his other English patron, the great art collector, Thomas Howard, 2nd Earl of Arundel. After a stint in Italy, making imposing portraits of the wealthy aristocracy and sketching and copying works by Titian, he returned to the Spanish Netherlands in 1627, becoming court artist to Archduchess Isabella before departing for The Hague in 1631 to paint the Dutch ruler Frederick Henry, Prince of Orange. Charles I’s invitation in 1632 led Van Dyck back to London where he was knighted, paid an annual salary of £200 and installed in a house in Blackfriars with a special jetty at which the royal barge might tie up when the King was visiting his studio. By this time Van Dyck was recognised as the leading court painter in Europe, with Velazquez at the court of Philip IV of Spain his only rival. He also excelled as a superbly observant painter of children and dogs. Van Dyck’s notoriety in depicting children led to the introduction of groups of children without their parents as a new genre into English painting (amongst other new genres). For the next 300 years, Van Dyck was the major influence on English portraiture. Nearly all the great 18th Century portraitists, from Pompeo Batoni and Allan Ramsay to Thomas Gainsborough and Joshua Reynolds, copied Van Dyck’s costumes, poses and compositions. George Duke of Buckingham & his brother Francis Villiers Painted in 1635, this double portrait was originally commissioned by Charles I, who raised the two brothers after their father, George Villiers, was assassinated in 1628. Together with their sister, Lady Mary Villiers, they enjoyed the King’s favour absolutely. Francis whose absolute ‘inimitable handsomeness’ was noted by Marvell (who was killed in a skirmish near Kingston upon Thames). The young duke who commanded a regiment of horse at the Battle of Worcester, remained closely associated with Charles II, held a number of high offices after the Restoration and was one of the most cynical and brilliant members of the King’s entourage, immortalised as ‘Zimri’ in Dryden’s Absalom and Achitopbel. As a young man he had sold his father’s great collection of pictures in the Spanish Netherlands, many of them to the Archduke Leopold Willhelm. Painted for Charles I and placed near the portrait of their sister in the Gallery at St James’ Palace. The handling of both costumes is very rich, and the heads are very carefully and sensitively worked. That of the younger boy in particular is more solidly built up than the lower part of the figure. A preparatory drawing for the younger boy is in the British Museum. There are copies at, e.g., Highclere Castle...

Remembering the magic of everyday life moments in the art of David Teniers: The art of David Teniers the Younger (1610–1690) coincided with the heyday of the Flemish Baroque and captured a great variety of motifs of his time. In this painting of a seemingly simple peasant scene lies keys to understanding both the imaginative mind of Teniers as well as why this time period produced some of the most iconic works in all of art history.  As indicated by the name, Teniers was more or less born into his profession. As the son of David Teniers the elder, himself a painter who studied under Rubens, the younger David received training in art from a very young age and had no less than three brothers who also became painters. Because of his father’s frequent financial failures that even at times saw him imprisoned, David the younger helped to rescue the family from ruin through painting copies of old masters. Essentially, the young Teniers was confronted with painting as both a passion and creative expression as well as a necessity during difficult times, an experience that would shape much of his capacity and sensitivity in his coming life. Despite the hardships, the talent and determination of Teniers was recognized and quickly expanded his possibilities. He had already spent time in France and possibly also England when he was hired by his father’s former teacher Rubens to help with a prestigious commission with mythological paintings, now considered lost, for Philip IV the king Spain. In 1644–54 Teniers was appointed dean of the Antwerp Guild of Saint Luke, manifesting his esteemed position within the artistic community. A few years afterwards he took an important step when relocating to Brussels, where Teniers yet again found new career opportunities that would prove to be very successful. As the keeper of the collections of Archduke Leopold Wilhelm, a role similar to what we now refer to as an art advisor, Teniers purchased hundreds of important artworks that manifested the prominent status of the Archduke’s collection while at the same time providing an unusual access to inspiration and knowledge for Teniers himself. Since he kept on painting during the same time, his creative scope must have seemed almost bewildering in the great variety of images and stories that he surrounded himself with.  Regardless of how glamorous and culturally stimulating the career of Teniers was, he was as open to the charm and existential importance of everyday life as he was to works of great masters and luxurious collectibles. In his impressive repertoire of genres with everything from exquisite royal portraits, interiors, landscapes and history paintings he always added something new and inventive, highlighting the possibilities of art and importance of an experimental and intuitive mind. It is difficult to single out one aspect or genre to summarize his legacy, since it lies much more in the broad virtuosity across many motifs, although he is particularly remembered for farm scenes and meticulously depicted interiors where other paintings and artworks are captured with an astonishing precision. However, the fact that he is still today one of the most known and celebrated names of the Dutch Golden Age is a proof to the magic of his work, which continues to spark dialogue and wonder in the contemporary viewer of his works. The farm boy in the field in this painting, which likely dates to the mature part of his career, is a wonderful entry into the mind of Teniers. In the tightly cropped motif, we see him standing right in the middle of the busy harvest when men, women and everyone capable were sent out in the field to collect the crop that formed the very core of their diet and survival. In the background we see a fresh blue sky interspersed with skillfully painted clouds, some trees reaching their autumnal colours and in the far distance the glimpse of a small church and village. The presence of a church in a landscape, so typical of Dutch art, served both a symbolic and visual function as a representation of faith while at the same time defining scale and distance. In the field, the work is in full action with the farmers spread out in various positions, all in the midst of hard and sweaty labour. While they are portrayed as having nothing else than the work on their mind, our farm boy seems to have his attention directed elsewhere. Standing there with his white, half open shirt, flowy curls and strong, sturdy body; his gaze is directed away, out of the picture and the scythes in his hands. He looks almost smirking, expressed with tremendous subtlety in the slight smile of his lips and big eyes, being just in the middle of losing focus on the work. What is it that steals his attention? What has he seen, or realized, or felt – to break him free of the arduous task of harvesting, if but for a moment? Here starts the wondering and the questions that are the hallmark of a great piece of art. Instead of explicitly locking in the motif in overly clear symbolism Teniers has chosen an open ended, subtle yet striking moment for us to consider. While it of course can be related to numerous other farm scene depictions of this time, and clever usages of gazes and real-life scenes to underscore various moral or symbolic meanings, the painting can be much more of a contemplation than an explanation or illustration. The ordinary nature and understated yet emotionally textured composition of the motif gives greater space for our own reactions and thoughts. Has he seen a pretty farm girl just passing by? Is he fed up with the farm life, joyously dreaming away for a minute, imagining another future? Or is he simply in need of distraction, looking away and ready for anything that can steal his attention? One quality that never seem to have escaped Teniers was that of curiosity. During all of his career he constantly investigated, expanded and experimented with not only the style and technique of painting, but with the vision of art itself. Being credited with more or less introducing farm motifs for a broader audience not only tells us of his ability to understand the demand for different motifs, but the sensitivity to transform seemingly ordinary parts of life into deep aesthetic experiences, far beyond their expected reach. The farm boy in this painting is, of course, exactly that. But with the help of one smirk the entire picture is charged with a different energy, awakening many contrasts and relationships between the calm landscape, the hard work and his own breach of effectivity, holding sharp scythes while thinking or seeing something else. It is no wonder Teniers chose to work with farm scenes as a way of investigating these intricate and delicate plays on expectations and surprises, clarity and ambivalence. It invites us to an appreciation of human everyday life that connects us with the people of 17th century...

The splendour of the tragic sea Francesco Guardi and maritime painting in Venetian art No Venetian painter was a stranger to the sea. After all, Venice was not only one of the most prominent ports of the Mediterranean, but indeed a city literally submerged in the ocean from time to time. Curiously however, the famous Venetian school of painting showed little interest in maritime motifs, favouring scenes from the iconic architecture of the city rather than seascapes. That is why this painting is a particularly interesting window into not only the painter Francesco Guardi himself – but to the significance of the element of water in art history, in absence as well as in the centre of attention. Whether it be calm, sunny days with stunning views of the palaces alongside the canals of Venice or – more rarely – stormy shipwrecking tragedies at sea, water as a unifying element is integral to the works of painter Francesco Guardi (1712–1793). During his lifetime, Venetian art saw many of its greatest triumphs with names like Tiepolo or Canaletto gaining international recognition and firmly establishing Venice as one of the most vibrant artistic communities of Europe. While the city itself already in the 18th century was something of an early tourist spot where aristocrats and high society visited on their grand tour or travels, the artists too contributed to the fame and their work spread the image of Venice as the city of romance and leisure to an international audience, many of whom could never visit in person. Still today, the iconic image of Venice with its whimsical array of palaces, churches and other historic buildings is much influenced by these artists, many of whom have stood the test of time like very well and remain some of the most beloved in all of art history. It was not primarily subtility, intellectual meanings or moral ideals that the Venetian art tried to capture; instead it was the sheer vibrancy of life and the fast-paced city with crumbling palaces and festive people that made this atmosphere so special. Of course, Venice could count painters in most genres among its residents, from portraiture to religious motifs, history painting and much else. Still, it is the Vedutas and views of the city that seems to have etched itself into our memory more than anything else, not least in the tradition of Canaletto who was perhaps the undisputed master of all Venetian painters. Born into his profession, Francesco lived and breathed painting all his life. His father, the painter Domenico Guardi (1678–1716) died when Francesco was just a small child, yet both he and his brothers Niccolò and Gian Antonio continued in their fathers’ footsteps. The Guardi family belonged to the nobility and originated from the mountainous area of Trentino, not far from the Alps. The brothers worked together on more challenging commissions and supported each other in the manner typical of family workshops or networks of artists. Their sister Maria Cecilia married no other than the artist Giovanni Battista Tiepolo himself, linking the family to the most renowned Venetian name of the time. During almost a decade, Guardi worked in the studio of Michele Giovanni Marieschi, sometimes simply known as Michiel, a painted similar in both style and motif. Canaletto is, however, the artist Guardi is most often compared to since they shared a mutual fascination for depicting the architecture and cityscape of Venice. During the course of his career, Guardi tried his hand in many different genres. He was as swift in painting landscapes, Vedutas of Venice, sacred motifs, interiors and architectural compositions as he was in a number of other motifs. His style is typical of the Venetian school but also distinct and personal once we look a little closer. There is an absolute certainty in the composition, the choice of which sometimes feels like that of a carefully calculated photograph – yet it is also very painterly, in the best sense of the word: fluid, bold, sensitive and full of character. The brushwork is rapid, intense, seemingly careless and extraordinarily minute at the same time; fresh and planned in a very enjoyable mixture. His interiors often capture the breath-taking spacious glamour of the palaces and all their exquisite decor. He usually constructed the motif through remarkably simple, almost spontaneous yet intuitively precise strokes and shapes. The result was a festive, high-spirited atmospheric quality, far away from the sterile and exact likeness that other painters fell victim to when trying to copy Canaletto. The painting here has nothing of the city of Venice in it. On the contrary, we seem to be transported far away into the solitary ocean, with no architecture, nothing to hold on to – only the roaring sea and the dangerous cliffs upon which the ships are just moments away from being crushed upon. It is a maritime composition evoking both Flemish and Italian precursors, in the proud tradition of maritime painting that for centuries formed a crucial part of our visual culture. This genre of painting is today curiously overlooked, compared to how esteemed and meaningful it was when our relationship to the sea was far more natural than it is today. When both people and goods travelled by water, and many nations and cities – Venice among them – depended entirely on sea fare, the existential connection to the ocean was much more natural and integrated into the imagination. The schools and traditions of maritime art are as manifold as there are countries connected to the sea, and all reflect the need to process the dangers and wonders of the ocean. It could symbolize opportunity, the exciting prospects of a new countries and adventures, prospering trade, beautiful scenery as well as war and tragedy, loss of life, danger and doom. To say that water is ambivalent in nature is an understatement, and these many layers were something that artists explored in the most wondrous ways. Perhaps it takes a bit more time for the modern eye to identify the different nuances and qualities of historic maritime paintings, they may on first impression seem hard to differentiate from each other. But when allowing these motifs to unfold and tell stories of the sea in both fiction and reality – or somewhere in between – we are awarded with an understanding of how the oceans truly built our world. In Guardi’s interpretation, we see an almost theatrically arranged shipwrecking scene. No less than five ships are depicted right in the moment of utter disaster. Caught in a violent storm, the waves have driven them to a shore of sharp cliffs and if not swallowed by the waves, crushing against the cliffs seems to be the only outcome. The large wooden ships are impressively decorated with elaborate sculpture, and in fact relics already during Guardi’s lifetime. They are in fact typical of Dutch and Flemish 17th century ships, giving us a clue to where he got the inspiration from. Guardi must have seen examples of Flemish maritime art, that made him curious about these particular motifs. One is reminded of Flemish painters like Willem van de Velde and Ludolf Backhuysen, and this very painting has indeed been mistakenly attributed to Matthieu van Plattenberg...