First, I would like to apologize to those who enjoy this blog and my rambles. Also those who've been curious about why I have been M.I.A for 2 months; common question in my world. I have been away escaping a boring book tour, researching my new novel and taking personal time to revisit family and friends. Sorry for the break, but well needed. Besides that, a lot of photography and writing has kept me amused and busy. I will have scribbles I've been pondering up soon. Hope you enjoy the post on a very cherished painter - Chazzy :)
We live in a world immersed with false glamour. In truth, the issue does not lie with glamour itself, but rather with the things we have as a whole consented to view as captivating and glamorous. Progress won't be found in destroying the entire thought of glamour from our lives. Preferably, what we have to do is take our appreciation and energy all the more astutely: to look upon the things which genuinely do merit prestige.
One of the significant things artists can do for us is to improve the image of glamour in the most positive – and most helpful – directions. They can distinguish things that we tend to neglect yet which, ideally, we should think about with detailed attention. What's more, by the delicacy, excellence, ability, and insight with which they depict these things, we also can come to see their actual worth.
The Milkmaid, 1657-8
Serving ladies – and bread and milk – were not viewed as particularly energizing in the late 1650s, when Johannes Vermeer painted it. He didn't search out a model who was profoundly appreciated by many. Instead, he invested his energy looking painstakingly at a scene which he happened to love. However, a great many people at the time would have considered this exhausting and not worth a minute's thought.
Vermeer found in the serving lady pouring milk something that he felt merited a delayed examination and reverence. He thought something genuinely fundamental was taking place. By worldly standards, it's an entirely humble circumstance. The room is a long way from lavishing and rich. Be that as it may, the care with which she works is dazzling. He is inspired by the possibility that our actual needs may be very straightforward and simple. Bread and milk are truly somewhat fulfilling. The light through the window is terrific and also reason many consider him the master of light. A plain white wall can be delightful and needed to enjoy the simplicity.
Vermeer is redistributing glamour of this period by raising the prestige of the things he portrays. What's more, he's attempting to motivate us to feel a similar way. Our Milkmaid is a sort of purposeful propaganda (or an advert) for simple joys.
The Lacemaker, 1669-1671
Consider the meticulous, skillful – and commercial – business of making lace: Vermeer paints the independently employed businesswoman with the commitment and care that would, customarily, be paid to a military war hero or impressive pioneering political.
Johannes Vermeer was born in 1632 in the little and charming city of Delft, where his father was a humbly successful art merchant/innkeeper. Vermeer remained in Delft a significant portion of his life. He never voyaged far from Delft after his marriage at age 21.
Vermeer scarcely even left his charming house in Delft from the sounds of it! He and wife, Catharina, had ten children (and numerous more pregnancies). He did a lot of painting in the front rooms on the upper floor while his family enjoyed a somewhat quiet life. Vermeer was a slow painter, but not just a painter. He stayed with the family business of innkeeping and art dealing. He even became the leader of the local guild of painters. In contemporary terms, his work was not a huge success outside his hometown of Delft. He wasn't particularly popular amid his lifetime. He didn't profit much either from the art world.
He was, in fact, an exemplary individual of (back then) an essential sort of member of their society: the working middle class. He was in his teens when Holland (or the Seven Provinces) turned into an independent state – the first 'bourgeois republic' on the planet. Contrast to the semi-feudal aristocratic countries that encompassed it; Holland gave respect and political power to individuals who were not at the apex of society: to vendors, administrators, prosperous artisans, and entrepreneurs.
It was the first nation on the planet to be unmistakably modern.
The Girl with the Pearl Earring, 1665
An excellent insight of Christianity – which is at last separable from the encompassing theology – is that everybody's internal life is imperative, regardless of the possibility that outwardly they don't appear to be exceptionally distinguished.The contemplations and feelings of an apprentice tailor considered for much (from a spiritual perspective) as those of an Emperor or a General.
He paints The Girl with the Pearl Earring with a similar sort of thought. She isn't anyone acclaimed or important in the world's eyes. She isn't rich or famous. The pearl that she wears is pleasant, yet it is a minor trinket by the measures of the fashionable world around them. It is the one somewhat expensive thing she possesses. Yet, she does not need justice – she's not discouraged or ill-treated by the world. She is (in need of a better term) ordinary. However, apparently, in herself she is (like everybody) not at all ordinary: she is mysteriously unique and significantly herself.
The Little Street, 1657-8
The painting which best sums up Vermeer's reasoning, The Little Street, has turned out to be famous amongst the most well-known masterpieces in the world of art. It has pride of place in Amsterdam's extraordinary Rijksmuseum; it's insured for half a billion euros and is the subject of a heap of scholarly articles.
However, the painting is inquisitively – and distinctly – out of sync with its status. Because, above all else, it needs to demonstrate to us that the ordinary can be incredibly unique. The picture says that taking care of a simple but beautiful home, cleaning the yard, watching the kids, darning fabric – and doing these things loyally and without giving up – is life's genuine duty.
It is an anti-heroic painting: a weapon against bogus imagery of glamour. It declines to acknowledge that genuine glamour relies upon astounding accomplishments of valor or on the achievement of status. It contends that doing the modest things, that are anticipated from every one of us, is enough. The painting asks that you be similar to it: to take the attitudes it cherishes and to apply them to your life.
If a decent, good society had an establishing record of its founding, it could be this little picture. It is a focal commitment to the world's understanding of happiness.
Vermeer did not live long. He kicked the bucket in 1675, still just in his mid-forties.
Be that as it may, he had imparted a pivotal – and immensely rational – thought; quite a bit of what makes a difference to us isn't energizing, urgent, emotional or unique. The vast majority of life is brought up managing things which are routine, conventional, modest, unassuming and (frankly) a touch dull. Our way of life should concentrate on motivating us to welcome the normal, the habitual and the ordinary.
The everyday masterpiece.