Abraham van Cuylenborch

17th Century Classical Oil Painting - Diana With Her Attendants in a Grotto

1651

James Thornhill (1674-1735) Oil on canvas 12 x 14 inches; 16 ½ x 18 ½ in. Inc. frame The subject matter and inclusion of herms on both sides shows the influence of Louis...

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...

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...

Outstanding English late 18th / early 19th century marine scene by one of Britain's best known and sought after painters. William (or Wiliam) Anderson (1757 – 27 May 1837) was a Scottish artist specializing in maritime and patriotic themes. He was well-regarded for his detailed and accurate portraits of ships under sail, exhibiting his works annually in London between 1787 and 1811 and then occasionally until 1834. Anderson influenced other artists, notably John Ward and others of the Hull school. Anderson's early life is obscure, but he is known to have trained as a shipwright before moving to London to become a maritime painter when he was about 30. His training served him well as a painter, providing "a practical nautical knowledge" of his subjects. He earned a reputation for "accuracy and refinement of detail" and was admired for his bright, clear colours. He worked in both oils and watercolours. He based his style on that of well-known Dutch maritime...