Why This Is Rembrandt’s Masterpiece
WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2003-2020
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.
Gerard Van der Leun
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
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Nerdwriter may be a layman at art criticism, but he does get off some very good art videos. Rembrandt’s massive painting has lines, darks and lights, and movement. It exceeds the physical content of the painting, and unvarnishes the character of the Amsterdammer irregulars. Old Remmy wasn’t great because he could render and paint – he was great because he continued to innovate and loosen up. So much so, his career goes south on greased arquebus shot! He dies a debtor and is vilified by the city he revealed, and who at first loved him to fame.
That’s why I love Rembrandt. I love that he stuck a finger in their eye.
Thanks for posting this vid. A little story: years ago, when I worked in midtown Manhattan, on the occasional Friday evening immediately after escaping the office, I’d take the train uptown and walk over to the Metropolitan. My too-big-to-fail bank employer was a corporate sponsor for the museum, so employees could get in for free (or make a donation if they felt like it). Anyway, most of the time my whole point in going to the museum was to visit the rooms where a few Rembrandt’s were/are displayed. I do not claim to be anything but ignorant about the vast world of Western art, but I know what I like, and few things I know brought me the kind of joy and solace I took in sitting quietly for a while, staring at those too real portraits, almost believing that, at any moment, they would talk to me in Dutch. He and his contemporaries were brilliant. His paintings make me glad to be alive. Thanks, again.
Hi, Kerry!
I’ll be at The Met on Friday. I’ll say hello to a Rembrandt for ya!
Rembrandt’s “Night Watch” . . . ? What? Has this guy never seen Game of Thrones? Please. Give me a break! Also, I hate listening to nonbinary proletariats parroting Mrs. Hooper, my sophomore art appreciation teacher, when describing any, yes Any!, piece of art. Still, it is a pretty picture.
Thanks, Casey! If ANY of those portraits do, in fact, start a conversation with you, don’t tell me when you return. I’ll be so jealous! Har!
Have a wonderful time.