The Rijksmuseum’s Vermeer Blockbuster Portrays the Dutch Master in Today’s Light
Installation view, “Vermeer,” Rijksmuseum. Photo by Henk Wildschut. Courtesy of Rijksmuseum.
There is a reason why we also call art exhibitions “shows”: Beyond canvases adorning walls and sculptures erected over pedestals, we strive for a spectacle that wraps our bodies in multisensory stimulation. Few exhibitions, however, promise such a grandiose artistic extravaganza, or a feast of art historical discoveries, as the current Johannes Vermeer exhibition at Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum.
Simply titled “Vermeer,” the show is an affair of superlatives, from being the largest exhibition of the artist’s work ever organized, to becoming the fastest that a show has completely sold out tickets—450,000 in total—in the museum’s history. Perhaps it will also be, for the time being, the most ambitious institutional undertaking in terms of logistics and anticipation. The show boasts 28 of the 37 total known paintings that the Dutch Baroque master created in his 45-year life. That feat was accomplished through the collaboration of some of the world’s most esteemed art museums, which, understandably, do not often loan out their prized Vermeers.
Johannes Vermeer, Mistress and Maid, c. 1665–67. Photo by Joseph Coscia Jr. Courtesy of The Frick Collection, New York.
Johannes Vermeer, Girl Interrupted at Her Music, 1659–61. Photo by Joseph Coscia Jr. Courtesy of The Frick Collection, New York.
Previously, the largest exhibition dedicated to the artist was held in 1995, when the Washington Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., and the Royal Cabinet of Paintings Mauritshuis in The Hague opened a two-venue show. The exhibition featured 21 paintings, yet it did not include the three owned by the Frick Collection, which has been known to be hesitant about loaning out its holdings, including Office and Laughing Girl (1657–58).
The Frick’s temporary move to the Breuer building, however, encouraged Rijksmuseum leadership to request the three paintings from the New York institution. And the impossible began to appear rather feasible as that and additional loans were granted from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the National Gallery in London, the Musée du Louvre, Mauritshuis, the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., and other major institutions.
Johannes Vermeer, A Lady Writing, 1664-67. Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art, Washington. Gift of Harry Waldron Havemeyer and Horace Havemeyer Jr., in memory of their father, Horace Havemeyer.
Johannes Vermeer, A Young Woman standing at a Virginal, 1670–72. Courtesy of The National Gallery, London.
The show’s unprecedented nature has inspired widespread enthusiasm for Vermeer: At Rijksmuseum’s restaurant Rijks, the young chef Joris Bijdenijk has started serving artist-inspired dishes, including an amuse-bouche that includes a “pearl” of cucumber soup that pops in mouth. Meanwhile, a reality show titled The New Vermeer on Dutch TV has contestants compete to recreate the artist’s six known but missing paintings.
Whether or not you hold one of the golden tickets, the show’s dramatic promise starts before stepping into the museum. The Rijksmuseum’s Gothic façade is adorned with a duo of massive banners that show extreme details from two of the show’s modest-size paintings: a lush stream of milk oozes from a ceramic jug on one side; a young woman’s chin brushes up against her blouse’s elaborate white ruffles on the other.
Rijksmuseum. Courtesy of Rijksmuseum.
The theatrical feel continues inside, where “Vermeer” evolves across 10 galleries, materializing today’s exhausted expression of an “immersive experience,” in actuality. Eschewing chronological order, the show instead follows the artist’s painterly interests and fascinations. The organizers craft experiential moments for viewers to engage with each painting, aided by the fact that the works are hung relatively far apart.
The subjects of the paintings appear to timidly eye one another, as well as us, from remote corners of the galleries. Colossal curtains divide the soaring rooms, allowing for each gallery’s works to stand alone, while each painting is distanced from its spectator with a circular, velvet railing. The soft fuzziness of the velvet echoes Vermeer’s silky brushstrokes that yield figures veiled with an unmistakable use of light—the artist’s signature alternative to natural illumination. Daylight also shines onto the paintings from the museum ceiling, uniting visitors with the warm glow that runs through the paintings’ kitchens and salons with their luminous windows.
Installation view, “Vermeer,” Rijksmuseum. Photo by Henk Wildschut. Courtesy of Rijksmuseum.
At this moment, after an unparalleled amount of time spent indoors, we may understand Vermeer’s rooms better than before the pandemic. They’re architectural constructions, but also spaces of remembrance. Like insistent memories, the rooms resist the darkness, containing capsules of familiar, mundane rituals. The leisures in A Young Woman standing at a Virginal (1670–72) and The Lacemaker (1666–68) are performed gently with Vermeer’s ineffable ability to make a fleeting moment feel like forever, not unlike our own warped sense of time spent indoors.
Looking at Vermeer’s paintings today is not only synonymous with looking at interiority, but also the gaze. Recalling both film stills and secretly snapped pictures, his compositions tap into our curious compulsion to look—and be looked at. Constant staring at endless streams of Instagram feeds and iPhone photos may have numbed our attention to images, but these paintings hail from a time of scarcity, when each replica of a moment had the power to shock and amaze.
Johannes Vermeer, The Glass of Wine, c. 1659–61. Courtesy of Staatliche Museen zu Berlin – Gemäldegalerie.
Today, the paintings subvert our jadedness with their brutal mystery, which scratches our desire to command every bit of knowledge. Here, the unknown lingers. In The Glass of Wine (1659–61) or A Lady Writing (1664–67), the subjects’ subtle gestures prompt our burning curiosities. Vermeer places us just far enough from the figures to render our position voyeuristic. Vague social contracts and unclear interactions ignite questions that are impossible to answer.
In Girl Interrupted at Her Music (1659–61), intervening light spills through the window, though our own gaze seems to be the interrupting force, embodied in the young protagonists asking expression towards us. One almost feels compelled to look away upon seeing Mistress and Maid (1665–67), which yet again makes us an intruder.
Johannes Vermeer, Girl with a Pearl Earring, 1664–67. Courtesy of Mauritshuis, The Hague. Bequest of Arnoldus Andries des Tombe, The Hague.
Johannes Vermeer, The Milkmaid, 1658-59. Courtesy of Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Purchased with the support of the Vereniging Rembrandt.
Having an intimate moment with the paintings may be a challenge amidst masses roaming the galleries, yet somehow, view-blocking crowds only elevate the element of anticipation. Between raised cellphones and craning necks, iconic works, like Girl With a Pearl Earring (1664–67) and The Milkmaid (1658–59), appear suddenly. And the familiarity of these masterpieces does not overshadow the thrill of seeing them in person, particularly the fine details, like the young girl’s soft visage in the former or the milk’s gentle light-washed pour in the latter.
In Young Woman with a Lute (1662–64), a glow haunts the subject’s glistened face like a benign ghost, a veil of spectral mystery in a dark room where she may feel entrapped. The melody of her instrument is nearly audible through Vermeer’s hospitable, almost monochromatic, palette, and his prioritization of the lute’s surface.
Johannes Vermeer, Officer and Laughing Girl, 1657–58. Photo by Joseph Coscia Jr. Courtesy of The Frick Collection, New York.
Officer and Laughing Girl uses light to anchor the scene, while amplifying the ambiguous interaction between the two figures. With her shining, smiling face, the girl looks saintly, shimmering in the daylight, perhaps delighting in the good news delivered by the officer who remains mostly in the dark. Though it may depict a small, trivial moment, at Vermeer’s hand it feels euphoric and grand, worthy of living on forever.
