Written May 11, 2007
A picture is worth a thousand words, it is said. But which thousand words? The most fascinating pieces of art in history are those that defy the observer to find a clear meaning. In a way, that delights the art historian – a challenge, daring him to unravel the mysteries surrounding a canvas. The less involved museum-visitor is less enthralled: why can’t they just tell me what it means and have done with it? Rarely can a painting be completely deciphered, and the likelihood for the artist to leave a record of what his intentions were in a masterpiece’s creation is even sparer. What, for example, might Johannes Vermeer have had to say about his painting Woman Holding a Balance, a work that has furnished material for many theories and debates? The following is purely speculation, but like any story or fiction, it may have some roots in the truth.
27 March 1663. I have completed the commission for van Ruijven. His love for beautiful women playing instruments seems insatiable. Perhaps this last lute-playing maiden
[1] will satisfy his need for such paintings. I hope for a grand assignment soon, a work that is equal to my Art of Painting.
4 April 1663. No commissions. But I have an idea for a composition. So many of my pictures’ themes are admonitions against a vice. If I could paint an encouragement rather than a sermon – that would be a challenge. The Last Judgment has been weighing on my mind. To use it in a painting would require a setting that could match its strong content.
18 June 1663. Catherina is with child again. I pray she will not lose this one.
1 August 1663. I will paint Catherina. She has begged me to do so for years, and I think she will be the perfect model for my next work. Like many of my other pieces, it will appear straightforward, but have a deeper meaning. A young woman is holding a small set of scales, preparing to weigh something; what, yet, I have not decided. Light coming through the window will illuminate her work, and the painting behind her, The Last Judgment. It is a severe painting. It shows Christ as Judge; the gentle Shepherd is transformed into a stern King.
Some may wonder why I chose to place such a mundane household scene in the foreground with such a spiritually troubling reminder on the wall. Do we not all live in constant knowledge of that coming day? Do we not all fear it? No matter what our daily activities are, we cannot completely ignore the future day of truth.
4 August 1663. Pearls and gold – those will be her task. Even when faced with the idea of judgment, a woman can be perfectly focused on the transient effects of vanity. Of course, humans in general are prey to such distractions and must beware the future consequences.
7 August 1663. I must change something. Even in sketch form, Catia’s expression is too intense. The whole picture is harsh, which is not what I originally wanted. This should be an encouragement – but how can I encourage with such a solemn subject?
8 August 1663. The Virgin Mary may be a solution. As a central figure, Catia’s model of Mary would diffuse some of the severity. If I emphasize her and her grace and intercession on behalf of devout Christians, that would soften the painting. I will bathe Catia in light, giving her a holy presence; her white cap surrounds her face like a halo. She is standing in front of the picture, obscuring nearly half of the souls portrayed in torment. So it may be that Mary, Mother of God, will have a hand in saving those who call on Her and Her Son, keeping many from the agonies of the Pit. Holding the scales is an excellent symbol for Her. Like Her Son, she is judging the merits of Her supplicants, but with a tenderness and mercy that can only come from our Blessed Virgin.
10 August 1663. Catia and I argued over the way I have her standing in the picture. She does not understand the necessity of keeping her hand still, particularly the one that is holding the scales. It must be in a specific place, or the composition is all wrong. I told her that it was a shame Holland has the same laws as New Amsterdam, forbidding the sale of wives.
[2] She told me I had too high an opinion of my skills as an artist!
12 August 1663. I fear Catherina’s Catholic doctrines have influenced me too much. How could I have forgotten so much of my early faith as to place such trust in a woman who is not glorified or praised in Scriptures? It is her Son who is the Intercessor, not herself.
Is my distinction between light and shadow, the way I use it to separate the canvas in half, too obvious? Or does it aid the idea of there being two sides of life, the right and the wrong? I hope my critics do not view the way I have the scales placed, bridging the division, as a desperate attempt at meaning. Of course, Christ did close the gap between humanity and divinity, and through Him we can leave the dark and enter the light.
3 September 1663. Since I decided to abandon the Virgin Mary concept, I have not been able to paint a stroke. No alternative subtext has arisen. And I have too much blue. The picture is excessively dark, and costly. That ultramarine blue comes dear nowadays. The table-covering has to go.
26 September 1663. I have heard writers say that sometimes they feel as though the story was writing itself, that they were merely the ones holding the pen, not the one composing the words. I wonder if it that can apply to painting? This work seems to have taken on a life of its own – as though I was not the one directing the brush strokes, but rather another master’s hand…
After letting the picture sit untouched for more than two weeks, I gave my imagination another chance. As I wrote in an earlier entry, I wanted to remove the damask, in order to lighten the scene. Once I pulled the tablecloth to one side, the story began to fall into place. The Last Judgment is about truth revealed, the day when all actions and thoughts will come to light. Like fabric covering a table, pretence is stripped away, discovering reality. Who would not tremble at that prospect? I decided to retain the tablecloth in the picture; its new arrangement illustrates my point, and I always did like ultramarine blue, despite the fact that lapis is blasted expensive.
Catia looked radiant that morning. Expectation of motherhood suits her. As she stood at the window, patiently holding the scales while I painted her hand, an expression of utter tranquility and peace spread across her countenance. I don’t know what she was thinking, but her face opened my eyes. At that moment, I knew that what I saw was the answer to my dilemma.
The Judgment is an awful prospect to those who have no hope. Many live in fear of retribution, lacking any assurance that their souls are safe. Indeed, it may seem to be a universal terror, but there are those who can await that day with peace: those who claim Christ as their Savior.
A believer is someone who has placed his faith and trust in God and His Holy Son. That faith gives us the ability to face the future without fear. As St. James states, though, faith without works is dead.
[3] I must admit that Catherina’s Catholic sensibilities have served her well there; she is a better Christian than I.
The scales, then, are my representation for a good life. A life that is in communion with the spiritual will be guided in the natural. To completely reject God and seek only worldly satisfaction throws the “scales” off balance. Likewise, a life that shuns all physical enjoyment is just as unsteady, for it discards the wondrous Creation God made for us. The person who relies on the Father, who constantly seeks His will, and is not afraid of the truth, has no reason to dread the coming day of Revelation. He, or she, can face the prospect with a blessed assurance, the knowledge that they have done well by submitting to God.
3 October 1663. I overheard my studio assistants arguing over my painting’s interpretation again. Early in its creation I had informed them of some of my “allegories,” but they now know that I have changed many things. They ply me with questions, but I insist they try to discover its meaning themselves. Just as they learnt to see all the hidden colors in a scene, so they must learn to see the hidden story.
I must admit I did not make it easy for them. In my mind, the mirror I hung on the wall stands for truth and the honest reflection of reality, and Catia’s pearls and gold necklaces symbolize the purity of a Christian’s heart. However, my young men know that often mirrors and pearls signify vanity and self-absorption, which causes them much consternation.
They are also puzzled as to why I chose to faithfully include the physical sign of Catherine’s expectancy. Knowing that I originally planned to make her a type of Mary, they suspect that it is to reinforce the image of the Virgin Mother. I cannot help but smile at their lack of imagination.
Do they not see that Catia represents the Believer’s future?
[4] We are all expecting, though not in the physical realm. We have all been given the Holy Seed, just as Mary was, and through love and obedience to Him that gave it, we nurture it, waiting for the day that our hopes will come to maturity.
[5] Our faith will become sight, we are told. A new life will have come.
Woman Holding a Balance
Johannes Vermeer, c. 1662-1665
[1] Woman with a Lute, c. 1662-1664.
[2] “In 1663: A New Amsterdam court sentences a man to be flogged and to have his right ear cut off for selling his wife.” The Timetables of American History, Laurence Urdang. Page 75.
[3] “For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.” James 2:26. New King James Version.
[4] “To them God willed to make known what are the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles: which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” Colossians 1:27. NKJV.
[5] “My little children, for whom I labor in birth again until Christ is formed in you…” Galatians 4:19. NKJV.
