Arnolfini Portrait

After my arrival in London I set off to the National Gallery to see a painting I have admired most of my adult. The Arnolfini Portrait is by a 15th century artist named Jan van Eyck, and it is truly an amazing piece.

Oil paint on an oak panel the painting was larger than I expected, given that the Mona Lisa is way smaller than I expected I might not be a great judge of the size of paintings. However with its size I don't understand why all of the photos I have seen of it have complete shit.

There are about a million things that make this painting remarkable in my eyes, the built in layers of meanings to the different aspects of the painting, like the clothing worn by the two promonate figures signifies there upper class standing in the community, the mirror in the far back that is encircled by scenes from the Passion, the reflection of the room in the mirror that shows two other people in the room, one being suspected as the painter. The elaborate script above the mirror stating "Jan van Eyck was here" and the date. even the dog in the foreground.

But for me, the depiction of light and shadows, folds in her dress and the bed linens, the wood floor with no sign of brush strokes. These are the things that strike me in the painting. The wooden shoes discarded in the corner, single candle burning in the chandler and oranges that look as though they could roll of the chest under the window suck me into the painting. How someone could convey that much realism in a painting is beyond me.

One thing I did notice as I stared at the original work was wrinkles in the wife's skin on her outward facing wrist. It looked like a scar or burn. This imperfection of her makes me think that the theory of her being dead before this was painted (suspected by multiple art historians, and fueled by the fact that all of the death scenes of Christ around the mirror are on her side,) is not accurate. Because I think that if they were going to paint her after death they would make her perfect, showing no flaws. But that is just my theory.

As I traced the picture with my eyes, from one side to the other I couldn't believe it is more beautiful then I had pictured it in my mind. The lights reflected off of the class that blocked me from reaching out and touching it, but still allowed me to see the fine cracks in the paint, the detail and layers of paint that made aspects, like the chandler, the husbands hat and the wife's veil have a three dimensional effect.

I really can't believe I missed seeing this when I was in London in 2006. As I walked through Trafalga Square I was reminded of that summer. The water fountain where Diana took the picture of me that I used to show of my new noes piercing. The steps of the National Gallery where Brian and I dug through a bag of skittles discarding the awful tasting purple ones. And laughing at just how awful they tasted. It feels like that was a lifetime ago. A different person.