Today is Rembrandt van Rijn’s 407th birthday, I know because
Google reminded me this morning.
I am a big admirer of Rembrandt. He’s one of
those artists that could not only paint, but for a while made a very good
living out of it. The fact that he died almost penniless, a deeply unhappy man,
only goes to make me love his work all the more.
His self portraits are my
favourites. They are so honest and analytical. When I look in his eyes I seem
to be able to not only see but feel his joys and pain. Here’s a man that’s know
all the highs and most of the very lows. It’s almost as though he’s dissecting
himself on the canvas using paint as his scalpel. I think that I can see every ache, every pain, each slight and deceit, the weight of his debts, every
unconfessed sin, the loss of his precious collections, the breaking of his heart, even his darkest secret laid out in those rich earthy hues.
I visited the Reich’s Museum a lifetime ago and spent an
enchanted afternoon in front of The Night Watch. What a true master he was,
such a master that he’s one of that elite band who are known throughout the
world by their first names only: Michelangelo, Raphael, Beyoncé.
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