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Also this issue: Popular Mechanics Kick Out the Jams National Showcase of New Plays Dueling Media Thoroughly Modern Camillie |
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June 20-26, 2002
art
 Rembrandt van Rijn, Christ at Emmaus (1654), 8 5/8 inches by 6 1/4 inches. |
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Rembrandt's EtchingsThrough July 14, Berman Museum of Art, Ursinus College, Main St., Collegeville, 610-409-3500, www.ursinus.edu
Behind his godlike status that has evolved over the centuries, Rembrandt van Rijn was an ordinary man with the extraordinary gift to see (without judgment) into the character and interior life of humans, and the amazing dexterity to translate it into a mesh of tiny etched lines. None of the subjects of his etchings -- portraits, biblical subjects and a few landscapes -- were radical or unusual during the late baroque period in the Dutch Republic, but Rembrandt’s genius was in stripping away everything pretentious or forced and revealing an essential humanity. Installed in the Berman Museum’s Upper Gallery, this small, lovely exhibition, accompanied by an excellent catalog, brings together 27 rarely seen prints from the collections of several colleges (and one library) in Southeastern Pennsylvania.
The prints are quite small -- one only 1 1/2 by 1 3/4 inches-- but are all very powerful. They were made by Rembrandt himself as a continuously changing series of states. The process was gradual -- metal plates were repeatedly etched and printed, and sometimes worked with dry point or burin as well. Dark areas were added by texturing the plate, and highlights put back in by burnishing the textured areas. In this way, the artist explored many different lighting effects, documenting each with a single print, and was able to market the prints successfully as unique works of art. One early historian quipped that no true connoisseur of Rembrandt's prints could be without "Joseph with his head in the light and with his head in the shadow."
The show offers several examples of prints in more than one state. Dr. Faustus, Faust in his Study is shown in two states, both printed in 1652. A scientist, perhaps a combination of reality and legend, stands in his study and looks off to the side at a mysterious mandala of light and letters hovering in front of a window. In both prints he is surrounded by a sketchy mishmash of loose crosshatching describing a table, astrolabe and several clumps of disheveled papers and drapery, while in one version the room is ominously dark. Stoning of St. Stephen, also represented in two states, from 1635, intimately depicts a brutal New Testament scene. The three attackers surround their victim, and one lifts an absurdly large stone over the victim's head, while in the background tiny faces register cruelty or grief. St. Stephen's limbs are limply dangling (one of his shoes has fallen off -- the saddest real-life detail) and his eyes are closed as he prepares to die.
Rembrandt had a complex understanding of biblical themes, and in many prints about Jesus he imparts a Zen emptiness rather than an evangelical message. Christ Preaching (1652) does this with a balanced composition: a ring of observers around the glowing vertical figure of Jesus, as well as dark crosshatching contrasted with expanses of pure white. Here Jesus seems to sense the present-day viewer, inasmuch as he appears to ignore the crowd (dressed in the fashions of Rembrandt's time) gathered around him. Nearby, a child reclines on his belly, lazily poking at the ground with a finger, oblivious to the bright light cast downward on him. In Christ at Emmaus (larger plate, 1654), Rembrandt represents the face of Jesus as rather pale and unattractive, though completely relaxed and peaceful. He sits blankly, facing a roast chicken and a glass of wine, and holding a roll in each hand like a simpleton. Yet all around him, men, in wonderfully specific clothing and dramatic poses, are catalyzed.
Portraits were the bread and butter of Rembrandt's studio, and his portrait prints, in contrast to his commissioned portrait paintings, were often intended as gifts, studies or mementos. In the portrait The Artist's Mother (1633), there is so much information given (and withheld!) in a format not much bigger than a postage stamp. In this three-quarter view of a woman's head, so humble and without artifice, her eyes are downcast and her lips are just a thin wavering line. Sobered by life experience, the artist examines himself in Rembrandt Drawing at a Window (1648). He sits in a shadowy room next to a window with a view of pale hills and trees that seem on the verge of disappearing. By this point in his life Rembrandt had lost his early bravado, along with his wealth and his loved ones. The print is dark (this state seems to be an especially dark version), humble and almost disconcerting.
The sensitivity and obvious rigor of Rembrandt's methods help make his etchings enormously appealing. But more important, his deep interest in and quiet acceptance of his human subjects, even if only at a half-inch tall, make them utterly plausible, full of life and character, as if Rembrandt understood each of their fears and passions and childhood secrets. It's a bit of a drive out to the Berman from Philadelphia, but well worth the trip to see these extraordinary prints.
