New encounters

Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1653) was very clear about her ambitions: she wanted to be among the top European artists. The powerful woman of the Italian Baroque achieved this goal during her lifetime with major commissions from princes, nobles, and churches. In the 1970s, she became a feminist icon. That fame has grown steadily over time, and today she is fully recognized as an internationally acclaimed artist. The KMSKA can display not one, but two paintings by Gentileschi: Saint Catherine of Alexandria and David and Goliath.

Saint Catherine of Alexandria is a perfect fit for Artemisia. The artist is especially known for her strong women, such as the biblical Judith, the Roman Lucretia, the Egyptian Cleopatra, and… Saint Catherine. This popular saint astonishes those around her with her knowledge, but the Roman Emperor Maxentius was no fan of her Christian faith. In the end, he has her beheaded. Artemisia Gentileschi paints well-known figures with great empathy, portraying them as the real people they were before becoming saints or famous. She avoids embellishment, focusing instead on the inner life of her characters. Her Catherine looks around in despair. By isolating the young woman and zooming in on her, we can better empathize with her emotions.

The same goes for the biblical David. Although the future king of the Israelites has just defeated the giant Goliath, Artemisia does not depict him as a triumphant hero. We see him as a still-young shepherd boy, somewhat overwhelmed by his victory, holding Goliath’s freshly severed head in his hand. In the Power Gallery (Zaal Macht), the painting is hung low, making it feel as if you could step right in and speak with David.

The apostle Matthew is also depicted by Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641) as a rather contemplative young man. Yet beneath that careful demeanor lies the intensity of his conviction, even in the face of the threat of possible martyrdom. The flourish with which Anthony wields his brush emphasizes the inner strength of his apostle. This painting was part of a series of thirteen—including Jesus—that Van Dyck painted between 1618 and 1620. Earlier, Anthony’s teacher Rubens had created a similar series for the Duke of Lerma. Van Dyck was thus able to draw full inspiration from Rubens’ workshop.

In 1914, the German art dealer Julius Böhler acquired the series and sold the works individually to museums around the world. Only eight pieces remain today. Matthew recently came to the museum through a bequest to the King Baudouin Foundation, which funded its restoration and ensured it was on display at the Rubenshuis until recently. It is now exhibited at the KMSKA, in the Sketches gallery (Zaal Schetsen), alongside another Van Dyck head.

Now that the Rubenshuis is closed, you can greet Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640) in the Rubens Room at the KMSKA. The museum was able to borrow Rubens’ famous self-portrait. And where better to display it than among other iconic works by the master? Peter Paul painted only four independent self-portraits, in which he presents himself as a gentleman. With the acquisition of this work in 1972, the Rubenshuis became the only Belgian museum to own a self-portrait, and it has grown into a symbol of the city of Antwerp. Between 2017 and 2018, the Royal Institute for Cultural Heritage (KIK) restored the self-portrait, during which the restorers revealed the original paint layer. This allows viewers to get very close to Peter Paul himself, who addresses you directly in this self-portrait with an open, inquisitive, yet gentle gaze. He is dressed in a black doublet, through the slits of which the light color of his shirt is visible. The only accessory is a wide-brimmed hat. Despite the hat, you see a somewhat informal and relaxed Rubens.

…in Untitled by the renowned British-Indian artist Anish Kapoor (b. 1954) from a private collection. The gigantic deep-blue disc functions like a mirror. The contemporary artist enjoys playing with the visitor’s senses. Through very specific reflections of light and sound, Kapoor destabilizes our experience. To look is to fall. Kapoor lets you, together with Alice, tumble down a rabbit hole into a parallel space. This space transforms our familiar, tangible environment. Does it even swallow you? You see yourself as you walk past the work, yet simultaneously lose solid ground, and thus yourself. Up becomes down. Kapoor even manipulates time, as movements appear reversed. The only thing you can do is surrender to this illusion. It is an experience in itself, one that changes the way you perceive the other works in the Color gallery on the top floor, where Untitled multiplies and distorts the light domes.

Just as round as Untitled by Anish Kapoor are the cheeks of The Bagpiper by Jacob Jordaens (1593–1678) in the Entertainment gallery (Zaal Vermaak). Or rather, of Jordaens himself, since the painter was probably his own model. How he could simultaneously play the bagpipes and paint himself remains a mystery. This brings us to a third loan from the Rubenshuis.

Jacob enjoyed painting popular scenes with lifelike characters. His work conveys a genuine concern for ordinary people, whom he portrays with great empathy and respect. Fortunately, wealthy patrons readily purchased his exuberant depictions. Perfect as conversation pieces for guests, for example. Bagpipers appear fairly often in his works. For instance, in As the Old Sing, So Pipe the Young, which hangs nearby The Bagpiper in the Abundance gallery (Zaal Overvloed). Jordaens could make his paintings buzz with a lively conviviality, even when The Bagpiper is alone with his rustic instrument. Perhaps the musician even joins the family at night in the other painting?

We continue with Jordaens, this time with a mythological scene, and not a small one. Neptune and Amphitrite measures 3 m by 2.15 m. Until recently, after restoration, it hung in Rubens’ studio in the Rubenshuis. Now you can admire it in the Power gallery, opposite Gentileschi’s David and Goliath.

As the Roman god of the sea, Neptune embodies power. With his trident, he can summon or calm storms. Jordaens places the somewhat older god on a shell chariot, supported by dolphins. Is Neptune driving toward a storm, or has it just subsided? A rainbow and dissipating clouds suggest fairer weather ahead. Meanwhile, the four wind-blowers in the clouds appear exhausted. Neptune’s wife, Amphitrite, teeters slightly on the shell chariot as she tries to avoid the swishing trident. Between them, a Cupid blows a shell horn. In the foreground, tritons—half-human, half-fish—support the scene, blowing shells or stabilizing Neptune’s shell chariot.

Restorer Marc Leenaerts discovered that Jordaens enlarged the original canvas on both sides. The triton on the right was originally upright but was repositioned to strengthen the triangular composition. You can still see the overpainted triton rising like a ghost from the sea.

Another work with mythological roots comes from the Rubenshuis. Not a painting, but a relief by the Brussels sculptor François Duquesnoy (1597–1643). His father created Manneken Pis, so sculpture runs in the family, and his brother also made sculptures. In The Sleep of Silenus, François depicts the old Silenus sleeping off his intoxication. In the writings of the Roman poet Virgil, Silenus is the tutor and companion of the wine god Bacchus. Yet little rest is granted to him: a lively horde of satyrs, putti, and a nymph tease him and his donkey.

Duquesnoy had a particular fondness for putti. He developed standard types from these plump, angelic children (or their heads). Rubens noticed this as well, receiving casts of putti from the sculptor. These putti eventually found their way into Rubens’ own work. The theme of the drunken Silenus was very popular in the 17th century as a symbol of excess, and it also appears in Rubens’ work. Beyond the bustling activity, The Sleep of Silenus stands out for the blue background. This is lapis lazuli, a semi-precious stone mainly mined in present-day Afghanistan and, in the 17th century, more expensive than gold. Duquesnoy was commissioned to sculpt Silenus for Cardinal Barberini, the future Pope Urban VIII, so the cost was justified. Later, the relief became part of the collection of the Spanish king Philip IV.

In the last painting from the Rubenshuis, you see Henry during a successful day on the battlefield at Ivry in Normandy. Not long after, the helmeted prince on the white horse would become King Henry IV of France (1553–1610). The work fits perfectly in the Power gallery (Zaal Macht).

Peter Paul Rubens painted the scene in 1630 at the request of the king’s widow, Maria de’ Medici. She wanted to decorate her new residence, the Palais du Luxembourg, with two series of 24 scenes featuring her late husband in the leading role. Henry IV was one of the most popular rulers in French history. He saw the consequences of the long civil war between Protestants and Catholics and brought it to an end. During his reign, he established a broad religious tolerance. Moreover, he ensured that even a farmer could eat a chicken each week. Thanks to his skill, the country’s prosperity was not limited to the wealthy. Nevertheless, he was assassinated. Marriages among the highest ranks were often strategic rather than motivated by love, but since Maria de’ Medici wanted to fill her new home with images of her late husband, Henry IV must have truly won her heart. De’ Medici even visited Rubens personally at his house on the Wapper to commission the work. Unfortunately, the painting remained unfinished. By the time Rubens could focus on this scene, turmoil had returned to the French court.