ARTicle 3 for l’Edicola / Rembrandt House Museum

There really is nothing quite like stepping into the actual house of one of the most iconic painters in history. That is exactly what I did when spending a few days in Amsterdam over the summer. Having visited most of the famous museums in the city already, I thought it would be interesting to do something different: spend a few hours in Rembrandt’s house. Having lived and worked there for 19 years, this incredible 17th century painter and print-maker spent his time living and working in this beautiful 4-story house. Before even really experiencing his monumental paintings, one of the first rooms one enters is a rather intimate space: his kitchen. This was a warm and lively place, filled with the glow of an open fire, where pots and pans were used to prepare simple meals for his family, servants, and students. This was also the place where Rembrandt’s former housekeeper/cook, Geertgen Dircks (whom he would be romantically involved with) spent most of her time when she was not caring for his son (Titus; sadly the only surviving child of Rembrandt). What may have begun with affection between the two (after the death of his beloved wife, Saskia van Uylenburgh) slowly turned into a bitter dispute, ending in a dramatic legal battle. This marked a definite darker and more mysterious chapter to life inside the artist’s Amsterdam home.

Continuing the visit, I made my way to the first floor where one can find his living quarters and where I was particularly struck by a small painting: The Baptism of the Eunuch (c. 1630–1636). The scene shows the moment when the eunuch is converted to Christianity and receives baptism. Beneath the watchful gaze of horse and sky, a quiet blessing transforms the scene into a moment of faith and wonder. The eunuch’s flowing robe glows with rich reds and golden tones, with its delicate folds catching the light like warm threads of sunset. Mastering the painting of silk and light-reflecting fabrics has always been something I’ve been mesmerised by in painting. Vermeer, Rubens, van Dyck… are to me all extraordinary artists who were interested in capturing the ‘glow’ of life, often times through depictions of ordinary, everyday scenes. Velázquez is also an artist I think about on this particular matter in painting: while Rembrandt painted fabrics with dramatic light, deep shadows, and thick, expressive brushstrokes, Velázquez, by contrast, used subtle colours, delicate highlights, and loose but precise brushwork to make silk and velvet appear to shimmer naturally. Both masters revolutionised this use of light, also known as chiaroscuro. The most baffling fact to me is that both these masters were unaware of each others’ existence! How can two 17th century painters, who not only revolutionised the technical side of painting with such precision but also shared an uncanny ability to capture the psychological truth of their subjects with such accuracy, not have ever crossed paths? This must speak to something greater than art. Something that goes beyond the medium of painting; perhaps a transcendental energy that we do not have the ability to comprehend. A shared sensitivity to life perhaps: picking up on so many minute aspects of life, from a micro facial expression to every single facet of a glimmering robe. This has also made me think, on a wider level, about the idea of an artist being an inherently sensitive being: their observations on the world around them, picking up on others’ emotions, noticing the most minute details. Rembrandt’s work is a good example of this: the reason his paintings often feel emotionally powerful is probably due to the fact that he paid close attention to elements of life like aging, vulnerability, sadness, love… Themes that we, as a society, tend to shy away from as they usually trigger discomfort, yet all deeply bind us as a collective. This sensitivity described is not only a way of seeing the world but a way of feeling the world: a quiet shift in a person’s eyes, light falling on skin, a silent sentiment of fragility resting within an interaction… On a personal note, I have often found my sensitive nature to be a crutch in this modern world: a world in which people are trained to numb their emotions as a means of ‘staying alive’. A world in which we are constantly reminded to ‘toughen up’ and, especially as a woman, to ‘not be so emotional’. But what if this sensitivity was an essential source of energy that simply needed to be channelled correctly? I have always considered sensitivity to be the first ‘stair' one needs to climb so to speak before reaching the emotion of empathy. In my eyes, empathy is really the only personality trait we must collectively implement within ourselves to create positive change. So I would say this is the overarching element I will be taking from that afternoon amongst Rembrandt’s striking paintings: that sensitivity as a condition can hold immense power and open the doors for profound connection (if channelled correctly) as shown in this great master’s work.