Two grasping, weathered men face the viewer, crammed into the space and pressing into the sides of the canvas in this uncomfortably close arrangement. This was a subject both Marinus van Reymerswale and his workshop repeatedly returned to during the mid sixteenth century. Detail is minute, precision is exact and realism is intense, as van Reymerswale offers us a successful comment on avarice, greed and materialism in his hometown.
Conservation by the National Gallery has revealed this painting to be a copy of a version now in the Louvre, identifiable through changes in the underpainting. A similar work, entitled The Moneychanger and his Wife sits in the Museo del Prado in Madrid. In the work from the National Gallery, van Reymerswale reuses figural types, costume and setting to illustrate two figures: the grasping tax collector on the right who sneers out towards the viewer, and the concentrating figure on the left, writing an account of the income of the town of Reymerswale over a period of seven months. The town was subsequently lost to the waters of the Ooster Schelde, or Eastern Scheldt. The text in the book is identifiable, as are some of the crumpled sheets of paper which occupy the top section of the canvas, balanced on top of a cabinet. Van Reymerswale shifted his texts interchangeably between French and Dutch across the versions, and the legibility also varies, showing his linguistic skill in conjunction with his artistic hand, whilst bridging the gap between word and image.
The eye is firstly drawn to the exotic costumes of the two figures, their exaggerated headdresses which, according to Paul Ackroyd, were more fashionable for women dressed in the mid fifteenth century, especially the heart-shaped hat worn by the figure on the left. Van Reymerswale's costumes are therefore out of date, an interesting choice for a painting so concerned with present, monetary issues, and one which brings immediacy though realism. Every part of the painting contains tactile detail, from the voluminous hats of the two figures to the creased draperies, veiny hands and shining, tempting coins spilling over the rich, green tablecloth. Although some of the papers above the figures seem to be defying gravity, held in space as they slowly drift off the top of the cabinet, van Reymerswale still successfully captures the crumpled, well-used and often-handled papers. In fact, their falling motion draws the eye back to the figures who occupy the centre of the work. Even the candle, where the runny wax has now solidified, suggests that the two men have been immersed in their records for some time, tucked away from the rest of humanity. The whole space seems too small for the figures, boxed into the overwhelmingly brown study. Yet, van Reymerswale introduces possibility through an open doorway, the opportunity to escape and be free from avarice and materialism. Neither man acknowledges this opening up of space. The pained expression of the tax collector is another confirmation to the viewer than these men are resigned to their fate.
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