Skip to main content

Frans Hals, 'The Laughing Cavalier', 1624

 


The Laughing Cavalier is a man on the cusp of unseriousness. His eyes follow a viewer around the room, his curled moustache twitches endearingly as if he struggles to maintain composure, whilst his lip is pursed to stop laughter escaping. The pose, meanwhile, is proud and monumental, filling the canvas with a foreshortened elbow and shoulder pushing into a viewer's world, serving to emphasise the silks and expensive dress against the monochromatic background. 

Frans Hals was first and foremost a portrait painter. His oeuvre includes wedding portraits of solo male and female sitters, multifigure works including The Banquet of Officers from 1627, yet his depictions often turned to peasants or comical characters, notably his Jester with a Lute now in the Louvre, proving that portrait painters also had range. The Laughing Cavalier remains an equally intriguing work: despite being Hals' most famous piece, the sitter remains anonymous. Yet, the smile is so familiar to a viewer, and an unusual addition to portraiture of the time where faces were normally more emotionally difficult to penetrate. By bringing the sitter down to earth through his face, despite his affluent costume, Hals creates a knowing figure and a recognisable one. With narrowed eyes, The Laughing Cavalier tries to work a viewer out, which happens to be exactly what we are doing when investigating the canvas for ourselves. 

Behind the genteel, welcoming smile of the unknown sitter, however, is a wealth of painterly precision. Hals invites a viewer to survey the sumptuous fabrics, the rich textures and the tactility of the brushwork so expertly conveyed: the thick slashes of paint across the sitter's sash, the delicate pinpricks of white which construct his ruff, the impasto application on the golden sleeve and glinting buttons to establish a three-dimensionality to the canvas. This level of detail is continued on the face of the figure, in the strands of hair spilling out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat, which also reflects the gentle curve of the smile, as well as the delicacy of his facial hair. Hals' use of a spotlight on the figure, supported by a looming dark shadow disappearing off to the right of the painting, furthers the extravagant nature of the costume, glistening before a viewer's eye. This is a painting which shows Hals' mastery not only of human emotion, but of the brush, bringing the painted and real together in a fusion of free-spiritedness. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cellini, 'Perseus with the Head of Medusa', 1545-1554

  My eye is immediately drawn to the head of Medusa. At first glance it looks gruesome, as though Cellini has captured the moment just after the head has been decapitated, and it oozes blood and bodily matter. However the viewer then notices the similarity between that and Medusa's hair. Maybe it is just her hair after all. Cellini has cleverly enticed the viewer in here, to take a closer look and therefore involved them in the sculpture as a whole. Once they do come closer, they begin to notice other things such as the similarity between Perseus' hair and Medusa's snakes. Hero and monster are not so separate. Even the features of their faces are very similar. Perhaps Cellini wants to suggest that evil can often wear the mask of good. Or he could even be implying that everyone has some evil within them, even the hero Perseus.  One of the good things about sculpture is that the viewer is able to walk around it, and fully immerse themselves in the piece. Cellini has used this...

Artemisia Gentileschi, 'Jael and Sisera', c.1620

  My eye firstly notices the hand wielding the hammer above the unsuspecting man's head. Gentileschi is depicting a new and particularly horrible kind of weapon here instead of the huge sword she gave Judith to slice Holofernes' head off in 1620. The tent peg seems all the more violent, especially as the viewer is looking at the split second before the deed has been committed. Moreover, the gaze of the women (Jael) is focused and calm, making the piece seem unnerving. This is not a moment of hesitation but a snapshot of action - the woman has made up her mind and will commit to this murder. The viewer can only imagine how Gentileschi would have depicted the bloody aftermath, in her usual violent and tenebristic way. The fact that the artist has signed her name in the tomb-like stone above the man is significant - she is signing his life away in this painting, sending him swiftly to the grave.  The body of the man (Sisera) is also interestingly depicted. He lies in a rather eff...

John Everett Millais, 'Peace Concluded', 1856

  My eye is drawn to the copy of The Times clutched in the hands of the officer. The white of the figurine on the man's knee and the white of his wife's sleeves all serve to make the white paper stand out even more on the canvas. As the title of the painting suggests, this is about the end of the Crimean War, seemingly depicting a soldier who has just returned home, surrounded by his family, but the mood is perhaps less euphoric than you might expect. The soldier seems somber and weary, and his wife has a look of concern. Although on the surface it seems to be quite a harmonious composition representing a close knit and traditional family, the positioning of the man is odd. It is his wife who takes her place at the apex of the triangular composition, the soldier is reduced to an emasculated role, perhaps an invalid, as suggested by the blanket over his legs. Her face is passive, but not exactly positive. With her arms draped around her husband, she looks posed, dutiful but not...