Artistic taste is forever changing and obviously there is no balanced opinion in the arts, where personal judgment and preferences are the only currencies. And so styles come and go, bodies of work go in and out of favor. The works of JS Bach were forgotten until Mendelssohn revived them a century later. Shakespeare was once ridiculed for being thick and difficult. And a Dutch painter named Frans Hals fortunately did not witness, a century after his death, that his works changed hands for next to nothing. And, as taste continues to change, it is always informative to read critical opinions from ages past, because critics may actually see things differently.
Published in 1904, Gerald S. Davies’s Frans Hals was written more than a century later from the lowest point of the artist’s stature, and most of two and a half centuries after the painter’s death in 1666. Copiously illustrated with glossy black and white plates, the book was part of a series called Great Masters in Painting and Sculpture. Therefore, we must anticipate that the text will be of the poor quality that we usually expect when we open perhaps reluctantly the “Great Artists” series of a populist publisher.
But this 1904 volume is very well written. And what is really surprising is the modern and uncluttered style of the prose. There are no big condescending or critical passages about the artist or his character. There is a considerable fact about his life, about which we actually know very little. But most of all, the book contains some inspired writing and an analytical observation of the paintings, some of which, incidentally, have since been reattributed. This adds another aspect to the experience, as it illustrates how our appreciation of the arts is highly conditioned by what we think we might know about the context or source of the object.
Frans Hals, it seemed, was something of a rake. He was never rich, in fact he was often in debt and most of the time almost penniless. He spent much of his time in the pub, where he drank heavily. He married early and the union lasted, but now we know almost nothing about his domestic life. And yet it was regularly employed by the respectable gentlemen of the St. Joris Shooting Guild to represent club members in all their proud finery, full face or three-quarter front, depending on how much each model had contributed to the financing of the project. .
Gerald Davies’ text is especially successful in identifying and describing the details of the images. He identifies and locates elements of the artist’s style that the casual observer would simply not see, and at all times he approaches his subject with an enthusiasm that draws the reader into discussion and is never didactic. In various sections of the book, the author draws parallels and cites contrasts with Rubens, Van Dyck, and Rembrandt, all of whom, of course, achieved significantly more fame in their lives than Hals in his. His work, perhaps, never lost favor, but that of Frans Hals certainly did. Painted primarily in gray and black, Frans Hals’s paintings often appear to have a more puritanical spirit even than his narrow models.
But then, as Davies points out, there is a young man carrying a banner, a colored sash, a still-life element that adds a dramatic statement by introducing contrast. And of course there are the chuckling wenches, drunken singers, and the other low life subjects Hals chose to paint where, with possibly unique skill and talent, she captured an instant expression as if she had been photographed. .
Davies also insists that Hals’ paintings need a large display space. For the author, close observation is too revealing of a technique that often comes close to complete abstraction. And here we do find a difference with current critical taste, where such a free brushstroke would be cited as evidence of an artistic force. Davies does not criticize it, but his time preferred not to scrutinize it for the psychological dimension that is now so absolutely essential to any critical analysis of an artist’s work.
Tastes can change and artists can get in and out of favor. Frans Hals is still seen as one of the greatest painters and much has been written about him in the intervening years. But great art endures because it sums up the sensibilities of its time, at least the ones we insist on imposing on it. Great writing works the same way, and let’s continue to include critical works like this book by Davies on Hals in that category, purely on its contemporary relevance and not simply because it offers a historical perspective on work.
