Sm Nahiduzzaman
As visitors enter this month’s Kenwood House exhibition in London, they marvel at the magnificent sight of two almost identical images of a young woman playing guitar. One is the famous The Guitar Player (Vermeer), one of only 37 authenticated works of the Dutch master. The second, its mysterious counterpart named Lady with a Guitar, has perplexed scholars, curators, and art enthusiasts alike for over a century.
This side-by-side display, part of the exhibition Double Vision: Vermeer, also rekindles a long-standing art history debate across the ages around attribution, authenticity, and all the conundrums surrounding one of the most prominent figures of Dutch Golden Age painting, Johannes Vermeer.
The Mystery of Vermeer’s Twin Pictures
On initial observation, both paintings look remarkably similar: both have a young woman engaged in her music within a bright interior scene. But their subtle differences — including the hairstyle of the two sitters — has sparked decades of debate and speculation.
The signed canvas from Kenwood House which is universally regarded as a true Vermeer painting has ringlets surrounding the girl’s face. The Philadelphia Museum of Art version, does not contain ringlets. Could such a detail bet be the key difference between an original and a copy? What about this mystery?
For much of its existence, the Philadelphia painting was regarded as the original work, with all authenticity questions placed on Kenwood version as the painted copy. Provenance for the Philadelphia painting shows it came from the Cremer collection Brussels, and then moved to American collector John Johnson, whose estate gave it to Philadelphia. But the academic understanding of these two paintings began to change when the Kenwood version was unveiled in 1927 (as part of the Iveagh collection which Lord Iveagh left to the nation). The state of the painting, the brighter color palette, and the stated signature caused many to believe that it probably was the original piece.
A Master of Light and Everyday Life
To appreciate the editorial significance of this debate, we must first consider the artistic significance of Johannes Vermeer, one of the most enigmatic figures in art history. Often referred to as the “Sphinx of Delft,” the Dutch master produced an extraordinarily small amount of work; only a little over 30 surviving authenticated canvases have been identified.
Vermeer found his niche in depicting everyday life in domestic interiors, and through this vein of artistry he transformed the ordinary – a woman reading a letter, a servant pouring a jug of milk, a musician playing her lute – into an intentional composition that imbues a sense of stillness and beauty. Vermeer was a master of light, color, and genre painting; as a result, it’s hard to find a piece modern collectors have heard about or an art historian has studied that isn’t a “wonder” in some manner. For centuries, lovers of fine art have adored the originals of Vermeer’s work because of its tranquility and poetic intent.
That said, when a potential “duplicate” presents an art-historical body of knowledge, the art world understandably loses it’s mind. Are we dealing with Vermeer twins, commissioned and painted from two different times by the artist himself? Or, are we dealing with an uncommonly talented copyist, whose copyists efforts, in consummate imitation of genius in the ascendant period of Baroque art in the 17th century?
Scientific Investigation: Pigments, layers, and signatures
The plot has thickened over the past few years thanks to advancements in art conservation and scientific examination of paintings. A cooperative project with the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the National Gallery London, and the National Gallery of Art (Washington, DC) has revealed some fascinating differences.
The ground layers of paintings can vary. The work at Kenwood is built on a pale gray-brown preparation. The work at Philadelphia is on a dark brown ground.
Analysis of pigment use shows a difference between the Kenwood painting and the Philadelphia painting. Vermeer used his favorite ultramarine pigment made from the expensive lapis lazuli mineral in the Kenwood painting. On the other hand, Vermeer opted for cheaper blue, or indigo, pigment in the Philadelphia work.
The signed painting at Kenwood makes it a stronger candidate for a true Vermeer signed painting, while the version in Philadelphia does not have a signature.
These details matter to art historians. As Gregor Weber has pointed out, there is a good chance the Philadelphia version could have been an early copy vs original. Created either by a contemporary of Vermeer, or a follower of Vermeer. The contemporary hairstyle and dress reflect something more modern or typical of the 1680’s period, and likely either added later after the original creation by another artist swayed or influenced by Vermeer or by a member of Vermeer’s original art circle.
A Debate of a Century Revisited
The tale of these two canvases suggests that the debate about Vermeer authenticity is alive and well. Since the discovery of Kenwood’s painting in the 1920s, it seems like opinions have swung from strong support for one or the other, to doubts, and back again. Some even suggested Vermeer could have painted both canvases: one a finished masterpiece and one an experiment or a teaching painting. Others suggest only one is authentic, while the other is a contemporary copy.
The 1927 unveiling of the Kenwood painting tipped the scales back over to Kenwood’s side, but it’s never been a closed matter. Each new conservation science technique — x-ray imaging, pigment spectroscopy — opens a fresh chapter of the discussion.
For curators such as Jennifer Thompson, Philadelphia Museum of Art, this exhibition is not so much about solving the riddle but rather inviting the public to share in the exhilaration of discovery. “Double Vision: Vermeer allows us to put two works together and examine how science and connoisseurship can combine to rethink 17th-century art,” she said.
Institutions and Collections: The Journey of Two Canvases
The path of these pictures through space and time, adds to their significance and intrigue. The fact that the Philadelphia canvas was from the collection of Cremer in Brussels reminds us that it shares connections to the private market for works of art in 19th-century Europe. And when it was acquired by John Johnson, a Pennsylvania lawyer and connoisseur of the Old Masters, it would become part of a story in American culture.
The Kenwood painting, on the other hand, will enter the public realm from the Stowe House collection through the largess of Lord Iveagh, who gifted his bequest for the Kenwood collection. The painting currently resides in its stately surroundings and cared for by English Heritage, still continues to amaze visitors.
That two nearly identical paintings created (or copied) over 350 years ago, now meet in the same gallery is astonishing. It allows visitors to experience an art doppelgänger in the flesh—a visual puzzle staged in one of the more historic houses in London.
Connoisseurship vs. Science: A Balancing Act
Art authentication has always straddled a line between subjective connoisseurship and empirical science. While studies of pigments and research generated by the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam provide useful data, the eye of a trained expert is irreplaceable.
As one art historian observed, “A painting is more than chemistry; it is a vision, touch, and soul.” The dual presentation of these works allows viewers to ponder their own questions: Does the Philadelphia canvas feel like a prime version or does it reflect too much similarity to inspire authenticity? Does the Vermeer composition read through similarly in both?
Why Does This Exhibition Matter
The relevance of Double Vision: Vermeer extends far beyond these two paintings. It gives a unique opportunity to consider how great art is appraised, braced, and applauded. For the public, it is a moment to stand still within view of two images that have stimulated vigorous debates among the masses of great learners and facilitators for a long time.
For the academics indeed, it is an important reminder that the study of connoisseurship is a malleable pursuit for the art scholar, combining history, chemistry, and instinct. And for the hopefuls, it is assurance that art can continue to have secrets even in the few centuries since humans began to explore its territory.
Whether the painting in Philadelphia, in fact, turns out to be a genuine Vermeer original, an early copy, or a remarkable imitation, the enigma itself contributes to our perspective on artistic production. Like so many art historical narratives of mystery, the journey may be more important than the answer.
At Last, A Conversation Between Eras, Ultimately, the juxtaposition of The Guitar Player (Vermeer) and Lady with a Guitar was not meant to determine anything, but to encourage more understanding of Johannes Vermeer, and of the history and world of 17th-century art.
By putting the paintings side-by-side, the Kenwood House exhibition does not deliver a verdict. It invites the audience to join in on an ongoing conversation, to examine brushstrokes, pigments and detail, to feel the wonder of two nearly parallel works existing and confronting each other across the centuries.
And maybe the best gift of the exhibition was a chance to witness not one, but two perspectives of music, light, and intimacy, conceived — or at least realized — by a genius whose singular practice continues to bespeak our wonder.
