ONE OF THE most loved works in the National Gallery in London is the Arnolfini portrait, painted by Jan van Eyck in 1434, a subtle and beautiful double portrait of a wealthy Bruges merchant and his wife. It shows the couple standing in a room, the man in a large-brimmed hat and dark robes, the woman in a green gown the rich fabric of which dominates the scene. Viewers comment on two things in particular: the woman must be pregnant because of the folds of material over her stomach, and the artist has included his own reflection in the mirror on the back wall of the chamber.
The painting ranks high in any compilation of famous artworks. In 2006, the Guardian included it among ‘Twenty Works of Art to see before you die’. The year before, the nation voted it fourth in a radio poll for the best paintings in Britain. Another list put it among ‘the world’s 100 greatest pictures’. It is constantly cited in the canon of masterpieces of Western art, and features prominently in any discussion of the history of painting. It has influenced artists from Diego Velázquez to David Hockney, and its timeless status is proved by the way the man and the woman have been reinterpreted as Disney, Muppet and Star Wars figures, and even featured in advertisements as a pair of aspirant consumers.
This is intriguing, because the work is relatively modest in size (the painted surface measures just 82 x 60 centimetres) and apparently undemanding in subject matter. In addition, despite endless speculations, the identity of the characters and the true meaning of the scene are still uncertain. Scholars and public alike have puzzled over the meaning of this haunting gem of medieval art. The enigmatic couple seem to be conveying a message to us across the centuries, but what? Is the painting the celebration of a marriage or pregnancy, a memorial to a wife who died in childbirth, a fashion statement or a status symbol?
The first impression of the painting is that it is muted and modest. But on further inspection its contents seem to glow, each item in the room slowly comes to life and begins to contribute to the story. It is the first known portrayal of a couple who are neither royal nor aristocratic, and who are posed in a domestic setting rather than a church or a court. The man and woman are shown full length, holding hands, in an opulently furnished room. On the wall behind them, in the exact centre of the painting, is a convex mirror which reflects not just the whole room and the backs of the couple, but also two more people who are apparently entering by the door opposite. The artist has signed the work, placing his name not discreetly and conventionally at the bottom but prominently in the centre, above the mirror on the back wall. He has written Johannes de Eyck fuit hic, Jan van Eyck has been here, a cryptic comment. He has also considerately added the year, 1434.
My book sets out to explore the painting and its history, and considers why it remains such an icon today. One reason may be that we live in a culture of celebrities and are fascinated by the lives of individuals. The people in the painting are not the gods and goddesses or Bible heroes and heroines who dominate so much of Western art, and they make no threatening demands on our imperfect recollection of mythology, history or literature. It is a secular image for a material age. van Eyck’s meticulous depiction of the contents of the room and the couple’s dress reveals a burgeoning consumer society revelling in vigorous international trade and celebrating its access to new markets – a carpet from Turkey, damask from the East, silk from China – showing a love of fine things that finds striking modern parallels. The couple look real, inhabiting a tangible world brought to life by van Eyck’s quite exceptional skills. As if in a Hello! spread, they are showing off the signs of success – expensive clothes and other status symbols. We are intrigued by their relationship and the circumstances behind their joined hands. It is the fifteenth-century equivalent of a photograph and we can make up our own stories about it.
Through different accidents of fate the portrait became a prized possession which passed through many hands and travelled from medieval Bruges via Habsburg Spain, through the ravages of the Napoleonic Wars to Victorian London. It survived through fires, battles, hazardous sea journeys. And uniquely, for a masterpiece this old, its provenance can be tracked through every single owner from the mysterious Mr Arnolfini via various monarchs to a hard-up Waterloo war hero, until it finally came to rest in 1842 as an early star of the National Gallery. These owners, too, have cameo parts in the enthralling story of how an artwork of genius can speak afresh to each new generation.
Its history – so full of colourful characters and dramatic events – also reveals the different assumptions and expectations that people have brought to it over the centuries. The various interpretations of the painting show how dangerous it is to take anything for granted. We still do not know exactly what it means. My own view is that van Eyck painted a well-off couple in their well-appointed room, and used a repertoire of familiar motifs that they would have appreciated. It was intended for private consumption, to be seen by members of the family and select guests as another prized item to add to the others in that calm room. It is a fascinating portrait of a mercantile couple, with hints of closeness as in a marriage portrait, and with intriguing differences between the sober, realistic portrayal of the man and the idealised depiction of the woman, but with an emphasis more on their possessions than their inner thoughts. Many others have put forward different theories, as we will see. Yet the uncertainty does not spoil our enjoyment. Like all great works of art, the Arnolfini portrait retains an inner core of mystery. The work epitomises the whole history of art, and helps relate the past to the present.