Try to imagine the kind of publicity that would be generated if President Obama went to Kabul and donned military garb to oversee the war in Afghanistan.
First, there would be the 24/7 coverage by the international media showing the President in the role of commander-in-chief. We would be bombarded with images – from televisions, computer screens, newspapers and magazines.
Now, picture a similar situation in the year 1644. The leader is the young Spanish King Philip IV. The war is over the region of Catalonia, which had broken away from the throne and allied itself with France. An army has been dispatched to besiege the fortified city of Lerida. King Philip sets up headquarters in the nearby village of Fraga
There was no media and no “coverage” as we understand it today. The camera wouldn’t be invented for another two centuries. Still, the king and his court understood the power of the image. It was important that the people be able to see the king in his heroic role. What to do?
Summon the court painter, Velazquez!
So it was that Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez (1599-1660) came from Madrid to Fraga, where a makeshift and shabby studio was set up for him in the house where the king was staying. The king sat a mere three times for the portrait. Working hastily, Velazquez nevertheless produced a masterpiece, showing Philip in crimson military attire, a sword at his side. You can see the urgency – and also the virtuosity – in his impressionistic rendering of the embroidered red jacket with its silvery needlework.
It also worked as propaganda. Just how much it was used to mold public opinion, is explained in a fascinating one-painting exhibit at The Frick Collection. The painting, purchased in 1911 by Henry Clay Frick, is in the spotlight after a recent cleaning removed old coats of darkened varnish. The brighter colors and enhanced depth prompted art historians to look more deeply into its history.
The painting is a curiosity because Velazquez typically painted King Philip IV in somber black clothes to convey his steadfast moral character. Previous monarchs may have been depicted as flamboyant or conquerors, but difficult times demanded a different kind of public image.
“The King at War: Velazquez’s Portrait of Philip IV” is a reminder, in an age when images fly at us with machine gun rapidity, of just how much a single image can convey.
Royal portraits were very important then because that was the only way that most people ever saw the king. As soon as the paint was dry, the portrait was sent to Madrid, where it was put on display two days after victory was declared. It served as the king’s stand-in.
Because the vanquished were not foreigners, but rebellious Spaniards, the king had to be represented as both triumphant and forgiving. It hung in the nave of the Church of San Martin, where a priest underscored the message that Philip was not an oppressor, but a divine agent of God’s will who had brought fallen angels back into the fold.
Purely as art, Velazquez’s portrait demonstrates his legendary ability to depict an optical, rather than a physical, reality. He was the first artist to consider that the eye did not register everything with equal precision. In this picture, the king’s face is the most sharply focused. Things close to the face, like the delicate white cloth over his shoulders, are also clearly seen. But the arm and the sword hilt, which are closest to us, are blurry.
So, in this case, Velazquez’s technique also served the political purpose of the picture. The king may be dressed for battle, the painting tells you, but look instead at his face, whose expression is benign, without a hint of bellicosity.
