Luis Dalmau
Who has heard of Luis Dalmau? Scholars of early Spanish painting certainly have, but I imagine that he is a marginal figure even to those acquainted with fifteenth century painting in other parts of Europe. The Pyrenees really do form a barrier between those other parts and Iberia because the same question might be asked of Dalmau’s Portuguese contemporary, Nuno Goncalves. The latter merits an entry in my copy of Peter and Linda Murray’s Dictionary of Art and Artists, but Dalmau does not. I became aware of Dalmau only when I became interested in the Van Eycks and artists working in their circle.
Luis Dalmau was Spanish but was clearly influenced by the work of the brothers Van Eyck as a result of time spent in Flanders around 1430. What he did before that time is a mystery. It is said that he made a copy of the Eycks’ Adoration of the Lamb; if so, one can only say that he was one of very few artists in Europe at that time who was equipped to meet that extraordinary challenge. Mysterious, too, is the period between 1433, the year when he returned to Barcelona, and 1445, the completion date of his one surviving major commission, the altarpiece known as the Virgin of the Councillors, that is now in the Museum of Catalan Art in that city. I focus on him here because, although he does not rank as high as the Eyck brothers, he was clearly a painter of prodigious talent, capable of rendering many things in Eyckian detail, and, like so many painters of his time he produced very fine realistic portraits, a genre for which it was arguably the Great Age.
The Virgin of the Councillors, Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, Barcelona
Some of Dalmau’s portraits appear in the Barcelona altarpiece as the councillors who stand either side of the enthroned Virgin.
To the right of the Virgin are portraits of two councillors – Ramon Vall and Antonio de Vilatora
If we look at the right hand panel, we see the eponymous councillors, Ramon Vall and Antonio de Vilatora. Their faces, like their hands, are defined in a particularly spare, economical fashion. I am reminded of the Holbein drawings at Windsor where the features of the face are pencilled with great delicacy but leave the flesh, bar a little wash, to be suggested entirely by the paper.
The portrait of Sir Richard Southwell, Royal Collection Trust (left) can be compared to the councillors
Here there is a little light shading on one side of each man’s face, but no attempt to indicate, for example, where the cheekbone is. The flesh tone and texture make a uniform base on which the features are carefully defined with a minimum of elaboration. One effect of this simplicity is that the eyes, with their black-irised, green-grey pupils floated to the top of the whites, seem to stare forward with a prominent clarity because there is no indicated depth of eye socket. Similarly, the younger man’s black hair with its carefully snipped fringe stands out above the springing arch of his brows. When we turn to the folds of the drapery we see that they are hardly rendered as folds at all; indeed not much more modelled than the fingers of the hands are.These indications of Dalmau’s ‘minimal’ style are important for the attribution to him of several independent portraits now to be considered.
Praying Man, Museum der bildenden Künste, Leipzig
First is a Portrait of a Man in the Fine Arts Museum of Leipzig. He is presented in the attitude of a donor, his hands joined in prayer and eyes uplifted towards some sacred scene. Here there is rather more modelling in the face than we found at Barcelona, and it is good modelling, particularly in the strong nose and full lips, but the man’s swollen neck helps to convey the same uniform covering of flesh over the whole head, the dark hair lying so close to the skull as to be like a skull-cap, and the same thin brows. It is altogether a powerful and convincing image, more flesh than bone, of a genial, monk-like character, though perhaps not one much acquainted with fasting. He appears to be about the age of Ramon Vall.
The portrait of Marco Barbarigo shows a similar style, including the prominent nose, and pleated fabric, as the Dalmau councillors
In the London National Gallery there is a small portrait of a younger man, closer in age and appearance to Antonio de Vilatora, who is holding a letter. This is also relatable in style to Dalmau and his Councillors though it may predate that work. Something that is common to all three cases is the prominence of the nose; in the London picture it is disproportionate in size not only in relation to the eyes but also to the mouth and chin. Again we encounter the folds that are not folds, that is to say not modelled as ridges with valleys between, but rather as tightly bunched pleats with only a dark dividing line. The result is a flattening, where in other painters there would be projection and recession. Folds around the sleeve and elbow tend towards a simplified zigzag design.
Left and Right: Giovanni Arnolfini (attributed to van Eyck), Staatliche Museen, Berlin; Centre: Unknown man/self-portrait, van Eyck, National Gallery, London
A third independent portrait that relates very well to the other two as well as to the Councillors is the one of Giovanni Arnolfini (more famous as a sitter to Jan van Eyck) at the Staatliche Museen at Berlin. Here, more noticeable than ever, is the long nose and the minimal modelling. One is reminded of certain portrait photographs in modern times that seem over-exposed in many parts of the face because the flesh-tone varies so little from temple to cheek, nose to chin. The little trough between nostrils and upper lip is almost non-existent. I have drawn attention to the way in which Dalmau does not properly relate the dark hair of Antonio de Vilatora to the man’s head; it lies over it like a thinly textured cap. The same criticism could be levelled at the headdress worn by Arnolfini: it does not convincingly fit around his head but looks detachable. Jan van Eyck, by contrast, in his portrait at the National Gallery in London, makes the connection much clearer because the modelling is clearer; he would not leave unmodelled those ‘falls’ of the hat either side of the face. It is in such ways that we can see that Dalmau, for all his obvious talents, does fall short of the rank in which we hold the Van Eyck’s or Campin or Rogier van der Weyden.
Silverpoint portrait, Kupferstichkabinett, Staatlichen Museen Berlin
This silverpoint portrait shows the same stippling technique seen in the shorn head and fur cuffs of councillor Ramon Vall
Of drawings that might be attributable to Dalmau I propose firstly a silverpoint in the Kupferstichkabinett in Berlin of a middle-aged man in a fur-lined coat. What is distinctive about it is the character of the mark-making: very fine parallel stroking and light, pointillist stippling. Translated into a drawing medium one also notes the perfunctory indications of folds. The generally light touch of this artist is almost symbolically represented by his evident delight in the feel of the fur lining to the man’s surcote and the contrast it makes with a stiff, designed collar.
Left: Silverpoint drawing of an unknown man, British Museum; Right: Portrait of a noblewoman, probably Isabella of Portugal, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
We can see stylistic similarities across these portraits, including in facial types
An attribution of the Berlin drawing to Dalmau seems confirmed by another in a very similar style at the British Museum. Here the man’s headdress is comparable with Arnolfini’s but different in the elaborateness of its falls. His facial types can be matched at Barcelona, and once again we see the flat folds, as in Berlin. I should mention at this point two female portraits: one, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art is of a lady, possibly Isabella of Portugal, in near-profile looking to our left. She is very similar in features to the man of the British Museum drawing; the stippling technique displayed in her dress may be compared with the stubble on the head of Ramon Vall.
The familiar stippling technique seen in the details of Isabella of Portugal
Another, last seen in an auction catalogue of in 1892, is of a lady in full profile, wearing much elaborate jewellery, an Eyckian but also a very Spanish taste. Her features are echoed in many of the female faces behind the Councillors at Barcelona.
This portrait of an unknown lady bears resemblance to the faces seen in the background of the Councillors painting.
In general Dalmau is a painter obsessed with the miniaturist rendering of extremely fine decoration. This is on display in a painting of St James of Compostella, at the Prado in Madrid, looked up to by a prayerful donor, not just in the bejewelled border of his robe, but in the geometry of the tiled floor and in all manner of eccentric detail in the throne.
St James the Pilgrim, Museo del Prado, Madrid; details on the throne can be compared with similar miniature details in Dalmau’s Councillors
Close-up details of the statues on the Virgin’s throne in the Councillors painting
Virgin and Child, whereabouts unknown, possibly Chicago
One sees it also in a Madonna breastfeeding the Child, a painting from Chicago designated ‘Hispano-Flemish’ – a description that fits Dalmau well as a Spaniard drawn into the world of Flanders. Both the face of the Madonna and the type of the Child are very closely matched in the enthroned group at the centre of the Barcelona picture. The fussy intricacy of the border increases one’s sense of calm and simplicity in the despectant face of the Mother whose hands just touch but do not hold the Child in place.
Man in the Fur Hat, whereabouts unknown
Background details from the Man in the Fur Hat can be compared with the scenes in the background of the Councillors
More impressive by far is a portrait of a Gentleman in a tall fur hat, sold at auction in 1995, described as being in the style of Jean Fouquet. I think we can be more precise and attribute it to Dalmau, given the nature of the landscape background and the man’s face (the nose again) finding parallels at Barcelona. The absence of decorative detail, and of hands, allows the viewer to concentrate attention on the man’s head, its memorably serious, dignified, thoughtful bearing. All in all, it is a picture one would be glad to see; the buyer of it acquired something noble and unusual. The impression it makes of being unlike the rest of what survives of the artist’s work only serves to highlight what is most characteristic of him, namely the excess of decoration that was soon to find expression in Spain and Portugal, in the facade at Valladolid and the Manueline decorativeness at Batalha and Tomar.
If we ask why we do not hold Dalmau in as high esteem as either of the Van Eycks, I think one answer is that, while each of those brothers included an extraordinary amount of fine detail, the details are always subsumed by the overall design which is spacious, not overcrowded. The Councillors picture, for all its virtuosity of depiction is not well enough composed to subordinate the detail. Too much superficial decoration similarly spoils the work of Bartolommeo Vivarini (the subject of my earlier Study ‘Two Drawings’) and much Elizabethan portraiture.
I will end this essay with a more general observation concerning methodology. I doubt if we shall get beyond the imprecision of ‘in the manner of Jean Fouquet’ or ‘School of Jan van Eyck’ unless we resort to some old-fashioned criticism of the kind that attends carefully to the visible appearance of surfaces, whether painted or drawn. To call this approach old-fashioned is unfortunately true; the new fashion in scholarship and museum curation is for a ‘scientific’ approach that relies on technical equipment and privileges the institutions involved with a sense of exclusive access to knowledge not available to people outside them. Such ‘scientism’ is very characteristic of our age and has been for quite a while, but it is not healthy and not helpful from a connoisseurship perspective. There is no real alternative to a critical investigation into what kind of an artist Luis Dalmau was if we want to show that he existed, partially survives, and is distinct in imagination and technique from the other artists of his time.
A D D E N D A
Adoration of the Magi, National Museum of Art, Washington DC
Similarities in these compositions include a blue-over white sky in the backkground
Since writing this Study I have made a connection illustrated by the above juxtaposition of the Virgin of the Councillors picture at Barcelona and an Adoration of the Magi at the National Gallery of Art in Washington. Place them side by side, and immediately one sees the shared colour scheme and the high horizon with blue-over-white sky. The Washington picture presents a crowded, indeed overcrowded, composition including not only numerous figures, some of them Moors, but also horses, dogs and a monkey. I assume that it is the earlier of the two paintings, but by how many years I have no idea.
Clockwise, from top left: The Falconer, Städel Museum, Frankfurt; Silverpoint portrait, as before; Jacquelin of Bavaria, also Frankfurt; Portrait of a hooded man, Musee du Louvre, Paris
Since all the figures at Barcelona are so heavily cloaked as to disguise the bodies beneath, it is helpful to have another work containing some tall, long-legged male figures, particularly because their proportions and types suggest an attribution to Dalmau of a whole group of silverpoint drawings. Above we have one of Jacquelin of Bavaria, and another of a Falconer at Frankfurt-am-Main’s Staedel Institut, as well as one of a hooded man at the Louvre, which bear stylistic resemblance to drawings I have already attributed to Dalmau. Below we have further examples of Louis, Duke of Savoy and John IV, Duke of Brabant at the Boymans Museum in Rotterdam, another Duke of Brabant and the Count of Nevers, at the Mannheimer collection, Amsterdam, and Jael and Sisera, at the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum at Brunswick.
Phillip Duke of Brabant and the Count of Nevers, both at the Mannheimer collection, Amsterdam
Left: Louis, Duke of Savoy; Right: John IV, Duke of Brabant, both at the Boijmans Museum in Rotterdam
Jael and Sisera, at the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum at Brunswick
One other item, the so-called Madonna of Covarrubias at Burgos, I would credit to Dalmau on the basis of a likeness in both the Virgin’s head and the Child’s to those, and others, at Barcelona.
Clearly connoisseurship on Dalmau is a work in progress, and this Addenda only an interim update. However, we can begin to see him as more than the painter of one mature, late work, and identify other things, drawn and painted, that preceded it.
