Winterscapes of the Netherlands

If you're interested in seeing more winter landscapes:

www.winterlandschappen.nl

Every painting tells a story and every story creates an image or a mindscape. When you read a book, you are actually making an inner journey. Your imagination is activated by the words of the author and allows you to put yourself in the shoes of the characters. Their journey through life becomes yours.

Sometimes you’re intrigued by an author’s description of the scenery. And you decide to investigate if your imagination can be compared with the 'real' world, as described by the author.

So my good friend Willem Nicolaas Al and I, made such a voyage of discovery. We both had read 'the madonna of Nedermunster', a novella written by the Flemish ‘magical realism’ author Hubert Lampo. We were so impressed by it that we decided to visit Oudenaarde in Flanders, because the story of Lampo partly takes place in that old, monumental city and in the surrounding Flemish Ardennes. 'The madonna of Nedermunster', I cannot say otherwise, was a real ‘goosebumps book’. At least for the teenagers we were then. But I don't know if I would still appreciate this novela half a century later.

The story is about an archivist who sets out for an investigation. He ends up in the beautiful town of Oudenaarde where he experiences a short adventure with a very special and intriguing woman. She turns out to be a kind of archetypal woman. She is at the same time a witch and a virgin, in fact a woman of all times. Meanwhile Lampo describes the scenery of old Flemish town of Oudenaarde, its buildings and age-old folk traditions.

As I said before, these kinds of stories make a teenager's heart beat faster.

However, when we actually visited Oudenaarde, reality did not match imagination. The old town was quite beautiful, but not magical. And the Flemish Ardennes, at least the part we visited, was overgrown with modern buildings and not as hilly as we had dreamed of.
Fortunately, there was a single moment when at least one of our dreams came true. This happened when we suddenly ended up on a pilgrimage route near the village of Ename where believers passed in procession.

But all in all, reality as we experienced it in Oudenaarde, did not match the book.

Piet Willequet (1950) made this winter painting of the Flemish Ardennes. It is said of this artist that “with the strength of his palette, the softness of his poetry and his endless pursuit of depth and perfection, with endless patience and impressive precision, he restores the Flemish Ardennes, as they must remain forever, untouched and undamaged. .”

Speaking of ‘restoration’, with this beautiful work Piet Willequet restores my adolescent dream. So I finally got what reality could not deliver at the time.

Painting ice is difficult, very difficult. This is due to its natural characteristics. It should look cold, hard, transparent and mirror-smooth. And the entire upper world, so the people who skate on it, the houses and trees alongside and above all the sky, must be reflected in a natural way.

This small painting perfectly captures the essence of ice. Only when I looked at it closely I discovered the signature of the artist diagonally written below the frame: 'Haus facit 1830'.

After some research it turned out to be Hendrik Manfried Haus, a painter from the early nineteenth century who died at a young age. He was a fellow townsman of the famous Dutch winter painter Schelfhout. Probably they were acquaintances and occasionally went out together.

No one, absolutely no one, was capable of representing 'ice' better than Schelfhout. Schelfhout had developed a unique technique for painting ice. He mixed paint with crushed gemstones to create a transparent effect, making his ice appear both reflective and translucent. Then he scratched the painted ice with the back of his brush.

This painting shows that Hendrik Manfried Haus must have understood this recipe. His depiction of the people, especially the group on the right enjoying the winter sun, is also very special. It is almost impressionistic, and predates an art movement that only came into vogue around 1860.

Exactly thirty before that Haus made this painting.

No gigantic cliffs, raging rivers, mountain ranges, and overwhelming forests. So how is it possible that Dutch landscape paintings have such a great reputation all over the world? Painters like David Hockney, Turner, Constable, Monet, Manet, Liebermann, Whistler and other famous painters emphasized that they were enormously inspired by the Dutch landscape. And by Dutch landscape painters of the past centuries.

But is it really the landscape? Because the largest part of the paintings, often more than two thirds, consists of air. Sometimes bright blue, whether or not embellished with sheep clouds, cauliflower clouds, cumulus clouds or anvil clouds. Precisely this typical Dutch atmosphere, with its dramatic cloudy skies, blood-red sunsets, exerted an enormous attraction on many generations of painters, from home and abroad. “The Netherlands is a country at anchor,” one of the visiting French painters wrote in his diary.

The seventeenth century painter Jacob van Ruisdael is regarded as the discoverer of the Dutch sky. And later romantics such as Schelfhout and Koekkoek, the impressionists Mesdag and Weissenbruch, but also the magical realist painter Willink and the Cobra artists followed in his wake.

Visit the Cote d'Azur for the light and Holland for the sky, has been the credo of many artists for centuries.

Many paintings, especially of landscapes, broaden your vision. Like the windows of your house, they offer a view of the world.

But some paintings force you to reflect.

Like this painting? It was made some two hundred years ago.
Apparently the artist had no need for eternal fame. So there is no signature on the painting, and it remains uncertain who may have painted it.

Yet the anonymity of the artist adds an essential value to the artwork. For the person shown in the middle, the skater, could be anyone. From all times. It might be the fisherman in Hemingway's 'the old man and the sea'? Or Chris, the lead role from the movie 'Into the Wild'?

Or maybe 'Everyman', the main character in the famous Medieval mystery play that was shown in churches and at festivities hundreds of years ago? In this remarkable play we see a man named Everyman, who finally has to take responsibility for his earthly life. On his journey to the end, he is accompanied by various characters, such as: Virtue, Company, Possession, Self-knowledge, Confession, Beauty, Strength and Wisdom. He is alone and yet not. Because Everyman is actually 'everyone'.

The painting of the lonely skater is a work of art in which you can mirror yourself. Or even recognize yourself.

Self-reflection is of great value to everyone.

That's why it would be magnificent to cover the walls of the palaces where people like Trump, Putin, Bolsenaro and Erdohan live with these kind of paintings. So that these inflated egos, in passing them, would find themselves occasionally stared at by their own souls.

The color of silence

Can you bring dead people back to life? The newspaper articles about the painter Herman Bogman (1890-1975) are not really helpful to me. They are dead stuff.

They provide me some information about his date of birth and death, list the titles of works of art and exhibitions in the different cities, tell me which foreign countries the painter has visited in his life. That his father, who was his teacher, mainly painted cows.

But it all remains factual and meaningless. And it even becomes disturbing when journalists, with the attitude of ‘art critics’, give their opinion of Herman Bogman's work. Incomprehensible and even crooked sentences are the result, such as: “He has a presentation and, above all, a correct and fine color scheme.” Or: “The contrast between white and dark parts appears to be united in surprisingly pure balance with a flowing tone at the end of the perspective shift as if evaporating in the light.”

It is clear: many a journalist, whether or not in the guise of an art critic, often cannot produce the words to do justice to the painter.

A child knows better.

In my quest for some information of Herman Bogman, I came across a film recording made on the occasion of an exhibition of his work in 2016. A typical resident of The Hague, the retired trader in 'women's fabrics' Fred Klomp, speaks extensively in this film. Little by little, the old gentleman knows how to bring Bogman to life with his childhood memories. For example, we hear Fred Klomp tell with boyish bravado how, as a little boy, he accompanied his father to auctions of the 'Venduehuis der Notarissen' in The Hague, where he was then allowed to bid on behalf of his father. When the child raised his finger, the other people present in the hall did not dare to bid against him. They found this embarrassing and indecent, so the child bought all the paintings of his father’s choice. Cheap, that's for sure.

On and on the two conspirators went home, overjoyed with their loot. They preyed mainly on Bogman's work. And nowadays the 70-year-old Klomp is still an avid collector of Herman Bogman's artworks.

While hanging the paintings on the walls, for the exhibition, Klomp talks a lot about his passion. His eyes sparkle as he tells how his father took him to the home of the painter Bogman. As a small child, he was fascinated by the way the artist is painting in his studio, for example when making a still life of dead fish on a plate: “He regularly sat with a clothespin on his nose to finally portray the still life perfectly.”

Sometimes it happens that Bogman's wife has gone shopping and comes in with a net of vegetables. “Then Bogman 'confiscates' the vegetables: 'I'm going to make a watercolor of that!' 'No, that's not possible,' his wife protests, 'that's for dinner'. ‘Then we'll eat something else,’ the painter answers.

Because of his perfect memory and his still childish open mind, the 70-year-old collector Klomp can tell us more about the unique working method of the painter than any journalist or art critic could ever do. “For years Bogman works at the same table. The light comes from the right, the shadow always from the left. At six he turns his chair and sits down at the dining table. There is no talking, he is still concentrated on the painting. And after dinner, he turns his chair again. For minutes he oversees and evaluates the work of art, with his arms folded, toying with the thought: should I give it another 'aspirin'? To which his wife says: 'Herman, it's enough for today'."

He always painted in total tranquility. When he heard a tram approaching in the distance, or children playing, he put his brush down until the silence returned.”

In a corner of my living room there is a painting on the wall, made by Herman Bogman. Thanks to an old man, Fred Klomp from The Hague, the ‘man with the child in his eyes’, I now know how it came into existence. In total silence.

And that is what the painting radiates: absolute tranquility.

The painter and the queen

Many of his paintings are invisible to the general public. Why? Quite a few royal houses have traditionally been collectors of his work. And as we know, royals use to hide their treasures carefully behind closed doors.

Fortunately, there are also museums where everybody can admire the beautiful paintings of “the painter of the snow” (as Louis van Soest is called). If you visit the Pinakothek der Modernen in Munich, the Musée de Luxembourg in Paris and the Boymans van Beuningen in Rotterdam, you can admire his work.

Van Soest once was a celebrated member of the Hague School, an illustrious group of painters who at the end of the nineteenth century wanted to get rid of the romantic painting traditions that were very popular in their time. Instead, they pursued realism. The artist's state of mind had to be reflected!

Louis van Soest was trained as an engineer in Aachen, but painting was his true passion. His talent was visible to everyone and he soon found himself at home with the brothers Jacob and Willem Maris, he went out with the famous painter Weissenbruch to make sketches outside in the field and ... he became even the teacher of Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands, who herself was a passionate painter.

Like Van Soest and the others painters of the Hague School, she had a great passion for nature, God's creation. Van Soest's influence can be recognized in Wilhelmina's oeuvre. Only when Wilhelmina had to flee the advancing German troops to England in 1940, did their "cooperation" come to an end.

In the presence of her court, she invariably referred to him as "my colleague." If they were alone then she was more honest and called him "my teacher".

In 1948 Van Soest, the "painter of the snow", aged 80, died in The Hague. And Wilhelmina? She lived happily ever after, until she died in 1962.

Wilhelmina was given the white funeral she wanted and on December 8 of that year she was buried in a white coffin, and the vehicle and the clothes of the horses of the funeral procession were also snow white.

Harsh winters, with freezing cold and skating weather, are becoming increasingly rare. The paintings shown here portray the beauty of King Winter. They expose the overwhelming beauty of nature in combination with ice fun and entertainment.

Long time ago, the first winter paintings were made by the Van Eyck brothers. More than 600 years ago they illustrated the Duke of Berry's 'Book of Hours' in a phenomenal way.

That tradition of painting the different seasons has continued throughout history. So winter, autumn, summer and spring were shown in their mutual relationship.

In the same tradition, the Flemish 19th century artist Ferdinand De Prins painted two miniatures, summer and winter.

Nowadays we call this a 'pendant', two works belonging together that are each other's counterpart. Pendants are made to be displayed together and approximately of the same size.

In his time Ferdinand De Prins was a well-known artist. Eventually he founded his own artist school ("Eigen Vorming"), intended to promote the ideals of pure landscape painting.

Anyone looking for information on the internet about this remarkable painter, will initially be confronted with financial facts about the prices of his paintings, auctions results, etc. etc.

Only after a profound search you will eventually find some scarce biographical information and some impressions of the personality and influence of his artistic work.

Apparently that’s normal in our days: to confuse value with money.

To catch a cold

It was the hottest summer in living memory, the summer of 1947. But winter was also unforgettable. Numerous rivers, the Dutch ‘IJsselmeer’ and even parts of the North Sea were frozen. In Britain, German prisoners of war had to clear snow. As if they were reliving the hell of the Eastern Front.

On February 8, the famous skating tour ‘Elfstedentocht’, was held in the Dutch province of Friesland. And in that same month a painter set out to capture the harsh winter in colors forever. Although he used a lot of white oil paint too. Did he picture his own house because he didn't dare to go too far outside?

The name of the painter is unrecognizable. Were his fingers so numb that he couldn’t write his name in a proper way anymore?

Who will tell?