Have you seen…the house in a box?

Hoogstraten's Peepshow Box, National Gallery

In a quiet corner of the National Gallery stands a box, well, a box on a stand to be more accurate.  It looks relatively ordinary, wooden and brown. It is just a bit surprising to find a box in an art gallery.  What is it doing there, apart from standing?  The answer to that question lies within, because although it is simply standing in a room full of art, it is actually concealing a room full of art.

I feel rather like Alice in Wonderland as I peep through the tiny eye holes at either end of this box of delights.  I discover a perfectly proportioned room with a mirror hanging on the wall, a chair, and a black and white dog sitting up and looking at me.  There are coats and a sword hanging on pegs and a crumpled piece of paper with writing on it lying carelessly on a table top.

From the other peephole I can see doorways leading to other rooms, one to a bedroom with a curtained bed and another through a corridor to where a lady sits.  A shadowy man can be glimpsed through the windows at the front of the house, a visitor perhaps, eagerly awaited by the lady or unwelcome and about to shatter the peace of the house.  Paintings line the walls, hanging slightly at an angle, leaning into the room.  I crane my neck to see around corners and doorways; maybe I can catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Suddenly, I am aware of being watched.  There is an eye looking at me through the other peephole.  The spell is broken.  I am standing, not in a house full of rooms, but next to a box in a room full of art.

Hoogstraten’s seventeenth century Peephole Box showing a Dutch interior is a masterpiece of perspective.  One side of the box is glass enabling the viewer to see how the incredible three dimensional effect was achieved.  For example, parts of the dog are painted on the wall and parts are painted at a different angle on the floor.  These parts are anamorphic projections which look distorted when seen like this, but when viewed through the peepholes the dog looks realistically three dimensional.  The rooms leading off the main room are painted on the three interior walls using normal perspective and giving the impression that a whole house is contained within the box.  The illusion is so complete whilst looking through the peepholes, that when I stand up it really feels as if, like Alice, I have eaten the cake labelled ‘Eat Me’ and am shooting upwards, giant-like once more.

Visit the National Gallery, room 25 and be amazed by Hoogstraten’s Box.

Alison Barker

Coming next: Have you seen...the captured moment of clarity?

Have you seen...the one that got away?

Hans Holbein, Christina of Denmark, 1538,  NG

A tall, elegant lady, dressed from head to foot in black gazes serenely out at me. She smiles in an enigmatic way, one might almost call it a ‘mona lisa’ smile.  A slight dimple appears and her brown eyes almost laugh.  Her expressive face and hands are the only parts not swathed in black.  Her long-sleeved cloak has the look of shiny satin and is edged and lined with brown fur.  Beneath she wears a black velvet dress with startlingly white frilly collar and cuffs.  Her elegant hands clutch a pair of suede gloves and her hair is hidden in a black, velvet hood, closely fitted and framing her face.  The only splash of real colour is her blood red ring.

So who is she, this calm lady with her direct gaze that holds my attention? She is a Duchess, which one might have guessed from her bearing, the widowed Duchess of Milan and her name is Christina of Denmark.  She is the one that got away.  In 1538 when this picture was painted by Hans Holbein, she was only sixteen years old and she had sat for three hours while the artist sketched her on a March afternoon in Brussels. 

Most of Holbein’s portraits are of head and shoulders only, so why the life-size full length likeness here?  It is all to do with the King of England.  Henry VIII needed a new wife.  Well, actually, he needed a spare son and heir.  Jane Seymour had died twelve days after giving birth to Edward, and although a personal tragedy for Henry, he needed to secure the Tudor dynasty.  One could say that Henry had been ‘unlucky’ in love.  Of course, he should never have divorced Catherine of Aragon…but that is another story.  The point was that in 1538 Henry was on the look out for a new bride.  He would really have liked all potential ladies to have to come to him to be personally perused, for, as he said, “I trust no-one but myself. The thing touches me too near. I wish to see them and know them some time before deciding”[1]. 

However, as this was not practical, the next best thing was a professional ‘photo shoot’, and Henry’s own court artist, Holbein, whom he trusted completely[2], was sent to capture the likenesses of the most eligible ladies in Europe.  Christina was one of them, one that very nearly became the next Queen of England.  John Hutton, an English agent in Flanders sent a report to Henry describing Christina as “…very high of stature…a goodly personage of body and of competent beauty…and when she chances to smile, there appears two dimples in her cheeks and one in her chin which becomes her right excellently well”[3].  Holbein managed to capture this expression perfectly in his sketch using coloured chalks which then became a full length panel portrait.  He probably drew a detailed image of her face, hands and clothing, with notes in the margins as to colour, fabric and jewellery, according to his usual practice[4].  Six days later, on 18^th March, Holbein was showing the sketch to his King. Henry was captivated.

The lady, however, had some reservations.  Her advisors had told her about the King of England’s three previous wives: the rumour that Catherine of Aragon had been poisoned, the beheading of Anne Boleyn and the sad death of Jane Seymour.  On being offered the hand of Henry, Christina declared, that if she had two heads, just one would be at his disposal[5]. A wise and witty young lady. That knowing smile tells an intriguing story, “You may own my likeness oh King, but you will never own the real thing, for I am the one that got away.”  Henry kept her portrait.

Visit the National Gallery, room 4 and be mesmerised by Holbein’s lady.

Alison Barker

Coming next: Have you seen...The House in a Box?

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[1] Hutchinson, Thomas Cromwell, Phoenix, London, 2007, p.157

[2] Ganz P, ‘Holbein and Henry VIII’, The Burlington Magazine for Connoisseurs, Vol 83, No.488, Holbein Number (Nov 1943), p.271

[3] Hutchinson, 2007, p.151

[4] Dunkerton (et al), Durer to Veronese, Sixteenth-Century Painting in the National Gallery, National Gallery Publications, London, 1999, p.204

[5] Hutchinson, 2007, p.157