Great Art Explained: Las Meninas by Diego Velázquez

"Las Meninas", Diego Velasquez's portrait
of a Spanish princess and her entourage

is one of (if not THE) most widely
discussed painting in Western Art.

Every viewing raises more questions

and every answer is followed
by a dense network of meanings.

It is not only a high point
of realism in painting,

a perfect lifelike depiction
of the Spanish Court,

it is also a complex meditation
on painting itself.

It is a spellbinding work

that is concerned
with how we view a painting,

and how the subjects
in a painting view us.

Velasquez was 57 years old
when he painted this,

and had been the court painter
for over 30 years.

But in this painting
— for the first time —

he includes himself among the courtiers,

painting a monumental canvas
10 and 1/2 feet tall by 9 feet wide,

the same size as the actual painting
that the painted canvas is shown within.

But who is he painting?

The infanta?
The king and queen of Spain?

Or is he painting you, looking at him?

Early in his career, Velasquez produced

several of these "kitchen"
or "tavern" scenes,

known in Spanish as "bodegones".

They showed ordinary people
in ordinary settings,

often with hidden allegorical meaning.

When he was just 18,
he painted this extraordinary work,

which shows a precocious talent

for capturing the everyday moment

and clearly shows his immense skill

in depicting different
materials and textures,

as well as his mastery of light and shadow

on both opaque and reflective
surfaces.

The detail of the eggs
frying in hot oil is a masterclass.

This painting which was probably
painted to show off his skills,

became his calling card
to the Royal Palace.

Here, the water dripping down the jug

demonstrates his astonishing ability

to create an almost photographic reality.

Common people were always
treated with dignity by the artist

and his early paintings not only showed

a supremely confident
technique and attention to detail,

he gave workers
a gravitas in his paintings.

Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez
was born in 1599 in Seville,

to a family with plenty of intellect
but little financial means.

Precocious talented,
he began a six-year apprenticeship

when
he was 12 years old,

with the painter Francisco Pacheco,

learning classical techniques of painting.

But the young artist quickly moved away
from Pacheco's old-fashioned stiff style,

towards a new dramatic naturalism

inspired by Caravaggio and his followers.

There is no evidence he saw
Caravaggio's work in person,

but he knew the work of Pieter Aertsen,
a Dutch painter

accredited with the invention
of the monumental genre scene,

which combines still life
and genre painting,

and often includes
a biblical scene in the background,

almost like a split screen effect.

Velasquez painted several
of these types of scenes,

and he is clearly already
experimenting with illusion,

with the picture within a picture,

something he will perfect later
in Las Meninas.

In 1623, two years after Philip IV

came to the throne in Spain
at the age of 16,

Velasquez, who was already being
talked about in the right circles,

was summoned to Madrid
to paint a portrait of the king

which we think is this one.

It was an immediate success

and he was pronounced
official painter to the king on the spot,

with a promise that no one else should
portray the king without his permission,

a remarkable achievement
for such a young man,

and one which awakened jealousy
from the other court painters.

Philipe IV of Spain and Velasquez
were linked together

like no other patronage in Art History.

He first painted him at the age of 24

and 33 years later

this painting would
be his last of the king.

Their relationship was unusually close
for a monarch and his painter,

and the king often came to Velasquez

while he was painting in his workshop
— just for a quick chat.

It has been said

that the principal motivating force
in Velasquez's life,

was the desire to be a nobleman,

and he would remain
attached to the court

for the rest of his life,

where step by step he would ascend

through the hierarchy
of court appointments,

working his way up to a knighthood,

and he used Las Maninas to prove
that he should be considered as a noble.

At the same time
he is painting his masterpiece,

a committee are deciding

whether he can be made a knight
of the order of Santiago,

in other words be ennobled.

There is a reason he has put himself
in one of his paintings for the first time

— on an equal footing
with Spanish royalty.

It is so important to understand

that a painter in 17th century
Spain and elsewhere,

was considered as just another
crafts person, like a carpenter,

in other words, a manual worker.

And like most most court painters
he had many other jobs.

Velasquez was also
the "Royal Chamberlain",

a job that involved
looking after the palace,

buying firewood,
bedding, and crockery.

He had a key to every room in the palace

and we can see here,
hanging from the painters belt,

the symbolic keys
of his court offices

of which he was inordinately proud.

He was also the curator
of the king's galleries,

responsible for negotiating
the purchase of hundreds of works.

In fact, almost every Titian
you see today in the Prado,

was bought by Velasquez,
on trips to Italy.

The artist had a long life,

but only produced
between 110 and 120 known canvases.

He produced no etchings or engravings

and only a few drawings
are attributed to him.

This all ties into his two enormous,
but mutually exclusive, ambitions.

He wanted to be seen

as the greatest painter
of the Spanish court

but he also wanted to go down
in History as a great gentleman.

The problem was that throughout
his time in the palace,

his close friendship with the king

meant he had
his enemies in the court,

who were determined
to stop his rise through the ranks.

Philipe became king in 1621
at the age of 16

and heir to the Hapsburg
art collection in Madrid.

In a court that commissioned

not only paintings
but poetry and theatre too,

we often talk about
the "Golden Age of Spain",

and it was a time
when great palaces were being built

and culture was flourishing,
with among others:

El Greco, Velasquez, Zurbaran,
Murillo and Cervantes.

But Philip IV was in trouble
for much of his rule,

mainly because of long drawn out
expensive wars, revolts, revolutions,

and trouble in the colonies.

But also because
of genetics and inbreeding.

For two centuries, the Habsburg kings

had married first cousins,
nieces and aunts,

resulting in an onslaught of physical
and mental ailments

because of their limited gene pool.

The distinctive "Habsburg jaw"
we see on Philip IV

was inherited from earlier Habsburgs,

and likely the result
of the Royal Family's inbreeding.

Despite the Spanish Colonial Empire,

the country was almost continuously
in financial difficulties,

and had declared bankruptcies
in 1647 and 1653.

The Spanish royal family
was so broke

that they often couldn't afford
firewood to heat the palace,

or bread for the tables.

In fact, when Velasquez died,

the crown still owed him
17 years of salary payments.

And yet, what does Las Meninas portray?

A wealthy family dressed
in the finest clothes money can buy

surrounded
by gloriously attired servants

in an ornate and sumptuous setting.

Like all royal portraiture,
it is a form of propaganda

designed to show a courtly audience,
dynastic stability and Imperial wealth.

But one thing Philip IV can't disguise
is the lack of a male heir.

He is on his second marriage
by the time of this painting.

He had 10 children with his first wife,
Isabelle de Bourbon,

but only one son and heir.

His wife died in 1644.

And then in 1646, their son died.

A year later, in a hurry
to create a new son and heir,

he married his 14-year-old niece, Marianna
— when he was 44.

She gave him five children,
but only two survived to adulthood.

A daughter, Margarita Theresa,
born in 1651,

the infanta in Las Meninas,
who sadly would die in her teens,

and the future king Charles II of Spain

who was born 5 years after Las Meninas.

Charles however,
was severely disabled,

thanks to inbreeding,

and he would be the last
of the Spanish Habsburgs.

Velasquez's position at the court

gave him unique access
to the royal collections,

and he would naturally be influenced
by the works he saw every day.

He also visited Italy at least twice,

on extended trips
to buy paintings for Philipe IV,

and to study the great masters.

He was accompanied on these trips
by his enslaved assistant,

a notable painter in his own right,
Juan de Pareja,

who would be given
his freedom by Velasquez

shortly after he painted this beautiful
and dignified portrait in 1650.

The work's extraordinary lifelike quality
so astonished the papal court,

that he was asked to paint Pope Innocent X

one of the painter's best
and most psychologically insightful works,

which has been described
as "a symphony in red".

It is said that when the pope saw
his portrait completed,

he exclaimed somewhat bewildered:

"Troppo Vero" - "too truthful".

The influence of contemporary
Italian artists, can be seen

in Velasquez's mastery of perspective,

and his rendering of the male nude
in this large canvas,

he painted while in Rome.

It was Titian and Peter Paul Rubens,

who would have more influence
than any other artist

on the development of his style,

and in particular his royal portraits,

where, in some cases,
we can clearly see

stylistic similarities
between the great masters.

This early Titian painting hung
in the Spanish Royal Palace

when Philip IV came to power

and was used as the standard

by which all other royal equestrian
portraits would be judged.

And this spectacular life-sized
equestrian portrait by Velasquez

of Philip IV clearly influenced
by Titian and Rubens,

not only in its simplicity of pose

but also in its depiction of the King

as a restrained and powerful ruler.

Velasquez's portrait however is livelier,
more elegant and uses a lighter pallette,

and doesn't rely
on a highly charged background.

The Flemish painter Rubens, even visited
the Spanish court of Philip IV in 1628.

He was actually on a diplomatic mission,

but still managed to paint five
portraits of Philipe,

while he was there.

He became great friends with Velasquez

and encouraged him to go to Italy
to study the Italian masters

to move away from chiaroscuro,

to be looser in his brush work
and to adopt a brighter palette colour.

Rubens was not only a successful painter,

but he was also an important diplomat

who had been knighted
despite his humble background.

The ambitious Velasquez
saw Rubens as a role model,

and through him he found someone
he could identify with.

It was Titian's late works that inspired
both Rubens and Velasquez.

Titian used sketchy and loosely
applied brush work,

and he would drag and smudge
paint over the canvas

to suggest the form,
rather than using definitive Strokes.

He also used a very thick
rough weave for his canvases,

that gave texture to his surfaces.

Velasquez would do the same.

Maybe less well known is the influence
of Sánchez Coello and Antonis Mor,

who were in the royal collection,

and would also be important
to how Velasquez helped Philipe IV

forge a calculated image
of power and piety.

Probably the biggest influence
on Las Meninas though,

was a painting from two centuries earlier,

"The Arnolfini Portrait", by Jan Van Eyck,

that I discussed in my earlier video.

This too was
in the collection of Philip IV,

and Velasquez would pass it every day
on the way to his Studio.

Like Las Meninas, the Arnolfini portrait
also has a mirror

positioned at the back
of the pictorial space,

reflecting two figures who would have
the same point of view as we do.

It also plays with pictorial space,
reflections and illusion,

not only in art but also in literature.

For example, Don Quixote
by Miguel de Cervantes,

is itself a complex multifaceted picture

of the relationship
between reality and illusion.

Velasquez used a very coarse canvas,

and he didn't use many
preliminary sketches that we know of,

but rather, he painted
directly onto the canvas.

As we can see with these x-rays

he often changed his work
as he was painting it,

and these changes
are known as "pentimento"

Velasquez was so experienced
by the time of Las Meninas,

that the work has very few changes,
apart from his self-portrait,

which initially turned his head
more towards the Infanta.

For much of his early career,

the artist used
a red ground for underlayer,

good for building up
contrast and tonal values

- the light and the dark.

But by the time of Las Meninas,
he had a much looser style,

and diluted his pigments t
o make them more translucent and fluid,

and he painted quite thinly,

so this necessitated using
a neutral grey ground,

which allowed
for a much wider tonal range,

greater luminosity
and a general silvery range of colour.

This was unusual at the time,

as most canvases were primed
using dark colours.

He would paint "alla Prima" or wet-on-wet,

where layers of wet paint are applied
to existing layers of wet paint,

often finishing his paintings
in one session.

With a painting
of this size and complexity,

that would not be possible,

and we can see one example
in the Infanta's sleeve,

where although it is mostly wet-on-wet,

areas of highlights have been dabbed
on later in thick impasto,

to create texture.

With Velazquez, you are always aware
that you are looking at paint.

He doesn't try to hide his brushmarks
- quite the reverse.

By the time he came round
to painting Las Meninas,

his technique was
at its freest and most fluid.

It is often called
a precursor to Impressionism,

but it's more than that.

Here, the silver of the tray on which
the Menina holds the ceramic container

is achieved with a couple of flicks
of white paint,

and the flowers are just
a few slashes of red.

We often talk about Chiaroscuro,
the extreme contrast of light and dark,

when we talk about Velasquez,

and comparisons
are often made with Caravaggio.

He painted his most technically
Caravaggio-like picture,

"Christ after the flagellation', early on.

But later, he used a more subtle
variation of chiarascuro.

Still using light to direct our vision
but more subtly.

As we can see when we look
at Las Maninas in greyscale.

Velasquez uses a dark colour palette
for Las Meninas,

mostly neutral colours and quite limited,

and yet he manages
to get a broad range of tones

with just whites, blues, yellows,
ochres, and small touches of red,

that help draw your eyes
around the painting

towards key points of interest.

Velasquez even lets us know
which colours he used,

as the palette that the painter holds
in his left hand,

has the very pigments
he used on Las Meninas.

Between 1640 and 1660,

Velasquez mostly painted
single portraits.

The composition and structure
of Las Meninas was extremely complicated,

and with so many characters

it's really like the staging of a piece
of theatre or performance art.

It needed to be carefully planned out,

with every character seen,
as well as being seen.

In Velasquez's hands,
they are fully realised individuals.

Thanks to the 18th century
art historian Antonio Palamino,

who wrote a 1724 book on Spanish painters,

we know quite a lot
about the people in Las Meninas,

including their names.

Palomino spoke to Velasquez 's colleagues
after his death,

as well as four of the nine people
pictured in the painting.

Most of the members of the Court

are grouped around
the 5-year-old infanta,

Margarita Teresa,

who is attended by two "meninas"
- or maids-in-waiting.

María Agustina Sarmiento,

who is passing her water
in terracotta pots

(so it could be summer).

and Isabel de Velasco,
who seems to be in mid-curtsy.

Velasquez had painted the princess
many times,

but unfortunately she would die
before she was out of her teens.

She is in the centre of the painting,

with the central axis
passing between her eyes.

Her face is spotlit by light

coming from an unseen window - top right,

and her white satin dress glows
as she is bathed in the sun.

It is the princess's presence

that makes this a "political painting",

as at the time the Infanta
was the only child of Philipe IV,

with the dynastic succession
resting on her tiny shoulders.

Showing her as a healthy
and beautiful princess

is important for future
marriage prospects.

We don't know the name of the dog,

but we know the breed
is a Spanish Mastiff,

which were bred as guard dogs.

There are few artists with such skill
in painting animals as Velasquez!

The dog is being nudged awake
by Nicolas Pertusato,

an Italian dwarf and Court jester.

Next to him, is the Austrian dwarf
Maria Bárbola,

who is depicted in an unusual way
for a person in her position at the time.

People with dwarfism
were considered curiosities,

as little more than "pets",

but Velasquez always
gave dignity to characters

who, due to their profession or condition,

were treated as lesser beings.

He shows Maria standing upright,
beside the princess.

She has a thoughtful
and controlled expression,

and is looking directly at us
- or the royal couple.

Velasquez entered the service
of the palace as a royal servant

and initially was considered a worker,

just like the dwarves of the Court,
or the jesters.

And so he treated them with an empathy,
not seen before in royal portraits.

He never mocked them or caricatured them,

and often made them the focal point,
as fully fleshed out humans.

In the shadows, this woman
is Doña Marcela de Ulloa,

the Infanta's chaperone,

and she is in mid-conversation
with an unidentified bodyguard.

At the rear is Don José Nieto Velázquez,
brother of the artist,

and the Queen's Chamberlain.

Velasquez had possibly painted him before.

He has paused at the door,
pulling back the heavy exterior curtain,

with one foot resting on a step

while his weight is on his other leg
on a different step.

As the Queen's attendant
he was required to be at hand

to open and close doors for her.

We don't know however
if he is coming or going,

but the light certainly
pulls us in,

and it looks
as if he will usher all of us,

out from the created world
and into the real world.

In this masterpiece of Illusion,

Velasquez clearly goes beyond
the physical confines of space,

by playing with implied spaces,

in this case the rest of the palace.

Velasquez himself is pictured
emerging from behind the canvas,

moving into our gaze
from the shadows into the light,

as he looks at us in the implied space
looking at him in the pictorial space.

He is supremely self-confident and
certainly no subservient courtier.

He is proudly holding
the tools of his trade,

his palette is turned towards us
showing its colours.

He also holds a mahlstick,

used for steadying the hand
when doing close work.

And the long round brushes
we know he used

which created soft edges
rather than hard lines.

His brush is dipped in paint
and perhaps he is considering

whether to add some finishing touches,

but it is also possible

that the first stroke
has not yet been applied.

His hand is just a flurry
of rapid brush strokes

and it would appear
to be metamorphosing into his brush,

as his flesh becomes instrument.

It is audacious that a servant,
albeit a courtier and royal favourite,

has given himself greater
prominence than his master.

But it is also inconceivable

that Philip IV did not give
the concept his blessing in advance.

In the same way
the Queen's Chamberlain

is opening up the implied space
beyond the picture frame,

the mirror here is reflecting
the opposite direction,

forward into the viewer's space.

The reflection is of King Philip IV
and Maria of Austria,

the King and Queen.

We know it is a mirror
and not a painting,

as everything else is muted and fuzzy,

whereas the image
of the King and Queen

is bathed in light in the beveled mirror

giving them an almost divine presence,

that is, if we believe

the King and Queen are in the same room
as the other characters.

The aforementioned historian, Palamino,

noted that the mirror
which shows the royal couple,

was actually a reflection,

not of the real monarchs in the room,

but of the canvas
Velasquez is working on.

In other words,
the couple are not in the room.

This idea is disputed though
as the reflection is not logical.

It has to be said though,

this is not the first time
Velasquez has painted an image

which explores the relationship
between reality, reflection, and image,

and which flouts the laws of Optics.

Here too, we see the mirror
with this rather blurred reflection.

The constant speculation
as to what is happening in this painting,

who is where, and why,

is absolutely intentional on the part
of Velasquez.

Whatever the study
of perspective or reflection tells us,

the royal presence is still
the most plausible explanation

for the outward glances
of the characters,

and I think that the King and Queen
are in the room,

and the mirror is a reflection of them

at the far end of the room,
sitting for Velasquez.

The fact that the Queen's Chamberlain
is opening the curtain to the Palace,

suggests that the royal couple
are preparing to exit.

This would explained
the Infanta's gaze towards her parents.

Velasquez, who seems to be peeping

out of the darkness
realising his time is up,

and the Menina
to the right of the Infanta,

who is beginning to curtsy,
as she looks towards the couple.

There is a palpable sense
of anticipation in the air.

If the King and Queen are there
— and I think they are —

then Velasquez
has one more trick up his sleeve.

He has placed the King and Queen
outside of the pictorial space,

standing exactly where we,
the commoners, would stand,

when we view the paintings.

We are standing right next
to King Philipe IV of Spain!

With this painting, Velasquez
was out to prove

that painting
was a noble, intellectual art,

and Las Meninas would be evidence.

It is in fact, a portrait
about the painting of a portrait.

Let's start with the physicality
of the space.

The building
was destroyed by fire in 1734,

but the historical plan still exist.

Las Meninas was painted
in the Cuarto del Príncipe,

or the King's quarters,
in the Alcazar in Madrid,

which is the room depicted in the work.

It was once part of the apartment

occupied by the crown Prince
Don Baltasar Carlos,

who had died in 1646.

Once the painting was finished

it was planned to be placed
in that same room.

An inventory of the room, proved

that everything Velasquez painted,
was really there

(apart from the mirror in the back).

The illusion starts
with the almost life-size figures.

The painting is enormous,
coming in at over 10 feet by 9 feet.

The room had
these wonderful high ceilings,

and the shutters
have been placed by Velasquez

to reveal slivers of light
exactly where he wants it.

The main light source
is from an invisible window to the right

and another source is the door at the back

that illuminates the figure

and sends a pencil thin beam
across the floor.

While Las Meninas
is clearly a royal painting,

it stands out from
other court paintings,

because the piece was intended
to hang in a private room

rather than displayed publicly.

It may look formal to us nowadays,

but compared to other royal portraits,

Las Meninas is fairly spontaneous,
casual, and relaxed.

There is a lot in this painting;

people, animals, reflections,
paintings on the walls

textures, other objects, and movement

- and yet, there is a cohesion
to the canvas,

because it is organised
in an orderly composition.

It is balanced perfectly

with the relatively quiet top half
against the busy bottom half.

The figures occupy a clear
horizontal strip across the painting,

but it isn't frieze-like,

as they are at different depths
into the view.

The first layer is the canvas,
the dwarf, and the dog.

Then we have the Infanta and her maids.

And then Velasquez,
the chaperone and the bodyguard.

The layering continues
throughout the picture,

and beyond
the picture frame.

The painting features several frames;

the frame of the room
in which they are all standing,

the frames of the paintings on the wall,

the frame of the canvas
Velasquez is working on,

the frame of the mirror,

and the frame of the door

in the background.

These frames provide a strong linear
and geometric theme to the painting.

You get a feel of structure
and organisation.

But a perfect perspective is not essential
to our understanding of this painting,

any more than a perfect
understanding of Optics.

What is the focal point?

Well, there are several possibilities.

Just look at the picture as a whole,

and you notice your eye
scans around the canvas,

as it would do in any large space.

We ricochet from one figure to another.

Possible focus points are the man in the
doorway,

the Infanta, or the reflection
of the King and Queen.

It seems at first glance

that Velasquez is drawing
all our attention to the Infanta,

and he has used some clever
and subtle techniques

to draw attention to her
in such a busy scene.

There is the dress of course,

but also she faces towards
the main light source

coming from the right,

while most of the other figures
are facing away from the light.

Maria Augustina
is looking directly at her,

and the characters to the left
nudge us towards the Infanta.

We do know that this painting
was not intended to be on public view

and was really considered
a private possession of the King

- for an audience of one,

which would suggest the focal point
is the reflection of the King.

The focus is still highly debated
and always wil be.

But the vanishing point is not.

It comes from José Nieto,
as he stands in the staircase,

more specifically the crook of his arm
is the exact vanishing point.

This is the key to Velasquez's
mastery of Illusion.

He uses realism, light, and structure

to pull together the disparate elements

in an exquisitely balanced painting.

It is an image so complex,

that he could only have achieved it
at this later stage of his life,

with the extensive knowledge

he has picked up
from a lifetime of painting.

The two paintings on the back wall
are important symbolically,

and represent two oil paintings
by Rubens, Velasquez's role model.

And show scenes
from Ovid's "Metamorphoses".

There is a good reason they are there.

If we remember that Velasquez
wants desperately

to raise his profession
from "tradesmen" to "artistic nobility".

They tell the tale of the superiority,
the nobility,

and the Divine calling of the artist.

In which mortals prove themselves
more skilled than even the gods.

Rubens was the most influential
Flemish artist of the 17th century,

so by linking himself with Rubens,

Velasquez is showing that he had reached
the highest tier in European art.

One of the great enigmas
in the portrait of Velasquez,

is the Red Cross on his tunic.

It is the heraldic symbol
of the order of Santiago,

a religious and military order,
founded in the 12th century.

He had petitioned the King

to make him
a knight of Santiago for years,

to secure a noble status,

citing the link between artistic nobility
and social nobility.

But the committee of the order
of Santiago refused

- due to his bloodline.

It was rumoured that his grandparents
were Jewish converts.

Luckily for Velasquez,

as well as being employer and employee,

he and Philip IV were close friends,

and he was finally inducted
in the order in 1659,

a year before his death,

after the King obtained
a dispensation from the Pope

to overrule doubts
as to the artist's blood and trade.

Diego Velasquez,
in many ways was unremarkable,

apart from the fact
he was appointed Court painter.

He had one wife, one friend (the King),

and one studio (the palace),

and spent his whole life
climbing the social ladder.

His Knighthood is the culmination.

What makes makes this cross
in the painting interesting,

is that he was knighted

a full 3 years after
Las Meninas was finished,

and a year before he died,

which means that the cross
was painted on the artist's tunic

years after the painting was created.

Tradition had it,
that after the artist's death,

Philipe IV himself painted the Red Cross
of the Knights of Santiago on the tunic,

but that's unlikely.

After the painting was cleaned
in the early 1980s

it was revealed
that the brush work of the cross

is uniform with the rest of the surface,

so it was almost certainly Velasquez
who painted the cross.

We can only imagine
the immense satisfaction

the artist got from adding
the cross to the painting,

and therefore rubbing
the snobby courtier's noses

in the fact that he was now one of them.

Velasquez, who was in essence,
born a trades person,

died a wealthy noble.

On his death it is said
that the King was heartbroken,

and the great friendship
that had united them

is evident in three words
that the monarch wrote

in a memorandum after his death:

"I am shaken".

Transcript by Margarida Mariz