So this truly is one of those blockbuster shows. It’s crowded inside, naturally, but this being the Netherlands, the art-going public is happy to wait its turn to get near enough to each of the widely spaced paintings. And, thanks to superb organisation and efficient staff we were in the exhibition space astonishingly quickly; there wasn’t even a queue to get in when we arrived and there were plenty of lockers available to stash coats and bags. Quite a contrast from the long lines and horrendous crush at the Leonardo show at the Louvre a few years ago.
It’s the View of Delft that captures your attention first; bright sunshine on the red house roofs and the tower of the Nieuwe Kerk in the centre of the painting, even as the left-hand side remains in shade under a fluffy cloud. The city gates are reflected in the scarcely moving waters of the canal, while on the bank nearest us, a couple of women converse. A scene of utter tranquillity; and yet only a few years earlier, much of the city had been devastated by a huge gunpowder explosion. There’s a bit more activity in The Little Street; a woman in a doorway sews, children play. Vermeer captures the textures of the cobbles, wood and brickwork in a picture based on his aunt’s house.
It’s that highlighting, that play of light that is so characteristic about Vermeer. In The Milkmaid, the thin stream of milk being carefully poured from the jug is the focal point of the picture. But look around; the chunks of bread (she’s preparing some sort of bread pudding, it seems) and the basket on the table are composed of hundreds of dots of light. And then you notice the reflections on the rims of the utensils and the glazed jug. The maid has pulled back her sleeves for this job, and you can appreciate just how pale the normally covered parts of her forearms are. And what about those Delft tiles that make up the skirting board? Even the plain wall has detail…. the graduation of the shadow in the corner, the nail and pitted mark in it. Such precision and detail on a canvas that is less than a half a metre square.

It’s perhaps only in this show that you appreciate how small many of Vermeer’s works are. Spaced far apart on the Rijksmuseum’s exhibition floor, they appear even more jewel-like than you imagined.
Take The Lacemaker: It’s just 24 centimetres by 21. In this painting the astonishment comes from the threads that pour out of the work box on the left, in what is an incredible rendering of the tools and materials the woman is using. Spots of white pick out highlights on the collar and her work. Unusually for Vermeer, the light is coming in from the right; his characters are normally illuminated from a window on the left.
.jpg)
.jpg)
One of the most famous paintings in the world, it’s only staying at the Rijkmuseum until the end of March. On April 1, it’ll be back in the Mauritshuis. Bizarrely, we’ve been in the gallery in The Hague many a time and had it almost all to ourselves. Not here.
.jpg)
There aren’t that many men in Vermeer’s paintings — Christ in the House of Martha and Mary, the dodgy-looking individuals in The Procuress, and also on show here from his later period, The Geographer, a figure caught in thought, looking up from his map in a most Vermeer-like room, the light coming in from the elaborate window on the left, the intricate table covering, and another map on the wall. The Astronomer, a quite similarly constructed painting, hasn’t been lent by the Louvre, and nor has the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna sent The Art of Painting to Amsterdam; it’s perhaps the picture you’ll most miss in this show.
.jpg)
Most theatrically, The Love Letter offers us an image of the woman of the house interrupted in her music, just having been handed a sealed letter by her maid, who’s wearing something of a knowing look. The painting within the painting, on the wall behind, is a seascape; the sea was often compared to love, and a ship to a lover, in the 17th century. The whole scene is glimpsed from afar, in another room.
.jpg)

It’s quintessential Vermeer; the light streaming in from the window on the left, throwing complicated shadows on the walls and the furnishings; the shining studs fixing the upholstery to the chair and the gleam on that pot on the left; the stunning rendering of materials. This is what we think of as the reality of 17th-century Holland. It is, and it isn’t; this is the artist’s constructed reality, but these are intriguing and beautiful paintings, and they take you completely away from the present to Vermeer’s world. He didn’t paint many of them, and you may never get the chance to see them all together again, so if more tickets become available, book them immediately and get yourself to Amsterdam. You surely won’t regret it.
Practicalities
Vermeer runs at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam until June 4. The exhibition is currently open daily from 0900 to 1800, with lates on Thursday, Friday and Saturday until 2200. Full-price tickets are 30 euros, including admission to the main Rijksmuseum collection, which you can visit after you’ve toured the show, though the rest of the museum is not open in the evenings. We took about 1 3/4 hours to go round the exhibition.
The gallery is situated in the museum quarter in the south-west of the city centre and is easily accessible by tram, using Vijzelgracht Metro station or via a direct bus from Schiphol airport. If you’re coming from outside the city, it’s a half-hour walk from Amsterdam Centraal station or, more pleasantly in our opinion, Amsterdam Zuid (taking you past the Hilton, scene of John and Yoko’s bed-in). 9292.nl is an excellent site that gives you public-transport connections across the Netherlands.
While you’re in the Rijksmuseum
Visit the Gallery of Honour for the museum’s line-up of the greatest works from its Dutch Golden Age collection, minus the Vermeers at the moment. Pride of place goes, of course, to Rembrandt’s The Night Watch, currently being restored live in situ behind a glass screen.
Images
Johannes Vermeer, Girl with a Pearl Earring, 1664-67, Mauritshuis, The Hague
Johannes Vermeer, Woman with a Pearl Necklace, c. 1662-64, Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin