Juan de Pareja by Diego Velazquez
In 1650, Diego Velázquez had just established his reputation with a stunning portrait of the Pope. But when the Pope’s
portrait was exhibited with other portraits by Velázquez, the surprise hit of
the show was this one, of Juan de Pareja.
Who was this man, whose portrait was so dazzling among those of so many luminaries and even the Pope himself? Let’s see if the portrait offers any clues.
In a portrait from this period, the background often offers a clue, such as a view of the sitter’s estate, or a collection of objects related to his position in society. In this portrait we find…nothing but a blank wall!
But it’s not as if Velázquez has left out identifying attributes in order to conceal the subject’s status. The blank background plainly tells us the same thing as the sitter’s inelegant clothes, and especially the hole worn in his sleeve: Juan de Pareja is a simple, humble, pauper. In fact, he is the artist’s slave.
Isn’t it interesting that the great painter would take the time and the interest, among his many commissions for portraits of important people, to sit and create this portrait of his servant? And isn’t it even more interesting, that he would have the nerve to include this portrait among the others in the first public exhibition of his portrait of the Pope? It is most interesting of all, that of the many masterpieces in the exhibition, one visitor would remark that “the other paintings are art, but this one alone is truth.”
Surely, the portrait must be a skillfully-executed likeness, but the “truth” that visitor witnessed is something deeper, something less concrete than that; something that is not as eloquently stated with words as in the paint on this canvas.
The truth spoken most powerfully by this portrait is the recognition in Velázquez’ eyes, of the profound human dignity and worth of this individual that the world would otherwise have ignored. He had been given to Velázquez in a will, as a piece of property. And no one in Velázquez’ courtly world would have seen him as any more than that. Above all, none would expect to see him so respectfully portrayed, as if he were the noblest of men.
But Velázquez saw the nobility, and used its exhibition to show the world that every human life is precious in the eyes of God. This seemingly simple painting is in fact a heroic rebuttal to the evil in the world that robs the poor and underprivileged of the dignity and value that is at the core of what it means to be human.
This is truth.
It is the truth that Velázquez saw, and that the exhibition visitor mentioned. It is the truth that reaches through the centuries and still stirs our hearts. And it is the Truth that came to earth to humble the mighty and exalt the poor, and to die for the sake of every last one of us.
And it must be this truth that led Diego Velázquez, not long after this portrait was painted, to give Juan de Pareja his freedom. The former slave later became a well-regarded painter in his own right.
This portrait reminds us not only of the truth that set Juan de Pareja free, but also of the Truth that saves us from slavery to sin; that redeems us from the lie that we are not valued by our Creator; that truly…truly, sets us free.
Who was this man, whose portrait was so dazzling among those of so many luminaries and even the Pope himself? Let’s see if the portrait offers any clues.
In a portrait from this period, the background often offers a clue, such as a view of the sitter’s estate, or a collection of objects related to his position in society. In this portrait we find…nothing but a blank wall!
But it’s not as if Velázquez has left out identifying attributes in order to conceal the subject’s status. The blank background plainly tells us the same thing as the sitter’s inelegant clothes, and especially the hole worn in his sleeve: Juan de Pareja is a simple, humble, pauper. In fact, he is the artist’s slave.
Isn’t it interesting that the great painter would take the time and the interest, among his many commissions for portraits of important people, to sit and create this portrait of his servant? And isn’t it even more interesting, that he would have the nerve to include this portrait among the others in the first public exhibition of his portrait of the Pope? It is most interesting of all, that of the many masterpieces in the exhibition, one visitor would remark that “the other paintings are art, but this one alone is truth.”
Surely, the portrait must be a skillfully-executed likeness, but the “truth” that visitor witnessed is something deeper, something less concrete than that; something that is not as eloquently stated with words as in the paint on this canvas.
The truth spoken most powerfully by this portrait is the recognition in Velázquez’ eyes, of the profound human dignity and worth of this individual that the world would otherwise have ignored. He had been given to Velázquez in a will, as a piece of property. And no one in Velázquez’ courtly world would have seen him as any more than that. Above all, none would expect to see him so respectfully portrayed, as if he were the noblest of men.
But Velázquez saw the nobility, and used its exhibition to show the world that every human life is precious in the eyes of God. This seemingly simple painting is in fact a heroic rebuttal to the evil in the world that robs the poor and underprivileged of the dignity and value that is at the core of what it means to be human.
This is truth.
It is the truth that Velázquez saw, and that the exhibition visitor mentioned. It is the truth that reaches through the centuries and still stirs our hearts. And it is the Truth that came to earth to humble the mighty and exalt the poor, and to die for the sake of every last one of us.
And it must be this truth that led Diego Velázquez, not long after this portrait was painted, to give Juan de Pareja his freedom. The former slave later became a well-regarded painter in his own right.
This portrait reminds us not only of the truth that set Juan de Pareja free, but also of the Truth that saves us from slavery to sin; that redeems us from the lie that we are not valued by our Creator; that truly…truly, sets us free.
If this is meaningful to you, feel free to keep the artcoin, or place it in another cache to share it with someone else. Whether it's meaningful to you or not, I'd really like to hear from you about your reaction. If you get a chance, send me a note