You’d think that to get a good view of Delft all I’d have to do is walk out the door of where we’re staying in Delft and take a look around.
But no, not for the art snob. I have to take a train to den Haag and drag Ella to the Maritshuis to see another batch of Old Masters. That’s right, Ella, more white guys plying their craft. Look at that attention to detail, the way the dabs of white bring out the light…
Hey, listen, I’m not the only one. Half of Europe was there with me broken down into groups. (There seems to be a rampant fear of enjoying a museum alone.) There was the group of young guys that seem to be in a race to finish rushing by the paintings the fastest. There was the group of tourists being lectured by the guide.
The children being lectured by the teacher.
The cluster that’s being paid to pose as part of the painting.
Then there was Vermeer’s “View of Delft”. I stood where Proust (extra snob points) probably stood a hundred-plus years ago when he admired the painting he immortalized in his immortal novel.
Look at the way Vermeer dabs with white! Whew! The building shadows in the water, the detailed brickwork, the shading of the clouds. I have to go back to Delft and take another gander. Across the room we’ve got that gal with the earring whose eyes follow me as I glance back over my shoulder heading to the next gallery.
To paraphrase other art snobs before me, the dude never fails to knock my socks off. Ah, yes, the next gallery. You mean there are other artists here besides Vermeer? That guy Rembrandt. Yeah, okay, he had some chops.
