Travelling in the company of Old Masters in shifting roles as observer, listener or sometime companion, this page is kept as a quiet pastime. It is part notebook, part informal journal, a collection of phone images and reflections drawn from encounters with old artworks and places where the past still lingers.
All pictures are taken by me, and all thoughts written during slow travels and unhurried visits, where time allows for second looks and quiet returns.The works and spaces gathered here were made in a world different from ours, yet they continue to ask things of us—not answers, but attention; not certainty, but time. These pages offer no final word, only a shared space in which looking, questioning, and returning might still matter.
Yvo Reinsalu

 

The portrait of Thomas Howard, the 14th Earl of Arundel, created by Dutch artist Daniel Mytens in London in 1618, beautifully illustrates Arundel’s refined taste as a distinguished art collector. Mytens also painted a pendant portrait of his wife, depicting her alongside their grand collection of paintings. Arundel’s impressive collection of Roman and Ancient Greek sculptures and inscriptions, the first of its kind in England, was further enriched by his oversight of excavations in Rome and the Eastern Mediterranean.

Tragically, much of Arundel’s collection suffered considerable damage during the Civil War, with nearly half of the marbles destroyed. The surviving pieces were later bequeathed to Oxford University and are now displayed in the Ashmolean Museum.

Arundel profoundly impacted the careers of several foreign artists, including Mytens, who he helped establish as the principal portraitist at the royal court. His support was instrumental in introducing Peter Paul Rubens and Anthony van Dyck to England, marking a stylistic evolution in English portraiture. Van Dyck, in particular, became a leading court painter, with Arundel’s early patronage pivotal in shaping his career in England.

Arundel Cathedral, London Road, Arundel, West Sussex

One of England’s best examples of Gothic Revival architecture is the 19th-century Catholic cathedral in Arundel next to the medieval Arundel Castle in Sussex. Commissioned by the 15th Duke of Norfolk, in 1868, the cathedral was designed by architect Joseph Aloysius Hansom ( 1803 – 1882) in the French Gothic style. It took just over three years to complete, with the unstable foundation on the hill necessitating concrete supports up to 17.3 meters deep. This issue likely influenced the final design, which does not feature a dominant high Gothic tower. Opened in 1873 and originally dedicated to St. Philip Neri, it became a cathedral in 1965 with the formation of the Diocese of Arundel & Brighton. The west front, featuring a striking rose window filled with colourful stained glass, is particularly notable. In 1973, the dedication was expanded to include the recently canonised St. Philip Howard (28 June 1557 – 19 October 1595), the 20th (sometimes 13th) Earl of Arundel, who was martyred during the time of Elizabeth I.

Architect Charles Alban Buckler (1825–1905) began restoring the castle in 1875, aligning its interiors with art from various centuries. Between 1890 and 1903, the neo-Gothic hall was completed for the 15th Duke of Norfolk to display Tudor and Baroque family portraits, effectively narrating the history of England through the family’s lineage.

The builders of the great cathedrals of medieval Europe rarely lived to see the completion of their work. These vast projects were always conceived as undertakings that would stretch across generations, so that the act of building was understood as both practical and spiritual. Constructing a cathedral was never simply a technical task: it shaped the local economy, employed many crafts and trades, and gave visible form to the devotion of whole communities. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, the temple is never just a structure of stone. It is a centre of worship, a bond that holds a community together, and a commitment renewed through time. In this sense, a temple is never truly finished. It grows with the people it serves, reflecting both their continuity and their change. The words of Psalm 127:1, ‘Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain,’ express this belief, reminding us that the truest temple is first raised in the hearts of the faithful, even while it takes form in stone.

Salisbury Cathedral, one of the masterpieces of English Gothic architecture, shows this principle clearly. Begun in the early thirteenth century and completed more than seven hundred years ago, it has absorbed many additions and alterations that mark the passing of time and the changing needs of worship. The great spire that dominates the building, the reshaping of its interior for new liturgical practice, and the ongoing conservation work all bear witness to the life of the community it serves. Saint Augustine’s words, ‘We are the times: such as we are, such are the times,’ are especially fitting here. They remind us that the cathedral is not only an ancient landmark but also a living sign of faith and continuity, sustained by the collective spirit of generations.

Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640), The Marriage of Henri IV of France and Marie de Médicis, 1628-30, Oil on oak panel, 23 x 12,5 cm, Wallace Collection, London

The narrative embedded in this modello unfolds against the backdrop of 17th-century European politics, characterised by political ambitions, personal relationships, and the pursuit of legacy.

Rubens and Marie de Médicis likely first met at the proxy wedding of Marie to King Henri IV of France on October 5, 1600, in Florence. At that time, Rubens was serving at the court of Vincenzo I Gonzaga, Duke of Mantua, who was married to Eleonora de’ Medici, Marie’s sister. A decade later, just a day after her coronation, her husband, Henri IV, was assassinated, propelling Marie de Médicis into a contentious regency for her son, Louis XIII. In 1621, Marie, then the Queen Mother, commissioned Rubens to create a series of paintings celebrating her life and her late husband’s. Completed by 1625, this commission, full of complex allegories and exaggerated illusions of political power she did not possess, resulted in two significant cycles displayed in the Luxembourg Palace in Paris.

Believed to have been created between 1628 and 1630, this sketch was intended for a subsequent project to commemorate Henri IV’s life. Encapsulating themes of peace and reconciliation, it symbolises Henri’s submission to Marie, reflecting on the political and personal dynamics of their marriage. The olive branch Henri presents to Marie symbolises peace. The series this sketch belonged to remained unfinished due to Marie’s political decline, marked by her exile following power struggles with her son, King Louis XIII.

By the end of her life, Marie de Médicis lived with her parrot in Cologne, as a refugee in reduced circumstances. Rubens, who had become more of a diplomat than a court painter, arranged her accommodation in Cologne. Interestingly, Rubens spent his childhood as the son of a Protestant refugee in Siegen and Cologne. By the end of his life, he had risen to the status to help an ex-queen of France.

In the first half of the 16th century in Florence, Eleonora of Toledo emerged as possibly the wealthiest woman. The daughter of the Viceroy of Naples and a significant ally of Charles V, she married Cosimo I de’ Medici in 1539, and they had eleven children, five of whom survived into adulthood. Initially met with skepticism due to her Spanish heritage and astonishing wealth, Eleonora quickly became beloved in Florence for her philanthropy in church buildings and fervent patronage of the arts.

This adaptation by Bronzino’s studio of the earlier work, currently held at the Uffizi, depicts her in luxurious Spanish brocade silk, affirming her status as a fashion icon. Embellished with gold-threaded patterns, diamond, pearls, and a pearl-encrusted snood, her attire showcased the era’s peak of Spanish fashion elegance. The painting’s extensive use of blue, achieved with the precious lapis lazuli pigment, symbolises her devotion, a colour traditionally used for the Virgin Mary’s cloak. Contrary to longstanding beliefs and even the Wallace Collection museum catalogue entries, recent examinations of her tomb have revealed that Eleonora of Toledo was not buried in the Spanish brocade dress in which she is depicted here and in the Uffizi’s version, though the myth persists among art historians.

This version, created after her death, should be read as a posthumous portrait of a great Florentine patron. The vase in the background is interpreted variously as a funerary urn or as symbolic of virtue or beauty. An inscription at the top of the painting references Proverbs 31:30 from the Vulgata Biblia: ‘Fallax gratia, et vana est pulchritudo’ (‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting’). This underscores the transient nature of physical attractiveness, suggesting that true value lies beyond superficial appearances. However, the second part of this passage, “mulier timens Dominum, ipsa laudabitur” (“but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised”), appears to be omitted.

This painting is believed to be the earliest known signed work by the artist. Pieter Jansz. Pourbus was the progenitor of one of the most influential and prolific Flemish artistic dynasties of the 16th century, contributing to the Bruges school’s prominence. Bruges was an economic powerhouse and a merchant hub, maintaining close connections with major trading centres, particularly Italian cities. This is how artists were extensively exposed to other cities’ main trends and developments, including art, literature, and music. Born in Gouda and relocating to Bruges in his twenties, Pourbus quickly assimilated into the city’s cultural life, notably through his active participation in one of Bruges’s Chambers of Rhetoric. This painting demonstrates Pourbus’s ability to convey complex narratives through visual art, a skill likely refined within these literary and poetic circles. 

An Allegory of True Love comments on the cultural and intellectual milieu of 16th-century Bruges, reflecting the Renaissance’s elaborate network of international artistic, philosophical, and theological dialogues. It captures the era’s nuanced understanding of love, morality, and beauty. At the centre of this masterpiece is the juxtaposition of spiritual and carnal love, illustrating the complex interplay between the two in the context of Renaissance thought.

The central figures, Sapiens (Wisdom) and Fidutia (Fidelity) exemplify the purity and sanctity of spiritual love, contrasted with surrounding characters that depict transient, sensual passions. Pourbus’s incorporation of Christian symbolism, evident in Fidutia’s modest dress and the crucifix, against a backdrop of classical mythology, showcases the coexistence of Christian and mythological elements. This fusion was prevalent in Renaissance art, mirroring the period’s intellectual trends and the renaissance of classical antiquity’s literature and philosophy.

Quentin Massys (1465/66- 1530), Christ the Savior, 1505, Oil on oak panel, 58×39 cm, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Antwerp

This intimate and enigmatic Christ the Saviour, painted by Quentin Massys (1466–1530) around 1505, originally formed a pendant with Mary in Prayer, the two panels now reunited in the Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten in Antwerp. In the seventeenth century these works belonged to the collection of Nicolaas Rockox (1560–1640), humanist, philanthropist, and long-serving mayor of Antwerp. Rockox, remembered as one of the city’s most discerning patrons and a close friend of Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640), built a collection that consciously linked the achievements of earlier Netherlandish schools with the artistic ambitions of his own time.

By the Baroque era, the intimate devotional panels of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries had ceased to set the taste of the day. They were often considered outmoded when compared with the scale, energy, and rhetoric of contemporary painting. Yet for collectors like Rockox, they embodied the origins of Netherlandish art, a tradition to be valued and reinterpreted rather than discarded. Rubens himself, whose vision was deeply informed by Italian art, also studied early Netherlandish masters and recognised in their precision, colour, and symbolism a foundation on which the splendour of the Baroque could be built.

Rockox’s preservation of works such as Massys’s panels reveals the paradox of Baroque taste: on the one hand captivated by theatrical innovation, on the other compelled to situate itself within a lineage that began with the painters of Bruges, Antwerp and other Netherlandish cities. To collect these earlier works was to affirm continuity, to acknowledge that the vitality of Baroque Antwerp rested upon the legacy of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and to assert that the city’s identity as an artistic capital was not only a present reality but a historical inheritance.

 

This unusual painting captures a sophisticated blend of seduction, allure, and cultural symbolism that speaks to the Utrecht elite of the 17th century. Moreelse presents a figure rooted in the Italian Renaissance tradition yet imbued with a distinctly Dutch sensitivity. The shepherdess, leaning slightly forward, gazes towards the viewer with a soft, inviting expression—a gesture that draws the viewer into her world with subtle intimacy.

Her bold attire—a rich yellow cloak often associated with courtesans—adds complexity, imbuing her with an undercurrent of sensuality that a discerning audience would have immediately recognised. Unlike Moreelse’s other shepherdess figures, depicted with simple straw hats or berets, this shepherdess wears a delicate veil, heightening her mystique and elevating her beyond a mere pastoral figure to a symbol of refined seduction.

The painting reflects the era’s fascination with Arcadian ideals, a cultural trend in which romanticised pastoral themes found expression in art and Dutch literature. Dutch writers such as Pieter Cornelisz. Hooft brought pastoral love stories to a new national audience, blending ancient myth with local themes of romance and innocence. Popular among the cultural elite, these stories inspired artists like Moreelse to reinterpret traditional mythological themes for Dutch tastes.

The painting, with its carefully crafted elegance and layered symbolism, serves both as an aesthetic achievement and a reflection of an intellectually rich society that saw art as a mirror to its ideals and aspirations.

Hendrick ter Brugghen (1588–1629), Democritus: the Laughing Philosopher, 1628, oil on canvas, 85.7 × 70 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

The painting is a remarkable representation of the Utrecht Caravaggisti oeuvre, which profoundly influenced Dutch art in the first half of the 17th century. Dutch Caravaggisti effectively transformed the Dutch art scene in less than two decades, employing Caravaggio’s dramatic flair, high drama, theatricality, and profound intellectual discourse, supported by a burgeoning interest in ancient and Renaissance literature. As the 17th century progressed, the raw, often gritty realism of Caravaggio’s followers, as seen in this painting, fell out of favour.

Democritus of Abdera (460-370 B.C.), known for his philosophy advocating cheerfulness and the absurdity of human pursuits, was often depicted in contrast to Heraclitus, the ‘weeping philosopher,’ who mourned the world’s sorrows. The painting serves as a pendant piece to that of Heraclitus, which hung alongside it. This juxtaposition of laughter and tears in art highlights the dual aspects of human experience and invites reflection on the balance between joy and sorrow in life. These themes were particularly favoured among intellectual circles in Utrecht during the 1610s–1620s when the city was a thriving cultural and academic centre in the Netherlands. In Utrecht, which hosted a considerable number of the Dutch aristocracy, there was a marked enthusiasm for humanism—a movement that emphasised the value and agency of human beings, both as individuals and as a society. The city’s intellectual environment fostered a fascination with classical antiquity and philosophical thought, making paintings of figures like Democritus very appealing. These artworks decorated the lavish interiors of aristocratic homes and served as intellectual statements reflecting the owners’ education and philosophical inclinations.

Museum Vleeshuis, Vleeshouwersstraat 38, Antwerp

The Vleeshuis, or Butchers’ Hall, is one of Antwerp’s most imposing late Gothic civic monuments and among the city’s oldest surviving structures. Built between 1501 and 1504, it replaced an earlier butchers’ hall that had become inadequate as Antwerp entered its period of rapid expansion and prosperity in the early sixteenth century. The commission came from the powerful butchers’ guild, one of Antwerp’s most influential corporations, which required a building that was both practical for trade and expressive of its status.

The design is traditionally attributed to Herman de Waghemakere (c.1440–1503) or his son Dominicus de Waghemakere (c.1460–1542), leading master builders of the Brabantine Gothic. Rising 46 metres high and 21 metres wide, the Vleeshuis is distinguished by its striking façade of alternating red brick and white sandstone, the so-called speklagen (‘bacon layers’). This polychrome masonry became a hallmark of the region’s late Gothic architecture, used to enliven large civic buildings and to signal prosperity. Four small round towers at the corners and a taller southern tower give the hall both a fortified silhouette and a ceremonial presence within the city.

The speklagen motif was not unique to Antwerp. It reflects a broader Brabantine tradition seen in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, particularly in Mechelen, Brussels, and Leuven. In Mechelen, the Court of Busleyden (c.1500) displays a similarly bold patterning, while in Leuven the Cloth Hall (begun 1439) and its extensions made extensive use of banded masonry. This technique gave civic buildings a distinctive visual rhythm, simultaneously decorative and emblematic of urban pride. In Antwerp, the Vleeshuis employed the same vocabulary on a grand scale, asserting the economic and social power of the butchers’ guild.

To understand Mechelen’s Renaissance architecture, it is essential to see how Italianate forms were integrated into the established Brabant building tradition. De Zalm, the historic guildhall of the fishmongers, stands on the Zoutwerf, the quay along the Dijle named in 1301 when Mechelen obtained the staple right for salt. The fishmongers’ guild purchased the house then called Santvliet in 1519, and between 1530 and 1535 rebuilt the façade entirely to the design of master mason Willem (Jan) van Werchtere. The result is one of the earliest Renaissance façades in the Low Countries, combining a Netherlandish register-based elevation with the superimposition of classical orders derived from Italian precedent. Its stone construction, strict vertical bays, and carved ornament recall the Brabant Gothic tradition, while the pilasters, entablatures, and proportionally elongated openings signal the absorption of foreign Renaissance vocabulary into a local format. Its name, ‘In den Grooten Zalm’, is literalised in the carved salmon above the doorway, accompanied by other Renaissance reliefs, including a lion’s head and marine motifs. These carvings originally formed a coherent maritime emblematic programme linked to the guild’s trade, most likely enriched with polychromy.

The façade was altered in 1610, when its present attic storey was added, and in 1714 a deteriorating balustrade and several statues were removed. By the mid-nineteenth century the bluestone reliefs were badly weathered; in 1850, under owner Karel De Stobbeleer, they were replaced with cast-iron copies and the façade repainted to imitate stone, as stipulated in an 1846 deed of sale. Painter Willem Geets acquired the building in 1874, refurbishing the interiors in a historicising Flemish Renaissance style. Wartime damage in 1943–45 required a major post-war reconstruction of the rear elevations, window scheme, and gable under city architect Julien Aerts between 1946 and 1949. The city had already purchased both ‘Den Kleinen Zalm’ and ‘In den Grooten Zalm’ in 1943, the same year they were designated as protected monuments. Recent conservation has focused on structural stability, the preservation of polychromed surfaces, and cornice repairs, informed by research into the original materials and iconography.

 

Adriaen Pietersz van de Venne (1589-1662), Fishing for Souls: Allegory of the Jealousy between the Various Religious Denominations during the Twelve Years’ Truce between the Dutch Republic and Spain, 1614, Oil on panel, 97 × 186.7 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

This masterpiece by Van de Venne is a complex blend of allegory, history, politics, satire, and theology. It invites a sophisticated debate about religion’s role in society and leaders’ moral responsibilities. His use of detailed, symbolic elements combined with allegorical storytelling offers a profound critique that continues to provoke thought centuries later.

The painting depicts a river that physically and symbolically divides the Catholic-controlled Southern Netherlands from the Protestant-dominated United Provinces. At the centre of the artwork is the motif of fishing from boats, a metaphor inspired by the biblical phrase “fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19). This allegory is played out by the Protestant and Catholic factions, each depicted in separate boats using distinct methods to attract and convert souls.

The scene includes figures such as Prince Maurits, Archduke Albert of Austria, Isabella of Spain, Ambrogio Spinola, Frederick V of the Palatinate, Elizabeth Stuart, James I of England, Christian IV of Denmark, King Louis XIII of France, Maria de’ Medici, Father Johannes Neyen, and Willem Teelinck. Van de Venne himself appears prominently in the Protestant group, substituting a traditional signature with his self-portrait, adding a personal dimension to the narrative.

The artwork is imbued with potential hidden political statements and critiques, as evidenced by its depiction of the competing religious factions and their methods. A rainbow arches over the scene, symbolising unity and divine oversight, suggesting that despite the deep divisions, all are under the same sky and ultimately accountable to the same divine authority.

The painting was once attributed to Jan Brueghel before Van de Venne’s authorship was correctly established, reflecting its complex reception history.

Quentin Massys (1465/66- 1530), St Mary Magdalene, 1514-1524, Oil on oak panel, 45 x 29 cm, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Antwerp

 Rembrandt van Rijn (1606-1669), Self-portrait as the Apostle Paul, 1661, Oil on canvas, 91 × 77 cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

Painted in 1661, when Rembrandt van Rijn was fifty-five, this self-portrait presents the artist not in conventional guise but in the role of the Apostle Paul. Cloaked in a mantle that reveals a sword and turbaned in white, he holds a bundle of open letters—details freighted with theological and personal significance. At once a likeness and an allegory, the painting fuses Rembrandt’s lifelong engagement with the human condition and his meditation on faith, mortality, and grace.

By the early 1660s, Rembrandt had endured bankruptcy, personal loss, and the waning of his career’s brilliance. The face that meets us here is unidealised, lined by age and hardship, the eyes direct yet shadowed by reflection. Casting himself as Paul—a writer central to Reformation thought, and one whose letters speak to the mystery of salvation through grace rather than merit—Rembrandt aligns his own artistic vocation with the apostolic mission of truth-telling. The sword at his side, traditional attribute of Paul’s martyrdom, deepens the meditation: it signifies readiness to face death with composure, even as the artist continues his labours.

The open letters are not props alone but emblems of the written word that shaped both Paul’s teaching and the broader intellectual culture of the seventeenth century. They recall the act of communication, of testimony, and in Rembrandt’s hands they also suggest painting itself—another form of truth-bearing inscription.

This self-portrait continues a Renaissance and Baroque tradition in which artists adopted the roles of saints, philosophers, or apostles as mirrors of their own identity. Yet Rembrandt’s treatment differs in its candour. There is no theatrical pose, no idealised mask, but rather a direct engagement with mortality and grace. The painting asks the viewer to see Paul and Rembrandt at once, apostle and artist fused in a single presence.

It stands today as one of the most searching works of his late career. In its stark honesty, its play of shadow and illumination, and its profound inwardness, Self-portrait as the Apostle Paul encapsulates Rembrandt’s lifelong pursuit: to uncover, through paint, the truth of what it means to be human before God.