Unsigned Portrait with a Keyboard Instrument: an Attempt to Ascribe a Painting
A while ago, several Moscow friends visited us at our house in Galilee. Among them was a young lady—an art historian and Senior Researcher at the State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow. We talked about painting and music; suddenly, she asked me whether I could assist her with ascribing an unsigned portrait with a keyboard instrument, at least regarding a very common point: could it belong to a European or Russian artist? I answered I would try, and in a short time I got a digital photograph of the painting. Its size was sufficient for the preliminary assumption though some details were still not recognizable. My further attempts to get a more ‘readable’ photograph ended with no success. After a period of hesitation, I decided to write down my preliminary conclusions as a hypothesis based on ‘extant ethnography’.
At first glance, the painting (fig. 1) contains neither signs of a certain school of painting, nor national accessories in the dress of the model or in details of the interior portrayed. It is a typical interior portrait of the late 18-century. However, a detailed analysis of the musical instrument painted, as well as of a sheet of printed music on the stand and a pose of a young man sitting near the keyboard—this in its entirety may lead to a very interesting assumption concerning the national belonging of an artist.
Fig 1. Unsigned painting with a keyboard instrument
Let us start with the instrument. The keys are portrayed with genuine exactness; they look as those of an Italian spinet of the 17th century but their order is completely wrong—a sequence of three keys (natural-natural-sharp) is repeated throughout the range (fig. 2). The compass of the painted keyboard is only about two and a half ‘octaves’. The wooden case painted in a green color is reminiscent of that of a Flemish harpsichord but it has a ‘strange’ shape: its boards are much thicker than those of any harpsichord; they are rather similar to a fortepiano; the music stand shelf also resembles part of an early Grand.
Fig. 2. Scheme of the painted keyboard
One could assume that the musical instrument was portrayed by memory, on the basis of different sketches that were made earlier. Thus, a sketch of the keys might include a succession of only three keys—say ‘b-c-c sharp’—to be reduplicated throughout the whole range. Such a situation might occur when there was no keyboard instrument to hand in order to check details, and when the painter had only a vogue idea of key order. This situation could be imagined in the context of late 18th century Russia.
In the era of Catherine the Great (she reigned as Empress of Russia from 1762 until 1796), keyboard instruments were still not widespread in Russia, even amongst the aristocracy. The rare examples of these instruments appeared exotic or were, instead, a sign of the European education of their owners. During the same period, a tradition arose of sending gifted peasants—both musicians and painters—to European countries to undertake professional studies in both fields. In this case we seem to encounter the following situation: a young Russian peasant was sent to Italy to study painting; when he came back, he is required to portray his landlord’s son with something that would symbolize the European tenets of his educated family.
Other details of the painting contribute to this assumption. Thus, the music on the stand is written in only G clef, with no text lines; there is also a recognizable double repeat sign, as in most instrumental pieces of the 18 century, with a golden ratio between the parts. This music sheet might have been brought from abroad. But what could do with it the young person whose left hand is still playing something on the wrong-ordered keyboard and whose dreamy look is directed to the coming century when Russia will indeed say her word in painting and, of course, in music composition and performance?
