Las Meninas

So what’s the catch? Here I am, a huge hunk of an orange cat, telling you about art. Using my natural wit and intelligence, nothing more. There can be no catch. My goal is simply to help you understand a famous work of art.

Let’s see if we can do this.

First and most important: Do you see me? I’m the big cat in the foreground of Las Meninas, painted by Velázquez in 1656. BTW, it would really help if you actually look up Las Meninas if you’ve never actually seen the painting. You should have, if you know anything about culture, because they say it was voted the best painting ever. I’ve seen it (don’t ask me how, but I did) in the Museo del Prado in Madrid.

No, I don’t know who voted. It’s just something I heard. I always keep my ears open for worthwhile information and it meant a lot to me to hear that. After all, we’re talking about my painting, the one with me in it. Las Meninas. Incredible, but true. 

You say you can’t see me? That’s odd. No, I’m not that ugly old cur on the right. The one with the scowl. Not a breed that would seem to fit a royal miss. I mean, what color is it anyway? Kind of looks like burned wheat toast. I, in comparison, am a debonair amber with squiggles - er, stripes - down my ribs. Call me ginger, if you prefer. 

Either way, I glow, and I know it.

Some say the doggo symbolized Spain or some other drivel. Somebody else traced the canine to a gift from a foreign monarch to Spain’s King Philip IV and his wife from some Germanic region like Austria. Well, that might not be entirely accurate, since it’s also said that the cur - aka dog - is descended from mastiffs given to Philip III at the start of the seventeenth century by King James of England.

Truth be told, I don’t buy that King James bit, since other sources say the old flea bag is a Spanish mastiff. Yet how could it be Spanish if it came from England? You can see why I tend to doubt that critter has any sort of pedigree. Mastiffs were supposed to help manage flocks and that old fellow doesn’t look as if he even knows what sheep or goats are, much less knows how to tend to them properly.

(I hate to do this to you, but you should take a minute or two and google Philip or Felipe in Spanish IV. Learn for yourselves what a sadsack he was and why. Sometimes it’s hard for me to keep company with people of that ilk, even if they are royalty. Horse-faced, mustache with two ends spiking upward, droopy eyes… I find it amazing that he had all those children. Except they were almost all snuffed out early by physical problems. Anyway, I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep in his bed. His mistresses took care of that.)

Nevertheless, despite my dislike of Phil the King and Mutt the Dog, I’m not going to be forced out of the picture. That’s why I’m telling you all, guiding you. 

I’m right in front there, in the world’s greatest painting. Maybe right in front of the painting, which I understand is a bit different. Which means I might be sitting right next to you, right this minute. You really should be able to spot me. I’m so close. Here.

[…]

Are you still saying you can’t see me? Because I see myself very clearly in Las Meninas. You might just take my word for it and be done.

[…]

Now that I think about it, I wonder if we are talking about the same painting. I am hard to miss, in all my bold beauty. Still, I will remain patient.

You know we’re talking about the one and only Las Meninas, painted in 1565 by the genius Diego Velázquez. You know the one I mean, but you might not recall all the details. I’ll help you out here in case you didn’t look it up like you were supposed to if you had never seen it, it’s the one that has:

1. The painter on the left, facing his huge easel and looking at the people posing.

2. The princess in the center, surrounded by her entourage. Quite cute.

3. The entourage: two meninas, two dwarves, an ugly dog, and two figures in back.

4. The man in the door in the very back, letting light come in.

5. The rectangle on the back wall, probably a mirror reflecting the posing monarchs.

Oh, the confusion! Velázquez painted himself painting, but we don’t know for sure what he’s painting. It could be Philip and his consort, Mariana, the princess’ parents. Or is it us? But it looks like he should be painting the princess, because she’s in the center and illuminated. Everything else is foggy.

I hope this is all clear. Art criticism isn’t easy, but I’m trying. Please get your image of the painting out so you can see what I mean. The room where the scene takes place is full of air and the artist reminds us of that by making us look here and there, side to side, searching for the focal point. Nothing is moving, yet my eyes won’t stop slipping about from one place to another, looking for answers to questions yet to be asked. 

Example: The shadowy figures are impossible to make out and clash with the details of the central figures. Why paint like that?

Example: Did the little girl, corralled by adults and a dog, interrupt her parents’ sitting session with the court painter or did her parents interrupt their daughter’s playtime?

Playtime? Poor little princess. She was only five years old and had to wear an everyday dress that looked like a birthday cake. I read somewhere that she died while in her twenties and kind of wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that her parents were in fact uncle and niece. Things like that don’t always work out. Especially when there are children.

Was it possible to play with clothes like cake frosting and smothered by grown-ups all the time? Hard to tell if she was happy, little Margarita. From her expression, she could have been bored to death. She’s all stiff, too, as if she were the one posing for a portrait. That’s impossible, however, since Velázquez has painted himself standing slightly behind her. 

Unless, of course, he was painting her and was actually standing where we are or where her parents Philip and Mariana were. I’m certain nobody has proposed that theory yet and want credit for it. 

Stop! I’m getting dizzy. Oh what a tangled web we weave. 

I like the tangled web image and think I’ll take credit for it unless somebody tells me somebody else created it first. Don’t worry, I’m not going to plagiarize.

I’m trying to help you, though, even if things are getting a bit twisted up. And I really do need you to see I’m there, I’m the only cat. It’s perfectly possible that I’m next to whomever Velázquez is painting. If I am sitting on the floor, I wouldn’t be visible in the back wall reflection, right? There are two heads in that mirror, but there are not two entire bodies. Think of me as curled up by somebody’s toes. Think hard.

[…]

I can give more proof if you have yet to locate me.

If you look again past the painter Velázquez to the back of the painting, you will find a rectangle with two blurry heads that might be a painting or a mirror. (I think it’s a mirror.) I’ve already pointed that out for you. If it’s a mirror, then Velázquez is probably painting the blurry heads. We can’t see what’s on his easel, only the back of it. Hopefully the painting on the canvas is better than the blurry heads in the mirror on the back wall. Also better than the personality-less figures behind the princess.

On the other hand, that’s pure speculation. Nobody gets to see what’s on the big canvas to the left of Las Meninas, don’t forget that.

Or maybe you think the heads on the far back wall belong to you, the ones watching the painter and the guy in back, outlined in the open door. Maybe you feel like you are, or would like to be, the King and Queen. Do you?

Maybe that’s why you haven’t noticed me. You’re not quite sure who you are, so how are you going to be concerned about who I am, or why we’re even discussing this old painting.

Like a lot of other people and cats, I think art is personal and if I think I see my reflection on that back wall, too, then it’s there. Trust me, it’s there. So take your pick: if you can’t spot me up close to you, then just take my word for it. I’m back there, too. Because I’m in front and being reflected as well as looked at.

Who was it who wrote “Velázquez painted the air”? It could have been Aleixandre the surrealist poet. I agree about painting the air and am amazed at how something so invisible could dominate a scene so much.

(At this point I am starting to feel dizzy with this front-and-back back-and-forth.)

No, I’m not being aggressive by asserting myself, by inserting myself into this Number One painting the way I’m doing. Maybe I’m just very used to having to stick up for myself. I put in a lot of hours roaming the streets, doing my job. Respect.

So ultimately you might ask why am I here, telling you I’m in this very famous painting? I’m here to see that everyone who looks at Las Meninas, either for real in the Prado Museum or on a computer screen, knows I am in it. Even if they can’t actually see me.

I can tell you’re thinking now:Oh, don’t be going on with that Cheshire Cat analogy again.

I won’t bore you with how it sometimes feels as if I had a Cheshire Cat Complex. CCC, it’s probably called for short.

Are you still there? Because you’re starting to fade.

You must know that cats are frequently the subjects of art. You might not know how far back that status goes. I’ve done some careful research and can tell you that means Egypt. Think of books written about us in art history, history, literature, mythology, etc. 

So we cats know art, but art also knows us, it comes to us because it needs us. Imagine all the art that would not exist if there were no cars.

What am I trying to say, you say?

I’m trying to say and can’t put it any more bluntly, that felines are every bit as castle worthy as the darn dog (mutt) in Velázquez’s painting. That’s main issue.

So now, if we were to go back to where this all started, we could ask:

What’s the cat(ch)?