Who Wore It Best? Recurring Fashion in Valentin de Boulogne's Paintings

«The personalities featured in Valentin de Boulogne's pictures never would have experienced the horrifying sensation of arriving at a party in the same outfit because, until The Met's recent exhibition Valentin de Boulogne: Beyond Caravaggio, these paintings had never been displayed side by side. In the same way that Valentin reused various models in his work, the clothing that recurs from canvas to canvas is all the more apparent now that the paintings have been united. Exhibition curator Keith Christiansen describes Valentin's regular models as reminiscent of "a traveling troupe of actors who, in response to the demands of the director, take on different parts." [1] But in the theater of Valentin's paintings, costume plays a starring role.»

Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Judith with the Head of Holofernes, ca. 1626–27. Oil on canvas, 38 3/16 x 29 1/8 in. (97 x 74 cm). Musée des Augustins, Toulouse

Continuing the conventions established by Caravaggio, Valentin painted dal naturale, working from life with models and props. Meticulously replicating details as they appeared before him, Valentin took a delight in a realism that also extended to his treatment of clothing. As with his models, it would have been essential to Valentin to paint the textiles from life in order to understand the textures—the play of light on folds, the foreshortening of patterns as cloth draped—to ensure that every sartorial detail was represented with precision, from rumpled seams to practical fastenings.

There's a snappy white satin doublet and a pair of crimson sleeves, both with a black stripe, that turn up in at least six paintings each and countless similar reiterations. However, the most conspicuous recurrence of a piece of apparel in the exhibition is a red, round-brimmed bonnet with deep slashes around the crown worn by the determined young rogue in Cardsharps. The cap crops up in no less than nine pictures by my count—ten if you include the time it's folded into a quirky, tall crown and sported by the coal stoker in Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence.

Left to right: Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Cardsharps (detail), ca. 1614–15. Oil on canvas, 37 3/16 x 53 15/16 in. (94.5 x 137 cm). Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden. Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Concert (detail), ca. 1615. Oil on canvas, 47 x 62 1/2 in. (119.4 x 158.7 cm). Indianapolis Museum of Art, William A. Zumpfe Memorial Fund. Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Fortune-Teller with Soldiers (detail), ca. 1618–20. Oil on canvas, 58 7/8 x 93 7/8 in. (149.5 x 238.5 cm). Toledo Museum of Art, Purchased with funds from the Libbey Endowment, Gift of Edward Drummond Libbey

It's unlikely that an artist like Valentin, who we know died penniless at 41, would have had the resources to buy multiple modish outfits to use as props. There's little wonder, then, that the same clothes appear over and over in paintings executed across a ten-year period. And just as Valentin and his cohort employed the same group of models and shared props, they likely dipped into a communal pool of clothing, too. Costly garments would have been borrowed and loaned in the same way as musical instruments and fancy glassware.

Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). A Musical Company with a Fortune-Teller, 1631. Oil on canvas, 74 13/16 x 105 1/8 in. (190 x 267 cm). Liechtenstein, The Princely Collections, Vaduz and Vienna

Raucous tavern scenes like A Musical Company with a Fortune-Teller are packed with magnificent textiles. Silk sashes, brocade sleeves, damask doublets, and exotic plumes litter the scene and rich rugs are thrown over tables. Not only do these profane subjects provide visual delight, they appeal to other senses as well. In fact, the tactility of the fabrics is so alluring, particularly when layered with cool, smooth armor, that you can almost hear the whispering rustle of silks amid the music.

Valentin may have painted from life, but that doesn't mean the tableaux he staged reflect reality. I don't know the kind of taverns the artist and his northern colleagues frequented (purely for the purpose of researching bawdy subject matter, no doubt!), but it's unlikely the barkeeps seated their patrons at antique sarcophagi or covered the tables with imported rugs. Nor would their clientele have sported such lavish dress—unless they were winning some serious money at dice.

Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Return of the Prodigal Son, ca. 1615–16. Oil on canvas, 59 1/16 x 70 1/16 in. (150 x 178 cm). Museo della Venerabile Arciconfraternita della Misericordia, Florence

In cases like Return of the Prodigal Son, however, the inclusion of sumptuous clothing is entirely warranted. According to the gospel of Saint Luke, when the dissolute younger son arrived home, his father ordered not only the slaughter of a fatted calf, but also fine clothes for his son to wear. In Valentin's depiction, the justifiably peeved older brother at left appeals to the viewer for solidarity as servants present his squandering sibling with a magnificent red doublet.

With today's easy access to man-made fabrics, it's easy to forget how expensive such an item would have been in 1615. Contemporary viewers would have instantly recognized the material value of such a splendid garment and understood its significance in this painting, as crimson cloth of this nature would have been tremendously expensive. The dye alone required a multitude of tiny dried beetles, which were imported from the Americas and crushed to produce the pigment, and the complex brocade pattern would have required the work of a skilled weaver.

Left: Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Christ Driving the Merchants from the Temple (detail), ca. 1618–22. Oil on canvas, 76 3/4 in. x 8 ft. 6 3/8 in. (195 x 260 cm). Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica, Palazzo Barberini, Rome. Right: Valentin de Boulogne (French, 1591–1632). Crowning with Thorns (detail), ca. 1613–14. Oil on canvas, 58 5/8 x 41 7/8 in. (148.9 x 106.4 cm). Private collection

Valentin repeatedly uses eye-catching attire as a device to draw the viewer's eye to specific passages in his compositions. The clothing itself is a protagonist, employed to emphasize action, whether the brocaded silk sleeve pushed pragmatically to the elbow by the head-sawing Judith, or the one seen on the raised arm of a merchant flinching from the whip-wielding Christ. Incidentally, if this same merchant wanted to switch his yellow sleeves for the ones to match his patterned blue doublet, he'd need to get them back from the mocking soldier who borrowed them to wear for Crowning with Thorns.

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[1] Keith Christiansen, "Painting from Life: Valentin and the Legacy of Caravaggio," in Valentin de Boulogne: Beyond Caravaggio by Keith Christiansen, Annick Lemoine et al. (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2016), 55.