Art: King of Painters

Spain is a land of mystery where the dust of isolation has often settled on men’s work and obscured their lives. In this sense no artist is more typically Spanish than Francisco de Zurbaran, one of Spain’s great masters. Until 1905, about all that was known of him came from a yellowed packet of papers and a few disputed paintings found in out-of-the-way monasteries. That year, the first Zurbaran exhibit in modern times was held in Madrid, and the experts marveled that so little was known of the artist whom King Philip IV named “painter of the King and king of painters.”

After 50 years of research, art experts know a little more about Francisco Zurbaran and his work. He was born in 1598 in Estremadura, probably of Basque stock like Goya, and went through life a solitary figure burning with religious zeal. Working alone, he matured swiftly, specialized in stone-cold, almost harsh pictures of monks, saints and bishops, soon held commissions from the church.

Help from Velasquez. Success only drew Zurbaran inward. He never played in Seville’s glittering art world, but withdrew with his wife to the country, painting furiously between moods of deep depression. Among his few friends was Spain’s great court painter Velasquez. In later years, when commissions came more slowly, Zurbaran traveled to Madrid for help from Velasquez. The records show that Velasquez did his best, but Zurbaran painted less and less, became commonplace in some of his work. By the time he died in 1664 at the age of 65, Zurbaran was out of favor, as alone and unreachable as the day he came out of the hills.

Over the last 20 years, some 40 of Zurbaran’s paintings have come to light. His best are flat, angular studies of lean-jawed monks; even his paintings of women seem chopped out with a chisel. Depth and perspective interested him little. One of his finest, St. Serapion, is in the Wadsworth Atheneum at Hartford, Conn., and his

Monk with a Skull is a favorite at St. Louis’ City Art Museum (TIME, Oct. 29, 1951). But much of his work is hidden away in private Spanish collections, and glimpses have been few.

Ducats from the King. Last week in Granada, Zurbaran was having his first public exhibit since 1905. A small, handsome and tireless woman named Maria Luisa Caturla had helped to collect 60-odd paintings and bring them to Granada for a show. By poking into old monasteries and crumbling castles, Art Lover Caturla had found eight that were entirely unknown to the outside world. There was a child Jesus sitting with a crown of thorns in his lap, a warmly devout Santa Eufemia, and The Holy Family clustered around a bowl of fruit. Among other outstanding works in the show: a solemn Santa Lucia and a prayerful, intent Fray Geronimo Perez.

Art Sleuth Caturla’s most exciting find: magnificent series of ten scenes of The Labors of Hercules, done against mythical backgrounds. For years the ten had gathered dust in the vaults of Madrid’s famed Prado Museum. Experts thought that they might be Zurbaran’s work, but no one was sure. Rooting around in the archives, Maria Luisa Caturla was rewarded with a faded document bearing the seal of Philip IV’s royal notary and stating that Francisco Zurbaran had been paid 1,100 ducats for a series of paintings representing Hercules and his tasks.