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“This booklet is a treasure and a consultant. it's a kind of therapeutic for the mind and the heart.” - (Rebecca Lee)

A lyrical and intimate account of the way a poet, in the middle of a nasty divorce, reveals comfort and style via viewing the work of Vermeer, in six global towns. in the middle of a divorce (in which the custody of his younger daughter is at stake) and over the process a 12 months, the poet Michael White, travels to Amsterdam, The Hague, Delft, London, Washington, and big apple to view the work of Johannes Vermeer, an artist passionate about romance and the internal life.  he's astounded by means of how consoling it really is to seem heavily at Vermeer’s girls, on the artist’s courting to his matters, and at how composition displays again to the viewer such deep feeling. comprises the author’s very own learn of Vermeer. via those travels and his encounters with Vermeer’s radiant imaginative and prescient, White reveals grace and private transformation.

"White brings [sensitivity] to his luminous readings of the work.  An mesmerizing ebook concerning the transformative energy of art."  - (Kirkus Reviews) 

"… Figures it took a poet to get it this fantastically, thrillingly right.” - (Peter Trachtenberg)

"A distinctive dance between genres...clear and robust descriptions contact at the mysteries of seduction, loss, and the inventive impulse."   - (Clyde Edgerton)

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I admire to maintain it just about me, yet frankly I don’t frequently open it anymore. All my earnest interpreting, the stopover at with Kees Kaldenbach—all that pressing wandering, purpose on understanding Vermeer’s carry on me after the 1st day within the Rijksmuseum— a lot of that turns out far-off and a bit fun to me now. It’s like how we reply to the lack of love—with fit. com and counseling and the entire leisure. the matter is that the item of affection isn’t relatively the problem. What’s lacking is a verb, no longer a noun. you could investigate those faces from 300 and 40 years in the past, and consider it. comfortable in my brain, this publication in my lap, the map of the area in silver fishscale tracery underneath me: this is the top of obsession. 2. an answer whilst Sophia was once nonetheless an baby, I consider the inexhaustible ask yourself in her gaze. She’d stare so seekingly into my eyes for hours—first one eye, then the opposite eye, after which nod off earlier than starting back … In these first months, the kid is on a undertaking, it sort of feels, to memorize the face of affection. How astounding to work out and be noticeable, to be really noticeable for the 1st time. What may equivalent it? There are moments while the phrases of one’s personal lifestyles are irrevocably replaced via easily taking a look right into a lover’s eye, while crazed with love or parting or sorrow—a handful of instances, if we’re fortunate. In such instances, i've got felt the load of all i would say, all i would have said—the impossibility of articulating whatever out of the crushing welter of emotion—but additionally the mercy of being published from any such burden simply because, simply then, with not anything among you and your beloved, you either already comprehend. As I advised Jackie in her final seconds of cognizance: “you don’t need to say whatever. i do know. ” or maybe whilst taking a look into Sara’s eyes throughout the little window: i do know. What if a painter painted nearly not anything yet such moments? What if he held his large presents in reserve, exclusively for such states of popularity? this can be what Vermeer did. within the occasion of our arrival— that second while, interested by their song lesson or preserving a pitcher of wine—his girls flip and glance and nearly exclaim, “It’s you. ” It was once Arthur Wheelock who known as this “the non permanent interruption”—the look out towards the viewer prior to the lady returns to her suitor. as though one backward look, one contact, can achieve via a person’s whole lifestyles. as though, while Eurydice turns, we're there. yet nearly each Vermeer, each try at illumination includes a few “momentary interruption” of time—whether someone seems to be out at us or not—encoded into the sheen of surfaces that flood the senses and fill the brain with rapture. My recovery is in that speedy. As William Blake wrote: “If the doorways of conception have been cleansed everything would seem to guy because it is, countless. / For guy has closed himself up, until he sees all issues thro’ narow chinks of his cavern. ” this is often real for me; the fight is to work out. What I’ve skilled in Vermeer isn’t relatively just like the restoration of A. A. —the style you should paintings for—because Vermeer has performed lots of the paintings himself, his visions so transparent they “cleanse” our human sight.

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