What we know

Gabriel Metsu (1629-1667)
Man writing a letter, 1664-65
Oil on panel, 53 x 40 cm
National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin

A refined, foppishly dressed, golden-haired young man writes a letter. His face is expressionless, but concentrated on the business of writing. This picture has a pendant, Woman reading a letter, so he is writing that letter. In the background, there is a landscape, which seems to bear no relevance to what is going on, the kind of stuff nobody minds or notices. The letter-writing is the only thing going on in this picture. Even if we could read the letter, we would have no idea what it meant. Any face the young man made would not give that secret away. The elegance of the man's dress and his casual pose might make you distrust him, but that evidence too is merely circumstantial. The picture is "unreadable". Watching the scene, in the act of looking at it, we realise we can have no idea what goes on, in writing, in life. It makes the painting a peculiar piece of literary criticism.

Dutch materialism. This is in all the art-historical books, but it is worth wringing it out of them in reference to this picture. The art-history books concentrate on the Dutch reverence for, as Derek Mahon puts it, "the chaste / Perfection of the thing, and the thing made". The table-mat, the tile-floor, the bulbous thing on the table, even the young man's clothes, even the pen and paper, all seem simply to be what there is. But the writing gives the lie to that. It says one thing, but does it mean another? Meantime, look.

Gabriel Metsu (1629-1667)

Woman reading a letter, 1664-65

Oil on panel, 53 x 40 cm

National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin

A domestic comedy. That ridiculous dog. The woman smiles, liking what she reads. The seascape painting, outlandishly, but nevertheless easily, symbolising the difficulties of love. This is what we know.