The exhibition catalogue for Diego Velázquez: The Early Court Portraits is the third published in an ongoing partnership between the Museo Nacional del Prado in Madrid and the Meadows Museum, Southern Methodist University, in Dallas, Texas. Each year visitors to the Texas museum are treated to a new, small exhibition that centers on a work brought to the United States from Spain. El Greco and José de Ribera starred in the first two installments of this series, and in 2012 it was Velázquez’s turn, represented by the Prado’s important early full-length Portrait of Philip IV (ca. 1623–28). The choice could not have been more apposite given that one of the highlights of the Meadows Museum’s considerable holdings of Spanish art is Velázquez’s bust-length Portrait of Philip IV from around the same date. In fact, it has long been thought that the Meadows portrait is the very first image of the king painted by the artist whose career would thereafter come to be defined by their relationship.

Joining the reunited paintings of Philip IV in the exhibition was a small selection of roughly contemporary portraits that sought to contextualize the early portraits of Philip IV within Velázquez’s artistic evolution. From just before the artist’s definitive move to Madrid was the wonderfully economical Luis de Góngora y Argote (1622), which already shows the shift away from the line-by-line naturalism of Velázquez’s earliest efforts in the genre of portraiture. Continuing along this evolutionary pathway were two portraits from the early 1630s: the Portrait of the Jester Calabazas from the Cleveland Museum of Art and the Portrait of Don Pedro de Barberana from the nearby Kimbell Museum. With these two works the visitor was also made aware of Velázquez’s expressive range as a portrait painter; he did not always limit himself to depictions of the great and the good, and he was consistently able to suggest to the viewer a real, living, and vital presence. In addition to these paintings, the exhibition also included an early copy of the featured Prado painting, and some prints of Philip IV and his favorite and first minister, the Conde-Duke of Olivares.

It is very much to the credit of the organizers (and the strong financial commitment of the Meadows Foundation) that the exhibition was not the only result of this temporary reunion of Velázquez portraits. The museum hosted an academic symposium and produced a handsome and scholarly catalogue, all under the sensitive guidance of Javier Portús, Senior Curator of Spanish Painting (to 1700) at the Museo Nacional del Prado. The volume includes four interpretive essays followed by individual catalogue entries for each of the paintings on display. Unusually for an exhibition catalogue, there is also a very helpful index. The main body of the catalogue is in English, but an appendix includes all of the texts in Spanish as well. In this, the catalogue mirrors the practice of recent Prado catalogues. It is a laudable effort that promotes both scholarly exchange and the potential involvement of diverse audiences.

Portús’s essay, “Velázquez in Gray: Decorum and Representation,” addresses issues of both form and meaning in the Prado Portrait of Philip IV that is the centerpiece of the exhibition. Portús demonstrates that this portrait, as well as others created around the same time early in Velázquez’s Madrid years, is distinct from those executed earlier in that its forms are simplified and abstracted. It is equally distinct from the portraits he painted later, as these early portraits are characterized by their extreme lack of ornamentation. The Portrait of Philip IV also stands very much apart from the obsessively detailed pictures created by his contemporaries. Why is it that these early Madrid portraits constitute such a self-contained group of pictures? Portús argues that the uniqueness of these pictures may well have resulted from the new image that Philip IV wanted to project, one of austerity, rationality, and engagement with the affairs of state. New sumptuary laws came into effect in the early years of Philip’s reign, and the king led the way in putting them into effect. In both the Prado and Meadows portraits, for instance, he sports a simpler kind of collar in place of the traditional, elaborate, and expensive ruff. As Portús reveals, however, the choice of apparel in these portraits is not simply a reflection of a new sartorial regime. He has looked carefully at the documentary evidence that describes court events from this time. What these disclose is that Philip was as often in violation of the new sumptuary guidelines as he was in compliance. In having Velázquez portray him in modest clothing, therefore, and, moreover, at work, the king projected an image of himself as a statesman. While many external factors may have pressed in upon Velázquez, Portús’s analysis does not reduce these paintings to mere products of that context. Instead, his is an argument that combines context and individual artistic agency, and he strikes a particularly nice balance between the two.

Fernando Bouza’s “The Majesty of Philip IV: Between Painted and Storied” complements Portús’s discussion of artistic and political intention by dealing with the issue of reception. How did people come to know the king’s image, in both visual and literary senses, and how might they have reacted to it? No responses to the exhibited paintings survive, yet Bouza is still able to assemble a fascinating body of evidence that reveals how the mere presence of the king could sometimes fill people with joy, while at other times was so unsettling that they ended up befuddled. Another interesting fact uncovered by this essay is that Philip’s image was mostly a visual one, because most attempts at creating a literary representation of the king ended in failure. Bouza concludes the essay with a discussion of how portraits of the king were often displayed during large public functions. Also, prints of his visage were widely disseminated. While on the one hand a portrait could often be seen as a virtual stand-in for the king, with which one might even be able to communicate, on the other hand people seemed to realize the emptiness of the portrait’s promise, so that the king could be satirically likened to his portrait, exposing the hollowness of the representation. Bouza tackles the difficult problem of how images were actually understood within the broad audience to which they were addressed. His essay describes a remarkably diverse range of possible responses.

The essay by Antonio Feros, “Politics and Courtly Culture in the Early Reign of Philip IV,” offers yet another disciplinary complement to the art-historical focus of Portús’s contribution. Feros addresses himself to the political environment from circa 1617 to 1630. He describes the crisis that developed around the figure of Philip III, stemming from the corruption at court, his perceived pacifism with respect to the Dutch, and, above all else, his excessive reliance on his favorite, the Duke of Lerma. When Philip IV took the throne there was a real need to create an image of him as a strong and decisive leader, more like his grandfather, Philip II, than his father. This section of the essay amplifies what Portús writes about the Portrait of Philip IV: it is an expression of the desire to show the king engaged with matters of state. Feros also discusses the need for the court to balance austerity with ceremony and splendor, in addition to dealing with the problem of how to create a suitable representation of Olivares, the favorite of Philip IV who eventually became as much of a thorn in the side of the king’s reputation as Lerma had been for his father. The essay expresses well the complex and competing agendas that had to be assuaged during the early years of Philip’s reign.

The dozen or so prints included in the exhibition were not given individual catalogue entries. In their place is a descriptive, catalogue-like essay by José Manuel Matilla, “Forms and Uses of Prints to Serve the Power of Philip IV’s Spain: 1620–1635.” Images of Philip IV often appeared in books, included there to proclaim the author’s proximity to the center of power, among other reasons. Print scholars interested in an analysis that seeks not to treat graphic imagery as a pale reflection of innovations wrought in the realm of painting, but as an independent medium with its own values and concerns, will be disappointed by this essay. That said, printmaking was new to Spain in the seventeenth century, and the material does not seem to merit that kind of analysis.

The catalogue entries for the paintings were authored by many different scholars. In spite of this, they are consistently good, and an excellent starting place for anyone researching these pictures.

The Prado at the Meadows series is an exemplary initiative. Not only do visitors to the museum have the regular opportunity to view important works usually housed in Madrid, scholars everywhere can benefit from the publication of important new research.