When an important oil painting is withdrawn from an Old Masters auction, it is generally for two reasons: either there is no bidder who can pay the required money, or there are doubts about the work's attribution. And when the author is a genius named Velázquez, everything becomes even more complicated because the original hand must be distinguished from that of an assistant in his capricious workshop. The auction house Sotheby's showed the painting of the Sevillian portrait of Isabel de Borbón in London, which started with an estimate of 35 million dollars (around 32 million euros). His goal was to sell in February in the New York area (the most important), during the so-called Masters week.
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The courtly portrait raised doubts among some experts in this city of rain and fog. “The facial expression is heavy, soft and the hands have neither the strength nor the composure that genius gave to the figures of men and women,” comments a great expert on Velázquez, who asks not to be quoted. This opinion was also shared by an important director of a European museum and a specialist in this complex author market.
Days later, the bidding house, apparently defending Velazquez's paternity, removed the painting. During this time it has not emerged that it was acquired by a museum. The only certainty is a note from Sotheby's. “The seller [la familia Wildenstein, la dinastía de anticuarios más importantes del mundo] of Velázquez's masterpiece, Portrait of Isabel de Borbón, despite their regrets, have decided to temporarily interrupt the sales process due to ongoing discussions on their part.” And he adds: “Given the enthusiasm with which the Velázquez has been received so far, both the sellers hope as well as Sotheby's, to be able to offer this extraordinary painting for sale in the near future.”
The portrait of Queen Elizabeth at Sotheby's London headquarters on December 1st. Wiktor Szymanowicz (Future Publishing/Getty)
The canvas was to be auctioned for a record price – the house denies that there was a guarantee for the oil painting, meaning that the owners were guaranteed a minimum value. That was the message that kept coming through. The genius' most expensive painting to date, also recognized by Sotheby's in 2007, was a Santa Rufina, which fetched $16.9 million.
However, insecurities are shadows on the screen. The careful decorations on Isabel de Borbón's clothing were, some experts suggest, added later to adapt them to contemporary tastes. Although it seems complicated that it was Velázquez – who one can hardly imagine working for hours in front of the easel on repetitive details like brocade – but one of his assistants, certainly flamenco. One of the ways to ensure the origin of a work is traceability.
The story goes that it had to hang on the walls of the Buen Retiro Palace (it was begun on his first trip to Italy in 1629-1631, retouched and completed between 1635-1636, and left Spain after the Napoleonic invasion). But the portrait (in the Louvre Museum) of the Infanta Margaret, commissioned in 1653 by the Queen of France, Anne of Austria, for her brother, the King of Spain (Philip IV), also has an impeccable past and raises doubts he adds years.
Adding to the plain fabric is the lack of definition in the gauze ruff, which seems like a later addition. Attribution is never an exact science. All previous sentences are questions. Unknowns must be clarified. The dealer Jorge Coll, who manages Caravaggio's Ecce Homo, published in Madrid, defends the full authorship of the 17th-century master. “It’s Velazquez,” he says. Old painting is sometimes a range of questions looking for answers.
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