A little bit of the Ringling Museum will be on display in the City of Lights for the next few months, when an exhibit exploring the work of Baroque master Diego Velazquez opens March 25 in the galeries nationales of the Grand Palais, featuring Ringling Museum’s sole work by the Spanish painter, “Philip IV, King of Spain,” on loan to the Grand Palais. Valued conservatively at around $40 million dollars, historic art such as this and its transportation entails necessary risk not undertaken lightly, but the Paris exhibit presented a singular opportunity that Ringling staff could not pass up. A prominent display under the eyes of international scholarship was not simply a chance to raise the museum’s profile, but to answer lingering questions about Ringling’s Velazquez, and whether Velazquez even painted it at all.

Born in 1599 in Seville, Spain, Velazquez rose to prominence in the court of King Philip IV, producing some of his most iconic compositions and becoming known as a master portraitist of the Spanish Golden Age. Since gaining renewed international exposure in the 19th century, Velazquez appreciation has grown, but still his name rings loudest in the streets of his homeland.

“He lived in the 17th century, but in Spain Velazquez is still a celebrity,” says Virginia Brilliant, curator of collections at the Ringling Museum, where she stands as foremost expert on the museum’s collection of European Old Masters. Her mousepad is a reproduction of Velazquez’s most famous work, “Las Meninas.”

“Who’s the subject? Who’s the object? What’s going on here?” Brilliant fires off a stream of questions, leaning in close to a picture of “Las Meninas”on her computer screen. On the surface, the king and queen appear the focus, but the supporting cast of children, dogs and dwarves monopolize great swaths of canvas and, as Brilliant points out, Velazquez himself appears reflected in a mirror hung opposed. “It’s of course inspired a lot of post-modern discussion.”

The portrait of King Philip IV acquired by John Ringling in the late 1920s from a British collector named Holford sparks debate of a different sort. A frequent subject for the artist, Velazquez’ body of royal portraiture captures the changing look of the aging king, as his beard greys and his clothes and trappings reflect the fashion of the time. In this particular instant, Philip stands beardless, bedecked in vibrant yellow tunic and resplendent scarlet sash, sporting a wide collar and clutching a baton or chart. An opulent feathered hat lies near his left hand, which rests loosely on his sheathed sword.

At the moment, historians cautiously place the production of this particular painting of the king at around 1625-1628, before Velazquez’ first trip to Italy, a trip which had a profound effect on the painter’s style. During his time among the Italian masters, Velazquez adapted many of their techniques, including swapping his traditional red undercoat in favor of the white paint base preferred by the Italians. This shift can be seen consistently in his later work.

“What’s interesting about our portrait is that it doesn’t correspond with things Velazquez did before he went to Italy or when he got back,” says Brilliant. The age of the king and the cut of his clothes suggest the portrait was done after Velazquez’trip to Italy, but the undercoat—the base layer upon which the painting proper will be done—is Velazquez’pre-Italy red. Amidst conflicting claims, some scholars dispute it being a Velazquez at all. Brilliant admits she cannot currently explain with concrete evidence all of the idiosyncrasies of the Ringling Velazquez, but also feels that some of the criticisms come due to the fact that the painting hangs in Sarasota and not an established Old World museum. This plays into the prejudice amongst older scholars, she says, whose dismissal of the Ringling Velazquez she holds premature. Prevailing attitudes have present effects: the Meadows Museum in Dallas hosted an exhibit last year on the portraits of King Philip IV and although paintings were loaned from as far as Spain, no one reached out to the Ringling.

“A lot of scholars will make a pronouncement about a painting without ever seeing it, which is always bad,” says Brilliant, who sees the Paris exhibit as a chance to vindicate the Ringling Velazquez and quell the doubting chorus. Hanging amidst the verified and bona fide, she remains confident that Sarasota’s contribution will stand under scrutiny. “Everyone who works on Velazquez will go to the show. It will get seen, it will get talked about and you’ll be able to measure its strengths and weaknesses against accepted works.” But for any of this to be possible, the museum first needed assurances that the painting could indeed survive such a journey. Enter Barbara Ramsay, chief conservator of the Ringling Museum and the woman in charge of ensuring the upkeep and safe transit of the Ringling’s collection. The first stop for the portrait of King Philip IV would be Ramsay’s office.

“It’s in quite good condition,” says Ramsay, seated at her desk, surrounded by instruments and artifacts, papers and paintings, all splayed across the tables scattered across concrete floors in the high-ceilinged room of the Ringling Museum’s Conservation Laboratory. “It’s stable, that’s the main thing.”

Ramsay examines conservation records and assesses the piece for damage or weakness that could be exacerbated by travel, such as flaking paint or structural damage. But the paint is sturdy and the portrait had been stabilized a few years prior, adhering a canvas to the rear of the original, which was actually two canvases stitched together. Ramsay expresses a slight worry about a section of gilding along the frame, but she and her staff will touch it up before the painting departs.

To protect the portrait during transit, the Ringling Museum special orders custom-built crates designed to protect the painting from all the jostles and bumps that accompany global transit, as well as changes in temperature and humidity. Just as she previously inspected the hang of the canvas within its frame—not too tight, not too loose—and all the accompanying hardware, Ramsay will inspect the measurements and fittings of the crate until satisfied.

A few floors up, Brilliant prepares for her own trip to the Grand Palais. “We’ll get to learn something about our Velazquez,” she says, “but also get to say something about our Velazquez.” Brilliant subscribes to a more charitable theory surrounding the aberrant qualities of the Ringling Velazquez, one that Ramsay’s efforts in the Conservation Lab could be seen to support.

Back in the lab, Ramsay reviews her team’s findings. Using X-ray scans to peer beyond the top layer of paint, and magnification and microscopic analysis to further investigate the material qualities of the work—the “connoisseur-ship”—Ramsay finds ample evidence of significant changes made to the portrait throughout the course of its crafting, with a repositioned leg here and a table moved there and a general muddling of the background. Something is strange. “It warrants a thorough technical examination to figure these things out because it’s quite complex,” concludes Ramsay, who hopes to acquire an infrared scanner in the future enabling more advanced in-house investigation.

“There were two portraits,” says Brilliant. “Velazquez either started or even completed a portrait of the king in armor, then he goes off to Italy and the whole thing gets repainted.” This, according to Brilliant, would account for the obvious repositioning (X-ray scans do reveal a suit of armor painted under the yellow tunic), the age and appearance of the king and the seemingly anachronistic red undercoat. The Grand Palais exhibit and holding the Ringling Velazquez to close examination next to documented works by the Spanish master could be the best chance Brilliant gets to prove her point. “I hope we come up with something by the end of this,” she says.

Less involved in the immediate controversy, Ramsay sees benefits, and tacit acceptance, in the exchange regardless of any pronouncement. “It’s an acknowledgement of the quality of the collection we have,” says Ramsay. “But it also goes the other way—that institution is fortunate we are willing to lend a painting of this caliber.” SRQ

Photography by Evan Sigmund

PHOTOGRAPHY BY EVAN SIGMUND