Renowned 17th-century Dutch artist Johannes Vermeer, famous in the art world for creating photograph-like interior spaces, may have traced his work.
At least that’s what is purported by the film “Tim’s Vermeer,” a documentary narrated by Penn Jillette and directed by Teller, both of famed comedy-magic duo Penn and Teller. “Tim’s Vermeer” follows Tim Jenison, an inventor who built his fortune in the field of digital art, as he attempts to replicate Vermeer’s “The Music Lesson” without any prior experience as a painter.
Jenison hypothesizes that Vermeer’s paintings portrayed such realistic lighting by using a small mirror directly above the canvas to reflect the subject right under Vermeer’s vision. This enabled him to trace the image, as well as match the subject’s colors perfectly on the canvas. In order to retain the integrity of the experiment, Jenison recreates the environment that Vermeer painted in “The Music Room,” handcrafting the furniture himself.
Although undoubtedly an awe-inspiring endeavor, the lasting impact of “Tims’ Vermeer” comes not just from the act itself but from the philosophical issues it confronts. Combining the technology of his time with simple painting techniques, Vermeer has been denounced by many critics as a cheater because he did not paint solely on the basis of his skill.
“Tim’s Vermeer” denies this argument by showing the countless painstaking hours it takes Jenison to recreate “The Music Lesson” as well as the numerous roadblocks he confronts throughout the process.
Although tracing is regarded as a mechanical rather than creative skill, seeing Jenison sit for hours copying an intricate seahorse design on the piano or a convoluted line pattern on the rug is enough to make any viewer squirm uncomfortably in their seat. Teller shows this intense physical control Jenison maintains for extended periods of time to contradict insinuations that Vermeer took shortcuts.
The film builds a steady admiration for Jenison’s dedication, as well as an uneasiness through the incredible tedium he must go through to capture the image’s detail. This all argues that the integration of technology with art is not a cheat.
Jillette breaks up the sweat-inducing scenes of Jenison tracing with wry humor characteristic of his magic shows. As Jenison forces his daughter to pose for hours on end as the model in “The Music Lesson,” Jillette jokes that, “At no other point in history has a student longed to return to school as badly.” Such comic relief helps offset the tortuous hours Jenison spends painting tiles.
Although “Tim’s Vermeer” can seem excruciating at times, it ends rather abruptly, with the film clocking in at a mere 80 minutes. The film glosses over the aftermath of Jenison’s project, choosing to let the process speak for itself. Though an in-depth look at the transformative effect this experience had on Jenison, as well as its implications for the art world, would be more intriguing.
This makes the month-long process seem like an insulated experiment, with the only judges of the completed work being art critics that already agreed with Jenison’s hypothesis. Such an ending makes the project seem a slightly unfulfilling end to a promising artistic experiment.
Admittedly, this artistic choice on the part of Teller clearly reveals his position on the fusion of technology and art. What Teller argues in the debate on art’s definition is not loyalty to artistic tradition or strict academic skill (as there are no records of Vermeer having any formal artistic training), but undergoing an artistic process.
At times, Jenison admits he wants, “nothing more than to be finished with the picture.” Yet, he continues the process because he believes the end product will justify his discomfort.
Focusing on the process in “Tim’s Vermeer” rather than the resulting artwork emphasizes that true art need only stem from a relentless creative will. Spending several weeks filling in a rug with minute arabesques few viewers will ever notice, Jenison, along with Vermeer, clearly fit the bill.