Velázquez, a key man in the court of King Philip IV, was the only seventeenth century painter who dared to challenge the Holy Office by painting what was more than forbidden in the brilliant and at the same time dark Spanish Golden Age: the naked body of a woman. The monarch’s chamber painter, who also held the trusted position of palace chamberlain, used a mythological episode to create an oil painting of suggestive sensuality when he was already a more than consecrated artist.
The canvas, it must be said, remained for years in private collections, far from censorious gazes and very close to eyes that enjoyed the insinuating feminine curves stripped of their clothing. While Velázquez was still alive, in 1651, the work appears in the inventory of the private collection of the powerful Gaspar de Haro, Marquis of Eliche, with a libertine reputation and, at the same time, valid for the king.
Later it would pass through the rooms of the Casa de Alba and later it would settle in one of the most private rooms of the residence of Godoy, prime minister of Carlos IV, where Goya’s majas were also hung. In fact, the one from Fuendetodos was surely inspired by Velázquez’s masterpiece to create these two paintings that, like the Venus in the mirror, hide several mysteries. The identity of the muse that appears defying the gaze of those who dare to observe her is also one of them.
Since the beginning of the 20th century, the work has belonged to the National Gallery in London, a city to which it traveled in 1813, probably as booty from the War of Independence. And it was in this museum that in 1914 he suffered an attack with a short ax by a suffragist who was thus protesting the arrest of a companion. “I have tried to destroy the painting of the most beautiful woman in the history of mythology as a protest against the Government for destroying Mrs. Pankhurst, who is the most beautiful person in modern history,” she explained. The ax blows damaged the shoulder area of ??the painting, which could be successfully restored.
For the experts, one of the Sevillian artist’s artistic achievements is found precisely in the face reflected in the mirror, intentionally blurred. Although the features of the Venus are not clearly appreciated, Velázquez manages to convey an unquestionable beauty. Was he trying to protect the identity of the woman who served as his muse?
There has always been speculation about who could have inspired the artist as the model for his first nude (tradition indicates that he executed two more, which have since disappeared). Some maintain that Velázquez invented that woman, while others consider that he was inspired by works he saw on his second trip to Rome, such as the sculpture ‘Hermaphrodite Borghese’, of which he commissioned a cast, or Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel.
Precisely, it seems that in this trip, which he made at the request of the king to acquire and order works of art, lies the key to the mystery. To begin with, the date of execution of the painting is unknown, which, however, coincides with his stay in the eternal city. Velázquez stayed there longer than expected. In fact, he even turned a deaf ear on occasion to Philip IV’s request for him to return.
The reason: the Sevillian painter, married to Juana Pacheco and father of two girls, had a romantic relationship with a young model and possibly also a painter, Olimpia Triunfi, with whom he had a son, Antonio de Silva. An investigation by British historian Jennifer Montagu uncovered details of this relationship. Velázquez recognized the child and, after his return to Madrid, spent money for his care. Documents of these payments that he made periodically are even preserved.
In Rome, Velázquez experienced an artistic freedom unheard of in Spain, where it was unthinkable for a woman to pose nude in front of a painter. And this creative liberation marked the final stage of his painting with the Venus in the mirror that many identify with the Roman lover, that Olympia whose name, as fate would have it, Manet used to baptize his Impressionist Venus.
