‘This painting doesn’t lose complexity the longer you look at it – it grows richer.’

Where does this painting fit in Anthony van Dyck’s work?

This is Van Dyck’s most famous portrait, and arguably the best-known portrait of a king of England. Yet paradoxically, there’s some mystery surrounding the piece: we know it entered the French royal collections in 1775, during the reign of Louis XVI, but we don’t know how or when it came to be in France. Through the process of deduction, we’ve been able to trace it back to the exiled court of King James II of England, around 1700. But beyond that, we can only speculate about the period between the portrait’s creation in the late 1630s and the early 18th century. It’s fascinating that such a large-scale painting (271 x 211 cm) could have disappeared and made its way to France unnoticed.

You mention in the catalogue raisonné that this is arguably the most beautiful portrait by Van Dyck in the museum. What makes this piece so exceptional for you?

That's the million-dollar question! Overall, the piece is incredibly rich, which is all the more astonishing given that the artist made only one preparatory drawing. Van Dyck painted the king’s face all in one go, and yet, there’s an exceptional mastery and lightness to the rendering. But what’s arguably most remarkable is that a sort of knowing indecision surrounds the subject.

What do you mean by that?

The painting is supposed to depict the king at the hunt, but there are no dogs, rifles or game, and no one is hunting. It’s surprising – unless you consider hunting as a whole. Charles I was known to be an avid hunter, and his rides could last forever. Such strenuous effort required breaks, and it’s precisely this moment of rest that the artist has so beautifully captured.

How can you tell?

The men in the painting aren’t the figures that convey this most eloquently – the horse is. It’s often been said that the horse is bowing its head before its king, but this interpretation is fanciful. In reality, the animal is just coming off a wild gallop with its rider. It’s out of breath, and what we see isn’t a display of submission; the horse is simply wiping the foam from its mouth onto its leg. The scene illustrates Van Dyck’s deep familiarity with hunting and animals. It transforms the painting into something much more than a portrait: it’s a window onto a larger story. In fact, the work is driven by powerful forces that pull the spectator outward. These forces, created by gazes, vistas and perspectives, reflect the weight the artist has given to what’s ‘out of frame’.

In what way?

The king wouldn’t be accompanied by only a groom, a page and a horse – that would have been impossible. It can be inferred that a larger company is positioned just beyond the edges of the painting. This is precisely the genius of Van Dyck: his ability to hint at a bustling and noisy crowd of royal attendants, even as the painting is poised, majestic and serene. Van Dyck is implicitly depicting the entire royal kingdom, beyond just the king himself. After all, what is a king doing while hunting? Roaming his lands. This is why a boat is visible on the sea in the left background, in a nod to the naval power of Great Britain. This painting has absolutely everything, even references that aren’t British.

What are some examples?

Two elements seem to clearly reference Italian paintings. First, the king’s jutting elbow – a dramatic pose that unambiguously echoes the Portrait of Gerolamo (?) Barbarigo by Titian. Second, the position of the horse alludes to another work by the same artist: the Adoration of the Magi. It’s no coincidence, really, that it’s often said that Charles I tapped the Titian of his time in commissioning Van Dyck.

Where do these Italian references come from?

Van Dyck was a wandering painter, and he trained in multiple Italian courts before entering the employ of the Habsburgs in Brussels. He was an artist with a continental European background, coming into contact with the English painting tradition – a tradition that he also played a key role in developing.

Does this also reflect Van Dyck’s desire to measure his skill against others?

It’s important to remember that Van Dyck was a court painter. The nature of a court, though, is essentially to speak to itself and to other courts. In that respect, this portrait was engaged in a sort of ‘combative’ dialogue with other great royal portraits, a pursuit that, unfortunately, consumed Van Dyck.

 How so?

In some ways, Van Dyck was a victim of his own talent. He was a child prodigy, able to do anything and everything – a bit like Picasso, who had a great master’s skill at the age of 15. Painting exquisite portraits turned into a curse: every court in Europe wanted their own. Van Dyck was swept up in the craze, and became entirely overwhelmed by his commissions. 

According to your analysis, his meticulous attention to bodies is part of his talent. Is that visible in this portrait of Charles I?

This painting clearly follows a canon. Strict human proportions are used: the king’s head is one-eighth the size of his body, and exact ratios underpin and accentuate all other body parts. This respect for mathematical proportions has much to do with the lifelike and elegant quality that emanates from the figures painted by Van Dyck. Everything appears fluid, almost light-hearted and nonchalant, but in reality, it's all expertly calculated. This painting stacks layer upon layer of significance and depth. It doesn’t lose complexity the longer you look at it – instead, it grows richer. That’s the mark of a masterpiece.

Why did the painting recently undergo conservation treatment?

When we decided to carry out conservation work two years ago, it wasn’t because the piece was in any real danger. Visually, however, it had reached a degree of inadequacy that called for action. In particular, the varnish had oxidised, leaving the painting yellowed and darkened.

Was the conservation treatment a big project?

The project brought together four conservators over the course of a year: two ‘support’ conservators (Luc Hurter and Jean-Pascal Viala), and two conservators responsible for the pictorial layer (Cécile Des Cloizeaux and Frédéric Pellas). They have my sincerest gratitude and praise. The duration of the conservation work may seem to suggest that they ran into complications, but the time it took was mostly due to the size of the piece. Aside from the large format, the conservation treatment team didn’t come up against any technical challenges requiring innovative methods.

What do you think of the final result?

I’m delighted – moved, even – by the outcome. Everything is rejuvenated, it’s all come to life again. We’re rediscovering Van Dyck at his finest. Certain elements that were no longer visible have re-emerged, like the king’s face or the grey-blue sky. The artist’s great talent is once again on full display, including his skill as both an animal and landscape painter. In fact, we can see the seeds of all 18th-century English landscape painting in this work.

This portrait of King Charles I isn’t the only Van Dyck returning to the Louvre, is that correct?

Good things come in pairs. Another piece from the artist’s English period will soon be unveiled to the public: the Portrait of Anne Carr, Lady Russell, Countess of Bedford. This will truly be a resurrection because this piece has never been on display in living memory. We rediscovered it in storage, during the publication of Van Dyck’s catalogue raisonné. At the time, it was thought to be a copy or a studio piece. As soon as we saw the portrait, we felt that it should undergo conservation treatment, on a hunch that its attribution could change. The bet paid off: the work is a small masterpiece, painted not long after the portrait of Charles I. If all goes as planned, this new painting will be exhibited at the end of February. I’ll be thrilled to discuss the piece in greater detail then.