HORSES, THE MYSTERY OF SHADOW

140 CM X 140 CM, 2018, FINE ART PRINT, GOLDEN SHADOW GASP BEHING ART GLAS, EDITION OF 3

Horses, The Mystery of Shadow

Discussing Winkhaus’s latest series "Horses," it is almost impossible not to mention her second greatest inspiration, Francisco Goya, and later, the mature work of Rembrandt Harmensz van Rijn. This is not just because of the series’ defining characteristic—an intense, almost exaggerated use of chiaroscuro. Rembrandt himself was heavily influenced by Caravaggio, who extensively used the camera obscura. In a similar way, Winkhaus approaches her Hasselblad more as a painting instrument, creating a postmodern dialogue that some art critics may find irresistible to analyze.

However, the connection between Winkhaus and Rembrandt goes deeper. Caravaggio’s greatest achievement was his radical transformation of canvas space—he abandoned the formal Renaissance perspective and used darkness to create depth. Within this meaningful darkness, he placed his figures as if captured by a camera lens, producing a striking contrast of light and shadow—a dichotomy that has always fascinated artists. Like Rembrandt and many others, Winkhaus is drawn to this duality. Artistic problems, as well as political themes, often find an easy resolution in stark contrasts. But Rembrandt’s legacy extends beyond the well-worn “out of darkness comes light” motif. He became a counterpoint in European culture, akin to Goethe, Shakespeare, or Bach. A similar quality links him to Winkhaus—a Berlin-based artist of the 21st century, deeply attuned to modern inequalities and drawn to the shadows of contemporary life. To understand this connection, one must choose words carefully.

Max Jakob Friedländer once said, “Rembrandt’s shadow is nothing but an escape from the banality of bright light.” Ironically, today’s German art scene does not differ much from the artistic landscape of the Dutch Golden Age. In 17th-century Dutch art, there was a strong focus on celebrating everyday life rather than the grandiose melancholy of Spanish art or the majestic, classical scenes of the French. The Dutch succeeded in elevating their simple domestic environments to the level of palace feasts, and their middle-class portraits to the status of religious or royal depictions. Instead of commissions from kings or the church, artists painted group portraits of guild members—does that sound familiar? Rembrandt completed several such commissions, and nearly 400 years later, Winkhaus has created an extensive collection of “bourgeois portraits,” alongside images of pop bands and contemporary artists.

In a similar spirit of de-heroization, Paulus Potter in 1640 transformed cattle into subjects of symbolic portraits. Echoing this, in 2010, Winkhaus presented a striking series of "parade portraits of dogs" before expanding into wildlife. Dutch art, by elevating the ordinary, became highly stylized—its depictions of wealth and domestic scenes were full of flirtation and theatricality, comparable to the affectation of Italian Mannerism. Intricately curled lemon peels, luxurious Chinese porcelain hinting at exotic journeys, and meticulously arranged fabrics showcased merchant wealth while subtly acknowledging the frugality of their owners. Both Rembrandt and Winkhaus participated in their respective artistic traditions. Rembrandt’s early self-portraits in feathered berets, his grand portraits of Dutch citizens, and even his famed "Night Watch" reflect this cultural influence. Similarly, Winkhaus’s earlier works—with their elaborate set designs and digital compositions—embody an aesthetic of grandeur. However, the most significant aspect of their work is that, at some point, both artists abandoned the stylistic conventions of their time. They chose to speak about universal human experiences, separate from national ambitions or commercial affectations. They stepped away from the bright light of artistic norms and into the realm of shadow.

It is fascinating to note that Oswald Spengler, analyzing Baroque chiaroscuro (under which both Rembrandt and Winkhaus could be classified), described the pervading golden-brown gloom as "Faustian." Spengler did not distinguish between the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio, Velázquez, Rembrandt, or La Tour. What mattered to him was that, instead of the clear green Renaissance perspective divided into orderly scenes, there was an all-encompassing darkness—enigmatic, boundless, unpredictable. The "Faustian spirit"—the essence of the West—is shadow, containing eternity. This dark, Baroque spirit, the formative shadow, the unifying force—this is what Rembrandt painted throughout his life, and this is what Winkhaus captures in her photography. For she does not simply depict objects but the relationships between them; not faces, but the interplay of souls; not gestures, but the intersection of historical moments. This essential unity of existence connects both artists across nearly 400 years.

Consider the neutral gray shadow of Rubens or the colored shadow of Titian—it merely designates the part of an object not illuminated by the sun. In Caravaggio’s work, shadow is a mystery, but only just. In La Tour, it functions as a theatrical curtain. But in Rembrandt, shadow is a substance that binds existence together—a quintessence of life itself. Winkhaus’s shadow does more than define space; it sculpts objects, leading them gently into the viewer’s gaze. It is the matter that unites objects with narratives, even with history itself.

Ultimately, this mysterious matter is color—an aged, darkened gold. And it is a melancholic matter, for touching the mystery of life inevitably brings a profound sadness.