In 1655 Rembrandt van Rijn sat down to paint his own picture. Often had he done it before; often was he to do it again. Most profound artists are introverts, seekers of their own devious mysteries. In the mirror Rembrandt studied his greenish, fur-lined cloak, his quietly folded hands. But ever and again he returned to probe his own sad eyes, perhaps hypnotized himself as people do who gaze in mirrors. He saw a man who was not intoxicated exclusively with his own painting, but who loved the work of other men and, indeed,...
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