The rare and Amizing Pictures Of antiquarian Book Illustrations Collections


 Pictures Illustrations Collections



Dr Iwan suwandy,MHA

Private limited E-Book Edition in CD-ROM

Copyright@Dr Iwan suwandy 2011


Many rare, strange and amizing antiquarian Books illustrations as the God Creations through  Human hand still exist now although still many undiscovered, that is why we must save that rare and amizing collections in other to save the human haritage.

Due to that , I sarting in 25 years to save that human harirtage ,some upload in Driwancybermuseum blog


Because the spece og blog not enough,the complete information were put in E-BOOK in CD_ROM, and If the collectors want to have the complete informations please asked via comment,but before you must subscribed as the premium member via comment

Jakarta ,january 2012

Dr Iwan suwandy,MHA



Dutch Brazil, which officially called itself ‘Nieuw Holland,’ was a short-lived (1630-1654) state in the north-east of Brazil that resulted from the Dutch Republic’s aggressive policy of territorial expansion at the expense of the Portuguese colonies in the first half of the seventeenth century — a policy that also led to the Dutch occupation of Portuguese Angola between 1641 and 1648 and a number of annexations in Portuguese India, including the city of Cochin (see below).

These devestating defeats for the Portuguese crown sprang from a combination of factors — the Dutch were a nation on the rise in this period, and the Portuguese, junior partners in the Iberian Union of the 1580-1640 period, found themselves with diminished resources and man-power to defend their far-flung empire. The tide began to turn in the 1620s (see my previous post on the Portuguese-Spanish defeat of the Dutch in Bahia, 1625), but the Dutch retained a foothold in Pernambuco and the north Amazon region until the 1650s, as shown by the map below.

One result of these geopolitical misadventures was a fascinating episode in the history of European art and the print culture of early modern natural history. The Dutch government encouraged painters, botanists and other observers of nature to visit the new colonies and record their observations of the strange new tropical lands that had fallen into the hands of the Dutch Republic. The painter Albert Eckhout (1610-1665) was perhaps the most outstanding of these imperial observers. Below are a selection of some of his wonderfully observed paintings of Brazil’s flora, fauna, landscapes and peoples. All images are from the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen unless otherwise noted, and were painted during Eckhout’s travels in Brazil between 1637 and 1644:

“East Indies Fruits.”
Tupi Indian woman with child.
Tupi Indian man. Interestingly, this figure appears to be the model for one of the flanking figures in Piso’s Natural History of Brazil.
Willem Piso’s 1668 Historia Naturalis Brasilia (Natural History of Brazil), hand-colored frontispiece. Compare the figure at left to the Tupi Indian painted by Eckhout above. Piso traveled on the same expedition as Eckhout and fellow painter Frans Post, serving as a physician.

The Dutch-Portuguese wars also led to a vacuum of European power in Formosa, present-day Taiwan. Weakened Dutch forces were chased from the island by Chinese military leader and admiral Zheng Chenggong ( 郑成功), known to Europeans as Koxinga, in 1662. The resulting cut-off of European communication with the island allowed the famous eighteenth century impostor George Psalmanazar to invent a series of outlandish falsehoods about Formosa, as detailed in my previous post on this fascinating figure.

For more on these beautiful paintings, see Rebecca Parker Brienen’s Visions of Savage Paradise (2007). Boxer’s monograph The Dutch in Brazil is unfortunately out of print, but Benjamin Schmidt’s Innocence Abroad: the Dutch Imagination and the New World (2006) is a great general survey of Dutch empire and observation in the seventeenth century Americas – highly recommended.


PARRHASIUS, it is said, entered into a pictorial contest with Zeuxis, who represented some grapes, painted so naturally that the birds flew towards the spot where the picture was exhibited. Parrhasius, on the other hand, exhibited a curtain, drawn with such singular truthfulness, that Zeuxis, elated with the judgment which had been passed upon his work by the birds, haughtily demanded that the curtain should be drawn aside to let the picture be seen. Upon finding his mistake, with a great degree of ingenuous candour he admitted that he had been surpassed, for that whereas he himself had only deceived the birds, Parrhasius had deceived him, an artist. – Pliny the Elder, The Natural History (circa 77 CE), Book 35, Chapter 36.

Bronzino’s Venus, Cupid, Folly, and Time detail, (c. 1545).

THE ability to trompe-l’œil (“deceive the eye” in French) was among the most highly prized artistic skills of Pliny’s day, as evidenced by the many tales of Greek and Roman painters who boasted that their works were capable of fooling both man and beast. Although most figurative paintings offer an illusionistic “window” into a false reality to some degree, trompe-l’œil works take such verisimilitude to the level of optical illusion. The technique has been called a “triumph of the gaze over the eye.”

My favorite examples of trompe-l’œil come from the Renaissance and Baroque periods (roughly speaking c. 1500 to c. 1700). European culture of this era displayed a strong fascination with the interplay between the beautiful and the hideous, the secret and the visible, and the concept of truth. In the arts, these preoccupations were expressed through masks, stage plays (whose actors often functioned as a metaphor for life in seventeenth-century poetry), and the mask-like, mysterious figures of Mannerist painters, most famously exemplified in the brilliant and vaguely creepy works of Agnolo Bronzino.

It is not surprising, then, that paintings which expressly sought to fool the eye (and the mind) by experimenting with the boundaries between the artificial and the real enjoyed a high level of popularity throughout the 1500 through 1700 period — nor that these works could function as profound reflections on the nature of visible reality rather than as clever but gimmicky visual tricks, which is how we tend to approach trompe-l’œil today. Below are some of my favorite examples.

Domenico Remps, A Cabinet of Curiosity, 1690s.

I included this painting in an earlier post on curiosity cabinets, but wanted to revisit it here to show Remps’ incredible ability to evoke illusionistic details. Notice, for instance, the reflection of the mirror in the upper left part of the cabinet, which, much like Jan van Eyck’s famous Arnolfini Wedding, reveals the room in which it was painted:


Even as Remps points out the artificial nature of the painting by revealing the site of its creation, however, he also creates the illusion that an actual curiosity cabinet (rather than its mere representation on canvas) stands before us. This photo-realistic effect is achieved by clever touches such as the broken glass on the right hand cabinet window.

Portraying paintings within a painting, as Remps does here, was an extremely popular approach — I suppose because it highlighted the painter’s skill in multiple genres while also maximizing the visual delight of the viewer by offering several vistas and scenes at once (modern tastes tend to be more minimalist, but the seventeenth century was all about maximalism). The ultimate example of this that I have seen is David Tenier’s incredibly over-the-top depiction of Archduke Leopold Wilhem‘s gallery:

David Teniers the Younger, ca. 1650, Archduke Leopold Wilhelm in his Gallery in Brussels, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
Another typical approach of the period which I find to be in many ways more interesting was that of including written texts in paintings. This technique is actually visible in a surprisingly large number of famous works (for instance, in Hans Holbein’s famous portrait of a German merchant). It reached an extreme form, however, in paintings such as the following:
Jean-François de Le Motte, c. 1670, Still Life, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon.
A detail of the texts, which include a letter to the artist, a printed pamphlet and what appears to be an accounting
Cornelius Gijsbrechts (c.1630 – 1675), Trompe l’oeil, Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Gent, Belgium.
 Edward (or Edvart) Collier, Trompe l’Oeil of Newspapers, Letters and Writing Implements
on a Wooden Board

Incidentally, this last work offers a fascinating glimpse into the origins of the modern newspaper. One of the early “intelligencers” depicted here, the Apollo Anglicanus, can be previewed on Google Books. (Check out the blog Merciurius Politicus for more along these lines).
One interesting example of a painting of an illuminated manuscript can be found on Palazo Strozzi’s online exhibit of trompe l’œil works:

Detail showing early sheet music of a psalm.

Finally, there is the related style of “quadratura,” or painting architectural objects in an illusionistic manner. Perhaps the most famous example of this is Andrea Mantegna’s playful and highly original ceiling fresco for the the Ducal Palace in Mantua, Italy, a detail from which heads this post:

Andrea Mantegna, fresco, Camera degli Sposi, Ducal Palace, Mantua, c. 1470.

An even more interesting off-shoot is anamorphosis, which employs distorted perspective to create coded images that only become understandable when viewed from the right angle. The most famous example of anamorphosis is to be found in Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors (one of my favorite paintings), where a strange blur at the bottom of the painting…

…revolves into a skull when viewed from the right angle, designed to remind the viewer of the ever-presence of death:

I’ll stop there. For those interested in learning more, the Palazzo Strozzi museum in Florence has an online exhibit on trompe l’œil with many beautiful images and some interesting thoughts on


The Photochrom photographic process was developed in Zürich, Switzerland in the 1880s by the printing firm Orell Füssli (apparently still in business as a producer of “highly secure banknotes” and “identity documents” — see link). The famous Detroit Publishing Company (née Detroit Photographic Company) purchased exclusive American rights to the process in 1897, which was highly prized prior to the advent of true color film owing to its ability to yield mass reproductions of tinted black and white photographs. Photochroms sold briskly throughout the 1890s. As you can see below, the most popular images were of exotic tourist destinations, crowded urban scenes and landscapes. Today, they fascinate because of the enormously high resolution of the photographic negatives, coupled with the color tinting of an era that we usually view in black and white. I recommend clicking on the photos to get a better of the enormous amount of detail these images contain.

The Photochrom process involved the transfer of black and white film negatives directly onto a series of lithographic plates, which were then inked with various colors matching the scene. Wikipedia provides some further technical info (perhaps more than you wanted to know). Below are some representative images from Wikimedia Commons and the Library of Congress Photochrom collection:

Mulberry Street in the Lower East Side of New York City, circa 1900.
Belgian milk peddlers, 1890s.
“Bedouin Chief of Palmyra,” 1890s, from a photograph by Felix Bonfils.

Since these images are easily accesible on Wikimedia and Library of Congress sites I linked to above, I’ll just restrict myself to pointing out a few neat details in larger photochroms:

A beautifully out of focus shot of two young men crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.
Tough-looking children and wagon-drivers in Mulberry Street.
A medieval-era town hall in Saxony – this almost feels like peering into a fifteenth-century city high street.
And my favorite photochrom of all, a wonderfully crisp and evocative portrait of an Irish weaver.

A sampling of more old fashioned, extremely hi-res photographs can be found on the photoblog Shorpy. I’ve also posted previously about an early color photographic technique that was used to document pre-Soviet Russia to great effect. More technical details on the photochrom process can be found here. Finally, the website of NYC’s Museum of Modern Art has an interactive website devoted to explaining the workings of lithography, for those interested in how color images were made before the advent of color film

 I was surprised to find that these images exist, but I’m glad they do. Apparently produced as part of a visual ethnography of the world’s cultures written by a Japanese interpreter for the Dutch merchant community in Nagasaki named Nishikawa Joken, they depict “people from each of the 42 barbarian countries outside of Japan.” (My main source for this information, and the images themselves, comes from the wonderful database of early American images maintained by the John Carter Brown library.) Alas, I have only found two of the forty two online, but those two are quite fascinating. The first appears to depict two South American Indians, perhaps Amazonian judging by their dress, while the second portrays a “Native American Patagonian giant.” I would be fascinated to learn what the accompanying Japanese text has to say about these and other New World cultures. If anyone reading this has any further information, please contact me!

“Two South American Indians” in Nishikawa Joken, Shijûni-koku Jinbutsu zusetsu (Kyoto, 1720). Xylograph print on paper with hand coloring, 31.1 x 18.2 cm.
“Patagonian Giant” in Nishikawa Joken, Shijûni-koku Jinbutsu zusetsu (Kyoto, 1720). Xylograph print on paper with hand coloring, 31.1 x 18.2 cm. 
I have yet to read this particular work, but according to the JCB’s online catalog entry the great historian Charles Boxer touches upon these images in his work Jan Compagnie in Japan, 1600-1850, pg. 18-19. A cursory Google search of Joken’s name also turns up this interesting-looking recent essay on Merchants and Society in Tokugawa Japan by Charles D. Sheldon.

Image of the Week 3: “Cats Forming the Characters for ‘Catfish'”


Today’s image is a surreal print by one of the last great masters of traditional Japanese woodblock printing, Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797-1861). An assemblage of black and white, tan and calico cats, looking quite content with themselves, float in an abstract color field of steel gray, cream and blue, their twisting bodies forming an approximation of the Japanese character for ‘catfish.’ I have no idea what the historical background for this image is, but I really like it.

A couple of others by the same artist:

“Scribbling on the Storehouse Wall,” seemingly an attempt to memorialize graffiti and the public doodles of strangers in a print.


“Cats Suggested as the Fifty-Three Stations of Tokaido,” an even more elaborate depictions of cats that playfully alludes to Hiroshige‘s famous print series.

the end@copyright dr Iwan suwnady 2012


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