Initially, I was unhappy with this book. Somehow, I resented McEntyre telling me what Vermeer's subjects were thinking or what her life was like. I read it a second time and my response softened. Any reason to visit with Vermeer is a good thing.
The five-page introduction is stellar. After reading it, I was compelled to gaze—to really look—at each of the reproductions before I read the companion poem. For that alone, the book is worth it.
From the introduction:
"They [subjects of Vermeer's portraits] seem a radiant testimony to the painter's conviction that we are loved and held in the light."
What I particularly appreciated, especially in this age of distraction:
"To pause before a painting is already a form of consent: we must consent to adopt a point of view that is not our own, a moment that is not now, a world that is the province of someone else's imagination. The invitation is something like this: if you dwell here for a little while, I'll show you something you couldn't have seen otherwise. [...]
"Dwelling," for most of us, is a discipline that has to be learned and practiced. It has become increasingly hard, in a culture dominated by movement and speed, ... to pause and ponder the subtleties of a line, a ray of light, a nuance of color or tone. We must learn arduously what may have come more naturally in quieter times and places: to dwell on, dwell in, or dwell with an object of contemplation."
And here are some lines from her poems:
"Gathered on what we see,
filtered through lace, gleaming
on hair and polished wood, what we see
is always the light."
"How like tenderness, this look
of complete attention,"
"Mid-sentence she looks up, caught
on a snag of thought."
"Trained on the object, undistracted,
patient while the instrument swings
to its center and is still, she turns
this little task to prayer—if mindfulness is
prayer—to an exercise of love—if it is love
to be attentive to the thing at hand."
"Every body," she reminds us, "is a story. Tell it.
The story is in the shadows."