A spirit of nostalgia prevails yet we see none of the ugliness or sadness. None of the gloom or cruelty of this crushed childhood. Velazquez
is the painter of the evening, of the open space and the silence, even when he paints in broad daylight or in a closed room, even with the sin of battle or of the hunt in his ears. As the seldom went out during the day, when everything was drowned I torrid sunshine Spanish painter communed with the evening
It is as If some ethereal wave skimming over surfaces soaked up their visible emanations to shape them and give them form and then spread them like perfume, like an echo of themselves, like some imperceptible dust over every surrounding surface. The world e lived in was a sad one.
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