Devil in the Detail: The Paintings of Adam Elsheimer
Until September 3; RSA Building, Edinburgh

Adam Elsheimer is not exactly a household name, but if the National Galleries have anything to do with it, he will be. The young German produced a small number of extraordinary paintings in the years around 1600, and then at the age of 32, he died. “I have never felt my heart more profoundly pierced by grief than at this news”, said the celebrated Flemish painter, Rubens. Though Elsheimer could never bring himself to believe it, he was revered by the greatest artists of his day.

Elsheimer’s paintings are tiny. Painted in oil on small sheets of copper, the brushstrokes are imperceptible and the detail often visible only with a magnifying glass. With only 36 of his paintings known to exist today, and all of them so small in scale, this exhibition might not look grand enough to merit the £6 ticket price, but size isn’t everything.

Never before have so many of Elsheimer’s paintings been brought together under one roof; somehow, the National Gallery of Scotland has managed to borrow all but three of them. This is the first time there has ever been a show of Elsheimer’s paintings in Britain, and it’s the first major show anywhere for 40 years.

Elsheimer was born in Frankfurt, the son of a tailor. At 14 he was apprenticed to a local painter and by 1600 he had made his way, via Venice, to Rome. Over the next ten years until his premature death, Elsheimer would hone a widely admired style which combined the meticulous naturalism of German art with the dramatic flourishes of Italian painting.

Despite his humble upbringing, Elsheimer was active in Rome’s most intellectual circle of scientists, philosophers and artists. With access to one of the few telescopes in Rome, he painted the first accurate depiction of the moon and the Milky Way (this, his last painting, is the climax of the show). Rubens belonged to the same circle, and though he was by far the more commercially successful of the two men, the Flemish artist regularly studied Elsheimer’s paintings for new ideas.

In fact there were many artists who borrowed from Elsheimer. His tiny paintings were so crammed with detail that one figure group in the distant background would provide enough material on which to base a monumental painting. Rubens did it, and so did Pieter Lastman, who would go on to become Rembrandt’s teacher.

Despite this attention, Elsheimer was said to spend more time absorbing the art of other painters than he did working on his own paintings. “He thought himself a much less significant artist than he actually was,” said one Spanish painter shortly after his death. “His friends rebuked him, telling him that he should change his manner and have more confidence in himself, as was his due; his answer was always that he would follow their advice as soon as he found his works satisfactory.”

This melancholic outlook, regularly remarked upon, slowed Elsheimer down. His fastidious style of painting was time-consuming, and he would often leave works unfinished due to bouts of depression. It all became too much for Hendrick Goudt, an engraver who lived in Elsheimer’s household making copies of his paintings.

Hardly the dynamic entrepreneur, Elsheimer built up a debt to Goudt which he could not repay. Some accounts say that Goudt had the painter thrown into debtors’ prison, where he suffered the damage which was to lead to his sudden death. Indeed, when Rubens grieved for Elsheimer, he warned that he should “never regard with a friendly eye those who have brought him to so miserable an end”.

During the exhibition’s first weekend, it seems that Elsheimer’s reputation hasn’t changed much in 400 years. A smattering of art experts have the show to themselves, scrutinising each tiny painting with enthusiasm. The rest of the world remains outside, oblivious to what they are missing. I hear a warder at the door despairing that this show “is too good to waste”.

He’s right. Here is almost every painting Elsheimer ever produced, lined up in a row. Even the stunning Frankfurt Tabernacle – reassembled in recent times from all corners of the globe – is here to admire in one breathtaking piece. The beauty of oil on copper is that its vivid luminosity doesn’t fade over the years, so the walls are filled with glorious technicolour.

While its contents are superb, the show’s presentation could be better. It’s buried in the claustrophobic gloom of the RSA building’s lower galleries; the dusky grey walls creating an optical effect like that of driving at dusk. Some spotlights, dismally-aimed, create shadows and glare impossible to see past, and the picture fixings are not pretty. The ticket desk being miles away from the exhibition, hoards of confused and ticketless visitors are turned away at the door.

It’s worth saying again: this exhibition is too good to waste. If you’re sent away, get a ticket, and come back. For your money you’ll get a free pamphlet containing all the captions, and a cute little plastic magnifying glass. With these appealing gifts, you are ready for the treasure hunt.

Framing little details with the rectangular glass, you’ll find shepherds in distant fields, their flocks no bigger than an eyelash, or herons on a river bank, invisible to the naked eye. In the foregrounds, beautifully modelled figures will act out dramas in moonlight, in candle-light, in firelight, and in heavenly radiance. And here’s a tip: go now, get Elsheimer to yourself, before the rest of the world catches on.

Catrìona Black, Sunday Herald 02.07.06