Dance images are not the exclusive domain of paintings. In my exploration of artworks, I discovered dance images in diverse places. Join me on my journey that will look at curious, commonplace, and captivating items created from a variety of materials and using distinctive techniques. One common factor binds the artworks/artefacts: each, in some manner, is connected to The Netherlands.

Let us start in the early 15th century with an ivory roundel that features an elegant company promenading in a landscape. The lady’s headwear (bourrelet) and the men’s ‘bag hats’ situate the artwork in the age of John the Fearless, the Duke of Burgundy (1404–1419). We do not know the name of the artist, but this anonymous artist, originating from the Southern Netherlands or northern France, depicts the figures in a static, unperturbed manner. During the Burgundian period, courtiers were often depicted this way; the beautiful illustrations in Les Très Riches Heures de Duc du Berry (1412–16) likewise represent courtiers as elegantly dignified figures.

The image, the reverse side of a mirror, depicts two gracious ladies, one gentleman holding a rose, and one seated musician. All the figures are distinguished. Their lack of motion, however, raises the question: are these courtiers dancing or merely strolling casually through a garden? Personally, I believe, despite the obvious composure, that the courtiers are dancing. The presence of the harpist is an indication, but more convincing is that the most fashionable dance of the era was the slow, dignified basse-danse. The dance required the participants to walk, to glide gently, and to keep contact with the floor at all times. The roundel portrays the noble figures performing precisely that.

The following item, an ivory comb, is decorated with figures executing a moresca, a popular dance in many European countries from the 15th to the 17th century. There is much uncertainty about its origins, although most experts agree that the moresca originated in Southern Spain and travelled from there to Northern Europe. The moresca was never a social dance but a danced pantomime presented at fairs or courts. The choreography was highly energetic. Dancers were known to wear bells around their knees and ankles, clash sticks, wave handkerchiefs, and disguise themselves.

This intricately crafted comb, one side of which illustrates a moresca and the other side a hunting scene, was made in the Southern Netherlands between 1440 and 1470. The dance image comprises five figures: a gracious lady flanked by two bearded men who, in turn, are flanked by a musician playing a pipe and tabor and a jester holding a staff. The artist uses the frieze formation, reminiscent of classical art. Note how the figures’ legs move forward along the horizontal frieze while their upper bodies are rotated to the front. This layout effectuates dynamism. The lady, for example, moves swiftly forward, rotates her torso to the front, and simultaneously glances at the bearded man behind her. Both bearded men execute a pronounced knee bend. Their exaggerated movements likely serve as a functional way to fit the figures within the horizontal lines, but functional or not, the deep bends make these dancers appear highly athletic. In the 15th century, the moresca motif was immensely popular. Figures quite like those found on the comb also embellish the stunning Bargello games board and small caskets.

Where a mirror and comb may be classified as commonplace objects (not that I am suggesting that the above items are commonplace), the following artefacts, misericords, are curious. Google informs us that a misericord is a wooden ledge on the underside of a hinged folding seat in a medieval church. The misericord is generally hidden from view, leading artisans to create serious, hilarious, and not infrequently grotesque scenes. Animals, peasants, and fantasy figures are most popular, but now and again the medieval wood craftsman turned to dance.

The Church of Our Lady in Aarschot, Flanders, has two quite distinct dance-inspired misericords. One illustrates the secular: two peasants are competing in an egg dance. The second misericord depicts a biblical scene of King David dancing before the ark. The works are handsomely crafted, but even more interesting is the artisan’s specific use of body language. The peasants’ posture is curved and weighted. Even their bent legs are cumbersome. The egg dancers look cramped, as if ‘pressed down’ by the hinged, folded seat. Despite being shorter than the other two dancers, King David’s dancing conveys both length and lightness. His knee bend, though deeper than the egg dancers’, is fluid and graceful, leading into a gentle backward curve. This, in turn, results in David extending his arms emphatically to the side while elevating his head in reverence. This intense artwork, full of flowing lines, is simultaneously spiritual and a captivating example of dance expression.

A Gothic church from the 15th century—St. Martin’s Church located in the countryside of Bolsward (Friesland)—boasts numerous misericords, including a wooden sculpture of a pig and a man dancing together. Curious, to say the least. The pig is distinctive. He has a friendly face and uses his front trotters like hands. Furthermore, his robust body is pulled upright, and he stands on two ‘legs’. Both the man and the pig are carved to fit precisely between the upper and lower wooden ridges.

The idea of an upright-standing pig dancing with a man never crossed my mind. And this representation, in effect humanising the pig, makes the sculpture all the more amusing. It is quite bizarre to see a pig dancing with a well-dressed figure. It is even more curious that this image is located in a church. Pigs, of course, have long been associated with gluttony and filth. Why place an image of a dancing pig in a church? Was humour intended, or did the artisan have an alternative purpose? The answer lies somewhere in the middle. The wood carving is, without doubt, comical, but any medieval churchgoer would be acquainted with the popular proverb of ‘dancing with a pig’. This misericord serves as a warning to everyone: avoid engaging in dishonourable or frivolous behaviour.

The double virginal displayed below was crafted by Hans Ruckers the Elder (1581), a Flemish manufacturer of musical instruments. Ruckers worked during the reign of King Philip II of Spain, who was also Lord over the Seventeen Provinces of the Netherlands. It is perhaps a coincidence, perhaps intentional, but the virginal features a medallion of Philip II and his spouse Anna of Austria. It is tempting to think that a member of the Spanish royal family commissioned the virginal.

I would like to draw your attention to the captivating artwork of an outdoor scene, a fête champêtre, on the inside lid of the virginal. The outdoor garden party, a popular theme in the 16th and 17th centuries, reaches back to the age-old theme of the Gardens of Love. The artist, whose name we do not know, depicts courtiers enjoying themselves: dining, making music under the pergola, playing games, promenading in the garden, embarking on a boat trip, and, naturally, dancing.

The courtly dancers are accompanied by musicians playing woodwind instruments. It is impossible to know which social dance, if any, the courtiers are performing. Possibly, the artist chose one of the fashionable dances of the time: the lively galliard, the serene pavane, or the allemande, a solemn dance in an ‘open couple’ formation. The illustrated dancers are positioned in a pose—a beautifully poised female dancing opposite her handsome partner, who performs intricate leg movements—often seen in 16th- and early 17th-century paintings of court life. Such an image also belongs to the repertoire of, to name a few, Hieronymus Francken the Younger, David Vinckboons, Dirck Hals, and Frans Pourbus the Younger. As interesting as this fact is, it is all the more intriguing to discover that these artists painted their dance images years after the virginal lid was completed. Where did the anonymous artist acquire his information? I can offer two suggestions. The artist must have been aware of the publication of Italian and French dance manuals that contained detailed drawings, floor patterns, and music scores. They informed the Flemish and Dutch courtiers of the latest fashionable dances. Furthermore, he would have known the ‘trendsetting’ dances taught to nobles by visiting Italian and French dance masters. The unnamed artist of the virginal lid was no doubt a familiar figure at court. He had ample opportunity to observe the nobles in dance and play.

One final thought before moving on: the unidentified artist portrays the courtiers as static, unrealistic figures. Though elegantly dressed and situated in a serene landscape, they are naively flat. Whether it is the artist’s intention or not, the figures lack any sense of motion.

George Hendrik Breitner (1857-1923) was fascinated by movement. The late 19th-century impressionist painter and photographer Breitner was a passionate supporter of realism. His fame as an artist paralleled his fame as a photographer; some two thousand of his glass negatives still exist. His photography influenced his paintings, just as his paintings inspired his photography.

Breitner, who lived life as a Bohemian, aimed to capture the realistic atmosphere of ordinary people in day-to-day situations. He visited cafés, brothels, variety theatres, and dance halls, and he regularly wandered the streets of Amsterdam taking photographs or making quick sketches. Breitner used the newly introduced hand-held camera, a Kodak No. 1 Box with 100 exposures. The two snapshots below are spontaneous photographs of the same two dancing women.

Breitner’s close-up shots convey the women’s friendship as well as their sheer exuberance while dancing. The full-length photo has the added interest; the dancer’s shadows are projected against the wall. You will agree with me if I suggest that the women sketched in the drawing below are very similar to the ones in the photo. Note the similarity of the face structure and the facial expression of the woman on the right. The shadows have returned to become spectators, and the original railings now function as a bench in the dance hall. But most of all, the photographs and the sketch have the same innate intensity of movement.

Breitner, and his contemporary Isaac Israëls, repeatedly portrayed two dancing women. In Amsterdam, it was fairly common to see two women dancing together in cafés or during street festivities. The theme captured the imagination of many artists. *

Chris van den Hoef’s (1875-1933) figurine of two dancing women captures the very essence of dance. The movement is created by a diagonal line stretching from the skirt’s hem through the outstretched arms extending to the clenched hands. Moreover, the circular motion of the sweeping skirts suggests swiftness and probably rotation. The blend of visual movement, the colours and the decorative designs on the clothing, along with the intimate expression of the dancers, makes Two Dancing Amsterdam Girls a vibrant artwork. And, personally, they bring Breitner’s photographs to mind.

_{* I have written extensively about Isaac Israëls. For more information about his ‘dancing girls’ please read my post Isaac Israëls – Dancing Women, Dance Halls, and Amsterdam}