I, Juan de Pareja

This section introduces Diego and his family, the King, and Madrid, the primary setting for the bulk of the novel. Also, de Treviño begins to explore the narrative significance of art, weaving it into several of the novel’s characterizations and themes. Art emerges as a tool of truth seeking and social equality, contradictorily furthered by examples of ugliness. Similarly, de Treviño fleshes out several of the novel’s most meaningful relationships and criticizes the social conditions that prevent such relationships’ real fulfillment. 

When Juan arrives in Madrid, he is immediately introduced to Diego Velázquez, a prominent Spanish Golden Age painter who eventually earns a position in King Philip IV’s court. Through Diego’s dialogue, de Treviño explores the nuances of art and its complicated relationship to truth, laying the groundwork for the novel’s theme of The Relative Truth of Art. “Art must be true,” Diego explains. “It is the one thing in life that must rest on solid truth. Otherwise it is worthless” (53). Art, Diego contends, is the ultimate ideal, able to look critically at its sitters and reveal their innermost character. Indeed, Diego often stares at objects intently, claiming that he is “working, by looking” (45), investing gaze or visual representation with an almost otherworldly power. This contrasts sharply with the motif of written language, which is often employed to further deceit, as when Juan’s first enslaver teaches him to write so that he may parrot her in correspondence. Diego recognizes this, too, cautioning Juan that any learned techniques are “professional secrets. Keep them in your head” (44)—in a society where teaching Juan about art is illegal, correspondence and note-taking are incriminating.

Just as art emerges as a tool of truth, so too does it have the power to affect social democratization, obscuring class norms that would otherwise have prevented earnest connection. In these early chapters, de Treviño establishes an almost intuitive connection between Juan and Diego, foreshadowing the gradual merging of their identities. Their studio lies in Madrid, and the city’s shifting temperatures and odors of “refuse, of horse dung, and of tanning leather” intrude upon its sanctuary (42). Though Juan struggles with these intrusions, Diego is bothered by neither “heat nor cold nor bad smells nor dust” (42). Diego can shut out the real world and separate his art from its interference, creating an idealistic microcosm within his studio. Similarly, when Diego assumes his role as a painter to King Philip IV, his art studio becomes an exercise in social equality. When Diego begins the King’s portrait, the King insists that Diego and Juan are “excused from obeisances” (57), warming to the studio’s characteristic calm. Just as Juan correctly surmised the magistrate’s wickedness, so too does he guess the King’s character “intuitively,” noting that the King’s shy smile “seem[s] to ask for acceptance” (57). Here, the social order is reversed: The King reveres Diego for his masterful painting and curries his favor almost like a courtier. Similarly, Diego’s freedom from deference allows him to penetrate the King’s character with an almost stunning intimacy; he renders the King’s shy kindness with the same coolness as he would any other sitter, prompting the thematic introduction of Art as a Tool of and Cure for Oppression. However, de Treviño is careful to qualify her praise, as art still reflects the oppressive social institutions that complicate contemporary life. For instance, though Juan has become interested in art, Juana explains that “there is a law in Spain which forbids slaves to practice any of the arts” (48). A talent for art may occur innately, but its practice is still curtailed by oppressive social standards. 

Juan’s relationships also suffer from this undercurrent of oppression. Juan may admire Diego’s gentleness and sense of justice, but their relationship remains hampered by the reality of enslavement. For instance, when Juan learns about the law forbidding enslaved people from practicing art, he realizes that Diego has not denied him “of his own free will, but because he was forced to do so, by the law” (49). Juan’s enslavement hinders any true blossoming of a productive teacher-student relationship, and indeed, their relationship is consistently coded in the language of deference. Juan relates how he calls Diego “Master,” noting that “Master means teacher, authority, chief” (49). Though Juan attests to “Master’s” multiplicity of meaning, each definition is essentially an indication of servitude or enslavement. Their relationship can never be free from the politics of slavery.

Juan’s relationship with Miri embodies a similar tragedy. When Juan first sees her, he characterizes her as a “girl about [his] own age” who attends to Rubens’s circle, just as he does to Diego’s (69). Indeed, Miri’s similarity to Juan and her unusual expressiveness prompt him to recognize his unspoken insecurities. Miri sings a “lament, intense and full of suffering” (70), which Juan intuitively understands despite its unfamiliar language. Like art, music enables a deeper connection, and Juan falls in love with Miri almost immediately. When Juan witnesses one of Miri’s seizures, he recognizes her fear as she wonders if someday her enslaver will sell her. Though Juan reflects kindly on Diego’s warm home, he still struggles against a nagging concern: “[W]ill I be sold some day?” (75). Juan laments that neither kindliness nor virtue is enough to rectify The Impermanence of Home; Juan and other enslaved workers’ commodification will always threaten their ability to establish lasting relationships.