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Seven Renassaince paintings display a contemporary perspective on fortune-telling.
These paintings, most of them simply called The Fortune-teller, display the divinatory art as it was considered in the XVIth c.: what it is, who are involved in, what happens to the characters, their social backgrounds and economic situation, and the way they relate to each other. Made by European artists, the figures who give their palms for a chiromantic reading are European, too. Anyway, the paintings display a contemporary perspective on the subject.
The main characters usually carry spades and wear leather hats, and many of them seem to be soldiers. These distinctive symbols tell of the social status. But the paintings also emphazise other differences by the usage of strong contrasts in colors and lights, which easily makes the observer be focused on specific perceptual components. The artworks catch the attention on something or someone.
But fortune-telling is also the art of what emerges out of the main scence and, intrinsically, alludes to what is beyond the known frame. In some paintings, some characters on the background are very important to understand what's going on. Many times, they look for the eyes of the watcher, who thus becomes part of the scene while the initial frame disappears. In other times, when the characters look at something placed beyond the painting's frame, something or someone who cannot be seen, then the scene becomes uncertain: something remains unknown.
Suspicion of lies, hoaxes and frauds are usually associated to free practices like fortune-telling. And they are the best libelling: fortune-telling is like story-telling, like stealing. In most of the paintings, there's one or several thieves next to the fortune-teller, who conspires and catches the main character's attention by getting straight eye contact, as a distraction.
To increase suspicion, fortune-telling is usually considered as a practice of low-income people, anciently performed most of all by nomad travellers coming from minority ethnic groups, in a situation of economic need. These references can be appreciated in many of the paintings, although the rule seems to be the ethnic difference rather than the economic status.
Fortune-telling tells of luck (in Spanish language tells is "dice", such as the game in English language). The performer is who narrates, who "cuenta" (a Spanish word meaning both narrates and counts). A play of fraud or stealing is another classic association quite well alluded to in the paintings. If something is counted, they are the stolen coins. But it's also true that it is said it's better not to tell, for avoiding luck to be stolen before it has its time. So The Fortune-teller doesn't tell (dice), and sometimes it's uncertain who she plays with, if she does, or what's her scene, such as it can be appreciated in some of the paintings. But when she tells, what or who is she giving the fortune to?
THE FORTUNE-TELLER, by Miguel Ángel Caravaggio (1596). Oil on canvas.
The soldier keeps one of his hands near his sword's handle, and gives the chiromancer a bit distrustful look, as taking caution. The fortune-teller, more precisely as it is suggested by her hand and body motion, seems to be gently taking away the soldier's cape, so she's removing the clothes of a socially recognized and adorned man.
THE GYPSY FORTUNE-TELLER, by Lionello Spada (1614-15). Oil on canvas.
Two contrary characters point to each other with their fingers, in accusation. The man in the middle, the wealthiest one, is finally prevented, and grabs his purse of coins firmly. But the most important thing scapes from his sight, since it's not where they point to, where they insist on: a thief is not seen, and she takes advantage of the lack of vision, the distraction of the fingers play. There's another fortune.
THE FORTUNE-TELLER, by Bartolomeo Manfredi (1616-7). Oil on canvas. Detroit Institute Of Arts, Founders Society Purchase, Acquisitions Fund (79.30).
Taking advantage of people going through sad emotional moments is quite usual. A young man of grey leathers hat is rapt in his depression, and even the chiromancer doesn't pay attention to him and looks beyond the scene, as being urged by a woman in the shadows, who takes advantage of him. Two robbery plays seem to amuse the man of red leathers hat: the two main characters of the scene are stolen.
THE FORTUNE-TELLER, by Simon Vouet (1617). Oil on canvas.
An artisan worker lets himself be distracted by a captivating chiromancer, closer to him inside and outside, as she points intimately. The clothes of the three characters are made of similar textiles: a man's fortune is stolen by those of similar social status, during the good moment he's experiencing.
THE FORTUNE-TELLER, by Georges de La Tour (1632-35). Oil on canvas.
A man demands his fortune back. But he's surrounded by four thieves who take other fortunes away the same. Distrustful looks, mutual suspicion and eyes in alert seem to miss what the hands are doing. Besides, there's complicities out of the usual norm: one of the thieves belongs to the same ethnic group than the man does. There's something or someone else beyond who holds a coin in her hand.
FORTUNE-TELLER, by Jan Cossiers (década 1640). Oil on canvas.
Something evil surrounds fortune-telling. The outstanding child face man, of inharmonious proportions, carries a sword. The sexual identity of the fortune-teller cannot be said positively, and it's not clear who are part of the scene: the thief and two babies, of sinister factions, place their sights far away, remaining silent about the theft. The observer is included in the scene although doesn't see the reason for the man's hopelessness behind the thief.
FORTUNE-TELLER, by Caspar Netscher (1666-70). Oil on canvas.
A strange characterization: both chiromancer and thief wear luxurious clothes, and the soldier might be in disgrace: his hat lies on the floor, and he's seated, holding a walking stick. But that's not enough to be free from theft: he's stolen by people who seem to be in a good economic situation.
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