Dodging the oncoming bikes, I climb a low mound a few feet above water level and look across at the city. It is a clear evening: the horizon holds a delicate tang of orange that ascends, becoming royal blue, then indigo. In front of me is a quay where a few boats are moored; beyond that, an expanse of water, and then the city itself, a smudge of bare trees, steep gables and church spires. It’s pleasant, but scarcely dramatic, and yet I think that this view changed the way my brain is wired. In about 1660 an artist came down here and painted what he saw. Johannes Vermeer was not a famous man then, nor would he be for more than 200 years, but that picture, View of Delft, would prove pivotal in art history.
