I was reminded by seeing this Rembrandt self-portrait in the flesh last weekend of the amazing and uplifting effect of outrageous virtuosity. Here’s the artist at around 22, painting one of his first self-portraits, in a way completely at odds with the more formal portraits he and others were producing at the time. Lit from behind, the hair details scratched into the paint, a gaze that’s felt rather than seen, and a wall as background whose texture takes on a life of its own.

Plenty of examples in music, of course: one that hit me (again) the other day was the first movement of Bach’s fifth Brandenburg concerto - the long, long passage that leads into the return of the main theme. The texture changes to a simple harmonic filling, descending patterns in flute and violin overlapping - there’s nothing thematic happening. The music moves down by step in sequence … and again … and again. Each time the pattern falls, you wonder how long it can go on - the descent seems to take all the tension out of the musical argument, the repetitions become hypnotic, I find my pulse slowing and breath calming. It’s unique in Bach, and I don’t know of another passage in music that makes me feel so … relaxed yet anticipatory? grounded yet expectant? artfully confused?

And one more that sticks in my mind - I’m not a fan or follower of soccer, but I did see this very early David Beckham goal the day it happened, and it’s stuck in my memory ever since.

As well as supreme self-confidence (even arrogance) there’s a generosity and playfulness about all of these that warm my spirit. Why did you do that? Because I can…