Rambling with Rothenstein (23): Gainsborough, a joy of life.

centre: Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788) Self Portrait [c.1759, National Portrait Gallery]

right: Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792) Self Portrait [c.1749, National Portrait Gallery]

And of course, on the left, our very own John Rothenstein [by Jacques-Emile Blanche; 1927; National Portrait Gallery] whose book An Introduction to English Painting notes the rivalry between Joshua Reynolds and Thomas Gainsborough, explaining it through the words of (art historian and Director of the National Gallery) Charles Holmes:

“Art with Reynolds is made to seem so like a conscious intellectual force that we do less than justice to the aesthetic enthusiasm that inspired it, whereas with Gainsborough this last is plainly to the fore.”

[There’s a discussion about Reynolds and his art – “The Artist as Intellectual” – by Martin Postle c/o the Paul Mellon Centre on 18th June 2020]

That difference between the two artists seems even to play out in the two portraits above: the twenty-five year old Reynolds, with palette and brushes, looking ambitiously into the future, whilst Gainsborough, in his early thirties, gazes at us rather more pleasantly, framed by the leafy branches of a tree.

The ‘aesthetic enthusiasm’ that Holmes notes certainly comes through in Gainsborough’s painting – in his later works especially there is a thrill in the silvery-feathery-creamy strokes of the paintbrush; his colours are lighter than those of Reynolds and it’s often interesting to note the design of his pictures.

Rothenstein says: “[Whilst] Hogarth began the liberation of English portraiture from the formality imposed upon it by foreign masters, Gainsborough completed the process, and in so doing he brought to it a new spirit – fresh, informal and unselfconscious.

There is something else Gainsborough brings to his art – a joy of life.

If we were to choose just one of the nearly 400 painting at artuk.org by which to explore Gainsborough’s work, I’d suggest:

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The Rev. John Chafy Playing the Violoncello in a Landscape [c.1750–2, Tate]

which is as eccentric as “Three Ladies Adorning a Term of Hymen” (1773, Tate) by Reynolds that we discussed last time: why is a religious chap out in the middle of countryside-nowhere playing a viola?!

In his biography of the artist “Gainsborough: A Portrait”, James Hamilton describes

“With music and perhaps birdsong, Chafy, curate of Great Bricett, a village north-east of Sudbury on the road to Needham Market, is shown celebrating enjoyment in life.” (p.91)

And although an early painting, Gainsborough is only 23, it brings so much together.

There is the landscape that Gainsborough loved to paint throughout his life (indeed would have preferred to paint if there hadn’t been money in portraiture).

Note also the ‘cross’ by which the painting is planned: as the tree trunk divides the canvas diagonally one way, the foliage into the architecture divide it the other, seemingly separating culture and nature.

Then, colour-wise, the deep warm hue of the violincello balances a patch of dramatically blue sky, whilst the Rev. himself is in stark black and white.

The classical ruin we see refers to the history of art and music:

The figure in the niche holds a lyre, the attribute not only of Apollo, God of the Arts, but also of Terpsichore, the Muse of dancing and song, and Erato, the Muse of lyric and love poetry.

Yet the painting also has the very contemporary vibe of French artist Antoine Watteau:

Watteau, celebrated for his colourful and delicately sophisticated work, introduced a new type of subject into eighteenth century French painting: the fêtes galantes. These were scenes in which exquisitely dressed young people idle away time in dreamy, romantic, pastoral settings.

This must have appealed to the British sense of theatricality, dressing up and play that has so often appeared in our ramblings.

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Indeed there is a print at National Galleries Scotland of Watteau at his easel with his friend and patron playing a viola out in the forest that Gainsborough may well have seen and found as a source of inspiration.

That portrayal of the individual in a landscape was truly fashionable. This was the Age of Sensibility, when the harmony of culture and nature reflected the beauty of the soul.

Gainsborough, Thomas, 1727-1788; Portrait of a Woman

Portrait of a Woman [1750; Yale Centre]

Against a classical and landscape backdrop, this fashionable young woman holds a book on her lap as she looks towards us. The emergence of the novel in English literature raised “new ideals of personal virtue based around emotional sensitivity and the imagination” – another aspect of this Age of Sensibility.

It’s too easy to see Gainsborough’s paintings as ‘fashionable’ in any simplistic way though, for as a student in London he had been part of Hogarth’s circle – those young artists seeking modern ways of painting – and so the fact that he gives a book to the woman in this picture is important, it’s to be noted; it reflects a time of popular, socio-cultural change.

It was probably through another artist of Hogarth’s circle, Francis Hayman, that Gainsborough learnt of Watteau. We might also remember that Gainsborough would have assisted Hayman in painting the decorative scenes displayed at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens – a haven of nightlife, fireworks, supper parties and music that no doubt Gainsborough, ever vital, would have enjoyed immensely.

This returns us to the Rev. Chafy painting, for Gainsborough’s greatest passion was music: Gainsborough is known to have played several instruments with ‘native skill’ and was an active member of the Ipswich Musical Club (described by Hamilton as “a good excuse for some lively men to gather together to drink and play”, ie. rather rowdy!) which may have been where he met Chafy, making this a portrait of both friendship and shared enthusiasm – giving it that “fresh, informal and unselfconscious” flavour of modern, contemporary life that Rothenstein notes.

To keep to the music theme, we’ll end with the portrait of a composer:

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Ignatius Sancho (1729? – 1780) [1768, National Gallery of Canada]

Ignatius Sancho had the most extraordinary life. Born on a slave ship crossing the Atlantic and orphaned at the age of two he was brought to England where, in time, with a patron in Lord Montagu and access to the libraries, he began working at Montagu House as a valet, which is where this portrait was painted by Gainsborough.

As James Hamilton notes,

“Sancho, like Gainsborough, was part of the flow of thespians, artists and literati, and thus it is likely that he and Gainsborough were already acquainted, by reputation if not in person, before he walked through the door carrying the Duchess of Montagu’s mantua. Sancho’s portrait, therefore, might be classed as the portrait of a friend and fellow artist, rather than a portrait of a client sitter’s servant.” (p.242)

Active in the anti-slavery movement and increasingly renowned as a ‘man of letters’, Sancho would go on to publish A Theory of Music, two plays and

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Minuets Cotillons & country Dances for the Violin, Mandolin, German Flute, & Harpsichord. Composed by an African. [1775; British Library]

The “Minuets” can be heard on YouTube.

In “Ignatius Sancho: African Man of Letters” (unfortunately out of print, NPG) Reyahn King notes, according to Wikipedia, that: Gainsborough conveys both the warmth and humour of Sancho’s personality and his refined gentlemanly qualities.

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Thomas Gainsborough’s paintings do seem to bring a bright, personal freshness to the long tradition of portraiture in Britain.

Yet his true love was for landscape painting – a genre in the ascendant in British art despite Joshua Reynolds who, as President of the new Royal Academy, diagnosed the necessity for History Painting – the results of which we’ll look at next week.

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Rambling with Rothenstein (22): Joshua Reynolds

Reynolds, Joshua, 1723-1792; Sir Joshua Reynolds

Self-Portrait [c.1747; National Portrait Gallery]

Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792) is renowned as the first President of the Royal Academy where his lectures – published as “Discourses in Art” – stressed the Italian Renaissance traditions and learning from the Old Masters. According to John Rothenstein in “An Introduction to English Painting”, Reynolds was a great artist whose influence was as decisive as that of Hogarth.

“[Reynolds] believed that the classical artists of Italy had perfected a tradition to which no others could hold a candle, that they were, in short, masters of the great unchanging principles of painting.”

In turn he promoted art as concerning itself with ideal aspects of nature, its subjects drawn from history or mythology – so-called History Painting.

Reynolds’ own art, however, was that of portraiture, which he brought “to a maturity and splendour that caused the work of his predecessors to appear archaic and provincial by comparison” says Rothenstein.

This is a progression rather than a sudden shift, and I’m fascinated by the continuations.

Take one of Reynolds’ most (to my mind) extraordinary paintings:

Three Ladies Adorning a Term of Hymen 1773 by Sir Joshua Reynolds 1723-1792

Three Ladies Adorning a Term of Hymen [1773; Tate]

The aristocratic Montgomery sisters, Barbara, Elizabeth and Anne, are shown decorating a statue of Hymen, the Greek god of marriage and fertility, with flowers…  The women’s poses are more often associated with the Graces than portraits of aristocratic women.

This is portraiture in the Grand Manner so appreciated by Reynolds: a huge canvas, its subjects mimic renaissance ideals in reference to mythological legend; and note also the inclusion of ‘classical’ busts and columns – all to raise the art of portraiture to create “a moral and heroic symbolism”.

It’s a theatricality we can trace all the way back through the dressing-up masquerades and Roman flavours in the Baroque art of the Stuart court, not to mention the love of the theatre itself that continued to spread amongst the 18th century population of England.

This ‘bringing together’ of antiquity- and Old-Master-style was often criticised:

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Nathaniel Hone: The Conjurer [1775; National Gallery of Ireland]

This beautifully executed satirical painting (the full title of which is ‘The Pictorial Conjuror, Displaying the Whole Art of Optical Deception’) caused an outcry when it was submitted by the artist for exhibition at the Royal Academy, London, in 1775. The reason given was that included in the picture was a nude caricature of the Swiss painter Angelica Kauffman… The true cause of offence, however, was that the picture was seen as an attack on Kauffman’s friend Joshua Reynolds, President of the Royal Academy. His practice of borrowing poses from Old Master paintings to ennoble his portraits was seen by Hone as plagiarism.

It’s a harsh critique and I’m not sure entirely fair for whilst William Blake and, later, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood would also criticise Reynolds (for various reasons), JMW Turner had a much more positive view of him as a teacher and role model:

[Turner] once declared that he spent ‘the happiest perhaps of my days’ with Reynolds, and in later life Reynolds was the only English artist that Turner ever discussed – writes Peter Ackroyd in his brief biography “Turner” [Vintage, 2006]

It may be that Turner recognised Reynolds experimentation. There is a fascinating sketch in the Tate collection:

Sketch for 'The 4th Duke of Marlborough and his Family' c.1777 by Sir Joshua Reynolds 1723-1792

Sketch for “The 4th Duke of Marlborough and his Family” [1777; Tate]

This sketch shows the painter struggling with the problem of integrating the solemn splendour of the adults with a more modern, relaxed informality preferred for young children and dogs says the Tate website, suggesting that Reynolds was actively working on how a modern portrait/ conversation piece might look – the sophisticated adults amidst the ‘Hogarthian’ play of the children.

There is also an intriguing canvas in the Royal Academy collection:

Reynolds, Joshua, 1723-1792; Studio Experiments in Colour and Media

Studio Experiments in Colour and Media

This canvas was used by Sir Joshua Reynolds to experiment on gums, varnishes, oils and waxes as well as various pigments probably to record the effects of time on the colours and materials – RA

A 2015 catalogue “Joshua Reynolds: Experiments in Paint” from an exhibition at The Wallace Collection [edited by Lucy Davis and Mark Hallett] also suggests how Reynolds’s innovations as a painter were often the product of collaboration – in part, with his assistants and his students, but, more importantly, with his patrons and subjects, with whom he continually explored the possibilities of gesture, expression, performance and role-play suggesting again Reynolds’ modernity in an age of scientific research and people’s individuality and self-identities.

Certainly he brilliantly emphasises identity and personality in

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Elizabeth Linley (1754–1792), Mrs Richard Brinsley Sheridan as Saint Cecilia [1775; Waddesdon Manor, National Trust]

Elizabeth Linley was a renowned singer and writer. She’s shown playing a pipe organ, but – and here Reynolds takes us by complete surprise – Elizabeth appears to stare at clouds and a ray of light that materialise above the organ suggesting perhaps her extraordinary musicality and imagination, recognising certainly Reynolds’ play and enjoyment in his art-making.

Elizabeth was muse to a number of painters, including Thomas Gainsborough, Reynolds’ great rival, who we’ll meet in Rambling (23).

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There’s to be an on-line lecture on 18th June given by Martin Postle about Joshua Reynolds called “The Artist and Intellectual” see Paul Mellon Centre.

 

 

Rambling with Rothenstein (21): Sporting and Animal Painting

As Hogarth brought the streets of London to the canvas, and Wright the ‘romance’ of industry, so other artists were picking up the threads that would lead to landscape painting. In the 18th century though, rather than ‘pure’ landscape painting, this meant turning the portrait-artist’s eye to animals (principally horses), whilst the social commentary of ‘conversation piece’ painting reflected an apparently stable system of rural working life.

I note this here at the beginning because of a painting by Joseph Wright of Derby that might stand in contrast to much of what follows:

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; Earthstopper on the Banks of the Derwent

Earthstopper on the Banks of the Derwent

[1773; Derby Museum and Art Gallery; artuk.org]

The Derby Museum website notes: An earthstopper was a man paid by local huntsmen to block up foxholes, also known as earths, the night before a hunt so that the foxes couldn’t get back in and would more easily be caught.

(which raises the question of what is ‘sport’ in relation of to animals; fox-hunting)

The painting has all the mysterious ‘romance’ of Wright’s art, the moonlight, the lamplight that singles out this solitary man working through the night with his dog and horse for companions. And yet, as we might have noted from Wright’s blacksmith paintings, a certain ‘social realism’ balances the romance: the hard, lonely toil; that, even as the man works in the pay of the landowner, his ragged clothing pronounces poverty.

The difficult lives of workers in rural Georgian England are rarely pictured. Instead, the ‘gentry’ and the new ‘middling sorts’ who commissioned art for their country houses wanted subjects that announced and celebrated their status.

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As with portraiture and decorative painting, the development of art in England is interwoven with the art and artists of continental Europe. Rothenstein notes Jan Wyck (1640-1700), a Dutch-born artist who migrated with his father (also an artist) to England and developed a highly successful career as a painter of portraits as well as battle and naval scenes. One of his students was John Wootton (1686-1764) of Warwickshire who would use his training in the depiction of the battlefield as the basis to become, as Rothenstein says, “the first horse-painter of his day”. As his pictures of the hunt might well resemble battlefield scenes to an extent; many are ‘portraits’ of horses, many of which ran at Newmarket (where there had been horse-racing since the 12th century).

Wootton, John, c.1682-1764; A Grey Horse and Jockey in Red Colours, before a Stable

A Grey Horse and Jockey in Red Colours, before a Stable [1715; National Trust, Clandon Park; artuk.org]

Wootton, John, c.1682-1764; Viscount Weymouth's Hunt: Mr Jackson, the Hon. Henry Villiers and the Hon. Thomas Villiers, with Hunters and Hounds

Viscount Weymouth’s Hunt: Mr Jackson, the Hon. Henry Villiers and the Hon. Thomas Villiers, with Hunters and Hounds [1733; Tate]

“We now have to consider one who stands head and shoulders above the other sporting artists of the English School, George Stubbs [1724 – 1806]. He ranks among the greatest animal painters of the world and as a portrayer of horses he has never been excelled and seldom rivalled” – enthuses Rothenstein:

“He was the first European artist to paint animals as they are”.

Stubbs, George, 1724-1806; 'Hambletonian', Rubbing Down

‘Hambletonian’, Rubbing Down [1800; National Trust, Mount Stewart; artuk.org]

And what is especially significant about Stubbs’s work is that it is based not only on the visual appearance of the horse, but the underlying anatomy. A self-taught artist, he moved from his home in Liverpool to work as a portrait painter in York whilst studying human anatomy and, after an unfulfilling trip to Rome:

In 1756 he rented a farmhouse in the village of Horkstow, Lincolnshire, and spent 18 months dissecting horses, assisted by his common-law wife, Mary Spencer.

“The Anatomy of the Horse” was published in 1766 (many of the original drawings can be seen on the Royal Academy website), and it was this scientific research and knowledge that led to aristocratic patronage and numerous paintings, the most famous of which is no doubt “Whistlejacket” at the National Gallery. Looking through the artuk.org website, it is fascinating to see the range of Stubbs’s work – from the ‘horse-portrait’ to paintings of dogs and wild beats, and he does something more, too:

Stubbs, George, 1724-1806; Mares and Foals in a River Landscape

Mares and Foals in a River Landscape [1763-8; Tate Britain; artuk.org]

The painting is carefully composed. As Tate notes, it exemplifies the artist’s sense of pattern and rhythm:

Mares and Foals in a River Landscape utilises a classical composition which gives an overall symmetry and balance to the group, in which the three mares and their foals are placed so as roughly to form a cone, with their rumps marking the perimeter and their heads the apex. The feeding foals are essential to the composition, allowing the spectator’s eye to be drawn over the whole group in a slow revolving rhythm.

What it also does though is set the horses by themselves – although they are owned, groomed and ‘in service’ as it were – they are shown interacting within their own ‘society’; they have their own relationships with each other.

Stubbs, George, 1724-1806; A Couple of Foxhounds

A Couple of Foxhounds [1792; Tate]

And I can’t resist including these two dogs; their personalities are palpable as is their relationship with us as they gaze out quizzically, uncertainly wondering what we’re looking at!

Two other artists mentioned by Rothenstein are Benjamin Marshall (1767-1835) and James Ward (1769-1859) – contemporaries, but with very contrasting styles.

To look through Marshall’s work at artuk.org, we can see his painting is very much in the style of Stubbs, though as Rothenstein notes, there is a real severity with “every visible muscle, artery and tendon starkly emphasised”. Yet many of his paintings also remind me of Hogarth as Marshall catches the sociable atmosphere.

Diamond with Dennis Fitzpatrick Up [1799; Yale Center for British Art; artuk.org]

John Hilton, Judge of the Course at Newmarket; John Fuller, Clerk of the Course; and John Stevens, a Trainer [1804; Yale Center for British Art; artuk.org]

By contrast “Ward’s painting is turbulent. Instead of the severe calm which prevails in Marshall’s paintings, the weather of Ward’s is stormy… [for] he looked to Rubens for inspiration.

Portraits of Blackthorn, a Broodmare, with Old Jack, a Favourite Pony, the Property of E. Mundy, Esq. 1812 by James Ward 1769-1859

Portraits of Blackthorn, a Broodmare, with Old Jack, a Favourite Pony, the Property of E. Mundy, Esq. [1812; Tate]

…commissioned by Edward Miller Mundy of Shipley Hall, Derbyshire. It portrays particular animals he owned – Old Jack, a bay pony, standing on the left, and Blackthorn, a chestnut mare, with a tiny new-born foal on the grass in front of her.

Greatly influenced by Rubens, [Ward] seems in his turn to have been a model for Landseer in the manner in which he endowed animals with human emotions.

Rothenstein agrees with the Tate in regard to Ward’s influence on Edwin Landseer (1802-1873), saying “Landseer created whole mythology of animal experience. His dogs registered the sublimest emotions; his stags were the personifications of nobility and heroism.”

Landseer, Edwin Henry, 1802-1873; Suspense

Suspense [1834; Victoria and Albert Museum; artuk.org]

Landseer’s art might not be everyone’s cup of tea; it reflects the high emotional tone of Victorian art and deep sentimentality, and certainly seems a long way from the Georgian artists of the previous century. Rothenstein is particularly dismissive: Landseer’s appeal perhaps escapes us now… [it all seems] rather facile.”

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The chapter on “Sporting and Animal Painting” skips quite a long way (and there is more to be said when we discuss landscape art). Next time though we’ll return to Portraiture through the work of Joshua Reynolds.

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However, just to return to the introduction and the recognition that the countryside was a very different place depending on whether you were an earthstopper or a landowner, some of James Ward’s paintings interestingly depict the less decorative ‘working’ side of rural life.

Ward, James, 1769-1859; Interior of a Stable

Interior of a Stable [1830s, Yale Center for British Art; artuk.org]

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Tending the Piglets [no date; Christie’s]

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Rambling with Rothenstein (20): Joseph Wright of Derby – a visual alchemy

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; Self Portrait

Self Portrait by Joseph Wright of Derby (1734–1797)
[1780; Yale Center for British Art; artuk.org]

In “An Introduction to English Painting”, John Rothenstein gives only one paragraph to Joseph Wright of Derby (1734-1797) despite marking his equivalent importance to William Hogarth in terms of creating a new and original genre of art in a quite alternative setting: working outside of London, reflecting the growth of industrial culture, finding patrons among manufacturers and the scientific community, and developing “the fullest expression of the romance of the early years of the Industrial Revolution.”

And yet, it seems to me, there is an extremely important difference between the paintings of Hogarth and Wright even beyond these circumstances.

Hogarth’s art, as we have seen, is primarily ‘narrative’, a visual story-telling through a series of developing scenes – akin to book illustration and theatre performance. His subject is the drama of everyday life; a contemporary ‘staging’ that often invites the viewer to enjoy and to think-through ideas of personal morality and social in/justice.

Wright’s paintings also focus the drama of contemporary life, only they record very different aspects of Georgian Britain: scientific research, learning and industry. One of his most famous paintings along these lines is “An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump” [1768, The National Gallery], but if we look at An Iron Forge, interesting ideas come to light…

An Iron Forge 1772 by Joseph Wright of Derby 1734-1797

An Iron Forge [1772; Tate Britain]

“An Iron Forge” is one of five ‘night pieces’ which Wright made between 1771 and 1773, taking as his subject the blacksmiths’ shops and forges of Derbyshire. In this scene of a small iron forge at work, an iron-founder and his family are bathed in the warm light cast by a newly forged white-hot iron bar, which has been dragged out of the nearby furnace by an assistant. Wright adapted the scale for dramatic effect, compressing the scene to accommodate the machinery and the figures.

The painting is not ‘simply’ a record of life in the forge, however. As the Tate notes:

the modernity of the painting lies in its heroic treatment of a theme from common life. According to the high-minded art theories of the period, such a prosaic scene of ordinary working men did not warrant such a dignified treatment.

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; A Boy Admiring a Statuette by Candlelight

A Boy Admiring a Statuette by Candlelight

[1760, by a follower of Wright; Derby Museum and Art Gallery; artuk.org]

Like Hogarth, Wright is encouraging the viewer to think about the changes and ethics of modern life, only he doesn’t do so by ‘story-telling’ as such – he calls upon us to look hard and think visually (like a scientist) not only in terms of the subject, but its presentation in the use of light, for example…

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; A Philosopher by Lamplight

A Philosopher by Lamplight (or a hermit)

[1769; Derby Museum and Art Gallery; artuk.org]

Many of Wright’s paintings use the drama of chiaroscuro – the sharp, dramatic contrasts of light and dark (inspired by Caravaggio and his followers) – created by candlelight or moonlight, or as in the forge the fire of heated metal, at the heart of a darkened room or at night.

Symbolically this is the light of enlightenment; the Age of Reason, knowledge emerging from ignorance – and Wright himself was deeply involved with the development of new ideas and understandings by way of, for example, the Lunar Society in Birmingham and friendships, as one can see from his portraiture, with people such as

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; Dr Erasmus Darwin (1731-1802)

Dr Erasmus Darwin (1731–1802) [1790s; English Heritage, Down House; artuk.org]

Erasmus Darwin was an English physician. One of the key thinkers of the Midlands Enlightenment, he was also a natural philosopher, physiologist, slave-trade abolitionist, inventor and poet.

And if we look at the Forge painting again, there is something more…

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; An Iron Forge

The extraordinary light effects and dramatic composition endow the scene with an almost religious grandeur (Tate) – broadly there is a sense of Christ’s nativity, in particular note the ‘mother and child’ – and it’s that religious element that seems to me so very important.

The Tate comments: The different ages of the iron-worker’s family update the old theme of the ‘ages of man’. The presence of his wife and children associate his work with domestic happiness and prosperity.

And elsewhere there is the discussion that, in combining this religious echo with contemporary industry, Wright is recording debates and unease on the relationship between faith and science.

But it is the way he does this that intrigues me, for Wright inspires our thinking about the social meaning of the picture not through Hogarthian narrative and story-telling progression but by purely visual means: that is, through the encounter of a modern, realist depiction with markers traditionally associated with biblical paintings. It’s this interaction of these two visual streams that stimulates our thinking beyond the picture frame. We don’t need narrative here, but we do need a knowledge of painting to create the reaction.

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The Alchymist, in Search of the Philosopher’s Stone, discovers Phosphorus, and prays for the successful conclusion of his operation, as was the custom of the ancient chymical astrologers [exhibited 1771, reworked and dated 1795; Derby Museum]

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Wright is such an interesting artist, expanding the world of English painting and ways of seeing. Moreover,  he is also important in terms of the developing art of landscape painting in Britain:

Wright of Derby, Joseph, 1734-1797; Landscape with a Rainbow

Landscape with a Rainbow [1794; Yale Center for British Art; artuk.org]

as we’ll see soon. But first, we must follow Rothenstein’s lead for, at the same time as Wright and Hogarth, “there grew up another popular art, namely, sporting and animal painting” – which leads us to the art of George Stubbs.

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Rambling with Rothenstein (19): Creating a Public Visual Culture

The cultural and economic landscape of Britain began to change dramatically as we enter the Georgian 18th century (and if you catch it quick, Lucy Worsley’s 2014 tv series “The First Georgians” is on BBC i-player at the moment) and, as we saw last time (Rambling 18), Hogarth is the perfect example of an artist asserting an independent vision and creating art beyond the circles of royalty and aristocracy.

Another artist of note might be Jonathan Richardson the Elder (1667-1745)

Richardson the elder, Jonathan, c.1664-1667-1745; Portrait of the Artist with His Palette and Manuscripts

Portrait of the Artist with His Palette and Manuscripts
Jonathan Richardson the elder (1667–1745) [c.1700; Fairfax House; artuk.org]

Really of the generation before Hogarth and essentially a portrait painter, he was perhaps more famous for writing about art (hence the manuscripts in this self-portrait). In “An Introduction to English Painting”, Rothenstein notes for example Richardson’s “An Essay on the Theory of Painting” (published in 1715) in which: he displays faith in the power of English artists to do great work which is said to have inspired both Hogarth and, later in the century, Reynolds.

[The] book is credited with being “the first significant work of artistic theory in English.”

Richardson the elder, Jonathan, c.1664-1667-1745; George Vertue (1684-1756)

George Vertue (1684–1756) by Jonathan Richardson the elder [no date; National Trust, Wimpole Hall; artuk.org]

Another important figure in this context is George Vertue (1684-1756) who

From 1713 on, Vertue was a keen researcher on details of the history of British art, accumulating about forty volumes of notebooks. He was a member of the Rose and Crown Club, with William Hogarth, Peter Tillemans and other artists and connoisseurs, and kept some records of it

these records would be written up by Horace Walpole in “Anecdotes of English Painting” which, in turn, led to the founding of the Walpole Society in 1911 which is now an excellent resource for us common viewers.

And, just to pick up also that mention of the Rose and Crown Club, as it suggests – along with the crowd that would gather at Old Slaughter’s Coffee House – what artistic society in London was like. Formed in 1704 for “for Eminent Artificers of this Nation”, the club was –  though initially” a bawdy assembly of younger artists and cognoscenti, which met weekly” –  among the more important of clubs for artists and connoisseurs, all known as the ‘Rosacoronians’.

Aside from the ‘romantic’ bawdiness this conjures up (and the all-male culture) these clubs and venues suggest the expansion and exposure of artists and painting into the Georgian public sphere, as does the increased writing on art and artists in England. That painting was being discussed further afield than previously in turn helped create an interest and a trade in contemporary works.

Rambling 3

William Hogarth: Conversation Piece (Portrait of Sir Andrew Fountaine with other men and women) [1735; Philadelphia Museum of Art]

The aristocracy had been primarily interested in the ‘old masters’ they’d bought on their grand tours; now a new class – “the middling sort” – were the audience, and the buyers. And it’s within the context of this new demand that Hogarth had both set up the St Martin’s Lane Academy and valued the Foundling Hospital as an exhibition space:

Artists associated with St Martin’s Lane were also, under the leadership of Hogarth, prominently active in providing the decorations for the charitable Foundling Hospital set up by Sir Thomas Coram. The opening of this scheme in 1746 constituted what was in effect the first public exhibition of contemporary British art, helping to establish the political and cultural relevance of artists as a professional group.

(Oxford Dictionary of National Biography)

It was all about networks, connections and promotion.

left: Francis Hayman and Grosvenor Bedford
by Francis Hayman [c.1750; National Portrait Gallery; artuk.org]

right: Portrait of the Artist at His Easel
by Francis Hayman [c.1750; Royal Albert Memorial Museum; artuk.org]

An artist closely associated with Hogarth and the Academy was Francis Hayman (1708-1776) – and aren’t these two self-portraits great? In one he is well-dressed, bewigged, standing extemporising skilfully and respectfully with his client; in the second he’s in relaxed ‘bohemian’ mood!

There are more than 70 paintings by him at artuk.org including portraits and conversation pieces – often of actors and theatrical scenes. Hayman began his career as a scene painter (and had apparently taken minor roles on stage) which is no doubt why he was invited to paint (with Hogarth and the Academy) “decorative scenes” to display at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens – and how better to promote contemporary art?

Eminent 18th-century scholar John Barrell, writing in the Times Literary Supplement, brings out Vauxhall’s significance. “Vauxhall pleasure gardens, on the south bank of the Thames, entertained Londoners and visitors to London for 200 years. From 1729, under the management of Jonathan Tyers, property developer, impresario, patron of the arts, the gardens grew into an extraordinary business, a cradle of modern painting…

…the interiors of the supper boxes were painted by members of Hogarth’s St. Martin’s Lane Academy, prominent among them Francis Hayman. Hayman provided most of the subjects, which were rapidly executed by students and assistants.

The style was determinedly rococo – light, sensuous and intensely decorative; playful, such as:

Hayman, Francis, 1708-1776; The Milkmaid's Garland (Humours of May Day)

The Milkmaid’s Garland (Humours of May Day) (decorative painting for a supper-box at Vauxhall Gardens, London) [c.1741; Victoria and Albert Museum]

This painting was one of 50 supper box pictures at Spring Gardens, Vauxhall. They each formed the back of one ‘arbour’ or supper box, an ornate wooden shelter formed of two side walls and a roof, framing picturesque views through the Gardens, where guests could take supper. At a certain moment in the evening’s entertainment, the paintings were `let fall’ to enclose the diners at the back. The front was left permanently open for the fashionable occupants to view and be viewed [V&A]

 The V&A also have “The Wapping Landlady”, again for Vauxhall Gardens

Hayman, Francis, 1708-1776; The Wapping Landlady

and subtly exalting the pleasures available there (I’m sure that chap has a look of Hayman himself!)

There was, then, the increasing public presentation and a widening appreciation of painting through the 18th century; and there were also new subjects.

Again, Hayman is at the forefront:

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A Cricket Match at Mary-le-bone Fields [1740; Lord’s MCC Collection]

Along with the theatrical conversation pieces, the scenes of London street life and the entertaining decorative scenes made for Vauxhall Gardens, popular genres such as sporting and animal paintings were a dramatic change from the extraordinary art of the Baroque that had dominated just a few decades earlier.

But whilst Hogarth and his circle concentrated on London life, Joseph Wright of Derby was painting a very different aspect of society: the industrial culture emerging in the Midlands and the North, as we’ll see in Rambling (20).

Happy viewing!

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Rambling with Rothenstein (18): All change; it’s William Hogarth!

As we enter the 18th century in “An Introduction to English Painting”, John Rothenstein reflects on the course of art-making in England so far. The Reformation meant a near-deserted landscape for visual culture with the destruction and distrust of any religious and church art tradition. When we do find painting, it is within the closed circles of power, the monarchy and aristocracy, to which artists from the continent for the most part have been invited to create an art of ‘magnificence’, of show and display, echoing and reflecting the glamour and ostentation of European counterparts. For three centuries, any free opportunity for artists to explore painting and creativity had been severely restricted; even in aristocratic portraiture – the dominant art form – the demand was for little more than “stylish and flattering likenesses”.

And whilst there were studios and workshops with apprentices, they were making art to order: there were no art schools as such.

All of this would gradually change through the new century.

The painters at work in England… had two attributes in common: they one and all exalted, in the persons of kings, noblemen, statesmen, merchants and clergy, the established order of society, and none of them made any comment upon it.

Enter William Hogarth (1697-1764)

Hogarth, William, 1697-1764; William Hogarth

Hogarth’s Self-portrait (‘Portrait of Hogarth, painting the figure of Comedy’)

[1754; National Portrait Gallery; artuk.org]

Given the word-based culture of England in which his art is rooted, Hogarth was what we might call a story-teller painter; importantly he looked at the world around him, everyday London society, its events and characters.

His idea was that his paintings might be akin to theatrical productions, but based on the “dramatic possibilities of contemporary life.”

And looking through the artuk.org website, it’s interesting to note that Hogarth often painted actual theatrical performances, such as:

Hogarth, William, 1697-1764; A Scene from 'The Beggar's Opera' VI

“A Scene from ‘The Beggar’s Opera’ VI” [1731; Tate]

As the Tate notes:

This is one of the first paintings made of an English stage performance. It depicts a climactic scene from John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera, first performed at the Lincoln’s Inn Theatre in 1728. Here the opera’s central character, a highwayman named Macheath, stands chained, under sentence of death, between his two lovers, the jailer’s daughter, Lucy Lockit, and the lawyer’s daughter, Polly Peachum.

But more than just the scene from the play: At either side of the stage Hogarth has included members of the audience, and there is a wry nod to the current of gossip, for amongst the audience is, notably at the far right the Duke of Bolton, real-life lover of the actress Lavinia Fenton, who played the part of Polly Peachum.

 In recording a particular performance then, Hogarth takes in the broader contextual theatre of human relationships on and off the stage.

That (very Shakespearean) sense of the human drama comes across even in Hogarth’s early ‘conversation pieces’

 A conversation piece is an informal group portrait popular in the eighteenth century, small in scale and showing people – often families, sometimes groups of friends – in domestic interior or garden settingsTate

Hogarth, William, 1697-1764; Woodes Rogers (c.1679-1732), and his Family

Woodes Rogers (c.1679–1732), and his Family [1729, National Maritime Museum]

It’s very interesting to read the National Maritime Museum’s commentary on this painting: Rogers was a famous Bristol seaman and would become the Governor of the Bahamas – note the globe, the ship, the map, the tropical fruit – and if you’ve seen David Olusoga’s recent “A House Through Time” [BBC i-player] you’ll realise immediately that this is all connected with the Atlantic slave trade and the creation of Empire.

Again, it’s both the on-stage and off- that matter when it comes to looking at Hogarth’s paintings.

Hogarth includes all the trappings that tell the story of Woodes Rogers and his Family, and there is a theatricality, a performance, as the son presents the map to the patriarch; his wife is disturbed from her reading, an audience member along with servant and dog (neither of whom look particularly impressed!)

Lighter, it would seem, is:

Hogarth, William, 1697-1764; Portrait of a Family

“Portrait of a Family” [1735; Yale Center for British Art, artuk.org]

Hogarth’s characters are relaxed, all in conversation and interacting with each other – and the kitten in the foreground playing with the yarn basket knocked off the table – far from the static portraits we’ve seen previously. It is like a scene from the theatre, a ‘caught in the moment’ picture of the (wealthy) life of a family at home.

However, this everyday picture, in documenting the furnishings and trappings of the well-to-do, also reveals the extent of imperial trade: not only in terms of the material luxury of the room, the clothes, the situation itself – which we could well contrast with Hogarth’s etching “Gin Lane” (see Tate) – but also because, on the extreme left, half-way down (the painting has been cropped at some time in its history) is a pair of hands carrying a tray. They are the hands of a young African servant (see Yale Center).

Hogarth’s great innovation in painting the drama of everyday life was to create series of pictures with developing stories:

A Harlot’s Progress

A Rake’s Progress

 Marriage A La Mode

and others are all well-known ‘morality tales’, satirical takes on the hypocrisies of 18th century life (see Apollo magazine), including the divide of rich and poor on London’s streets in the Four Times A Day series (there’s a short introductory clip from BBC2 here).

Hogarth’s “Four Times A Day: Night”

For perhaps the first time since the Reformation, Hogarth connected the common viewer to the art of painting – not only through his depictions of recognisable everyday life and darkly humorous critiques of society through story-telling (which often became etchings for sale, or printed and discussed in the popular press) – but by displaying and exhibiting art in the public sphere.

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Portrait of Thomas Coram by Hogarth [1740, Foundling Museum]

Most important in this context is the Foundling Hospital set up by Captain Thomas Coram in Bloomsbury to look after abandoned children to which Hogarth donated his portrait of Coram and other paintings, and encouraged other artists to show their work on its walls, such as:

Hayman, Francis, 1708-1776; The Finding of Infant Moses in the Bullrushes

The Finding of Infant Moses in the Bullrushes by Francis Hayman (1708–1776)
[1746; The Foundling Museum; artuk.org]

Moreover, Hogarth set up an art school, the St Martin’s Lane Academy, which ran from 1735-1771, its members drawn from the informal circle of artists who met at Slaughter’s Coffee House, including the very young Thomas Gainsborough.

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A Life Class at St Martin’s Lane Academy
by Johann Zoffany RA (1733 – 1810) [c.1761; Royal Academy]

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One way or another, Hogarth’s paintings are entwined with broader aspects of society than had ever been known in England; he is instrumental in creating a new visual culture. Next time, we’ll look at the circle of artists around Hogarth andtheir new subject ‘popular’ matter, and then we’ll introduce another contemporary artist but one working outside the purlieus of London, Joseph Wright of Derby.

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Other notes:

One of the elements Hogarth brings into his London street scenes is the general cacophony of the city and its people and there’s a great discussion from the Foundling Museum’s exhibition Hogarth & The Art of Noise.

Also worth looking up is the contemporary artist Lubaina Himid, who won the Turner Prize in 2017, and whose work draws on Hogarth’s paintings.

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Hogarth, William, 1697-1764; A Modern Midnight Conversation

A Modern Midnight Conversation

[New Walk Museum & Art Gallery; artuk.org]

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Rambling with Rothenstein (17): Beyond the Beauties

To start with an update: a huge thank you to Lydia Hamlett who has sent us the self-portrait that Antonio Verrio included in the vast Heaven Room wall-painting at Burghley House (see Rambling no.16).

Rambling 1

And it is a perfect beginning: it suggests something rather interesting about how we might look at Restoration portraiture. For, whilst we might see Verrio’s self-portrait as a ‘documentary’ record of himself, he portrays himself within the drama of the scene at hand (he is at Vulcan’s forge). He is both a ‘real person’ as the artist responsible for the work and a ‘character’ within the spectacle of the story – blurring the boundaries of reality and fiction as was so fundamental to Baroque art at its most spectacular.

This blurring, one suspects, was part and parcel of the culture of the Restoration court; its way of seeing itself.

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Rambling 2

Sir Peter Lely: Self-Portrait [1660; National Portrait Gallery]

Through to the end of the 17th century, portraiture continues to dominate, indeed it seems there was an avalanche of portrait production, especially in workshops associated with the court. Often, as is the case with Peter Lely (1618-1680) who became Principal Painter in Ordinary to Charles II in 1661, the demand was so great that whilst he painted the ‘heads’, his colleagues and pupils completed the rest of the portrait to set designs.

The most famous paintings by Lely are probably the Windsor Beauties, although in “An Introduction to English Painting” our guide John Rothenstein is less than convinced:

“In undertaking the Windsor Beauties Lely was not free to pursue the perfection of his art, instead he was compelled not only to flatter, but in deference to the taste of the Court, to emphasise the sensual aspect of his sitters […which is] deleterious to portraiture, for since the end of that art is the rendering of individual character…   the exaggeration of a characteristic that is common to a great part of mankind is inevitably detrimental.”

Left: Portrait of Frances Theresa Stuart (Duchess of Richmond and Lennox, 1648-1702) as Diana [1662; Royal Collection]

Right: Portrait of Barbara Villiers (1st Duchess of Cleveland; 1641-1709) as Minerva [1665; Royal Collection]

They are portrayals of sensuality rather than of individuals, Rothenstein concludes, following apparently in the steps of diarist Samuel Pepys who declared the portraits ‘not like’ their supposed sitters!

Inevitably, having been painted and displayed in an environment as decadent and libertine as the court of Charles II and to include a portrait of Barbara Villiers, the king’s mistress, the portraits are seen as akin to a beauty pageant (or even ‘pin-ups’; they were utterly scandalous to the Victorians).

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Portrait of Anne Hyde [Duchess of York, 1637-71) [1662; Royal Collection]

Yet, as Brett Dolman writes, this is rather unfair to both the artist and the sitters, for
The ten portraits in fact represent not royal mistresses, but some of the closest friends of Charles II’s sister-in-law, Anne Hyde, Duchess of York, and were collected by Anne for display originally in her apartments at St James’s Palace.

The Windsor Beauties then were paintings commissioned by a woman of her women friends.

They were, Dolman continues, “a fashion statement of cultural sophistication” done in the sleepy-eyed-pose-and-loose-fitting-robes-style of the day.

Might we see the portraits as recording a friendship group and their shared enjoyment of the exuberant, fictional, fashionable Baroque culture? This would undermine Rothenstein’s way of seeing, his expectation that portraits should reveal an individual’s character.

Instead we have that ‘crossing-boundaries’ aspect of the Baroque between ‘reality’ and ‘fiction’ (indeed the ‘individual’ and ‘communal’). I have a whimsical idea that we might view the portraits not as individual paintings, or even an individual series, but within the context of Verrio’s wall-paintings; all part of the theatricality.

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The Windsor Beauties keep us very much within the inner sanctum of court life. However, there is a sense that, as we reach the turn of the 17th century, art is expanding and opening up.

Godfrey Kneller had settled in England in 1674 and would follow Lely as Principal Painter in Ordinary to Charles II. His most famous paintings are probably the Kit-Kat Club portraits.
The Kit-Kat Club was an early 18th-century English club in London with strong political and literary associations, committed to the furtherance of Whig objectives (ie. against absolute monarchy, for parliament and in support of the Glorious Revolution in which William and Mary were invited to take the throne in 1688), meeting at the Trumpet tavern in London, and at Water Oakley in the Berkshire countryside.

Kneller, Godfrey, 1646-1723; Sir John Vanbrugh

Sir John Vanbrugh (1664-1726) [1705, National Portrait Gallery]

Now at the National Portrait Gallery, what is so interesting about these is that although they continue to depict princes, earls and lords in the main (‘men of power’), they also include portraits of figures such as the architect John Vanbrugh, the dramatist William Congreve and poet Joseph Addison, thus recording a turn in art’s almost exclusive focus on court life to the intellectual, creative and cultural life of society.

Mary Beale’s works lead us even further away. Her’s is a fascinating story – a woman whose artistic skills supported her family, and there is a brilliant self-portrait in which she is holding a canvas (portraits of her two sons) as exemplar of her work, a palette on the wall behind:

Beale, Mary, 1633-1699; Mary Beale

Mary Beale (1633–1699) [1666; National Portrait Gallery, artuk.org]

And although she had connections to the upper echelons of society, her work also reflects to expansion of the fashion for portraiture – her commissions are often friends of friends, many of her sitters are of the clergy [see artuk.org]

Moreover – and I think most importantly – she painted her family.

Rothenstein dismisses Mary Beale as a minor artist of “dull and spiritless” work, yet the portrait of her husband Charles (1632-1705) is – I think at least – full of extraordinary character; an ‘ordinary’ man painted by an artist who’s way of seeing is far removed from Baroque flamboyance.

Beale, Mary, 1633-1699; Charles Beale (1632-1705)
We might also note the artist John Riley (1646-1691), not for his work alongside Kneller at court but, as Rothenstein notes, for painting some of the few pre-eighteenth century portraits of working class people.

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Bridget Holmes (1591-1691) [1686; Royal Collection]

Bridget Holmes, shown here at the reputed age of 96, was James II’s ‘Necessary Woman’, responsible for cleaning and preparing the royal bedchamber, polishing and dusting fragile furniture and, with the assistance of other servants, laying fires, mopping and sweeping, and emptying and cleaning chamber pots and close stool pans.

The Royal Collection also has John Riley’s portrait of Katherine Elliot (d. 1688) was James II nurse who became dresser to both his wives and at Christ Church, Oxford is Riley’s “Scullion” as discussed by Tom Lubbock.

scullion of church.tif

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As we enter the new century and the early decades of the Georgian Age then, the landscape of art – style, subject matter, ways of seeing as well as the role and position of artists – is changing and expanding.

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Rambling with Rothenstein (16): Enter Antonio Verrio

Portraiture continued to dominate the visual culture of post-1660 Restoration Britain – and we’ll look at artists such as Peter Lely, Mary Beale and Godfrey Kneller next time, as they bring us the characters of the ‘new flamboyancy’ that was Charles II’s court.

Yet as John Rothenstein notes in “An Introduction to English Art”, that dominance of portraiture was, to an extent, waning. For example, the art of landscape, he writes, “was coming unobtrusively into being” and at Dulwich Picture Gallery there is a painting by Robert Streater (or Streeter; 1621-1679):

Described… as ‘A Large Landscift don by Streeker…’, this is one of only two easel pictures documented as by Streeter, and a rare authenticated example of a landscape painted in England in this period.

Streater, Robert, 1621-1679; Landscape

“Landscape” [Dulwich Picture Gallery, c/o artuk.org]

However, it is a much more theatrical art that became the fashion of the day. With Rubens’ Banqueting House and the Gentileschis’ work at Greenwich as precedents, wall- and ceiling-painting in the Baroque style were de rigeur in palaces and country houses through to the 1720s.

Of course the “British Baroque: Power and Illusion” exhibition at Tate Britain is closed due to the lockdown, but on the website there is an excellent Exhibition Guide where, as you’ll see, many artists – as had been the case over the centuries – were invited or had migrated to Britain from Europe. As well as artists and crafts-workers bringing skills and ideas into Britain, travel to Europe – among the royal and aristocratic classes – stimulated new desires and expectations. When, after the beheading of Charles I, his supporters fled into exile, they found themselves in the Netherlands or France. And it was in Paris that the future Charles II grew up, surrounded by astonishing visual splendour – an echo of which he would bring back to London: the theatres were re-opened, the arts of poetry and wit dominated the salons, everything was show in this extravagant, decadent, scandalous age.

Verrio, Antonio, c.1636-1639-1707; Antonio Verrio

Antonio Verrio: Self-Portrait (c.1700; National Portrait Gallery, artuk.org)

And the leading light of the Baroque revolution was Antonio Verrio; born near Naples in 1636, his artistic skill brought him work throughout Italy and France. It was in Paris that he met Ralph Montagu (1st Duke of Montagu) – appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to the French Court by Charles II – and it was Montagu who invited Verrio across the Channel in March 1672.

For details of Verrio’s life and work in full, the essays by Cecile Brett and Brett Dolman under the Research & Resources page of the British Murals Network are fascinating to read. There is also a brilliant article by Laurel O Peterson in Journal 18 on “A New Golden Age: Politics and Mural Painting at Chatsworth”.

Verrio’s London first commissions were a huge success and he rapidly became “the artist of fashion” and very soon received a commission from the King himself…

Rambling 3

Rambling 3: The Sea Triumph of Charles II [c.1674; Royal Collection Trust]

The King, wearing classical armour, is driven through the water by Neptune in a high, shell-backed chariot. He is accompanied by three female figures carrying crowns and embodying his three kingdoms. Above his head Fame holds a scroll inscribed IMPERIVM OCEANO FAMAM QVI TERMINET ASTRIS (‘Let the boundary of his empire be the ocean and the limits of his fame be the stars’). Time and a female figure hold a wreath and a helmet above his head. In the sky Envy is struck by lightning and chased by putti with the attributes of Peace and Love, and two more putti carry the royal arms on a shield. Beyond are Minerva and Venus looking down on the British fleet below, including a warship flying the royal standard.

Verrio’s next commission from the King was to decorate the north range of Windsor Castle – a massive project that would take ten years to complete with a retinue of assistants: twenty ceilings, three staircases, the King’s Chapel and St George’s Hall.

Today, only three of the ceilings remain [see Royal Collection Trust], including The Banquet of the Gods, in the King’s Dining Room.

Rambling 5

There is also a sketch at the Tate for another ceiling – this time for the Duke of Monmouth – which gives a real sense of Verrio’s detailed and dramatic work:

An Assembly of the Gods

Verrio, Antonio, c.1636-1639-1707; Sketch for a Ceiling Decoration: An Assembly of the Gods

They are extraordinary images; the walls and ceilings open up into the Heavens, gods, goddesses and putti fly in and out of these theatrical trompe l’oeil vaults; on entering such a room the common viewer must have been shocked and transported as reality merged with the imaginary, undermining ‘solid’ architectural space.

Charles II had denizened Verrio, so that as a Catholic he was still allowed to work in Britain, a state that continued under James II’s short reign. However, with the Glorious Revolution of William and Mary in 1688, the Test Act (the underlying principle of which was that only people taking communion in the established Church of England were eligible for public employment – Wikipedia) was strictly re-imposed.

However, a private commission for John Cecil, 5th Earl of Exeter and his wife Anne at Burghley in Lincolnshire are surely Verrio’s most stunning and outrageous achievements. The BBC has film footage and there’s an essay with images by Rachel Rhine – both of which help envisage the true extent of the decorations.

I can’t resist this image of the Devil’s cat though, it’s jaws, open and menacing, the gates to Hell’s fires:

Rambling 6

The Hell Staircase

Much more pleasant is of course

The Heaven Room:

Rambling 7

(I’m fascinated by that rainbow cutting across the scene above Vulcan’s forge, its brilliant colour heightening the dramatic impact even further. Is it the symbolic representation of the painter’s palette? There is also Verrio’s self-portrait in this scene too – although I can’t find a close-up image – connecting with both the rainbow then, as well as the craft-making, metal-working of the forge/ workshop).

Again, a two-minute clip from the BBC is well worth viewing and there is an article on Burghley House at English Home.

William was eventually persuaded to override the Test Act, and Verrio was invited back to Court to paint ceilings and staircases at Hampton Court, including:

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Queen Anne’s Drawing Room (Historic Royal Palaces).

There were numerous other decorative painters – see British Baroque – including of course James Thornhill, whose work included the great paintings at Greenwich Hospital.

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Verrio died on 15th June, 1707. Queen Anne died in 1714, and at her passing we enter a ‘new age’. Mural painting did not however disappear with them; the fashion had moved from royals to aristocrats and so to the newly ascendant classes of bankers, traders and merchants.

In their newly-built out-of-town houses, artists such as Gerard Lanscroon – one of Verrio’s students and colleagues on numerous projects, including Chatsworth (where Verrio ‘immortalised’ the housekeeper, Mrs Hackett (Derbyshire Life) –

Rambling 9

would continue painting extraordinary scenes of gods, goddesses and muses, such as at Beaumont House, Southgate.

Rambling 9

The Beaumont’s Apollo and the Muses

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Rambling with Rothenstein (15): Orazio & Artemisia Gentileschi in London

If Peter Paul Rubens’ visit to Britain, and his commission for the painted ceiling at Banqueting House, marks the early years of Charles I’s reign, then the arrival of two other stars of the European art world, Orazio and Artemisia Gentileschi might mark its ending.

As the National Gallery notes, Orazio moved to London in 1626 where he was employed as court painter for Charles I. He was one of the first practitioners of Caravaggism in England and was held in great esteem. He remained in the country for the rest of his life.
And Breeze Barrington, in the Apollo Magazine writes:
At the English court Gentileschi proved popular with the queen [Henrietta Maria] and was given several important commissions, including the ceiling painting at the Queen’s House, Greenwich (now at Marlborough House), which his daughter, Artemisia, came from Naples to help him finish towards the end of his life.

Rambling 1

An Allegory of Peace and the Arts [c. 1635-8; Royal Collections Trust]

The subject of the ceiling is an allegory of Peace reigning over the Arts. High in the heavens, in the large central scene a personification of Peace with olive branch and staff preside over a gathering of twelve female figures. Directly beneath her is Victory wearing a crown and holding a palm and laurel wreath, her foot resting on a cornucopia from which fruit spills.

The Royal Collection website explores this further (well worth visiting!) and notes something very interesting: there was a book of ‘designs’ by Cesare Ripa called Iconologia (published in 1593) which served as the principal source for allegorical personifications throughout this Baroque period.

The Encyclopaedia Britannica notes:

Iconography, the science of identification, description, classification, and interpretation of symbols, themes, and subject matter in the visual arts. The term can also refer to the artist’s use of this imagery in a particular work. The earliest iconographical studies, published in the 16th century, were catalogues of emblems and symbols collected from antique literature and translated into pictorial terms for the use of artists.

And there is a digitised edition c/o the British Library

L0035389 Personification of 'Art' from Cesare Ripa's 'Iconologia...'.

This for example is the personification of “Art”, and there is no doubt that such ‘catalogues’ would have been essential training to 17th century artists across Europe – the various figures composed to create an image suitable to the desire of patrons. With regard to the Gentileschis’ ceiling for example, Catherine McCormack writes:

The overriding message here is verbiose but with an essential concrete message to impart – that Peace (a product of good government and rule) allows the endeavours of learning, knowledge and creativity to flourish under the guidance of the cool headed Reason, in a mutually reinforcing relationship with victory and prosperity for the British realm.

That Artemisia assisted her father on the Greenwich commission is still debated, however historical novelist Alexandra Lapierre writes up the combined artistic mission of father and daughter as the ‘final instalment’ in her historical novel Artemisia (Vintage, 2001) – a story of the competitive love between the two artists. What is so excellent about the novel is that Lapierre brings in the cultural contexts of London and Britain in the mid-17th century: the mistrust of visual art amongst the general population for example: “In their eyes, painting, music and poetry charmed the senses and perverted souls.” That the King and Queen nevertheless associated themselves with all manner of artistic forms, from theatrical performances to decorative paintings when the Queen’s Catholic faith was well-known was an extraordinarily critical matter across a society “where the Pope was viewed as the Antichrist.”

Amidst such difficulties however, the Gentileschi ceiling was completed. Here it is described by Alexandra Lapierre:

“There, Peace and the Arts explodes in a symphony of greens, golds and lavenders, just as Orazio had dreamed. At the centre of the composition, Peace sits on high in the midst of beams of sunlight which suffuse the clouds. The light spreads, like a vibration, across the faces of all the divinities. The virtuosity of the visual effect succeeds in reconciling the artificial realm of allegory with the tangible world. It is a beauty that combines the pomp by which Orazio set such stores with the full-blooded truth to life that Artemisia demanded. The ceiling immortalises a single vision: that of both Gentileschis, father and daughter.

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With the Civil War breaking out just a couple of years later (1642), the King and Queen had little time to enjoy these ceilings. However, such artistry will re-appear with an even more magnificent flourish when the monarchy is restored, Charles II takes the throne in 1660, and another extraordinary artist from Italy is presented at court: Antonio Verrio.

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In 2019, the National Gallery was able to buy Orazio Gentileschi’s “The Finding of Moses” which was commissioned by Charles I of England for his wife, Queen Henrietta Maria, almost certainly to celebrate the birth of their son and heir, the future Charles II. It originally hung in the Queen’s House at Greenwich, on the banks of the River Thames.

And what is very interesting is that: This location is reflected in the lush green landscape, which looks far more like England than Egypt where the story is set.

Rambling 3

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The National Gallery’s exhibition of works by Artemisia Gentileschi has of course necessarily been postponed. However there is information about her paintings on the website including her “Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting” which was in Charles I’s collection (now in the Royal Collection) and probably painted during Artemisia’s time in with her father London.

Royal Collection

The Royal Collection website is full of detail, noting for example:

Artemisia follows the standard emblematic handbook of the period, the Iconologia of Cesare Ripa, where Painting is described as ‘a beautiful woman, with full black hair, dishevelled, and twisted in various ways, with arched eyebrows that show imaginative thought, the mouth covered with a cloth tied behind her ears, with a chain of gold at her throat from which hangs a mask, and has written in front ‘imitation”. Artemisia captures the essentials of this description, leaving out the inscription on the mask and the gagged mouth, intended to symbolise that Painting is dumb.

One can be sure that Artemisia was far from “dumb” which is why I would highly recommend Alexandra Lapierre’s novel and the National Gallery exhibition – when a new date has been announced!

(Next time: Antonio Verrio).

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