Showing posts with label Eighteenth Century Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eighteenth Century Art. Show all posts

Monday, November 28, 2022

Art Eyewitness Book Review: William Blake vs. the World by John Higgs

   


   William Blake vs. the World 

By John Higgs

Pegasus Books/$38.95/400 pages

Reviewed by Ed Voves

The title of John Higgs' new book on the poet and artist William Blake is well-chosen: William Blake vs. the World.

After studying Blake's life, it is fairly obvious that the "world" or, rather, the political and cultural establishment of Great Britain, did regard Blake in an unfavorable light. To some, Blake was a threat to society. Others wrote him off as a deranged lunatic who somehow evaded being sent to "Bedlam." 

The details of Blake's many misfortunes are well-known. With considerable difficulty, he faced-down a charge of sedition during the Napoleonic Wars. His career as an artist, after a promising start in print making, was a study in failure.

John Higgs, a talented writer on a wide-range of subjects, recounts the course of William Blake's life with verve and insight. But he does so in the context of a deep reading of religion, psychology, cognitive science and even quantum mechanics. This is an unconventional biography of a man so ahead of his time that we are still following in the footsteps of his quest to understand God, humanity and the cosmos. 



William Blake, Newton, c.1805

Born in 1757, Blake's early years marked the transition from the Enlightenment to the Age of Revolution, from sense to sensibility. By the time he was buried in a pauper's grave in 1827, Blake had witnessed the fall of the Bastille and the rise of "dark Satanic mills." Yet, his mind always reached beyond these contemporary events in the search for life's ultimate meaning. On some level, Blake's restless spirit is active still.  

How can that be? Where and how can an artist and poet who died nearly two centuries ago remain alive? 

Blake still lives in the realm of the imagination. It was a place of transcendent importance to him, as Higgs explains in considerable detail.

The "one central pillar of the Blakean worldview...," Higgs writes,"is the idea that the imagination is divine."

Blake spent a lot of time dwelling in his imagination. Higgs describes his visions of angels as a child. Blake's parents recognized that their son was exhibiting unusual behavior, but did not attempt to restrain him. Blake was not sent to school, receiving basic instruction at home, largely through Bible reading, and then allowed to roam free over the fields and heaths which still were within easy reach of London.



William Blake, Songs of ExperienceFrontispiece,1794-1825 

As a result, Blake's imaginative powers were not dragged down into the constraints of the daily "dawn-to-dusk" rut of doing prescribed tasks by prescribed methods. 

Even when he was apprenticed to a professional engraver, James Basire, Blake was given wide latitude. Basire, noticing his artistic skill and ability to work without supervision, sent Blake to Westminster Abby to sketch the royal monuments for a series of prints. While engaged in this work, Blake developed an acute sense of the myth-history of Britain which he added to his growing awareness of the infinite world.  

By the time he reached adulthood, Blake had attained a very high level of proficiency in drawing and printmaking. This skill-set enabled him to support himself with commercial commissions while launching into creative work of his own. 



William Blake, Songs of lnnocenceFrontispiece, 1789-1825

In the revolutionary year of 1789, Blake published an illustrated volume of  poems, Songs of Innocence, and The Book of Thel, the first offering of his private mythology, which would grow more complex and increasingly difficult to comprehend.

During the next few years, Blake seemed on the brink of success. He made a great technical breakthrough, developing a method of etching which combined words and images on the same printed sheet. These could be hand-tinted or left uncolored, depending on the taste and available funds of the public.



William Blake, Los with the Sun,
 Plate 97 of Jerusalem,1804-1820

This technique, which Blake called relief etching, should have brought a steady stream of publishers knocking on his door. In 1796, such a commission came his way, to illustrate a popular volume of religious poetry, Night Thoughts by Edward Young. Blake pulled out all the stops to insure success but the book was a critical and commercial disaster.

Now began in earnest the long ordeal of "William Blake vs the World." Blake struggled against poverty, critical derision and suspicions of political treason. He was not completely without support. His long-suffering wife, Catherine, stood by him, and a devoted collector, a British civil servant named Thomas Butts, commissioned a series of scenes from the Bible. These pictures have few equals in the religious art of modern times.



William Blake, The Soldiers Casting Lots for Christ's Garments,1800

During these dark years, Blake came close to the breaking point. A recently identified self-portrait, dating to 1802, shows Blake with the haunted, wounded eyes of a proverbial "prophet without honor in his own country." 

 


William Blake, Self-Portrait, c. 1802

The vicious attacks upon him reached a crescendo in 1809 with the review by Robert Hunt of Blake's exhibition - the only one he ever mounted. Hunt dismissed the display of art as "a farrago of nonsense, unintelligibleness and egregious vanity, the wild effusions of a distempered brain."

Somehow, Blake struggled on. Conversing "with my friends in Eternity," Blake nurtured his thoughts and reflections into advanced interpretations of the human mind and soul. 



William Blake, Title Page of Jerusalem (Plate 2),1804-1820

Higgs' analysis of this long process is positively brilliant. He handles complex issues in an engaging, understandable manner which non-specialists in Blake studies (like myself) can readily grasp. Higgs writes of Blake:

His myth has all the trappings of gods and apocalypses, but it too is fundamentally about the struggles of a mind... Blake, from this perspective can be seen as a psychologist long before the field was founded. When his characters are understood as separate parts of his psyche, the clashes and dramas that occurs between them can be seen as Blake trying to understand his own mental landscape. When the angels and demons who appear to be without are understood to come from within, all mythical and theological sagas are revealed to be the clashing energies of the mind.



William Blake, 
The Vision of God from Illustrations of the Book of Job, 1825-26

Combining art and poetry, Blake mapped-out and illustrated the emotional terrain he explored. Not until very late in life would he find like-minded souls to join him. Fortunately, in the 1820's, a group of talented young artists, including Samuel Palmer and George Richmond, acknowledged him as a prophet and a sage. For Blake, whose long ordeal certainly informed his late-career Illustrations of the Book of Job, the friendship of these idealistic artists must indeed have seemed like a providential act of God.

Even the British establishment eventually came round. The preface to Milton: a Poem in Two Books was set to music in 1916 by Sir Hubert Parry, later with orchestration by Sir Edward Elgar. Today, this hymn, Jerusalem, has become the unofficial anthem of England.

Blake, though he held great hope for the spiritual redemption of the people of England, would not be pleased that his poem should now be embraced for  political reasons - or any other agenda points save leading people to God. 

In some of the most hard-hitting commentary in this outstanding book, Higgs rebukes the repeated misuse of Blake's words and images by the "powers that be."

There is now a long tradition of Blake being celebrated by authorities in ways that were, to those who understand his work, fantastically inappropriate. When the Labour and Conservative parties sing "Jerusalem" at their conferences, they are presumably unfamiliar with the context of those words in the preface to the poem "Milton"... They seem unaware that they are calling for the revolutionary overthrowing of the 'ignorant Hirelings' of 'the Camp, the Court, & the University'.

Higgs focuses on several examples of heedless misappropriation of Blake. We will look at one, involving a particularly famous Blake image, created in 1794. 



William Blake, Urizen or The Ancient of Days,
 Frontispiece to Europe A Prophecy,1794-1821

Blake's The Ancient of Days, recalls Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel frescoes.This bearded figure is frequently confused with the image of God the Father.To Blake, he was a more problematical being, capable of both good and evil: Urizen.

Urizen, leaning forward to measure the universe with his geometer's compass, is a symbol of the Age of Reason, which Blake detested. To Blake, Urizen represents aspects of human intellect which, at best, need to be controlled. In other references, Urizen is identified, as the "mistaken demon of heaven" or, quite bluntly,"Satan is Urizen."

Somehow or other, officials in London never got the memo. 

In November 2019, to highlight a very successful exhibition of Blake's art at the Tate Gallery in London, the image of Urizen was projected on to the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. It was an astounding blunder. Higgs writes:

For those familiar with the symbolism of Blake's mythology, it was difficult to believe this was actually happening.

Higgs goes on to question the motives of the officials of St.Paul's in agreeing to project the image of Urizen/Satan on to one of the most sacred churches in the world.

Is it possible they did not understand Blake's mythology... The alternative is that they fully understood the implications of branding a cathedral with Urizen and, in a moment of clarity, agreed that it made sense.

After nearly two centuries of close examination of Blake's writings and art, there is clearly a lot more work to be done. However, mistakes, blunders and bloopers have a way of clearing the air and getting people back to the "drawing board." Perhaps the Urizen-miscue at St. Paul's will have that effect, sparking renewed interest in the prophetic genius of William Blake - and what he really believed.

John Higgs' William Blake vs. the World is a near-perfect book for getting a grasp on Blake's intellectual and artistic achievements. My only caveat - and a relatively minor one - is the disappointing selection of black and white illustrations. They are few in number and rather indifferent in quality.

To remedy that problem, I referred to one of my favorite books, William Blake by Kathleen Raine. Originally published in 1970, this World of Art title from Thames & Hudson has been reissued with an abundance of superb color pictures. It is a great read, too. Raine was a noted Blake scholar, as well as a poet. Her biography of Blake, like Higg's, is full of knowledge and great of heart.



William Blake, Jacob's Ladder, 1799-1806

It is highly enjoyable to match Raine's thoughts and reflections with those of Higgs, provided, of course, that the channels of "divine imagination" are left open for additional insights from "our friend in eternity," Mr. William Blake.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved   

Introductory Image: Cover art of William Blake vs. the World by John Higgs. Courtesy of Pegasus Books.

William Blake, (British,1757–1827) Newton, c.1805. Color print, ink, watercolor: 46 x 60 cm. (18 1/8 x 23 5/8 in.) Tate Gallery.

William Blake (British,1757–1827) Songs of Experience: Frontispiece, created 1794, printed ca. 1825. Relief etching printed in orange-brown ink and hand-colored with watercolor and shell gold: sheet: 6 3/16 x 5 9/16 in. (15.7 x 14.1 cm) Metropolitan Museum of Art. Rogers Fund,1917.#17.10.28

William Blake (British, 1757–1827)  Songs of Innocence: Frontispiece, 1789, printed ca. 1825. Relief etching printed in orange-brown ink and hand-colored with watercolor and shell gold: sheet: 6 3/16 x 5 9/16 in. (15.7 x 14.1 cm) Metropolitan Museum. Rogers Fund, 1917 # 17.10.2

William Blake (British, 1757-1827) Los with the Sun, Plate 97 of Jerusalem, 1804 to 1820. Relief etching printed in orange with pen and black ink, watercolor, and gold on paper: 13 1/2 x 10 3/8 inches (34.3 x 26.4 cm). Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection B1992.8.1(97)

William Blake (British,1757–1827) The Soldiers Casting Lots for Christ's Garments,1800. Pen, ink, gray wash, watercolor: 16 5/8 x 12 3/8 in. (42 x 31.4 cm). Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge University. © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

William Blake (British,1757–1827) Self-Portrait, c.1802. Pencil with black, white and gray wash, 243 x 201 mm. Collection of Robert N. Essick. (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:William_Blake,_Self_Portrait,_1802,_Monochrome_Wash.jpg)
 
William Blake (British,1757–1827) Title Page of Jerusalem (Plate 2),1804-1820. Relief etching printed in orange with pen and black ink, watercolor, and gold on paper: 13 1/2 x 10 3/8 inches (34.3 x 26.4 cm) Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection: B1992.8.1(2)

William Blake (British,1757–1827) The Vision of God from Illustrations of the Book of Job, 1825-26. Engraving: plate: 8 9/16 x 6 5/8 in. (21.7 x 16.8 cm)
sheet: 16 3/16 x 10 7/8 in. (41.1 x 27.6 cm) Metropolitan Museum of Art. Gift of Edward Bement, 1917. #17.17.1–17

William Blake (British,1757–1827) The Ancient of Days (Urizen). Frontispiece to Europe A Prophecy, 1794-1821. Relief etching, color printing, hand coloring, watercolor, pen and red ink, touched with gold, on paper. Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge University. © The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

William Blake (British,1757–1827) Jacobs Ladder, 1799-1806. Water color, pen:39.8 x 30.6 cm (15 3/4 x 12 1/8 in.) British Museum.

Sunday, October 6, 2019

Cost of Revolution at the Museum of the American Revolution, Philadelphia


 


Cost of Revolution: The Life and Death of an Irish Soldier  


Museum of the American Revolution  
Sept. 28, 2019 through March 17, 2020

Reviewed by Ed Voves
Original photography by Anne Lloyd

The American Revolution began in 1773 with a defiant prank that resulted in 340 chests of tea tossed into Boston Harbor. A decade later, on November 25, 1783, America’s struggle for independence ended with a practical joke.

The last British troops to evacuate New York City nailed the Union Jack onto the flagpole at their fort near the Battery. The Redcoats slathered grease on the flagpole so that the victorious Patriots would have a tough time replacing the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes. It took a few attempts, but Old Glory eventually was raised over New York City.

During the ten year interval between the Boston Tea Party and the British departure from New York, a living-nightmare of suffering, slaughter and sobering loss of life took place.


Xavier Della Gatta, The Battle of Paoli, 1782

The Museum of the American Revolution in Philadelphia has just opened a superb exhibition, entitled Cost of Revolution. This remarkable display of art and historic artifacts focuses on the life, sufferings and death of one soldier of the American Revolutionary War, a British officer named Richard St. George.

Before examining the life of Richard St. George, let us briefly look at the estimates of those who were killed in battle or died of disease,1775-1783: 24,000 Patriots, 24,000 British, 7,500 Hessian mercenaries and 600 French soldiers and sailors.

No figures are available for civilian deaths, but these were certainly in the thousands. Many of these non-military fatalities, as was the case in the opposing armies, were inflicted by a far deadlier foe than musket-armed foot soldiers: smallpox. A dreadful smallpox epidemic ravaged North America during the American Revolution. Particularly hard hit were African American slaves who fled to refugee camps set-up by the British early in the war, only to be stricken
.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) 
Joseph Wright of Derby's The Dead Soldier (detail), c.1789

The cost of America's Revolution? A butcher's bill likely to have numbered 75,000 dead.

With all of this slaughter and suffering, why did the Museum of the American Revolution focus on just one soldier's plight? Was the experience of Richard St. George, a lieutenant in a British light infantry unit, so revealing of the hardships of the many? Moreover, is it fitting to use the tale of a soldier who survived the war, though horribly wounded, to illustrate the "cost" of Revolution?

A resounding yes to all of the above! The decision to chronicle the life of Richard St. George is a truly outstanding effort of bringing the past to life. In this superb exhibition, the curators of Cost of Revolution probe many vital issues of the era of the American Revolution - and topics of relevance to our contemporary world, as well.
  

Thomas Gainsborough, Richard St. George Mansergh-St. George, 1776

In addition to his courageous service during the American Revolution, Richard St. George was a talented amateur artist and man of wide-ranging cultural interests. Shortly before sailing to join his British Army unit in the American colonies, St. George posed for his portrait in 1776. Selecting Thomas Gainsborough to paint his likeness was an inspired choice. Gainsborough  portrayed St. George as "every inch the officer and gentleman" but also an untested, "unbloodied" soldier.

In contrast to this "before the battle" portrait, the noted Irish artist, Hugh Douglas Hamilton (1739-1808), later painted a number of portraits of St. George still bearing the marks of his wartime head wound suffered at the Battle of Germantown in 1777. 



Anne Lloyd (Photo, 2019)
Hugh Douglas Hamilton, Richard St. George, c. 1800

This portrait of St. George, actually done after his death, shows him wearing a skull cap to cover his battle scars. 

St. George was shot in the head by one of the deadly marksmen of Washington's army. Because Germantown was  close to Philadelphia (today it is a Philly neighborhood), the wounded officer was rushed to a hospital where skilled medical care was available.

"Rushed" to a hospital is a bit of an exaggeration. St. George later drew a sketch of himself, wrapped in a blue cloak, being taken in a farm cart along with other wounded troops to an aid station. St. George entitled the sketch "My triumphant return into Philadelphia." Later, this somber scene reappeared in a painting of the Battle of Germantown which St. George commissioned an Italian artist, Xavier Della Gatta, to paint.



Richard St. GeorgeMy Triumphant Return into Philadelphia, c.1777-78

Triumphantly or not, the wounded St. George made it back to Philadelphia. Desperate injuries call for desperate remedies and that is what saved St. George. A surgeon removed part of his skull with a medical instrument called a trephine saw. 



Trephine (Skull Saw), Mütter Museum, Philadelphia

By performing this gruesome operation, fatal swelling of brain tissue was prevented. This enabled the wound to heal by keeping it bandaged and clean. Eventually a silver plate was inserted over the opening in St. George's skull.

It goes without saying that this "brain surgery" was performed without anesthetics. Wounded soldiers were given a "dram" of whiskey or brandy and had a musket ball placed in their mouths for them to "grit" their teeth upon, to keep from choking. Then the surgeons set to work amputating limbs or, in St. George's case, sawing a hole in his head. Wounds in the torso were inoperable and soldiers shot in the chest or abdomen rarely survived.

The emotional scars St. George suffered went much deeper than this nearly fatal gunshot could inflict. His brush with death created a lingering psychic condition which today we call posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). 



Richard St. George, Self-portrait of the artist, c. late 1780's

His continued suffering led St. George to investigate spiritualism and other-worldly phenomenon in the years following the Revolutionary War. St. George cultivated friendships with prominent figures in the British cultural scene, who were involved in the great shift of thought and feeling we now call Romanticism. 

With his abundant talents, incredible life experiences and sensitive disposition, St. George might well have become a major author or artist himself. St. George, alas, had one more character trait which ultimately determined that he would not "cheat" fate.

Richard St. George Mansergh-St. George was an Irishman.

Born about 1752 into a family of wealthy Protestant aristocrats, St. George was by birthright a member of Ireland's "ascendancy." St. George's family, prominent in Britain's military, owned a vast expanse of Irish lands which he eventually inherited. Courageous, self-confident to the point of arrogance, the Anglo-Irish warrior-gentry embodied Oliver Goldsmith's immortal words in The Traveller (1764)

 Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,                                                                           I see the lords of human kind pass by.                                                                               Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,                                                                         By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand;                                                               Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,                                                                             True to imagine'd right, above control ...



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) Flag from the 1798 Irish Revolt

In 1798, the seemingly absolute sway of the "Ascendancy" suddenly was challenged. Radical insurrection, triggered by the French Revolution, reached the shores of Ireland.  For the second time in his life, St. George confronted the "cost" of revolution, and this time paid the full price.

The Museum of the American Revolution received cooperation of the highest order from a number of Irish museums, making a carefully-balanced treatment of the life and times of Richard St. George possible. One of the treasures of Ireland's National Museum is on view in Cost of Revolution. This is the bloodstained pocketbook or wallet of Theobald Wolfe Tone (1763-1798), a leader of the United Irishmen, who tried to break Britain's control of Ireland.



Theobald Wolfe Tone's Pocketbook, National Museum of Ireland

I cannot recall any previous exhibition in the United States dealing with the 1798 "Year of Liberty" in Ireland. Cost of Revolution is a true revelation in this respect.

The same can also be said for the more familiar events of the American Revolution. There is always something to be learned from history, especially when, as in the case of the Museum of the American Revolution, "living" history is the goal.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019)
 Living history educator, Matthew van Nostrand


At the press preview, several "living history" educators from the museum's staff were present. Two of them were dressed in the combat attire of St. George's regiment, the 52nd Foot, as the British called infantry units. 

St. George and his comrades were light infantrymen and here another surprise from the past is in store. During the Revolutionary War, the British became as skilled as the Americans in "Indian-style" tactics, taking cover and firing from behind trees. A Scottish officer, Major Patrick Ferguson (1744-1780), introduced a breach-loading rifle during the war. A working replica of the Ferguson rifle was on hand at the press preview which museum president, Dr. R. Scott Stephenson, expertly explained. 



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019)
 Dr. R. Scott Stephenson, director of the Museum of the American Revolution,
 explaining the breach-loading rifle invented by Major Patrick Ferguson

The Ferguson rifle was the most advanced firearm of the eighteenth century but, fortunately for Washington's Continentals, it was a little too advanced. According to Dr. Stephenson, this rapid-firing weapon quickly clogged after a number of shots, due to the build-up of residue from the crude gunpowder used during the 1770's.

Warfare during the "Age of Reason" had more in common with the horrors of the Thirty Years War than with enlightened rationalism of Voltaire and Diderot. 

As the centerpiece of the gallery dealing with the Battle of Germantown, a life-sized - and incredibly life-like - display of two light infantrymen of the 52nd is on view. We are confronted with the "face" of battle. The features of the sword-bearing officer are modeled on those of Richard St. George.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019)
Gallery view of Under Attack at Germantown
at the Cost of Revolution exhibition

The astonishing realism of this sculpture has to be seen to be believed. Once you look into the eyes of these grim-faced warriors, you start to realize what it means to fight for your life, to kill or to be killed.

My wife and I were very moved to come face-to-face with Richard St. George when we studied this stunning work of historical recreation. Anne and I had seen a similar display dealing with the Napoleonic Wars at the National Army Museum in London many years ago. I mentioned this to Dr. Stephenson who said that both statue groups were based on the research of a great historian-illustrator named Gerald Embleton,  

At the risk of contradicting myself, I did discover a link between the Age of Reason and the bloodshed of the American War of Independence. Adam Smith, the great Scottish economist, published a treatise of philosophy entitled Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759). In this work, Smith makes an observation showing the way that human beings can connect with the experiences of others, on different sides of the battle line and across centuries.

Adam Smith wrote:

As we have no immediate experience of what other men feel, we can form no idea of the manner in which they are affected, but by conceiving what we ourselves feel in like situation. Though our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves are at our ease, our senses will never inform us of what he suffers … it is by the imagination only that we can form any conception of what are his sensations.



Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019)
Gallery view of the Cost of Revolution exhibit,
showing Thomas Gainsborough's portrait of Richard St. George

That is precisely the effect that Cost of Revolution has, informing, stimulating and challenging our "imagination only that we can form any conception of what" are the feelings of other human beings.

The resonances of Richard St. George's life are truly palpable in the exhibition galleries at the Museum of the American Revolution. 

The experience of combat, of living with a debilitating wound, of being caught a second time in the chaos of political upheaval are not abstractions in Cost of Revolution. For a moment, however brief, our imaginations are moved to feel and to understand what Richard St. George endured when a well-aimed bullet at the Battle of Germantown stretched his body and his mind "upon the rack" of suffering - from which he was never to be free. 


***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved. Original Photos: Copyright of Anne Lloyd, all rights reserved.                                                                                        
Images courtesy of the  Museum of the American Revolution 


Introductory Image:

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) Under Attack at Germantown (detail), gallery display at the Cost of Revolution exhibition, the Museum of the American Revolution, Philadelphia.

Xavier Della Gatta (Italian, active 1777-1828) The Battle of Paoli, 1782. Oil painting commissioned by Richard St. George. Collection of the Museum of the American Revolution , Philadelphia.   

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019)  Joseph Wright of Derby's The Dead Soldier (detail), c. 1789. Oil on canvas: 40 x 50 inches (101.6 x 127 cm). Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection. Accession Number B1974.3.25

Thomas Gainsborough (British, 1727-1788) Richard St. George Mansergh-St. George, 1776. Oil on canvas: 230.2 × 156.1 cm.  National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne. Felton Bequest, 1922. #1223-3

Hugh Douglas Hamilton (Irish, 1739-1808 ) Richard St. George, c.1800. Oil on Panel, Private Collection.

Richard St. George (Irish, c.1752-1798) My triumphant return to Philadelphia, c. 1778. Ink, watercolor on paper. Harlan Crow Library, Dallas, Texas.

Trephine (Skull Saw). Mütter Museum of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia

Richard St. George (Irish, c.1752-1798) Self-portrait of the artistWatercolor wash: 24 x 37 cm. (9.4 x 14.6 in.) Museum of the American Revolution, Gift of Mr. Roger Shuttlewood

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) Flag from the 1798 Irish Revolt, on display in the Cost of Revolution exhibition at the Museum of the American Revolution.

Theobald Wolfe Tone's Pocketbook, National Museum of Ireland

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019), Living history educator, Matthew van Nostrand, of the Museum of American Revolution.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) Dr. R. Scott Stephenson, director of the Museum of the American Revolution, explaining the workings of the breach-loading rifle invented by Major Patrick Ferguson.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) Gallery view of Under Attack at Germantown, exhibit display at the Cost of Revolution exhibition, the Museum of the American Revolution, Philadelphia.

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) Gallery view of the Cost of Revolution exhibit, showing Thomas Gainsborough's portrait of Richard St. George.

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

Gainsborough's Family Album at the Princeton Museum of Art


Gainsborough's Family Album


Princeton University Art Museum
February 23 - June 9, 2019

Reviewed by Ed Voves

In June of 1787, the British painter Thomas Gainsborough was staggered by the death of Carl Friedrich Abel. A noted composer and master player of the viola da gamba, Abel had been one on the music-loving painter's greatest friends. In a letter to Rev. Henry Bate-Dudley, Gainsborough wrote:

We love a genius for what he leaves and we mourn him for what he takes away... For my part I shall never cease looking up to heaven - the little while I have to stay behind - in hopes of getting one more glance of the man I loved from the moment I heard him touch the string. 

Visitors to the superb exhibition, Gainsborough's Family Album, now at the Princeton University Museum of Art, will likely extend these moving words to Gainsborough himself.

Gainsborough's Family Album presents forty-four works by Gainsborough - all dealing with the subject of family: Gainsborough's family. The theme is hugely significant because Gainsborough painted his wife and daughters, siblings, niece, nephew and in-laws at exactly the moment when the concept of the modern family was taking shape. 

Earlier in history, family units were more extended and communal in nature. That of course is a broad generalization but the eighteenth century definitely saw a shift to more focused units of familial affection. Thomas Gainsborough's family, as the Princeton exhibition shows, was at the epicenter of this development, Great Britain during the reign of a noted family man, King George III. 

The facts of Gainsborough's life are essential to understanding the Princeton Museum exhibition and the greater story it tells.


Thomas Gainsborough,Self-portrait, mid-1770's, 
completed by Gainsborough Dupont, 1790

Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788) was a native of Suffolk in the eastern part of England, directly across the North Sea from the Netherlands. John Constable (1776-1837) was born in that region too and both artists looked to the great Flemish and Dutch art traditions which had begun to depict family life as an important theme a century before. 

Gainsborough's family were devout Christians, but not of the established Church of England. They were "independents," outsiders who could not hold government jobs or commissions in Britain's armed forces. Excluded from positions of power, many Independents found scope for their talents in the mines, factories and iron foundries of the rising Industrial Revolution. A Baptist preacher, Thomas Newcomen, invented the first effective steam engine in 1712.


Thomas Gainsborough, 
Humphrey Gainsborough, the Artist's Brother, early 1770s

Gainsborough's brother, Humphrey, followed a similar path. Humphrey was the minister of the Independent congregation of Henley-on-Thames on Sunday. During the workweek, he was an engineer, who is credited with a number of inventions, including improvements to Newcomen's engine.

Very much an "independent" himself, Thomas Gainsborough directed his creative talents in a different direction - the field of art.

Another vital factor about Gainsborough was  his personality. A charismatic and contradictory man, Gainsborough's personality was cut from the "whole cloth" of human nature.

A portrait painter by necessity, Gainsborough devoted himself to painting "landskips" of the English countryside - which seldom sold. He cared little for reading but was a skillful amateur musician. Generous to his friends, Gainsborough was thin-skinned and combative in his relationship with the art establishment, often at odds with Sir Joshua Reynolds, the president of the Royal Academy. 

And then there was his family. Gainsborough was a loving, doting father to his two daughters, Mary and Margaret. He was dutiful to his wife, Margaret, respecting her good sense and financial management skills. Gainsborough, however succumbed to the sexual temptations of the "rakehell" 1700's. He nearly died in 1763 of a fever likely caused by a "dangerous liaison."

Gainsborough's infidelity was especially hurtful as Margaret was the illegitimate daughter of the third Duke of Beaufort. She received a hefty annuity from the Duke's estate which bankrolled Gainsborough's artistic career, especially during his early struggles. Thus, Gainsborough's unfaithfulness was truly a "blow upon a bruise."

By way of recognition of his wife's many virtues, Gainsborough painted a number of portraits of her later in life. This 1777 likeness of Margaret Gainsborough is surely one of the greatest portraits of a wife ever painted by a husband.  



Thomas Gainsborough, Margaret Gainsborough, the Artist's Wife, 1777

For all the excesses and contradiction in his life, Gainsborough was shrewd and perceptive in the way he portrayed his family. He both loved his family as individuals and grasped their strengths and weaknesses. In doing so, Gainsborough had to have reflected on his own character and character faults. Only a person with strong self-awareness could have painted the incredible portraits which we see in the special exhibition gallery at Princeton. 
  

Thomas Gainsborough, 
The Artist' with his Wife Margaret and Eldest Daughter Mary, 1748

One of the first paintings on view in Gainsborough's Family Album is a very early work, painted in 1748. It shows a dapper Gainsborough and his wife, Margret, wearing a billowing, blue silk dress. Gainsborough's family was engaged in the clothing trade and he was extremely skillful in depicting a variety of textiles. This is a very fashionable painting, a conversation piece in the style of Gainsborough's teacher, Francis Hayman.

The Artist with his Wife, Margaret and Eldest Daughter Mary is also a somber, sorrowful work. The little child died before it was finished and the expressions of her parents reflect their emotions. Gainsborough had been attempting to establish his painting business in London at this time. In order to protect his wife and future children, he made the courageous and risky move to leave London for the more healthy environment of Sudbury in Suffolk and then the spa resort of Bath.

Gainsborough and his wife were blessed with two surviving daughters. The eldest was also named Mary, born in 1750, with Margaret following a year later. Gainsborough called them "Molly" and "the Captain."




Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019)
 View of the entrance to the Gainsborough's Family Album exhibit

While the girls were still very young, Gainsborough painted them chasing a butterfly, one of the great treasures of British art. This enchanting work appeared in the first presentation of Gainsborough's Family Album at the National Portrait Gallery in London. It is not on view in the Princeton show but a spectacular, over-sized copy welcomes visitors at the entrance to the exhibition gallery.

In 1760-61, Gainsborough painted a pair of double-portraits of his daughters which pose a number of questions. Gainsborough devoted exceptional skill to the faces of Mary and Margaret, yet both pictures of the adolescent girls remained unfinished. The most likely answer is that these were experimental paintings, tests of Gainsborough's ever-developing technique.


Thomas Gainsborough, Mary and Margaret Gainsborough,
 the Artist's Daughters, c. 1760–1 

The portrait of Mary reaching out to Margaret was originally painted on a single canvas, with Mary positioned slightly above Margaret. Later, the painting was cut into two separate portraits. Restorers, at some point in more recent times, reunited and touched-up the two parts, albeit in a way that was never intended. Had this been a finished painting, none of this would likely have occurred.


The unfinished nature of the double portrait of Molly and The Captain which introduces this review provides more insight into Gainsborough's technique. The cat they are playing with is barely sketched-in. Even more startling is the minimal attention given to the texture of the girls' dresses. For an artist who devoted enormous effort to getting the sheen and crinkle of silk and satin "just right," Gainsborough seems almost negligent in the way he painted his daughter's clothing. He just gives the impression in both of these portraits of everything but the faces of Mary and Margaret.

The word Impression is key to understanding Gainsborough. In many ways, he was the first "impressionist" though Velazquez could claim that honor too. It was not an accident either. Gainsborough often tied his painting brush to a long stick and painted at a considerable distance from his canvas. The effect was what you would expect in a Renoir or Van Gogh.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, speaking of Gainsborough after his death in 1788, directed the attention of his audience to how "all those odd scratches and marks… this chaos, this uncouth and shapeless appearance, by a kind of magick at a certain distance assumes form."

This "kind of magick" is less noticeable in Gainsborough's grand manor portraits - though it is certainly there. British artists - and more to the point, their aristocratic patrons - were enamored of the magnificent portraits of Charles I and his court painted by Anthony van Dyck. Every rich detail - exactly true to life. That was expected of Gainsborough and he complied, as can be seen in several formal likenesses he painted of his daughters as they matured into young ladies.




Thomas Gainsborough, Mary and Margaret Gainsborough,
the Artist's Daughters at their Drawing, C. 1763

The 1763 oil on canvas, subtitled The Artist's Daughter, at their Drawing is especially evocative of Van Dyck's influence. Looking at this marvelous work helps us understand why Gainsborough spoke of the Flemish master with his dying words, "Van Dyck was right."

Gainsborough looked at much more than surface details as we see in the portrait he painted of his sister Sarah, around 1777-79. Sarah Dupont (1715-1795) was well into her "sixties" by the time her brother painted her. The bloom had long faded from her looks, but perceptive intelligence, dignity and integrity beam from her eyes.


Thomas Gainsborough, Sarah Dupont, the Artist's Sister, c. 1777–9

All these traits in combination make for a lively and aware person - a person of inner beauty. This is the person Thomas Gainsborough saw and painted nearly two and a half centuries ago.

What he saw in his sister, Sarah, Gainsborough saw and painted in his other family members. Their portraits, on display at the Princeton University Museum of Art, speak to human values which may be glimpsed on the faces of those we know and love, if - like Thomas Gainsborough - we look hard enough to see.

***
Text: Copyright of Ed Voves, all rights reserved
Original photo by Anne Lloyd, all rights reserved
Images courtesy of the Princeton University Art Museum, the Art Institue of Chicago and the Yale Center for British Art

Introductory Image: Thomas Gainsborough( British, 1727-1788) The Painter’s Daughters, Playing with a Cat, 1760-61. Oil on canvas: 75.6  x 62.9cm. (29 3/4 × 24 3/4 in.) National Gallery, London. Accession Number: NG3812

Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788), completed by Gainsborough Dupont, (British, 1754–1797) Self -portrait, mid-1770s and 1790. Oil on canvas: 76.6 × 63.5 cm (30 3/16 × 25 in.) The Samuel Courtland Trust. The Courtauld Gallery, London

Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788) Humphrey Gainsborough, the Artist's Brother, early 1770s. Oil on canvas: 59.7 × 49.5 cm (23 1/2 × 19 1/2 in.) Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788) Margaret Gainsborough, the Artist’s Wife, ca. 1777. Oil on canvas: 76.6 × 63.8 cm (30 3/16 × 25  1/8 in.) The Samuel Courtauld Trust. The Courtauld Gallery, London

Thomas Gainsborough( English, 1727–1788) The Artist with his Wife Margaret and Eldest Daughter Mary, 1748? Oil on canvas: 92.1 × 70.5 cm (36 1/4 × 27 3/4 in.) The National Gallery, London. Acquired under the acceptance-in-lieu scheme at the wish of Sybil, Marchioness of Cholmondeley, in memory of her brother, Sir Philip Sassoon, 1994

Anne Lloyd, Photo (2019) View of the entrance to the Gainsborough's Family Album exhibition,  Princeton University Museum of Art, 2019.

Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788) Mary and Margaret Gainsborough, the Artist's Daughters, c. 1760–1. Oil on canvas: 40.6 × 58.4 cm (16 × 23 in.) Victoria and Albert Museum, London. Bequeathed by John Forster

Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788) Mary and Margaret Gainsborough, the Artist's Daughters, at their Drawing, c. 1763–4. Oil on canvas: 127.3 × 101.7 cm (50 1/8 × 40 1/16 in.) Worcester Art Museum, Worcester, Massachusetts, USA. Museum purchase, 1917.181


Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788) Sarah Dupont, the Artist's Sister, c. 1777–9 Oil on canvas: 77.2 × 64.5 cm (30 3/8 × 25 3/8 in.) The Art Institute of Chicago, Charles H. and Mary F. S. Worcester Collection; through prior gifts of Mr. and Mrs. Denison B. Hull, Mr. and Mrs. William Kimball, and Mrs. Charles McCulloch, 1987.13