Tuesday 9th December - The Reader

Hopefully I have managed to get all the Christmas cards in the post now and I'm down to the things I'm giving to people in person. Don't imagine I'm actually organised as most of this is the result of panic. At least I can have a bit of a sit down for today's picture...

The Reader (1910) Harold Knight

I do love a bit of Laura husband's art.  I must apologise, but that is how I think of him and that is such a rarity, where the wife becomes more famous than her husband, even though she took her husband's name.  I digress, today is about Harold and he's more than just someone's husband, obviously. I had no hesitation in choosing this one as it is just lovely, but I have a question about a press comment at the time - the Globe described it as 'a delightful out-of-door portrait' which puzzles me. Are they just mixing it up with another painting that was painted outside or does that phrase have another meaning? The Western Daily Press gave it a glowing review - 'one of the most important canvases in the gallery' - yet they did not feel, for all the charm of the sitter, that it was one of his most significant works. They complain the landscape is monotonous and uninspiring.  What? Oh, hang on...

The Reader (1909)

Okay, I get it now, although having two paintings with the same title exhibited in the same year might confuse some less intelligent art historians (cough). But come on, that's rather lovely too, so what are we all complaining about? It's not like he could have done a better picture of a woman reading, could he?

Girl Reading (1932)

Oh, I see. That is glorious. I once bought a novel because that was the cover. It's a little out of my normal date range but I am a sucker for twentieth century figurative and this sort of minutely studied domestic interior is my sort of thing. When it was exhibited it was compared to this painting from the same period, using the same model and room setting (according to the Nottingham Evening Post)...

A Window in St John's Wood (c.1932)

There is something about temperature in Knight's pictures that gives them feeling.  Looking at our Reader in 1910, the colour palate feels warm and comfortable, with the books in abundance.  Scrolling on to 1932 and the woman is reading a thin book in front of a sparce landscape. She sits and sews on bare boards looking over leaf-less trees.  Now, this can easily be dismissed as style and fashion, but if we think about this being the same woman either side of the First World War, and how her life and outlook might have changed. In the warm golden days of the Edwardian era, she has time to read and books aplenty or she can walk outside in a lush green landscape under a blue sky. Twenty years later, between two world wars, she is mending in front of waning light and a grey garden. Yes, her clothes look lush, but her surroundings seem pale and cold. Is she part of the surplus 2 million women left after the war to find a new path that wasn't marriage and babies? That must have been frightening as well as freeing, managing a new future as well as potential poverty but still choosing their own future more than before.  Maybe that is the message of the later paintings - yes, on the outside the landscape seems cold and empty, but our lass has got her book, her brilliant skirt and her own life. Good for her.

See you tomorrow.

Monday 8th December - Curiosity

Can you believe we are already a week into Blogvent?! Blimey, I always find the time flies after my daughter's birthday so I better get on with it...

Curiosity (1864) William Fettes Douglas

I'm back in Scotland again. Sir William Fettes Douglas (1822-1891) was the President of the Royal Scottish Academy in the 1880s until his death in 1891. As a young man, he trained to be a banker like his father but decided to pursue art instead, beginning with exhibiting mainly portraits at the Royal Scottish Academy in 1844.  The painting that got him attention was Dante Arranging His Friends in the Inferno (1862) which also might be responsible for why I've seen our old friend 'Pre-Raphaelite' attached to his name.  The foliage in this isn't bad...

The Recusant's Concealment Discovered (1859)

And this one is a bit spooky...

The Spell (1864)

However, spookiness and nicely drawn ivy alone does not a Pre-Raphaelite make. Back to the library...

In the 1882 Artist magazine article on Douglas, it said he was a voracious reader, so in a way I wonder if he sympathised with the children's curiosity about the hidden books that they are sneaking to read. However, it is the tiny boy who is pouring over the books - the girl (his sister? his mother? who can tell) is busy reading letters and looking at the miniature enclosed.

Lurking in the shadows is a figure with something in his hand - it looks like a big potato peeler, but I can't imagine that's right. The clenched hands don't give me the confidence that it is something nice. Behind him, we can see steps leading down to the curtain he has pulled aside, so is this a secret room? The girl and boy don't seem particularly nervous to be there, but I do not like that figure in the shadows...

The tapestry seems to have three classical women on it - the three muses perhaps? the three fates? - and I am trying to see what is carved onto the bench.  Above the boy seems to be a scene where a figure is on the ground while others gather round.  Further along, behind the girl, is a cherub who also seems to be looking at the letter she is holding. So, what can we deduce from this? I'm going to spin a story and suggest that the girl is the young wife of the shadowy figure. She and her young son have come to live in this big house where she and the child found the secret room with all these books and letters in it.  Maybe these are the property of the unfortunate first Mrs Shadowy Figure who died in tragic and mysterious circumstances. Maybe she is still alive and locked in another secret room. Little do they know that Mr Shadowy Figure has discovered them and is none too pleased. Lawks.

My final word on William Fettes Douglas is that he gave a speech in 1885 as President of the Royal Scottish Academy where he declared women's art to be 'like a man's, only weaker and poorer,' so he can get stuffed.

See you tomorrow.

Sunday 7th December - Idleness

 Ah, Sunday, the day of rest! Well, no rest for the wicked, so onwards!

Idleness (1871) Patrick Allan Fraser

Now, this seems fitting for today as I am in dire need of a good sleep and ironically the one thing that sends me off is trying to read, which is extremely irritating and counter-intuitive. I adore this servant who has put down her brushes for a moment to sit in a comfy chair with that blue-covered book, but has dozed off. The Dundee Advertiser declared it a triumph that easily caught the eye in the Royal Scottish Academy, although they objected somewhat to the voluptuousness of the maid. Rude.

Elizabeth Allan Fraser Seated, Reading with a Cat (c.1871)

Unlike yesterday's artist, lots is written about Patrick Allan Fraser (1813-1890) who has not only his own Wikipedia page but also lots of contemporary accounts, not least because he was rich (it always helps). He was born Patrick Allan but married the heiress Elizabeth Fraser, so adopted her name too, which is marvellously feminist of him. Together they renovated a house called Hospitalfield (now open to the public) and painted her reading with her cat. I wonder if the sleeping housemaid is also pictured at Hospitalfield as the interior is not dissimilar.

I'm not sure if its my rampant Marxism showing, but I thoroughly object to the title of the painting as I doubt this poor lass has an idle moment in her day normally.  The stripes of her skirt match the stripes of the discarded broom hinting that her employer sees her as a cleaning tool rather than a human who is for the moment still and not fulfilling her purpose.  Maybe her purpose is also to read and not be exhausted? It seems to me that her reason to sit was to read, not sleep, but she nodded off.  I'm guessing that our point of view is as her employer and the judgement on her idleness is therefore ours. The Dundee Courier was even more damning in their view of the girl in the 1873 review of the piece - 'An over-fed, under-worked servant girl lies back in an armchair asleep...she is altogether a most comfortable, not to say jolly, specimen of her class.' Yuck. And they conclude that she is not exactly showing what the maids of Dundee declare is their hard life at the hands of stern mistresses. Those lying housemaids, snoozing on the job and claiming their life is so hard! Thank goodness this artist came along to expose their lies, I can now go and have my dinner which has magically appeared on the table...

Revolution now comrades! Do excuse me, I'm having a moment.

This will not be the only reading servant we meet this month, and we'll see how the others fair at the hands of both their masters and the media.  In the meantime, I'll see you tomorrow.

Saturday 6th December - Quiet

Excuse the late hour of today's post as I have been in London all day seeing the Wes Anderson exhibition. It was glorious and happy birthday to my beloved daughter who is 20 today (I am in complete denial) and thank goodness it's the weekend! I think I need to relax, probably with a good book...

Quiet (1860) William W Nichol

Before I become too 'sunrise, sunset' about it all, I used to read to my daughter when she was little, although I'm making an educated guess that the book on that lady's knee isn't Trouble at the Dinosaur Cafe or Mr Pusskins (both fine texts) but this is undoubtedly a mother and child. I'll go further and say it's probably the wife and child of the artist (as someone kindly pointed out on Art UK that on the back of the painting the figures are identified as 'MN' and 'WWJN' or Marion Nichol (nee Ballentyne) (1816-1873) and William Walker James Nichol (1855-1929), who became a chemist and photographer with his own wikipedia page.

William Walker Nichols (1813-1893) was from Traquair in Peebleshire, Scotland, son of James Nichol, the minister/poet (1769-1819) (again, his own wikipedia page) and brother of geologist James Nichol jnr (1810-1879) (blimey, another one). He painted his brother in the role of Professor of Natural History at Aberdeen University...

Professor James Nichol (c.1870s)

James Nichol was apparently professor until 1879, so it is possible this was painted for his retirement, looking at how old he appears to be.  Back to our reading pair...

I love the faces on the mother and child, and you get the impression that they are real people with a very Pre-Raphaelite-adjacent clarity and glow. I was reminded of the paintings of the 1850s, especially something like Frederick Stephens' Mother and Child (c.1854), with the crisp detail and realism. I love the fact the child has a sock off, which is about right, and the title suggests that either it is a moment of rare calm between bouts of childhood chaos or the mother is very much entreating the child for a bit of quiet.  Mrs Nichol is concentrating on the book but little William is looking like a coiled spring, about to have another wee rampage and probably lose the other sock in the process. Mind you, despite the rumpus, he has a wikipedia page so his parents obviously did something right. 

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie (undated)

I'm now intrigued by William W Nichol as although his portrait of his brother is very traditional and not really my thing, the couple of pictures I can see that are scenes of everyday life, I very much like and appreciate the strong narrative aspects. It seems a shame that WWN doesn't have his own Wikipedia page, rather than only having a fleeting mention on his son's. Possibly a hunt for more of his work will show us that he was as good as these rare glimpses hint at.

See you tomorrow.

Friday 5th December - Love Sonnets

 Well, here we are at the end of our first week of Blogvent, and I'm off to London tomorrow so I better sort something out for that too.  In the meantime, here is today's offering...

Love Sonnets (1894) Marie Spartali Stillman

I actually had the choice of a couple of Stillmans for this Blogvent, but we'll start with Love Sonnets.  We have a romantic young lady reading her love sonnets while clutching what I am assuming are marigolds.  They are often read as being symbols of purity and divinity so we can guess she is reading some lovely poems rather than anything naughty. There is also the implication that marigolds bloom on the first day of the month so I wonder if our lass is in love for the first time. Also, as always, I am wondering about the black jacket (with those very lovely buttoned sleeves) so I was wondering if she has been widowed or had a bereavement and this is her first love afterwards.

Cloister Lilies (1891)

I'm not sure if Marie Stillman was going through a phase of women-reading-while-clutching-flowers but here is another one. This time our lass is reading a far more religious text, as signified by the lilies clutched in her had.  I really love the amber beads looped round her other wrist. 

Beatrice (1895)

I've always felt that Marie Stillman's female subjects in this vein are the children of Rossetti's 1860 Venetian period, and the inclusion of Beatrice in her subjects underlines this. However, different from Rossetti, Beatrice is the main character here, not seen through the eyes of Dante, but a woman on her own, having a moment with her book.  She is not dying poetically with a poppy, nor lying in state being kissed by Love, nor ignoring Dante on a bridge. She is thinking about something she has read, her finger tracing the passage that has captivated her. In fact, all three of our readers are reading texts that are absorbing them, giving them pause for thought and possibly in the case of Love Sonnets and Beatrice the thoughts aren't all joyful. Our women are turning to books, to knowledge, to solve their problems, answer their questions, and give them guidance in times of need.

Brewing the Love Philtre (c.1870)

For Marie Stillman, books provide the answers to questions, giving women the independence to get on with their lives. Whether it is choosing a new love, capturing a new love or being led into or away from temptation, there is a book to help.  So our maidens, be they saintly, witchy or very human, are free to make their own decisions without the need to ask a man. Not all of these decisions are going to be correct (I mean, honestly, I'm not sure love potions are ever a sustainable option) but they are theirs to make and take the consequences.

See you tomorrow.

Thursday 4th December - Le Missel

 I was looking for something a bit classy for today, and came across this tempera beauty...

Le Missel (1899) Edgar Maxence

Well, hello Lovely, aren't we splendid? Nothing like a bit of French Symbolism to brighten the day. Here we have a pious young lady with her 'missel' or prayer book.  Her dark clothes hint at widowhood possibly, although her left-hand ring finger is hidden, tucked into her prayer book. Is she married to Jesus now? That white veil has an oddly wedding-ish overtone. The above painting was featured on the Leicester Gallery page but interestingly, the Leicester Gallery also sold The Red Missel by Maxence in 1927, when it helpfully appeared in The Graphic (although sadly not in colour)...

The Red Missel (from The Graphic)

I feel there is something Tudor about The Red Missel, that sort of face-on formality that is missing from The Missel.  The newspapers praised the 'serene loveliness' of Maxence's models and although the pictures are quite different in approach, both women are definitely calm and introspective. The Marlborough Times talked about how the women in his work have the look of 'the call of the soul in its awakening' which works well with the religious tracts the women are holding.

One of the things Mr Walker and I watch on YouTube are the views from the cab of a Swiss train as it travels through the countryside (I know, how rock and roll of us) and the castle in the background reminds Mr Walker of one of those beautiful buildings in the glorious countryside (I blame the 1970s German tv series Heidi for my idealisation of that sort of landscape).  Our lass has literally turned her back on her home and by extension that lifestyle and is holding her religion close as she walks away.  Is she off to a nunnery? It might just be me, but I feel there are Guinevere-vibes coming off her, like in this picture...

Guinevere (1913) Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale

I might be fanciful but I get the impression that our lady in velvet is withdrawing from a life of plenty in the same way that Guinevere turned her back on her old life.  Has Maxence's lady done things she wants to repent for? Has she lived the sort of life that has turned her to religion? Or has she simply decided that it's better to withdraw now rather than be tempted? Either way, she's walking away from her castle with dignity and is being led to her new life by her little book, whatever it might be.

Edgar Maxence (1871-1954) was a contemporary of Matisse and exhibited at the Salon des Artistes Francais from 1894 until the 1930s, making our lady with the missel one of his earlier works.  He was taught by Gustav Moreau and leaned towards Symbolism quite heavily as well as the religious. I think I am best acquainted with this one...

Woman with Orchids (1900)

I absolutely adore this lass having a sneaky ciggie while wafting the smoke away with her diaphanous hankie. So classy. In many ways, the lass with the orchids can be seen as a companion to Le Missel - one woman is rejecting the world and looking away. The woman with the orchids in her hair addresses us frankly.  She holds no religious tract, instead a cigarette which she makes no effort to hide. She is at one with the modern world, not trying to escape it.

See you tomorrow...

Wednesday 3rd December - Yarmouth Beach

 I've worked out that I only have a couple more days of physically being in the office this year, including today! That is both exciting and sobering as I am now worrying whether I have done everything and what I need to leave copious notes for, so I don't forget to do things when I return in January.  Obviously, I'll be working from home in the meantime, and some of my colleagues never seem to sleep so I have to keep an eye on my work emails all over the festive period - well, maybe not on actual Christmas Day as I will be too busy eating.  Anyway, let's crack on with today!

Yarmouth Beach (1860-65) Frederick Sandys

I think I chose this one because it is a bit of a mixed bag.  The first thing I thought when I saw it was 'Really??!! Fred Sandys??!!' because I was used to his work looking like this...

Helen of Troy (1867)

But hang on, there is something about the face of that young lady, or to the point, the chin of that young lady, that seems to link the two images. In fact, this one seems a bit closer...

Mary Magdalen (Tears Idle Tears) (1862)

The model for this one was Mary Emma Jones, or Mary Sandys as she styled herself, the second 'wife' (they never married as he never actually got a divorce from his first wife) of Frederick Sandys who began to appear in his work (and that of his sister Emma) in the early 1860s.  Whilst his work in the first half of the 1860s is normally equated with images of Keomi Gray, as we can see from Mary Magdalen, Mary popped up at the same time as Sandys other mistress.

Let's start with the painting itself, it was donated to Norfolk Museums Service by Prince Frederick Duleep Singh.  In 1921, he gifted the Ancient House Museum of Thetford to the people of Norfolk, presumably including this picture. In some accounts of this work it is attributed to Anthony Sandys, father of Frederick and Emma and I can see why - the style doesn't seem the same and the subject matter is not really Fred's thing, but it isn't unusual for an artist to do a domestic painting of a loved one in a different style. Hang on then, while I'm about it, why can't this be by Emma?

Revealing Her Hand (undated) Emma Sandys

Okay, so the works we have by Emma are sparce in comparison, but I always wondered how difficult it would be to delete the bottom line of the E in 'ES' and make is 'FS' - don't blame me for thinking that way, after all I am very well acquainted with Aurora Triumphans, possibly Evelyn de Morgan's best work which was sold as a Burne-Jones because someone had altered the monogram of EP (Evelyn Pickering) to be EBJ. Emma also used Mary Jones as a model, so that chin might not have led me astray, yet again the subject matter does not seem right for Emma Sandys.  So what about Anthony Sandys?

Frederick Sandys (1848) Anthony Sands

Well, more properly, Anthony Sands as Fred added the 'y' around the 1850s (possibly to distance himself from his father's work) and seems to have dragged Emma along from the ride - if we are adding the 'l' back into Elizabeth Sidal's name, are we dropping the 'y' in Emma Sandys, as arguably both (or neither) were decisions made by men for her? Anyway, the problem I have with it being Anthony's work is the colour.  In style, yes, it looks very much older than the Pre-Raphaelite style both Fred and Emma adopted, so it is more like that early style, however our girl by the sea is glowing in a very Pre-Raphaelite manner. Looking at the portrait of Fred above, it is that more traditional sepia of older paintings that are not on the white painted base. Hmmm...

The subject matter is contemporary so I wondered if it is based on a book.  I immediately thought of Trollope and the appearance of Yarmouth in Can You Forgive Her? which was published around 1864 and 1865, so could our girl be a character from that? Is she reading that? I think the parasol is rather small, so I don't know how much shade it is providing to the book, but obviously enough to allow her to keep reading while out and about.  So where does that leave us? It does seem, by the treatment of the subject, this is more likely to be Anthony's work, albeit later on and possibly on a white base. However, I also wonder if it is Mary Jones as model - she was already modelling for two Sandys, why not three? That chin doesn't lie. 

My last thought is, what is she reading? I like to think it's her sister's diary and she is about to learn a dark and scandalous secret which she can accidentally let slip over the dinner table. That'll teach her to make fun of that tiny parasol.

See you tomorrow