Exhibition Review: Beauty of the Earth

 As you will know, I don't like Twixtmas, or the bit between Christmas and New Year so I thought I'd jolly it up by visiting the exhibition currently at the Arc in Winchester, entitled Beauty of the Earth: The Art of May, Jane and William Morris...

Okay, here I would normally put an image of the poster, however, none of the ones I can find on line are very high resolution and so here is a link to the website.

Also normally I would put some images of the exhibition in my review and do a bit of faffing about on social media, but there was no photography allowed, which is an interesting move for things that are very much out of copyright.  I was also asked not to touch anything, which is probably a fair judgement of my character. I was then faced with these beautiful open scrolls of wallpaper on the wall rather than in frames, so I have no doubt that the room guides heard me exclaim 'Oh, come on!' and not for the only time in this exhibition. I'll come to that, but first the positives as they are plentiful.

Right, first things first, this is a beautiful exhibition. I was interested to see how, in a year of Morris-ness, there was anything new to say, but I never doubt Suzanne Fagence Cooper, and rightly so. The rooms at the Arc are not the largest of spaces, as I saw when I visited the Fred Appleyard exhibition there. The available hanging space is supplemented with freestanding walls and everything is covered in gorgeousness. You will see plenty you are familiar with but also plenty you aren't and for a small space, it is ambitious to coherently display the work of all the Morris family, especially when William (for obvious patriarchal reasons) can both dominate and exhaust by the sheer volume. I remember getting my very first exhibition-fatigue at the 1996 V&A William Morris exhibition which was endless. This is not only beautifully balanced but also ties the work of all Morrises together fairly. William isn't just a powerhouse, May isn't just an acolyte and Jane is more than a pretty face. They are so intertwined that it now feels a bit rude to take one from the context of the others. I also suspect William would have thoroughly approved of this approach as he doesn't strike me as the patriarchy (see below)...

Well said, comrade. 

Anyway, I was delighted to see all the wonderful textiles, possibly my favourite part of the exhibition, especially this one...

Daisy Wallhanging, worked by William and Jane Morris

God, I hope that's the one that was there, as that is a picture of it at Kelmscott Manor, but I'm sure it was on one of the panels.  I really like it because of its simplicity and whenever I see it I think 'I could do that!' (I couldn't, well, possibly given time and resources) which is another thing I think Mr Morris would like to hear.

The theme of the exhibition is a love of nature and that love being your home.  Thinking about it, Morris's work is filled with nature, so exploring the world of Morris through the trees, streams, birds and flowers that populate it seems, if you excuse the pun, natural. Not only that, but they themselves are often portrayed as being at one with nature, such as in this painting (which was a pleasure to see again)...

Snowdrops (1873) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I sometimes wonder what Morris would make of the fact that we can't talk about his wife without Rossetti being involved. Again, it was a bit part of her early life, but it seems a shame as it isn't exactly a positive thing (no offence to anyone involved), which I think is why I was so pleased to also see this image...

Jane Morris (c.1900) Charles March Gere

I'm very familiar with Evelyn De Morgan's image of Jane in older age (I just checked her age and she's not that much older than me here) but I hadn't seen this before that I remembered and it is such a beautiful painting by Arts and Crafts illustrator Charles March Gere (1869-1957), who worked with the Kelmscott Press. Including this image did take the edge off the often-overwhelming 'She was Rossetti's Muse!' narrative you can get elsewhere, and I think it's time we de-centred dear old Dante Gabriel from everything (again, no offence to him as I love him) as I think we only do it because he was the sexy one. Allegedly. Anyway, he has no business in such a family exhibition about working and living within the landscape of England.

Orchard Bed Curtain worked by May Morris

This is a lovely exhibition and a smashing way to end the year.  The use of audible birdsong was very welcome - I always love when there are sensory aspects to exhibitions and the birds singing away above things like the Trellis wallpapers and Orchard Bed Curtains make the space feel very special indeed. It also benefits those among us of the neurodiverse community who get so much more from the experience.

As I was leaving there is a massive banner that fills the exit that says 'William Morris was Right' - well damn straight, but I am also a shallow baggage and I want to be able to take a selfie with that, but wasn't allowed, so again I exclaimed 'oh, come on!' and went off to the cafe...

Full disclosure and probably TMI but shortly before I reached the Arc this morning I fell over in the street, twisting my ankle and scabbed up my knee. A kind gentleman at the door said he was exactly the same when he was drunk (well, here we are) and I need to be careful at my age (so very elderly). The first aider at the Arc gave me a massive plaster, but I was a little perturbed as I viewed the exhibition I was not allowed to photograph (a small thing, but matters to me).  What made my mood infinitely better, despite my elderly infirmity, was the pasty I bought from the cafe, which had been made from the Morris family recipe. It was absolutely delicious. 

You have until 4th February to go and experience the glorious exhibition and eat a delious pasty, and I thoroughly recommend it.

Wednesday 24th December - After the Dance

 Here we are at the finale of Blogvent for 2025! Goodness, what a month, with so many beautiful paintings of women reading.  It was never in doubt what painting I was going to choose for my final one as it is definitely one of my favourites and also how I wish to be, most of the time...

After the Dance (1899) Ramon Casas

Also known as Decadent Young Woman, here we see a languid lass in a state of collapse after a party.  She has taken to her couch with a copy of a yellow book as her reading matter.  We are all aware the significance of that I'm sure...

Obviously, by 1899, the significance of a yellow book was heavily weighted to debauchery, decadence and damn-right naughtiness. The Yellow Book, seen above, lasted only for three years, which is somehow fitting, dissolving in a puddle of its own debauchery in 1897. As a side note, when Sainsbury's made yellow t-shirts a few years ago, I did the only sensible thing...

I can't be trusted with an embroidery needle, obviously.

Going back to our collapsed lass, she probably isn't holding the Yellow Book, but a yellow book, which denoted French literature of a scandalous nature.  Mrs Cheveley in Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband says she never reads blue books, but prefers yellow, telling you that she is absolutely no better than she should be.

Colour in After the Dance is very important, which is exactly why it featured in the Ashmolean exhibition on colour in 2023 (which was absolutely gorgeous). From the sage green of the sofa to her midnight blue dress and her red hair and lips, there are a lot of colour cues that both contrast and combine for a decadent effect. Yellow and sage green are definitely decadent colours, the latter being referenced in Gilbert and Sullivan's Patience (not their best work and mercifully least remembered as Pirates or Pinafore are far less offensive) with 'greenery-yallery' referring to the aesthetic movement. Mind you, this isn't the only version of this image...

Do you know, I hadn't realised she had the big bow around her neck in the original and I rather like this poster for Pèl & Ploma, the Catalan artistic and literary magazine which ran from 1899 to 1903. Here our supine lass has not been out dancing, but has fallen over because of the amount of art and writing she has been doing, hence the quill and brush in her hand (and in the title). maybe this is just how this woman ends every day, by collapsing on her rather lovely couch? To be honest, I feel the same.

Between Two Chapters (c.1890)

I must admit that I was only really aware of the decadent girl, but Casas created some beautiful works and I'd like to see more. For contrast, his girl pausing her reading in the pale room couldn't be less decadent if she tried.  She is sat up straight and neat, tidily against a wall, thinking about what she has read. Is she between two parts of her life? Is she considering a change, a marriage, an unthinkable divorce? She is existing in pale domestic calm but something is happening in that stillness.

Woman in Thought (1900)

I think it would be a mistake to think the decadent young woman is frivolous and silly, just because she is sprawled out on her sofa.  To give him his due, the women who populate a lot of Casas's canvases seem intellectual as well as beautiful.  Although we don't know who the decadent young woman was (presumed to be a professional model) I think she is the same woman as in Woman in Thought (1900).  Strangely (or perhaps not strangely), Casas's main muse, Julia Peraire, looks an awful lot like these auburn haired beauties...

La Sargantain (Julia Peraire) (1907)

Julia sold lottery tickets and/or flowers on the Plaza de Cataluña and met Casas in around 1905/6, at la Maison Dorée in Barcelona, a luxurious cafe-restaurant which had opened around 1903. They became a celebrity couple, with Julia appearing in many of his famous paintings.  She was 18 and he was 40 (ouch) and his family were not impressed, so the couple lived together for many years before getting married in 1922.

Turning back to my final painting, I wanted to finish with this image as, unlike the other pictures of women we have seen this month, I don't feel there is any judgement on her from Casas. This woman, although decadent, has every right to flop about in her gorgeous dress and her yellow book as that is her artistic right. As she also served as the poster girl for Pèl & Ploma, this is what being decadent looked like.  Now, I know there is a conversation to be had about agency of women, especially models, within art movements, but in Casas's images of his decadent women, you feel there is an appreciation rather than any mocking.

Have a really splendid Christmas and may you also collapse on a sofa with a great book.  Thank you for your company for another year and I will catch up with you again in 2026.

Tuesday 23rd December - Woman Reading

Well, today is the penultimate day of Blogvent and I have a really busy day of prepping.  We're at my Dad's tomorrow for 'Christmas' so I need to get everything ready in terms of food and our traditional croissants for Christmas morning (like my Mum used to make) and so let's crack on with today...

Woman Reading (c.1900) George Henry Boughton

I liked this quiet painting of a woman reading in a rose garden and it is a classic example of a simple image that might hold more in its meaning. The roses that surround her are blush-pink, meaning joy, admiration, gratitude and a more gentle love than a more passionate red. I always perk up when a woman is wearing black in a painting and I wondered about this woman's scarf, coupled with her purple dress - could she be in half-mourning? I wondered if she was a widow slowly coming out of mourning because she had found love again. I think she is in love with the chap who owns the house we can see behind her. I wonder if she is the same woman as in this painting...

The Lady of the Snows (c.1896)

I've used that painting before in Blogvent, not least because of her impressive muff.  I definitely used her for Muffvent where I crowned this the 'mother of all muffs' - no, my parents aren't even vaguely proud of me, in case you were wondering, I shame myself. Anyway, in that post I gave quite a thorough biography for Mr Boughton, including his dalliance with Violet Hunt, which gives me an excuse to show you this picture...

THE CAT.

Anyway, I did wonder if our Violet was the woman in the paintings as there is a passing resemblance, but I think their affair (which began around the mid 1880s) was over by the late '90s.  She was off catching syphilis from diplomat Oswald Crawfurd by then (allegedly) (charming).

Turning back to our reading lady in her garden, I did wonder if she was actually looking at the page. Her gaze seems to be a little higher, as if she is lost in thought - is she reading something that reminds her of her lost person? The pink roses hint at romance, so I wondered if that is why her mind is wandering, remembering the love she used to have or the love that is slowly blooming. Either way, I hope she gets out of her mourning and into a new affair, but hopefully not with a married diplomat with syphilis.

See you tomorrow for the finale...

Monday 22nd December - The Reading Girl

 Last few days of Blogvent, and I realised that it has all been quite tame so let's rectify that with today's painting...

The Reading Girl (1886-7) Theodore Roussel

This is one of my favourite paintings and it involves a book! Hurrah, any excuse for nudity! Where shall we start? Okay, let's start with the dull bit, the artist...

Theodore Roussel (1847-1926) was a French painter, born in Brittany, who taught himself to paint after his military service came to an end in 1872. He moved to London in 1878 and became good friends with James McNeill Whistler. He really arrived on the art scene in 1887 with the exhibition of The Reading Girl at the New English Art Club. The newspaper reports of it are glorious because no-one wants to be too profuse in their appreciation so they seem to dig around for some snark. Here are some examples:

"...a perfectly nude model, lithe and lean, buried (but the British Matron will regret to find not hidden) in the newspaper. There has been no attempt to idealise the figure; it is simply a portrait of a rather underfed woman, who is content (at a shilling an hour) to be naked and not ashamed." (The Era 9/4/87)

"carelessly executed, though bold enough in treatment." (Truth 7/4/87)

"though an excellent study, strikes one as an error of taste - she is not nude, but simply naked." (Pall Mall Budget, 14/4/87)

There are more, but you get the drift - I especially love the 'not nude, naked' comment because you know exactly the value judgement that is being put here. A girl who is paid a shilling an hour is not a nude because she is real girl and none of us want to see that, apparently. The beautiful model in all her pink perfection is not ideal, just naked and I think that is a comment that could come straight out of the newspapers today.  The problem with Roussel's girl is that he has faithfully given us a beautiful soft portrait of a real person and the (forgive me) male patrons are disgusted. I like how The Era load the horror onto British Matrons (who apparently haven't seen a woman naked before) but I think the horror stems from the fact that this girl is reading. She isn't performing for her male viewers, she is not bothered about them in the slightest. 

Which bit of her isn't perfect?! Is it the fact that she doesn't apparently give a flying fig whether anyone is looking? This strikes me as the sort of horror voiced in newspapers when a female celebrity is seen out of the house in anything less than full glam. Nothing changes, we just have a more sophisticated vocabulary around it all now and no doubt some appalling human being would be applying the term 'low-value' to any lass who poses for a shilling an hour. We just say out loud the bit that used to be implied, which is no doubt progress of some sort. How revolting.

The Reading Girl was presented to the Tate in 1927, a year after Roussel died in Hastings. William Orpen was instrumental in saving it for the nation by drawing attention to it in an exhibition of Roussel's work, declaring it the best nude ever painted, which is a bold claim. I was gratified to see that after its first exhibition, any time The Reading Girl was exhibited, it was met with delight and admiration. After she was bought by the Tate, prints appeared in the newspapers and reports that crowds had rushed to the Tate to see her displayed. So, who was she?

Waiting for the Procession (1890) John William Godward

Ah, this bit I am very aware of because not only did the model appear in Pre-Raphaelite Girl Gang but also she was a Portsmouth girl, like my daughter. Miss Harriet Selina Pettigrew, better known as Hetty, was one of three sisters who, after the death of their father, were launched on the London art scene as models, taking the place by storm. The family was quite large, and so I can imagine Mrs Pettigrew found herself with lots of children to feed and three exceptionally beautiful daughters, so what could she do?  It is also suggested that the older brother Charles took art lessons and so there might have been a way in for the girls to start modelling there.  The three girls appear in various paintings you'd know, including this one (which earned them the place in my Girl Gang)...

An Idyll of 1745 (1884) John Everett Millais

Hetty also posed for Edward Linley Sambourne (with her sister Lily) and for Whistler (where she possibly met Roussel) as well as for Godward, and I can concur that Hetty does not seem to be particularly bothered about the nude work. Her relationship with Roussel was a bit different than her other employers.  It seems that Hetty had artistic aspirations and acted as Roussel's studio assistant and possible pupil for many years. Roussel was already married with children but the relationship with Hetty was more than just professional, resulting in the birth of Hetty's daughter Iris in 1899. When Roussel's wife died in 1909, he remarried to Ethel Melville, the widow of the artist Arthur Melville, and Hetty never spoke to him again.

Harriet Pettigrew (1890) Edward Linley Sambourne

Hetty worked as a sculptor and there are some positive reviews of her work in the 1890s, such as in the Lady's Pictorial in 1895, the reviewer of the Glasgow Fine Art exhibition remarked on her delicately carved panels. I'm glad she did well in her life, despite the ups and downs, and find a comment in her sister Rose's book about their lives very interesting. She said they never posed for less than half a guinea a day, which is 11 shillings, so unless she is sitting for 11 hours (which I doubt) she was on more than 'a shilling an hour' and with the amount of nonsense she had to put up with, she thoroughly earned it.

See you tomorrow.

Sunday 21st December - Caterina Reading a Book

 It's the shortest day! I like to think that we are on our way to Summer, which is foolishly optimistic and perverse as I really don't enjoy the heat, however I do appreciate being able to see what I'm doing and being able to comfortably drive after 3.30pm, so roll on the longer days. What's today's picture?

Caterina Reading a Book (1888) James Kerr-Lawson

I really liked this relaxed portrait of the artist's wife reading a book and wanted to know more about Mr Kerr-Lawson and who Caterina was. He was born in Kilrenny in Scotland on 28th October 1862 to William Lawson and Jessie Kerr, hence his name (which he adopted professionally to mark himself out from another artist called James Lawson). William, a carpenter, moved his family to Hamilton, Ontario when James was very young and I see in the Canadian 1881 census, 18-year-old James lists himself as an artist. 

Walburga, Lady Paget before Villa I Tatti (c.1929)

Reading the few accounts of him from museums that hold his work, James's move to Europe around the 1880s is seen very much as a result of his desire to be, or at least learn to be, an artist. I find that a little insulting to Ontario, where I'm sure it was perfectly possible to be an artist (and he declared himself to be one) and he studied art there in 1879-80.  However, I would possibly concede that the art market might have been bigger/more profitable/more prestigious in London, where he eventually settled. He had travelled to Italy aged 16 to study with Luigi Galli in Rome, and according to Caterina, he felt his spiritual home was Florence. He also studied at the Academie Julien in Paris from 1881-4, and he spent the last 40 years of his life in Chelsea, travelling over to Canada regularly.  He never exhibited at the Royal Academy, but was the founder member of the Senefield Club in 1908 and a member of the Canadian Arts Club in 1912-15 and designed posters for the Underground around the same time.

Westminster Abbey for the London Underground Poster (1915)

Caterina (or Catherine Adah Muir) was a native of Canada, and when she and her husband travelled to Europe and then England, her mother and other members of her family seem to have come too.  Her mother settled near Torquay, making some newspaper accounts report that Mrs Kerr-Lawson was a Devon girl.  When James served in the First World War with the Canadian Overseas Expeditionary Force, Caterina became Superintendent for the Queen Mary's Hostel for Nurses, which earned her an MBE in 1918. Despite this, on the return of James after the war, no more seems to have been said of her achievement. In 1921's census, she has returned to being an artist's wife at Glebe Place.

La Caterina (c.1887-9)

James died in May of 1939, shortly before the start of another war and Caterina moved to Green Ridge in Torquay with her family, keeping the studio in Glebe Place.  In 1940, Caterina was granted a civil list pension of £100 in memory of her husband's contribution to art. She died suddenly in Chelsea in 1952, and she was so well regarded that it made the local news.  It is interesting to read the inaccurate 'facts' of her life that they printed - that she was born in York, that she met her husband in Paris - and you wonder where it came from. It possibly made a more artistic story than meeting her husband in Canada, but there is no mention of her MBE. What was remembered was her intellect and passion for the arts, which was no doubt true and not a bad way to be remembered.

See you tomorrow.

Saturday 20th December - The Serious Book

Blimey, we are on the home straight now, aren't we? And only one more day of it getting darker before we are over the hump and heading towards Spring again.  Okay, I might be a little over optimistic on that front, after all January always feels like it's over a hundred days long (especially as I get paid before Christmas which makes January a 6-week month, ouch). On with the books!

The Serious Book (1874) Auguste Toulmouche

I had to admit I laughed when I saw this painting. On face value, it is just a funny painting of a couple of women who have dozed off while reading a book that is serious but possibly not interesting.  Obviously, it could be argued that it is a painting of silly females attempting to do serious reading and it is all too much for their lady-brains and their massive frocks, so they have passed out in a heap. That massive Japanese screen is very impressive too - is the point that in the face of such a lot of worldly art and knowledge, these two lasses have fallen asleep as thinking and reading are not feminine past-times? In Kathryn Brown's marvellous Women Readers in French Painting 1870-1890, she suggests that the weight of the book, intellectually speaking, is too much and it slips from the girl's hands.  She also shares Balzac's quote that women enjoy neither reason nor ripe fruit. Charming.

In the Library (1872) 

How could I not include this one? It was one of the first I wrote on my little list when devising this Blogvent as I adore that dress. I don't think this young lady would agree that reading is not for ladies. The fact she has hitched her skirt up over her arm puzzles me, unless of course she has been scrambling up the bookcase to find books to read.  She has a little 'tbr' pile going on next to her on the chair, so it looks like she has been busy getting a load of books out and leaving them in a heap.  Mind you, she could equally be discarding books because she has yet to find one with pictures...

Reading Aloud (1884) Albert Moore

When I saw the unconscious women, I was reminded of two different pictures - firstly, I thought of the sleepy women of Albert Moore's canvases.  They seem to wilt about, sometimes reading, and looking thoroughly exhausted. The languor of Moore's world raises so many questions - where are they? Is there a library nearby?  Why is everyone so tired?

Young Ladies Beside the Seine (1857) Gustave Courbet

Not to lower the tone, but also there is a hint of naughtiness when women flop into unconsciousness together in paintings.  I heard many a colourful interpretation of Moore's women and Courbet's ladies by the Seine, so I did wonder about our ladies in the library.  I noticed that most of the pieces I read on the painting described them as mother and daughter, which is one interpretation (cough, cough).  In the lady in brown-green's defence, she's not propped at a flattering angle, so I don't really think she's the other woman's mother. There is the question of what they have been reading - we have seen a couple of instances of women possibly reading things they shouldn't, and maybe the women have been overcome because it was all too scandalous! Maybe it's that book that I saw reviewed on TikTok where the woman has an affair with her pot plant. I was just going to link it here but couldn't remember the title, however it turns out to be an entire genre of spicy romance. Well, here we are.

With some of the paintings we have seen this month, you can tell what the book is, and I really wish we could see here and therefore we could know what has gone on - but I'm going to play innocent and say it was just a really, really boring book, something like Very Boring Pieces of Stone I Have Known by Professor Dull, but then that might be someone's absolutely dream book. Similarly, plant-based-sentient-object-romance books might not be for everyone, but a search I hope I never have to repeat reveals that the one I was recommended is called Vined and Dined, which is smutty genius, so maybe it will win the Booker Prize. 

See you tomorrow...

Friday 19th December - Love's Passing

Today I will be heading up to see my Dad and give his house a bit of a clean before the family gathering on Christmas Eve.  I like to think of that as being a bit like the counting in Cold Comfort Farm, only with more trifle. Anyway, on with the books!

Love's Passing (1883-4) Evelyn De Morgan

According to Wilhelmina Stirling (Evelyn's sister) and her biography of William De Morgan and his Wife (a title that still irks me) Love's Passing shows two lovers seated at twilight, listening to Love piping a tune. The figure of Love is gloriously rosy, putting to shame the rather lacklustre sky and entirely drawing the attention of the man. However, the woman beside him holds up her hand in warning as she has heard another sound, that of the approach of Old Age and Death who are coming to ruin everything from across the river. T'uh, typical, who invited them?

The verse that inspired the work is by Tibullus and is this:

'List we to Love meanwhile in lovers' fashion;

Death nears apace, with darkness round his brows;

Dull Eld is stealing up to shame our passion; 

How shall grey hairs beseem these whispered vows?

Well, first of all, that's rude. If Old Age (or Dull Eld) wants to be judgy over oldies having a flirt, then it can keep it to itself. Who knew Old Age would be so ageist? How ironic. The passage goes on to imagine dying in your lover's arms and their grief at your funeral. Look, I'm not one to tell you what to read, but have you tried something jollier?

The Poor Man Who Saved the City (1901)

EDM uses the device of an open book in other paintings too, such as in The Poor Man Who Saved the City where the book is open to Ecclesiastes. The implication is that this anonymous man, a diplomat who has saved his city, is forgotten by the partying people in the background, who are too busy to consider who has saved them. The implication is that they are too occupied with the people who claim their might and aggression won the day to realise it was the man who used his wisdom and diplomacy who quietly got the job done. Thank goodness that sort of thing doesn't happen today.

The Gilded Cage (1901-2)

Sometimes in the discarding of the book lies the story - this woman longs to be outside with the party animals and the book that represents her comfortable and affluent life is cast upon the floor. Behind her weary-looking, older husband are books with titles about poetry, music, art and death (apparently a book on medicine but not one with an optimistic title) which the young wife wants nothing to do with. She wants to go out dancing and quite frankly, he should let her as I bet it is difficult to do any reading with her scrabbling at the window. It would put you right off.

I think the message in the many books of EDM is that life is beautiful in the moment but wisdom will tell you the truth of the situation. That truth is not going to be jolly - Death and Old Age are not over the river yet, and the girl is worrying about them. All the truths of mankind are in the books in the Gilded Cage, but all she wants to do is go out and dance. The truth of life is that we will grow old and die, that people will not appreciate you no matter what you do and that our joy on the earth is probably fleeting and unpredictable.  Is it better to know, or better to enjoy that fleeting, joyous moment and be unpleasantly surprised by what follows? Do we really want to be right and miserable? Or is it that it is better to be grimly prepared than ignorant, happy and at the mercy of life and others.  The truth is probably somewhere in between, but unfortunately once that book is open and you have had a little read, there is no going back. I'm not sure that is such a bad thing, unfortunately.

See you tomorrow.