Sunday 14th December - A Pleasant Corner

We are having friends round today, so in between cooking a spag bol and making a damn fine tiramisu, I best have a little look at some art...

A Pleasant Corner (1865) John Callcott Horsley

Oh, to be this lady in her comfy seat by a roaring fire! As we have seen, there is something about the combination of a roaring fire, a good book and a comfy chair that is too good to pass up. She even has a curtain she can draw to cut herself off from the rest of the house. Now, that's a good idea...

Look at that wall! I love the settle and its panelling, but the decoration above is stunning! Is it a hanging of some description? It goes down behind the settle, and I love how the light goes across it from the little window. What one earth is she reading? That book is enormous and not exactly a bit of light reading. I wonder what it could be or is it just another hint at her traditional, old-fashioned life surrounded by trappings of wealth and status-quo.

Pay for Peeping (1872)

Horsley obviously liked a panel-and-tapestry interior, and I liked how the lovebirds are side-lit by a little window again, like our girl with a book. I very much like the woman about to give the peeping boy a clout which he richly deserves, horrible little creature.

The Morning of St Valentine (1863)

I wondered if Horsley had a favourite model, as the young lady, merrily counting her Valentines reminds me of our reader. I read that Horsley was completely against nudity in his art and people mockingly said his name was John Clothes Horsley, but actually that's a bit of a novelty. Not everything has to involve boobs.

Every Blogvent really should involve Horsley as he is intrinsically connected to our idea of Christmas. He originated the first Christmas card in 1843 and is therefore to blame for the fact that I now have to remortgage the house to afford stamps every December (how much are they now?! etc etc) It is interesting that his view of Christmas as portrayed in the above card is entirely secular. I was also surprised that he combined the holidays of Christmas and New Year into a joint event, but apparently that can be traced back as far as the early eighteenth century. To Horsley, Christmas involved drinking and being with loved ones, with the side panels showing charitable acts of clothing and feeding the poor.  I feel like we have the central bit sorted, we just need to help out on the side bits a tad more. Right, off to make some tiramisu...

See you tomorrow.

Saturday 13th December - A Quiet Half Hour

I had big plans for today but as we are all quite exhausted, I'm staying home and relaxing rather than attempt any Christmas Market action. Gives me more time for this sort of thing...

'A Quiet Half-Hour' (1876) Lionel Charles Henley

 I almost didn't pick this one as it is very similar to our first outing with the lass and her parrot on a chain.  Yes, we have the decorative items and the tea set out, but there is something completely different going on her. The speech marks on the title are either her telling someone she is having a quiet half hour or she has been told to go and have a bit of a sit down, implying that the rest of her time is active and busy. I'm particularly enamoured with the golden screen behind her with the fans attached.

That is a gorgeous shimmering screen, so are we to assume that our young lady is worldly? Has she been off in Japan?

That vase is beautiful, as is the little statuette - is it the Venus de Milo? I can't tell as it doesn't have a million tourists stood in front of it and my feet don't hurt. Again, it hints that the lass putting her feet up is comfortable with the bric-a-brac of world travel and the resulting art collection. I also love how, despite being well dressed, she appears to be lolling about in much the same way as anyone would, which is very impressive as she is presumably wearing a corset. I think our girl is an adventurer, a collector and she has gone off to have a quiet half-hour, after which she will climb a mountain or something. Good for her.

The Studio (1887)

Okay, I rather like Mr Henley, especially after I found this painting. Lionel Charles Henley (1833-93) was active from the 1860s up until his death in 1893, scoring 10 Royal Academy exhibition paintings. He was better known as 'Bill' to his friends that included George du Maurier, whom he shared a house with for a time after meeting while studying in Dussledorf. In an obituary of him in the St James Budget it was written 'He was one of the most genial and loveable of men, and of him it could honestly be said he never made an enemy.'

The Tiff (1889)

I think it can be safely said that he like a narrative piece, especially if you see some of the titles for his Royal Academy works, such as Left in Charge (1864), A Vexed Question (1882) and A Labour of Love (1885).  It was noted in his obituary in the Hampstead and Highgate Express that towards the end of his life, Henley set his paintings in the 18th century, such as The Tiff and The Miniature, which have a tendency to look very much like the work of Ed Blair Leighton

The Miniature (1880s)

I love this picture of a Regency girl studying a portrait in a little frame, with fans on the shelf behind her.  Again, she is a wealthy, leisured young woman, but once more I like the relaxed nature of the image.

Before I sign off for the day, as you know I like a bit of a nose about in people's family tree and I really don't have time today to unpick all this, but Lionel died in 1893 leaving his wife Esther Lydia Newman (or Lydia Esther, as we will see) to live apparently another decade.  Esther was a little older than Lionel, born in 1827, which will become relevant, as they married in 1862, when she was 35 years old.  I'm not judging but that seemed a little old.  However, Lydia Esther Newman (of the same dates and area) had already been married to carpenter John Edward Speed in 1845, when she was 18, and that marriage was dissolved in 1861 when it was found she had run off with Henry Charles Key and was living in sin in Brompton. Lawks. The only reason I thought this had the vague possibility of being the same woman was that in the 1901 census, Lydia 'Henry' (corrected to Henley), a widow, is living with her son, the artist Edward Speed.  I wish I had time now to see if that was indeed the same woman, but I don't. However, Lydia/Esther, I will be back...

See you tomorrow.

Friday 12th December - The Studious Servant

 It's the end of the second week of Blogvent and I was hoping to get my spinning wheel mended today (first world problem? old world problem?) as a Christmas without the calming whirl of my Ashford Joy (a gorgeous wheel) is unthinkable. However, I got a flat tyre yesterday which has thrown a spanner in the works, so I have to wait until Monday to get it fixed so I am housebound. Actually, that's not a massive problem... Enough of my nonsense, on to the art!

The Studious Servant (c.1871) Théodule-Augustin Ribot

As I said in our earlier post about literate servants, I had not done with the subject, and here we have a maid having a bit of a read as she dusts. I was instantly reminded of Henry Taylor and Mary Ryan..

Prospero and Miranda (Henry Taylor and Mary Ryan) (1865) Julia Margaret Cameron

Julia Margaret Cameron might have had some rum notions of certain subjects, but she was enormously progressive when it came to the education of her maid Mary Ryan, who she took into her home after finding her and her mother in rather dire straits on Putney Common (so the official version of the story goes). Whatever the case, Mary came into Julia Margaret Cameron's home as a maid, first and foremost, but was allowed to attend the lessons that Julia's sons received.  On a visit in 1861, Henry Taylor (poet and playwright) saw Mary in a lesson with the boys and was horrified. He asked,  ‘What will become of her? If she is to be a servant, I am afraid there is no such thing as a good servant who is fond of reading' and took Mary's high spirits as being proof that you can't go around teaching the working classes to read as it does them no good and confuses them. Well, she went on to become Lady Cotton, so I'll keep reading, thanks.

Unlike our first reading maid, today's girl is pausing in her dusting to read something left out on the table. Is the implication that she is making time in her day to teach herself to read? Is that why she is the 'studious servant'? There seems to be no judgement in the title (that I can see), and she has merely tucked her duster under her arm for a moment, not discarded her tools in order to read. What is she reading?

I think it is only a book, but I'm hoping it is some scandalous papers that her master and mistress have left around, thinking she cannot read. I'm hoping it's the code to the safe. Revolution! I do beg your pardon, got a bit carried away again.

The Cooks (1862)

Actually, unlike our previous artist, I don't think there is any judgement from M. Ribot on the servants as he specialised in domestic genre scenes, starting his career with pictures of kitchens and their inhabitants. To Ribot, the cooks, maids and staff were a source of fascination that never ended and each of their tasks was given equal amounts of reverence as the Biblical scenes he also created. I think Ribot is saying that our girl is so industrious that she has time to read and clean, and as such, she is a work of art. Like Julia Margaret Cameron, I believe Ribot has no problem with a literate staff, and I wonder at the employers that felt a literate maid was a disgruntled one. Why? Because they would find other work? Because they would find out what you have been up to? Because they would read a book that told them that their life could be more enjoyable and they could be earning more money? That sounds like an employer problem, not an employee problem. I'd rather work for someone who had my best interests at heart, and I would hope that anyone willing to work for me would do so because I was a good employer and they wanted to, not because they had no other options. Out of the two scenarios which makes a better employee? 

Hmmm, I'll see you tomorrow...

Thursday 11th December - Cynthia

 I'm giving blood today so I better get this done before I give up an armful and am too weak to do anything other than lay on the sofa eating chocolate biscuits (medicinal, obviously). So what have we got today?

Cynthia (1917) William Strang

I chose this lass because it is such a beautiful portrait, although I wish I knew who she was. I'll come back to that. Let's start with that glorious golden blouse which provides a nice amount of light in an otherwise quite russet painting.  Her red hair is echoed in her red skirt and I especially like the little dots of colour that are illuminating the book as it slips into shadow...

I think the picture is of flowers, possibly? I really like the pink and red against the white, it's very effective.

As beautiful as she is, I fear Cynthia reminds me of all artists' models of this period, who all seem to look extremely sad.  Given the date, I guess it is understandable as mostly likely they have just found out their beloved has disappeared into no-man's land, never to be seen in one piece again. The deep introspection of Cynthia seems to be weighing her down to the point that all her clothes seem to be dragging downwards too, with the book sliding from her knee as well. Why is she so sad? Who is she?

I started by wondering if she was a member of the family - I would think Cynthia is around 20 here (possibly a little younger) I wondered if she was Strang's daughter, but no that was Agnes (1893-1953) better known as Nancy, however Nancy married Captain William Martin in 1917, so it might be a portrait of her as a character although that seems a bit convoluted. On that note, I also checked William's sons to see if they married Cynthia, but William jnr (1886-1952) (also an artist) married Frances; David (1887-1968) married Dorothy; Peter (1889-?) didn't marry as far as I can see, too busy playing rugby; and Roy (1891-1951) married Eva. No joy there then, but what about Cynthias in William's circle?

Cynthia Asquith (1917) Augustus John

I thought I was on a winner with Cynthia Asquith (1887-1960) as she had red hair, modelled for paintings and was a writer which might explain the book, but I'm not sure she looks like our model and at 30, might be a tad old (apologies to Lady Asquith). What about Cynthia Curzon?

Cynthia Mosley (nee Curzon) (1929) Cecil Beaton

Yes, she married Oswald Mosley in 1920, but never mind that, we all make mistakes, Cynthia Curzon (1898-1933) looks far more promising and would be 19 in the painting.  I think her long face is very suitable, but reports say her hair was corn coloured, not russet. Of course, she could be just an artist model called Cynthia. Rats.

Lady with a Red Hat (1918)

William Strang was born in Dunbartonshire and after a brief stint as a clerk in a shipbuilding office, studied at the Slade. He is probably best known these days for his portrait of Vita Sackville West in a red hat (with a book) from 1918, which is why I would not discount that Cynthia isn't also a society girl. He had a house in Hamilton Terrace in St John's Wood which became a meeting place for the great and good in society and where he became good friends with Thomas Hardy. He had been suffering from ill health in 1921 so he and his wife went to Bournemouth, but during dinner he suffered a seizure and died, aged 62. No reflection on Bournemouth, which is lovely, obviously.

See you tomorrow.

Wednesday 10th December - Adieu

 Last day in the office for the year! I am so very grateful for the flexibility of my job which I have had for 25 years (I was a child when I started there, honestly, I'm not just really old) and I love it very much.  I will love it even more from my sofa under a heated blanket. Anyway, back to the books!

Adieu (1901) Edmund Blair Leighton

Me and Miss Marple both love a bit of Blair Leighton (as Miss Marple says in A Murder is Announced (1950)). How could I not include this young lady who has put her book down for a moment as her beloved is off to get shot by the French (probably). He is beseeching her to remain true and wait for his return and she looks like she is wondering if the next instalment of her book is published yet. The painting was so popular that Blair Leighton prepared it to be a premium print for the Art Journal in 1902, heavily trailered the year before. The Western Morning News described the print as being a naval officer of Nelson's time bidding his sweetheart goodbye as he is dashing away to his waiting boat. I see no awful foreshadowing in either figure so I wonder if he won't actually be shot by the French and will return to scramble up her wall once more (not a euphemism).

I wonder what her book is? I love the bench (chair?) in the garden and the lichen growing on it - of course I had to see if there is a 'language of flowers' meaning for lichen, which means solitude and endurance.  We can read this to mean she will remain true to him and wait out his absence with her book or she will be alone forever because of war-related reasons. Talking of language of flowers, what about these?

White roses mean purity and innocence, so I don't think our sailor can have any doubts that our girl is going to be marrying anyone else, but they also mean new beginnings. The Brighton Gazette in 1913 had a very interesting take on this - they believed all partings in Blair Leighton paintings were an 'adieu' rather than 'au revoir' and all partings were temporary. The lovers' progress was always seen optimistically and even if there were partings and obstacles, all would be right in the end. I think our girl in her pink frock will be reunited with her dashing officer before too long and all will be right in the world.

The Window Seat (1905)

Blair Leighton is still contentious and no doubt seen by some people as deeply commercial and trashy, the sort of paintings liked by people who buy their art from Woolworths (as I believe the phrase goes). So far, he has not had his renaissance which is a shame as yes, his art is deeply commercial but really really enjoyable for that very reason. He was the son of artist Charles Blair Leighton (1823-55, which made him in his early 30s when he died, yikes) and his own son Eric (1886-1976, 90 years old which is much better) was also an artist, so why has no gallery done anything on the Blair Leighton dynasty? That would be a gorgeous exhibition.

See you tomorrow.

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...