Review: Captured in Art

 If you have read this blog for a while, you'll know I'm a sucker for an Art novel, for example this one, this one or this one, not to mention this one and this one which I wrote myself. I am always excited to hear of a new release and so I bring you Captured in Art by the splendid Vanessa Wiggins...

LOOK AT IT! Gorgeous cover, no notes.

Based in the mid- to late-Victorian periods we travel from London to Sicily, then to the aesthetic salons of Holland Park, uncovering secrets and art. Sophia travels to Sicily to improve her health, yet finds only further problems with her marriage. Twenty years later, Olivia lives with her parents and everyone's secrets in plush Holland Park, which are threatening to be revealed.

I really enjoyed the story, finding many echoes in the real lives of artists we know. Sophia's inner life and her search for hope and renewal in the sunshine of Sicily no doubt echoes many Victorian women's search for health, but only to find themselves held back by things, and people, beyond their control. The Holland Park salons remind me of the Prinseps, and they must have been pressure cookers of secrets as everyone attempts to paint themselves as respectable, knowing the truth is just waiting to be revealed. The pressure for respectability, security, marriage and stability was a particularly female struggle, yet another way that the Victorians kept everyone, especially women, in line and for both Sophia and Olivia, the struggle could not be more real. I liked the nod to the sensation novels of the period, secrets and lies just waiting to derail your best efforts and how stressful it must be to know something is under the rug, but will ultimately come to light.

Personally, I loved the first part but absolutely adored the second part as I am anyone's for a tableau vivant and I now also want a mischievous mongoose. I was left wondering about the real-life counterparts of some of Vanessa's characters and the situations they found themselves in - for example, Rossetti was notorious for not completing work on time (for many reasons) but how did that affect his peers? The interweaving of so many characters so well makes this a fascinating book to read and a must for all lovers of Victorian art fiction.

I was delighted to have a chat with the author, which is always a smashing thing...

1.  Your novel is set among the artists of the mid Victorian period, with a definite Pre-Raphaelite/Aesthetic overtone. How did you come to discover your love for this period?

Rather by chance, actually. I’d known and liked the Pre-Raphaelites all of my adult life, but only came across the later Aesthetic Movement a few years ago, through a chance reference. It set me off on a major quest of discovery, all over the country.

I explored historic houses, such as Wightwick, Cragside and Cardiff Castle, and the remarkable Leighton House artist’s studio-house. I was thrilled by their extraordinary architecture, the astonishing interiors and remarkable décor, and the beautiful objects within. I also went to galleries and museums, from the Watts Gallery to the Walker Art Gallery, and all places in between. And, needless to say, to the gorgeous Russell-Cotes. I found myself captivated by the art and design of that era.

2. I loved the travelling in your novel as I've always felt Pre-Raphaelite artists weren't afraid to go abroad - why was it important to you to send Edwin and Sophia to Sicily?

I love Sicily! There’s something visceral about it: the landscapes, the culture, art and food. Sicily lies at the crossing point of the Mediterranean so everyone’s been there, enriching it with influences from the Arabs, Greeks, Phoenicians, Normans and many others. It’s a place of discovery and revelation – and that’s its role in my story.

My artists travel to Italy and Sicily to paint and to learn – as so many Victorian artists did. At a time before mass media and communications, to experience the beauty and sheer foreignness of such places must have been astonishing and life-changing. And however did they move all their painting stuff?!

3. Sophia's vivid internal world is fascinating. Do you feel that Pre-Raphaelitism has a special relationship with women's emotional and mental health?

Oh yes, definitely. There are so many paintings that reveal the inner thoughts and feelings of women, which is notable in a generally male-focussed world. Often to a surprising degree too, given that the artists are mostly from middle-class backgrounds, and yet they did challenge the prevailing views. I’m thinking of Waterhouse’s ‘Mariana in the South’, Holman Hunt’s ‘The Awakening Conscience’ and G F Watts’ ‘Found Drowned’ where our sympathy is very much with the tragic victim.

4. Women's security and social safety and their life and love choices rings very true to me in your novel as I am reminded of the lives of some of the models I have studied. Were you influenced by any of the lives of women from the real Victorian art scene?

I’m a shameless cherry-picker when I write! I get ideas and inspiration from all aspects of my subject, and the lives of the muses and models – as with the artists themselves – most definitely influenced and inspired me. These young women inhabited a male-dominated world, where their lives were determined by men: their wealth, their desires and tastes, but many of the models found freedom and self-expression on their own terms. I wanted that also for my characters.

When we meet them, both Sophia and Olivia are constrained in one way or another by societal expectations, or the wants and needs of others, yet both find ways to follow their hearts and true selves. They find romantic love, but they also find self-expression and fulfilment.

5. Is there anywhere in the Victorian art scene, either in England or abroad, that you would like to have gone?

I’m particularly enthralled by the art and design of the mid 1870s, which is the setting for Olivia’s story in the novel. It’s the height of the Aesthetic era and the look of that period’s so gorgeous. Exploring it felt like stepping through a door from monochrome into an undiscovered world of the richest colours and ornamentation.

Actually, I’d love to have worn those dresses and stunning fabrics – although perhaps not the under garments! There’s also a radical anti-establishment feel to that time, (as with the Pre- Raphaelites) that seems to mirror the 1960s, something I can relate to.

6. What are you working on next?

I’m at the ideas stage for a story of a young woman seeking her missing sister. As with every story I write, there will be a garden (because I love gardens) – and probably one that’s overgrown and awaiting restoration. Also, a big house, and a parallel mystery from the past waiting to be discovered. I don’t think it will be Victorian-set, although I will be very sad to move away from that era. It won’t stop me visiting houses and galleries, though – that will definitely continue!

7. Lastly, what's your favourite painting from the period?

Gosh, so many! You could ask me that every day for a month and I’d always say something different.

I love Frank Cadogan Cowper’s ‘Vanity’ – so beautiful, yet unsettling.

‘Autumn Leaves’ by Millais, which so captures this season.

And three by Waterhouse come to mind: ‘Circe Invidiosa’, beautiful but sinister; ‘Boreas’ where her swirling cloak is like the wind itself; and ‘The Soul of The Rose’ – I think I probably imagine myself like that, in my garden, wearing a gorgeous gown and scenting a rose!

I can't recomment this novel enough and thank you to Vanessa for finding me. It will make a wonderful autumn read, and a smashing Christmas pressie for the art lover in your life (or yourself, obviously)

Captured in Art is released in October and is available to order from Amazon and all good bookshops.

The Belle of the Village

I actually started this post in an entirely different way, but ended up being hung up on one particular painting. I think I just want to talk about that picture, rather than the general subject. So, here we go...

If you know me, you know I obviously have a weakness for images of fallen women. It was the way I met Fanny Cornforth in Found. The Victorian's attitude towards what a woman could and couldn't do with their body still impacts how we live today and I am always delighted to see a painting that explores this.

The Belle of the Village (1883) Alice Havers

 In The Belle of the Village, Alice Havers shows us the consequences of having the baby out of wedlock. The woman is now an outcast, a figure of ridicule which everyone wants to look at but no-one wants to help. Let's start with her...

This is the so-called 'belle of the village' that we've heard so much about! Not so 'Belle' now, is she? That seems to be what the people behind her are saying, but this once beautiful toast of the village has obviously been through some stuff and now is walking with a stick, with a baby on her hip and a pack on her back. The baby has no shoes, which is a worry, and I am concerned about that thin shawl holding her up. The poor woman looks exhausted, and reminds me of a Thomas Hardy lass who has been hard done by a feckless weasel and has to go and die in the snow. With her dark skirt, I did wonder if she had been widowed but I don't believe so as she wouldn't be pointed at in the street.

The Outcast (1851) Richard Redgrave

I am reminded of this corker by Richard Redgrave of a woman being thrown out of the house with her baby. The father points to the snowy darkness while the family sob behind him. We can see the context of this poor lass, the nice, middle-class home and the Bible picture on the wall, all of which she has to leave because of a baby. I do wonder at the Biblical picture because surely the Christian thing would be to look after her, but Dad is going full Old Testament on her, so out she goes. We have no context for the Belle of the Village, other than she used to be the most blessed of all the women, which does hint at being well off or at least not poor. All that snow in the Redgrave painting reminds me of this...

Penance (1889) William John Hennessy 

This painting was part of Sobvent back in 2019, and depicts a young unwed lass and her baby performing penance out in the snow in nothing but her penitent robe. Here we don't know what class she is from, although the large house in the background hints at the father of her little bundle of joy. She must perform the penance alone rather than as a couple because his class gets him out of it. Where is the man in all this? There is a big grey castle of a house in the background of The Belle of the Village - is the culprit in there?

Take Your Son, Sir! (1851-6) Ford Madox Brown

There aren't many images of men accepting responsibility for their illegitimate offspring (I did a post here about the problem) and even the most famous image on the subject, Take Your Son, Sir! might not be about that at all. So what about the Belle? Who's the daddy? There are a few of options...

Behind the Belle are a group gossiping about her.  I'll come to the flat fish in a minute, and I doubt our old chap is the father of the baby, but what about the young man sitting on the fence? He is a rather handsome chap, who has drawn back from the gossiping pair - is it guilt? Even if he isn't to blame for her predicament, he doesn't look as judgemental - is he literally on the fence about how to treat her?

Over on the bridge is a Shepherd, his back to the Belle, concerning himself with his sheep.  I don't get the feeling that he was the father either, but possibly he was the sweetheart of the beautiful girl, who went astray with someone else, like in Found or especially Forgiven...

Forgiven (1898-99) George Harcourt

In Forgiven there is no accidental baby, so the shepherd welcomes back his beloved while his sheep gaze in the field beyond. There is something very Christian about sheep (for obvious reasons) rather than the trapped calf that appears in Found. I think the sheep are a reflection of the man (a good reflection) and the calf was a reflection of the woman (not such a good reflection). So, I think the shepherd on the bridge is the life she could have had, which is possibly reflected in the other figures on the bridge...

On the bridge is another woman watching the Belle - is she sneering? Is she thoughtful? Is she a former friend but now has to keep her distance? I find her face to be more thoughtful than judgemental, and I think her frilly white cap denotes that her life has just begun while the black hat of the Belle hints that hers will soon be over. But what are the children looking at?

Found Drowned (1850) George Frederick Watts

I'm sorry but the moment I see a fallen woman and a bridge, I immediately think of Found Drowned and The Bridge of Sighs. What is it about fallen women and bridges? The third painting in Augustus Egg's iconic Past and Present (1858) has the fallen woman under a bridge too. Is it a metaphor for moving from one place or state to another? Jumping from a bridge was the assumed fate of fallen women, again having many metaphoric implications - refusing to accept your transition from good to bad by jumping off, being washed clean of their sins in death and all that sort of nonsense. The children on the bridge might be pointing to the autumn leaves (which are dying, obviously) or they might be pointing to the river which will be the final destination for Belle. How jolly. So, how did we get here exactly? Sin!

Just to be a bit obscure for a moment, but I remembered learning in my eighteenth century art course that flat fish are to do with female genitalia. Charming. I remember being told in all those endless paintings of beautiful still lifes that you always looked out for a cracked pot or a flat fish. The lass in red has some fish hanging from her basket, which could hint that our Belle was a bit of a one in her day, but I think there is something more disturbing going on...

On the far right of the painting is a little girl with an apple, all very Biblical and probably to do with temptation and how we ended up with a baby in the first place.  The young boy is reaching for it. No, hang on, he's reaching for her. Hmmm...

The Woodman's Daughter (1850-1) John Everett Millais

Any excuse to include The Woodman's Daughter, but I saw fruit and children and went straight there. Again, a little boy, a temption, a little girl. Different set up, but same energy, as the little boy in The Belle of the Village is reaching to take the apple, he isn't being offered it. He also has hold of her wrist, which I'm not entirely comfortable with in the context of this painting. Everything has meaning. The little girl wears a black ruffled hat (which may be the hood of her cape), but she and the Belle are the only two wearing the black hats. Is she the 'before' to the Belle's 'after'?

Before

After

My favourite before and after has to be Robins of Modern Times and Thoughts of the Past by John Roddam Spencer Stanhope, painted between 1857 and 1859 and showing the pathway from rural dalliance to urban sex work. Alice Havers might be implying that the little boy who grabs your apple one day will grab a great deal more the next and you will be the one who has to suffer the consequences. There is no hint at who the Belle of the Village was before her downfall and the title is an ironic one as she is not the most beautiful and loved now, by the expression on her fellow villager's faces. She's a cautionary tale which can have only one satisfying outcome, which involves the bridge and the river below. 

I think the thing that annoys me the most is the mocking of the villagers, especially the smile on the central girl's face at the situation the Belle has found herself in. There is something ghoulish about women's enjoyment of other women's repression under the patriarchal boot. As my daughter would say, she's an utter 'pick me' with her smiling along with the ridiculing, or is she just scared that if she doesn't comply, the finger of ridicule might turn on her. If she goes around with her fish all dangling out there and no bonnet on, she's obviously no better than she ought to be, if you ask me.

Past and Present: Misfortune (1858) Augustus Egg

The fact that Alice Havers painted this makes me pause as who is being judged here? As you will remember from this post, Alice had a bit of a rum time of it with her husband and his many affairs. Her images often didn't involve men as I think the sort of divorce she had would colour your view somewhat. The Belle of the Village is not only sympathetic to the woman who has fallen, but also questions whether or not she was pushed. There are numerous images of fallen women where pity is invoked for the woman - the mistress in the The Awakening Conscience is being saved by Jesus knocking on the door; we feel sorry for the poor wretch in Found; we are sad that the poor lass drowned in Found Drowned, but we are not led to believe that they didn't choose the predicament they find themselves in. In The Woodman's Daughter, she takes the strawberries and gives into temptation. The situation is a little less clear in Robins of Modern Times but the way that boy takes the girl's wrist in The Belle of the Village is not about temptation, it's about consent. Or lack therein.

The Bridge of Sighs (c.1850s) William James Grant

The reason that The Belle of the Village is so fascinating is that the title is unexpected and the symbolism is so thickly layered. Is Alice Havers asking us to still consider this poor woman the Belle despite what has happened to her? Does her suffering make her more beautiful? Is the title ironic, and this fallen creature used to have it all and now look at her! What happened exactly? In the Victorian stories of fallen women, sexual assault is rarely overtly spoken about and she is more likely to have made a mistake or been weak in the face of temptation. There is ambiguity in Alex d'Urberville's attack of Tess. Hetty Sorrel in Adam Bede is judged for the death of her illegitimate child rather than for the act that led to the child. The image of the fish hanging from the girl in red's basket speaks of the temptation of women, and the little boy grabbing the girl hints that little boys take what tempts them. 

No-one in the village is helping the Belle, not seemingly stopping to ask how such a golden woman ended up so wretched. One vaguely positive hint is that the Belle has a walking stick, implying that she has learned to support herself because no-one else is going to do that.  

Hopefully she will leave the village and its judgemental inhabitants far behind her as she walks out of the left side of the canvas.

Everything Rossetti Did After 1868 is Rubbish

 I was reading the Pall Mall Budget (2nd February 1883) today and came across this interesting quote:

    "If Rossetti had died in 1868, at the age of forty, his fame as a poet would be far less than it at present is; his fame as a painter would have suffered no diminution. It would, on the contrary, have rather been augmented by the absence of so many works, covering so large a space, in which the finest powers of his brush and of his brain are scarcely represented at all."

Well, where shall we start? This was a review of the Rossetti retrospective at the Burlington Club which was a supplement to the Royal Academy official show (not to mention Fanny Cornforth's show at the Rossetti Gallery, which they didn't mention, obviously) so the reviewer would have been able to see a vast amount (if not quite all) of Rossetti's output in oil, watercolour, chalk and ink.  It can therefore not be through ignorance that they made the claim that everything art-wise after 1868 was bobbins. I scoffed in a self-righteous manner, because of course Rossetti was brill in the 1870s, but then thought about what we would be losing.  Had Fanny Cornforth not have been successful in keeping Rossetti alive, what would we have lost?

The reviewer regarded the exhibition at Burlington Club as the 'appendix' to the 'text' that was the RA, but thought it superior, as it contained more experimental, earlier work.  The review argued it had more originality, more variety and more of an insight over Rossetti's talent and genius in art. Take for example, The Meeting of Dante and Beatrice...

The Meeting of Dante and Beatrice in Paradise (1853)

The review called the above picture 'a mass of crude blue projected on a crude green basis; it happens to be beautiful and therefore right.'  They call it an experiment and that Rossetti was unusual for having the audacity to make something so wrong but make it extraordinarily right. For something less 'in your face,' try The Merciless Lady...

The Merciless Lady (1865)

This is described as 'sweet and delicate in the extreme, and of an emotional intensity which is beyond praise.' There is also love for Hesterna Rosa, How They Met Themselves and basically all the other watercolours.  It's not that the reviewer hated all the oils; they didn't mind the Proserpine or The Blessed Damozel which were there, but on the whole he found them 'morbid and extravagant, without invention, showing no intellectual stress, little affected by nature or humanity.' If the reviewer had their way, this painting would have been his last...

Mrs William Morris or The Blue Silk Dress (1868)

This portrait of Jane Morris is as good as any other portrait in Europe, the reviewer claimed, and was the best he had done. So, was everything after that point really unoriginal and uninspired?

Fanny Cornforth (1874)

I obviously have a bias - all paintings of Fanny are before the 1868 deadline so I can merrily shout 'bobbins' at everything after. Mind you, she appeared in some chalks in 1870-75.  Rats. It would take out a lot of Jane Morris and Alexa Wilding, so how original were all those oils?

Mariana (1870)

Arguably, Mariana is just The Blue Silk Dress with an irritating child making noise in the background.

The Bower Meadow (1872)

Rossetti makes Alexa Wilding the same in every single painting - she just faces in a different direction or leans a bit more - The Bower Meadow is awfully like La Ghirlandata, Veronica Veronese is awfully like A Sea Spell - either sit up, lean forward and reach or hold a thing, normally a musical instrument.

Mnemosyne (1876-1881)

Mnemosyne is the same as The Salutation of Beatrice (1880-81) and all those damn Pandoras, oh, and definitely Astarte Syriaca (1877).  Also, just the one facial expression. The reviewer was right! It's all the same! Why 1868? What could have possibly change in 1869?

Beata Beatrix (1864-70)

The three paintings that the reviewer singled out as being morbid and awful were Beata Beatrix, Dante's Dream and The Blessed Damozel. It took me a moment to see the connection in the review between everything good and everything bad and the date when it all changed. Granted, it might all be a coincidence, but it seems to me that Elizabeth Siddal's death and the effect it had on Rossetti is at the root of the problem. In two of the paintings that were singled out, Elizabeth is dead or dying and the third is about a dead lass looking down on her still-living beloved. The turning point was the year when Rossetti, losing eyesight from arguably the stress of Elizabeth's death, digs her up for the poems.

The First Madness of Ophelia (1864)

This is a hill I will die on - you cannot judge paintings without knowing the biographical surroundings. Okay, of course you can, but I prefer the rounder picture of understanding what exactly is going on it an artist's life before writing off a good half of his output. I would be astonished if the reviewer was not acquainted with Rossetti's life in 1869 and the significance of what they were saying. Think it all went downhill in 1869? Babe, He had his wife dug up for some worm-holed poems which ultimately resulted in his attempted suicide and progressive deterioration. He didn't have time for experimental watercolour.

Let's take three pictures on the same theme - a woman at a window, two from before the deadline and one after...

Fair Rosamund (1861)

Girl at the Lattice (1862)

La Donna Della Finestra (The Lady of Pity) (1879)

Here are three women at windows or Tre Donna a Tre Finestre if you are feeling fancy. In the first two, the women are intent on something, someone, within their little universe - is it their lover? Is it their rival? They are flushed, they are expectant, they are despairing. I'm not sure what expression Jane has except 'Jane' - the same expression she wears in every painting he does of her. She is staring at us, or more precisely, at Rossetti with her unknowable expression. I don't like to read too much into paintings (which is nonsense as I love it) but maybe the reason that none of the women have expressions after 1868 is because Rossetti no longer knew what anyone was feeling, let alone how to express that. Plus blank pretty women sell well.  Take your pick.

How They Met Themselves (1861)

The reviewer liked How They Met Themselves and I have to admit it's one of my favourites too. Do I like it more than any of his works after 1868? That's tricky as you are looking at the work of a later, much more experienced artist who has to sell his works as opposed to a younger, experimental man with fewer traumatic life experiences and fewer bills to pay. Oh, and a much decreased drug habit.

King Arthur and the Weeping Queens (1856-7)

As much as I scoffed, I think the reviewer of this article has a point, but I'm not sure it is for the reason they meant. It is a bit of a coincidence to see 1869 as the decline of Rossetti, but, yes, it really was for the very obvious reason. He was wobbly from 1862 onward but the tipping point has to be the exhumation of Elizabeth for the poems. It is interesting that the reviewer said that had he died in 1868, we would have lost his poems, because his 1870 book of poems would have never been published because the majority of them would have remained in the grave in a certain someone's coffin. Those same poems were the source of attack in reviews and again impacted his mental health which impacted his art.

A Sea Spell (1877)

So, in conclusion, what would have been the impact on Rossetti's legacy had he walked in front of an omnibus in 1868? Tricky, but the sheer output of Millais and Holman Hunt would have dwarfed him, and I think he would be an interesting side-note, very firmly 'the one whose wife died, then he died.' I very much doubt that Fanny Cornforth would have become the hate-figure she was seen as, Alexa would be more forgotten than she is and Jane Morris would have to find someone else to dally with before Scawen Blunt. Goodness, how would we feel about Elizabeth Siddal if no-one had dug her up? Rossetti's impact on Burne-Jones and Morris was firmly before the 1868 point, so they would have followed their paths, but Hall Caine might not have had such a career (shame, cough). It would be interesting to see what the absence of Rossetti's declining years meant for others as I always got the impression from friends like Frederick Shields that people carried around a lot of guilt about not intervening, not getting involved. Would European Symbolism be the same? That's a bit of a bold claim, but those 1870s oils did have an impact. Would Surrealism been the same?  Again, hard to tell, but Rossetti's art had a knock-on effect that our 1883 reviewer would not have known yet. 

Now, if Millais had not fallen in love with Ruskin's wife, would he have remained Pre-Raphaelite? That's the question...

Daisy Radcliffe Beresford

Today's subject/victim is another one I just stumbled into while looking at other things. She shares a name with my grandmother, so how could I resist? Meet Daisy...

The Royal Academy of Art School 1906

Okay, yes, she is in there somewhere - let's see - second row up, fourth in...

There she is! This is Daisy Radcliffe Clague, and she not only married a fellow artist but her daughter also went on to be an artist, so this is a triple bill of arty-goodness. Let's go back to the beginning...

Once upon a time in Tamworth, Staffordshire, in 1875, a school board inspector and the daughter of wholesale importer were married.  Not the most romantic of beginnings but William Lace Clague and Emma Elizabeth Clague were both from reasonably well-off backgrounds and so set up home first in Manchester, where their son Cyril Kingston Clague was born in 1876 and daughter Muriel Lace Clague was born in 1878. In 1879, the family settled in London in time for the arrival of Daisy Radcliffe Clague on 2nd November 1879. The family appear on the 1881 census at 83 Richmond Road, Hackney. The houses look like they have been split into flats, but you get the impression of some very grand town houses lining a nice wide road and the family had a general servant and a nurse for the children. According to friends and family, Daisy had a very alert, mathematical brain which made her a whizz at chess aged 5, but it was art that was her first love.

By 1891, all the children were at school. In the census of that year, Emma and daughters Muriel and Daisy are visiting Grandpa back in Warwickshire, but Dad and Cyril are still at the same address. Daisy went to the North London School of Art on a scholarship, receiving her Art Class Teacher's Certificate at aged 13, followed by her Art Class Mistress Certificate at 16. This was followed by a spell at Heatherley's (you simply have to go to Heatherley's!) then on to the RA from 1901 to 1906.

Deputy Charles Newell (1938)

By 1901, the Clague family had moved out of London to Hornsey, about 5 miles north west of Hackney and definitely a little less urban. The family lived in a house called Redwood in Crescent Road. Cyril had become a school teacher (he would become a school inspector like his father in due time) but neither Muriel or Daisy have any occupation against their name in the census. Daisy did well at the RA, winning the School Prize for a painting of a head from life and a silver medal for a model of a bust from life.  There was an infuriating comment in the Pall Mall Gazette on the prize giving - "clever as are the women students of our generation, the winning of the gold medal for historical painting seems beyond their power."

When I read that, I did say some unprofessional things. This is 1906 and within living memory of women not being allowed in art schools, certainly not able to paint from the life and certainly not taking them seriously. Plus, stuff your hierarchy of art genres as it favours men who inevitably (but not always) have the time, space and resources to do a big picture of sodding Napoleon. I do beg your pardon. Anyway, not only did Daisy leave school with some prizes, she also left with Frank Ernest Beresford, fellow student.

Frank was actually 2 years her junior, born in Belper in Derbyshire in 1881. He had gone to St John's Wood Art School before the RA, where he was taught by Alma Tadema, who would later become a neighbour to Frank and Daisy. Straight out of the RA, Frank won a scholarship that took him on an 18-month long tour of Asia, including attending the Meiji Emperor's annual tea party in Tokyo. He received an art award from the Japanese government in 1909 and returned to marry Daisy in 1910.

Mrs Jane Paxon Dore (1935)

In the meantime, Daisy had not just sat around waiting for Frank to return. She appeared at the May RA exhibition in 1907 with The Old Bridge at Fittleworth, following that the year later with a portrait of her father. Remarkably for such a young painter, she had the honour to appear in the RA illustrated booklet (hence the black and white below)...

William Lace Clague (1908)

The Queen magazine had a very jolly article about the female contingent of the 1908 RA:

 'It is not so very long since the young Englishwoman sat at home engaged in "elegant and genteel" occupations which she learned from such works as The Accomplished Female Instructor. Today her artistic instincts are no longer cribbed, cabined and confined.'

Daisy's portrait of her father was listed as being 'of merit' among a cavalcade of other young (and not so young) women who had work selected for the exhibition. In the summer exhibition at the Hampstead Art Society, she showed a portrait of composer Charles William Pearce and the Reverend Stewart Headlam.

Reverend Stewart Headlam (1907-8)

The Reverend has a Wikipedia page and he seems a lively fellow indeed. Both of her subjects have a religious background but I have no definitive information that Daisy was religious or had any relatives that were.  The only thing I can find is a small piece in the Halesworth Times  from 1908 where the 'Misses Clague' sang at the harvest festival with Miss Daisy Clague giving a spirited rendition of 'a dream of paradise'.  Clague is not a very popular name and it would be a coincidence that there would be two Daisy Clagues in England in 1908 (although obviously not impossible). 

1909 saw the portrait of Charles Pearce grace the Royal Academy and her portrait of her sister Muriel appeared in the Hampstead Art Society Summer show. 1910 brought a one-man show at Walker's Galleries in London, showing portraits and landscapes. The Morning Post gave it an interesting review, describing her 'great sincerity and admirable craftsmanship' : 'By-and-by, when Academic restraint has passed, she will infuse more spirit into her work, and her colour sense will develop with her feeling.' They were very hung up on how young she was, talking about how she had only recently left the RA school so I think Daisy got as good a review as she could. The London Evening Standard gave her show quite a long and detailed review, again harping on how young she was and what great promise it all showed. They use a really convoluted metaphor about eating a meal, that she had comfortably eaten her soup and joint and was working her way up to her peach melba, whereas many young artists these days go all in on their cake before having their bread and butter and end up with indigestion. They then added another, clearer metaphor, that some young artists arrive with a splash but cannot stay afloat, but not Daisy. Glad we cleared that up. I want some cake now.

At the RA, she showed a portrait of her father again, but I noticed in her one-man show, she had Muriel's portrait and one of her mother (or possibly her brother's wife as the piece is simply 'Mrs Clague' and Cyril had married in 1909). I thought that it was the same portrait, but the review of the one-man show said that the first portrait was there and the portrait in the RA was even better, so she obviously painted Dad twice. Mind you in 1910, Daisy was barely out of the RA before she was off down the aisle, and she and Frank Beresford married at Crouch End on the 7th June. Frank had returned from Japan in the autumn of 1909 and held his own one-man show to great acclaim. Daisy arrived at Christ Church in Crouch End at 2.15 to streaming sunshine, and wore a white silk dress and veil leant to her by her aunt. She wore a moonstone and amethyst necklace from Liberty, bought for her by Frank, and carried lily of the valley, roses, carnations and white heather, with daisies on the streamers (which I can only assume are the pieces that hang down from a bouquet.) The bridesmaids were Muriel, Frank's sister Lilian and Hilda and Eva Cooke, cousins of the bride. The best man was artist architect Charles Lovett Gill, who was Frank's friend at the RA school. They honeymooned in exotic Norfolk.  My favourite bit in the newspaper reports of weddings is seeing what gifts people got them and what they got each other - Frank gave Daisy the necklace, she gave him an easel. Otherwise Muriel got them a thermos tea basket, Mr Elmer commissioned four pictures (a very clever wedding gift as everyone is happy), Reverend J C Cox bought them a book either by or on William Morris and the Bishop of British Hondurous bought them a magnifying glass. Amazing.

The 1911 census saw the couple living at 6 The Mall in Hampstead and both are listed as artists (hurrah!). I have a suspicion that their home was part of Mall Studios in Hampstead, which was filled with fabulously famous 20th century artists, including Cecil Stephenson who lived there in 1919...

6 The Mall (1919) Cecil Stephenson

There is a brilliant page on the building here. Daisy was commissioned to paint Miss Isabel Cleghorn, the first female president of the Teacher's Association, and it was mentioned in the newspapers how fitting it was to get a female artist to do the portrait.  Daisy gave birth to the couple's first child Cedric in January 1913 but three weeks and two days later he died. The loss of Cedric must have been a terrible blow as Daisy stopped exhibiting for a year, and the only work she seems to have done is a painting for a wedding present when her cousin got married in 1914. Around the same time, in April 1914, Daisy and Frank also welcomed their first daughter Averil Kingston Beresford. Daisy also seems to have started painting again and the couple moved to 1 Elm Tree Road in St John's Wood, a neighbourhood that would remain dear to them both for the rest of their lives.

St Bartholomew -the-Great (1914)
The figure of the verger leading the choir is allegedly Frank

In 1914, a month after giving birth to Averil, Daisy returned to the RA with St Bartholomew-the-Great, followed in 1916 by second daughter Vivian Sinclair and in 1917 by portrait Miss Ursula Ebblewhite. I did notice that the RA catalogue had quite a large number of women artists (for obvious reasons) in 1917 and will have to go back and do some maths to see exactly what the proportion was before, during and after the war. I know how to have a good time. During this time, Frank served with the London Regiment as an instructor, rising to the rank of Sargeant Major.

Around 1918, the family moved to 28 Grove End Road, not far from the Alma Tadema family at 34. Daisy had The Entrance Hall, Fallowfield, Barnet Gate at the Royal Academy. Cryptically, the Referee magazine had a few lines: 'I went last Sunday to see some pictures that are intended for the Royal Academy. I only had time to visit one studio, that of Mr and Mrs Frank Beresford, of Grove End Road. And I went to see one picture. That was a portrait of - well, wait and see.' As Daisy had the interior painting and Frank didn't have anything in the RA in 1918, I have no idea what they are talking about.

In 1919, Daisy returned, again no portrait, but this time with the Staircase of Fallowfield. I can see that the house and its associated lodge were really nice but I can't find who lived there or what the relevance might have been, other than commissions. In 1920, Daisy painted the Hall in Park House, St John's Wood.  Frank had painted the Blue Room in Park House, so I wonder if it is the same house (which was owned by pop star Rihanna, apparently).  She also showed a portrait of Miss Anne Liversidge, I'm assuming a commission for either engagement or coming of age. Then in 1921, Daisy painted the piece that she would become best known for...

Interior of the Great Hall, Guildhall, London (1921)

It was shown at the summer exhibition at the Guildhall, and by the spring of 1922, the Kensington Fine Art Society were selling prints of it as it had been so popular. My favourite review of this was from the Alfreton Journal in their Belper News section - Belper being where Frank hailed from - and they were delighted that the wife of their local artist was doing so well. The print of her painting continued to make news and obviously sell well, but I notice that most of the reports manage to mention Frank in some way. I suppose it was to reassure the potential purchasers that they weren't buying some random woman's painting, she was another painter's wife, phew! Or maybe, somehow being married to another painter ensured the quality of her work? Hmmm...

In 1923, the New Society of Artists had an exhibition and both Frank and Daisy appeared - Daisy had a portrait of Mrs Levita and her children (her husband Lieutenant Colonel Cecil Levita CBE MVO was chairman of the LCC housing committee). What becomes irritating to an old feminist like me is that I have to search under Mrs Frank Beresford to find Daisy half the time, which is both time consuming and hacks me off. One reporter in 1929 exclaims that he was so pleased to find that Frank's wife was an artist too! Seriously, I almost feel compelled to chain myself to something.

In 1924, the Beresford family spent some time in Belper, where little Averil and Vivian were much admired. I see that Belper had a children's beauty competition (it was a different time) and in 1929, one of the winners seems to have been little Beres Pym, the daughter of Frank's cousin.  Yes, I have mentioned that for a reason. Moving on...

In 1925, Daisy's portrait of Averil was on display in Derby which got the Belper News all over-excited and meant they could mention Frank again. To be fair, I always appreciate the local newspaper's support of artists and the fact they supported Daisy by extention is touching.  They also said that Averil was 'an accomplished little lady, it is said, on the pianoforte.' Lawks.

1927 saw Frank and Daisy hold a small exhibition of work in their home before the Royal Academy. I think we've seen this before and is a practice that I find fascinating - are they seeing what their friends think before sending work in? Is it like test-screening? Anyway Frank had three he was sending in and as it turned out, only one was accepted. Daisy showed work that she had been commissioned to do - a portrait of Mr S David Coates DL JP which was presented to him at a dinner at the Savoy Hotel. Also she showed a portrait of the late principal of Isleworth Training College which would be hanging in their dining room. She also had a painting of Merchant Taylors Hall which was apparently sent to the RA but didn't appear and was a commission anyway. Again, Daisy appears as 'Mrs Frank Beresford' with no mention of her actual name anywhere. The two girls played piano and entertained while people looked at the paintings, and they were both mentioned by name.  However, not Daisy. Hmmm...

Not that I was worried, but Daisy returned to the RA in 1928 with a portrait of Wendy, daughter of C E Bartholomew - this is actually Dorothy Wendy Bartholomew (1916-1941) daughter of match magnate Clarence Edward Bartholomew (1879-1946). They also had a son, Gilbert, who was a couple of years older than Vivian Beresford and I bet he really liked the piano. Hold that thought.

Window the the Memory of Henry Hudson (1929)

In 1929, the couple had their now annual 'at home' just before the RA.  Daisy showed various portraits of children, and an interior of St Ethelburga Bishopsgate Street, with the memorial window to Henry Hudson. Drama occurred in 1930 when Daisy loaned a miniature of Averil to her husband's exhibition at Foyle's new art gallery in Manette Street, London, where it was stolen. Averil was interviewed and she said she had been looking forward to having it for her 21st birthday in 1935 and she very much hoped someone would return it - which they did, 3 days later.

I am used to mentions of artists slowing as they get older and possibly rely on commissions rather than having to razzle-dazzle at the RA every year and it certainly feels like Daisy and Frank's annual paintings and piano party is seen as both old-fashioned and very much enjoyed. Both she and Frank were in their 50s, so not exactly old, and goodness knows the Belper press loved the couple, but I find it unusual that their mentions drop so heavily - excuse me, her mentions drop or at least become very firmly tied to him.

Ann's Tune (1932)

In 1932, artist and sculptor (and St John's Wood neighbour) William Reid Dick commissioned Daisy to paint his daughter Ann. She is playing the piano and on the lid is Dick's sculpture of The Sling Boy in bronze. I wonder if that is a portrait of his wife Catherine on the wall? 

The Princes' Vigil 12.15am, 28 January 1936 (1936) Frank Beresford

1936 brought one of Frank's best-known paintings, The Prince's Vigil.  The Princes involved are Edward VIII and the Dukes of York, Gloucester and Kent around the body of George V. I think until recent years, I would not have known what on earth is going on in this picture, but obviously we all saw the Princes and Princess Anne perform the Vigil for the late Queen. Apparently, when Frank went to see the body, he was so moved by the vigil, he asked permission to set up his easel and captured the image over 49 hours without sleep.  It was, as you can imagine, a hit at the RA that May. It was bought by the Queen.

Frank wasn't the only one who had a brush with royalty as Daisy's last entry at the RA was a miniature of the Queen, in 1938. Also in 1938, Daisy had various portraits at the United Society of Artists exhibition including Mr Sinclair White, Mrs Thornton in black velvet and fur, Miss Dorothea Crompton and a head study of the Countess du Bouzet, which had very fine hair indeed. 

Averil Kingston Beresford (1936)

Back to her daughters for a moment - Probably painted for her daughter's 21st but exhibited the year after, Daisy's painting of Averil is a dreamy, deb-of-the-week portrait. Averil trained to be a school teacher, following in Clague family footsteps and remained living at home until she married Gabriel John Spence in 1950.

Daisy, Frank and Vivian Beresford (1939)

Vivian followed her parents into art, attending the RA School and by 1939, preparing to send in work to the May exhibition. She also became engaged to Gilbert Bartholomew, the heir to the match business. She married in 1939, two months before her mother's sudden death. I was actually surprised by how extensive the coverage was, given that we were at war, but an awful lot of newspapers covered Daisy's death.  I think the popularity of Frank's picture of the princes' vigil helped as it got mentioned in a fair number of the shorter reports, but I especially liked Hampstead News' piece entitled 'A charming hostess and a clever artist. A loss to the world of art.' The couple had just returned from a holiday when she was suddenly taken ill and passed away aged only 60. She was buried at St Pancras beside her parents and baby son.

So, we know Vivian and Averil were married and seem to have had long and happy lives, which makes a lovely change, but what of Frank?

A Doodlebug in St John's Wood (1944) Frank Beresford

Frank became a war artist for both the British and American Air Forces and received the Exceptional Service Award from the American Air Force. He was apparently heartbroken when his beloved St John's Wood was bombed, missing The Hall Studio in Grove End Road, where Frank remained living.  In 1949, Frank remarried and I will endeavour to not be as sniffy as the newspaper reports were. When Frank became engaged in February of 1949, the Hampstead News wrote 'Mr Beresford is 67 years of age; his future wife is considerably young.' Oh yes, just how young? Well actually, we've already met her.  Frank married Beres Pym, aged 31. When I saw her name, I thought so she became Beres Beresford? That's unusual. But, as one newspaper reported, her name was not a coincidence, she was a distant relative. Beres was the daughter of Frank's cousin.

Frank and Beres in the Studio

Beres was a nurse and so not a bad companion for Frank's later years, and the couple were together until Frank died in 1967.

So, what to say about Daisy, excuse me, Mrs Frank Beresford? It is hard enough tracing a woman artist when they adopt their married name, but that just seemed to give the press free rein to call you by your husband's name.  I know it was commonplace in the past, but it just looks weird now and, if you are both artists, makes the husband suddenly the senior partner. Cedric's death made a very obvious stop to Daisy's output for a couple of years, and then she had to begin again. They were not poor by any stretch of the imagination, there was no notion that Daisy should give up painting because she was a wife and mother, but any woman who stops her career for her children appears to be punished by slipping off the ladder. Daisy suffered in two ways; by pausing her work because of a death and by losing her name to marriage. Neither of these change who she is or change the quality of her work, but both had the effect that women artists were less serious - hence the confident assertion that none of them would win the medal for history genre painting. 

Daisy is this week's lesson on how society backgrounds women in little ways which we should never stop noticing.