A lengthy stay in Bath was purely for
professional reasons, but London and Suffolk were always a draw. By then he was
a wealthy and successful painter of portraits, who dabbled in landscapes on the
side. That last phrase, incidentally, is apposite since his wife, Margaret,
used to pocket all of the fees he charged for portraits. What he received for
landscapes he did not disclose to her, only to his own pocket.
If you have ever looked at Gainsborough’s
portraits and saw that first, they were rather dark, or second, the forest
looks altogether too round it to be true, or third, it seems rather that the
feet emerging from the bottom of the dresses appear a tad too small, then you
will find your explanations in James Hamilton‘s book. The light is problematic,
perhaps, because these pictures were not painted en plein aire, but by candlelight in the studio. A sense of
rounding in the trees might result from the fact that he often did not paint
real trees, but miniature tabletop settings of coal, twigs and – yes –
broccoli. Now that explains quite a lot. Observation number three results from
his very businesslike procedures with his sitters. To minimize their
discomfort, he concentrated on their faces and heads. After they had left his
studio, he would then fill in the rest of the body, often using clothes he kept
on dummies, the same dress sometimes appearing in portraits of different women.
The mannequins obviously had no feet, so these were probably added with a
little imagination, hence the sometimes awkward proportions.
But there is far more in Gainsborough, A
Portrait than detail of the artist’s commissions, works and techniques. James
Hamilton provide is nothing less than a rounded portrayal of English life in
the mid-eighteenth century. In the artist’s letters we soon learn to recognize
the euphemisms that are used to disguise the licentiousness that seems to
occupy most of these men’s waking hours. In letters, d-mn is not a curse, and the word swords – or other obvious euphemisms - are often underlined, right
up to the hilts. Not subtle, but socially acceptable according to the mores of
the day, it seems.
The book has is a wonderful portrayal of small
town life in Sudbury, Suffolk. We sense the nouveau
riche pretensions of Bath and we can almost feel London expanding amid the
stories of Gainsborough’s Pall Mall house and Richmond Hill getaway. But what
is so wonderful about James Hamilton‘s book is that its erudition, which at
times is breathtaking in its detail, is so beautifully embroidered into the
narrative that all we received is a rounded, complete insight into the way
Gainsborough lived, did business, and related to people, as well as seeing a
detailed picture of what he painted and how he worked.
Of particular interest was his and his
contemporaries’ touting of business from the rich and famous. Obviously, a
commission from the Royals, especially the King, was what really put you on the
map and, as ever in Britain, a social pecking order made the achievement of
status easier for some than others. Gainsborough was from quite lowly origins
and did not attend prestigious institutions to learn his trade, so he had to
work for the elite status that eventually came his way. It is worth noting
however that he was never knighted, unlike his rival Reynolds, being the
journeyman of the trade in the celebrity likeness business. But he did make a
good living, which he largely handed over to his wife, who stashed the money
away, lest her husband blow it on wine, women or song, or even the expensive
musical instruments he bought, but never learn to play.
Gainsborough rubbed shoulders with the elite. He
was friends with other artists and with composers, such as Abel and J C Bach.
But one feels his feet never really left the ground, even when parking his
sword. And as such, he was not given to visionary statements in his art. He
clearly liked to paint landscapes but found he could only sell them on the back
of his portrait trade. Thus, he devoted his professional time to that which
would be better his life, leaving intellectual challenge at least for later.
Interestingly, James Hamilton makes the point
that Gainsborough the artist would have found work in any age. His approach
would always have found a clientele and his style would have adapted, whilst
more visionary artists, despite their massive achievements, could not have
pursued their particular visions in a different age. Gainsborough thus becomes
a kind of model modern artworld businessman, pragmatic, competent, in demand
and commercially aware of the success he achieved. Well, at least his wife was.
