Johan Zoffany

18th century portrait of the painter Nathaniel Dance

1770s

Exhibited: London, Royal Academy, 1800, no. 93 What was happening in British history painting in around 1800? In recent discussions of the emergence of a British School of history painting following the foundation of the Royal Academy in 1768, this is a question which is rarely posed and one which is not easily answered. Examination of surviving Royal Academy exhibition catalogues reveals a profusion of artists’ names and titles, few of which remain immediately recognizable, whilst endeavours to explain the impact of exhibition culture on painting - such as the 2001 Courtauld show Art on the Line - have tended to focus on the first and second generation of Royal Academician, rather than young or aspiring artists in the early nineteenth century. This makes the discovery and identification of the work under discussion of exceptional importance in making sense of currents in English painting around 1800. Executed by Edward Dayes...

The Great Fire of London in September 1666 was one of the greatest disasters in the city’s history. The City, with its wooden houses crowded together in narrow streets, was a natural fire risk, and predictions that London would burn down became a shocking reality. The fire began in a bakery in Pudding Lane, an area near the Thames teeming with warehouses and shops full of flammable materials, such as timber, oil, coal, pitch and turpentine. Inevitably the fire spread rapidly from this area into the City. Our painting depicts the impact of the fire on those who were caught in it and creates a very dramatic impression of what the fire was like. Closer inspection reveals a scene of chaos and panic with people running out of the gates. It shows Cripplegate in the north of the City, with St Giles without Cripplegate to its left, in flames (on the site of the present day Barbican). The painting probably represents the fire on the night of Tuesday 4 September, when four-fifths of the City was burning at once, including St Paul's Cathedral. Old St Paul’s can be seen to the right of the canvas, the medieval church with its thick stone walls, was considered a place of safety, but the building was covered in wooden scaffolding as it was in the midst of being restored by the then little known architect, Christopher Wren and caught fire. Our painting seems to depict a specific moment on the Tuesday night when the lead on St Paul’s caught fire and, as the diarist John Evelyn described: ‘the stones of Paul’s flew like grenades, the melting lead running down the streets in a stream and the very pavements glowing with the firey redness, so as no horse, nor man, was able to tread on them.’ Although the loss of life was minimal, some accounts record only sixteen perished, the magnitude of the property loss was shocking – some four hundred and thirty acres, about eighty per cent of the City proper was destroyed, including over thirteen thousand houses, eighty-nine churches, and fifty-two Guild Halls. Thousands were homeless and financially ruined. The Great Fire, and the subsequent fire of 1676, which destroyed over six hundred houses south of the Thames, changed the appearance of London forever. The one constructive outcome of the Great Fire was that the plague, which had devastated the population of London since 1665, diminished greatly, due to the mass death of the plague-carrying rats in the blaze. The fire was widely reported in eyewitness accounts, newspapers, letters and diaries. Samuel Pepys recorded climbing the steeple of Barking Church from which he viewed the destroyed City: ‘the saddest sight of desolation that I ever saw.’ There was an official enquiry into the causes of the fire, petitions to the King and Lord Mayor to rebuild, new legislation and building Acts. Naturally, the fire became a dramatic and extremely popular subject for painters and engravers. A group of works relatively closely related to the present picture have been traditionally ascribed to Jan Griffier...

Collections: With Martyn Gregory; Judy Egerton, 1984, acquired from the above; By descent to 2014. Exhibited: London, Martyn Gregory, Exhibition of English & Continental Watercolours, 1984, no. 94. London, Lowell Libson...

Collections: Muir Hetherington; Sir John and Lady Witt, acquired 1974; By descent to 2015. Literature: Tom Jones (ed.), William Henry Hunt 1790-1864, exh. cat., 1981, no. 145 (Girl in a bedroom); John Witt, William Henry Hunt (1790-1864) Life and Work, London, 1982, no. 553, p. 194, colour pl. 16. Exhibited: Wolverhampton, Central Art Gallery, Preston, Harris Museum and Art Gallery and Hastings, Hastings Museum and Art Gallery, William Henry Hunt 1790-1864, 1981, no. 145 as Girl in a bedroom (Lent by Sir John & Lady Witt) Framed dimensions: 20 x 20.75 inches This unusually charming and well-preserved watercolour was painted by William Henry Hunt in around 1833. Almost certainly depicting his young wife, Sarah, possibly in the interior of her family home at Bramley in Hampshire. This work shows Hunt’s remarkable virtuosity as a watercolourist, Hunt, for example, articulates the profile of his young wife, by leaving a reserve of white paper to suggest the light modelling her features. Throughout the 1830s Hunt made a sequence of richly painted interior views of both domestic and agricultural spaces which pay scrupulous attention to detail. Hunt was born in London, the son of a tin-plate worker and japanner. J. L. Roget recorded the observation of Hunt’s uncle: ‘nervy, little Billy Hunt… was always a poor cripple, and as he was fit for nothing, they made an artist of him.’ At the age of sixteen he was apprenticed to the landscape painter John Varley for seven years, moving to live with Varley at 18 Broad Street, Golden Square, London. There he made close friends with both John Linnell and William Mulready. Hunt worked at the ‘Monro Academy’, at 8 Adelphi Terrace, London, the house of Dr Thomas Monro, an enthusiastic patron of landscape watercolourists. Through Monro, Hunt was introduced to the 5th Earl of Essex...

Giacomo used to paint with his brother Giulio, identifying their works with the monogram «I I». The strong influence of his father, Francesco, is undeniable in all his works, althoug...

English School, (circa 1600) Portrait of William Herbert, 3rd Earl of Pembroke Oil on panel, oval Image size: 29¼ x 23⅞ inches Painted wooden frame Provenance: 176, Collection of Francis Greville, 1st Earl of Warwick. The Trustees of the Lord Brooks’ Settlement, (removed from Warwick Castle). Sotheby’s, London, 22nd March 1968, lot 81. Painted onto wooden panel, this portrait shows a dark haired gentleman in profile sporting an open white shirt. On top of this garments is a richly detailed black cloak, decorated with gold thread and lined with a sumptuous crimson lining. With the red silk inside it’s all very expensive and would fall under sumptuary laws – so this is a nobleman of high degree. It’s melancholic air conforms to the contemporary popularity of this very human condition, evident in fashionable poetry and music of the period. In comparison to our own modern prejudices, melancholy was associated with creativity in this period. This portrait appeared in the earliest described list of pictures of Warwick castle dating to 1762. Compiled by collector and antiquary Sir William Musgrave ‘taken from the information of Lord & Lady Warwick’ (Add. MSS, 5726 fol. 3) is described; ‘8. Earl of Essex – an original by Zuccharo – seen in profile with black hair. Holding a black robe across his breast with his right hand.’ As tempting as it is to imagine that this is a portrait of Robert Devereux, the 2nd Earl Essex, we might take this with a pinch of salt. Its identification with this romantic and fatal Elizabethan might well have been an attempt to add romance to Warwick Castle’s walls. It doesn’t correspond all that well with Essex’s portraits around 1600 after his return from Cadiz. Notably, this picture was presumably hung not too far away from the castle’s two portraits of Queen Elizabeth I. The first, and undoubtedly the best, being the exquisite coronation portrait that was sold by Lord Brooke in the late 1970s and now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery. The second, described as being ‘a copy from the original at Ld Hydes’, has yet to resurface. The portrait eventually ended up being hung in the State Bedroom of Warwick Castle. Archival documents present one other interesting candidate. The Greville family’s earliest inventory of paintings, made in 1630 at their home Brooke House in Holborn, London, describes five portraits of identified figures. All five belonged to the courtier, politician and poet Sir Fulke Greville (1554-1628), 1st Baron Brooke, and were hung in the ‘Gallerie’ of Brooke House behind yellow curtains. One of them was described as being of ‘Lord of Pembrooke’, which is likely to have been William Herbert (1580-1630), 3rd Earl of Pembroke. William was the eldest son of Greville’s best friend’s sister Mary Sidney, and was brought up in the particularly literary and poetically orientated household which his mother had supported. Notably, the 3rd Earl was one of the figures that Shakespeare’s first folio was dedicated to in 1623. The melancholic air to the portrait corresponds to William’s own pretensions as a learned and poetic figure. The richness of the robe in the painting, sporting golden thread and a spotted black fabric, is indicative of wealth beyond that of a simple poet or actor. The portrait’s dating to around the year 1600 might have coincided with William’s father death and his own rise to the Pembroke Earldom. This period of his life too was imbued with personal sadness, as an illicit affair with a Mary Fitton had resulted in a pregnancy and eventual banishment by Elizabeth I to Wilton after a short spell in Fleet Prison. His illegitimate son died shortly after being born. Despite being a close follower of the Earl of Essex, William had side-stepped supporting Devereux in the fatal uprising against the Queen and eventually regained favour at the court of the next monarch James I. His linen shirt is edged with a delicate border of lace and his black cloak is lined on the inside with sumptuous scarlet and richly decorated on the outside with gold braid and a pattern of embroidered black spots. Despite the richness of his clothes, William Herbert has been presented in a dishevelled state of semi-undress, his shirt unlaced far down his chest with the ties lying limply over his hand, indicating that he is in a state of distracted detachment. It has been suggested that the fashion for melancholy was rooted in an increase in self-consciousness and introspective reflection during the late 16th and early 17th centuries. In contemporary literature melancholy was said to be caused by a plenitude of the melancholy humor, one of the four vital humors, which were thought to regulate the functions of the body. An abundance of the melancholia humor was associated with a heightened creativity and intellectual ability and hence melancholy was linked to the notion of genius, as reflected in the work of the Oxford scholar Robert Burton, who in his work ‘The Anatomy of Melancholy’, described the Malcontent as ‘of all others [the]… most witty, [who] causeth many times divine ravishment, and a kind of enthusiamus… which stirreth them up to be excellent Philosophers, Poets and Prophets.’ (R. Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy, London, 1621 in R. Strong, ‘Elizabethan Malady: Melancholy in Elizabethan and Jacobean Portraits’, Apollo, LXXIX, 1964). Melancholy was viewed as a highly fashionable affliction under Elizabeth I, and her successor James I, and a dejected demeanour was adopted by wealthy young men, often presenting themselves as scholars or despondent lovers, as reflected in the portraiture and literature from this period. Although the sitter in this portrait is, as yet, unidentified, it seems probable that he was a nobleman with literary or artistic ambitions, following in the same vain as such famous figures as the aristocratic poet and dramatist, Edward de Vere...

Austrian School 18th Century Tri-Directional Portrait Commemorating the Russo-Turkish War Oil on wooden strips This extraordinary tri-directional portrait exemplifies the rare innovation known as a triscenorama, capturing a pivotal diplomatic moment through ingenious artistic technique. Employing triangularly cut wooden strips, this remarkable work simultaneously depicts three imperial figures central to the Russo-Turkish War of 1735-1739: Empress Anna Ivanovna Romanova of Russia when viewed directly, Holy Roman Emperor Charles VI from the left and Ottoman Sultan Mahmud I from the right, commemorating the Treaty of Nissa that concluded this significant European conflict. The portrait utilizes an exceptionally rare optical technique that predates modern movable imaging technology. When observed from different angles, the painted triangular wooden strips create a transformative effect, revealing entirely different imperial portraits as the viewer shifts position. The precision required to execute such a work demonstrates remarkable technical mastery, as the artist had to conceptualize three distinct portraits as well as the meticulous arrangement of the panels. This sophisticated manipulation of perspective creates an interactive viewing experience considered revolutionary for its time. Almost certainly created by an Austrian artist, this diplomatic artwork likely served as a commemorative piece marking the Treaty of Nissa, signed in September 1739. The treaty concluded Russia's ambitious campaign to secure access to the Black Sea while countering Ottoman raids in Ukraine and the Caucasus regions. Given its exceptional quality and historical significance, this portrait was possibly commissioned by Emperor Charles VI himself, potentially serving as a diplomatic gift to either Empress Anna or Sultan Mahmud I during the treaty negotiations. Under Empress Anna's leadership, Russia sought to counter devastating raids from Ottoman allies, particularly the Crimean Tatars...

Portrait of Francisco de Reynoso y Baeza.   Secretary of Pope Pius V, abbot of Husillos and bishop of Córdoba. Francisci de Reynoso. Early 17th century. Small-format portrait from the late Renaissance period. Spanish school. Size: Cm 19 x Cm 13.5 Oil on wooden panel. On the back the fine tablet is strengthened (already in ancient times) by a sheet of parchment. About 1600-1610. As often in Mannerist / Late Renaissance portraits, the image of the character is accompanied by the writing that runs at the top, adding a celebratory, historicising touch to the effigy. Let's bring back the sentence here: DON FRANCISCO DE REINOSO. CAMARERO SECRETO IESCALCO PIO QUINTO OBISCOPO CORDOBA. 68 (? O 7?) (1534, Autillo de Campos, Spain - 1601, Córdoba) Francisco de Reynoso was a Spanish cleric, chief chamberlain, and secretary to Pope Pius V, abbot of Husillos, and bishop of Córdoba. He was the fourth of eleven children. His father was the seventh Lord of Autillo de Campos, and his mother was Juana de Baeza y de las Casas, daughter of Manuel de Baeza, a lawyer of the Royal Council and at the Court of Valladolid. Francisco de Reynoso was deeply devoted to the Virgin Mary and showed a strong inclination toward religion and piety from an early age. He studied Latin, arts, and theology at the University of Salamanca. In 1562, he traveled to Rome with his brothers Pedro and Luis. In January 1566, following the death of Pope Pius IV, Cardinal Antonio Michele Ghislieri was elected pope, becoming Pius V. From this period until Ghislieri's death in 1572, Francisco de Reynoso served as his chief chamberlain and secretary. After Pope Pius V died, Francisco de Reynoso returned to Spain and lived for several years in the city of Palencia, where his brother Manuel was a canon. He supported the Society of Jesus when it was established in Palencia, providing alms to the school's clergy and funding chairs of Letters and Theology at his own expense, as well as donating a significant number of books. During the brief outbreak of the Black Plague...