JOHN SINGLETON COPLEY: THE PUBLIC RELATIONS ARTIST
by Libby Clay
We are privileged indeed to have Copley's magnificent portrait of Margaret Kemble Gage on loan from the Timken Art Gallery in San Diego. It is stunning. Mrs. Gage is exquisite as she gazes to her right, apparently lost in her own thoughts. The folds of her brilliant red taffeta caftan capture our attention, and we marvel at Copley's skill in describing textures so deftly that we can feel them with our eyes. We, in our time, have the impression that we are observing a beautiful woman in a private moment.
In late Colonial America, this portrait would have a good deal more to say to the viewer about Mrs. Gage. She and Copley conferred in New York before her sittings, (she ordered several portraits), so it was not at all a random moment he captured. She wanted a certain persona presented to those who would be viewing her portrait by the Boston artist, and Copley knew exactly how to present this persona in paint. The class-conscious, anglophilic society to which she belonged would judge Margaret Kemble Gage's character and social position by this portrait, and Copley, whose step-father had taught classes in social graces in Boston, knew well how gentlefolk should be portrayed. He himself aspired to be accepted as a gentleman, and he railed against the fact that artists of his time were mostly considered artisans, people who worked with their hands.
Together they concocted a little scenario for her. She would be shown in Turkish attire, at home, on a stylish American sofa. Things Turkish were all the rage in Britain, and she was an elite Englishwoman by marriage. The Colonies were still too Puritanical for the masquerades so popular on the continent, but in Copley's painting she could "play-act" and be a genteel, though still provocative, harem girl. She is uncorseted, but there are glimpses of a proper chemise showing through. A filmy turban-like scarf covers her head loosely, allowing appreciation of her glossy brown hair. There is a languid sexuality in her dreamy eyes, but it is all very proper, for she also projects an aura of inner peace, confidence and grace. An eighteenth-century viewer would "read" Mrs. Gage through her portrait as being wealthy, privileged, her own person and a gentlewoman who was well aware of what was going on in England—the colonial role-model. Pose and props orchestrated the desired effect of a woman of character.
Besides props, which may or may not have been fictitious, what other visual clues were employed to indicate character and class? After all, this was a face-to-face society that monitored and kept track. Corpulence was good. Copley often opened coats to show girth, for only the wealthy could afford enough rich food to produce fat. Meals were often in the English style, and the American colonies were the largest market in the world for imported English foods.Comportment mattered. Clients wanted to be pictured as they thought English aristocrats behaved. Copley's portraits for the most part reflect an idealized code of conduct. Despite the frequent awkward anatomy, a result of Copley's being self-taught, bodies are presented in a composed and controlled way, leaning gracefully instead of sprawling, radiating ease and serenity, and most important, conveying the idea that they had time for leisure.
Copley had other devices to send subliminal messages. For instance, he often showed women holding blossoms or bouquets. The sitter's horticultural expertise might be shown by having her hold a branch cut at a precise angle to suggest grafting—that she was cultivating her orchards scientifically. The viewer would conclude that the woman had discipline and thus character. A woman did not merely grow flowers, she raised them as she did her children.
Animals, too, sent a message. All the dogs pictured by Copley are house pets, objects of affection. He shows no laboring or sporting animals. King Charles spaniels, imported from England, were considered high status symbols. English law restricted ownership of these dogs, along with hounds and greyhounds, to the aristocracy; but this restriction did not apply to the colonies.
Women and young girls were often shown with exotic birds, usually parrots or hummingbirds. These indicated class privilege, because they had to be imported from South America or the Caribbean. Boys of privilege were more often shown with squirrels, as Copley showed his half brother, Henry Pelham. The rationale here was that, unlike domesticated pets, wild animals were brought into a civilized state through training. This in turn, according to the popular theory of John Locke, improved the trainer. The squirrels were held in check with training collars and chains, which also alluded to the restraints put on children, who should not be allowed to grow up wild, but should be nurtured and protected. A child comes into the world a “tabula rasa” and must be cultivated.
It was all about "personhood," and Copley was a master of it. He was the ultimate PR painter. It is interesting that in his portraits of Paul Revere and Nathaniel Hurd, both skilled artists in their own medias, Copley paints them in shirts with no ruffles at the wrist—and ruffles were the mark of a gentlemen. However, in his family portrait, painted later when he had relocated to England, he depicts himself in a ruffled shirt. The message is in the media.
No comments:
Post a Comment