Constable Portraits: The Painter & His Circle
National Portrait Gallery until 14 June
Sponsored by British Land
The portrait was the dominant form in British painting up to the end of the 18th century, principally because this was what patrons wanted. Landscape painting was really the invention of Richard Wilson (1713–82), who inaugurated this particular branch of nature-worship. Constable, with his great gift for naturalness and observation, developed it further than any artist, except Turner. And it is as a landscape painter that we think of Constable, though he also painted about 100 portraits. These have tended to be overshadowed by his nature studies, and the current show at the NPG is the first to concentrate on his portraits. It is something of a revelation.
Both Constable and his first biographer C.R. Leslie were rather dismissive of his portraits. Leslie, who was a successful portraitist — and thus a servant of fashion — had reason not to take seriously the unforced and spontaneous charm of his friend’s work, and it’s evident where Constable’s own interests lay. As he said, ‘Landscape is my mistress — ’tis to her I look for fame.’ And we the viewers are influenced, no doubt, by our memories of Gainsborough (1727–88), who famously painted portraits for a living, but longed to paint the woods and meadows of Suffolk where he was brought up. He grew to hate ‘face-painting’. So when, in a succeeding generation, Constable (1776–1837) appeared as a committed landscape painter, we assume that he, too, would have rebelled at being caught in the treadmill of portraiture. His attitude, however, seems to have been more ambivalent.
Constable clearly enjoyed painting pretty girls, as the portrait of Jane Anne Mason, which opens the show, testifies. This gentle, dreamy piece of picturing is very attractive. Opposite is a pencil self-portrait at the age of 30, stressing Constable’s big nose and thinning hair, though the overall effect is of a handsome, determined man. Here, also, is a portrait of the artist’s father, Golding Constable, hung between Constable’s view of his father’s vegetable garden and the house he built. This is one of the inspired features of the exhibition: the occasional interpolation of a landscape painting to help tell the story of Constable’s life, and to add point and contrast to the succession of portraits. Thus ‘East Bergholt House’, the three-storey mansion built by Golding for his family, and one of the finest houses in the village, was where John Constable was born. It’s also a lovely little painting.
Going round the room, there are striking examples of portraiture done for love of the subject, such as the painting of Constable’s sisters. Such works are not drudgery, but celebrations of spirit and looks. Soon the viewer encounters another landscape, this time of ‘Malvern Hall from the Lake’, perhaps Constable’s first plein air painting of this sort, not a commission but made for the pleasure of the thing. Malvern Hall at Solihull was the seat of his eccentric patron, Henry Greswold Lewis, where Constable stayed to paint both Lewis, looking wilful if not downright plethoric, and his young ward, Mary Freer. The portrait of Mary Freer is one of Constable’s finest, and shows a broadness of brow which typifies his approach to the modelling of the head, often resulting in haunting and widely-spaced eyes. Mary was only 13 but her gaze seems to evince a depth of experience beyond her years.
Various drawings attest to Constable’s concentrated observation of sitters, a strength borne out by the charming little portrait (small so he could carry it with him) of his fiancée, Maria Bicknell. Next to it hangs an exquisite oil of dawn breaking vehemently over East Bergholt rectory. There are fine things here indeed. Nearby is the portrait of Constable’s great friend John Fisher, exhibited in the Royal Academy in 1817. It was unusual for Constable to show a portrait at the Academy, but perhaps he was using it as an advertisement for his skills, for at this time he was attempting to establish a portrait practice to support his new wife and prospective family.
Undoubtedly there were portraits he made which are awkward and uninspired, the kind of potboilers any struggling artist is reduced to. But what’s remarkable is the high quality of so many of the paintings included here. Chief among them are the portraits of Mrs Tuder and Mrs Edwards, a prosperous, respectable, bourgeois mother and daughter, beautifully and movingly painted. Altogether, there are nearly 50 exhibits — a good size for a show, easy to take in and linger over without gallery-fatigue. There’s also a handsome hardback catalogue (at £18.99). In all, a pleasure to review, and a welcome contrast to Gerhard Richter at the other end of the building.
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