The Kissed Mouth

When I was sojourn-ing at my Father's recently I walked past the most wonderful shop called 'Shamrock Linen' (possibly the dullest website ever can be found here) which is an old-fashion linen shop that sells things made of fabric (as the name implies). Anyway, as I passed the shop I was forced to retrace my steps and look again, as hanging in the window was this...

Cue a flash back to my childhood, the late 70s, and the most unlikely best-selling sensation you can imagine. This is the story of the continuing charm of The Country Diary of the Edwardian Lady...

Who would have guessed in 1977 that the publication of a book of nature notes from over 70 years previously would have caused such a stir. I suppose it could have ridden the wave of nostalgia for the Victorian/Edwardian period that was already happening since the late '60s. Shops like Laura Ashley and Biba, films like Far from the Madding Crowd, Zulu and Tess, plus a host of exhibitions re-evaluating the Victorian art movements made the period cool again, and nostalgia for a time of family values, hard work and a simpler, less threatening ethos was all pervading. I mean, what could provide a stronger antithesis to '70s punk or even the body-conscious, money-loving '80s than Blue Tits in watercolour by a maiden in a long skirt? Enter Edith Holden...

Born in a village just south of Birmingham in 1871, Edith was one of seven children. She and her sister Evelyn showed talent as artists and both worked as illustrators, exhibiting at the Royal Birmingham Society of Artists (1890-1907) and the Royal Academy (1907 and 1917).

Evelyn Holden's illustrations (unpublished)

Edith's illustrations for The Three Goats Gruff by Helen van Cleve Blankmeyer

In 1906, Edith got a job teaching in the Solihull School for Girls and she decided to keep an art diary as a model for her pupils work. This was Nature Notes for 1906, a month by month record of the weather, changes in nature, sightings of birds, flowers and animals, together with delicate watercoloured illustrations of her observations. In addition to this, she inscribed poems and mottos appropriate to the month...

A page from January's notes

The pleasure of the book is manifold; firstly it is beautiful, really stunning. The illustrations are charming but not twee, precise and loving in their detail. Added to this is the writing - so nice to read someone's actual handwriting in a book. You actually feel you are reading her diary. You can read how on 13th June she gathered figwort and celery-leaved crowfoot and got soaked in a heavy shower of rain, but didn't mind as the weather had been so dry. The verses by poets such as Tennyson, Shelley and William Motherwell are lovely, highlighting the 'art' of the book. What Holden wanted her pupils to appreciate was the beauty of nature through observation and creative interpretation. Looking at it with fresh eyes over thirty years since I first saw it, the Diary is a thing of wonder and delight.

Edith Holden's life is not really known beyond a few moments. We know she married, we know her husband was Ernest Smith, a sculptor who worked for another sculptor, the Countess Feodora Gleichen in London, where Edith moved after her marriage in 1911. After that point she grew somewhat apart form her family and details of her married life are not known, but sadly what we do know is the matter of her death. In 1921, while gathering chestnut buds for sketching, she slipped and fell into the Thames at Kew and drowned, only discovered the day after.

Skip forward to the 1970s and Holden's great niece Rowena Stott published the diary and an industry was born. I remember the bed linen, the tea towels, the crockery, the stationery, everything all covered in delicate flowers and birds and the font of Edith's handwriting...

Edwardian Lady casserole, anyone? This doesn't cover the books, the endless books that took their inspiration from Holden's work...

I'm quite tempted by this one...

This might be a bit '80s for me....

Possibly the funniest and most predictable of these spin-offs (or cash-ins) has to be this...

Yes, yes, like we didn't see that coming. Mind you, it does echo the original well and is very snigger-some (even if the joke about blue tits is what you would expect. Sigh.)...

Well, that's all well and good for the 1980s, but why was that cushion hanging in Shamrock Linen's window in 2013? Turns out Edith Holden never went away, but that overly busy use of her work on everything was rejected as 'naff and old fashioned' in the rather more minimalist twenty-first century. I admit I had not really thought of her as an inspiration for my home decor as it reminded me of what my parents liked (and not in a good way) and who wants to do what their parents did? Well, maybe they were inspired by the original source material and a return to that is always a positive move. Looking again at The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady is a strange experience as it is so very familiar yet I appreciate it now within the context it was written.

Yes, of course I bought the cushion. It was my 40th birthday, after all.

Happy Saint George's Day, my friends! Happy Shakespeare's birthday too, obviously. How very English we all must feel today, even those of you who aren't English (it's fine, have some crumpets for tea and listen to The Archers, it's pretty much the same thing. If you want to get the full effect, try doing both of those in a queue. In the rain.) and so I think it's a nice excuse to look at some pictures of a muscly bloke in armour. Huzzah!

Fair Saint George (1881) John Gilbert

Most of us will know the story of Saint George, or at least the iconic bit: A village was having some trouble with a dragon (or crocodile, which seems a little more realistic if less impressive) and so to appease the dragon they fed it sheep. When the sheep ran out they moved on to maidens of the village. In some versions of the story the girls drew straws and whoever got the short straw got eaten. Even the Princess drew a straw and of course hers was the shortest so she was marched out to provide lunch for the fearsome beast...

'No, it's fine, I'll draw a lot. What's the worst that can happen?'

'Bugger...'

The above two pictures are by Edward Burne-Jones, always good for a nice series of swoony maidens and shiny-thighed men. Actually, as I was thinking about Saint George I couldn't believe how I hadn't just said 'But that's just the story of Perseus, isn't it?' because there are so many likenesses. Burne-Jones's series from the early 1860s lack the polish of his Perseus series of much later, but have the same charm of 'peace amid astonishing events' that he demonstrates in all his work. The curve of his Princess, like a willow stem, awaiting her fate, is just beautiful.

Saint George and the Dragon Edward Burne-Jones

How lucky for Princess Sabra that along came Saint George and slayed that pesky dragon/crocodile and got himself a Princess into the bargain.

Saint George (1906) Solomon J Solomon

It's unsurprising that most painters concentrate on the crucial moment of princess-saving/dragon-slaying. I like Solomon's multi-tasking George both scooping and stabbing, and striking a fairly handsome pose while doing it. That's some shiny armour. Whoo-hoo for our patron saint!

Saint George George Watts

Nothing says 'hero' like staring off at some unknown object. I like to think he's looking at 'victory' or 'tomorrow' or something equally as fluffy and metaphoric. Talking of metaphors, it's roundly agreed that he only slayed a metaphoric crocodile, representing Satan or Sin or somesuch thing that seemed like fun but was terribly bad for you. Slay that metaphoric crocodile!

The Quest of Saint George Frank Salisbury

Having slayed that dragon-o-dile and scooped up his princess, George galloped back to the village and everybody danced. Most artists tend to leave the story as soon as the spear goes into the dragon, but oddly the Pre-Raphaelites embraced the more romantic aspects of the story. Rossetti did two versions of the marriage of George to Princess Sabra...

The Wedding of St George and Princess Sabra (1857)

Saint George and Princess Sabra (1862)

I especially love the 1862 picture and I'm guessing the couple are based on William and Jane Morris. I love the fact that Princess Sabra is having a little snuggle up because nothing impresses women like slaying the dreaded dragon-o-dile.

Saint George and the Dragon: The Return Edward Burne-Jones

Burne-Jones also shows the big party after the dragon-slaying, which looks like jolly fun. There is a definite emphasis on the aftermath of his actions, the romance, the marriage. This neatly sits within the notion of 'saving the maiden', the Pre-Raphaelite sense of medieval courtly love. The fact that both Rossetti and Burne-Jones used the subject of Saint George at a fairly romantic time of their life is no coincidence even if Rossetti's other rendition of it was during the sad final year of his marriage. In that work I feel a hint of transference onto the Morrises, living vicariously in their 'happiness', foreshadowing his moving in on their marriage a few years later.

Finding of the Infant Saint George (1892) Charles March Gere

I have had a look, but I can't find any mention of St George being found (much like Moses), although his name is 'Georgios' or 'worker of the land (farmer)' in Greek. I think this is a beautiful, if random image, possibly linking George with Moses, or even Jesus - holy babies found in very (literally) 'earthy' situations. If you saw the above image without its title I don't think I'd be able to recognise the subject at all as it is not part of the story we're used to. It's very sweet though.

Well, off you go, enjoy the day, eat a crumpet, complain about the weather and other things that make you think about England. I think I am watching Gnomeo and Juliet later because Shakespeare wrote it. Apparently. Maybe I'll be saved by a shiny-thighed man...

If this blog were a baby, I would now be reaching that unruly age because today The Kissed Mouth is two years old! Another excuse for cake (even though I am still working my way through my birthday cake. For anyone who missed it, I made Sidonia Von Cake...)

Nom nom nom....

Anyway, like a sitcom, I would like to take the opportunity to give you a clip show of the last twelve months to see what we've got up to...

May last year was filled with May Queens, the Mural at Carrow Abbey (which was the first of our art mysteries from 2012) and hints of summer. I'm guessing that the weather was far better than it's been of late, although we seem to have fallen over and found Spring all of a sudden which is most disconcerting. We explored the two versions of Dante's Dream by Rossetti and the pointless yet magical portrayal of music in paintings. I think my two favourite posts from the month were the images of scary looking dogs in 'The Pugs of Doom' (who can forget John Franks and his soulless poodle?) and images of Temptation. My image of the month was a toss up between the hilarious and beautiful The Temptation of Sir Percival by Arthur Hacker and this, lesser known wonder by Thomas Kennington...

Temptation Thomas Kennington

One of the pleasures of writing for you is the chance to explore less well known artists like Kennington who produced the most amazing, deep pictures with ambiguous meaning and plenty to be read into them. I still love her red fan.

June brought the Diamond Jubilee, a visit to the Harry Potter Experience and two art mysteries. I wrote a piece on images of ladies combing their hair and I launched Stunner, finally. Obviously my image of the month has to be the fabulous celebrity endorsement I received....

Thank you Raine....

Another brilliant aspect of writing The Kissed Mouth and Stunner has been becoming friends with all you talented and marvellous people who I would never get to meet in real life. I mean really, fancy receiving this for your birthday...

Raine, you are amazing.

Trotting on to July, I shamelessly floated around in the municipal paddling pool for my Stunner competition. I talked about the rain which was obviously falling in large amounts and Rossetti's favourite colours. I also began to worry about the contents of the Tate exhibition and had a look at what was in the 1951 Pre-Raphaelite exhibition held at the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery. My seasonal, rather lovely image for the month must be this one...

A Summer Afternoon (1948) Geoffrey Scowcroft Fletcher

Possibly this marked the beginning of our discussions on the mid-twentieth century response to the Victorians and the Pre-Raphaelites in particular. I hope to continue looking into this in the future as I find it interesting who kept the faith through the years when our beloved Brotherhood were particular unfashionable.

August brought us Stunners and Artists in the shape of Marie Spartali Stillman and Emma Watkins (stunners) and James Collinson and Walter Denby Sadler (artists). It was also a Burne-Jones kind of month with two posts about him, one on mermaids and one about how dangerous it is to like dear Ned. To balance all this scandalous, morals-wrecking malarky, I did a nice post about drinking tea...

Five O'Clock Tea David Comba Adamson

Big sleeves ahoy!

Into the autumn, and September brought a few posts of a controversial nature. In light of the imminent publication of Jane Morris' letters, I began to reassess my feelings towards my least favourite stunner. It was also the first International Pre-Raphaelite Day, for which I wrote an A, B, C and also held a long weekend of love, which covered romance, dalliance and picking a wrong 'un. Possibly the biggest thing to happen that month was the opening of the Tate's exhibition (which was wonderful, but then a giant shed of those pictures was always going to be brilliant) (the shop was still rubbish though). Again, I came over all controversial and we discussed the notion of 'fat' in Pre-Raphaelite art history linking Fanny Cornforth to Lady Gaga for the first and probably last time. The image of the month has to be one of the most romantic pictures in existence...

Meeting on the Turret Stair Frederick William Burton

Oh, lovely. Splendid stuff. I do love a good wallow in medieval romantic stuff, I'll pretend I don't know the rest of the story and how everyone dies. Moving on.

October saw me give a talk on Fanny Cornforth and thank you to everyone for coming! It was a real pleasure meeting people who read this or else I would suspect I was faffing about on my own. I got to talk about illegitimate children and Love & Death this month, not to mention Gypsies and my wish to run away in a caravan which garnered almost as much revealing mail as my post on Milk Maids. Again, I wish to state for the record I do not own a three legged stool or a peasant blouse. Settle down. I'd like to add that sadly I don't own a be-ribboned tambourine or a big swirly skirt but I'm working on that. I also met Jan Marsh this month and she's lovely. The image of the month has to be of Hoylandswaine Church and I hope to go up this year to see how they are getting on with their restoration work...

How it looked before the emulsion and how it shall look once more. Only in colour.

November saw me swan off over to Paris and buy the most lovely necklace based on the brooch from The Blue Bower from the Musee D'Orsay. I also looked at presents for the Pre-Raphaelite fan in your life, including a very nice image of Alexa Wilding that was for sale at The Maas Gallery. I looked at the Victorians and War and asked everyone to join the marvellous Pre-Raphaelite Society. I also launched my page on Facebook, 'The Stunner's Boudoir'. Please come and find me in the Boudoir, I share bits of Pre-Raphaelite gossip there on a daily basis. Possibly the most serious subject I got to write about last year has to be beards. It's a matter of great import...

Never trust a man, or woman, without a beard...

December saw me perpetrate the madness that is Blogvent for the second year running. I don't know what I was thinking, but it is a bit of a giggle. I think I may well have used up all the Victorian images of Christmas that aren't just cute children in the snow, so I'll have to think of something else to do this year... My image for December has to be my Christmas Eve picture...

The Poor Actress's Christmas Dinner (1860) Robert Braithwaite Martineau

Looking at the image again, I wonder if Ruth Herbert posed for this?

2013 started in a less than jolly manner with the Massacre of the Innocents, but got better with a visit to Mells on the path of the tragic Souls. I also expressed my love of Thomas Hardy and my continuing obsession with Edward Burne-Jones' The Golden Stairs. We looked at Rossetti's love of 'The Raven' and we looked at the only stunner to have written a cook book, Ruth Herbert. Possibly Martineau's picture is of her and this is a forerunner to a celebrity cookery programme. She's like the Nigella of the 1860s. Or something. Anyway, the most fun I had in the frosty month of January was with the subject of the Prodigal Son, or in this case Daughter...

The Prodigal Daughter (1903) John Collier

'I'm off to despoil some young gentlemen, I've got my key so don't wait up.'

February saw us having a look at Circe the naughty temptress, and the dangers of letting the media misquote you. We had a swoony time with Chatterton, and had a lovely romp through the romantic art of the other Leighton. I went to see Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale at the Watts (it's still on, but not for much longer so see it while you can!) and I looked into the life of Grace Knewstub. I wrote my first, but no doubt not my last, defense of Ruskin. Poor old Ruskin, he's in for a right old time of it this year, what with the new film coming out. I still hope that he will be presented as a rounded character, not just some weird old bloke who wouldn't sleep with his wife. I think my slogan for 2013 should be

Do it for Ruskin,

He'd do it for you!

(But not to you, obviously)

My image for February is definitely one of romance, having fallen in love with the art of Henry John Stock, especially this picture...

The Kiss (1894) Henry John Stock

March saw the arrival of Fanny the Wombat with whom I celebrate Wombat Friday every Friday on Facebook and Twitter (#WombatFriday). All you need to join in is a cuddly wombat, some cake and an art book, then post a picture of all three together. It's a delightful way to connect with equally mad people all over the world and is no doubt contributing towards world peace. Or something. Anyway, I also indulged in a little eavesdropping, found a gorgeous obituary of Burne-Jones, went to Standen and celebrated the weirdness of Victorian Easter cards. March also saw the publication of Robert Parry's latest novel Wildish which I reviewed here. My image of the month has to be a lovely Victorian image of Jacobean royalty...

Bonnie Prince Charlie John Pettie

I have to thank Robert for sending me the copy of Wildish to review and also for being one of the first people to follow my blog two years ago. I am lucky enough to have him and my other blog-writing Pre-Raphaelite chums to encourage me and embroil me in all kinds of Victorian artistic shenanigans, for which I am truly grateful. On that note I would like to wish a speedy recover to Philip Brown who runs the Pre-Raphaelite Art blog and posts such lovely images on a daily basis. We miss you Philip, get well soon!

So this month I have enjoyed the company of The Framp, knitted William Morris, pre-ordered Deborah Rose's album and rediscovered my love for the Edwardian Lady. And eaten far too much cake, but it was worth it.

If I had to pick one image that summed up my year, it would have to be this...

A huge thank you to everyone who made the second edition of Stunner possible, and for those who have been kind enough to leave reviews on Amazon and the suchlike. You are the wind beneath my wings and other such cliche-ridden phrases, but I mean it. Without you lot reading this I'd just be a crazy woman, chuntering on about Victorian art to herself, and that sort of thing gets you locked up, or at least backed away from in the supermarket. Trust me, I've been there.

Anyhow, here's to another year of posts. No doubt Miss Holman (resting director, closet assassin, editor-for-hire) and I will go grave hunting once more, I will search out more places of a Pre-Raphaelite nature and Mr Walker will bring more brilliant stuff to my attention. I also will work my little fingers to the bone to bring you my novel which involves Pre-Raphaelites and all manner of backstage goings-on, so my image for the next year has to be the star of my new venture...

Regina Cordium (1866) D G Rossetti

Thank you, dear readers for your company and shall we get on with the third year?

Ah, Egypt. When I was a child my favourite Astrix book was Astrix and Cleopatra and I watched Death on the Nile a couple of hours before my wedding and while I was in labour (separate days, may I just add). Funny then I never paused to consider the relationship between Victorian art and the wonders of Egypt...

Africa group from the Albert Memorial (1864-1876)

I'm sure I'm not alone, but I always thought the fascination with Egypt was a Art Deco phenomenon. The opening of Tutankhamun's tomb and subsequent craze for Egyptian design in the 1920s was as far as I thought, but obviously, once you start studying the Victorians, it's hard not to see the influence. On my trip to Highgate, the Egyptian area is utterly stunning and completely mad, bursting out of the ground in the middle of such a classical and stately graveyard...

Egyptian pillars in Highgate Cemetery

Artists of the mid-Nineteenth century visited Egypt to marvel at the landscape and scenery. Thomas Seddon died out there in 1856, Richard Dadd went mad there in 1843 and in the mid 1850s, the best-traveled Pre-Raphaelite went there to take in the sights...

Afterglow in Egypt (1864) William Holman Hunt

In the early stages of his tour of the Middle East, in search of truth for his ancient scenes, Holman Hunt went through Egypt in 1854. Afterglow in Egypt or the preparatory sketch The Abundance of Egypt (same image) was drawn in Giza and shows a fellah girl carrying the goods of her country. Thinking on the subject, Hunt used Egypt regularly in his art of this period and continued to be inspired by the North Africa/Middle Eastern aesthetic, filled with colour and pattern.

The Lantern maker's Courtship William Holman Hunt

I have begun with Hunt because I think he showed the most respect to the subject and people while embroiling them in his vision. Look at the lantern in the above image, then think on Jesus' lovely lantern in The Light of the World. The decorative art of Egypt obviously stayed with Hunt far beyond his visit, as shown in the use of the beautiful chair in Dolce Far Niente...

Ancient Eyptian stool

Familiar design on the chair...

The above Ancient Egyptian stool was copied by Liberty & Co in their late 19th century 'Thebes' stool...

One of the main reasons for the influx of Egyptian influence and style on the Victorians was the ruler of Egypt between 1805 and 1848, Muhammad Ali. He wished to modernise the country, and win favour and build relations with European powers, who were no doubt more than happy to take advantage. He seemed not to hold the ancient artifacts of his country in any great esteem (or at least that is what we tell ourselves) and gave them away as gifts. It is true that Muhammad Ali proposed demolishing the Giza pyramids to provide stone for the Nile dams. The ruler that followed him seemed to hold the same views, as Florence Nightingale wrote of the destruction of a tomb in Upper Egypt in 1850 to make a sugar factory for the ruler's son. Such rather cavalier attitude to history gave those that needed it a reason to go in to 'save' artifacts and bring them back to Britain, flooding the country with images, stories and objects that spoke of a foreign culture, ancient, glamorous and unknown. The Victorians fell in love with their very own Egypt, and she was beautiful...

An Egyptian Beauty Thomas Kent Pelham

Hunt is a bit unusual in that he occasionally shows an Egyptian man, otherwise you may be forgiven for thinking that only beautiful dusky maidens lived in Egypt, who all owned their own pots. And very little else.

An Egyptian Water Carrier (1881) Arthur Hill

It's one of those awkward moments when you really should say to her 'You do know you can see straight through that frock, don't you?' but she's already out of her house and you'd only embarrass her. Mind you, who knows, may be that's the way ladies of Egypt dress. Who am I to judge?

Feeding the Sacred Ibis in the Halls at Karnac Edward John Poynter

See, it's obviously very warm in Egypt and so there is no reason why you shouldn't trolley about in something diaphanous, if not actually with your lovely Egyptian bosoms out. I know that feeding the chickens can be hard work and I only have the two so feeding a bevy of sacred ibis must be an extremely sweaty business. It's a good job no-one was watching her.

Egyptian Musician Charles Knighton Warren

Come on now, which of us hasn't strummed on a banjo and had a boob pop out. See, it's a problem of antiquity and nothing to do with six glasses of Dubonnet and lemonade. This is possibly the first instance of wardrobe malfunction recorded in antiquity. Serious business, this Egyptology. Actually, the term 'Egyptology' only came into use in 1859 and was not in common usage until the 1870s. Before then, if you wished to look closer into the matters of Egyptian lovelies with their bristols out, you would have to call yourself an Orientalist or Egyptologue. I like 'Egyptologue'. Say it out loud, isn't it lovely? If you raise an eyebrow on the 'logue' part, I think it strikes the right tone.

The Pharaoh's Handmaidens John Collier

Now them, my Egyptologues, how educational is the above image? Don't be concerned by the amount of nude lady-flesh on display, it's fine because it's ancient. Really, it's a proper study of life in historic Egypt. I think it must be looked at for a long time so you learn a great deal. Possibly in a room on your own so you're not disturbed. Moving on.

The False God William Wontner

It must have been difficult not to pause and sneer at the Ancient Egyptians, in the way that we in the 'most civilised' times and countries always look down on previous civilisations with amused affection, as if looking at a child doing something quite clever but nonsensical. Look at all those funny Gods! Look at the way they believed they needed things to be taken with them into the afterlife! Ancient Egyptians are funny! Much of the gawping at nude Egyptian lovelies comes from the belief that for all their architectural advancements and style, secretly the Egyptians were nothing more than savages, so it was fine to picture the women in their 'natural state'.

If only they had had a Queen, a glorious, beautiful Queen, who also wasn't averse to a bit of nudity...

See you tomorrow.

Yesterday we saw how the Victorian's loved the delights of Ancient Egypt, and its many, many semi-naked water-carrying ladies. All very entertaining and lovely, but today we turn to the more serious matter of the last of the Pharaohs, the great ruler of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, Cleopatra. No sniggering in the back now...

Berenice, Queen of Egypt (1867) Frederick Sandys

Berenice was the first queen of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, pictured here by Frederick Sandys, but it is definitely the last queen that got all the attention. Neither was Cleopatra the only Cleopatra, because by the time we get to the asp-hugging Queen we know so well, she is actually Cleopatra VII. That's a lot of eyeliner to follow...

Another reason for the enthusiasm for all things Ancient Egyptian was the enormous erection that graced London in 1878. Presented to Britain in 1819 by the erstwhile Mohammad Ali (remember him from yesterday?) and finally making its way to London in 1878, the huge red granite obelisk, or 'needle' dated from around 1450BC. It was flanked by two huge mock-Egyptian sphinx and a bevy of other stylistic details, such as winged sphinxes on the benches.

Back end of a Sphinx...

In the flurry of all the interest it is hardly surprising that the artistic imagination fixated on one figure. And what a figure...

Cleopatra John William Waterhouse

In some ways, we shouldn't be surprised that the poster-girl for the Ancient Egyptian world was Cleopatra. In some ways she reflected Queen Victoria, strong female ruler of a powerful nation, but she also reinforced certain attitudes towards women. She was fallible, she was a seductress, she died with her boob out. Okay, ignore the last one, but she was a woman who lived, loved and died while still gorgeous, by her own hand. Who could ask for more?

Lillie Langtry as Cleopatra

Possibly the most famous play to involve Cleopatra would be the play by Shakespeare, but there are a host of plays and operas that included depictions of the Queen of Egypt. A 'character' began to emerge, a beautiful and tempting Queen, foreign yet familiar, ancient and modern.

Cleopatra (1875) Lawrence Alma Tadema

I'm not sure how historically accurate the proclivity to leopard print is, but many artists did straight 'portraits' of Cleopatra, looking pouty among fur. You wonder how she managed to rule a country with such a sulky demeanor...

Cleopatra (1885-1920) Margaret Cookesley

When she is shown dressed, her costumes are extremely luxorious, golden prints spreading for miles. The Cookesley image is typical of the dramatic portrayals, like a still from a play. You can imagine the glorious Miss Bernhardt striking a pose like this. Mind you, she is known for more stunning moments than just standing or lying around looking a bit mardy...

Cleopatra Testing Poisons on Condemned Prisoners Alexandre Cabanel

Well, how are you meant to test your poisons if not on condemned prisoners? Perfectly sensible. I'm surprised this picture survived intact as it would be tempting to trim it down to just the righthand side with the glammy ladies and their leopard. On the left you have a rather grim gathering of poorly gentlemen. Deary me. I'm not sure what she is trying to do, other than find a really good poison. I wasn't aware that Cleopatra was an arch poisoner, I thought she just had you done in if she didn't like you in a rather more traditional way. You know, with burly man and a big knife.

Cleopatra in Flight Charles Ricketts

Yes, yes, very nice, but we all know this isn't the iconic image of Cleopatra we all know and love. She doesn't look very 'flighty', more 'stroppy' or 'floppy' and excuse me, but surely if one is fleeing, one would tuck ones thrups away in case they slowed you down. In my experience. Moving on, this is what most artists seemed to think of...

The Death of Cleopatra Achille Glisenti

Did you know that before Shakespeare it was generally accepted that the Queen of Egypt topped herself by pressing an asp to her arm, but that sort of thing doesn't sell seats or canvases, so poor old Cleopatra suddenly seized the snake to her bosom, apparently while her handmaidens (equally nudey) swooned around (also possibly dead).

Cleopatra and the Asp Edward Poynter

In more classy moments, the odd artist showed Cleo with her top on, looking broody (obviously), but more often than not the boobs were as intrinsic a part of the story as the asp. Poynter shows the Queen looking conflicted, tense, her face darkened with her dark thoughts. The narrative of the end of her life is usually Mark Anthony's suicide following the defeat of his army by Octavian, then Cleopatra's suicide. You would think if her lover had killed himself and her palace was about to be over-run by an invading army then she would look a bit more dramatic, but Poynter shows her crumbling slowly, her defeat coming unwillingly, thoughtfully as befits a woman who had ruled such a strong country.

The Death of Cleopatra Gaetano Previati

Then again, she could have just rolled around naked with a snake.

The Death of Cleopatra (1890) John Collier

Somewhere in between you have Collier's image. The Queen lies in state, looking beautiful and marble-skinned, with her two ladies in various stages of collapse. It reminds me of pictures of the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, she had a couple of collapsing ladies in waiting. Maybe it's the law.

Death of Cleopatra Reginald Arthur

Not sure why she had to top herself in bed, but I suppose there is no reason why not. I love the glowing red hair of the maid and the colours are marvellously warm and rich.

Death of, oh well, you know by now (1874) Jean-Andre Rixens

It's interesting to see that the black kohl eyeliner is a silent movie star or Elizabeth Taylor touch to our idea of Cleopatra. None of these lovely ladies have the big sweepy wings around their eyes (as modelled now by the teenage waitresses in Pizza Hut, in my experience) although the flat black hair and gold accessories are very much in evidence. I think the appeal of Cleopatra is in her glorious life and dramatic death. Yes, she would do very naughty things to you, some of which you might not survive, but she gets hers in the end. You wonder if there was a little bit of snide giggling at the expense of Victoria, maybe a real concern about the fitness and safety of female rulers. After all, women can be a bit hysterical you know. Given half the chance I'd be seducing you one moment then clasping a poisonous reptile to my naked breast in the next. Not that I have a snake. It would have to be a slow-worm, which kind of lacks the drama. And the poison. Personally, I think it's less about politics and more about nakedness.

But it's history, so it's fine.

There is a delicious moment when you are looking for one thing and stumble across something so wonderful that you can't quite believe that you have never seen it before. This happened to me on Tuesday, while looking for pictures of Cleopatra. I found one by a painter who had also tackled the subject of Paolo and Francesca...

Paolo and Francesca (1887) Gaetano Previata

Well, that's rather gorgeous, I thought, then looked for a good copy of the image to save for later. I work on a little notebook computer so the screen is not exactly brilliant, but while squinting at the ones on offer, I saw this version...

At first I thought it was just a clearer version of the painting, but on opening it, I realised it was something more. It is actually a photograph entitled The Lovers from 2010. The artists are Tania Brassesco and Lazlo Passi Norberto and by the end of this post you will be in love with them too.

The Fairy Book

It would be easy to just bombard you with images of their work while flapping my hands and squealing, but I will try and string words together in the face of some of the most exquisite photography I have ever seen. Feel free to fall in a swoon, yes even the gentlemen (all three of you). Their use of light, the fidelity to the original image, all of it is just breath-taking. Brace yourself, this has to be my favourite...

Daydream (2012)

Daydream D G Rossetti

Not only do I love this because it is Rossetti in photo form, but the cleverness of rendering a pencil sketch with limited colour into a photograph leaves me speechless. Tania and Lazlo have created some of the most dreamy and swoon-worth images in their exhibition 'Dreams of Decadence'...

Young Decadent

I found the above image very Tissot-esque, one of his many pictures of Kathleen Newton, but actually it was one of many pictures inspired by the turn-of-the-century literary magazine Pèl & Ploma (Hair & Feather (pen/quill))...

Pèl & Ploma ran from 1899 to 1903 and was funded by the designer and illustrator Ramon Casa. His rather louche ladies with their upswept hair are beautifully repeated in Tania and Lazlo's photos, for example this...

...becomes this....

Just too beautiful for words, as is this....

Music

...which is referencing this...

Music Gustav Klimt

I think I am so overwhelmed because of the detail and care that has gone into breathing life into these paintings. These aren't just copies, gimmicks in life, these are moments of art, caught on a canvas just as surely as if they had come from a brush rather than a camera.

This image by Vittorio Corcos, entitled Dreams becomes a flawless photograph of such detail and care that it becomes hard to discern paint from pixel...

Corcos' Dreams becomes....

Dreams by Tania Brassesco & Lazlo Passi Norberto

Take something as perfect and delicate as Herbert Draper's Pot Pourri...

Well, obviously that was going to turn out to be swoon-worthy. Take a look at this and I dare you not to fall into a heap. I dare you!

God, I love my job. Insanely beautiful, all of it.

Summer

Lady Hat

It seems that the beautiful redhaired lady in the pictures is Tania Brassesco and she and Lazlo set up the image and he then takes the picture. The two images above are homages to Summer (1878) by James Tissot and Lady with Hat and Feather Boa (1909) by Gustav Klimt. If it is possible to be in love with a couple, then I love these talented photographic artists.

Maybe if I beg long and loud enough, they will have an exhibition in England because I need to see these pictures in person. Plus I want The Lovers and Daydream hanging on my wall.

Swoon!

Last year was 150th Anniversary of the birth of an important figure in Arts and Craft, yet there was no national celebration or exhibition of her work. She worked tirelessly to promote skills and style, her work admired by millions every year in museums like the V&A, yet 75 years after her death, who can feel they know her? Mind you, when your mother is Jane Morris, you are obviously blessed with elusive genes.

La Ghirlandata (1871-74) D G Rossetti (May posed for the angel)

Because my forthcoming novel (I love the term 'forthcoming', it sounds like I'm positive about its fate) is about Alexa Wilding, a portion of it is set at Kelmscott, so obviously I had to write about May Morris. I immediately wrote her as a truculent and precocious child who believes she is an adult despite being trapped in a child's body. However, what we know of May seems to be conflicting and difficult. She was dull, she was a tomboy, she had affairs with famous men, she was a secret lesbian, she was difficult and unpleasant, she was loved by many people. So what do we know about May?

Jane and May Morris (c.1864)

Mary 'May' Morris was born on 25th March 1862 at the Red House in Bexleyheath, named 'Mary' as she was born on the Feast of the Annunciation, yet she seemed to always be called 'May'. Her sister Jenny had been born 14 month beforehand, and for a while the home was described as a happy one. Thinking about it, May's birth came so hard on the heels of Elizabeth Siddal's death, you wonder if the Morris' retreated into a little domestic cocoon to cope with the bereavement of their friend and the destruction of the 'domestic bliss' Morris' mentor had strived to maintain. Just as Elizabeth and her baby left this world, then along came May.

May Morris (1870s) Robert Faulkner & Co

May and her sister was beautiful little girls, and they started a lifetime of 'posing' at an early age. It actually astonished me when assembling the images for this piece just how many pictures of May there are. What saddened me was how few there were of Jenny, brutally cut off after 1876, with scarce few after. In a way, I expect the pictures of May and Jenny probably didn't seem odd as their mother was a model, so regularly recorded at this point, so their appearance on film and canvas possibly seemed part of normal life.

May Morris (1872) D G Rossetti

May Morris D G Rossetti

Rossetti started using Jane as a model again in 1865, when May was 3, but the relationship between the artist and the little girl really developed in 1871. When Rossetti came to Kelmscott in the absence of their father, he took on a very complicated role for the two sisters. See, there I go again, 'complicated'. We know that the two years the odd 'family' lived together in the Cotswolds were happy for May, but became increasing difficult for Jane and Rossetti. I have heard Rossetti's relationship with May described as a factor in Jane's eventual break with him in 1876, but I think it most likely that May loved Rossetti like everyone else seemed to. I have never felt the hint of anything else, anything improper in their relationship. The paintings he did of her from this time are so beautiful and reflect the sweet little girl from the Faulkner photograph of the same period.

May and Jenny Morris (1860s) George Howard

The Burne-Jones and Morris children (1874)

The girls started school in 1874 and both Jenny and May showed promise, as was expected. Then in 1876 everything changed for the family. Jane broke ties with Rossetti and following a boating accident, Jenny developed epilepsy. From their recording of the illness that befell their sweet girl, it's obvious that the whole family found Jenny's seizures to be terrifying and deeply depressing. It affected Jane very much, had a terrible effect on William's health, so it can only be guessed at how much it devastated May. That year she lost Rossetti, her sister (as she knew her) and the happiness of her mother and father. If she changed, then I would think 1876 would have been a strong contributing factor.

May Morris (late 1870s) Unknown Photographer

May was taught to embroider by her mother and Aunt Bessie Burden (who had been taught by William). She was excellent at it and applied herself with dedication worthy of her parents. It would be easy to speculate that the time she spent embroidering was an escape the troubles at home, and the time she spent with her mother, sister and aunt over the embroidery frames helped both of all concentrate on something other than her sister's failing health. In 1885, at the age of 23, May became the director of the embroidery department at Morris & Co.

Maids of Honour (1900) May Morris

In 1884, May joined the Social Democratic Federation in Hammersmith where her father was already a forthright member and by the end of the year, father and daughter broke from the Federation to form the Socialist League. It is believed that potential suitors for William Morris' intelligent daughter were put off by the spector of her sister's illness, and May herself worried that she would develop epilepsy (which her grandmother and, to an extent, her father showed traces of). In the midst of all this came a potential lover for May, George Bernard Shaw...

Hello Ladies, it's George Bernard Phoar!

GBS declared a 'mystic betrothal' with 23 year old May but didn't get round to proposing and let May hang on, waiting for him to go through with his promise. To many, it could have seemed that May was to remain as solitary as her sister, and it appears that May is even detached from the other bright young women descending the Golden Stairs to womanhood in Burne-Jones' 1880 painting...

May is on the right, full length, with the violin

In an act of defiance, May took up with Henry Halliday Sparling, an impoverished member of the Socialist League. Both her parents were against it, as Lily Yeats, an employee (and member of the poetic Yeats family) recorded in her Scrapbooks. As she saw him, Sparling was 'the queerest looking young man, very tall, thin, stooped...no chin and very large spectacles.' In a flurry of doom-professising and opposition, May and Henry married in 1890.

May Morris, Henry Halliday Sparling, Emery Walker and GBS

Is it just me or is Sparling giving GBS the evils? Anyway, the marriage was not a success, cemented by the fact that Shaw moved in with the couple in 1892 and allegedly had an affair with May. The couple remained married until 1898, but Shaw's intervention ended it in all but name. After the death of her father in 1896, May and Sparling divorced but Shaw did not marry his lover, instead marrying a wealthy woman, Charlotte Payne Townshend.

May Morris, 1897

The winter after her father's death, May joined her mother on a trip to Cairo with Wilfrid Blunt and his wife (living proof that Jane didn't have a leg to stand on when judging her daughter on her choice of men). Possibly the death of her father, despite being a terrible blow, set May free. She left Morris & Co and became a freelance designer, embroiderer and teacher, writing articles on historical embroidery and acting as an adviser for colleges setting up embroidery courses. Her work was central to the Arts and Craft movement, she not only brought the legacy of her father, but also her own talent. Without May, there would not be this iconic design...

Honeysuckle II (1883) May Morris

May and her mother and sister continued to live at Kelmscott Manor, her sister's condition not getting very much worse but no better, and as her mother aged it must have seemed to May that she was a little trapped by the invalids in her life. It is hardly surprising that when May went on a lecture tour of the United States, she had an affair with the lawyer and art collector, John Quinn....

John Quinn (1913). Get a look at his horse....

May worked tirelessly, editing her father's writings, which must have been a mammoth task both physically and intellectually. The collection of these literary, artistic and political works amounted to 24 volumes, published by Longmans in 1915, a year after her mother's death. Jane purchased Kelmscott Manor just before her death, possibly in an attempt to safeguard her daughter's home for them...

May, before 1921

The First World War brought a Land Girl to Kelmscott, who moved into the Manor as May's companion. After the War ended, Miss Lobb remained at Kelmscott Manor with May.

May and Miss Lobb

I'll get to Miss Lobb in a minute, but the remaining 18 years of May's life were enthusiastically spent in village life. May commissioned a pair of cottages in her mother's memory and later, a Village Hall which was completed in 1934 and opened by George Bernard Shaw. Jenny died in 1935, only a couple of years before her sister. Miss Lobb was not only May's companion but also a buffer between her and her sister's illness. It would be nice to think that the three of them were finally content. In the summer of 1924, May and Miss Lobb travelled in her father's footsteps to Iceland.

May Morris, 1924, Iceland

May and Miss Lobb lived together happily for the rest of May's life. Miss Lobb was something of a figure of fun, comedic in appearance and bluff in manner. I am reminded somewhat of William Morris, rounded and jolly, and maybe that is what struck May too. As to whether or not May and Miss Lobb were lovers, who cares? At least she got to be happy.

The intimacy of this picture of May reading in bed
may have caused speculation over the women's relationship

May died in 1938, leaving Kelmscott Manor to Oxford University. Miss Lobb died in the Spring of 1939. There are stories involving brandy and a pistol, her dramatic suicide in despair over her lover's death, but Jan Marsh sensibly cites heart disease, rather than a grand cover up by Oxford University. If you think about it, May's Will would have made her lover homeless which would have been quite heartless, unless Miss Lobb was not aware of her failing health. I think possibly Miss Lobb was deeply affected by her friend's death and this may have contributed to her own death. Mind you, the brandy and pistol story is rather exciting, but steady on, this is the Cotswolds...

May Morris (1886) Frederick Hollyer

May is a heroine of the Arts and Crafts movement who deserves more exposure than she gets. It was great to see a celebration of her life at Kelmscott last year, and to see her work on a stamp in the Britons of Distinction series, but it still seems we know her first and foremost as William's Daughter. Well, yes she is, and that's why she delivered so much.

Maybe one day William will be know as May Morris' Dad....

Happy Birthday Dante Gabriel Rossetti! It only seems five minutes ago that you were a baby, but 185 years later you're all grown up, so I think it's about time we had a look at the many faces of the artist we know and love...

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (c.1844) Filippo Maenza

This is reportedly the first portrait of Rossetti as a teenager, drawn in Boulogne by the son of the family whom Rossetti was staying with. William Michael regarded it as little more than a caricature of his brother but admitted that it was still like him. While it is completely unlike all portraits that followed, it is possible to discern the large Disney eyes and the pouty lips. He certainly looks far more Mediterranean than in any of his own portraits or those by his friends. How interesting that he seemed to have found his romantic groove by 1845...

(Sept 1845) Paul Jonnard after John Hancock

Well, he grew his hair out for the medallion, and this image gives some credence to everyone's favourite portrait of Rossetti. Brace yourself, the screaming is about to start....

(1848) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

He's late teens and looking as hot as York in August. All the girls love this image of the revolutionary artist, forming the brotherhood and working on his smolder. Look at the faint shadow forming on the bridge of his nose between his eyebrows. That deepens as the years pass, but in 1848 he was looking beardless and gorgeous.

Detail from Isabella and Lorenzo (1849)

Sketch for Detail (1848) J E Millais

Millais is an artist who spoke the truth, especially in his sketches, so in the detail sketch on the right, you have a very honest image of the young, flowing-haired man, not completely removed from the very romantic self-portrait. It's possible to discern the curl of his hair on his forehead. I think I better have a bit of a sit down.

(1849) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

What a difference a year makes. By 1849, Rossetti has started morphing into a more familiar figure. Bearded, slightly unkempt and looking strangely haunted due to the emphasis on the large eyes, Rossetti appears to be whippet-thin and has had his lovely long locks all cut. What a shame.

William Michael and Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1853) Henry Mark Anthony

As if you needed concrete proof that by the early 1850s, DGR was not the fabulous-haired cupcake he had been in his late teens, here is a photo from 1853. The brothers look like stray members of a Prog Rock group on a particularly arty concept album cover. He should not have been allowed to stand with his hands on his hips, it's not a good look. Anyway, despite being rather foggy, that outline, the profile, is unmistakable.

(1853) William Holman Hunt

We don't need to squint through the fog, Holman Hunt conveniently did a portrait the same year. The crease on the bridge of his nose is missing, but those enormous eyes glimmer with the sort of intrigue and naughtiness that should make a lady grasp her sixpence.

It is then almost ten years until the next clear image of Rossetti is taken, this time in photo form, where nothing can be glammed up, airbrushed or faked. If you had no notion of what had occurred in the years between 1853 and 1862, surely the look on his face would tell you something devastating had happened...

(December 1862) W & D Downey

A mere ten months after the death of his wife and their unborn child and Rossetti faces a camera. Put in that context, this just breaks my heart. He looks like his coat: he is holding it all together, but he is slowly coming undone.

(7 October 1863) Lewis Carroll

A year later, and he had settled into Cheyne Walk with a vengeance The series of photographs taken by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (better known as Lewis Carroll), show Rossetti of the Middle Years, plump and vaguely dapper. I don't think it is even vaguely ironic that he is pictured playing games with his family.

(October 1863) Lewis Carroll

The formality and control appears to have returned to Rossetti in this very self-aware portrait. He looks like someone has actually pressed his clothes for a change. Comparing the image to the year before, you can see how much he has pulled himself back in. He is neat, he is ready and he knows people are looking.

William bell Scott, John Ruskin and D G Rossetti (29 June 1863) W & D Downey

In between those two images lies this series of oddities. Really, I don't know where to start with how peculiar this now appears. No, Bell Scott, no-one wants to hold your hand, you horrible man. Mind you, Rossetti just got further with Ruskin than Effie did. Moving on.

(1870) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The portraits then become quite same-y for a period. His neatly shaved beard and tidy little suits don't seem to differ even though we know that he went through some appalling emotional upheavals during this period. Looking at his self-portrait in 1870, it's hard to imagine this was a man on the brink of a series of appalling breakdowns after the disturbance of his wife's grave.

(1871) G F Watts

Interestingly, this portrait from the same time by someone else shows a slightly less chipper little fellow. Rossetti didn't like this picture and quickly handed it over to Fanny for her 'Elephant's Hole' of pictures. I agree, I don't like it much either, I find the head to be rather 'skull-like' and that wavy hair is not in evidence. Everything looks ghost-like and haunted all at once.

(1875-1880) D G Rossetti

The few lines of this pencil portrait give a very clear picture of the painter towards the end of his life. He looks unravelled, transient, but those large eyes and that line between them catch you as everything else is barely rendered.

Broadlands Portrait (mid 1870s) DGR is allegedly far right, leaning on the pillar

Curious one this, not sure if I believe it is Rossetti, but as we have very little to compare it to, apart from the sketch above, it's hard to call either way. He looks peculiar in the image but then, he was peculiar at this point, having broken with Jane Morris and tumbling into the last troubled years of his life.

The end came all too soon and despite his wishes not to be recorded in death, both 2- and 3-dimensional renderings were taken.

The Dead Rossetti (1882) Frederic Shields

Death Mask (1882) Brucciani and Co

Thinking about the rights and wrongs of the situation, it's hard to accept that my own wishes to see an actual cast of Rossetti's face overrides the man's wishes. I find it all rather heartless, but yet another example of how his family owned him because he gave up control to them too readily.

In my opinion the worst portrait of Rossetti is the memorial by Ford Madox Brown where he resembles a Panto Shakespeare...

So there it should end, but just as Rossetti's fame cause his dead body to be recorded, then too, his likeness rose again with the advent of film and television. You want your Rossetti alive again? Well, how about this...

Oliver Reed in Dante's Inferno (1967)

In my humble opinion, Oliver Reed makes such an outstanding Rossetti that no-one else should have bothered. Despite bringing a certain level of hotness to the role, he also brought the charisma. He made you feel irritation, pity and happiness, plus he oozed utter madness. The film is bonkers but I like it because it has courage of its bonkers convictions.

Ben Kingsley in The Love School (1975)

Beautifully displaying the youthful enthusiasm of the young Rossetti is Ben Kingsley, a brilliant actor even on his off days. I want to see more than just the snippet on YouTube, BBC, release this soon!

Aidan Turner in Desperate Romantics (2009)

Arguably the portrayal Rossetti would have liked the best has to be Mr Turner's hot gitweasel because Rossetti was a vain man and Aidan Turner is an exceptionally handsome man. However, the characterization of Rossetti bore as much relevance to the internal machinations of the man himself as Brown's plaster bust resembled the outside. This does him no service and is poor thanks for the beautiful art he gave the world. Shame on you BBC.

Rossetti and Watts Dunton at 16 Cheyne Walk (1882) Henry Treffry Dunn

His life was lived in the public eye, reflected and captured in art from his teenage years onwards. As Rossetti created image from others, he too was flattened and caught on canvas and plate. We see him in hope and expectation, we see him in despair, we see him as he cannot see himself and through all of it he stands before us, not shielded by his canvas, not armed with his brush, but waiting for us in a moment that is gone in an instant but will exist forever, a candle that can never be blown out.

Whenever I show this picture on my blog or on Facebook I always get loads of comments...

The Temptation of Sir Percival Arthur Hacker

Of all the pictures I have ever shared with you here, this may well be a strong contender for the most beloved by you lot. It's a winning combination of beautiful and unintentionally funny that people can't help falling in love with. It seems to encourage no end of captions and all I can say is that Leeds City Art Gallery are very lucky indeed to have it. This made me start to wonder about Arthur Hacker...

Christabel Cockerell (1900)

Here's a bold statement for you: if I had to be a Victorian artist, then I think I fancy being Arthur Hacker. Yes, his quality (in subject if not technique) was patchy, but when he got it right, he blows you away. When I was gathering the images for this post I did a fair amount of squealing, clapping and, conversely, scratching my head in puzzlement. I also had a little snigger at some over-the-top drama, such as this...

The Cloister or The World (1886)

Oh no! What a choice! Sod this for a lark, I'm off into the world to randomly lob petals at people like a right hussy. You have been warned. I love how the purity angel is looking at the naughty girl's bowl, like she's hiding a load of malteasers in there. It's enough to make a nun go funny.

Right, a little background on Arthur Hacker: His father was an animal engraver and his mother was the daughter of an attorney. They lived a rather nice comfortable life in St Pancras, the Hampstead areas of London. Arthur had a brother Sidney, who ended up being coroner for Devon, and a sister Adeline, who remained home and unmarried until both of her parents had passed away (both at quite a ripe old age). Just after his father died, Arthur painted this rather touching portrait of his mother...

Portrait of the Artist's Mother (Sophia Hacker) (1907)

I didn't realise that Hacker painted quite a number of portraits, some of them rather beautiful and delicate, despite their very formal nature...

Sir Frank Short (1918)

This rather lovely image of the engineer and engraver Frank Short tells you so much about the subject. He looks industrious but with a smile, a warm humour and an enthusiastic love of his work. I think he is smiling under that impressive mustache.

Charlotte A. Ferguson of Largham, Donor of Victory Park

This reminds me of the portrait of Annie Russell-Cotes (of the Art Gallery fame), and no doubt countless other images of wealthy women of the late Victorian period, but there is something eminently tactile about that boa of fur and the great bundle of bows on the front of her dress. It treads a very fine line between respectable and glam, which is nice to see in a woman of a certain age. She looks jolly.

Arthur Hacker (1858-1919) was a well-known painter of moderate success, a classicist with a strong vein in genre and fantasy. His scenes of everyday life remind me of the Cornish fishing scenes of Holl but without the utter doom...

The Fisherman's Wife

We know her husband's line of work thanks to the tangle of nets and baskets behind her, but what is the message of the piece? She looks at her baby with a mixed expression, both blissful and fearful. What clues do we have? There is a clock, there are daffodils, so are we looking at time running out? The daffodils are to do with Spring and life, but a number of them have been left from the bowl. I'm putting money on a fishing accident and a number of sailors lost from their boat. Mind you, I don't always look on the bright side...

A Difficulty

Again, a clock ticks just out of shot, symbolising time. I think the little girl and the old woman are the same person. Time has ticked on and the little girl who used to think sewing was fun has now gone blind and can no longer thread her needle and will starve, which is a bit 'difficult'.

I think we probably know Hacker for his religious and legend subjects, like lovely Sir Percival. It was what he was primarily known for at the time, probably because of the magnificence of some of these...

By the Waters of Babylon

Pelagia and Philammon (1887)

The first of the religious images should be familiar to you as the subject of a Boney M song. The second is from a now-obscure Charles Kingsley novel Hypatia and shows the monk Philammon giving the holy sacrament to his nudey sister in the desert. That's alright then, nothing strange there.

Persephone

Daphne (1890)

The lush image of Daphne goes in my collection of fictional Amos Roselli paintings (from The Arrow Chest by Robert Parry). The picture of Persephone is a bit overwrought but seems rather more up-beat than Rossetti's take on the subject.

Yes, Hacker could be dismissed at times as being a painter of pretty girls with pink bits, but he is much more than that. He can also be a painter of extreme oddness...

Vale or Farewell

So many questions! Who is going where? Is the figure on the left leading the one on the right, is she leaving her or are they both going off but in separate directions? Is one of them death? Is one of them dead? It has a sepia-silence about it, not telling the viewer anything other than this is a painting about saying goodbye.

The Drone

So does the title refer to the sound of bees, filling up the flowers that surround the beautifully dressed young woman? Or is she the drone? A drone is a bee that doesn't 'work', just exists for breeding purposes, so maybe he is making a comment on the position of the woman whose posture echoes the flowers.

Imprisoned Spring (1911)

This has to be a contender for my favourite picture by Hacker. Again, it's 'woman as nature', with both the girl and the flowers trapped in the meagre space, looking sadly towards the gay sunshine, streaming through the window. I wonder if this reflected upon his sister at all, remaining home until both her parents died, only then going out into the world, getting married to the preposterously named Edmond Jean Marie Louis De St Quentin, at the age of 71. She died the year after, in 1922.

Fire Fancies

It's not hard to fall in love with Arthur Hacker, his art is so beautiful and, at its best, celebrates the beauty of this world and a world beyond ours. He paints women with skin like pearly shells and fabric that could slide through your fingers like silk. His muse is often unknowable; who can tell what the woman in The Drone is thinking, and what is happening in Vale or Farewell? Sometimes it is not a subject he gives us, just a mood, a feeling that is unsettled. This is at odds with his traditional genre images, but even then he gives us unfinished stories, no guarantee of a happy ending. His glory exists in a canvas of uncertainty, but the beauty will always remain true.

Musicienne du Silence

As many of you will know, I visited the Isle of Wight at the weekend. Whilst there, I paid my respects to a rogue...

I really should know more about Swinburne than I do, after all he lived at Cheyne Walk and knew Fanny well (and disliked her with a vengeance)....

Swinburne attempted to remain nonchalant as his chair sunk into the lawn....

It struck me that I really did not know enough about the little rascal, and so here is a little history of one of the best connected men in Victorian poetry. Really, there is more than naked banister-sliding....

Swinburne and his Sisters (1843) George Richmond

Algernon Charles Swinburne was born in 1837 to a rather illustrious family. His father was Admiral Charles Henry Swinburne (son of Sir John Henry Swinburne) and his mother was Lady Jane Henrietta Ashburnham (daughter of the 3rd Earl of Ashburnham) and so, as their eldest child and a son, great things were no doubt expected of little Algernon. He grew up in lovely East Dene in Bonchurch on the Isle of Wight (or as I like to call it, the 'Isle of Victorian Splendidness') and went off to Eton, then to Oxford. So far, so traditional. You can see by the portrait of him at six years old (above), he already had his vibrantly red hair, and by 16 he was already writing poetry. The only blip on his record was being temporarily expelled (or 'rusticated', which sounds like a type of bread. I do like a rusticated loaf) for publically supporting the attempted assissination of Napoleon III by Felice Orsini. We all do crazy things as students...

Swinburne at Oxford. I love how easy he is to spot...

The family's house was in Northumberland, and it was there he fell in with the intellectual circles of William Bell Scott and Lady Trevelyan and his connection to the Pre-Raphaelites was assured. Swinburne had been at Oxford while the painting party of the Union occurred and had met Rossetti, Burne-Jones and William Morris. When he moved to London in the early 1860s, his friendship with Rossetti strengthened, and Rossetti referred to him as 'my little Northumbrian friend'.

Algernon Swinburne William Bell Scott

Swinburne was a constant visitor to Chatham Place and he became very attached to Elizabeth Siddal. It's easy to speculate that the little red-haired boy in the first picture found a surrogate sister in the small, redhaired woman. He and Lizzie would rush around the studio as Rossetti painted and the artist was sometimes forced to 'call them both to order, as he might a pair of charming angora cats' (according to one observer).

Swinburne (1861) D G Rossetti

Swinburne's intimacy with the couple was such that he was one of the last people to see Elizabeth alive. He dined with the couple at the Sabloniere Hotel on 11 February 1862 and gave evidence at the resultant inquest of Elizabeth's death. Whatever the truth of that evening, Swinburne was destroyed by the death of his friend, and the letter he wrote home to his mother in the aftermath was filled with the sadness at his loss and worry for his friend, to the detriment of his own health.

Swinburne (1860s)

Rossetti had fled to his mother's while the matter of his new home was sorted and when Swinburne visited him, his friend begged him to move in. It is tempting to speculate whether Rossetti was trying to replace one redhead with another. That is not to suggest that there was any sort of homosexual motivation behind his actions, but that simply put, Swinburne reminded Rossetti of Lizzie and their happier times, chasing in the studio. What never seems to be examined in any detail is what the loss of Lizzie did to Swinburne. His behaviour quickly became a bone of contention in the household, and the famous story of him sliding naked down the banister with a friend in the middle of the night comes from this period. He continued to write poetry, praised and admired, and his circle of friends expanded to included important figures in the artistic and literary worlds.

Swinburne in 1865

He met and became intimate with Burne-Jones and Simeon Solomon, and they formed an unholy trio, swapping obscene drawings and poems. Swinburne is blamed for encouraging Solomon into alcoholism and risk-taking homosexual activity. Swinburne championed Solomon's gentle, sensual style and in many ways it was a reflection of his poetry. Between them, they were trying to reveal a person, neither male nor female, but a blend and something different. Swinburne became an algolagniac (word of the day! Try and drop it into conversation, or simply announce it outloud wherever you may be right at this moment. Go on, I dare you. All together now: AL-GO-LAG-NIAC! It means someone who enjoys a smack around the nethers. Sorry about that.)

Swinburne and Adah Menken, the American actress

In an attempt to sort him out (or should that be 'straighten him out'), Rossetti threw Swinburne (possibly literally, he was only small) at the American actress Adah Menken. She threw him back, declaring it a failure, as she complained, "I can't make him understand that biting's no use."

He went through cycles of drinking, debauching, de Sade and degeneration, at which point his family would swoop in and carry him back up North until he was better. He would then return back to London, strip off with a bottle in one hand and a whip in the other and the cycle would begin again. He was tarred with the same brush as Rossetti in terms of the 'Fleshly poets' but his behaviour made it impossible for any defence to be made. He was wreckage.

Move forward to 1897, and look who is Mr January in the Modern Poets calendar! How on earth did the tiny, masochistic drunk become the 'Modern Poet'? The answer is this gentleman...

Theodore Watts-Dunton

By the late 1870s, Swinburne had almost killed himself with his lifestyle. Instead of his family swooping in, his legal advisor (and friend of Rossetti) Theodore Watts-Dunton came and removed him, taking him to live in his home outside London. There he dried Swinburne out and changed his behaviour. His poetry which had been in decline, had a new, gentler flourish in the last years of his life. Swinburne became detached from his former friends, and people accused Watts-Dunton of holding him prisoner, but in truth Swinburne had grown deaf and just wanted to stay at home and not have his belongings whipped. Swinburne finally got respectable...

Swinburne (1900) Robert Ponsonby Staples

He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1903, 1904, 1905, 1906 and 1907, then again in 1909, the year he died. It was thanks to Watts-Dunton that he made it to 72 years old and had the opportunity to be remembered for the energy and drive of his poetry. H P Lovecraft declared that Swinburne was the only real poet on either side of the Atlantic after the death of Edgar Allan Poe. While not as popular now as he has been, Swinburne's legacy remains with us and hopefully the interest generated by the Pre-Raphaelites will extend to his work.

Swinburne (1974) David Levine

But remember, reading Swinburne may lead to more outrageous behaviour.
Friends don't let friends read Swinburne while drinking....

I find it astonishing that I have gone so long without knowing the alternate title for this sculpture...

The Kiss (Paolo & Francesca) (1901-4) Auguste Rodin

The story of Paolo Malatesta and Francesca da Rimini (or da Polenta) as told by Dante, is inextricable linked to Rossetti's work (and arguably life) and is echoed in the work of a whole range of Victorian artists. While familiar with Rodin's sculpture, so iconic in its moment of tender intimacy, I was unaware of the link until I searched for images of the doomed couple. After this, I will never be able to see a picture of a kiss again without fearing the worst...

Paolo and Francesca da Rimini (1855) D G Rossetti

There are moments of life and art collision with Rossetti, and his early love of Dante and the story of Paolo and Francesca (possibly form the work of Leigh Hunt) has some tempting echoes in his later life. In 1855, possibly our young painter still regarded himself as 'Dante' the observer, the recorder of other's folly, other's doom. Later, Rossetti became the doomed Paolo, falling for his brother's wife, straight into the whirl-flames of the Inferno. Planned and executed before the trip to Oxford, Rossetti shows us the couple brought together adulterously over an image of Lancelot and Guinevere, then locked together in the hell of their own making. Soon after he would meet a stablehand's daughter, cast as Guinevere and lulled into marriage with another man. Did Rossetti know how much his love of Jane would cost him?

Paolo and Francesca Gaetano Previati

You will remember I used this image a couple of weeks ago, and it was this gorgeous moment of drama which really set me on the path to learn more as I adored the paleness of the scene, the stillness of the moment, cruelly mirroring the passion that has ended. To give you a short version of the story, Francesca was offered in marriage to the eldest son of an opposing family in an attempt to end a long war between them. Although the eldest son, Gianciotto was sure to be a capable ruler in his father's stead, he was ugly and deformed, unlike his rather handsome and lovely younger brother Paolo. It was pretty Paolo they sent to woo Francesca, who only learnt of the deception on her wedding day when the other man stood beside her at the altar. By this time she and Paolo were very much in love and spent time together as brother and sister, reading a book about King Arthur and the knights of the round table. They finally consummated their passion over the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, but were caught by Gianciotto who attempted to kill his brother. Francesca threw herself in the way of the blade and was killed. Gianciotto then killed his brother and the lovers were buried together. Dante who was a contemporary of the families included them in the Inferno, in the circle that dealt with lust and consequence.

Paolo and Francesca Amos Casioli

Artists tend to gravitate to three aspects of the story: the kiss, the death and the Inferno. Overwhelmingly, the majority seem to prefer showing the kiss. In some ways this is unsurprising as it is far more commercial and pleasing to the eye. This aspect reminds me of imagery of Romeo and Juliet, possibly because of the illicit nature of the passion. There is a definite scaling of the passion involved ranging from chaste to 'unsuitable for ladies eyes!' in the interpretation placed on the fateful moment. Take Casioli's take on it above, it's pretty steamy. Compare it to William Dyce's vision of the moment...

Paolo and Francesca (1845) William Dyce

That does really emphasise the innocent nature of their love, and she doesn't even seem to be that bothered. It's not that he is only pecking her on the cheek, they just don't seem very enamored of each other. Look at how much passion Charles Halle manages to express without lip contact...

Paolo and Francesca Charles Edward Halle

The light hitting Francesca's face is lovely, highlighting her shining love for the young man. The book is forgotten and the only thing in the whole world is their love.

Paolo and Francesca Anselm Feuerbach

They sit together, not looking at each other but the space is compressed making you feel their embrace is inevitable. Her skirt fills the canvas, catching the light and seeming to confine her to her seat as the shadow-cast figure of her young lover guards her. Her attention is on the book, his attention is on the book but their awareness of each other is undeniable.

Paolo and Francesca (1894) Frank Dicksee

They embrace, but he kisses her fingers rather than her lips. In the Inferno, Dante describes Francesca admitting that as they read about Lancelot, 'This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided, kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.' I love the richness of their dress and surroundings. There is a wealth of luxury from the silk of her dress to the fur beneath their feet and yet it will not save them.

Paolo and Francesca (1902) Christopher Williams

Possibly the most dreamy image of the couple comes from Christopher Williams' Edwardian wonder, the circular nature of the story reflected in the form of the canvas, as the story of the adulterous knight falls to the floor as the adulterous couple form a circle with their arms. Behind them, the sun is already setting but the couple are unaware of how late it is and that their lives are almost over.

The Death of Paolo and Francesca (1870) Alexandre Cabanel

Very few of the paintings cover the actual death of the lovers. The one by Gaetano Previati and this one by Cabanel show the pair together in death, their powder-pale skin whispering death from the canvas. They reach for each other, cling but death has made their embrace futile and incomplete. I love the shimmer of marble on their flesh, reflecting the beautiful floor where Paolo lies in an agonized contortion.

Paolo and Francesca Gustave Dore

Like Rossetti, many artists liked to show the lovers in the context of Dante's vision of Hell. This gives rise to some complex meshing of emotions. The couple cling together, forever united, but spinning in burning hell of their adultery. There is no hint that their deaths may have been punishment enough; Dante's vision see torture unending for their indiscretion, an unworldly judgement on the couple.

Paolo and Francesca (1863) Jean Lecomte du Nouy

There is a sort of subversion of their fate in that they cling together, but even this may be a cruel parody of their lover's embrace. While chastely clothed in the images of their love, in death they are stripped, Francesca's skin shining in the gloom of Hell.

Paolo and Francesca Henri-Jean-Guillaume Martin

The figure of Dante echoes our own pity for the couple as he finds the couple so sympathetic, he faints to see Paolo cry as Francesca describes their circumstances with much eloquency. It is suggested that Dante may have even met Paolo in real life, shortly before the marriage of his brother to Francesca. His pity for the couple does not save them from the flames of Hell, a very moral judgement, but he cannot help put feel their pain and be affected by their suffering.

Paolo and Francesca Ary Scheffer

Paolo and Francesca G F Watts

The fate of the lovers is both bleak and complete. They spin together in either fire or a gloomy nothingness, clasping each other in love and torment. It is tempting to see their punishment and Dante's horror and empathy as our own dual-nature response to violations to our moral codes. We set rules for ourselves and for our civilised society but if the perpetrator of a break in the code is sympathetic enough, we cry with Dante. It also speaks of a feeling of unending punishment for such a violation. Their earthly death is not enough, they must burn for all eternity as we watch them, the terrible warning. It strikes me as fascinating that when Rossetti envisioned the scene, he saw all aspects. He saw the kiss and the burning, and in the centre, regarding it all was his namesake. How closely did he identify? It is often said that Rossetti identified with Dante and Beatrice, morphing her from Lizzie to Jane, when death stole the former. What of his identification with Paolo? It would be tempting to see his torment at his adultery begin on earth, but William Morris did not kill them, nor did Jane cling to him in death. Rossetti was just left as both Dante, recording the punishment and Paolo, turning alone in the Hell of his own making.

Virgil and Dante meet Paolo and Francesca in 1911 film L'Inferno

If ever there was a piece of fruit that caused a stir, it has to be an apple. Curious really, it looks so innocent, so unprepossessing, yet it can damn you, win you, tempt you and crown you. The apple is all powerful.

Bocca Baciata (1859) D G Rossetti

To start with, it's undeniable that the apple stands for temptation. Casually placed in the corner of the canvas, the apple belonging to Bocca Baciata clearly refers to the knowledge and attraction of the woman, unbuttoned and pouting, awaiting your kisses. The apple stands for sexual awakening, the power of carnal desire, with its shiny blush reflecting the rosy hair of the woman.

Eve (1896) Lucien Levy Dhurmer

The most famous apple is arguably the one that cast us from the garden of Eden. Again, the rosy glow of the apple reflects the swirling locks of the beautiful Eve, surrounded by these tempting fruits. They share her glow, they are almost part of her and extension of her, and reflect the woman's inherently sinful nature. If there is a bad apple in the barrel, the woman is it.

Temptation (1880) William Bouguereau

Apples are tempting, all shiny and crisp, but somehow their possession is enough to rip you from childhood innocence. Bouguereau contrasts the naked girl with the young lady as they face each other. The apple has clothed her, rendered her marriagable, but not sophisticated, as marked by the bare feet.

The Hireling Shepherd William Holman Hunt

It seems once an apple is held, it has to be shared. As corrupting produce goes, the apple is quite social. The unlikely Eve in the shepherd's field has a look of sly knowledge, unlike her bumbling, lusty companion who has no thought beyond impressing his lady-love. Much is made of the strayed sheep, exploding due to their wanton ways, but what of the woman? What does she want? She seems to exist to corrupt, destroy, lead astray, an apple-holding agent of chaos.

Apple Blossom (1859) J E Millais

The fruit doesn't even have to be developed for it to impart experience. The young women sheltering under the blossom-strewn bows of the apple trees are, by degrees, blossoming themselves. Far right, the girl in yellow reclines, her eyes on the viewer, suddenly aware of her (presumably) male admirer.

Of course, Eve wasn't the only woman of antiquity to cradle an apple...

Venus Verticordia (1868) D G Rossetti

The apple in Venus' hand signifies her triumph of attraction. She won the apple from Paris, triumphing over her fellow goddesses with her naked ambition. The apple is clothed in love, desire, the triumph of beauty over everything else. In this religion, the apple is right, the natural choice, the choice of love.

Mars and Venus (1918) Mabel Frances Layng

A little later than we're used to here, but I couldn't resist it. Mars, the soldier, is halted in his battles by the gentle, beautiful Venus, surrounding him with her apples of love. He is not protected by his khaki, his battle-dress, from the charms of the open handed woman, his goddess. She is his love, his safety, his imprisonment.

Vivien Anthony Frederick Sandys

Sandys shows his beautiful witch, complete with her apple. She too will imprison a man, the all-powerful Merlin, safe from action, caught in a web of her beauty to which he has no power.

Golden Dream Thomas Cooper Gotch

The apple for women is a symbol of perfection, the height of what we are meant to be. Despite the fall and corruption, the apple says women exist to be beautiful, to blossom into the loveliest creatures that will capture men in a safe net of immobility. An apple in a woman's hands is a weapon of seduction, but what if the apple is in the hand of the man?

Master Isaac Newton (1905) Robert Hannah

Iconography plays an apple as the spark of genius for men. It falls from the tree to reveal wisdom; it is nature working in a flirting partnership with human genius, the sidekick to his intellectual prowess.

Tell's Son Ford Madox Brown

The apple splits and reveals the talent of a man who would risk his son to prove his brilliance. In a subversion of the story of Abraham and Isaac, Tell splits the apple of knowledge, his son placed in line for sacrifice. For men, the apple is not food, not the stuff of base urges but the conduit for greatness, the revelation of genius.

Autumn Frederick Walker

In the end, apples are more than just fruit, they are edible signifiers. By holding the blushing globe, the world of experience is nestled in your palm. Sometimes that knowledge is enough to make you a goddess, but sometimes it just makes you sad, looking out at the world with that ripe fruit at its pinnacle in your grasp. Truth is, there is only decay left. For that moment, the woman knows she is perfect, brilliant and beautiful. She can conqueror Mars, wizards and shepherds alike and they will be powerless to resist her, but Venus' butterflies show that the power is momentary, transient. All beauty fades because it is only nature. When the apple finds a man without a woman, he can release the genius trapped inside. What is left unspoken is whether the man's genius and the woman's beauty are connected. What is for sure is the hand that picks the apple is feminine, the arrow that splits it is male.

The Garden of the Hesperides Edward Burne-Jones

I rarely think of Rossetti and common sense in the same moment, but this sums up exactly my feelings towards modern trends of biography:

'if Byron f-ed his sister, he f-ed his sister and there's an end, - an absolute end, in my opinion, as far as the vital interest of his poetry goes, which is all we have to do with.' (Letter dated 15 September 1869)

Quite so, Rossetti, and this in some ways is a keynote of the new book on Jane Morris, Jane Morris: The Burden of History by Wendy Parkins and published by Edinburgh University Press. Instead of being a straight biography, this book attempts a rather more novel approach to Jane Morris, examining what others have said about her and whether being fixated on who she 'f-ed' is ever enough in evaluating the life of a silent woman.

Silence Dante Gabriel Rossetti

One of the thrusts of the book is how we as art explorers approach our subjects, especially if our subjects are women. Being a nineteenth century woman is fraught with trouble, even the simplest matter such as name can be heavy with meaning. Parkins spends a worthwhile and interesting passage discussing her issues in choosing what to call the object of her attention. Is it 'Jane' or 'Janey', or even more properly 'Morris', as you would use when talking about her husband. Isn't it rather presumptive and familiar to use first names, in some way trivialising the subject which we would never do with a man. Then there is the problem arising by calling her 'Jane Morris' when we more usually refer to 'Elizabeth Siddal' rather than 'Elizabeth Rossetti'. Why not then 'Jane Burden'? That's before we've even started...

May I just say that I have never used the word 'trope' so often as I have over the last few days while discussing this book in the Walker household. In case you didn't know what a 'trope' was, it is a common or overused theme or device, sort of like a stereotype. Tropes seem to be hot right now, so you'll probably hear that word a lot. Anyway, there is much discussion of Jane Morris fulfilling the tropes of femme fatale and of Victorian female invalid and how these easy shorthands have come to define her within a little pigeonhole that does her a disservice. One of the joys of this books is that Parkins points out when an assumption is being made (a trope alarm goes off) and how most of the time these constructions of Jane's character are entirely without basis in fact. If ever a woman was built on the whimsied eye of the prejudiced audience, it has to be Jane.

Oh, look who it is...

Well, I can't go much further without exclaiming in delight about the pleasure in seeing Wilfrid Scawen Blunt's diaries examined for the self-stroking pile of narcissistic flim-flam they were (I've just spent a good few minutes debating the exchange of the word 'narcissistic' for the one I originally wanted to use, which was a great deal ruder and rhymed with his name). Blunt is a prime example of projection, very obviously exhibited. His love affair with Rossetti colours the romance he feels for Jane (and for Marie Stillman, who seems to have had the sense to hold him a little removed, only removing a glove for him) and Parkins shows Blunt's swirling descriptions of his creepy adoration together with Jane's puzzlement at why he would describe her as melancholic, tragic or mystic.

The book is split into five sections: Scandal, Silence, Class, Icon and Home. In Scandal, Parkins considers Jane and Rossetti, and Jane and Blunt. Both self-consciously painted pictures of her for the public, one with paint and one with words. Jane's character tended to be constructed through portraits by others without any consideration that the portraits of Jane say more about the painters than the model. Similarly in the chapter entitled 'Silence' we experience Jane through a cavalcade of reporters. Henry James, for example, describes her as a wonder 'who haunts me still'. To take it to its most absurd heights, even when presenting her guest, Richard Le Gallienne, with a jar of jam, he describes Jane as The Blessed Damozel or Helen of Troy. If that isn't projection of image, I don't know what is and it is arguably her silence, either by design or dint of her gender that rendered her at the mercy of such fanciful narrators.

I had never considered Jane in relation to her class, unlike Fanny who was always firmly held down in the class where she started, despite her fiscal and social mobility. Jane is described as having shame in her origins and this is often interpreted as class-orientated by those commentator who judge things via class. While it is true that Jane resisted retellings of her roots or pictures of her family home being included in any biography of her husband, she never elaborated her reasoning, or at least her reasons have been lost. Again, her blanks are there to be filled by us, pouring in our own opinions as we fill in the words in her blank speech bubbles.

Interior of Kelmscott Manor William Morris

I especially enjoyed the discussion of Jane as 'Icon'. I feel as an art historian, it is the easiest trap for me to fall into, believing that the Jane that inhabits Rossetti's works is the real woman. The problems lie in the fact that they look so alike, but that would be as stupid as to believe an actor is a part he plays just because they look the same. Take these two pictures...

One of these women is the sad, unloved wife, but the problem is that they both look the same, so how are we to tell which is which? It is easy to confuse Jane for the Icon and is useful to have that reality exposed. Jane and Lizzie are especially vulnerable to this, in the attempts of others (and possibly themselves) to conform to a more aesthetic ideal. To a lesser extent Fanny is often mistaken for the more earthy good-time girls of Rossetti's early 1860s period, but she never exuded the silent stillness of the Rossetti muse in real life.

In Home, Parkins examines how Jane is placed within the appropriate Victorian female sphere of the Home, how she created the beautiful embroidery in that setting and how the majority of her commentators experienced her within the domestic scene, and how all of that in itself built a narrative of her. Much of the description of Jane is external, very little actual fact is spoken about her character. When picked apart it is fascinating to see how many stories and descriptions of Jane are entirely concerned with her appearance rather than any description of her actions, her words or her personality. In fact, the preference of the biographer seemed to be to watch her from a distance, self-affirming the tropes that bound together to make the woman. Were people frightened of her? Were people frightened to find out that she was not the goddess that walked among them but a normal woman? Possibly each biographer wished Jane to be what they made of her, but it seems that it is not for her benefit they read her. Jane is thus because it means that her lover is thus. Maybe Blunt wasn't far off the mark when he slept with Jane Morris to get closer to Rossetti. Lord knows it seems that most other commentator were also making the same mistake.

Jane said 'Why should there by any special record of me when I have never done any special work?', but record of her there has been, in vast array. Jane as goddess, Jane as deceiver, Jane as malevolent presence, the silent spectre of her own portrait, fading and aging as the audience push to get a better view from a safe distance. Rossetti's view of Jane is problematic as so little of their actual contact remains beyond his fictional portrayals of his muse. I did not realise that he called her 'Moocow' which now makes me wonder about all the emphasis that is placed on his naming of Fanny as 'Elephant'. No particular interest has been shown on a nickname that likens Jane to a cow, but then it does not fit with our narrative of Jane.

Yes, the book is expensive at £70, but that's why Jesus gave us libraries and anyone who wishes to understand Stunners will appreciate this angle of investigation. It may not tell you anything you didn't know but I guarantee it will make you consider all that you know in a new light. If Parkins book does anything, it makes you appreciate the sad truth that the majority we 'know' about Jane tends to be based on the surface, as if the record was of a painting rather than the woman.

We should never stop questioning anything.

Imagine my excitement yesterday when I read that Harper's Bazaar July issue would contain a Pre-Raphaelite photoshoot!

You may remember that Vogue dedicated some serious space to a Pre-Raphaelite tribute last September, and that was spectacular. Their use of the actress Saoirse Ronan, posed in such evocative ways was about the only reason for me to read a 'Woman's Magazine' last year...

Saoirse looking Helen of Troy-ish

I had high hopes that Harper's would be able to pull off something similar. After all, Pre-Raphaelites are so hot right now. Apparently.

Promising a 'Pre-Raphaelite Vision', the 8 page spread shows a pale maiden clothed in white in a garden. Here are a few of the images...

'The Maiden Standing in the Dewy Light'

'La Belle Dame Sans Merci Hath Thee in Thrall'

'She Still Delights to Weave the Mirror's Magic Sights'

The captions are the ones given to each image, and the last one is actually a partial reflection as the girl faces herself on the opposite page, with the dog in a slightly different position.

Let's take the positives first: I like the fact that Pre-Raphaelite is so mainstream it can be used in a magazine without too much explanation. It is obviously seen as 'British' and classy, and is included in a magazine packed with features on things like classic fashion, seaside getaways and 'Nouveaux Peasants' (people who aspire to an old fashioned way of life, bottling their own sloe gin and keeping chickens. Damn, that's me.) Pre-Raphaelites are now cosy, classic, beautiful and fashionable, and I have no objection to that as it makes them accessible, which is exactly what they should be.

The fashion, although plain, does contain elements that remind me of the Pre-Raphs. The pattern of lace on The Maiden Standing... is like 1960s William Morris and She Still Delights... has a luxurious feel whilst holding onto a fragility. Her dress has the glorious disintegration of something too beautiful to exist for long. La Belle Dame reminded me of the recent portrait of Lily Cole, featured here before, but here she is again, because she is so pretty...

I think out of the whole section La Belle Dame is the most successful in conjuring the elusive modern Pre-Raphaelite as it uses the conceit of a three quarter length picture of a beautiful, glamorously dressed young woman, like this one...

Mary Magdalene Frederick Sandys

The model chosen has a certain pale, striking beauty and has the obligatory centre-parted reddish hair which is always a short-hand for Pre-Raphaelitism. However, while I think the person writing the captions is aware of Pre-Raphaelite art, the person who styled the shoot seems less so. Unlike Vogue, where the echoes of the art were everywhere, the influence was less apparent here. Certainly, it was easy to see Whistler in the pale form, but in Pre-Raph art women clad all in white are somewhat rarer. Maybe Lady Lilith, but the photoshoot seemed to be drawing its vibe from the more medieval, Keats-y aspect of the art. Also, the setting puzzled me. Certainly there are Pre-Raphaelite images of gardens, but I associate the compression of space with Pre-Raphaelitism rather than the expanse. This poor lass was made to stand in front of some leylandii hedges, which don't summon forth the glory of the PRB. Leyland is Pre-Raphaelite, Leylandii is not.

Rossetti's patron Frederick Leyland, not to be confused with...

Leylandii Hedge. Not Pre-Raph.

The problem with something becoming mainstream is that some lazy shorthand takes place and things that look like they possibly should be included are lumped together. For people unaware of the complex depths of the art, Pre-Raphaelite can mean any of the following: red-hair often curly, pale, thin, medieval, fairy, female madness, ivy, lilies and so on. People described as 'Pre-Raphaelite include...

Josh Homme, lead singer from Queens of the Stone Age

Florence Welch, rarely without her Pre-Raphaelite tag

Rebekah Brooks and her great hair. Shame about the newspaper.

Although I embrace the common usage of the term, I do cringe to think 'Pre-Raphaelite' just boils down to 'redhead'. It is obviously far preferable that lazy journos get it wrong than the term is forgotten, I'm really not that precious, but if you are going to take the time and effort to create a Pre-Raphaelite fashion story, don't just stick a pale lass in some flowing clothes. Also would it kill you to comb her hair? Her mum might see it, for goodness sake.

In conclusion, I salute Harper's for having a go, but it would have been nice to see them do the same thorough job that Vogue managed last year. It's more than just red hair.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you will know I have a few historical crushes: George Price Boyce, Hot Fred Stephens... well, possibly the most beautiful man of the nineteenth century has to be this one...

Iago (1867) Julia Margaret Cameron

The inspiration for this post came from two different places. Firstly, when I was on the Wight last month, I went to the lovely Dimbola Lodge, museum of all things Julia Margaret Cameron. The original may well be in Bradford, in the National Media Museum, but a print hangs in Dimbola Lodge for ladies to feel faint in front of. Iago was the poster boy for the National Portrait Gallery's exhibition of Cameron's work a few years ago, and I have been rather fond of him ever since.

Obviously I wanted to know about him (for purely academic reasons, honestly) and so off to the web I went. Most places cite the model as being Angelo Colarossi, a professional model of Italian descent. Angelo was the studio assistant for Alfred Gilbert, the sculptor, and acted as model for Eros...

Mmmmm, wing-y

However, in my researching I found mention of a recent article in The British Art Journal by the lovely Scott Thomas Buckle, who has offered a decent identification for not only Iago, but also a host of other Pre-Raph lovelies, which I shall relay to you now.

To start with, even I noticed there was a problem with the identification of Angelo as Iago. Iago was photographed about 8 years before Angelo was born which would make it a bit tricky for him to pose for it (unless he had a time machine, I never rule that out). As luck would have it, he was the son of Angelo Colarossi Snr who also acted as a model for John William Waterhouse, Millais, Leighton and others. Get a load of this...

Athlete Wrestling with a Python (1877) Frederick Leighton

Good Lord, I bet he'd be handy around the house. Sorry. Anyhow, these weren't the only Italian models present in London during this period, a gentleman called Gaetano Meo was also getting a decent amount of work, including one of my favourites bySimeon Solomon.

The Sleepers and the One who Watcheth (1870) Simeon Solomon

Gaetano is the lovely chap on the right, and also served as model for Love Among the Ruins by Edward Burne-Jones. However, Burne-Jones painted more than one copy of the image and when he produced the watercolour (the one that has been in the news recently), the models were Antonia Caiva and Alessandro di Marco.

Alessandro di Marco (1865) Edward Burne-Jones

Alessandro was believed to come from north west Italy, from Piedmont, where his original trade was that of an organ grinder (monkey optional). When he was 12 years old, he was discovered by Frederick Leighton who included him in the massive canvas snappily titled Cimabue's Celebrated Madonna is Carried in Procession through the Streets of Florence...

Cimabue (1853) Frederick Leighton

Yes, he's the one on the...never mind, he's in there somewhere. He began to model more frequently, leaving the grinding behind him (snigger), and eventually made his way to London where he found work with Alphonse Legros.

A May Service for Young Women (1868) Alphonse Legros

He's the one with the organ, but he's not grinding it this time. He also got to be all Prodigal for both Edward Poynter and G F Watts...

The Prodigal Son G F Watts

The Prodigal's Return (1869) Edward Poynter

I think you can start to discern his features, those cheekbones! In Poynter's picture especially he looks very much like Iago, it's quite easy to see it's the same chap.

I think my favourite picture done of Alessandro has to be this one...

The Renaissance of Venus Walter Crane

Having difficulty spotting our delicious gentleman? He's the blonde at the front with his boobs out. Now, the story goes that Mrs Crane objected to the fact that her husband would be looking at a nudey lady for hours on end in order to paint Venus, so the obliging Walter employed Alessandro to pose and just missed the relevant bits out. This is why Venus is sporting a six-pack. Mrs Crane, I salute you and I hope you found plenty of reasons to walk past the studio door. As it was said, when the painting was revealed, 'That is not Aphrodite, that's Alessandro!'

Scott also suggests that Alessandro may have been the face of Merlin in The Beguiling of Merlin...

The Beguiling of Merlin Edward Burne-Jones

Previously, it was suggested that Ned used William Stillman, husband of Marie Spartali Stillman for the figure of Merlin, and here is Rossetti's portrait of Stillman from around this time...

While it is not out of the question, I think the figure of the wizard looks more like a version of the figure in Love Among the Ruins, clean-shaven and Mediterranean. It is certainly true that Burne-Jones intended to use Stillman, but it isn't clear whether or not he managed to get a figure from him, and he expressed worry about the position that Stillman would have to hold. However, Alessandro, being a professional model, would be used to bending about (deary me!) and so would have found it no trouble.

On that lovely image I shall leave you. It occurs to me I have spent a couple of decades researching the lives of the female models but there is a wealth of gentlemen who modelled, whose lives are waiting to be discovered. Who knows what exciting stories wait to be told? Plus I get to spend more time legitimately staring at Iago.

Swoon!

You know me, I'm a sucker for a book on Pre-Raphaelite art, so when I was sent a review copy of the new catalogue of the Pre-Raphaelite collections in Liverpool, I was delighted.

I've been to Liverpool a few times to visit the Walker Gallery and the Lady Lever Gallery and have always longed for a catalogue of their collections. The ones I had did not do the collections justice as Liverpool has an astonishing array of works, enhanced by the separate collections that have amassed them. Together with Sudeley House, they seem to give you three different sides to the Victorian collecting mileau: The 'official', municipal collection as represented by the Walker Gallery in the middle of Liverpool, the unusual, philanthropic feel of the Lady Lever Gallery in its own little village, Port Sunlight, an entirely artificial eden for the Lever Brother's factory workers, and Sudeley House, a Victorian merchant's house with a collection that feels less public somehow. Anyway, all three combine to make a spectacular collection. After all, look who calls it home...

The Scapegoat (1856) William Holman Hunt

Ah, Goaty. Anyway, the book is split into three sections: The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Later Pre-Raphs and Liverpool Pre-Raphs. The first section is self explanatory and Liverpool is home to the following well-known paintings, illustrated in the catalogue...

The Stonebreaker (1857-8) John Brett

Isabella (1848-9) J E Millais

Waiting: An English Fireside in the Winter of 1854-5 (1851-5) Ford Madox Brown

Liverpool has an impressive collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings, especially Millais' work, they even have the God-awful Cymon and Iphigenia which is important for showing what Millais did before seeing the light. However, what I possibly would take issue with is the thorny matter of what counts as 'Pre-Raphaelite'. There is a good short essay explaining the chronology of how the Pre-Raphaelite movement grew from the Brotherhood, and how people like Madox Brown fitted within the circle. The problem I have, as the pickiest person ever, is that the first chapter should be called 'The Pre-Raphaelite Movement' rather than 'Brotherhood' as the chapter contains artists associated with the Brotherhood but not one of the original Secret Seven. The essay explains all, but that relies on the reader not flipping straight to the yummy pictures. I can't be the only person who goes straight for the paintings, am I?

Second chapter is The Later Pre-Raphaelites, the second generation emerging after the late 1850s, including Ned Burne-Jones, Arthur Hughes and Frederick Sandys.

The Annunciation (1879) Edward Burne-Jones

Helen of Troy (1867) Frederick Sandys

A Music Party (1864) Arthur Hughes

Again, I hate to be picky, but among these images are works by the Brotherhood, like Sibylla Palmifera by Rossetti, which although are from the 1860s and 1870s are also by the original Brotherhood and so I feel it might have been clearer if the chapters had purely chronological names. Saying that, it's a joy to see such artists as Byam Shaw, Fortescue-Brickdale, John Melhuish Strudwick and John Roddam Spencer Stanhope in glorious colour included in the discussing of Pre-Raphaelitism. Look at this one, it's utterly glorious and worth the cover price alone...

The Expulsion from Eden (1900) John Roddam Spencer Stanhope

The last chapter is about Pre-Raphaelite artists who hail from Liverpool. You would get extra points if you knew any of these well, other than William Lindsay Windus. Most people only know Windus for Too Late, but it is nice to see pictures such as The Young Duke and Burd Helen illustrated here.

Burd Helen (1856) William Lindsay Windus

The general story about Windus is that Ruskin said he was rubbish so he destroyed all his pictures and never painted again but this is nonsense. A quick look at the BBC 'Your Paintings' collection online shows 31 pictures in public collections, which is more than just the single picture somehow saved for posterity. An explanation for Windus' lack of general success is given in the catalogue - his wife died young and he had to care for his daughter which left him very little time for art. It is true that Ruskin was harsh about Too Late, but his domestic crisis was probably of more consequence as The Young Duke dates from around 1865, about 7 years after Too Late.

Music Versus Work (1864) Joseph Edward Worrall

The images in this book are reproduced in beautiful detail, my only issue being when the image extends over the centre of the two-page spread, which means the images is slightly clipped and distorted. I've seen worse and the book can be forced easily to lie flat. I don't think the spreading of the images is necessary and they only do it in a couple of cases so it's not too much of an irritation. Despite being quite a small scale book (250mm x 210mm) it packs in 71 pictures, 50 of them colour, in its 96 pages. It definitely gives you the impression that the author Laura MacCulloch was writing a far more ambitious book than expected, and the reader gets the benefit. The design of the book is nice and the paperback covers fold out like a dust jacket, with illustrations under the flaps. It's a good product, surely a decent model for any museum looking for how to produce an affordable catalogue of their specialist collection. It looks modern and accessible.

At £19.99 it's more expensive than I expected, but I see that you can already buy it for around £13 on Amazon. I think it is worth £20 of your money as it is a well thought-out product and gives you information on Liverpool's place in Pre-Raphaelite collections. They have an astonishing array up there and I look forward to my visit later in the year when I go to Port Sunlight for the drawings of Burne-Jones.

Gosh chaps, it's Father's Day! Here in Britain it only became an actual thing in the early 1970s (to coincide with my birth, no doubt) but of late there has been firm evidence that retailers obviously feel people need to express their love through meaningless purchases for both parents equally. I bet you Dads feel special now. My Dad got some home-made jam donuts (I know my audience), I even deep fried and shoved jam up them while he watched. While I was searing off my fingerprints with boiling fat and melting sugar, I got to thinking about Victorian fathers...

Good Morning Dear Father Frederich Meyerheim

You would think that the figure of 'Father' would appear in many Victorian paintings, but actually Mum gets a bigger look in. Father figures are slightly more mysterious, as if society had a collective head-scratch over exactly what they made of them. We all know they should be upstanding, authoritarian and bearded, but as a subject of their own? That's when things get a bit tricky...

Father is at the Helm (1889) William McTaggart

Well, that's quite obvious. Doesn't the boy look thrilled by the fact his father is steering their little boat. Father looks quite old to have such a tiny son and where is everyone else? Is it just me or is Dad staring at me? Okay, I'm moving on...

Watching Father Work Albert Neuhuys

You have to remember that telly and Haribo hadn't been invented yet, so these children are able to sit and watch their Dad do something with a stick and a basket. It's just like Mario Kart, but you get some fresh air.

Home From Work (1861) Arthur Hughes

I suppose what keeps most fathers out of the domestic scenes in art is that they have to be at work. Arthur Hughes did a couple of pictures of joyful children hurling their arms around their daddies as they return from a day of honest labour - Did only working-class children do this? Was it relief that neither he nor they had died of something poverty-related during the day? Either way, that child has bare feet and no coat on. She'll be a goner by the end of the evening. One less present for you next Father's Day. Really, when will the working-classes ever learn?

The Struggle for the Apple William Knight

I'm not sure children today would struggle for an apple. I may be condemning a generation unfairly, I'm sure my daughter would put up a fight, but then she knows where we keep them and where the chocolate fingers live so she doesn't often feel the need to wrestle one of her parents for a piece of fruit. Honestly, if the two children in the picture haven't worked out how to successfully tag team that apple out of his hand, then they don't deserve it. They aren't trying. I blame their parents.

The Hit Frederic Leighton

Without doubt, it is Dad's role to teach his little children the important lessons in life: honesty, hard work, how to shoot something with a bow and arrow. I'm not sure Social Services are comfortable with the last one anymore. Especially if you do it dressed like that. You'll be going on a list, I promise you.

I think it's interesting that one of the most famous paintings about Dads doesn't even feature a father at all...

And When Did You Last See Your Father? (1878) William Frederick Yeames

Of all wars, the Civil War is a proper Dad War (bear with me) as the Cavaliers ultimately naffed up the chances and inheritance of their floppy-collared children only to end up with the head being knocked off the Dad of the Charles II (who was far more normal that you'd expect after all that. I mean, when you see Charles II you do think 'what was your damn excuse Henry VIII?! Get a grip!') Anyway, here we have a little poppet in shiny blue being questioned about his floppy haired, handsome, lace-bedecked father, who I bet has lovely big boots, and a marvellous tunic with slashes of colour ... what was I saying? Oh yes, I guess the father's presence in the picture is via his son, the little distillation of him about to show how good a job he did at raising him. Did he teach his son honesty, which will make the son reveal his father's whereabouts? Did he teach his son to lie, therefore revealing himself as not a very good father, although a living one? I think he taught his son the intelligence to be honest to people who deserve it and not to give any time to weirdos who ban Christmas.

Cordelia Comforting her Father, King Lear, in Prison (1886) George William Joy

There were some famous Dads in Victorian art. Possibly not the best example of these is King Lear who managed to stuff it up to Jeremy Kyle levels of idiocy. Mind you, you have to remember that he managed to father a perfectly nice and sensible child as well as the bad ones, so he got some things right, and he did work it out in the end. Then everyone died. Come on, this is Shakespeare.

Grace Darling and her Father William (1860) William Bell Scott

I have learnt something new, I always thought it was just Good Old Grace and her dog who rescued everyone from the shipwreck of the Forfarshire in 1838, but her Dad was there too. Come to think of it, that makes far more sense than some random lass and her boarder collie, but every image I saw of her growing up had her bravely paddling a tiny rowing boat into a Biblically stormy sea. It's a nice example of father and daughter teamwork which makes you stop and think - I thought the Victorian era was all about men doing manly things. Apparently it was not only Father and Son but also Father and Daughter.

Stock Investments: Stocks for Father (1864) Joseph Banner

Really, this is not good. What does this teach children about adults, let alone their own father? Far better that the children are put in stocks, for their own good. That's the way they raise them in Wiltshire. Honest. I can tell you don't believe me...

Yep, that's me on the right. Moving on...

Grandfather's Tale (1860) Edward Thompson Davis

Not forgetting that grandfathers have of course been fathers at some point and now get the chance to get their own back (as my father says). Here we have a charming scene of a grandfather telling a story as his daughter and her children listen. My Dad tells a great story about how the Thuggee would sneak into the bathroom as you shampooed your hair and would get you if you closed your eyes. For those who don't know, the Thuggee were ancient Indian stranglers. I still can't close my eyes in the shower.

Grandfather's Advice George Bernard O'Neill

I think as you grow older, Dad or Granddad is there for advice. Mine can tell me all I need to know about beekeeping and fuchsias and many other things, including being a thoroughly decent human beings and maybe that is why father's and daughters are so often pictured together. Dad is the one with all the experience in the world and he is responsible for making sure she doesn't end up in trouble. This especially comes to light when your daughter wishes to marry...

Hope William Powell Frith

Trust Me John Everett Millais

The first of this pair is a young man asking for the hand of a young lady from her less than impressed father. Although this seems a hopelessly out-dated way of doing things (although Mr Walker had to ask for my hand in marriage, bless him), part of me thinks there maybe a few parents think this should be brought back, to save trouble later. I think Mr Walker would like to be able to refuse any useless wastrels who wish to marry Lily-Rose, he may have even drafted a rejection letter in preparation. The second picture shows a young woman attempting to hide a love letter from her father. It's uncertain who is saying 'Trust Me' - is it the father asking to be trusted to put the letter in the post bag (yes, that's going straight in the nearest hedge) or is it the daughter? 'No, really Dad, I've written to that nice young man who is training to be an architect, not that bohemian artist who lives in Chelsea and dresses up as a Cavalier in his spare time...'

Arthur 'Daddy' Hughes and his daughter

Well, I best draw this to a close and phone my Daddy. Happy Father's Day to all Dads, I'm sure you do a splendid job and are cherished by your loving children who will deep fry something and roll it in sugar for you later (just me then?). If you are feeling left out, you only have to wait to November 19th for International Men's Day (8th March is International Women's Day and Universal Children's Day is 20th November), so that's something to look forward to. Mind you, I would think the lack of greasy finger prints on your iPad is gift enough...

Happy Father's Day!

I'm not sure if you are expecting a post about birds, but the title of this piece actually refers to a sermon delivered in the film Doubt (2008). Father Brendan Flynn, the subject of some rumours, tells a brilliant story from the pulpit: A woman has been gossiping with her friends but that night dreams that a great hand points to her and makes her feel guilty. She goes to her priest who tells her to go up to her roof and cut open a pillow, which she does. When she returns to him he asks what the result was, and she says 'Feathers, everywhere!' He then tells her to gather them all back up again and she says she can't, they went everywhere. 'That," says the priest, "is gossip!"

A Bit of Gossip (1903) Charles Wilson

I've done posts previously on sharing secrets and eavesdropping but this is different. The secrets shared were your own to confide and eavesdropping tended to include people spreading stories or just talking about stuff the over-hearer doesn't want to hear. I'm talking about 'gossip' today and how it seems quite gender specific and judgmental. The picture above by Charles Wilson has the two women indulging in 'a bit of gossip', something that is distracting them from their work. Now, why would I say 'indulging'? It makes it sound like cake: Is good gossip as delicious as cake?

The Three Gossips Louis Grosclaude

It's true that gossiping does sometimes coincide with tea and biscuits. Isn't it funny to think that such a trivial meal accompanies such slander! I'm not saying that these ladies are saying that so-and-so is having it away with the milkman, or so-and-so wears his wife's bonnet while she's out playing bridge, but think of the things we gossip about, it's rarely something you would say to someone's face. Yes, I said 'we' because I gossip as much as the next person. Other people's lives are fascinating...

At the Spring or Gossip John Faed

I rarely gossip in anything this low-cut, really you are just asking for trouble. All you'd need to do is bend over to whisper one of the juicy details and it'd be all out in the open.

An Evening Gossip Joshua Fisher

I find it interesting that the majority of the images are of women and rural women at that. I suppose it's a fairly standard stereotype that women gossip: Do women gossip while men speculate? Is it all down to language? I know some men who are terrible gossips, and it's an unusual gossip picture that shows a man...

The Gossip Henry Tozer

This had the most unexpected title as there is no sign that the men are gossiping, they just appear to be sitting, companionably, drinking some sort of homemade hooch. Maybe the hooch has loosened their tongues and they are talking about their friend who wears the bonnet.

So what are the pictures saying about gossip? It is predominantly a female hobby, sometimes shown over a cup of tea, or during the working day. I always wondered how much gossip Fishwives knew as they seem famous for it. I guess it was the glamorous lives they led...

Dolly Peel, Glamorous Fishwife

Gosh, it's just like Made in Chelsea, only with more fish.

The Gossip (1907) Thomas Dewing

This is a very curious picture. Who is gossiping? Has the gossiping already taken place? I think that the woman on the right has been talking about the others and they have found out, hence her isolation from them. Or possibly the other two have been talking about her, but the title seems to identify one person gossiping. Possibly it might refer to 'the gossip' that has been spread and is the reason why two of the figures sit slightly apart from the third. I like this image as potentially it shows the effect of gossip, divisive among friends.

The Gossip Walter Langley

We are quite far removed from the action here - possibly we are meant to feel like the one who is being talked about? I was once put in a rather embarrassing position of having to admit that I hadn't been talking behind a certain person's back. .Oh the horror of finding out that you weren't interesting enough to be gossiped about! Some people have some very odd ideas about what makes them important.

Ladies Gossiping at the Opera Frederick Barnard

On the whole, gossip is not to be indulged in unless you are willing to do it in style. I promise that I only gossip at the opera, and then only behind a fan. The opera must have been the ideal place for a good old gossip: all people who were worth gossiping about were present, and you and your friend were in a box, nice and secluded, so you could have a right old slander-session. Probably best that it's just ladies present, because if I get to be alone in an opera box with a gentleman, I can think of better things to do than gossip. Shame on me.

Indoor Gossip, Cairo (1873) John Frederick Lewis

It does at least seem to be somewhat of a universal. Women everywhere love to talk about the bonnet-wearing man and the goings on of the milkman. In someways, this commonality seems heartwarming - no matter how different we seem, how odd Johnny Foreigner seems to be, we all love ripping the characters of our friends to shreds. Ah, it's a small world after all...

And the Devil Ran Away with Gossip Noel Laura Nisbet

This has to be my favourite, not least because I love Nisbet's work. Her stuff is not greatly known, but the BBC 'Your Paintings' site has four painting here and the Russell-Cotes has some corking images of hers which you can see on their 'Art on Demand site here (she worked a lot in tempera which isn't included in the 'Your Painting' site). In case you were feeling at all cosy about gossip, what with all the tea and opera boxes, here is the Devil carrying away both the gossiper and the concept. If we're honest, we don't gossip about positive things - by its nature gossip is as dark and juicy as a ripe plum. I suppose the stereotype of women gossiping comes from a time when information was controlled, and men at least could get out into the world to find out the truth. Plus living in small communities (most 'gossip' scenes seem to revolve around a village) meant that everyone knew each other and any disruption would affect everyone to one degree or another.

Neighbourly Gossip (1889) Carlton Smith

There is an element of living vicariously through other people's problems, hence the popularity of celebrity gossip magazines. Ever fancied knowing what it feels like to have an affair/be bankrupt/something salacious that doesn't involve money or sex, sorry I can't think of anything else? I'm sure any number of magazines or newspapers can't wait to tell you in the most judgmental detail who has split up from their husband or who was photographed being choked by her husband at a Mayfair restaurant. It's all still gossip, it's just we don't personally know the celebrities, but possibly, like all gossip we should think about whether or not it's true and what are our reasons for talking about it.

The Gossips Pierre M Beyle

So, to conclude, gossiping is something the devil will back you up in, so it's best to keep your mouth shut and only take a gentleman into an opera box with you. Unless he's a terrible gossip.

Oh, what the hell, you'll never guess who's been seen with the milkman! And he was wearing his wife's bonnet at the time..

I've had an interesting weekend of pursuing various matters to do with Edward Burne-Jones, which is always a pleasure. I am very much looking forward to going up to Liverpool this summer to see the exhibition at the Lady Lever Gallery and part of me is hoping that I will learn a little more about the artist and his wife. I am beginning to find Georgiana rather fascinating, not least because it is through her that we have the Memorials, his biography which he feared so much, hence the reason he entrusted it to Georgiana. After all, Edward Burne-Jones had no greater supporter.

Georgiana Burne-Jones (1882) Frederick Hollyer

Georgiana, or Georgie as she was more usually called, was one of the MacDonald sisters who all managed to marry spectacularly talented men and/or produce talented children. To state the obvious, these were astonishingly smart women in their own right and from the sisters, Agnes, Georgiana, Louisa and Alice we have Kiplings, Baldwins and marriages to Edward Burne-Jones and Edward Poynter. That is being connected.

Agnes Poynter (nee MacDonald) (1867) Edward Poynter

Alice Kipling (1860s)

Louisa Baldwin (1868) Edward Poynter

Georgie and her family moved frequently during her childhood with her father's work as a Methodist minister, until they settled back in Birmingham in 1850. Harry MacDonald, Georgie's brother, attended King Edward's School which made him part of an artistic set to which he introduced his sisters. Among his fellow students was Edward or 'Ned' Jones, who was destined for the church. Georgie and Ned fell in love when she was barely a teenager and there was already an attachment between them when the MacDonalds moved to London in 1853, when Georgie was 13. Moving down to university, Ned had a fateful meeting with a fellow Oxford undergraduate, William Morris, and the young men decided to alter their course from church to easel.

Georgie in 1856, at the time of her engagement

Georgie's friendship with Ned led to an engagement when she was 15, although Ned (who had adopted 'Burne' to his surname) had little prospect of marrying her, which caused both of them distress. Georgie's support of her fiancee brought her into the Pre-Raphaelite circle, including the great John Ruskin, an experience that affected her deeply, as she said "I wish it were possible to explain the impression made upon me as a young girl whose experience so far had been quite remote from art, by sudden and close intercourse with those to whom it was the breath of life... I felt in the presence of a new religion." Georgie herself attended art school (although she dismissed her time there later in life) and studied a little under Ford Madox Brown. Very little of her work seems to exist, which is a shame as she showed talent and delicacy in her work.

Dead Bird (1857) Georgiana MacDonald

Woodcut Georgiana MacDonald

Georgiana Burne-Jones (1860) D G Rossetti

Ned and Georgie finally married in 1860 and had only £30 to their joint name, but by all accounts they were blissfully happy. Summers were spent with William and his new bride Jane, in somewhat more affluent surroundings, and with Georgie's married sisters and their families. In Green Summer, Burne-Jones shows a circle of women, including his sisters-in-law and Jane Morris, listening as Georgie reads aloud. I think that it is interesting how singular she looks, that even amongst this circle of talented women his wife is exceptional. Part of what made her so special in his eyes had been the trials they had been through in the first few years of their marriage. Georgie had given birth to Philip in the Autumn of 1861 but in the summer of 1864, Philip caught scarlet fever, passing it to his pregnant mother. Georgie gave premature birth to their second son Christopher, who died soon afterwards. Georgie was ill for some time afterwards, then refused to return to the rooms where Christopher had died. By showing her in black, Ned may have been alluding to their tragedy, but I feel that the other women are listening to her because Ned feels she has gained wisdom from her experiences, however painfully won.

Green Summer (1864) Edward Burne-Jones

After the birth of their second child, Margaret, the couple finally settled in Fulham, where they would live for a while. 1866 brought both the joy of Margaret's birth, but also the arrival of Maria Zambaco into Ned's life after her mother commissioned a portrait from him. Ned's affair with Maria caused his wife a great amount of pain, yet somehow she clung to the faith he would not leave her entirely, "I know one thing, and that is that there is enough love between Edward and me to last out a long life if it is given us". That faith must have been greatly shaken by the very public event of Maria's attempted suicide, but somehow the Burne-Jones family remained intact.

The Morris and Burne-Jones families at Kelmscott, 1874

Under such circumstances, it is unsurprising that Georgie became close to William Morris. Already like family due to the 'brotherhood' shared by Ned and William, when their spouses strayed Georgie and William had an added bond which was to last for the rest of their lives. It is suggested that Morris' poetry of the late 1860s and 1870s suggests that he wanted her to leave Ned for him, but steadfastly she remained by her erring husbands side. The families spend time together again, like they had in the early years of their marriages, and photographs exist of summers at Kelmscott in the 1870s.

Georgiana Burne-Jones (1881) Blanche F MacArthur

The Burne-Jones family move from London to Rottingdean in Sussex in 1880 seems to mark a break from the trouble and interference of London. Rossetti's death in 1882 affected Ned greatly but Georgiana found their more 'isolated' life in the village suited her and enabled her to get involved in matters back in London, such as the South London Fine Art Gallery which brought fine art education to the working-classes, but from a safe distance.

Georgiana Burne-Jones and family (1883) Edward Burne-Jones

The Family (1880s) Edward Burne-Jones

Although Burne-Jones strayed again in the early 1890s with one of his daughter's friends, May Gaskell, Ned's relationships with the many young women who went in and out of the Burne-Jones home never went beyond flirtation. Georgiana must have remained ever watchful of the young girls who came, giggling, to view the artist, growing increasing white and wistful, but everso full of romance. Ned maintained a spirit of other-worldliness, his attachment to his daughter and some of her circle boardering on a mania at times. Although he could not bare to be parted from Margaret, his obvious pleasure at being a grandfather is so touching in the photographs of him with the tiny children, climbing him like an old but sprightly tree...

Ned and his grandchildren

Against her wishes and in the face of ridicule from some of their closest friends, Georgiana found herself Lady Burne-Jones when Ned accepted a baronetcy in 1894, mainly to enable his son to inherit the title. I find the lack of support shown by their friends to be astonishing, but possibly all bad feeling was lost in the wake of Morris' death in 1896. Ned was devastated but you can only assume what Georgiana must have felt as Morris had been her truest friend and supporter. Ned declined in health until his own death only two years later. Before he died, he asked his wife to be his official biographer, possibly fearing revelations that could damage not only his reputation but also the future prospects of his wife and children.

Georgie Burne-Jones in later life

Alone in Rottingdean, Georgie became more intellectually active than ever. While working on her husband's Memorials and The Flower Book, she also became more political, protesting against the Boer War. After the Relief of Mafeking, she hung a banner from the windows of her house saying "We have killed and also take possession". Her nephew Rudyard Kipling had to persuade her to take it down in order to pacify the outraged villagers. She finally died in 1920 at the age of 80. Philip, who became a painter like his father, died in 1926 and Margaret, who was the mother of the novelists Angela Thirkell and Denis Mackail (the children in the photo with their grandfather, above) died in 1953.

Despite, or maybe because of the feyness and flirtation of her husband, Georgiana Burne-Jones remains one of those figures who had to be the still place amongst the madness. I get the impression that because of Georgie's stability, Ned could drift away, but you have to wonder at the cost to his wife. Certainly she kept an iron grip on his memory into the twentieth century, honoring his wishes with a tenacious spirit. I would like to know more about Georgie because I suspect there is more to know.

Just when you think you know enough about Pre-Raphaelite art and all that palava, along comes another artist that makes you scratch your head and go 'Well, what can I find out about you?' This happened to me this week with Edward Arthur Fellowes Prynne.

O Ye Whales And All That Move On The Waters Bless Ye The Lord (1899)

This really is the tale of two Prynnes as Edward had a more famous brother called George, who I shall come to in a moment. Starting with Edward, there seems very little known about him beyond some bare facts. He was raised a High Anglican by his father who was the perpetual curate of St Peters, Frankfort, Plymouth. Despite money being somewhat tight at home, Edward Prynne trained in London, Antwerp and Italy before returning and working in a style that sometimes is likened to Burne-Jones (as above). He also worked with his brother George, who trained to be an architect and had a rather illustrious career. If you search for George, you will find a fair amount on his ecclesiastic architectural career. George suffered quite badly over the lack of cash. He went off to the wild frontier of America and Canada (mmmm, Maple syrup) and worked in an architects office (okay, so possibly it wasn't that wild) before coming back and setting up his own practice. He specialised in churches, and called upon his brother to provide some stunning religious images.

Stations of the Cross from St John Evangelist, Iffley Road, Oxford

Possibly the reason why Prynne isn't so well known is because a large part of his work is religious and that just is not fashionable anymore, especially when it's the less 'card-friendly' end of the belief-system. No matter how prettily you dress it up, that is a chap being nailed to a cross. Beautifully executed though, if you excuse the phrase.

Ladock Church, Cornwall

The Annunciation

Lovely stuff. Although he gets compared to Burne-Jones a lot, I think of Evelyn de Morgan more due to the diverse colour palette. Or maybe Marianne Stokes.

He actually did over 60 portraits, some of which can be seen on the BBC 'Your Paintings' website. There are a couple of corkers on there, I especially like the following...

Piers Alexander, Viscount Velletort (1886)

John F Winnicott

The first one I like because he's a handsome-looking Viscount and who doesn't love that? Mr Winnicott has the most splendid robes I have ever seen. Look at the texture on the fur! I think he fashioned himself a fine mustache from the off-cuts. Mr Winnicott has a special kind of clarity (which I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear) that makes him luminescent. I appreciate that pale Tissot light in portraiture.

O All Ye Beasts and Cattle Bless Ye The Lord (1899)

One of the exhibitions I'm looking forward to later this year will be the exhibition about Angels and Fairies and the suchlike at the Russell-Cotes because I will get to see an impressive framed work which contains a series of Angels blessing different aspects of life and nature. I particularly like the one with fish and whales (up at the top) but the others are very special too and the frame is insane. I'll have to beg an image of the frame next week from Mr Walker and I'll post it up on the Stunner's Boudoir on Facebook as it has to be seen to be believed.

Oh Ye Mountains and Hills Bless Ye The Lord (1899)

So what do we know of Edward Prynne? He was born in Plymouth in 1854 in Plymouth in Devon. He had around seven siblings, including older brother George and a younger sister named Etheldreda. What a splendid name. In 1888 he married Emma Joll and together they had six children. In the 1911 Census he is listed as living in 1 Woodville Road, Ealing, had three servants and was working as an artist/painter. When he died in 1921, he left Emma with £2582 3s which is around £90,000 in today's money. His obituary in The Builder read as follows:

"[Prynne's death] removes from the religious art world an artist of very exceptional ability,

and one whose absolute sincerity and devotion to the highest ideals of his art are

stamped upon every kind of work of a religious character that he undertook"

Margaret Thom (1908)

His brother, George, who designed a string of beautiful church interiors, died a few years later, leaving his widow £5,000 and gaining, it seems, a higher profile in retrospect. Despite losing two sons (Norman and Charles) in the Great War, he never lost his faith, as his obituary from his family's church stated:

"Through it all he was a Christian gentleman; modest, kindly, diligent and patient. His brother, Edward, eminent in another form of devotional art, supplied the beautiful windows of our Church, and before his death, completed the designs for the windows still unfilled. And St. Peter’s stands as a worthy monument to the two brothers."

It will be a pleasure to see the work on show in the Russell-Cotes and in the meantime I will be visiting some churches to enjoy the work of the brothers Prynne, filled with sincerity and devotion. It is also very, very beautiful, which is worth your devotion alone.

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