The Kissed Mouth

This is the second review from my trip to London, and it is my great pleasure to bring you John Singer Sargent at the National Portrait Gallery!

I have never been to a bad exhibition at the NPG, it is a very reliable pair of hands when it comes to crafting small, riveting exhibitions. The V&A are going have to pull out some stops to beat the NPG's gorgeous Julia Margaret Cameron exhibition. Anyway, back to Sargent: Portraits of Artists and Friends...

Madame Ramon Subercaseaux (1880)

Split over eight rooms, the exhibition shows many important figures in the world of the arts as seen through the unique portraiture of John Singer Sargent. It is suggested that as he was rarely commissioned to paint formal portraits, choosing instead who he wished to portray, he was able to create works that reached further than mere likenesses to become works of art in their own right. Amalia Subercaseaux, wife of a Chilean diplomat and artist, faces you as you enter the exhibition and sets the standard for exactly how blown away you will be. The above image does not do justice to how clear the white of her dress is and how the red burst vividly out. The theme of music in Sargent's work is repeated later, but Amalia used to play while he painted her, the black and white of the instrument echoed in her dress. The portrait itself was important in terms of his career as it earnt Sargent a second-class medal at the Salon of 1881 which meant he could exhibit at the Salon without having to submit to the jury.

Robert Louis Stevenson and His Wife (1885)

I have to admit to always loving this image as it makes Stevenson look as if he was drawn by Quentin Blake. This image has such an accidental look to it, like a snapshot, with the scant, rangy form of the author walking away from his wife, barely seen on the periphery. The picture contains tension (Fanny Stevenson doesn't look entirely pleased to be in the picture) and the mystery of the open doorway, bisecting the canvas and creating a bar between husband and wife. It's odd, informal and modern and a surprising portrait of an author who was growing in fame.

Carolus-Duran (1879)

More traditional but no less engaging is Sargent's portrait of his teacher Carolus-Duran. Painted five years into Sargent's time with the charismatic master, it received an honorable mention at the Salon in the same year that Carolus-Duran won the medaille d'honneur. I love the softness in the paint on the clothes compared to how sharply the eyes are fixed on the audience, really giving you a sense of the power of the teacher's personality and why Sargent held him in such esteem.

Portraits de MEP...et de Mlle LP (1881)

Among the portraits are a few of children and special mention has to go to perhaps the creepiest pair of kiddiwinks I have ever seen. Even Lily-Rose stopped and said 'well, they're not right...' The two poppets are Edouard and Marie-Louise Pailleron. Marie-Louise became a historian and author when she grew up and recounted no less than 83 sittings for the portrait with battles over hair and dress which might explain why the children look so malevolent. I have the copy of Turn of the Screw which has this as the cover image, and it is perfect as there are just so many disquietening notes in the picture - the slightly awkward hand positions, the little girl's torque bracelet and her brother's sneering expression. Marvellously odd.

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose (1885-6)

Far less chilling is this image and predictably this was one I really want our daughter to see. Lily-Rose informed those around us that it was her picture, which mercifully people found charming. Mr Walker and I saw this picture back in the 1998 Tate exhibition on Sargent, the day before he got his first museum post and it has always stayed with me. The effect of the paper lantern-diffused light on the white of the girl's dresses and the petals of the flowers is just magical. Described as Sargent's brush with Pre-Raphaelitism, I have to say I don't agree unless it is the idea of painting outside and among flowers. It is a beautiful piece of English Impressionism, with the light and the powdering of flowers through the unruly grass.

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth (1889)

It is the portraits of women that were my favourites and two deserve special mention. Firstly and possibly also predictably, is Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, a massive and powerful image of an actress becoming her part with alarming conviction. Alice Comyn Carr's beetle-wing dress is off-set by the rich red of her hair and the golden crown hovering like a halo over her. Her expression is one of exaltation, fear, power and uncertain control. I had never considered before that Sargent posed Terry in an act that does not occur in the play but in itself is a hidden theme: how Lady Macbeth's pursuit of the crown is far more vicious and brave than her husband's, how she ultimately wants the crown more, or at least is willing to do what it takes to make it happen.

Mrs George Batten Singing (1897)

Finally then I will leave you with my favourite piece in the exhibition. Mabel Batten was a leading patron of the arts and a brilliant mezzo-soprano, also playing the piano and the guitar. She was the lover of the Prince of Wales among others and wife of the private secretary to the British Viceroy in India and an all-round woman of excitement. Sargent's portrait of her encompasses many aspects of her personality, as she is superficially shown holding the final note of 'Goodbye' by Paolo Tosti, but the image can easily be seen as a far more intimate, erotic piece. The cropping of the work to concentrate on her tiny waist, low-cut dress and transported expression hints at a woman in the throes of passion, illuminated by lamplight. Such a striking and beautiful image was worth the entry fee alone.

If you see one exhibition in London this spring, please make it this one. It's gorgeous, thrilling and thoroughly enagaging. I was particularly impressed that the shop boasts not only the expensive catalogue but also a £10 mini-guide with all the images illustrated, together with a brief piece on each. If you can't make it to the exhibition, the little book is well illustrated and very interesting. Bravo NPG!

To find out more about Sargent: Portraits of Artists and Friends visit the websitehere.

Here's the last in my trio of reviews after a particularly jam-packed day in London and it was the exhibition I was looking forward to the most...

The sculpture was an unexpected highlight of the Tate's Pre-Raphaelite exhibition a couple of years back and I adore seeing sculptures in museums (the Russell-Cotes have some gorgeous pieces). It's hard to replicate experiencing three-dimensional works of art in a two-dimensional medium and so I was looking forward to getting up close and personal with some good pieces.

Teucer (1881) Hamo Thornycroft

The exhibition has had some really bad reviews, but then the Pre-Raphaelite one was slaughtered in the press, so I didn't think too much about it. However, we went midday on a Saturday and there was only a handful of people in there. It looked much like this...

Opening room in the exhibition, with images of Queen Victoria

Usually I don't like being squashed in with a million other people, shuffling along to see everything, but to be suddenly alone is also not exactly brilliant as you became aware of how little there is in some of the rooms. The little exhibition booklet we received states 'Sculpture was everywhere during Victoria's reign' - well, I didn't exactly get that impression from the amount on display here...

A Royal Game (1906-11) William Reynolds-Stephens

Saying that, I loved most of the pieces selected and as I said before you cannot beat seeing them in real life. Special mention has to go to a few pieces, such as A Royal Game showing Elizabeth I and King Philip of Spain playing chess with little ships. Gorgeously detailed and clever, it demonstrates historical sensibilities as well as the scale of vision we associate with the Victorians.

Veiled Vestal (1847) Raffaelle Monti

Detail of the face

Probably the most astonishing piece in terms of technical expertise has to be the famous Veiled Vestal. Even looking at it in person it is hard to work out how the thin gauze was created from the solid block. Your mind so easily trips back to thinking you are looking at a bust wrapped in fabric. I must have stared at her for ages and goodness knows there wasn't anyone else waiting to move me on.

Dame Alice Owen (1897) George Frampton

Detail of the head

I have to say it is a wonderful exhibition because it is filled with beautiful objects. I was always going to love it because I love the subject and it is a special opportunity to walk around the pieces. However our trip was coloured by the fact we were directed to go round the rooms in the wrong order so we ended our visit in (my opinion) the weakest room rather than the Craft and Art room which has the pieces that affected me the most, such as Dame Alice Owen. The contrast in the different materials, so effortlessly combining to make the figure of the seventeenth century founder of a charity school. She was originally one of the daring 'tinted' pieces produced in the nineteenth century, her hair originally a golden colour.

My main complaint was there were not enough pieces on show, but then I'm guess requesting to borrow a sculpture is a logistical nightmare. On the plus side, my nine year old daughter was utterly hooked in the exhibition, she wanted to see everything and it was a wonderful exhibition for children, containing many whimsical pieces as well as figures. However (and this isn't just a problem at this exhibition) some of the cases were too high for her to see into without my holding her up. On the whole I don't have much to add: it's a nice show and good value for money if you see it in conjunction with Salt and Silver. The chance to see the pieces I've given special mention to made it utterly worthwhile but I didn't feel as enthused by the show as I expected on the whole.

However, in preparation for the exhibition I requested a review copy of the exhibition catalogue and was delighted to receive the massive book in the post. It's not cheap, costing about £45 on Amazon, but you get value for money as it weighs a ton. It has the depth and beauty that I really wanted from the exhibition, richly illustrated with 150 sculptures catalogued and scores of others in the figures. Each sculpture is beautifully photographed and has thought-provoking text. The catalogue made the appreciation of the objects easier, the context and background well-written and fascinating. A problem with the exhibition was that the labels for the objects were sometimes not on or near the sculptures so we had to go looking for things like the Eglington Trophy information. Obviously in a book that is not a problem.

St George and the Dragon Salt Cellar (1901) Edward Onslow Ford

It is indeed a lavish book (I do love the word 'lavish'), the illustrations taken from different angles to get around the obvious difficulty in appreciating three-dimensions. I got a far better sense of a narrative in the 'story' of Victorian sculpture, together with a deeper sense of what the Tate were trying to achieve with their show. In a way I wish I had received the catalogue before seeing the show as I may have gone in with a better sense of nineteenth century attitudes in this branch of the arts. Reading the catalogue made me want to go back to see the show, appreciating the pieces in a more in-depth way, which is what a good catalogue should do. It also stands as a damn fine place to start finding out about Victorian sculpture, with a good bibliography, marvellous photography and well-written sections that match the rooms of the show.

If you have the chance, see the exhibition and get the catalogue; by the end of it you will have a definite idea of how innovative the Victorians were, and how they made such good use of new technologies, yet still reached back in their artistic heritage.

For further details of the exhibition, visit the website here.
For the catalogue, visit Amazon for a cheaper price than the Tate shop (and you won't have to carry it home from London).

You will remember from my post a couple of weeks ago one of my favourite authors, Robert Stephen Parry, published his latest novel. Set in the dark and mysterious Belle Epoque, The Hours Before is a story of a woman's search for the truth in the dangerous setting of pre-war Europe and very splendid it is too. So it was rather nice to be able to ask Mr Parry some questions about his new book and his writing in general....

Q. You move around eras in your novels, so what was it about the Edwardian, pre-War period that appealed to you for this specific story?

It saw the end of so much that was excellent, and the beginning of so much that was dreadful, and it all changed in the space of just a few short years with the so-called Great War. It is the sense of pathos attending those times that I find irresistible. The heroine of the story, meanwhile, is on the eve of her own great conflict – a decision that has to be made between vengeance and forgiveness. So there are lots of parallels in the story between geopolitical events and personal struggle, all of which are foreshadowed as the story unfolds.

Q. Do you have a favourite period in time?

No, not at all. Though I do often feel more comfortable in the past than the present - probably because there is so very much of the past to explore in comparison to the brief novelty of the ‘here and now.’ The present cannot exist without the past. And the future, likewise, cannot exist without the present. History is simply fascinating.

Q. There are elements of magic, superstition and signs in all your novels, how much do you ascribe to the mystical side of life?

Life is a range of experiences, a spectrum, like the colours on a rainbow. You can put rationality and sobriety at one end, and superstition and plain silliness at the other - ‘safe’ places out on the fringes, and it’s very easy to get stuck there. But writers and artists have to be free to go wherever their curiosity takes them, to any place in-between. Once you give yourself permission to do that, and once you realise it’s perfectly all right to be ‘any place in-between,’ you become aware of how extensive it all is, anyway, with so many doors to open and so many ideas to explore. I’ve taken a stroll through a few of them, that’s all. Inevitably that must colour ones writing.

Q. Many of your leading characters seem to be redeemed and made more sympathetic by hardship, thinking of Deborah Peters in The Hours Before, but also someone like Matthew Wildish as well – is that intentional?
Hardship can often result in evolution, and not just in terms of natural selection. Nobody ever became stronger or wiser by leading a life of indolence. Likewise with the characters in literature. If they are to evolve (as all good characters should, of course) then they have to challenge the circumstances in which they find themselves. They have to roll up their sleeves and get dirty; they have to ask questions and believe in something. We, as readers, take notice of them then. We admire their struggle, be it an emotional one, a physical one or even a spiritual one. I think the great Victorian artists and poets, the Pre-Raphaelites especially, were like that, too. They really did have a mission to step off the fringes where so many of their fellow citizens had long since taken permanent residence. Their mission was to ‘boldly go’ to all those spaces in-between, and much of what they created there is timeless and glorious.

Q. Your characters travel around Europe in ‘The Hours Before’, did you fancy a holiday from your normal setting of England? How many of the locations have you visited yourself?

The Belle Époque was a European-wide phenomenon, so to have just based the novel solely in the UK would have been rather a narrow choice. Paris and Vienna were places where the art nouveau styles and fashions really flourished - and many of the German cities also. And yes, I have spent some time in almost all the places mentioned in the novel. Vienna is my favourite, and it was a natural decision, therefore, to anchor the whole thing there in that great city. It was from there, at the heart of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, that decisions were made that would signal the start of the first world war and the demise of the Belle Époque itself. Vienna was, in so many respects, the beginning and end of the whole thing - and so too, therefore, with the story.

Q. I find it fascinating to find out when and where other writers write. Do you have a special time and place for writing?

I write at home in my study/office, and usually late into the night (the night is wasted unless a writer uses it for work). In the summer, when the weather is good, I have a bench and table set up beneath the shade of an old yew tree. Long walks in the countryside, meanwhile, are ideal for inspiration and sorting things out with plots and characters.

Q. When you are not writing it, do you read much historical fiction?

A little, though not so much of the modern stuff these days. I prefer the oldies, the classics. If it is modern, then it has to be something quirky or unusual, something that does not conform to the usual run-of-the mill, genre-fiction bracket. Something brave and different.

Q. Is there a book you wish you had written?

The next one. I always wish I had written the next one already.

Q. Do you have any ideas of what you will write next?

After spending a good couple of years on ‘The Hours Before’ I rather think I’d like to chill out next with a nice short book. Perhaps a ‘whodunit’ – I’ve never tried that before, and it could be fun.

Many thanks to Robert for his time and such interesting answers. You can find his new novel here (Amazon UK) and here (USA). For some more art nouveau loveliness, join me in the week for a review of the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery's new Mucha exhibition....

Just a quick update on the final chapter in the life of Fanny Cornforth. I have just returned home after visiting Fanny's final resting place.

You will remember last week, in a rather emotional post about the final years of Fanny's life, I told you that Fanny was admitted to Graylingwell Asylum in Chichester, where she died in 1909. I then mistakenly stated that she was buried in the asylum grounds as there was no evidence of where she was buried, the local parish church had no record of her in their burials and the asylum I grew up near had its own graveyard for those poor souls without friends or family to claim them. Katherine from the West Sussex Records Office contacted me on Tuesday and said that instead, she would have been buried in the Chichester District Cemetery if no-one had claimed her and so I approached Libby from Cemetery Services with the name 'Sarah Hughes' and her death date.

The Chichester cemetery main gates

Sarah Hughes was buried on 1st March 1909 in the cemetery, in plot 133/23. She is in a common grave, which means she's not alone in there and there is no stone. She is in a peaceful corner of the graveyard, beyond the war memorial. Actually finding her grave and placing some flowers on it felt that despite the best efforts of Rossetti's family and his biographers, her spirit has triumphed and she will be remembered as a muse, a woman capable of tremendous love and a real survivor.

If anyone else wishes to pay their respects, drop me an email and I'll send you over the graveyard map.

April is upon us! Not only that but today marks the opening of a brand new and exciting exhibition at the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery in Bournemouth: Mucha: In Quest of Beauty...

Zodiac (1896)

Taking as its theme the quote 'The aim of art is to celebrate beauty', the exhibition shows Alphonse Mucha's extraordinary work which really has come to epitomise all that is 'art nouveau': swirls of hair, the movement of fabric and nature and of course, beautiful women. I was surprised to find how modern his vision was from posters to celebrity and the synergy of packaging and advertising.

Biscuits Lefèvre-Utiles (1896)

When I was a teenager, I bought the above poster from a supermarket because it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Over twenty years later it hangs in our hallway and last night I got to see one of the original prints of it. The business of selling in a belle époque manner finds its pinnacle in Mucha, his beautiful women offering all manner of things from bicycles to cigarettes to biscuits in a very alluring manner. It was copied but never equalled in terms of detail and sheer gorgeousness.

I'll just have a smoke...

...then I'll hop on my bike...

The selection of the advertising works on display are wonderful and it is amazing how the simple start of a long haired damsel in a floaty dress can be repeated yet never seem the same. On show too are some examples of packaging of the products he advertised and the packaging ties in with the poster art giving a consistent visual message for a product. Take that Don Draper!

Gismonda (1894)

Beyond his well-known advertising posters, what made Mucha a household name was his work promoting the actress Sarah Bernhardt. Bernhardt's performances were advertised using lifesize images of her on long strip posters, striking and impactive. The figure of Miss Bernhardt is what is being shown here, her performance almost incidental to the fact that she is the art on display. Mucha loved these works, displayed on the streets and enlightening the public while promoting plays. These acts of advertising turned the outside into art galleries for the public.

Lorenzaccio (1896)

While Maxine Peake is making a smash as Hamlet it is worth noting the Bernhardt was playing male roles back in the 1890s. My favourite poster of her advertises her role of Lorenzo de Medici in Lorenzaccio, the dragon symbolising the tyranical Duke Alexander who the main character considers murdering. Incidentally, Bernhardt played Hamlet in 1899, accompanied by a poster by Mucha.

Dance (1898)

Mucha was so modern in terms of his vision of what art meant to people in the modern age. At the end of the 1890 he produced a series of decorative panels on themes such as the arts (from which Dance above comes), seasons, precious stones, flora and times of day. Some of these pictures appeared as prints, some in calendars, all available and accessible to an audience who craved art they could own and appreciate in their homes. Like me, buying my poster at SavaCentre outside Reading, the Parisian public could place a swirling Mucha woman on their wall.

Song of Bohemia (1918)

In 1910 Alphonse Mucha returned to his homeland of Czechoslovakia after an absence of 25 years. He spent the next 17 years celebrating his country of birth in paintings celebrating Czech and Slavic heritage. The women who appeared in them were still glamorous, but had a more spiritual and symbolic edge. The culmination of this period is the Slav Epic cycle, a series of 20 massive canvases depicting the history of the Slavic peoples.

Model posing in Mucha's studio (1899-1900)

An unexpected delight in the exhibition is Mucha's photographs. All manner of bendy young ladies drape themselves in familiar poses to beautiful effect, the resultant photographs showing belle époque goddesses.

I cannot recommend the exhibition enough, especially if you are after a little art nouveau glamour in your life. The whole effect of the rooms is to beguile and engulf you in a swirl of hair and magic. The art of Alphonse Mucha is more than just the advertising posters and this is the perfect place to discover how much more. Mind you, the advertising posters are pretty amazing. This might well be the most beautiful exhibition of the year...

To find out more, including opening times, visit the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery and Museum pages here.

As you will remember from my post on Tennyson and the Isle of Wight, I am not averse to a bit of celebrity hunting when it comes to dead Victorians. Having pursued the poet to Farringford, it seemed only natural that I would travel up country at some point and find out where it all began. This Easter, I packed my bags and headed north to Lincoln...

I began my weekend in Lincoln, beautiful cathedral city and home to the massive bronze statue of Tennyson...

The BFT (Big, Friendly Tennyson)

One of my more regular pleasures (in terms of frequency rather than normality) is visiting the whopping great statue of Tennyson and his dog, Karenina, in the Watts Gallery, Surrey. I'll see him again soon when I'm over there for their upcoming Dadd exhibition. Anyway, just outside the cathedral in Lincoln is a bronze version of the statue, with Tennyson looking down at a flower in the palm of his hand. G F Watt's statue has a wonderful inscription on the reverse of the plinth, which reads:

Watts was Tennyson's neighbour in Freshwater and close friend, meeting in 1857 in Little Holland House in Kensington. After the poet's death, Watts began work on the monument, finishing it ready for casting in 1903. Watts died before the statue was in place in 1905. The quote "Over all one statue in the mould of Arthur made by Merlin" is very touching and tells you something of the relationship between the two men.
Under the plaque of his name on the front of the plinth is a poem from 1863:

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

I love this piece of poetry and it seems rather apt for my journey. As Tennyson felt and acknowledged frustration at his attempts to understand the flower (and by extension, everything), so too can a biographer feel frustrated trying to understand a person by the pieces we have of them, out of context. To that end, I waved goodbye to BFT and headed east in search of context...

First stop, Horncastle. Birthplace of Emily, wife of Alfred Lord Tennyson, and home to a vast array of antique shops. Emily's father was a solicitor, Henry Sellwood, and according to the 1841 census they lived in the Market Place. Her uncle was the explorer John Franklin who died horribly during Arctic exploration (as seems to be traditional). A statue to him is in the market place of Spilsby, another market town to the south and east of Horncastle. Passing through the very pleasant Horncastle, I was intent on finding Somersby, birthplace of Tennyson...

Former vicarage, home of Alfred Tennyson, Somersby

The hamlet of Somersby is astonishing in size (tiny) and level of birdsong (loud). It has a mere 30 inhabitants, less than a third of the population at the time Tennyson was growing up there, but even with 90 people in the cluster of houses, it must has been an isolated place. I began to consider the frequent themes of isolation in Tennyson's poems, the dislocation many of his narrators and characters feel with people and normal life. His father, George Clayton Tennyson, was a scholar and vicar of both Somersby and neighbouring Bag Enderby churches. He is described in turn as both talented and clever, but also depressed, violent and unpredictable with drug and alcohol dependencies. The home was extended by Tennyson snr, but still in 1824 there were 23 people sleeping under that roof (the family plus 10 servants) which made it a crowded home indeed. It's unsurprising then that Alfred enjoyed roaming the countryside, the woods, gardens and streams that would occur over and over in his poetry. Nearby Holywell Wood is where Tennyson brought his new friend, Arthur Hallam (who subsequently fell in love with Tennyson's sister) and where he carved 'Byron is dead' on a rock on hearing the devastating news of his hero's death in 1824.

St Margaret's, Somersby

The pretty church that his father was vicar to usually looks like this, above. However, at present it is undergoing pretty drastic restoration and so when we visited looked like this...

It was very exciting to see how much work is being undertaken and the skillful and thorough steps that are being taken to ensure the safety of the building. It should be reopened to visitors in the autumn.

St Margaret's, Bag Enderby

We made the short journey from Somersby to Bag Enderby. No, that really is the name of the village...

Awesome. There is the sister church to Somersby, where George Tennyson would walk after delivering a 'long and impenetrable sermon' in order to deliver another long and equally impenetrable sermon for the good people of Bag Enderby. Currently this is where the local history display of Tennyson's Lincolnshire life is being housed. I especially like my new tea towel...

It doesn't get any more English than a souvenir tea towel.

Inside St Margaret's, Bag Enderby

The greenstone and wood interior gives an impression of what Somersby's church was like. It is airy and plain, without pretense or grandeur. At the back is a perpendicular octagonal font (a tall one which is octagonal) but that is about as ostentatious as it gets. There is a simple pleasure in the paleness of the stone, the echoing arches and the barrel of the roof above you. With the sun streaming in, it was wonderful.

On then to the market town of Louth, the Capital of the Wolds, which felt positively urban in contrast to the hamlets. Tennyson was sent here to the Grammar school (since replaced by a red brick building) which Tennyson hated for the bullying and harsh discipline. After four miserable years he was allowed to return home to be taught by his father (which presumably was occasionally little better). Happier is the fact that Louth is the place of Tennyson's first publisher...

Jacksons, booksellers and printers in the Market Place, Louth, were the first to publish work by Tennyson and his brother, in 1827 (it's now an Oxfam shop). Jacksons paid the Tennyson brothers £20 which they spent on hiring a carriage and riding to nearby Mablethorpe and shouting their poetry at the sea. Now quite a recognised holiday place due to the railway link of 1877, the beautiful golden sands were still a local draw half a century previous. Google it, it's beautiful. In fact shout some poetry at an image of the beach. Go on, it's traditional.

Alfred Tennyson (1831) attrib. James Spedding

This picture is particularly poignant as it was drawn in the year that changed the poet so much. In 1831 both his father and his very close friend and almost-brother, Arthur Hallam, died. Tennyson returned from Cambridge, where he had been at University, to take charge of the family and live in the hamlet for another six years. I'm a great believer in context and standing in the seclusion of Somersby it was easy to feel detached from the world. Even though I am an avid reader (and writer) of biographies, I do not think you can underestimate the experience of standing in the place where the object of your interest stood. It gives you new insight, understanding beyond someone's words of what it must have been like for them however many years separate you. As an adult, Tennyson found mixing with people a struggle, yet was a good loyal friend to those who understood him. His time in Lincolnshire ended with the need for the family to move from the vicarage to Epping Forest. He must have felt that he was leaving so much behind, both good and bad.

As much as I regretted leaving young Mr Tennyson as I travelled south, I shall see the older Mr Tennyson again soon. I'm over to the Wight on Friday...

This week I am delighted to report I had a dream come true. I became Julia Margaret Cameron. For a day. Well, sort of. On Friday I did a wet collodion process photography course at Dimbola Lodge, the Julia Margaret Cameron Museum...

Annie (1864) Julia Margaret Cameron

In December 1863, Julia Margaret Cameron's daughter and son in law gave her a present to occupy her. She was 48 years old, her husband was away at the family coffee estates in Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) and her children had grown up. It was felt that the enthusiastic Mrs Cameron needed something to absorb a little of her boundless energy. This came in the form of a camera. Despite claiming in her memoir Annals of My Glass House (1874/1889) that she began her career in photography 'with no knowledge of the art', she had spent some time with the Swedish phtographer Oscar Gustave Rejlander in 1863, and her brother-in-law was the amateur photographer Lord Somers. What is true is that Julia's first solo success in the art of photography was an image of a local girl, Annie Philpot. This marked not only the success in producing the plate but also of printing a photograph from it. Having experienced the excitement and frustration of producing a wet collodion plate, I now understand her delight...

Plate One: The Doomed Polar explorer, or Toby's Mate

Plate Two: A Ghost of Lissa

So, my friends, here is my day at Dimbola Lodge. I was taught how to do this magical process by John Walker, a jolly fine teacher indeed. The weather was at first very cold and misty, and the light was diffused and weak. When we set up the studio space, the exposure needed seemed to be around two minutes. We grabbed a chap to sit for us and set up the scene before going to coat the plate. When we came to expose the plate and capture the image, the sun came out, brief and strong, over-exposing the plate and causing the image to become ghost-like and bleached. The same happened again when the lovely Lissa sat for the second plate. At this point a fair amount of fiddling with shades happened and the exposure time was halved. The result was startlingly better...

Plate Three: The Lovely Lissa

(Please excuse the shine off the glass plate, it's really hard not to get a reflection)

Anyway, as you can see, the reduction in the exposure makes the image suddenly appear. Feeling more confident, John and I moved the camera nearer and the lovely Lissa was patient enough to put up with me for a bit longer.

Victorian photographer in his darkroom

Now the technical bit: First thing to do when taking photographs in this way is to clean your plate. Polish, polish, polish until it squeaks and sparkles. Then the plate is delicately balanced on the fingertips of your right-hand while a cotton bud coated in egg white is whisked around the edges. This stops the collodion mixture from running off. Collodion, a wicked mixture of very toxic chemicals including ether, is then poured onto the centre and the plate delicately tipped to cover the surface, like coating a baking tray with oil. The excess is shaken off into a bottle. This bit is smelly indeed. The wet plate is then immersed into a bath of silver nitrate, to sensitise it to light, for three minutes. With a minute to go, the lights in the dark room are turned off, leaving only the red lights on, so that your eyes can get used to the darkness. When the three minutes are up, the plate is lifted out, the silver nitrate wiped from the back of the plate and the sensitive plate placed into wooden holder, kept dark by a wooden slide until exposure.

Plate camera (minus lens) - not pocket-sized but very gorgeous

The setting of the picture had been established before the plate was prepared. Having a quick check that no-one had moved while sneakily checking their mobile phone, the wooden plate holder is then placed into the camera. A cover is placed over the lens at the front (we used a bowler hat as a lens cap). The dark slide is taken from the plate holder and when ready, the cover is removed from the lens. After a minute (or however long exposure is needed for) the lens cap is swiftly replaced and the dark slide slid back in to seal up the plate holder. That box is removed and taken down to the darkroom immediately.

The plate is removed from the holder and held sensitive side up. Developer is quickly poured over the image and the image magically appears. This is the bit that defeated me and I always missed a small patch. You have to quickly and evenly pour a medicine cup of the liquid down one edge while tilting the plate in semi-darkness. Then the washing begins. Jugs of water are poured over the plate then it is immersed in a bath of water, then another bath of developing fluid after which it is safe to turn on the light. The plate is then washed again and finally left to dry on a rack.

When the plate is dry, varnish can be poured over the image (much like the collodion is poured) and left near strong heat to dry. In our case we used a plate warmer. Julia used a spirit lamp, which seeing how flammable everything involved is, makes it a miracle that nothing appalling occurred. Added to this she used cyanide as a fixing agent, which due to the risks involved, you can now replace with something less deadly. Cyanide gives a warmer amber glow to the resultant image but the modern alternative is less death-laden, which has to be a good thing. It is suggested that Julia's use of cyanide, which inevitably ends up on your skin, may have shortened her life. I wore gloves and stuck to the flammable but less certain-death chemicals. Wash your hands, wear gloves, lick nothing and you'll be fine.

So finally I got the hang of it, after a fashion and the last plate of the day was a moment of utter joy when the developer revealed it...

Lissa, my very first success in photography...

As you can see, I managed to miss part of Lissa's right arm with the developer, but her lovely face came out perfectly. I could not have been more delighted, relieved and exhausted. After varnishing the plate my day was complete. As a souvenir of my marvellous day, I now have a set of wonderful glass plate negatives which look like the above when placed against a black piece of card, but appear as negatives when lifted up...

Lissa in negative

I felt like I had peeked into a part of Julia's life and walked in her shoes, if only for a few hours. The whole process was consuming and involved even with modern conveniences like running water so goodness knows how much time, energy and effort went into producing Julia's pictures. However, when the results were as perfect as her masterpieces, I cannot think of a more rewarding employment of time.

My heartfelt thanks go to the staff of Dimbola Lodge, especially John Walker and the lovely Lissa. If you too want to have a go at wet collodion photography, contact the museum (see the website here).

Once upon a time there was an old lady who lived on the south coast of England. She had a secret, which as it turned out wasn't much of a secret no matter how hard she tried.

Mrs Reginald Hargreaves

When the old lady died, her ashes were buried by the war memorial that held the names of two of her three sons. On her gravestone her secret was revealed...

Alice Hargreaves, or Alice Liddell as she is more famously known, died in 1934, 72 years after the writing of a story that would make her immortal. When she was an old lady she became famous again, her photograph filling the papers as the world found out what had happened when the magical little girl had grown up. Once more her face was the subject of interest and record, just like when she was a little girl.

Perhaps then we have started at the wrong end of the tale.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived in Oxford. Her name was Alice...

Alice Pleasance Liddell (c.1860) Lewis Carroll

Plenty has been written about little Alice, her sisters Lorina and Edith and a boat trip they took with a serious young man called Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (also better known as Lewis Carroll). Dodgson was a friend of Alice's older brother Harry and Lorina, but when Harry went up to school, younger sisters Alice and Edith joined Lorina on her outings with the young man. Dodgson wrote the story of Alice's adventures underground as a way of entertaining the girls on trips and in the tales he created a version of Alice who is curious, questioning, brave, obstinate and caught between trying to leave and trying to see more.

The Beggar Maid (1858) Lewis Carroll

When awkward Dodgson became Lewis Carroll, author and photographer he transformed himself in the same way as he transformed his most famous subject. Under his lens, Alice is a beggar maid, a ragged creature of pity. In other photos, she is also a plush cat on a cushion with her equally silky sisters, as far from the beggar maid as you can imagine...

Edith, Lorina and Alice Liddell (1858)

Slipping by most people's notice was always Lorina, eldest sister and foremost friend of the young author/photographer. When Dodgson was expelled from the Liddell family circle, a very twentieth century interpretation was placed upon it. To our modern eye, some of the photographs look decidedly iffy: a young half-naked girl looking challengingly towards the camera, but are defended by many as being typical of contemporary art, coupled with knowledge that the mother was present when the majority of the pictures were being taken. I say the majority for a reason, because there exists a very NSFW image of Lorina which is now argued to be the cause of the rift between the Liddells and Dodgson. It was featured in the recent documentary on Dodgson and can be seen online and is of a very naked teenage Lorina and has no pretense of art at all.

Alice as The May Queen

Lorina (c.1860)

It is interesting to note that Alice is often playing a part in Dodgson's photographs but Lorina just sits there as the subject of that picture. It's almost as if Lorina does not need to play a part, she is the subject he wishes to take the picture of. Alice, however, was dressed up, transformed, posed, a range of characters including the most enduring, that of 'Alice' which she was to be reminded of for the rest of her life.

The Sisters (Edith, Lorina and Alice Liddell) (1864) William Blake Richmond

Away from Dodgson and his interpretation of the sisters and Alice in particular, the Liddell girls found others who wished to capture their beauty. Around the time of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, artist William Blake Richmond showed the sisters in a similar triangular arrangement to the above photo, with Lorina as the pinnacle. Although the two youngest still appear quite innocent and childlike, Lorina had begun to look more knowing and grown up. It is unsurprising that Mrs Liddell, nicknamed 'the Kingfisher' after her desire to wed her girls to royalty, would want to separate her daughters from the poor young man who spent so much time with them. Improper intentions or not, young Mr Dodgson did not have good enough prospects for Mrs Liddell. The final picture he took of Alice is rather a melancholic piece...

Alice Liddell (1870)

At 18 and a marriageable age, Alice had to say goodbye to her childhood friend and concentrate on her future. The notion that Dodgson was cast out for evermore isn't quite true but he did separate from the family for 6 months after which his relationship with the Liddell parents was cooler. He and Alice must have remained on good terms as Dodgson acted as godfather to her second son. He didn't take any more photographs of her though, that mantle was taken up by another.

When the Liddell family moved from Oxford to the Isle of Wight in the early 1870s, they rented Whitecliff House, not far from Dimbola Lodge. Naturally they caught the attention of Julia Margaret Cameron who was ever vigilant for new models. In the Liddell sisters she found young ladies of experience...

King Lear Allotting His Kingdom to his Three Daughters (1872) Julia Maragret Cameron

All three girl, from the left Lorina, Edith and Alice, surround Julia's husband, Charles Hay Cameron. His dark drapery and age contrasts with their youth and beauty, and they appear satellites around his presence. It's unusual to see the girls posed with another person, no longer so insular and separate.

Pomona (1872) Julia Margaret Cameron

Cameron also took some startling solo pictures of Alice. Pomona has echoes of Dodgson's beggar maid, a mirror image of the pose taken by a woman rather than a girl. Her expression is one of challenge as she nestles in the tendrils of the garden.

Alethea (1872) J M Cameron

From the same session, Cameron references her own work, this time "Call I Follow, I Follow, Let Me Die!" of 1867, with the female figure in profile, her hair fanning out behind her. Rather than being a goddess like Pomona, Alethea refers only to 'truth', interestingly looking away.

St Agnes (1872) J M Cameron

In this pair of images, Cameron portrays Alice as St Agnes, patron saint of chastity, gardeners, and girls, amongst other things. Rather than being posed with a lamb, Cameron chose the other attribute, a palm, as no doubt it kept stiller than lifestock. My favourite has to be Ceres, goddess of the harvest, fertility and motherhood. She is a beautiful plant in the wild tumble of nature, the white flash of her flesh echoed in the sweep of grain crop against her shoulder. Alice makes a fine model for Cameron, with her strong defiant features a perfect addition to Cameron's other images of young, handsome women.

Ceres (1872) J M Cameron

Even before her marriage in 1880 to the cricketer Reginald Hargreaves, the public photographs ceased. The early and sudden death of Edith in June 1876 traumatized the family and drew the sisters together in grief. I don't think it's a coincidence that the remaining sisters could not find the will to be the same as they had been. When they had posed, it was often as a trio, even if there were subsequent solo images. Now that triangle had been broken, the ones left behind did not assume the role of muses without the one who had vanished from view. Alice Hargreaves (nee Liddell) would always be little Alice, tumbling down a rabbit hole on a boating trip with her beloved sisters. Alice, Edith and Lorina Liddell were each immortalised (to differing degrees) by Dodgson and Cameron, as a trio of sisters made extraordinary by the inspiration they lent to others, but it is arguably a mistake to imagine that the images we see are mere portraits of the girls. Just as Carroll's Alice is not Alice Liddell, then the little girls in the photographs are a complex mixture of surface and meaning that is dangerous to confuse. Maybe in understanding that it becomes clear why Mrs Reginald Hargreaves sought to separate herself from the images and text that drew on her as inspiration. She was Alice no more.

But then maybe she never had been.

This weekend is the fourth birthday of The Kissed Mouth blog! Goodness me, where has the time gone? It's been a busy old year as well, so here is my retrospective (posh word for 'clips show') of the last twelve months...

May 2014
So in May last year I had a bit of a think about whether all of Rossetti's gorgeous women were just versions of himself (which sounds very strange when I say it out loud...), I had a look at some pirates, had a bit of a potter in the garden, flaunted a smidge of public nudity with Lady Godiva, but my image has to be from my massive post about Tennyson and Pre-Raphaelite art...

Elaine Julia Margaret Cameron

I've spent a lot of the last year deep in research on Cameron and her work, not to mention her models, which has been a delight. It's fed into the novel I've been working on, and will also help with the paper I'm writing for the Julia Margaret Cameron conference this summer. This image featuring the beautiful May Prinsep, is one of the most complete of Cameron's photos, in my opinion. It balances her ability to capture the beauty of her subject plus having just the right amount of setting to transport you. It's incredible to think this was taken in her hen house, with only a few rugs and props. Just beautiful.

June
At the beginning of June, I spent a mad day pursuing Tennyson around the Isle of Wight (let's ignore the fact he's been dead for over a century, these things aren't important in a relationship), wrote a sad piece on the beautiful Sophie Gray, reviewed The Pre-Raphaelite Seamstress, 'Stand There!' She Shouted, and That Summer and wrote a piece on Ellen Terry, child bride and legendary actress. Terry is one of those characters who defies all attempts to pigeonhole her: she was a child bride in a doomed marriage but escapes with dignity and good will to her husband. She was an actress, a mother, and a woman who gave us a defining portrayal of Lady Macbeth. My image of the month, sadly, has to be this one...

Isabella and the Pot of Basil (1867) William Holman Hunt

Delaware chose to sell Isabella and the Pot of Basil at auction and it made half of the bottom of its asking price. With no reserve, this beautiful work of art, which they had hope would make upwards of £10M, made £2.5M. It cause howls of outrage from the Pre-Raphaelite community and made people worry about what Delaware would do next. My worry was that they would sell parts of the collection that came to them via Fanny Cornforth. It drew attention to the fact that works in public collections don't necessarily belong to the public when push comes to shove. That is a sobering thought indeed.

July
This month I reviewed Elizabeth, The Virgin Queen and the Men Who Loved Her, did two posts on fairy tales, with imagery from Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, and felt all summer-y with a post about beautiful paintings of women who aren't sweating at all. I also travelled up to Hoylandswaine and saw their mural in all its glory. My image for the month has to be this gem...

The Wounded Cavalier William Shakespeare Burton

I already loved this painting but it is now central to a scene in my forthcoming novel, so I have a very special place in my heart for it. Without giving too much away, while recreating this scene for a photograph, a few truths are revealed to the participants. I can't wait for you to read it! Hopefully I'll bring it to you at the end of the year...

August
In the long, hot month of August I brought you some ladies lounging around doing nothing (myself included), the universal truth that no-one likes a biter, the steampunk madness of Dr Geof, and went on holiday to Cornwall, where my image of the month comes from...

On the Cornish Coast (1880) John Brett

Just the vividness of the colours takes me back to the wonderful week I had, visiting Jamaica Inn, going to Penlee House Art Gallery and eating far too many pasties (I regret nothing). Cornwall is a special place with an artistic pedigree that is eviable. Everything looks beautiful and everywhere is full of paintings of the sea. And pasties. My Lord, I did eat a lot of pasties.

September
This month I was still going on about pasties (and Cornish miners), the Effie Gray movie, and worried about the outcome of the Scottish referendum (we stayed together! Hurrah!). I visited the Celtic Revival decorated church in the New Forest (which reminds me, I need to take my Dad to visit it) and reviewed The Lost Pre-Raphaelite (which if you haven't read yet, do so immediately). One of my favourite posts I've done this year has to be the one I did on knitting...

The Purple Stocking J J Shannon

Looking back at this post this painting is still one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The halo of the metal plate, her concentration as she knits the stocking, it all adds up to a wonderful, delicate portrait of quiet industry. I bet she's never knitted a novelty Christmas hat.

October
This month I wrote a poem based on The Depths of the Sea by Edward Burne-Jones and I went to the opening of the exhibition about Rossetti's images of Jane Morris, as well as the opening of Dangerous Women. I also reviewed the game based on Strawberry Thief (that's right, a video game, I'm hip and down with the kids. Well sort of), as well as talking about Rossetti's images of his models sleeping. Being a right cryer, I enjoyed doing a post about fellow-sobbers, from which I bring you this one...

The Restitution (1901) Remy Cogghe

I love the green of her dress and the gold of her hair, plus the mystery around the figures: why is she crying? What is the priest doing with the keys? I do love a problem picture, a picture that tells a story, that begs interpretation, that spins a tale for you to imagine.

November
With Blogvent fast approaching, I tackled images of praying and conversely got seduced into having some illicit liaisons (such larks!). The anniversary of the start of the Great War was remembered in a post about the Boer War and how it foreshadowed the conflict that was to come. I also reviewed the gorgeous children's book Time and the Tapestry. Many of you joined me in the utter frivolous naughiness of the work of Vittorio Reggianini...

The Interruption Vittorio Reggianini

With so much satin as to render all the participants a slip-risk, Reggianini did countless gorgeous ladies flirting, giggling, passing notes and falling under available handsome men. Nice work if you can get it...

December
Ah Blogvent, the annual madness...I have been challenged to do an entire month of Muff references this year and rename it 'Muffvent'. For goodness sake. Mind you, I absolutely will do that. I also got to see the wonderful Victorian Obsession exhibition at Leighton House and I can still smell that rose room. I love that the gallery took experiencing the picture to a different sensory level and would be delighted to see more experimenting with this enhancing of the picture experience. My suggestion would be to have a Reggianini retrospective with handsome satin-clad gentlemen for me to swoon under. I regret nothing.

Anyway, of all the Blogvent images, I have to pick this one...

The Snow Maidens (1913) Henrietta Rae

This boob-tastic snow scene raises some questions about health and safety and frostbite. I love snowdrops too, but I can't say I've been tempted to sit amongst them nude. Tulips however are another matter. And they are in my front garden.

January
In the new year I wrote a post on images of night and a saucy little number on poor Andromeda, the dragon-snack and bondage queen. I examined an artist's attitude to self portraits (thank you, Lovis Corinth, I think you will stay with me a while and not in a good way) and reviewed the catalogue for the Art & Soul exhibition. Jolly good fun was had with John Collier, whose art is never dull...

Clytemnestra (1914) John Collier

An interesting artist, Collier was both establishment and bonkers avant garde. His works included images of famous beardy men and puzzle pictures that do indeed puzzle. The above image was banned because it was too shocking to show the knife-and-bristols combo. I rather like her skirt, do you think the knife comes with it?

February
Looking back at February, I covered some of my favourite subjects. I did a whole weekend devoted to illustrating Tennyson's poems, a subject very dear to my heart since my Masters thesis all those years ago. I also reviewed the novel Afterimage and the Liberating Fashion exhibition. I talked about Fair Rosamund and the trouble with love potions, but the most comments I got came because of this fellow...

The Moon Nymph Luis Falero

So. Much. Nudity. I'm sure I caused some of my gentlemen readers to keel over because of how shocking it all was. Scandalous! Disgraceful! Jolly pretty, tho'....

March
The year was behaving itself quite well up until this point. March came in very pleasantly with a review of Robert Stephen Parry's splendid new novel The Hours Before, followed by some jolly posts on the wives and girlfriends of military types. I visited three exhibitions in London, Silver and Salt, Sculpture Victorious, and my favourite, the John Singer Sargent exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. Then this happened...

Chichester Cemetery, Plot 133/32

When I discovered the truth behind Fanny Cornforth's final years it was the end of a very long chapter for me. Fanny and I have been together for twenty years and I have lost count the number of times I have talked about her, given people information about her, passed people copies of her letters and her exhibition catalogue, all of which I had sought out in endless hours of research all done in my own time. Fanny enabled me to meet the most wonderful people, some of whom I count as my closest friends and she is the reason I started this blog four years ago. I'm so glad I could share my discoveries with you because as long as I have been with Fanny, I have wanted to share her life with others. I love seeing that other people want to research her, that others write blog posts and articles on her. She is my favourite stunner, the patron saint of overlooked women and the more people who love her, the happier I am.

April
After I made you all cry in March, I brought you a review of the exhibition of the year so far, Mucha: In Quest of Beauty at the Russell-Cotes in Bournemouth. It's on all summer, get there if you possibly can, you won't regret it. I also went off to Lincoln and pursued Alfred Lord Tennyson a bit more (he loves it really), and looked at the visual life of Alice Liddell. My image of this month has to be this one...

Lissa, My First Success

I got to emulate Julia Margaret Cameron and swish around Dimbola Lodge taking and developing glass plates. It was a wonderful experience and made me unnecessarily overexcited about the Julia Margaret Cameron bicentennial conference in July and the V&A exhibition in the autumn. Not only that, but I now have a deeper understanding of what it's like to be a Victorian photographer which will come in handy with my new novel We Are Villains All, published later this year. Set in the quiet market town home of poet Maxwell Wainwright, someone has a reason for revenge. The arrival of photographer Brough Fawley brings everyone's emotions into focus and unleashes a vengeful spirit that will bring tragedy to everyone...

Well, I'm going to be giving a talk at Mrs Middleton's Shop in Freshwater on the Isle of Wight on Saturday and then I'm writing a load of articles on Fanny Cornforth. After that I'm giving a paper on the maids of Dimbola Lodge at the conference. It's going to be a very long summer. Thank you for reading this, thank you for being with me for the last four years because I'd be awfully lonely without you all. I have a lovely double-post planned for the first weekend of May, so see you next week...

Welcome to a weekend of posts about a beautiful woman, which is always a good thing. Hers is the face that gazes out of many of Julia Margaret Cameron's photographs, and her life is like a page out of who's who. This weekend I will be talking to you about the wonderful May Prinsep...

Elaine (1874) Julia Margaret Cameron

Any of you who have studied Victorian art or society will have come across the name 'Prinsep'. The family had reach and influence of exciting proportion and anyone who was anyone found their way to their homes and tables. May, born Mary Emily Prinsep, was the daughter of Charles Prinsep, standing counsel to the East India Company and Judge Advocate General of India. Born in Khidirpur (Kidderpore) in Kolkata (Calcutta) in 1853, she was one of eight children, six of whom survived infanthood.


The Prinsep children: (from left) Annie, May, Harry, Jim and Louisa (Charlie is missing) (from Henry Prinsep's Empire by Malcolm Allbrook)

Connected closely with the presence of England in India and the growth, spread and success of the East India Company, the family lived in Belvedere House in Kolkata, here shown in a painting by May's uncle William Prinsep...

Belvedere House (1838) William Prinsep

May's mother, Louisa, was the daughter of Lieutenant Colonel Henry Lewis White of the Bengal Army. 1855 saw the birth of youngest Prinsep child, James (also known as Jim), followed by Louisa's death. Probably connected to this, Charles suffered a debilitating stroke, causing the family to return to England. By the 1861 census, the family are settled in the comfortable town of Walton on Thames in Surrey. Charles and four of his children lived on Church Road (just near the Aldi, which is handy). Eldest brother Charles John (Charlie) had returned before his family to attend school in Brighton, then back to India with the 19th Hussars. Left paralysed by his stroke, Charles senior's health continued to decline and he died in 1864. At that point the children went to live with their plentiful relatives, May making the journey to live with her Uncle Henry Thoby Prinsep and Aunt Sara at Little Holland House...

Little Holland House in the 1860s
Home to the Prinseps until its demolition in 1871

Henry Thoby Prinsep, younger brother to Charles, had also been in India, working in the legal system and the East India Company until his return to England in 1843. By the end of the 1840s, he and his family had moved into Little Holland House, the dower house of Holland House in Kensington, London. Uncle Henry was married to Sara Monckton Pattle (sister to Julia Margaret Cameron) and among their children was the painter Valentine Prinsep. May became a member of the Little Holland Household and became known as 'the vision of beauty' (according to Mary Seton Watts in The Annals of an Artist's Life) as can ably be seen in her cousin's paintings of her...

May Prinsep (1868) Valentine Prinsep

May Prinsep and her Persian Cat Valentine Prinsep

George Frederic Watts had taken up residence at Little Holland House in 1850 as part of the ever-growing Prinsep household, his life dedicated to his art under the maternal care of Sara Prinsep. Mary Seton Watts recalled that while staying there, Watts worked with 'arduous devotion' to his painting, his only break being a daily ride which he took for his health and his companion was more often than not May. May's own devotion to Watts began in this time and it is unsurprising that her attachment to him, so soon after the death of her father, took a lifelong paternal slant. He also used her as a model in a handful of works from this period...

May Prinsep (c.1867) G F Watts

Prayer (1869) G F Watts

There will be more of Watts in tomorrow's post...

Being such a large yet close-knit family, it seems almost inevitable that May would find herself in Freshwater Bay, at the home of Julia Margaret Cameron.

The Neopolitan (1866) Julia Margaret Cameron

Spending several of her summers on the Wight, May quickly became part of Cameron's artistic vision, appearing in scores of her pictures for the next ten years. Alongside the faces of her maids and neighbours, Cameron imagines May as a beauty of historic measure, in photograph after photograph...

Christabel (1866) J M Cameron

Beatrice (1866) J M Cameron

May (1869) J M Cameron

In 1870, Cameron took a series of photos of May one of which was entitled Pre-Raphaelite Study...

Pre-Raphaelite Study (1870) J M Cameron

Whilst it is likely that Cameron was influenced by various artists in the making of her Pre-Raphaelite Study, I agree with Graham Ovenden (amongst many) who suggest that the engraving of William Holman Hunt's Isabella and the Pot of Basil (left) in 1869 seems the most overt influence over the pose held by May in this picture. It was believed to be a snub for Rossetti in some way as he refused to meet or pose for the photographer, but more likely it was just straightforward praise and inspiration from another artist and a very popular print of the moment. Cameron also knew Hunt, having taken his picture in 1864, dressed in his Eastern garb.

William Holman Hunt (1864) Julia Margaret Cameron

You could track the visits made by May by her occurrence in Cameron's work, all through the beginning of the 1870s. George du Maurier (cartoonist and author) described a visit to the Wight at the beginning of the 1870s when he met a young stockbroker, also on holiday: '...a very good looking chap of 40 with loads of tin - He has hired a yacht of 64 tons and is going to take us cruising about the island'. That 'good looking chap' was Andrew Kinsman Hichens, who may have been already acquainted with May and her household from London but it was no coincidence that he was in Freshwater at the same time as she was. He was brought in to pose for Julia Margaret Cameron in a suitably romantic fashion for a photograph entitled Gareth and Lynette. This was her aunt's way of heralding a marriage as May and Andrew were married at All Saint's church in Freshwater on 10th November 1874...

Gareth and Lynette (1874)

It is an interesting subject to have as a wedding piece for the couple, taken from Idylls of the King and I wonder how much could be read into the fact that Lynette is quite a difficult character until she realises the true worth of Gareth? Anyway, the couple were married and less than a year later the Camerons move away from the Isle of Wight, back to Ceylon (modern day Sri Lanka). Andrew and May lived in London and Compton, a small village outside Guildford in Surrey, but that is not the end of her story by any stretch.

Join me tomorrow for part two...

So yesterday we got as far as May Prinsep's marriage to Andrew Hichens in 1874 and the Cameron's move back to Sri Lanka (Ceylon) in 1875. Andrew wrote to May's brother Harry that he considered the Cameron's move to be 'total madness', but then the family finances were stretched to breaking and they had to make a move. It is certain that they were greatly missed and sadly never to return, Julia dying in 1879 and her husband in 1880.

The Ulster (1874) G F Watts

Andrew Hichens continued to work in Hichens, Harrison & Co (est. 1803) in Austinfriars, London's oldest independent brokerage and investment firm. The couple's London home was 27 Chester Street, Knightsbridge and despite the demolition of Little Holland House in 1871, it seems likely that the new centre for the old Prinsep circle was New Little Holland House on Melbury Road, where Watts had a new house and studio built in 1876. The land abutted that of Frederic, Lord Leighton's house and it might have been there that May met Leighton, sitting for this portrait in 1885...

Mrs Andrew Hichens (May Prinsep) (1885) Frederic Leighton

The Hichens not only kept a house in London but also Monkshatch in Compton, near Guildford, Surrey.

Monkshatch, Compton, Surrey (demolished 1950s)

Mary Seton Watts described the house as standing high yet sheltered by a chalk cliff from the north and east winds. The chalk behind reflected back sunlight into the home and made it an idyllic place to live. May and Andrew used the house at weekends and holidays, spending most of their time in London, so when G F Watts' health failed, the coupled offered him the use of the house in which to recuperate. Andrew had become as attached to Watts as his wife, writing in a very emotional letter to the artist that 'you need not be told how entirely dear you are to us, and how very nearly all that concerns you touches us.' When Watts married for the second time, to Mary Seton in 1886, their first stop after the ceremony was to lunch with May and Andrew in Chester Street.

It is undoubted how deeply May and Andrew cared for Watts, 'the beloved little man' as they referred to him. When the Watts moved into Monkshatch, they turned the living room into a space Watts could paint in, Andrew remarking 'I told you I built that studio for you'. The Library was theirs to be alone in, but if they wanted company they could roll back the dividing panel and watch Andrew and May at dinner. Watts remarked to his wife on one such evening 'I wonder if any other roof in England covers four happier people.' When Mr and Mrs Watts finally moved out, they went only a short distance, building a house in the village, called Limnerslease.

May at the window at Limnerslease (1880s/90s)

The parental figures in her life slowly vanished as Henry Thoby Prinsep died in 1878, followed by Aunt Sara in 1887. Watts died in 1904 and two years later Andrew died at Monkshatch on 27th August 1906. He was cremated and his ashes interred at the beautiful cemetery that surrounds the Watts Chapel.

Two years later May's brother paid a visit from Australia and it was the first time he had seen May since 1866. Harry Prinsep (1844-1922) had visited his father's estate in Australia (also called Belvedere after the estate in Bengal) whilst on his 'grand Tour' after schooling and fell in love with the land and a woman. Even on the other side of the world he had run into old friends. Having met the Tennyson family while staying with family in England, he became firm friends once more with Hallam Tennyson, son of the Poet Laureate, while Hallam was serving as Governor of South Australia (1899-1903), then Governor General of Australia (1903-4).

Hallam Tennyson (1896) Alexander Bassano

In 1918, younger brother Jim Prinsep wrote to Harry : 'It's a profound secret...you'll be able to swagger a bit by referring casually to 'my brother-in-law, who was formerly Governor-General'. What Jim was alluding to was the marriage of May to Hallam in July of that year. Both were free to marry but the reason for the secrecy may well have been because of the events which had preceded the marriage. Hallam had been married to Audrey Boyle in 1884, inheriting his father's title on the poet's death in 1892. They had three sons, Lionel, Alfred and Harold, all of whom served in the First World War. Harold died in 1916, aged 19, when his ship, the Viking, hit a sea-mine in the English Channel. Possibly due to the affect of this tragic loss, Audrey died in December of the same year. In March 1918, Alfred died in action at the Somme. Even though he had been a widow for two years, it is unsurprising that May and Hallam wished to get married quietly in the midst of such sadness. They were wed at South Stoneham Church, Southampton, on 27th July 1918.

South Stoneham Church, Swaythling, Southampton

As Lady May Tennyson, she kept Monkshatch in Surrey, but also lived on the Isle of Wight at the Tennyson family home, Farringford. She became a benefactor for local causes, helping to set up a local cottage hospital, a cause dear to Julia Margaret Cameron's heart during her time in Freshwater. In 1925, May donated £800 to purchase an ambulance manned by volunteers and administered by Miss Waistell and Miss Life, members of the Red Cross...

Miss Waistell and Lady May Tennyson 1925
(image from Lincs to the Past website)

In 1928, Hallam died at Farringford. May moved to the Dower House at Glenbrook St Francis, overlooking Freshwater Bay. Dower House is the house nearer the sea in the image below. Here she established a library of improving books.

She died 19th July 1931. Hallam is buried in the family tomb at St Mary's Church at Freshwater, alongside his mother and first wife. On the wall of the church is a plaque to May...

Tennyson tomb, overlooking the River Yar, Freshwater
Not far along the row are the graves of Henry and Sara Prinsep

Plaque to May inside St Mary's Church

May was cremated and her ashes returned to Compton where she shares her final resting places with Andrew Hichens...

Ashes interred at Watts Memorial Chapel cemetery, Compton, nr Guildford

Detail of above

So ends the story of a beautiful woman, much loved and remembered by the Tennyson Memorial Ambulance, still running today (they renew the model regularly, its number plate VDL1). The title of this piece comes from an article by Blanche Warre Cornish in 'Personal Memories of Tennyson' (published in the London Mercury, 1921-22). Warre-Cornish remembered the poet laureate, walking through Freshwater on a sunny day, a verse or rhyme for each friend or child he passed: 'Good Morning May, / May you never be June for the ever-loved May, once May Prinsep, as she stood in the green porch of Mrs Cameron's door.'

All Her Paths Are Peace (1866) Julia Margaret Cameron

It seems right that a woman who held so much affection for both her family, her adopted family and the people of her community should herself be remembered with love.

To find out more about May's brother Harry, Malcolm Allbrook's Henry Prinsep Empire is free to download here.

Now, you know me, I'm somewhat west country in my origins, born in Wiltshire and able to milk a cow. All this gives me obvious reason to love the works of Thomas Hardy. About 10 years ago I gave a paper at a conference all about Hardy novels and movies. Did you know Thomas Hardy got to visit the film set of an adaptation of Tess of the D'Urbervilles? Incredible to think of it really. Add to this the 1967 film of Far from the Madding Crowd was filmed in my home town of Devizes, then Hardy and me were always going to get on well cinematically. So imagine my delight to find there was a new version of Far from the Madding Crowd at the cinema this spring...

You probably already know the story, but it concerns Bathsheba Everdene (Carey Mulligan), a young woman who inherits a farming estate from her uncle, and the three men who attempt to win her love. In the 'honest and rather gorgeous' corner we have Gabriel Oak (Matthias Shoenaerts), as saintly and solid as you can imagine from the name...

'Hello Ladies, I'm great with sheep...'

In the 'independently wealthy if a bit intense' corner is William Boldwood (Michael Sheen), not a man to be trifled with...

'Try and forget I was once Tony Blair...'

And finally in the 'hot as York in August' corner we have Frank Troy (Tom Sturridge)...

Deary me...

Bathsheba can have one of them, all of them or none of them, but what are the consequences of her actions?

Old George and Bathsheba

To start with, Bathsheba is a difficult character to like. One of the reasons I appreciated the Hunger Games books is that Katniss Everdene (named for the Hardy heroine) shares the same awkward unlikableness, but both have a quality to make you not only stick with her but also identify. She's a woman who has been given unbelievable choices in a time when she can't have expected anything like that and she's too young (and female) to have experience that will make her ability to choose possible. I'm not sure I was completely won over by Carey Mulligan's portrayal but she does have ample apple-cheeked charm and looked determined as she dipped sheep, drove a wagon and sold grain.

I'd marry him just for the wallpaper.

As for her three suitors, I felt that Michael Sheen stole every scene he was in and I would have married him without question. That's just me and I may have been hepped up on giant chocolate buttons when I thought that. Boldwood is meant to be the least appealing physically and he was the beardy one stuck between two gorgeous young chaps. However his slow derailment at the fickle hands of Miss Everdene was just heartbreaking. When he stands up and sings with her despite being so cripplingly socially awkward, you can't help but feel for him. The final discovery in his house at the end made us weep when it could have so easily come off as creepy and weird. Just as Tom Hollander made you feel guilty for finding Mr Collins in Pride and Prejudice vaguely appealing, Michael Sheen makes Boldwood blameless and wonderful, despite it all.

Dodgy jacket, great dancer.

Frank Troy however is a gitweasel. We all knew this going in and Tom Sturridge (Millais in the recent Effie Gray biopic) does a good job of looking both gorgeous in a uniform and being a feckless ratbag. He reveals Bathsheba's weakness, her inexperience and is an unflattering mirror of her. He is vain, young and in need of flattery. Our introduction to him as he waits and waits and waits at the church tells you all you need to know about him. He is a man of wonderful surface and very little else. Even his great gesture of love towards the end of the film does not have much substance behind it. If I had a complaint about Troy, it would be that Sturridge is a remarkably slight man, really no bigger than tiny Carey Mulligan and so he looked vaguely ridiculous next to Gabriel Oak, but maybe that was the point. I'm just saying I'd probably require a somewhat bigger man to sweep me off my feet (quite literally), which leads me to bachelor number three...

'Lawks, you're sturdy, aren't you?'

Last seen in A Little Chaos, Matthias Schoenaerts does a lovely, if stoic, job as Gabriel. Enormous, dependable and fond of his dog, he is the perfect man for Bathsheba, but she has to take two hours to realise it. I was sorry they missed out the part early in the book where Bathsheba saves Gabriel's life because it gives more of an idea about how equal they are in terms of strength and ability to do right by people. I'm guessing it would be a bit of a stretch to imagine tiny Carey being able to shift the poor chap. Gabriel has what feels like only a handful of words to say in the film, but his goodness influences both Bathsheba and Boldwood, but not Troy which immediately tells you who is the bad apple. I was sorry he did not have a west country accent as it is something I love about a Hardy film, and I did feel a little unconvinced by the passion between Bathsheba and him when they finally did admit their love. However, he did love his dog. I was completely convinced by that.

Man, Sheep, Countryside...

As with all 'Wessex' films, the countryside is very important. I was sorry there was not any recognisable landmarks, such as Maiden Castle, in this one, but the use of colour was gorgeous. All was green, grey, blue and brown, making Troy's red coat stick out so badly as to alert you to his danger. The film poster uses the moment in the forest when he is there at odds to all that surrounds him and yet irresistible. All the costume was beautiful but that bloody red jacket put you on edge every time you saw it.

'I'm sure marrying a ratbag will all end up wonderfully, right?'

The supporting cast were familiar and marvellous. Juno Temple made an ethereal Fanny Robbin, not as silly as previous interpretations of the part, and given less screen time than she deserved. Her fate and its effect on the characters was somewhat lessened by the brevity of her introduction but still she had an Ophelia-esque quality to her wedding gown that was nicely foreboding.

Insert cheeky Liddy quote here...

My absolute favourite character has to be Liddy, cheeky wing-woman of Bathsheba, queen of the withering look and splendid bonnet. Jessica Barden will be instantly recognisable to Hardy film fans as the appalling Jody in Tamara Drewe, a modern-day version of the same story (and possibly my favourite Hardy adaptation). Hardy story's rely on the subtle humour injected in the narrative by side characters and Liddy wonderfully fulfilled that role. You need the humour in order to provide depth to the tragedy and although Far from the Madding Crowd is not as heart-stomping as Jude the Obscure, moments like the fate of Young George (*sob*) and Fanny Robbin (*sob sob*) need a bit of lightness to prepare you for the ending.

The West Country welcomes you...

This version of the story might not have anything new and revolutionary going for it but it is gorgeous to look at and skilfully handled. A stand-out performance by Michael Sheen makes this a must-see and anyone who fancies a wallow in gorgeous scenery will love the green and pleasant land on show here. Take chocolates and a hanky and get comfy, you won't be disappointed.

This post is for a most beloved friend who is currently undergoing a hillock in her health landscape. In times of trial and trouble, it's good to know that the Victorians are on hand to show how to handle things in a dignified manner...

A Convalescent (1876) James Tissot

You can always rely on Tissot. This is what you need to do - snooze in a wicker chaise by a huge pond in St John's Wood. Look there is even cake and tea! That's doing it proper. And a rug! An outdoor rug: that's being ill with a bit of poshness.

A Convalescent John Kenworthy

Look, I'm not saying anything but I don't believe Kenworthy's young lady is even ill.
*Cough Cough* Yes, I'm terribly ill and that is in no way linked to how good my book is. Can I have a medicinal ice cream?

Convalescent (Emma) (1872) Ford Madox Brown

Blimey, Emma does look rather rough here. Clutching a small posey of flowers is a particularly nice touch, being both smothered in pathos and rather aesthetically pleasing. Come on Emma, we all know why you are convalescing. Have a fried breakfast and a couple of asprins. That's not ill, that's hungover, love. Next!

The Convalescent (1884) Francis Tattegrain

I hope my lovely friend is convalescing next to some rather medicinal Dutch tiles. It looks a bit gloomy in her room but the pot plant looks jolly and positive and at least she is getting some fresh air. I love the tiles on the windowsill, what a lovely idea, they completely detract from the rather lacklustre creeper up the wall. Also nothing says 'get well soon' like a miniature rose in a bucket.

The Convalescent (1898) Philip Wilson Steer

I do hope you are recovering in a massive hat. I believe massive hats to have otherwise unrecognised health benefits, and it's also somewhere to hide your laudenum. It looks like this young lady is convalescing in a carriage, which is definitely a rather elegant way of handling matters. What is the point of being ill if you can't do it in public in a massive hat? Add a rug and a cake to that and you have the answer to all healthcare needs.

Getting Better (1876) J E Millais

The Victorians loved a good convalescing picture, for obvious reasons that the threat of sudden illness was perceptively more commonplace. There are scores of poorly children pictures like this one by Millais. I always thought that the little girl doesn't look that pleased to see her friends. Maybe this is because the girl with her back to us is saying 'Oh, yeah, while you've been in bed I've scoffed all your sweets and nicked your boyfriend. Soz.' Soon as the little girl has got over the consumption, she'll be visiting her friend with 'a punch up the bracket' as my Nan used to say.

The Convalescent (1879) Helen Allingham

If you were poorly, you rarely got to be left alone, with scores of helpful relatives to stay by your side and read to you. It all looks very pleasant and peaceful in Helen Allingham's picture, with lovely bright daffodils signifying the renewed health of the little girl and the happy slumbering of both patient and companion.

The Nurse Lawrence Alma Tadema

I guess that on some occasions you got read to whether you liked it or not. Alma Tadema's patient looks a little like she wants to keep pulling that curtain. Maybe it's what the nurse is reading? 'Hi, I'm your reader for today, I've brough It by Stephen King or Fifty Shades of Grey, your choice...'

The Physician's Visit Ignacio y Escosura

Look, I don't mean to cast aspertions on this doctor's abilities but how exactly does the massive lute help anyone? I take it that is what the young man is holding, not some medical instrument - 'Open up and say Ah....' - doesn't bare thinking about, although we've all been there. Now this young lady has a foot pillow and a tiger skin rug. A snarling rug does lend a whole 'I'm ill but don't mess with me!' air to procedings.

Always Welcome Laura Alma Tadema

If only my beloved friend lived nearer then I could nip by and see her and sit on her bed like a tiny whimsical child (although with reference to my ability to do anything in a 'tiny and whimsical' manner, that ship has sailed many years ago). I love her little shoes, they are so nifty. I hope the little girl isn't looking after her mother - when my daughter does that it is brutal. She does ensure we get better really quickly at the hands of Tiny Nurse Ratched.

The Convalescent (1874) Jules Saintin

So here is wishing my darling one a good book, a comfy chair and a speedy recovery. If possible a nice outdoor rug and wicker chaise would not go a miss, but mainly I send all my love and healing thoughts. Get better soon!

A wise friend of mine once said that the internet acts as a mask; we can be whoever we want to be, project whatever image we wish and be a carefully constructed person who may or may not bear any relevance to the person we actually are. There is a freedom in such a barrier, the ability to think about every word you say, every opinion you give, even down to the pictures you post. All that others see of you is exactly what you want them to see. All this got me thinking about Victorian imagery of disguises...

Portia (1887) Henry Woods

Shakespeare is riddled with people in disguise. Portia from The Merchant of Venice dresses as a chap to become an apprentice to a lawyer. She adopts the disguise in order to be free to behave in a way she would not be able to as a woman, and roles reverse even more dramatically when Portia saves a man's life. She moves from passive to active, all because of her disguise.

Valentine Rescuing Sylvia from Proteus (1851) William Homan Hunt

Julia from Two Gentlemen of Verona doesn't fare so well. She adopts the disguise of a page in order to keep an eye on her feckless lover Proteus. It is as a man she discovers what a waste of space he is as he attempts to rape Sylvia. When Julia faints from the horror of it all, Proteus remembers that he actually loves her and they end up married. What a catch. I think she was better off being a chap.

The Little Foot Page (1905) Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale

Similarly, one of EFB's most famous paintings is of Burd Helen, disguising herself as a foot page to her rubbish lover. What is wrong with girls? Here is our heroine hacking off her lovely hair as apparently that's how you can tell boys from girls. That is exactly the answer my daughter gave me the other day when I asked her if she knew the difference between boys and girls. She's nine so at least she has an excuse.

Alfred the Saxon King Disguised as a Minstrel... (1852) Daniel Maclise

This painting always makes me smile as it was in the book of plates I was given for my first university course featuring Pre-Raphaelite art. I also think Alfred is disguised as a shiny round chocolate when I hear 'disguised as a minstrel'. Possibly there is a difference in the reasons why men and women disguise themselves. Women disguise themselves to spy on their useless menfolk or save useless menfolk. Alfred is on a covert mission which involves looking shifty with a harp, like a sinister busker. His reasons for disguise are obviously far more important than checking up on his girlfriend.

How the Devil... (1907) Frank Cadogan Cowper

Bonkers title of the week goes to this gem, entitled (deep breath) How the Devil, Disguised as a Vagrant Troupadour, Having been Entertained by some Charitable Nuns, Sang to them a Song of Love. Well, that's a corker. Standing on the refectory table, the devil has gained entry to the nunnery, playing on the charity of the women. In return he sings a song that reminds them what they are missing. Some nuns are happy, some are sad, some angry, jealous, wistful and so on. Every emotion possible has flooded what was formerly a peaceful place. He is temptation, a reminder of more fleshly concerns, reminding you of what you can't have. Through kindness the nuns have let in a seemingly benign thing which holds the secret to their unease, to the destruction of their peace of mind.

I particularly like this picture as it seems very current and relevant to my opening remarks. I am reminded of an episode of a television programme called 'Catfish' where a girl had been welcomed into a group of online friends and had made it her fun to drive wedges between them by using fears and rumours. It seems a terrible shame when kindness extended to strangers can mean letting in someone whose purpose nefarious. However looking at the nuns in the image above, not everyone is driven to painful distraction by the tempting song. Some remember their strength, smile and move on.

Girl with a Mask Henry Nelson O'Neil

So much for full disguise. More common in Victorian art is the mask. Often shown with richly dressed young women off to balls, the black silk mask is seen as both a harmless accessory but also an alter ego. This peachy-skinned beauty looks blameless but the mask gives a hint of something else. What does she need it for? What will it enable her to do?

Woman with a Mask (1908) Lovis Corinth

If my dress was as low cut as this I think I might wear a mask too. There is a hint of sexual freedom in the mask, the masquerade. You can become a person not bound by society's rules, the mask almost making it compulsory to misbehave and be helped back into your frock with some serving spoons.

At the Masquerade Charles Hermans

Such masked events, no matter how posh, seem to be a cross between a circus and an orgy, taking on an almost nightmarish quality. People view and are viewed, everyone is anonymous and the addition of costumes lends an air of unreality to such gatherings. You are able to get away with anything as none of this is real, none of it matters. However badly you behave in this space it doesn't matter as you are not you and no-one else is real either. Possibly that is how some people see the internet, one giant masquerade ball.

Masked Figures William Orpen

The problem with feeling comfortable behind your disguise is that you don't know how many others are in disguise. In the confines of a masked ball it is quite obvious that you are all playing by the same rules, it's understood that you are all masked. However here on line the person you are talking to may or may not be who you think they are and likewise, you may not be the person they think you are. I have some very dear friends here on line who I have known for years without ever meeting. It is a matter of trust between us that we are who we say we are. I often joke that I am really a co-operative of gerbils, using our little paws to type the posts, although that is now proved untrue by the video of me online. How very unmysterious of me. Sigh.

Cupid at the Masked Ball Franz Stuck

Like the devil in Cowper's picture, you can never know what or who is lurking behind the disguise. Sometimes people hide themselves because they are the devil, but sometimes it might be because they are goodness, love. There is no reason for Cupid to be disguised, but he is playing by our rules seeing as we insist on subterfuge. In a play on 'love is blind', Cupid is waiting to create love between people who are not being themselves. Lord knows who you are falling in love with, but isn't that always the way?

Choosing a mask Charles Ricketts

It is inevitable that we all don masks on line to some extent or another because we all consciously or unconsciously project a persona that we think others will find interesting or attractive. Some of us put on a mask of mischief or argument in order to get attention that way. Some are flatterers, adorers, the most pleasant company imaginable. All are aspects of who we are as people in real life. How much the mask conceals or reflects us is something that others have to discover.

I know a Maiden Fair to see, Take Care Charles Perugini

Online, none of us appear to be wearing masks and that is the problem, like with Perugini's beautiful girl above. This post was inspired by an incident on line recently of disguise and mischief, of certain people using the anonymity of the internet to bully privately while smiling publically. As I am sure you are all thoroughly lovely people, here are some simple ways of protecting yourself against the ne'er-do-wells and trolls:

Be sure of whom you are friending online. Do they know your friends, does anyone know them in person, how complete is their Facebook page? These things are very important if you have had any trouble in the past.
Google search their profile picture - sounds crazy but can give you an immediate idea if they are being untruthful. Right-click on their image, copy it and go to Google images. There should be a little camera icon in the search bar. Press that and paste in the image. A search with that will show you if their picture is already being used on line by anyone else.
Do not be afraid to tell others if you are being bullied and don't be afraid to block. Most social networks have that option, you just need to look.

I have been the recipient of some unpleasant online behaviour and so if you need advice or just want to talk to someone, my email is on the side bar. Stay safe out there and use your mask responsibly...

Well, here we are on the brink of a nice, sunny bank holiday weekend and so to get us off to a jolly fine start, I thought it might be splendid to have some rampant nudity…

Love's First Lesson Solomon J Solomon

Steady now, there is going to be a lot of that sort of thing in this post. Today I’m going to talk to you about Venus, Goddess of Love and All The Good Stuff. She crops up quite a bit in art over the ages and the Victorians weren’t immune to her nudey charms. Well, take this well-known image, for example…

That’s Venus Verticordia (1865) by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, his only nude in oil and a gorgeous representation of the goddess as the turner of men’s hearts (‘verticordia’). She is the very embodiment of beauty and female persuasiveness, holding her apple and flashing a bit of nipple (which in the real world doesn’t get you as far as you’d think. Apparently.) Rossetti also seems to say that the attributes of this goddess are very transient, the gorgeous blooms going to seed before our eyes and the butterflies epitomising the brevity of all life. Possibly she is so wonderful because she represents something so brief yet so utterly glorious – lust, youth, beauty – all gone before we notice. Well, that’s depressing, let’s see some more boobs to cheer ourselves up…

A Venus Albert Moore

This is one of my favourite Venuses as it is basically Action Man from the nipples down. I’m sure I read a story that Mrs Moore didn’t want her husband looking at lovely ladies bits all day and so made him paint this from a chap. That is hilarious because surely at some point Moore would have questioned whether women had a six-pack or not. All in all, she does look like ‘Goddess of Love’ might be her wrestling name…

The Birth of Venus (1923) Charles Shannon

According to mythology, Venus was born from sea-foam. Coming from the water, she is seen as the balancing and tempering counterpart of Mars, a very manly God, seen elementally as ‘fire’. When showing her in art, her birth and the associated sea-side jollity were understandable a popular choice. Shannon’s late piece, resplendent with deep water-tones and the glowing shell-pink torso, is a wonderful example. Best known is probably this Rococo-esque pastel explosion…

The Birth of Venus (1863) Alexandre Cabanel

Lawks! And similarly, this one…

The Birth of Venus(1879) William Bouguereau

Both pictures share an atmosphere of light, summery breezes and splashy cherubs. Rather more people turned up to Bouguereau’s birth (dress optional, obviously) and he imagines her riding the giant clam shell, reminiscent of Botticelli’s vision.

Dear Lord, there is this one too…

The Birth of Venus (1933) George Spencer Watson

A bit out of our time-line, Watson was a very nice Victorian painter who obviously went a bit odd in his later years. He died the year after this was completed. Presumably this killed him.

Venus Born of Seafoam (1887) William Stott

Far more delicate is Stott’s fae lassy, toddling out of the sea with her hair swirling. Looking remarkably like the Little Mermaid taking her first steps on dry land, it’s hard to reconcile this little sea-imp with the goddess of love, lust and fertility. She is very beautiful however, as is her reflection in the glassy wet sand and I love the dappled foam of the breaking waves behind her.

The Bath of Venus (1895) William Blake Richmond

The study of antiquity and the availability of images from previous centuries informed the pictures in the nineteenth century in some very obvious ways. Looking at Richmond’s goddess, you are immediately reminded of not only Botticelli, but also statues such as Venus di Milo. The arms-up-knee-dip pose is a common one for Venus, elongating her body, raising everything perkily upwards, framing the face and freeing the hair. It’s about display, of inspiring desire in the viewer. When you look at a picture of Venus you are meant to feel what the goddess symbolises.

Laus VenerisEdward Burne Jones

In the legend of Tannhäuser, the eponymous knight discovers the underground home of Venus (the Venusberg). In the poem ‘Laus Veneris’ (‘In praise of Venus’) Algernon Swinburne told the story of Tannhäuser, and Edward Burne-Jones painting owes a great deal to the description in Swindburne’s work, which equally were inspired by Burne-Jones' watercolour of the same subject. Burne-Jones shows a sad, loney Venus, awaiting someone to love her (for what is the goddess of love without someone to love her?), while the knights outside pause at the sound of the beautiful music played by Venus’ companions.

In the Venusberg (1901) John Collier

Popularised by Wagner's opera in 1845, Tannhäuser was a knight who spent a year worshiping Venus. Looking at Collier’s picture, it is quite obvious why our errant knight took a nice long time to worship the gorgeous goddess and when, after trying to repent for his saucy wanderings, ended up going back to the Venusberg and was never seen again. I mean, for goodness sake, would you leave?

Venus and Tannhäuser (1896) Lawrence Koe
Looking a bit more repentant in this one...

Poor Venus wasn’t exactly lucky in love. Often men had to be borrowed from Roman mythology, so that she wouldn’t get lonely in pictures. There are images of Venus and Adonis, but I really like this picture of Venus and her mortal lover Anchises…

Venus and Anchises (1889) William Blake Richmond

According to the myth, Venus pretended to be a princess and seduced the lucky Anchises for two weeks of sex. No wonder he needs to lean against a tree. Nine months later she turned up with a baby and told him not to tell anyone of their epic romp or else he would get blasted by a thunderbolt. I think I saw something similar on Jeremy Kyle…

Also Venus is seen with Mars, her lover and fellow deity…

Mars and Venus (1918) Mabel Layng

I love this modern allegory, with a First World War soldier beside his sweetheart. She has her apples around them and he is in his uniform, possibly on leave. It must have seemed so relevant to wonder at the relationship of love to war in 1918. Mars sits with his back to the viewer, unreachable and solid. Venus touches her heart with one hand and leaves the other hand open for him to take. Maybe Layng was optimistic that Venus’ gentleness would temper her war-bound lover as he is beginning to turn to her.

Venus and Cupid Evelyn de Morgan

One relationship that is ever-present in imagery of Venus is the one with her son, Cupid. Cupid is a reflection of his mother, he is the mischief that desire causes and often Venus is called upon to correct him…

Venus Spanking Cupid Hans Zatzka

Yes, well, moving on. I was thinking more in terms of one of my favourite non-Victorian works of art…

An Allegory of Venus and Cupid (1545) Angelo Bronzino

I’ve always loved this picture despite the fact that it is really disturbing, not least because of the bloke screaming in pain on one side and the little snake/lion girl on the other. Oh and the boob-squeeze too. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Anyway, often Venus is seen removing or breaking the arrows of love from the hands of her little boy, implying that he does not have the maturity to understand the power of his actions. The use of Cupid in a scene is a way of showing the two sides of love, or how sometimes we mere mortals do not appreciate the importance of love.

The Veiled Venus (1900) Kohne Beveridge and Ella von Wrede

All in all, the repetition of Venus in art through the ages reveals our obsession with love in all its many forms. Love can be wild, sudden, physical, deep and everlasting but it will always be seductive and beautiful. The Veiled Venus above is a fascinating sculpture – the veil over the beautiful face is technically clever and very striking, but does emphasis how much we are not looking at her face, if you excuse the liberty. Possibly it is a comment on how we mistake lust for love, how people assume they are in love when they are actually lusting after some rather striking curves. Still then, however problematic our relationship with the emotions of love and lust, the truth of Venus is that she can overcome our destructive nature. Venus is always triumphant in her relationship with Mars, and we will always side with the goddess who would rather kiss you than kill you.

If you have the dubious pleasure of knowing me personally, you'll know I take an unfeasible amount of photographs of my daughter, Lily-Rose...

Lily-Rose, May 2015

I always loved taking photographs and she's a fairly handy model (who can be easily bribed with chocolate) and very beautiful, so the photographs keep coming. There are no doubt other things going on with my photographs, including my fascination with how beautiful her genetic condition, oculocutaneous albinism, is. I wondered about Victorian artists and the use of their children in art...

This is our Corner (1873) Lawrence Alma-Tadema

There is always a good reason to use your own children in your art. Lawrence Alma-Tadema used his daughters, Laurense and Anna in this wonderful picture, appealing to the sentimental side of Victorian taste. More than that though, he also captured his daughters in a moment of time, in a little reading nook. Alma-Tadema had lost his first wife four years before and moved to England from Brussels, marrying again in 1871. Possibly guilt over the rapid change in the children's situation caused him to paint them so lovingly, or maybe a sense of unity that the three of them had survived such a time of sorrow. One girl is in shadow looking unsure but her sister has moved into the light. Maybe Alma-Tadema felt that they were emerging from a shadow, looking forward to a brighter future in a new country with a new wife and mother.

William Holman Hunt and his son Cyril (1872) Charles Dodgson

Holman Hunt and little Cyril also went through the loss of Fanny Holman Hunt, just two months after she gave birth to Cyril, in Florence (Cyril's middle name was Benoni, meaning 'child of sorrow'). Six years later, this photograph shows father and son united, but with a new woman in their lives, Fanny's sister Edith who had been acting as Cyril's guardian. The photograph was possibly a gift for Edith who began her romantic affair with Hunt in 1872, marrying him three years later.

Cyril Benoni Holman Hunt (1880) William Holman Hunt

The artist's obvious pride in his son shines through this handsome portrait of his teenage boy. Cyril, transformed into a gentleman (14 years old) is shown enjoying suitable pastimes and dressed to the nines. There is a tenderness to this picture, the pose and attitude of the young man, which expresses the love between father and son, and in the growth and accomplishment of the child as perceived by his father.

My First Sermon (1863) John Everett Millais

My Last Sermon (1863)

A man who was not short of children at home was John Everett Millais. After marrying Effie Ruskin, the couple didn't hesitate in repopulating London with their many little Millais children. Effie, obviously named for her mother, was born in 1858 and was the third child (first daughter) of the couple. Millais' cherubic images of his daughter include the two above and another of her dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, all very cute and very commercial. With Millais' art, there seems less personal element, and more of an eye to what would be popular. It could be as simple as commercial acumen but it could also be a celebration of his success in making the marriage work whether others couldn't - Ha! Take that Ruskin! Mind you, I know of a few people on Facebook like that...

Margaret Burne-Jones (centre, with Sara and Elizabeth Norton)

I empathise with Edward Burne-Jones' delight in the beauty of his daughter, Margaret, and his use of her in his art. Margaret, deep set eyes and oval face, looks like the epitome of a Burne-Jones virgin and her father's art reflects and repeats that pale simplicity until all of his women look a little like Margaret.

The Golden Stairs

Margaret is fourth from the top with the long trumpet, surrounded by her friends, all looking very much alike...

Sketch for Sleeping Beauty in The Briar Rose Series

Most famously, Margaret was Sleeping Beauty in her father's massive Briar Rose panels. Speaking as a mother (what an odd phrase) I wonder if part of Burne-Jones' artistic vision was a way of freezing his child in her growth away from him. Burne-Jones was miserable when Margaret married and he had to let her go and so to show her as the princess, sleeping peacefully, preserved as a child, might have acted as wishful thinking.

Collette's First Steps (1895) Henri Gervex

Collette Gervex (1910)

The artist Henri Gervex chose the moment of his daughter's first steps to paint her portrait. Obviously the painting is a conceit, the painting did not happen spontaneously at the moment she walked, but is a piece of memory, created around the time that Collette began to walk, possibly inspired by the moment of her first steps but not begun and finished in that moment. Unlike Burne-Jones' desire to keep his daughter passive (consciously or unconsciously), Gervex is celebrating his daughter's blossoming independence, her active motion which will eventually take her away from him. Fifteen years later, the beautiful young woman who stands before us is reminiscent of Holman Hunt's teenage son. Gervex shows us the young woman, graceful and fashionable, who is ready to go out in the world on her own.

Julia Margaret Cameron and Henry Herschel Hay Cameron (1867)

Despite starting late in life, Julia Margaret Cameron managed to use her children in her art, not to mention her grandchildren. Her love of children makes me sorry she did not have the camera earlier in their lives, but she certainly made up for it with images of her children, grandchildren and friends' children.

Lionel Tennyson by Julia Margaret Cameron

Madonna and Child (with Archibald Cameron)

Her first photograph success was the child of a friend and her pictures of children rival the images of flowing haired maidens as being the strongest in Cameron's repertoire. Her pictures of the children of her famous friend Alfred Tennyson show them relaxed or playing a part in a scene, in contrast to the more formal treatment they received from professional photographers. Each picture seems like a relationship Cameron held and treasured, and by showing each sitter in a new light, Cameron explored the child's character, delighting in her own insights and sharing them with the world.

The Last of England (1855) Ford Madox Brown

Saving the most complicated for last, you can't talk about parent artists without talking about Ford Madox Brown. His use of all his children in his art is both charming but also filled with pathos. Starting with his daughters Lucy and Catherine (or Catty, seen in the pink bonnet eating the apple in The Last of England), Madox Brown also included his two sons, Oliver and Arthur in his work. Arthur is the baby in Work...

Work (1863)

Detail of above

Arthur Madox Brown is the little baby in the urchin girl's arms. He grew ill as his father worked on the picture and died before the work was finished. The baby wears a little black ribbon around his arm as a mark of the loss. Arthur is also the baby in Take Your Son Sir! and his death at 10 months is used as explanation for the picture's unfinished state.

Take Your Son, Sir! (1851)

Ford Madox Brown created a lasting memorial to a child who lived a mere 10 months and he is remembered today in one of the most puzzling pictures of that period. It is possible that his death contributed to the enigma, as we have only the mother's face, the baby and the reflection of the father in the image which I have seen interpreted as a simple celebration of motherhood and also a damning accusation of illicit liaisons and illegitimate children.

Oliver Madox Brown Ford Madox Brown

The use of children in the art of their parent can be as simple or complex as you choose to interpret it. At one end, they are the model close at hand, always available and able to sit for as long as you like (or as long as they will stay still). In some cases, like that of poor little Arthur Madox Brown, it feels like foreshadowing, but it is just a reflection of infant mortality at that time. The images of Arthur seem filled with pathos because he died at the moment we see him in the painting, but then this image is just a fact of life. The image of him in Work with the little black ribbon is similar to Rossetti's tribute to his wife in Beata Beatrix, a tribute and memento mori both for the child and for us all. However, using your own children might also reflect your own fears of them growing up, growing away from you, your own mortality. Parental pride cannot be underestimated, and there is definitely an element of bragging in some of the pictures. Look how gorgeous my child is! Look how accomplished they have become! That's my genetics at work.

Well, that's what happens in my work anyway...

Lily-Rose, 2011

Mind you, I'm just following in the footsteps of my own photographer father...

Me c.1976 by my Dad

Happy 200th birthday Julia Margaret Cameron, born on this day in 1815. I wanted to do a couple of special blog posts for today so here is a look at the use of fabric and jewellery in her photographs, starting with fabric...

Julia Margaret Cameron (1873) Henry Herschel Hay Cameron

If you spend time looking at the work of Julia Margaret Cameron what will strike you first and foremost is her intense concentration on faces. Like Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the 1860s, primarily Julia's photographs focus on the interest and differences of expressions, beauty and the sweep of hair, often seemingly without much attention paid to costume and jewellery, but that is part of the genius of her work. We are drawn to her subject and it is only with a second look that we begin to notice the ornamentation and therein it is possible to find fascinating reuse and meaning in the details. As in her portrait above, the use of pattern, particularly paisley, and the sharpness of silver jewellery displays an awareness of what works within her medium and what adds to the power of her art.

Daughters of Jerusalem (1865)

Starting with what might be the most repeated of Julia's motifs, the dark shawl with paisley border, it seems to signify stoic courage. In Daughters of Jerusalem, it swathes the head of the central figure as they look down on a baby (in an expanded version). The paisley border provides a strong horizontal line in the centre of the composition as the rest of the drapery flows in vertical lines, and also adds pattern to the plain clothes. Something about the thread used on the shawl shows brightly in the photographs, making it absolutely unmistakable, probably why Julia used it again and again.

Lady Elcho as a Cumaean Sibyl (1865)

Again, the dark drapery on the classical figure is alleviated by the bright border that frames the face and draws attention to the curve of her arm. In what is a typical move, the shawl that draped Lady Elcho (mother of a member of The Souls), an aristocrat at the height of cultural society, also draped Julia's maid, Mary Hillier in a few of her photographs.

Hope (1864)

Kept in the Heart (1864)

An interesting point about Julia's use of ornamentation is that it is a social leveller; what a lady might wear on one day, the maid will wear the next. When you are in front of the lens, in the photographer's eyes all are equal.

After the Manner of Perugino (1865-66)

Untitled (1867)

Another common garment in the photographs is the white dress with dark edging. In the pictures above, the dress appears the same, just styled differently, the celtic/classical edge pattern cutting across the rich folds of white and providing a break between white fabric and white skin.

Zuleika (1871)

Mary Fisher (1866-67)

The black at the neck, shoulders, waist, arm bands and on edges all provides visual interest and contrast to a simple garment. By exploiting the interplay of white and black in her medium, Julia provides strong lines against delicate beauty and almost frames her subject within the frame of the image. Often the vertical lines, as in Mary Fisher above, lead the eye away before returning you to the focus, her face. They are pathways around the piece.

Julia Margaret Cameron at her piano (1863) Oscar Rejlander

Hypatia (1868)

Maud or The Gardener's Daughter (1867-74)

Julia imposed her own sense of style on her photographs, and it is possible to find instances of her wearing a motif of her art in portraits, as seen with the paisley shawl, but also the unusual criss-cross sleeves which crop up in a number of her works. In the image of her at her piano, Julia's full sleeve is gathered and controlled by the frame of ribbon, a style repeated most notably in Hypatia where it is just possible to see that the entire dress is criss-crossed, and in Maud, where the sleeve is shortened. The dress or at least the sleeves occur repeatedly in pictures such as Gareth and Lynette and Yes or No. In most of these photographs, the sleeve is prominent, towards the viewer for display, luxuriously decorative.

Sappho (1865)

In the boldest patterned dresses, rich with detail, Julia pictured her maid as the poet Sappho. The second dress caught my eye especially as it occurs again in a portrait photograph of Lady Richie...

Lady Richie and her Nieces (1868-72)

The square neckline has been folded to a point for Sappho, but the unmistakable curved lines following the bodice seams mean that this can only be the same dress worn by a maid pretending to be a classical poetess and Lady Richie, daughter of the novelist Thackeray. To drape maid and lady in the same shawl is one thing, but to put them in the same dress is a step further in muse equality.

The Sisters (The Peacock Sisters) (1873)

Some fabrics take on a special quality in photographs. The fur trim in The Sisters and the related image The Angel of the House appears fluffy and glowing against the dark, possibly velvet robes. The use of pitch black, or at least dark enough shades that appear black in the photographs, is more unusual in her feminine works, but when used it brings out details such as the faces and hands, appearing pale against the darkness and more than ever draws your eye to the faces of the women and their expressions.

It would not be possible to end the first part of this double post without mention Julia's gentlemen models and sitters. For the most part, the men appear in dignified portraits, dressed soberly in their own clothes to emphasis their faces and heads, such as this well known example...

Charles Darwin (1868-69)

...or swathed either in dark robes or a cloak, often with an attribute, hinting at their artistic, romantic nature...

Alfred Lord Tennyson, with book (1865)

Quite a number of her male sitters were from the literary world, as you would expect, so the large, floppy beret reoccurs, again adding to the artistic effect.

William Michael Rossetti (1865)

Her husband, Charles Hay Cameron, provided Julia with a male model for works such as Vivien and Merlin and King Lear and His Daughters, his wonderful beard and hair glowing, freshly washed, against his dark robes.

Vivien and Merlin (1874)

There is a strength of passion behind Julia's images of her husband which belay normal conventions of gravitas for a man of his age. There is almost fetishistic treatment of his hair, most apparent in this image, with Agnes Mangles (brilliant name) entangling her fingers in the snowy mass. It makes a refreshing and appropriate change to see a man of his age being treated as a sex object and interestingly you can see similarities in her treatment of Henry Taylor.

Henry Taylor (1865)

In a paisley edged robe, Henry Taylor was called upon to act as King David, as well as Prospero and Friar Laurence, with the beautiful young maids bowing before him. The attraction of Taylor as a model to Julia can be discerned in the way she portrays him, his hair providing a counterpoint to the formality of the dark robes. The hair in both men's case becomes a texture, a fabric which adds to the overall effect and meaning.

Annie Chinery Cameron (1873-78)

The use of fabric in Julia Margaret Cameron's works is both subtle and impactful. Whilst her obvious emphasis lies in the beautiful faces of her sitters, the interplay of fabric and pattern frames and highlights, acting as an indicator of wealth, luxury and exoticism. The paisley pattern may reference back to Julia's colonial heritage, but on the whole, as in the above image of Annie, her daughter in law, the use of Eastern motif is a shorthand for decorative beauty. In the work of Julia Margaret Cameron, the beauty of her subject was presented like a gift in the finest wrapping.

In my second post, we'll take a closer look at the jewellery that held the magnificent costumes together...

As we saw from the previous post, the way that Julia Margaret Cameron chose to dress her subjects ranged from the simplicity of swathes of white or black robes to elaborate patterned dresses, and this approach also extended to her use of jewellery. In her collection, Julia held pieces in Indian silver, crowns, and Celtic brooches and clasps that decorated the shoulder, chests, heads, and necks of the women in her art.

Julia Margaret Cameron (1859) Lewis Carroll

Detail of her brooch in the above picture

Starting with Julia's own image again, I was struck by her penannular brooch, a beautiful mock-Celtic 'Tara' style fastening. These became popular in the mid-nineteenth century when the Celtic Revival took inspiration from the pins displayed at the Great Industrial Exhibition in Dublin in 1853. Before long, cheaper Indian silver replicas were available at a fraction of the amount charged by Irish craftsmen. It is apparent that Julia owned a couple if not more of these Celtic-style brooches and used them to pin the drapery in her photographs.

Yes or No (1865)

Eleanor Campbell (1868)

Julia Margaret Cameron and her watches (1858) Unknown Photographer

The Celtic-style brooch was not the only type displayed; Kate Keown, in the centre of The Minstrels group, wore a round brooch which reminds me of a piece designed by William Morris.

Minstrel Group (1866)

Detail of the brooch

The shield brooch appears again in Mignon, a picture taken at the same session as the above image. Both penannular and shield brooches are very distinctive and their positioning in the centre of the garment makes them easy to recognise and act as shorthand for past ages as well as current fashion.

A far more ostentatious way of 'bejewelling' models was in the use of elaborate necklaces, such as this example, which appears to have a chain of the Star of David in fine silver...

A Holy Family (1872)

The necklace has been pinned along the front of the neckline and I thought it was part of the dress until I saw the same necklace worn again in Balaustion...

Balaustion (1871)

It is possible to 'chase' items of jewellery from one image to another. In the case of the headband in Balaustion, it occurs again as a necklace in Hark! Hark!

Hark! Hark! (c.1870)

The square necklace in Zenobia becomes a bracelet (just seen around her left wrist) in Mariana...

Zenobia (1870)

Mariana (1874-75)

And Mary Hillier wears the same disc necklace that she wore in Sappho in other less specific portraits of her...

Mary Hillier (1864-65)

Sappho (1865)

In terms of modern portraits or scenes, Julia seems to have employed strings of pearls, either belonging to the sitter or owned herself, giving a decorative but timeless quality...

Anne Thackeray Richie (Lady Richie) (1870)

Lady Richie was a family friend and sat for this light-infused portrait as well as the one from the previous post. Her pearls are little dots of light in a shimmering composition, in complete contrast to the darker picture with her nieces. The pearls, both here and in other works such as For He Will See Them On Tonight stand for understated opulence and luxury steeped in purity. Another instance of pearls occurs in the Tennyson inspired And Enid Sang...

And Enid Sang (1874)

Often linked with Dante Gabriel Rossetti's works such as A Christmas Carol (left) or Joli Coeur, And Enid Sang uses the familiar template of a beautiful, loose-haired woman playing an instrument, the hearts on her jewellery showing the world her love. Emily Peacock as Enid plays the part of the Tennysonian heroine, lover of the knight Geraint. The look of melancholy seems to contradict the hearts around her neck but reflects the sorrow that Enid suffered in her loyalty to her beloved Geraint, a passive victim of both Fortune (as expressed in her song) and her husband's jealousy. Still through it all she has enough love to see her through, as expressed by the many shiny hearts around her necklace.

Sadness (1864)

While we're on the subject of unhappy lovers, it seems appropriate to move to this picture. Taken at Farringford, while G F Watts and his young bride were on honeymoon, it seems an odd choice to pose as the epitome of sadness. Ellen Terry looks terribly woebegone, but you could argue that as an actress, she was just playing a part for a picture. I did wonder at the link to this picture though...

Choosing (1864) G F Watts

Ellen is shown in this wedding portrait, holding the scented violets in her hand while sniffing the showy, unscented camellias. Over the top of her wedding dress's lace collar is a string of beads, possibly the same ones she wears in Sadness. I also think the bangles she wears in both picture are the same, possibly linking the notion of sorrow to her marriage, which would have been unfortunately apt.

Moving up, Julia literally 'crowned' a lot of her subjects with coronets and jewels that glimmer among the tumbling hair.

A Bacchante (1867)

Vectis (1868)

In both A Bacchante and Vectis, Cyllena Wilson wears tiny pins in her hair, some in the shape of stars. Unusually, these are the only jewellery worn in both images, making them stand out of the otherwise unadorned images, the stars especially striking in their beauty.

The Return After Three Days (1865)

In both the above image and Trust Mary Hillier has a round brooch pinned to the scarf in her hair, adding a glimmer to the dark mass of her hair and headscarf. Similarly, the crescent that tops the outfit of the following woman gives her a mystical, goddess quality...

Unknown Woman (1864-66)

Possibly the most amazing of the pieces of jewellery worn are the crowns and coronets that grace the heads of Julia's muses. These range from simple bands to more elaborate, jewel-encrusted pieces.

King Ahasuerus and Queen Esther (1865)

Mary Hillier (1864-65)

Henry Taylor wears a pointed crown and Mary Ryan has a jewelled band that can also be seen on Mary Hillier's head in her portrait of 1864-65. Taylor can be seen in his pointy crown as King David as well.

Study of King David (1865-66)

A very elaborate crown can be seen on Mary Hillier's head in this photograph of 1864-66...

Mary Hillier (1864-66)

That is probably the biggest of Julia's crowns, making Mary look majestic and formal rather than the rounded maternal figure she normally portrayed. It isn't Mary's only crown moment though, she also wears a jewel-set curved one in The Holy Family, possibly the same one worn by Alice Liddell in St Agnes.

The Holy Family (1872)

St Agnes (1872)

The full extent to Julia's costume box can be seen in The Passing of Arthur, with three crowns on display...

The Passing of Arthur (1874)

Possibly taking Daniel Maclise's illustration of the death of King Arthur from the Moxon Tennyson as inspiration, The Passing of Arthur has three handmaidens, each wearing a crown. The middle and left-hand crowns are little more than bands with small details. The middle crown with the little balls along the top reoccurs on the head of Lorina Liddell in King Lear...

King Lear Allotting His Kingdom to his Three Daughters (1872)

I find the differences in costume between the men and women in Julia's work very interesting and crowns are a good measure of her attitudes towards both. Possibly the difference in age between the majority of her male and female sitters can be seen as an indication of how she saw ideal male/female dynamic - the men, like her husband, older and wiser, the women young and patient, knowing their place (the exception being Vivien and Merlin, obviously).

Queen Philipa Interceding for the Burghers of Calais (1872-74)

Queen Philipa is a very obvious example of the dynamic. The noble queen, wearing a thin band of a crown, pleads for justice for the people of Calais and the burghers who have come to broker peace. King Edward, wearing the same crown as King David above but with stars attached, listens to the wise counsel of his young wife. In marrying a much older man herself, possibly this is how Julia saw the ideal, although it can hardly be said that the marvellously bossy photographer fits the type of one of her patient, passive women.

Zoe (1870)

I have really enjoyed searching through Julia's photographs, matching the garments and jewellery of her costumes. Through her use of ornamentation, Julia shares Rossetti's vision of ornamented women, garlanded with jewels, making their bodies decorative surfaces to add meaning to the whole. Something in the ingenious placing of pieces, necklaces to headdresses for example, promotes the exotic in her work, reflecting that part of her art which was forever rooted in the colonies, away from a traditional Victorian aesthetic. It is this part that shows us her vision of making a fantasy land in the back garden of a house in Freshwater.

Happy birthday, Julia Margaret Cameron!

As some of you will know from reading this blog, I have spent a fair amount of my time in churches over the years. Obviously because of my love of Pre-Raphaelites I have a fondness for stained glass and love seeing new and interesting windows. Here's one of my favourites...

Light of the World at the church in Freshwater

Anyway, imagine my delight when I was sent a review copy of Arts and Crafts Stained Glass by Peter Cormack. This massive, glossy tome of 354 pages long is richly illustrated in colour and contains enough windows to keep me quiet for many an hour, together with the fascinating history of how the Arts and Crafts Movement transformed the look and production of stained glass, religious and secular, in both Britain and America.

Detail of Dante and Beatrice (1911) Florence Camm and T W Camm studio

This book is the culmination of 30 years worth of research into the subject and aims to show how the Arts and Crafts Movement of the 1880s and 90s was progressive in its reinvention of stained-glass as a modern, progressive art form.

Christopher and Florence Whall (1885)

It's a book about personalities as much as it is a book about art, with the figure of Christopher Whall looming large as charismatic teacher and producer of exciting panels. Much like Julia Margaret Cameron and her chicken house studio, Whall set up his studio in a stable (or 'cow-house' as he referred to it), working alongside Polly the cow and a host of chickens.

Eve (1891) Christopher Whall and Britten & Gilson

Under his tutelage and inspiration, many female designers and practitioners arose and the women of the Arts and Crafts stained-glass movement were crucial in its success. Cormack argues that meaningful equality was reached with male colleagues more fully than any other applied art, which is an interesting claim and seems to be comprehensively backed up by figures such as Mary Hamilton Frye, Mary J. Newill, Helen Coombe, Mary Lowndes and Margaret Rope, who created a panel on this familiar subject...

Goblin Market (1905) Margaret Rope

Beginning with William Morris, Edward Burne-Jones and other figures of the mid-Victorian art world, it is easy to see how their influence continued in the works of later pioneers. I found the different styles that quickly emerged in the glass work fascinating, levels of abstraction played with within the Arts and Crafts framework. I particularly loved seeing the way that Morris' work was carried on in spirit and style so that it is possible to see his hand in mid-twentieth century memorials as well as very straight-forward tributes to the man himself.

William Morris window (1908) in former students' common room,
Camberwell School of Arts and Craft, London

All the windows are beautifully photographed, some in detail, others in their full glory, and you will see both familiar and lesser-known pieces in the book. It was wonderful to see the Goblin Market panel and the Morris window which I would not get to see in normal life (especially if they are on the other side of the Atlantic), as well as having the church windows referenced so that you can go and visit them and see them for yourself.

Dorothea Dix (1938) Charles Connick (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania)

I also enjoyed seeing both secular and religious stained-glass, as it is a practice that we tend to think of as being religious (and therefore possibly not as mainstream and popular as it would have been at its creation). With pieces that date from before the First World War, it is arguable whether the religious and the mainstream were not one and the same. Certainly artists working on overtly religious subjects one day then something like Babes in the Wood or Goblin Market the next probably did not see such a contrast as modern eyes do. There is a tension in the religious aspect of the works in this book possibly putting people off but they are of such absolute beauty that whether you believe or not, they are wonderful pieces of art.

Detail of Psalm 148 (1898) Walter Crane and James Silvester Sparrow (Hull, Yorkshire)

The claim that women were able to find a parity in the movement is an interesting one and the argument put forward is very persuasive but as stained glass is quite an anonymous craft, I wonder if that is what helped their cause. It is only with scholarship such as this book that we can appreciate how many women made their contribution to the movement and appreciate the depth of their involvement. Either way, this is a wonderful book that is perfect to flick through or read at length, depending on how much information you want. It's not cheap, but it is hard to imagine a more perfect or comprehensive overview of such an overlooked aspect of Victorian art.

Lady of the Lake, Merlin and Margawse with the Infant Mordred (1933)
Veronica Whall and Whall & Whall Ltd (Tintagel, Cornwall)

Arts & Crafts Stained Glass by Peter Cormack is out on 7 July and is available here (Amazon UK) and here (USA) or at a bookshop near you!

Welcome to my 500th blog post! When I reached 400 I wrote a piece on Julia Margaret Cameron's model (and my current obsession) Mary Hillier, so it's rather a coincidence that 100 posts later I am back talking about early photography. Or rather, I suppose it isn't, as my current novel features a Victorian photographer so I am rather interested in the subject. Anyway, today's piece is about a photographer who knew Julia Margaret Cameron and also acted as model for another rather infamous photographer of the age. Today's subject is Sarah Angelina Acland, the First Lady of Colour Photography...

Theodore, Sarah and Harry Acland (1856) Charles Dodgson

When Sarah Angelina Acland (Or 'Angie' as she preferred) was 7 years old, she and her brothers sat for an Oxford photographer named Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. They missed out on being his first group of children photographed, that honour going to their friends the Liddell girls. They were the children of Henry Wentworth Acland, Regius Professor of Medicine, and lived among the artistic and famous in Oxford. Miss Acland remembered Rossetti and gang painting the murals in the Union and occasionally giving her his palette. Ruskin stayed with them in their home and it was when Julia Margaret Cameron was paying visit to him that Miss Acland met the woman who would influence her later career. Ruskin did not admire Mrs Cameron's work and Miss Acland remembered Julia exclaiming 'John Ruskin, you are not worthy of photographs!' When Sarah Acland took up photography she at least managed something that Julia did not, photographing Ruskin.

John Ruskin (1893)

Miss Acland's interest in art resulted in her parents encouraging her to take lessons from Ruskin to whom she grew very close. In 1870, their relationship became such a concern to her parents that he was moved out by her father, but she continued to see him and became for all intents and purpose his secretary.

Photography in Oxford was a growing occupation with its implication in science, art appreciation, and travel. Angie's father assembled an album of photographs at home and offered encouragement to the upcoming photographers in their circle, including Charles Dodgson.

Kodak No. 3 (c.1890)

For her 42nd birthday, Miss Acland was given a Kodak No.3 camera by her father which must have been the ubiquitous present to give to the bored middle-aged woman in your life (really, I'm 42, I'd love one). She began her career, specialising in portraits of the ready-made assembly of the great and the good of Oxford. In 1899 she was described in Amateur Photographer as 'a lady amateur photographer who has applied herself chiefly to portraiture with quite extraordinary success.'

Miss M A Hope (1894)

Mary Agnes Hope was Miss Acland's god-daughter and one of her most frequent sitters. In a photograph that reminds me very much of George Charles Beresford's image of Virginia Woolf from almost a decade later, it is obvious that taking a 'likeness' of Miss Hope is not the primary reason for the photograph. The elegance of her profile, the interesting detail on the back of her blouse have more attention than what she looks like.

Miss Denniston (1895)

Gertrude Denniston was the Lady Superintendent of the Acland Nursing Home (named after Miss Acland's mother) and her closest friend outside her family. She is posed next to the incredible zoomorphic chimney piece in the Nursing Home, which has the Acland motto carved into it - 'There is no place like home'. The animals are utterly astonishing and make quite an impact in the picture. I'd like to think that a couple of them are wombats...

Mrs Peard (left) and Miss F. M. Peard (right) (1893)

Mrs Peard, a naval widow and her daughter were photographed while Miss Acland was overwintering in Devon. Frances Mary Peard was a novelist, author of 15 books and is presumably posed reading one, but I love the vaguely cheeky expression on her mother's face that shows marvellous spirit in the 88 year old's face.

The reason that Sarah Angelina Acland is so important in the history of photography is not just for her skill but also for her pioneering work with colour. In 1899 she began experiments in colour by photographing a scene through 3 different filters (red, green and blue) then combining the images. This moved onto to a slightly more refined method of a screen of parallel red, green and blue lines providing composite images such as this beautiful image of poppies...

Oxford Garden (1905)

The invention of the Autochrome process in 1907 that sealed Sarah Angelina Acland's reputation as a pioneer. By this point, she had already given four lectures on colour photography but with the advent of Autochrome things became a lot simpler. If I understand it, instead of having three separate plates to combine and make the colour, you stain potato starch the three colours and spread them over the glass plate in turn, then add your emulsion (which in this case is panchromatic). When you put your glass plate in the camera, instead of facing the emulsion to the lens (like I did with wet collodion), you turn the glass plate so that the image will pass through your coloured potato starch layers before getting 'stuck' on the sensitive emulsion. Ta da!

A Portrait Outdoors (1907)

I think that the marvellous thing about Autochrome is that the image is made out of tiny points of intense colour, so things like the red of the geraniums really hit you. A Portrait Outdoors shows Miss Acland's goddaughter Mary Agnes Brinton (nee Hope) on the steps of Clevedon House, Oxford. The image was awarded the red rosette (on the top left hand corner) in the 1908 Oxford Camera Club exhibition.

Spoiled Autochrome Plate (left) and digitally restored (right)

These two plates are the earliest colour pictures of John Everett Millais' infamous portrait of Ruskin, hanging in Miss Acland's house in Oxford c.1913-17. The left is the spoiled plate where the green dye had spread and affected the finished colour balance. On the right is a digital restoration to show how it should look. The picture above the Ruskin portrait, by the way, is We Are Seven by Elizabeth Siddal.

The Poor Thing (1911)

The above pictures were taken in Gibraltar where Miss Acland stayed with her brother, William, who was Admiral Superintendent of the Gibraltar dockyard. The picture on the left is an Autochrome whilst the right is a Dufay Dioptichrome plate, an attempt to make colours more 'true' and less extreme, by passing the light through a geometric filter screen which was finer and sometimes separate from the plate. The difference is marked as the colour in the Autochrome plate is more vibrant, especially the red/green contrast.

Companions (1910)

This is a self portrait of Sarah Angelina Acland and the blur at her feet is her dog, Chum, taken in the garden of her home in Oxford. The Autochrome process required a long exposure time which means Chum becomes a fluffy blur.

Self Portrait (1928)

This is the last known self portrait of Miss Acland, taken two years before her death, in her Oxford home. At her death, notices appeared in the British Journal of Photography and The Times praising her use of colour and her excellent skills in portraiture. Her collection of negatives, prints and transparencies were eventually bequeathed to the Bodleian Library and her equipment to the Museum of the History of Science, where in the 1980s the collection was reconciled. The most beautiful catalogue of her work, written by Giles Hudson is where I got the above pictures and information from. I cannot recommend it enough and it can be purchased from here (UK) and here (USA) and at a second hand bookshop of your choice, no doubt. I thoroughly recommend it. It would be lovely if, on this 200th Anniversary of Julia Margaret Cameron's birth we can also raise the profile of another pioneer of the photographic arts who derived so much inspiration from her.

Flora (1910)

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