An Artist of Great Promise and Ability

 Today's subject reminds me of a number of previous artists I have covered, and I think it repeats the problems of being an artist in a society that did not take you seriously. I will be speculating about whether it was the Great War that changed everything for these artists, or was it the change in society, but on the whole I think a big slice of it was because they were women. Please say hello to Geraldine Morris...

The fact that this young lady's photograph appeared in the newspapers should tell you that she was a hot property in September 1901. However, I'm getting ahead of myself, so let's go back to the beginning...

Geraldine was the daughter of the Reverend Ambrose Morris (1837-1908) and Ellen Julius (1849-1941).  Ambrose and Ellen married in 1873, and had ten children, seven of which made it to the 20th century. Geraldine was somewhere in the middle, born in the May of 1881 in Charlton in London.  Her older surviving siblings, Arthur and Ethel were born while the family was living in Guernsey, and the family does seem to have travelled around with Ambrose's different churches, although by the time that the family was established, they were settled in London. Looking at newspaper reports of Ambrose, he was very active in his work, and when he left a church, people were extremely sad to see him go and he received presentations and testimonies. Also, as a family, they were comparatively wealthy as I see by the 1891 census where they had a nursery governess, a housemaid and a cook all living at St Thomas' Rectory. Between the 1891 census and 1901 census, the family moved to Wythall, 7 miles south of Birmingham, and that's when the fun begins...

Illustration from Songs of Innocence 

I'm guessing that the family moved to Wythall by the time Geraldine was in her mid teens, as she started at the Birmingham Municipal School of Art in 1897 (grateful thanks to Sally Hoban for the dates) and stayed there until 1907, when she was 25.  During that time, she was remarkable.  Starting in 1900, the Lord Mayor of Birmingham chose Geraldine's design for his Christmas card for that year. The following year, she produced beautiful illustrations for the Flowers of Parnassus edition of William Blakes' Songs of Innocence (in the same series as Percy Bulcock's Tennyson).  The Saturday Review of Politics, Literature, Science and Art described it as 'prettily illustrated' although suffering in comparison with Blake's own genius.  Mind you, Geraldine was only 20, and I have to admit her illustrations remind me of Kate Bunce's illustration for Fairbrass (1895) with a bit of Burne-Jones/Rossetti lobbed in for good measure.

Kate Bunce's illustration for comparison. The horror.

What is for definite is that Geraldine is more Pre-Raphaelite-Adjacent in her illustration than Miss Bunce, who oddly seems to verge closer to stained glass design.  Part of me wonders if that was so readers could colour their own books in and make their own colour editions.  If you look at Percy Bulcock's Tennyson, his pictures are far darker, but even then someone had coloured in the edition I bought.  The same is true of Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale's editions of poems where they produced a black and white and colour edition (for different prices, obviously).  I would argue the black and white is far more aesthetically pleasing, but I would say that as I own it. 

Also in 1901, Geraldine won the gold medal at South Kensington for this stained glass window design...

Apologies for the reproduction quality throughout this piece but I had to rummage through all sorts on on-line scans to find Geraldine's work.  This was from an article in the Ladies Field from September 1901, which also contained the photograph at the top.  It reported that Geraldine also submitted four smaller panels that represented the winds which were subsequently purchased by the Government Board of Education for £7/7s. I see another student submitting noteworthy stained glass designs was May Cooksey. Geraldine also carried away the Princess of Wales Scholarship of £25 and was definitely the toast of the awards, also having also gained a bronze medal for another card design, described by Walter Crane as charming in concept and tastefully rendered.

Geraldine's work from 1902

In 1902, the student's work from the 1901 South Kensington competition went on display in a touring exhibition.  The Belfast Morning News exclaimed that Miss Morris showed 'traces of positive genius,' however comments on her silver medal-winning work from the 1902 competition was less pleasant. The Ladies Field, who had hailed her the year before, said this about her piece, 'Hereward the Wake' - 

'Miss Morris has evidently been influenced by the Burne-Jones tradition and her men are as effeminate as those of the modern follower of Botticelli. Her 'Hereward the Wake' who should be a model of masculine strength and vigour, is a gentle, harmless person of the type of Burne-Jones's "lady-like" St George. Nevertheless there are some good qualities in Miss Morris's work, and possibly greater strength and emancipation from the Burne-Jones influence will come with time.'

Rude. That all reminds me of how MP Willie Bridgeman claimed that Burne-Jones' Persius cycle made him gay, or something. I am all links today! So much of what I have written in the past is definitely coming back to haunt me today. The Magazine of Art  also had criticisms of her work, despite calling her book illustration (seen above) 'excellent' - 'the artist through relying too much on the same faculty of imagination, has miscalculated the proper relative sizes of the figures in the foreground, distance and middle distances.' Anyway, also in 1902, Geraldine and her maternal aunt Katie Julius set off for three months to visit art galleries and museums in Northern Italy, which was reported in Julius Jottings, a publication which seems to have been a round-robin mascarading as a journal, all about the achievements of the Julius family. How marvellously insufferable. 

In 1903, Geraldine took a silver medal at the competition for her designs for an overmantle and piano front, but there seem to be no details of the theme or whether they made any of the critics question their sexuality. 1904 saw yet another Christmas card designed by Geraldine used by the Mayor and Mayoress of Birmingham. She also won a bronze medal for stained glass design, but nothing much was said about her work and she just gets lost among all the names of the young lady artists.  I did see a note of interest in one newspaper about exactly how many of the medal winners were women, who were slowly becoming the majority.

From a series based on Mallory's Morte d'Arthur (1907)

We have to skip to 1907 for Geraldine's come back and another gold medal and scholarship for her last year at Birmingham Art School. Her gold medal was awarded for the complete series of illustrations based on Mallory's Morte d'Arthur (on a Pre-Raphaelite bingo card, that has to be one of the boxes). The East Anglian Daily Times praised her 'harmoniously blended colours' on the finished design on an enamelled panel. As I have found a number of her illustrations but none of the finished panel that apparently came from them, I'm not sure which one was the panel.  Maybe all of them?  That would be worth a gold medal, certainly. Here's some more...

...and a triple bill...

I can definitely see the Burne-Jones effect, maybe with a bit of Spencer Stanhope or Strudwick.

Around this time, Geraldine seems to have become part of the Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society (ACES) and started to exhibited  in their shows at the Grafton Gallery in Mayfair, London. I wonder if this was a move to leave her work as a 'student' behind and set up as a 'practitioner' in a separate sphere. She set up premises and a studio in Newhall Street in Birmingham (as listed in Kelly's Directory) and exhibited at ACES things as diverse as an enamelled alms box, necklaces and pendants and designs for stained glass, all of which were for sale. She was mentioned in foreign press - American Art News specifically praised her metal work in their review of the ACES 1910 exhibition.

In 1911 she exhibited at the London Salon of the Allied Artists Association Ltd show with a case of jewellery (in conjunction with Winifred Palmer), an enamel panel "Men, Angels, Devils" The Preaching of St Francis and an enamel portrait of Louis, son of Rev Joseph Hooper Maude.  I was very interested in the enamel portrait of Louis Maude who would have been around 18 or 19 at the time.  As fate would have it, Louis went off to France in 1914 with the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry as a 2nd Lieutenant and died on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, 1st July 1916.

Also in 1911 Miss G Morris of 45 Newhall Street Birmingham had an enamel panel accepted for the Royal Academy, entitled Young Sir Tristram Besought His Father for the Life of His Cruel Stepmother. As this also seems to have been taken from Malory, I wonder if this was the panel she won the gold medal for in 1907. She was also teaching enamelling, metal-work and jewellery at the Art School in Leamington Spa, teaching little prize winners in other categories. That's when it all went wrong. Geraldine got married.

Now, I'm being unfair, but nothing seems to perversely sound the death knell to a woman's art career like a comfortable marriage. I think expectations changed, possibly even the priorities that the women themselves felt changed, and this is reflected in the language that surrounds such marriages.  In June 1912, 31 year old Geraldine married 57 year old Arthur Ernest Hopkins. Arthur was previously married to Elizabeth Ann Dalby in 1879 (two years before Geraldine was born, ouch) and the couple had two sons Arthur and Henry, who were around the same age as their new Step-Mum. Also, Elizabeth died in the June of 1911, so that was a busy 12 months...

From Songs of Innocence

Arthur was big in Chesterfield, if you excuse the expression, having been Registrar, High Bailiff and Mayor, not to mention any number of other very respectable posts, so the wedding was reported in detail in the local press. The Alcester Chronicle reported on her ivory satin dress, with a bodice of Japanese silk embroidery, her large hat with ostrich plumes and her veil of Limerick lace that had belonged to her mother. Her bridesmaids were dressed in white with rose-coloured scarves and, as her father had died in 1908, she was given away by her brother, Rev Arthur Julius Morris and her mother. Their reception was held at Abbey Hill Lodge, then the couple left in 'a motor' for their honeymoon in Derbyshire. My snarkiness over the speed and age gap aside, my problem with the wedding is actually the reporting, as the newspapers wrote: 'Before her marriage Miss Geraldine Morris was known as an artist of great promise and ability.' I might be reading too much into that but it sounds like 'that's nice, but she doesn't really have to do that any more because, lucky her, she's finally got married!' There is a great amount written in the same article about her work, seen in churches in Wythall, Weston-Super-Mare and all over the world including New Zealand and Australia, Norway and Germany.  It also mentions that the couple's home in Walton was kitted out with a studio, but I don't think it is much of a surprise that she never reached the heights of fame again. The 1921 census found the couple living at 104 Ashgate Road, Chesterfield with their servant, the glorously-named Elsie Pitchfork. Geraldine's occupation was recorded as 'home duties.'

From Songs of Innocence

The next time Geraldine seems to have figured in the news was the death of her husband in 1925. He had been ill for some years and was living at Smedley's Hydro at Matlock where he died of pneumonia. His obituary spoke of his charm, personality and intelligence and the great blow of the death of his first wife. Geraldine moved back to Leamington Spa and was living there at the time of the 1939 register, living as an invalid with her mother Ellen and sister Ethel.  She died in 1947 after 13 years of illness 'patiently borne', leaving over £10,000 and absolutely no artistic legacy. I was reminded of Meave Doggett (last link, I promise) who also gave it all up after the First World War to become a nurse and seemingly had no artistic output after (on the public stage at least). I think the fact that none of Geraldine's work seems to exist in public collections (again, at least as far as has been made digital) means that no-one is looking for her. Her work was in enamel and metal-work rather than painting, again knocking her down the ladder of artistic importance, yet for the first decade of the twentieth century Geraldine was an absolute superstar.  Her work must exist somewhere and so if you own any of her work, please send me images. You know I always call for a retrospective, but the young women of Art Schools and the Arts and Crafts movement are an untapped source, filled with optimism, Pre-Raphaelitism and all things beautiful. I think we could all do with a bit of that right now.

Exhibition Review: Beauty of the Earth

 As you will know, I don't like Twixtmas, or the bit between Christmas and New Year so I thought I'd jolly it up by visiting the exhibition currently at the Arc in Winchester, entitled Beauty of the Earth: The Art of May, Jane and William Morris...

Okay, here I would normally put an image of the poster, however, none of the ones I can find on line are very high resolution and so here is a link to the website.

Also normally I would put some images of the exhibition in my review and do a bit of faffing about on social media, but there was no photography allowed, which is an interesting move for things that are very much out of copyright.  I was also asked not to touch anything, which is probably a fair judgement of my character. I was then faced with these beautiful open scrolls of wallpaper on the wall rather than in frames, so I have no doubt that the room guides heard me exclaim 'Oh, come on!' and not for the only time in this exhibition. I'll come to that, but first the positives as they are plentiful.

Right, first things first, this is a beautiful exhibition. I was interested to see how, in a year of Morris-ness, there was anything new to say, but I never doubt Suzanne Fagence Cooper, and rightly so. The rooms at the Arc are not the largest of spaces, as I saw when I visited the Fred Appleyard exhibition there. The available hanging space is supplemented with freestanding walls and everything is covered in gorgeousness. You will see plenty you are familiar with but also plenty you aren't and for a small space, it is ambitious to coherently display the work of all the Morris family, especially when William (for obvious patriarchal reasons) can both dominate and exhaust by the sheer volume. I remember getting my very first exhibition-fatigue at the 1996 V&A William Morris exhibition which was endless. This is not only beautifully balanced but also ties the work of all Morrises together fairly. William isn't just a powerhouse, May isn't just an acolyte and Jane is more than a pretty face. They are so intertwined that it now feels a bit rude to take one from the context of the others. I also suspect William would have thoroughly approved of this approach as he doesn't strike me as the patriarchy (see below)...

Well said, comrade. 

Anyway, I was delighted to see all the wonderful textiles, possibly my favourite part of the exhibition, especially this one...

Daisy Wallhanging, worked by William and Jane Morris

God, I hope that's the one that was there, as that is a picture of it at Kelmscott Manor, but I'm sure it was on one of the panels.  I really like it because of its simplicity and whenever I see it I think 'I could do that!' (I couldn't, well, possibly given time and resources) which is another thing I think Mr Morris would like to hear.

The theme of the exhibition is a love of nature and that love being your home.  Thinking about it, Morris's work is filled with nature, so exploring the world of Morris through the trees, streams, birds and flowers that populate it seems, if you excuse the pun, natural. Not only that, but they themselves are often portrayed as being at one with nature, such as in this painting (which was a pleasure to see again)...

Snowdrops (1873) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I sometimes wonder what Morris would make of the fact that we can't talk about his wife without Rossetti being involved. Again, it was a bit part of her early life, but it seems a shame as it isn't exactly a positive thing (no offence to anyone involved), which I think is why I was so pleased to also see this image...

Jane Morris (c.1900) Charles March Gere

I'm very familiar with Evelyn De Morgan's image of Jane in older age (I just checked her age and she's not that much older than me here) but I hadn't seen this before that I remembered and it is such a beautiful painting by Arts and Crafts illustrator Charles March Gere (1869-1957), who worked with the Kelmscott Press. Including this image did take the edge off the often-overwhelming 'She was Rossetti's Muse!' narrative you can get elsewhere, and I think it's time we de-centred dear old Dante Gabriel from everything (again, no offence to him as I love him) as I think we only do it because he was the sexy one. Allegedly. Anyway, he has no business in such a family exhibition about working and living within the landscape of England.

Orchard Bed Curtain worked by May Morris

This is a lovely exhibition and a smashing way to end the year.  The use of audible birdsong was very welcome - I always love when there are sensory aspects to exhibitions and the birds singing away above things like the Trellis wallpapers and Orchard Bed Curtains make the space feel very special indeed. It also benefits those among us of the neurodiverse community who get so much more from the experience.

As I was leaving there is a massive banner that fills the exit that says 'William Morris was Right' - well damn straight, but I am also a shallow baggage and I want to be able to take a selfie with that, but wasn't allowed, so again I exclaimed 'oh, come on!' and went off to the cafe...

Full disclosure and probably TMI but shortly before I reached the Arc this morning I fell over in the street, twisting my ankle and scabbed up my knee. A kind gentleman at the door said he was exactly the same when he was drunk (well, here we are) and I need to be careful at my age (so very elderly). The first aider at the Arc gave me a massive plaster, but I was a little perturbed as I viewed the exhibition I was not allowed to photograph (a small thing, but matters to me).  What made my mood infinitely better, despite my elderly infirmity, was the pasty I bought from the cafe, which had been made from the Morris family recipe. It was absolutely delicious. 

You have until 4th February to go and experience the glorious exhibition and eat a delious pasty, and I thoroughly recommend it.

Wednesday 24th December - After the Dance

 Here we are at the finale of Blogvent for 2025! Goodness, what a month, with so many beautiful paintings of women reading.  It was never in doubt what painting I was going to choose for my final one as it is definitely one of my favourites and also how I wish to be, most of the time...

After the Dance (1899) Ramon Casas

Also known as Decadent Young Woman, here we see a languid lass in a state of collapse after a party.  She has taken to her couch with a copy of a yellow book as her reading matter.  We are all aware the significance of that I'm sure...

Obviously, by 1899, the significance of a yellow book was heavily weighted to debauchery, decadence and damn-right naughtiness. The Yellow Book, seen above, lasted only for three years, which is somehow fitting, dissolving in a puddle of its own debauchery in 1897. As a side note, when Sainsbury's made yellow t-shirts a few years ago, I did the only sensible thing...

I can't be trusted with an embroidery needle, obviously.

Going back to our collapsed lass, she probably isn't holding the Yellow Book, but a yellow book, which denoted French literature of a scandalous nature.  Mrs Cheveley in Oscar Wilde's An Ideal Husband says she never reads blue books, but prefers yellow, telling you that she is absolutely no better than she should be.

Colour in After the Dance is very important, which is exactly why it featured in the Ashmolean exhibition on colour in 2023 (which was absolutely gorgeous). From the sage green of the sofa to her midnight blue dress and her red hair and lips, there are a lot of colour cues that both contrast and combine for a decadent effect. Yellow and sage green are definitely decadent colours, the latter being referenced in Gilbert and Sullivan's Patience (not their best work and mercifully least remembered as Pirates or Pinafore are far less offensive) with 'greenery-yallery' referring to the aesthetic movement. Mind you, this isn't the only version of this image...

Do you know, I hadn't realised she had the big bow around her neck in the original and I rather like this poster for Pèl & Ploma, the Catalan artistic and literary magazine which ran from 1899 to 1903. Here our supine lass has not been out dancing, but has fallen over because of the amount of art and writing she has been doing, hence the quill and brush in her hand (and in the title). maybe this is just how this woman ends every day, by collapsing on her rather lovely couch? To be honest, I feel the same.

Between Two Chapters (c.1890)

I must admit that I was only really aware of the decadent girl, but Casas created some beautiful works and I'd like to see more. For contrast, his girl pausing her reading in the pale room couldn't be less decadent if she tried.  She is sat up straight and neat, tidily against a wall, thinking about what she has read. Is she between two parts of her life? Is she considering a change, a marriage, an unthinkable divorce? She is existing in pale domestic calm but something is happening in that stillness.

Woman in Thought (1900)

I think it would be a mistake to think the decadent young woman is frivolous and silly, just because she is sprawled out on her sofa.  To give him his due, the women who populate a lot of Casas's canvases seem intellectual as well as beautiful.  Although we don't know who the decadent young woman was (presumed to be a professional model) I think she is the same woman as in Woman in Thought (1900).  Strangely (or perhaps not strangely), Casas's main muse, Julia Peraire, looks an awful lot like these auburn haired beauties...

La Sargantain (Julia Peraire) (1907)

Julia sold lottery tickets and/or flowers on the Plaza de Cataluña and met Casas in around 1905/6, at la Maison Dorée in Barcelona, a luxurious cafe-restaurant which had opened around 1903. They became a celebrity couple, with Julia appearing in many of his famous paintings.  She was 18 and he was 40 (ouch) and his family were not impressed, so the couple lived together for many years before getting married in 1922.

Turning back to my final painting, I wanted to finish with this image as, unlike the other pictures of women we have seen this month, I don't feel there is any judgement on her from Casas. This woman, although decadent, has every right to flop about in her gorgeous dress and her yellow book as that is her artistic right. As she also served as the poster girl for Pèl & Ploma, this is what being decadent looked like.  Now, I know there is a conversation to be had about agency of women, especially models, within art movements, but in Casas's images of his decadent women, you feel there is an appreciation rather than any mocking.

Have a really splendid Christmas and may you also collapse on a sofa with a great book.  Thank you for your company for another year and I will catch up with you again in 2026.

Tuesday 23rd December - Woman Reading

Well, today is the penultimate day of Blogvent and I have a really busy day of prepping.  We're at my Dad's tomorrow for 'Christmas' so I need to get everything ready in terms of food and our traditional croissants for Christmas morning (like my Mum used to make) and so let's crack on with today...

Woman Reading (c.1900) George Henry Boughton

I liked this quiet painting of a woman reading in a rose garden and it is a classic example of a simple image that might hold more in its meaning. The roses that surround her are blush-pink, meaning joy, admiration, gratitude and a more gentle love than a more passionate red. I always perk up when a woman is wearing black in a painting and I wondered about this woman's scarf, coupled with her purple dress - could she be in half-mourning? I wondered if she was a widow slowly coming out of mourning because she had found love again. I think she is in love with the chap who owns the house we can see behind her. I wonder if she is the same woman as in this painting...

The Lady of the Snows (c.1896)

I've used that painting before in Blogvent, not least because of her impressive muff.  I definitely used her for Muffvent where I crowned this the 'mother of all muffs' - no, my parents aren't even vaguely proud of me, in case you were wondering, I shame myself. Anyway, in that post I gave quite a thorough biography for Mr Boughton, including his dalliance with Violet Hunt, which gives me an excuse to show you this picture...

THE CAT.

Anyway, I did wonder if our Violet was the woman in the paintings as there is a passing resemblance, but I think their affair (which began around the mid 1880s) was over by the late '90s.  She was off catching syphilis from diplomat Oswald Crawfurd by then (allegedly) (charming).

Turning back to our reading lady in her garden, I did wonder if she was actually looking at the page. Her gaze seems to be a little higher, as if she is lost in thought - is she reading something that reminds her of her lost person? The pink roses hint at romance, so I wondered if that is why her mind is wandering, remembering the love she used to have or the love that is slowly blooming. Either way, I hope she gets out of her mourning and into a new affair, but hopefully not with a married diplomat with syphilis.

See you tomorrow for the finale...

Monday 22nd December - The Reading Girl

 Last few days of Blogvent, and I realised that it has all been quite tame so let's rectify that with today's painting...

The Reading Girl (1886-7) Theodore Roussel

This is one of my favourite paintings and it involves a book! Hurrah, any excuse for nudity! Where shall we start? Okay, let's start with the dull bit, the artist...

Theodore Roussel (1847-1926) was a French painter, born in Brittany, who taught himself to paint after his military service came to an end in 1872. He moved to London in 1878 and became good friends with James McNeill Whistler. He really arrived on the art scene in 1887 with the exhibition of The Reading Girl at the New English Art Club. The newspaper reports of it are glorious because no-one wants to be too profuse in their appreciation so they seem to dig around for some snark. Here are some examples:

"...a perfectly nude model, lithe and lean, buried (but the British Matron will regret to find not hidden) in the newspaper. There has been no attempt to idealise the figure; it is simply a portrait of a rather underfed woman, who is content (at a shilling an hour) to be naked and not ashamed." (The Era 9/4/87)

"carelessly executed, though bold enough in treatment." (Truth 7/4/87)

"though an excellent study, strikes one as an error of taste - she is not nude, but simply naked." (Pall Mall Budget, 14/4/87)

There are more, but you get the drift - I especially love the 'not nude, naked' comment because you know exactly the value judgement that is being put here. A girl who is paid a shilling an hour is not a nude because she is real girl and none of us want to see that, apparently. The beautiful model in all her pink perfection is not ideal, just naked and I think that is a comment that could come straight out of the newspapers today.  The problem with Roussel's girl is that he has faithfully given us a beautiful soft portrait of a real person and the (forgive me) male patrons are disgusted. I like how The Era load the horror onto British Matrons (who apparently haven't seen a woman naked before) but I think the horror stems from the fact that this girl is reading. She isn't performing for her male viewers, she is not bothered about them in the slightest. 

Which bit of her isn't perfect?! Is it the fact that she doesn't apparently give a flying fig whether anyone is looking? This strikes me as the sort of horror voiced in newspapers when a female celebrity is seen out of the house in anything less than full glam. Nothing changes, we just have a more sophisticated vocabulary around it all now and no doubt some appalling human being would be applying the term 'low-value' to any lass who poses for a shilling an hour. We just say out loud the bit that used to be implied, which is no doubt progress of some sort. How revolting.

The Reading Girl was presented to the Tate in 1927, a year after Roussel died in Hastings. William Orpen was instrumental in saving it for the nation by drawing attention to it in an exhibition of Roussel's work, declaring it the best nude ever painted, which is a bold claim. I was gratified to see that after its first exhibition, any time The Reading Girl was exhibited, it was met with delight and admiration. After she was bought by the Tate, prints appeared in the newspapers and reports that crowds had rushed to the Tate to see her displayed. So, who was she?

Waiting for the Procession (1890) John William Godward

Ah, this bit I am very aware of because not only did the model appear in Pre-Raphaelite Girl Gang but also she was a Portsmouth girl, like my daughter. Miss Harriet Selina Pettigrew, better known as Hetty, was one of three sisters who, after the death of their father, were launched on the London art scene as models, taking the place by storm. The family was quite large, and so I can imagine Mrs Pettigrew found herself with lots of children to feed and three exceptionally beautiful daughters, so what could she do?  It is also suggested that the older brother Charles took art lessons and so there might have been a way in for the girls to start modelling there.  The three girls appear in various paintings you'd know, including this one (which earned them the place in my Girl Gang)...

An Idyll of 1745 (1884) John Everett Millais

Hetty also posed for Edward Linley Sambourne (with her sister Lily) and for Whistler (where she possibly met Roussel) as well as for Godward, and I can concur that Hetty does not seem to be particularly bothered about the nude work. Her relationship with Roussel was a bit different than her other employers.  It seems that Hetty had artistic aspirations and acted as Roussel's studio assistant and possible pupil for many years. Roussel was already married with children but the relationship with Hetty was more than just professional, resulting in the birth of Hetty's daughter Iris in 1899. When Roussel's wife died in 1909, he remarried to Ethel Melville, the widow of the artist Arthur Melville, and Hetty never spoke to him again.

Harriet Pettigrew (1890) Edward Linley Sambourne

Hetty worked as a sculptor and there are some positive reviews of her work in the 1890s, such as in the Lady's Pictorial in 1895, the reviewer of the Glasgow Fine Art exhibition remarked on her delicately carved panels. I'm glad she did well in her life, despite the ups and downs, and find a comment in her sister Rose's book about their lives very interesting. She said they never posed for less than half a guinea a day, which is 11 shillings, so unless she is sitting for 11 hours (which I doubt) she was on more than 'a shilling an hour' and with the amount of nonsense she had to put up with, she thoroughly earned it.

See you tomorrow.

Sunday 21st December - Caterina Reading a Book

 It's the shortest day! I like to think that we are on our way to Summer, which is foolishly optimistic and perverse as I really don't enjoy the heat, however I do appreciate being able to see what I'm doing and being able to comfortably drive after 3.30pm, so roll on the longer days. What's today's picture?

Caterina Reading a Book (1888) James Kerr-Lawson

I really liked this relaxed portrait of the artist's wife reading a book and wanted to know more about Mr Kerr-Lawson and who Caterina was. He was born in Kilrenny in Scotland on 28th October 1862 to William Lawson and Jessie Kerr, hence his name (which he adopted professionally to mark himself out from another artist called James Lawson). William, a carpenter, moved his family to Hamilton, Ontario when James was very young and I see in the Canadian 1881 census, 18-year-old James lists himself as an artist. 

Walburga, Lady Paget before Villa I Tatti (c.1929)

Reading the few accounts of him from museums that hold his work, James's move to Europe around the 1880s is seen very much as a result of his desire to be, or at least learn to be, an artist. I find that a little insulting to Ontario, where I'm sure it was perfectly possible to be an artist (and he declared himself to be one) and he studied art there in 1879-80.  However, I would possibly concede that the art market might have been bigger/more profitable/more prestigious in London, where he eventually settled. He had travelled to Italy aged 16 to study with Luigi Galli in Rome, and according to Caterina, he felt his spiritual home was Florence. He also studied at the Academie Julien in Paris from 1881-4, and he spent the last 40 years of his life in Chelsea, travelling over to Canada regularly.  He never exhibited at the Royal Academy, but was the founder member of the Senefield Club in 1908 and a member of the Canadian Arts Club in 1912-15 and designed posters for the Underground around the same time.

Westminster Abbey for the London Underground Poster (1915)

Caterina (or Catherine Adah Muir) was a native of Canada, and when she and her husband travelled to Europe and then England, her mother and other members of her family seem to have come too.  Her mother settled near Torquay, making some newspaper accounts report that Mrs Kerr-Lawson was a Devon girl.  When James served in the First World War with the Canadian Overseas Expeditionary Force, Caterina became Superintendent for the Queen Mary's Hostel for Nurses, which earned her an MBE in 1918. Despite this, on the return of James after the war, no more seems to have been said of her achievement. In 1921's census, she has returned to being an artist's wife at Glebe Place.

La Caterina (c.1887-9)

James died in May of 1939, shortly before the start of another war and Caterina moved to Green Ridge in Torquay with her family, keeping the studio in Glebe Place.  In 1940, Caterina was granted a civil list pension of £100 in memory of her husband's contribution to art. She died suddenly in Chelsea in 1952, and she was so well regarded that it made the local news.  It is interesting to read the inaccurate 'facts' of her life that they printed - that she was born in York, that she met her husband in Paris - and you wonder where it came from. It possibly made a more artistic story than meeting her husband in Canada, but there is no mention of her MBE. What was remembered was her intellect and passion for the arts, which was no doubt true and not a bad way to be remembered.

See you tomorrow.

Saturday 20th December - The Serious Book

Blimey, we are on the home straight now, aren't we? And only one more day of it getting darker before we are over the hump and heading towards Spring again.  Okay, I might be a little over optimistic on that front, after all January always feels like it's over a hundred days long (especially as I get paid before Christmas which makes January a 6-week month, ouch). On with the books!

The Serious Book (1874) Auguste Toulmouche

I had to admit I laughed when I saw this painting. On face value, it is just a funny painting of a couple of women who have dozed off while reading a book that is serious but possibly not interesting.  Obviously, it could be argued that it is a painting of silly females attempting to do serious reading and it is all too much for their lady-brains and their massive frocks, so they have passed out in a heap. That massive Japanese screen is very impressive too - is the point that in the face of such a lot of worldly art and knowledge, these two lasses have fallen asleep as thinking and reading are not feminine past-times? In Kathryn Brown's marvellous Women Readers in French Painting 1870-1890, she suggests that the weight of the book, intellectually speaking, is too much and it slips from the girl's hands.  She also shares Balzac's quote that women enjoy neither reason nor ripe fruit. Charming.

In the Library (1872) 

How could I not include this one? It was one of the first I wrote on my little list when devising this Blogvent as I adore that dress. I don't think this young lady would agree that reading is not for ladies. The fact she has hitched her skirt up over her arm puzzles me, unless of course she has been scrambling up the bookcase to find books to read.  She has a little 'tbr' pile going on next to her on the chair, so it looks like she has been busy getting a load of books out and leaving them in a heap.  Mind you, she could equally be discarding books because she has yet to find one with pictures...

Reading Aloud (1884) Albert Moore

When I saw the unconscious women, I was reminded of two different pictures - firstly, I thought of the sleepy women of Albert Moore's canvases.  They seem to wilt about, sometimes reading, and looking thoroughly exhausted. The languor of Moore's world raises so many questions - where are they? Is there a library nearby?  Why is everyone so tired?

Young Ladies Beside the Seine (1857) Gustave Courbet

Not to lower the tone, but also there is a hint of naughtiness when women flop into unconsciousness together in paintings.  I heard many a colourful interpretation of Moore's women and Courbet's ladies by the Seine, so I did wonder about our ladies in the library.  I noticed that most of the pieces I read on the painting described them as mother and daughter, which is one interpretation (cough, cough).  In the lady in brown-green's defence, she's not propped at a flattering angle, so I don't really think she's the other woman's mother. There is the question of what they have been reading - we have seen a couple of instances of women possibly reading things they shouldn't, and maybe the women have been overcome because it was all too scandalous! Maybe it's that book that I saw reviewed on TikTok where the woman has an affair with her pot plant. I was just going to link it here but couldn't remember the title, however it turns out to be an entire genre of spicy romance. Well, here we are.

With some of the paintings we have seen this month, you can tell what the book is, and I really wish we could see here and therefore we could know what has gone on - but I'm going to play innocent and say it was just a really, really boring book, something like Very Boring Pieces of Stone I Have Known by Professor Dull, but then that might be someone's absolutely dream book. Similarly, plant-based-sentient-object-romance books might not be for everyone, but a search I hope I never have to repeat reveals that the one I was recommended is called Vined and Dined, which is smutty genius, so maybe it will win the Booker Prize. 

See you tomorrow...