I had a bit of a problem accessing my blog account yesterday so I needed a last minute fix. What I’ve chosen to do is revisit some of the paintings at the wonderful Guildhall Art Gallery, so here goes.
First up is the star of the show. Described by the Pre-Raphaelite artist and poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti as “my very best picture”, ‘La Ghirlandata’ was acquired by the City of London Corporation in 1927 for its permanent art collection and is displayed in the gallery’s main Victorian exhibition space …
The 1873 oil on canvas depicts ‘the garlanded woman’ playing an arpanetta and looking directly at the viewer. The artist’s muse for the central figure was the actor and model, Alexa Wilding, with two ‘angels’ in the top corners posed by William and Jane Morris’ youngest daughter, May Morris.
My First Sermon by Sir John Everett Millais Bt PRA (1829-96), exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1863 …
The child is the centre of attention in her red cape, with black trim, and soft furry muff, a bright splash of colour in the dim church, her short legs in their red stockings nicely supported, concentrating as hard and seriously as she can on the sermon. You can guess that it’s probably way over her head.
My Second Sermon …
After the success of My First Sermon Millais painted a companion piece the following year, showing the same little girl – his daughter Effie – in church after the novelty of going has worn off. In his speech at the next Royal Academy Banquet, the Archbishop of Canterbury claimed the picture was a warning against ‘the evil of lengthy sermons and drowsy discourses’. Millais (and his largely middle class audience) were well aware of the gap between ideals and reality, and this witty follow-up to First Sermon reveals a taste for amusing, affectionate imagery that was relatable to many Victorian parents.
The Wounded Cavalier by William Shakespeare Burton (1824-1916) …
There is so much symbolism and mystery about this picture that writing about it would take the entire blog. What is the relationship between the young woman and the austere puritan chap standing in the background? Maybe her brother, she’s not wearing a wedding ring, and surely wouldn’t be wandering the forest unchaperoned? He’s carrying a bible – is there any significance in the visible bookmark? The young cavalier doesn’t look in good shape, is he dying – maybe she’s helping him staunch a wound by his neck? And what’s the significance of the broken sword and the scattered playing cards? Or the butterfly resting on the sword blade? For various theories you can read more here and here.
The Execution of Lady Jane Grey c.1834 by Paul Delaroche (1797-1856) …
Poor Lady Jane, ‘the nine days queen’, fumbles for the block on which she will lose her head (having, incidentally, been tried for high treason at the Guildhall next door to the gallery). To the left are her despairing ladies-in-waiting, one slumped to the ground with Jane’s outer clothing gathered in her lap, the other facing the wall unable to watch. The painting has always been enormously popular ever since it was exhibited at the Paris Salon in 1834. The large original is owned by the National Gallery and this one is a reduced-scale study by the artist.
The Last Evening by James Tissot, (1836-1902), 1873, another painting with an ambiguous meaning …
One interpretation is that the scene shows the final moments of an on-board romance between a first class passenger and a crew member under the disapproving eyes of his captain and her father. More frequently suggested, however, is that the work depicts the night before a young man sets sail on a voyage leaving his sweetheart behind. She looks pretty bored to me! Read more here.
Some examples of City pomp and ceremony.
First, The Ceremony of Administering the Mayoralty Oath to Nathaniel Newnham, 8 November 1782. Nathaniel Newnham (before a sugar-baker and a founder of the private bank of Newnham) became Lord Mayor in 1782 and is seen here in his black and gold state robe being admitted in Guildhall on November 8 in the Silent Ceremony …
He faces William Bishop, the Common Cryer, who holds the book from which he reads his Oath with William Rix, the Town Clerk; behind stands Heron Powney, the Sword Bearer with the upraised Sword of State and beside him is William Montague, the Clerk of the Chamber of London …
The two small boys at the bottom right are nephews of the Lord Mayor …
Next, the Lord Mayor’s Show.
There are two paintings of this event near the main gallery entrance. This is 12:18 and 10 seconds (2010) by Carl Laubin …
The other is one of my favourites, William Logsdail’s painting entitled The Ninth of November 1888 …
Although it’s the Lord Mayor’s procession in this picture he is nowhere to be seen and the artist has concentrated on the liveried beadles (who he actually painted in his studio)…
… and the people in the crowd …
There is a minstrel in blackface with his banjo and next to him a little boy is nicking an orange from the old lady’s basket. Naughty boy! On the right of the picture the man in the brown hat, next to the soldier with the very pale face, is Logsdail’s friend the painter Sir James Whitehead.
Also in the crowd, someone is reaching out to squash a man’s top hat that was presumably restricting their view …
It’s a sobering thought that, not far away in the East End that afternoon, police were discovering the body of Mary Kelly, believed to be the last of Jack the Ripper’s victims.
Next up is this picture entitled Garden of Eden by Hugh Goldwin Riviere (1860-1956). Painted in 1901, it depicts a young man and girl walking in a misty, wet park with a horse-drawn cab rank in the background. I like it because to me it’s another one of those pictures that immediately gets you making up a back story to the characters. Maybe this is an assignation – a secret lovers meeting, he clasping her hand and she gazing lovingly into his face. Then it struck me: Garden of Eden! A place of dangerous temptation and banishment! …
Or maybe she is simply a smartly dressed maidservant on her day off, out walking with her beau.
At the far end of the gallery, in a space specially designed for it, you will find at the action-packed painting by John Singleton Copley: Defeat of the Floating Batteries at Gibraltar 1782 …
A Spanish attack on Gibraltar was foiled when the Spanish battering ships, also known as floating batteries, were attacked by the British using shot heated up to red hot temperatures (sailors nicknamed them ‘hot potatoes’). Fire spread among the Spanish vessels and, as the battle turned in Britain’s favour, an officer called Roger Curtis set out with gunboats on a brave rescue mission which saved almost 350 people.
Look at the painstaking detail in the faces of the officers and Governor General Augustus Eliot, who is portrayed riding to the edge of the battlements to direct the rescue …
The officers were dispersed after the Gibraltar action and poor Copley had to travel all over Europe to track them down and paint them – a task that took him seven years at considerable expense. He recouped some of his cash in 1791 by exhibiting the picture in a tent in Green Park and charging people a shilling to see it.
If you visit the Gallery don’t forget to go downstairs to see the remains of the Roman Amphitheatre …
You can get a sense of the scale of the building even before you enter the Gallery. An 80 metre wide curve of dark stone in Guildhall Yard marks out the area it covered …
In the Gallery there is also an artist’s impression of what the amphitheatre may have looked like …
I’m ending with a few observations. When the Cheapside pavements were widened, I can’t imagine that this was what was intended …
And for provocatively blocking pavements, Forest bike users seem to be the worst …
Or it’s a combined effort …
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