Having read conflicting reviews about the ‘Sargent and Fashion’ exhibition at the Tate Britain (read: Jonathan Jones for the Guardian), I wasn’t sure what to expect when I arrived.
To set my stall out, I knew much less about John Singer Sargent than I would have liked. However, this exhibition made me fall in love with his work, it was impossible not to. I still often think about this exhibition weeks after the fact.
Drawn in
As well as the paintings themselves being captivating, the curation of this exhibition was particularly excellent. It still would have been of very high quality without the displaying of the actual clothing items, but their inclusion made obvious the pains Sargent went to to create beautiful and interesting paintings, and his use of dress to convey mood and personality.
This exhibition expressed particularly well the absolute fashionableness of sitting for Sargent. An included quote by a French critic particularly struck me, about how women would buy clothing according to how well it would show up in paintings. To sit for a portrait, and to sit for Sargent, was crucial as a society lady in the 19th century. A portrait of one woman discussed how she changed the colour of her living room walls in order that the gown in her Sargent portrait be shown off to best advantage.
He would make women sit for hours with uncomfortable pins in order that the composition of their dresses was at the best visual advantage, and it is not difficult to understand why many waited for years to sit, chafed and restrained. At the beginning of the exhibition, a portrait of Lady Sassoon wearing a black cloak with a shock of pink lining, and the actual cloak with petal-coloured lining only obvious to the wearer were shown next to one another. Through them we were introduced to Sargent’s mastery in making the pink an obvious element of the work when it was hidden in actuality.
In reading other reviews, the portrait of Virginie Gautreau found in an early room was the most referred to painting in this exhibition. For good reason, the painting caused a great scandal in the 1880s because of the strap of its gown being seductively dropped off the shoulder (later amended).
Also in this particular room was an unfinished copy of this painting, which again invited us to consider Sargent’s process. The second strap had not been painted on yet, suggesting Sargent was undecided about whether or not to stick to his original sultry design. An example of how, throughout the suite of rooms, we were drawn close to Sargent not just as an untouchable artist, but also as a man: there were photographs of him working in the studio and accounts of his behaviors by his sitters.
Highlights
This exhibition was extensive, but three works in particular stood out to me, both for the paintings themselves and the excellence of the curation.
Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose was poetic. Painted of two children lighting lanterns amongst overgrown flora, its candid posing provided a welcome break from the stiff crinolin portraits of the rest of the exhibition. Sargent’s rendering of the youthful cotton and teeming flowers is bathed in the orange-pink twilight he made his subjects return to evening after evening to capture the correct glow. I was stuck in front of this work for several minutes.
The painting of Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth is one that you’ve probably seen before. Beside it being beautiful in its own right, I was particularly enamoured with its curation. Similarly to other works on display, this painting was next to the actual gown Terry wore onstage. The effect of this was that I was drawn to look at the intricacies of the dress itself. Its crochet was made to look like chainmail, and its purple cloak was commanding. Terry was Pre-Raphaelite-like with pale complexion and long red hair.
However, the costume was in slightly different shades than the painting, although overall the beetle-hued palette was similar, there was a perceptible difference. We were invited by their proximity to imagine the process of translating the intricacies and secrets of this gown onto canvas, of the choices Sargent made in his consideration of how it would look in oil paints.
Finally, Sargent’s portrait Lady Agnew of Lochnaw was my favourite piece in the latter sections of the exhibition. The pale summery green of the wall behind her set off the lavender silk sash she wore. It is an example of Sargent’s complete understanding of fabric; he knew how to make oil paint look like velvet from across a room.
This particular work was arresting because of the intensity of the sitter’s gaze. Positioned as it was on a dividing wall with high visibility as it faced an entranceway, it drew you into what was one of the final rooms of the exhibition. Obsessed with her, I had to double back on myself to take a second look.
Final thoughts
This exhibition was one of the best I’ve seen this year. Fashion is such an interesting way to approach this pre-eminent portrait artist, shedding light on the importance of clothing to the rendering of characters. Cally Blackman’s review sums up the importance of recognising dress as a legitimate artform; how much it can reveal about people and period, and how it is often sniffed at.
Moreover, this exhibition drew attention to Sargent’s practice, highlighting his creative process through consideration of how he manipulated clothing to create the best end result. One of my strongest recommendations of art to see in London at the moment.