Tag: Art

The Story of Tudor Art by Christina J. Faraday

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In this interesting and ambitious book, Christina J. Faraday explores the history of Tudor England through its art and objects. The artwork of a particular period can tell us a lot about key historical events, how important figures chose to be portrayed and how people lived, worked and worshipped. Faraday looks at all of these things, moving chronologically forward through time, beginning with art associated with Margaret Beaufort, mother of the first Tudor king, Henry VII, and ending with the reign of Elizabeth I.

Paintings and portraits are naturally given a lot of attention, but Faraday also includes many other types of art from sculptures, tapestries and clothing to jewels, embroideries and furnishings. To show the range of items discussed, some examples include the Dacre Beasts, four 6ft tall figures carved from a single oak tree, now on display at the V&A in London; the Great Bed of Ware, a huge, ornate four-poster bed so famous Shakespeare mentioned it in Twelfth Night; and Cope’s Cabinet of Curiosities, a collection of rare antiquities and artefacts from around the world, reflecting the increase in global exploration during Elizabeth I’s reign.

There’s a fascinating chapter on the emerging class of people known in the 16th century as ‘the middling sort’ – similar to today’s middle class. During the Tudor period, these people began to purchase artworks for their own homes to display their growing wealth and culture. Mostly, though, Faraday focuses on works of art produced for the Tudor monarchs and displayed at court or in churches.

The book looks at the work of the various court painters, many of whom came to England from other European countries, bringing different styles and techniques with them. Some, such as Hans Holbein the Younger, are very well known; others, for example, William (or Guillim) Scrots, are less famous. Little is known about Scrots, but he caused a sensation with his 1546 anamorphic portrait of Edward VI, which is distorted so it can only be viewed clearly from one particular angle. As you would expect, most of the artists at that time were men, but the contributions of female artists Susanna Horenbout and Levina Teerlinc are also discussed.

At first this appeared to be quite a long book, but I found that I got through it much more quickly than I’d expected as around half of the book is made up of notes, a bibliography, a list of image credits and an index. The actual text of the book moves quickly from one monarch’s reign to the next, covering a huge amount of art in each chapter, and it ended up feeling too short rather than too long as there’s not time to go into much depth on anything. Still, it’s a good introduction to the subject and succeeds in showing the overall scope of Tudor art and how things changed between the beginning of the period and the end. Lots of photographs are included, but as I was reading the ebook version I don’t think I could fully appreciate some of these and I’m sure a physical version of the book would work better visually. I think it would make a nice gift for someone studying art history, but for the general reader with an interest in art or the Tudors (or preferably both) there’s a lot to enjoy here as well.

Thanks to Head of Zeus for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

Book 16/20 of 20 Books of Summer

Pixie by Jill Dawson

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I was drawn to this book first by the title and the cover, then I remembered that I’d read and enjoyed one of Jill Dawson’s other novels, The Bewitching, a few years ago. That book was about witch trials in the 16th century, but this one is on a very different subject: the life of Pamela Colman Smith, an important and influential artist in her time who has been largely forgotten today. Pixie was the nickname given to Pamela by the famous actress Ellen Terry and I’ll keep things simple by referring to her by that name for the rest of this review. The book is a work of fiction, but closely based on what we know of the life and career of the real woman.

Born in England in 1878 to American parents, we first meet Pixie as an eighteen-year-old living in Jamaica due to her father’s job. Her mother has just died and Pixie is heartbroken, particularly when she learns that she and her father will be leaving her beloved Jamaica behind to return to New York. At least she has her love of art to sustain her and when her father also dies a few years later, leaving her alone in the world, Pixie decides to travel to London to pursue her dream of becoming an artist.

In London, Pixie is taken under the wing of Ellen Terry and is introduced to the other actors, artists and writers who form her social circle, including Henry Irving, Bram Stoker, William Butler Yeats and his brother Jack Yeats. She works on stage design for the Lyceum Theatre group, writes and illustrates books on Jamaican folklore and attempts to start her own magazine, but even when she begins to have success as an artist, she struggles to get people to take her seriously. She’s forced to hear herself described as ‘strange’ and ‘odd-looking’ and to listen to speculation over her racial background; it seems that people are determined to find a way to label her, but all Pixie wants is to be accepted for who she is and regarded as the talented artist she knows herself to be.

I knew absolutely nothing about Pixie before reading this book, so I resisted the temptation to look her up online until I’d finished and just let the story unfold. Pixie’s biggest achievement and the thing she is probably most remembered for today is the 1909 illustrated Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot deck and the later chapters of the book concentrate mainly on this (the fact that for decades it was usually referred to as simply the Rider-Waite Tarot shows the struggle Pixie has faced in getting the recognition she deserves), but I also enjoyed learning about her other projects and interests outside of the art world. For example, she joins a secret society known as the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and meets famous occultists such as Aleister Crowley.

Pixie’s personal life is also interesting to read about. Dawson strongly implies that she’s a lesbian and although that doesn’t seem to have been officially confirmed, it’s considered likely due to the fact that she never married, lived for twenty years with her companion Nora Lake, and was friends and, at one point, housemates with Ellen Terry’s daughter Edith Craig and her partner Christabel ‘Christopher’ Marshall. There’s also the question of Pixie’s appearance, which seemed to confuse everyone she met; although both of her parents were white, she was described at various times as Japanese, Jamaican or a Gypsy, and Dawson provides a theory to try to explain this.

I found Pixie a fascinating character. She’s given a distinctive narrative voice – naive, sensitive and almost childlike – which suits her personality perfectly without being irritating. I enjoyed getting to know her and am pleased Jill Dawson has chosen to write this book and give Pamela Colman Smith the attention she deserves.

Thanks to Bloomsbury Publishing for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

The Portrait Artist by Dani Heywood-Lonsdale

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Dani Heywood-Lonsdale’s debut novel, The Portrait Artist, is an art mystery set in Victorian England with hints of the supernatural and some similarities to Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray.

When a portrait of a Kunekune pig is left on the steps of the National Gallery in London one morning in 1890, it sends the art world into turmoil. Both the signature and the technique point to the artist being the mysterious Timothy Ponden-Hall, thought to have been dead for the last fifty years. Ponden-Hall, an explorer and painter, caused a sensation earlier in his career, when rumours spread that he had discovered the elixir of life during a sea voyage and was using it to bestow immortality on those who sat for his portraits. Does this new portrait mean the artist is still alive – and why has he started to paint again after so many decades of silence?

Art historian and Ponden-Hall expert Solomon Oak is brought in to investigate, but as he tries to interpret the new painting and its meaning, he makes some discoveries that cause him to question everything he thought he knew about the reclusive artist. Meanwhile Solomon’s daughter Alice has been befriended by Lou, the coachwoman, who gives her a job helping to deliver parcels. But why do their deliveries always take place under cover of darkness – and could Alice’s new job and new friend lead her to solve the mystery of Ponden-Hall before her father gets there first?

I enjoyed The Portrait Artist. My only problem with the book came towards the end, when the truth about Ponden-Hall was revealed. It wasn’t exactly a surprise – I had already at least partly guessed it – but it required a huge suspension of disbelief which was just too difficult for me to accept. Still, the story up to that point had been fascinating to follow. Solomon and Alice Oak are both characters I liked and I thought the complex relationship between them was handled well, with Alice feeling that she can never quite live up to the memory of her late sister Emma, who had been the closest to their father. Solomon, for his part, has to come to terms with Alice growing into a woman and not wanting to follow the path through life he has mapped out for her. Another interesting character is Grace, an artists’ model from a humble background who longs to be part of the world of academia and sees a possible route to that by involving herself in the Ponden-Hall mystery.

Heywood-Lonsdale explores a lot of different issues throughout the novel, including the idea of the dead being immortalised through art, both literally and figuratively; how adding to our knowledge of the artist and the sitter can change the way we view and appreciate a painting; and the difficulties of being of mixed race heritage in Victorian society. The supernatural element involving the question of whether youth can be preserved in a painting is mainly there to explain the level of mystique that has formed around Timothy Ponden-Hall and we can choose how much we want to believe.

Apart from my problems with the ending, I think this is an impressive first novel and I hope Dani Heywood-Lonsdale will write more.

Thanks to Bloomsbury Publishing for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

Woman in Blue by Douglas Bruton – #ReadIndies

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There’s clearly something about the paintings of Johannes Vermeer that inspires novelists; first, Tracy Chevalier’s Girl With a Pearl Earring and now Douglas Bruton’s excellent Woman in Blue, which is published today. This is the second of Bruton’s books I’ve read, the first being 2021’s Blue Postcards and apart from the shared word in the title (Bruton certainly seems to like the colour blue!) and the shared theme of art and artists, I found this one very different in style and structure.

The novel begins in the present day with our unnamed narrator, referred to only as ‘a man in Amsterdam’, visiting the Rijksmuseum to look at a painting. Just one painting, which he has become so obsessed with that he barely notices any of the others. The painting is Vermeer’s Woman in Blue Reading a Letter and the narrator returns to the museum day after day to study the colours and the composition, but most of all just to spend time in the woman in blue’s company and to imagine the human being who inspired the picture. He’s transfixed by this particular painting for its own sake, but also because the woman reminds him in subtle ways of both his wife and another woman he once loved.

In 17th century Delft, we meet the woman in blue herself – or rather, the young woman who sits for Vermeer as he paints her portrait. Her chapters alternate with the present day ones, slowly building up a history of the woman in blue, her life in Delft and her relationship with the artist. In reality, the true identity of the sitter has never been confirmed (Vermeer’s wife, Catharina Bolnes, has been suggested as a likely candidate, but it seems there’s no actual evidence to prove it), so Bruton has the freedom to create his own fictional story for the woman, whom he names Angelieke.

Although the book is set in two different time periods and narrated by two different characters, the lines dividing the two are blurred. Angelieke is a real woman in 1663, but in the modern day sections, she’s aware that she is a painting in a museum and that the male narrator comes to see her every day. She looks forward to his visits and feels a connection with him, just as he feels one with her. This is not the first novel to give a painting a mind of its own (I, Mona Lisa by Natasha Solomons does the same and I’m sure there must be others) but I really liked the way Bruton handles that element of the story, giving it a dreamlike feel and merging the two narratives so that they don’t feel too separate or disconnected.

With it being a real painting rather than a fictional one, it’s easy to google it so you can refer to the picture itself as you read. The narrator’s observations, made during his repeated viewings, helped me to see things in the painting that I probably wouldn’t have noticed for myself. With each chapter, he finds new details to study and focus on – the map on the wall, the letter in the woman’s hand, the blue bed jacket she’s wearing and the question of whether or not she could be pregnant. At times, Bruton returns to a theme he also touched on in Blue Postcards: the idea that a painting offers something different to each individual who views it and that the viewers themselves can almost ‘become’ part of the painting:

What I like about the painting – one of the many things I like – is how cleverly the artist has included me in it and made me complicit in the looking. It is an intimate and private moment and Vermeer intrudes on it without at all breaking it, and we – Vermeer and me – stand silent, breath held, just looking at this young woman turned in on herself.

For a short book – a novella at 144 pages – there’s so much packed into it that I’ve probably only scratched the surface in this review. I would recommend Woman in Blue to anyone who loves art, but even if you don’t, there’s still a lot here to enjoy.

Thanks to Fairlight Books for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

As this is an independent publisher, I am counting Woman in Blue towards this year’s #ReadIndies event hosted by Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings and Lizzy’s Literary Life. You can find out more about Fairlight Books by visiting their website here.

Disobedient by Elizabeth Fremantle

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Elizabeth Fremantle is an author I always look forward to reading and I have enjoyed all six of her previous novels, including her two historical thrillers published under the name E.C. Fremantle. This seventh novel takes us to 17th century Italy and tells the story of Artemisia Gentileschi, one of the most important and accomplished female painters of her time.

Artemisia grows up in Rome, the daughter of the painter Orazio Gentileschi. Having lost her mother while still a child, Artemisia is raised by her father, spending time in his workshop learning to draw and paint. Orazio is a talented artist, heavily influenced by the more famous Caravaggio, but it quickly becomes obvious even to him that his daughter’s work is better than his own.

In 1611, the painter Agostino Tassi enters Artemisia’s life, first as her tutor and then as her intended husband. However, Tassi’s arrival leads to a terrible experience for Artemisia – something I won’t go into here because I think any reader who has come to this book with little or no knowledge of Artemisia’s life will probably prefer to discover her story for themselves. The second half of the book becomes quite dramatic as the repercussions of this incident become clear, so if you don’t already know all the details in advance, which I didn’t, it’s interesting just to watch it all unfold.

Artemisia is a great subject for historical fiction, being a strong, ambitious, determined woman whose work has left a lasting impact. Although we can’t know her true thoughts and feelings, Fremantle does a good job of getting inside Artemisia’s head and showing us what may have provided the inspiration for some of her paintings, such as Susanna and the Elders and Judith Slaying Holofernes. You’ll probably find yourself wanting to look up the paintings online as you read. As well as Artemisia, there are other characters in the novel who are equally well drawn; I’ve already mentioned Tassi and Artemisia’s father Orazio, but there’s also Zita, who becomes a model and chaperone for Artemisia, and Piero, Orazio’s assistant.

Disobedient covers only the earlier part of Artemisia’s life and the novel ends with a lot of her story still untold, but after reading Fremantle’s author’s note where she explains her personal reasons for wanting to write this book, I can see why she chose this period to focus on and I appreciate the courage it has taken for her to do so. I don’t think it’s my favourite of her novels, simply because some of the other settings and historical figures she has written about have interested me more, but I still enjoyed this book and am pleased to have had the opportunity to add to my knowledge of this fascinating artist.

Thanks to Penguin Random House/Michael Joseph for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 8/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2023

This is book 29/50 for the 2023 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge.

The Colour Storm by Damian Dibben

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Damian Dibben’s previous novel, Tomorrow, was a fascinating and unusual story of an immortal dog searching for his master across two centuries (it was better than it sounds, honestly!). I was curious to see what his next book, The Colour Storm, would be like, but it turns out that it’s a much more conventional historical novel this time. It’s also a very good one; although the subject reminded me of another of my recent reads, The Fugitive Colours by Nancy Bilyeau, the setting gives it a very different feel.

The Colour Storm is the story of the Italian painter Giorgio Barbarelli, who lived and worked in Venice during the Renaissance. He was a real person, as are many of the other characters in the novel, and you may already be familiar with his paintings – if not, you can easily find images online of some of the pieces attributed to him which will give you an idea of the quality of his work.

At the beginning of the novel, Barbarelli – or ‘Zorzo’ as he is called throughout the book – is finding life difficult. Work is becoming hard to find, the competition from other artists is fierce and Zorzo’s debts are increasing. He’s responsible not only for himself, but also for his team of young apprentices and assistants, so he urgently needs to find some way of gaining commissions from rich clients. An opportunity arises when a wealthy German merchant, Jakob Fugger, arrives in Venice and is said to be looking for an artist to paint an altarpiece for St Peter’s Basilica. When Zorzo hears that Fugger also possesses a new colour, a pigment known as ‘prince orient’, he becomes even more determined to bring himself to the merchant’s attention.

In an attempt to win Fugger’s favour, Zorzo agrees to paint a portrait of his wife, Sybille – but as he becomes closer to Sybille, he finds that he has become involved in a conspiracy which could have huge implications for the people of Europe. And then, while Zorzo is still considering his next move, a new threat arrives in Venice…the plague:

Only the poorest folk, who have no choice but to go to work, are continuing as normal, but they’re wary, treading more carefully than usual. Many cover their faces with their sleeves or improvised masks and everyone keeps their distance. From behind closed windows and shutters, Zorzo’s aware of families pressed together, restless shadows, watching and fretting as to whether this episode will pass – as most do – without significant horror, or if this one will be severe.

Still very relevant, isn’t it? The plague plays a part in the later stages of the novel, but before that we follow the story of Zorzo’s search for the prince orient and his entanglement with Jakob and Sybille (also real historical figures). We are given some insights into the workings of an artist’s studio in Renaissance Venice and there are appearances by other famous names from the art world, including Bellini, Titian, Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. By focusing on the dark side of life in 16th century Venice, Dibben creates plenty of atmosphere, and although the parts of the book that concentrate on Zorzo’s relationships with Sybille and her husband interested me less, I found this an enjoyable read overall.

Thanks to Michael Joseph for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 4/20 from my 20 Books of Summer list.

This is book 30/50 read for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2022.

The Fugitive Colours by Nancy Bilyeau

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A new Nancy Bilyeau book is always something to look forward to. I’ve loved everything I’ve read by her so far: her Joanna Stafford trilogy, about a nun displaced in Tudor England after the dissolution of the monasteries; Dreamland, set in a Coney Island amusement park; and The Blue, a wonderful historical thriller involving spies, art and the race to create a beautiful new shade of blue. The Fugitive Colours is a sequel to The Blue and another great read; the two books stand alone, so it’s not necessary to have read the first novel before beginning this one, although I would recommend doing so if you can.

It’s 1764 and Genevieve Planché, heroine of The Blue, is now a married woman running her own silk design business in Spitalfields, London. With the help of her two young assistant artists, Caroline and Jean, Genevieve is beginning to find buyers for her silk designs and is determined to make the business a success. However, she has not given up on her dream of becoming a serious artist and when she is invited to a gathering at the home of the portrait painter Joshua Reynolds, it seems she could still have a chance of achieving her ambition.

This in itself would have been the basis for an interesting novel – a woman trying to build a career for herself in what was still very much a male-dominated field – but there’s a lot more to the story than that. Due to the parts played by Genevieve and her husband in the recent search for the blue, their names have come to the attention of some very powerful people who are hoping to enlist them in further conspiracies. Yet again Genevieve is forced to wonder who she can and cannot trust, but this time one wrong decision could mean the end of her dreams, the loss of her business and even the destruction of her marriage.

The Fugitive Colours is perhaps not quite as exciting and fast-paced as The Blue, but I found it equally gripping. Set entirely in London, it’s a very immersive book taking us from the Spitalfields workshops of the Huguenot silk-weaving community to the grand homes of the rich and famous and the nightlife of Covent Garden. While Genevieve and most of the other main characters are fictional, we do meet some real historical figures too – not just Joshua Reynolds but also Giacomo Casanova, the Earl of Sandwich and the fascinating Chevalier d’Eon. I particularly enjoyed the portrayal of the 18th century art world, the snippets of information I picked up (not coming from an art background myself, I didn’t know what ‘fugitive colours’ were, but now I do), and the insights into how difficult it was for women like Genevieve and the real-life Frances Reynolds, Joshua’s sister, to gain recognition for their work.

I hope there will be another book in the Genevieve Planché series as I think there’s certainly a lot more that could be written about her. If not, I’ll look forward to seeing what Nancy Bilyeau decides to write next.

Thanks to Lume Books for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 21/50 read for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2022.