Wednesday, December 31, 2025


https://nl.pinterest.com/pin/304063412316555654/Wikimedia Commons

With the inexorable passing of time, the history of the subjects, muses and models who enabled artists to portray a particular aesthetic is largely lost, blurred, or merely becomes irrelevant to us today. Furthermore, I often think the past is rewritten in order to make it more relatable in the present, seen through the prism of modern-day values and tenets. While this recalibration may offer greater clarity and understanding, it might also lead to a certain amount of distortion. Either way it allows us to reflect, however, which surely cannot be a bad thing.

On my not-so-recent visit to the glorious Edwardian home of Linley Sambourne, the last parts of this grand townhouse that I wandered around, gazed at and wondered over were the bathroom, servants' quarters and the former nursery at the very top of the building. Most of these had been adapted to Linley's professional needs as chief cartoonist for the satirical magazine Punch and his fascination in photography as part of this creative process. 

For the benefit of the 21st century visitor, photos and texts were on display so that we might grasp the notion of developing images in a make-shift darkroom, using the family bathtub to process these. Incidently, Linley's wife - Marion - had to make do with a metal bath tub installed in the marital bedroom! Accustomed as we are to shots taken instantaneously and incessantly from the latest screen device never leaving the hand yet enabling us to reach out across the globe, this old method must seem incredibly fiddly and old-fangled. Yet in Linley's day, photography was an incredibly exciting form of technology, enabling the photographer to reproduce the 'there-and-then' with remarkable speed and ease. Used as a complement to the process of painting or drawing, for amateurs keen to experiment and dabble, the possibilities must have seemed endless. For his work, Linley indeed became a firm dabbler in photography, seeking to capture a life-like position or expression required for his latest print and thus demanding help from family, friends and domestic staff to assume a pose for his preparatory sketches. If all else failed, Linley was not above posing himself - presumably asking his wife to take the photo!

 Among the numerous prints and accompanying explanations on show at Sambourne House, I noticed references to his street shots, where women from the neighbouring areas had been caught on camera. These were said to have been taken with the subjects aware of the act but some seem a little too 'natural' for this. Either way, Linley left behind a precious legacy of London life frozen in time reflected in the clothing, attitudes and expressions of the women captured  'unstaged' in the moment. Alongside this branch of Linley's photographic interests was an extensive photo archive, focusing largely on nude and semi-nude forms - mostly female. What precisely Marion thought of this aspect of her husband's dabbling is not known, but as collecting and curating such a body of material must have occupied a large amount of time, thought and effort on his part, I think we can safely assume she was not best pleased! Whilst many of the said photos were for reference - to be consulted for use in Classical drawings etc with models dressed in flowing or flimsy clothing - a vast majority must have been for private viewing to which Marion was not party! The thousands of negatives were once kept on a high shelf in Linley's top-floor studio but now are in storage at Sambourne House, Leighton House Museum and Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea Museum Archives

As anything related to past representations of the female form is now generally linked back to misogynistic exploitation of one type or another, there is little chance of these particular images ever forming the basis of an exhibition any time soon. Artists' models must certainly have been prey to all kinds of misuse and manipulation - intentionally and knowingly perhaps on the part of the artist in question - or maybe used and 'let go of' without conscious malice or design, as was the fate for women of all walks of life. 

One name that I did observe associated to some of the photos on display at Sambourne House was a certain Hetty Pettigrew (1867-1953). In fact, she figures in many of Linley's images - along with her sister Lily - in various costumes, poses and states of undress. What shines out, however, is the life and feistiness that seems to radiate from her, and on research that spirited streak seems to have been a somewhat defining characteristic, not just of Hetty but also of Lily and the youngest sister, Rose. This trio of girls, once described by Millais as "three little gypsies" and later referred to as 'The Beautiful Miss Pettigrews', were not random photographic models but were the highly-sought-after sitters whose likenesses were depicted by some of the most famous late 19th century English painters. The girls posed for James McNeill Whistler, John Everett Millais, John Singer Sargent, John William Godward, Philip Wilson Steer, William Holman Hunt, Walter Sickert, Augustus John and Theodore Roussel and it is said that in major exhibitions at least one of the girls would be featured in a painting. Not only were the Pettigrews models, they were muses too, with their physical essence used to serve the artistic visions and principles of the Pre- Raphaelite and Aesthetic movements. Yet while the Pettigrews were well known in the artistic circles of Victorian and Edwardian England, relatively little knowledge of them has been passed down to modern times. 

Born into a modest family living in Portsmouth, Hetty and her eleven siblings found themselves in dire straits when their father died, leaving his wife unable to meet the household needs. She took the seemingly foolhardy  decision to take the family to London on a tip-off that the daughters could possibly earn a livelihood as artists' models. This was not a reckless act to cash in on the girls' beauty since other options were limited and at a time when prostitution was rife, modelling offered a safer, more palatable  alternative. But only just.... Indeed, in terms of social acceptance, modelling, like acting was deemed to be just another way to sell flesh and fantasy. Nevertheless, just like the Pre-Raphaelite 'stunners', Hetty had beautiful hair and striking features that inspired the artists who painted her, just as Christina Rossetti remarked in one of her poems, ‘Not as she is, but as she fills his dream’. 

Although we might imagine the young Pettigrew girls quickly down-trodden and exploited in their work, this does not seem to be entirely the case, and they soon developed a reputation for not complying to the artists' expectations regarding the rigours of their trade.  In 1884, when all three girls posed for Millais for his work An Idyll of 1745, he noted "they just came when they liked, with the characteristic carelessness of their race" - referring to their supposed 'gypsy origins'. Edward Burne-Jones likewise wrote to his fellow artist friend Whistler regarding Lily who "has left me stranded in the middle of work & disappeared, for which if there were justice in England she should be boiled alive". Shortly after the Millais painting, Hetty met the French-born painter Théodore Roussel and this encounter gave rise to work that was considered scandalous at a time when nudity could only be justified by a Classical context. The representation of a naked Hetty, stretched out in a chair reflects a total insouciance for the Victorian morals that guided decent society. The Reading Girl of 1887 outraged the public for its apparent lack of meaning and morality and indeed, it looks rather anachronistic with the reclining, relaxed girl paying no attention whatsoever to the viewer. Of course, it would be necessary to switch the book for a smartphone if the painting were to be truly of our time! From that time onward, Hetty began to pose increasingly without clothing props, especially for Roussel and later Whistler. Towards the end of the 1880s, Lily, some three years younger than Hetty, likewise modelled nude for John William Godward, one of the most notable works being A Pompeian Bath (1890). 

The Reading Girl - Théodore Roussel 1887
It is difficult to know what persuaded the girls to model naked; was it due to shared artistic vision, financial gain or an attempt to please the artist?  Whatever their reasons, they would surely have been ostracised from polite society even if acclaimed by artistic circles eager to find models willing to acquiesce. Roussel and Hetty became lovers, yet when widowed, he failed to do the 'decent thing' and marry his model, mistress and mother of his illegitimate child; he went on to betroth another. Stories abound of models, muses and their relationships with the artists or writers who portrayed them at their most intimate and then betrayed at their most vulnerable. Indeed, such intimacy did not seal the bond between them, nor did it guarantee mariage. It was generally the women who paid the price on every level as their lover returned to his wife, even if merely honouring the wedded union in words alone. There must surely have been resentment on the part of such dishonoured girls yet despite being disinclined to pose for Roussel as before, Hetty continued her modelling career for the works of Whistler and the reference photos of Linley Sambourne. Indeed, The Arabian pastel drawing of 1892 was one of Whistler's most erotic works and there are supposedly countless shots of Hetty and Lily posing together for Linley's private collection. 

The youngest Pettigrew sister - Rose - also modelled for Whistler but seems to have remained clothed in her poses for his work which frequently focused on mother and child studies. She was alleged to have posed for the sculptor Alfred Gilbert's An Offering to Hymen (1885) and although the work shows a young female body, it is thought that one of the elder sisters had served as model. Rose also modelled for Philip Wilson Steer (1860–1942), and many of his most famous Impressionist paintings featured her. It is quite interesting to compare his Japanese gown (1896), with Rose fully dressed in a kimono with Roussel's 1887 painting of Hetty, naked, with a kimono nonchalently thrown over her chair in The Reading Girl! Rose became romantically involved with Steer and they were set to get engaged but the relationship ended and she went on to marry a composer instead. Hetty meanwhile, turned towards sculpture and fell in love with the 'British Rodin', John Tweed but this did not end in mariage either. As for Lily, little clear evidence remains of her personal or professional trajectory. 

Hetty & Lily (detail)- Linley Sambourne 1891
All in all,  the Pettigrews are now strangely encapsulated and preserved by the art that caught their idealized physiques and Linley's photos that caught the spark that animated them . Had it not been for these works, and the girls' involvement in their creation, there would be virtually no enduring trace of their existence. Hetty lived to the age of 86 but what kind of life did she live? What of Lily and Rose? Nevertheless, the family line has been continued to the present day with a great nephew - Neil Pettigrew - who was hoping to publish a book on his great aunts - The Beautiful Miss Pettigrews. What an a wonderful account that would be!

The Sky in the Puddles...

Having witnessed truly shabby behavioir in public recently, I came to the conclusion that we appear to have largely lost our social skills and hitherto ability to get on with the others in a civil manner, whoever 'they' were. These days, an imperceptible static charge seems to be present in the air, making each individual edgy and trigger-happy, prompt to interpret any error or act of clumsiness or ignorance as a willful, heinous affront to which the 'victim' must respond with outrage and indignation proportional to the wrong visited upon them. Simultaneously, many of the social norms and niceties that kept the social machine ticking along are being stripped away, sloughed off as pointless and inappropriate. Observing social interactions where the basics such as a simple hello or goodbye have become redundant both shocks and saddens me, not to mention the loss of the staple British 'sorry' that was used in so many circumstances yet not necessarily as admittance of fault!
I always considered the dusty old expression 'minding your Ps and Qs (was that for one's 'pleases' and 'thank yous'? to be stuffy and meaningless, but I instinctively understand its significance today. Far worse still, is that nobody seems to remark on this lamentable state of affairs, so engrossed are they in being offended or hurt and signalling this to some kangaroo court. Is life lived through a screen to blame for this erosion, along with the myriad of social networks that are as divisive as they are unifying? I don't know since everything has become so contradictory and complex - I cannot differentiate reality from illusion, right from wrong, or tell to which degree the one is the reflection of the other. That is why I prefer finding a certain solace in Nature... The blue sky mirrored in the water below; no questions, just pleasure. Tangles and snags in the natural world are simply intriguing, not cause for some histrionic, overly-emotive reaction. Yet in society today, any complexity or grey area is no longer deemed acceptable in a world where you need to choose your camp and duly show your colours.
In this polarised environment, silence is violence and words are taken to be weapons in a war where it is not enough to agree to disagree but rather to defeat the other party whilst portraying yourself as both victor and victim. Everything today seems to focus on self, which in turn is largely dependant on how others perceive us, with the selfie now being so central to image and perception that we find it normal to pout and preen to some screen or other, finding some aspect of live to use as content. Personas are now 'curated' yet never have people so lacked originality and depth as they frequently do today - even language is peppered with the same old clichéd words and expressions which endeavour to give meaning and relevance to what is devoid of both.

Friday, December 26, 2025

Winter Bleakness...

Arriving in Birmingham this time, I was struck by the desolate state of the streets and the inhabitants, just off the shiny, brash and busy central shopping area. As always, the Brummie warmth shone through the cold, bland backcloth, where the dilapidated or derilect 19th century architecture still testifies to an era when the city was truly 'the workshop of the world' with 1000 trades. Today, the service sector has largely taken over where manufacturing became redundant, shopping and consumerism of all kinds now form the beating heart to a city where the machinery grinded to a halt, falling silent and inert. In this strange metamorphosis - this march towards an uncertain future - countless individuals have been sloughed off, discarded in the process, left by the wayside, unable to follow the social sea change wrought by mass de-industrialisation.
Entering the old Bull Ring indoor market through a side entrance, I was overwhelmed by the acrid smell of urine and the sight of people down-and-out, huddled together in the shelter afforded by the outdated building which is itself set for demolition in 2027. As I left the shell of this relic from my childhood, bracing myself against the chill, I was just able to make out the haunting notes of some beautiful music coming from street performers by St Martin's church. The incredible difference between the loveliness of this timeless hymn and the harshness of modern reality paid out before me made me catch my breath whilst the beauty of the music actually made me cry. However, when I thought of the words of this poem written by Christina Rossetti in 1872, it all seemed somewhat appropriate...
In the bleak mid-winter, Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago.
To bolster myself up against ugly modernity, I decided to look at the church of St Martin, and gaze at its magnificent door with its intricate pomegranate brass fittings. To my dismay, I noticed that the central door knob had been stolen!