To me, the most charming sight in London's National Gallery was seeing this young artist, hard at work. He was seated on the herringbone floor of the storied museum, sketching like mad. Did he understand and appreciate the wealth of treasures to be found in that very room? Surrounded by priceless Sixteenth Century Venetian masterpieces? I suppose it doesn't matter; he will in time. What's important is that he, just like those Venetian masters before him—Titian, Veronese, Tintoretto—is attacking his work with determination and a desire to improve. In today's world of computer-generated . . . everything . . . it's nice to see that the fundamentals of human creativity and the hand-production of beauty are still being pursued.
This little boy, whose name we do not know, is painter Thomas Gainsborough's studio assistant. He would clean brushes, sweep-up, run errands, and, perhaps, mix Gainsborough's paints (once he was a little older). It's called The Pitminster Boy (after the boy's hometown) and was painted by Gainsborough around 1768-69. It is not a conventional portrait—especially when compared to Gainsborough's commissioned painting stye. It is very quick, spontaneous and intimate— a study of character and expression, in the Dutch practice called tronie. The boy likely lived in Gainsborough's household, hence the affectionate and sensitive representation. I like the quick and confident brushwork which would become more fashionable in the portraiture of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
I am conflicted about liking this portrait. However, I include it because of my admiration for the unknown artists who painted it in 1547. It was painted to commemorate the ascension of King Edward VI at the age of 9. The painting is a masterpiece of political branding. The Boy King was the long-hoped-for son of Henry VIII, from his third wife, Jane Seymour (who died two weeks after her son was born). Henry assumes the same wide-legged stance of his pompous father, hands defiantly upon his hips. The picture is meant to convey wealth, power, authority and entitlement—not an easy task when the subject is a pre-pubescent boy. But, for the Tudor family, clinging to power was of utmost importance. There were many who would have liked to see the child killed. And there were other claimants to Henry VIII's vacated throne. Edward's reign was marked by much social unrest, intolerance, and rebellion. Edward's vicious hatred of Catholics was genuine—though, with him being so young, it is clear that his council of regents were guiding his every decision. Edward VI died at the tender age of 15. His older half-sister, Mary, then took the throne.
One more thing bothers me about this painting: the notion of Divine Entitlement. The boy is portrayed posing in the same arrogant posture and manner which his father had assumed in his own portrait. This mimicking was an intentional attempt by the artists to reinforce Edward's legitimacy, to bolster this chosen line of succession. In Henry VIII's world, inherited privilege—bestowing wealth, power and favor upon one's favorite offspring—was absolute and unquestioned. Until recently (at least in America), such Divine Entitlement seemed to be a thing of the past. Today we see The Entitled gorging themselves on the fruits of public service—be it insider trading, shameless emoluments, or no-bid contracts. Is it possible that a sitting king may (someday) hand-select his successor? Even in America?
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