The myth is that British monarchs and art don’t mix. The bills accumulated by Charles I, who bought more than 1,500 paintings, contributed to make him lose his head. On the other hand, Queen Victoria’s penchant for having her pets painted by Landseer seldom troubled the private purse, and Queen Elizabeth II, it is said, was delighted to buy reasonably priced pictures if they contained horses.
According to this calculation, the omens are not good for our new king. Charles loves art and isn’t afraid to pay for it. He has strong opinions on how it should be done and displayed. In 2005 he founded the reactionary-sounding School of Traditional Arts, and there was the ‘monstrous carbuncle’ case over a competition to design a new wing at the National Gallery in 1984. And he is he -even an artist – prints of his watercolors are sold in the Buckingham Palace shop.
But my prediction is that Charles III will put an end to the myth for good. Here, at the risk of sounding like an obsequious Tudor courtier, I admit a bias; I am a big fan. I think he alone saved the National Gallery from itself, which it seems to have a recurring need for. I even like his watercolors. I don’t know how to paint, but if I could, I would paint like the king: landscapes without anyone in them. In fact, I think we can safely say that Charles will be the most accomplished entertainer to ever take the throne. Although I recognize that the bar is low.
Coronations are a good time to assess the artistic direction of a reign’s journey. Cecil Beaton’s Technicolor photograph of the late Queen in her coronation robe comes more readily to mind than images of the event itself.
authoritative bluster: Anthony van Dyck Equestrian portrait of Charles I (circa 1637-38) © The National Gallery, London
Charles I, the connoisseur
The two homonymous predecessors of Charles III offer examples of good and bad artistic practices. Curiously, Charles I did not commission a coronation portrait for wide distribution. Of his passion for art there could be no doubt – even as Prince of Wales he was knowledgeable enough to scold Rubens, who in 1621 attempted to palm him off with studio work (of a lion hunt) instead of an autograph. A chastened Rubens sent a self-portrait back, and later hailed Charles as “the world’s most enthusiastic painting lover”. Instead, the most well-known image of the coronation of Charles I is a sadly prophetic medal made by Nicolas Briot. It shows on one side the head of the king in profile and on the other an arm descending from heaven with a sword.
The absence of a portrait drawn for the coronation of Charles I may be due to the absence of a sufficiently competent painter. Later, the king benefited from the services of Van Dyck, drawn from Europe because of his talents as a portrait painter (and the fact that he could paint like Titian, the favorite artist of Charles I). Early in his reign, however, there was Daniel Mytens, a solid and dignified painter who tended to make the king look deceptive.
Having seen the last portraits of Charles III, I doubt that he risks falling into a van dickian fantasy
Belatedly, Van Dyck transforms the image of Charles I. Just over 5 feet tall, he assumed an authoritative swagger through Van Dyck’s eyes and superhuman strength. In his equestrian portrait (now in the National Gallery) we see a king at the controls of a fighting horse – a metaphor for the nation – holding the reins in one hand. It must have made sense in Charles’s head, but it didn’t fool anyone else. That’s the danger when kings take over great artists – reality and fantasy easily get confused, and after a while they can’t tell the difference.
At least Charles’ invitation to Van Dyck transformed British art forever. Van Dyck brought life and movement to our portraiture where previously artists and patrons longed for a Holbein-like presentation of detail and formality, but without Holbein’s magical skills. Perhaps if Charles had only been painted by Mytens, he might never have allowed himself to dream of the divine right of kings.
That said, having seen the last portraits of Charles III, I doubt that he risks falling into a Van Dyckian fantasy. In any case, our modern image-driven world is too lively to attempt to flatter the new king of painting. We all know he has a good face for stamps.
An ideal state portrait: that of John Michael Wright Karl II (circa 1671-76)
Royal Collection Trust, © King Charles III
Charles II, a better model
Charles II is a better model. He certainly took art seriously. On his arrival in London after its restoration in 1660, he sat down for the best portrait painter available, Samuel Cooper, for a profile for the new coinage. Yet he never let fantasy take over. It probably helped that Cooper was a miniaturist.
Charles II couldn’t be more handsome, but Leslie Phillips’ smile betrays a king who doesn’t take himself too seriously
My recommended ideal is the State Portrait of Charles II by John Michael Wright, an underrated great in British art. The king is depicted crowned and enthroned, crowned with velvet and silk. It couldn’t be more magnificent. But Leslie Phillips’ satin tights and smile betray a king who doesn’t take himself too seriously. We know that Charles II liked to have a good time, and we can also see it in the art of his reign. Her court artist, Peter Lely, continued the Van Dyckian tradition, just with less clothing. The reign of Charles II was the first time that humor insinuated itself into court art. One of the best and most outrageous examples is Lely’s portrait of his famously shameless mistress Barbara Villiers as the Virgin Mary (in the National Portrait Gallery). The child she cradles is one of Charles’ illegitimate sons, painted to look like a miniature version of the king himself.
There is some debate about the extent to which a monarch, as an individual, can shape the direction of a nation’s art. With Charles II we can see that he did indeed make a difference. He continued to employ at Cooper and Lely the two artists who assiduously and austerely served Oliver Cromwell’s Protectorate, “warts and all”, and what change do we see in their art after 1660. New reigns reset the artistic tenor of ‘a nation.
Charles III: silent and uncontroversial is the new monarchical model but artistic patrons must be able to express an opinion © 2015 Max Mumby/Indigo/Getty Images
Quiet and uncontroversial: the new model monarch
These days, however, it is not easy to see what impact Charles III will be allowed to have. As Elizabeth II showed, quiet and uncontroversial is the new model for monarchs. This is a problem for an artistic patron: you have to be able to express an opinion. Even if Charles is presented with the most shockingly bad coronation portrait, does he dare say anything about it?
In many ways, the artistic legacy of Charles III is already established, thanks to institutions like the Royal School of Drawing. But I hope he does everything possible for an exciting coronation portrait. If successful, it could give British art a new direction. Otherwise, his coronation portrait might be his last.
