Eminently Artful? (Deacon Robert Peckham)
The art of resemblance is a tricky one. People don’t like being committed to memory in an unflattering likeness (just ask any photographer). Historically, artists often chose to enhance a person’s appearance, smoothing out any blemishes and modifying their features for the better. Most frequently, portraits aspired towards whatever the contemporary ideal of conventional beauty happened to be, which varied widely over time and culture. However, the underlying principle is the same: Don’t make them look bad.American folk art is a notable exception to the rule. For numerous possible reasons — modesty, accuracy, a general lack of pretense — early American naive portraiture recorded its subjects realistically, warts and all. Consider this fine lady by an unknown painter, owned by the Art Institute of Chicago (the attribution to Frederick A. Spencer is probably inaccurate, as his art was strongly academic). She’s dressed in her very best clothes and jewelry, but the mole above her left eyebrow has been noticeably included as well. Some would say it’s too accurate, but it’s a nice and honest likeness of the lady, exactly as she must’ve looked.
This approach was practically universal. Deacon Robert Peckham, the exceptional Massachusetts portrait painter from the early 19th century in whose art I specialize, subscribed to the very same philosophy. His art is frequently described as “too truthful” – an oft-used quote by folk art scholars. It appears in Charles W. Peckham’s 2009 “The Peckham Family” genealogy book, alongside a brief and flattering biography that highlights the Deacon’s ties to the abolitionist cause.
In a similar but far harsher vein, however, the famous poet and abolitionist John Greenleaf Whittier once ungraciously described Peckham as “eminently artless.” The quotation appears in an 1880 letter from Whitter to a correspondent, cited by scholar David Krashes. Whittier adds that he never saw the finished painting; “how it looked, I have no idea.” Perhaps he should’ve reserved judgment; it’s really not bad!
It's an elegant likeness that projects intelligence and sophistication. Whittier sports a prodigious hairline in Peckham’s version, to be sure, but he does in every other picture, too. Whittier wrote “I only sat for him two or three times.” Peckham probably finished his hair from memory, contributing to his substantially sized cranium. But the rest is well-rendered and reasonably flattering, capturing the character of his face. Whittier makes direct eye contact with the viewer, a Peckham portrait trademark, and wears a thoughtful and sensible expression. Like I often say of Peckham’s paintings, it might not be an exact likeness, but if you saw him in real life, you’d probably recognize him.Since photography had not yet been invented, opportunities to compare pictures of Peckham’s subjects are unfortunately rare. This is especially true for small-town citizens where Peckham’s version might’ve been the only one ever painted. But for a man with Whittier’s level of fame, we have the chance to examine and contrast his various best-known pictures.
(top to bottom, left to right: photograph of young Whittier; portrait by Manassah Cutler Torrey, 1835 (source); portrait by Albert G. Holt, 1848, at Whittier Home Museum (source); ambrotype c. 1850-60, held at Boston Public Library (source). Whittier Peckham photographed at National Portrait Gallery by Billy Hathorn, 2011 (source).)It’s unknown exactly why Whittier never saw his own portrait by Peckham, but it was not a paid commission. He painted it for free, perhaps as an act of devotion and a statement of principle. We know that in 1833, Peckham, impressed by Whittier’s writings, traveled all the way to Haverhill to paint his picture — a 45-mile distance, no easy feat back in the day. His journey that year was probably inspired by Whittier’s publication of the anti-slavery pamphlet Justice and Expediency. Whittier allegedly wrote in the 1880 letter, “The picture was painted when I was 23, painted by Deacon Peckham of Westminster while he was on a visit to Haverhill.” Whittier, born in 1807, would have been 23 years of age in 1830, but it was likely a simple error, since the encounter took place long ago.Laura Luckey's 1988 article in The Magazine Antiques, "The Portraits of Robert Peckham," solidifies the 1833 date by confirming Peckham as the author of the inscription on the back. The text appears to read: "Painted by Robert Peckham, June 1833, from life."
Justice and Expediency was published in June 1833, which confirms my suspicions. That must have been the catalyst for Peckham's visit, an act of bravery that sparked inspiration in him. Whittier responded [to fellow abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison] in June 1833 with a privately printed pamphlet called Justice and Expediency; or, Slavery Considered with a View to Its Rightful and Effectual Remedy, Abolition, a closely reasoned and carefully documented attack on the Colonization Society [which proposed to send American Black people back to Africa]. An abolitionist group in New York republished the work and distributed hundreds of copies. Whittier’s commitment to the cause was now sealed...
Both Whittier and Peckham were actively involved in abolitionist causes with great fervor, and it's stated that he was specifically fond of Whittier’s poems. In addition to his respect for Justice and Expediency, Peckham might’ve even read Whittier’s very first publication, an ode to loneliness and loss, which launched his literary career and connected him with another major abolitionist: Garrison himself. A poem titled "The Exile's Departure" saw print in the June 8, 1826 issue of the Newburyport (Massachusetts) Free Press… The editor of the magazine was William Lloyd Garrison, still early in his career. He was intrigued by the anonymous poet [Whittier] and published several more of his poems. "His poetry bears the stamp of true genius," he wrote in the Free Press, "which, if carefully cultivated, will rank him among the bards of his country.”
Whittier’s career speaks for itself, and Garrison is equally famous. He’s now best-known as the creator of the anti-slavery newspaper The Liberator. It’s no coincidence that Peckham’s name also makes multiple appearances in that publication. For example, this 1846 article about Westminster’s Annual Meeting describes an incident that puts the artist’s principles on further record. As the author tells it, the local branch of the Anti-Slavery Society was informed of an instance of hypocritical racism from a local religious leader. Distressed by the news, Peckham (flatteringly described here as a “zealous partisan”) immediately demanded that the responsible person be held accountable — only to discover that it was his own brother! The truth of the matter still remains unknown; the brother (presumably Rev. Samuel Howland Peckham) quickly issued a statement denying the alleged slander. Regardless, Deacon Peckham was outraged by the proposition that one of the local leaders — much less a member of his own family — might be opposed to “admitting the [people of color] to equal social privileges.” 
There are many such examples of Peckham’s commitment to the cause published in The Liberator, far too many for me to include in so short an article. It’s no surprise that Whittier’s own boldness and resilience appealed to Peckham strongly. Whittier was well-known for being a man of plucky character and strong temperament. He also had a sense of humor, as proven by this 1835 New Hampshire incident, related by historical author and blogger Beverly Tomek: To make a long story short, Whittier and Thompson escaped this mob, but on their way back to Whittier’s estate in Haverhill, Massachusetts, they stopped for breakfast at an inn where they overhead the innkeeper telling a story about how Thompson and Whittier had been beaten up and were on the run. After looking at a handbill the innkeeper was passing around that called for Thompson’s apprehension, Whittier innocently asked “How is the rascal to be recognized?” The innkeeper replied, “Easily enough. He’s a tongue-y fellow.” Whittier and Thompson then finished their breakfast and got into the carriage to leave. As it was taking off, Whittier, in what I think would make a great movie scene, leaned out and yelled to the innkeeper, “This is George Thompson and my name is Whittier.”
Whittier was not just cheeky, but also legitimately fearless: Whittier was at the dedicatory meetings, but he had gone home earlier in the day after a mob assembled and the mayor asked the abolitionists to cancel the rest of the festivities. Despite having broken up the meetings, the mob continued to grow and began to attack the building. Hearing the chaos from his cousins’ home down the street, Whittier went to investigate and saw just how dire the circumstances were. Realizing he would be a very visible target and thinking quickly, he dodged into the home of his friend Dr. Parrish (Joseph Parrish from what I can tell, but I have not verified that yet) and grabbed a wig and a lab coat. The mob had started to set the building on fire, and he realized the plates for the next day’s edition of his newspaper were in the office, so he entered the building in his disguise, pretended to be a party to the destruction, and stole the plates. Despite the mobbing, he managed to get his paper out the next day as scheduled.
All in all, it makes perfect sense that Peckham would’ve been so inspired by Whittier’s writing that he traveled nearly fifty miles to paint Whittier without charge. On this topic, it seems they were kindred spirits, which makes it all the more of a shame that Whittier wasn’t a fan of his art! Unfortunately, we don’t know the whereabouts of the portrait immediately after it was painted. Its location is listed as “AAS” - American Antiquarian Society — according to the 1910s Gage Family Papers (an invaluable folk art resource held at the very same AAS, which I’ve written about before.)
After he painted the Whittier portrait, Peckham might’ve taken it back to Westminster and hung it in the local Academy. Like so many other local institutions, Peckham helped to establish it, together with the equally principled Westminster civic and religious leader, Rev. Cyrus Mann (as retold in 1869 by Rev. A. Judson Rich.)
Considering their close connection and shared ideals, it’s extremely likely that Peckham would’ve also painted his good friend Cyrus Mann. But, sadly, no images of Mann have survived (that we know of). Nevertheless, it’s possible that someday, a portrait might turn up. Several nameless Peckham paintings of men and women still survive at small local historical societies, such as this mysterious gentleman from Sterling, Massachusetts. I recently spotted and identified this as Peckham’s work. (Many thanks to Loret Schur, president of Sterling Historical Society, and SHS volunteers, for their hospitality.) Sadly, the name is currently unknown. He could be anybody. This gentleman, or any other anonymous portrait, might even be Cyrus Mann lurking in disguise. 
Unlike Whittier, we have no other pictures of the same subject for comparison. But we do know with certainty that, whoever he is, Peckham painted him true to life… maybe even “too truthfully.” The subject sports a stern expression, powerful eyebrows, and a hairline to rival Whittier’s. Amusingly, he also has a combined resemblance to two of the Peckham portraits at Forbush Memorial Library: Charles Coolidge and George Wood.
And it comes full circle: George Wood’s name, like so many other prominent Westminster townsfolk, appears on an anti-slavery petition signed by Robert Peckham himself -- one of 10 signed by Peckham and his family.
Look above Peckham's signature: Milton Joslin, another Westminster resident painted by Peckham, supported the very same cause. That can’t be a coincidence. Fortunately, Joslin’s portrait has also survived, and now hangs across from George Wood on the walls of Forbush. (I saw and photographed them myself – many thanks to Nick Langhart, director of Forbush Memorial Library, and the Forbush staff, for their hospitality.)
I believe we’ve only scratched the surface of Peckham’s principled commitment to abolitionism. The pressing social issues of his day, and his profound sense of moral obligation, informed his artistic career and shaped the course of his life. (He lived to see the Emancipation Proclamation.) I believe there are many Peckham portraits still undiscovered – and it would come as no surprise to me if the subjects’ names appear on those brave petitions, too, advocating for the cause that both Peckham and Whittier helped to lead.- - - Before finishing this article, I wrote to the John Greenleaf Whittier Homestead in Haverhill (also known as the Whittier Birthplace) for further information and photos. Kaleigh Paré Shaughnessy, Executive Director, told me: “We own the original painting here at the Whittier Birthplace in Haverhill; however it is currently on loan to the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. We have a reproduction on display at present.” I requested photos of the Peckham reproduction, which Kaleigh graciously provided. Here’s Whittier in his very own home:
--- Read Part 2: https://www.paintingsworthlookingat.com/2024/09/eminently-artful-part-two-deacon-robert.html ---Postscript: While concluding the final edit on this article, I discovered that the Haverhill Public Library records include both a print of the Whittier Peckham, and this suspiciously similar portrait.
Mirroring the picture and placing it alongside our painting, the likeness becomes even more obvious. 
(Thanks to Elizabeth at the HPL's Senter Digital Archive for the higher-quality image!)The composition and content of both portraits are extremely close. It seems they must be connected. The online catalog for the other Whittier says:
The art of resemblance is a tricky one. People don’t like being committed to memory in an unflattering likeness (just ask any photographer). Historically, artists often chose to enhance a person’s appearance, smoothing out any blemishes and modifying their features for the better. Most frequently, portraits aspired towards whatever the contemporary ideal of conventional beauty happened to be, which varied widely over time and culture. However, the underlying principle is the same: Don’t make them look bad.
American folk art is a notable exception to the rule. For numerous possible reasons — modesty, accuracy, a general lack of pretense — early American naive portraiture recorded its subjects realistically, warts and all. Consider this fine lady by an unknown painter, owned by the Art Institute of Chicago (the attribution to Frederick A. Spencer is probably inaccurate, as his art was strongly academic). She’s dressed in her very best clothes and jewelry, but the mole above her left eyebrow has been noticeably included as well. Some would say it’s too accurate, but it’s a nice and honest likeness of the lady, exactly as she must’ve looked.
This approach was practically universal. Deacon Robert Peckham, the exceptional Massachusetts portrait painter from the early 19th century in whose art I specialize, subscribed to the very same philosophy. His art is frequently described as “too truthful” – an oft-used quote by folk art scholars. It appears in Charles W. Peckham’s 2009 “The Peckham Family” genealogy book, alongside a brief and flattering biography that highlights the Deacon’s ties to the abolitionist cause.
In a similar but far harsher vein, however, the famous poet and abolitionist John Greenleaf Whittier once ungraciously described Peckham as “eminently artless.” The quotation appears in an 1880 letter from Whitter to a correspondent, cited by scholar David Krashes. Whittier adds that he never saw the finished painting; “how it looked, I have no idea.” Perhaps he should’ve reserved judgment; it’s really not bad!
It's an elegant likeness that projects intelligence and sophistication. Whittier sports a prodigious hairline in Peckham’s version, to be sure, but he does in every other picture, too. Whittier wrote “I only sat for him two or three times.” Peckham probably finished his hair from memory, contributing to his substantially sized cranium. But the rest is well-rendered and reasonably flattering, capturing the character of his face. Whittier makes direct eye contact with the viewer, a Peckham portrait trademark, and wears a thoughtful and sensible expression. Like I often say of Peckham’s paintings, it might not be an exact likeness, but if you saw him in real life, you’d probably recognize him.
Since photography had not yet been invented, opportunities to compare pictures of Peckham’s subjects are unfortunately rare. This is especially true for small-town citizens where Peckham’s version might’ve been the only one ever painted. But for a man with Whittier’s level of fame, we have the chance to examine and contrast his various best-known pictures.
(top to bottom, left to right: photograph of young Whittier; portrait by Manassah Cutler Torrey, 1835 (source); portrait by Albert G. Holt, 1848, at Whittier Home Museum (source); ambrotype c. 1850-60, held at Boston Public Library (source). Whittier Peckham photographed at National Portrait Gallery by Billy Hathorn, 2011 (source).)
It’s unknown exactly why Whittier never saw his own portrait by Peckham, but it was not a paid commission. He painted it for free, perhaps as an act of devotion and a statement of principle. We know that in 1833, Peckham, impressed by Whittier’s writings, traveled all the way to Haverhill to paint his picture — a 45-mile distance, no easy feat back in the day. His journey that year was probably inspired by Whittier’s publication of the anti-slavery pamphlet Justice and Expediency. Whittier allegedly wrote in the 1880 letter, “The picture was painted when I was 23, painted by Deacon Peckham of Westminster while he was on a visit to Haverhill.” Whittier, born in 1807, would have been 23 years of age in 1830, but it was likely a simple error, since the encounter took place long ago.
Laura Luckey's 1988 article in The Magazine Antiques, "The Portraits of Robert Peckham," solidifies the 1833 date by confirming Peckham as the author of the inscription on the back. The text appears to read: "Painted by Robert Peckham, June 1833, from life."
Justice and Expediency was published in June 1833, which confirms my suspicions. That must have been the catalyst for Peckham's visit, an act of bravery that sparked inspiration in him.
Whittier responded [to fellow abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison] in June 1833 with a privately printed pamphlet called Justice and Expediency; or, Slavery Considered with a View to Its Rightful and Effectual Remedy, Abolition, a closely reasoned and carefully documented attack on the Colonization Society [which proposed to send American Black people back to Africa]. An abolitionist group in New York republished the work and distributed hundreds of copies. Whittier’s commitment to the cause was now sealed...
Both Whittier and Peckham were actively involved in abolitionist causes with great fervor, and it's stated that he was specifically fond of Whittier’s poems. In addition to his respect for Justice and Expediency, Peckham might’ve even read Whittier’s very first publication, an ode to loneliness and loss, which launched his literary career and connected him with another major abolitionist: Garrison himself.
A poem titled "The Exile's Departure" saw print in the June 8, 1826 issue of the Newburyport (Massachusetts) Free Press… The editor of the magazine was William Lloyd Garrison, still early in his career. He was intrigued by the anonymous poet [Whittier] and published several more of his poems. "His poetry bears the stamp of true genius," he wrote in the Free Press, "which, if carefully cultivated, will rank him among the bards of his country.”
Whittier’s career speaks for itself, and Garrison is equally famous. He’s now best-known as the creator of the anti-slavery newspaper The Liberator. It’s no coincidence that Peckham’s name also makes multiple appearances in that publication. For example, this 1846 article about Westminster’s Annual Meeting describes an incident that puts the artist’s principles on further record. As the author tells it, the local branch of the Anti-Slavery Society was informed of an instance of hypocritical racism from a local religious leader. Distressed by the news, Peckham (flatteringly described here as a “zealous partisan”) immediately demanded that the responsible person be held accountable — only to discover that it was his own brother! The truth of the matter still remains unknown; the brother (presumably Rev. Samuel Howland Peckham) quickly issued a statement denying the alleged slander. Regardless, Deacon Peckham was outraged by the proposition that one of the local leaders — much less a member of his own family — might be opposed to “admitting the [people of color] to equal social privileges.”
There are many such examples of Peckham’s commitment to the cause published in The Liberator, far too many for me to include in so short an article. It’s no surprise that Whittier’s own boldness and resilience appealed to Peckham strongly. Whittier was well-known for being a man of plucky character and strong temperament. He also had a sense of humor, as proven by this 1835 New Hampshire incident, related by historical author and blogger Beverly Tomek:
To make a long story short, Whittier and Thompson escaped this mob, but on their way back to Whittier’s estate in Haverhill, Massachusetts, they stopped for breakfast at an inn where they overhead the innkeeper telling a story about how Thompson and Whittier had been beaten up and were on the run. After looking at a handbill the innkeeper was passing around that called for Thompson’s apprehension, Whittier innocently asked “How is the rascal to be recognized?” The innkeeper replied, “Easily enough. He’s a tongue-y fellow.” Whittier and Thompson then finished their breakfast and got into the carriage to leave. As it was taking off, Whittier, in what I think would make a great movie scene, leaned out and yelled to the innkeeper, “This is George Thompson and my name is Whittier.”
Whittier was not just cheeky, but also legitimately fearless:
Whittier was at the dedicatory meetings, but he had gone home earlier in the day after a mob assembled and the mayor asked the abolitionists to cancel the rest of the festivities. Despite having broken up the meetings, the mob continued to grow and began to attack the building. Hearing the chaos from his cousins’ home down the street, Whittier went to investigate and saw just how dire the circumstances were. Realizing he would be a very visible target and thinking quickly, he dodged into the home of his friend Dr. Parrish (Joseph Parrish from what I can tell, but I have not verified that yet) and grabbed a wig and a lab coat. The mob had started to set the building on fire, and he realized the plates for the next day’s edition of his newspaper were in the office, so he entered the building in his disguise, pretended to be a party to the destruction, and stole the plates. Despite the mobbing, he managed to get his paper out the next day as scheduled.
All in all, it makes perfect sense that Peckham would’ve been so inspired by Whittier’s writing that he traveled nearly fifty miles to paint Whittier without charge. On this topic, it seems they were kindred spirits, which makes it all the more of a shame that Whittier wasn’t a fan of his art!
Unfortunately, we don’t know the whereabouts of the portrait immediately after it was painted. Its location is listed as “AAS” - American Antiquarian Society — according to the 1910s Gage Family Papers (an invaluable folk art resource held at the very same AAS, which I’ve written about before.)
After he painted the Whittier portrait, Peckham might’ve taken it back to Westminster and hung it in the local Academy. Like so many other local institutions, Peckham helped to establish it, together with the equally principled Westminster civic and religious leader, Rev. Cyrus Mann (as retold in 1869 by Rev. A. Judson Rich.)
Considering their close connection and shared ideals, it’s extremely likely that Peckham would’ve also painted his good friend Cyrus Mann. But, sadly, no images of Mann have survived (that we know of). Nevertheless, it’s possible that someday, a portrait might turn up. Several nameless Peckham paintings of men and women still survive at small local historical societies, such as this mysterious gentleman from Sterling, Massachusetts. I recently spotted and identified this as Peckham’s work. (Many thanks to Loret Schur, president of Sterling Historical Society, and SHS volunteers, for their hospitality.) Sadly, the name is currently unknown. He could be anybody. This gentleman, or any other anonymous portrait, might even be Cyrus Mann lurking in disguise.
Unlike Whittier, we have no other pictures of the same subject for comparison. But we do know with certainty that, whoever he is, Peckham painted him true to life… maybe even “too truthfully.” The subject sports a stern expression, powerful eyebrows, and a hairline to rival Whittier’s. Amusingly, he also has a combined resemblance to two of the Peckham portraits at Forbush Memorial Library: Charles Coolidge and George Wood.
And it comes full circle: George Wood’s name, like so many other prominent Westminster townsfolk, appears on an anti-slavery petition signed by Robert Peckham himself -- one of 10 signed by Peckham and his family.
Look above Peckham's signature: Milton Joslin, another Westminster resident painted by Peckham, supported the very same cause. That can’t be a coincidence. Fortunately, Joslin’s portrait has also survived, and now hangs across from George Wood on the walls of Forbush. (I saw and photographed them myself – many thanks to Nick Langhart, director of Forbush Memorial Library, and the Forbush staff, for their hospitality.)
I believe we’ve only scratched the surface of Peckham’s principled commitment to abolitionism. The pressing social issues of his day, and his profound sense of moral obligation, informed his artistic career and shaped the course of his life. (He lived to see the Emancipation Proclamation.) I believe there are many Peckham portraits still undiscovered – and it would come as no surprise to me if the subjects’ names appear on those brave petitions, too, advocating for the cause that both Peckham and Whittier helped to lead.
- - -
Before finishing this article, I wrote to the John Greenleaf Whittier Homestead in Haverhill (also known as the Whittier Birthplace) for further information and photos. Kaleigh Paré Shaughnessy, Executive Director, told me: “We own the original painting here at the Whittier Birthplace in Haverhill; however it is currently on loan to the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. We have a reproduction on display at present.” I requested photos of the Peckham reproduction, which Kaleigh graciously provided. Here’s Whittier in his very own home:
---
Read Part 2: https://www.paintingsworthlookingat.com/2024/09/eminently-artful-part-two-deacon-robert.html
---
Postscript:
While concluding the final edit on this article, I discovered that the Haverhill Public Library records include both a print of the Whittier Peckham, and this suspiciously similar portrait.
Mirroring the picture and placing it alongside our painting, the likeness becomes even more obvious.
(Thanks to Elizabeth at the HPL's Senter Digital Archive for the higher-quality image!)
The composition and content of both portraits are extremely close. It seems they must be connected. The online catalog for the other Whittier says:
John Greenleaf Whittier. Vignetted head and shoulders portrait, facing three-quarter left. He has dark hair and sideburns and is wearing a suit, shirt and tie. Photograph of a drawing or painting. Inscription on verso: "Said to be Whittier at 21. If authentic, his earliest known likeness.” Copy at Haverhill Public Library bears stamp of M. [sic W.] C. Thompson, Whittier's 'official' photographer, at Amesbury. No. 1 [D. Wright]." Commercial photography not in practice in the United States when Whittier was 21 (circa 1828). William Cushing Thompson had photo studios in Amesbury documented beginning in 1869. He may have owned the original. Copy print probably late 20th century, by Donald Prescott Wright.
John Greenleaf Whittier. Vignetted head and shoulders portrait, facing three-quarter left. He has dark hair and sideburns and is wearing a suit, shirt and tie. Photograph of a drawing or painting. Inscription on verso: "Said to be Whittier at 21. If authentic, his earliest known likeness.” Copy at Haverhill Public Library bears stamp of M. [sic W.] C. Thompson, Whittier's 'official' photographer, at Amesbury. No. 1 [D. Wright]." Commercial photography not in practice in the United States when Whittier was 21 (circa 1828). William Cushing Thompson had photo studios in Amesbury documented beginning in 1869. He may have owned the original. Copy print probably late 20th century, by Donald Prescott Wright.
The inscription on the reverse states Whittier’s age as 21, seemingly moving back the date of the portrait yet again (1828). Visually, this does match – Whittier seems to look a little younger in the picture on the left. Maybe Peckham just visited Haverhill twice and painted him on different occasions, but only one incident is recorded in Whittier’s later critique. Could it be a preparatory study for the main portrait, that Peckham later transformed into the full oil-painted version? Or could it be a later alternative version of the portrait, if Peckham was dissatisfied with how Whittier’s hair turned out? It looks fairly polished and well-done, and the fading at the edges was a Victorian photographic technique, possibly not part of the original. The Haverhill Library copy is a print of a photograph of the picture. If only we had the real one!
The inscription on the reverse states Whittier’s age as 21, seemingly moving back the date of the portrait yet again (1828). Visually, this does match – Whittier seems to look a little younger in the picture on the left. Maybe Peckham just visited Haverhill twice and painted him on different occasions, but only one incident is recorded in Whittier’s later critique. Could it be a preparatory study for the main portrait, that Peckham later transformed into the full oil-painted version? Or could it be a later alternative version of the portrait, if Peckham was dissatisfied with how Whittier’s hair turned out? It looks fairly polished and well-done, and the fading at the edges was a Victorian photographic technique, possibly not part of the original. The Haverhill Library copy is a print of a photograph of the picture. If only we had the real one!
