Paintings Worth Looking At

What's your favorite Joseph Whiting Stock portrait? Maybe his charming niece and nephew? How about the one he painted after his death? - - - The girl on the left was sold as “Attributed to Joseph Whiting Stock (American, 1815-1855)” with much pomp and circumstance. It provides some wonderful catalog copy analyzing Stock’s difficulty with perspective, which I’m still very fond of, even if the attribution is dead wrong. Pun not intended. Guess what: the auction record for the identical companion portrait, the girl on the right , surfaced recently.

I’ll confess, I couldn’t figure out who Mr. Keeley is, either. Turns out there’s a reason. - - - Biographical information about this Massachusetts man is minimal. He was a traveling folk painter, like so many, who left a swath of beautiful portraits in his wake. Most of his surviving works have lost the artist’s name, but retain their centuries-old charm. Before I knew him as Keeley, he lived in my notes as “Probably a big-name, but not Peckham.” Unfortunately, he’s not a big-name. He’s barely known at all.

This story starts with an entirely different painting, by an entirely different artist. It arrives at the right answer despite itself. - - - PART I. THE MIX-UP - - - I first encountered this charming double portrait on an online auction site, allegedly sold as the work of Deacon Robert Peckham. It’s a lovely folk depiction of children in an interior, which, in all fairness, was Peckham’s specialty. As is typical for the style and era, they’re bright, alert, and look like they know too much. Notably, the props include a chapbook (a small printed pamphlet book for children) and a rose.

What do you do when you can’t find an artist’s name? In my experience, the only option is just to keep looking, digging, and searching through paintings, gradually grouping by style and likeness. With time and effort, the process yields a collection that looks like they belong together, a valuable base to build upon. Sometimes, miraculously, a picture will turn up with a signed inscription on the back — in which case, you celebrate for 2 minutes and keep right on going. But, in the absence of any such breakthrough, the best method is to keep collecting images, getting to know the artists and their idiosyncratic quirks. After a while, they start to feel like anonymous pen-pals whose handwriting you’d recognize anywhere.  Without further ado, allow me to present the Soft Faces Painter. Fig. 1, various sources (see article text) Their work is characterized by (as you may guess) soft, childlike faces with stylized features; distant gazes with big, rounded eyes; simplified hands, often ...

In which a name is more than it seems. Recently, I found myself wandering through the expansive Massachusetts Five Colleges Database. I punched in a search for “Portrait,” just to see what happened. Nearly 4500 records were found ; I paged through every single one of them. (Yes, really. Some, I'm afraid, are better than others.) This appealing portrait quickly became one of my favorites. Painted by the folk portraiture master Joseph Goodhue Chandler, it depicts Mary Lyon (1797-1849), the pioneering female educator and founder of Mount Holyoke College. It’s a very likable image, full of warmth and sincerity alongside that classic New England austerity. (Thanks to Emily Wood, assistant Curator of Mount Holyoke College Art Museum in South Hadley, MA), for the high-resolution images of both paintings, and for additional context and information!)

Collecting requires patience.  Patience while sifting through endless prints, reproductions, and lackluster landscapes. Patience while keeping an eye on the calendar. And above all, patience on the day of the auction, sitting at the computer as the clock ticks by, waiting for your lot number for what feels like an eternity.  And even then, there are no guarantees. Such was the case for this very fine Zedekiah Belknap, Portrait of a Lady Reading a Bible. She’s colorful, appealing, and well-preserved, surviving in exceptional condition for two centuries. 

In which “eminently artless” turns into “more than average merit.”  Last time , I wrote about Peckham’s portrait of the famous poet and abolitionist John Greenleaf Whittier, explaining the good Deacon’s ties to the anti-slavery cause. After all, there’s plenty to discuss about the strength of his beliefs, not just his artistic skills. Regrettably, this led to the disappointing finale: Whittier didn’t like Peckham’s portraits, and considered him “eminently artless.”  Or did he?  My post-article follow-up research revealed an astounding revelation: Whittier actually approved of Peckham’s portrait, saying that it captured his youthful image. He may or may not have once called him “eminently artless,” but he liked the picture well enough. 

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.

Why do the paintings I study keep showing up on TV? This is the third time!  ( Mr. Miner and son , Mrs. Miner and daughter )

Folk art is fraught with loss. One of the best-known artists, Joseph Whiting Stock, recorded 900 paintings in his lifetime, but only 100 still survive . It is quite possible that this statistic applies to every folk artist we know, prompting the grim realization that only a slim fraction of these major and minor masterpieces are still intact at all. The same may be true for folk artists themselves. For every single one we have identified, there might be another whose name we’ll never know. And even among the artists who have survived — the lucky ones by name, the unlucky ones as a “limner” — a large number of them have slipped through the cracks. I’d like to help bring them back.  Our first is James S. Hathaway.  I first saw these while scrolling an endless search of Frick Digital Collections, using the magnificently unsophisticated approach of looking at a lot of pictures and hoping something will stick. This one made me stop and stare. It’s James S. Hathaway’s striking repre...