Paintings Worth Looking At

(Author’s note: This hefty chunk of research dates back to July, but was delayed. Certain materials are still absent. So the mystery's a bit inconclusive, but the rest is perfectly readable.) Let’s start with the theft. Or maybe it was a gift. It could’ve been a perfectly legitimate off-the-record sale, or a simple mishap. Maybe it simply fell off the wall, landed in someone’s pocket by mistake, and walked out on its own, with everyone else none the wiser. Who are we to say, centuries later? All we can say is that, from 1732 to 1915, the Anthony Van Dyck painting of Dr. Baldwin Hamey, Junior, disappeared from the record entirely. 

In which Hamey Junior is slightly unhelpful. Well done, Balduinus Hamey M.D. Socio et Benefactore Collegii Medicorum Londinensis. But a shorter title might have sufficed. - - - As we know well, in past centuries, it was common practice for erudite and scholarly British individuals to write in dead languages. They intended to demonstrate their sophistication and mastery of Greco-Roman culture, not just to confound modern researchers, despite how it may seem. Baldwin Hamey Junior , that great fan of Aristophanes and Virgil, is the usual culprit, especially when grappling with his hefty tome “Bustorum aliquot Reliquae,” an index of sentimental eulogies in immaculate Latin. Which is very ironic, considering my own background in the classics, but I think Hamey’s got me beat.

So you’ve been trying to do some historical research, but you’re vexed by the old-time habit of English people not writing in English? You’ve come to the right place. Highbrow scholars used to conduct their correspondence in the languages of the ancients, using so many extra words that it’d put Charles Dickens to shame, except Dickens very sensibly wrote in his native tongue, which gives him a real advantage here. 1600s London literati — like the usual suspect, Baldwin Hamey — didn’t do us that favor. The method I've used and demonstrated in this guide, to extract handwritten Latin text and process it into English, relies on an AI-powered version of OCR technology (optical character recognition). Here's how.

In which the portrait of the father is recycled for the son. - - - These two pictures are oddly similar. As usual, that’s no coincidence.  Last time on the Hamey Channel, we discussed a big-name painter, Cornelius Johnson. Today, we’ll focus on a small name: Matthew Snelling, a little-known miniaturist.  Snelling is remembered for his portrait of Hamey and not much else. (The record of the picture cites the artist as “Matthew (?) Snelling,” granting him even less dignity.) “Baldvinus Hamey M.D.”, shown on the left, captures the good doctor at age 74, pictured with those timeless hallmarks of the medical profession: a dashing cap, several gigantic books, and the marble busts of his favorite ancient authors, which he strokes lovingly like a household pet. 

This is a cautionary tale. Not on my part, thankfully (at least not yet), but on the danger of leaping to conclusions.   The Baldwin Hamey portraits are an incredibly convoluted story involving at least five separate paintings (some lost, some found), which may or may not actually depict the same man and/or his extremely similar son. In fact, the prospect of untangling this whole thing is so spectacularly complex that it hasn’t been done yet. But let’s give it a shot anyway. The portrait known as Baldwin Hamey, Senior (on the right), is an astoundingly high-quality painting. It stands head and shoulders above standard formulaic portraiture of the era (pun not intended). It’s so good for its time, in fact, that I initially wondered if it had been mislabeled on ArtUK, but it’s credibly inscribed as 1633 and bears the Hamey family coat of arms. Its artistic authorship is a tantalizing, compelling mystery. 

In which an investigation starts with folk art, visits the Netherlands, and ends up back at folk art. I'll admit, I got lucky with this one. I was looking on a stock photo website for “portrait painting” (as one does) and, several dozen pages into the mixed results, I stumbled upon this lovely lady.   Her slightly primitive rendering and sincere charm reminded me of American folk art pastel portraits, an area I’ve spent quite some time researching. I wondered if she might be connected to the works of New England itinerant artists, such as Micah Williams or James Martin . She’s not an exact match, but there’s a vague likeness in the direct eye contact, the soft flat shading of the skin, and the straightforward, almost confrontational, framing of the portrait subject.

In which the straightforward descends into the surreal. Whenever I forage around on artuk.org , I’m usually plumbing the depths of the “Unknown Artist” search. After all, beautiful works of art by talented painters are frequently mislaid, lose their labels, or simply wind up forgotten in somebody’s basement. ArtUK serves the invaluable function of being the United Kingdom’s digital basement (in the most complimentary way), and it brings me great joy to turn up something worth looking at.

In which a mysterious floating head is reattached to a Dutch nobleman, and a grandson copies his grandfather to impersonate him postmortem. It started out, back then, as “Portrait That Has Something A Bit Off.”  This humble yet striking picture originally turned up on a stock photo website , uploaded — in the infinite wisdom of automatic titling — as “Man In Black Jacket Holding White Plastic Tube.”  It’s a mystery where a gentleman from 1648 in the Netherlands might have got hold of plastic.  So I stashed it in my digital notes, with the aforementioned label. There is something a bit off: it’s remarkably good. Despite the gap in centuries, the man feels relatable. He tiredly and wistfully gazes out of his frame, choked by his stifling starched ruff. (Some sitters wear the ruff. For other sitters, the ruff wears them.) Fashion aside, it’s clearly a picture of great quality. The execution is intricate, the brushwork precise, the fabric crisply and delicately rendered. The man’s ruddy s