“Hanging in his quarters at Fort Lawrence, Winslow’s portrait in uniform would have served as a subtle reminder of his valuable connections. Copley’s three-quarter-length portrait lavishes attention on the young officer’s silver lace and pulsing red coat, a uniform more elaborate than the one he likely wore. The painter seemingly delights in the play of light upon shining surfaces, from the buff-colored sateen pulled taut across Winslow’s ample waist to the golden braid and tassel dangling from his silver-hilted sword.” (pp 56-57; emphasis added.)
1760-65 Uniform of Captain Thomas Plumbe of the Royal Lancashire Militia.I missed that bit about sateen last night when I read this aloud to Drunk Tailor, so let’s roll back to the part that first set me off: the young officer’s silver lace and pulsing red coat, a uniform more elaborate than the one he likely wore.
Granted, Plumbe’s uniform is later than Winslow’s portrait, and Plumbe was a Captain and Winslow a Lieutenant, but the difference between them is rather less than, say, a private and a captain. Why does Kamensky assume that Winslow’s uniform is not the one he wore? Is it the lace? Winslow held a commission, and served as paymaster and commissary, roles Kamensky describes as “relatively modest.” Yes, Lieutenant isn’t Colonel; it’s the baby of officers, but it’s still commissioned officer and reasonably responsible (and, one might imagine, relatively remunerative if one was hooked into the Boston mercantile network). And uniforms were ornamented with tape, in gold, silver, or wool– see below, in Morier’s painting of two privates. (I further wonder whether it’s reasonable to describe a portrait of 50″ x 40″ as subtle, but perhaps it was placed in an enormous room.)
William Brattle, oil on canvas by John Singleton Copley, 1756. Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Partial Gift of Mrs. Thomas Brattle Gannett and Partial Purchase through the generosity of Robert T. Gannett, an Anonymous Donor and the Alpheus Hyatt Purchasing Fund 1978.606Fanciful? Fancy to our eyes, yes. Fanciful, no. Brattle was eventually a Major-General, so the uniform portrayed here, when he was likely a captain (same rank as Plumbe), seems pretty reasonable. If we were considering replicating a Massachusetts officer’s uniform ca 1755, we would consider Brattle and Winslow’s biographies and ranks, compare the two portraits of two men, probably both captains at this time, and, cross-referenced with Plumbe’s amazingly extant uniform and the 1751 warrant, begin to form an opinion that we would be making a coat in scarlet superfine broadcloth faced with buff, with buff small clothes, gold tape, and domed buttons. (Sateen is a weave structure, and wool sateen was not used in military uniforms.)
But that’s now how Kamensky is approaching this, of course, and why would she? She’s a historian, not a curator, material culture person, or a reenactor. Why does she assert that the uniforms worn by Winslow and Brattle are fanciful, and “more elaborate” than what they wore– without a footnote to back that assertion? And why does she then describe Major George Scott’s portrait “as the meticulously rendered uniform of his parent regiment, The Fortieth Foot” in contrast to “the fanciful, half-imagined costumes of Winslow and Brattle”? (p 58)
Major George Scott (detail), oil on canvas by John Singleton Copley, 1755-58. Private CollectionThe sitters’ biographies are footnoted, but nothing appears in the notes about the uniforms. Kamensky makes a great leap to the “fanciful,” which I find curious, considering that most male portraits are rendered carefully if flatteringly, and many female portraits are made for the male gaze, and are more likely to be “fanciful” or “fancy dress.”
I find myself wondering how it is that historians and art historians can write so confidently about images without understanding the material depicted. It’s as if they are all context and no content, while many reenactors/costumers favor content over context. In any case, having encountered these speed bumps in the book, I’ll certainly be reading it with a dose of skepticism when portraits are dissected.
Adam Stephen’s Waistcoat and Gorget
Date: ca. 1754
Catalog #: 12197; 12199 gorget Accession #: 52984
Credit: Division of Military History and Diplomacy, National Museum of American HistoryEdited to add:Drunk Tailor reminded me after I posted this that the NMAH possesses an actual officer’s waistcoat from the 1750s. Here’s the General History note in the online exhibit: “In 1755, the officers of the Virginia Regiment received orders from Washington to provide themselves with a “Suit of Regimentals” of good blue cloth. The coat was to be faced and cuffed in scarlet and trimmed with silver; they were to wear blue wool breeches and a scarlet wool waistcoat with silver lace.”
Scarlet wool waistcoat with silver lace. Sure does resonate with those portraits of Winslow and Brattle, and makes me all the more uncomfortable Kamensky’s assertions of “fanciful” depictions.
John Singleton Copley.
Portrait of Mrs. Daniel Rogers (Elizabeth Gorham Rogers), 1762
50 X 40, oil on canvas.
Middleton Collection, Wake Forest University
HC1991.1.1
Hmm…. 1762. Does that dress look like 1762 to you? Or does it resemble a 17th century garment? Check out those sleeves: scallops. The shift sleeves: super full. The line of the gown at the neck: a shallow scoop. The front of the bodice: closed.
Are those the hallmarks of a typical 1762 gown in New England, England, or France? You are correct, sir: They are not.
What’s happening here? What is Copley doing, and why?
He’s making his subject look good, reflecting her wealth and status. He’s flattering her by painting her in a faux-17th century gown, a “Vandyke costume, a popular artistic convention in England related to the vogue for fancy dress and masquerade.”* 1762 seems a trifle late for this convention, but in 1757, James McArdell produces a mezzotint of Thomas Hudson’s portrait of the Duchess of Ancaster. Henry Pelham wrote to Copley in 1776 that he had purchased one of those mezzotints, suggesting their use as references for Colonial American painters. Reynolda House has a nice explication of this style of dress in the Thëus portrait they own of Mrs. Thomas Lynch, shown below.
Mrs. Thomas Lynch, oil on canvas by Jeremiah Thëus, 1755. Reynolda House, 1972.2.1
There was also a convention of portraying women in “timeless draperies,” following the school of Peter Lely and Godfrey Kneller, both late 17th-century English painters who produced portraits with generalized costumes.
Lady Mary Berkely, wife of Thomas Chambers. oil on canvas by Sir Godfrey Kneller, ca. 1700. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 96.30.6
This portrait by Kneller (born in Germany, he worked in England) explains a lot, doesn’t it? And this timeless convention persists for some time, and the stylization of the facial features and hair is copied by English and colonial American painters. John Smibert, long familiar to many of you, was a leading practitioner of this style of portrait, and his work would have been well known to Copley and his sitters.
Mrs Samuel Browne by Smibert, RIHS 1891.2.2
Blackburn’s portrait of Mary Sylvester adopts two conventions at once, in a way: she’s in timeless-style drapery and fancy dress as a shepherdess. Let’s remember, too, that there’s symbolism in the shepherdess imagery, referencing pastoral innocence and Mary Sylvester’s unmarried, presumably virginal, status. Don’t believe me? Read the catalog entry, written (at the very least) under the supervision of actual, degree-toting art historians.
Mary Sylvester, oil on canvas by Joseph Blackburn, 1754. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 16.68.2
Where does that leave us with Mrs. Rogers? She’s portrayed in what is essentially fancy dress, holding her straw hat in her left hand (much as Mary Sylvester is) with a basket over her right forearm. You will note the open work of the basket, the delicate arches and the fineness of the base. What’s in it? Something gauzy, as light as the drape around her shoulders, with a square of dark blue silk and a fine white silk ribbon. Honestly I am not entirely certain — the resolution of the image is dreadful.
But what’s NOT in the basket? A redware or pewter mug, sewing, keys, bottle, food, candy, toys, or, really, anything of a very concrete or practical nature.
Is this image a justification for carrying a [nearly empty ] basket on the streets of Boston? Of course it is–as long as you justify walking the streets of Boston in imaginary or fancy dress.
One of the arguments I hear against changing the way people dress as civilians at reenactments, particularly the women but sometimes the men, is that “if we all use the same pattern, we’ll all look alike, and that’s not how people dress now or then.”
I know, we can’t apply modern thinking to the past– that’s crap historiography. But why do we resist using the same correct patterns for historic garments when we are clearly dressing alike today?
Mrs Samuel Browne by Smibert, RIHS 1891.2.2
Mrs Joseph Mann by Copley, MFA Boston, 43.1353
I’ve not yet read a paper on the similarity of women’s dress in Robert Feke or John Copley’s portraits that really convinced me, but if you look at enough of them, you might think there’s only one woman and one dress in all of British North America, because Badger and Greenwood are painting her, too.
Even if those clothes are studio props, what does it say that the sitters wanted to be portrayed in the same clothes? Look, if that’s the only means of getting myself into a Charles James, you bet I’d take it. Or, for a more contemporary analogue, Alexander McQueen.
Luxe et Indigence. Le Bon Genre, 1817
Dressing is about status as much as it is about self-expression, and in the 18th century, dressing signaled refinement, sensibility, and status through the quality of fabric as much as through the cut of clothes. Air Jordans do the same thing today, or North Face jackets, or Kate Spade purses. They show what you can afford, even if you’re eating oatmeal for dinner behind closed doors.
We dress the same now, and we dressed the same then, with variations according to pocketbook. We can’t all afford K&P superfine wool today any more than we could have bought the best wools or prints in the 18th century. But using accurate patterns and fabrics appropriate to our station will create the best impressions possible– even if my gown is cut to the same pattern as my wealthier acquaintance’s.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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