You may need to take a deep breath on entering this exhibition, puff yourself up a bit, for the bravado contained within could crush those with less confidence. Thomas Lawrence, precocious genius of the late eighteenth-and early-nineteenth century, is an artist for whom the term ‘swagger portrait’ is something of an understatement. Named an Associate of the Royal Academy at the age of 22, Lawrence painted Regency society’s powerful and brilliant, always powerfully and often brilliantly, flattering his sitters – politicians and military men, bankers and assorted royals – with the flashiest brushwork since Gainsborough. Impressive as Lawrence’s paintings are, an air of obsequiousness permeates the galleries. His pictures of children are especially nauseating.
Lawrence excels at surfaces – a coquettishly rouged cheek, the nap of velvet (everywhere, so much red plush), fur realistic enough to trigger allergies. It’s easy, delightful even, to get caught up in these details. However, dig beneath the bravura technique and impeccable masks sometimes begin to drop. Amid the decorous flounce, Queen Charlotte looks frail and isolated – she is said to have been unhappy with her portrait, though it was at hit at the 1790 Royal Academy exhibition. Lawrence’s 1820 portrait of the Duke of Wellington, out of uniform and looking rather swamped in his coat, is a (stage-managed?) antidote to his ‘iron duke’ persona.
The exhibition, rightly, concentrates on the work. You’ll have to read the catalogue to get to grips with the complexities of this fascinating artist – a provincial upstart who, attracted to the rich and glamorous, was himself no stranger to financial and sexual intrigue.