Small Pleasures

Commissioned by the wealthy elite as mementos and gifts, portrait miniatures occupy a unique place in the history of art, finds Emma Longstaff

Images of the human face are everywhere – on television, social media, advertising and video calls, not to mention the thousands of photos of friends, children and pets we carry around with us on our smartphones. It’s easy to forget that, centuries ago, only the very wealthiest people could afford to commission artists to record their faces for posterity.

The practice of painting portraits in miniature emerged in the European royal courts in the 1500s. The earliest were given as diplomatic gifts, and Elizabeth I is said to have worn portraits of favoured courtiers at her breast. Around 200 years later, portrait miniatures were popular with the fashionable elite – not just dukes and duchesses, but newly minted merchants and manufacturers. By the mid 19th century, miniature painting was supplanted by the wondrous new invention of photography.

Most miniatures were a few inches in size; the smallest barely an inch. Originally produced in watercolour on card, copper, or vellum (calfskin), by the 1750s most were painted onto thin slices of ivory. Paint sat on the polished surface of the ivory, giving the portraits a more luminous, lifelike quality. Artists such as Christian Friedrich Zincke produced miniatures in enamel; the strong colours of enamel gave portraits the appearance of tiny oil paintings, but the work needed to be re-fired in the kiln each time a new layer was applied, risking cracks and blemishes. This made it a highly skilled and painstaking process, and so it was used less widely.

‘They were often designed to be worn; as brooches, pinned close to the heart, hidden in a locket, or tied on a ribbon at the wrist’

The deep-pocketed buyers who commissioned miniatures likely had grander portraits in their various homes, but the appeal of a miniature was its portability, says Nicky Gould, a London-based dealer in portrait miniatures. ‘Travel was long, and often dangerous; it could separate families for months, or even years. Imagine having a little picture with you, always, of the person you were missing.’

Unlike portraits displayed publicly, miniatures were very intimate objects, explains Nicky: ‘Sometimes the mounts incorporated locks of hair – and not necessarily when the person in the portrait had died. A couple’s hair, or the hair of a parent and child, might be plaited together to mark their special bond. They were often designed to be worn as pieces of jewellery, for example, as brooches, pinned close to the heart. Some were lavishly jewelled, or they could be worn more discreetly, hidden in a locket or tied on a ribbon at the wrist.’

We’ve generally been slow to appreciate the unique place of portrait miniatures in the story of art, says British art expert and television presenter Philip Mould. ‘Looking at early miniature painters like Nicholas Hilliard and Isaac Oliver, who painted members of the royal courts in the late 1500s and early 1600s, their work has an extraordinary artistic virtuosity and a true poetic sensibility. It transcends other portraiture of the time; it’s Shakespeare made visual.’

Philip highlights the work of Samuel Cooper, a 17th-century painter of miniatures famed for his accuracy. He says Cooper’s miniature of Oliver Cromwell was even wartier and less flattering than the larger, better-known so-called ‘warts and all’ painting by Peter Lely. Centuries after it was created, there’s a pleasing paradox that something so small could communicate the essence of a person so powerfully.

This sense of spiritual depth and realism is also found in other very high-quality miniature painting, Philip argues: ‘The unflinching focus on the face encourages an honesty and introspection that can be missing in larger, more formal portraits designed to be gawped at in public from a distance of several feet.’

Early works by important painters such as Hilliard, Oliver and Cooper are beyond the reach of most collectors, going for hundreds of thousands of pounds on the rare occasions they’re sold. Similarly, miniatures by renowned artists from the 1700s including George Engleheart and Richard Cosway fetch five-figure sums. But Nicky Gould thinks that, for many buyers, what matters most isn’t the name of the artist, but the charm of the sitter. And examples by less sought-after or unknown artists start at around £100.

Some collectors are drawn to children and pretty young ladies with elaborate hair, hats, flowers, jewellery and dresses, says Nicky. Eighteenth-century fops dressed to the nines in their powdered wigs, lacy collars and sumptuously embroidered waistcoats are more attractive to buyers than dour gentlemen in the sober dress of the 19th century, although military figures associated with important campaigns appeal to collectors of militaria. What Nicky loves best is a portrait with bags of character, such as a military gentleman sporting an eye patch. She also found the caved-in nose of one sitter rather appealing – one of her customers, who was a doctor specialising in sexual health, spotted that it was probably caused by the final stages of syphilis.

A good story adds to a miniature’s appeal. In 2006, the auction house Gorringe’s sold a miniature by Thomas Watling – a convicted forger of bank notes who was transported to Australia in 1792. It depicted the naturalist and Surgeon-General of New South Wales, John White, with whom Watling went on to catalogue the flora and fauna of the region. As one of the first Western pieces of art to be produced in the Antipodes, and with such important historical connections, its sale led to determined bidding, achieving a hammer price of £90,000.

Unfortunately, there are some deliberate fakes in circulation, Nicky cautions. As with other artworks, a signature isn’t a guarantee of authenticity. Nicky also warns it’s important that miniatures are stored in a stable environment, away from moisture and strong light and heat; especially if they’re painted on ivory, which is more susceptible to splitting. Whereas it can be a struggle to find enough space to hang a bigger painting, one of the joys of miniatures is that they can be displayed in groups, on patches of wall or in unfilled niches – either side of an (unused) fireplace, for example, or at the back of empty shelves. Nicky has also seen miniatures grouped effectively within a larger empty gilt frame.

Philip Mould suggests an entirely different approach: ‘These objects were made to be interacted with, not displayed on a wall. In any case, they’re so very tiny you need to get really, really close to see them properly. When you hold them in your hand, you experience something of their original purpose. So I really like the idea of bringing out a collection after dinner, to pass about and discuss among friends.’ However you choose to display or share them, one thing is certain – to be enjoyed fully, these diminutive antiques require good light, and reading glasses at the ready.

WHERE TO BUY

Nicky Gould gouldantiques.com; @gouldantiques

Philip Mould & Company philipmould.com; @philip_mould_gallery

Wigs on the Green wigsonthegreen.co.uk; @wigsonthegreen

WHERE TO SEE

Victoria & Albert Museum vam.ac.uk/collections/portraitminiatures