Strolling around the Fitzwilliam Museum during a peak of essay-avoidance, I am struck by how the fashion of a piece can draw the viewer in. I imagine myself in the shoes of the subject, yearning to flounce and flit around in the robe à la francaise of the 18th century. Whether it be the jewelled brightness of the Pre-Raphaelites or the dramatics of the Baroque period, the fashion of portraiture becomes our window into the world as it was once known. But portraits are full of symbols, and a glimpse of bygone aesthetics quickly turns my attention to wider social and historical issues of power, identity and resistance.
Before the invention of the Instagram dump, the wealthy would curate their identity through portraiture, a phenomenon that took off during the Renaissance. Consider one of the Fitz’s most important examples of this: Nicholas Hilliard’s portrait miniature of Elizabeth I. The piece presents an idealised version of the queen. Her gold dress adorned with jewels shows off her wealth, with the pearls representing her purity as the ‘Virgin Queen’ – a name which indicated her independence and loyalty to her country, while drawing religious comparisons to the Virgin Mary. The circle of ruff extending out from her face alludes to traditional associations between the sun and the monarch. Fashion becomes a form of political propaganda, creating an image of a monarch whose command is just as captivating as her decadent (and savvy) wardrobe.
“Fashion becomes a form of political propaganda”
As portraits track the progression of history, power becomes less static, and their fashion can become a means of challenging rule altogether. The current Fitzwilliam exhibition, A Call to Art: William Morris and the Pre-Raphaelites (free to all students by signing up for the Fitz list!) highlights how portraits of women can challenge social stereotypes regarding female passivity, including through their fashion. Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Portrait of Elizabeth Siddal is eye-opening in its presentation of female power: her loose, unadorned dress and simply pinned back hair breaks down the stifling, corseted ideals of feminine beauty in the Victorian period, allowing for the presentation of active intelligence. Siddal is not merely presented as an object for the eye to gaze upon, but as someone introspective, with a depth of thought that was deemed impossible for women of the 19th century.
“Portraits track the progression of history”
As I continue my stroll around the Fitz, I am particularly stirred by John Singer Sargent’s 1889 Portrait of Dorothy Barnard, portraying one of his friend’s daughters pensively staring away from the viewer. Sargent was famous for his society portraits and would often look through his sitters’ wardrobes to pick out the clothes he wanted them to pose in. In this portrait, Dorothy’s ochre jacket immediately catches the eye, radiating fresh energy, optimism and light. The bright pigment contrasts the popular image of the Victorian era defined by Queen Victoria’s heavy mourning clothes and drab black and white photographs. Paired with an untucked white collared blouse, Dorothy’s outfit has an androgynous look and loose fit that captures the naivety and rebellious freedom of childhood. In contrast to the more conservative expectations of contemporary society, the portrait focuses on bohemian expression.
Observing these portraits in the Fitz, sitting with their history whilst observing their faces and fashions, I became more aware of the crucial relationship between identity and fashion within art. The faces of these subjects, whether as regal as Elizabeth I or as stoic as Siddal and Barnard, do not disclose much to the viewer (especially if they are now unknown to the modern visitor), but their painters have imbued their clothes with symbolism and covert messaging that our brains are still able to pick up. Even thinking about our modern everyday lives, consider how every mirror selfie or fit check posted on Instagram is designed to tell the viewer something, just with its outfit of the day. Next time you need to find a new means of procrastination, take yourself to the Fitz and investigate the portraiture on display. You might discover that the most interesting thing about a portrait isn’t the person, but their outfit.
