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Tough Way to Make a Living

Last month, while I was wandering through the portrait galleries in the New Orleans Museum of Art (NOMA in NOLA), I came upon a gigantic oil painting of a monarch striking a royal pose, looking splendid and self-satisfied, peering back at me.

The portrait was placed high on a large wall, so that I was looking up, and he was looking back down, rather disdainfully. One gartered leg jutted from beneath his opulent robes.

The painting was dramatic, impressive, technically excellent — but, wow, how ridiculous and foppish His Highness looked.

A plaque on the wall identified the monarch as Charles II of England. The painting was done in 1685 by Sir Godfrey Kneller, “court painter to British monarchs from Charles II to George I.”

Before long, a young couple walked up. We stood there in silence, contemplating Charles as he loomed over us.

I don’t often visit my opinion on strangers, but for some reason, I blurted out what I was thinking.

“You know,” I said, “It’s sad that an artist of such talent was reduced to painting guys like that for a living.”

“I know,” said the man. “It’s really well done, but Charles looks ridiculous.”

“Charles was beheaded, wasn’t he?” asked his female companion.

“No, that was his daddy, Charles I,” said the man. “This is Charles II, the one who restored the monarchy after Cromwell. This Charles lived a long life of splendor.”

“That would explain the smirk,” said his companion.

I walked on, thinking not of Charles, who had it made, but of the artist, poor Godfrey Kneller. No doubt he led the life of a shameless toady to get the Charleses and Jameses and the various dukes and countesses around the palace to consent to a portrait, and ideally a paycheck.

Sir Godfrey, like all artists who wanted to succeed, had no choice but to perfect the art of sucking up to the rich and powerful.

A while later, one floor up in one of the sculpture galleries, I came across a startling marble bust of George Washington that seemed to be further evidence of the artist-as-toady concept.

This is the bust of the father of our country that stopped me in my tracks.

I took the photo because in my mind, George Washington with curly Roman hair is absurd.

As I later learned (I’m always later learning stuff that I should have learned in my youth), Roman hair on a statue in 1816 was fashionable, not absurd.

After I got home, I emailed the museum for details about the bust. Here is the information they sent.

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Title: Portrait Bust of George Washington

Artist: Ceracchi, Giuseppe

Date: circa 1816

Place made: USA

Materials: Marble

Giuseppe Ceracchi was an influential Italian sculptor who was one of many Italian sculptors who carried the Neo-classical style from Italy to America. Works in this style were sought after to decorate public buildings throughout the country.  The Neo-classical aesthetic suited America, as the burgeoning country’s philosophy was rooted in the ideals of the Roman republic.

Ceracchi was considered to have been the sculptor that introduced the portrait bust to America, and one of the foremost Italian sculptors in the country during his time. Ceracchi ensured that Washington’s finished bust resembled the president, but also displayed characteristics of Antiquity such as lifeless eyes and a strong posture.

The work on view was originally commissioned by the City of New Orleans.

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Okay, fine — the Roman look was all the rage back then. I get it.

A little research revealed that Giuseppe Ceracchi, like so many artists, used most of his energy to butter up the right people and gain favor. It was the equivalent of a present-day politician raising campaign cash.

Ceracchi came to Philadelphia in 1791 in hopes of being asked by Congress to carve a magnificent monument to American liberty. He demonstrated his skill and attracted attention by executing bust portraits of Washington and other influential Americans.

His work was praised for its technique and realism, but the commission he coveted from Congress did not materialize.

Maybe Ceracchi tried too hard. Some in Congress called his proposed monument “grandiose.”

James Madison called Ceracchi “an enthusiastic worshipper of Liberty and Fame [whose] soul was bent on securing the latter by rearing a monument to the former.” Ouch.

While in America, Ceracchi made heroic busts of George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, and others.

All sat for him gladly. But when the busts were completed, none of these worthies could be found. Ceracchi was paid nothing by any of them.

Although the City of New Orleans did pay for the bust of Washington now on display at NOMA, Ceracchi returned to Italy in 1794, disillusioned with America and probably angry.

In 1797, when Napoleon moved to set up a puppet regime in Italy, Ceracchi packed up and moved to Paris. There, he managed to talk Napoleon and Pope Pius VI into allowing him to sculpt portrait busts.

But by 1799, Ceracchi was involved in the anti-Napoleon movement. Ultimately, he was implicated in a failed bomb plot and arrested.

On January 30, 1801, at age 50, Giuseppe Ceracchi was guillotined. It is said that he went to the scaffold defiantly, riding in a triumphal chariot of his own design.

Ceracchi may have lived like a toady, but he didn’t die like one.

Giuseppe Ceracchi by John Trumbull, 1792.