Likenesses and cultural identity in the colonies and early Republic.

Portraits are but one of an infinite number of indexes to society's taste, but they remain one of the most revealing, emotion-laden, and varied. Like other types of marketable goods, likenesses multiplied prodigiously and changed stylistically from colonial times to the early days of the Republic in direct relation to an expanded and diversified base of suppliers and consumers. They were also susceptible to depersonalizing production demands like other forms of durable goods. Yet portraits were unique in serving as proxy for flesh and blood (not to mention those nebulous intellectual and spiritual qualities they more ambitiously sought to capture). Even in their more symbolic manifestations, portraits "stood in" for real people.

In the first half of the eighteenth century, likenesses accomplished additional purposes for the elite. They underlined their subjects' self-satisfying notions of moral and intellectual superiority; while, in the eyes of the world, they effectively distinguished the chosen from the not-so-blessed. Once the sole province of royalty and the nobility, portraiture began moving into lower social strata in concert with wealth, and as buying power increasingly spread beyond simple circles of inheritance, the trend became a flood tide. The nouveau riche (predominantly speculators, merchants, tradesmen, and professionals) emulated traditional blue-blooded consumer habits in many ways. But the newly affluent sometimes mistook form for content, or lacked a sufficiently broad frame of reference from which to assess quality astutely. Specific commissions can provide fruitful grounds for exploring such attitudes.

Virginia-born William Byrd II (Pl. II) was hardly a stranger to the arts, and he had plenty of pocket change with which to while away his hours in London between 1697 and 1704. But his grandfather John had been a tradesman there, and Byrd himself must have been keenly aware of his colonial status in the cosmopolitan center of English influence and power. [1] Mindful of the prestige associated with likenesses but also sensitive to the potential disdain of old money and established society, Byrd took no chances and commissioned an image of himself from none other than Sir Godfrey Kneller, the king's official portraitist. Political implications aside, Byrd undoubtedly saw the resulting work as a resounding imprimatur of his personal taste -- as indeed it was, being executed in the grand manner with considerable dash and style. It probably mattered little to him that Kneller turned the commission over to studio assistants, just as he had countless other requests. Byrd's primary concerns would have been the portr ait's "look" and its association with London's most fashionable painter.

Most colonists lacked access to portraitists of Kneller's ilk. By default, some may have settled for whomever was available and affordable. Others may have been unaware of the ever-shifting criteria that distinguished the styles of modish "name" artists from those of nonentities--and thus they may have patronized lesser lights through their own naivete. But were there, also, those who were unwilling to march in lockstep with fashion? Some colonists' choices of portraitists presumably derived less from naivete than from a newfound level of self-identity and self-assurance.

On both sides of the Atlantic, common sense and rigorous independent thought were idealized by intellectuals, who readily perceived that a lack of such qualities led to ridiculous, if not harmful, excesses enacted in efforts to be au courant. Conversely and logically, it was obvious that the exercise of those same faculties could lead to modifying or spurning contemporary trends in taste. Surely such table turning was applauded by the levelheaded, if not society's culture mavens. [2]

It seems clear that the Tidewater Virginian George Booth knew what London fashion demanded. His full-length portrait (Pl. III) shows him flanked by garden statuary worthy of the finest gentleman's estate. (The supposition that these busts first graced an as-yet-unidentified printed likeness of a person of rank would only have added luster to their appropriation.) In the middle ground, a formal vista and a gate flanked by full-length figures on classical plinths are also likely derived from a printed image. Nevertheless, the extent of the estate in the background hints at the vastness of Booth's holdings--or, equally conceivably at his aspirations. He stands in a new world still only sparsely claimed by Europeans and blessed with a superabundance of natural resources. At that time and place (and given the natural ebullience and optimism of his own youthfulness), Booth's possibilities for social, political, and economic advancement must have seemed limitless, particularly at such a remove from the traditional, class-bound strictures of his mother country.

In colonial Virginia's more fluid social environment, liberties could be more readily brooked. One might argue that Booth elected to be portrayed by an unsophisticated painter through lack of choice. (The more experienced artist Charles Bridges [1670-1747] had recently left the colony and died back home in England.) But young Booth could have deferred having a portrait done, foregone it altogether, or traveled afield for it. Given his obvious knowledge of fashion dictates then, was his patronage of the idiosyncratic and, to all appearances, minimally trained William Dering a cultural faux pas? Or was it audacity?