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William Henry Hunt
(1790-1864)
Self-Portrait
c.1830
Pencil on paper
22.9 x 14.2 cm
Acquired by a Private Collector, UK
Provenance
W/S Fine Art Ltd / Andrew Wyld
Martyn Gregory, London, 2011
Private Collection, USA
References
[1] William Cosmo Monkhouse, “William Henry Hunt”, Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900, Vol.28, p.282
[2] Frederic George Stephens, “W. H. Hunt”, Portfolio, 1891, p.10
[3] Frederic George Stephens, “W. H. Hunt”, Portfolio, 1891, p.10
[4] Frederic George Stephens, “William Henry Hunt (1790-1864)”, Fraser's Magazine, October 1865, p.531
[5] ‘One grave doctor remembers to have carried him on his shoulders ‘many a time’ up the steep ascent of the East Cliff, Hastings, the burthen shouting and gesticulating in mock hurrahs and with real delight.’ Frederic George Stephens, “William Henry Hunt (1790-1864)”, Fraser's Magazine, October 1865, p.531
[6] Frederic George Stephens, “William Henry Hunt (1790-1864)”, Fraser's Magazine, October 1865, p.531
[7] Virginia Surtees (ed.), The Diaries of George Price Boyce, 1851-1875, 1980, p.13
[8] ‘The fact that the area of the mirror that reflects the face is always exactly half the size of the face is so startling as to meet with scepticism on the part of most people who have looked into mirrors all their lives.’ E.H. Gombrich, Art and Illusion, 1960, p.218
[9] In Trattato della pittura (Codex Urbinas Latinas 1270) Leonardo da Vinci famously described the mirror as 'the master of painters.’ Roberto Casati, Mirrors, Illusions and Epistemic Innocence, 2007, p.4
[10] Ruskin was one of Hunt's pupils, taking lessons from him in 1854 and again in 1861. John Ruskin, Notes by Mr. Ruskin on Samuel Prout and William Hunt illustrated by a Loan Collection of Drawings exhibited at The Fine Art Society's Galleries, 148 New Bond Street, 1879-80, 1880, p.89
Hunt was born in London, in the neighbourhood of Seven Dials, ‘a small, sickly child, crippled from weakness in the legs, and unfit for ordinary work.’ [1] As an adult he stood just above five feet tall, with early biographers noting that his head was disproportionately large in relation to the rest of his body. [2] Throughout his life, Hunt struggled to walk and is reported to have regretfully remarked, ‘What a sad thing it is to be so deformed and miserable looking.’ [3] F.G. Stephens observed that Hunt’s sensitivity about his disabilities and physical appearance often made him reserved and not readily approachable to strangers. [4] Stephens goes on to note that when in good health and his spirits were high, [5] ‘there were few more boisterous, gay, and frolicsome men than little ‘Billy’ Hunt.’ [6] An entry from the diaries of the watercolourist George Price Boyce offers further insight into Hunt’s discomfort regarding his appearance: ‘Rossetti came in at 3 and stayed till 10. He thought I painted a good deal like old Hunt - wish I had a little of his genius...He [Rossetti] told me in conversation that W.H. Hunt had a morbid conviction of his own ugliness and desired that all record of him to the present in the way of portraits or letters should be destroyed.’ [7] Hunt’s wish to have images of himself destroyed seems to have been a fleeting sentiment (at least, one that went unfulfilled), as many self-portraits from various stages of his life have survived. Further examples can be found in the collections of London’s National Portrait Gallery, the British Museum, the Victoria & Albert Museum, Blackburn Museum, and the Lady Lever Art Gallery.
Dating from around 1830, this drawing demonstrates Hunt’s exceptional graphic virtuosity and freedom of approach. Throughout the 1820s, he enjoyed the patronage of the 6th Duke of Devonshire and the 5th Earl of Essex, receiving commissions to paint watercolour interior views of Chatsworth, Cassiobury Park, Hardwick House, Chiswick House, and Devonshire House. The self-portrait, captured in the reflection of a grand rococo mirror, [8] may have been drawn during one of the artist’s numerous visits to these estates. [9] The sharp linearity of the drawing stands as a testament to Ruskin’s judgement that ‘Hunt learned his business, not in spots but in lines.’ [10]
William Henry Hunt
(1790-1864)
Self-Portrait
c.1830
Pencil on paper
22.9 x 14.2 cm
Acquired by a Private Collector, UK
Provenance
W/S Fine Art Ltd / Andrew Wyld
Martyn Gregory, London, 2011
Private Collection, USA
References
[1] William Cosmo Monkhouse, “William Henry Hunt”, Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900, Vol.28, p.282
[2] Frederic George Stephens, “W. H. Hunt”, Portfolio, 1891, p.10
[3] Frederic George Stephens, “W. H. Hunt”, Portfolio, 1891, p.10
[4] Frederic George Stephens, “William Henry Hunt (1790-1864)”, Fraser's Magazine, October 1865, p.531
[5] ‘One grave doctor remembers to have carried him on his shoulders ‘many a time’ up the steep ascent of the East Cliff, Hastings, the burthen shouting and gesticulating in mock hurrahs and with real delight.’ Frederic George Stephens, “William Henry Hunt (1790-1864)”, Fraser's Magazine, October 1865, p.531
[6] Frederic George Stephens, “William Henry Hunt (1790-1864)”, Fraser's Magazine, October 1865, p.531
[7] Virginia Surtees (ed.), The Diaries of George Price Boyce, 1851-1875, 1980, p.13
[8] ‘The fact that the area of the mirror that reflects the face is always exactly half the size of the face is so startling as to meet with scepticism on the part of most people who have looked into mirrors all their lives.’ E.H. Gombrich, Art and Illusion, 1960, p.218
[9] In Trattato della pittura (Codex Urbinas Latinas 1270) Leonardo da Vinci famously described the mirror as 'the master of painters.’ Roberto Casati, Mirrors, Illusions and Epistemic Innocence, 2007, p.4
[10] Ruskin was one of Hunt's pupils, taking lessons from him in 1854 and again in 1861. John Ruskin, Notes by Mr. Ruskin on Samuel Prout and William Hunt illustrated by a Loan Collection of Drawings exhibited at The Fine Art Society's Galleries, 148 New Bond Street, 1879-80, 1880, p.89
Hunt was born in London, in the neighbourhood of Seven Dials, ‘a small, sickly child, crippled from weakness in the legs, and unfit for ordinary work.’ [1] As an adult he stood just above five feet tall, with early biographers noting that his head was disproportionately large in relation to the rest of his body. [2] Throughout his life, Hunt struggled to walk and is reported to have regretfully remarked, ‘What a sad thing it is to be so deformed and miserable looking.’ [3] F.G. Stephens observed that Hunt’s sensitivity about his disabilities and physical appearance often made him reserved and not readily approachable to strangers. [4] Stephens goes on to note that when in good health and his spirits were high, [5] ‘there were few more boisterous, gay, and frolicsome men than little ‘Billy’ Hunt.’ [6] An entry from the diaries of the watercolourist George Price Boyce offers further insight into Hunt’s discomfort regarding his appearance: ‘Rossetti came in at 3 and stayed till 10. He thought I painted a good deal like old Hunt - wish I had a little of his genius...He [Rossetti] told me in conversation that W.H. Hunt had a morbid conviction of his own ugliness and desired that all record of him to the present in the way of portraits or letters should be destroyed.’ [7] Hunt’s wish to have images of himself destroyed seems to have been a fleeting sentiment (at least, one that went unfulfilled), as many self-portraits from various stages of his life have survived. Further examples can be found in the collections of London’s National Portrait Gallery, the British Museum, the Victoria & Albert Museum, Blackburn Museum, and the Lady Lever Art Gallery.
Dating from around 1830, this drawing demonstrates Hunt’s exceptional graphic virtuosity and freedom of approach. Throughout the 1820s, he enjoyed the patronage of the 6th Duke of Devonshire and the 5th Earl of Essex, receiving commissions to paint watercolour interior views of Chatsworth, Cassiobury Park, Hardwick House, Chiswick House, and Devonshire House. The self-portrait, captured in the reflection of a grand rococo mirror, [8] may have been drawn during one of the artist’s numerous visits to these estates. [9] The sharp linearity of the drawing stands as a testament to Ruskin’s judgement that ‘Hunt learned his business, not in spots but in lines.’ [10]