character of an individual.
One decision relating to the head was whether a sitter should be represented wearing a wig. Particularly
in the early decades of the century, gentlemanly decorum required the wearing of a wig, which also
functioned as a symbol of masculinity. Those who appeared wigless risked being seen as barbaric,
insufficiently masculine or a threat to the social order. Later in the century, when fashions relaxed and
revolutionary fervor became more familiar, it became more acceptable to appear in public with one’s
own (powdered) hair, although many men chose to wear their own hair greased and powdered so that it
resembled a wig, in order to avoid appearing as a republican sympathizer. Decisions about a sitter’s
appearance in portraits could in such ways actively regulate discourses of social and political status in
the interests of (or as a challenge to) political influence, ideologies, nationalist or propagandist messages
(Pointon, 1993, 107–136). They could also facilitate forms of selfenactment, selffashioning or role
playing (Hallett, 2014, 7–10, 114–120, 193–194) that belied any notion of an essential, “natural” self.
Sitters could play with varying identities; for example, by wearing clothing provided as studio props and
associated with another, possibly “exotic” nation or period. Turkish and ancient Roman dress were
particularly popular and, toward the end of the century, ancient Greek costume was in vogue. Social rank
could also be the subject of disguise, masters dressing as servants, and vice versa. This was the great age
of the masquerade in which people enjoyed flirting with new identities very different from those assumed
in their own daytoday lives, but choice of costume could also signify deeper social and even
international relations, Turkish dress potentially representing colonial or western perceptions of the east,
the objectification of women or, in cases where women patrons played a more active role in a
commission, a means by which they might control their public image (Pointon, 1993, 143–157). Such
costumes also answered a need for fantasy (Williams, 2014, 62–87).
Poses drawn from classical statuary (e.g. the Apollo Belvedere) or from Renaissance masterpieces might
also be used to boost, or occasionally pass witty comment on, sitters’ social pretensions. Those drawn
from contemporary conduct books; for example, a correctly arched back, correct hand gestures or feet
positioned at elegant right angles to each other, conveyed a suitable air of gentility (Simon, 1987, 36–96).
Such symbolic systems of representation were often marred, however, by artists’ uneven skills or on
occasion by their tendency to rely too much on earlier visual formulae. Some artists used dolls or jointed
wooden lay figures to try out various poses or costumes, which could result in stiff representations. Many
artists used sets of prints from which sitters could select poses or expressions, which must then be made
to look spontaneous or “natural.” Nonstandard poses or accessories often triggered an additional charge
to the sitter. Manipulating such sets of conventions, both artists and sitters rose beyond mere copying or
realism in order to create a more dynamic interplay of the real and the imaginary: there was no essential
“self” for them to copy. It was still assumed however that portraiture made much more reference to “real”
physical appearances and character than, say, history painting (Wrigley, 1993, 301; Vaughan, 2008, 65).
The art of portraiture involved an integration of social and business skills. It has been suggested (Pointon,
1993, 41, 47) that sitting for one’s portrait was primarily, in the eighteenth century, an opportunity for
social interaction. It satisfied a need to be recorded and flattered, and required sophisticated social skills
from an artist, especially when dealing with highstatus clients, who often enjoyed the privilege of
sittings arranged in their own homes. In general, for the actual completion of a work, there was a
workshop system in which it was common for the portrait painter to focus on the sitter’s face and hands
while other elements such as background landscapes, accessories, animals, flowers or clothing were
delegated to artists who specialized in one of these areas, or to former apprentices now employed as
studio assistants (Simon, 1987, 9–13, 97–130; Hallett, 2014, 42). Even “great” portrait painters such as
Reynolds and Allan Ramsay (1713–1784) had up to 80% of their canvases completed by someone else
(Simon, 1987, 97, 103; Macmillan, 1986, 21). Not all artists worked in this way. It was quite common,