In Protection of Jonathan Yeo’s King Charles Portrait


In 1656, King Philip IV of Spain commissioned a portrait by Diego Velázquez, his longtime court docket artist. It’s a plain, darkish portrait. The king is partly dealing with the observer and is just seen from the chest up. His face is lengthy; his eyes solemn, drained. His pores and skin is pale — the only traces of shade are in his vibrant pink lips, which emphasize an overbite, and a pale reddishness round his nostril, suggesting sickness. He wears a black cloak and a muted pendant of a chivalric order, removed from the opulence one would possibly anticipate from a royal portrait.

Diego Velázquez, “Philip IV of Spain” (c. 1656), 25 1/5 x 21 1/10 inches (picture public area through the Nationwide Gallery)

The portray, now held at London’s Nationwide Gallery, was commissioned within the final decade of Phillip’s life and eight years after the top of the brutal Thirty Years’ Struggle, which triggered a bourgeoise rise up that stripped him of his rights to Portugal.

When you think about, too, that Velázquez painted Philip’s portraits all through his reign, we will acquire deeper perception into the gravity of this explicit work. His earlier portraits are brighter and extra colourful, and the composition often included his full physique, standing upright, robust, holding the hilt of a sword, and assured in his place. The 1656 portrait, nonetheless, says simply as a lot about Velázquez and the facility of the court docket painter because it does about Philip himself.

I’m wondering, with the entry Velázquez had, if he was attempting to inform us one thing concerning the state of the king’s well being or his psychological well-being. I’m wondering, too, if the king accepted of the portrait. And it’s by these similar metrics that I’d like to have a look at the portrait of King Charles III by Jonathan Yeo, unveiled earlier this month by the topic himself.

I believe the portrait is technically stunning and, so far as portraits of royalty go, daring in its ethereal type, which departs from the standard daring, sculpted hyperrealism of official portraiture.

Charles’s face is paying homage to Lucien Freud’s type, which has influenced Yeo’s earlier collage work, particularly of Freud himself and of former United States President George W. Bush made out of pornographic magazines. Moreover, it bears a stunning resemblance to Francis Bacon’s “Head VI” (1949) by means of the colour fading across the determine.

Talking of shade, there’s a lot pink on this portrait that it’s virtually a Rothko. Why did he painting the British monarch as if floating in a pool of blood? Why does stated pool look like consuming away at his army gown, overwhelming different tones within the garment?

Was this all on goal?

With regard to the composition of the work, Yeo has solely stated that he wished to painting Charles in his army put on and to incorporate a monarch butterfly touchdown on his shoulder to counsel his transformation from prince to king.

Certain, certain. However what concerning the determination to wrap the determine in pink? Sure, sure, the British Empire is often related to pink by means of most of their ceremonial and nationwide colours. However wouldn’t limiting the pink to the uniform and choosing a distinct background have emphasised a way of management, stature, and energy higher than diffusing pink all around the composition? Yeo stated the king “was initially mildly stunned by the robust shade however in any other case he appeared to be smiling approvingly.” However nonetheless, why is there no commentary on this from the artist? Why did Charles stumble again in shock on the portray?

Moreover, the butterfly is an age-old image of British “adventurism,” attributed again to Robert Baden-Powell, the founding father of the Boy Scouts and chief of the UK’s colonial campaigns in opposition to the Boers in South Africa whose illustrations of butterflies hid army maps of their geometric wings. Perhaps the king requested the image’s inclusion, but it surely receives the identical flushed therapy because the uniform.

I select to consider that Yeo, very like Velázquez, is seizing the second. The British Empire, traditionally and presently, is answerable for oceans of blood. About 100 million South Asians killed or starved over 40 years on the flip of the twentieth century; incalculable lives misplaced to the slave commerce; loss of life squads used in opposition to Irish individuals throughout The Troubles; an ongoing genocide of Palestinians originating again to the Balfour Declaration and the British hand waving to the United Nations to care for the difficulty; a up to date disaster of financial instability; heads of lettuce lasting longer than heads of state; and mass radical motion happening in opposition to the British state for his or her inaction on local weather change. The record goes on.

I do not know why Velázquez depicted King Philip IV the best way he did in his 1656 portrait, and I can’t discover any report of him explaining it. However the person seems unwell. The eyes don’t lie. And it could be farfetched to imagine Yeo’s robust compositional selections have been rigorously designed to make it appear like Charles, at present battling most cancers, is rotting in a pool of blood attributable to a household historical past of genocide whose fruits he continues to take pleasure in — however at this level, why not simply make that leap?

And I respect it. He dared to offend and gave us an fascinating piece of glorified company artwork. I’d wish to see it in particular person the subsequent likelihood I get. And to Yeo: My line is open. Inform me why you actually did it.

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