Sir John Lavery – Painting History

An Appreciation by Professor Kenneth McConkey

Arguably, 16 December 1921 is one of the most auspicious dates in British history. On that Friday, the Irish Treaty passed from the Commons to the House of Lords for ratification. From that moment the British Empire, which had been expanding rapidly since the 1870s, went into steep decline, and civil war in Ireland, watched by Gandhi and others, led to the emergence of a ‘Free State’. The eyewitness on this portentous occasion was Sir John Lavery. He arrived well prepared. Taking his seat in the centre of the Strangers’ Gallery, directly facing the thrones, he had come equipped with a ‘pochade’ box, and an ample supply of 10 x 14-inch canvas-boards, primed in burnt umber. Lavery had sought the assistance of Sir Patrick Ford and Lord Birkenhead in obtaining permission to paint while the House was in session (see John Lavery, The Life of a Painter, 1940, Cassel, p. 186-7.)

Now in his mid-sixties, Lavery’s illustrious career began over thirty years earlier when, as a Paris Salon medallist, he was commissioned to paint The State Visit of Queen Victoria to the International Exhibition, Glasgow, 1888 (Glasgow Museums). One of the first featured artists at the Venice Biennale and an Academician, he had been knighted for his services as an Official War Artist. Although known as a portrait painter, Lavery was also renowned for his ability to capture the specific newsworthy occasion. That early royal reception in Glasgow lasted no more than 30 minutes, but his job was not only to record the scene, but also to portray each of its 254 participants – a task that took two years to complete. Something of the same challenge lay before him in December 1921 when Earl Morley rose in the Lords to present the Irish Treaty Bill. Lavery could not know in advance how long he would have, so he must work quickly, roving his eye to either side of the house, catching profiles from the seated members. These vital jottings were not composed as pictures; they were fragments to be brought together in the studio.

In the present case, a recently rediscovered missing link in the series, the artist catches the heads of three women spectators in the Strangers’ Gallery, dropping to two series of members’ rows taking us down to the floor of the house and what may be the head of Morley – a mere dab of flesh colour. Then in the foreground, directly beneath where he was sitting, we see the barristers’ desk with its litter of papers, facing the Lord Speaker’s and Judges’ woolsacks. Lord Curzon, the Lord Speaker, during these years was acting as Foreign Secretary, but frozen out of the Peace Treaty negotiations at Versailles by Lloyd George, frequently passed his duties to his friend, F.E. Smith, Lord Birkenhead. Other canvas-boards produced in the same few minutes show rows on the left of the house and more prominent identifiable heads (fig. 1) Two ensemble sketches also form part of the series, one revealing the full range of benches to left and right (fig. 2), and the other, the full height of the chamber – as would be seen in the final composition; The upright sketch is contained in the National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin. With these in hand Lavery started work immediately on the large version which was to be his principal exhibit at the Royal Academy the following year, hailed in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph on 5 May 1922 as examples of ‘that most difficult branch of art, the painting of contemporary history’ (fig. 3)

Although tempted to file away, paint over or otherwise discard his working notes, Lavery seldom did so. When giving one to Sir Ian Hamilton for instance he told him that this was the first oil painting of the House in session, adding that it was thus, an ‘historical document’. Lavery frequently gave sketches like these as souvenirs to friends and sitters; this was to be the case a dozen years later when the present sketch was retrieved from the racks for George Henry Paulin ARSA (1888-1962) in gratitude for his fine portrait of Lavery, a cast of which can be found in Glasgow Museums (fig 4). Paulin’s sculpture was currently on exhibition at the Royal Glasgow Institute of the Fine Arts in October 1934 (no. 4) and the cast was acquired by Glasgow Museums at this time. The work (possibly a further cast) was then exhibited with a series of artists’ portraits in Paulin’s exhibition at the Walker Galleries, London, in June 1935 (fig 5).

Lavery’s own views on Irish independence were clearly declared in a letter to his friend and pupil, Winston Churchill, then Minister for the Colonies. He wrote that he believed that Ireland ‘…will never be ruled by Westminster, the Vatican, or Ulster, without continuous bloodshed … and [that] leaving Irishmen to settle their own affairs is the only solution.’

Prized for their authenticity as ‘historical documents’, Lavery’s on-the-spot sketches do not neglect the aesthetic potential of what lay before his eyes. As in the present case, collaged and disconnected vignettes are set down with remarkable spontaneity. They are neither snapshots nor newsreel. No nearby gossip nor sudden crash would distract him. Throughout his career observers, those looking over his shoulder as he worked, commented upon his formidable concentration as the action rolled out before his eyes. He kept pace with its unfolding even in the most testing of circumstances. Mastery is avid of complications. He was trained for this.