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13.5: Politics and power

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    67064
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    Majority to minority and back again

    Essay by Dr. Bryan Zygmont

    Power in the United States—and, some might say, most countries—is a matter of politics. Sometimes these politics are rooted in grassroots efforts, and sometimes they are propelled by the power of mass media. Throughout the history of the United States, politics and power have been intertwined and inseparable.

    Alexander Hamilton and the two-party system

    Few understood this better than Alexander Hamilton, the First Secretary of the Treasury and personal and political confidant to General (and later President) George Washington. Interestingly, although Hamilton was the de facto leader of the Federalist Party—a group unified in part by their Anglophile tendencies—he was never elected to significant political office (although he did serve during the third and tenth Congress of the Confederation during 1782-83 and 1788-89). Yet despite this lack of elected office, Hamilton holds a crucial position in the development of the two-party system in American political history.

    As the Federal Period moved onward, the two-party system in the United States developed into the Federalist Party and the Democratic Republican Party. At first, the Federalists led the government under the presidencies of George Washington and John Adams, and they aspired to link the American economic and diplomatic future with Great Britain. Afterwards, with the election of the Francophile Thomas Jefferson in 1801, the Democratic Republicans took control. Generally, Democratic Republicans believed that the revolutionary zeal in France most accurately matched their own. This shift in political leadership during the early nineteenth century from the Federalists to the Democratic Republicans illustrates one of the fundamental elements of a two-party democracy: that is, there is generally a majority and a minority party, and the minority party can become the majority party.

    Face-to-face with voters

    George Caleb Bingham, Country Politician, 1849, oil on canvas, 51.8 x 61cm (Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{1}\): George Caleb Bingham, Country Politician (detail), 1849, oil on canvas, 51.8 x 61cm (Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco)

    This swapping of political power necessarily involves how political candidates communicate with those who elect them. With this in mind, it is not surprising that artists turned to this subject as a way of commenting on the political process. George Caleb Bingham was one such painter. Although born in Virginia, Bingham’s family moved to Missouri in 1819, two years before it was admitted as a state. The artist later spent time on the east coast—studying painting at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts in Philadelphia and painting portraits in Washington, D.C.—but we most identify his career today with the Midwest. It was in Missouri where Bingham would later forge successful careers as a painter and as a politician.

    Bingham painted Country Politician in 1849, a period in his life when he was serving as a Whig—a kind of neo-Federalist—in the Missouri state legislature. Although at first glance it seems to be a simple composition—three figures are seated around a wood-burning stove while a fourth figure stands in the background looking at a poster and newspaper clippings pasted to the wall—it is, in fact, a complex work of art that eloquently speaks to political process, and to an important debate of the time.

    The Wilmot Proviso

    The three figures who sit around the stove fit certain types. The affluently dressed man in the middle holds a lit pipe and looks toward the viewer while listening to the gesturing man on the right who is clearly speaking with the elderly man on the left. Given that Bingham painted this scene in Missouri in 1849, it would be unsurprising if the topic the politician discusses were that of the Wilmot Proviso, a contentious bit of legislation intended to ban slavery in states that joined the Union during (and following the conclusion of) the Mexican-American War (1846-48). In the years preceding the Civil War, this act was of paramount importance, for it could have shifted the political balance in the American congress between the so-called Free and Slave States. The Wilmot Proviso twice passed the House of Representatives before failing in the Senate where the southern states had a greater proportion of votes with which to defeat the bill.

    If the man speaking is the country politician of the painting’s title, he makes his case for his candidacy. We in the twenty-first century are accustomed to receiving political messages through Twitter or the myriad of cable news networks. In the mid-nineteenth century, however, our country politician uses his own method of communication: speaking face-to-face with the (male) voters who might support him.

    Politics through the media

    Gary Winogrand, Democratic National Convention, Los Angeles, 1960 (printed c. 1980), gelatin silver print, 45.88 x 30.8 cm (Minneapolis Institute of Art, © The Estate of Gary Winogrand).

    Figure \(\PageIndex{2}\): Gary Winogrand, Democratic National Convention, Los Angeles, 1960 (printed c. 1980), gelatin silver print, 45.88 x 30.8 cm (Minneapolis Institute of Art, © The Estate of Gary Winogrand).

    But as time moved onwards from the nineteenth century, the method of communicating with the electorate clearly changed. This is obvious when looking at Garry Winogrand’s photograph, Democratic National Convention, Los Angeles, 1960. In it, the recently nominated John Fitzgerald Kennedy stands with his back to the viewer, while the bright lights that illuminate his visage for the television cameras create a kind of heavenly halo around his head.

    The lineup of partially concealed television cameras situated on tripods in the upper background record his likeness, while the microphones in front of him at the podium record his Bostonian accent. Clearly, candidate Kennedy is not only speaking to the thousands standing at the Biltmore Hotel on 15 July 1960. He is also speaking to the millions of Americans who are seeing his nomination acceptance speech broadcast on network television while seated on the sofas in their living rooms across the nation, an idea reinforced by the television screen—with Kennedy’s face upon it—in the lower part of the photograph.

    A variety of opinions

    But it is not only politicians who express political views. This is, of course, a right that is protected for everyone in the United States under the First Amendment, and sometimes, those political views make their way into objects that could be considered utilitarian and quotidian objects. The Snake Jug is one such object. Cornwall and Wallace Kirkpatrick created this whiskey jug in 1865 in the small town of Anna, Illinois (a hamlet in the southern tip of the state), and although its decoration to modern eyes may appear enigmatic, an immediately-post-Civil War viewer would have had little difficulty in identifying the political message contained on the vessel.

    Anna Pottery, Snake Jug, c. 1865, stoneware with painted decoration, 31.75 x 21.11 x 22.07 cm (Minneapolis Institute of Art)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{3}\): Anna Pottery, Snake Jug, c. 1865, stoneware with painted decoration, 31.75 x 21.11 x 22.07 cm (Minneapolis Institute of Art)

    The most recognizable elements that appear on this earthenware jug are the snakes that encircle its periphery and pierce its center. But these are not just any, garden-variety snakes; their darkened heads identify them as copperheads, snakes that became the symbol of the “Copperheads” (sometimes called the Peace Democrats, so named because they called for a peaceful conclusion to the Civil War). Generally speaking, the Democratic Party during the Civil War was focused in the American South, whereas the Republican Party was strongly anti-slavery and found in the northern part of the country (Abraham Lincoln, for example, was a Republican from Illinois). Thus, although the Copperheads were from Northern states (which were generally pro-Union and anti-slavery), this Party was much more akin to their Confederate brethren in the South with regard to their political and economic leanings.

    And this oddity—that pro-slavery sentiments could be found in the North—is an important one. Just as there are a panoply of political views in the United States, so too are there a variety of opinions on any one political (or economic or social) issue in any one given state. Although we currently refer to Red States and Blue States, we are only commenting on a majority leaning and not on a unified view. Part of our democracy dictates that our political views can be expressed regardless of whether or not they are the predominant view on our own street (or neighborhood, city, state, or country). Communities may have leanings or tendencies, but in our democracy, the minority view retains the opportunity to express itself with the hopes of becoming the majority.

    A Ku Klux Klan robe — from Connecticut

    Ku Klux Klan robe, c. 1928 (The Amistad Center for Art & Culture at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{4}\): Ku Klux Klan robe, c. 1928 (The Amistad Center for Art & Culture at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford)

    Nowhere is this more clear than it is in the Ku Klux Klan robe on display in the Amistad Center for Art and Culture at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art in Hartford, Connecticut. The KKK has gone through several reinventions since it was first founded in Pulaski, Tennessee in the years following the Civil War. The primary goal of the organization was to—through terror and threat of violence—eliminate the rights granted to recently freed slaves through the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the United States Constitution. But five years later, the Civil Rights Act of 1871—sometimes called the Ku Klux Klan Act, effectively ended this first era of Klan history.

    The Klan resurfaced in 1915 in Stone Mountain, Georgia. The second era of Klan history was largely inspired by the release of D.W. Griffith’s film Birth of a Nation, a movie that premiered earlier that same year. This second iteration of the Klan had similar goals to the first: to terrorize all those who they thought were non-white (this included, of course, African Americans, but the KKK also considered Catholics, Jews, and those of southern and eastern European descent non-white, too). The garments in the Amistad Center are important for many reasons, but especially because of when they were made and where they were used. There is a myth that suggests that the KKK was a uniquely southern phenomenon, and so too was slavery. But these robes testify to the fact that such sentiments could also be found in the North—in this instance, in Connecticut—during the second quarter of the twentieth century. Although the state of Connecticut was on the Union side during the Civil War, slavery had been legal in Connecticut prior to 1784, and these garments eloquently remind us of the conflicts that underlie these facts.

    Few would consider these garments works of art. Someone clearly designed the robes, but they were inexpensive, mass produced, and the major goal, it seems, was to hide the wearer’s face so he could behave in a way contrary to societal norms. Moreover, most viewers do not look for an aesthetic experience in this garment, but are instead filled with a level of disgust because of the hatred that they represent.

    Titus Kaphar, The Cost of Removal, 2017, oil, canvas, and rusted nails on canvas, 274.3 × 213.4 × 3.8 cm (Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{5}\): Titus Kaphar, The Cost of Removal, 2017, oil, canvas, and rusted nails on canvas, 274.3 × 213.4 × 3.8 cm (Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art)

    Ralph Earl, Andrew Jackson on Sam Patch, c. 1833.

    Figure \(\PageIndex{6}\): Ralph Earl, Andrew Jackson on Sam Patch, c. 1833.

    Heartbreaking legacies

    The meaning of certain objects may suggest one thing to a viewer around the time of its creation, and whisper another message to the generations that follow later. Artists often aspire to comment on this. Titus Kaphar created the larger-than-life-sized The Cost of Removal in 2017, and the object is, at some level, about the shifting view of the seventh president of the United States, Andrew Jackson. In this twenty-first century work, Kaphar has recreated an approximation of an equestrian portrait of the Hero of New Orleans that Ralph Earl painted in 1833.

    Rather than emphasize the politician’s dignity (as portraits often try to do), Kaphar has instead obscured the sitter’s body and head through the use of torn strips of canvas with Jackson’s own writing upon it that are secured to the president’s head with nails. In doing this, the artist comments on one of Jackson’s most enduring legacies: the removal of Native Americans from their southeastern lands by force, following the Indian Removal Act of 1830. The so-called Trail of Tears that followed—the paths of those native peoples to the Indian Territory in what is now Oklahoma—resulted in thousands of deaths and generations of continuing heartbreak.

    Figure \(\PageIndex{7}\): President Donald J. Drumpf participates in a Christmas Day video teleconference from the Oval Office Tuesday, Dec. 25, 2018, with military service members stationed at remote sites worldwide to thank them for their service to our nation. (Official White House Photo by Shealah Craighead)

    When Donald Drumpf began his tenure as the 45th president, he had a Thomas Sully portrait of Andrew Jackson hung in the Oval Office of the White House, an image that might speak different political messages to different political groups. For many, Jackson’s likeness suggests his populist roots, something Drumpf’s presidential candidacy shared and embraced. For others, Jackson was an unabashed racist who attempted to systemically displace entire groups of people. What we think of Jackson, and what we remember of his military career and his presidency, has shifted over time.

    For example, in 1928, Jackson was removed from the $10 bill and “promoted” to the $20 bill (in honor, presumably, of the 100-year anniversary of his presidential election), and the face on the $10 bill was replaced with that of Alexander Hamilton. In June 2015, the Secretary of the Treasury announced that Hamilton’s likeness on the $10 note would be replaced with that of a yet-to-be determined woman. But in the months that followed, the American public rediscovered Hamilton through Lin-Manuel Miranda’s musical. And so, in April 2016, it was announced that Hamilton’s head was safe on American currency, and Jackson’s likeness on the $20 bill was to superseded by that of Harriet Tubman, the great conductor of the Underground Railroad who ushered escape slaves northward to freedom.

    1770

    The French and Indian War, The Death of General Wolfe,

    West turned the conventions of history painting on their head by choosing a contemporary subject and dress.

    Painting the French and Indian War

    Benjamin West's The Death of General Wolfe

    by

    Benjamin West has always been a difficult artist to classify. American historians generally claim him as an American artist as he was born in what would become the state of Pennsylvania. West’s earliest paintings date from his fifteenth year, and if his own attempts at myth making are to be believed—they should be taken with the proverbial grain of salt—he was mostly self taught.

    Detail, Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{8}\): Detail, Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    In 1760, two wealthy Philadelphian families paid for the young artist’s passage to Italy so he could learn from the great European artistic tradition. He was only 21 years old. He arrived in the port of Livorno during the middle of April and was in Rome no later than 10 July. West remained in Italy for several years and moved to London in August of 1763. He found quick success in England and was a founding member of the Royal Academy of Art when it was established in 1768. West was clearly intoxicated by the cosmopolitan London and never returned to his native Pennsylvania. West’s fame and importance today rest on two important areas:

    West as teacher

    West taught two successive generations of American artists. All of these men traveled to his London studio and the most returned to the United States. Indeed, a list of those who searched out his instruction comprises a “who’s who” list of early American artists and includes names such as Charles Willson Peale, Gilbert Stuart, John Trumbull, Thomas Sully, and Samuel F. B. Morse.

    West as history painter

    If his role as a teacher was the first avenue to West’s fame, surely his history painting is the second. Of the many he completed, The Death of General Wolfe (1770) is certainly the most celebrated.

    Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{9}\): Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    In this painting, West departed from conventions in two important regards. Generally, history paintings were reserved for narratives from the Bible or stories from the classical past. Instead, however, West depicted a near-contemporary event, one that occurred only seven years before. The Death of General Wolfe depicts an event from the Seven Years’ War (known as the French and Indian War in North America), the moment when Major-General James Wolfe was mortally wounded on the Plains of Abraham outside Quebec.

    Secondly, many—including Sir Joshua Reynolds and West’s patron, Archbishop Drummond—strongly urged West to avoid painting Wolfe and others in modern costume, which was thought to detract from the timeless heroism of the event. They urged him to instead paint the figures wearing togas. West refused, writing, “the same truth that guides the pen of the historian should govern the pencil [paintbrush] of the artist.”

    Lieutenant Henry Browne holding the flag against the St. Lawrence River (detail), Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{10}\): Lieutenant Henry Browne holding the flag against the St. Lawrence River (detail), Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Artistic license

    Yet despite West’s interest in “truth,” there is little to be found in The Death of General Wolfe. Without doubt, the dying General Wolfe is the focus of the composition. West paints Wolfe lying down at the moment of his death wearing the red uniform of a British officer. A circle of identifiable men attend to their dying commander. Historians know that only one—Lieutenant Henry Browne, who holds the British flag above Wolfe—was present at the General’s death.

    Clearly, West took artistic license in creating a dramatic composition, from the theatrical clouds to the messenger approaching on the left side of the painting to announce the British victory over the Marquis de Montcalm and his French army in this decisive battle. Previous artists, such as James Barry, painted this same event in a more documentary, true-to-life style. In contrast, West deliberately painted this composition as a dramatic blockbuster.

    Native American at left (detail), Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{11}\): Native American at left (detail), Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    This sense of spectacle is also enhanced by other elements, and West was keenly interested in giving his viewers a unique view of this North American scene. This was partly achieved through landscape and architecture. The St. Lawrence River appears on the right side of the composition and the steeple represents the cathedral in the city of Quebec. In addition to the landscape, West also depicts a tattooed Native American on the left side of the painting. Shown in what is now the universal pose of contemplation, the Native American firmly situates this as an event from the New World, making the composition all the more exciting to a largely English audience.

    Wolfe as Christ

    Perhaps most important is the way West portrayed the painting’s protagonist as Christ-like. West was clearly influenced by the innumerable images of the dead Christ in Lamentation and Depositions paintings that he would have seen during his time in Italy. This deliberate visual association between the dying General Wolfe and the dead Christ underscores the British officer’s admirable qualities. If Christ was innocent, pure, and died for a worthwhile cause—that is, the salvation of mankind—then Wolfe too was innocent, pure, and died for a worthwhile cause; the advancement of the British position in North America. Indeed, West transforms Wolfe from a simple war hero to a deified martyr for the British cause. This message was further enhanced by the thousands of engravings that soon flooded the art market, both in England and abroad.

    Detail, Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{12}\): Detail, Benjamin West, The Death of General Wolfe, 1770, oil on canvas, 152.6 x 214.5 cm (National Gallery of Canada)

    Historical significance

    Benjamin West’s The Death of General Wolfe justifiably retains a position as a landmark painting in the history of American art. In it, West reinterprets the rules of what a history painting could be—both in regard to period depicted and the attire the figures wore—and at the same time followed a visual language that would have been familiar to its eighteenth-century audience. This composition set the stage for the many ‘contemporary’ history paintings that John Singleton Copley and John Trumbull painted throughout the rest of the eighteenth century.

    Go deeper

    This painting in the National Gallery of Canada

    Biography of West from The J. Paul Getty Museum

    Video from the National Gallery of Canada

    1773
    Ostentatious plainness: Copley’s portrait of the Mifflins

    Politics and fashion on the eve of the American Revolution

    Dressing for the American Revolution

    John Singleton Copley’s portrait of the Mifflins

    by and

    Video \(\PageIndex{1}\): John Singleton Copley, Portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Mifflin (Sarah Morris), 1773, oil on ticking, 156.5 × 121.9 cm (Philadelphia Museum of Art). Speakers: Dr. Kathleen Adair Foster, Philadelphia Museum of Art and Dr. Beth Harris

    Test your knowledge with a quiz

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    Key points

    • This portrait was carefully calculated to both quietly display the wealth and authority of this couple and to testify to their political campaign of resistance against British taxation. At the time, Mr. Mifflin was a merchant and a budding politician.
    • In response to British taxes on imported goods, Thomas Mifflin and other colonists staged a boycott and promoted the “homespun” movement. Showing Sarah Mifflin weaving a decorative fringe would have been a political endorsement of the campaign for domestic manufacturing. However, the artist, John Copley, was actually a royalist on the other end of the American political spectrum.
    • As Quakers, the Mifflins refrained from ostentatious luxury, yet subtle elements of clothing and furnishings demonstrate their prosperity. While their attire appears subdued when compared with contemporary fashion (for example, they wear neither jewelry nor silver buttons), the fineness of the cloth reveals its expense.

    More to think about

    In today’s world of Instagram and Snapchat, selfies are the norm. Discuss how these contemporary images function in similar ways to portraits from the past, and how they might differ.

    1786-1820
    Painting the story of the Declaration of Independence

    Trumbull traveled up and down the Eastern Seaboard to paint the members of the Continental Congress from life.

    Painting the Declaration of Independence

    These members of the Continental Congress were painted from life.

    by

    John Trumbull, The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, 1786–1820, oil on canvas, 20 7/8 x 31 inches / 53 x 78.7 cm (Yale University Art Gallery)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{13}\): John Trumbull, The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, 1786–1820, oil on canvas, 20 7/8 x 31 inches / 53 x 78.7 cm (Yale University Art Gallery)

    Like many artists of the early-Federal period (c. 1789-1801), the name John Trumbull is not one immediately recognized by most Americans. Yet despite this fact, the majority of Americans are well aware of many of Trumbull’s most famous paintings. Trumbull’s portrait of the first Secretary of the Treasury , Alexander Hamilton, has long graced the ten-dollar bill. Although Trumbull made a career as a portraitist, his real ambition lay in the painting of larger, more ambitious historical compositions. Without doubt, the one that is most frequently reproduced in elementary school history textbooks is The Declaration of Independence, a painting that exists in two versions. The first is smaller in size and is part of the Yale University Art Gallery (above) while the second is the monumental version currently on display in the Capitol Rotunda (below).

    John Trumbull, Self-portrait, 1777, oil on canvas, 76.83 x 61.28 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{14}\): John Trumbull, Self-portrait, 1777, oil on canvas, 76.83 x 61.28 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

    Family history

    Yet to understand this composition, one must first grapple with Trumbull’s complicated history and personality. He was the sixth and youngest child of Jonathan Trumbull and Faith Robinson. If there was an aristocracy in colonial New England, Trumbull was born into it. His Harvard-educated father was a representative to the Connecticut General Assembly. Later he served as the Governor of Connecticut Colony (1769-1776) and then after the War of American Independence, as the Governor of the state of Connecticut (1776-1784). The artist’s mother was a direct descendant of John Robinson, the so-called “Pastor to the Pilgrim-Fathers” before they sailed on the Mayflower for the New World. Given his prestigious family legacy, Trumbull the Elder had little interest in allowing Trumbull the Younger to pursue a career as a painter. Instead, Governor Trumbull sent the artist-to-be to Harvard College so that his son could find a more useful vocation in either the law or the ministry.

    However, in 1772, Trumbull made a social call to the artist John Singleton Copley who was then still in Boston—just a short distance from Cambridge. When writing his autobiography almost half a century later—in 1841—Trumbull still remembered this meeting with great clarity:

    We found Mr. Copley dressed to receive a party of friends at dinner. I remember his dress and appearance—an elegant looking man, dressed in a fine maroon cloth, with gilt buttons—this was dazzling to my unpracticed eye!—but his paintings, the first I had ever seen deserving the name, riveted, absorbed my attention, and renewed all my desire to enter upon such a pursuit. But my destiny was fixed, and the next day I went to Cambridge, passed my examination in fro, and was readily admitted to the Junior class.

    Autobiography, Reminiscences and Letters of John Trumbull, from 1756 to 1841

    There was, of course, no art major at Harvard during the eighteenth century, so Trumbull studied art in his free time, copying and sketching works of art that hung on the college’s walls. He also learned from books he was able to borrow from the college’s library. He graduated in 1773 and became one of the few artists in the history of early American art to complete a college education.

    The army

    Trumbull’s graduation from Harvard took place during a tumultuous period in American history, and Trumbull wished to secure a commission as an officer in the Continental Army. His brother, Joseph, was the Commissary General of the Army, and likely suggested that his younger brother draw a plan of the British army’s position at Boston Neck to present to General Washington as a way of introduction. Shortly thereafter, Washington appointed Trumbull as an aide-de-camp (a confidential assistant to a senior officer). The following year, in the spring of 1776, Major General Horatio Gates appointed Trumbull deputy adjutant-general (military chief administrative officer) at the rank of Colonel. Alas, Trumbull resigned his commission less than a year later because of a minor squabble with Congress as to the date of the commission. Yet despite being Colonel John Trumbull for little more than a year, the artist carried the honorific title of Colonel for the remainder of his life. His 1841 autobiography, for example, was entitled—not immodestly—The Autobiography of Colonel John Trumbull.

    However, it was because of his (admittedly, very limited) military experience that John Trumbull believed that he was uniquely qualified to pictorially depict the major events of the American Revolutionary War. His first step, was to seek out some artistic training, and in this endeavor, he followed in the footsteps of many artists before him (and, for that matter, after him): he sailed for London and Benjamin West’s studio (West was an American artist with a successful career in London). The year was 1780, and the War of Independence was still in full swing, although nearing its completion. It must have caused suspicion that a former officer in the Continental Army has arrived in London to study painting, particularly because Benjamin West, as the official history painter to the court, had the ear and confidence of King George.

    Politics

    In West’s studio, Trumbull met Gilbert Stuart, who was perhaps West’s most accomplished pupil. But Stuart and Trumbull differed in some key ways. First, Stuart always knew that portraiture would occupy most of his artistic efforts when he returned across the Atlantic Ocean, while Trumbull had the higher aspiration to paint historical compositions. More importantly, perhaps, Stuart largely kept his political beliefs during this vitriolic period to himself, while Trumbull—both in letters home and in his personal interactions about London—was decidedly anti-British. People began to notice, and on 20 November 1780, Colonel John Trumbull was arrested and charged with treason. He was imprisoned for more than 8 months and released only after powerful friends—Benjamin West and the statesman Edmund Burke among others—appealed to the Privy Council for the artist’s release. This was granted on 12 June 1781, and Trumbull was given 30 days to exit Great Britain.

    Connecticut and back to London

    Trumbull returned to Connecticut for two years, and during that time his father again attempted to convince him to pursue another more profitable vocation. Undeterred, Trumbull returned to London and the warmth of West’s studio in January of 1784. West set forth a rigorous course of study. Trumbull woke at five o’clock in the morning to study human anatomy. After breakfast several hours later, he painted for the rest of the day. His evening was capped by studying at the Royal Academy of Art. The aspiring artist made quick and steady progress. When writing to his brother Jonathan in September of 1784, for example, Trumbull remarked, “I have the pleasure to find that my labour is not in vain, & to hear Judges of the Art declare that I have made a more rapid progress in the few months I have been here than they have before known.”

    John Trumbull, The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker's Hill, 17 June, 1775, after 1815-before 1831, oil on canvas, 50.16 x 75.56 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{15}\): John Trumbull, The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker’s Hill, 17 June, 1775, after 1815-before 1831, oil on canvas, 50.16 x 75.56 cm (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

    The history of our country

    Growing in confidence, Trumbull was determined to return to the newly formed United States with paintings that would commemorate the recent victory over Great Britain. Writing to his father—whose approval, it seems, he still sought—Trumbull explained in March of 1785,

    the great object of my wishes…is to take up the History of Our Country, and paint the principal Events particular of the late War.

    As quoted in American paintings of the eighteenth century (National Gallery of Art, 1995)

    By the end of the year, Trumbull had already begun work on two paintings of the series, images known to generations of American elementary school students because of their inclusion in history textbooks: The Death of General Warren at the Battle of Bunker’s Hill, June 17, 1775 (above) and The Death of General Montgomery in the Attack on Quebec, December 31 1775 (below). In 1786, Trumbull began to plan three other Revolutionary War paintings: The Death of General Mercer at the Battle of Princeton, January 3, 1777, The Capture of the Hessians at Trenton, December 26, 1776, and The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown, October 19, 1781. Interestingly, all five of these compositions are, essentially, scenes of battlefields.

    John Trumbull, The Death of General Montgomery in the Attack on Quebec, December 31, 1775, 1786, oil on canvas, 62.5 x 94 cm (Yale University Art Gallery)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{16}\): John Trumbull, The Death of General Montgomery in the Attack on Quebec, December 31, 1775, 1786, oil on canvas, 62.5 x 94 cm (Yale University Art Gallery)

    The Declaration of Independence

    In July of 1786, however, Trumbull accepted Thomas Jefferson’s invitation to visit Paris, and he brought Bunker’s Hill and the Attack on Quebec with him. Jefferson, then the United States Ambassador to France, and a bit of artist himself, managed to convince Trumbull that he should turn his artistic talents towards a scene involving the Declaration of Independence. While in Paris, Trumbull began to sketch out the composition, taking into account Jefferson’s memory of the event and the [diplomat’s own sketch](http://artgallery.yale.edu/collections/objects/2805) of the Assembly Room in the Pennsylvania State House in Philadelphia where the Declaration of Independence was first presented to Congress and subsequently signed.

    John Trumbull, The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, 1818 (placed 1826), oil on canvas, 12' x 18' (Rotunda, U.S. Capitol)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{17}\): John Trumbull, The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, 1818 (placed 1826), oil on canvas, 12′ x 18′ (Rotunda, U.S. Capitol)

    The painting that resulted from this collaboration between artist and politician has become one of the most famous images in the history of American art. It can be found on the back of the (seldom used) $2 bill, and has graced American postage stamps. And yet, what the painting depicts is often misunderstood. Trumbull himself called this painting The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776. However, this is inaccurate; this painting depicts not the signing of the document, but instead the presentation of a draft of it to Congress on 28 June 1776. Our attention begins with the five men standing in the middle of the painting, the so-called Committee of Five that was primarily responsible for the written document. They are—from left to right—John Adams of Massachusetts, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, Robert R. Livingston of New York, Thomas Jefferson of Virginia, and Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania. Clearly, the red-headed Jefferson is the most important, for he alone holds the document that he presents to John Hancock, the President of the Continental Congress, who sits behind the desk.

    The so-called Committee of Five, from left to right—John Adams of Massachusetts, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, Robert R. Livingston of New York, Thomas Jefferson of Virginia, and Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania (detail), John Trumbull, The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, 1786–1820, oil on canvas, 20 7/8 x 31 inches / 53 x 78.7 cm (Yale University Art Gallery)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{18}\): The so-called Committee of Five, from left to right—John Adams of Massachusetts, Roger Sherman of Connecticut, Robert R. Livingston of New York, Thomas Jefferson of Virginia, and Benjamin Franklin of Pennsylvania (detail), John Trumbull, The Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776, 1786–1820, oil on canvas, 20 7/8 x 31 inches / 53 x 78.7 cm (Yale University Art Gallery)

    Of the five men standing, Trumbull was able to paint three of them—Adams, Jefferson, and Franklin—from life and directly onto the canvas prior to departing from Europe. When the artist returned to the United States in 1789, he spent several years traveling up and down the eastern seaboard so that he could paint portraits from life. This was not always possible, however, and in 1817—some 27 years later, Trumbull was still at work on what would become his most famous image. He wrote to Jefferson that year to inform the former president as to the progress he had made on this relatively small—21” x 31”—image:

    The picture will contain Portraits of at least Forty Seven Members:—for the faithful resemblance of Thirty Six I am responsible, as they were done by myself from the Life, being all who survived in the year 1791. Of the Remainder, Nine are from Pictures done by others:—one Gen[era]l Whipple of New Hampshire is from Memory: and one Mr. Ben. Harrison of Virginia is from description, aided by memory.
    As quoted in The Republic in Print (Columbia University Press, 2007)

    To compare this image to those Trumbull began at the same time—the battle paintings of the Revolutionary War Series—is interesting, for while some of those are dynamic and filled with drama, The Declaration of Independence is, at its essence, a static—some might claim pictorially boring—image of a group of seated men looking at a group of standing men. Indeed, other artists—Jacques-Louis David comes to mind—were able to conceive a way to depict a similar event in a visually engaging way. David’s sketch for the Oath of the Tennis Court (below, depicting one of the first events of the French Revolution), for example, is far more dynamic and dramatic than is Trumbull’s painting.

    Jacques Louis David, The Oath of the Tennis Court, 1791, pen and brown ink, brown wash with white highlights, 66 x 101 cm (Palace of Versailles)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{19}\): Jacques Louis David, The Oath of the Tennis Court, 1791, pen and brown ink, brown wash with white highlights, 66 x 101 cm (Palace of Versailles)

    But this seemed not to matter to Trumbull, nor did it bother many members of Congress, for on 17 January 1817 they approved—by an overwhelming 150-50 majority—a proposal to commission Trumbull to complete four paintings for the Great Rotunda of the as yet uncompleted Capitol Building. Increasing the size of The Declaration of Independence to 12’x18’ did little to enhance its dynamism. In 1828, for example, John Randolph of Virginia wrote,

    the Declaration of Independence [ought] to be called the Shin-piece, for surely never was there before such a collection of legs submitted to the eyes of man.

    As quoted in A Centre of Wonders: The Body in Early America (Cornell University Press, 2018)

    Still others criticized the lack of accuracy in the room and furnishings, and, as importantly, as to who was actually present when the document was presented.

    But these concerns were of little bother to Trumbull, who had become one of the most powerful voices—if not one of the more skilled paintbrushes—in American art during the first half of the nineteenth century. Indeed, Trumbull served as the President of the conservative American Academy of Fine Arts from 1817 until 1836. Without doubt, this position helped him receive the prestigious congressional commission in 1817 and allowed him to exert considerable influence over the direction of American art during the end of his career. Moreover, his autobiography—written just two years prior to his death—provided the opportunity to explain his (perhaps exaggerated) importance within American art. While the Declaration of Independence might not be the most interesting work within the history of American painting, it certainly is one of the most recognizable. Trumbull, no doubt, would approve of this.

    Go deeper

    This painting at the Yale Art Gallery

    This painting at the U.S. Capitol

    1788-92
    Sculpting an American hero: Jean-Antoine Houdon's George Washington

    Lack of an American sculptural tradition compelled Jefferson to look to France for this portrait of Washington.

    Sculpting an American hero

    Jean-Antoine Houdon's George Washington

    by

    An American hero sculpted by a foreigner

    Jean-Antoine Houdon, George Washington, 1788-92, marble, 6' 2" high (State Capitol, Richmond, Virginia)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{20}\): Jean-Antoine Houdon, George Washington, 1788-92, marble, 6′ 2″ high (State Capitol, Richmond, Virginia)

    After the successful conclusion of the American Revolutionary War, many state governments turned to public art to commemorate the occasion. Given his critical role in both in Virginia and the colonial cause, it is unsurprising that the Virginia General Assembly desired a statue of George Washington for display in a public space.

    And so, in 1784, the Governor of Virginia asked Thomas Jefferson (another Virginian who was then in Paris as the American Minister to France) to select an appropriate artist to sculpt Washington. Seeking a European sculptor—and for Jefferson, whose Francophile sympathies were clear, preferably one who was French—was a logical decision given the lack of artistic talent then available in the United States. Through basic necessity, this portrait of an American hero needed to be made by a foreigner.

    Jefferson knew just the artist for this task: Jean-Antoine Houdon. Trained at the Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture and winner of the prestigious Prix de Rome in 1761 when only twenty years of age, Houdon was, by the middle of the 1780s, the most famous and accomplished neoclassical sculptor in France.

    Jefferson commissioned Houdon to complete a monumental statue of Washington. Given Houdon’s skill and ambition, the sculptor likely hoped to cast a larger-than-life-sized bronze statue of General Washington on horseback, a format appropriate for a victorious field commander. However, the final product, delivered more than a decade later, was a comparatively simple standing marble.

    Evidence suggests that Houdon was supposed to remain in Paris and sculpt Washington from a drawing by Charles Willson Peale. Uncomfortable with carving in three dimensions what Peale had rendered in only two, Houdon made plans to visit Washington in person. Houdon departed for the United States in July 1785 and was joined by Benjamin Franklin—who he had sculpted in 1778—and two assistants. The group sailed into Philadelphia about seven weeks later and Houdon and his assistants arrived at Mount Vernon (Washington’s home in Virginia) by early October. There they took detailed measurements of Washington’s body and sculpted a life mask of the future president’s face.

    Contemporary clothing (and not a toga)

    While in Virginia, Houdon created a slightly idealized and classicized bust portrait of the future first president. But Washington disliked this classicized aesthetic and insisted on being shown wearing contemporary attire rather than the garments of a hero from ancient Greece or Rome. With clear instructions from the sitter to be depicted in contemporary dress, Houdon returned to Paris in December 1785 and set to work on a standing full-length statue carved from Carrara marble. Although Houdon dated the statue 1788, he did not finish it until about four years later. The statue was delivered to the State of Virginia in May of 1796, when the Rotunda of the Virginia State Capitol was finally completed.

    “Nothing in bronze or stone could be a more perfect image…”

    In time, this statue of George Washington has become one of the most recognized and copied of images of the first president of the United States. Houdon did not just perfectly capture Washington’s likeness (John Marshal, the second Chief Justice of the Supreme Court later wrote, “Nothing in bronze or stone could be a more perfect image than this statue of the living Washington”). Houdon also captured the essential duality of Washington: the private citizen and the public solider.

    Washington looking to his left in his military uniform (detail), Jean-Antoine Houdon, George Washington, 1788-92, marble, 6' 2" high, State Capitol, Richmond, Virginia, (photo: Holley St. Germain, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{21}\): Washington looking to his left in his military uniform (detail), Jean-Antoine Houdon, George Washington, 1788-92, marble, 6′ 2″ high, State Capitol, Richmond, Virginia, (photo: Holley St. Germain, CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

    Washington stands and looks slightly to his left; his facial expression could best be described as fatherly. He wears not a toga or other classically inspired garment, but his military uniform. His stance mimics that of the contrapposto seen in Polykleitos’s classical sculpture of Doryphoros. Washington’s left leg is slightly bent and positioned half a stride forward, while his right leg is weight bearing. His right arm hangs by his side and rests atop a gentleman’s walking stick.

    His left arm—bent at the elbow—rests atop a fasces: a bundle of thirteen rods that symbolizes not only the power of a ruler but also the strength found through unity. This visually represents the concept of E Pluribus Unum—”Out of Many, One”—a congressionally approved motto of the United States from 1782 until 1956.

    Washington’s officer’s sword, a symbol of military might and authority, benignly hangs on the outside of the fasces, just beyond his immediate grasp. This surrendering of military power is further reinforced by the presence of the plow behind him. This refers to the story of Cincinnatus, a Roman dictator who resigned his absolute power when his leadership was no longer needed so that he could return to his farm. Like this Roman, Washington resigned his power and returned to his farm to live a peaceful, civilian life.

    Washington as soldier and private citizen

    The statue, still on view in the Rotunda of the Virginia State Capitol, is a near perfect representation of the first president of the United States of America. In it, Houdon captured not only what George Washington looked like, but more importantly, who Washington was, both as a soldier and as a private citizen.

    The enormously talented Houdon wisely accepted Washington’s advice. Indeed, Washington knew it was better to be subtly compared to Cincinnatus than to be overtly linked to Caesar, another Roman who, unlike Cincinnatus, did not surrender his power.

    Horatio Greenough, George Washington, 1840, marble, 136 x 102 inches, National Museum of American History (photo: Steve Fernie, CC BY-NC 2.0)

    Figure \(\PageIndex{22}\): Horatio Greenough, George Washington, 1840, marble, 136 x 102 inches, National Museum of American History (photo: Steve Fernie, CC BY-NC 2.0)

    To compare Houdon’s statue to Horatio Greenough’s 1840 statue of Washington only makes this salient point more clear. With the sitter’s urging, Houdon opted for subtlety, whereas Greenough decided two generations later to fully embrace a neoclassical aesthetic. As a result, Houdon’s statue celebrates Washington the man, whereas Greenough deified Washington as a god.

    Additional resources:

    Houdon on The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History

    Neo-Classicism on The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History

    Houdon (Mount Vernon site)


    This page titled 13.5: Politics and power is shared under a CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 license and was authored, remixed, and/or curated by Smarthistory.