Miniatures increased in popularity during the 18th century as they became more affordable.
Today the camera is ubiquitous. In fact just try going out anywhere these days without bumping in people with mobile phones outstretched, necks pulled back and frequently a ridiculous looking duck face expression trying to capture every single moment for, well who knows.
People have more images of themselves today than they would ever have had 200 years ago. Very few could afford a portrait painter to capture their likeness or that of a loved one.
However, miniatures – water colour painted on ivory – were becoming increasingly affordable to the newly emerging middle class:
Miniatures appear to have come into their own, and for a much broader spectrum of the population in the 18th Century, when they were owned by royalty, gentry, and commoner folk alike. The range of quality of extant frames and mounts, the painting surface itself, and relative skill of the painter suggest that they were much more widely available to “middling folk” as well as to the upper classes. Some surviving examples are very much in the folk art vein, unsophisticated and perhaps even crude, but charming nonetheless.
Reasons for their affordability was their size and the fact they were painted in ivory discs which were relatively common and more affordable and more practical than vellum.
Part of their affordability was thanks to the industrial scale export of ivory from India and Africa and new methods of painting which made process much easier and it was often a task given to talented young teens:
In the late 1760s a number of young artists became miniaturists, including Richard Cosway, John Smart and Richard Crosse, all born around 1742. From the age of 14, these boys took lessons at William Shipley ‘s new drawing school, the first such school in London.
(Do follow the link to see some beautiful examples from the Victoria & Albert Museum)
Being small, they were affordable. And being small, they increased in popularity as love tokens. In fact one author amusingly calls miniatures, the Instagram of Regency England.
For married couples or those betrothed, such displays or regard might be worn or displayed openly.
For the son of George III, England’s Prince Regent, an illicit affair with the Catholic divorcee Maria Fitzherbert, such displays had to be clandestine:
George sent a note with this eye miniature, and it said: “P.S. I send you a parcel, and I send you at the same time an eye. If you have not totally forgotten the whole countenance, I think the likeness will strike you.” It’s not known whether it was the letter or the eye that changed Mrs. Fitzherbert’s feelings precisely, but shortly after that, she returned to England and married the prince in a secret ceremony on Dec. 15, 1785. Soon, the fad for these eye miniatures began to catch on — so this episode is, according to legend, the genesis of the eye miniature.
The largest collection of eye miniatures has been collected by an American couple
The world’s largest collection of eye miniatures belongs to Dr David Skier and his wife from Birmingham, Alabama who amassed more than 100 Regency and Georgian-era pieces. The pieces are regularly on display but if you don’t happen to live close to the Birmingham Museum, you can view a selection of pieces in detail through an app which has close up detail of these exquisite works of art.
An eye miniature features in a quite unexpected way in Moonstone Conspiracy, the sequel to Moonstone Obsession. Moonstone Conspiracy will be released this year.
Here’s an excerpt:
“Poupette!” the child cried and reached out for it before suddenly remembering something and lowering her arms.
Abigail had seen similar reactions in children apparently favored over others. Being given a doll, even a crude one like ‘Poupette’ would certainly mark Marie for jealous bullying. Children savage little beasts who taunted with fists as well as words. Her heart ached for this little girl who had everything taken away from her.
But she needed to be sure this was the little girl she had been searching for.
Abigail looked about at the two other nuns at the wash basins. They sang softly to themselves as they worked and paid her and the child no mind.
“This doll belongs to a special little girl,” said Abigail.
“Her name is Marie,” the girl responded.
“The doll or the little girl?”
“Yes.”
Abigail swallowed a measure of frustration and forced a pleasant smile on her face
“If you give me your cloak and dress, you can hold poupette while I see to yours.”
Marie considered the bargain and her eyes fell back to the doll. She nodded.
Abigail struggled to hide a smile, feeling elation at the win. She tugged the cloak and damaged tunic off the girl, slipped the replacement tunic over her head and directed her to stand near the fire to stay warm.
The girl cradled the doll as Abigail considered how on earth she could confirm the child’s identity without arousing suspicion. Moreover, how would she get the girl out of this place even if it was her?
Abigail examined the dress. Another tear at the back had been hidden by the coat. It was beyond repair, good for nothing but rags.
She called the child over and held up the tunic. “I’m sorry, I can’t fix it,” she said. “You’ll have to keep the one you’re wearing.”
Hugging the doll, the child shrugged.
A chance encounter with a young girl in Salpetriere, the hospital in Paris reveals something important
“It wasn’t mine anyway.”
Abigail picked up the cloak to slip it back on the girl. As she did so, the hem swung out and she heard the sound of something solid hit the edge of the wooden bench.
The girl put a thumb in her mouth and watched as Abigail examined the garment. She felt something the size of a coin sewn into the fabric folds.
She sat and unpicked it quickly.
“Are you Marie Dubois?” she asked as casually as she could while concentrating on the task.
The girl did not answer the question.
“Jean bought that cloak for me. It’s mine,” she said instead, a note of apprehension in her voice.
Jean… John? Jonathan? Abigail pulled out the object. It wasn’t a coin.
It was an eye-miniature – one of very fine quality but it wasn’t that which made Abigail’s heart pound in her chest. She recognized the subject.
It was Rachel Sawyer.
