The most extravagant and exclusive form of courtly entertainment during the first half of the seventeenth century was undoubtedly the masque. Huge sums of money were spent on these performances, which centred around illusionistic set designs, elaborate costumes, music, dance, and light effects. Accounts document how courtiers and royalty performed these festivities late into the night. Usually commissioned by the monarch, masques explored allegorical and fantastical themes, lauding the triumph of virtue over vice, but always with the essential aim of glorifying the monarch. The pair responsible for many of these performances at the Stuart court was architect and designer Inigo Jones (1573-1652) and one of the most important early-modern playwrights, Ben Jonson (c.1572-c.1637).

In August this year, researchers at the University of Dundee unveiled what they believe to be the true face of Bonnie Prince Charlie, Prince Charles Edward Stuart (1720-1788) [Fig. 1]. Although by today’s standards, it might be remarked that he wasn’t as handsome as his moniker suggests, his likeness is instantly recognisable from the Prince’s many portraits. However this is not an article about shifting beauty standards, but rather the importance of portraiture in the Jacobite campaign, and the distinct role of the portrait miniature.

The Philip Mould & Co. exhibition, ‘Without Hands: The Art of Sarah Biffin’, co-curated by our director, Emma Rutherford, has won the Critics’ Circle ‘Commercial Exhibition of the Year’ award!

On a visit to the royal nursery in 1769, one would have met four princes and two princesses, including George, Prince of Wales (later King George IV) – who had been born born August 1762. Born just a year before this forst child of the young Queen Charlotte, one would have met another boy, indistinguishable from his apparent siblings. This boy was Frederick William Blomberg, the child portrayed in this drawing (Fig.1) – who had been apparently welcomed into the nursery as a toddler by King George III and Queen Charlotte.

Ann Bermingham prefaces her text Learning to Draw (New Haven & London, 2000) with ‘As early as the sixteenth century, drawing in England came to be seen as something more than an activity exclusive to artists – it became a polite and useful art, a practice of everyday life.’ Although sometimes considered less important than the more salient forms of painting and sculpture, the appeal of drawing to artists persisted beyond studious purpose. In fact, for many craftsmen, importantly Limners, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries drawing provided them with a plethora of possibilities, both formally and informally, beyond the constraints of their medium.

Perhaps no other form of jewellery holds such an intimacy as that of portrait miniatures and hairwork jewellery. These mediums when combined serve as object memory and represent the sincerity of the sitter in life and death. These items of adornment were created with precise detail and skill, as testament to a person loved or admired, whose likeness these tiny artworks aimed to capture.

It is likely that the miniature by Smart was commissioned by Sir Rowland for his wife to wear. Their marriage had met with much opposition, with Sir Rowland’s family concerned with family reputation as Sabine was not only a widow but Swiss (i.e. foreign) to boot. A neighbour, Catherine Cappe, claimed that ‘the peace of the [Winn] family’ was ‘entirely destroyed’ by the return of the newlyweds to Yorkshire. Sabine herself was very unhappy in Yorkshire, which she described as ‘one of the most desolate and gloomy corners of the universe’.

While reading Elizabeth Goldring’s new monograph on Nicholas Hilliard (1647-1619), I was most anxious to discover what she had written about my all-time favourite artist in Paris and what she may have discovered while I was researching the same topic at the same time. One note struck me, about Hilliard’s whereabouts in Saint-Germain des Prés, back in 1578 where he is supposed to hold a studio.

In many ways, the very nature of portrait miniatures meant that they were inextricably associated with jewellery from their advent in the 16th century. Dainty and portable, their practical size and shape encouraged a plethora of wearable possibilities.

History often throws up some bizarre links, but one of the most unlikely must be the connection between a seventeenth century ambassador in Constantinople (now Istanbul) and the novelist Jane Austen.

We are very excited to introduce THE LIMNER COMPANY! A small group of portrait miniature consultants, we are working together to offer a range of services, including conservation, research and a carefully curated selection of works for sale. We hope to bring portrait miniatures to a wider audience with our e-newsletter and social media, sharing our blog articles, events and the latest news from the world of miniatures.