A Paxton Portrait

William McGregor Paxton (1869-1941), Mrs. Charles Frederic Toppan, 1935, Oil on Canvas, 44 3/4 by 36.5 in., Private Collection

William McGregor Paxton, In the Studio, 1905, Self-Portrait with his wife, Elizabeth,  Oil on Canvas, 30 by 25 in., Private Collection

After a long period of neglect, I’ve been admiring William McGregor Paxton's outstanding commissioned portrait of Mrs. Charles Frederic Toppan and thinking how difficult it is for me to be satisfied with my own paintings when I see what the older generations of painters were able to accomplish with the same tools when painting from life.  I was fortunate to view Paxton’s portrait of Mrs. Toppan in a New York auction house many years ago before it was sequestered again in a private collection.  Can you imagine any painter today capturing such a thing of beauty on canvas?  The visual evidence of the shortcomings of contemporary realist painters cannot be ignored, no matter how much unwarranted praise or outrageous cash we may receive for our own paintings. 

Everything about this Paxton portrait from 1935 is remarkable, from the graceful pose of this handsome, mature woman, to the impeccable drawing and seamless “skin” of oil paint over the entire surface of the canvas.  The rendering of the velvet gown and gold bracelet is simply brilliant.  It seems nearly impossible to create such a naturalistic, smiling portrait while painting from life.  You feel obliged to entertain the sitter as you are sweating bullets to get the drawing, form, flesh color and all the accessories as accurate as possible to obtain the requisite flattering likeness within the context of an excellent painting, which both the painter and the sitter are wont to achieve. 

We have learned that Sargent and his brethren faced the same difficulties.  But just look at all the wonderful commissioned portraits those great painters working from the late 19th to the early 20th Century were able to churn out.  Today’s practicing portrait painters can thank God for photography and the fact that people don’t give a damn whether the portrait looks like animated life itself or a flat photograph.  And no matter how accurately the drawing, form, color and values might be recreated on canvas, a portrait isn’t worth much unless it conveys a palpable sense that the sitter is engaged in an intimate encounter with the painter, for better or for worse.  There are plenty of great historical portraits that clearly indicate how things went between the painter and the sitter.

Paxton, who studied with Gerome in Paris, was a great admirer of Ingres and studied his work closely, as evidenced by this portrait of Mrs. Toppan.   It has been noted by others that the pose and handling of textures is a re-interpretation of portraits by Ingres in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and London’s National Gallery.  This reminds me again that painters of the past strove to emulate the old masters, while we strive to emulate artist entrepreneurs who produce videos for YouTube distribution on how to paint with photographic accuracy or how to mimic their own idiosyncratic style.

I  believe that this portrait of Mrs. Toppan had to have been a great collaboration between the painter and the sitter, with each playing their respective roles to perfection, which essentially means the sitter poses well in an uncontrived, symbiotic fashion and allows the painter to freely express his creative intentions without making too many suggestions about how to “correct” the likeness or anything else.

I’d like to have learned more about the sitter and the making of this painting, but the scads of Internet references to “Mrs. Charles Frederic Toppan” lead mostly to those burgeoning websites that proffer “hand-painted” oil on canvas reproductions for $100 to $500 or so, depending on the size.   The Paxton original was sold on May 26, 1988 at Christie’s in New York to an extremely lucky bidder for a piddling $10,000.  And to think that just one of many Andy Warhol prints based on a photograph of a Campbell’s Soup can fetches millions of dollars at auction.  Yes, Virginia, everything is, indeed, relative.  I wonder what the Toppan heirs think about this shocking disparity.

I did, however, find out readily, from the Cambridge (MA) Tribune of Oct. 7, 1922, that Persis Louisa Webster, a Radcliffe student, was married in Trinity Church, Boston to Charles Frederic Toppan, a Harvard graduate.  I also learned that “Miss Webster's wedding gown was of ivory satin crepe covered with ivory chiffon with touches of silver and a train of silver brocaded chiffon. Her veil was of rare old rose point lace which belonged to the bridegroom's family. She carried lilies of the valley and white roses made in shower effect. The two bridesmaids were dressed alike in pomegranate colored taffeta with hats of bronze velvet and plumes. Their bouquets were of Ophelia roses.”  And the church organist played Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” and the “Bridal March” from Wagner’s Lohengrin.  And by the way, the bride’s father was sick so they held the reception at the home of the bride’s cousins.   I shouldn’t make light of this newspaper account.  This must have been big news for these prominent Cambridge families back then.

Persis Webster Toppan, a life-long resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts, died at the age of 89 in 1984, so she was 40 years old when she sat for her portrait, if my fuzzy math is correct. Paxton was 66.  There are obituary notices on the Internet for Persis and the couple’s two sons and a little bit about the well-connected Toppan lineage; but nothing much telling about Charles Frederic and his life after his World War One service.  Perhaps there is a mention somewhere, but I’ve definitely tried my easily tried patience on this subject. Digging into the Toppan archives online was just another big waste of time for this intrepid former reporter and occasional blogger. 

I really should just post an image of an exceptional painting, pay my brief respects to the painter, and join the ranks of more ambitious bloggers who offer pithy pearls of perception with every post. But no, I have to struggle and whine before casting my faux pearls. To wit, today’s traditional painters, myself included, are not going to cease and desist just because we can’t paint as well from life as Paxton and his confreres who blossomed after their training at the European art academies of the 19th Century.

Many of us have discovered, often at an advanced age, our own private Nirvana through painting.  It’s my impression that a lot of us had traveled a pretty rocky road emotionally before painting led us to the Promised Land.  Now that doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of times when you are wishing for the quickest way out.  But then you try out another brush style, tweak your medium a bit and put English Red Light back on your palette and you are set for another couple of years.  That’s amore!