Day 263 - Alexander Hamilton, etc.

 August 23, 2021

This was undoubtedly my shortest visit to the Met since I began this project - half an hour or so - and maybe my shortest visit ever, since I was mindful of the need to be in Brooklyn Heights by 12:45. I cursed beneath my breath the crosstown bus driver, who had to make a detour because the usual street was closed for repairs - not his fault - but who then, in addition, stopped well before necessary at every light while my precious minutes dwindled away. I thought briefly of getting off the bus before it crossed the park and walking home in the rain. But as soon as I arrived, I was glad I persevered, especially when, walking through the classical galleries, I saw an interesting new acquisition, an elaborately carved marble wellhead from 2nd-century Ostia. It made me realize yet again what a dynamic place this museum is.

Gallery 726, the Jenrette Gallery, was perfect for a brief visit, since the room, a square about 25' X 25',  contains relatively few objects. The furniture reflects the interest in classical decorative elements that developed in France in the 1790s and spread from there to England and the United States.  The side of one table, for example, is ornamented with a gilded plaque of a winged Apollo borne on a chariot drawn by galloping horses; the upper legs of another table are in the form of karyatids.   There's also a rolltop desk and bookcase attributed to Duncan Phyfe. I don't like its fancy lion's-head drawer pulls, but I admire its craftsmanship and ingenuity; apparently, when you lower the rolltop, a flat writing surface automatically juts forward.

The paintings in this room are far more interesting to me.  These include two portraits by Thomas Sully of John Biddle and his wife (a handsome couple they - he in an officer's uniform looking young but very much in charge, she a great beauty),  a portrait by Samuel F. B. Morse of DeWitt Clinton,  and today's object, a portrait by John Trumbull of Alexander Hamilton. Executed in oil on canvas, it was painted around 1804-1806, when Hamilton was about 50. Despite his gray hair,  he looks younger to me, his pink face unlined - although Trumbull has not opted to disguise his subject's double chin. Hamilton gazes out intelligently, but there is something about his mouth that makes him look sensual to me.

But then I wonder: When we view a portrait of a person with whom we are at least somewhat familiar, do we read into the image characteristics of the individual that we already assume to be there? Can we ever look at a portrait unclouded by whatever preconceptions of its subject we may have?

The presence of four notable portraits in this room - portraits that are eminently worthy of close attention but go unlooked at by the vast majority of Met visitors - makes me question the value of the period rooms as a setting for displaying anything other than furniture and home furnishings. If these were in a regular painting gallery, I think they would draw far more viewers.