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Muses
Love Bites:
Caricatures by
James Gillray
Ashmolean
Museum, Oxford,
26 March–21
June 2015
Up close and
extremely
personal
The themes depicted in these
works by the father of political
cartooning are very relevant
today, even if the subjects are
two centuries old, as Paula
Weideger reports from Oxford.
P Y L A D E S A N D O R E S T E S , 1 7 9 7 . C O L O U R E D E T C H I N G . A L L I M A G E S © C O U R T E S Y O F T H E WA R D E N A N D S C H O L A R S O F N E W C O L L E G E , O X F O R D / B R I D G E M A N I M A G E S
Muses / Anne Summers Reports
T
HE MEN WEAR BREECHES and buckled
shoes, the women floor-dusting skirts and
ostrich- plumed hats. Yet the handcoloured engravings created by James
Gillray (1756–1815) remain among the most
ferocious and artistically powerful political
caricatures we have. The cast has changed and their
get-up with it, but their relevance often has not.
Take, for example, his 1797 reverse-take on Midas,
the legendary ancient king who turned everything
he touched into gold. This is not an entirely random
choice: the caricature is one of almost 60 on view in
“Love Bites” at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford,
a show marking the two-hundredth anniversary of
the London-born political cartoonist’s death. Prime
Minister William Pitt, pointy-nosed and weakchinned, sits spread-eagled on the Bank of England, a
prettily upholstered commode. Pitt’s enormous torso
is swollen with so many gold coins that they push
into his mouth where he vomits them out. As they fly
into the air, the gold pieces turn into paper money, as
do the ones he shits out below. We are no longer on
the gold standard, yet what a clear explanation this is
of post-2007 quantitative easing.
Although many of his caricatures are densely
detailed, Gillray worked fast. He produced about a
thousand etchings and some 400 drawings. Many
of the latter, done towards the end of his life, are
hair-raising, both for their wildness and beauty.
Three of them are standouts in “British Drawings”, a
companion exhibition at the Ashmolean.
“Love Bites” is displayed in a single large space
with a tall divider down the middle providing more
hanging space. Vertical surfaces are painted in such
sweet colours favoured by the Georgians as raspberry
pink and robin’s egg blue. The framed caricatures
are clustered together according to themes chosen
by curator Todd Porterfield, among them “Kisses”,
“Courting” and “Marriage”.
To say this is misleading understates. For
Gillray the personal was political centuries before
feminists made this their credo, but in his case this
was because everything was political. He targets
love, marriage and motherhood; grandmothers
and kids, too. In one etching (not on view) French
V E R Y S L I P P Y W E AT H E R , 1 8 0 8 . H A N D - C O L O U R E D E T C H I N G
Revolutionary grandmas roast babies on spits
while tykes on the floor gorge on the entrails of the
recently killed. He ridiculed the French Revolution
and Napoleon, but also the King and Queen of
England and the country’s leading politicians.
So, too, were fashion victims, adulterers and art
collectors—including, in Very Slippy Weather (1808),
buyers of his work.
Given the recent tragic killings in France and
Denmark, it should be noted that with all this,
religion was practically ignored—blasphemy was
against the law. Gillray’s The Presentation—or The
Wise Men’s Offering (1796), a rare exception, nearly
had him up on charges. What with that title, it was
not a stretch to connect the baby whose bottom is
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Muses / Anne Summers Reports
A SPHERE PROJECTING AGAINST A PLANE, 1792. HAND-COLOURED ETCHING
Gillray is sometimes
called a man without
a conscience.
being kissed with the infant Jesus. This could not be
allowed.
Even a quick look at a Gillray’s work makes it clear
that while he cared greatly about its conception
and execution—as well as sales—he otherwise
did not give a damn. But wouldn’t you know, that
contributed to his fame and fortune. The Prince
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Muses / Anne Summers Reports
T H E G O U T, 1 7 9 9 . H A N D - C O L O U R E D S O F T G R O U N D E T C H I N G
into that sore. An attack on the indulgent rich, this
is also a portrait of the artist. Gillray is sometimes
called a man without a conscience; it may be more
accurate to say that he possessed (and was possessed
by) an abundance of anger and seemingly unlimited
contempt. This did not blur his vision; it made it
more acute.
There are few biographical facts. His father,
who lost an arm as a solider, joined the Moravian
Brethren and sent James, age four, to board at
their strictly run school. Later he apprenticed as
an engraver, then studied art at the Royal Academy
schools. Gillray practised his craft fitfully until 1779,
when he finally found his métier.
Mrs Humphries (single to the end), an already
successful Mayfair printer/publisher, accepted his
of Wales and leading politicians were frequent
customers at the shop of Mrs Humphries, his
printer/publisher exclusively. The powerful, it seems,
were thrilled to be attacked. Indeed, a young and
ambitious George Canning (later Prime Minister),
hounded Gillray, asking to be included in his
cartoons, since it was a signal that he was important
enough to be torn apart.
The Gout (1799), with its lush green silk backdrop
and cheery yellow cushion in the foreground, creates
a shocking contrast with its subject. A large, closeup of a man’s foot shows him to have a huge, red
swelling at the base of his big toe—a small, mean
furry grey creature with a devilishly pointed tail,
claws digging deep in as it makes its way up over the
foot, the better to sink its sharp, pointed teeth deep
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Muses / Anne Summers Reports
BANDELURES, 1791. ETCHING
cartoonists revere and steal from him, saluting him
as the father of them all.
Gillray had predecessors, William Hogarth among
them. But he was the first to make a living creating
political caricatures. And what amazing works they
are: technically sophisticated, wildly imaginative
and thrillingly beautiful in execution.
Two hundred years after he died, his offspring have
yet to surpass him.
work. Gillray moved in above the shop. Were Mr
Gillray and Mrs Humphries lovers? Did he have
others elsewhere? In place of answers there is only
gossip. What is clear is that the pair were lifelong,
devoted companions.
As for his character: he drank—a lot—and
eventually went mad. He died delusional at home in
1815, looked after by Mrs Humphries.
Since his death, Gillray’s work has been in and
out of vogue. Ignored during the buttoned-up
reign of Queen Victoria, it is prized today. Political
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