“She Really Digs The Frans Hals”: Elizabeth Taylor-owned Dutch master Frans Hals Painting Coming to New York Auction

 

The early 1630s painting by Dutch master Frans Hals titled, "Portrait of a Man." The portrait that once hung over the fireplace of Elizabeth Taylor's Bel Air home - and only recently reattributed to Hals - is expected to fetch up to $1 million at auction Wednesday, Jan 25, 2012, at Christie's in New York. AP Photo/Christie's.

 

By: Ula Ilnytzky, Associated Press

NEW YORK (AP).-

A 17th century portrait that once hung over the fireplace of Elizabeth Taylor's Bel Air home — and only recently reattributed to the Dutch master Frans Hals — is expected to fetch up to $1 million at auction.

    "Portrait of a Man," painted in the early 1630s, is being offered at Christie's sale of Old Masters on Wednesday.

    A Hals scholar, Seymour Slive, had listed the painting as a "doubtful" Hals in a 1974 catalog, based on a black and white photo of the work.

    After Taylor hung it in her home in the 1950s, "It academically fell off the radar," said Nicholas Hall, head of Christie's Old Master paintings.

    But last summer, Christie's and Pieter Biesboer, the retired curator of Old Master paintings at the Frans Hals Museum in Holland, confirmed the work was by Hals.

    "From 20 yards away one could tell that it was an utterly authentic Hals, a totally characteristic picture with all the bravura, brushwork ... the very expressive face," Hall said in telephone interview.

    "On top of everything, there's a signature — 'FH' just to the right of the figure itself," he added.

    Biesboer "absolutely had no hesitation in attributing it to Hals," Hall said.

    Before its renewed reattribution, the painting had been estimated to sell for $70,000 to $100,000 on Wednesday. Its current estimate is $700,000 to $1 million.

    The painting, showing a gentleman in a black coat and white collar with his hands folded, came into Taylor's possession in the 1950s, soon after her art dealer father, Francis Taylor, acquired and gave it to her.

    She hung it over the fireplace in the living room of her California home, near an iconic lithograph portrait of herself by Andy Warhol that sold at Christie's in December for $662,500.

    "Portrait of a Man" was the only Old Master she owned, said Hall.

    She was very fond of it. In 1956, while recuperating from back surgery at New York Presbyterian Medical Center, she had her hospital room decorated with "Portrait of a Man" and several other paintings, including a Renoir and Monet.

    "She really digs the Frans Hals," her husband, Mike Todd, told reporters at the time.

    Other paintings from Taylor's collection will be sold by Christie's in London on Feb. 7-8.

    In December, the auction house sold her collection of jewelry, fashion and memorabilia. Among the highlights was a pearl necklace that sold for $11.8 million.

    The screen and stage icon died in March at age 79. 

 

Elizabeth Taylor, left, with her art dealer father Francis Taylor and mother Sara

NOTE:  Happening upon this item this morning was a happy surprise.  The Frans Hals painting is really terrific and the re-attribution story is surprising and splendid.  It's rather nice to think about Elizabeth Taylor loving the painting for itself, even when its connection with Hals was considered doubtful.  Some other impressive works in her collection are pictured Here (link).  

I enjoyed learning of Francis Taylor's friendship with the Welsh artist and Fitzrovian legend Augustus John and reading:  "In a missive marked 25 June 1943,  Francis Taylor wrote to Augustus John: 'We have settled down to living in California and our young daughter is by way of being a movie star, if you see a picture of Lassie Come Home which will be released in September, she is in that.  'Also she may get the lead part in National Velvet. Even if you are not a movie fan see the Lassie picture it is in colour and is beautiful.'"

Lizard Fish and Moray Eels

      

Lizard Fish

        I've chosen the following excerpts from Alan Davidson's Mediterranean Seafood both because of the fascinating information they convey and because, while reading through the text today and re-viewing Thao Soun Vannithone's remarkable illustrations, I remembered more than I had recently how much this book has meant to me and how many important memories it relates to or has inspired.

        When Auberon Waugh referred to Mediterranean Seafood as "the best book written on this, or possibly any other, subject,"  I think he probably smiled to himself thinking about what others would make of the extravagant description, but also thought that it was absolutely true and correct. 

        No excerpt could possibly do Davidson's masterpiece justice or convey its scope, depth and beauty.  Like the Parthenon or the Alhambra, you simply need to visit Mediterranean Seafood in situ.  Fortunately, this is still easily possible, a rare, unambiguous happy 2011 fact.

Moray Eel

1.        "The lizard fish, which belongs to the family Synodontidae in the order of Scopeliformes, is a fairly small deepwater fish.  It is unknown in British waters (and unlikely ever to be imported), but related species are to be found on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of North America." 

2.         "Anguilla is the Latin name for eel, and eels belong to the order Anguilliformes.  The three edible eels listed belong to the families Anguillidae, Muraenidae, and Congridae. Two of them, the common eel and the conger, are found in British waters.  In North American waters the American eel is closely akin to the common eel, and it is eaten in some areas, although much less than its merits would warrant.  There are also congers and morays, but these are rarely eaten."

Coin depicting head of Vedius Pollio (left), legate of Asia (d. 15 BC)

3.        "The Romans esteemed the moray and kept them as pets in special pools.  It is popularly believed that they fed live slaves to them.  The basis for this belief seems to be an anecdote about a certain Vedius Pollio, who had Augustus dining with him.  A careless slave of Pollio broke a piece of his glass.  Pollio had him thrown into a pool full of 'muranae'; and Pliny remarks that the point of this procedure was that no other living creatures could afford Pollio the spectacle of a man being torn entirely to pieces in one moment.  But this is beyond the capability of morays, and the story is equally implausible if we suppose, with d'Arcy Thompson, that the fish in the pool were lampreys.  Noting that according to some versions of the story the slave was reprieved by Augustus, I conclude that the affair amounted to a non-event, and that our attitude to the moray should not be affected by a tale grossly exaggerated to further the purposes of Roman moralizers.

E

Emperor Augustus (Prima Porta), 1st century AD

        The moray also had a reputation for unusual sexual activities. If the description given by Oppian reproduced below in Mair's translation were true this would, I believe, be the only instance of a creature from one of the three elements (water, earth, air) mating with a creature from another. But I am advised that what Oppian wrote must have been based more on imagination, of a powerful and poetical kind, than on observation:

        'Touching the Muraena there is a not obscure report that a Serpent mates with her and the Muraena herself comes forth from the sea willingly, eager mate to eager mate. The bitter Serpent, whetted by the fiery passion within him, is frenzied for mating and drags himself nigh the shore; and anon he espies a hollow rock and therein vomits forth his baneful venom, the fierce bile of his teeth, a deadly store, that he may be mild and serene to meet his bride.  Standing on the shore, he utters his hissing note, his mating call; and the dusky Muraena quickly hears his cry and speeds swifter than an arrow.  She stretches her from the sea, he from the land treads the grey surf, and, eager to mate with one another, the two embrace, and the panting bride receives with open mouth the Serpent's head.'"

 Serpent

 

Lord Vishnu resting on Ananta-Sesha (world serpent with 1,000 heads) with Lakshmi massaging his feet, 18th century

        Following, to round out our short fish tour and give some flavor of the individual fish sections of Mediterranean Seafood, are Davidson's fuller descriptions of the lizard fish and the moray eel.  I have included only general cuisine suggestions, rather that recipes.  Unfortunately, I am unable to reproduce Thao Soun Vannithone's remarkable illustrations, which have both educated me and given me many hours of pleasure.  They are incredibly precise, evocative and beautiful and adorn some other of Alan Davidson's books, as well as various selections on the booklist of Davidson's publishing company, Prospect Books:

Reef Lizard Fish

Shortnose Greeneye (Chlorophthalmus agassizi)

Lizard Fish

Synodus saurus (Linnaeus)

Family Synodonitae

French: Lezard

Greek: Scarmos

Italian: Pesce lucertola

Spanish: Pez de San Francisco

Tunisian: Zerzoumia

Other names: Drago (Cat.)

Remarks:  Maximum length 35 cm. Brought up from deep water trawling.  Has a head rather like that of a lizard.  The species Aulopus Filamentosus (Bloch) is very similar, but a little larger.

Another deepwater fish from the same order is the smaller Chlorophthalmus agassizi (Bonaparte).  It may be distinguished at once by the big green eyes set on top of its head.  It is sometimes met in the markets (as ojiverde in Spanish, gourlomatis in Greek, and occhi verde and, in some places, occhione, in Italian).

Cuisine:  Fry in batter.

 

Fimbriated Moray Eel, Borneo

Moray Eel

Muraena helena (Linnaeus)

Family: Muraenidae

French:  Murene

Greek:  Smerna

Italian: Murena

Spanish: Morena

Tunisian: Mrina or Lefaa (viper)

Turkish: Izmirna

Other names: Lamrini (Mor.), Morina (Malta), Marina (S.C.)

Remarks:  Maximum length 150 cm.  Of varying colours, but always distinctively mottled (e.g., off-white on dark brown).  They have a dangerous bite and are both cunning and greedy.  According to Euziere some fishermen believe that the moray likes to live near an octopus, of which when other food fails he will eat a tentacle, knowing that it will grow again.

The skin of the moray can be cured and used, e.g., for bookbinding, although this is not done commercially.

Cuisine:  Opinions vary.  Professor Bini, in correspondence, has told me that in his view the flesh of the moray is perhaps the finest of all Mediterranean fish.  Others would expect to use it only in bouillabaisse. The Romans seem to have grilled the moray or boiled it, and Apicius gives sauces for both dishes. Avoid the bony tail-end.

        One recommendation, which I endorse is to poach sections of the cleaned fish, let them cool, trim them into neat pieces and serve these wth aioli (p. 270).  Another is to use moray eel in a Tunisian couscous (p. 374). 

        To suppress any trace of the snake-like shape of the eel, which repels some people, use the skinned and deboned flesh of the moray to make Syrian fish patties (p. 389).  Or -- to make the disguise even more thorough, by using geometry -- adopt the following variation of that recipe.  Make your fish and burghul dough as instructed.  Then spread it out in an oiled oven dish over a bed of lightly fried onion.  Flatten it out well and cut it into lozenge shapes.  Sprinkle a little oil on top and bake the dish in a moderate oven (355 degrees F; gas 4) for 20 minutes.  Then let it cool before separating the pieces.  They are very good when eaten cold with a salad and tahini sauce (p. 390).

From: Alan Davidson, Mediterranean Seafood (Second Edition), London, Penguin, 1981.

This post is dedicated to Kevin Ayers, who introduced us to Alan Davidson's books, including this one.

Ribbon Moray Eel

 Serpent, Rajastan, 18th century, ink and color on paper

 Sargasso Sea, Birthplace of Eels

Apicius, 1709 Dutch edition (here entitled De opsoniis et condimentis sive arte coquinaria libri decem, "Ten books on foods and condiments or the art of cookery".)

       

Harsh -- Piling On Post-Mortem -- Walter Greaves

 

Walter Greaves, Old Battersea Bridge, 1874

“Harsh”.

      I first recall hearing that word used as a "youth expletive" watching the great Graduation Day 2 episode of Buffy, The Vampire Slayer some years ago when (as I recall) Buffy saw her ridiculous martinet high school principal stomped to death by a demon during an interrupted, apocalyptic Commencement ceremony.

     "Harsh" came to mind again a few days ago when I read about the Rosenbach Library’s decision to deaccession thirteen works by the 19^th-20^th century English painter Walter Greaves (1846-1930) from its permanent collection.

Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, London, ca. 1800

      Deaccessioning, for those who don’t know, is “the term museums use to describe the permanent removal, by sale or by gift, of items from their collections. There are two essential parts of deaccessioning: making the decision in the first place, and then allocating the proceeds.”  (This description comes from the fine and enjoyable online art journal Artdaily.org, which I highly recommend for its news articles and, especially, its terrific pictures.)

Walter Greaves, Portrait of Whistler, date unknown

      Artdaily's piece, published on January 20, announcing the Greaves painting dump, then reprints a "text" (why not just say "press release"?) published by the Rosenbach’s director, Derick Dreher, describing in dreary, self-righteous, self-congratulatory and conclusory terms “the best standards and practices”  the museum used in making their pruning decision and their non-specific allocation-of-proceeds plan, and explaining in detail to a largely uninterested, disinterested world  the "deaccession process".

      (Two notes, or rather two questions, for the reader:  1. Don’t you absolutely loathe the term “best practices”?  I am told that it was actually coined by a member of my college graduating class -- someone I didn't know well -- who went on after business school to make a vast fortune consulting and implementing “best practices” solutions at feckless enterprises that didn't know better, who then imposed them on powerless, bored-to-tears, intellectually worn down employees; 2.  Aren't you glad that the Rosenbach trustees weren't your parents, didn't have access to your personal assets and weren't able to deaccession you?)

      That "text", if you are interested, follows here.

Walter Greaves, Clock Tower At Dusk, 1867

       
      My interest in the Greaves tale was first piqued by the Greaves painting from the Rosenbach collection displayed immediately above, Clock Tower At Dusk, and the fact that the Rosenbach is a local Philadelphia institution.  But what really held my interest and made me extremely sad was learning that this was another unhappy chapter -- post-mortem this time -- in the unfairly checkered career of Walter Greaves, a man who had already, I believe, suffered sufficient abuse and harm at the hands of the powerful, the toadying and the coarse. 

      Greaves, I learned, began life as part of a family of Thames River boat builders and watermen living and working along Cheyne Walk on the Chelsea banks in London.  Greave’s father, Charles William Greaves, had actually been J.M.W. Turner’s personal Thames boatman.  Turner also lived on Cheyne Walk, which over the years has been home to a great many celebrated native Londoners and famous explatriates.

4 Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, London, 1861 (briefly the home of George Eliot)

      In 1863, Walter Greaves, along with his brother Henry, first met the American painter James Abbot McNeill Whistler in London and became his personal boatmen, river guides, protégés and studio assistants.  Whistler’s water sojourns with the Greaves brothers inspired his remarkable and celebrated river “nocturne” paintings of the Thames at night.

      "He taught us to paint", Walter Greaves said, "and we taught him the waterman's jerk".

Walter Greaves, Boat Race Day, 1862

      In time Whistler, motivated by a variety of factors, none of which are particularly flattering in terms of his personal character, ceased associating with the working class Greaveses.  Walter, in the meantime, had established himself as a painter of some reputation.  But this enforced, cutting exclusion from Whistler’s circle and the unkind acts and words from some of Whistler’s associates harmed Greaves' career, which went into eclipse until he was “rediscovered” in 1911 by the gallery owner Williiam Marchant of the Goupil Galleries, London, who mounted an important  Greaves "revival" exhibition.

      Several weeks after that show opened, however, Whistler’s biographers, the London-based expatriate Philadelphia lithographer and etcher Joseph Pennell and his wife,  Elizabeth Robbins Pennell, who had used Greaves extensively as a source for their popular contemporary James A.M. Whistler biography, created a scandal by attacking Greaves in print and otherwise, accusing him of being not only a Whistler plagiarist, but also a person guilty of backdating some of his own works in order to make it appear as though he influenced Whistler, rather than the other way around.

Walter Greaves, James Abbot McNeill Whistler On The Widow's Walk At His House In Lindsey Row, date unknown

 

      Although it is true that some misdating seems to have occurred, whether by design or through the artist's poor record-keeping practices, malicious or self-interested motivation in this regard is by no means clear and has never been conclusively established.  I believe, however, that whatever rank you assign to Greaves as a painter, although he is not the master Whistler was, his works have their own charm and place in the world, and Greaves appears to have been seriously victimized both by the unkindness of strangers and some of his professional acquaintances.

      Walter Greaves enjoyed some brief later moments of success, including a 1922 Grosvenor Gallery exhibition organized by Augustus John and William Rothenstein, as well as the support of English painter Walter Sickert.  Election as an honorary member to the Chelsea Arts Club also brightened his later days and burnished what remained of his reputation.

      When Greaves died of pneumonia in 1930 as a longtime Poor Fellow of London's Charterhouse, however, he was deeply unhappy, very poor and largely forgotten.

Walter Greaves, Etched Self-Portrait, 1900

      The Rosenbach Library can do (and has done) anything it pleases, but the tale it composed and  published detailing its Greaves purge and recounting museum founder/art dealer Philip H. Rosenbach’s unsuccessful financial and, in their view, aesthetic decision to purchase thirteen Greaves paintings 80 years ago (presumably because he regarded them as works of quality), which are now being deaccessioned by his distant minions, is a nastily told story that makes the museum and its trustees seem like small people, rather than laudable and responsible cultural custodians of estimable holdings and a great heritage.  I tell myself it's a zeitgeist thing.  The geist will pass as soon as the zeit does.

Charterhouse, London, 1770 engraving by Toms.

      Several Greaves paintings are illustrated here for your perusal, consideration and, I hope, enjoyment.  Soon some of these thirteen free agency artworks will come on the market at Christie’s at popular prices.

 
       I may purchase one.

London Blue Plaque at 41 Cheyne Walk, house occupied both by Walter Greaves and Hillaire Belloc (at different periods)