A Guest post from Kirsty Stonell Walker
Tuesday, August 28th marked the birthday of Edward Burne-Jones, and while pondering
what aspect of his work and life to talk about, I decided on a subject
near to his heart....Mermaids.
Mermaids in the Deep (The Mermaid Family) 1878
Mermaids were a common sight in Victorian art, with rather
gorgeous versions given to us by Waterhouse, Draper and Poynter, to name a few,
but for Burne-Jones the fish-folk seem to have a deeper significance, a
resonance beyond their beauty. The above image comes from a series done
when he moved into his 'sea-side home' at Rottingdean. He converted the
room at the back of the house into a homage to a tavern and called it 'The
Merry Mermaid'. Possibly as a nod to his escape from London, the freedom
of the mermaid's flicking tail speaks of flight and freedom, and rather than a
bird taking to the air, the mermaid can disappear into the velvet gloom of the
underwater world.
Mermaid and Child
In Burne-Jones' mermaid pictures from Rottingdean you get a
contrary emotion of not only escape but also maternal care and affection, as if
Ned knew that should they need to take flight, they would carry him along with
them. Many of his mermaid images include mothers cradling their
fish-tailed offspring. I wonder how far Ned imagined himself as the
merchild, being taken care of by the beautiful mother...
The Sea Nymph
Common to Burne-Jones heroines, the faces of the mermaids
are inscrutable, no flicker of expression beyond that of 'aren't I
beautiful?', their pale limbs gracefully arched, and their hair in a swirl of
sea mist. There is something about the swirls of the sea, especially in
the picture just above which is made for Burne-Jones. That blue is so
typical of his work that you could be looking at the folds of one of his
classical maiden's frocks. It's a colour palette that appears again and
again in his work and expresses perfectly the Burne-Jones concerns of bright
and sombre, the play of life and death that seems to appear in so many of his
great pictures. Possibly the most perfect and famous example of this is,
of course, a mermaid picture...
Burne-Jones never pursued the appreciation of authority in the
way that some others did (yes, Millais, I'm looking at you), but conversely he
didn't refuse honours bestowed. In 1885, Ned became an associate of the
Royal Academy and he exhibited a painting in response, in the Academy during
the following summer. His patron William Graham (father of one of
Burne-Jones' favourite young lady friends, Frances) called the Academy 'the
gilded cage in Piccadilly' and possibly Ned felt the conflict between wanting
to take part and wanting to flee and hide back in the safety of the more
familiar Grosvenor Gallery. The resulting picture is one of his most
famous and most difficult works...
The Depth of the Sea (1886)
Most of the readings of this work centre on Laura Lyttelton,
friend of Frances Graham, again a friend of Burne-Jones for many years. She died after giving birth in 1886 and her death at such an early age
was a terrible blow to Burne-Jones. Georgie Burne-Jones encouraged the
reading that the mermaid was Laura, that the odd smile on the mermaid's face
reflected some of Laura's 'strange charm of expression'. There may have
been a hint that Ned had transformed his friend into an immortal creature of myth,
to save her from death, that in capturing the dead sailor the mermaid is
displaying power over death itself. In Ned's imagination, Laura plays
with death, a smile of victory on her lips before she swims away, free of such
worldly concerns.
Rather than being the instrument of escape, the mermaid here is
the one who has captured you, is dragging you to your death. Or is she? The sailor is already dead and the mermaid is carrying him off.
Possibly Burne-Jones feared the effect that plunging into the world of
the Academy would have on him, maybe he equated it with being the dead sailor. The mermaid claiming the dead body could have had an oddly comforting
resonance in this way, that she would claim him if he was lost in the rough sea
of the art world. As it was Burne-Jones exhibited nothing after 1886, his
mermaid year, and the Academy did not make him a full member. Finally,
wishing for his freedom, in 1893 Ned resigned from the RA and swam away.
For me, the mermaid is the perfect symbol of Ned's work, with
its hidden power, wickedness but not evil, uncertain temperament, but also
gentleness and timidity, as if it doesn't know what a thing of wonder it is to
the rest of us. Dearest Ned, I hope you're swimming with the mermaids
today.
The VV (who is more than a little in love with mermaids herself) would like to thank Kirsty Stonell Walker for this charming and moving post which was first published in her blog: The Kissed Mouth. Kirsty is the author of Stunner: The Fall and Rise of Fanny Cornforth. She has been researching Pre-Raphaelite art for almost 20 years.
I am very fond of mermaids, too and love this post. I didn't realize EBJ lived in Rottingdean...we used to go to a tea shop there for treats on a Saturday afternoon when I was at school, just along the coast. Have you read REPUBLIC OF LOVE by Carol Shields? She has mermaids in that novel. Main character is writing about them for a thesis...I think! Ages since I read it but it's brilliant.
ReplyDeleteI haven't read Republic of Love, Adele. Will make a note of that right away. Thank you!
ReplyDeletetake 2. This is a beautiful post. Have always liked mermaids, but with Burne-Jones, but always found his ladies to be a little vacant with their symbolist faces, floating above it all. He is a cold second generation Pre-Raphaelite. But as my eyes skipped over this post, faster with each word, I couldn't help but become swept under with Laura's 'strange charm of expression' and this beautiful tale. thank you
ReplyDeleteWow. I've never heard of Burne-Jones. His mermaid paintings are amazing. I too have a fascination with mermaids. So glad to learn a bit about him and to be in such good mermaid company, here at the VV!
ReplyDelete