(This article was written in August 1999)
I started working on this painting
about three and a half years ago.
“Great Moments in History”, a
cartoon I’d been working on for
New Statesman had reached a
natural conclusion, and I felt the
need to inject a little colour back
into my life. I put away my
drawing pens, primed what I
considered at the time to be a
decent sized piece of hardboard,
and embarked on a project that
put my painting abilities to their most gruelling test to date.
Until a few years ago, painting a copy of a masterpiece such as this would have seemed
almost sacrilegious. I had always considered that the sole purpose of art was to create
something new and original. That was until I noticed that a couple of friends were the
proud owners of paintings signed by a mutual acquaintance whose entire portfolio consists
of copies of other artists’ work. I’ve since had the opportunity to visit his studio on several
occasions (his flat), and I’m constantly amazed, not only by his chameleon like technique
and his attention to detail, but also by the reaction of others. They invariably admire his
ability to reproduce an accurate depiction of a familiar image, and most are more than
willing to part with reasonable amounts of cash in order to possess their own mini-
masterpiece.
I felt the need to have a go. I can’t remember when I first came across J W Waterhouse’s
“Lady of Shalott”, but the Arthurian imagery of the pre-Raphaelite brotherhood held a
fascination that dated back to my student days. I seemed a natural choice of subject matter
for this kind of exercise.
My first reference point for this painting was an inferior reproduction that stretched across
two pages of a small volume about Camelot. Postcards were just too tiny to reproduce any
amount of detail; and buying an A2-sized poster would almost defeat the object. I scoured
the local libraries trying to find something that I might use to do the painting justice, but
the best I could find was a cloudy black and white photo.
I did what I could to get an accurate drawing of the picture, and spent the next couple of
years straining my eyes through a magnifying glass trying to reproduce the wide array of
colour and the intricate detail of the stonework and foliage.
During a visit to the Tate Gallery, I came across a centenary celebration pamphlet with a
very sharp detail of the “The Lady of Shalott” on the front cover. Finally, I had something
to work with. After viewing the original painting for the first time since starting my copy, I
realised that the colours in the picture I’d been working from were severely distorted. What
little progress I’d made would have to be painted over.
This was the first of numerous visits to look at the original. Although this was the best way
to note the details and true colours of the picture, these visits often increased my frustration.
I invariably left overwhelmed by Waterhouse’s genius and any notes or sketches I made
mysteriously turned illegible and incomprehensible on my return home.
Hunting for and refurbishing a new house kept me away from the painting for several
months until a vacant space on the living room wall gave me the incentive I needed to finish
the painting.
I’d recently taken advantage of one of the many computer deals around offering free colour
printers and scanners. I knew enough about computers to be able to scan in an image and
enlarge it to a point where I could dispense with the magnifying glass. The prints still left
much to be desired so I continued to make regular visits to the Tate to check on the colours
and finer detail, but the task had become much less difficult with the assistance of new
technology.
The most difficult part of this entire exercise was trying to get an accurate depiction of the
model’s face. Copying the subtle tones used to achieve her sorrowful expression was difficult
enough, but there is a sliver of pinkish grey depicting the edge of the upper row of teeth that
not even a 000 paintbrush and a steadied hand could easily reproduce. When the light hits
the painting from the wrong angle, it is all too apparent that the face has been over painted.
Fortunately, the painting hangs in such a position that only a very close inspection will
reveal my mistakes.
Deciding when a painting is finished is never easy, and this one was no exception. As time
wore on my standards began to falter. Instead of asking “am I happy with that?”, I found
myself wondering if I could get away with a less than perfect effort.
Despite looking at the finished article and wondering if I ought to have spent a little more
time on particular sections, or tried a little harder to get the detail more like the original, I
am very pleased with the result and the reactions it engenders.
I still can’t decide whether or not I wish to repeat the operation of reproducing the work of a
master painter, but it has proved to be an enlightening experience it terms of the time and
effort (not to mention talent) required to produce such a piece of work. As I look at projects
started around the same time as my “Lady of Shalott”, it is clear that my own standards have
been substantially raised. The exercise demanded a level of commitment discipline that I
hope to continue to apply to future projects.
 |  |  |  |  |
www.ericjobbinsportraits.com
