Hang (pronounced hang)
(1) To
fasten or attach a thing so that it is supported only from above or at a
point near its own top; to attach or suspend so as to allow free movement.
(2) To
place in position or fasten so as to allow easy or ready movement.
(3) To
put to death by suspending by the neck from a gallows, gibbet, yardarm, or the
like; to suspend (oneself) by the neck until dead.
(4) To
fasten to a cross; crucify.
(5) To
furnish or decorate with something suspended.
(6) In
fine art, to exhibit a painting or group of paintings.
(7) To
attach or annex as an addition.
(8) In
building, to attach (a door or the like) to its frame by means of hinges.
(9) To
make an idea, form etc dependent on a situation, structure, concept, or the
like, usually derived from another source.
(10) As
hung jury, hung parliament etc, where deliberative body is unable to achieve a
majority verdict in a vote.
(11) In
informal use, to cause a nickname, epithet etc to become associated with a
person
(12) In
nautical use, to steady (a boat) in one place against a wind or current by
thrusting a pole or the like into the bottom under the boat and allowing the
wind or current to push the boat side-on against the pole.
(13) To
incline downward, jut out, or lean over or forward.
(14) To
linger, remain, or persist; to float or hover in the air.
(15) In
informal use (to get the hang of), the precise manner of doing, using, etc,
something; knack.
(16) In
computing, as “to hang”, usually a synonym for “freeze”. Nerds insist a hang refers only to a loss of
control by manual input devices (mouse; keyboard etc) while the machine remains
responsive to remote control whereas a freeze is a total lock-up.
(18) In
chess (transitive) to cause a piece to become vulnerable to capture and
(intransitive) to be vulnerable to capture.
(19) As
“hang up”, to end a phone call, a use which has continued even though many
phone handsets no longer physically “hang up”.
Pre 900: A fusion of three verbs: (1) the Middle English and Old English hōn (to hang; be hanging) (transitive), cognate with the Gothic hāhan (originally haghan); (2) the Middle English hang(i)en & Old English hangian (to hang) (intransitive), cognate with the German hangen; and (3) the Middle English henge from the Old Norse hanga & hengja (suspend) (transitive), cognate with the German hängen & hangēn (to hang). The ultimate source of all forms was the Proto-Germanic hanhaną (related to the Dutch hangen, the Low German hangen & hängen, the German hängen, the Norwegian Bokmål henge & Norwegian Nynorsk henga), root being the primitive Indo-European ḱenk- (to waver, be in suspense). Etymologists compare the evolution with the Gothic hāhan, the Hittite gang- (to hang), the Sanskrit शङ्कते (śáṅkate) (is in doubt; hesitates), the Albanian çengë (a hook) and the Latin cunctari (to delay). From the Latin cunctari, Modern English retains the very useful cunctator (a procrastinator; one who delays).
Past tense: hung and hanged
Hang has two forms for past tense and past participle, “hanged” and “hung”. The older form hanged is now used exclusively in the sense of putting to death on the gallows by means of a lawful execution, sanctioned by the state. Even in places where capital punishment is no longer used, it remains the correct word to use in its historical context. There are two forms because the word “hang” came from two different verbs in Old English (with a relationship to one from Old Norse). One of these Old English verbs was considered a regular verb and this gave rise to “hanged”; the other was irregular, and ended up as “hung”. Hanged and hung were used interchangeably for hundreds of years but over time, hung became the more common. Hanged retained its position when used to refer to death by hanging because it became fossilized in both statute and common law; it thus escaped the development of Modern English which tended increasingly to simplified forms. Even the familiar phrase hung, drawn and quartered originally used “hanged”, a change reflecting popular use. The only novel variation to emerge in recent years has been to use hanged to describe executions ordered by a state and hung when referring to suicides by hanging although this remains still a trend rather than an accepted convention of use. Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in his A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) held it wasn't necessarily erroneous to use "hung" in the case of executions but in standard English it was certainly less customary although most style guides acknowledge the distinction still exists while noting the use of hung is both widespread and tolerated. The consensus seems to be it’s best to follow the old practice but not get too hung up about it.
Portraits: hung and not hung
Most politicians, usually by virtue of uninterest, leave the arts to others but there are exceptions and while Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) wasn't unique among politicians in regarding himself as “an artist” he was untypical and his credentials were reasonable because in pre-World War I (1914-1918) Vienna he’s earned a modest living as a painter of the streetscapes in which there’s now a somewhat controversial trade. Critics seem prepared to concede Hitler was a competent artist when depicting buildings and even the natural environment but all concurred with the examiners who denied him entry to art school on the basis he had not enough talent to handle the human form, a judgment some historians, political scientists and amateur psychoanalysts have over the years mapped onto his political career. With that he may even have agreed because the people in his paintings are almost always small, un-detailed blotches there merely to lend scale to the buildings which were his real love but, after taking power in 1933, he didn’t let that stop establishing himself as the Reich’s chief art critic and he’d judge portraiture as harshly as any landscape. He certainly thought an “artistic temperament” was vital for a politician to achieve greatness, rejecting the idea of Heinrich Himmler (1900–1945; Reichsführer SS 1929-1945) succeeding him as Führer because the head of the SS was “totally unartistic” and it was Hitler’s self-identification as “an artist” which in the first decade of his rule protected many painters, sculptors and others from persecution. In his clandestine prison diary (Spandauer Tagebücher (Spandau: The Secret Diaries) (1975)) Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) noted that for Hitler their political views were “…a matter of supreme indifference…” because “…he regarded them one and all as politically feeble-minded.” Speer recalled a lunch in 1938 at Hitler’s favorite Italian restaurant, Munich’s Osteria Bavaria, when a senior Nazi functionary brought to the Führer’s attention a Communist Party proclamation (pre-dating the regime) which had been signed by a large number of artists; the apparatchik wanted all these artists banned from any government work but Speer recoded how “Hitler replied disdainfully, ‘Oh, you know I don’t take any of that seriously. We should never judge artists by their political views. The imagination they need for their work deprives them of the ability to think in realistic terms. Artists are simple-hearted souls. Today they sign this, tomorrow that; they don’t even look to see what it is, so long as it seems to them well-meaning.’” It was an indulgence to freedom of expression Hitler granted few others and a contrast also with what would have been the likely reaction of comrade Stalin (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953) to revelations of dissent. Comrade Stalin’s three preferred ways of dealing with such problems were (1) have them murdered, (2) have them sent to the Lubyanka (KGB headquarters on Moscow's Lubyanka Square) to be tortured to death or (3) have them sent to the Gulag to be worked to death.
Even if it’s something ephemeral, politicians are often sensitive about representations of their image but concerns are heightened when it’s a portrait which, often somewhere hung on public view, will long outlive them. Although in the modern age the proliferation and accessibility of the of the photographic record has meant portraits no longer enjoy an exclusivity in the depiction of history, there’s still something about a portrait which conveys, however misleadingly, a certain authority. That’s not to suggest the classic representational portraits have always been wholly authentic, a good many of those of the good and great acknowledged to have been painted by “sympathetic” artists known for their subtleties in rendering their subjects variously more slender, youthful or hirsute as the raw material required. Probably few were like Oliver Cromwell (1599–1658; Lord Protector of the Commonwealth 1653-1658) who told Samuel Cooper (1609-1672) to paint him “warts and all”. The artist obliged.
Although certain about the afterlife, Cromwell was a practical politician with few illusions about life on earth. Once, when being driven in a coach through cheering crowds, his companion remarked that his popularity with the people must be pleasing. The lord protector replied he had no doubt they’d be cheering just as loud were he being taken to the gallows to be hanged.
Exhibition of images of Lindsay Lohan by Richard Phillips (b 1962), hung in the Gagosian Gallery, 555 West 24th Street, New York, 11 September-20 October 2012. Described by the artist as an installation, the exhibition was said to be "an example of the way Phillips uses collaborative forms of image production to reorder the relationship of Pop Art to its subjects, the staging and format of these lush, large-scale works said to render them realist portraits of the place-holders of their own mediated existence."
Bad Teddy and Good Theodore: Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903), oil on canvas by Théobald Chartran (left) and Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903) oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent.
Nobel Peace Prize laureate Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919; US President 1901-1909), famous also for waging small wars and shooting big game, after being impressed by Théobald Chartran’s (1849–1907) portrait of his wife (Edith, 1861-1948), invited the French artist to paint him too. So displeased was he with the result (which he thought made him look effete), he refused to hang the work. Later, he would have it destroyed, turning turned instead to expatriate American artist John Singer Sargent (1856–1925). The relationship didn’t start well as the two couldn’t agree on a setting and during one heated argument, the president suddenly, hand on hip, took on a defiant air while making a point and Sargent had his pose, imploring his subject not to move. This one delighted Roosevelt and prominently it was hung in the White House.
Side by side: Portraits of Barak Obama (2011) and Donald Trump (2018), both oil on canvas by Sarah A Boardman, on permanent display, Gallery of Presidents, Third Floor, Rotunda, State Capitol Building, Denver, Colorado.
In March 2025 it was reported Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) was not best pleased with a portrait of him hanging in Colorado’s State Capitol; he damned the work as “purposefully distorted” and demanded Governor Jared Polis (b 1975; governor (Democratic) of Colorado since 2019) immediately take it down. In a post on his Truth Social platform, Mr Trump said: “Nobody likes a bad picture or painting of themselves, but the one in Colorado, in the State Capitol, put up by the Governor, along with all the other Presidents, was purposefully distorted to a level that even I, perhaps, have never seen before. The artist also did President Obama and he looks wonderful, but the one on me is truly the worst. She must have lost her talent as she got older. In any event, I would much prefer not having a picture than having this one, but many people from Colorado have called and written to complain. In fact, they are actually angry about it! I am speaking on their behalf to the radical left Governor, Jared Polis, who is extremely weak on crime, in particular with respect to Tren de Aragua, which practically took over Aurora (Don’t worry, we saved it!), to take it down. Jared should be ashamed of himself!”
At the unveiling in 2019 it was well-received by the Republicans assembled. If Fox News had an art critic (the Lord forbid), she would have approved but presumably that would now be withdrawn and denials issued it was ever conferred.
Intriguingly, it was one of Mr Trump’s political fellow-travellers (Kevin Grantham (b 1970; state senator (Republican, Colorado) 2011-2019) who had in 2018 stated a GoFundMe page to raise the funds needed to commission the work, the US$10,000 pledged, it is claimed, within “a few hours”. Ms Boardman’s painting mush have received the approval of the Colorado Senate Republicans because it was them who in 2019 hosted what was described as the “non-partisan unveiling event” when first the work was displayed hanging next to one of Mr Trump’s first presidential predecessor (Barack Obama (b 1961; US president 2009-2017), another of Ms Boardman’s commissions. Whether or not it’s of relevance in the matter of now controversial portrait may be a matter for professional critics to ponder but on her website the artist notes she has “…always been passionate about painting portraits, being particularly intrigued by the depth and character found deeper in her subjects… believing the ultimate challenge is to capture the personality, character and soul of an individual in a two-dimensional format...” Her preferred models “…are carefully chosen for their enigmatic personality and uniqueness...” and she admits some of her favorite subjects those “whose faces show the tracks of real life.”
Another subject turned disappointed critic was Sir Winston Churchill. In 1954, a committee, funded by the donation of a 1000 guineas from members of both houses of parliament, commissioned English artist Graham Sutherland (1903–1980) to paint a portrait of the prime minister to mark his 80th birthday. The two apparently got on well during the sittings, Churchill himself a prolific, if undistinguished, amateur painter (in 1948 he published the book Painting as a Pastime) and it’s said he enjoyed their discussions. He was unimpressed though with the result, telling Sutherland that while he acknowledged his technical prowess, he found the work “not suitable”. To his doctor he was less restrained, calling it "filthy" and "malignant".
It had been intended the painting would be hung in the House of Commons but Churchill had no intention of letting it be seen by anyone. An unveiling ceremony had been arranged and Churchill demanded it not include the painting, relenting only when a compromise was arranged whereby both subject and artwork would appear together but rather than being hung in the Commons, it would instead be gifted to him to hang where he pleased. Both sides appeased (if not pleased), the ceremony proceeded, Churchill making a brief speech of thanks during which he described his gift as “…a remarkable example of modern art..”, praise not even faint. It was never hung, consigned unwrapped to the basement of the prime minister’s country house where it remained for about a year until Lady Churchill (Clementine, 1885–1977)), sharing her husband’s view of the thing, had a servant take it outside where it was tossed on a bonfire, an act of practical criticism Sutherland condemned as “vandalism”. Not anxious to repeat the experience of his brush with modernism, Churchill declined the offer of a sitting before the Spanish surrealist Salvador Dalí (1904–1989), the result of which might have been interesting. It's not known if Churchill ever saw Dali's interpretation of Laurence Olivier (1907-1989).
Two photographs of Winston Churchill (1941) by Yousuf Karsh.
Roosevelt’s pose is one favored by politicians but the expression adopted matters too. The famous photograph taken in Ottawa in December 1941 by Armenian-Canadian Yousuf Karsh (1908-2002) was actually one of several but those where Churchill shows a more cheerful countenance are not remembered; they didn’t so well suit those troubled times. The scowl, although immediately regarded as emblematic of British defiance of the Nazis, had a more prosaic origin, the photographer recalling his subject had appeared benign until it was insisted the ever-present Havana cigar be discarded lest it spoil the photograph. That changed the mood but, the moment captured, he relented and permitted a couple more, including the now obscure ones with a smile.
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