Portrait

Portrait (pronounced pawr-trit, pawr-treyt, pohr-trit or pohr-treyt)

(1) A likeness of a person, especially of the face, as a painting, drawing, or photograph (when used as a modifier: a portrait gallery).

(2) A verbal description of someone or something, especially if pertaining to an individual’s character.

(3) Relating to or producing vertical, upright orientation of computer or other digital output, with lines of data parallel to the two shorter sides of a page or screen (as opposed “landscape” in which the relationship is inverted).  The use was formalized in digital technology as applied to aspect ratios (page layouts, images, monitors etc).

(4) In printing (of a publication or an illustration in a publication), being of greater height than width.

1560–1570: From the Middle English portrait (a figure, drawn or painted), either a back formation from portraiture or directly from the French portrait, from the Middle French portraict & pourtraict (a drawing, image, etc), the noun use of the past participle of portraire (to portray), from the thirteenth century Old French portret, from the Latin prōtrahō.  Wherever used, the various forms were always applied especially to pictures or representation of the head and face of a person drawn from life.  The spelling pourtraict is obsolete.  Portrait is a noun, verb & adjective, portraitist & portraiture are nouns and portraiting & portraited are verbs and portraitlike & portraitesque are adjectives; the noun plural is portraits.

An image of Lindsay Lohan, digitally rendered in the style of an oil on canvas portrait.

Artists painting their own image had been a part of art for centuries but the term “self-portrait” entered English in 1821, a direct translation of the German Selbstbildnis (the construct being selbst +‎ Bildnis).  The portraiture (the art of making portraits; a painting, picture, or drawing) emerged in the late fourteenth century and was from the twelfth century Old French portraiture (portrait, image, portrayal, resemblance).  The term Fayum (a city in Egypt, and the associated region) portrait (also known as the "mummy portrait" or "Faiyum portrait" describes the class of naturalistic portraits rendered on the wooden boards attached to mummies from the Coptic period.  Produced between the first & third centuries AD, they were a sub-set of the school of panel painting popular in late Antiquity and have been an invaluable source of information for historians, revealing much about fashion, social structures and aspects of religious beliefs and the associated politics.  Fayum was from the Arabic الفَيُّوم‎ (al-fayyūm), from the Coptic (ph̀iom) (the sea, Fayum), from the Egyptian pꜣ ym (Lake Moeris (literally “The Lake”), the construct being pꜣ (the) + ym (lake).  The term “swagger portrait” is one of the informal terms used to describe a work (not of necessity a portrait as one is now conventionally understood) which is rendered in a style deliberately to emphasize their wealth, status or importance.

The portrait versus landscape aspect ratio was much discussed in the early days of televising live sport on television, the producers concluding there were "landscape sports" and "portrait sports".  Human vision is naturally in a landscape aspect which is why the 16:9 (width x height) ratio works so well in computer monitors and it's said to explain why architecture which follows the dimensionality of the DL envelope is thought to be so pleasing; almost all  the early television screens were in a landscape shape (typically 4:3 or 6:4).  Thus, sports like most football codes (covered with cameras on the long sides and played on a rectangular field) were thought "landscape" and worked best on TV while the forms played on ovals involving much high kicking (such as Australian Rules) was inherently portrait.  Some portrait sports were suitable however because of their small scale.  Tennis was a portrait sport which had to be covered from the small ends but the rectangular courts were small and with attention to camera angles, could be made to work well.  Cricket was (sort of the same) although much panning was involved to cover the rest of the ground when required.     

“Portrait bust” in marble (circa 1895) of Otto von Bismarck (1815-1989; Chancellor of the German Empire 1871-1890) by the German Sculptor Reinhold Begas (1831-1911).

In early 1939, during construction of the new Reich Chancellery in Berlin, workmen dropped one of the Begas busts of Bismarck which had for decades stood in the old Chancellery, breaking it at the neck.  The architect Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945), knowing that the superstitious Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) regarded the Reich Eagle toppling from the post-office building right at the beginning of World War I (1914-1918) as a harbinger of doom, kept the accident secret and had architect and sculptor Arno Breker (1900–1991) carve an exact copy.  To give the fake the necessary patina, it was soaked for a time in strong, black tea, the porous quality of marble enabling the fluid to induce some accelerated aging.

In sculpture, what was known as the “portrait statue” after the 1690s came to be known as the “portrait bust”, both meaning “sculpture of upper torso and head”.  Bust was from the sixteenth century French buste, from the Italian busto (upper body), from the bustum (funeral monument, tomb (originally “funeral pyre, place where corpses are burned”)) which may have been a shortened form of ambustum, the neuter of ambustus (burned around) and past participle of amburere (burn around, scorch), the construct being ambi- (around) + urere (to burn).  The alternative etymology suggests a link with the Old Latin boro, the early form of Classical Latin uro (to burn) and the sense development in Italian is thought related to the Etruscan custom of keeping the ashes of the dead in an urn shaped like the person when alive.  After the mind-1720s, it was used as a term to describe the “trunk of the human body above the waist” and it’s for this reason it was in the 1880s adapted to mean “the bosom; the measurement around a woman's body at the level of her breasts”.

The Supreme Leader presides over the Fifth Enlarged Meeting of the Eighth Central Military Commission of the WPK, 12 March 2023, the task of the generals & admirals being to write down his every word.  The portraits behind the Supreme Leader (both in landscape aspect) are of the Great Leader (left) and the Dear Leader (right).  Preserving the images of the photographers in the (portrait aspect) mirror was a nice, post-modern, touch.

In August 2023, with tropical storm Khanun bearing down on the DPRK (North Korea) coast, the state media issued instructions that citizens must “with urgency” and “at any cost” focus on “ensuring the safety” of items depicting the three members of the Kim dynasty: Kim Il-sung (Kim I, 1912–1994; Great Leader of DPRK 1948-1994); Kim Jong-il (Kim II, 1941-2011; Dear Leader of DPRK 1994-2011) and Kim Jong-un (Kim III, b 1982; Supreme Leader of DPRK since 2011).  Presumably because they would be more susceptible to the storm’s heavy rain and strong winds than sturdier objects like statutes, the Rodong Sinmun (official newspaper of the ruling Workers' Party of Korea (WPK)) emphasized citizens’ “foremost focus” must be ensuring the preservation of portraits of the Kims although they did caution the need also to safeguard the large number of statues, mosaics, murals and other monuments to the Kim dynasty which has ruled North Korea since its foundation in 1948.

Meeting of the WPK to commemorate the Supreme Leader’s tenth anniversary of his assumption of leadership of the party, Pyongyang, April 2022.  The Supreme Leader’s portrait is displayed in an oval which is not unusual in DPRK Kim iconography.

The order was an interesting insight into the way the regime regards the symbolism of representational objects as a part of its legitimacy but they have set the population an onerous task given the sheer volume of portraits which exist.  At least one each of the Great Leader & Dear Leader are known to hang in every house, café, bus, train carriage or shop and in public buildings there might literally be dozens.  In recent years, it’s been noted portraits of the Supreme Leader have also been more frequently seen and analysts have for years regarded the Kim dynasty’s mode of operation as something like a theocratic state in which the leader and his ancestors are worshiped.  Implicit in that is that statues and portraits are beyond being merely symbolic but are really sacred icons; just as every citizen must be willing (anxious even) to die protecting the leader, so must they be prepared to sacrifice themselves to save his portrait.  It's never been revealed whether any of the Kims read Oscar Wilde's (1854–1900) The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) but if so, they've learned well.

DPRK citizens during flooding in 2022 (left) & 2012 (centre & right), searching for portraits of the Great Leader, Dear Leader & Supreme Leader that they might be able to save.

Swagger

Swagger (pronounced swag-er)

(1) A manner, conduct, or gait thought an ostentatious display of arrogance and conceit.

(2) To walk or strut with a defiant or insolent air.

(3) To boast or brag noisily.

(4) To bring, drive, force, etc by means of bluster (now rare).

(5) Elegantly fashionable and confident (listed by some dictionaries as “rare” but in UK use it remains understood as a way of differentiating from “arrogant” and appears often in the form “a certain swagger” on the model of a phrase like “a certain grandeur”).

(6) In historic Australian (mostly rural) slang, an alternative name for a “swagman” or “swaggie” (an itinerant worker who carried a swag (a kind of roll-up bed) (archaic).  Swagman remains familiar in Australia because of the opening line of the bush ballad Waltzing Matilda: “Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong”.

1580–1590: The construct was swag + -er and it was a frequentative form of swag (in the sense of “to sway”), an early use of which appears in William Shakespeare’s (1564–1616) A Midsummer Night's Dream (1595): “What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here?” (Puck in Act III, Scene 1) and it appears also in Henry IV, Part 2 (circa 1598) & King Lear (circa1605).  The verb swag (in the Shakespearian sense of “to strut in a defiant or insolent manner” (which then could also mean “a gait with a sway or lurch”) was from the Middle English swaggen, swagen & swoggen, probably from the Old Norse sveggja (to swing, sway) and may be compared with the dialectal Norwegian svaga (to sway, swing, stagger).  The meaning “to boast or brag” was in use by the 1590s to describe the antics of the concurrent agent-noun swaggerer (blusterer; bully; boastful, noisy fellow), the noun appearing in the early eighteenth century in the sense of “an insolent strut; a piece of bluster; a boastful manner”.  The –er suffix was from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the Old English -ere, from the Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought most likely to have been borrowed from the Latin –ārius where, as a suffix, it was used to form adjectives from nouns or numerals.  In English, the –er suffix, when added to a verb, created an agent noun: the person or thing that doing the action indicated by the root verb.   The use in English was reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French –or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant -our), from the Latin -ātor & -tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.  When appended to a noun, it created the noun denoting an occupation or describing the person whose occupation is the noun.  Swagger is a noun & verb, swaggerer is a noun, swaggering is an adjective and swaggeringly is an adverb; the noun plural is swaggers.  The verb (used with object) out-swagger was used as a kind of “loaded” superlative, suggesting someone’s swagger had been “topped” by that of another.

Swaggering: Lindsay Lohan in swagger coat, New York City, March 2024.

A swagger coat was a (usually) calf-length overcoat with a distinctive cut which flared out below the knee.  They became fashionable in the early decades of the twentieth century, the wide, roomy silhouette, often without a belt, allowing for a “swaggering” or flowing appearance when worn.  The relaxed fit lent the garment a casual elegance and they often were worn, cloak-like, cast over the shoulders.  Swagger coats were commonly made from heavier fabrics like wool or tweed, making them ideal for outerwear in cooler weather and their air of “quiet sophistication” has made them a timeless classic.  A swagger stick was a short stick carried by a military officer as a symbol of authority but should not be confused with a field-marshal’s baton which was a symbol of the highest military rank.  Swagger sticks were shorter than a walking-cane, tended to be made from rattan or bamboo and adorned with a polished metal tip or cap.  A symbol rather than a practical tool, they are still seen during formal parades or other ceremonial events.  A “swagger-jack” was someone who copied or imitated the actions, sayings or personal habits of another.  The word “swagger” often carries a negative connotation but there’s a long tradition in the UK of it being used to distinguish for someone thought “arrogant”.  When one reviewer wrote of the Rolling Stones album Beggars Banquet (1968) as being the band “at their most swaggeringly debauched”, he really was giving them a compliment.  Much can context influence meaning.

The Swagger Portrait

A swagger portrait is a grand, usually large and often ostentatious portrait, typically commissioned by wealthy or influential individuals to display their status, power and prestige.  The term came into use in the late nineteenth century at the height of the British Empire when countless generals, admirals, politicians, governors, viceroys and others less exalted (though perhaps more deserving) decided it was something they deserved.  The distinguishing characteristics were (1) an imposing dimensionality, larger than life renditions not uncommon, (2) elaborate staging and poses, (3) an attention to detail, something of significance to the subjects often were dripping with decorations or precious jewels which demanded to be captured with precision and (4) a certain grandeur, something at which some artists excelled.  An exemplar of the breed was John Singer Sargent (1856-1925).

Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903; left), oil on canvas by Théobald Chartran (1849–1907) and Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903; right), oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent.

Nobel Peace Prize laureate Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919; US President 1901-1909), famous also for waging war and shooting wildlife, after being impressed by Théobald Chartran’s portrait of his wife, invited the French artist to paint him too.  He was so displeased with the result, which he thought made him look effete, he refused to hang the work and later supervised its destruction.  Roosevelt then turned instead to expatriate US artist John Singer Sargent.  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 was hung in the White House.

Portrait of Madame X (1884), oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan.

A controversial work in its time, Madame X was Virginie Amélie Avegno Gautreau (née Avegno; 1859–1915) a banker's wife.  Unusually in the tradition of swagger portraits, Madam X was not a commission but undertaken on the painter's initiative and he understood the critics as well as he knew his subjects, knowing the juxtaposition of a black satin gown and porcelain-white skin would create a sensation.  However he understood the Parisian bourgeoisie less well and after being exhibited at the Paris Salon of 1884, the public reception was such that Singer was just about run out of town.  However, the painting made his reputation and it remains his best known work.

The Duke of Wellington (1812), oil on canvas by Francisco Goya (1812-1814), The National Gallery, London.

Arthur Wellesley (1769-1852; First Duke of Wellington was a British military hero and a less successful Tory politician although he remains remembered as a classic “Ultra”, a calling which is a hallmark of twenty-first century ideology.  Goya’s work is a typical military swagger portrait and it was for his battlefield exploits rather than in parliament which saw him granted the rare distinction of a state funeral.

Portrait of Empress Eugénie (1854), oil on canvas by Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873), Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan.

The Empress Eugénie (Eugénie de Montijo, 1826–1920, Condesa de Teba) was the wife of Napoleon III (Charles-Louis Napoléon Bonaparte, 1808–1873; first president of France (1848-1852) and the last monarch as Emperor (1852-1870)) and it wasn't an easy gig for her so she deserved a swagger portrait more than many, Winterhalter painting several.  They have many the elements of the swagger portraiture of royalty, lavish fabrics, the subject in regal attire, as much an almost as much an installation as any of the sumptuous surrounds, the message conveyed one of status, power and beauty.

Hang

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).

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.

Fowler’s Modern English Usage holds it isn’t necessarily erroneous to use hung in the case of executions, just less customary in Standard English but, like most 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.

Hung and not hung

Portrait of Oliver Cromwell (1650), oil on canvas by Samuel Cooper (1609-1672).

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 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 is 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.

Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903)  by Théobald Chartran.

Nobel Peace Prize laureate Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919; US President 1901-1909), famous also for waging war and shooting wildlife, after being impressed by Théobald Chartran’s (1849–1907) portrait of his wife, invited the French artist to paint him too.  He was so displeased with the result, which he thought made him look effete, that he refused to hang the work.  Later, he would have it destroyed.

Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903) by John Singer Sargent.

Roosevelt 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 was hung in the White House.

Portrait of Winston Churchill (1954) by Graham Sutherland.

Another subject turned disappointed critic was Sir Winston Churchill (1874–1965; UK Prime Minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955).  In 1954, a committee funded by the donation of a thousand 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 eightieth birthday.  The two apparently got on well during the sittings, Churchill himself a prolific, if undistinguished, amateur painter 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".

Portrait of Laurence Olivier in the role of Richard III (1955) by Salvador Dalí.

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, sharing her husband’s view of the thing, had her staff take it outside where it was burned, an act of practical criticism Sutherland condemned as “vandalism”.  Not anxious to repeat the experience of his brush with modernism, Churchill declined the request of a sitting from Salvador Dalí (1904–1989), the result of which might have been interesting.

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 the 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.

Installation

Installation (pronounced in-stuh-ley-shuhn)

(1) Something installed (which can be physical, as in plant or equipment or weightless, as in software).

(2) The act of installing (to install) or the state of being installed.

(3) In military use, any permanent or semi-permanent post, camp, station, base etc, maintained to support operations.

(4) In art, an exhibit (widely defined) where the relation of the parts to the whole and the context of the space where exhibited are sometimes claimed to important to the interpretation of the piece.

(5) A formal ceremony in which an honor is conferred or an appointment made to an office (the state of being so honored or appointed being to be “installed”).

1600–1610: From the Middle French installation, from the Medieval Latin installātiō.  The construct was install + -ation.  The verb install (which was used also as instal and before that enstall) was an early fifteenth century form used to mean “place in ecclesiastical office by seating in an official stall”.  It was from the Middle English installen, from the fourteenth century Old French installer, from the Medieval Latin īnstallō (to install, put in place, establish), the construct being in- (in)- + stallum (stall), from the Frankish stall (stall, position, place), from the Proto-Germanic stallaz (place, position), from the primitive Indo-European stel-, stAlǝn- & stAlǝm- (stem, trunk).  It was cognate with the Old High German stal (location, stall), the Old English steall (position, stall), the Old English onstellan (to institute, create, originate, establish, give the example of), the Middle High German anstalt (institute), the German anstellen (to conduct, employ), the German einstellen (to set, adjust, position), Dutch aanstellen (to appoint, commission, institute) and the Dutch instellen (to set up, establish).  The suffix -ation was from the Middle English -acioun & -acion, from the Old French acion & -ation, from the Latin -ātiō, an alternative form of -tiō (thus the eventual English form -tion).  It was appended to words to indicate (1) an action or process, (2) the result of an action or process or (3) a state or quality.

The mid fifteenth century noun installation (action of installing) was a reference to the processes (both administrative & ceremonial) of appointment to church offices or other positions, and in that sense was from the Medieval Latin installationem (nominative installātiō), the noun of action from past participle stem of installare.  Of machinery (in the sense of plant & equipment), the first known use in print, describing the “act of setting up a machine; placing it in position for use” dates from 1882 but it may by then have for some time been in oral use.  Installation & installationer are nouns and installational & installationlike are adjectives; the noun plural is installations.  Installationism & installationist are non-standard forms used in art criticism.

In computing, an “installation” can be of hardware or software.  With hardware, the point of distinction is an installation is something which is permanent (or, even if temporary, installed in a manner of something permanent), as opposed to a mere connection (such as plugging to a USB cable).  In software, the idea to is transfer from an external source (the internet, a place on a network or transportable media (diskettes, optical discs etc)) onto a device's permanent storage, the installation process usually taken to include putting things into the state where functional use is possible.  Installations can be as simple as copying a single file to a drive to long, interactive processes involving multiple external media and on-line registration or validation procedures.  Some installations are effortless while some are worse than others, as those who have enjoyed the experience of installing the earlier versions of Nvidia’s video drivers for some flavors of Unix can attest.  Especially in software, the terms “pre-installation” and “re-reinstallation” are common although “un-install” is more common than “un-installation” (the terms “failed installation” and “corrupted installation” are also not unknown although in most use, IT nerds usually clip “installation” to “install”).

Installations and Performance Art

It’s now unfashionable, and probably thought reactionary, to attempt to impose definitions on the various expressions of Western art.  There was a time, in living memory, when such distinctions were taken seriously, one squabble about whether an entrant in an Australian portraiture competition could be considered “a portrait” (and by implication the work of “an artist”) or “a mere caricature” (and the thus the scribblings of “a cartoonist”) ending up in the Supreme Court of New South Wales (Attorney-General v Trustees of National Art Gallery of NSW & Another (1945) 62 WN (NSW) 212.).

Portrait or caricature?  Mr Joshua Smith (1943, left), oil on canvas by Sir William Dobell (1899–1970) and Joshua Smith (1905-1995, right).

Wisely, Mr Justice Roper (1901–1958) decided the bench was not a place for amateur art criticism and agreed the work was indeed “a portrait”, holding, inter alia, that “portrait” “…means a pictorial representation of a person, painted by an artist. This definition denotes some degree of likeness is essential and for the purpose of achieving it the inclusion of the face of the subject is desirable and perhaps also essential.”  Of the work in question, he observed it was “…characterised by some startling exaggeration and distortion which was clearly intended by the artist, his technique being too brilliant to admit of any other conclusion.  It bears, nevertheless, a strong degree of likeness to the subject and is think, undoubtedly, a pictorial representation of him.  I find as a fact that it is a portrait…”  Given that, the judge found it unnecessary to consider whether the painting was a “caricature” or a “fantasy” which was a shame, even if it wouldn’t have been something on which the verdict hung.

Year later, in an essay he titled The White Bird (1987), the English painter & art critic John Berger (1926–2017) would discuss the relationship between artist, artwork & viewer and the tension between accurate depiction (“imitation” as he sometimes called it, a growing trend in modern portraiture) and creative expression: “The notion that art is the mirror of nature is one that only appeals in periods of scepticism.  Art does not imitate nature; it imitates a creation, sometimes to propose an alternative world, sometimes simply to amplify, to confirm, to make social the brief hope offered by nature.  Art is an organised response to what nature allows us to glimpse occasionally. Art sets out to transform the potential recognition into an unceasing one.”  With that, one suspects Mr Justice Roper would have concurred.

Finding legal proceedings tiresome, the art industry solved the problem of what does and does not belong in galleries by embracing “installations” and “performance art”, two categories without definitional boundaries and thus able to accommodate anything which can’t be squeezed into one of the traditional slots.  In retrospect, it is course easy to identify stuff stretching back many centuries which could be classified as either but in the modern age, there’s certainly a perception curators are now artistically more promiscuous.  It thus both impossible and pointless to try to define “installation” and “performance art” but some characteristics certainly are identifiable.

Installation art tends to be three-dimensional, is often site-specific and designed to transform the perception of a space in which it exists and the range of materials used is unlimited, the genre notable especially for the use of everyday objects, video & audio content and often, interactive components.  Installation art has encompassed unmade beds so there’s some scope.  Just as there’s no one type of installation, nor are there defined parameters for the mode of display: installations have been hung from ceilings, wrapped around buildings and sat on the seabed.  In gallery spaces however, the most frequently seen installations are those on the floor with sufficient room surrounding them for the viewer to walk around, experiencing the work from multiple angles and perspectives.  Installations can be temporary or permanent or even in some way vanish, decay or be destroyed during the exhibition and in more than one case, the “installation” didn’t actually exist.

The context of location can also dictate the definition.  Wax figures of Lindsay Lohan & Paris Hilton might be all or part of an installation if exhibited in a gallery but when on display at Madame Tussauds in New York City (left), they are a tourist attraction.  More typically, installations combine artistic technique with social or political comment: Gabriel Dawe's (b 1973) Plexus series (centre) was made with a reputed 60 miles (97 km) of embroidery thread hooked from floor to ceiling in a repeating overlay while Judy Chicago’s (b 1939) The Dinner Party, 1974-79 (right) was a feminist piece but one which later attracted criticism because some degree of “ethnic exclusionism” was detected.

Performance art, as the term implies, is a form of “live art” where “something happens”, the actions of the artist or performers components of the work.  Perhaps best thought of as a form of encapsulated theatre, performance art would seem to depend on movement, sound, color and sometimes text although, being art, some performance art has been wholly static.  For that reason, Empire (1965), Andy Warhol’s (1928–1987) eight-hour, slow-motion film of an unchanging view of the Empire State Building must be considered performance art although, given the nature of the experience, it really must be the viewer who is thought the subject.  Performance art is of course intrinsically ephemeral and Empire played with that idea, each moment of the production seemingly the same yet in tiny ways different, rather like the exercise in textual definitional philosophy lecturers like to give students to ponder: “Is the river the ‘same’ river from one day to the next when almost all the molecules of water are different?”

US rapper, singer, songwriter, record producer, hip hop identity & fashion designer Ye (formerly the artist known as Kanye West (b 1977)) and Australian architect & model Bianca Censori (b 1995): In Maimi, Florida, December 2023 (left) and in Paris for Fashion Week, June 2024 (centre & right).

The recent, much publicized appearances by Mr Ye and Ms Censori attracted all sorts of comments and the consensus was the project (one presumably restricted to the warmer months) was a promotional device for him and to some extent that seems to have worked, despite Mr Ye being mostly unnoticed while in the presence of his photogenic muse.  Although there are references to the pair being “married”, it’s not clear if that is their legal status and in artistic terms that may be significant.  What is of interest is whether in these appearances Ms Censori should be thought a “performance artist” or Mr Ye’s “installation”; both have been suggested and there’s no reason why the two states can’t be simultaneous.

Mr Ye & Ms Cansori at Paris Fashion Week, June 2024, the latter in character or possibly, installed.

Simulacrum

Simulacrum (pronounced sim-yuh-ley-kruhm)

(1) A slight, unreal, or superficial likeness or semblance; a physical image or representation of a deity, person, or thing.

(2) An effigy, image, or representation; a thing which has the appearance or form of another thing, but not its true qualities; a thing which simulates another thing; an imitation, a semblance; a thing which has a similarity to the appearance or form of another thing, but not its true qualities

(3) Used loosely, any representational image of something (a nod to the Latin source).

1590–1600: A learned borrowing of the Latin simulācrum (likeness, image) and a dissimilation of simulaclom, the construct being simulā(re) (to pretend, to imitate), + -crum (the instrumental suffix which was a variant of -culum, from the primitive Indo-European –tlom (a suffix forming instrument nouns).  The Latin simulāre was the present active infinitive of simulō (to represent, simulate) from similis (similar to; alike), ultimately from the primitive Indo-European sem- (one; together).  In English, the idea was always of “something having the mere appearance of another”, hence the conveyed notion of a “a specious imitation”, the predominant sense early in the nineteenth century while later it would be applied to works or art (most notably in portraiture) judged, “blatant flattery”.  In English, simulacrum replaced the late fourteenth century semulacre which had come from the Old French simulacre.  As well as the English simulacrum, the descendents from the Latin simulācrum include the French simulacre, the Spanish simulacro and the Polish symulakrum.  Simulacrum is a noun and simulacral is an adjective; the noun plural is simulacrums or simulacra (a learned borrowing from Latin simulācra).  Although neither is listed, by lexicographers, in the world of art criticism, simulacrally would be a tempting adverb and simulacrumism an obvious noun.  The comparative is more simulacral, the suplerative most simulacral.

Simulacrum had an untroubled etymology didn’t cause a problem until French post-structuralists found a way to add layers of complication.  The sociologist & philosopher Jean Baudrillard (1929-2007) wrote a typically dense paper (The Precession of Simulacra (1981)) explaining simulacra were “…something that replaces reality with its representation… Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being, or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal.... It is no longer a question of imitation, nor duplication, nor even parody. It is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real.” and his examples ranged from Disneyland to the Watergate scandal.  One can see his point but it seems only to state the obvious and wicked types like Karl Marx (1818-1883) and Joseph Goebbels (1897-1975; Nazi propaganda minister 1933-1945) said it in fewer words.  To be fair, Baudrillard’s point was more about the consequences of simulacra than the process of their creation and the social, political and economic implication of states or (more to the point) corporations attaining the means to “replace” reality with a constructed representation were profound.  The idea has become more relevant (and certainly more discussed) in the post-fake news world in which clear distinctions between that which is real and its imitations have become blurred and there’s an understanding that through many channels of distribution, increasingly, audiences are coming to assume nothing is real.

Advertising copy for the 1961 Pontiac Bonneville Sports Coupe (left) with graphical art by Art Fitzpatrick (1919–2015) & Van Kaufman (1918-1995) and a (real) 1961 Pontiac Bonneville Sports Coupe (right) fitted with Pontiac's much admired 8-lug wheels, their exposed centres actually the brake drum.

The work of Fitzpatrick & Kaufman is the best remembered of the 1960s advertising by the US auto industry and their finest creations were those for General Motors’ (GM) Pontiac Motor Division (PMD).  The pair rendered memorable images but certainly took some artistic licence and created what were even then admired as simulacrums rather than taken too literally.  While PMD’s “Year of the Wide-Track” (introduced in 1959) is remembered as a slogan, it wasn’t just advertising shtick, the decision taken to increase the track of Pontiacs by 5 inches (125 mm) because the 1958 frames were used for the much wider 1959 bodies, rushed into production because the sleek new Chryslers had rendered the old look frumpy and suddenly old-fashioned.  It certainly improved the look but the engineering was sound, the wider stance also genuinely enhanced handling.  Just to make sure people got the message about the “wide” in the “Wide Track” theme, their artwork deliberately exaggerated the width of the cars they depicted and while it was the era of “longer, lower, wider” (and PMD certainly did their bit in that), things never got quite that wide.  Had they been, the experience of driving would have felt something like steering an aircraft carrier's flight deck.

Fitzpatrick & Kaufman’s graphic art for the 1967 Pontiac Catalina Convertible advertising campaign.  One irony in the pair being contracted by PMD is that for most of the 1960s, Pontiacs were distinguished by some of the industry’s more imaginative and dramatic styling ventures and needed the artists' simulacral tricks less than some other manufacturers (and the Chryslers of the era come to mind, the solid basic engineering below cloaked sometimes in truly bizarre or just dull  bodywork).

This advertisement from 1961 hints also at something often not understood about what was later acknowledged as the golden era for both the US auto industry and their advertising agencies.  Although the big V8 cars of the post-war years are now remembered mostly for the collectable, high-powered, high value survivors with large displacement and induction systems using sometimes two four-barrel or three two-barrel carburetors, such things were a tiny fraction of total production and most V8 engines were tuned for a compromise between power (actually, more to the point for most: torque) and economy, a modest single two barrel sitting atop most and after the brief but sharp recession of 1958, even the Lincoln Continental, aimed at the upper income demographic, was reconfigured thus in a bid to reduce the prodigious thirst of the 430 cubic inch (7.0 litre) MEL (Mercury-Edsel-Lincoln) V8.  Happily for country and oil industry, the good times returned and by 1963 the big Lincolns were again guzzling gas four barrels at a time (the MEL in 1966 even enlarged to a 462 (7.6)) although there was the courtesy of the engineering trick of off-centering slightly the carburetor’s location so the primary two throats (the other two activated only under heavy throttle load) sat directly in the centre for optimal smoothness of operation.  Despite today’s historical focus on the displacement, horsepower and burning rubber of the era, there was then much advertising copy about (claimed) fuel economy, though while then as now, YMMV (your mileage may vary), the advertising standards of the day didn’t demand such a disclaimer.

Portrait of Oliver Cromwell (1650), oil on canvas by Samuel Cooper (1609-1672).

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 to paint him “warts and all”.  The artist obliged.

Randolph Churchill (1932), oil on canvas by Philip de László (left) and Randolph Churchill’s official campaign photograph (1935, right).

There have been artists for whom a certain fork of the simulacrum has provided a long a lucrative career.  Philip Philip Alexius László de Lombos (1869–1937 and known professionally as Philip de László) was a UK-based Hungarian painter who was renowned for his sympathetic portraiture of royalty, the aristocracy and anyone else able to afford his fee (which for a time-consuming large, full-length works could be as much as 3000 guineas).  His reputation as a painter suffered after his death because he was dismissed by some as a “shameless flatterer” but in more recent years he’s been re-evaluated and there’s now much admiration for his eye and technical prowess, indeed, some have noted he deserves to be regarded more highly than many of those who sat for him.  His portrait of Randolph Churchill (1911-1968) (1932, left) has, rather waspishly, been described by some authors as something of an idealized simulacrum and the reaction of the journalist Alan Brien (1925-2008) was typical.  He met Churchill only in when his dissolute habits had inflicted their ravages and remarked that the contrast was startling, “…as if Dorian Gray had changed places with his picture for one day of the year.”  Although infamously obnoxious, on this occasion Churchill responded with good humor, replying “Yes, it is hard to believe that was me, isn’t it?  I was a joli garçon (pretty boy) in those days.”  That may have been true for as his official photograph for the 1935 Wavertree by-election (where he stood as an “Independent Conservative” on a platform of rearmament and opposition to Indian Home Rule) suggests, the artist may have been true to his subject.  Neither portrait now photograph seems to have helped politically and his loss at Wavertree was one of several he would suffer in his attempts to be elected to the House of Commons.

Portrait of Gina Rinehart (née Hancock, b 1954) by Western Aranda artist Vincent Namatjira (b 1983), National Gallery of Australia (NGA) (left) and photograph of Gina Rinehart (right).

While some simulacrums can flatter to deceive, others are simply unflattering.  That was what Gina Rinehard (described habitually as “Australia’s richest woman”) felt about two (definitely unauthorized) portraits of which are on exhibition at the NGA.  Accordingly, she asked they be removed from view and “permanently disposed of”, presumably with the same fiery finality with which bonfires consumed portraits of Theodore Roosevelt (TR, 1858–1919; US president 1901-1909) and Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955), both works despised by their subjects.  Unfortunately for Ms Reinhart, her attempted to save the nation from having to look at what she clearly considered bad art created only what is in law known as the “Streisand effect”, named after an attempt in 2003 by the singer Barbra Streisand (b 1942) to suppress publication of a photograph showing her cliff-top residence in Malibu, taken originally to document erosion of the California coast.  All that did was generate a sudden interest in the previously obscure photograph and ensure it went viral, overnight reaching an audience of millions as it spread around the web.  Ms Reinhart’s attempt had a similar consequence: while relatively few had attended Mr Namatjira’s solo Australia in Colour exhibition at the NGA and publicity had been minimal, the interest generated by the story saw the “offending image” printed in newspapers, appear on television news bulletins (they’re still a thing with a big audience) and of course on many websites.  The “Streisand effect” is regarded as an example “reverse psychology”, the attempt to conceal something making it seem sought by those who would otherwise not have been interested or bothered to look.  People should be careful in what they wish for.

Variations on a theme of simulacra: Four AI (artificial intelligence) generated images of Lindsay Lohan by Stable Diffusion.  The car depicted (centre right) is a Mercedes-Benz SL (R107, 1971-1989), identifiable as a post-1973 North American model because of the disfiguring bumper bar. 

So a simulacrum is a likeness of something which is recognizably of the subject (maybe with the odd hint) and not of necessity “good” or “bad”; just not exactly realistic.  Of course with techniques of lighting or angles, even an unaltered photograph can similarly mislead but the word is used usually of art or behavior such as “a simulacrum or pleasure” or “a ghastly simulacrum of a smile”.  In film and biography of course, the simulacrum is almost obligatory and the more controversial the subject, the more simulacral things are likely to be: anyone reading AJP Taylor’s study (1972) of the life of Lord Beaverbrook (Maxwell Aitken, 1879-1964) would be forgiven for wondering how anyone could have said a bad word about the old chap.  All that means there’s no useful antonym of simulacrum because one really isn’t needed (there's replica, duplicate etc but the sense is different) while the synonyms are many, the choice of which should be dictated by the meaning one wishes to denote and they include: dissimilarity, unlikeness, archetype, clone, counterfeit, effigy, ersatz, facsimile, forgery, image, impersonation, impression, imprint, likeness, portrait, representation, similarity, simulation, emulation, fake, faux & study.  Simulacrum remains a little unusual in that while technically it’s a neutral descriptor, it’s almost always used with a sense of the negative or positive.