Abraham Pether FSA (1756-1812) was a one-time child prodigy turned classic 18th century polymath whose experiments with electricity, mathematics, and astronomy led to the invention of numerous items from telescopes to pencils. It was, however, as a painter of dramatic moonlit landscapes that Abraham Pether found acclaim, exhibiting at all the major London venues between 1773 and 1811, including the Royal Academy on 61 occasions.
Like his near contemporary Joseph Wright (1734-1797), Abraham Pether was one of the finest early English painters of chiaroscuro; the bold contrasting of light and shade used to convey drama and three-dimensional depth in a painting. The nocturnal landscapes of both men frequently balance competing light sources – typically the flames of a fire and the light of the moon – to evoke in the viewer a sense of awe at the sublime beauty of nature.
Unfortunately for ‘Moonlight Pether’ (as he became known) critical success was tragically not sufficient to safeguard the financial stability of his family and when he died after years of ill health his wife and children were left penniless. It is all too easy to forget that before the advent of the Welfare State and National Health Service there were no safety nets and whole families could quickly fall into destitution.
In its obituary, the most important arts journal of the day, The Examiner wrote; “As a landscape painter, his abilities are universally known, particularly in effects of fire and moon-light. The peculiar softness of his distances, and the brilliancy of his afternoon scenes, conferred on him the appellation of the British Claude (Lorrain). His loss will be greatly regretted by an extensive circle of friends; but more especially by a widow and nine children, seven of whom are left totally unprovided for.”
‘Fire and Moonlight’ by Abraham Pether, Society of Artists Exhibition, London 1790
Currently available to purchase from the AFP Gallery page
The elder of Abraham’s two artistically gifted sons, Sebastian, also exhibited his moonlit landscapes at the Royal Academy but with fifteen children (!) to support he, likewise, couldn’t paint sufficient canvas’ to satisfy the demand from dealers, though he did try. Sebastian Pether could certainly paint, but his pictures are repetitive and can suffer from a lack of finish.
Abraham’s younger son, Henry Pether, was also a scientist and inventor but, like his father, it was as a painter of what was now the family trademark – the moonlit topographical scene – that would earn him his place in British art history. Although unburdened by hordes of children, Henry Pether too faced periods of debt and destitution throughout his life. Bearing in mind all the medical and financial misfortunes that befell the Pether family it is remarkable that the work of Abraham and Henry did not suffer. They clearly took enormous pride in every canvas they produced and resisted the temptation to make compromises and cut corners, unlike a certain other artist whom we will get to in a moment.
‘The River Thames by Moonlight’ by Henry Pether, previous sold by Academy Fine Paintings
Unfortunately, the family’s professionalism didn’t then and hasn’t now prevented the market being flooded with vastly inferior paintings purporting to be by one Pether or another. These dingy nocturnal landscapes are everywhere and I guarantee not one of them is a genuine Pether. Because their work was so popular and knowing that, as we have touched on, supply could never keep up with demand many Victorian dealers took matters into their own hands and hired dozens of journeyman artists to produce copies and lookalikes. Sadly, many of these dismal pictures featuring gloomy pseudo-gothic ruins, candyfloss clouds, and silhouetted figures remain in circulation today and they are always erroneously attributed to Henry, Sebastian, or Abraham Pether. Consequently, people have come to associate these dreadful imitations with the name Pether, thus negatively affecting the family’s legacy by association.
I have no doubt that of the thousands of people today who would claim to know the paintings of the Pether family only a handful will have seen a real one. This presents a challenge for any dealer offering only the genuine article but it is one worth accepting.
A selection of counterfeit Pethers
So how can you tell if that 19th century moonlit landscape being sold as a Pether is, in fact, a genuine Pether?
Firstly, ask yourself this; can you see what’s going on? In other words, are there passages that are so dark it is impossible to see what you are looking at? A genuine Pether will be easy to read and enjoy without the need for an Imalent flashlight.
Secondly, contrary to popular myth, neither Abraham, Sebastian, or Henry ever painted landscapes in tones of sickly green, electric blue or mauve. These are all counterfeit.
Finally, if the painting in question is by Abraham or Henry Pether it will never be a fantasy or capriccio but an actual identifiable location. In Henry’s case this will often mean somwhere near water, frequently London and the River Thames or other waterside vista exemplifying the picturesque. Abraham and Henry Pether’s moonlit vedute celebrate both the beauty of the natural world and the architectural achievements of humankind. In many ways Henry Pether is to the 19th century English edifice and waterway what Canaletto is to the canals and palazzi of 18th century Venice. I would go as far to say that no artist to have set up an easel in London has more successfully captured its atmosphere and architecture than Henry Pether, and that includes the Venetian master (and his contemporary, an artist who was every inch Canaletto’s equal, Antonio Joli who also painted wonderful waterside vistas of both Venice and London).
Interestingly, Henry Pether also painted scenes of Venice as well as London just as Canaletto painted London as well as Venice. (left) ‘The Ducal Palace, Venice’ by Henry Pether & (right) ‘Westminster from the Thames’ by Canaletto
Henry Pether’s draftsmanship and attention to detail, his lighting effects in the halftones and accents, and subtle colouring are all exceptional and mark him out as one of the finest painters of what would come to be known as “nocturnes”; atmospheric topographical scenes captured at or after dusk and illuminated by natural or artificial light sources. The man who coined that phrase, the famous Anglo-American painter James Whistler, is oft quoted as having used it when praising the work of the man who is today considered Britain’s greatest painter of moonlit landscapes John Atkinson Grimshaw. Although it pains me to repeat it, Whistler is supposed to have said; “I considered myself the inventor of nocturnes until I saw Grimmy’s moonlit pictures.”
This quote, attributed to Whistler by the author Lionel Lambourne in his book ‘Victorian Painting’, is all kinds of nonsense. We know that Whistler was fond of borrowing musical terms to describe his paintings (symphony, harmony, composition etc) so it is only natural that he should refer to his paintings of the night as nocturnes, but there was no “inventor” here. This was appropriation not invention; he may have been the first to apply the word to describe the tonality of an oil painting but obviously neither he nor Grimshaw invented atmospheric moonlit landscapes or subject pictures. In fact, I find it hard to believe he ever said such a silly thing, not least as he was not given to praising other painters. Were we to name the master of the 19th century moonlight painting rather than some non-existant inventor then the accolade should surely go to Henry Pether rather than the King of Colouring-in, John Atkinson Grimshaw.
The modern-day praise heaped upon “Grimmy” is quite bemusing. There is no doubt that he could paint and sometimes he actually did, but far too often the integrity of his paintings was fundamentally compromised by his eagerness to cut corners.
On the face of it Grimshaw and Henry Pether shared much in common; they both became famous for painting moonlit landscapes and both repeatedly fell into debt during their lifetimes. However, unlike Abraham and Henry Pether before him, when the bailiffs came calling upon Grimshaw he resorted to every shortcut he could to speed up production of his pictures. It’s worth pointing out that in his case he didn’t choose to do this to save his children from poverty but to maintain his own overspending and pay for the upkeep of his two enormous properties, Knostrop Hall and his ‘Castle by the Sea’.
Today, Grimshaw’s cheats are spun as innovations. Whole articles are written about his “interest in photography” and use of the camera obscura, but rarely do they mention the alarming number of his paintings that are nothing more than over-painted photographic prints. When he wasn’t colouring-in black and white photos, Grimshaw would again circumnavigate the need to actually bother with under-drawing by tracing images of photographs projected onto canvas by pinhole camera. JAG Superfans would here point out that da Vinci himself is known to have used a camera obscura, but Grimshaw was no Leonardo, and this was not the 15th century.
‘St. James’, London’ – an overpainted photograph – by John Atkinson Grimshaw, sold by Bonhams in 2017 for £50,000
But the Grimshaw spin machine continues unabated. The website of one of the world’s foremost fine art auction houses assures us that; “John Atkinson Grimshaw’s innovation was to apply Ruskin’s tenet of ‘truth-to-nature’ to scenes of Britain’s burgeoning industrial centres. Owing to his sensitive portrayal of the atmosphere and ‘feeling’ of urban life, he has been considered the artistic equivalent of Charles Dickens and Elizabeth Gaskell.”
I suppose if you can persuade someone to part with £50,000 for an over-painted photo then perhaps you can convince them of anything.
Another of Grimshaw’s supposed innovations was the decision to “add sand to his paint” to achieve a certain effect. Presumably this would have been dry grit sprinkled directly on to the canvas because adding sand to his oil colours would have just produced mud. But why do it? My guess would be to replicate the effect of moon and gaslight reflecting off a million tiny surfaces, after all the streets that Grimshaw depicted were not tarmacked they were covered in uneven cobbles or rough gravel. To reproduce this would have taken considerable time and skill, at least one of which the Victorian art world’s Pot-Boiler-Par-Excellence was sadly lacking. Although it is rather glossed-over today, during Grimshaw’s own lifetime many of the leading artists of the day were sceptical that his canvas’ could even be accurately described as paintings, which goes a long way to explaining why just five of his pictures were ever accepted for exhibition by the Royal Academy. Grimshaw’s dubious practises paved the way for genuine charlatans like Jan van Beers (1852-1927) whose extensive use of tracing (of photographic images) allowed him to eradicate the need for draftsmanship altogether in the hope of passing himself off as the new Bouguereau rather than a ham-fisted fraud (which somewhat incredibly worked; to this day, van Beers’ “art” is sold by distinguished dealers in Europe and North America who invariably praise “the accuracy of his drawing”. Hilarious.)
As I have already said, when John Atkinson Grimshaw really did bother to paint, he did it well. But with the best will in the world, he was no Abraham or Henry Pether. In future should anyone ever attempt to elevate the former over either of the later remember they might as well be saying, to employ a modern-day analogy; “Yeah, I like David Bowie, but I prefer Gary Numan.”
Between 1828 and 1865 Henry Pether exhibited at the Royal Academy, the British Institution, and the Royal Society of British Artists. Today, paintings by Henry Pether are held in the collections of Tate Britain, the City of London, Royal Museums Greenwich, and the Yale Center for British Art, New Haven, Connecticut.
by Gavin Claxton
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