NINA
HAMNETT
By Alicia Foster
Eiderdown Books. 60 pages. £10.99. ISBN 978-1-9160416-6-0
Reviewed by Jim Burns
The fact that, as I write this review, an exhibition of Nina
Hamnett’s work has just opened at Charleston House, a location now
famous for its Bloomsbury links, provides hope that, at last,
attention might be paid to the paintings and sketches she produced.
She wasn’t just the “Queen of Bohemia”, someone referred to in
memoirs and histories of Fitzrovia and Soho in the 30s and 40s, and
remarked on for her faded glory and unkempt appearance.
Hamnett was born in 1890 in Tenby and had what might be seen as a
somewhat curious childhood. Her father was an army officer who was
later dismissed from the service because of some financial
irregularities. A tomboyish child, never prone to behaving
conventionally or obeying orders, she was educated in various places
and showed an aptitude for drawing. She attended Portsmouth School
of Art, and the Dublin School of Art, but following her father’s
disgrace the family moved to London. She went to the London School
of Art, often referred to as “Brangwyn’s”, due to the presence of
the popular painter and professor, Frank Brangwyn. It was then that
she began to truly display her drawing and painting skills and make
friends and contacts among the artistic community. Of “Brangwyn’s”,
she said: “Here at last was paradise. It was run as a French
Academy”. Alicia Foster notes that among the staff at the London
School of Art was William Nicholson whose “influence at this early
stage in Hamnett’s career was particularly significant: he helped to
shape Hamnett’s own approach to still life”.
Foster’s account is primarily focused on Hamnett’s work rather than
what might be called her unstable private life. And that’s as it
should be in view of the fact that the exhibition it relates to is
designed to promote the work. But it is difficult to separate the
story of Hamnett the artist from that of Hamnett the bohemian. She
went to Paris in 1912 (and again in 1914), met Gertrude Stein, and
studied in the atelier of the Russian painter, Marie Vassilieff. She
was not averse to joining in the café life, and her autobiography,
Laughing Torso
(originally published by Constable in 1932 and reprinted by Virago
in 1984) is a colourful account of encounters with Modigliani, Kees
Van Dongen, Ossip Zadkine, and many others. It might give an idea of
her exuberant and uninhibited personality
if I quote from her
reminiscences about a visit to Van Dongen’s studio when he had a
Thursday open house: “One day they asked me to dance, so I took off
all my clothes and danced in a black veil”.
It was not all frivolity and loose-living, and Hamnett must have
been alert to what was happening in Paris as Post-Impressionism,
Fauvism, Cubism, and the work of individual artists who perhaps
didn’t fit easily into a definable category, came to her attention.
Foster stresses that Hamnett had been aware of Post-Impressionist
paintings before going to Paris, thanks to the exhibitions that
Roger Fry organised in London. Several illustrations in Foster’s
book point to influences from Paris, though it needs to be
remembered that she had already benefited from William Nicholson’s
lessons about creating successful still-life paintings in advance of
visiting the French capital.
It could be that it was her skill as a portraitist that showed her
at her best. There are several eye-catching portraits of Osbert
Sitwell, Lady Constance Stewart-Robinson, and Horace Brodsky from
the period prior to 1920. The point about them is that they are not
simply photographic-style representations of their subjects.
Instead, they attempt to capture some of the individual
characteristics of the sitters. Foster, referring to the portrait of
Brodsky, thinks it one of Hamnett’s finest, and it “shows a figure
doubly outside British norms of masculinity, as he was both Jewish
and Australian……..He is a compact, dark presence in Hamnett’s
painting: his body seems too small for his head, which is as massy
and sharp-planed as a carving, set against the stripes of strong
colour behind him”.
Hamnett produced work for the Omega Workshops over a number of years
(she may be seen as a link between the Bloomsbury group and the
Camden Town artists), painted murals for the Arthur Ruck House,
helped edit Coterie, a
short-lived little magazine of the period, provided drawings for
Osbert Sitwell’s The People’s
Album of London Statues, did some teaching,
and exhibited and worked as a model in both Paris and London.
She continued to achieve striking portraits. One, of the male ballet
dancer, Rupert Doone, captures what has been described as his
“Ariel-like beauty and mercurial temperament”. But there’s no doubt
that she enjoyed the life of the cafés and bars, perhaps to the
detriment of her talents as a painter. Most accounts of life among
the artists and writers of 1920s Paris and London have a reference
to Hamnett, noting that she mixed easily with the well-to-do, who no
doubt found her amusing for her entertainment value, as well as with
the bohemians.
But there may have been disturbing signs that all was not well. In
1931 Ethel Mannin published a novel called
Ragged Banners (Penguin
edition, 1940). There is
a scene in it set in a pub clearly based on the Fitzroy Tavern, a
favourite haunt of the bohemians of London’s Fitzrovia. And one of
the characters is a woman “with her glazed eyes, and her tawdry
clothes, a ruin of a woman” who had once been famous in Paris. It
was obviously a portrait of Hamnett, who, when she heard about it,
threatened to give Mannin a black eye if she ever encountered her.
Some years earlier, probably around the mid-1920s, her one-time
lover Roger Fry, who thought that she had failed to live up to her
potential, saw her as “a coarse heavy middle-aged rouée”. Fry had
portrayed Hamnett in 1917 in what Denise Hooker says “was one of his
most penetrating and successful works. In her dark polo-necked
jumper and skirt, sleeves rolled up ready for work, she seems
serious-minded, self-possessed and independent, very much of the
breed of new woman”. But it has to be said that a 1926 portrait by
Jacob Kramer, on the cover of Hooker’s biography of Hamnett, does
tend to suggest a degree of coarsening and heaviness in her facial
expression when compared to Fry’s earlier painting.
Hamnett became a fixture around Fitzrovia and Soho, when the latter
area and its pubs and clubs took over as the playground of the
bohemians. It would
take up too much space to list all the books she crops up in, but
those dealing with the York Minster pub (usually known as The
French) and the notorious drinking club, the Colony Room, mention
her more than once. One of the most interesting publications in
which she appears, albeit in fictional form, is Julius Horwitz’s
novel, Can I Get There by
Candlelight (André Deutsch, 1964). Horwitz was an American
serviceman stationed in Britain during the war years, and his novel,
mostly set in Fitzrovia and Soho, is an engaging fictionalised
account of some of his experiences. Hamnett appears as Nora, an
artist who had spent time in Paris where she knew Modigliani,
Picasso, Braque, and many others.
The narrator goes to her lodgings: “I like Nora’s room. It has the
look of the painters’ rooms I knew in New York, those $16-a-month
cold water flats on Hudson Street. The clean brushes, the squashed
tubes of paint, the raw canvases, the piled-up books, the raw
hanging paintings, hanging like newborn babies on display in a
maternity ward, the stretchers, the empty wine bottles, all of it
looks so god damn elegant”. Nora/Hamnett isn’t portrayed in a cruel
way in Can I Get There by
Candlelight, and is
generally looked on in a nostalgically warm light, though some of
her less-savoury habits are mentioned, along with her open
sexuality. She had numerous lovers and liaisons, several with
well-known people, many not. And another visit to her room
significantly refers to a canvas on the easel that doesn’t appear to
have been touched recently.
Hamnett hadn’t lost all her skills and when the second volume of
autobiography, Is She a Lady?
(Allan Wingate¸1955), was published it included a number of
convincing drawings of young boys. But I wonder if she was painting
(could she still afford the necessary materials?), or not getting
much further than these preparatory sketches? A photograph taken in
her room in 1954 shows her talking to the now-forgotten writer and
editor Wrey Gardiner. It’s noticeable that there are several bottles
littered around the room. Nina
Hamnett died in 1956 when she fell from the window of her flat and
was impaled on the railings below. There were suggestions that she
had committed suicide. She had been suffering from ill-health and
had spent several months in hospital. But a verdict of accidental
death was recorded by the coroner.
As I said at the start of this review, Alicia Foster’s book doesn’t
have a great deal of information about what might be called the
bohemian aspects of Hamnett’s life. Her concern is to draw attention
to her work as an artist. And she does that admirably. It’s right
that Hamnett’s achievements as an artist should be acknowledged in
what is the first retrospective of her work.
I’ve added some details
taken from other sources to round out the story – Hamnett’s two
books, Julius Horwitz’s novel, and Denise Hooker’s
Nina Hamnett: Queen of
Bohemia (Constable, 1986) – and Foster’s book has some useful
notes. It’s attractively produced, and one of a series about women
artists which includes volumes on Laura Knight, Eileen Agar and
Marlowe Moss.
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