If you own an original John Constable painting you could
swap it for a country estate. Even the smaller ones are worth many millions of
pounds. The quintessentially English painter was highly esteemed while alive
though he probably never knew how immortal his work would become. Unless
there’s a fire at The National Gallery in London his paintings will remain
immortal however painters have to die. Here I am outside a glass office block
which doesn’t bear a plaque pointing out that John lived and died here. The previous
time I walked up Charlotte Street the place was boarded up and not worthy of a
photo. It’s not worthy of one now; sadly the establishment hasn’t become
something inspiring like an art gallery or pole-dancing/mud-wrestling paradise
but office space.
John
was born into a wealthy family, his dad owning mills that processed corn. There
was even a family ship moored on the Stour estuary (to move corn around.) As a
lad he loved getting round rural Suffolk and Essex and drawing scenes. He had a
two brothers (one was disabled) and was being groomed to run the family
business. He met a professional artist who advised him to take up painting but
keep working while his talent developed. He did this and was 23 when he
persuaded his dad to allow him to try painting professionally. His dad gave him
a small allowance and he joined the Royal Academy School to study anatomical
dissections and nudes. Much of this was a waste of time as he ended up doing
landscapes.
He
must have been a natural painter as he was only 27 when he was exhibiting
paintings at the Royal Academy. He liked the human touch and wasn’t keen on painting
landscapes alone. He populated them with farmers, workers, cottages, churches
and farm buildings. To make money his painted portraits but was never
comfortable with the subjects. Aged 40 he married Maria who he’s known for many
years but her family were snobs and thought the Constables below them socially.
When John’s parents died he inherited a fifth share in the family business. A
bit of money always helps a marriage doesn’t it? It was while on honeymoon on
the south coast that his painting improved drastically. The surroundings made
him use bolder colours and use more vivid brush strokes.
He'd
collapse now if he could see how near-priceless his paintings have become as he
made little money - and he needed it as he and Maria produced seven children.
In his whole life he sold about fifty paintings and it took him till he was
about forty to sell the first one. He soon started doing his “six footers”
(which you can see in the Nationally Gallery in Trafalgar Square) but struggled
to sell them. Oddly his English scenes were more popular in France and he only
ever sold 20 paintings in England.
His
wife Maria inherited £20,000 from her rich dad but sadly they never got to
enjoy it. She died of tuberculosis aged just 41 and John lost the money by
investing naively. Afterward her death he wore black and mourned his wife
profoundly. For the remainder of his life he cared for his seven children alone
and didn’t look for love again. He died at the family home and I’m stood
outside the site. He died of a heart attack in the attic through the night of
Friday 31st March 1837 aged 60. He joined Maria in a grave in Hampstead (two of
their kids would eventually join them.) His eldest son was so shocked at
witnessing his dad's death he didn't attend the funeral. There was a plaque on
the house once but it’s not there now.
I
looked up at the office windows. Someone probably called Kylie or Kai will be
sat at a screen selling adverting space without knowing they’re occupying the
spot where a world famous painter exhaled their last lungful of oxygen. I stood
outside the door knowing this brill painter must have
walked over that exact spot countless times. I’ve looked at his “six-footers”
in the Nationally Gallery and nobody can paint clouds like he did. When I paint
the clouds they look like rotting mashed potatoes. His grave is on my list;
he’s well worth a visit and a hearty salute.
I’m stood outside the building,
looking right…
…and left…