OK, let's unpack this. So for this deep dive,
we're stepping away a bit from the usual giants,
you know, the artists where every single letter
is saved and studied. Right. We're looking instead
at someone maybe less famous overall, but incredibly
important for understanding the art world back
then. Exactly. A really successful professional
working artist in 19th century Britain. Our subject
is John James Wilson. lived 1818 to 1875. And
what's really exciting here, what makes this
deep dive possible, isn't just his art, which
is significant, but it's the amount of data we
have. Actual hard records. Like what specifically?
Well, we've got census returns, detailed exhibition
stats, like exactly how many paintings, where,
and even auction prices, both then and now. It
lets us build this incredibly precise picture.
Quantified picture, almost, of his success, his
life. Precisely. It's quite rare to get this
level of detail for an artist at this level.
So our mission today is to really get a handle
on just how prolific he was. I mean, the numbers
are staggering. Over 600 exhibited paintings.
It's huge. And we want to track his story, too.
His family background in art, his move from London
down to Kent. And how that geographic shift maybe
ties into his commercial success, especially
with those marine paintings. Yeah, it's the story
of pedigree. Definitely art was in the blood,
but also sheer industry. Hard work. He was the
son of John Wilson, right? The Scottish painter.
That's the one. John Wilson Sr. Yeah. Well -known
landscape and marine guy himself. So yeah, John
James was born into it. Art was, you could say,
the family business. And it didn't stop there,
did it? His brother was an artist too. William
Anthony Wilson, yes. And the line continued,
even down to a grandson, Charles Lester Kerr,
involved later on. So for you listening, this
isn't just about one painter. It's a window into
how the Victorian art market actually worked.
Not just genius, but consistent professional
output. That's what we're digging into. OK, let's
start with that family connection, that pedigree.
John James Wilson, born in Lambeth, London, 1818.
Right. But interestingly, he wasn't baptized
until much later, 1833. He was about 15. Any
idea why so late? Hard to say for sure. Maybe
the family moved around a lot. Maybe record keeping
wasn't a priority right at birth, or perhaps
just different religious or social practices
at the time. It's a little detail, but it hints
at things. And the key figure looming large is
his father, John Wilson, Sr., already established.
Oh, definitely. A recognized master of landscape
and marine painting. And this connection wasn't
just, you know, inspirational. It was practical.
Very practical. How so? Well, the sources show
something really fascinating. For the first part
of his career, John James wasn't just painting
like his father. Similar subject, similar style.
Exactly. But he was also operating, professionally
speaking, from the exact same London address
as his father, right up until 1847. Wow. The
same address. What does that imply, do you think?
Well, it's huge strategically, isn't it, for
a young artist starting out? Absolutely. Instant
credibility by association. Shared studio, maybe
shared clients. Could be all of the above. Imagine
you're a collector. You see a John Wilson painting
coming from the established address of John Wilson
Sr. It lends immediate weight, doesn't it? It
removes some of the risk. So it's kind of a professional
blurring for those early years? A really interesting
one. For about 13 years of exhibiting, he's working
under his father's umbrella, maybe even in his
shadow to some extent. Until 1847, he's nearly
30 then. Right. That's when he seems to step
out more formally. Gets his own professional
space, starts building his own... distinct identity,
his own network. It tells you a lot about how
mentorship and maybe, you know, the business
side of art worked back then. And we mentioned
his brother, William Anthony Wilson, also an
artist. Yes. Born a few years earlier, part of
this creative household. But the artistic impulse
in the family, it branched out even geographically.
Ah, right. His son, W .J. Wilson. Exactly. Born
1833. He took a completely different path, emigrated
to Australia. And got into theater. Yeah. Became
a scene painter, so still visual arts in a way,
but also an actor, even a theater manager. It
shows the creative drive was strong in the family,
but it could manifest in different ways. Performance,
spectacle, not just easel painting. Fascinating.
Okay, back to John James himself. You mentioned
a shift in his work. Yes, a really crucial one
early on. He starts out, like his father, primarily
with landscapes. Pretty standard stuff for the
time. Until when? Until around 1849. After that
point, he really pivots, starts focusing almost
entirely on marine paintings, seascapes, coastal
scenes. And why do that? Market demand? Personal
interest? Probably a mix of both. Specialization
often pays off in the art market. Maybe he saw
a growing appetite for those dramatic coastal
views, especially with the rise of seaside tourism
and Britain's naval power being such a big theme.
Makes sense. The South Coast, the Channel. Exactly.
And maybe he just found his true passion there.
It happens right around the time he's starting
his own family, marrying Elizabeth Parker in
1845, having their first child. So maybe the
need for reliable income played a part, too.
Find your niche. Very likely. His first exhibited
work we know of was Cottages Near Southampton,
shown way back in 1834 at the British Institution.
He was just a teenager. Sixteen. Incredible.
Shows the talent was there early. But the marine
focus came later, coinciding with his rising
professional profile. And speaking of profile,
he got formal recognition pretty quickly, didn't
he? He did. A major milestone in 1845. He's just
28 years old, and he gets elected a member of
the Royal Society of British Artists, the RBA.
How significant was that, becoming an RBA member?
Oh, very significant. It wasn't just an honor
badge. It was practical. The RBA gave him a guaranteed
place to exhibit and sell his work every year,
separate from the huge crush and competition
of the Royal Academy. So like a professional
home base? Exactly. His anchor. And it lasted
his whole career. The sources even mention his
gravestone, specifically notes his 30 -year membership.
That tells you how central the RBA was to his
identity and success. Okay, this is where, as
you said, the data lets us do something really
special. Here's where it gets really interesting.
Quantifying his output. Yes. Forget vague terms
like prolific. We have numbers. Hard numbers.
And they completely change how you think about
a working artist in the Victorian era. So the
headline figure? He exhibited, just exhibited,
mind you, in excess of 600 paintings during his
career. Six hundred? Let that sink in. Over 600
works good enough to be shown publicly. That's,
well, that's industrial scale almost. It implies
a very efficient studio practice. You simply
cannot produce that volume if you're spending
months on every single canvas doing huge, complex
historical scenes. This is about consistent market
supply. So if we break that down, over a roughly
30 -year exhibiting career, that's averaging
20 paintings a year, every single year. Just
for exhibitions. At least. And like you said,
that doesn't count anything sold directly or
commissions that maybe weren't exhibited. The
actual output could have been even higher. Mind
boggling. OK, so where did he show all these
paintings? Where was he placing his bets, so
to speak? The distribution is really revealing
about his strategy. No surprise. The RBA, the
Royal Society of British Artists, where he was
a member, is number one by a huge margin. How
many are there? 384 paintings. Out of the 600
plus total. It was clearly his main outlet. Why
so dominant there? Easier acceptance for members?
Almost certainly. It likely offered a more reliable
platform than, say, the Royal Academy. He could
probably count on getting a good number of works
shown there each season, keeping his name constantly
in front of buyers. It was his commercial engine.
Makes sense. But he didn't put all his eggs in
that one basket. Not at all. He maintained a
really strong national presence. Look at Scotland,
106 paintings shown at the Royal Scottish Academy.
Leveraging those family roots? His father's connections?
You'd have to assume so. Building a distinct
Scottish market for his marines. Perhaps tapping
into that existing network. Smart. And the big
London venues? The prestigious ones? He didn't
neglect them. 57 paintings at the British Institution
over the years and, quite impressively, 55 paintings
accepted at the Royal Academy of Arts. 55 at
the ARAC. That's actually pretty good, isn't
it, given how selective they were? It's very
respectable. It shows that even though he was
producing a lot, the quality was consistently
high enough to pass muster with the toughest
selection committee in London. He wasn't just
churning things out. He was maintaining a standard.
So RBA for volume and reliable sales, RA and
RSA for prestige and reaching different markets.
And it didn't stop there. He had a national footprint.
14 paintings shown at the Royal Hibernian Academy
in Dublin. Ireland, too. Yep. And three at the
Royal Glasgow Institute of the Fine Arts. It
paints a picture of someone who is strategically
placing his work across the entire British Isles.
He wasn't just an artist. He was running a business.
Managing inventory, thinking about distribution
channels. Absolutely. That's the difference between
just being talented and being a successful professional
artist. He understood visibility. He used his
RBA membership brilliantly, but kept doors open
elsewhere. And the end of this incredible run,
it's quite poignant, isn't it? He dies in January
1875. He does. But even then, the showing continues.
That same year, his widow submits three paintings
to the RBA. And they're accepted and exhibited.
Which ones were they? The old star Newington,
Kent, on the coast, Etretat, Normandy, and Trawler
going out Normandy. A mix of local Kent scenes
and his popular Normandy subjects. And we even
know the prices they were listed at. We do. The
records show 35, 30 pounds, and 50 pounds, respectively.
Wow. That detail. It tells you his work had immediate
recognized value, even right after his death.
Exactly. It suggests the RBA network was still
supporting the family. facilitating these final
sales. A kind of posthumous professional courtesy,
perhaps, but also a reflection of his established
market value. It's a remarkably precise end note
to such a productive career. Okay, we've got
the scale of his work, incredible numbers, but
now let's shift focus a bit, bring it back to
the man, the family, the domestic side. Right,
and this is where those census records become
absolute gold mines. They give us these snapshots
in time, incredibly detailed. So we know he married
Elizabeth Parker in 1845. First child, also Elizabeth,
born the same year in London, Bayswater. Yes,
but the big change, the key move, comes a bit
later, 1853. That's when they relocate to Folkestone
on the Kent coast. And wasn't his father involved
in that move too? Crucially, yes. John Wilson,
senior, moved down to Folkestone with him, the
father -son artistic unit relocating together.
Which really cements Kent as their new base,
right? And fits perfectly with that shift towards
marine painting we talked about? Exactly. strategic
professionally, and it became their family home.
So let's trace them using the census. The 1851
census comes before that final Folkestone move.
Where were they then? They're listed at 13 Park
Place, Milton, which is near Gravesend, also
in Kent, but not Folkestone yet. And this census
shows something really interesting about family
life back then. What's that? The family isn't
all in one place on census night. At the Gravesend
address, you have the kids Elizabeth, who's five,
and Charles, who's one. And also, importantly,
the wife's sister. Josephine Parker, age 22.
Okay, so where's the wife, Elizabeth, and their
other daughter? They're recorded elsewhere. Elizabeth,
the mother, and daughter Mary, who is three,
are listed as visiting the home of a Charles
Davidson way over in Reigate, Surrey. Visiting?
On census night? That's fascinating. Isn't it?
It tells you about mobility, even short -term.
Travel wasn't trivial then. Was it a family visit?
Was she getting help with the young children?
We don't know the reason, but it shows households
weren't always static units. They relied on wider
networks. And that things like child care or
support might involve splitting the family temporarily.
Very different from today, maybe. Definitely
relies heavily on that extended family, like
the Sister Josephine being there in Gravesend.
OK, fast forward 10 years, 1861 census. Now they
are in Folkestone. Yes, settled at 3 West Terrace.
And the list of children here is like a little
migration map in itself. It tells you exactly
where they'd been. Let's hear it. It shows the
family growth, too. Right. So Mary is now 13,
born in Red Hill, Surrey. Charles Jay is 11,
also born in Red Hill. Then Robert B., age 9,
was born in Leicester. Leicester. So they went
up to the Midlands for a bit. Seems so. Maybe
chasing a commission or an opportunity there.
Then back south. John M., age seven, was born
back in Gravesend, Kent. And then the Folkestone
babies start arriving. Exactly. William is six,
Frank is five, Amy is three, and there's a baby,
Vernon, just five months old, all born in Folkestone.
So London to Surrey, up to Leicester, back to
Kent, Gravesend, and finally settling in Folkestone
around 1855, based on William's birth year. That's
the timeline the census gives us. And you can
just imagine, for the listener, the upheaval.
Moving a growing family that often? It speaks
to the life of a professional maybe following
the work before finding that permanent base.
We also noticed the eldest daughter, Elizabeth,
isn't listed here in 1861. She'd be 15 or 16.
Yeah, quite common for girls that age to have
perhaps left home for schooling or maybe even
entered service somewhere. Hard to know without
more records. And who is still there, very significantly?
The sister -in -law, Josephine Parker. Still
living with them. And the census gives us this
crucial detail about her status. She's listed
not just as sister -in -law, but as a fundholder.
A fundholder. What exactly does that mean in
this context? It's a really important piece of
social and economic information. A fundholder
was someone who owned investments, usually government
stocks or bonds, the funds. It meant they had
their own independent income, didn't need to
work for wages. So Josephine Parker wasn't just
a dependent relative helping out. Not at all.
She was an unmarried woman with her own capital,
her own money. And the significance for the Wilson
household? Well, think about it. John James was
successful, yes. But an artist's income can be
unpredictable. Feast or famine sometimes, depending
on sales and commissions. Right. Having Josephine
there, a fund holder, provided a bedrock of financial
stability for this very large family, nine kids
listed by now. She wasn't just helping with child
care. Her independent means likely contributed
hugely to their overall security and social standing.
She's a key part of their economic unit. That
really changes how you see the household dynamic,
and it's a detail you'd completely miss without
that specific census term. Exactly. These records
can be so rich, but they also capture moments
of sadness. Ah, you mean Vernon, the Beatty listed
in 1861. Yes, Vernon. Just five months old on
the census. We know from other records, tragically,
that he died later that same year, 1861. Oh,
that's heartbreaking. It's easy to just see names
and ages, but there's real life and loss behind
these entries. Balancing huge professional output
with managing a large family moves, and then
grief like that. It puts the prolific output
into perspective, doesn't it? It really does.
Okay, one more census check. 1871. Where are
they now? They've moved again, but still in Folkestone.
Now at Bellevue House, which seems to have been
their final family home. And the family. Still
large. Some new children have arrived. Sydney
is seven. Ada is six. She's the one whose son's
widow later made that bequest. And Minnie is
four. But some are no longer listed. Right. John
M. and, of course, poor Vernon are no longer
listed. Eldest daughter Elizabeth is still absent,
too. But Josephine Parker. Still there. Still
there. Now age 42, still unmarried, still listed
as living with the family. She was a fixture,
clearly, a constant presence and support for
over 20 years. Absolutely integral. Let's swing
back to the money, the commercial side, because
the records don't just show where he exhibited.
They show value, hard cash value, especially
through something called the art union system.
Yes. Art unions were hugely important in the
Victorian art market. Really interesting system.
Can you give us the quick version? How did they
work? Sure. Essentially, they were like, well,
like regulated art lotteries, really. People
would subscribe, pay a small fee, maybe a guinea
a year. Okay. All that money went into a pot.
The art union organizers then used that pot to
buy paintings directly from artists, often from
specific exhibitions. And then? And then they
held a draw. The winning subscribers won the
paintings. Ah, so for the artist, it meant guaranteed
sales at potentially high prices, not reliant
on one rich buyer. Exactly. The prices were often
set quite high, agreed upon beforehand. It was
a way to get your work bought and widely distributed,
potentially ending up in homes all over the country.
And Wilson did very well out of this system.
Especially up north, it seems. Manchester. Yes,
he secured some really significant prizes there.
In 1863, his painting Tantallon Castle won second
prize at the Manchester Art Union, valued at
80 pounds. 80 pounds in 1863. That's a serious
amount of money. It absolutely is. Could be a
skilled worker's entire annual income back then.
And he repeated the success just two years later,
1865, again in Manchester. Another second prize.
Yep. This time for fishing luggers off the Longin
Harbor. And this one was valued even higher,
120 pounds. Wow. So these art unions were providing
substantial, reliable income bursts. Crucial
for supporting that big family we just talked
about. You'd have to think so. It shows his work
had broad appeal and recognized value beyond
just London. And his success wasn't just national.
It seems he became quite a figure locally in
Folkestone, too. He really did. He established
himself. We see evidence of him taking on a community
role. For instance, in 1865, he personally donated
one of his own oil paintings, valued at 15 pounds,
as a prize for a local shooting contest. For
the Sinkport's rifle volunteers. That's the one.
It shows civic engagement, local pride, and also
that he had the financial standing to just give
away a painting worth 15 pounds. Not insignificant.
But the absolute peak of his local valuation
comes a few years later, right? 1869, the folks
in our union. Ah, yes. This is really telling.
Eight of his paintings were offered as prizes
in their draw that year. But the top prize, the
number one draw. Was one of his. Yes. At FECAM.
a Normandy fishing village, and his valuation
was set at 100 guineas. 100 guineas? Just saying
guineas sounds fancy. How much is that, really?
Well, a guinea was one pound and one shilling,
so slightly more than a pound. But 100 guineas
was a huge sum then. The source material gives
us a modern equivalent, roughly 13 ,000 pounds
in 2020 money. 13 ,000 pounds for one painting,
one in a local lottery. That's astonishing. It
shows the level he reached in his adopted hometown.
He wasn't just an artist living in Folkestone.
He was the artist whose work commanded top prices.
And that local standing must have led directly
to probably his most prestigious commission offer.
You'd think so. In April 1873, he gets this major
commission to paint a picture of Folkestone itself.
As a gift for? As a testimonial for the local
member of parliament, Baron Mayor de Rothschild.
De Rothschild. Wow. Getting a commission linked
to that family. That's hitting the big leagues,
even locally. Absolutely. It's a massive validation.
Shows he's connected at the highest levels of
local society and politics. But there's a slight
catch to the story, isn't there? There is. A
bit of historical bad luck, perhaps. We know
about the commission, but we don't actually know
if the painting was ever finished or presented.
Why not? Because Baron Rothschild died less than
a year later, in February 1874. So the window
was very short. It's one of those frustrating
historical question marks. Did he finish it?
Where is it now? We just don't know. Ah, shame.
Okay, so that's his value back then. What about
now? Does his work still sell? What's fascinating
here is, how does his value hold up today? It
does hold up quite well, actually. Especially
those specific subjects he became known for.
The seascapes, the English Channel, Normandy
Coast, South Coast scenes. they remain popular.
So you still see them at major auctions? Definitely.
The records give a couple of examples. A decent
-sized marine painting, Fishing Vessels Off the
Isle of Wight, sold for 7 ,200 pounds back in
2003 at Sotheby's. Okay, respectable. Anything
more recent? Yes, another one. Watching for the
Return of the Fishing Fleet, Calais, went for
3 ,000 pounds at Christie's in 2017. Prices obviously
vary with size, condition, subject. But he's
consistently traded. He's a known quantity in
the 19th century market. So not forgotten. Still
has commercial legs. Absolutely. And this brings
us to that provenance puzzle you mentioned earlier.
It's a great example of how research can change
our understanding of a specific work. Right.
This involves a painting sold in 2010. Yes. It
sold for a solid $500 and $434. But its title
at that sale was quite vague. The Approaching
Storm, South Coast. Possibly off Folkestone.
Possibly off Folkestone? Sounds like the auction
house wasn't quite sure. Exactly. That kind of
speculative title happens all the time when the
history is patchy. They make an educated guess
based on the style and subject. But later research
uncovered its real identity. Precisely. By digging
back into older auction records, specifically
a sale at Sotheby's Belgravia back in 1975. What
did they find? They found the same painting.
And back then, it was correctly identified and
cataloged. Its real title was Fee Camp Head,
Normandy. It was signed with initials and dated
1871. Ah, so not South Coast at all. Normandy.
And dated. Exactly. And interestingly, the price
back in 1975 was 750 pounds. Shows a nice appreciation
over the decades. But the key thing is the identification.
Research turned a possible Folkestone scene into
a definite, dateable Normandy view. That's why
this deep dive stuff matters, right? It clarifies
the historical record, corrects mistakes, and
gives us a much sharper picture of his actual
work, including all those trips across the channel.
Couldn't have put it better myself. It moves
beyond guesswork. So after this incredibly productive,
mobile, commercially successful life, John James
Wilson's story draws to a close relatively young.
Yes, sadly. He died age 57, January 30th, 1875.
At home, Bellevue House in Folkestone. And you
mentioned the records even helped clear up tiny
details about the location. Something about Elham.
Right. If you just looked at, say, the Free BMD
records, the death might be registered under
Elham Kent, which could be confusing. Because
he lived in Folkestone. Exactly. But Elham was
simply the name of the wider registration district
that included Folkestone at that time. The actual
burial record is much clearer. It confirms he
died in Bale Folkestone, which is a specific
central part of the town. Good clarification.
Details matter. And the records are unusually
specific about his cause of death, too. They
are. Listed as diseased liver. Cirrhosis. Cirrhosis.
Huh. That level of detail is quite something
for the period. It really is. It underlines the
quality of the documentation we're drawing on
here. And he was buried locally. Yes, at Churton
Road Cemetery in Folkestone on February 6, 1875.
His wife Elizabeth, who lived much longer, until
1901, was eventually buried with him. And didn't
one of the children end up there too? Yes. Sadly,
their son Vernon, the baby who died back in 1861,
he's also buried in the same plot. The gravestone
itself, as we noted, acts as a final statement
highlighting that 30 -year RBA membership. So
his life ends, but his work lives on. Is it still
visible in public collections? Oh, yes. His legacy
is institutionally secured, you could say. The
ArtUK website, which catalogs art in UK public
collections, lists 18 of his oil paintings. 18
paintings in public galleries and museums across
the country. That's significant reach. It means
anyone can still see his work. Exactly. He's
not just locked away in private hands. He's part
of the national collection, accessible to everyone.
And Folkestone itself, his adopted town, obviously
holds him in high regard. Very much so. They
continued to honor him long after his death.
In 1926, the Folkestone Town Council actually
purchased one of his paintings. Which one? Blowing
Fresh, Etretat, Normandy. They bought it for
35 guineas from a local dealer. And wasn't that
an older painting, one he'd shown at the RA?
Yes, it was first exhibited at the Royal Academy
way back in 1865. So decades later, the town
council is deliberately acquiring a significant
work from his peak period. Where did they put
it? It's still displayed, according to the sources,
in the mayor's parlor, a place of civic honor.
It really cements his status as one of Folkestone's
own important historical figures. That's a lovely
local connection. And there's one final piece
to this legacy involving his family again. A
bequest. Yes, a really nice full circle moment.
It happened much later in 1966. The Folkestone
Museum received a bequest in their art collection.
From whom? From Dorothea Blanchard Kerr. She
was the widow of Wilson's grandson, Charles Lester
Kerr. Remember Ada, the daughter listed in the
1871 census? Charles was her son. So the family
connection continued down the generations. What
was in the bequest? It included two paintings
by John James Wilson himself. And wonderfully,
it also included one painting by his father,
John Wilson Sr. Oh, that's perfect. It brings
the whole dynasty together. Exactly. It ties
the generation's father -son directly to the
town where John James found so much success and
ensures their work remains part of Folkestone's
public heritage. A really fitting final chapter
for the Wilson artistic legacy in the town. Hashtag
tag outro. Well, that really was a deep dive.
We've gone through the numbers, the locations,
the family tree. It feels like we know John James
Wilson in a way that goes far beyond just 19th
century painter. Absolutely. We've quantified
his career. That incredible output, over 600
exhibited works. We've mapped his strategy across
different exhibition venues, seen the actual
prices his work commanded, like that 100 guineas.
Tracked his family's quite nomadic life through
those amazing census details, from London to
Surrey, Leicester, Kent. And Sina has professional
life, specializing in Marines and settling in
Folkestone, intertwined with that domestic journey.
It really paints a picture of a highly industrious,
commercially sharp working artist. His story
really underscores that the Victorian art scene
wasn't just about a few towering geniuses. It
was powered by these engines of consistent production
and sale. Wilson managed a huge family, constant
moves, and still achieved this immense output.
And it's all there, captured in the records,
if you know where to look and how to piece it
together. So the final thought then, what does
this incredibly detailed picture of one successful
but maybe not household name artists tell us.
What's the bigger takeaway? I think the fact
that we can reconstruct this much detail about
someone like Wilson, his output volume, his specific
earnings, his family movements, using things
like census data, exhibition lists, auction results.
It really makes you wonder, doesn't it? Wonder
what? How many other John James Wilsons are out
there in the historical record? Yeah. How many
other artists were just as prolific, just as
commercially successful in their time, contributing
massively to the art market, but who just haven't
had this kind of granular deep dive? Artists
hidden beneath the surface of the big names.
Exactly. If we applied this same quantitative
record -focused approach more widely, looking
beyond the established canon. Could we fundamentally
change our view of how the Victorian art economy
actually functioned? Yeah. Might we discover
that the real engine wasn't just a few stars,
but this huge, bustling network of highly professional,
highly productive working artists? Thousands
of untold stories, maybe, waiting in the archives
for this kind of analysis. That's the provocative
thought. How much of the real story of 19th century
art is still waiting to be quantified and understood?
A fascinating question. Plenty more digging to
do, it seems.