Gay sex art drawings
The cumulative impression, of his masterly conformity in lifelong tension with the disruptive force of his sexuality, is something I’ve never forgotten. There had also been commemorative exhibitions, in Oxford and Brighton, which kept the name of a more or less unfashionable painter alive.īut a 1984 show at the National Portrait Gallery, marking Philpot’s centenary, did much more, presenting in compelling detail an artist who, while ably courting public success, had been moved by powerful persuasions of his own. And round the country, various institutions held his work the noble and sensitive old college president who’d looked down for years on my student breakfasts and dinners, I belatedly found out, was a Philpot – a Velázquez pope repurposed for 1920s Oxford.
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Philpot’s only self-portrait – the alert 24-year-old in shirt-sleeves, palette on thumb, showing what he could do – had been bought by the National Portrait Gallery. Museum-goers might have seen and remembered one or two of his paintings – the dashingly informal wartime image of Siegfried Sassoon, perhaps, in the Fitzwilliam, in Cambridge.
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In the decades after his death at 53 in 1937, Glyn Philpot suffered the fate that can beset portrait-painters in particular – he lapsed into obscurity along with the mass of his subjects, in his case the rich and titled of the interwar years, most of whom had anyway kept his work out of sight in private family collections.