3
None of that explained his presence at Washington’s side, although his first step toward Mount Vernon could also be traced
back to 1762. Reveling in his newfound freedom, Peale had traveled to Virginia, “with a view to purchasing that necessary
article of [my] Saddlery business.” In Norfolk, he found more than the leather supplies he needed when, in the home of a new
acquaintance, he gazed upon several landscapes and a portrait. Their execution was unremarkable. “They were miserably done,”
remembered Peale,“[and] had they been better, perhaps they would have smothered . . . [the] faint spark of Genius.” Instead,
Peale found “ the idea of making Pictures ” took possession of him. 4
Back in Annapolis, he tried his hand at painting. His friends and family admired his first effort, a landscape. Next he painted
a self-portrait in his clockmaker guise, surrounding his likeness with the pieces of a dismantled clock. His experiments at
recording the countenances of his wife, siblings, and friends proved presentable enough that they led to a paying commission,
a pair of portraits of a local ship’s captain and his wife. By December 1762, hoping that painting might become his livelihood,
he ventured to Philadelphia, returning with paints bought at a color shop and a book, Handmaid to the Arts , to guide his paint mixing.
He found himself a teacher who was willing to barter. Mr. Peale offered one of his best saddles, and a deal was struck. John
Hesselius, the son of a Swedish emigrant painter and himself an itinerant portraitist, agreed that Peale might watch him as
he executed two portraits. They also agreed Hesselius would paint half a face, which Peale would then complete under the older
man’s watchful eye.
For the pupil, these lessons “infinitely lightened the difficulties of the new art.” It was decided: Charles Willson Peale
would be a painter. 5
PEALE’S PORTRAIT WAS a first for Washington. Despite the novelty of the experience, he found no joy in having his picture
taken. The process, he said, put him in a mood that was both “grave” and “sullen.” 6
Even so, Washington was coming rather to like Mr. Peale. He couldn’t help but wonder whether, given his own inability to concentrate,
the painter would be able to capture much of his character. “I fancy the skills of this Gentleman’s Pencil, will be put to
it, in describing to the World what manner of Man I am.” Washington’s concern was well placed, as his lethargy was revealing
itself on the canvas in his bland, expressionless look. He was a man whose eyes flashed with intelligence when he became engaged
in a conversation, but whose gaze went dormant when his mind wandered. (As a trusted adjutant later observed, “[H]is countenance
when affected either by joy or anger, is full of expression, yet when the muscles are in a state of repose, his eye certainly
wants animation.”) 7 It was indeed the detached Washington that Peale recorded.
Washington’s laconic pose for Peale betrayed little of the physical presence that impressed those who met the Virginia colonel.
When he entered a room, he filled the doorway. He stood taller than most of his contemporaries, but his stature only partly
explained the sense of quiet power he exuded. He had the shoulders of a woodsman. Though he was thin through the chest, having
suffered from a “pulmonary affection in early life,” his long, box-like trunk was wide and unmistakably solid. 8 He had very large hands and feet, thickly muscled limbs, and bulky thighs strengthened by countless hours straddling a horse.
Yet the man in the picture seemed unfocused, his body slack. He was not in peak physical condition (Peale faithfully recorded
a missing button on Washington’s waistcoat, the fabric strained by the soldier’s growing midlife girth). But his sitter’s
pear shape was also the result of Peale’s penchant for sweeping curves. Anatomical
None of that explained his presence at Washington’s side, although his first step toward Mount Vernon could also be traced
back to 1762. Reveling in his newfound freedom, Peale had traveled to Virginia, “with a view to purchasing that necessary
article of [my] Saddlery business.” In Norfolk, he found more than the leather supplies he needed when, in the home of a new
acquaintance, he gazed upon several landscapes and a portrait. Their execution was unremarkable. “They were miserably done,”
remembered Peale,“[and] had they been better, perhaps they would have smothered . . . [the] faint spark of Genius.” Instead,
Peale found “ the idea of making Pictures ” took possession of him. 4
Back in Annapolis, he tried his hand at painting. His friends and family admired his first effort, a landscape. Next he painted
a self-portrait in his clockmaker guise, surrounding his likeness with the pieces of a dismantled clock. His experiments at
recording the countenances of his wife, siblings, and friends proved presentable enough that they led to a paying commission,
a pair of portraits of a local ship’s captain and his wife. By December 1762, hoping that painting might become his livelihood,
he ventured to Philadelphia, returning with paints bought at a color shop and a book, Handmaid to the Arts , to guide his paint mixing.
He found himself a teacher who was willing to barter. Mr. Peale offered one of his best saddles, and a deal was struck. John
Hesselius, the son of a Swedish emigrant painter and himself an itinerant portraitist, agreed that Peale might watch him as
he executed two portraits. They also agreed Hesselius would paint half a face, which Peale would then complete under the older
man’s watchful eye.
For the pupil, these lessons “infinitely lightened the difficulties of the new art.” It was decided: Charles Willson Peale
would be a painter. 5
PEALE’S PORTRAIT WAS a first for Washington. Despite the novelty of the experience, he found no joy in having his picture
taken. The process, he said, put him in a mood that was both “grave” and “sullen.” 6
Even so, Washington was coming rather to like Mr. Peale. He couldn’t help but wonder whether, given his own inability to concentrate,
the painter would be able to capture much of his character. “I fancy the skills of this Gentleman’s Pencil, will be put to
it, in describing to the World what manner of Man I am.” Washington’s concern was well placed, as his lethargy was revealing
itself on the canvas in his bland, expressionless look. He was a man whose eyes flashed with intelligence when he became engaged
in a conversation, but whose gaze went dormant when his mind wandered. (As a trusted adjutant later observed, “[H]is countenance
when affected either by joy or anger, is full of expression, yet when the muscles are in a state of repose, his eye certainly
wants animation.”) 7 It was indeed the detached Washington that Peale recorded.
Washington’s laconic pose for Peale betrayed little of the physical presence that impressed those who met the Virginia colonel.
When he entered a room, he filled the doorway. He stood taller than most of his contemporaries, but his stature only partly
explained the sense of quiet power he exuded. He had the shoulders of a woodsman. Though he was thin through the chest, having
suffered from a “pulmonary affection in early life,” his long, box-like trunk was wide and unmistakably solid. 8 He had very large hands and feet, thickly muscled limbs, and bulky thighs strengthened by countless hours straddling a horse.
Yet the man in the picture seemed unfocused, his body slack. He was not in peak physical condition (Peale faithfully recorded
a missing button on Washington’s waistcoat, the fabric strained by the soldier’s growing midlife girth). But his sitter’s
pear shape was also the result of Peale’s penchant for sweeping curves. Anatomical
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