Grant Wood’s American Gothic (1930)

Grant Wood (1891–1942) was an American painter best known for his paintings depicting the rural American Midwest, particularly American Gothic (1930), which has become an iconic example of 20th century American art. Wood was born in rural Iowa and received his art training at the Art Institute of Chicago before making several trips to Europe to study Impressionism and post-Impressionism. He always returned to Iowa, however, and had a studio at the house he shared with his mother in Cedar Rapids. He was a major proponent of the art movement known as American Regionalism which arose in the 1930s as a response to the Great Depression, and incorporated paintings, murals, lithographs, and illustrations depicting realistic scenes of rural and small-town America.

It was while driving around the town of Eldon, Iowa, looking for inspiration, that Wood spotted the Dibble House, a quaint small white frame house and considered it just right for his purposes. So why “American Gothic”? Well, the house is built in the so-called Carpenter Gothic style, an architectural style borrowing ideas from Gothic architecture but rendering it in wood. Here’s the Dibble House below, with its arched Gothic style window clearly shown.

The Dibble House

Wood wanted to add figures of people he fancied should live in that house: a farmer and his daughter. He chose for his models his sister Nan Wood Graham and their dentist Dr Byron McKeeby. The woman is dressed in a colonial print apron while the man is adorned in overalls covered by a suit jacket and carries a pitchfork. It’s an odd blend, and some took it initially as a mockery of “the kind of people” who might live in such a house, but this was far from the intent of the artist who wished to simply create an authentic depiction of real people in his home state.

Wood’s models: his sister and dentist

American Gothic became one of the most familiar images of American art and has been widely parodied in American popular culture. Exuberant it ain’t, but it somehow captures a steadfast spirit befitting of the context in which it was painted.


Grant Wood

A E Housman’s A Shropshire Lad (1896)

Alfred Edward Housman (A E Housman) was a lifelong classical scholar at University College London and Cambridge University, right up until his death in 1936. He was also a gifted poet whose primary work, A Shropshire Lad, a cycle of 63 poems, was published in 1896 and became a lasting success. The collection struck a chord with many English composers, among them Arthur Somervell, Ralph Vaughan Williams, and Ivor Gurney, all of whom set his poems to music.

The collection’s various melancholy themes, including dying young and being separated from an idealised pastoral childhood, ensured that it accompanied many a young man to the trenches in the Great War. Housman had always had a young male readership in mind and as W H Auden said: “no other poet seemed so perfectly to express the sensibility of a male adolescent“. Equally, George Orwell remembered that, among his generation at Eton College in the wake of World War I: “these were the poems which I and my contemporaries used to recite to ourselves, over and over, in a kind of ecstasy”.

There’s a phrase Housman used that I have always found striking: “blue remembered hills”, three simple words that exemplify the melancholic tone of poem number XL, Into my heart an air that kills. It consists of just two quatrains that reflect on the passage of time and the futility of longing for a long-gone land and age. The speaker, in a distant land, recalls the hills and spires of his homeland. He recognises that, whilst he was happy when he lived there, he cannot return there now he is older and has left that land behind.

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

Surprisingly, Housman wasn’t actually from Shropshire, he was from Worcestershire, and hadn’t even visited Shropshire until after he had started writing the poem cycle. It is not Housman who is the Shropshire lad, but a literary construct. Be that as it may, here’s another punchy short poem from the cycle, again referencing the passage of time but this time evoking a carpe diem urgency about the here and now. Funnily enough, as I write this in view of my garden, my own cherry tree is hung with snow, its ‘winter blossom’ as implied by this poem.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide


Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow

A E Housman

Diego Velázquez’s Las Meninas (1656)

The Spanish Golden Age of flourishing arts and literature in Spain coincided with the Spanish Empire’s political and military dominance in the 16th and 17th centuries, roughly during the reigns of the Habsburg monarchs Charles V, and the Philips II, III and IV of Spain. In literature, Cervantes was writing Don Quixote de la Mancha (1605) and Lope de Vega was knocking out about 500 plays and 3000 sonnets between the 1580s and 1630s. In art, El Greco, Francisco de Zurbarán and Bartolomé Murillo flourished, as well as the leading artist of them all, Diego Velázquez, who worked under the patronage of King Philip IV between the 1620s and 1650s.

Velázquez’s earliest works are bodegones, kitchen or pantry scenes with prominent still-lifes and domestic activity such as his Woman Frying Eggs (1618) which I remember being taken with many years ago during a visit to the National Gallery of Scotland in Edinburgh. However, it was when he took to portraiture that he gained the attention of King Philip and was invited to become court painter. Diego was able to thrive under Philip’s wing for the rest of his life. He provided portraits for the court (he painted Philip himself over thirty times) and for luminaries of the time such as Pope Innocent X, but was also given the freedom to paint less prominent personalities such as Juan de Pareja, a former slave and fellow painter in his workshop.

His magnum opus, however, was Las Meninas (The Ladies-in-waiting or Maids of Honour). Painted in 1656 and now residing in the Museo del Prado in Madrid, Las Meninas depicts the 5 year old Infanta Margaret Theresa surrounded by her entourage of maids of honour, chaperone, bodyguard, two dwarfs and a dog. Just behind them, Velázquez portrays himself working at a large canvas and looking outwards towards the viewer. In the background there is a mirror that reflects the upper bodies of the king and queen themselves. Given the expectation that a court painting would be a formal affair, Las Meninas’ complex and enigmatic composition surprises us and creates an uncertain relationship between us and the figures depicted. Because of its unusual nature, Las Meninas has been one of the most widely analysed works in Western painting, and it’s one of “the greats” that I hope to visit one day.

Diego Velázquez, detail from Las Meninas