Aileen Dawson. English and Irish Delftware, 1570–1840. London: British Museum Press, 2010. 320 pp.; 250 color illus., drawings, maps, notes, bibliography, index. $70.00 (hardcover).
My first reaction upon hearing about the new catalog of the British Museum’s delft collection was, “Oh no, not another catalog of English delft.” But after receiving this handsome volume, with its inviting cover illustration of King William III prancing about a checkered floor, I realized I had not given this incredibly rich collection of ceramics due credit. And when I saw what was between its covers, I immediately ordered two additional copies for gifts.
The British Museum’s collection of approximately 480 English and Irish delft objects is relatively small compared with holdings in other institutions. Long-time curator Aileen Dawson winnowed down the number for inclusion in this publication to 143, by selecting dated examples and those associated with notable personages or events. Among these are many rarities, particularly from the seventeenth century, that should be considered national treasures. An important yet poignant appendix documents twenty-eight objects destroyed by German bombs during World War II.
The wisely succinct preamble of the book reviews the manufacturing and technological history of British delft and does an excellent job of providing context for the collection. A nice visual touch is the illustration of a dated 1712 delft plate bearing the inscription “Thro many hands twice thro the fire at last,” referring to the bisque and glost firings.
The next chapter offers a fascinating overview of the collecting history of delft, beginning in the late eighteenth century with Horace Walpole’s landmark collection at Strawberry Hill. Delft collecting remained a connoisseur’s pastime through the nineteenth century, and it was not until the early twentieth century that a serious academic search for the ware coalesced. At the forefront of this effort were J.W.L. Glaisher, F. H. Garner, Louis Lipski, and Robert Hall Warren, all familiar names to anyone acquainted with the delft literature. These men assembled representative collections both of masterpieces and of everyday examples of British delft. Many of these objects are now part of the great collections that reside in the Fitzwilliam, Ashmolean, and Victoria and Albert museums. Delft collecting as an academic pursuit was imported to America with several major museums leading the way, most notably the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, and the Chipstone Foundation. The market for antique delft in the late twentieth century saw intense competition among several London dealers and wealthy American collectors, and interest continues to be strong.
Dawson explains why the British Museum’s collection of British delft is so special in light of other encyclopedic collections, crediting the collecting strategy of Sir Augustus Wollaston Franks, who was on the museum’s staff from 1851 to 1896. His mission was to acquire pieces “that reflect historical events,” noting that “dated pieces were essential for reference purposes” (p. 23). This focused approach resulted in major purchases of exceptional, sometimes spectacular pieces. Combined with gifts from Franks’s own collection and other notable gifts and bequests, even “spectacular” might be an understatement for many of the objects that found their way to the British Museum.
The catalog entries are divided into nine unimaginative categories that have become standard for delft references. These include vessel forms related to drinking, dining, flower display, pharmaceutical use, leisure activities, and a catch-all category of “ornaments, water bottles, fragments, and tiles.” In addition, there are three groupings organized by decoration type: religious, armorial, and political/historical subjects. Dawson gives no specific justification for this organizational scheme, and in this I think she missed a great opportunity to provide a better didactic experience for the reader. Since the vast majority of the objects are dated, why not simply organize the catalog chronologically? I found myself flipping back and forth between sections for some comparisons that might have been easier to make had the objects been presented by date of manufacture. Despite my personal preference for a different organization, however, the contents of the catalog section make one reach for a thesaurus of superlatives to describe the visual treat in store for the reader.
The informed reader of British delft history will marvel at the extreme rarities presented here. For example, a 1651 figural group of a mother bird and young representing “Pelican in Her Piety” (no. 36, pp. 100–101) is the only recorded example of this form. Likewise, a circa 1620 large jug decorated in polychrome with biblical images of Samson and the Lion (no. 33, pp. 94–95) is an incredibly early and rare delft survivor.
For readers with a general interest in history, there are objects depicting kings, queens, and other noble personages reflecting the succession of the British monarchy. The earliest is a vase-shaped jug with a half-length portrait bust of Charles II (no. 1, pp. 30–31). Less well-known but historically significant is a unique tile that illustrates “The Execution of the 5 Jesuitts,” a reference to the Popish Plot of 1678, alleging a Catholic conspiracy to assassinate Charles II. The charge, concocted by Titus Oates, resulted in a number of executions but ultimately led to Oates’s arrest and conviction for perjury.
Of all the politically related delft objects, however, without question I was most interested in the Stamp Act punch bowl (no. 29, pp. 86–87). This London-made bowl, inscribed “Success / to Trade no / Stamps,” protests the act passed in 1765 by the British Parliament that attempted to raise funds for British troops in America by means of a direct tax imposed on the colonies. Although at least four creamware teapots with “No Stamp Act” inscriptions are known, the punch bowl is the only delft example to record these politically charged sentiments.
Readers with only a passing knowledge of British ceramics history but who simply love beautiful things will be more than sated by the aesthetics of the objects in the catalog. There are several early delft dishes with exuberant seventeenth-century Italianate-style decoration worthy of inclusion in any exhibit on the period’s mannerist style. Other blue-and-white examples record the spontaneity that delft potters incorporated in their interpretive riffs on Ming dynasty motifs. Though seen on several notable vessels in the collection, the celebrated “bird-on-rock” chinoiserie pattern is at its best on the humblest of objects—a circa 1630 drug jar (no. 60, pp. 150–51).
Some argue that printed catalogs are becoming passé in favor of online digital presentations, but Dawson’s book is a must-have for the library shelf, the nightstand, and the coffee table. The concise and very readable catalog descriptions are masterfully composed by the author and amply annotated with useful endnotes. The printing and layout of the book are first-rate. I highly commend the designer for the dimensions of the book (9.7 by 9.6 inches)—nothing shows off circular objects better than this nearly square format. In addition, the photography is very good, with consistent color balance for the most part. The price is extremely reasonable, especially in light of the exorbitant prices of out-of-print delft catalogs. Buying an extra copy or two simply for investment purposes might be a wise strategy in today’s economy.
In summary, this work is a wonderful addition to the many books on British delft and is quickly becoming my favorite. Its superb design gives the long-standing subject a very contemporary relevance, and the captivating objects are the epitome of a visual feast. Most important, Aileen Dawson’s careful scholarship assures that this volume will remain a vital resource in the annals of British ceramic history.
Robert Hunter
Editor, Ceramics in America