Lord Philip Wharton

A young man looks out from a sheltered corner of a landscape, his body wrapped in a sweep of gold. One elbow pushes sideways; the other arm descends towards the lower edge of the picture. Between these different movements, Anthony van Dyck gives Philip Wharton a pose that feels poised without becoming stiff. The loose curls and bare hand bring him close, while the enormous folds of cloth give him room and consequence.

A young peer in 1632

Philip Wharton (1613–1696), fourth Baron Wharton, had a Puritan father, studied at Oxford and visited Frederik Hendrik’s court at The Hague in 1631. The painting belongs among Van Dyck’s earliest private London portraits. ^[1] The inscription at the lower right identifies Wharton as about nineteen. ^[1]

The face makes that youth immediately apparent. Soft curls spread around the cheeks and forehead, framing a face whose small areas of light remain distinct from the much stronger gleam of the clothes. The lips are closed, the head held upright, and the eyes meet the viewer. There is little overt action here. Attention gathers around the slight turn of the face and the steadiness of the look.

The shoulders are set at an angle, but the head returns towards the front. That adjustment matters: Wharton seems available to our gaze without having arranged every part of himself squarely for inspection. The light catches the ridge of the nose, the upper cheek and the pale neckwear. Under the chin, darker cloth closes around the throat, giving the illuminated face a firm base.

The portrait belongs to Van Dyck’s years in England , but its particular character emerges through these small adjustments of head and body. The clothes shine while the expression stays quiet.

Two arms, two movements

The hand placed at the hip is almost hidden, yet its elbow is one of the picture’s strongest shapes. It projects towards the left edge and brings the dark sleeve into the light. A bright ridge follows the upper arm, breaks into smaller folds near the elbow and turns back towards the body. This bent arm gives Wharton breadth without requiring a frontal stance.

On the opposite side, the exposed hand hangs below a white cuff. The long fingers follow the fall of the golden cloth. Their direction is nearly vertical, a quiet answer to the sideways movement of the other elbow. The cuff is important to the transition: its small, pale, crumpled forms intervene between the broad sleeve and the smooth skin of the wrist.

The arrangement invites the eye to travel around the figure. From the face, it can follow the shoulder down to the projecting elbow, cross the great curve of gold at the waist, and rise again along the staff. The hands occupy different levels and perform different visual tasks. There is enough asymmetry to suggest ease, while the returning lines keep the figure firmly assembled.

Gold, purple and green

The golden fabric fills much of the lower picture, but its brightness is continually interrupted. At the shoulder it gathers into narrow folds. Across the chest the folds widen into angular planes; below the waist they open into a deep, hanging curve. Some edges catch a sharp light, while adjoining hollows move towards brown. The colour appears to change as the cloth turns.

This is especially clear in the wide loop crossing the lower body. Its lit upper edge describes a generous arc, then drops into a darker pocket. Looking at that passage, we can imagine the weight of cloth held up at one point and allowed to sag elsewhere. The folds give the costume volume independent of the body underneath it.

The dark upper garment behaves differently. Purple-grey lights streak across the sleeve and chest, emerging from a surface that appears soft and dense. Its reflections are narrower and more subdued than the gold’s. The meeting of these two surfaces makes the shoulder and torso easier to read, even where the garment’s construction is partly concealed.

Above them, green drapery hangs in deep folds. Its cooler colour holds back the brilliance of the gold and makes the warm face more noticeable. Small white details at the neck and wrist sharpen the transitions between skin and dress. The painting offers several scales of looking at once: large fields of colour from a distance, broken folds and cuffs as we move closer, then the quieter modelling of the face.

The shepherd’s staff

Wharton’s shepherd’s houlette gives the portrait a pastoral or Arcadian character. ^[1]

Its shape deserves a separate look. The long shaft rises diagonally across the gold and towards the green curtain, ending in a narrow, dark metal head. It is less brilliant than the costume, yet its continuous line holds its own against the numerous changes of direction in the folds. Near the forearm it seems fitted into the pose, travelling with the body.

The pastoral suggestion also changes how we experience the setting. A glimpse of distant countryside becomes more than a background opening: it gives the staff a world to belong to. Yet Wharton remains close to the picture surface, surrounded by ample, carefully arranged material. The imagined country life and the cultivated presentation coexist within the same small space.

Rock, curtain and distance

A great dark mass behind the head and shoulder shelters the figure. To the left, the rock breaks away and reveals a narrow view of trees, distant hills and sky. To the right, the green hanging closes the space again. These unequal openings keep Wharton from appearing pasted against a flat backdrop.

The landscape is small, but the change of scale is considerable. The nearer rock is heavy and irregular; the distant hills soften into blue. Wharton stands between that recession and the curtain’s almost tangible folds. The setting therefore offers depth on one side and a surface on the other, with the face positioned near their meeting.

Notice, too, how little bright sky is needed. Its pale strip gives the eye a route out of the dark enclosure, then the warm head and gold fabric draw attention back. The composition can accommodate distance without allowing it to compete with the sitter. His presence depends partly on this controlled distribution of room: an elbow has space to project, cloth has space to fall, and the countryside remains just visible beyond him.

From the Wharton family to Washington

The portrait passed from the Wharton family to Robert Walpole in 1725, then to Catherine II’s Hermitage collection in 1779. Andrew W. Mellon acquired it in March 1930; it entered the National Gallery of Art in 1937. ^[1]

Seen outside its family setting, the small identifying inscription has a particular value. The painted figure can first reach us through colour, stance and gaze; the name and age then attach that encounter to an individual moment. The inscription is tucked away at the bottom, leaving the face free to establish its presence before we read.