“All art is quite useless,” declared Oscar Wilde in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Grey. It’s a provocative claim, inviting us to reconsider how we view the portraits which line Oxford’s dining halls, libraries, and examination rooms. Taking Wilde’s comment in all seriousness, can we learn to appreciate these paintings not simply for who is depicted, but instead, for how they are painted? In essence: can we attempt to separate the art from the subject? I believe that, with some adjustments, we can do so.
While sitting down in a formal hall in most Oxford colleges, students often find themselves under the watchful gaze of painted benefactors and alumni from long ago, robed in tradition and surrounded by crests. In Examination Schools, where portraits loom large above rows of anxious undergraduates, one might look up in search of inspiration (or distraction) and meet a face from centuries past.
These portraits have, perhaps unsurprisingly, become the subject of intense debate. Who deserves to be hanging on Oxford’s walls? Who no longer belongs? Do these figures reflect the values we seek to uphold today? These are essential questions, but not ones I seek to answer here. Instead, I want to question something more aesthetic than political: can we momentarily set aside the subject and simply appreciate the portrait as art?
To be clear, these works do reflect the hierarchies, values, and exclusions of their time. A portrait which was deemed suitable in the 17th Century might not pass the same test today. Even so, there remains a case for preservation, not as an endorsement, but as a record of change. In fact, it’s fun to consider who from today’s cohort would be immortalised in oil. Cherwell BNOCs, top-class academics, Blues athletes, Union hacks, thespians? Perhaps such a list would best elucidate how our standards and symbols of success have shifted. In any case, I believe it’s important to preserve historical portraits; it reflects the evolution of an institution.
But perhaps we’ve become over-accustomed to viewing this art predominantly through a political or institutional lens when it’s also about aesthetics. Could we adopt a different approach? That is, could we momentarily focus on Oxford’s portraits not for who they represent, but for how – the brushwork, light, colour, and form?
This is the approach of aesthetic formalism: a way of seeing which values composition over content. Could portraits be appreciated purely as a study in tone, mood, or technique?
Some argue no. They maintain an art’s subject is intrinsically linked to its essence. In his work Art and Illusion, art historian Sir Ernst Gombrich suggested that our appreciation of art is deeply rooted in psychological and cultural context. When viewing a painting, we bring knowledge and expectations with us. Extrapolating from this theory, understanding who the sitter is and what they represent is inseparable from how we experience the work.
Yet is this truly the case? In Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Judgement, he emphasises the idea that beauty can be experienced disinterestedly, without needing to understand the subject. In this sense, perhaps a portrait could be appreciated in the same way we admire a flower. Not because we know its history or symbolism, but due to its visual appearance. When we look at a flower, we do not necessarily appreciate the beauty in it due to its complex biological makeup. It is simply… beautiful.
In the same way, could Oxford’s art not simply be… art? We can appreciate the portraiture for its artistic merit and what it tells us about the evolution of portraiture itself. L’art pour l’art – art for art’s sake.
Yet, a flower is not a former benefactor. Portraits, unlike flowers, were made to honour individuals with particular legacies. So, while formalism does offer one valuable method of seeing, it cannot be the only one.
I do agree with the viewpoint that new art can be valuable to the current collections. In particular, I value the importance of representing a diverse range of what success can look like. Above all, one notes the underrepresentation of women and ethnic minorities on college walls when compared with today’s student composition. Juxtaposing old portraits with more modern ones can be beneficial to showcase current, or more recent, leadership, benefactors, or prominent alumnae. Such contributions can deepen – not dilute – Oxford’s traditions. This combination does not offer erasure, but dialogue. Contextualisation, where necessary, can help viewers reckon with history without discarding it.
Ultimately, then, perhaps it is not a question of choosing between the who and the how. Rather, it is about learning to see both. But sometimes, just sometimes, we might let ourselves forget the biography and focus on the brushstrokes.
