“For Mr. Whistler’s own sake, no less than for the protection of the purchaser, Sir Coutts Lindsay ought not to have admitted works into the gallery in which the ill-educated conceit of the artist so nearly approached the aspect of willful imposture. I have seen, and heard, much of cockney impudence before now; but never expected a coxcomb to ask two hundred guineas for flinging a pot of paint in the public’s face” (qtd. Anderson 215).
Recorded by the art critic John Ruskin in the July 1877 edition of his journal Fors Clavigera, these words of condemnation struck a sour note with Whistler, who faced mounting debts at the time of their publications, and precipitated what was perhaps the greatest risk of his career. Despite severe liabilities, Whistler filed suit against Ruskin, accusing him of libel and demanding reparations of one thousand guineas plus costs. Whistler gambled on a swift victory, but was instead accorded a prolonged defeat. Though nominally triumphant, he was afforded damages of a measly one farthing and was curtly informed to pay his own court fees. The upshot of the trial pushed Whistler over the edge to bankruptcy. His new house, prized collection of Japanese artifacts, and unsold works were impounded and sold at auction. What could have inspired Whistler to stake the little that remained of his bank account on the Ruskin Trial – was this purely the brash flight of fancy of an eccentric? In fact, the testimony of Whistler’s friends and acquaintances as well as the scholarly criticism of the incident oppose this assumption. Though the Ruskin Trial might appear to have taken a profound toll on the artist, Whistler understood the Ruskin Trial, whatever the outcome and despite pecuniary risks, as an opportunity for gain in what he considered the more important arena of artistic pride.
Whistler saw the Ruskin trial first as an opportunity to assert the supremacy of art over the increasingly powerful domain of criticism. J. Pennell argues in Life of Whistler that Whistler perceived the case as an allegory of the battle “between the brush and the pen” (qtd. Pennell 165). Whistler had been known to take a disapproving attitude towards the press. For instance, his close friend and follower, Mortimer Menpes, writes in his memoir Whistler As I Knew Him that, “unless a critic was sympathetic, the Master treated him with scorn” (Menpes 122). However, if by contrast the critic was supportive, “he would then proceed to give the man word for word the whole gist of his article” (Menpes 123). Though Whistler stated during the course of the proceedings that “it [was] not for [him] to criticize the critics” (qtd. Anderson 220), the Ruskin Trial was born out of his censure for those who would criticize outside of their own craft. And despite his actual defeat, Whistler succeeded in dealing a blow to criticism and particularly to Ruskin, who had enjoyed a rising popularity and influence in artistic circles throughout England until the suit. Pennell most eloquently writes, “Whistler denied the right of Ruskin, master of English literature, popularizer of pictures, to declare himself infallible” (Pennell 165). In engaging the Ruskin Trial, Whistler asserted the primacy of artistic vision – the freedom of the artist to create unfettered by the bonds of the critic.
Additionally, the Ruskin Trial represented for Whistler, who was known by some as an exhibitionist and by all as a very public figure, a forum in which to express his views on the nature of art for posterity. Some of Whistler’s most famous declarations on art as outside of narrative – as purely aesthetic – came out of the Ruskin trial. Anderson in his book Whistler Beyond the Myth attest to the rehearsed quality of Whistler’s responses to the examination of his own counsel (Anderson 221). Thus, it seems that Whistler saw the trial as a medium through which to convey his more radical views as to the nature of art to a wider and more captivated audience than he might have received otherwise. Though fiscally damaged by the verdict, Whistler was opportunistic in his use of the court system.
Whistler reaped timeless gains from the Ruskin trial; he dealt a resounding blow to the criticism that he so disdained and advanced the emerging concept of art for art’s sake, risking his material assets to perform the role of a true leader in the aesthetic movement. According to Anderson, Whistler was "always one to get the last word" (Anderson 224), and even after the trial closed, he published a pamphlet entitled Whistler v. Ruskin: Art and Art Critics, which furthered his message, selling out six editions at a shilling a copy. Furthermore, shortly after the culmination of the trial, Whistler received a commission to Venice from a source that had been favorable to his cause. It was there – in this city that represented the first building-block towards regaining financial security – that he painted some of the greatest works of his career, "moonlights" of surmounting beauty including Nocturne in Blue and Silver: The Lagoon, Venice. Though the Ruskin trial may appear a defeat for Whistler, despite his nominal victory, the gains associated with this risk are timeless, whereas the losses have been left to history.
John Ruskin, 1819-1900.
Whistler. Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket, 1875.
A Farthing, 1881.
Whistler. Nocturne in Blue and Silver: The Lagoon, Venice, 1879-80.