When it comes to body language, portraits paint an
interesting picture. Decisions are made, but by whom? Is it the artist that
chooses each pose, picks the expression and choregraphs gestures, or the artist's sitter? And, if the latter, are these decisions made consciously or not? Whilst
we don’t usually have the answers, we do know that these decisions reveal much
about status and how it is projected.
Art can tell us something about the body language of that time. It may be culturally interesting or shine a light on the era’s attitudes, and it’s likely to have been created to represent the sitter in a manner that they (or the artist) wants them to be seen, often this is as a person of high status. Having a quality portrait painted was usually the privilege of the upper classes and artists had ways of representing this position, using the subject’s nonverbals to tell a story.
Dominant, high status people take up space, and this includes vertically through an erect posture, a pose associated with good health and an air of confidence. This posture is often accompanied by a raised chin, the subject’s head held high, even if they’ve no longer the ability to sit up straight.
The straight back, lowered shoulders and lengthened neck (raised chin) can be assisted by the sitter’s costume, such as a ruffle.
The modern ‘power pose’ with a wide stance has come to be an acknowledged sign of trust and strength, the performer ‘standing their ground’ and not being a ‘push over’ (the pose can even have positive results on the doer’s brain chemicals, as claims Amy Cuddy). Planted firm legs can signal the courage or arrogance one might expect from a high-status individual. In the art world, the classic example of this pose of power and balance is the famous 16th century portrait of Henry VIII by Hans Holbein the Younger.
Note how the high-status individuals are rarely painted behind an object, the view is an unobscured one, showing them front and centre, with nothing to fear (or need to present a barrier for). When barriers do occur, they are possibly demonstrative of the sitter’s natural feeling of vulnerability at being painted.
The wide feet/knees exposes the genitals and is thus often a male pose, as many dominant poses are masculine ones. When the feet are placed together, a more submissive position is suggested. This is often a dutiful act, neat and orderly, perhaps even military.
The stance of the Sun King, Louis XIV of France, was less grounded. Painted in 1701 with a pointed foot, he is ready to move.
Rigaud has the king’s feet in bright red shoes with the leading foot aimed at the onlooker. People often stand (and sit) with one foot ahead of the other, in the ‘starter’s position’.
This is an intention signal, the leading foot pointing towards the person’s desire, be it an interest or direction of travel. It’s common for the anxious to toe-point towards an escape route, the sexually aroused to toe-point towards the object of their interest, or the submissive (staff) to toe-point towards the dominant (boss). To have the king toe-point his leading leg towards the viewer makes for an engaging image.
In this portrait of 1636, of William Style of Langley, the unknown artist uses a pointed foot and eye gaze direction to confront the viewer, but in this case, the lead toe-point is the other foot which, like the subject’s stick, points to a different object of interest.
Humans use their hands and arms to show dominance (linked with high status and displays of masculinity). This could be via the arms akimbo pose (hands on hips, elbows out) to create a larger frame or by drawing attention to the genital area, and artists reflect human attempts at doing these actions.
The arms akimbo is often performed by people in authority positions (status by role) and typically sees the thumbs pointing backwards with the visible eight fingers all pointing forwards. It’s a position of assertiveness and possible confrontation (law enforcers are employers of this pose). Status is enhanced because the fingers frame (or point) towards the genitalia.
The art historian Joaneath Spicer coined the term ‘the Renaissance elbow’, in her explanation that Renaissance portrait painters often depicted men using their elbows to make an impression ‘indicative essentially of boldness or control – and therefore of the self-defined masculine role, at once protective and controlling’. In art terms, this pose became popular in Italy, spreading north between 1500 and 1650.
A modern version is when the hands are in pockets but the thumbs are displayed, angled towards the groin. Thumbs denote superiority and confidence, associated with status. Our opposable thumbs have played an important role in human evolution and our reliance upon them – and subsequent need to protect them – has seen their withdrawal a common action when feeling threatened.
Another variation is the asymmetrical version when one elbow is dominant, showing the side on which threat greater threat lies. It’s a ‘keep away’ gesture. In fact, most of these high-status gestures are anti-embrace. They say to the observer: Don’t touch me or You daren’t touch me. The vulnerability of the genitals and ventral region (stomach/chest/neck) which are unprotected are signs that the subject is confident enough not to need to protect themselves.
By the 18th century, a protruding hip was often added, upper class boys giving off a confidence display. Here a confident looking Lady in Black by William Merritt Chase, 1888.
This century has witnessed many women adopting the pose when aware that they are being pictured.
One sexual or genital display that hasn’t survived is the presence of a codpiece. Originally intended to preserve modesty, these garments became displays of virility with extra padding and space added.
By the time they became decorated with fine materials and jewellery they had begun to rise vertically the symbolism losing any form of modesty. There are tribes today in which men wear similar exaggerators but the codpieces are no more.
Artists would exaggerate this so much that the eyes were drawn to the sitter’s display. The ‘who’s got the largest?’ one-upmanship produced some comic results. More recent exaggerators, which can increase status through power perception - or even sexual reasons - for women have been the shoulder pads (mainly in the 1980s) and padded bras.
Much of these status displays, be it the codpiece, arms (or legs) akimbo or erect postures are representative of the alpha male, often the largest animal. The biggest often holds a position of dominance. This even extends to people with wider faces (fWHR) who have an advantage of perception when it comes to positions of power.
Given the significance of thumb displays on status, how has the ‘hidden hand’ become so prevalent in high status portraits?
The most famous example of the hidden hand in art is with Napoleon’s portraits, his right hand tucked inside a waistcoat.
Desmond Morris suggests that this act, fashionable in 18th century portraits, originated from the art of ancient Greece and Rome. In the classical period it was considered bad manners to speak and gesture with the arms. The great orators, as many leaders and people of status wished to be seen, would be portrayed in the dignified position of having a hand concealed so that the viewer would not infer any uncontrolled gesture. In the 4th century B.C., Aeschines of Macedon - founder of a school of rhetoric - gave a famous speech in which he condemned the use of gestures when orating, saying that they were overly excited in an urge of constraint that had an influence. This influence affected the classic art that would have been seen by wealthy upper-class men during their grand tours of the 17th and 18th centuries.
The hidden hand has been painted in many portraits of high-status individuals, from the wealthy (Rothschild), to leaders (Stalin), and famous talents (Mozart).
The hidden hand is actually not so far removed from the open posture ‘ventral display’. Both are signs that the subject doesn’t need to defend themselves (because they are beyond approach). The hidden hand may look like a pacifier, the hand calming and protecting, but it’s also showing that the person is not sword ready, like the open posture, a sign that the doer does not feel threatened.
Artists have a long history of signalling status through body language and, of course, low or lower status individuals sometimes appear in the portraits, magnifying the importance of the main subject. In Desmond Morris’ Postures: Body Language in Art (2019) this subject is explored in detail. Highly recommended.
Art can tell us something about the body language of that time. It may be culturally interesting or shine a light on the era’s attitudes, and it’s likely to have been created to represent the sitter in a manner that they (or the artist) wants them to be seen, often this is as a person of high status. Having a quality portrait painted was usually the privilege of the upper classes and artists had ways of representing this position, using the subject’s nonverbals to tell a story.
Dominant, high status people take up space, and this includes vertically through an erect posture, a pose associated with good health and an air of confidence. This posture is often accompanied by a raised chin, the subject’s head held high, even if they’ve no longer the ability to sit up straight.
The straight back, lowered shoulders and lengthened neck (raised chin) can be assisted by the sitter’s costume, such as a ruffle.
The modern ‘power pose’ with a wide stance has come to be an acknowledged sign of trust and strength, the performer ‘standing their ground’ and not being a ‘push over’ (the pose can even have positive results on the doer’s brain chemicals, as claims Amy Cuddy). Planted firm legs can signal the courage or arrogance one might expect from a high-status individual. In the art world, the classic example of this pose of power and balance is the famous 16th century portrait of Henry VIII by Hans Holbein the Younger.
Note how the high-status individuals are rarely painted behind an object, the view is an unobscured one, showing them front and centre, with nothing to fear (or need to present a barrier for). When barriers do occur, they are possibly demonstrative of the sitter’s natural feeling of vulnerability at being painted.
 |
| Feeling threatened or could her split hand carry a message? |
The wide feet/knees exposes the genitals and is thus often a male pose, as many dominant poses are masculine ones. When the feet are placed together, a more submissive position is suggested. This is often a dutiful act, neat and orderly, perhaps even military.
 |
| The celebration of the peace of Münster, 1648, in the headquarters of the crossbowmen's civic guard by Bartholomeus van der Helst |
The stance of the Sun King, Louis XIV of France, was less grounded. Painted in 1701 with a pointed foot, he is ready to move.
Rigaud has the king’s feet in bright red shoes with the leading foot aimed at the onlooker. People often stand (and sit) with one foot ahead of the other, in the ‘starter’s position’.
This is an intention signal, the leading foot pointing towards the person’s desire, be it an interest or direction of travel. It’s common for the anxious to toe-point towards an escape route, the sexually aroused to toe-point towards the object of their interest, or the submissive (staff) to toe-point towards the dominant (boss). To have the king toe-point his leading leg towards the viewer makes for an engaging image.
In this portrait of 1636, of William Style of Langley, the unknown artist uses a pointed foot and eye gaze direction to confront the viewer, but in this case, the lead toe-point is the other foot which, like the subject’s stick, points to a different object of interest.
Humans use their hands and arms to show dominance (linked with high status and displays of masculinity). This could be via the arms akimbo pose (hands on hips, elbows out) to create a larger frame or by drawing attention to the genital area, and artists reflect human attempts at doing these actions.
The arms akimbo is often performed by people in authority positions (status by role) and typically sees the thumbs pointing backwards with the visible eight fingers all pointing forwards. It’s a position of assertiveness and possible confrontation (law enforcers are employers of this pose). Status is enhanced because the fingers frame (or point) towards the genitalia.
The art historian Joaneath Spicer coined the term ‘the Renaissance elbow’, in her explanation that Renaissance portrait painters often depicted men using their elbows to make an impression ‘indicative essentially of boldness or control – and therefore of the self-defined masculine role, at once protective and controlling’. In art terms, this pose became popular in Italy, spreading north between 1500 and 1650.
A modern version is when the hands are in pockets but the thumbs are displayed, angled towards the groin. Thumbs denote superiority and confidence, associated with status. Our opposable thumbs have played an important role in human evolution and our reliance upon them – and subsequent need to protect them – has seen their withdrawal a common action when feeling threatened.
Another variation is the asymmetrical version when one elbow is dominant, showing the side on which threat greater threat lies. It’s a ‘keep away’ gesture. In fact, most of these high-status gestures are anti-embrace. They say to the observer: Don’t touch me or You daren’t touch me. The vulnerability of the genitals and ventral region (stomach/chest/neck) which are unprotected are signs that the subject is confident enough not to need to protect themselves.
By the 18th century, a protruding hip was often added, upper class boys giving off a confidence display. Here a confident looking Lady in Black by William Merritt Chase, 1888.
This century has witnessed many women adopting the pose when aware that they are being pictured.
One sexual or genital display that hasn’t survived is the presence of a codpiece. Originally intended to preserve modesty, these garments became displays of virility with extra padding and space added.
By the time they became decorated with fine materials and jewellery they had begun to rise vertically the symbolism losing any form of modesty. There are tribes today in which men wear similar exaggerators but the codpieces are no more.
Artists would exaggerate this so much that the eyes were drawn to the sitter’s display. The ‘who’s got the largest?’ one-upmanship produced some comic results. More recent exaggerators, which can increase status through power perception - or even sexual reasons - for women have been the shoulder pads (mainly in the 1980s) and padded bras.
Much of these status displays, be it the codpiece, arms (or legs) akimbo or erect postures are representative of the alpha male, often the largest animal. The biggest often holds a position of dominance. This even extends to people with wider faces (fWHR) who have an advantage of perception when it comes to positions of power.
Given the significance of thumb displays on status, how has the ‘hidden hand’ become so prevalent in high status portraits?
The most famous example of the hidden hand in art is with Napoleon’s portraits, his right hand tucked inside a waistcoat.
Desmond Morris suggests that this act, fashionable in 18th century portraits, originated from the art of ancient Greece and Rome. In the classical period it was considered bad manners to speak and gesture with the arms. The great orators, as many leaders and people of status wished to be seen, would be portrayed in the dignified position of having a hand concealed so that the viewer would not infer any uncontrolled gesture. In the 4th century B.C., Aeschines of Macedon - founder of a school of rhetoric - gave a famous speech in which he condemned the use of gestures when orating, saying that they were overly excited in an urge of constraint that had an influence. This influence affected the classic art that would have been seen by wealthy upper-class men during their grand tours of the 17th and 18th centuries.
The hidden hand has been painted in many portraits of high-status individuals, from the wealthy (Rothschild), to leaders (Stalin), and famous talents (Mozart).
The hidden hand is actually not so far removed from the open posture ‘ventral display’. Both are signs that the subject doesn’t need to defend themselves (because they are beyond approach). The hidden hand may look like a pacifier, the hand calming and protecting, but it’s also showing that the person is not sword ready, like the open posture, a sign that the doer does not feel threatened.
Artists have a long history of signalling status through body language and, of course, low or lower status individuals sometimes appear in the portraits, magnifying the importance of the main subject. In Desmond Morris’ Postures: Body Language in Art (2019) this subject is explored in detail. Highly recommended.
