Alexander Munro

By descent through the sitter's family to Sir Ralph Millais, by whom sold Christie’s, 14 June 1973, lot 48;
J.S. Maas & Co, London;
Private collection

London, Royal Academy, 1854, no.1523

Benedict Read and Joanna Barnes (ed.), Pre-Raphaelite Sculpture - Nature and Imagination in British Sculpture 1848-1914, 1991, illustrated p.47 fig.29

There is a chip to the cheek, visible in the catalogue illustration. There are two minor chips to the neck. There is a chip to the hair upper left and a few further minor chips to the background. There is some surface dirt throughout. There is some abrasion to the framing edge.
"In response to your inquiry, we are pleased to provide you with a general report of the condition of the property described above. Since we are not professional conservators or restorers, we urge you to consult with a restorer or conservator of your choice who will be better able to provide a detailed, professional report. Prospective buyers should inspect each lot to satisfy themselves as to condition and must understand that any statement made by Sotheby's is merely a subjective, qualified opinion. Prospective buyers should also refer to any Important Notices regarding this sale, which are printed in the Sale Catalogue.
NOTWITHSTANDING THIS REPORT OR ANY DISCUSSIONS CONCERNING A LOT, ALL LOTS ARE OFFERED AND SOLD AS IS" IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE CONDITIONS OF BUSINESS PRINTED IN THE SALE CATALOGUE."

This is the original marble portrait of Millais made by Munro around 1853, from which several plaster casts were made (one in the National Portrait Gallery and another in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford). It is one of the few non-photographic portraits of Millais as a young man and captures his famously handsome profile. The artist William Bell Scott recorded seeing the portrait being made in Munro's studio, when he was posing for his own likeness; 'During my visit to London in the summer of 1853, Alexander Munro was modelling my profile, in a friendly spirit making a medallion of me. He was doing the same for Millais, and there we met again. Millais mounted the sitter’s chair vacated by me, when I observed for the first time the red mark on his left eye or eyelid. All men of genius, unhappily, are not so handsome as Millais was then. I asked him how he had caught the irritation, or wound, or whatever it was. No, he had not caught it, he had had it all his life; ‘there are spots on the sun, you know!’ was his exclamation as he laughingly placed himself in position on the model’s chair. I laughed too, but looked at him narrowly. There was no expression of self-conceit or vanity, it was mere exuberance of spirits and amusing chaff.'