Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte (1778–1851), Daughter of Louis XVI 1795

Curator: This watercolour miniature, dating to 1795, captures Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte, daughter of Louis XVI, through the eyes of Jacques Joseph de Gault. It resides here at The Met. Editor: Such delicacy in scale, yet that gaze feels monumental. I can't help but notice that it resembles a jewel – small but captivating, with the frame looking like precious metal. Curator: That's insightful. Consider how watercolor miniatures served as keepsakes during this period. This wasn’t just art; it was intimacy made portable, tokens amongst royals. The technique—precise layering on perhaps ivory or fine parchment—allowed for an astounding level of detail. The tiny scale intensifies our engagement. Editor: And elevates it from "craft" object to high art! How much did her position influence de Gault? I mean, who had access to such materials and skill then? Pigments derived from precious minerals were often ground by apprentices. The hair – an incredible feat! Curator: Undeniably, context shapes everything. To be royal was to inhabit privilege, to be painted a marker of status. Still, de Gault brings something… human. Those slightly downturned eyes, the delicate rendering of skin... There’s vulnerability amidst the formality. I imagine he labored long hours, a meticulous devotion reflected in the glowing details. Editor: Exactly. It’s labour memorialized. Also I can't stop wondering who made the materials: grinding the pigments, hammering the gold around the rim, the production of a thing itself as an event worthy of study. Curator: Ultimately, this tiny portrait encapsulates immense contradictions – artistry and craftsmanship, royal privilege and individual vulnerability. Editor: Right, history itself contained within a droplet. The political turbulence of the late 18th century echoes silently around the frame – luxury produced right at the brink of revolution.