Bust of William IV 1733

Editor: So here we have a terracotta sculpture, "Bust of William IV," sculpted by Jan Baptist Xavery in 1733. It’s quite stately, with that ornate armor and ermine stole. There's a solemnity to it. What strikes you about this piece? Curator: You know, I see echoes of theatrical swagger, don’t you think? It's Baroque opulence, but tempered, slightly subdued, like a king trying to project both power and approachability. Notice the meticulous detailing in the hair contrasting with the softer modeling of the face—it almost feels like a performance, a carefully constructed image for the ages. But who was he really beneath the wig and armour, I wonder? Does it project authority? Or does it whisper insecurity? Editor: I hadn’t considered the insecurity angle! So, the choice of terracotta – how does that factor into portraying someone meant to embody power and permanence? Wouldn't marble have been the go-to? Curator: Exactly! Ah, there's the clever twist, isn't it? Terracotta gives it a warmth, an immediacy that marble lacks. It suggests vulnerability, a human connection. It's a conscious choice, a subversion of expectations, perhaps? Like a monarch hinting, "I'm one of you… sort of!" He's grounded, earthy, in a way. Don't you feel a connection to him despite the distance of time? Editor: I do see that warmth now. The texture feels almost like skin. It really humanizes him, makes him less intimidating, less a figure on a coin. Curator: Precisely. Xavery offers us not just a ruler, but a glimpse of a human, caught in the elaborate costume of power. Editor: This sculpture now feels like a riddle, wrapped in an ermine stole! I will never look at Baroque portraiture the same way again!