Hogarth’s House by Jenny Kingsley (via Artistic Miscellany):
I have a fantasy about Hogarth (1697–1764) being in heaven, drinking beer with fellow satirists, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Swift, Fielding. (Once you’re up there, date of birth is immaterial.) He’s talking about how pleased he is by our reverence for his work. In times past, some connoisseurs have been condescending towards his oeuvre. But during the last half century, Hogarth has been the subject of quite a few major exhibitions and numerous scholarly analyses. Contemporary artists, such as David Hockney, Paul Rego and Ralph Steadman, have reinterpreted his images.
Hogarth relates he’s content with heavenly living but misses his home in what is now Leicester Square and his second home in tranquil Chiswick. He’s touched, he adds, that his house in Chiswick has just been restored and re-opened to the public. Shutters and panelling have been repaired, fireplaces unblocked, wooden floorboards uncovered, plaster and paintwork renewed.
The William Hogarth Trust commissioned a special exhibition in 2014 to mark the 250th anniversary of Hogarth's death, featured artwork by artists and celebrities including Quentin Blake, Harry Hill, Jacqueline Wilson and Cath Kidston.
Two floors of the house are open to visitors and effort has been made to present the House as a home, as well as a celebration of Hogarth's life and work. Prints of some of his best known engravings are on display, including the series The Harlot's Progress, A Rake's Progress and Marriage à-la-mode.
The House has an attractive walled garden which contains a mulberry tree. This is probably the last survivor of the original orchard established in the 1670s. It was damaged September 1940 by a parachute mine and brought back to good health by arboriculturists from Kew Gardens.
When I visited I was welcomed most warmly, and was then left to explore the house and grounds, apparently without the usual watchful glances you get in such places. Entry is free, and the whole experience is fun, unpretentious and just a bit ramshackle, which appeals in much the same way as Hogarth's many boisterous works.