Portraiture as a Tool of Dynastic Propaganda, Then and Now

Portraiture as a Tool of Dynastic Propaganda, Then and Now

We tend to look at old portraits with a kind of gentle, historical condescension. We see them in the hushed, carpeted halls of museums as these stiff figures in ruffs and silks. Basically, we see them as artifacts. They are records of a bygone era, like windows into the curious fashions and solemn faces of the past. We analyze the brushstrokes, admire the artist’s skill in rendering the sheen of a pearl, andfeel a sense of detached appreciation. We see a picture.

This is a failure of the modern imagination. We are not looking at pictures, but instead at weapons.

From Holbein’s terrifyingly solid Henry VIII to Van Dyck’s effortlessly elegant Charles I, every royal portrait is a piece of meticulously crafted state propaganda. They are not passive representations of how a monarch looked, but are active, aggressive arguments for why they were given the right to rule. They are dense with a coded visual language of power designed to be read and understood by ally or adversary alike. These noble portraits are the original, most potent form of the political advertisement.

We believe humanity evolved beyond such things. We have photography, 24-hour news cycles, and social media. We believe that our age is one of authenticity, the camera does not lie, and that we see our modern leaders or public figures as they “truly are.”

This is the great, seductive illusion of our time. The tools did change, but the strategic objective remains identical. The oil paint is replaced by the digital sensor. The court painter is replaced by the celebrity photographer and the public relations team. The royal studio is replaced by the carefully-lit set of a Vanity Fair shoot, but the work is the same. From the official engagement photograph to the “candid” Instagram post, the modern portrait in all its forms is still a weapon. It is deployed to project a specific, calculated narrative of legitimacy, power, relatability, or grace.

I spent a significant portion of my life on the other side of this process. I stood on sets for countless hours as a silent canvas upon which these narratives are painted. From the inside, I learned the intricate mechanics of this machine. What I can tell you is this: the goal is never simply to create a beautiful image. The goal is always to create a convincing story. The portrait is never about capturing reality and is always about manufacturing it.

The Old Grammar: Reading the Canvases of Power

To understand the modern game, one must first be fluent in the old language. The great court painters were not just artists but also chief ministers of propaganda. They understood that every element within the frame was a word in a sentence and that the finished portrait was a state proclamation.

Consider Hans Holbein’s portraits of Henry VIII. The King stands broad-shouldered and feet planted wide, with his gaze confrontational and direct. This is not a man to be trifled with. His clothes are a fortress of velvet, fur, and gold thread, serving as a visual representation of the sheer wealth and power of the Tudor state. One holding a glove and the other resting near a dagger, his hands are not idle. They are instruments of action and of violence, if necessary. The portrait is a brutal, effective argument for stability and strength in a time of immense religious and political turmoil. It is a warning.

Contrast this with the work of Anthony van Dyck at the court of Charles I. Here the propaganda is more subtle, but no less potent. Van Dyck’s Charles is often depicted in a state of relaxed, aristocratic grace. He leans casually against a column in a hunting scene, with his silks shimmering and his posture one of effortless elegance. This is propaganda for a different audience, aimed at a different objective. It argues not for brutal power but for a divine, nonchalant right to rule. The message is one of sprezzatura, or a carefully studied carelessness. The king’s authority is so absolute and so ordained by God that he need not strike a pose of aggression. His legitimacy is as natural and unquestionable as the English landscape behind him. It was a beautiful and disastrously effective piece of propaganda that blinded a king to the revolutionary fury gathering just outside the frame.

This visual grammar is everywhere once you learn to see it. The single, perfect pearl earring on a queen signals purity and immense wealth. The globe under a monarch’s hand signifies imperial ambition. The loyal dog at their feet is a symbol of fidelity and the taming of the natural world. The stormy sky in the background hints at the political tempests the ruler successfully navigated. Not only aesthetic choices, these were calculated political statements.

The New Arsenal: The Modern Tools of Narrative Warfare

Whether royal, political, or corporate, the modern dynasty may no longer commission oil paintings and is more obsessed with the creation of imagery than ever before. The arsenal is simply updated.

The official engagement portrait is the modern equivalent of the dynastic marriage portrait. It is a carefully stage-managed announcement of an alliance. Every detail is calibrated. Is it a formal studio shot, signaling a respect for tradition and continuity? Is it a relaxed, black-and-white photo probably taken outdoors, that signals modernity, accessibility, and a “love-match” rather than a mere arrangement? The choice of photographer, the clothes, the pose, and the lighting are all debated and decided at the highest levels. The goal is to present the new union in the most strategically advantageous light possible, which sets the narrative for decades to come.

Often posted on social media, the “candid” family photograph is another powerful tool. The sight of a future king or a powerful CEO in jeans playing with their children in a sun-drenched field is a deliberate act of propaganda. Its objective is to humanize, or to create a sense of relatability and shared values. It is the modern version of the 18th-century portrait of a royal family as a picture of domestic virtue. It whispers to the public, “We are just like you,” even as it is captured by a world-class photographer and vetted by a team of communications professionals. It is a performance of normalcy designed to soften the hard edges of immense privilege and power.

There is also the high-gloss magazine profile, like a Vanity Fair or Vogue shoot. This is the most direct modern successor to the grand court portrait. Here, the subject is placed back into a world of high artifice, styled by masters, lit by geniuses, and captured by the new court painters of our age. The narrative can be tailored with immense precision. A subject can be made to look commanding and powerful, like a visionary in a minimalist architectural space. They also can be made to look soulful and sensitive like a thoughtful artist in a rustic, natural setting. Each shoot is an act of myth-making as well as a conscious effort to shape the public’s perception and solidify a desired identity.

Behind the Lens: A Personal Testimony

I did not learn this language in a classroom. I learned it on my feet, under the heat of studio lights, and in the quiet, charged space between the photographer’s command and the click of the shutter. For over a decade, my job was to be the raw material for these modern portraits. My work was to embody the abstract ideas that the client was trying to sell, be it a fashion house, a magazine, or a brand.

I learned that a pose is never just a pose. It is an argument. A hand placed gently on the neck can argue for vulnerability. A hand placed firmly on the hip argues for confidence. A direct gaze into the lens is a challenge. A gaze averted is an invitation to dream. I learned to use my body as a tool of communication and to become a living hieroglyph for concepts like “freedom,” “luxury,” “desire,” or “strength.”

I learned that the photographer is a sculptor of reality. They control the light to carve out cheekbones, to soften a jawline, and to create a mood of melancholic shadow or joyful optimism. They are the masters of the frame who decide what is included and what is excluded. The cables, the assistants, and the catering table is the messy reality of the set always just outside the perfect, clean world of the final image.

Lastly, I learned that the true work happens before the camera even comes out of the bag. It happens in the mood boards, in the wardrobe fittings, and in the conversations about the “story” of the shoot. It is in these moments that the propaganda is conceived. The shoot itself is merely the execution.

To experience being inside this machine is to be permanently inoculated against its magic. I can no longer look at a beautiful image of a powerful person without deconstructing it, without seeing the lighting rigs just out of frame, without hearing the art director’s instructions, and without analyzing the strategic objective of the narrative being presented. This is not cynicism. It is a form of literacy, and it is the necessary skill for navigating a world where the most powerful forces are those that shape our perception without us ever realizing it.

Then and now, the portrait remains the ultimate tool of the empire. It is a silent, powerful, and relentless argument for its own existence. Whether it is rendered in oil on canvas or in pixels on a screen, its purpose never changed: to convince you that the power it depicts is not only real, but right.