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DONALDSON, JOHN, an eminent
painter, was born at Edinburgh, in the year 1737. His father was a poor
but worthy glover in that city, remarkable for the peculiar cast of his
mind, which led him to discuss metaphysics as he cut out gloves on his
board. The son inherited the same peculiarity, but to an excess which
proved injurious to him. His father very prudently did not allow his
metaphysics to interfere with his trade; but young Donaldson, disregarding
all the ordinary means of forwarding his own particular interests, devoted
himself with disinterested philanthropy to the promotion of various
fanciful projects for ameliorating the condition of his fellow creatures.
The result was precisely what might have been anticipated; for although
Donaldson had endowments sufficient to raise him to distinction and
opulence, his talents were in effect thrown away, and he died in
indigence. While yet a child, he was constantly occupied in drawing with
chalk, on his father’s cutting-board, those objects around him which
attracted his attention. This natural propensity was encouraged by his
father, and such was his success, that the boy had hardly completed his
twelfth year, when he was enabled to contribute to his own support by
drawing miniatures in India-ink. At that time, too, his imitations with
the pen, of the works by Albert Durer, Aldegrave, and other ancient
engravers, were so exquisite as to excite the astonishment and admiration
of men of the most accomplished taste, and to deceive the eye of the most
experienced connoisseurs. After prosecuting his profession for several
years in Edinburgh, he removed to London, and for some time painted
likenesses in miniature, with great success. But at length, the mistaken
notions of philanthropy just alluded to, gained such an ascendancy over
his mind, as entirely to ruin his prospects. He conceived, that in morals,
religion, policy, and taste, mankind were radically wrong; and, neglecting
his profession, he employed himself in devising schemes for remedying this
universal error. These schemes were the constant subject of his
conversation; and, latterly, this infirmity gained so much upon him, that
he reckoned the time bestowed on his professional avocations as lost to
the world. He now held his former pursuits in utter contempt; and
maintained that Sir Joshua Reynolds must be a very dull fellow, to devote
his life to the study of lines and tints. He completely neglected his
business, and has been known to deny himself to lord North, because he was
not in the humour to paint. There was another unhappy peculiarity in his
character, which contributed in no inconsiderable degree to mar his
success. He was remarkable (until overwhelmed by adversity) for a
sarcastic and epigrammatic turn; the indiscreet indulgence in which, lost
him many friends. Even while persons of consideration were sitting to him,
he would get up and leave them, that he might finish an epigram, or jot
down a happy thought. It may well be supposed that, with every allowance
for the whims and eccentricities of men of genius, absurdities such as
these were not to be tolerated. Nor is it at all wonderful, that as an
artist, he retrograded; and ultimately, from want of practice, lost much
of that facility of execution, which had gained him celebrity in his early
years. To such a man the experience of the world teaches no lesson. He saw
with chagrin, the rise of greatly inferior artists; but failed to make
that reformation in himself, which would have enabled him to surpass most
of his contemporaries. At the same time, he was far from being idle, as
the mass of manuscript scraps which he left behind him, abundantly
testify. These manuscripts, however, were found in a state too unfinished
and confused, to admit of their coming before the public. His only
acknowledged publications were "An Essay on the Elements of
Beauty," and a volume of poems; and Mr Edwards, in his supplement
to Walpole’s anecdotes of painters, attributes to Donaldson, a pamphlet
published anonymously, entitled "Critical Observations and Remarks
upon the Public Buildings of London." Before he became disgusted
with his profession, he had painted his well known historical picture of The
Tent of Darius; which gained him the prize from the society of arts,
and was justly admired for its great beauty. About the same time he
executed two paintings in enamel, "The Death of Dido," and
"The Story of Hero and Leander," both of which obtained
prizes from the same society. These two paintings were so much admired,
that he was urged by his friends to do others in the same style; but no
persuasion could induce him to make the attempt. At that time many persons
of rank and title honoured him with their patronage. The earl of Buchan,
in particular, was very much his friend, and purchased the Tent of Darius,
and several other of his paintings, together with one or both of the
enamels. Donaldson’s likenesses, both in black-lead and in colours, were
striking; of which the head of Hume the historian, prefixed to Strachan
and Cadell’s edition of the History of England, was accounted a very
favourable specimen.
Among the various pursuits
of this eccentric individual, chemistry was one; in the prosecution of
which, he discovered a method of preserving meat and vegetables
uncorrupted, during the longest voyages. For this discovery he obtained a
patent; but his poverty and indolence, and his ignorance of the world,
prevented his turning it to any account. The last twenty years of his life
were spent in great misery. His eye-sight had failed; but even before that
misfortune, his business had left him; and he was frequently destitute of
the ordinary necessaries of life. His last illness was occasioned by his
having slept in a newly painted room, which brought on a total debility.
His friends then removed him to lodgings near Islington, where he received
every attention which his case required, until his death, which took place
on the 11th of October, 1801. He was buried in Islington church-yard.
Donaldson was a man of very rare endowments, and of great talents;
addicted to no vice; and remarkable for the most abstemious moderation.
The great and single error of his life, was his total neglect of his
profession, at a time when his talents and opportunities held out the
certainty of his attaining the very highest rank as an artist.
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