It’s been over a decade. Since 2013, the art world on television has changed, but looking back at Portrait Artist of the Year Season 1, you can tell they were onto something special right from the jump. It wasn’t just another reality competition. There were no sob stories about dead pets or manufactured drama between contestants in a shared house. Instead, we got the quiet, scratching sound of charcoal on paper and the intense, sweaty-palm stress of painting a famous face in just four hours. Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle it worked.
Frank Skinner and Joan Bakewell made for an odd couple on paper. You had a comedian known for football songs and a legendary broadcaster with a CV that would make anyone feel undereducated. Yet, their chemistry anchored the show. They weren't just hosts; they were the audience's proxy, asking the "dumb" questions we all wanted to ask while the professionals—Tai-Shan Schierenberg, Kathleen Soriano, and Kate Bryan—dissected the anatomy of a chin.
The Raw Energy of the First Heats
Everything felt a bit more experimental back then. The show toured across the UK and Ireland, hitting spots like London, Glasgow, Dublin, and Cardiff. You could feel the regional pride. In the very first heat at the National Portrait Gallery, the air was thick. Not just because of the oil paint fumes, but because nobody knew if this format would actually fly.
The artists were a mix. You had seasoned professionals who had been painting for forty years rubbing shoulders with hobbyists who usually worked on their kitchen tables. That’s the magic of the show, isn't it? The democratization of art. You might see a masterpiece emerge from a guy who usually paints pets, while the person with the MFA struggles to capture the likeness of a celebrity.
Speaking of celebrities, the siters in Portrait Artist of the Year Season 1 were a high-caliber bunch. We're talking Robert Lindsay, Juliet Stevenson, and even the likes of Sophie Dahl. Imagine the pressure. You have four hours to look at someone famous, someone whose face is etched into the public consciousness, and try not to make them look like a potato. Some succeeded. Others... well, they produced "interpretative" works.
Why the Judges Mattered
Tai, Kathleen, and Kate. The trio that launched a thousand sighs of relief or groans of frustration from viewers at home. In those early episodes, they were establishing the "Sky Arts look." They weren't looking for a photograph. If they wanted a photo, they’d hire a photographer. They wanted "painterliness." They wanted to see the hand of the artist.
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Kathleen Soriano, with her deep institutional knowledge from the Royal Academy, brought a rigour that kept the show grounded. Kate Bryan offered a more contemporary, market-focused perspective. And Tai? Tai provided the artist's soul. He knew exactly how hard it was to make a mark and then regret it three seconds later. Their debates in the first season set the template for everything that followed. They were looking for someone who could handle a major commission, someone who wouldn't crumble when faced with a National Trust wall.
Nick Lord: A Worthy Winner
When Nick Lord won, it felt right. He was young—only 25 at the time—and he had this incredibly bold, almost aggressive way of handling paint. He used spray paint and traditional oils, mixing street art sensibilities with classical portraiture. It was a statement. The judges weren't just looking for the next Sargent; they were looking for a 21st-century voice.
His final commission was a portrait of Hilary Mantel. Talk about a high-stakes gig. Mantel, the double Booker Prize winner, isn't exactly a wallflower. The documentary following Nick as he prepared for this was arguably the highlight of the season. It showed the grind. The sketches, the failed starts, the moment where he realized that capturing the essence of the woman who wrote Wolf Hall required more than just a good likeness. He had to capture her mind.
The finished piece now sits in the British Library. That’s the real prize. Not just the £10,000 commission, but the permanence. For a young artist in the first season of a new show, that's life-changing.
What People Often Get Wrong About the Format
A lot of people think the "four-hour limit" is a gimmick. It’s not. It’s a pressure cooker designed to stop artists from overthinking. In Portrait Artist of the Year Season 1, you saw people hit "the wall" around hour three. Their eyes would glaze over. They’d start "faffing" (a technical term frequently used by Frank Skinner).
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- Likeness vs. Art: A common misconception is that the best "likeness" wins. Frequently, the judges pass over a perfect copy of a face for something that feels more "alive" but might have a slightly wonky nose.
- The Mystery of the Self-Portrait: Your entry piece is everything. It’s the only time you have unlimited hours. If your self-portrait is a lie—meaning you can't replicate that quality in four hours—the judges will smell it a mile away.
- The Celebrity Factor: The sitters aren't just there for glamour. Their personality dictates the mood of the heat. A quiet sitter like Michael Rosen results in a very different gallery of work than a high-energy personality.
The show proved that watching paint dry is actually fascinating. If you provide the right context. If you explain the "why" behind the brushstroke.
The Lasting Legacy of the Debut
It’s easy to forget how quiet the art world felt on TV before this. Sure, we had documentaries, but we didn't have process. Portrait Artist of the Year Season 1 gave us the process. It showed us that art is work. It’s messy, it’s frustrating, and sometimes, it just doesn’t work out.
Looking back, the first season had a certain grit. The locations felt a bit more cramped, the lighting was sometimes a nightmare for the artists, and everyone was figuring it out on the fly. But that's where the charm was. It felt authentic. It didn't feel like a "product" yet. It felt like a group of people who genuinely loved art trying to see if they could make a competition out of it without losing the soul of the craft.
If you’re a fan of the later seasons, going back to the 2013 run is a trip. You see the origins of the tropes. You see a younger Tai-Shan Schierenberg being a bit more hesitant to crush dreams. You see the raw talent of Nick Lord before he became a household name in the UK art scene.
How to Apply the Lessons from Season 1
If you're an aspiring artist watching these old episodes, there are a few takeaways that still hold up today. First, don't be afraid of big brushes. The artists who struggled most in Season 1 were often the ones who got bogged down in tiny details with a 00-size brush in the first hour.
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Second, the background matters. One of the most common critiques from the judges in the early days was that artists left the background as an afterthought. It's a portrait, sure, but it's also a composition. Treat the space around the head with as much respect as the eyes.
Finally, capture the spirit. Likeness is a baseline requirement, but the "spirit" is what wins the £10,000. Nick Lord didn't win because he drew a perfect nose; he won because his work had an energy that made the judges stop in their tracks.
To really understand the evolution of the show, track down the Nick Lord / Hilary Mantel commission film. It’s the perfect companion to the season. It strips away the competition format and focuses entirely on the relationship between the artist and the subject. It’s a masterclass in observation and empathy.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts:
- Watch the Hilary Mantel Commission: Search for the specific documentary episode that followed the finale. It provides the necessary closure to the season's arc.
- Analyze the Self-Portraits: Go back and look at the entry works of the finalists. Compare their "unlimited time" style to what they produced in the four-hour heats to see how they adapted their technique under pressure.
- Check the British Library: If you're in London, go see Nick Lord's portrait of Mantel in person. Digital screens don't do justice to the texture and the scale of the work that secured the first-ever win.