Art and the British Monarchy have always had a weird, tension-filled relationship. When the public thinks of a royal image, they usually want something grand, polished, and—let’s be real—a little bit safe. But the Catherine Princess of Wales portrait by Hannah Uzor for Tatler magazine changed that conversation overnight. It wasn't just a painting. Honestly, it was a cultural lightning rod that split the internet into two very angry camps. Some people saw a soulful, modern tribute to a woman facing an incredibly difficult year. Others? Well, they thought it looked nothing like her.
It’s complicated.
Portraying one of the most photographed women in history is basically a trap. If you paint her too realistically, it looks like a filtered Instagram photo. If you get too abstract, people claim you've insulted the future Queen. Uzor’s work, which graced the July 2024 cover of Tatler, was inspired by Catherine's appearance at the first state banquet of King Charles III’s reign. She wore that stunning white Jenny Packham gown and the Lover's Knot tiara. But instead of a crisp, photographic likeness, we got something impressionistic. Broad strokes. A focus on "soul" rather than the exact bridge of her nose.
Why the Catherine Princess of Wales portrait sparked a firestorm
The backlash was swift and, in some corners of social media, pretty brutal. Art critics and casual observers alike flocked to X (formerly Twitter) and Instagram to vent. Alastair Sooke, the chief art critic at The Daily Telegraph, didn't hold back. He called it "jaw-breakingly bad" and "egregiously, soul-destroyingly bad." That's a lot of adjectives for one piece of canvas. The main gripe wasn't just the style; it was the lack of what people called "likeness."
We live in an age of high-definition digital photography. We know every line on Catherine’s face. When an artist deviates from that reality, it feels like a glitch in the matrix for the general public. Uzor defended her work, explaining that she wanted to capture the Princess's dignity and spirit, especially following her cancer diagnosis announcement. She looked at thousands of photos to get a sense of Catherine's "vibe" because, naturally, the Princess didn't sit for a live posing session.
That’s a huge factor people forget. Most modern royal portraits aren't done with the subject sitting in a chair for six hours while an artist dabs at a palette. They are interpretations of existing media.
The weight of the 2024 context
You can't talk about the Catherine Princess of Wales portrait without talking about the year she had. 2024 was arguably the most challenging period of her public life. After a planned abdominal surgery in January, the world spiraled into a vortex of conspiracy theories. Where was she? Why was the Mother’s Day photo edited? It was a mess. Then came the video message in March, where she bravely shared her cancer diagnosis and her journey with preventative chemotherapy.
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This portrait arrived shortly after that.
Because of that timing, the stakes were sky-high. People felt protective. When the portrait didn't look "perfect," some felt it was another slight against a woman who had already been through enough. However, supporters of Uzor’s work argued the opposite. They felt the soft, ethereal quality of the painting captured a moment of vulnerability and quiet strength. It wasn't meant to be a passport photo. It was meant to be an emotion.
Comparisons to the Jonathan Yeo portrait
Ironically, Catherine wasn't the only one getting the "modern art" treatment. Around the same time, King Charles III unveiled his official portrait by Jonathan Yeo. You know the one—the giant red painting where he seems to be emerging from a sea of crimson. While that one also got its fair share of memes (some people compared it to Han Solo in carbonite or a poster for a horror movie), it was generally praised for its boldness.
The contrast between the two was jarring.
- Charles: Bold, aggressive, saturated, undeniably "him."
- Catherine: Soft, muted, controversial, barely "her."
This discrepancy highlights a recurring issue in how we view royal women versus royal men in art. We expect the men to be "artistic" and the women to be "beautiful." When an artist like Uzor prioritizes the art over the conventional "beauty" or literal likeness, it triggers a visceral reaction.
Is there such a thing as a "good" royal portrait anymore?
Think back to the first official Catherine Princess of Wales portrait by Paul Emsley in 2013. It was housed in the National Portrait Gallery. People hated that one too! Critics said it made her look older, washed out, and had "lifeless" eyes. It seems like the Princess of Wales is the impossible subject.
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Emsley’s style was hyper-realistic, almost like a soft-focus photograph from the 1970s. Uzor’s style was the exact opposite—expressionistic and flat. Both were panned. This suggests that the problem might not be the artists themselves, but our collective inability to see the Royals as anything other than the curated images we see on our phones.
Art is supposed to provoke. If a portrait of a royal family member just looks like a high-res JPG, what's the point of the medium? Uzor's work might not be "pretty" in the traditional sense, but it's certainly memorable. Years from now, we might look back at it as a reflection of a time when the monarchy was trying to bridge the gap between ancient tradition and a weird, digital-first reality.
The technical side: What Uzor was actually doing
Uzor used a specific color palette that felt very "spring." The blues and whites were meant to evoke a sense of calm. If you look closely at the brushwork, it’s not meant to be blended perfectly. It’s "painterly." This is a deliberate choice. In the world of fine art, "painterly" refers to a style where the brushstrokes are visible, emphasizing the process of creation over the finished, glossy product.
She focused on the stance. The way Catherine holds herself. That specific tilt of the head. Even if the facial features didn't hit the mark for everyone, the silhouette was unmistakably the Princess.
The public's obsession with "The Face"
Why are we so obsessed with the face being perfect?
Probably because we feel like we own it. The British public, and indeed the global audience, has a parasocial relationship with Catherine. We’ve seen her grow up, get married, and raise kids. When a portrait doesn't match the mental image we've filed away, it feels like a lie.
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But portraits have historically been about more than just a face. They are about power, status, and legacy. In the Tudor era, portraits were basically propaganda. They were photoshopped with paint. If Henry VIII looked a bit more athletic in a painting than he did in real life, that was the point. In the 21st century, the propaganda is the photography. The art, strangely, has become the only place where a royal can be seen through a human, subjective lens.
Not all feedback was negative
While the British press was largely unkind, some art historians found the piece refreshing. They appreciated that it wasn't another "chocolate box" portrait. It didn't try to sell a fairy tale. It was just a painting of a woman in a dress, standing tall amidst a sea of blue.
If you visit the National Portrait Gallery or browse the royal archives, you'll see a history of "failed" portraits that are now considered masterpieces. Lucien Freud’s portrait of Queen Elizabeth II was famously loathed when it was released. People said it made her look like a "Cabbage Patch Doll" or one of her corgis. Now? It’s considered one of the most honest and profound depictions of her ever made.
Time changes everything in art.
How to view these portraits moving forward
If you’re looking at a Catherine Princess of Wales portrait and feeling frustrated that it doesn’t look like her, try shifting your perspective. Don't look for the person. Look for the mood.
- Look at the colors: What do they tell you about the setting or the tone of the piece?
- Notice the brushstrokes: Is the artist rushing? Are they being delicate?
- Think about the context: What was happening in the subject's life when this was made?
- Ignore the "likeness" rule: Imagine you don't know who the person is. Is it still a compelling painting?
Actionable insights for art enthusiasts and royal watchers
If you want to dive deeper into the world of royal iconography or form your own educated opinion on the latest portraits, here are a few things you can actually do:
- Visit the National Portrait Gallery (London): If you're in the UK, go see the evolution of royal portraiture in person. Compare the 2013 Emsley portrait of Catherine with the historical paintings of Queen Victoria or Elizabeth I. The difference in intent is staggering.
- Study the Artists: Don't just look at the painting; look at the artist's previous work. Hannah Uzor’s style is consistent across her portfolio. She didn't "mess up" Catherine's face; she painted Catherine in her style. Understanding an artist's "language" makes their work much more accessible.
- Read the "Why": Most major portrait commissions come with an artist's statement. Seek those out. Knowing that Uzor was trying to capture "resilience" changes how you view the stoic expression on the canvas.
- Wait for the "Official" one: Remember that the Tatler cover was a magazine commission, not an official royal family commission. There is a difference in weight and expectation. The official portrait for the National Portrait Gallery is usually the one that defines a royal's image for posterity.
The drama surrounding the Catherine Princess of Wales portrait isn't really about paint on a canvas. It's about our expectations of the monarchy in a digital age. We want them to be perfect, we want them to be relatable, and we want them to be familiar. When art challenges that familiarity, it forces us to realize that we don't actually know these people at all—we only know their images. And images, as Hannah Uzor reminded us, are always subject to interpretation.