Small Names, Vol. 1 (Daniel G. Lamont, Margaret B. Doyle, Otis Hovey)

In which a few intriguing social media discoveries are a good excuse to write about long-forgotten favorites.

(Daniel G. Lamont) / (Margaret B. Doyle) / (Otis Hovey)

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DANIEL G. LAMONT (1817-1883)

My initial foray into the Facebook antiques world was marked by the emergence of this curious and unique pair of portraits (Fig. 1). Shared to the “Early American” Facebook group on August 7, 2025 by an individual seeking more information about her mother’s collection, the style immediately struck me as familiar. I re-posted them as an open question, then quickly edited it once the answer occurred to me: Daniel G. Lamont. The more I looked at the portraits, the more I was convinced. They have a striking likeness to the portraits of Abby Weare Stone and Charles James Fox Stone (Fig. 2), a signed 1851 pair. 

(Fig. 1-2. Credit: above, Lindsay Jarrett & her mother Vikki Franks; below, Schorsch & Smiles American Antiques)

The inscrutable and wily Daniel G. Lamont was a Scottish-American itinerant painter, born in Glasgow, who worked throughout New England. He later pursued a career as a doctor once portrait painting was no longer viable. In America, he advertised as a member of the Royal Academy, but probably took some fictitious license with that. (As Barbara Gordon's "Shared Legacy" catalogue tactfully wrote in 2014, “...his name does not appear on the list of academicians.”) Fortunately, the debatable truth of his credentials did not diminish the skill and appeal of his art. Lamont’s portraits of Josiah and Emily Lamb, from 1852 (Fig. 3), are impressively faithful to their earlier daguerreotypes, from 1845-49 (Fig. 4). One can hardly hold him accountable for false advertising. They really did look like that. 

(Fig. 3-4. Credit: “A Shared Legacy: Folk Art in America” by Barbara Gordon, 2014, p. 110-111, 113)

As resemblance goes, the portraits of the Stones are second only to this unidentified couple (Fig. 5) in their likeness to the Facebook pair. That swooping pink curtain is a Lamont trademark, and his palette is distinctive at a glance, leaving no question about the attribution. It’s not hard to pick up the same flat-style elements that once led Lamont to be misclassified as the “Fall River School,” an old-time name for the Prior-Hamblin group. But Lamont’s style was an invention all his own.

(Fig. 5. Credit: Garth’s Auctioneers, Inc. 2008)

There’s nothing quite like the thrill of the portrait hunt, but I feel sharing knowledge is the greatest joy of all. The Facebook user, searching for knowledge about her mother’s art collection, was delighted with the identification. And onward I went. 

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MARGARET B. DOYLE (1786?-1856)

American folk pastels are fraught with identification trouble, including the entire mix-up of the Dean Limner (alternatively mislabeled as William M.S. Doyle and/or Deacon Robert Peckham). William Doyle’s own daughter, Margaret Byron Doyle, was not exempt from this confusion. One of her long-lost pastels, “That’s My Doll” (Fig. 6) is in the collection of Fenimore Art Museum, which I had the pleasure of recently visiting. So, when I spotted it again on Fenimore’s Facebook page, I was obliged to elaborate:

"That's My Doll" is likely by the overlooked pastelist Margaret Doyle, daughter of museum proprietor and miniaturist William M.S. Doyle. While her works have been often misattributed to William, there are multiple signed pieces that bear Margaret's own name, including a pastel sketch of a child in the collection of Old Sturbridge Village.

A simple, soft, and gentle piece, it is unmistakably Margaret Doyle’s hand, which is even more apparent in person. “That’s My Doll” is her only known double portrait, lending it greater importance in a field that already suffers from a scarcity of female artists. Margaret’s talents were multi-faceted; she assisted her father with silhouettes at his museum and exhibited at the Boston Athenaeum (1828-29). She married a fellow professional, the engraver John Chorley, and “painted many excellent portraits in Boston between 1820 and 1830.” Margaret’s letters and journals have survived as the “Chorley Family Papers” in the collection of the Boston Public Library, and paint a picture of a sensitive and thoughtful soul, self-conscious and deeply concerned with spiritual matters. It is no surprise that her portraits of children are equally tender and soft. 

(Fig. 6. Credit: Fenimore Art Museum)

Another signed piece is in the Old Sturbridge Village collection, dated slightly later: "Painted by Margaret M. Doyle, May 7th, 1818.” (Another source cites it as 1813, and names the child as Henry Kendall.) Perhaps a rough draft or a loose sketch, it provides an invaluable comparison point for Margaret’s work at its simplest. But that small-format, unpolished piece is an outlier. A large majority of Margaret’s child portraits are elaborate full-length compositions. On stylistic and common-sense grounds, we can safely propose that the wonderful “B. Doyle” (Fig. 7) at the National Gallery of Art (NGA) is actually the work of Margaret B. Doyle.

(Fig. 7. Credit: National Gallery of Art)

Of equal importance is this piece, Abby Ann Duchesne (Fig. 8). She is signed “Margaret B. Doyle 1814,” as per the Kerns’ article on William M.S. Doyle. While that 1988 scholarship has not entirely held up in regards to William, nor many other elements, the Kerns did well in acknowledging Margaret’s presence. It certainly has provided us with a priceless reference point for recognizing and understanding her pastel portraits of children, which are meaningfully distinct from her father’s body of work. 

(Fig. 8. Credit: Brunk Auctions 2023)

Another likely Margaret Doyle (Fig. 9), which has gone largely unnoticed, appears in a 2014 Nathan Liverant and Son Antiques video on YouTube, explained by expert Kevin J. Tulimieri. While the piece is attributed rather than signed, the pose and composition is strongly consistent for Margaret’s work: the child’s characterization is both wholesomely angelic and realistically mischievous. These same themes are reflected in three other probable Margaret Doyle pastels, signed simply “Doyle”: Child in Bamboo Chair, 1825 (Fig. 10); Portrait of a Child in a White Dress, c. 1825 (Fig. 11); and Girl of the May Family, 1806 (Fig. 12), painted at the start of her career. Note that Margaret’s date of birth is cited as 1800 from her death certificate, but is certainly earlier, perhaps 1786, as stated by the Chorley Family Papers card catalog. She is cited as having professionally painted a fine miniature in 1810 - surely not at the ripe age of ten!

(Fig. 9-12. Credit: top left, Nathan Liverant and Son, LLC; top right, Sotheby’s 2010; bottom left, Sotheby’s 2007; bottom right, Bonham Skinner 2018)

Even taking into account the difference between Margaret’s later works (lower left) and possibly her earliest known pastel (lower right), her style and sensibilities remain consistent. The best comparison point of all for “That’s My Doll” is still that singular [Margaret] “B. Doyle” from the NGA, available in hi-res quality. A close analysis of the children’s faces and the surface of the pigment leaves little doubt at all: this is the same hand.

(Close-ups of Fig. 7 and Fig. 6)

Best of all, I am not the only one to spot Margaret Doyle as the possible artist of “That’s My Doll.” Back in 1987, “Folk Art's Many Faces,” the publication for Fenimore by Paul D’Ambrosio and Charlotte M. Emans, proposed a connection to “a stylistically similar pastel portrait of Abby Ann Duchesne, signed by Margaret Byron Doyle and dated 1814.” However, the catalog sadly notes, “no body of work by Doyle is yet available for comparative study.” I am glad that’s no longer true. Now, at long last, we can give credit where it is due. 

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OTIS HOVEY (1783/88-1840)

Quite recently, I stumbled onto the account of a fellow collector, @americanfolkartnow. I’d briefly glimpsed an interesting signature in one of the Instagram stories, and I couldn’t help but inquire. One discussion of portraits led to another, and the collector shared a painting that he had been struggling to identify for some time: this good-looking gentleman (Fig. 13), which I immediately suspected as the work of Otis Hovey!

(Fig. 13. Credit: @americanfolkartnow & South Bay Auctions 2023)

An underrated and overlooked portrait painter from upstate New York, Otis Hovey’s work is distinguished by his telltale wispy locks, pursed lips, and pointy noses. Examples abound, but are rarely recognized. My American Folk Portraits Wiki has a mere few signed examples - formerly two, now three. The wife (Fig. 15) of Mr. William Runyon (Fig. 14), a signed 1805 piece, finally turned up in color, having been mistaken for a Zedekiah Belknap at auction!

(Fig. 14-15. Credit: Pook & Pook 2019, Christie’s 2015)

Then, there’s this remarkably similar man (Fig. 16), somehow mistaken for the work of Nathan Negus. And here’s the portrait of Hovey’s own mother, Lydia Haven Hovey (Fig. 17) - whose portrait sale listing doesn’t even mention her artist son. 

(Fig. 16-17. Credit: Sotheby’s 2023; Skinner 2004)

Lydia Hovey is confirmed as Otis’s mother via this genealogy page, noting him as one of seven children, second from the youngest: “OTIS, a portrait painter, of New York, who probably died unmarried.” Information is painfully scarce. A newspaper article from 1814, unearthed by Montaine Antiques, cites his year of birth as 1783. Alternatively, this brief biography states 1788, and gives a death of 1840 but little else. However, the Skinner portrait listing from 2004 tells us all about Hovey's parents’ life and times: 

Note: Lydia Haven Hovey was born June 8, 1755 or 1756, in Sutton, Massachusetts, and was the daughter of Deacon John Haven. She married Benjamin Hovey, a soldier of the Revolution, on October 24, 1775. Later with his family, they settled in New York State and he assisted as lieutenant in quelling the rebellion in Shays' insurrection. He was an intimate friend of George Clinton, the first Governor of New York, and as a member of the Legislature, was involved in the formation of Chenango County where he was a judge. He was also a member of the board of trustees at Oxford Academy. He was court martialed for disobedience of orders while serving as a Colonel of Militia, but Governor Clinton felt it was prejudiced, and later appointed him Brigadier General.

In comparison to the tumultuous misadventures of Otis’s military father, itinerant portrait painting was probably a less taxing career. However, the 1814 newspaper chronicles the rise and fall of the poor young prodigy. The old-time font makes it challenging to read, but the gist of the story is clear: he showed talent at a young age, was sent to Europe for training, and had “flipped the bowl of pleasure,” whatever that means. Back home he went, consigned to a life of obscurity. As the story concludes, “…it is too much feared that Hovey is doomed to add another name to the list of unfortunate genius and neglected merit.” Say it isn’t so! Well, that was mostly true, until now. 

(Credit: Montaine Antiques)

Luckily, the story isn’t over. Hovey portraits of all sorts pop up frequently in museum collections and auctions, including this gentleman at Fenimore, Elisha Cleaveland Litchfield (Fig. 18), and a rare child example, Hiram Ervin (Fig. 19) at the Detroit Institute of Arts, which I greatly enjoyed discussing with my fellow folk art scholars, Suzanne and Michael Payne, upon a visit last year. (Opinions vary on how to pronounce “Hovey.”) Time will tell whether more of these portraits are waiting around the corner. But they always seem to be.

(Fig. 18-19. Credit: Fenimore Art Museum; Detroit Institute of Art)