An opinion piece by Lara & Bizzy Arnott of Arnott & Arnott Photography
This month an oil-on-canvas portrait was unveiled in Washington DC in homage to the late primatologist Dr Jane Goodall.
The painting, by the Australian artist Ralph Heimans, depicts Goodall, who died at the age of 91 last year, under a mango tree on her last visit to Tanzania. By her side is, of course, a chimpanzee.
Several years prior, Arnott & Arnott Photography had the privilege of photographing Goodall receiving the Templeton prize at the Natural History Museum in London.
The likes of the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu have won this prestigious award, but that year it was Goodall‘s six decades of pioneering ethological research that were recognised.
Both the painting and our photograph offer a lasting tribute to Goodall’s extraordinary life, reflecting how she devoted herself to deepening our understanding of humanity’s place in the natural world.
However, they also illustrate the enduring value of the considered portrait in this age of almost infinite imagery.
Content is created, shared and forgotten in seconds, while artificial intelligence can generate convincing images of people and events that never existed.
The considered portrait, however, takes on particular significance: it is not simply a record of how someone looked, but a deliberate representation of who they were and, ultimately, how they will be remembered.
It seems poignant, for example, to look back on our portrait of Queen Elizabeth II in the gardens of Buckingham Palace shortly after she unveiled a plaque marking the opening of the Commonwealth Walkway in London. Created to celebrate the Commonwealth’s shared history and the connections between its member nations, the walkway was a fitting reflection of the relationships the Queen spent her reign nurturing.
But it is the setting of the photograph that lends it another layer of meaning. The gardens, bathed in spring sunlight, offer a glimpse of the Queen in a more personal setting: a woman with a genuine appreciation of the natural world. As patron of the Royal Horticultural Society for 70 years, she maintained a lifelong interest in gardens, plants and trees. There is something fitting about remembering her in this setting, surrounded by the very things that brought her pleasure throughout her life.
This is where the photographer’s judgment matters: knowing where to photograph someone, what to capture and which moment best expresses their character. Long after the details of an official engagement have faded, the considered portrait preserves something more intimate: a glimpse of what someone valued and who they were beyond their public role. Our image captures not just a monarch opening a walkway, but a woman whose connection to nature formed an enduring part of her legacy.
Given horses and racing were other passions of the late Queen, it feels natural to remember Dame Jilly Cooper, whose own affection for the sport became an integral part of both her life and her writing.
We photographed Dame Jilly, who died aged 88 last year, at the Hennessy Gold Cup, an appropriate setting for a woman whose love of horses and racing was woven into her work. Her novels brought the equestrian world to life for generations of readers, capturing its characters, eccentricities and social intricacies with characteristic wit.
There is a particular luxury in photographing someone in an environment that means something to them. The setting provides context, but it also reveals part of their character that a more formal portrait might not. In Cooper‘s case, the racecourse was more than the location of an event; it was part of the world that helped shape her imagination. Her fits of laughter and the sight of her holding court with fellow race-goers embodied the wit and exuberance that made her “the queen of the bonkbuster” novel.
Each portrait of these three extraordinary women tells a different story. Goodall‘s connects her to the work that defined her life; the Queen’s captures her in a setting that reflects a personal passion; and Cooper‘s places her within a world that informed her literary imagination. In each case, the setting and circumstances offer a glimpse of something beyond the face itself, revealing the passions, values and contributions that form a person’s legacy.
Ultimately, a lasting portrait is about more than preserving a face. It is about recognising what makes someone distinctive and finding a way to express it in a single image. In an age when photographs are limitless, the real luxury is not simply having one’s picture taken, but having a portrait that captures something true about the life behind it, and gives future generations a way to remember it.
