If you walk into the Tate Britain today, you’ll eventually run into a guy who looks like he’s just about had it with your nonsense. He’s wearing a loose, red silk cap. He’s got this slight smirk, the kind of look someone gives you when they know a secret you don’t. This is William Hogarth. But honestly? He’s not even the star of his own masterpiece. That honor belongs to a dog named Trump.
Yes, Trump.
Long before the name became synonymous with skyscrapers and politics, it belonged to a scrappy, pugnacious Pug that basically redefined how we think about "man’s best friend" in the 18th century. In his 1745 self-portrait, The Painter and his Pug, Hogarth didn't just include his pet as a background detail. He put the dog front and center. It’s weird. It's bold. It’s also incredibly calculated.
Why Hogarth Chose a Pug Over a Posh Hound
Back in the 1700s, if you were a "serious" person getting your portrait painted, you usually chose a sleek greyhound or a regal spaniel. Those dogs screamed "I own land" or "I hunt for sport." They were status symbols. Hogarth hated that. He was a guy who thrived on being the underdog—pun intended. He was the son of a man who went to debtors' prison. He had a chip on his shoulder the size of London.
So, he got a Pug.
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Pugs were relatively new to England at the time, having come over from China via the Dutch. They were squat. They were wrinkly. They were loud. Basically, they were the perfect mascot for a man who made a career out of satirizing the "refined" upper classes. If you look at the painting, the Pug—Trump—is sitting there with the exact same expression as Hogarth. They have the same jowls. The same defiant gaze. It’s not just a cute pet photo; it’s a branding statement. Hogarth was telling the world, "I am a common dog. I’m tough, I’m stubborn, and I’m not going to play by your fancy rules."
The "Line of Beauty" and Dog Tails
Look closely at the bottom left of the painting. You’ll see a palette with a curvy line on it. Hogarth called this the "Line of Beauty." He wrote an entire book about it called The Analysis of Beauty. He argued that S-shaped curves were the secret to everything aesthetically pleasing in the world.
Now, look at Trump’s tail. Or his ears.
Hogarth was low-key obsessed with the idea that the organic, messy, curved shapes of nature—and his dog—were superior to the stiff, straight lines of classical architecture that everyone else was obsessed with. He used his Pug to prove a philosophical point. Beauty isn't a straight line; it’s a squiggle. It’s a wrinkled snout. It’s real life.
Trump: More Than Just a Model
Trump wasn't just a static figure in one painting. He was a constant presence in Hogarth’s life and studio. There’s a famous story—well, more of a documented reality—that Hogarth used to get into genuine arguments with people who insulted his dog. Trump was his shadow. In an era where dogs were often treated as disposable tools or mere ornaments, Hogarth treated Trump as an intellectual equal.
There's this amazing Louis-François Roubiliac sculpture of Trump made of terracotta. It’s incredibly detailed. You can see every fold of skin. Think about that for a second: a mid-18th-century artist commissioned a high-end sculpture of his dog. That’s "crazy dog person" energy that we usually associate with Instagram influencers today, not Enlightenment-era painters.
But it served a purpose. By elevating Trump, Hogarth was elevating the "English" character. He wanted to create an English school of art that didn't just copy the French or the Italians. He wanted something gritty. Something honest. Something... pug-like.
The Satirical Bite
Hogarth is most famous for his "modern moral subjects"—series like A Rake’s Progress or Marriage A-la-Mode. These were the 18th-century equivalent of a prestige TV drama mixed with a tabloid magazine. They were scandalous. They showed people drinking, cheating, and losing their minds.
Interestingly, dogs appear throughout these works as moral barometers. In The Twa Dogs, a later poem by Robert Burns, we see similar themes, but Hogarth did it visually first. In his prints, if the people are behaving badly, the dogs are often the ones looking at the viewer with a "can you believe this?" expression. Trump was the prototype for this. He was the silent observer of human folly.
The Legacy of the Painter and His Pug
So, why does this matter in 2026?
Because Hogarth was the first "brand" artist. He understood that to survive in a crowded market, you need a hook. His hook was his refusal to be a snob, and Trump was the face of that brand. When you search for William Hogarth today, the Pug is inseparable from the man.
He also paved the way for animal portraiture as a legitimate field. Before Hogarth, animals were mostly accessories. After Hogarth, artists like George Stubbs and Edwin Landseer began to treat animals as subjects with their own internal lives and personalities. It started with a grumpy little dog in a London studio.
What We Get Wrong About the Painting
A lot of people think the painting is just a straightforward portrait. It’s not. It’s actually a painting of a painting. If you look at the edges, Hogarth’s face is on a canvas that is propped up by books (Shakespeare, Milton, and Swift—the heavy hitters of English satire). Trump is sitting outside the inner canvas.
This is a meta-commentary on reality versus art. The dog is "real" and in our space, while the painter is just an image. It’s a humble-brag. It says, "My art is supported by the greats, but my reality is guarded by this dog."
It’s also worth noting that Hogarth actually painted over an earlier version of this self-portrait. X-rays show that he was originally wearing a more formal wig and coat. He literally scraped off his "posh" persona and replaced it with a casual cap and his Pug. He chose authenticity over status. That’s a move that still resonates.
Practical Insights for Art Lovers and Dog Owners
If you're looking to understand Hogarth better, or if you're just a fan of art history that doesn't feel like a dusty lecture, here are a few ways to engage with this legacy:
- Visit the Tate Britain: The original The Painter and his Pug is there. Stand in front of it and look at the textures. Hogarth was a master of "thick" painting (impasto), and you can see it in the dog's fur.
- Look for the "Line of Beauty" everywhere: Start looking at modern design through Hogarth’s eyes. Does a curve feel more "alive" than a straight line? Hogarth would say yes.
- Study the "Analysis of Beauty": If you can find a copy (or a digital scan), read Hogarth’s own words. He’s surprisingly funny and very salty about his rivals.
- Observe your own pets as subjects: Hogarth believed that animals reveal the true nature of their owners. It’s a fun, if slightly convicting, thought exercise.
- Don't dismiss satire: Hogarth showed that art doesn't have to be "pretty" to be profound. Sometimes a wrinkled dog tells a more important truth than a sunset.
Hogarth and Trump remind us that the best art isn't about perfection. It's about character. It's about being stubborn, staying true to your roots, and having a loyal friend by your side while you poke fun at the world. Hogarth died in 1764, but that little Pug still sits in the gallery, guarding his master's reputation and reminding us all to be a little more human—and a little more dog.
To truly appreciate Hogarth's work, compare his Pug to the dogs found in the works of his rival, Joshua Reynolds. While Reynolds painted dogs that looked like they belonged on an aristocratic estate, Hogarth’s Trump looks like he belongs in a pub. That distinction is the entire key to understanding 18th-century British art.
If you're ever in Chiswick, you can visit Hogarth’s House. It’s a museum now. You can walk through the rooms where Trump once ran around. There's even a small monument to a dog in the garden—though it's for a later pet, the spirit of the original Pug is everywhere. It’s a reminder that even the most famous artists are often just people who really, really love their dogs.