Dynasties endure because they relinquish nothing. the Hiltons and Trumps pass on their fortunes; Bush and Kennedy progeny stand to inherit loyalists and a bank of unused favors. But clans like the Pissarros, Waughs, and Hofstadters perpetuate intangibles—artistic gifts and intellectual firepower. Unlike business scions or politicians, these families are known primarily for the art and ideas that they bequeath to one another—and to the outside world.
It's natural to want to untangle the effects of nature and nurture on these dynasties: Does each generation inherit an innate ability to emote, narrate, or calculate? Alternatively, to what degree are they beneficiaries of occupational privilege? People whose parents are prominent in a field, after all, are born on second base, with plenty of contacts and mentors at their disposal and a whole education at the dinner table. But both strands of inquiry come up short, because for all their allure, true talent dynasties are rare. For every prolific father there are 10 gifted children who run in the opposite direction. For all their differences, then, the families Pissarro, Waugh, Hofstadter, and Brown embody some common truths about talent germination.
In each home, a particular craft or outlook hung in the air like a thin mist for all to breathe. And because family members soaked in so much through osmosis, the plunge into their forebears' pursuits felt like a warm bath, not a cold shock. Time and again, the desire to make their parents happy or simply get their attention was negotiated alongside the equally strong drive to express individuality. "Both my brothers and I painted with my father and grandfather. Every little child wants to please his or her parents. I enjoyed the painting, or maybe the pleasing, more than my brothers, so I carried on," says Lelia Pissarro, great-granddaughter of painter Camille Pissarro.
Each of the four families is complicated but emotionally close. "What helps is the love that we share, the feeling of togetherness that we have in our family," says Gregory Brown, one of the "5 Browns," known for their musical feats. And an unspoken obligation to preserve the family's status is often paired with the seemingly contradictory belief that hard work—not natural talent—makes people shine. Alexander Waugh, of the great Waugh writing dynasty, insists he's not a natural writer. "I work very hard to write well," he avows.
Whether born into a fledgling talent dynasty or a centuries-old powerhouse, each new member confronts the same dilemmas: They have abundant opportunities to succeed but are judged harshly in light of their advantages. They are drawn to the family vocation but must also find a niche where they can be themselves. Douglas Hofstadter, whose father was a Nobel laureate in physics, says he hit "abstraction ceilings" in that field and ventured into a new area—cognitive science—instead. Across the board, theses families are cohesive and emotionally tied to each other, yet free to reinvent themselves in unexpected ways.
LELIA PISSARRO | A Midlife Epiphany
Lelia Pissarro learned how to paint when she was a toddler, on her grandfather's boat. A little blond girl at an easel on a French lake cues a perfect impressionist scene, fitting for a member of what's reputed to be the largest dynasty of painters in the history of Western art. Patriarch Camille Pissarro, Lelia's great-grandfather, born in 1830, was a founder of the French impressionist movement. He taught his five sons to paint; friends Cezanne, Monet, and Gauguin passed through the house regularly and also gave tips to the kids. "We are 19 artists across four generations," says Lelia's father, the Ireland-based painter Hughes-Claude Pissarro. "We call it the Pissarro Circus."
Entering the ring was mandatory. "At one time during my childhood, I wanted to become a vet," Hughes-Claude, now 71, says. "For my parents, that was ridiculous. It was a scandal. So I became an art teacher." When he was a young man, he wanted to escape references to his elders, and so just like his father and uncle did when they first started out, he sold his paintings under an assumed name. "But the public is so fascinated with the family tree that even if we wanted to forget, they wouldn't let us—our real names always came back."
Hughes-Claude accepted that he would never surpass his revolutionary grandfather, not least of all because he lived in a different era. Instead of joining the avant-garde, he carried out his grandfather's legacy by mastering impressionist and post-impressionist techniques. "It was perhaps easier for me because I was not directly in the shadow of a great man, the way my father was."
Lelia, 43, the youngest of the clan's acclaimed artists, sailed inevitably toward an art career. "I learned to draw when I was old enough to hold a pencil. The paints were always out and open," she says. "Both my brothers and I painted with my father and grandfather. Every little child wants to please his or her parents. I enjoyed the painting, or maybe the pleasing, more than my brothers, so I carried on."
When she was 4, she sold her first painting to renowned art dealer Wally Findlay, for five francs. At age 11, she had her first exhibition—thought it was under a pseudonym. Lelia wasn't aware of her family's fame, though, until she went to high school in Paris, where the teachers asked her whether she was one of the Pissarros. "I realized that our family was prized by the intellectual elites, and this made me even prouder than just being famous."
In her thirties, sales of her paintings picked up until she was regularly exhibiting her work in galleries and museums around the world, enjoying the fame that came with her name but truly living up to it. Then she decided to undergo daily psychoanalysis.
