Class may seem immutable: a fixed position that we are born into. 'Know your place' or 'born to rule' are familiar phrases. More broadly, social class is an important part of art history which has tended to favour the rich and wealthy – think of the numerous portraits of monarchs and aristocrats. Yet class as an identity is often slippery and changeable – art history, in fact, shows us that changing your social class was possible, demonstrated through many pre-nineteenth-century works. Who managed to bridge the class divide and how?

William Williams (b.1723), Blacksmith, Aged 70

Then, as now, class identity was performative. Who better to explore that than the actor? Moll Davis (1640–c.1721) was a contemporary of the more famous Nell Gwyn (1650–1687), both actresses and mistresses of Charles II. Here Moll is lavishly depicted by Peter Lely (1618–1680), the guitar in her hands a symbol of her musical abilities.

Mrs Moll Davis (1640–c.1721), Actress and Mistress of Charles II

Moll, the presumed illegitimate child of Thomas Howard, 3rd Earl of Berkshire, suggests a model of social mobility via the stage. Her success as an actress and subsequent fame drew an independent income. It also gained her a royal lover who, in turn, transformed her social standing – despite the fact she was later dismissed by Charles (in favour of Nell, who similarly climbed the social ladder). Moll left the lower-class coffee houses and stage of Restoration London to live in St James's Square on a large pension. Her daughter with Charles, Mary, married well and gained the title of Countess.

Fast forward a century and the power of the acting profession to transform your social class and connections becomes ever more sophisticated. Margaret 'Peg' Woffington (c.1720–1760) was a star of the Georgian stage for nearly 30 years and is shown here in a stylish portrait by John Lewis (active 1736–1776) from 1753. Peg's movement from working-class obscurity to upper-class Georgian socialite is quite remarkable.

Born the daughter of a Bricklayer in Dublin, Peg became impoverished on the death of her father and so she sold watercress door-to-door to support her family. Apprenticed by a tightrope walker, she swiftly transitioned to stage acting, first in Dublin and then in London where she found fortune and increased social standing alongside other notable actors. Peg was well known for her comedic parts, as well as her Shakespearean roles – alongside her love affair with leading actor David Garrick (1717–1779).

Another example of an actor rising through the ranks is James Quin, who was glamorously depicted by William Hogarth (1697–1764) in around 1739.

Quin was born the illegitimate son of an Irish-born barrister and the grandson of the Lord Mayor of Dublin; denied a stake in his family's fortune and the associated social standing such wealth would bring, he instead made his name on the stage, becoming the highest paid actor of his generation. Mixing with both the aristocracy and fashionable society, his portrayal of Shakespeare's Richard III was widely celebrated (although his rival David Garrick's performance was considered better).

This sketch from 1760–1763 by Thomas Gainsborough (1727–1788) – one of the leading eighteenth-century artists – was for a larger portrait, now in the National Gallery of Ireland.

1760–1763, oil on canvas by Thomas Gainsborough (1727–1788)

To play an aristocrat is to become so… but perhaps only up to a point. If originating as working class, the actor arguably can never quite escape their roots: in becoming wealthy or moving up the social ladder, they will never be 'born into the club'. Yet actors uniquely defy historical conventions and overturn class hierarchies based on talent and transgression.

Let's widen the scope of our enquiry into the changeability of social class to include depictions of the elevated domestic servant. Here is a remarkably intimate portrayal of Jack Henshaw (b.1731/1732), Gamekeeper by John Walters (1721–1797) from around 1791, in the collection of Erddig. While portraits of domestic staff in the eighteenth century do feature in British art collections, the Erddig tradition of commissioning domestic service portraiture is both unusual and telling.

This work depicts a gamekeeper, standing full-length with a brace in his right hand. It's a stark reminder that people such as Jack were integral to upper-class life. Portraiture at this scale was usually the preserve of the rich and powerful, far beyond the means of working-class labourers. This work turns that relationship on its head, elevating the labourer to a higher social status – an aristocratic man, post-hunt – via the genre of portraiture. It's only the title that gives away Jack's lesser social standing.

Scenes of domestic intimacy are especially associated with Dutch Golden Age genre painting, such as Jacob Jordaens' (1593–1678) A Maidservant with a Basket of Fruit and Two Lovers (c.1630–1635). Yet the two lovers of the title are overshadowed by the central servant who is bathed in light. Looking directly at the viewer, she is the most visible part of the painting, even if her life is usually lived in the shadows.

A Maidservant with a Basket of Fruit and Two Lovers

Jack or the unknown maidservant, born into the lower classes, are here briefly transformed into visions of upper-class lives. Is this actual class advancement though? The risk of objectification and exploitation remains as our sitters are not active agents in their own portrayals. Consider another work from the Erddig collection, Jack Nicholas (b.1720), Kitchen Porter, Aged 71.

Jack Nicholas (b.1720), Kitchen Porter, Aged 71

He is depicted standing in a park, comparably small beside an outsized column – a nod to the work's stately setting – as he inhales snuff (tobacco). The painting notes that he was 'deficient in intellect, defective in form', a reminder that Jack was certainly not a member of the elite to which the painting might point, and that even in art he held very little power.

Movement between classes is not always one-way from poor to rich, or lower class to upper class. Faith-based artworks or morality tales sometimes detail lives that chart the transition from the aristocracy to the working class or impoverishment. The hauntingly beautiful medieval work Saint Francis of Assisi by Ugolino di Nerio (d.1339/1349) details a life that actively rejected class hierarchy.

Born into a wealthy merchant family in the late twelfth century, Francis lived a life of privilege and spent money extravagantly. Following time at war when he was held prisoner for a year, he later dedicated himself to a life of solitude, going on to found the Franciscan order which rejected both wealth and secular social privilege. He is shown here wearing the brown habit associated with the order. He turned his back on his wealthy beginnings and consciously sought a life of faith based on poverty.

'Losing' high-status class identity is a narrative perhaps most associated with works by Hogarth in which he explores Georgian morality. The romping narrative of A Rake's Progress charts Tom Rakewell destroying his fortune and social standing across a series of eight paintings made between 1732 and 1743. In plate seven, titled The Rake in Prison, we find our fictional character imprisoned in The Fleet, a debtors' prison in London.

A Rake's Progress: 7 – The Rake in Prison

By the eighteenth century, this real-life prison was essentially a money-making operation – prisoners bought both luxury goods and limited freedom according to what means they had left. This work shows that even behind bars, a class hierarchy pervades.

This brief examination of actors, servants, saints and rogues offers four examples in a much wider story we can tell about class mobility and the role art plays. Social class has always been porous – capable of change – either through royal love affairs, performing on stage or demonstrated by young aristocrats who squander their money. Art history may seem full of examples depicting rigid social class, but look closely and there's a different story to be found.

Jon Sleigh, freelance arts educator

This content was funded by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation