171 15 4134 https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/01bd80b9012af064b5aa98420c86316a.pdf ffc7c70ae3f81c83dfa37e515554afa2 PDF Text Text ������������� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1997 January 12 Louisa Matthiasdottir Paintings 1930's - 1990's Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Louisa Matthias dottir Steven Harvey Steven Harvey Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1997 January 12 - February 23 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource Over the last fifty years, Lousia Matthiasdottir has developed an original and eloquent voice as painter. Perhaps because she works in the traditional genres of landscape, still life and figure painting, and possibly because of her own reticence, it has been too easy to overlook the importance of her contribution. Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition program Subject The topic of the resource painting paintings Louisa Matthiasdottir Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Salander-O'Reilly Galleries Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Louisa Matthiasdottir, Steven Harvey and Kendall Campus Art Gallery https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/e7317731d31f6c7a9b749924c169cd55.pdf 243723e257cfce74d62a895b5d611373 PDF Text Text ��������������������������������������������������� https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/0d67d47ee56ebf19ace79c65035a6729.pdf 2812d5918f2dcb3b6168a5e26b8f24f6 PDF Text Text ais m I ROBERT L. SCHULTZ Drawings 1980-1995 2gg M 1 litf I 3 = ;' j jrVf-~~- 7~T~~X • _ J 7__ _ —- I A ■ . wr TO \ t '■/ m' Fl a xffe».x mi ■ -7 XT L__ _ ___ \ LT'; //'J ■ ' _ \ ^-O ■nA^ 7i7C -.1 ■ : X MB . j 4 I ■ - -f i ;.. SORD GA N7570 G7 1996 xL Ti* f _ .4 •:_v l\y V ' iW >'■ XI v<’ ': V \\ -'z ■ ■ V' . .. 3 �ROBERT L. SCHULTZ Drawings 1980-1995 ��ROBERT L. SCHULTZ Drawings 1980-1995 Stanley I Grand E.S. FARLEY LIBRARY WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA SORDONI ART GALLERY Wilkes University Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania March 17 through April 21, 1996 �ARCHIVES Affc.-WVE'S PATRONS George and Nia Choles J. Laurence Everard Irving and Robert Goodman Judd Hammack Marti Koplin Dirk Lohan William L. Schultz Dr. Willard E. White Mary Alice Wimmer ACKNOW G , / 77 EXHIBITION UNDERWRITERS Franklin First Savings Bank Maslow Lumia Bartorillo Advertising Nabisco, Inc. G. R. Noto Electrical Construction PNC Bank, N.A. Andrew J. Sordoni, III SPONSORS The Business Council CBI-Creative Business Interiors Friedman Electric Supply Co., Inc. Friends of the Sordoni Art Gallery Mr. and Mrs. David C. Hall Marquis Art and Frame Panzitta Enterprises, Inc. Pennsylvania Council on the Arts with funds from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Pennsylvania Millers Mutual Insurance Co. Rosenn, Jenkins and Greenwald, L.L.P. Trion Industries Inc. Wilkes University Text © 1996 Sordoni Art Gallery Art and photographs © 1996 Robert L. Schultz 1500 copies were printed by Llewellan and McKane Designed by John Beck Photographs by Pam Bentzien, Dale Johnson, and Lynn Levy Set in Adobe’s edition of Stempel Garamond, Linotype-Hell ■ HIS CATALOGUE resl in Robert L. Schult JL the exhibition, I coi supporters and collectors fi ing the catalogue. George a Everard, Irving and Robert Marti Koplin, Dirk Lohan, E. White and Mary Alice V help. To further the project limited-edition lithograph, for making the print—whit Chicago—but I am indebte purchased it, sight unseen, reality. The response was s< of 100 was mostly gone bef drawing on the stone. Equr was never really “offered”mouth. Clearly, Bob’s worl The Sordoni Art Galler Business Council who have exhibition programming. In patronage for the arts, we v mission without the help ol We thank all the owner their willingness to share tf would have been impossibl M. Stephen Dohery, edi graciously allowed me to re Robert L. Schultz that had ; Nancy L. Krueger hand to this exhibition. John Bee Finally, Bob and Denise tion their total support. I ar them. �ACKNOWLEDGMENTS i i the y i HIS catalogue results from an outpouring of faith in Robert L. Schultz. During the planning stages of the exhibition, I contacted a number of his longtime supporters and collectors for help with the costs of publish­ ing the catalogue. George and Nia Choles, J. Laurence Everard, Irving and Robert Goodman, Judd Hammack, Marti Koplin, Dirk Lohan, William L. Schultz, Dr. Willard E. White and Mary Alice Wimmer generously agreed to help. To further the project, Bob consented to create a limited-edition lithograph. Not only am I grateful to Bob for making the print—which was printed by Landfall Press, Chicago—but I am indebted as well to all the people who purchased it, sight unseen, in order to make this catalogue a reality. The response was so overwhelming that the edition of 100 was mostly gone before Bob had even completed drawing on the stone. Equally remarkable is that the print was never really “offered”—it sold primarily by word of mouth. Clearly, Bob’s work has touched many people. The Sordoni Art Gallery thanks the members of The Business Council who have provided additional support for exhibition programming. In an era of diminished government patronage for the arts, we would be unable to fulfill our mission without the help of these enlightened businesses. We thank all the owners for lending works. Without their willingness to share their drawings, this exhibition would have been impossible. M. Stephen Dohery, editor of American Artist, has graciously allowed me to reprint excerpts from my article on Robert L. Schultz that had appeared in that publication. Nancy L. Krueger handled the many details pertaining to this exhibition. John Beck designed the catalogue. Finally, Bob and Denise Schultz have given this exhibi­ tion their total support. I am privileged to have worked with them. —SIG 36-1'341^2 �ROBERT L. SC Drawings ido 19 Stanley I Grand LENDERS TO THE EXHIBITION The Arkansas Ans Center Foundation, Little Rock, Arkansas 11 Chuck Bauer, Madison, Wisconsin Chuck Beckwith, Madison, Wisconsin Michael Bedner, Santa Monica, California John A. Bonavita, Swarthmore, Pennsylvania Jalane and Richard Davidson, Chicago Mr. and Mrs. James T. Dyke, Little Rock, Arkansas Reginald Emshoff, Madison, Wisconsin J. Laurence Everard, Cross Plains, Wisconsin Kathleen and Irwin Garfield, Malibu, California Dr. Fred Gilbert, New York City Harold S. Goldman, Swarthmore, Pennsylvania Jon and Nancy Grand, Evanston, Illinois Stanley I Grand, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania Bonnie and Jay Griffin, Madison, Wisconsin Stuart Handler Family Collection, Evanston, Illinois Duane Hendrickson, Madison, Wisconsin Michael Kelly, Madison, Wisconsin Koplin Gallery, Los Angeles Dirk Lohan, Chicago Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin Kevin McGee, Portland, Oregon Mary and Stephen Mizroch, San Rafael, California John Modell, San Francisco Gary Moe, Portland, Oregon Kenneth Mohr, Madison, Wisconsin Thomas J. Pfister, Madison, Wisconsin Ellen and Irwin Rennert, Los Angeles Dr. Eugene H. Rogolsky, Los Angeles Mr. and Mrs. Howard A. Tullman, Chicago Hal Turton, Madison, Wisconsin Wilham and Joyce Wartmann, Edgerton, Wisconsin Dr. Willard E. White, Riverside, Illinois James and Mary Alice Wimmer, Madison, Wisconsin James A. Witalison, Madison, Wisconsin Two Private Collections T n a remarkable series of drawings sp I years, Robert L. Schultz has closely st JL Schultz has focused on the human for women equally well and sensitively—beca express feelings, create moods, and convey forty-one drawings in this exhibition tract evolution from graduate student to matun tions, his understandings, and—-concurren changed over the years, his quest has rema interview, Schultz observed: “Back then [1 hearing my professors’ voices in my head, be grand: men and women, alienation, Ion are still there, but in a more common way In retrospect we can see the changes.' pale, ethereal images with a ghostly insub: appear like visions, emerging from a shrot specificity of place, horizon, and backgroi cast no shadows. Paradoxically, despite th bodies, they seem disembodied. Subsequently, the drav/ings become int and enigmatic. Although narrative assums remains ambiguous and incomplete. Psycl physical conflict often permeate these wo of expanding and contracting muscles syn often contradictory nature of the psyche. and Friends the psychological forces beco less arresting as if the conflicting impulse; equilibrium. The overt sexual tension in L profound sense of loneliness or loss. Drar Except in a few instances, such as Woman introspective and uncommunicative. Sadr whelming aura of tragedy supplant ranco: i. Quoted in James Rhem, “Pencil Pusher,” Isthrr. �ROBERT L. SCHULTZ Drawings 1980-1995 Stanley I Grand series of drawings spanning the past fifteen years, Robert L. Schultz has closely studied the human figure. -IL Schultz has focused on the human form—he draws men and women equally well and sensitively—because of its unique ability to express feelings, create moods, and convey states of mind. The forty-one drawings in this exhibition trace Schultz’s growth and evolution from graduate student to mature artist. While his ques­ tions, his understandings, and—concurrently—his technique have changed over the years, his quest has remained constant. In a 1994 interview, Schultz observed: “Back then [the 1980s] I was still hearing my professors’ voices in my head. I thought the idea had to be grand: men and women, alienation, loneliness. Now those themes are still there, but in a more common way.”1 In retrospect we can see the changes. The earliest drawings are pale, ethereal images with a ghostly insubstantiality. Frequently they appear like visions, emerging from a shrouding mist. They lack specificity of place, horizon, and background. Like the dead, they cast no shadows. Paradoxically, despite their frequently massive bodies, they seem disembodied. Subsequently, the drawings become increasingly dramatic, surreal, and enigmatic. Although narrative assumes a greater importance, it remains ambiguous and incomplete. Psychological tension and physical conflict often permeate these works with the juxtaposition of expanding and contracting muscles symbolizing the complex, often contradictory nature of the psyche. In Monica and Self-Portrait and Friends the psychological forces become more understated and less arresting as if the conflicting impulses have attained an uneasy equilibrium. The overt sexual tension in Lovers is replaced by a profound sense of loneliness or loss. Drama becomes interior. Except in a few instances, such as Woman at Table, the figures are introspective and uncommunicative. Sadness, reverie, and an over­ whelming aura of tragedy supplant rancor. Simultaneously as the TT n a remarkable 1. Quoted in James Rhern, “Pencil Pusher,” Isthmus (April 22, 1994): 27. �mood becomes interior, the figures become more substantial: they cast shadows amid increasingly defined and complex bac "groun Recently Schultz has continued to strip away the layers of narrative and drama. Settings are quotidian and straightforward. Increasingly the models make eye contact with the viewer; nonethe­ less they remain private persons. Moreover, Schultz s models, such as Karl or Jack, are beginning to show signs of aging. While the “professors’ voices” have faded, the essence of their influence remains: the figurative tradition, conflict and tension, meticulous draftsmanship, symbolic representation, and psychologi­ cal insights. The University of Wisconsin, where Schultz completed his undergraduate and graduate studies, has long been associated with representational art. In the 1940s, the school hired John Steuart Curry as its first artist-in-residence. A prominent member along with Grant Wood and I'homas Hart Benton—of the “regionalist triumvirate,” Curry repeatedly drew on the theme of elemental struggle: floods, tornadoes, line storms, battling jacks, abolitionists, predators, and all manner of dynamic (indeed hyperbolic) conflict appear in his art. While the influence of Curry was indirect, it is, nonetheless, present. A more immediate influence was the “magic realism” of George Tooker, Jared French, Paul Cadmus, Robert Vickery, and especially John Wilde, with whom Schultz studied. Ironically, although known for his fantastic, surreal imagination, Wilde conveyed primarily to Schultz an understanding of the power of understatement, that “less is more." Neither a regionalist nor a magic realist, Schultz employs a classical vocabulary for contemporary ends, as a consideration of his subject matter, composition, and technique demonstrates. Schultz's preoccupation with drawing the human form clearly marks him as a classical artist working in the long tradition of Western art. The idealizing impulse found in both Antique and Renaissance art, however, is muted in Schultz’s work. Rather he depicts specific individuals—often family members, friends, or students—and his drawings remain, on one level, portraits. Nonetheless, they do depict a type: whether twenty or sixty years old, his models enjoy a studied healthiness, an aesthetic physicality'. They are the denizens of a progressive college town rather than a cross-section of a large metropolis. Schultz’s interest in this physical type results in part from his upbringing: his father, the erstwhile director of the local YMCA instilled a lifelong commitment to physical fitness in his children. Schultz enhances his figural compositions with a limited number of symbolic objects. Early on, Schultz’s circumscribed repertory of torn clothing, sheets, cloths, ropes, and masks appears. Through repeution chairs assume a symbolic meaning as does the performer’s costume whether it be leotards, striped shirts, or athletic gear. In ' mime’s props, the arte; < the floor, plants, plank assumed a metaphor a gorical subjects ha-.■■ b. Schultz is a c 1 ■ i. i compositions. A typical d monumental figure deposi Although balanced anc difficult poses that require rhythmic alternation of ter classical conlrapposto anin dominates with the figure, from the ground. Forms ar the arms pulled in close to prevailing mood of self-coi narrow, slightly claustroph immediacy, the figures are always private interiors, us rants, amusement palaces, i where crowds gather. Neit.: air softens the harsh light.' dreamlike lucidity. Schultz’s controlled, eli classical sensibility that tre dignity. It is devoid of cxpi sights. His shadows, for ex live process that results fre marks. 1 lis line frequently cates details. Over the year developed, his approach ha in his handling of light. Schultz’s need for emol mined his choice of mediui ring to concentrate on drawi and intimate qualities. Uni with verisimilitude, a grapl always reminds the viewer drawing purist he seems ah the disegno-colore wars th; contemporary art in its iroi and present-day estrangem In Robert Schultz’s dra arrested moments, superb < a quiet timeless realm. Like their great beauty while sin vulnerability and transience �itial: ■■ . kgroum: ;rs of jrward. :r; nonethe- dels, such e of their nsion, asychologicompleted mime s props, the anecdotal details—jumbled clothing scattered on the floor, plants, plank and tiled floors, and woven rugs—have also assumed a metaphorical quality. More recently, religious and alle­ gorical subjects have been explored. Schultz is a classicist not only in his choice of subject but in his compositions. A typical design consists of a highly modelled, monumental figure deposed along the central axis. Although balanced and symmetrical, the models often assume difficult poses that require complex and severe foreshortenings. The :r—along ionahst rhythmic alternation of tension and relaxation characteristic of classical contrapposto animates the figures. Clarity of form pre­ dominates with the figure, for the most part, clearly differentiated from the ground. Forms are usually geometrized and closed, with the arms pulled in close to the body, in order to underscore the prevailing mood of self-containment. The figures exist in shallow, nental olitionists, ) conflict narrow, slightly claustrophobic spaces. To enhance the feeling of immediacy, the figures are frequently cropped. The settings are always private interiors, usually the studio; they are never restau­ ct, it is, e “magic rants, amusement palaces, dance halls, clubs, or other public spaces where crowds gather. Neither atmospheric effects nor intervening <obert tudied. air softens the harsh light. The figures are seen—revealed—with a dreamlike lucidity. nation, the power Schultz’s controlled, elegant, virtuoso drawing style reflects a classical sensibility that treats solemn subjects with restrained dignity. It is devoid of expressive emotionalism or impulsive in­ oys a ation of his sights. His shadows, for example, grow and deepen in a slow addi­ tive process that results from the accumulation of innumerable small , Schultz’s ks him as a t. The cates details. Over the years, as Schultz’s technical facility has developed, his approach has become somewhat broader, especially ociated ahn Steuart e art, ecific -and his :y do els enjoy a denizens sf a large ?art from :al YMCA, hildren. ted number jertory of trough terformer’s gear. In ’. Like a marks. His line frequently has a surgical quality in the way it extri­ in his handling of light. Schultz’s need for emotional contact with the viewer has deter­ mined his choice of medium and style. He no longer paints, prefer­ ring to concentrate on drawing, which he appreciates for its reductive and intimate qualities. Unlike a painting, which can fool the eye with verisimilitude, a graphite drawing—especially a realistic one— always reminds the viewer that it is a deliberate work of art. As a drawing purist he seems almost like an anachronism, an epilogue in the disegno-colore wars that raged in centuries past. Yet his is a contemporary art in its ironic commingling of a classical sensibility and present-day estrangement. In Robert Schultz’s drawings, perplexing narratives, symbols, arrested moments, superb draftsmanship, and pensive moods evoke a quiet timeless realm. Like memento mori, his drawings attract with their great beauty while simultaneously reminding us of our own vulnerability and transience. �! - I Tim, 198c 16V2 inches x 15 inches' was still a graduate student, Executed while the artist Tim is a full length frontal portrait of the artist’s brother. A young Hercules, the figure stands at soldier­ like ease, displaying his massive, highly articulated biceps, on which pumped-up veins dance, f he artist S choice of a somewhat lower vantage point heightens the impression of monumcntality. With slightly asyinmeti 1 cal eyes and a nose that appears to have been brokenthe result, perhaps, of a sporting accident I ini s innocent, boyish face seems at odds with his exaggerated body armor. Well-worn sweat pants, rolled up to the knee, emphasize that his musculature is the result of countless hours at the gym. Schultz’s love of rendering fabric, which continues throughout his work, is seen in the "wet drapery" that clings to the figure’s powerful abdomen. As in most of his drawings, Schultz calls attention to prominent parts of the composition by means of tone. Typically, as in the eyes and nostrils, these parts are the darkest. Schultz’s tendency to geometricize the figure is manifest here. The shoulders, biceps and forearms form a hexagon set upon the rectangle of the lower body. Although symmetry reigns, balance does not. A, peculiar contradiction exists between the solidity and weighti­ ness of the upper body and the lower extremities which appear to fade away. One wonders how such ethereal legs can possibly support the upper body. Yet the viewer does not dwell on this question because Schultz subtly moves the eye upward by progressively darkening the figure along the vertical axis. The insubstantial feet, moreover, add a realistic quality to the drawing by emphasizing that the viewer cannot focus on everything simultaneously; the feet, in other words, have that sketchy quality of things seen peripherally. 1. Height precedes width throughout. �the :n- ted g Ln i to le m liar :h /er f ng i �Figure Behind Sheet, 1982 22 inches x 17 inches Completed in 1982, a year after Schultz earned his M.F.A. degree. Figure Behind Sheet, is one of Schultz s earliest psychologically charged drawings. I he manner in which this enigmatic drawing employs the sheet to , cover much of the figure calls to mind Raphaelle Pc.de S After the Bath in Kansas City and anticipates the masks in Lovers. Unlike the modest Peale, however, Schultz deliberately exposes, indeed concentrates on, the model’s denuded pudenda. The exposure-concealment polarity as well as the presence of a strong, but ambiguous, narrative element generate tension in the drawing. The meaning remains a conundrum that we are left to solve according to our own imaginations, just as we complete the contour line on the model’s lower left leg. The left foot, which was turned slightly outward in Tim, is here turned almost perpendicular to the right foot. The model stands in a full contrapposto; one leg is clearly weight bearing while the other is relaxed. Again, the play of opposites informs our reading of this drawing. The nude stands in a shallow space defined by strong light from the right that casts a distinct shadow on the floor and wall. The floor is differentiated from the wall by the ninety-degree bend in the shadow. The pictorial space, however, is not completely logical: the foreground sheet appears to blend into the background in the upper left quadrant. This flattening of the compo­ sition by allowing foreground objects to merge with the ground is a hallmark of Schultz’s style. �his :hultz’s narmer eet to ; Peale’s ie masks :hultz e as the lement mams a □ our ?ur line ward in ;ht foot, clearly , the iwmg. >y ladow from w. The al: the ’round compoivith the �Karl I, 1982 21 inches x 14% inches A novelist and well-known authority on running in Schultz’s hometown, Karl Harter has posed for Schultz on numerous occasions (see Cat. nos. 20, 31, and 32). In this drawing, he appears wearing Nike running shoes, nylon shorts and an athletic top. As in Tim, the viewer is drawn to the model’s face by the darkness of the eye. Similarly in both works the top of the head seems to vanish into thin air. Unlike Tim, this figure casts a shadow that helps define the wall on which he leans. The base line formed by the wall joining the floor emphasizes the shallowness of the space. Despite his well-conditioned body,the figure seems to exist in a state of precarious balance. He stands awkwardly on the edges of his shoes seeking the sup­ port of the proximate wall. His arms are crossed across his chest protectively and his gaze is wary. The drawing evidences Schultz’s growing interest in rendering complex poses and in closely observing cast shadows. Here he brings the back right leg forward of the left while simultaneously rotating the ankle outward. The shadow cast by the left leg onto the right thigh and calf furthers the illusion of three-dimensionality. �xin Schultz 32). In hoes, newer is eye. ,s to a ans. seems s supacross ?rest in ; cast rd of cvard. and �Pull, Push, 1982 13J/4 inches x 227/« inches Like characters from Dante’s Inferno or combatants carved in bas relief on the metopes of some long-ruined temple, these grapplers lock in an eternal, futile em­ brace. Struggling within the confines of a shallow, box­ like cell, they are anonymous, indeed headless, as they wrestle with, but do not face, each other. The passion of their entanglement is long gone; what remains is a ritual skirmish, expressed by the deliberate, symmetrical pattern formed by their bodies. Only the juxtaposition of the insistent clenched fist with the yielding open hand suggests that the conflict might be more psychological than physical. Naked from the waist up, the combatants wear tights similar to those favored by dancers, trapeze artists, or gymnasts. Here art transforms John Steuart Curry’s elemental clashes into dance. ��5 Lovers, 1983 151/2 inches x 22 inches Schultz’s debt to the tradition of “magic realism is clear in this bizarre, pessimistic, oneiric vision. Two lovers sit on a hard, shelflike bench that extends beyond the edges of the drawing. Like the lovers themselves, the bench is cold and unyielding. As in a dream, contradictions abound. The lovers are masked, suggesting duplicity or, at the least, a lack of forthrightness. Yet their nakedness proclaims that they have nothing to hide, that they are revealing the “naked truth.” Neither slack nor taut, the thin rope linking them suggests irresolution or an indeterminate stage in their relationship. Lovers marks an advance in the complexity of Schultz’s narratives. His most theatrical work to date, Lovers exploits fully the dramatic potential of oppo­ sites—male-female, frontal-rear, tension-relaxation, pattern-starkness, light-dark. The drawing also repre­ sents the end of a certain line of inquiry; hereafter, he will begin to move back toward more normative settings. Other advances include the initial appearance of a complex floor pattern, which recalls those in Renais­ sance paintings. Schultz s tiles, however, are drawn from the blue and white floor in his studio. Technically, Schultz s hatching has become more expressive and his response to light more developed: note the way that light appears to sweep across the floor. The poses have also gained in complexity, although his foreshortening of the man s legs seems somewhat unsure. �" w—* ’ - '-^ 7 P. 7.' . i 6. ■ Z —' , «- Z r, ,' ' - 0.-6 7 7, - t • = =r - r. \ zz r -r- -it ■£, o_ 3 7~ r i ■'■ T — o’ = ? S e- i- - § Tl-r--' �stasis, front and rear views, light and darK nair, active and passive poses, monumental scale and shallow spaces combine to produce a sense of classic balance. Yet the disturbing content is decidedly unclassical. Schultz employs gestures suggestively, as in the contrasting treatment of the two hands gripping the rope, to represent differing mental states. He also furthers the psychological intimacy by cropping the figures at the knee. We are no longer observers, as we were in Lovers-, now we are participants. But, as in many relationships, the parties’ needs are not the same. While the fair-haired figure crosses the line and reaches out for support, the other makes no effort to offer a helping hand. Befitting her passive state, she allows—but she neither reciprocates nor encour­ ages the other s touch. Instead, her gestures remain self-protective and closed like her contour. JL �'■ r. V V 7 • “5 't. �Hi | 7 Monica, 1985 24I4 inches x n3/« inches Monica is representative of Schultz s lonely, introspec­ tive figures that recall Edward Hopper’s images of estrangement and isolation. Leaning against a tiled wall, lost in her own thoughts, Monica waits in the hallway outside Schultz’s studio. The dialogue between the artist and his model seems strained. She has become an out­ sider, excluded from the artist’s workplace. In asym­ metrical defiance of academic contrapposto, her body becomes an outward sign of inner ambivalence. Neither tense nor relaxed, her limbs attain momentary equilib­ rium between action and inaction, decision and indeci­ sion. Her precarious balance contains an inkling of danger: the possibility of falling down the steep flight of stairs from which the light shines upward. Stylistically, Monica is the first drawing in this exhibition to demonstrate a “core of the shadow,” the darkening or intensification of the basic shadow area to indicate a change of plane. In Monica the dark core appears in the center of both legs where the highlights and shadows meet. More than simply a technical device, the core area is a metaphor for the conflict between light and dark, where opposing values clash instead of blend­ ing together gradually. �P9LJFREH FZTJ X LTn T TT TtT 'ospec- of led wall, allway the artist n out>ymbody Neither quilibindeci;of flight of 1-1 us r,” the area to ore [lights 1 device, een light f blend- J '! II �8 Self-Portrait and Friends, 1985 ij3/4 inches x 21% inches A quiet, melancholy mood envelops Schultz, Tom Hoffman (a former studio mate), and Chris Gargan. Schultz, on the left, looks down while the others appear to look in his direction. In order to emphasize that all three are artists, Schultz has exaggerated the scale of the clasped hands and elongated Gargan’s arm. The close cropping of the foreground figures heightens the sense of immediacy, intimacy, and discomfort; the viewer feels like an uninvited guest whose presence evokes silence and turned away eyes. Self-Portrait and Friends modifies a classic formula for depicting three scholars seated at table, which requires that the lateral figures be shown in profile and the central in full face. The books and antique statuary usually present on the table have been replaced by a piece of paper and a pencil. Gargan does not hold the pencil in a natural drawing manner; rather he seems about to raise his hand in order to take the measure of his friend. �Os' (i ■. s- .K ■/ A 1\ _ �- Anne, 1986 -jVi inches x 4V2 inches Regarding this deceptively simple drawing, Jerome Stem observed “The blonde tonality is built of thou sands of feather-touch strokes and the impression o a light-washed atmosphere emerges in the casua grace o the female model.”' The model’s “casual grace, how­ ever, results from a most classical, architectonic arrange­ ment of forms. With her head turned in profile, frontal torso, and aloofness, Anne could be a modern incarna­ tion of an ancient Greek goddess. Schultz’s fascination with design and pattern is everywhere apparent. The ground has been bisected into large, elegantly proportioned rectangular areas, dark below and light above. Negative space, whether the triangles formed beneath the arms or the shapes created on the back of the bench, has been carefully considered. Despite their apparent casualness, the limbs of the figure are consciously arranged: extending outward the trun­ cated arms (again recalling Greek statuary) form subtle diagonals that guide the eye upward while the angle of the raised knee parallels Anne’s right arm, a relationship furthered by the parallel cores of the shadows. Light and shadow patterns are now increasingly important to Schultz; indeed light itself has become one of his subjects. Shadows too have assumed an expanded role as independent design elements and no longer exist primarily for modelling purposes. § £2“SUnng m Mo^ome/Polychrome: sity Gallery and Museum, Z0W4F1°rida State Univer- �f o e > ���i li II II I seventy, she pauses in tne act 01 picking, up ~ u. u...—, striped shirt and turns a direct, slightly questioning gaze in our direction. No smile of recognition or welcoming eases the transition. Two candles are placed on the table, whose covering recalls the traditional cloths in paintings of the Last Supper. The candle on the right, which has been knocked over and cast from its holder, functions as a variant on the traditional extinguished candle that reminds us of mortality, both our own and that of loved ones. The striped shirt, which first appears peeking out from under a sweat shirt in Self-Portrait and Friends, is a symbol of the artist himself. The drawing s rigorous geometry, a simplified and i I'^il ! ? ■ l;: I I!??;;' I ' I I more powerful version of the intersecting vertical and horizontal axes in Monkey Bars, furthers the quiet, elegiac mood and serves as a foil to the slightly menac­ ing quality of the cast shadow on the far left. �e :d, aze ng ing *ed ut is d d JWl 1 �Arms, 1987 8 inches x j'/z inches each panel Although this is the exhibition’s sole triptych, Schultz has employed this format elsewhere to explore a theme dialectically. Here he interprets a locus of human inter­ action as a highly abstract, formal dance or mime performance. Stripped of overt emotionalism, the arms and hands come together to create an ambiguous sema­ phore language that hints at, but never explicitly reveals, its meaning. In the drawing on the left, the model bends his arm at the elbow and rests the back of the hand on his hip. To offset the weight and downward pull of an arm that reaches up and grasps his forearm, he supports his wrist with his right hand. The model in the drawing opposite •d. His arm dangles the mysterious hand , irities of active— Passive and vertical horizontal find a synthesis in the symmetrical, almost heraldic central panel. �, Schultz ricn inter­ ims . the arms aus senuily revcc ... is 11.S afftl i his hip. ■ .. s his v. nst I 'Tpesitidangles |"us hand ivets in the and �•3 Performer 1,1987 iS inches x 13 inches Performer I is 2 link in the long chain of commedia Celi’arte characters, Pierrots, jesters, sakamrarKjues. harlequins that winds through the art of A ai.e-au, Picasso and J. S. Curry among many others. Like Lear’s tool, the performer uses his art to tell truths that other­ wise would be unacceptable. The costume worn by the performer once belonged to Schultz’s grandfather, a professional circus acrobat. Schultz’s father also maintained a connection to the circus, as director of the Circus World Museum. Thus the checkered costume, and its variant the striped shirt, is aven- personal symbol that pays homage both to Schultz's forbearers and to his craft. In this, the first of a series of numbered draw ings ■ ihi same model, the performer raises both U"V' to Ins he id, which is covered by a skullcap. His ii\ A ...1 metamorphosing into a giant butter fly In a moment, he will open his 1 ’ 11 lh, eu.U rosclte huuou> UKj prep4re go ��Cr . ..... . i setting also evokes the American ideal of the indepen dent yeoman farmer, who nurtures both the land and old-fashioned values. The idealized nude has just experi­ enced an awakening; her attitude of receptive anticipa­ tion recalls Michelangelo’s Adam on the Sistine Ceiling. Indeed, with the apples, she can be seen as the embodi­ ment of a new Eve, the rebirth of an archetypal mother bathed in radiant morning light. In this context, the striped shirt and five apples appear to symbolize the artist and his siblings. This drawing is both a summary and an advance for the artist. Present are familiar design elements including the shallow, closed space; the balanced, symmetrical i Wi mposition, the value contrasts; the delight in pattern; and the masterly rendering of the figure and drapery. Schultz s understanding of light, however, has grown ilreZrrrT?fOUnd’InStead of illuminating the rXcted t f‘T fr°m a SPeciflc —, he us&ed order to2 ' t| 'n T Uunces off the sheet in to give the flesh an otherworldly glow. ■' I - .- >ai2EScV» I �j I ■ I i ? 1' w ����i , ... j. o figure Door pose Heraskin, Ji abun:ks, y reniin iymbolic ■ air to missing ag the ;htby 'Tilner■ the open - �■ A �rest on the udio. The tn. The frequently urer’s rests gently If-protectheir , this "real to the ealso earlier have ^figuration. earlier •cd vantage 'urnerous �i8 Figure on Sofa, 1989 22 inches x 19 inches The withdrawn model, propped into the corner oi a leather couch, idly fingers a striped shirt that trails from her extended hand to the floor. She is reluctant to le. go of the source of her musings. The setting lacks the harshness of the studio. The hardwood floor, tasteful rug, contemporary sofa, and heavy blanket with its stylized Native American pattern all suggest the interior of a stylish modern home. The scene is carefully observed down to the cast shadows of the eyebrows, hair and left nipple. Schultz’s virtuosity in rendering fabric and texture is particularly apparent here. An extravaganza of tactile abundance orbits the model: the nap of the rug, the densitv of the oak boards, the smooth buttery leather of the couch, the softness of the cotton pants, the heft and weight of the thick blanket, the tough scuffed sandals, and the sheen of the dangling shirt. <'-one is the former hyperbole. Now a bittersweet monu nt in the lite oi a real person, the artist’s wife 1 ni..<, piovides sufficient dramatic content. �orner of a hat trails from ctant to let go acks the >or, tasteful t with its est the interior to the cast >ple. Schultz’s is particularly abundance ensity of the the couch, the wight of the ■nd the sheen • bittersweet list’s wife ent. �f on Stairs [Thomas], ^9 22I6 inches x 14% inches this drawing with Monica, which was 7'XeTthrce years before, one sees a pronounced change in style. Although both works employ the same ting-in Montca the stairs descend to the left whereas they recede to the right-the handling of the space and figures is completely different. The difference might almost be characterized as a shift from planar to sculp rural or classic to baroque. In contrast to Thomas, Monica appears flat, linear, and self-contained within clear contours. On the other hand, Thomas s form is three dimensional, massive, and composed of a complex arrangement of solids and voids. The space of the setting is likewise more believable: the addition of the edge or corner of the right-hand wall creates an environment in which the spherical form of the figure can exist. Schultz has also expanded the tonal scale in the latter work. Whereas Monica is drawn primarily in middle values, Thomas employs a considerably fuller contrast range. Light is also used more dramatically in the later work. Not. only does the harsher luminosity highlight the figure- -and call attention to details, such as the under­ sides of the toes, that might otherwise be overlooked— but it also creates highly expressive cast shadows. Casually dressed with his rolled-up pants and open sh"T 1 homas could play the part of a vacationer at seaside resort. Yet his mood is not jovial. The stair Nd has become a stock imprisoning the hand of the N "'lv< young man. Avoiding eye contact—and judg)()w y '""""K ’‘way Irom an elevated viewer, ThoX^nod7 ,l,'!l,1,nk,,lwl‘lil-'Hna as he decides ,|, j |“ 1 “■. S,au's *'nd move toward the 'ding, lig|u. �iced .e same whereas e space :e might sculp­ is, ithin in is :omplex le setting :dge or ment in Schultz irk. ■alues. range. ' work. : the : underacted— vs. nd open erat The stair >f the d judg'er,Thoecides dthe �Karl II (Clothed and Nude'), 1989 20 23 inches x 18I/2 inches Schultz’s continuing preoccupation with °f opposites is seen in this double portrait of Karl Harter. The physical impossibility of the figure appearing clothed and nude simultaneously undermines the outward naturalness of the composition and tends to suggest an allegorical interpretation such as the Baroque conceit of Truth revealed by Time. Like T. S. Eliot’s Prufrock, Karl has time “To pre­ pare a face to meet the faces that you meet.” Clothed, he exudes a cocky confidence; undressed, he retreats inward. Along with his protective, self-defining cloth­ ing, his composure dropped to the floor. The expressive potential of discarded clothing lying on the floor, which Schultz explored earlier in Open Door and Figure on Sofa, continues to engage his inter­ est. Despite their inherent messiness, the crumpled pants, folded sock, and black Converse hightops are carefully positioned along a diagonal that sweeps into the center of the composition from the right. Schultz s appreciation of negative space has become increasingly sophisticated. Whereas previously shadows tended to be flat shapes, now they are rendered with more complexity. Especially notable is the presence of an aura or darkening, of the shadow beneath the biceps nud -C \vr L . '.§Ure and alon§ the right contour of the . I 1C ln^ t^e shadows an impression of depth, ■ amb:6"ous rei„iO„3hi; �interplay of irl Harter. iring s the tends to he Baroque “To preClothed, he rears iing cloth- ithing lying in Open >e his interimpled Hops are veeps into t has become Jsly shadows ered with presence of lth the biceps mtour of the SI°n of depth, 'd relationship aeck, right ��ig serves to reveal the )n the left, Sheila strikes • lips. She appears to be lending of instability ts a cosmopolitan, 1, she is rigid as she tist the wall. Her hypno­ se of night-feeding deer her refines the notion of ig the cast shadow of the s bare hand and wrist �11 Still Life with Pear, 1991 14 inches x 26% inches In this restless still life a horizontal nude, pear, and patterned blanket are arranged on a stark pine table. Too small for the figure, the table assumes the solemnity of an altar. The twisting, agitated figure covers his eyes from an intense, cutting light that streams in from the left. Is he about to share Iphigenia’s fate or is this an echo of the monsters spawned in Goya’s dream of reason? The difficult pose demonstrates Schultz’s mastery of foreshortening, and the intricately patterned cloth exhibits his love of traditional American designs and response to the sensuality of textures. The movement implied by the limbs receding into a shallow space is counteracted by a quiet, organizing geometrv: the diagonal of the arm that holds the pear parallels that of the raised leg and the angle of the front biceps and shoulder is echoed by the back of the elevated calf. ���gement of the all recall Per­ stands in a te tension in his r as he stands 1 its shoulder e Perf°rmance, “tin the swollen “Private sphere is �v * 1 u ��r 25 English Ivy, 199° 25*6 inches x 15 inches In Schultz’s works, unusual vantage points frequently create an intimacy that at times approaches voyeunsm The bird’s eve perspective in English Ivy, however, adds a spiritual quality to the drawing. The viewer assumes the role of a protective presence, a guardian, gazing down on a seminude figure who averts his face. As has been noted, Schultz often creates the illusion of depth by placing the darkest area in the composite>n, in this case the hair and head, closest to the picture plane. He will also, as in Monkey Bars, use this dark area as a pivot. Here the contour of the body moves in an eccentric trajectory around the resting head. Like engaging gears, this circular flow meshes with that of the ivy tendrils that fan out like spidery spokes from a bottle vase in order to focus our attention on the hand delicately touching the ivy. The ancient Greeks believed that ivy was sacred to Dionysos, the god of wine, husbandry', freedom, joy, peace, and the gentle arts of civilization. Through his association with the vine, which buds, blooms, fruits, and dies in an annual cycle, Dionysos came to represent the concept of death and rebirth. In English Ivy the posture of the young man, the striped shirt, and his touch of the plant evokes a pro­ found sense of loss. It is, perhaps, a quiet lamentation for a departed mother who loved plants. �points frequently oaches voyeurism. ;7t?y, however, adds he viewer assumes yardian, gazing erts his face. n creates the illusion i in the composition, st to the picture Jars, use this dark f the body moves in resting head. Like neshes with that of lidery spokes from ttention on the hand hat ivy was sacred to ndry, freedom, joy, nation.Through his suds, blooms, fruits, ysos came to represent the young man, the e plant evokes a pro­ 's, a quiet lamentation d plants. �1 ■ ) ;! I hands are open, his are clasped; she wears espadrilles, he is barefoot. Yet their intertwined legs suggest closeness, trust, and familiarity with each other’s bodies. ���t Fi �28 Woman in Black Dress, 1991 19 inches x 18 inches Woman in Black Dress, which features the model who also posed for Window, well illustrates Schultz’s design aesthetic. He has organized the composition by means of a strong diagonal which—emphasizing their signifi­ cance—only the head and hands are allowed to cross. He builds up the design by joining other diagonals into triangles that form the drawing’s major building blocks. His formal restraint—he resists the temptation to draw everything—and his commitment to simplification and clarification are seen in the three values (the white of the ground and the two subtly different tones of the dress) that effectively structure the drawing. Although the tonal range in the dress is limited, the effect is stunning: the icilected light coming through the crinkled silk positively glows. �I ��1 �Il I I I i 30 Benches [Lisa], 1992. 25 inches x n'/z inches I I I lil J Ji At times Schultz’s drawings appear like secularized and updated interpretations of traditional religious art. Here, on the eve of the millennium, a young woman assumes the classic pose of acceptance—arms crossed over the chest—associated with the Annunciation. She has already progressed through her surprise, confusion and fear; now, like an allegorical figure of Humility, she accepts her preordained role. Schultz uses a variety of formal devices to intensify meaning. He reinforces her gesture, for example, with a repetitive chiastic pattern that progresses upward from her shoes. He heightens the sense of immediacy by adopting a narrow, vertical format. The elevated vantage point affords the viewer a divine perspective and serves further as a substitute for the impregnating ray of light. Eliminating the usual symbols associated with the event the archangel Gabriel, open book, and lily— increases the power of the drawing by making it less literal and more universal. Here again Schultz demon­ strates his belief that “less is more.” ��i I 31 Facing the Wall, 19919 inches x 1114 inches Like a tired boxer, a man of middle age-seen from the rear—appears weary, even bowed, as he supports him­ self by grasping the backs of two carefully placed chairs. In time, we imagine, canes or walking sticks will replace the chairs as the riot of veins, confined now to the extremities, slowly transforms and ages the skin. An aptly titled work, Facing the Wall oscillates between the literal and the symbolic, between time present and the past. Not only does the title describe what the figure is in fact doing but, more expansively, it suggests the imperative of coming to terms with a final insurmountable obstacle. The drawing’s relationship to the past, to the history of art, transforms Karl Harter, the individual depicted, into everyman. For example, the triangular motif con­ sisting of a central, vertical figure flanked on both sides by animals, typically lions, is one of the oldest recurring designs in Western art. Entering the visual vocabulary almost three millennia ago as an Asian Mistress of Animals, the hierarchial form was later favored in paintings of saints with donors or the Madonna of Mercy. Here chairs (the most anthropomorphic of objects with their arms, legs, backs, and seats) replace the kneeling humans and crouching beasts. Other conscious references to the past serve to universalize this work. The ogival form created by the contour lines that sweep through the chair backs and converge at a dark apex recalls the arches and windows in Gothic cathedrals. The presence of a Hogarthian S-shaped “line of beauty” down the center of the back evokes a subsequent age. The two triangular shapes, one on each side of the figure, summarize the drawing’s poignancy. On the left the negative space is solid and stable; on the right it is diminished and compressed, sputtering like a weakening flame. ��■ 32 Guarded Space, 1992 23- inches x 17 inches ■ ii r The setting recalls that of Benches, except that the position of the corner is reversed, and well-worn lino­ leum squares have replaced the small vitreous tiles on the floor. Two men sit silently together, each in his own Guarded Space. Their silence is of the uncomfortable type, exacerbated by the younger man’s defensiveness toward his possessions. Both men are well known to the artist: the younger, Steven Schuh, posed for English Ivy and, along with his wife Jane, Partners. Karl, as has been noted, is a favorite model. Schultz demonstrates his exceptional ability to capture a variety of different textures, materials, and weights in this work. ,,5 ��33 Jack, 1992 24 inches x 12I/2 inches Jack Mitchell, a longtime friend from the artist’s weight­ lifting days at the YMCA, strikes an aggressive, arrogant, you-want-to-make-something-of-it pose. Nevertheless, a certain vulnerability appears in his face. Like most of Schultz’s models, he wears the casual uniform of sneak­ ers and jeans. The cuts and tears on the left pants leg or the frayed fabric on the front pocket reflect both current fashion of course, but also serve as a modern-day memento mori. The omega scars seen on both arms and above his left breast were cut or burnt into his body during a fraternity initiation ritual. What appears to be a small tattoo of a circle set in a broken pentagon is actually, according to the artist, a stylized vaccination scar. ����Folded Arms, 1993 15 inches x 11 inches I I1 II IF 111I I Rendering human hair convincingly presents a tremen­ dous challenge to an artist. Early in the history of Western art, Archaic artists solved the problem by representing hair schematically by means of pattern: one thinks of the kouroi’s “popcorn” hair for instance. If the culture values figural naturalism, artists will respond by changing from a conceptual to a perceptual approach in their interpretation of hair. Over the years, Schultz’s ability to draw hair has become increasingly skillful. In the earliest works, such as Tim or Karl I, the hair along with rhe top of the head simply disappears. Subsequently, in Monica and others, Schultz imparted a sense of mass to the hair, but it remains inanimate. In this study of Lisa’s back and hair with its lifelike sheen, weight, and resilience, along with a certain unruliness and undulating sponta­ neity—Schultz has clearly mastered the challenge. ��I ( I ( ( 36 Interval, 1993 24 inches x 16 inches A nude, solitary Demse stands on one leg while the other rests atop her discarded jeans dropped on a nearby chair. The material responds to the weight of her foot. On the floor, a striped shirt lies in a rumpled heap. She looks out like a figure in a Little Dutch Master. The high sill, similar to that in Window, allows her to see, but not be seen by, the outside world. Although Schultz often depicts figures looking beyond the drawing’s edge, he shows them less frequently peering from an actual window. The setting suggests a sparsely furnished, contempo­ rary domestic interior. Her restrained taste is confirmed by her jewelry: each object has been carefully selected with an eye toward harmony. The earring harmonizes with the chair as nicely as the simple golden bracelet does with the wedding ring. Even the jeans appear to form themselves into a rising chord on the clef-like bars of the chair. The word interval, whether used musically or temporally, suggests a pause, rest or break; a transitional period when one action has ended and the next is unbegun. Neither wholly inside nor outside, she enjoys an interval made up of both worlds. ��I I I Ill II ■I ' 37 Push, Pull, 1993 8’/s inches x 27'A inches In terms of subject and composition this drawing is a rethinking of one of Schultz’s better-known images (Cat. no. 4). Now stripped of their tights and fully nude, the figures resume or rather continue their match. Suggesting an intensification of their contest, the central triangle formed by their bodies and the floor is no longer equilateral. Gone too is the ethereal, silverpointlike quality of the drawing. Now more substantial figures, with dramatic contrasting values, link arms, push, and pull. ��i I I I I 38 Woman in Black Shirt, 1994 20 inches x 13 inches Seated on a high stool that raises her above the horizon, Nina gazes down on the viewer. She dares him to stare at her body. Unlike Sheila, she is confident in her nakedness and relishes the confrontation. The drawing has a somewhat quirky feeling to it. Not only do the hands concealed in the black shirt suggest a mystery, but we also wonder why she stepped through the shirt rather than simply removing it. i ��$9 Repose, 1994 <j3/< inches x 25% inches The most overtly religious work in this exhibition Repose is a modern interpretation of the Death of the Virgin, a popular and much-repeated subject in Chris­ tian art. According to a tradition recounted in the thirteenth-century Golden Legend, which appeared during a period of widespread Manolatry, the Virgin was not dead, but only sleeping, during the three days prior to Her resurrection. In the Renaissance, artists represented the Dormition of the Virgin by showing Her lying on a couch, bed, or bier as if asleep. Not infrequently she appears as a young woman symboliz­ ing Her exemption from the corruption of aging. In Repose, the artist’s wife is stretched out on a couch with her head resting on a pillow. She is covered by a blanket decorated with symbols. The snake alludes to the Fall as well as to the belief that Mary was the new Eve, whose coming redeemed the error of the old. The crosses, of course, allude to the Crucifixion but also to the Virgin’s Seven Sorrows. Finally, the double meander that forms a maze symbolizes the earthly journey whose ultimate destination is salvation. (Mazes once were a feature in certain pilgrimage churches; one can still see the medieval maze in the flooring at Chartres Cathe­ dral.) The emphasis on the number three, seen in the tripartite composition of the couch and the trio of inked jewels in the earring, suggests both the Trinity and the duration of Mary’s Dormition. �■- 4 — ,v,^ __ ___ jk.:_ 4-; . . ■ J _ m' __ ... :.7 .- ^r .,; . ___ - jU- [vT'(,", r ' ;,i'.__ _________ T- ... - -- i. T U/.L.,;,:L.v'. _____ _ ', -_ •? ' ' �" d ■■ ■ i ___ �$ ��i his back on the sembles a fragaounced contrapis, and legs. But md form is offset of an artist ike Picasso’s IOS. �CHECKLISTOFTHEEXHIBmON t. ... „ s,„f pmeJ“ M r 7»«> 1^80 eJiJ.”... >•< ci.«k »a Chuck Beckwith 2 Ft&ure Behind Sheet, 1982 22 x 17 Collection of Jon and Nancy Grand J Karli, 1982 21 x 14'71 Stuart Handler Family Collection 4 Pull, Push, 1982 13’Zi x 227/s Collection of Madison Art Center Purchase through gift of Verex Corporation and the Rudolph and Louise Langer Fund j Lovers, 1983 15 !4 x 22 Collection of Duane Hendrickson 6 Crossover, 1984 12 x 22 Collection of Dirk Lohan 7 Monica, 1985 24% x 11% Collection of Stanley I Grand 8 Self-Portrait and Friends, 1985 13’4 x 21% Collection of Jalane and Richard Davidson 9 Anne, 1986 7/2 x 41/2 Collection of Jon and Nancy Grand Monkey liars, 1986 1414 X u‘/z Collection of J. Laurence Evcrard 11 Woman at Table, 1986 to r 1J Collection of Dr. Fred Gilbert 12 Arms, 1987 8 x 3 V4 each panel Collection of James A. Witalison 22 Still Life with Pear, 1991 14 x 26% Collection of Michael Kelly and Hal Tu 13 Performer I, 1987 18 x 13 Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Howard A. Tullman ^3 Waiting, 1989 14 Shirt and Apples, 1987 12V2 x 16 Collection of James and Mary Alice Wimmer 24 Dresser, 199° 20 x IJ14 Private Collection 15 Danae, 1988 12 x 22V2 Collection of Dr. Willard E. White 23 English Ivy, 1990 2j’/z x 15 Collection of Mary and Stephen Mizroi 16 Open Door, 1988 17 x 12% Collection of William and Joyce Wartmann 26 Partners, 1990 17 Figures on a Sofa, 1988—1989 27 Window, 1990 22 x 11 18 x 22/2 Collection of The Arkansas Arts Center Foun­ ijMs x 13VS Collection of Gary Moe and Kevin Met 20 x 24 Collection of Dr. Willard E. White Collection of Michael Bedner dation. Purchase 18 Figure on Sofa, 1989 22 x 19 Collection of Kathleen and Irwin Garfield 28 Woman in Black Dress, 1991 19 x 18 Private Collection 29 Folded Arms, 1991 19 Figure on Stairs [Thomas], 1989 22*6 x 14% Collection of Mr. and Mrs. James T. Dyke 20 Karl II (Clothed and Nude), 19S9 23 x 18/2 Collection of John A. Bonavita and Harold S. Goldman 21 Sheila (Clothed and Nude), 1989 23 x 1816 Collection of John A. Bonavita aimd Harold S. Goldman 10 x 8 Collection of Michael Kelly and Hal Tt 30 Benches [Z-tsa], 1992 2$ X I2'/2 Collection of John Modell 31 Facing the Wall, 1992 19 x 11I6 Collection of Chuck Bauer and Chuck Guarded Sp. 'ace, 1992 x 17 C Election of Di 'r‘ Eugene H. Rogolsky �ns, 198" 3>i each panel Uection of James A. Witalison ■former 1,198” x 13 Uection of Mr. and Mrs. Howard A. lull-nan _• s . ' :'e a itb Pear, 1991 14 X 26'k Collection of Michael Kelly and 1 lai Tu 2; 441989 IS «x 13Vs Collection of Gary Moe and Kevin McGee rt and Apples, 1987 Dresser, i coo 4 x 16 Uection of James and Mary Adce Wim.mcr Private Collection nae, 1988 x 2244 Uection of Dr. Willard E. White E^lis/’Zvy, 1990 2 $44 x 15 Collection of Mary and Stephen Mizroch er, Door, 1988 x 12% Uection of William and J -yea Wartmanr. 26 .Farmers, 1990 ures or. a Sofa, 1988-1989 x 2244 Uection of The Arkansas Arts Center Foun- 2- Wbw/ow, 1990 22 X II Collection of Dr. Willard E. White Collection of Michael Bedner X !9 7. 28 Woman in Black Dress, 1991 19 x 18 Private Collection ■ ri. . : . ure on Stairs [Thomas], 1989 4 x 14% Uection of Mr. and Mrs. James T. Dy ke rl II (Clothed and Nude ■. 1989 x i844 flection of John A. Bona > ita and Harold S. ildman tila (Clothed and Nude), 1989 x 18'4 Election of John A. Bonavita and Harold S. ildman 34 Darrell, 1993 6% x $% Collection of Michael Kelly md Reginald and Hal Turton 35 Folded Arms, 1993 15 x it Collection of Dr. Fred Gilbert 36 Interval, 1993 24 x 16 Courtesy of Koplin Gallery 37 Push, Pull, 1993 8’/s x 27% Collection of Thomas J. Pfister 38 Woman in Black Shirt, 1994 20 x 13 Courtesy of Koplin Gallery ion. Purchase ure on Sofa, 1989 vjuiieccion Emshoff 29 Folded Arms, 1991 iox« Co ection of Michael Kelly and Hal Turton 3- Benches [Lisa], 1992 25 x 12% Collection of John Model! 31 Fauns’the Wall, t<pj2 19 * Ji'/a Collection of Chuck Bauer and Chuck Beckwith 32 'warded Space, l<)')2 23 x t7 Collection of Dr. Eugene 11. Rogolsky 39 Repose, 1994 9% x 25% Courtesy of Koplin Gallery 40 Woman on Tile Floor, 1994 1244 x 21% Collection of Bonnie and Jay Griffin 41 Torso in Black Tee Shirt, 1995 13 x ii'/s Collection of Ellen and Irwin Rennert �ROBERT L. SCHULTZ 1986 Contemporary 1 York C^erA.. Rockford and Belon Col Born: 1953 Resides: Oregon, Wisconsin SOLO EXHIBITIONS 1996 Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania Printworks, Chicago '995 Koplin Gallery, Santa Monica, California '994 Chosy Gallery, Madison, Wisconsin Grace '993 Koplin Gallery, Santa Monica, California >992 Grace Chosy Gallery, Madison, Wisconsin 1991 Roger Ramsay Gallery, Chicago '99° Koplin Gallery, Santa Monica, California 1989 Roger Ramsay Gallery, Chicago 1988 Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, Letters, Madison 1986 Roger Ramsay Gallery, Chicago '984 Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin '983 • Harry Nohr Gallery, University of Wisconsin-Platteville 1982 Seuferer Chosy Gallery, Madison, Wisconsin '993 Wisconsin Triennial, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin Drawings, Koplin Gallery, Santa Monica, California Drawing on the Figure, Carlsten Art Gallery, University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) 1992 Drawings, Koplin Gallery, Santa Monica, California Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) 1991 Wisconsin ’91, Carlsten Art Gallery, University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) Drawings, Koplin Gallery, Santa Monica, California Only Drawings, Art Institute of Southern California, Laguna Beach 1990 Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) The Figure, The Arkansas Arts Center, Little Rock Monochrome/Polychrome: Contemporary Realist Draw­ ing, Florida State University Museum, Tallahassee 1989 Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) 21 Years of Permanent Collection, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin John Wilde and a Few of His Students: All Good Apples, Fanny Garver Gallery, Madison, Wisconsin 1988 Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger SELECTED GROUP EXHIBITIONS '995 Realism ’95: Vision and Poetry, Fletcher Gallery, Santa Fe, New Mexico 1994 Parallax Views: Selections from the Koplin Gallery of Santa Monica, Contemporary Realist Gallery, San Francisco Ramsay Gallery exhibition) 1987 Realism Today: American Drawings from the Rita Rich Collection, National Academy of Design, New York. Other venues: Smith College Museum of Art, North­ ampton, Massachusetts; The Arkansas Ans Center, Little Rock; The Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio Wisconsin Triennial, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) I >-U«ni Gallery, New Ym cousin 1985 81st Chic,r;... The Art Instituu Chicago 'die Jacob and Bessie Levy Priz Chicago Intern.nonal Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) Group Drawing Exhibition, David Findlay Jr. Fine An New York Midwest Realist, Paine Art Center, Oshkosh, Wisconsi Other venues: Burpee Art Center, Rockford, Illinois; University Art Museum, Illinois State University, Normal Contemporary Realist, Gerold Wunderlich & Co., Nc York 1984 Studio 420 Exhibition, Harry Nohr Gallery, Universit Wisconsin-Platteville Two x Two, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin Wisconsin Biennial, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin 1983 Beloit and Vicinity Exhibition, Wright Museum of An Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin (awarded Best Show) 1982 Beloit and Vicinity Exhibition, Wright Museum of Ar Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin (awarded Best Show) Small Works, Seuferer Chosy Gallery, Madison, Wiscoi Old Faces—New Friends, Madison Art Center, Madi: Wisconsin Stockton National, Haggin Museum, Stockton, Calif* Wisconsin Biennial, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin (purchase award) 1981 Wisconsin Drawing Exhibition, Carlsten Art Gallery University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point '98° Selected Works, Memorial Union Art Exhibition, Lt sity of Wisconsin-Madison SELECTED PUBLIC COLLECTK The Arkansas Arts Center Foundation, Little Rock Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin University of Wisconsin-Platteville �1986 Contemporary Realist, Gerold Wunderlich & Co New York Character Revealed, Schmidt-Bingham Gallery, New York Rockford and Vicinity Exhibition, Wright Museum of Art, Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin Center, Madison, Wisconsin a Monica, California a Art Gallery, University sition (with the Roger 1) a Monica, California •sition (with the Roger >) 1985 Slst Chicago and Vicinity Exhibition, The Arc Institute of Chicago (awarded the Jacob and Bessie Levy Prize) Chicago International Art Exposition (with the Roger Ramsay Gallery exhibition) Group Drawing Exhibition, David Findlay Jr. Fine Art New York Midwest Realist, Paine Art Center, Oshkosh, Wisconsin. Other venues: Burpee Art Center, Rockford, Illinois; University An Museum, Illinois State University, Normal Contemporary Realist, Gerold Wunderlich & Co., New York I9S j lery, University of sition (with the Roger >) a Monica, California f Southern California, 'tion (with the Roger iter, Little Rock temporary Realist Draw,ty Museum, Tallahassee ition (with the Roger I in, Madison Art Center, Studio 420 Exhibition, Harn- Nohr Gallery, University of Wisconsin-Platteville Two x Two, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin Wisconsin Biennial, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin 1983 Beloit and Vicinity Exhibition, Wright Museum of Art, Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin (awarded Best of Show) 1982 Beloit and Vicinity Exhibition, Wright Museum of Art, Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin (awarded Best of Show) Small Works, Seuferer Chosy Gallery, Madison, Wisconsin Old Faces—New Friends, Madison Art Center, Madison Wisconsin Stockton National, Haggin Museum, Stockton, California Wisconsin Biennial, Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin (purchase award) udents: All Good Apples, idison, Wisconsin 1981 Wisconsin Drawing Exhibition, Carlsten Art Gallery, University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point isition (with the Roger a) 1980 Selected Works, Memorial Union Art Exhibition, Univer­ sity of Wisconsin-Madison rings from the Rita Rich my of Design, New York, ge Museum of Art, Northle Arkansas Arts Center, titute of American Art, SELECTED PUBLIC COLLECTIONS The Arkansas Arts Center Foundation, Little Rock Art Center, Madison, Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia sition (with the Roger Madison Art Center, Madison, Wisconsin University of Wisconsin-Platteville l) SELECTED LITERATURE The Arkansas Arts Center. The Figure: Selections from The Arkansas Arts Center (Little Rock: The Arkansas Arts Center, 1991), exhibition catalogue. The Art Institute of Chicago. 81st Exhibition of Artists of Chicago and Vicinity (Chicago: The Art Institute of Chicago, 1985), exhibition catalogue. Artner, Alan. “Gallery Review of One Person Exhibition at Roger Ramsay Gallery,” Chicago Tribune (October 1989). Auer, James. Art of Our State,” Milwaukee Journal (August 4, 1991). . Jolts of the New in Madison,” Milwaukee Journal (March 25, 1982). Brachen, March. “After the Art,” Capital Times [Madi­ son, WI] (November 2, 1983). Carlsten An Gallery. Drawing on the Figure (Stevens Point: Carlsten Art Gallery, University of Wiscon­ sin-Stevens Point, 1993), exhibition catalogue. Chicago International Art Exposition. Exhibition Catalogue (Chicago: Chicago International Art --r-------- , 1989): ,..u Exposition, illus., p. 361. Florida State University Mi , luseum. Monochrome/Polychrome: Contemporary Realist Drawings (Tallahas­ see: Florida State University Museum, 1990), exhibition catalogue. Grand, Stanley I. “Variations on a Scheme,” American Artist (December 1991). Reprinted in Drawing Highlights (American Artist Collector’s Edition, November 1994). Kimmelman, Michael. “Realism Today,” The New York Times (January 10, 1988). Lindemann, J., and J. Shimon. “Drawing on the Figure,” Art Muscle [Milwaukee, WI] (June/July 1993). Madison Art Center. Wisconsin Triennial (Madison: Madison Art Center, 1993), exhibition catalogue. ---------- . Wisconsin Triennial (Madison: Madison Art Center, 1987), exhibition catalogue. National Academy of Design. Realism Today: American Drawings from the Rita Rich Collection (New York: National Academy of Design, 1987), exhibition catalogue. Pasch, Ina. “Life Drawings,” Wisconsin State Journal (March 29, 1992). Rhem, James. “Pencil Pusher,” Isthmus [Madison, WI] (April 27, 1994). ______ . “Sawdust, Sweat and Graphite,” Isthmus [Madi­ son, WI] (April 17, 1982). Rogers, Katherine. “Sexism and the Human Figure,” Wisconsin State Journal (September 17, 1989). Sebastian, Jerry. “Drawing on the Past,” Wisconsin State Journal (August 23, 1987). Simms, Patricia. “Artist in Profile,” Airwaves [Madison, WI](August 1984). Williams, Wilson. “Robert Schultz—Drawings, Los Angeles Times (June 1990). Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, Letters. Robert . Schultz” (Madison: Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, Letters, 1988), exhibition checklist. I �r ADVISORY commission members Freddie Bittenbender Christopher N. Breiseth, Ph.D. n Joseph T. Butkiewicz Marion M. Conyngham Molly Cornell Virginia C. Davis, Chair Stanley I Grand, Ph.D. Robert J. Heaman, Ph.D. Mary Jane Henry Keith A. Hunter, Esq. J. Michael Lennon, Ph.D. Melanie Maslow Lumia Theo Lumia Ken Marquis Constance R. McCole Hank O’Neal Arnold Rifkin Kim Ross Charles A. Shaffer, Esq. William Shull Helen Farr Sloan Andrew J. Sordoni, III Sanford B. Sternlieb, M.D. Mindi Thalenfeld Joel Zitofsky STAFF Director Stanley I Grand, Ph.D. Co-ordinator Nancy L. Krueger Preparator Earl W. Lehman Gallery Attendants Donna Bytheway Tom Harrington Sarah Karlavage Jennifer Plumbo Deborah Tibel ll �IM y » r ■ ; GAnoaore �’W ■' ■■■■■'■ HH - ■ ■ - ' <;A': •.■/ ?■'.w ■ Illi •••11 L ■ sillf Will: ■■■ ■ -•-•■■. ••. •; ii ■ < '■■ ■■' fig . ■If - i S* I - t ® "111 \ ■. . ■ 1?'.1 I ■ <■ ' • . ■ ■' ’ : ■■■■■ ' $ B£ 'I A < . II 31 S: � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1996 March 17 Robert L. Schultz Drawings 1980-1995 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Robert L. Schultz Stanley I.Grand Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1996 March 17 - April 21 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource In a remarkable series of drawings spanning the past fifteen years, Robert L Schultz has closely studied the human figure. Schultz had focused on the human form---he draws men and women equally well and sensitively---because of its unique ability to express feelings, create moods, and convey states of mind. Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition program Subject The topic of the resource drawing drawings graphite nude nudes Robert L. Schultz Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource SAG https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/7649ed040d3ca51181e6a91dfa5a8fb2.pdf 74e62c02af2ae5573112af5a4ee36efd PDF Text Text ���������������������������������� https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/2c0d523a9dfeb104de75a3f570a3efa3.pdf 790f76241b4e79100754aad2115f29d5 PDF Text Text Hpiaiia 101 fei=® ffla i fe Si B S W i f ■/. - I ■ �BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL �BETWEEN HE Union Square I Exhibition curated by­ Stanley I Grand - 3 V ,ii> 5- Essays by James M. Dennis and Kathleen Stanley I Grand E.S.FARl WILKES WILKES- SORDONI ART GALLERY / W WILKES-BARRE, PENNSYLVANIA 35 Edith Nankivell Union Square, 1935 etching and aquatint, 91/; x 11 Collection ofJohn Beck Photograph by Professional Photographic Services JANUARY 21 THROUGH MARGE �BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL Union Square in the 1930s Exhibition curated by Stanley I Grand Essays by James M. Dennis and Kathleen M. Daniels Stanley I Grand I V i E.S. FARLEY LIBRARY WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA SORDOMI ART GALLERY / WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-EARPE. PENNSYLVANIA JANUARY 2i THROUGH MARCH 3, 1996 ft IQUft Soidonl Ait Galluiy �A MODERN Isabel Bishop s Dante James M, Dermis University of i’7.< ■-r-.w-Af 'f/. ;i Kathleen M. DanieL College of St. Catherine 7V5 0 3 0 Wq 05 I ‘iCi* 6 Isabel Bishop Dante and Virgil in Union Square, 1932 oil on canvas, 27 x 52Va Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Gift of the Friends of Art, 1971 Photograph courtesy Delaware Art Museum 4 17 Isabel Bishop Virgil and Dante in Union Square—Study, 1932 graphite, 13 x 26 Collection of Palmer Museum of An, The Pennsylvania State UniversityPhotograph courtesy Palmer Museum of Art A s AN “AmEXICAN-ScENE” z L Bishop is generally assoc Street School of the 1930s whit Kenneth Hayes Miller. Edward and Raphael Soyer. At first. Bi borhoed on Fourteenth Street logist Dr. Harold G. Wolff ip. subway from Riverdale to her the northwest corner of L’nioi etchings, and paintings contin (more often than men) who li shopped around this near-to-c Created two years before her r ing, indeed mystifying, of all I in Union Square (Cat. no. 6) c< contrived display of densely p shadowy silhouettes of the rot dozen figures distributed aero: front row of the crowd, repres would never during that perio Union Square en masse, with Virgil. Bishop's painting is th; qualify as a genre depiction o possibly a history painting in vernacular traditions. Rather, should be interpreted allegori Tenuous interpretations of upon a familiar New York Ci published, and Bishop herself personal reasons for the units Questions are raised but go u example, did she move the Gt trian statue from the south er around, and align it in the ce guests? In pondering such ma ■: 1996 James M Dennis and Kathl 5 �P inte in Union Square-Study, 1932 *26 ■f Palmer Museum of Art, vania State University courtesy Palmer Museum of Art A MODERN AMERICAN PURGATORY Isabel Bishop’s Dante and Virgil in Union Square, 1932 James M. Dennis University of Wisconsin-Madison Kathleen M. Daniels College ofSt. Catherine A s an “A.merican-Scene” urban realist, Isabel offer more precise hypotheses with regard to the painting’s 1\. Bishop is generally associated with the Fourteenth diverse allusions than have heretofore been attempted. Street School of the 1930s which included her teacher In pursuing a plausible explanation for Dante and Kenneth Hayes Miller, Edward Laning, Reginald Marsh, Virgil’s visit to a working-class gathering place suddenly and Raphael Soyer. At first, Bishop lived in the neigh­ crowded with fashionably dressed members of the borhood on Fourteenth Street; but after marrying neuro­ middle class, we will look into Bishop’s personal and logist Dr. Harold G. Wolff in 1934, she commuted by professional origins and review the changing conditions subway from Riverdale to her new studio overlooking of the square and its immediate surroundings as they relate or fail to relate to the painting. We will also the northwest comer of Union Square. Her drawings, compare and contrast Bishop’s stage-like depiction to etchings, and paintings continued to depict women other examples of her Union Square work and to (more often than men) who lived, loitered, worked, or shopped around this near-to-downtown Manhattan hub. relevant examples by her neighborhood colleagues. Most Created two years before her marriage, the most intrigu­ significant, we will consider how the painting represents ing, indeed mystifying, of all her works, Dante and Virgil her basic social beliefs, in particular her faith in the American ideal of upward mobility. in Union Square (Cat. no. 6) confronts a strangely Directly related to the latter consideration, it must be contrived display of densely packed people with the shadowy silhouettes of the robed, literary pair. Some two noted that Bishop lived a comfortable, apparently contented, and perhaps even complacent life throughout dozen figures distributed across the foreground as the the Great Depression and beyond, enjoying her privi­ front row of the crowd, represent a social class that leges without any apparent qualms. Therefore, simply to would never during that period have jammed into assume that Dante and Virgil are visiting a twentieth­ Union Square en masse, with or without Dante and century inferno, is, in view of her secure, optimistic Virgil Bishop’s painting is thereby unreal. It does not qualify as a genre depiction of ordinary activity nor is it outlook, misleading. In a 1976 interview with Cindy Nemser, Bishop stated unequivocally, “But the Square possibly a history painting in either the classical or the was not the Inferno to me. It was not hell; it was beauti­ vernacular traditions. Rather, its personal iconography ful.”1 Such a positive opinion complies with her confi­ should be interpreted allegorically. dence in an ongoing condition of social progress. Tenuous interpretations of this curious intrusion Accordingly, her many female figures “in motion,” as upon a familiar New York City setting have been opposed to relatively passive male figures, might be published, and Bishop herself suggested rather vague interpreted as signifying the assertive “New Woman” in personal reasons for the unusual nature of the painting. quest of equality. On the other hand, if viewed as Questions are raised but go unanswered. Why, for willingly submissive in expression, her office-girl example, did she move the George Washington eques­ portrayals by the mid-thirties represent young women trian statue from the south end of the square, turn it biding their time in the marriage market.2 While not a around, and align it in the center with the two mystery highway of guaranteed upward mobility, marriage was guests? In pondering such manipulations, we intend to the mapped-out route for most; and Bishop, newly married to a prosperous man herself, apparently had no argument with this custom, accepting it as a given in a t. ]996 James M. Dennis and Kathleen M. Daniels 5 Bb-rij’Vtw �On the other hand, her relationship with generally parallels that of Virgil to Dante: figures, some with fur collars and at least two with children, hold the front line of Dante andVirgil s carefully orchestrated Union Square. With such promi­ nence they could stand for the dreamed-of destination of Bishop’s hopeful young women working their way up. A number of parallels can be drawn between Isabel Bishop’s life up to 1932 and Dante and Virgil in Union Square. As outside observers, Dante and Virgil are clearly separated from the crowd of people that fills the square. When examining Bishop’s earlier years, one soon discovers a pattern of social separation to the point of seclusion. She too was an outsider looking on. The last bom of her parents’ five children, Bishop was thirteen years younger than the second of two sets of twins who preceded her. She grew up in a working-class district of Detroit on a street bordering a more affluent neighborhood. Her well-educated, intellectual parents turned their backs on their immediate neighbors and would not allow their youngest child to play with the children of the block. She watched them enviously from her windows, excluded: We were very isolated in Detroit and had almost no social life because although we didn’t have the money, we identified with the big houses on the next block. I wasn’t supposed to play with the children in my block, or be connected with them but wanted to be. I thought, “Oh, they have a warmer life than I do-they all know each other, and see each other and we are isolated.”4 She would continue to express this feeling as an artist depicting incidental activities viewed from her Manhat­ tan studio: I think my being drawn to the 14th Street people and my sympathetic fascination with them came partly out of my isolation as a child and my fascination with my block, although I didn't realize it myself until a long time after.5 Remembering her childhood generally as a state of lonely detachment, Bishop also spoke of painful estrangement especially from her mother: “I wanted to be special. I always wanted more than I got. I overheard her say one day she felt like a grandmother to me. I hated that. I wanted a mother.”6 The reference to Dante in the painting, as well as the statuesque coldness of its female figures, in particular the mother on the left side, might be associated with the frustration she suffered because of her mother’s lack of interest in her: All the years of my growing up, she was totally absorbed a,tlng Dante’1 ^nize now that she was living with the disappointment of wanting to be a writer and of never getting published. But I was so mixed up then. Eveiyone was trymg to do something to me, excent mv' mother. She was indifferent.’ * P ? 6 r ' My father adopted me as his special intere ■ ::. . family as divided into two groups, “we" and " J- Mother and my sisters and brothers were on >• and my father and I were on the other.’ In Dante’s Divine Comedy, Virgil joins Dant: j mentor, guide, and protector on a joumes throigh the afterlife. In real life, Dante, as a proto-Renaissance, classical humanist, had turned to Virgil’s writings in search of inspiration and a model for his own As Virgil had been of help to Dante, Bishop’s father was of constant assistance to her on many levels. Consequently despite her mother’s translation of Dante’s masterpiece, Bishop dedicated the painting to her father. It was scaled to hang over the fireplace mantle of her parents' house in White Plains, New York, where they lived from the time of his retirement as a teacher of Greek and Latin until his death.’ Following several years’ study at the Art Students League, completely financed by her father’s wealthy cousin, James Bishop Ford, Bishop settled into a studio­ residence at 9 West Fourteenth Street a year or so before the Stock Market crash. There she stayed until her marriage in 1934, when she moved her studio to 857 Broadway, catercomer from the northwest end of Union Square.10 By that time, with encouragement from her close friends Reginald Marsh and the painter-critic Guy P6ne du Bois, she had made a good start in overcoming the stilted, rather bulbous figural forms learned from her academic instructor, Kenneth Hayes Miller." Though she attributed her disciplined techniques and working habits to him, while possibly looking to the figural style of Edward Laning as well (Cat. no. 29 ), her drawings and etchings of this period foreshadow a personal style advanced by Dante and Virgil in Union Square. Without adopting a Robert Henri, “life over art’’ spontaneity once practiced by John Sloan and George Luks, its finished figures, while precisely contoured, do retain a slight painterly quality inherited from prepara­ tory studies (Cat. nos. 16, 17, and 18). The ironic display of highly prosperous-looking people on what had become a gathering place of depres­ sion-stricken workers may have been aimed at the artist’s parents, a kind of compensation in view of their inability to achieve the upper-middle-class status they envied, a common dilemma of secondary teachers and scholars. Historically, such a fantasy of economic elevation harks back to an earlier phase in the life of Union Square. During the second half of the nineteenth century, the Union Square district, especially Fourteenth Street, flourished as New’ York’s center of fashionable entertain­ ment and shopping, catering to, among others, the residents of mansions around the square. Built in 1854 15 Isabel Bishop Union Square Looking East, graphite, 6Lz * 9'.; Collection of Sordom Art Gift ofJudge Herbert W. J 16 Isabel Bishop Union Squa-e Lulling Ezi, graphite, 4 * 51; Courtesy ot DC Moore G Photograph by Profession 7 �cd, her relationship with her father ly parallels that of Virgil to Dante: ither adopted me as his special interest. He saw the y as divided into two groups, “we” and “they-.” er and my sisters and brothers were on one side, iv father and I were on the other.8 inte’s Divine Comedy, Virgil joins Dante as a guide, and protector on a journey through the . In real life, Dante, as a proto-Renaissance, humanist, had turned to Virgil’s writings in if inspiration and a model for his own. As Virgil n of help to Dante, Bishop’s father was of t assistance to her on many levels. Consequently, her mother’s translation of Dante’s masterpiece, dedicated the painting to her father. It was scaled over the fireplace mantle of her parents’ house e Plains, New York, where they lived from the his retirement as a teacher of Greek and Latin death.’ ving several years’ study at the Art Students completely financed by her father’s wealthy ames Bishop Ford, Bishop settled into a studio: at 9 West Fourteenth Street a year or so before k Market crash. There she stayed until her : in 1934, when she moved her studio to 857 y, catercomer from the northwest end of Union By that time, with encouragement from her mds Reginald Marsh and the painter-critic Guy Bois, she had made a good start in overcoming d, rather bulbous figural forms learned from emic instructor, Kenneth Hayes Miller.11 she attributed her disciplined techniques and habits to him, while possibly looking to the tyle of Edward Laning as well (Cat. no. 29 ), her and etchings of this period foreshadow a style advanced by Dante and Xlrgil in Union Vithout adopting a Robert Henri, “life over art” ■ity once practiced by John Sloan and George finished figures, while precisely contoured, do slight painterly quality inherited from prepara­ lies (Cat. nos. 16, 17, and 18). onic display of highly prosperous-looking n what had become a gathering place of depresken workers may have been aimed at the arents, a kind of compensation in view of their to achieve the upper-middle-class status they common dilemma of secondary teachers and Historically, such a fantasy of economic 1 harks back to an earlier phase in the life of quare. g the second half of the nineteenth century, the quare district, especially Fourteenth Street, id as New York’s center of fashionable entertaind shopping, catering to, among others, the of mansions around the square. Built in 1854 4- J . . M- * ■ iJ 15 Isabel Bishop Union Square Looking East, n.d. graphite, 6‘/r * 9'h Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University Gift ofJudge Herbert W. Salus 16 Isabel Bishop Union Square Looking Edit, Study for Virgil and Dante, c. 1927 graphite, 4 ' yti Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 7 7 �/; .... on the south side of East Fourteenth, the Academy of Music hosted opera companies from abroad while plays were performed on the opposite side of the street at the living Place Theater and Tony Pastor’s theater. Tiffany s jewelry store and Brentano’s bookstore were well established on Union Square West by the Seventies; and the original Hearn s, Macy s, and 13. Allman and Company soon followed nearby as the city’s most elegant department stores. In keeping with the rapid growth cycle of an American urban economy, the heyday' was over by the turn of the century. Commercial buildings replaced the wealthy residences; most of the great stores had moved further uptown; and FourteenthStreet theater declined to vaudeville, then to burlesque, and finally to striptease. The predominance of garment­ industry sweatshops among the growing number of small manufacturers put a finishing touch on the general deterioration of the area as a residential neighborhood.12 Construction of new apartment buildings to the south, in what is now called the East Village, helped to revive the growth of retail businesses around Fourteenth Street and Broadway during the twenties. Hearn’s, still in its original location, led the way by expanding toward Fifth Avenue. Then the giant discount stores, Ohrbach’s and S. Klein’s, specializing in women’s wear and accesso­ ries, opened. In addition, a half-dozen banks, the Guardian Life Insurance Company, the Consolidated Edison Company, and several other major office buildings were erected by the end of the short-lived, post-World War I boom.13 The Crash of 1929 halted the progress. This was visible until the mid-1930s on Union Square itself. From 1928 until 1936, a major subway construction project, designed to unite Union Square Station on the Broad­ way line with the Fourteenth Street line, dragged on. It was necessary to raise the square some five feet or more and build a retaining wall around it in place of a nineteenth-century wrought-iron fence. With complete relandscaping, it seemed to take forever. Henry Kirke Brown’s equestrian statue of George Washington, completed in 1856, was moved from its original location at the intersection of Fourteenth Street and Fourth Avenue to face downtown on the exact center of the south end of the square, while his Lincoln statue of 1868 was taken from its traffic-ridden spot at Fourteenth and Broadway and relocated toward the north end of the square. Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi’s Lafayette statue, the first to be shifted from one place to another, was placed on the east side of the square looking across at S. Klein’s annex As indicated by the excavated area around Adolf von ^hTftHn Mothcrandr Children Foun,ain’ 1881. shown of^he /4/6°<;/Pai,ncn;g’ Du™g ,be ^nsion of the 14 h Street Subway Station (not in exhibition), Bishop lived through the changes, large and small However She bore little witness to them, drawing much £ “ ’eC' I*3*1" ,r°m F°Urteenth 8treet- In On th Street (Fourteenth Street), 1931 (Cat. no. 13), two aggressive 8 women dressed in white stride forward. she , shoulder, through a sidewalk group of , ing men.1* 1 he men of On the Street, in o >• five most prominent male figures opposite . Dante and Virgil in Union Square, are doubt ■ ing class, probably unemployed Their sullen discontent is as close as Bishop ever . . acknowledging the local gatherings that 1 ac increased in the form of unemployment d r , political rallies and protests against polic. brut Labor unions and the newly formed Comma'; U.S.A, shared May Day around and finally or. ■ of the square throughout the Depression. Though not an active participant in any <.t . events, Bishop could not have avoided being a* u~ them, especially after moving her studio tn )'U< th: marchers coming down Broadway and convergi-g at Union Square, the noise, the music, the chants and speeches. All of these she relished as a mam cc arse cf the neighborhood’s basic menu: I imagine I listened to the Third Internationa! ;rax morning until night. I watched the parade floats and heard the shouts to free Tom Mooney. My world i through my window. I look out of my window ar. • I fee! I’ve eaten/5 Individual body language rather than rhetoric, physical mobility rather than political movements and their ideologies, preoccupied Bishop from her years of life-drawing to the “walking” pictures toward the end of her career. “Earthy” female nudes in at nor poses or paired, young working women from the surrounding offices, attentive to each other's talk, represent her most intimate art.1* The majority of her men, Union Square idlers, “bums” she called them, appealed to her artist’s eye as a ragged fringe. So her sketch-to-painting responses to them, in works such as The Club (Cat. no. 4), were physically empathic rather than politically sympathetic. People have said to me “You must have been very socially conscious then because of the depression,” but I did not see it that way. I felt then, and still feel, that the* are aliens by temperament. I don’t say their economic disadvantages haven’t something to do with their condition but essentially they are persons who are eccentric. They are really hedonists. I got to know them as I had a series of them come up here. They would bring each other and they would take anything they could las their hands on.17 Close up and quiet, without intruding in detail upon the individual portrayed. Bishop approached men and women in essentially the same way. Though very similar in technique to Honore Daumier’s Th.rd Clan Carnap, c. 1862, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. her painting of bunched-up, coarsely clothed men at the base of the Washington equestrian statue in The Club1935 (Cat. no. 4) was not meant to expose a critical 26 Peter Hopkins Riot ar Union Sqiuy. Mi-.-t. .’930.1947 oil on canvas, 37 » 4S Collection of Museum of the City of New York Gift of the Artist Photograph courtesy Museum of the Ccv of Ne 9 �.. de forward, shoulder-to; side" ..Ik group of shabby, convershe men of Ctn Street, in contrast to the eminent male figures opposite the poets in rn;.7 in Union Square, are doubtlessly workobably unemployed. Their appearance of item is as close as Bishop ever came to ng the local gatherings that had recently the form of unemployment demonstrations, ies and protests against police brutality, is and the newly formed Communist Party d May Day around and finally on the park : throughout the Depression. ot an active participant in any of these >p could not have avoided being aware of ally after moving her studio in 1934: the tning down Broadway and converging at e, the noise, the music, the chants and of these she relished as a main course of hood’s basic menu: listened to the Third International from itil night I watched the parade floats and bouts to free Tom Mooney. My world is ■f window. I look out of my window and I feel body language rather than rhetoric, bilit}' rather than political movements and jes, preoccupied Bishop from her student drawing to the “walking" pictures toward er career. “Earthy” female nudes in action •ed, voung working women from the offices, attentive to each other’s talk, ■ most intimate art.16 The majority of her Square idlers, “bums" she called them, her artist’s eye as a ragged fringe. So her nting responses to them, in works such as at. no. 4), were physically empathic rather illy sympathetic. e said to me “You must have been very socially hen because of the depression,” but I did not vay. I felt then, and still feel, that these are unperamenL I don’t say their economic ;es haven’t something to do with their sut essentially they are persons who are They are really hedonists. I got to know them cries of them come up here. The;.' would bring and they would take anything they could lay i on." and quiet, without intruding in detail upon al portrayed, Bishop approached men and ssentially the same way. Though very similar : to Honore Daumier’s Third Class Carriage, he Metropolitan Museum of Art, her bunched-up, coarsely clothed men at the Washington equestrian statue in The Club, 10. 4) was not meant to expose a critical 26 Peter Hopkins Riot at Union Square, March 6, 1930, 1947 oil on canvas, 37 r 43 Collection of Museum of the City of New York Gift of the Artist Photograph courtesy Museum of the City of New York 9 �condition as an appeal to reform it.- Whatever rhe human dilemma might be, social, psychological, or (as is most likely) a combination of the two, the figures impart an aura of calm. A melancholy of endurance contrasts considerably to the obtrusive melodrama of Albert Halper’s descriptions of the raucous masses in is 1933 novel Union Square. With the first crack of daylight the parade of the Fourteenth Street beggars began. There were legless fellows; blind men who held onto small, faithful dogs; deformed, cleanly shaven fellows who wore army shirts and overseas hats to give a good “ex-service" effect ... The noise was terrific, everything was bedlam. Folks crossed the street against the traffic and were shouted at by our vigilant police. Everywhere you turned a vender shoved an object under your nose, yelling, screaming, urging you to buy.” Such raucous conditions find a substantial degree of confirmation in early 1930s works by Bishop’s colleague Reginald Marsh. Painted a year after Halper’s novel. Marsh’s In Fourteenth Street (not in exhibition) includes at least fivo pathetically handicapped men, one in the lower right-hand comer and the other in the left middleground. The latter, legless on the curb, seems to be screaming rather than merely begging for change, the crowd oblivious to his pleas. The other leans heavily on crutches, face somber, clothes disheveled in shocking contrast to the mannequin-like, blonde glamour girl nearest to him.20 While not as overtly critical in his imagery as Marsh, Raphael Soyer also sympathized with the down-and-out of Union Square and the Fourteenth Street area. The heads of three pathetic men dominate the lower right corner of the painting, In the City Park, 1934 (Cat. no. 43). The central man, a self-portrait of the artist wearing a cap, stares downward woefully. In front of him, a friend or stranger sleeps with his mouth open. Head fallen back, he cushions it with his left hand whose arm rests heavily on a twine-wrapped bundle. The third man, also sleeping or in a trance, leans forward with his jawsunk in a hand as thick-fingered as that of the fore­ ground. In the middleground, a newsboy, two women, and a man in shirtsleeves circle and turn toward the equestrian statue of Washington retreating on its high pedestal in the direction of Fourteenth Street buildings Several more men sit idly in the background.2' Bishop’s intolerance for such crisis content in Pontings biased her description of an exhibition of over 500 entries she judged in the mid-thirties. Highly skeptical of their subject matter, she wrote: “You'd think bus great country- was entirely composed of these little tmy [rrc] people living in slums.’22 C&Atc?atCdjj\the beSt °‘ her “bum” P‘ctures> upon Sim' {P™ly me"tioned), she looked Xh a uadh- T c lnhlbitints of Vni™ S^are esptially h d ?h ?r the Pitturc«Iue- Th< men y he aesthetic appeal of any crusty, highly textured forms. They could be rendered m . or pigment as “colorful.’’ as abstraction.—with . ...... mal concern for their physical, psydwlog ci; , condition: I’ve been interested in bums and s<> cn-■ r . interested because I could get then-,. They v- ?r, . , and they were very beautiful to dra--. were victims exactly, but that their lr.es were matter of choice.1* . Viewing poverty as picturesque prevailed :r. Futopean painting from the Early Renaissance the three shabby shepherds in Hugo van der Goes’ Portman Altarpiece tumble into the nativ v scene as a beautiful arabesque of down-to-earth reality. Religious iconography aside, a detached aesthetic attitude toward the poor continued to be assumed by many leading artists as diverse as Dtlrer, Hals, Rembrandt. Murillo, and Manet. In New York, Bishop’s predecessors in Henri’s circle of urban realists, espe< i illy George Luks, maintained a similar detachment in their attraction to the lower Manhattan poor, an aesthetic class conscious ness with little apparent intention of exposing social |||, The working people provided them a subject matter with an unspoiled, rough “edge,” as Luks termed it. Sounding essentially like Bishop in his attitude toward poverty, Luks considered the slums from an optimistic point of view characteristic ol the Progressive period, that is, as a refuge for the momentarily poor It is not in human nature to repose, passive and resistless, on the bottom. The result is that all hands go to work to puli themselves up out of their rut of poverty, and the dominant message of rhe slums becomes “We Strive." There are many other notes tn the song that the slums are singing, but that one expresses the prevailing spirit of it all. And that spirit bears fruition, too. The people do overcome their poverty and pass on into other spheres ” That a bum’s life was “largely a matter of choice" to Bishop clearly reflected a basic belief advanced by the Progressive period. Accordingly, poverty, at least for most white Americans, need only be a temporary condition. As social historian Robert Bremner con­ cluded in From the Depth.-: "In normal times Americans were accustomed to think of unemployment as exclu­ sively the problem of the inefficient and indolent. ~ In short, class mobility resulted from ambition and personal effort in a society of ostensible equal opportu­ nity. To be prosperous was a virtue, a sign of puritanical blessedness while poverty was a punishment for 'he deadly sin of sloth. Bishop's comments the subject simply repeats an American adage that a middle-class existence awat'-s _ anyone who strives for it "It’s something that s true or America. The people I paint are dearly defined as a- cj«But they i-e not be and to that class. There s tic tion to what they may do and no telling where they ■ *■ 18 Isabel Bishop Virgiland Dante in Un :r; : graphite, 6- i ■ 1Courtesy of DC Moore G; Photograph by Protessiona wind up.’ ’ 10 11 �>- . " could be rendered in graphite, ink, r;ent as "colorful,” as abstractions—with a minincem for their physical, psychological, or social on: ?een interested in bums and so on for years. I was ested because I could get them. They were available, hey were very beautiful to draw.... I didn’t feel they victims exactly, but that their lives were largely a :r of choice.23 i. ing poverty as picturesque prevailed in European g from the Early Renaissance. As early as 1476, :e shabby shepherds in Hugo van der Goes’ *i Altarpiece tumble into the nativity scene as a jl arabesque of down-to-earth reality. Religious aphy aside, a detached aesthetic attitude toward r continued to be assumed by many leading s diverse as DQrer, Hals, Rembrandt, Murillo, net. In New York, Bishop’s predecessors in circle of urban realists, especially George Luks, ned a similar detachment in their attraction to er Manhattan poor, an aesthetic class consciousfa little apparent intention of exposing social ills, rking people provided them a subject matter with oiled, rough “edge,” as Luks termed it. Sounding Uy like Bishop in his attitude toward poverty, nsidered the slums from an optimistic point of iracteristic of the Progressive period, that is, as a ar the momentarily poor: □t in human nature to repose, passive and resistless, : bottom. The result is that all hands go to work to temselves up out of their rut of poverty, and the lant message of the slums becomes “We Strive.” are many other notes in the song that the slums are g, but that one expresses the prevailing spirit of it id that spirit bears fruition, too. The people do >me their poverty and pass on into other spheres?4 a bum’s life was “largely a matter of choice” to dearly reflected a basic belief advanced by the ive period. Accordingly, poverty, at least for rite Americans, need only be a temporary n. As social historian Robert Bremner conn From the Depths-. “In normal times Americans ustomed to think of unemployment as exclue problem of the inefficient and indolent.”25 In ass mobility resulted from ambition and effort in a society of ostensible equal opportube prosperous was a virtue, a sign of puritanical ess while poverty was a punishment for the in of sloth. p s comments on the subject simply repeated an n adage that a middle-class existence awaits A'ho strives for it: “It’s something that’s true of . The people I paint are clearly defined as a class, are not bound to that class. There’s no limitariiat they may do and no telling where they may 18 Isabel Bishop Virgil and Dante in Union Square-3 Studies, 1932 graphite, f>'/i * 3'A Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 11 �J If individuals of the working poor wanted to move, Bishop believed they could "in a social sense. I was after mobility and I felt about these class-marked people that they were mobile in life, and that some of them did move. I’ve kept track dunng many years and some have moved in life. Others, of course, haven t, but an emphasis on this possibility seems to me a characteris­ tic of American life.27 While possible improvement of one’s class status might be read into Bishop’s paintings of young working women, Dame Fortune, or at least her rewards of advantageous choice in a mobile society, is allegorized in only one major work: Dante and Virgil in Union Square (Cat. no. 6). The Calvinist-Puritan doctrine that an outward show of inward grace awaits those predes­ tined few who profitably tend their earthly gardens equates with the well clad, obviously prosperous people who fill the lower third of the composition. All the women wear cloche hats, and most of them sport furcollared coats or separate fur pieces. Their outfits are in the style of the day, their skirts are fashionably knee­ length. They carry clutch purses and some packages. Except for the woman on the far right who seems to enjoy her conversation with a smiling male companion to the point of laughing out loud, the faces remain relatively expressionless. The fewer men are dressed in two- and three-piece suits, bow ties, neckties, and mostly fedora-type hats. While they engage in the same leisurely coming and going as the women, two of them, who stand to the right of center, appear to be discussing the strange looking pair in front of them. With the introduction of Dante and Virgil as supplementary subject matter, any literal “genre" meaning in the painting is replaced by'an obtuse, allegorical one. As critic Craig Owens, in reference to Benedetto Croce’s theory of allegory, explains: “Conceived as something added or superadded to the work after the fact, allegory will consequently be detachable from it... The allegorical supplement is not only an addition, but also a replacement. It takes the place of an earlier meaning, which is thereby either effaced or obscured.”28 Not only the foremost figures of Dante and Virgil SX ^l'Xh SPM,,”S ' outfit, a working" £ mfn J 7 ” a short red brown, his threewXrh ln dark baggy trousers hanging ove/l’ 8‘ng 3nd hlS his shoes. Unlike the other men ln their full-brim hats, he -- wears a cap, a sign of his 12 lower status. He too walks away from u> :■ direction converging with that of the wcr. would meet at a crowded point in front background structure: a weakly supper awning ambiguously located in front ot Square Savings Bank building. Ongiruliv ' . . relatively solid, freestanding, arched emr. no. 18), this final version casts a dark ova! against which three other capped heads apy.-ji ;r, -j,cjr triangular relationship, the two outcast figure .rjj vague destination serve as a subtle reminder h.. Un on Square is not easy street. Along with this token of impoverishment, the peculiar presence of Dante and Virgil causes Bishop’s painting to become something more (or less) than a “rose-tinted” view of an affluent shopping-center extension of Fourteenth Street. The meaning of this as a social statement must stem in part from her often repeated childhood memory of living on a borderline between prosperity and poverty. This region-Union Square-interests me in a way that 1 don't understand myself. I think it has to do with a deep association from the time of my childhood in Detroit, and there was a kind of appetite that I developed for the other direction, toward the slum region. It seemed warmer to me. It seemed more human, and 1 liked ii better, and yet I know that my family’s feeling was that we were only one street from the good section, they wished to associate themselves with the good section. There was conflict. I feel that may be part of the reason for my loving this Union Square region, which is a rather shabby business region of New York.1’ On the one hand. Bishop was attracted to Union Square and its neighborhood for the same reasons she had been attracted to the poor neighborhood back home in Detroit: its human warmth. On the other, she eased her conflict with her parents’ class-conscious envy by converting the square momentarily into a “good section" of affluence. This accommodation, combined with her belief in the American “boot-straps" myth of social mobility, lends a clue as to what aspect of the Divine Comedy Dante and Virgil’s New York visit most convincingly alludes and how this reference expresses her basic reaction to the worst years of the Depression. Dante, it must be remembered, takes the reader on a progressive tour of hell and purgatory with Virgil as his guide. Hell, or infemo, is divided into nine stages, each t different punishment befitting an earthly sin. The first stage, limbo, indefinitely confines the souls of the unbaptized and virtuous heathens. In contrast to Delacroix’s famo us painting. The Barque of Dante and Virgil Crossing the River Styx, 1822. based on an episode from Canto VIII of the Inferno.. Bishop’s rather benign scene of orderly people, snugly deposited on Union , Square, represents none of the specific stages of heli. She obviously did not intend to illustrate an) e1,c“ punishment and left possible association with Enuo. 2 Isabel Bishop At the .Voon Hour, c. 1932 tempera and pencil on composition board, 2: Collection of Museum of Fine Aits, Spnngfx James Philip Gray Collection Photograph courtesy Museum of Fine Arts 13 �T.s away from us in an oblique ■ith that of the woman. They led point in front of a peculiar a weakly supported, rounded seated in front of the Union uilding. Originally sketched as a nding, arched entranceway (Cat. on casts a dark oval shadow her capped heads appear. In their , the two outcast figures and their i as a subtle reminder that Union :n of impoverishment, the ante and Virgil causes Bishop’s mething more (or less) than a n affluent shopping-center h Street. The meaning of this as a stem in part from her oftenanory of living on a borderline 1 poverty. [uare-interests me in a way that I elf. I think it has to do with a deep ime of my childhood in Detroit, >f appetite that I developed for the d the slum region. It seemed ted more human, and I liked it that my family’s feeling was that ;t from the good section, they emselves with the good section, eel that may be part of the reason ion Square region, which is a rather I of New York.30 ishop was attracted to Union irhood for the same reasons she the poor neighborhood back home warmth. On the other, she eased >arents’ class-conscious envy by momentarily into a "good This accommodation, combined American “boot-straps” myth of a clue as to what aspect of the and Virgil’s New York visit most nd how this reference expresses he worst years of the Depression, tmembered, takes the reader on a II and purgatory with Virgil as his >, is divided into nine stages, each a befitting an earthly sin. The first :ely confines the souls of the ms heathens. In contrast to tinting, The Barque of Dante and r Styx, 1822, based on an episode ae Inferno, Bishop’s rather benign le, snugly deposited on Union ae of the specific stages of Dante’s d not intend to illustrate any given possible association with limbo, 2 Babel Bishop At the Noon Hour, c. 1932 tempera and pencil on composition board, 25 x 1 8'/h Collection of Museum of Fine Arts, Springfield, Massachusetts James Philip Gray Collection Photograph courtesy Museum of Fine Arts 13 �hell or purgatory open to interpretation. In a character­ istically understated manner, she claims only to ha enlisted Dante and his ancient guide to wrtness a multi­ plicity of souls.”3' She does not say they were lost or doomed and, in fact, seems to stress the setting rather than its occupants. In reading a literal translation of Dante, perhaps her mother’s, she discovered that his attachments to to descriptive passages matched her warm attachments the physical nature of Union Square. Dante’s Inferno, in this down-to-earth “unpoetical” translation, has to me a marvelous homely quality, almost a “genre” feeling in its reference to the definite, particular and concrete features of objects. They are thus given an every day character even in the midst of the fantastic underworld! This “genre" aspect connected in my mind with my feeling for Union Square, which I felt to be homely, ugly, and in that quality, lovable (instead of fearful) as the setting for hordes of human beings.12 Bishop’s reading of the Inferno ironically did not dwell on terror but on pleasant references. These related to her positive feelings for Union Square inversely conditioned by her memories of the marginal residential district in Detroit. In conformity with her parents’ preference for the well-to-do a block away, the “multiplicity of souls" is hardly a “genre” subject of working-class people in the traditional art-historical sense of the word. With two definite exceptions, this crowd was enlisted from the hordes of middle-class shoppers on Fourteenth Street. Furthermore, from their pant-legged appearance in the original pencil studies, even Dante and Virgil evolved from immediate pedestrian beginnings (Cat. no. 18). In the final preparatory drawing (Cat. no. 17) they face the east side of the square; and in the painting, the sun is to their backs, shining from the northwestern sky over their left shoulders. This would make the time of day mid-to-late afternoon, as indicated by the lengthening shadows. In contrast to the darkened foreground of Dante and Virgil and the cloud-filled, background sky, three clusters of buildings absorb the sunlight and shine forth. As in the early fourteenth-century Peaceful City from Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s fresco Allegoy of Good Government in the Sala della Pace of the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena, the radiant city of pristine surfaces reflects a civic ideal of prosperity, an ideologically blessed system, which in the United States promises upward mobility, his context, among others, needs to be considered in mterpretmg the meaning of Bishop’s Dante and Virgil in Union Square vis-i-vis the Divine Comedy. * The rush-hour velocity of rapid descent into what S“,r; f“"of 14 4 ™.T‘LX8„k,n facade is topped by three stacked balls. If onl , these could be read as attributes of Saint Nldvf • ' Myra, the patron saint of travelers as well a. ?, ‘. type for Santa Claus, a transfiguration m 1 ?!I , ' hoped for benefit and well-being.33 While praising the execution and “poetic . ■ ibi •, of Bishop’s early major painting as superior to an paintings by either Kenneth Hayes Miller or R;-Hnald Marsh, Helen Yglesias flirted with an interpretation of its Union Square as a contemporary hell- If the multiplicity of human souls on the square ate the sinners in a circle of hell, then hell is the ordinariness of daily living and tMhe “sinners” face their “lives of desperation” with a measure of patience, courage and dignity that overlays the scene with a strange calm.3* Lacking the dynamic sublimity or agonizing disrup­ tions of a convincing hell h la Delacroix, the final version of the painting, with its crowded quietude, contrasts with Bishop’s earliest painting bearing the name of the place. In Union Square During the Expansion of the 14th Street Subway Station, 1930 (not in exhibition), two men work around Von Donndorfs fountain of motherly love waist deep in dirt and debris, similar to the fifth stage of Dante’s hell where the wrathful sink into a mire. In a setting dark and barren, a wagon, retaining wall, some sheds, and a few more vaguely discernible figures blend into the bottom stories of tall, dark buildings receding down a side street. Foreboding, these provide no sense of security, not even a fire escape. Only the dusky golden sky and the isolated sculpture of a mother with her children offers relief in an otherwise desolate atmosphere. In the second and third small pencil sketches (Cat. no. 18) preliminary to the painting of Dante and Virgil in Union Square, the possible image of a crowd being drawn into a subway entrance as if siphoned into a nether­ world, might be related to the second stage of hell in which the souls of carnal sinners are continuously blown around by stormy winds. The subway train, in its dark subterranean tunnels, moves people here and there, day in, day out. However, as discussed earlier, Bishop abandoned the frenzy of these sketches in the final painting and settled on a quiescent arrangement of clearly delineated figures against a background of bright rectangular forms. Karl Lunde, in his brief 1975 monograph on Bishop, while intending to focus on the content of her work, avoided concrete conclusions concerning any of its particulars. He did, however, in asking the question , “What are Dante and Virgil doing on Union Square; hypothesize that a central theme of limbo began with their appearance before the staid city crowd and contin ued through several subsequent paintings. Who are the Strap Hangers being hurtled through the , underground? And what is the meaning of the cathe ra. complexity of the station shown in Under Union Sqaan- I 12 Isabel Bishop Noon Hour, 1935 etching, 7*5 Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes Univ Sordom/Myers Acquisition Fund Purchase Photograph by Professional Photographic Servii 15 �three stacked balls. If only golden, 1 as attributes of Saint Nicholas of aint of travelers as well as the proto­ ns, a transfiguration in keeping with ind well-being.33 he execution and “poetic ambiguity” lajor painting as superior to any Kenneth Hayes Miller or Reginald sias flirted with an interpretation of s a contemporary hell: of human souls on the square are the of hell, then hell is the ordinariness of the “sinners” face their “lives of a measure of patience, courage and ys the scene with a strange calm.'* tmic sublimity’ or agonizing disrupng hell a la Delacroix, the final ting, with its crowded quietude, op’s earliest painting bearing the In Union Square During tie Expansion 'raay Station, 1930 (not in exhibition), jnd Von Donndorfs fountain of t deep in din and debris, similar to ante’s hell where the wrathful sink tting dark and barren, a wagon, e sheds, and a few more vaguely alend into the bottom stories of tall, ding down a side street. Foreboding, nse of security, not even a fire escape, den sky and the isolated sculpture of children offers relief in an otherwise d third small pend! sketches (Cat. no. the painting of Dante and Virgil in ossible image of a crowd being drawn tnce as if siphoned into a netherated to the second stage of hell in carnal sinners are continuously tormy winds. The subway train, in its tunnels, moves people here and there, rwever, as discussed earlier, Bishop izj’ of these sketches in the final 1 on a quiescent arrangement of igures against a background of bright is brief 1975 monograph on Bishop, focus on the content of her work, onclusions concerning any of its , however, in asking rhe question nd Virgil doing on Union Square?” central theme of limbo began with efore the staid city crowd and continil subsequent paintings. Hangers being hurtled through the i what is the meaning of the cathedral station shown in Under Union Square"'. 12 Isabel Bishop Noon Hour, 1935 etching, 7*5 Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University Sordoni/Myers Acquisition Fund Purchase Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 15 �,<W <■' jnv rsc»tar .0^ -"“■-KJ-'' f her 1 ' and no recr0 Ru?h '^the I"1’1”. ^fsh.n" r tin,rrl front ‘ and menj" £ and , return^ iS1* J referenv. here observed- ,WD> “"Sy «««■•* ‘ £S^^,iOTO s^.- m-ny M formal^ a ” action. That thts wa> existence, however, is quest' display of upward social n final composition evolved Square extended indefinite; figures to enter and exit at interpretation, this openin oriented composition coir an unfixed state of class d she completed this major mic animation of her coll be equated metaphorically advancement. This is cons retrospective references to I was conscious of their be fixed If I succeeded m ma senns°° J ‘hat Aey could t ense, this opened up a sui m Ude the ability of J Projectlhro. Ph°tenrU1 thj L'ni°n Square ^_ninetecn ' b0>’ and a b2P7tatle’ « SUrnrned up rh ^Unde, !n Raphael Soyer In the City Park, 1934 oil on canvas, 37% x 39% Private Collection Piiotograph by Michael Thomas hui ini °vemcnt,lnh7nv^on source The r ‘tan<e a/nr>ual ‘r"? >u B‘Shc, �Why is the painting so calm and still? Where are these people? They are in Union Square, in the subway, in life— and they are in limbo?5 He went so far as to apply his hypothesis to the “walking" paintings of the sixties and seventies in which “the figures are doing what the title denotes, but they are also transparent wraiths in a limbo where paths cross and recross and no one ever touches or meets anyone else.””' Ruth Weisberg, in her 1985 article on Isabel Bishop, reiterated the limbo interpretation of Dante and Virgil in Union Square. From its criss-cross ambling of women and men in front of shining high buildings Bishop returned "again and again to the limbo of the modem city and its shitting patterns of purposeful walkers.”37 In reference to the 1957-1958 Suhray Seme (not tn exhibi­ tion) Weisberg observed: "The overall transparency and fleeting, ghostly presence of people remind us again of Dante and his evocation of souls who wander timelessly in limbo."53 The evenly placed figures of Dante and Virgil in Union Square mark a point in her early career at which Bishop formalized a rather mechanical pattern of human inter­ action. That this was meant to express a limbo-like existence, however, is questionable in view of their sartorial display of upward social mobility. Furthermore, as its final composition evolved, Dante and Virgil in Union Square extended indefinitely on both sides, allowing figures to enter and exit at will. Very significant to our interpretation, this opening out of an otherwise centeroriented composition complements Bishop’s fixation on an unfixed state of class distinction. And, by the time she completed this major work the increasingly rhyth­ mic animation of her collective figures allowed itself to be equated metaphorically with self-assertive social advancement. This is consistently verified in her retrospective references to the growth of her figural style: I was conscious of their being class-marked, but not classfixed. If I succeeded in making them seem to the onlooker that they could rum and move in a physical sense, this opened up a subjective potential which could include the mobility of content.-' It was this potential that Bishop apparently wished to project through nineteen stage-front women in her 1932 Union Square spectacle, accompanied by seven men, a boy, and a baby. Lunde, in spite of his limbo contention, summed up this early interest in social mobility accurately when he wrote The single aspect of nature that most interests her is humankind in the environment of Union Square. People in movement, in transition, flux and change are the source of what she paints?' The central significance of mobility and change to a decade that saw an annual average of five million Americans move across state lines in search of economic betterment underlies Bishop’s maneuvering of Brown's equestrian George Washington. She moved the bronze monument from the south end of the square, reversed its direction, and placed it in the exact center of the composition, the horse's hindquarters and tail coincid­ ing with the middle contour of Dante and Virgil (Cat. no. 17). So relocated, it helps to fasten together the two most energetic zones of the painting: that of the milling people and that of the erratic tops of tall buildings. Both horizontal bands signify dynamic change, while the equestrian Washington provides a constant. As a historic icon, highlighted by the 1932 bicentennial of his birth, the grand commander of loosely organized colonial forces blesses the mass of twentieth-century people below with an outstretched hand, summoning them to repose as he did his motley troops. By the same token, he now gestures toward what had become the “ladies mile,” the fashionable Broadway shopping area above Union Square. For the immediate future prosperity assumed an uptown direction. Thus, far from seeing Union Square as a chaotic hell-like environment, Bishop took compositional and iconographic control of it To the left of center, exactly halfway between the George Washington and the mysterious, ill-defined awning, Bishop placed another statue on a high pedestal. In the final, squared-off pencil drawing (Cat. no. 17), the pedestal of the second statue closely resembles that of Bartholdi’s Lafayette (Cat. no. 14) which, in its original location, faced the equestrian Washington offering his sword of assistance. The elongated figure, the sketchiest detail of the drawing, however, indicates none of the swirling, baroque contrapposto of Bartholdi’s animated Lafayette. In the painting, the pedestal is clearly that of Brown’s Lincoln and while the figure remains obscure, its back turned to the observer, it stands straight and still in a Lincolnesque manner with an illuminated contour following the lines and proportions of the sculpture. If it is indeed the nation’s redeemer, his proximity to the father of the country would relate to Bishop’s basic theme of promise and fulfillment. Her major painting symbolizes a positive social transition, the progressive presumption of expansive economic upgrading. As described by John Hart, the biographer of novelist Albert Halper, Union Square, “in its honest and genuine concern for betterment, had always been American to the core ... the past forever being overthrown; the future forever being coaxed into existence. It is the vortex of change; it is America in transition.”41 Betterment becomes the allegorical theme of the painting as the modest, round-shouldered woman in a shawl and the brown-clad worker follow other receding figures toward the shadowy background entranceway detached from the front of a bank. In provocative contrast, two pairs of fashionably dressed, upper-class women flank him and step assertively into the fore­ ground. From Bishop's faith in an inevitable state of well-being, the six figures signal the beginning and end �of upward mobility. The same may be said of a left-toright progression of back-turning female figures, each bearing to the right. It starts with a woman carrying a child close behind the long-skirted one. Her pose is repeated by a figure placed in the middle of two curving lines, which appear to be streetcar tracks, that stop inexplicitly at the left toes of two flanking women. This third figure, in sketchy white apparel, seems in a state of transformation from her counterpart to the far left. The ultimate good life manifests itself in a fourth figure to the tar right which gravitates toward the sunny side of the street that opens up the distant buildings. She is dressed in a beautiful green coat and white fur shoulder piece. Her large-crowned yellow hat functions as the dot of an exclamation mark created by the bright vertical of the most radiant building facade in the block. Bishop expressed her confidence in progressive social mobility in the overall tonality of her painting. Its golden haze radiates optimism in distinction to the shadowy depths reached by the Depression in 1932, when forty percent of the work force was unemployed and the income of corporations had fallen from eleven billion dollars to two since late 1929.42 In this regard, at least one passage in Dante’s Purgatorio compares con­ vincingly with Bishop’s Dante and Virgil in Union Square. While hell knows no sun, it shines once again in purga­ tory and brings contentment. A stanza in Canto II reads: My master and I, and all that people around Who were with him, had faces so content, As if all else out of their thoughts were drowned.43 That Dante and Virgil on Union Square serves as a timely allusion to Dante’s Purgatorio is supported by Bishop’s basic meaning of mobility as “potential for change” and, in the progressive American sense, change for the better. Even in the midst of an economic depression, she viewed deprivation as a matter of choice and from a traditional laissez faire, liberal point of view, a matter of purgatorial expiation rooted in hope. As opposed to Lunde’s and Weisberg’s negative interpreta­ tions of Bishop’s painting as a Virgilran limbo, a theme of purgatory seems by all evidence to be more appropri­ ate to Dante and Virgil in Union Square. While limbo is an intermediate region between heaven and hell in which souls are confined and barred from entering heaven through no fault of their own, puigatory is a mohP?’^ Te Where S°U1S paUSe t0 where mobility is elevation. As stated by T. S. Eliot in his Dante. a\inditatcd in her Herbert Darwinist natural selection to economic growth. So loved by post-Civil War, American entrepreneurs. Sou, ■■ Darwinism meant that the evolution of capitalism, ki> free from state interference, could, in theory, “end only in the establishment of the greatest perfection and me':, complete happiness”45 for the very fittest of a modem society. Therein lies the original meaning of liberalism with its view of unlimited economic opportunity. The most enterprising among us rise to the top from the humblest beginnings. The acceleration of corporate consolidation in the new century had rendered this innocent version of the American dream outmoded, indeed archaic, by 1932—the Great Depression notwithstanding. Nevertheless, many still adhered to the belief-including Isabel Bishop. With faith in individualism, she would continue to look down upon failure from a conservative point of view. The marginal male members of society she witnessed on Union Square, not the system, were to blame for their own impoverishment. To her they were misfit bums who could succeed in rising above their miserable condition only through personality adjustment, not through social change. In order for Bishop’s “working girl” of the mid­ thirties to dream of becoming a well-dressed shopper, she had to behave herself on the job and wait patiently for either a rare promotion or a proposal of marriage. Self-redemption in one way or another releases the soul from purgatory to ascend toward heavenly existence. As evidenced by cautious analysis of the painting, augmented by Bishop’s guarded statements regarding its meaning, it is clear that she did not intend it to be either an inferno or a limbo. Eternal torture would hardly correspond with her attraction to bodily energy and her belief in its social equivalent: the American “bootstrap” theory that sustained self-assertion guarantees success. Curiously linked to Dante and Virgil, this American postulate allows that the painting is best interpreted as a modern purgatory. NOTES The authors thank Stanley Grand for his constructive observations. 1. Isabel Bishop, as quoted in Cindy Nemser, “Conversation with Isabel Bishop,” The Feminist Art Journal 5 (Spring 1976): 15. 2. In both her Ph.D. dissertation (“Gender, Occupation and Class in Paintings by the Fourteenth Street School, 1925 to 1940,” Stanford University, 1987, Chapter 5, “Isabel Bishop’s Deferential Office Girls,” pp. 282-322) and its rewritten and redefined book version {The “New Woman" Revised, Painting and Gender Politics on Fourteenth St’tet [Berkeley: University of California Press, 19’3], Chapter 7, “The^ Question of Difference: Isabel Bishop’s Deferential Office Girls, pp. 273-311), Ellen Wiley Todd thoroughly demonstrates that Bishop s conservative imaging of young female office workers conforms in type to demographic tables, statistical surveys, government reports, periodical studies, advice manuals, employment counselor publica­ tions, and employers’ demands. Bishop’s volunteer models reveal the deferential manners, modest clothing, make-up, and hair styles, expected ot the fledgling office girls whose “balanced behavior an proper attitude were essential to obtaining and retaining their low paying jobs. Promotion out of a stenographic pool to a secretarial position delineated their nariow road to success. Todd points out J 4 Isabel Bishop The Club. 1935 oil and tempera on canvas, 20»24 Private Collection �1g is af re r >t >f 1 I 'C. e e Darwinist natural selection to economic growth. So loved by post-Civil War, American entrepreneurs, Social Darwinism meant that the evolution of capitalism, left free from state interference, could, in theory, “end only in the establishment of the greatest perfection and most complete happiness”-15 for the very fittest of a modem society. Therein lies the original meaning of liberalism with its view of unlimited economic opportunity. The most enterprising among us rise to the top from the humblest beginnings. The acceleration of corporate consolidation in the new century had rendered this innocent version of the American dream outmoded, indeed archaic, by 1932-the Great Depression notwithstanding. Nevertheless, many still adhered to the belief-including Isabel Bishop. With faith in individualism, she would continue to look down upon failure from a conservative point of view. The marginal male members of society she witnessed on Union Square, not the system, were to blame for their own impoverishment. To her they were misfit bums who could succeed in rising above their miserable condition only through personality adjustment, not through social change. In order for Bishop’s “working girl” of the mid­ thirties to dream of becoming a well-dressed shopper, she had to behave herself on the job and wait patiently for either a rare promotion or a proposal of marriage. Self-redemption in one way or another releases the soul from purgatory to ascend toward heavenly existence. As evidenced by cautious analysis of the painting, augmented by Bishop’s guarded statements regarding its meaning, it is clear that she did not intend it to be either an inferno or a limbo. Eternal torture would hardly correspond with her attraction to bodily energy and her belief in its social equivalent: the American “bootstrap” theory that sustained self-assertion guarantees success. Curiously linked to Dante and Virgil, this American postulate allows that the painting is best interpreted as a modem purgatory. NOTES The authors thank Stanley Grand for his constructive observations. 1. Isabel Bishop, as quoted in Cindy Nemser, “Conversation with Isabel Bishop," The Feminist Art Journal 5 (Spring 1976): 15. 2. In both her Ph.D. dissertation (“Gender, Occupation and Class in Paintings by the Fourteenth Street School, 1925 to 1940,” Stanford University, 1987, Chapter 5, “Isabel Bishop’s Deferential Office Girls,’ pp. 282-322) and its rewritten and redefined book version (The Ara ll cmrn” Revised, Painting and Gender Politics on Fourteenth Street [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993], Chapter 7, “The Question of Difference Isabel Bishop’s Deferential Office Girls," pp. 2.3-311), Ellen Wiley Todd thoroughly demonstrates that Bishop’s conservative imaging of young female office workers conforms in type to demographic tables, statistical surveys, government reports, penodical studies, advice manuals, employment counselor publica­ tions, and employers’ demands. Bishop’s volunteer models reveal the e.erential manners, modest clothing, make-up, and hair styles expected of the fledgling office girls whose “balanced behavior” and Ptope* attitude were essential to obtaining and retaining their low,c'jS’7,on,ott°n out of a stenographic pool to a secretarial P -non eltneated then narrow road to success. Todd points out that 4 Isabel Bishop The Club, 1935 oil and tempera on canvas, 20 * 24 Private Collection 19 �....female tigutes man for socioeconomic g li;: .. Rizzoli, 1989]: 10)7. Ibid. 8. Ibid. 10. Seemap of Union Square artists’ studio locations in Todd, “A-IrUr-r.’e,'p.9L 11. Yglesias, Isabel Bump, p- 1212 Todd, TVfl» Wiwtair.'pp. 85-86. 13. Ibid., p. 87. 14. The etching served as the basis of On the Strut (Fourteenth Stntt'i, 1932 (private collection, not in exhibition). The women in both works retain a resemblance to the shopping women of Bishop’s 1927 painting, Hum's Department Slorc-Fourleenlb Stmt Shoppers (private collection, not in exhibition), which provided prototypal female figures for Dante and Virgil in Union Square. 15. Bishop, quoted by Fred Ferretti, “Artist Losing Her Window on the World," TheNer York Times, June 24,1978, p. 21. 16. See for example Homeward, 1951, which depicts two young women straphanging on the subway. 17. Bishop, quoted by C. Nemser, “Conversation,” p. 18. 18. The same may be said of the austere mother and sleeping child in WiiMg, 1938. 19. Albert Halper, Union Square, (New York: Literary Guild, 1933): 47-48. 21 in her discussion of this painting, Ellen Wiley Todd tends toward a hell analogy in the direction of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment: “At the center of a swirling maelstrom of lost souls, attracted to the temptations of 14th Street’s sidewalk commerce, the central hawker... assumes the pose of the judging Christ.” (Todd, “Gender," p. 66). Since the pose is reversed, however, he is trans­ formed “into a deceptive figure who raises his sinister left hand instead of his right and offers seduction instead of judgment.” (Ibid., pp. 66-67). Also see Todd “New Woman,"pp. 118,209-210. In both her dissertation and her book, Todd assumes that Marsh borrowed directly from Michelangelo’s Last Judgment in creating the hawker and crowd for In Fourteenth Street. The connection actually appears rather loose. For example, the raised left hand of the awkward-looking hawker touches forefinger to thumb, creating a tight circle far re. -.cred from the open right hand of Michelangelo’s muscular ■metK-lookmg Christ. In Marsh’s Holy Name Mission, 1931 (private •c”-'7»n. not in exhtbition), hungry men line up in the dark, their twe'Cfo ” Par7■"H>’ i."UminJ "dandbydcbris 'he l,ghtlit,crframthe insidc e Wo h f strc«s. His i, • ' 7^: M" e. <U Io,, of, JJ. Jnd s["d> 'd!'in?’ ln ',!,ns'W0 8 P0PUlj,10n the dX^Kt m ?::^934 ,no',n "bibi'io"). »«<« of ***» 20 stares at the viewer from beneath wrinkled brow. Next to him.m very center, a much younger man grasps his left hand in his lap.: lips parted and eyes wide open as if dumbstruck by his situation T .. third man in front holds onto a pair of crutches as he leans back an attempt to sleep. The others, to the rear, while slightly varied V their expressions, share a mood of despondency. Except for the partially highlighted faces, the painting is appropriately dark. 22. L. M. Starr, “Interview with Isabel Bishop,” The Oral Hi Research Office, Columbia University, 1956, Part 2, No. 16. 23. Bishop, quoted from an interview, March 18-19, 1974, with Sheldon Reich (Reich, Isabel Bisbop [Tucson: University of Arizona Museum of Art, 1974]: 25. 24. Luks, quoted by L. Baury, “The Message of Proletaire,” Bookman 34 (December 1911): 402. 25. Robert H. Bremner, From the Depths: The Disccroeiy oj P : :riy in the United States (New York: New York University Press, 1956): 14. 26. Bishop, quoted by Adelaide Kerr (“babel Bishop Paints Four Pictures a Year," Toledo Times, May 2, 1943). 27. Bishop, quoted from an interview, March 18-19, 1974, with Sheldon Reich (Isabel Bishop, p. 24). In general reference to Bishop’s depictions of “working girls,” the docent handout notes for Dante and Virgil tn Union Square at the Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington, reiterates the consensus: “She has also said that what she was trying to capture in her models was ‘mobility,’ not necessarily potential movement, but rather social mobility, the possibility that these people could do anything they wanted." 28. Craig Owens, “The Allegorical Impulse: Toward a Theory of Postmodernism,” October 12 (Spring 1980): 84. 29. This figure does not appear in the final, squared-off drawing of Dante and Virgil in Union Square but was added in the painting. 30. Bishop, quoted in Starr, “Interview," Part 2, No. 65. 31. Bishop, quoted in Yglesias, Isabel Bishop, p. 16. The full statement is: “I used Union Square as a subject, crowds, people, the multiplicity of souls. I was reading Dante then, in a very literal translation. It struck me as a good story. It was the idea of the multiplicity of souls that was enormously important to me." 32. Bishop, quoted \n American Painting and Sculpture (Wilm­ ington: Delaware Art Museum, 1975): 122. 33. George Ferguson, Signs and Symbols tn Christian Ari (New York: Oxford University Press, 1961): 135-136. 34. Yglesias, Isabel Bishop, p. 16, 35. Karl Lunde, Isabel Bishop (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1975): 17, 36. Ibid., p. 21. 37. Ruth Weisberg, “Webs of Movement and Feeling," Artreek 16 (March 9, 1985): 7. 38. Ibid. 39. Bishop, quoted by Reich (Isabel Bishop, p. 24). A year later, apparently unaware of Bishop’s consistent explanations of what she meant by “mobility,” the critic Lawrence Alloway, in an article entitled “Isabel Bishop, the Grand Manner and the Working Girl" (Art in America 63 [September 1975]: 63), saw Bishop’s figures as “embedded in their time” without the flexibility of moving beyond their inherited stations. He considered her attraction to the Fourteenth-Street "working girl, for example.” as a traditional upperclass view of laboring people. She depicted them as a continuation of Dutch peasant genre, uninhibited and robust He dismissed the implications of mobility, therefore, as spurious. In his opinion, Bishop valued her working girls because they represent a stratum ot tough, unchanging vitality. 40. Lunde, Isabel Bishop, p. 14. 41. John Hart. Albert Halper (Boston: Twayne, 19801: 45. 50. 42. Basil Rauch, The History oj the Neu Deal, 1933-193S (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons. l°e>3): 8. 43. Dante Alighieri, The Divine Corneas, translated by Laurence Binyon in 77v Portable Dante, (New York: Vikin;, 1963): 1’3. 41 T. S Eliot, Dante (London: Faber, 1930): 39-40. 15 Herbert Spencer, Fin/ Pmunples, 4th ed. (New York, u 1880g .'3'-' t'L XJfe..l. I 31 George Luks High Tide at Idkbota's, 1933 oil on board, 16 x 20 iCollection of Scrdoni Art Gallery. Wilkes University Gift of Helen Farr Sloan Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 21 �H ■ mu»h ■ I and c. man grasps his left hand in his lap, his open ifdumbstruck by his situation. The fror,t holds onto a pair of crutches as he leans back in • to sleep. The others, to the rear, while slightly varied in Lstons. share J mood ot despondency. Except for the flighted faces, rhe painting is appropriately dark. Starr, “Interview with Isabel Bishop,' The Oral History pffice, Columbia University, 1956, Part 2, No. 16. top, quoted from an interview, March 18-19, 1974, with rich (Reich, Isabel Bishop [Tucson: University of Arizona fArt, 1974]: 25. s, quoted by L. Saury, “t he Message of Proletaire,” >4 (December 1911): 402. >ert H. Bremner, From tbe Depths The Discovery ofPoverty in Slates (New York New York University’ Press. 1956): 14. iop, quoted by Adelaide Kerr ( Isabel Bishop Paints Four Year,’ Toledo Times, May 2.1943). hop. quoted from an interview, March 18-19, 1974, with .eich [IsabelBishop,p. 24). In general reference to Bishop’s I ; of “working girls," the docent handout notes for Dante in Union Square at the Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington, the consensus: “She has also said that what she was trying in her models was ‘mobility,’ not necessarily potential t. but rather social mobility, the possibility that these old do anything they wanted.’ rig Owens, “The Allegorical Impulse: Toward a Theory of mism,” Odokr 12 (Spring 1980): 84. is figure does not appear in the final, squared-off drawing of i Virgil in Union Square but was added in the painting. hop, quoted in Starr, ‘Interview,* Part 2, No. 65. (hop, quoted in Yglesias, Isabel Bishop, p. 16. The full : is: “I used Union Square as a subject, crowds, people, the ity of souls. I was reading Dante then, in a very literal m. It struck me as a good story. It was the idea of the tty of souls that was enormously important to me.” (hop, quoted in Amerian Painting and Sculpture (Wilm(elaware Art Museum, 1975): 122. orge Ferguson, Signs and Symbols in Christian Art (New York: Iniversity Press, 1961): 135-136. ,lesias, Isabel Bisbcf, p. 16. irl Lunde, Isabel Bishop (New York: Hany N. .Abrams, 1975k 17 ii,p. 21. rth ’Xeisbag, “Webs of Movement and FaHinzf Arttneek 16 ', 1985): 7. id. shop, quoted by Reich [Isabel Bishop. p. 24). A year later, tycncaare of Bishop’s consistent explanations of what she r “mobility," the cntic Lawrence Alloway, in an article Isabel Buhcp, the Grand Manner and the Working Giri” •trcns 63 [September 15751: bi), saw Bishop’s figures as ed in thetr rime" wiaout the ffexftirfity of moving bevond rated stations. He considered her attraction to the .rT ■‘WOtkin??ri. for example," as a traditional upper‘ laboring people She depicted them as a continuation of «ant genre, uninhibited and robust. He dismissed the nsof[mobility, therefore, as spurious. In his opinion, nshtngirgXlmy gIrlS rCpKS“t " °f -nde./arWB^j. 14. ': • ,Eoston: Twayne, 1980g 45. 50. tnam^ Sons. ’9^7 B> l933~I93S YOrlL' a - Etor itrben^ ^f7\^Cyo7v unSbted LaUrcn“ Z?™ ’930/ ”t!E&JM0 i9«>fi9G^4lhed lN;wYork,c. lg80);530. Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University Gift of Helen Farr Sloan Photograph by Professional Photographic Services �UNION SQUARE’S ICON OF FREEDOM Stanley I Grand Wilkes University ■ '' Ur November 25, 1783, a contemporary observer s \_y watched General George Washington lead his t “weather-beaten and forlorn”1 troops into New York City. As Washington approached from the north, a ' 1 welcoming delegation gathered at “The Forks,” a spot where Old Bloomingdale Road (now Broadway) and Battery Road (once part of the Boston Post Road, now Fourth Avenue) met. Earlier in the day, General Sir Guy Carelton had evacuated the remaining British garrison onto ships anchored in the East River. The war for American independence was won. Since that November day, the area once known as The Forks, then as Union Place, and finally Union Square, has been associated with the concept of freedom. How this tradition evolved over two centuries will be traced in this essay by considering the physical development of the area, examining the iconography of the major public artworks sited on the square, and exploring the social history associated with the square. HISTORY OF THE SQUARE 40 John Sloan Fourteenth Street, The Wigwam, 1928 etching, 9’/< * 7 Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Gift of Helen Farr Sloan Photograph < ourtesy Delaware Art Museum Long before Captain Verrazano and the crew of the Dauphine became the first Europeans to sight Manhattan in the spring of 1524/ the area destined to become Union Square was a sand hill in the middle of the heavily forested island, populated by Algonquins of the Wappinger Confederacy? Almost a hundred years passed between Verrazano’s sighting and the arrival of the first white settlers, primarily French, in 1623, aboard the Netherlands which belonged to the Dutch West India Company. For safety reasons these settlers decided to establish a trading post on Governor's Island, a small parcel of land off the southern tip of Manhattan. Three years later, on May 4, 1626, Peter Minuit, the Director General of the Dutch province of New Netherland. assembled the local Indian chiefs, distributed among them 60 guilders worth of beads, cloth, hatchets, and 23 �UNION SQUARE’S ICONOGRAPHY OF FREEDOM Stanley I Grand I! ■ i November 25, 1783, a contemporary observer watched General George Washington lead his “weather-beaten and forlorn”1 troops into New York Qty. As Washington approached from the north, a welcoming delegation gathered at “The Forks,” a spot where Old Bloomingdale Road (now Broadway) and Battery Road (once part of the Boston Post Road, now Fourth Avenue) met. Earlier in the day, General Sir Guy Carelton had evacuated the remaining British garrison onto ships anchored in the East River. The war for American independence was won. Since that November day, the area once known as The Forks, then as Union Place, and finally Union Square, has been associated with the concept of freedom. How this tradition evolved over two centuries will be traced in this essay by considering the physical development of the area, examining the iconography of the major public artworks sited on the square, and exploring the social history associated with the square. HISTORY OF THE SQUARE Lt. .c before Captain Verrazano and the crew of the Dauphine became the first Europeans to sight Manhattan spring of 1524,2 the area destined to become cr; Square was a sand hill in the middle of the . tc’-fy tor-;,island, populated by Algonquins of the Wzpp ' y/.-r Confederacy.3 Almost a hundred years passed L • r Verra/ano's sighting and the arrival of the first ■/j'i'-r... primarily French, in 1623, aboard the New Nt'ktrland, which belonged to the Dutch West India Company. For afety reasons these settlers decided to •U i trading post on Governor’s Island, a small P<.n.' • o( land off the southern tip of Manhattan. Ihree year- Dor. on May 4, 16/6, I’etet Minuit, the Director ( of the Dutch ptovince of New Nel het land, d 'he local Indian chief,, distributed among 'Item 6 guilders worth of Dads, doth, hatchels, and 23 similar articles, and thereby purchased Manhattan for the equivalent of approximately forty dollars.4 Over the next 175 years, the future Union Square was deforested, farmed, and used as a potter’s field. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, as New York City continued to grow and expand northward, the state legislature realized that a plan was necessary to avoid the chaotic jumble of streets, lanes, and alleys characteristic of lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village. In 1807 the legislators empowered a commis­ sion, consisting of Gouvemeur Morris, Simeon De Witt, and John Rutherford, to draw up a comprehensive city plan for the area north of Fourteenth Street. In the prior year, 1806, it had been decided that Broadway should proceed due north, commencing at Tenth Street, which required the thoroughfare to make an acute angled bend to the west. Now, to obviate the maladroit intersection of Broadway and Bowery Road,5 the commissioners decided in 1811 to create Union Place since “the Union of so many large Roads demands space for the Security and convenience and the morsels into which it would be cut by continuing across it the several Streets and Avenues would be of little use or value.”6 A year later, in 1812, a Common Council committee became anxious over the “very heavy and unnecessary expense” and recommended that the square be “discontinued.”’ The Legislature ignored the recommendation although it did reduce the size of the square in 1815. By 1831 members of the Common Council had become concerned that the square was neither adequate in size nor pleasing in form. They petitioned the Legislature to reconfigure the “shapeless and ill-looking place, devoid of symmetry.”3 This was accomplished in 1832. and Union Place became Union Square.’ In the following year, the authorities ordered the existing “buildings and incumbrances" razed and the hill itself “graduated [graded] to the city level.""’ The ideal of civic well-being was dramatically symbol­ ized by the Croton Fountain in the center of the �going strong, if boisterously, according to . uks’s High Tide at Ltichow’s (Cat. no. 31). i the city city .had ,1, century,r the hau 1 -suited front bp? nd cholera (1832*"a, y in 1835, voters appr MhUi water supply nalh. from the water from the 'icfe.endunr to suppl) County.. The plan involve involved aqueduct. Th 1 he Ooton River in %nslrUcting an aqueduct damming the "vcr J^ricd the water across the Ha Harlem High Budge, whuh ca aqueduct in the R°ma Rivet, was justly held Acqua Felice of 15 sense, worthy of Pope S‘«us to France ... as at the those wondrous ru,"s -u On July 5,1842, the city Font du Gard near Nim Croton disputing celebrated the a e built in the Egyptian nu > reservoir, a great s HiU at Forty-Second S Which cTXe 'Although the Union Square founand Fifth Avenue Ah cau d by tain symbolized f d Templeton Strong wa imPUTXd ShorS"fter its inauguration he described middle, and nothing more.A “squirt” or not, the fountain was the focal p of • away on Irving nauc. nwiuj culture” were to be found: On Fifteenth Street was the Century Club, with the Union League Club not far away on another border of the Square. The Metropolitan Museum of Artsfirst home was on Fourteenth Street, the New-York H’s‘orl^al Society was just to the east on Second Avenue, while the Astor Library, the New York Society Library, and New York University were just to the south. To the west was fashionable Fifth Avenue, and just off the northeast comer was Gramercy Park, the city’s most elegant neighborhood.15 As early as 1860, however, the neighborhood had ’begun to change ' o: as commercial enterprises increasingly apP“rQed’ * ’ the ' area. T The transformation ,„.i was complete ----- -3e„Ch.Urcl? °f ?e, P?ntans> built scarcely twenty years earlier, was demolished to make way for the cast-iron Tiffany Building (subsequently the Amalgam­ ated Bank Building) at 11-15 Union Square West. In addition to Tiffany’s jewelry store and Brentano’s Literary Emporium, both of which fronted the western side of the square, other prestigious retailers, such as Vantine’s, whiih specialized in Oriental goods, and and station .™ Gorham's, known for its silver ..and stationary, co: ^competed for the patronage of the carriage trade."1 Catering primarily to a female client,il, Hearn’s, which opened its Fourteenth Street store in 1879, was known for its ■•I" tion of women's apparel. Residents and shoppers <ould dine nearby at Delmonico’s or Ltichow’s (estab­ lished 1882); a half .enttiry later, the latter was still 24 oniy did legitimate theaters appear, but, after ]%9 as welL In 1881> T Pastor opened his % (vaudevillc theater-offering wholesome family entertainment_in Tammany Hall. This landmark building, which John Sloan depicted in Fourteenth Street, ne Wigwam (Cat. no. 40) housed the Tammany Society 9 when lt moved lnt0 new headquarters on un^ Seventeenth Street and Ur-on Tammany Hall, a classically inspired building with a sunnounting four columns in the WaJdo parish’s Unton Square Rally (Cat no. 36). by Steinway and Sons in 1853, almost a dozen piano UdJ man well<rafted instruments. At this time, as bus Thomas^ co^plexity” of New York.18 Not only was “the Square... ^“fountain as “a circular basin with a squirt in th to most rrfuoubk resitalial tarto«uh. 1 "“Y8 ”'h .. the home of theaters, hotels, restaurants, department Broadway . .. the Square was also [by the to pkcc of bo[hwork and play for to.orki, and....................... immigrant classes of New York.”19 By the 1920s, the square had become a major shop­ ping center: “According to some accounts, stores sold more women’s apparel in one day on Union Square than in any other place in the country.”20 Symbolizing the change from Rialto to emporium is Samuel Klein’s purchase in 1924 of Steinway Hall, which he tore down and replaced with a seven-story department store that catered to the lower-class bargain shopper. The growth of S. Klein’s proceeded rapidly—in the thirties he was able to open a more upscale annex—and the signs adorning his shops appear in many works including Eugene C. Fitsch’s Unemployed Union Square (Cat. no. 23) and Union Square (Cat. no. 24). The legions of women shoppers who frequented the square became the subjects of works such as Kenneth Hayes Miller’s Leaving the Shop (Cat. no. 34) or Mary Fife’s Two Women with Children Crossing 'the Street'fCzt. no. 21). Over the years, Union Square itself underwent major changes. The square has assumed different shapes from ellipsoid of the 1840s to the present shield-like form. Architecturally, unlike the Place Vosage in Paris. Union Square is an eclectic mix of period styles: the aforemen­ tioned cast iron Tiffany Building, the Romanesque Lincoln Building (1889, 1 Union Square VCest),-' the SpanishMoorish Union Building (1893, 33 Union Square West), and a bit later, the Classical Revival Union Square Savings Bank (1907, now American Savings Bank, 20-22 Union Square bast). Not all critics find this variety pleasing. Richard Sennett, tor example, decries the “mechanka quotations of Renaissance and Baroque architectura. forms adding that “you don't recover the spirit of the 34 Kenneth Hayes Miller Leaving the Shop, 1929 etching, 7’s * 97. Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Service 25 �.-oucy according to Georg < < (Cat. no. 31). ynion Square neighborhood was the district (known as The Rialto).17 ire theaters appear, but, after 1869, 1881, Tony Pastor opened his rater—offering wholesome family nmany Hail. This landmark Sloan depicted in Fourteenth Street, 40) housed the Tammany Society aved into new headquarters on the mth Street and Union Square East, classically inspired building with a four columns in the center, appears ; Union Square Rally (Cat. no. 3c?. ans in 1853. almost a dozen pier, supply the growing theatrical cd instruments. A: this rime. as served. Union Square, “mere than dty... represented... the cultural >rki! Not only was “the Square ... hotels, restaurants, department .. the Square was also [by the h work and piay for the working at New York."1 ■ [uare had become a maier shopig to some accounts, stores sold i in one day on Union Square than the country."--’ Symbolizing the emporium is Samuel Klein’s teinway Hall, which he tore down ven-story department store that ass bargain shopper. The growth or ipidiy—in the thirties he was able le annex—and the signs adorning any works including Eugene C tun Square (Cat. no. 23; arid . 24). The legions of women ted the square became the s-J: jeers ueth Hayes Miller s Zaut .yg 'U Mary Fife’s Tao 'Xvrr.m -a t1!ki (Cat no. 11). ion Square itself underwent ma;or as assumed different shapes from to the present shield-like forme the Place Vosage in Pari-. Union nix of period styles: the aforemeny Building, the Romanesque Li.-.. ', n ion Square West)/1 the Span, ri­ ling (1893. 33 Union Square WL- c ■ssical Revival Union Square Savingrican Savings Bank, 20-22 Union critics find this variety pleasing , example, decries the “mechanic.!* stance and Baroque architec :ural ou don’t recover the spirit ot the - J,' -4 Kri i.r'u Ha;.-, Miller G« .4/ tie '.(■ ■;/, J 929 «■ ■;.;!•.•■, T. . ‘ »'/. jr> klier Gallery. U< w York r'-'.ioj-r.-j.h I,-; Profn-.iorial Photographic Servius 25 �tion) depicts the work m pr 8 statues were the Washington, Linco m Linej wo blocks to relocated. Work on th vided the subject of the west of Union Squa e, gojided 2g) Charles Kellers Open Cu changes. Morns Not all artists, howe , a nostalgic Kantor, for exampl , recently, the Farewell to during the 1980s. square underwent a major found a home inSsquare. Works‘ Lincoln, Lafayette^ and Gandhi g been Charity and the DeclarationHussion given by well-meaning citizens. will demonstrate that the idea o disparate monuments. Iinites these ree THE MAJOR ARTISTIC MONUMENTS TO FREEDOM The first statue to be sited at Union Square was the large bronze equestrian George Washington (1852-1856) created by Henry Kirke Brown (1814-1886) assisted by John Quincy Adams Ward (1830-1910).23 Prior to receiving the commission, Brown executed a plaster model, which was subsequently cast in bronze (Cat. no. 19). Not only was this the “first statue ornamenting a public site erected in New York since that day [Novem­ ber 25, 1783],”24 but was, as well, the only public statue of Washington then to be found in the city. Brown based Washington’s face on Houdon’s bust portrait, which the French artist had created from life.25 Richard Upjohn (1802-1878) designed the austere, fourteen-foot granite pedestal. The statue was presented to the nation on July 4, 1856, by a number of wealthy New Yorkers, who-under the leadership of Colonel James Lee-had raised $30,000 to pay for it.26 According to one author­ ity, the statue was located “on the very spot” where the citizemy had “received” Washington and his army.22 As originally installed, therefore, the statue would have thThorse’s ^mple^^Vd^6115 e^evate<^ v'ew ............ * , whose quaint .............. ........ has ridden from out the horrors of war hi ■! - r, ., only for its ends of justice, calmly re-i; y,.-- , j steed amidst the acclamations of victories ■’ assured liberty, his sword, ever wielded with tempered by mercy, is firmly sheathed no-l0t','‘ again, for his country’s foes are vanqui- Led and he?11 no other; his broad, benign brow is bare in acknotvld? ment of our unanimous love; and, as he passes on f the great past of his glorious deeds into the great which will develop the stupendous destinies of the nation, whose life he inaugurated, his hand is stretched forth, with grave gesture, not more in promise to iuti loyalty than in deprecation of the... treason that would ™ imperil our vital unity by goading the silkness of sectional jealousy into the blind fury of fratricidal hate* Continuing on this theme by leaders comparing the (Fabius accoir. plishments ot wasmngton witn ancient plishments of Washington with leaders ancient (Fabius Cat0> Scipio Africanus, Epamnondas, Cincinnatus) and modern (Cromwell and Napoleon), Bethune concluded that “Washington alone has the honor of bavins established established free free principles principles and and perpetuated perpetuated his his work work””»31 Yet he cautioned that those very principles were in danger and pleaded to God, who gave him, keep that life in us! for, when that spirit is lost, when our elements revolt from their oneness, and, like the maniac among the tombs, whose devils were Legion, we cut and tear ourselves, this fair confederacy will soon lie beneath the heavens the most mangled, loathsomest coipse that ever polluted the breath of humanity with its putrification. Some of the devils are in us now.31 In sum, Dr. Bethune’s words, uttered before a vast gathering and transmitted to an even greater audience on the following day when the entire speech appeared on the front page of the New York Evening Times, urged the return to the ideals associated with the founding of the Republic and served, further, as a tocsin against the gathering storm of sectional conflict that was to erupt four years later in 1860. Brown’s George Washington joined a long parade of monumental equestrian civic monuments celebrating military victors. At the head of this tradition is the second century a.d. bronze Marcus Aurelius, whkh ______________ Bethune indirectly _______ evoked bv, picturing ashington ’ ■ to rule. ’ Mateus "ascending the Capitoline height Aurelius, the humanist Roman emperor whose dC tions encapsulate concisely the stoic ideal, repn>en^ many Plato’s philosopher king. With the devnne c Roman Empire, however, the ability and ne'-e“j, w produce large bronzes of this type faded ano t -3 do so were lost. Although works such as th.s^n’.er, Bamberg Rider (late thirteenth century. Bam M many) were occasionally carved tor jrc'li,cU?.r’. ven i’f it was not until the Renaissance when the r ■ ,, lost casting techniques, revived interest in t e growing cult of fame, and economic prosper!. 19 Henn' Kirke Brown General George Wasbhtgfon on He bronze model, 37' > x 42‘i x 12' Collection of Yale University Al Civen in Memory of Edmund I and Eliphalet Bradford Ter Photograph courtesy Yale Unive �has ;6. in ibilign. cs to 28). ris , the me :n. 1 been reion ese he by no. a emitue i hard foot non trs, ad borthe r As e» of ie MOI mg A hi,: re. • ! = out the horrors of war his heart endur-a only for ends of justice, calmly restraining his proud ‘ steed amidst the reclamations of victorious peace ar. a assured liberty, hrs sword, ever wielded with strength tempered by mercy, is finely sheathed not to drawn again, for his country's foes are vanquished and he knew no other; his broad, benign brow ts bare in a,knowh ^ -= ment of our unanimous love, and, as be passes en tro-' the great past of his glorious deeds ttno the great rut'are which will develop the stupendous destinies of the nation, whose life he inaugurated, hrs hand is »t:e;c , forth, with grave gesture, not more m premise to suture loyalty than in deprecation c f the. . treason that w<x_re ' imperil our vital unity bv goading the sickness of sectional jealousy mto the blre.c fury of fra tn, rec i hate Continuing on this these ire comparing the uccoi". p’ishments of'Kbshingrcn with irectrs incten: :Fab;v< Cato, Scipio Africanus, Epgrinmnus, Ctn.nnn.re.-re ■ i;-modern iCrcrnwCi and Xapciem , tethunc ccncindeh that Tasbir.gmn :icni h_> the honor of having established free principles and perpenmted ms w-rL" Yet he auroned th;t there- verc prinepiss were •danger and pitre.re Gcdwre i~i hits. seep mat ide in _-i tie when tint: stint is it:-:, wits our Ceoer.5 revclt from the_r onesere. rei lie re trannie reg the tombs, w ire se aevib were Legren. -v ret red ire eurselves, tire fare . ■retv.re. ■ a-_ sc ~ re bens re tne heavens the me mangiec. .reiirenieit ..rtre rere ever pc_iuteri the bread; . ’renire.’y with re f _ .::n_rere. Scene the dtrrth are re . rere In -m. S S: i.-.n srrn re.rer:J treble r va gi’.htn.re ,7. :ran.~.ir’rt re re even greater reiren.v ■red-re . i.re iire re: rere■ ??reh iptz.'.tz ire. rer.rere rent ’Az i'-t Lz:~.'. Tir::.. .rpyg rec re'um. , ;tw . -. re ire w.re. ire re'.rre.ng cf ret RepLirk and -reei f.-:.zz. . re . re. re.ir. ' '.fre ptherisg stonn of settxxul confbct that was to erupt four years k-er ;r. Biown' . .re /_•> . 7.-- . . p.r- i- mreu.renre ere--re - mre.-Eients reirere’-r.; nre.’.-n re:re. A' t i red • • ... rere second rere.r, ; ' - .i. • ,r re. re rer . ^. . ascending the CapitdiEt height to rAjtreu.. t;;t ...n..;..'f re/remr »i . b*t encapsulate ameudy the stoic ideal, represented for nrey !d.-: ■ , ri„: ■r: y .j- .. .. •■. Roman Empire, however, the abtiiry and necewty *o produce Urge bron/es -his tv, - tired and the ■ i °;'re*-ire . - Aith-^h » !t ■-•'’e.., mt it but ? .!jtc < ....... jrerr.l 19 Ur .•re-- C-/.■ ' Kit). EtoA'ii fj>. j r X'u lmiybin nn /luribiiik,1 - IMS? (cast 1912) ■'•./• ■■ - :< I, ',7G - 42G 12*/< f . t ..I Yale I 'iir.HMty Ah Gallfly, tlrw I lawn ?j:?. Jr.re’, for ar ire. 'ut^i ' ' r'.'1' ’ Un,i' ''nr Renureai ■; U •) - ’■ i ' ‘r’-. 11,-reret -ire re '■ re' 1 f u tot tame, and econonuc prosperity f ul't ' .. .1. Idmun-l Imy, II A IH57, I dmund Roderick leny, H A . • d 1 ■ j.i re-i Bradford 1. ny B.A 1HHH, by Miss Marion lerry 1'1 I’Hyr fi < ..-.(I. Yale I juversity An Gallery C.v 27 �> ■■■ I, I in the reappearance of large, freestanding bronze SueX statues. The iconography of the monumental, mounted condottiere, or military leader reappear,s in Paolo Uccello’s painting SirJohn Hawkwood (1436, Florence); within a few years of its completion, Dona­ tello began his Gattamelata (c. 1445-1450, Padua), the first surviving monumental bronze equestrian statue, since Roman times. This was followed by Verrocchio s Bartolommeo Colleoni (c. 1483-1488, Venice) and Leo­ nardo’s ill-stared, never completed project for Milan. Subsequently, the equestrian statue became one of the most popular of monarchial authority and becameand thepotent visual images grounding for countless vista’s and public spaces, both in Europe and in the United States. Brown’s achievement, however, consists not only in his ability to create a work of this magnitude and complexity-it was one of the first large equestrians to be cast in the United States-but also in that he redefined a symbol long associated with absolutism and tyranny into one befitting of the founder of the American republic.14 The civic ideals embodied in the statue were under great challenge at the time of its inauguration. Not only, as Bethune noted, did a growing separatist movement threaten to destroy the Union itself, but also the great influx of immigrants, most of whom were uneducated '-~4 in the traditions of American democracy, were viewed by many as a growing menace. In 1856, the same year the equestrian was installed, the American Sunday School Union lamented, The refuse population of Europe... congregate in our great cities and send forth wretched progeny, degraded in e deep degradation of their parents-to be the scaven­ gers, physical and moral, of our streets. Mingled with elTdmnk S° the OfF?St ChiIdren OfAmer'Can debauch- ..Murbjn disorder mounted and the wicked-city stereotype gained currency in the late antebellum period, the moral-control impulse became, for some, correspondingly more urgent.”36 Thus Brown’s George Washington would have also served as a didactic paradigm, a point underscored by Bethune: “we have set the lofty image there, that it may stand forth a memorial of divine mercy, a monitor of our duty, an example to all coming generations.”37 Bethune’s concept of duty, which he shared with many of the era’s other moral leaders, might well be described as noblesse oblige. Praising the benefactors who paid for the statue, he said: “Wealth has heavy responsibilities and must therefore have its reputation; when one [won] by private or public dishonesty, it is a livery of shame[;] when hoarded or spent for mere self, it is like gilding on vile pottery; when fairly acquired and fairly used it is respectable; but when liberally devoted to true charity and the common benefit, it deserves extraordinary celebration.”" Ironically, during the difficult years of the 28 depression, the base of Brown’s statue became a fa spot for the unemployed to gather, a scene recorded j Reginald Marsh’s Discussion (Al Base of Union " Washington Statue) (Cat. no. 32) and his Union Square (Cat. no. 33). Although Washington’s gesture of bfossfo appears twice in Eugene C. Fitsch’s Union Sip.-arc (Cat n 24), it cannot provide any relief to men without jobs ° Henry Kirke Brown also created the second statue to be placed at Union Square, a bronze Abraham Lincoln which was paid for by popular subscription organized by the Union League Club.3’ Originally standing on a smallr— parcel of land at^the intersection of Fourteenth -----Street and University Place, the statue w~ ‘•MullTCnU1 1870 without, curiously, “any formal - ‘nstaI[ed *n 1870 without, curiously, “any formal ceremony. ‘ ert™onv””«® Lincoln rises almost eleven feet in height and stands on a twenty-four foot granite pedestal. Although the pedestal has no inscription, “a galaxy of stars [36 of them] representing each State in the Union” is incised in the upper stone.41 Subsequently a parapet and balus­ trade were installed around the statue. On the plinth of the parapet is the inscription, taken from Lincoln's Second Inaugural Address, “With Malice Toward None, With Charity For All.”42 The statue (but not the parapet) was moved to its present location, seen in Raphael Soyer’s On the Steps (Cat. no. 44), when Union Square was raised during the late 1920s and early 1930s. The reporter who covered the installation for The New York Times observed approvingly that Lincoln’s “wellknown face is reproduced with photographic accuracy.”43 From the shoulders of the but-recently-martyred president falls an “ample cloak ... in the fashion of a Roman toga.”44 The head is bare and the left hand holds the Emancipation Proclamation. Subsequent critics, however, have tended to denigrate the aesthetic qualities of the work, faulting especially its static, column-like form. One commentator felt that the Lincoln “suffers in outline for being a too literal expression of the very - ---u.uxo-U 111 I ,uts o owing the Civil War. 43 A more telling appraisal was at rown, like his American contemporaries “rarely create a penetrating psychological study of his subject.. .’ Instead, a naturalistic likeness was all’that was ernanded. Brown could not go beyond this even with such a heroic figure as Lincoln.”46 On April 25, 1865, approximately five years before rown s Lincoln came to stand at Union Square, the teat Emancipator’s body, after lying in state at City a > continued its slow, solemn, homeward journey to Winors. The funeral procession headed up Broadway to ourteenth Street, passed by the southern end of Inion quare before proceeding up Fifth Avenue and then westward to the Hudson River Railroad depot. Shortly a ter the procession passed by, a memorial service for the martyred President was held in Union Square. Two 1 ousand citizens gathered in front of the speakers Platform and heard George Bancroft deliver the princiPal eulogy. After noting that “the friends of freedom 0‘ 44 Raphael Soyer On the Steps, 1930s watercolor and pencil, 9 ' 73'« Courtesy of Forum Gallery, New York Photograph courtesy of Fotum Gallery �own's statue became a favorite to gather, a scene recorded in ,7 ('■?/ Base of Union Square o. 32) and his Union Square Washington's gesture of blessing Fitsch’s Union Square (Cat. no relief to men without jobs. o created the second statue to i, a bronze Abraham Lincoln. pular subscription organized Originally standing on a t intersection of Fourteenth e, the statue was installed in any formal ceremony. ven feet in height and stands lite pedestal. Although the i, “a galaxy of stars [36 of :ate in the Union’ is incised in gently a parapet and balus1 the statue. On the plinth of on, taken from Lincoln’s “With Malice Toward None, The statue (but not the present location, seen in tts (Cat no. 44). when Union : late 1920s and early 193'?$. rd the installation for Xex ringly that Lincoln’s “weVwith photographic accuracy."'but-recently-marryre d leak ... in the fashion of s 's bare and the left hand holds lation. Subsequent ertrics. enigrate the aesthetic c'-Utties dally its static, cok.mn-bKe elt that rhe Lin: > “suiter? tn real expression of the very f the years immediately ’ A more telling appraisal was ican contemporaries “rare.y lologkal study of has subjectkeness was all that was ot go beyond this even with coin.”44 roximately five years before tand at Union Square, tne , after lying in stare at City ■olemn, homeward tourney >•-’ ssion headed up Broadway by the southern end of Union up Fifth Avenue and then liver Railroad depot. Shortly 1 by. a memorial service tor is held tn Union Square. Two 1 in front of the speakers ;e Bancroft deliver the princ:hat “the friends of freedom ot ■. and per ■ i], ’> ' i '< lornm Gallery, New York ; • ■ UI!< r,l | (, Jlel, �■ II I _ m 1 in every I-"’a are his mournerS’" gSSttf-. adminisitation oix s< w'.,hinRton the ground on them; that when heI < ■ kft ''^^n^Sioni.hat traitors had seized nfPa‘ >ni uscnals, and he recovered them ... that the capital, w hich he found the abode of slaves, now the home onlv of the free ... and the gtganttc system of wrong, which had been the work of more than two centuries, is dashed down, we hope forever. Bancroft then asked “How shall the nation most ipletely show its sorrow?... How shall it best honor com] his memory?" and answered that, “above everything else, Ithe Emancipation Proclamation must] be affirmed and maintained.”4’ After providing a lengthy legal defence of the Proclamation, Bancroft concluded by stating “that a constitution which seeks to continue a caste of hereditary bondsmen through endless generations is inconsistent with the existence of republican institutions.”4’ Before dispersing, the crowd heard several prayers and a pair of poems-one but a few hours old—by W. C. Bryant. On September 6, 1876, a new apostle of freedom joined Washington and Lincoln in Union Square. While the assembled bands played the “Marsellaise,” FrdddricAuguste Bartholdi (1834-1904) unveiled his Marquis de Lafayette? Edmond Breuil, the French Consul General, presented the statue to New York City on behalf of his government in gratitude for assistance rendered during the Franco-Prussian War.51 Although now facing Union Square East, at the time of its dedication the statue was sited at the southern end of the Square, in such a way that Lafayette appeared in an “attitude of offering his hand and his sword to Washington.”52 “To The City of New York, France, In Remembrance Of Sympathy In Time Of Trial. 1870-71” and “As Soon As I Heard of American Independence My Heart Was Enlisted. 1776” are inscribed on the pedestal along with garlands of laurel, symbolizing victory, in low relief.53 Although Brown’s Lincoln and Bartholdi’s Lafayette show some formal similarities, fundamentally they exemplify two different sculptural traditions.54 In both figures one arm crosses the chest (Lincoln’s right gracefully and lightly /•»!>', "he ”7 and figur<- j jk, j M’lly Imposing the 'am- the.onv-x linc ,)(M‘‘"1UIS Serous assis- — .... ±1iaiu,;n,,w,iiiiw-'Hn,,h(lrJWnsilhl’11 ^/'f'vLmoh. IhH,"^ ....."* .. ............ 30 Like the nation itself during these postwar yearLincoln embodied a spirit “darker, sadder, sober’ The dedication of Bartholdi’s Lafayette coiX. summer of celebrations honoring the center,a- , - ’ American Independence. Present were a large r.' .■ X military troops, including a “phalanx” of elder! °F veterans from the War of 1812.56 F. R. Coudert gave th main address, which The New York Time: printed'“in substance.” Like the other speakers, Coudert evoked Lafayette’s love of freedom: “He served the cause of freedom in a foreign land [and] the same cause in his own land.”57 After noting that he spoke on Lafayette’s birthday, Coudert found the physical placement of thstatue symbolic and most appropriate: He [Lafayette] would surely tell us that the place for him was next to the one [Washington] who called him “Son,” and who loved him with a father’s love. And lest, looking up to these two founders of our nation, and glorying much in the heritage which they have transmitted, we should forget that the bloodiest of our trials was brought upon us, not by foreign hands nor rival nations, but by our own hot and intemperate haste, we have before us the image of that President [Lincoln] whose fortune it was to hold the helm of State during the stormiest times of our history, and we may all, I think, unite in saying that whatever faults partisan spirit may justly or unjustly impute to him, whatever shortcomings he may have carried with him to the judgment seat, yet was he so earnest in his love of freedom, so honest in his love of country, so kindly and so gentle in his love of his fellows, that the illustrious men who now bear him company would cheerfully admit him to their friendship.51 Nevertheless, the font of enlightenment idealism, optimism, and liberalism on which the Declaration of Independence had been drawn (and indeed codified) had become polluted by the political realities of the day. The party of Lincoln had, under President Grant, become synonymous with corruption, cronyism, and criminality. The same and worse, much worse, could be said of the governance of New York City under Boss Tweed, whose “ring” had systematically robbed millions of dollars from the city treasury.59 A few months after the dedica­ tion, in an occurrence symbolic of the era, Rutherford B. Hayes literaly stole the presidential election of 1876.“’ Five years after the dedication of Bartholdi’s Lafayettf New Yorkers assembled for the unveiling of the f Square Drinking Fountain (the James Fountain), which The New York Times characterized as “the handsomest fountain on Manhattan Island.”61 Created by Karl Adolph Donndorf, and presented to the City by DWillis James, the fountain was “more pretentious as a wr of art than any other in the city.”62 Atop the bronzy fountain is a group, seven feet high, also of bronz^. consisting of a mother and two children, one a babe m arms, the other a bare-legged little boy running at et. side.... The mother is clothed in drapery in the c as t 14 Isabel Bishop Study of Lafayette, n.d. graphite, 10 ‘ a * 7:o (sheet) Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 31 �these postwar years. Brown's the ru ■ -it "darker, sadder, soberer.”55 jin cm-.-" re cdedic.. ■- ■' Bartholdi’s Lafayette concluded mer of celebrations honoring the centenary . of rican Independence. Present were,a large number of ary troops, including a "phalanx” of elderly ans from the War of 1812“ F. R. Couden gave th.ie i address, which The New York Times printed "in ance.” Like the other speakers, Couden evoked rette’s love of freedom: "He served the cause of om in a foreign land [and] the same cause in his land.”57 After noting that he spoke on Lafayette's day, Coudert found the physical placement of the . symbolic and most appropriate: [Lafayette] would surely tell us that the place for him ; next to the one [Washington] who called him “Son,” 1 who loved him with a father’s love. And lest, locking to these two founders of our nation, and glorying ch in the heritage which they have transmitted, we mid forget that the bloodiest of our trials was brought ;n us. not by foreign hands nor rival nations, but by ■ own hot and intemperate haste, we have before us the ;ge of that President [Lincoln] whose fortune it was to d the helm of State during the stormiest rimes of our ton’, and we may alh I think, unite Ln saying that never faults partisan spirit may justly or unjustly jute to him, whatever shortccmmgs he may have tied with him to the mdgment seat, yet was he so nest in his love of freedom, so hottest in his love of intry, so kindly and so gentle in his love of his fellows, t the illustrious men who new bear him company old cheerfully admit him to their friendship.55 vertheiess, the font of enlightenment idealism lism, and liberalism on which the Declaration of >endence had been drawn land indeed codified) had ne polluted by the political realities of the cay. The of Lincoln had, under President Grant, become tytnous with corruption, cronyism, and criminality, ante and worse, much worse, could be said of the nance or New York City under Boss Tweed, whose ” had systematically robbed millions of dollars the city treasury. ' A few months after the dedicain an occurrence symbolic of the era, Rutherford tyes literals- stole the presidential election of 1876.“-’ ’e years after the dedication of Bartholdi's Lafayette, Workers assembled for the unveiling of the Union 'tDnnkini Fountain (the James Fountain). which sfi? York Tinus characterized as “rhe handsomest tain on Manhattan Island.Created by Karl ph Donndort, and presented to the City by D. 5 James, the fountain was "more pretentious as a ’work t han any other in the city.”*2 Atop the bronze tain is a group, seven feet high, also of bronze, 2SisUr,g ofl mother and two children, one a babe in f . e °tb.er a bare-legged little boy running at her '' e mother is clothed in drapery m the classic 14 Isabel Bishop '.ludy of Ijifayettt, n.d graphite, joy, , ■/ ■/< (sheet) ''.ouitesy of of DC 1jo Moore Gallery, G.J!<-iy, New York Gourte.y Holograph by Professional Photographic Services 31 �«vle' “U’ '’m’ 'CS‘other?neck and the other extended J,s|xd tht ' blroth(,|. wh0 is tiying to take from Smother th pitcher she carries in her left hand, and l^ fi contained water, as it is supposed to, would, m thJ’atigle at which it is held, be spilled by any but a person of bronze. The fountain itself consists of four basins, shaped like -iant shells into which once flowed jets of water from the mouths' of four lions. The remainder of the fountain is highly decorated with a menagerie of flying birds; crawling salamanders; butterflies; dragonflies; and garlands of flowers, leaves, and fruits.64 Together these symbolize earthly bounty and abundance. The lower portion of the fountain, including bronze basins, is visible in Isabel Bishop’s Girls Sitting in Union Square Fountain (Cat. nos. 8 and 9), Man at Fountain (Cat. no. 10), and Mending (Cat. no. 11). The theme of charity invoked by the inscription surrounding the nearby Lincoln predominates in the James Fountain, which was intended as an allegory of Charity, the foremost of the three theological virtues.65 In his dedicatory remarks, James made this interpreta­ tion explicit: “If the bronze ... shall be the means of kindling in any heart that spirit of love-Charity—it is intended to illustrate, I shall indeed be more than compensated. ”66 Professor Leonard Corning, who in gave the keynote speech of the J. day, concurred by seeing the fountain “the exemplification of that best chosen emblem of charity, the motherly instinct. It will ever stand a silent preacher of the institutes of Christian kindness as well as an enduring work of art.”67 Both Mayor Grace, who accepted the fountain on behalf of New York City, and the Reverend Dr. Roswell D Httchcock saw in the fountain an altruistic gesture to e p t e disadvantaged, many of whom were recent immigrants. the donor other munificent The workmayor ... forthanked the betterment offor thehis condi tiono P°°r and working classes by proviJng for" th m tenement-houses, clean, healthy, and at a reasone rate of rental-the most practical and munificent of works of charity.”68 The Reverend Dr. Hitchcock echoed this sentiment as he praised “the merchant princes of New York [who] were .. . leading the world in benefi­ cences for the public good, of which this fountain is an example, and in this way earning what their fortune should incite them to obtain more than anything else, But thP the reward of popular gratitude and affection.”69 bur tne need for charity was not directed only toward the poor; 11 nation itself needed charity, and forgiveness, after umonifind ?n 'n7dibIy dest™ctive Civil War. Charity, penomfied in the James Fountain, was an essential “li^libe",?'1 of 'he American ideal of 111• >‘lHHy and the pursuit of happiness ” ............. ..... Rising to a height of ninety feet in the centc . • Square and costing $80,000, the flagstaff rep;.. • /.?r‘ earlier Liberty flagpole erected by the Tammany s-" that had stood at the southern end of the he base of the Murphy flagpole was intended to b - . M “permanent public exposition” of the Dcclar.tion of Independence, whose text, along with the names of signatories, appears -- . in .. high ’ ' relief' on1 an eight-foot<. u„ base, a s«-and-a-half-f00t square tablet. Encircling ,the nn which which Anthony Anthnmr de rlzi Framed E------1 bronze relief on ’ labored for three vears denir,. I887~ 1964) labored for three years, depict s “the evils of' oppression and bondage and the blessings of indepen dence and liberty.”71 These allegorical figures trace “the march of mankind from slavery to freedom.”72 Sadly th» well-dressed, seated figures in Isabel Bishop’s^/ of the Flagpole (Idle Conversation) (Cat. no. 1) were shonly to be replaced by more desperate individuals enjoying “the blessings of independence” brought on by wide­ spread urban unemployment. Inscribed on the pedestal by Perry Coke Smith is Thomas Jefferson’s admonition: “How little my countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of and which no other people on earth enjoy.”73 Other decorative motifs include the coats of arms of the United States and of the original thirteen states. The most recent statue to be installed at Union Square is a likeness of Mohandas Gandhi by . ‘ r’ r y kthe Indi™ ndlan scu^ptor Kantilal B. Patel. Dedicated on the" " October ” 92,1986, 1Q9,: -k 117th anniversary of Gandhi’s birth, the eight-foot bronze depicts a bespectacled, striding Gandhi holding a bamboo walking stick and wearing a dhoti, a garment associated with Hindu asceticism.74 The figure stands on a low concrete pedestal about four feet high, to which a bronze plaque is attached with Gandhi’s dates (October 2, 1869-January 30, 1948) and a quotation that sumsup his political philosophy: “My optimism rests on my ‘ln^Iute possibilities ' 16 fm of the individual to develop nonviolence. ... In a gentle way you can shake the world.” The plaque further indicates that the statue was presented to “the city of New York and the citizens of the United States of America” from the Gandhi Memorial International Foundation. Yogesh K. Gandhi, a great-grandnephew of Mohandas, led the effort to place the statue in Union Square; Mohan B. Muriani underwrote most of the $60,000 cost.75 At the dedication, Parks Commissioner Henry I. Stem observed ‘I can think of no better place to honor Mahatma Gandhi than Union Square park, which his been a forum for public assembly and peaceful protest since the early part of the 20th century." '' His remark r -t f TT » 1 « ■ >' addressed objections that had been raised by various groups, including the Union Square Park Comm unit' Coalition. Even more relevant, however, Gandhi continued the tradition of honoring individuals "b° had dedicated their lives to the ideal of freedom ashington, Gandhi was paterpatria who had led a colonial revolt for freedom against the British-1n;! L 9 (left) Isabel Bishop Girls Sitting in Union Square Fountain, 1936 etching, 57s * 47s Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmingt Gift of Helen Farr Sloan Photograph courtesy Delaware Art Museum 10 (right ’ Isabel Bishop Man at Fountain, 1945 (printed 1985) etching, 4 .7 « 3"s Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Servic �to a height of ninety feet in the center of U ■ and costing $80,000, the flagstaff replaced an'* Liberty flagpole erected by the Tammany Socic d stood at the southern end of the square70 Th ' the Murphy flagpole was intended to be a 6 inent public exposition” of the Declaration of ndence, whose text, along with the names of th ries, appears in high relief on an eight-foottablet Encircling the base, a six-and-a-half-f00t relief, on which Anthony de Francisci (1887abored for three years, depicts “the evils of ;ion and bondage and the blessings of indepen,nd liberty.”71 These allegorical figures trace “the of mankind from slavery to freedom.”72 Sadly, the rssed, seated figures in Isabel Bishop’s At the Base " lagpole (Idle Conversation) (Cat. no. 1) were shortly tplaced by more desperate individuals enjoying usings of independence” brought on by wideurban unemployment. Inscribed on the pedestal y Coke Smith is Thomas Jefferson’s admonition: itde my countrymen know what precious js they are in possession of and which no other on earth enjoy.”73 Other decorative motifs the coats of arms of the United States and of the 1 thirteen states. most recent statue to be installed at Union Square mess of Mohandas Gandhi by the Indian sculptor 1 B. Patel. Dedicated on October 2, 1986, the nniversary of Gandhi’s birth, the eight-foot depicts a bespectacled, striding Gandhi holding a walking stick and wearing a dhoti, a garment ted with Hindu asceticism.7’ The figure stands on oncrete pedestal about four feet high, to which a plaque is attached with Gandhi’s dates (October -January 30, 1948) and a quotation that sums up ideal philosophy: “My optimism rests on my n the infinite possibilities of the individual to ) nonviolence.... In a gentle way you can shake rid.” The plaque further indicates that the statue isented to “the city of New York and the citizens United States of America” from the Gandhi rial International Foundation. Yogesh K. Gandhi, -grandnephew of Mohandas, led the effort to he statue in Union Square; Mohan B. Murjani rrote most of the $60,000 cost.75 he dedication, Parks Commissioner Henry J. Stem ed “I can think of no better place to honor ma Gandhi than Union Square park, which has forum for public assembly and peaceful protest he early part of the 20th century.”'4 His remarks sed objections that had been raised by various s, including the Union Square Park Community ■■or.. Even more relevant, however, Gandhi ■ued the tradition of honoring individuals who emcated their lives to the ideal of freedom. Like pater patriot who had led a “•Iev0;t for freedom against the British. Unlike I I I I I 1 » 9 (lift) Isabel Bishop Girls Sitting in Union Square Fountain, 1936 etching, 57a x 47a Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Gift of Helen Farr Sloan Photograph courtesy Delaware Art Museum 10 (right) Isabel Bishop Man at Fountain, 1945 (printed 1985) etching, 47a x y/t Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services �1 - i: Washinjion. ho«w«. G‘“J\„|kfng sriek. for resistance in his strugg •■ H Gandhi led; his dhoti alludes to the many^arh« sdf_sufficiency, recalls the movement hr.mesDun clothing, that symbolized by inPst the British; and served as a powerful , grecalis the numerous finally, his thin, birdlii Y of llbeny hunger strikes he un , appropriateness of Although ^^^XVsuch as Gandhi, this objection honoring ^.^ y when °ne recalls the importance seems ironic, especia _y ially Dr. Martin SOCIAL HISTORY As WE HAVE SEEN, the association of Union Square with freedom began with Washington’s triumphant approach to the city in 1783. Until the 1860s, however, City Hall rather than Union Square was the locus of political protest in the city. As residential neighborhoods moved northward, so did political activity. Between the Civil War and World War II, Union Square was the gathering site for rallies of every cause. Although a few organized protests had been held in the square during the 1850s—in 1859 George 7’empleton Strong recorded in his diary observing a grand demon­ stration” of two thousand “Reds” honoring “the pious Orsini” and a co-conspirator who had attempted, unsuccessfully, to assassinate Louis Napoleon7i-the tradition of protest truly began with the Civil War. In December 1859, a mass rally was held in favor of preserving the Union. The “largest” political gathering to date-estimates of the crowd vary from 100,000 to 250,000-was held shortly after Confederate forces attacked Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor during the early morning hours of April 12, 1861.” Along with demonstrations in favor of national unity, Union Square increasingly became a site of class con­ flict. Yet, as Paul Boyer has noted, “Urban disorder was familiar enough from the antebellum period ... in the Gilded Age it took on a more menacing aura as a direct expression of labor unrest.”80 One of the earliest labor demonstrations occurred in 1860 when striking railroad drovers gathered at the George Washington statue Workers who had lost their jobs in the economic depression of 1873 rallied at Unton Square and urged Kni.Ci.T %^the unemPlQyed- In the 1880s, the Knights of Labor repeatedly called for the adoption of Day « an Z7u M the estabIishme™ of Labor ay as an official holiday. In 1887, when the state Union Square T„ ° i hour day converged on tint ’ celeb'“'! 8«>h«ed io c r an ei?ht' «rmjny May Dly pLTBnhdemta X” 34 as teenth century; Union Square had become r with labor unrest. According to David Duwhat oversimplified view, “As the square be. point for unionists, socialists, and anarchist;. . - - • stores slipped away to Fifth Avenue.”’1 In the first two decades of the twentieth century Union Square was the site of numerous demonstrati In the summer of 1914, the Anti-Militarist I;asU1: “funeral service” for three anarchists, who died under 1 mysterious circumstances, after protesting the “Ludlow Massacre,” which had occurred when company guards shot and killed striking miners and their families in * Ludlow, Colorado.82 After a decline in the number of political rallies during most of the 1920s, the final years of the decade saw a reawakening of unrest. On the evening of August 22, 1927, thousands gathered in the square to await the execution of Sacco and Vanzetti.83 Violence erupted when police sought to disperse the crowd. As the twenties drew to a close, political activity increased. Responding to the new mood, the Communists, in 1929, organized the first May Day parade in thirteen years.84 Latei that year, on October 29, the stock market crashed. Writing in 1939, Frederick Lewis Allen dramatically summarized the impact of the market decline: “In a few short weeks it had blown into thin air thirty hillion dollars-3 sum almost as great as the entire cost to the United States of its participation in the World War, and nearly twice as great as the entire national debt.”” The repercussions were immediate: unemployment, reduced production, a decline in prices, postponed expansion, and a curtailment of foreign trade. Breadlines, “the worm that walks like a man” in Heywood Broun’s poignant phrase, began to form.' Reginald Marsh’s No One Has Starred (not in exhibition), which appeared in the New Masses, depicts one such worm. Marsh’s title brings to mind Jonathan Norton Leonard's mordant description in Three Years Down (1939): “All of them [the striking miners] were hungry and many were dying of those providential diseases which enable welfare authori­ ties to claim that no one has starved.”8' Although stocks rose briefly' in the early months of 1930, in April they began the long descent that contin­ ued until they reached their nadir in 1932. In March, 1930, the New York State Industrial Commissioner announced that unemployment had reached its highest level since the state had begun collecting statistics in 1914.8a Despite this evidence, many otherwise well informed individuals did not comprehend, or chose to ignore, the seriousness of the problem: In a poll con­ ducted by the National Economic League in January 1930, respondents rated unemployment eighteenth _ among the “paramount problems” facing the nau°R' This background provides the context tor the^,.n > of March 6, 1930, when Union Square witnessed ®e largest Communist demonstration ever held in . York City’.90 Estimates of the size of the crowd varied vauft- 36 Betty Waldo Parish Union Square Rally, c. 1935-1945 etching, 7’/* z 91, Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallen; New York holograph by Professional Photographic Ser.t.s �■. Union Square had become synonymous rest. According to David Dunlap’s some. >Iified view, “As the square became a focal mists. socialists, and anarchists, the old away to Fifth Avenue.”41 wo decades of the twentieth century, was the site of numerous demonstrations ■ of 1914, the Anti-Militarist League held e” for three anarchists, who died under zumstances, after protesting the “Ludlow ch had occurred when company guards ! striking miners and their families in ado.82 ne in the number of political rallies 'the 1920s, the final years of the decade ling of unrest. On the evening of August sands gathered in the square to await the icco and Vanzetti.83 Violence erupted ught to disperse the crowd. As the o a close, political activity increased. the new mood, the Communists, in 1929, irst May Day parade in thirteen years.*4 on October 29, the stock market crashed. 939. Frederick Lewis Allen dramatically e impact of the market decline “In a few tad blown into thin air rfriry billion ;lmost as great as the entire cost to the if its participation in the World War. and great as the entire national debt’"55 The rere immediate: unemployment, reduced lecline in prices, postponed expansion, ent of foreign trade. Breadlines, "the cs like a man” in Heywood Broun s e. began to form.8* Reginald Marsh’s Ao i (not in exhibition), which appeared in , depicts one such worm. Marsh’s title . Jonathan Norton Leonard’s mordant Three Years Dcnen (1939): "All of them {the ] were hungry and many were dying of rial diseases which enable welfare authonlat no one has starved.”87 acks rose briefly in the early months of they began the long descent that continreached their nadir in 1932. In March, York State Industrial Commissioner t unemployment had reached its highest state had begun collecting statistics tn : this evidence, many otherwise well riduals did not comprehend, or chose to lousness of the problem: In a poll conNational Economic League in January mts rated unemployment eighteenth iramount problems” facing the nation.' □und provides the context for the events >30. when Union Square witnessed the '-mis! demonstration ever held in New stimates of the size of the crowd varied w t 34 B«ty Waldo Parish Square Rally, <■■ 1935-1945 «<hing.7% / 9V< Courtesy of Sylvan Cole < lallery, New York ’ by Professional Photographs Servins �n ! from 35 ooo to 100,000. The rally had been called by the Third ‘international to focus attention on International Unemployment Day. At a meeting with representatives of the Communist Party, Police Commissioner Grover Whalen stated that the rally was illegal since a permitt he allowed the rally had not been obtained. Nonetheless, 1-----to proceed on the condition that it terminate by 1 p.m. When the deadline approached, however, the crowd began to march out of Union Square toward City Hall. Commissioner Whalen thereupon ordered his pohee to fall upon the marchers and a bloody riot ensued—“the worst disorder New York had seen in many years.”’1 Peter Hopkins and Edward Laning responded to this disorder; Hopkins, painting seventeen years after the event, sought to capture the tumult and chaos in his Riot at Union Square, March 6, 1930 (Cat. no. 26). Laning, on the other hand, depicted a preternatural stillness in his Unlawful Assembly, Union Square (Cat. no. 29), whose composition is clearly indebted to a photograph that appeared in The New York Times.91 The riot did have one positive consequence: It “galvanized the public against police interference, and under pressure, city officials guaranteed the right to free assembly in the square.”93 Throughout the 1930s, Union Square was the undis­ puted "center of America’s radical movement,”” Head­ quartered in the area were numerous radical publicationsthe New Masses and the Daily Worker among the most prominent-and oiganizations-including the John Reed Club and the Communist Party.95 Demonstrations became a way of life in the square and artists including Leonard Pydak (May Day [Cat. no. 38]), Louis Lozowick (Demonstration [Cat. no. 30]), Betty Waldo Parish (Union Square Rally [Cat. no. 36]), Albert Potter (Parade in the Park-Union Square Demonstration [Cat. no. 37]), Ben Shahn (May Day [Union Square Demonstration] [Cat. no the sJecTPhael 50761 (nC Cr0Wd [CaL n°- 42]) treated loi±? unemPloH men waited. They things to change. Finally L rh 41])’ hey Waited for up in anticipation of World WaiiV°n°?y began t0 heat The end of the thirties signal/} C°"dlt]Ons ^proved. attitudes. The United States^nvV ChaDge “ Ameri«n and the authorities discourage the square’s former Now permission for meetings in the square is rare1- Today, Union Square seems best known far farmers’ market. The heritage of long-past Struggle f c_ romninc rsnlv in flip irnnnorir,!-,. _ r r-*~ ~ freedom remains only in the iconography of shared by all the major monuments in Unir ' 'ai’ i°n Square NOTES 1. Samuel Eliot Morison, The Oxford History ofthe America, o (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965): 268. ' ' Wflc 2. Edward Robb Ellis, The Epic ofNew York City: A NarratiHistory (New York: Old Town Books, 1990): 11. 3. Ibid., pp. 18-19. 4. Ibid., pp. 24-26. 5. Originally laid out by Peter Minuit’s engineer, Bowery ROai north-south artery, was named for the dozen farms (bouweria) that 3 were nearby. Broadway, originally an Indian warpath, was also know as High Street and Bloomingdale Road. 6. Quoted in M. Christine Boyer, Manhattan Manners: Arcbiteaim and Style 1850-1900 (New York: Rizzoli, 1985): 10. 7. Quoted in Richard Hoe Lawrence, Harris D. Colt, and I. N Phelps Stokes, History of the Society of Iconophiles ofthe City oj New York and Catalogue ofIls Publications, With Historical and Biographical Noto, etc. (New York, 1930): 122. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. According to M.C. Boyer (Manhattan Manners, p. 11) the area became a public square in 1831; Lawrence, however (History oftht Society ofIconopbiles, p. 123) states that this occurred in 1839. The iron fence that surrounded the Square (illustrated in M.C. Boyer, Manhattan Manners, p. 46) was erected in 1835 and 1836. (Lawrence, History of the Society of Iconophiles, p. 122). The iron fence was removed in the 1870s (The W.PA. Guide to New York City: The Federal Writers' Project Guide to 1930s New York [New York: Pantheon, 1982]: 200). The W.PA. Guide lo New York City incorrectly claims (p. 200) that the area did not officially become known as Union Square until the 1870s. 10. Quoted in Lawrence, History of the Society of Iconophiles, p. 122. 11. Paul Boyer reminds us that “Today, parks are so ubiquitous and familiar a feature of the urban scene that we give little thought.. to their social significance. Thus, it takes a considerable imaginative leap to realize that the park movement once had the force of a fresh social discovery that could arouse intense and passionate commit­ ment, and that its moral implications were carefully explored and debated by moralists, urban reformers, social critics, landscape designers, and municipal authorities alike” (Urban Masses and Mors! Order in America: 1820-1920 [Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1978]: 236). 12. Norval White, New York: A Physical History (New York: Athenaeum, 1987): 42. 13. Ibid., p. 43. 14. Ibid., p. 44. 15. Thomas Bender, New York Intellect: A History oj IntdletlnALi1 in New York City, from 1750 to the Beginnings of Our Own Time York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1987): 216. 16. Maxwell Marcuse, This IVis New York.' A Nostalgic Pur,': ? Gotham in the Gaslight Era, 2nd rev. ed. (New York: LIM Press, 1 ' 225-229. 17. For a detailed studv. Bender cites lohn \\. Frick, Jr., -e, Rialto: A Study of Union Square, the Center of New YorksF:^ Theater District, 1870-1900" (Ph.D. dissertation, New York V > sity, 1983). 18. Bender, New York Intellect, p. 21b. 19. Ibid. , 20. Ellen Wiley Todd, Toe "New WernM'Revised: PammgFSPolitia on Fourteenth Street (Berkeley: University of’ 1993): 96, For a discussion of Hearn’s and S. Klein s. see pp- 36 29 Edward Laning Unlawful Assembly, Union Square, 1931 tempera on composition board, 14-/i * 36 Collection of Whitney Museum of American Art, New ic Gift of Isabel Bishop Photograph Copyright C 1995; Whitney Museum of Anu �,;,e aut.'.c-r-tics discourage the square’s former uses. T perm.ssion for meetings in the square is rarely asked more rarely given.”4 ay, Union Square seems best known for its rs’ market. Tire heritage of long-past struggles for m remains only in the iconography of freedom, by all the major monuments in Union Square.’ ES amuel Eliot Morison, The Oxford History oj the American People >rk: Oxford University Press, 1965): 268. idward Robb Ellis, The Epic ofNev York City: A Narrative New York: Old Town Books, 1990): 11. bid., pp. 18-19. rid., pp. 24-26. •riginally laid out by Peter Minuit’s engineer, Bowery Road, ju:h artery, was named for the dozen farms (houveries) that irby. Broadway, originally an Indian warpath, was also known Street and Bloomingdale Road. luoted in M. Christine Boyer, Manhattan Manners: Ardriteetn "1850-/900 (New York: Rizzoli, 1985): 10. Quoted in Richard Hoe Lawrence, Harris D. Colt, and I. N. tokes, History ofthe Society oflanwpbiles oftire City ofNev York liogoe ofIts PuHiatlions, With Historical and Biographical Notes, •York, 1930): 122. lid. >id. According to M.C Boyer (Manhattan Manners, p. 11) the line a public square in 1831; Lawrence, however (History ofthe 'Tarnopbila, p. 123) states that this occurred in 1839. The iron it surrounded the Square (illustrated in M.C. Boyer, tue Manners, p. 46) was erected in 1835 and 1836. (Lawrence. /'the Society ofIcoaopbiles, p. 122). The iron fence was removed 370s (Toe W.PA. Guide to Nev York City: The Federal Writers’ 'ride to 1930s Nev York [New York: Pantheon, 1982]: 200). Terr wide to Nev York City incorrectly claims (p. 200) that the area officially become known as Union Square until the 1870s. luoted in Lawrer.ee, History ofthe Society oj Iconopbiles, p. 122. aul Boyer reminds us that Today, parks are so ubiquitous Liar a feature of the urban scene that we give little thought.. r social significance Thus, it takes a considerable imaginative realize that the park movement once had the force of a fresh iscovery that could arouse intense and passionate commitr.d that its moral implications were carefully explored and by moralists, urban reformers, social critics, landscape rs, and municipal authorities alike” (Urban Masses and Moral America: 1520-1920 ‘Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University 97s]: 236). s’orval White, Nev York-A Physical History INew York: eum, 1987): 42. bid., p. 43. bid., p. 44. fhonus Bender, Nev York Intellect: A History oj Intellectual Life Irri City, from 1750 to the Beginnings of Our Ovn Time (New ihtd A Knopf, 1987X216. Vtardl Marcuse, This llis Nev York! A Nostalgic Picture of ire tn Gauign Era, 2nd rev. ed. (New York: LIM Press, 1969). for a detailed study. Bender cites John W. Frick, Jr., “The n Yudy of Union Square, the Center of New York’s First ■’ Drnrict, 1870-1906' ;Ph D. dissertation. New York Univer•13k Render, Nev Kri Intellect, p. 216. Tbdd. The “Nev Woman"Braised: Paintingand Gender ^^tetnlb Street (Bcrke^-. University of California Press, ' ‘ d“Q;ssion of Hearn’s and S. Klein's, see pp. 96-10°- I 29 Edward Laning Unlaujul As tmhly, Union Square, 1931 'empera on composition board, 147i * 36 ollection of Whitney Museum of American Art, New York yft of Isabel Bishop Photograph Copyright "> 1995: Whitney Museum of American Art �21. Among the artists: who had Is'J'hiW-IW) 23. The composition th tatue Am„ pans tin, 2 P"*”1"'’’ part* Thc body of the horse was cast ^SS-X^ehness of 3/8 inches. The statue took ^/rSTa'ltus' and Walter E Trsnd, Statues ofNeu, York (New statue. New York Evening Tima (hereafter cited 7) U ‘T^Tfluly 5.1856): 1. A list of the subscriber appear in the NYET (Ibid.). The sponsors’ names were inscribed between the hooves” of the horse. (Tie Neu, York Times [Hereafter cited as ATT], July 11, 1930): 21). 27. Saltus and Tisne, Statius oj Nett, York, p. 28. 28. NYET (July 5,1856): 1. Subsequently, in the late 1860s, Henry K. Brown created a portrait statue of Dr. Bethune for Brooklyn s Packer Institute (Wayne Craven, Sculpture in America [New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1968]: 156). 29. NYET (July 5,1856): 1. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. Located on the Capitoline Hill atop a pedestal by Michelangelo, Marcus Aurelius (c. A.D. 165) is the only statue of its type to have survived from the ancient world. During medieval times it was believed to represent Constantine, the first Christian emperor. Other famous, but now lost, examples of the genre include monu­ ments to Trajan (Rome), Justinian (Constantinople), and Theodorus (which Charlemagne removed to Aachen after he was crowned Holy Roman emperor in 800). 33. Other stone medieval equestrian statues include thc Saint Martin in Lucca, the Otto I in Magdeburg, and the Bemabd Visconti in Milan (Charles Rufus Morey, Mediaeval Art [New York: W.W. Norton, 1942]: 295-296). 34. This was especially true for New Yorkers, who in gratitude for George Ill’s repeal of the Stamp Act, caused an equestrian statue of the king to be erected in the city’s Bowling Green, at the foot of Broadway. Thc gilded lead statue, set on a massive pedestal, was dedicated on August 21,1770. Six years later, the citizens destroyed what had become a hated symbol of oppression. 35. Quoted in P. Boyer, Urban Masses, p. 80. 36. P. Boyer, Urban Masses, p. 75. 37. NYET(July 5,1856): 1. 38. Ibid. thc!»^?T(STe,?ber 17> I87°): 1 ACC°rdlng to y»rk Times Sass “"bilk" •“ 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 4i NJ7(Sr|,irml„.r 17, 18AI): . Is |i;l74',d ll'^ Sw‘'’’’/AV-W.p 10 47. AH (Apul ?r.. IKr,*,). x 48 Ibid I’ 156 49. Ibid. 50. Bartholdi’s best known work is the colossal Statu: .v p, (Liberty Enlightening the World), 1875-1884. For the ,tor. oj Liberty see Ellis. Epic, pp. 384-392. 51. Saltus and Tisne, Statues of Neu York, p. 32. 52. The statue was moved to its present location in A _-2l , NYT (August 7, 1929): 18. See also Saltus and Tisne. Stu; :■ '■ “ York, p. 32. 53. King, King's Handbook, p. 176. Also inscribed on thc plinth ls 54. Although Brown had made the Italian pilgrimage and indeed spent four years working first in Florence and then Rome, heb-camconvinced, especially after his return to New York in 1846, of the ' need to forge a truly American art. To this end he rejected continental neoclassicism in favor of American subjects rendered directly and' naturalisticly. Bartholdi, on the other hand, was a true inheritor of the European sculptural tradition. In his elegant Lafayette, one sees the sophisticated interplay of light and movement, the subtle surface relationships, the animating contrapposto, and the idealization that characterize that tradition. 55. Lewis Mumford, The Brovn Decades: A Study of the Arts in America 1865-1895, rev. ed. (New York: Dover, 1971): 2. 56. NYT (September 7, 1876): 1. 57. Ibid., p. 7. 58. Ibid. 59. William Marcy Tweed was arrested in December 1871. After his first trial ended in a hung jury, prosecutors successfully retried him, in November 1873, and obtained convictions on 120 counts. On appeal, his sentence was reduced to one year in prison and a $250 fine (Ellis, Epic, pp. 351-354). 60. Morison, Oxford History, pp. 733-734. 61. NYT(October 26, 1881): 8. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid. Originally scheduled to be completed within two and a half years from the date of the commission contract, May 10,1877, the work dragged on until 1881. The sculptor's wife and infant served as models for the figural group. The standing child was a Stuttgart youth renowned for his “ideal grace of form.” The bronze statue was cast in Brunswick, Germany, at the G. Howaldt foundry (ibid.). 64. The pedestal is a highly polished red Swedish granite Three steps enable individuals to reach thc ornamental fountain basins (Ibid.). 65. “And now abideth faith, hope and charity._but the greatest of these is charity” (I Corinthians 13:13). Giving drink to the thirsty (symbolized by the bucket full of water) represents the second of the Six Mercies (Matthew 25:35-37). Since the fourteenth century. Charity has been personified as a mother with two (usually suckling) f r infants. 66. NYT (October 26, 1881): 8. 67. Ibid. 68. Ibid. 69. Ibid. 70. ATT (May 22. 1930): 1. The flagstaff was dedicated on It-.v 4,1930; the actual sesquicentcnnial had occurred in 1926. Chat.es Francis Murphy was a Tammany Hal, leader. 71. ATT (July 5, 1930k 1. 72. ATT (Mas 22, 1930): 1. 73. W.F.1 Guide, pp 202-203. 4. V)T(October 3. WStO; fl. 3. 75. Ibid. 76. Ibid. ' ’. flu- Union Square I'.rk Communitv Coalition. tbr exampfe had obieued to the add tion of a new statce. claiming that I’uion S.jy.v.c we e nor being maintained properly (A •* H. ,H \lu*:.'.ni< 'c.'vCx’< b'-. n KMiuoiHi $ :o :he p, Common for nuinteiun<e the Union Squire xutuarv (MT [October 3. $ C V?*; . p ;1 20 Ernest Fiene Lincoln Monument tn L lithograph, 13V., x 10-7 Collection of Woltganj Photograph by Profess! �best known work is the colossal Statue of Liberty eg 12.' U'criA, 1875-1884. For the story of the Statue , Epic, PP- 384-392. Tisne, Statues ofNao York, p. 32. was moved to its present location in August 192Q 929): 18. See also Saltus and Tisne, Statues ofXev ' i Handbook, p. 176. Also inscribed on the plinth is Irown had made the Italian pilgrimage and indeed ,-orking first in Florence and then Rome, he became dly after his return to New York in 1846, of the ily American art. To this end he rejected continental avor of American subjects rendered directly and tholdi, on the other hand, was a true inheritor of ptural tradition. In his elegant Lafayette, one sees nterplay of light and movement, the subtle surface animating contrapposto, and the idealization that radirion. ford, Til Beran Decades A Study oftie Arts in i, rev. cd. (New York; Dover. 1971): 2. mber 7, 1876): 1. iny Tweed was arrested in December 1871. After his a hung jury, prosecutors successfully retried him, I, and obtained convictions on 120 counts. On :e was reduced to one year in prison and a S250 i. 351-354). ford History, pp. 733-734. >er26,1881): 8. ally scheduled to be completed within two and a : date of the commission contract, May 10, 1877, m until 1881. The sculptor’s wife and infant served rigural group. The standing child was a Stuttgart >r his "ideal grace of form.’ The bronze statue was Germany, at the G. Howaldr foundry (ibid.). 1 is a highly polished red Swedish granite. Three duals to reach the ornamental fountain basins bideth faith, hope and charity-but the greatest of Corinthians 13:13). Giving drink to the thirsty e bucket full of water) represents the second of the tew 2535-37). Since the fourteenth century, tersonified as a mother with two (usually suckling) ter 26, 1881): 8. 22,1930); 1. The flagstaff was dedicated on July sesquicentennial had occurred in 1926. Charles as a Tammany Hail leader. i, 1930): 1. 22, 1930): 1. it, pp. 202-203. her 3. 1986): fl, 3. Square Park Community Coalition, for example, te addition of a new statue, claiming that the other rues were not being maintained properly {NYT (July hmani silenced this objection by donating an 90 to the Parks Commission for maintenance of al! : statuary (ATT [October 3,1986]: II, 3). •■!. C. Boyer, Manhuiatt Manners, p. 85. �’-Sfc 'Uhln f^c°' ih^rW^rst^^U| 1,0 “' ■'■nen, L°pyngh, ?uev an *1*. i �rd the Pho‘ograph’s i. on Square That Wj, •’ !, 1958): 72. hagf Isabel Bishop At the Ban ofthe Flagpole (Idle Conversation), 1928 etching, 5x6 Collection of Whitney Museum of American Art, New York Felicia Meyer Marsh Bequest Photograph Copyright & 1995: Whitney Museum of American Art ���? f ! I I < i I j 3 Isabel Bishop S-.-.'B-ti 1933-1934 oil on paper mounted on fiberboard 1 ?' , Codeoion or Hir-.-j-.r-: :;■ Gift ofJoseph H Hirshhorr, .-:r Photograph by Lee $u;sworh 44 _•. ■. I ��£**>«•** B J ofix:! Phbyp, I g-*!**'1 Bn ^ofKG 46 �J V I i f - i 7 'opposite) Isabel Bishop ^MArian Stall", Unton Square, c. 1927-1931 graphite, 10s/a x 77. Counesy of DC Moore Callery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 8 47 Isabel Bishop G,rls Sitting j„ Union Square Fountain, 1936 and tempera on gesso panel, 16 * 14 "° ection of Mr. & Mrs. John Whitney Payson �' pi 3^ 11 (o/yvsfte) Isabel Bishop Mending, 1945 oil on fiberboard, 25 . x ifo- , Collection of National Museum of American Art, Smith Gift of the Sara Roby Foundation Photograph courtess National Museum of American Art babel Bishop the Street {Fourteenth Street}, 1931 etching, 47.* 10 >/. f c'lles.tion ot \X hitney Museum of American Art, New '1 eeiuia Meyer Marsh Bequest holograph Copyright 1995: Whitney Museum of An �na �< r* i 1 1 p.-^ * , «h i •< ■ c . ' .... » 1 I"---' I 1 I I ■ i ) 21 (<p/m) Mary Fife Txo Women with Childre etching, fe;/sx 4.4 Courtesy of Susan Telle Photograph by Professk 22 4 50 51 Eugene C. Fitsdi ^■'h Street C„,o„ Sljhan, “thograph, 9 x 15 Courtesy of Sylvan Col. ‘holograph byProfessk �21 (opposite) Mary Fife Two Women with Children Crossing the Street, c. 1925 etching, 67s x 47a Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 22 (above) Eugene C. Fitsch 14th Stmt Union Square, 1931 lithograph, 9 * 15 Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York Photograph bt Professional Photographic Services �23 Eugene C. Fitsch Ihumplorftd Union Square, 1936 lithograph, 9 * 13 Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 24 fe* * ph by p 53 �------ 1 �i' I'' | I 25 (above) Emil Ganso Metropolis, 1935 etching with aquatint and roulette, 1 l!/s * 15 Courtesy of Madeleine FortunofFFine Prints, Locust Valley, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 27 (opposite) Morris Kantor Farewell to Union Square, 1931 oil on canvas, 36'/> x 27'7s Collection of The Newark Museum Purchase 1946, John Cotton Dana Fund Photograph by Armen May 54 ��1 28 (above) Charles Keller Open Cut-6th Avenue Subway, 1938 lithograph, ll’ft * 14'A Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services 30 (opposite) Louis Lozowick Demonstration, 1937 lithograph, 14'/w x U'/i Collection of National Museum of American Art, Smithsonian institution Gift of Adele Lozowick Photograph courtesy National Museum of American Art 56 ��I I I I j * i V» '» . ' « | I? ( y./ Vv is J ' t t‘r w v» I I i I 37 Albert Potter Parade in the Park-Union Square Demonstratijn, < 1935 crayon and watercolor, 13 « 20‘r (sheet. Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York Photograph by Professional Photographic Services l-fon^rrj K - W"? / 4 *«y 58 59 �1 M* * < t ah 33 I eomrd !\tbk PJ..V. 19 is hthogrjph, 7' ■ G'.new ci .Vusii! ii,_. Phoiogriph bv .n, .\c* Ve.'i. r.•/: v:v. �A^A.'-' lit 111 III III I 1 •It If I I & f iGf * J< 4 M C, �■ ■L’ 99 « ■ ii IH «n �* II ■ 21 Mary Fife (1904-199' Tito Women with Cnda ■- , etching. 67< ■ 4/; Courtesy of Susan Teller CJiecki.ist or the exhibition .... < r 1 Isabel Bishop (1’0? 1988) I; 'v I'.,-.' qt the Flagpole (Idle < 'animation), 1928 etching. 5*6 t olliMion of Whitney Museum of American Art, New York 1 .-Ik ia Merer Marsh Bequest page 13 2 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) At the Noon Hour, c. 1932 tempera and pencil on composition board, 25 * 18 ’/s Collection of Museum of Fine Arts, Springfield, Massachusetts James Philip Gray Collection J page 44 3 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Boot Black, 1933-1934 oil on paper mounted on fiberboard, 197/s* 17 Collection of Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution Gift ofJoseph H. Hirshhorn, 1966 4 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Vie Club, 1935 oil and tempera on canvas, 20 x 24 Private Collection 22 EugeneC. Fitsch (18’2-J9.’2 14th Street Union Square. 193! lithograph, 9 - 15 Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gal page *11 page 19 11 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Mending, 1945 oil on fiberboard, 25 7« * 167/. Collection of National Museum of Arn Smithsonian Institution Gift of the Sara Roby Foundation 23 Eugene C. Fttsch 1892-1972 Unemployed Union Square, 19 lithograph, 9 * 13 Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gal - • 12 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page 15 Noon Hour, 1935 etching, 7*5 Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilke, I JnivetIHlty Sordoni/Myers Acquisition Fund Purchase 24 Eugene CFitwh (18’2-1972 Unton Square, 1930 lithograph. 10 • 14‘« Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gal 13 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page 4? On the Street (Fourteenth Street), 1931 etching, 47/s * 107r Collection ofWhitney Museum of American Art, New York Felicia Meyer Marsh Bequest 25 Emil Ganso (1895-1941) Metropolis, 1935 etching with aquatint and ro Courtesy of Madeleine Fortt Locust Valley. New York 14 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Study of Lafayette, n.d. graphite, 103/s* 7'A (sheet) Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York 26 Peter Hopkins (b. 1’11) Riot at Union Square. Ma-rh t oil on canvas, 37 < 48 Collection of Museum of th< Gift of the Artist P*& 31 I 5 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page 45 Conversation, 1931 etching, 6*4 Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Gift of Helen Farr Sloan 15 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Union Square Looking East, n.d. graphite, 6Vz x S'/i Collection of Sordoni Art GalleryGift ofJudge Herbert W. Salus 6 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Dante and Virgil in Union Square, 1932 oil on canvas, 27 * 52V, Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Gift of the Friends of Art, 1971 16 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page' Union Square Looking East, Studyfor lirgf; and Da~:r. c 1’2" graphite, 4 * 5Vz Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York 7 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Equestrian Statue, Union Square, c. 1927-1931 graphite, lO’/iv * 7'A Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York 8 Isabel Bishop (1’02-1988) Girls Sitting in Union Square Fountain, 1936 oil and tempera on gesso panel, 16 * 14 < oiler tion of Mr. & Mrs. John Whitney Payson page 4 page 46 page 47 9 1 abci Bishop (1902-1988) W 33 Gul Sitting in Union Square Fountain, 1936 el1 lung, 5 /. » 4'/. ' -.'1 hoi- of Ih-Dw.iir Ail Museum. Wilmington Gib of Helen 1 nt Sloan 10 !■ >1 Bishop 1190? 1988) P.hn at t ,uutam, 19 |‘> (pnnit-d 1’85) lung 4 i. - i'/» Co > 7,1,'I,. I ,,|r ( ...llcy, N,w yo|t 42 17 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Virgil and Dante in Union Square-Study, 1’32 graphite, 13 * 26 Collection of Palmer Museum of Art. The Pennsylvania State University 18 Isabel Bishop (1902-1’88) Virgil and Dante in Union Squa\-S S'»d:.<, 1’32 graphite, 6'/a x 3'.k Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery. New Aork Page * 27 Morris Kantor (1896-1974) Farewell to Un a n Sj*w y. 193 oil or. canvas, 36 ' 27 • Collection of The New ark M Purchase 1946, John Cotton 28 Charles Keller (b. 1914) Open Cut-bth Avenue Sutra . lithograph. 1T-: * 14' a Courtesy of Suvan Teller Gal: page 4 29 Edward Lantng (1906-1’81) hl.-ivr--.-. L Squ tempera on composition boa Collection of Whitney Museui Gift of Isabel Bishop .•->11 30 Louis Lozowtck (18’2-1’73) DemonI’.” lithograph, 14 'll Collection of National Muset Smithsonian Institution Gift of Adele Lozownk 19 Henty Kirke Biown Blown (1814-1886) iXj- General («<>;«;. (>eneral Georg, WarAwy.'.w Washington ,>•.• .‘V Ho^ba 1___ (•, c. 1852 (cast 1’52) bronze model, 37' .• * 42‘ ■ * 12' . Collection of Yale University Ait Gallery, New Haven Given in Memory of Edmund Terry . B A 1837. EJnuu'J Roden.k line, B A 18’8, and Fliphalet Budtow deny. B \ 1888, by Miss Manon let rv 20 Imcst Fienc (18’4-1’65) I m,oln ll. ’ra";.m Union Squa ■ ■ I4'* Itthogiaph, 13’ < * It)1’. t olle.tion ot Wolfgang A Hei. I a., 3'* 31 George I uks (1867-1933) : . .. .. .11'. 1’33 oil on board, 16 * 20 i olle. non or Sordoni Art Gal Gitt o! Helen Farr Sloan 32 Reginald Maish (18’1-1’54! D; ,AtBd\ oft n:on Squ. etching, 6'9 Cour levy ot Sm lun Teller Galle 63 �21 Mary Fife (1904-1990) Two Women with Children Crossing the Street, c. 1925 /><<?<■ 50 etching, 67sx 41/, Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York noN !^41 fork K? 13 22 Eugene C. Fitsch (1892-1972) 14th Street Union Square, 1931 lithograph, 9 x 15 Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York 11 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page 48 .Mending, 1945 oil on fiberboard, 25 Vs x 167s Collection of National Museum of American .Art, Smithsonian Institution Gift of the Sara Roby Foundation 23 Eugene C. Fitsch (1892-1972) Unemployed Union Square, 1936 lithograph, 9 x 13 Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York 12 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page 15 Noon Hour, 1935 etching, 7 x 5 Collection of Sordoni An Gallery, Wilkes University Sordoni/Myers Acquisition Fund Purchase 24 Eugene C. Fitsch (1892-1972) Union Square, 1930 lithograph, 10 x 14V« Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York 13 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) page 49 On the Street (Fourteenth Street), 1931 etching, 47sx 103,'< Collection of Whitney Museum of American Art, New York Felicia Meyer Marsh Bequest 25 Emil Ganso (1895-1941) Metropolis, 1935 etching with aquatint and roulette, 117s x 15 Courtesy of Madeleine Fortunoff Fine Prints, Locust Valley, New York 14 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Study ofLafayette, n-d. graphite, 107ix 77. (sheet) Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York 26 Peter Hopkins (b. 1911) Riot at Union Square, March 6, 1930, 1947 oil on canvas, 37 x 48 Collection of Museum of the City of New York Gift of the Artist r»?44 en, &19 2£r45 page 4 page 46 15 Isabel Bishop <1902-1988) Union Square Looking East, D-d. graphite, 6’i x 91/2 Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery Gift ofjudge Herbert W. Salus page 31 page . 27 Morris Kantor (1896-1974) Farewell to Union Square, 1931 oil on canvas, 36‘/s x 277s Collection of The Newark Museum, Purchase 1946, John Cotton Dana Fund page 51 page 52 Page 53 page 54 page 9 page 55 16 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) pa&el Union Square Looking East, Studyfar Virgil and Dante, c. 1927 graphite, 4 x 51.2 Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York 28 Charles Keller (b. 1914) Open Cut-6th Avenue Subway, 1938 lithograph, ll’/a x 141/. Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York 17 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Virgil and Dante in Union Square-Study, 1932 graphite, 13*26 Collection of Palmer Museum of Art, The Pennsylvania State University page 4 29 Edward Laning (1906-1981) page 37 Unlawful Assembly, Union Square, 1931 tempera on composition board, 147a x 36 Collection ofWhitney Museum of American Art, New York Gift of Isabel Bishop page 11 30 Louis Lozowick (1892-1973) page 57 Demonstration, 1937 lithograph, 14 7i« x 11 '/2 Collection of National Museum of American Art, Smithsonian Institution Gift of Adele Lozowick page 56 18 Isabel Bishop (1902-1988) Virgil and Dante in Union Square-3 Studies, 1932 graphite, 6!'z > 3‘. Courtesy of DC Moore Gallery, New York page 33 19 Henry Karke Brown (1814-1886) pag>- 27 General George Washingfan on Hoisdxuk, c 1852 (cast 1932) bronze model, 37:< ' 42‘5 ' 12G Collection of Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven Given in Memory of Edmund Terr,-, B A. 1837, Edmund Roderick Terry, B.A. 1878, andEliphalet Bradford Terry, B.A. 1888, by Miss Marion Terry 31 George Luks (1867-1933) page 21 High Tide at Lilehow's, 1933 oil on board, 16 x 20 */» Collection of Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University Gift of Helen Farr Sloan 20 Ernest Fienc (1894-1965) Lincoln Monument in Union Square, 1935 lithograph, 13". z 107, Collection of Wolfgang A. Hei :rz 32 Reginald Marsh (1891-1954) page 42 Discussion (At Hase of Union Square Washington Statue), 1934 etc lung, 6'9 Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York page 39 63 34 Kenneth Hayes Miller (1876-1952) Leaving the Shop, 1929 etching, 77s x 97, Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York 35 Edith Nankivell Union Square, 1935 etching and aquatint, 9'h x 11 Collection ofJohn Beck 36 Betty Waldo Parish (1910-1986) Union Square Rally, c. 1935-45 etching, 73/. x 97. Courtesy of Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York Page 25 Pagel page 35 37 Albert Potter (1903-1937) Parade in the Park-Union Square Demonstration, c. 1935 page 58 crayon and watercolor, 13 x 2OV2 (sheet) Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York page M Page 33 33 Reginald Marsh (1891 1-1954) Union Square, 1933 page 43 lithograph, I3‘/r x gi/2 Courtesy of Hatay Stratton Fine Prints and Drawings, Veto Beach, Forida 38 Leonard Pytlak (b. 1910) May Day, c. 1935 lithograph, 7Vi x 10 Courtesy of Susan Teller Gallery, New York 39 Ben Shahn (1898-1969) May Day (Union Square Demonstration), 1934 watercolor, 123/i x 87s Collection of Bemarda Bryson Shahn page 59 page 60 40 John Sloan (1871-1951) page 22 Fourteenth Street, The Wigwam, 1928 etching, 93/. x 7 Collection of Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Gift of Helen Farr Sloan 41 Isaac Soyer (1907-1981) Xgr 61 Employment Agency, 1937 oil on canvas, 34'/. x 45 Collection of Whitney Museum ofAmerican Art, New York Purchase 42 Raphael Soyer (1899-1987) The Crowd, c. 1932 oil on canvas, 257s x 227. Collection of Wichita Art Museum, Kansas page 1 43 Raphael Soyer (1899-1987) In the City Park, 1934 oil on canvas, 373/. x 391/2 Private Collection page 16 44 Raphael Soyer (1899-1987) On the Steps, 1930s watercolor and pencil, 9 x 7H Courtesy of Forum Gallery, New York pagf 29 �ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The -----Sordoni Art ----r Gallery thanks the lenders and spon.’ --------------for their generosity in making this exhibition rsnccrh possible. ... also thank James ■M.■ Dennis " ”. We and' Kathleen M. Daniels for their catalogue essay; Susan Teller and Sylvan Cole, Jr., who have been especially supportive and helpful; and John Beck, who designed the catalogue. Ja“}es Dennis, Lawrence Kuhar of Wilkes University and Nancy Krueger, my associate at the Sordoni A-r Gallery, read early drafts of my essay; I appreciate comments and insights. LENDERS TO THE EXHIBITION ADVISORY COMMISSION John Beck Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington Madeleine Fortunoff Fine Prints, Locust Valley, New York Forum Gallery, New York Wolfgang A. Herz Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution DC Moore Gallery, New York Museum of Fine Arts, Springfield, Massachusetts Museum of the City of New York National Museum of American Art, Smithsonian Institution The Newark Museum Palmer Museum of Art, The Pennsylvania State University Mr. & Mrs. John Whitney Payson Bemarda Bryson Shahn Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University Hatay Stratton Fine Prints and Drawings, Vero Beach, Florida Susan Teller Gallery, New York Whitney Museum of American Art, New York Wichita Art Museum, Kansas Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven Two Private Collections Freddie Bittenbender Christopher N. Breiseth, Ph.D. Joseph T. Butkiewicz Marion M. Conyngham Molly Cornell Virginia C. Davis, Chair Stanley I Grand, Ph.D. Robert J. Heaman, Ph.D. Mary Jane Henry Keith A. Hunter, Esq. J. Michael Lennon, Ph.D. Melanie Maslow Lumia Theo Lumia Ken Marquis Constance R. McCole Hank O’Neal Arnold Rifkin Kim Ross Charles A. Shaffer, Esq. William Shull Helen Farr Sloan Andrew J. Sordoni, III Sanford B. Stemlieb, M.D. Mindi Thalenfeld Joel Zitofsky SOfS fL.* .2.-' SIG STAFF Director Stanley I Grand, Ph.D. Coordinator Nancy [.. Krueger Preparalor Lari W. Lehman Gallery Attendants Donna Bytheway Tom Harrington Sarah Karlavage Jennifer Plumbo Deborah Tibet �WILKES UNIVERSITY LIBRARY A A - &AfLC4C FS �" ■■ ■ rf t: � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1996 January 21 Between Heaven and Hell: Union Square in the 1930's Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Isabel Bishop Henry Kirke Brown Ernest Fiene MaryFife Eugene C. Fitsch Emil Ganso Peter Hopkins Morris Kantor CharlesKeller Edward Laning LouisLozowick George Luks ReginaldMarsh Kenneth HayesMiller Edith Nankivell Betty Waldo Parish Albert Potter Leonard Pytlak Ben Shahn John Sloan Isaac Soyer Rachel Soyer James M. Dennis Kathleen M. Daniels Stanley I. Grand Stanley I. Grand Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1996 January 21 - March 3 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource Between Heaven and Hell is an exhibition dedicated to the art made about or during the 1930's depicting New York Ciy's famous Union Square. Featuring works on paper, paintings, and sculpture, this exhibition acts as a cumulative survey of American Art surrounding New York's vibrant history. Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition program Subject The topic of the resource NYC New York City Union Square thirties 1930s https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/927713df343d3accbd36d6e7974ec35a.pdf 35a9fccf86fc48b32aba10b5fee36b15 PDF Text Text ������������������������������ https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/ba65b90f2585b202055e57e4faae77a9.pdf d1c65acf3095f56b7077c6de8927baf7 PDF Text Text j < ijy 11 si ?■ • sord ii cos Gflie Twenties ad EH©m® anmofl AtWoaial] N40.1 DS15G7 1995 i I ��I I I The Twenties at _.o. HAKlEY LIBRAI WILKES UNIVERSI1 WILKES-BARRE, P �■■■ CUV IENE PC ECIS TTUn® TTwesrties aU H©m® ajunafl AQDir®ai(iI] Exhibition Curated by Stanley I Grand Essays by Betsy Fahlman Stanley I Grand Sordoni Art Gallery Wilkes University Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania May 21-August 13, 1995 ...x FAHlEY LIBRARY WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA Westmoreland M useum of Art Greensburg, Pennsylvania September 3—October 29, 1995 ©1995 Sordoni Art Gallery Wilkes University, Wilkes-Bai Pennsylvania �f Imae The 1 Betsy Falilman Arizona State University GQjy DIENE [DUJ E<D0§ AND THE TWENTSES One of the most trenchant imagers of was the American painter Guy Pene cl (1884-1958); whose distinctive work some of the decade’s most sign ificant J symbols. 1 he artist pictured subjects e of the era: the sophisticated urbanite, and the American abroad in fashionab tings—cafes, theatres, and art galleries sentations are enriched by an internat perspective. American-horn, he was de URCHIVLS GA in his French family background. Yet thoroughly grounded in his native coi Throughout the nearly six years he res France as an expatriate, he steadfastly his faith in the American art world, w paintings were sold by his New York c Aanerican patrons. His dual frame of permitted him an unusual vantage on Americans at home and abroad. Spurred by postwar prosperity ar freedom afforded by the automobile, I tween the end of World War I in 19 H beginning of the Depression in 1929 as Frederick Lewis Allen n oted in 191 lution in manners and morals. 1 The were characterized hy intriguing socia 25. Woman on Sofa (Gretchen), 1927 oil on panel, 20 l/e x 25 in. The Brooklyn Museum Gift of the Chester Dale Estate Photograph courtesy The Brooklyn Museum cal changes that resulted in fascinatir Women received the right to vote in . same year that Prohibition became nJ While politicians promoted isolation! �Imagine the Twenties The Work of Guy Pene du Bois Betsy Faklman Arizona State University CDV PENE DD ECIS AND TEE TWENTIES tionalism predominated in intellectual circles, and Americans flocked to France. In the visual arts, Americans explored a range of stylistic options as One of the most trenchant imagers of the 1920s wide as the political and social ones. Many mem­ was the American painter Guy Pene du Bois bers of the earlier generation of The Eight con­ (1884-1958),'whose distinctive work exemplifies tinued to be active, as were those participants in some of the decade’s most significant cultural the first wave of the avant-garde, several of whom symbols. The artist pictured subjects emblematic evolved into Precisionists. A widespread renewal of the era: the sophisticated urbanite, tbe flapper, in more representational modes found its fullest and the American abroad in fashionable set­ expression in Regionalism. Although Guy Pene tings—cafes, theatres, and art galleries. His repre­ du Bois was intellectually supportive of new art sentations are enriched by an international movements, as a critic and a painter, his personal perspective. American-born, he was deeply rooted sympathies steadfastly remained aligned with the in his French family background. Yet he remained “art for life’s sake”2 realism of his early teacher thoroughly grounded in his native country. Robert Henri. Pene du Bois' most eloquent and Throughout the nearly six years he resided in insightfid criticism was written in support of France as an expatriate, he steadfastly maintained those artists whose work grew out of the romantic his faith in the American art world, where his urban realism of the turn of the century, rather paintings were sold by his New York dealer to than the avant-garde. If no single American style American patrons. His dual frame of reference existed, certain icons, such as the American girl permitted him an unusual vantage on his fellow abroad, were widely recognized. Despite their di­ Americans at home and abroad. vergent styles and images, many of these artists Spurred by postwar prosperity and the new shared a deep belief in the viability of American freedom afforded by the automobile, the era be­ art, and a sense that a personal identity derived tween the end of World War I in 1918 and the from being grounded within a national one. Even beginning of the Depression in 1929 produced, when abroad, whether as temporary visitors or as Frederick Lewis Allen noted in 1931, a “revo­ long-term expatriates, the sensibility that they lution in manners and morals."1 The twenties were American artists remained strong. were characterized by intriguing social and politi­ The painting of Guy Pene du Bois came to cal changes that resulted in fascinating contrasts. maturity during the twenties. As an independent, Women received the right to vote in 1920, the he never associated himself with a specific school same year that Prohibition became national law. or movement; but scholars today, broadly speak­ While politicians promoted isolationism, interna- ing, consider him a social realist. His characteris- 95-191983 �1 tic themes were inspired by the human figure set in situations the artist had seen in life and recre­ ated from memory. He was fascinated by socia interactions and class roles, but issues of social protest or attempts to effect political change did not interest him. Drawing on the tradition of caricature and commentary found in the work of his French predecessors Honore Daumier (18081879) and Jean Louis Forain (1852-1931), his social commentary took a sharp view of contem­ porary society. His titles, such as The Social Regis­ ter, 1919 (private collection), tend to be ironically humorous rather than bitingly sarcastic. With New York as its center, twenties America emerged an urban nation. During these years, 7 Ac Smart Set and Vanity Fair, among other journals, catered to a sophisti­ cated Manhattan readership. But the contents Jise, was published in 1920—were another ana­ logue to the art of Guy Pene du Bois. For a short time, he was the painter's neighbor in Westport, Connecticut, as was Van Wych Brooks, who char­ acterized the author as “the typical writer of the twenties. ”6 Throughout the next decade, Fitzgerald and Pene du Bois analyzed the behav­ ior and attitudes of Americans at home and in France. Their precise satire both amuses and dis­ comfits, as they carefully delineated American society to create a sharply accurate picture of the era. Since Pene du Bois never had the money of Fitzgerald and his friends, his images are more those of an observer than those of a full partici­ pant. But his many years as a music reviewer and an art critic gave him ample opportunity to study his subjects in their characteristic habitats. One of his paintings, Gretchen or Wbman on Sofa, of The New Yorker, which first appeared on 21 1927 (Cat. No. 25), though painted in France, February 1925, most closely parallel the may have been inspired by a Fitzgerald short painted themes of Guy Pene du Bois. Its so­ story, in which one of the main characters, phisticated and witty columns— The Talk of Gretchen Halsey, was described as “a bright-col­ the Town” or “Tables for Two —reflected the ored, Titian-haired girl, vivid as a French rag major interests of its affluent readers by con­ doll."7 Much of the tale’s significant action takes centrating on night life, restaurants, sports, place on a sofa, and Pene du Bois' image evokes theatre, and opera. A “Letter from Paris,” an the author’s prose. important feature made famous by Janet Flanner, signaled the international, Franco­ phile perspective of its readership. During the 1920s, however, all cafe society 1 Tire two decades prior to the twenties were full ones for the artist, conducted at a pace that meant erratic time in his studio. He had begun art classes in 1899, studying first un der William interactions were colored by the widely available, but legally proscribed, liquor.3 The Eighteenth Merritt Chase, th en with Robert Henri. After Amendment, which ereated Prohibition, hecame law with tbe passage of the Volstead Act in 1920 where economic necessity led him to embark on a and remained in effect until its repeal in 1933. father s professional footsteps, he published his Enforcement, however, concentrated on produc­ first pieces of art criticism in 1908. His marriage tion and distribution rather than on consump­ tion. Consequently, in larger cities like New York, further training in Paris, he returned to America, career as a reporter in 1906. Following in his had in 1911 to Florence She rman Duncan, who three children from a previous marriage, added the law was openly flouted as nightclubs, speak­ new financial responsibilities, which increased easies, and bootleggers flourished. Catering to the with the births of their daughter Yvonne in 1913 well-off uptown crowd, many of these establish­ ments were luxurious and provided the atmo­ sphere of an exclusive club for their clandestine drinkers, whose defiantly heavy drinking became known as “the respectable crime.”4 Recalling the twenties, Janet Flanner characterized the time as “that extraordinary alcoholic era.”5 Like The New Yorker, the writings of F. Scott Fitzgerald—whose first first novel, This Side of Para- and son William in 1916. Not until 1918, at the age of thirty-four, did he have a one-man exhibi­ tion—at the Whitney Studio Club (his first group showing had occurred in 1905 at the Paris Sa­ lon). For Pene du Bois, the twenties are chrono­ logically divided into two sections—the four years he spent in Westport, with frequent commutes to New York City, and the nearly six years he spent in France. < �~ ? r' =- 5 e £- r 5-.X- 42 - ifiiff! =.?-siF""r L § ? 12. The Beach, 1924 oil oni panel, triptych, each panel 20 x 15 in. SheldtIon Memorial Art Gallery, University of Nebraska-Lincoln F. M. Hall Collection Photograph courtesy Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery �11). Indeed, Guy Pene du Bois painted very little in Connecticut. A notable exception, and one of i his major works, is the triptych titled The Beach, Between 1920 and 1924, Guy Pane du Bois resided in Westport, a pretty village about bitty miles from New York in southwestern Connecti­ cut. Connected by commuter train, the town had become, according to Van Wyck Brooks who a so moved there in 1920, "an outpost of New York, the setting for "exurbanites,”9 those displaced city dwellers "who lived heyond the suburbs but who "who cared more for the state of their minds than the state of their fortunes.’’11 The small intellec­ tual community that gathered there had a distinc­ ing and comfortable "grace, friendliness, gaiety and tolerance.’’12 Residents and regular visitors ralither than a bathing costume. In 1924, he decided to leave the United States with his family; in December they sold their house in Westport and “escaped to France.”18 With anticipated fees from occasional articles, Guy Pene du Bois hoped he could afford a year abroad. With uninterrupted time in his studio, his aim was clear: “I could become a paintei EEAWCE; EOEE AS AN EX ED AT 020 AIT IE Since the late nineteenth century, many Ameri­ during this period included writers F. Scott Fitz­ gerald (newly married to Zelda Sayre), Van Wyck can artists had felt that a sojourn in Paris was Brooks, Paul Rosenfeld, Sherwood Anderson, and essential for their artistic development. During Hendrik Willem Van Loon, and artists Everett the twenties, however, a particularly ambitious Shinn and Charles and Maurice Prendergast. and vital colony of expatriate writers and painters The cost of living may have been economi­ I community, the artist is shown clothed in a suit, nor an "arty Provincetown, ’ Westport had an appeal­ 'll ing his position as an economic outsider within this the money realized from the sale of their home and remained urbanites at heart/’10 The town at­ tracted a group of New York writers and artists tive character: neither a serious Barbizon, 1924 (Cat. No. 12) which records a gathering of his friends on Compo Beach, Westport. Perhaps signify­ resided there. Although Americans had long lived cal, but the town did not turn out to be the quiet abroad, "expatriate," as Van Wyck Brooks observed, haven for work the artist had anticipated: assumed new mea ning in the 1920s: "No Furopean could understand this constant American talk of In this prohibition period the summers at Westport, Connecticut, exceeded the riotousness of New York. There gin and orange juice ruled the days and n ights. Talk was an extravaganza. Work was an effort made between parties.13 roots, or why it was that expatriates discussed expa­ triation—a word that scarcely existed in any other country. 19 Despite the pleasures of foreign life, long residence abroad often intensified a personal sensi­ bility of national roots. Although many Americans So identified was the town with flouting Anita Loos 1925 novel Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Marion Levy, who ran the local Compo Inn, was that exhibited in New York, it was nicknamed “The devine, Bootlegger’s Wife.”14 Pene du Bois found life in Westport bacchanalian, 18 and he characterized its intellectually and professionally eminent resi­ dents as unbridled children”16 when they as­ sembled for parties. Although his house had 1 a good studio, the many convivial temptations p> —c--------- - proved irresistible to the gregarious artist. He found it necessary to retreat to the relative solitude of his New York studio in the Colonnade Building, where he ex­ ecuted Studio on Lafayette Street, 1923 (Cat. No. . III might agree with Lorelei Lee, the protagonist in prohibition, that when his 1924 portrait of Paris is devine. . . . Because the French are regular encounters with fellow country­ men were actually more common: *T always think that the most delightful thing about traveling is to always he running into Americans and to al­ ways feel at home.”21 Remembering the distractions of Westport and finding Paris too expensive, the Pene du Bois family settled in Games, a village in the Chei jvreuse Valley near Dampierre, about thirty miles fr<rom the capital. Reasonable rent (eighty dolla:irs a year), steady sales through Kraushaar, and care! ?ful economizing, enabled them to remain �ay Pena du Bois painted very little ■1. A notable exception, and one of s, is the triptych titled The Beach, >. 12) which records a gathering of his rpo Beach, Westport. Perhaps signify.. t as an economic outsider within this e artist is shown clothed in a suit, athing costume. he decided to leave the United family; in December they sold their >ort and ‘escaped to France.”18 With ized from the sale of their home and :s from occasional articles, Guy hoped he could afford a year minterrupted time in his studio, his “I could become a painter.”16 I J s LBfE I KPATKIATE nineteenth century, many Ameri1 felt that a sojourn in Paris was reir artistic development. During rowever, a particularly ambitious ay of expatriate writers and painters Although Americans had long lived riate," as Van Wyck Brooks observed, neaning in the 1920s: “No European ind this constant American talk of t was that expatriates discussed expa>rd that scarcely existed in any other ispite the pleasures of foreign life, long ad often intensified a personal sensiral roots. Although many Americans ith Lorelei Lee, tke protagonist in 925 novel Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, levine. . . . Because the French are jular encounters with fellow countryually more common: “I always think t delightful thing about traveling is running into Americans and to al- Lome. ”21 bering the distractions of Westport Paris too expensive, the Pene du Bois 1 in Games, a village in the alley near Dampierre, about thirty he capital. Reasonable rent (eighty r), steady sales through Kraushaar, economizing, enabled them to remain 11. Studio on Lafayette Street, 1923 oil on panel, 19Vi x 24Va in. Bayly Art M useum of tke Univers ity of Virginia Photograph by Edwin S. Roseberry �I >r nearly six years-This period proved in be France fol productive of his career, he later the most ieJ: It was in Games that I learned to to recalled: "It ■ ”22 Working steadily, he create pain mgs paint. piled from memory and experience. Only o«a sionally did he paint a landscape, a st JI life, or A girl came in the cafe and sat by herself at . near the window. She was very pretty with a f • as a newly minted coin if they minted coin ■ , th flesh with rain-freshened shin, and her it •• . as a crow's wing and cut sharply and dia,.. . ?.:roes her cheek.-3 The artist was particularly fascinate.' ’ the subject of his countrymen and women abroad, frOmAltkih he favored pictures of international especially the many young American . twenties types, identihably French themes become saw all over Paris. Easily identified, he printed increasingly frequent during his expatriate years. Scenes inspired by the area near their kouse ap­ pear in kis work, including Pont du four, 1926 (Cat. No. 19), which skows a man and a woman standing near a local viaduct. Tke urban mil.eu of Paris, however, interested him primarily, and he made frequent visits to the French capital where n he several canvasses picturing them in pub!: ■ .rial contexts, including, Girls, Montparnasse. I (Cat. No. 24) and Girl at Montparnasse, i ■ > >7 (Cat. No. 23).® Once again, the artist echoes literary works. Describing similar young women in Tender Is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald noted their "immaculacy and their money' as they he occasionally went to gatherings attended by "pourfed] through the station onto the platforms French artists; Bal des Quatres Arts, 1929 (Cat. with frank new faces, intelligent, considerate, No. 34) records a famous annual Parisian art thoughtless, thought-for.”30 Americans in Paris, event. Like the majority of other Americans abroad, however, he had contact mostly with other canvasses, serves as an icon of the period. Four Americans. Parisian cafes, including La Coupole, Le Select, La Rotonde, Les Deux Magots, and the 1927 (Cat. No. 22), one of his most emblematic nearly identical young women “swoop down on their prey/’5’ striding briskly on their way to shop or sight see: Closerie des Lilas, were the social and intellectual centers of expatriate life.24 Although some of them had been founded earlier, their popularity, as H evidenced in Paris Cafe, 1926 (Cat. No. 18), led several to expand during the twenties. One, the Cafe du Dome on the Boulevard du Mont­ parnasse at the comer of the B oulevard Raspail, was widely recognized as "the Anglo-American While living at Games, the artist m<lade periodic visits to America, traveled throughout France,and on occasion, visited other European out the 1920s with the many artists and writers countries. In June 1926, he participated in the who lived and worked in this part of the city.26 unveiling of Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney’s Dome, described the cafe in A Moveable Feast, the autobiographical memoir of his years in Paris I ' tightest of head gear aiincl their skin tight (rocky of the shortest, showing an expanse of handsome leg* cafe.”25 Opened in 1898, it was popular through­ Ernest Hemingway, a frequent patron at the E They are crossing a bridge, their handbags clasped as only Americans clasp their wealth, since only Ameri­ 1 cans thus carry it about, their heads encasitedI-in the between 1921 and 1926: monument at Saint-Nazaire. J hat summer, the family vacationed at the coast, where he was in­ spired to paint nearby beach and racetrack scenes, including Beach, Deauville, 1926 (collection un­ known) and Racetrack, Deauville, 1927 (M useum It was a pleasant cafe, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old waterproof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a cafe au lait. The walter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write.27 of Art, Carnegie Institute). Occasional commis­ sions permitted travel outside France. A trip to Italy resulted in a major painting, Studio Window, Anticoli, 1928 (Cat. No. 32). In April 1929, he traveled to Huelva, on the Spanish coast, for tke dedication of Whitney s monument to Christopher Columbus. Tke young woman he describes could be a subject in a P6ne du Bois canvas: easily The Pene du Bois family remained in Games until m id-October 1929, when they III I I I I JK ■ fl �sal by herself at a table cry pretty with a face fresh rey minted coins in smooth ;in, and her hair was black arply and diagonally across cularly fascinated hy the n and women abroad, ig American women he identified, he painted ig th em in public social s, Montparnasse, 1927 t Montparnasse, 1927 gain, the artist echoes ! g similar young women . Scott Fitzgerald noted heir money as they ation onto the platforms :elligent, considerate, ! •J’20 Americans in Paris, e of his most emblematic i Ii ion of the period. Four omen “swoop down on shly on their way to shop , their handbags clasped as wealth, since only Amerireir heads encased in the heir skin tight frocks of the i ise of handsome leg.3' •nes, the artist made peri­ raveled throughout , visited other European >, he participated in the anderbilt Whitney's zaire. That summer, the coast, where he was ineach and racetrack scenes, ills, 1926 (collection un- Deauville, 1927 (Museum ite). Occasional commis- utside France. A trip to r painting, Studio Window, ). 32). In April 1929, he the Spanish coast, for the s monument to Christo- 34. Bal des Quatres Arts, 1929 oil on canvas, 28% x 36!6 in. The David and Allred Smart Museum ol Art, The University of Chicago Gift of William Benton Photograph courtesy The David and Alfred Smart Museum of Art family remained in 'ber 1929, when they �moved to Nice in the south of France,Several red-walled gallery, where the gallery owner waits to works, including a watercolor Avenue dela _ , Victoire, Nice, W29 (Cat. No. 33), res,suited from which reflected the general health of the art mar­ intercept him. Such luxurious environments, ket in the postwar economy, were designed ex­ i his stay here.33 sought to he as successful as collectors as they MAJOR themes ! ?• pressly for “the captivation of tycoons,”39 who Throughout the twenties, both in America and in were in business. Despite his generally cynical view of dealers France, several characteristic themes absorbed and galleries—Little Redon/The Art Dealer, 1925 Guy Pene du Bois—the art world, cafes and res­ (collection unknown), for example, presents the taurants, theatres and other amusements, flap­ avaricious pretentiousness he ascribed to many in pers, and relationships between men and women. the business—Guy Pene du Bois owed his per- This last theme had long preoccupied Pene du sonal economic success during this period to John Bois; he recalled that he had "started the series of Francis Kraushaar. The dealer had given the artist little pictures of men and women in full dress li is first one-man exhibition in 1922, and he which first drew attention to my paintings’’34 dur­ continued to show his worts regularly throughout ing his days as a music and opera critic. Fasci­ the next twenty-five years. The artist’s warm rela­ nated by the nature of social discourse as conveyed through body language, lie found such tionship with this well-respected dealer is docu­ mented in Portrait ofJohn Kraushaar, 1927 (Cat. environments ideal. In public places he could No. 29).39 The painter’s feelings are apparent in unobtrusively study his subjects playing their so­ an a ffectionately inscribed work, The Opera cial roles on privileged stage sets. The roles and Singer, 1927 (Cat. No. 26), which he gave to interchanges he observed were as contrived and Kraushaar’s daughter Antoinette. carefully constructed as in any scripted produc­ tion. THE ART WORLD: GALLERIES, DEALERS, AND RATRONS As a critic and artist, Guy Pene du Bois had RESTAURANTS AND GTHER AMUSEMENTS lhe rituals and conventions of dining out had long fascinated the artist. Many of his earliest works, including Caseade Restaurant, Bois du Boulogne, 190o (collection unknown) and Waiter!, ample opportunities to study galleries, dealers, 1910 (collection unknown), picture restaurant and patrons. Set in the interior of a gallery. The patrons. Unlike John Sloan, who depicted the Art Lovers, 1922 (private collection) records two separatist masculine atmosphere found in men conversing. One of these hard-boiled gentle­ McSorley s Bar, 1912 (Detroit Institute of Arts), men, the balding "old rounder”35 in a “bulging dress shirt,”36 was the artist's most characteristic male type. Pene du Bois took an equally sharp view of the painting s owner, the efficiency expert Charles E. Bedaux, Bed; by observing that he is generally as accurate and as ruthless as the figures in which he deals. He shares with all mathematicians the Pene du Bohis was interested in couples. In particular, he was intrigued by the lack of interpersonal di:iscourse between the couples he saw, many of whom comprised an older man and a younger woman. Restaurant scenes, of course, had been favor­ ite themes of Edgar Degas, Edouard Manet, and love of clarity, the proof which, rid of all human Pierre Auguste Renoir, all of whom Pene du Bois foibles is positive. Life can he very simple when admired. Members of The Eight had also enjoyed sheared to the bone by people of this unrelenting order Tki they are ot the family of dictators.37 painting such scenes; one recalls the relaxed el­ With a top hat concealing his bald head, another rounder, appropriately •cleer, 1922 (Cat. No. 6), strides into a similar egance of William Glackens’ Chez Mouquin, 190o (Art Institute of Chicago) or John Sloan’s lively Renganeschi's Saturday Night, 1912 (Art Insti­ tute of Chicago).40 Closer to Pene du Bois in mood is the lonely tension evident in his friend �all ivi romnents,. :ed the genera! health of the art marstar economy, were designed exhe captivation of tycoons, 39 who as successful as collectors as they less. his cynical view of dealers his generally gen —Little Redon/The Art Dealer, 1925 iknown), for example, presents the stentiousness he ascribed to many in —Guy Pene du Bois owed his perlic success during this period to John =haar. The dealer had given the artist nan exhibition in 1922, and he show his works regularly throughout ty-five years. The artist's warm relathis well-respected dealer is docutrait ofJohn Kraushaar, 1927 (Cat. le painter’s feelings are apparent in ely inscribed work, The Opera (Cat. No. 26), which he gave to aughter Antoinette. RANTS AND k/HLSEMENTS d conventions of dining out had 1 the artist. Many of his earliest ng Cascade Restaurant, Bois du 5 (collection unknown) and Waiter!, on unknown), picture restaurant se John Sloan, who depicted the culine atmosphere found in r, 1912 (Detroit Institute of Arts), was interested in couples. In parintrigued by the lack of interper2 between the couples he saw, many irised an older man and a younger it scenes, of course, had been favortdgar Degas, Edouard Manet, and '■ Renoir; all of whom Pene du Bois bers of The Eight had also enjoyed scenes; one recalls the relaxed elam Glackens CAez Mouquin, 1905 af Chicago) or John Sloan’s lively ^aturday Night, 1912 (Art Instio)-40 Closer to Pene du Bois in nely tension evident in his friend 29. Portrait ofJohn Kraushaar, 1927 watercolor and ink on paper, 14 x 11% in. Private Collection Photograph hy Geoffrey Clements, courtesy Kraushaar Galleries �I t ill Edward Hopper’s Automat, 1927 (Des Moines Art Center), in which a woman, wearing cheaply bought clothes imitative of more expensive fash­ ions, dines alone. Absent is the male waiter who appears in many of Pene du Bois’ «staurant scenes including Mr. and Mrs. Chester Dale Din­ ing Out, 1924 (Metropolitan Museum of Art) at the Hotel Brevoort in New York. Two years later in Cafe Madrid, 1926 (Cat. No. 15), Pene du Bois again depicted Chester Dale and his first wife Maud, two of his major patrons, seated at a restaurant table.41 The pres­ ence of two bottles of champagne implies that other guests are expected to join them. Dale s wife was a painter, and together they formed a sub­ stantial collection of nineteenth- and twentieth­ century French and American art, much of which was bequeathed to the National Gallery of Art. Dale, who began buying the artist’s work in the late teens, eventually owned twenty-five of his works.42 Reflecting their mutual great enthusiasm for French art, the artist accompanied the collec­ tor on one buying trip. Describing the frenzied pace of this trip, however, the artist concluded that Dale was “the slave of his nerves.”43 At heart a painter of people, especially recog­ nizable types, Pene du Bois frequently depicted the leisure time activities of his privileged sub­ jects. In Billboard, 1920 (Cat. No. 1), a woman with her feet inelegantly and firmly set on the ground peruses an opera performance schedule. The race track was a constant source of inspira­ tion for Pene du Bois as well. In Sports Women, France, 1926 (private collection), he depicted two women, wearing coats and cloche hats to protect them from the cool fall air at the track, possibly Longchamps. Sport for them is a spectator enter­ prise; they are observers of horses, rather than riders. THE FLAEPEK: TEE TWENTIES WOMAN AS SOCIETY VAMPIKE With the publication of Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise, the flapper entered the popular par­ lance.-4 A distinctively twenties woman, her physique, age, and attitude towards life remain that era s most effervescent symbol.”45 The flapper clad her slender boyish figure in thin, straight short-skirted dresses with long waists. Her pale face was carefully decorated with newly popular cosmetics, and her legs were covered in silk stock­ ings. For evening, her dress was sleeveless, held on her shoulders by thin straps and accented by a few pieces of elegantly simple jewelry. During the day, she wore a small soft-brimmed cloche hat as in Subway Steps, 1926 (Cat. No. 20), to cover her short bobbed hair. “Flappery” represented a bold social rebellion by women—there was no equivalent male type— with nerve, who were identified as “shameless, selfish and honest.’’46 Many of her characteristics implied, if not outright indecency, at least impro­ priety, as she defied social strictures placed on young women but not on young men. She smoked in public, as well as drank; one historian observed: “Cigarette in mouth and cocktail in hand, she appeared to be both shocking and unshockable.”47 Her forum of social equality was somewhat ephemeral for it was not matched by comparable economic and political independence. Interested in neither the intellectual pursuits of the educated woman nor in a career or job, this fashi onably nonchalant creature appeared self-centered, plea­ sure-seeking, high spirited, and charmingly amus­ ing, with a spontaneous exuberance that could also be interpreted as "fast.” In his popular car­ toons, John Held, Jr., helped to popularize this familiar image of the carefree and coltish flap­ per.48 Emphasizing the less giddy side of this twen­ ties woman, the writings of F. Scott Fitzgerald and the paintings of Guy Pene du Bois provide a more ominous image of the flapper.44 As Zelda Sayre FitzgeraId ob served in a 1922 article on flapperdom, the flapper put on “a great deal of audacity and rouge and went into battle."50 Make­ up was the war paint for serious conflict between the sexes. Another commentator of the time omi­ nously described the "pallor mortis, poisonously scarlet lips, richly ringed eyes.""51 51 Flappers were, as Zelda s husband warned, "dangerous girls”;52 in­ deed one of his characters declared “I want to be a society vampire. ”:>3 Underneath her pert exterior, the flapper was a threatening and predatory creature. i5- ctiJ ■ ' He, __ K �ll-in, aists weur|.ly "rMe ‘-i in sifeveL ’?’ held °n Jy*U "■ 'le d*y, as in =ovei !r her j social rehelliOn e”t male s shatneltype^ ( less, * charact< ;eristiCs at lee;* !ast impro. :es Placed -''>1 on ^n- She one historian dcocbtailill sclring and t I I was somewhat by comparable nee. Interested > of the educated > fashionably -centered, plealarmingly amus:e that could s popular car>pularize this co tish flap- i i ide of this twen>tt Fitzgerald Bois provide a r.49 As Zelda 22 article on a great deal of battle.”50 Make- ,nflict between ,f the time oim; poisonously :laPPVS”Te'-3S us girls ' ‘J* “I want to ath her pert ming 15. Cafe Madrid (Portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Chester Dale), 1926 oil on panel, 21% x 18 in. Museum of Fine Arts, St. Petersburg, Florida Bequest of John Hinkle Photograph courtesy Museum of Fine Arts �delations between mew ANO WOMEN? SOC0AE AN1D eoonesses Few American artists have pictured the difficulties of negotiating relationships between men and women more sharply than Guy Pene du Bois. His frequent depictions of couples enabled him to explore the mental separation and emotional es­ trangement that served as an invisible barrier to discourse despite their physical proximity. In On the Bridge, 1926 (Cal. No. 17) a couple, warmly dressed in hat and coats, stands overlooking the river. Yet they remain self-absorbed and con­ sciously distanced from each other: the cold win­ ter weather, further emphasized by the leafless tree, is a metaphor of their personal chill. Although lie shared a common sensibility with Edward Hopper, who emphasized loneliness I and isolation. Guy Pene du Bois was more inter­ ested in the sharp nature of social discourse than with emotional barrenness. In George Moore with Seated Woman, 1920 (Cat. No. 2), the wellknown Irish author sits uncomfortably on one end of a couch while a woman relaxes. The Life Soldier, 1922 (Cat. No. 9) makes a visual pun at the woodenness of the military male. Although attired in an elegant evening dress, his compan­ ion’s stiffness suggests the mechanical quality ol their social interactions. Another painting of a military couple, Pets, 1927 (Cat. No. 28) makes a similar pun by means of the placement of the soldier's sword. Finally, the bizarrely humorous Country Wedding, 1929 (Cat. No. 35) satirizes the institution of marriage, while In the Wings, 1921 (Cat. No. o) recreates a backstage scene in which two young dancers in tutus are approached by a cane-carrying older man whose intentions are unclear. His protagonists, whose elegant evening clothes serve as social armor and as defining “signs or symbols of sophistication,”54 display th. same tensions already seen in his cafe women and flappers. Their clothes, which both provide cam­ ouflage and serve as social signifies, are key to their roles, as he observed, "clothes define social r -_ ?O£‘1™: even the age of the wearer’s wealth. » In formal evening dress, such figures were interchangeable: “his clothes are patterned like sheep in flocks or like fish in schools ”56 One of his canvasses, Shovel Hats, 1923 (Cat. No. 10), takes its title simply from an article clothing worn by several of the women who arc pictured. If the flapper had changed sexual mores the conventions of class structure remained more rigidly prescribed, and relations between men and women were mediated under extremely difficult conditions. By way of emphasizing their rigid social roles, Guy Pene du Bois occasionally de­ picted his figures as mannequins, deliberately emphasizing the inflexibility of the possible courses of action open to them, lypical is his drawing Ihe Social Lion, 1921—1923 (\Y liilney Museum of American Art), described in the cap­ tion as one who changed from one suit of clothes to another,”57 For all their political and economic dominance, his males are as powerless to escape the strictures imposed by society as hit) fvrnalc counterparts. In leather and Son, 1929 (Cat. No. 36), the artist makes it ciear that the young man will become like his father. I be* ‘ invat is a pen­ dant to Mother and Daughter, 1928 (Cat. No. 31), which posits a comparable situation/' t ETUI N TO AHELM .A In October 1929, Guy Pene Ju Bois was in Nice when lie learned of the disastrous stock market crash, which signaled the beginning of an interna­ tional depression. As he recailed, th e art market fueled by “the fantastic gush of money in sense­ less circulation had ceased.”59 For many expatri­ ates, the drastic economic change automatically meant repatriation. While Pine du Bois recog­ nized that his time abroad would soon end, he was able to remain in France another six months. In April 1930, he arrived back in New York: “I had returned to my native city almost forgotten except among those who set me down as an expatriate and with a deep regret which had somehow com­ bined with a temperamental inability to slide back into its rhythms.”60 New York bore little resem­ blance to the city he had left: "It took me a long time to get under the skin of my own people. They had become strangers to me.”61 Drooping American Flag, 1930 (collection unknown), sums up his mood of economic dispiritedness and per­ sonal dislocation. �tn 1923 1 01 aQ r.. (Cat are nal ^°res- th,ie ined ^ore Ween and iely djlf?11 ? n<t He,r rigid p?nallyde. eltberatel Possilde is his ’3 (Whitney ln cap. SU1.tof clothes and economic pS to escape his female ’29 (Cat. No. e young man ■^s is a pen- (Cat. No. ition.°8 is was in Nice ock marlset of an intema» art market ■ ~i ey in sensetany expatriitomatically Bois recogm end, he was ; months. In York: “I had rgotten except expatriate nehow comr to glide back ittle resem>k me a n people- 1 Droops 2nown),^S ieSs pe 36. Father and Son, 1929 oil on canvas, 21 Vi x 18 in. Whitney Museum of American Art Purchase Photograph by Geoffrey Clements, courtesy Whitney M useum of American Art �1. See Chapter 5, in Allen, Only Yesterday, pp- 88-122. 2. Guy Pdne du Bois (GPDB), Artists Say the Silliest Things (ASTST), p. 84. 3. One painting, titled appropriately Prohibition (collection unknown), was shown al the Whitney Studio Club in 1927. 4. Sinclair, Prohibition: The Era of Excess, p. 220. 5. Flanner, Paris Was Yesterday, 192O—1939, P- xix. 6. Van Wyck Brooks, Days of the Phoenix, p. 108. 7. Fitzgerald, “Gretchen’s Forty Winks,” in Six Talcs of the Jazz Age, p. 176. 8. Ibid., p. 7. 9. Ibid., p. 110. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., p. 1. 12. ASTST, p. 215. 13. ASTST, pp. 213-214. 14. ASTST, P. 214. 15. ASTST. P. 214. 16. ASTST, P. 215. 17. ASTST, P. 216 18. ASTST, p. 216. 19. Van Wyck Brooks, Days of the Phoenix, pp. 2—3. 20. Loos, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, p. 93. Th roughout the book Lorelei Lee misspells words by way of demon­ strating her high intellectual accomplishments. 21. Ibid., p. 63. 22. ASTST, P. 249. 23. ASTST, P. 251. 24. Such subjects had inspired the work of other American artists, including paintings like Soir Bleu, 1914 (Whitney Museum of American Art) by Edward Hopper and Cafe, Paris, 1929 (private collection) by Archibald J. Motley, Jr. (1891-1981). Motley, who portrayed black urban Ameri­ cans, admired Pene du Bois’ Americans in Paris. See Jontyle Theresa Robinson and Wendy Greenhouse, Tire Art of Mot'^Jr- (CLi«g°= Chicago Historical Society, J n T9 Parisian establishments frequented .requenrea by oy Guy uuy Pene rene du Bois inspired sevc ’ * ' feral1 important paintings, including Cafe Monnof, c. 1928-1920 (Whitney Mu-, um ,,{ American Ari), The Cafe, 1925 (New York, Ruu ian Tea Roca), and Pierrot TircJ, c. 1927 (Corcoran Gallery of Art), which pictures a common scene in his wort a silent couple shar­ ing a table and a drink. 25. ASTST p. 113. 26 One of Pens du Bais' ui- ■ I -trilring t n, ., ( ji, Ju Dome, 1925- 1926 (National Gallery of Art), depict, th,, establishment. Another painting, Morning Pune Cafe. 1926 (Whitney Museum of American Art), w ; inspired by a young woman he had .-.een one evening at the Ddme 27. Hemingway, "A Good Cab- - ■■ the Pl Michel,” in A Moicabk Feast, p, 5. 28. Ibid. 29. Other exam pic. include AmcHraH Girls at Rail­ road Station, Paris. 19.26 (collection unknown), lie Girls, Montmartre,1927 (Phillip^ Collection), and (Ar/;. CAump* Elysecs, c. 1925 (private collection). 30. Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night, p. 83. 31. “American Painters* Work,” New York Tures, 11 December 1927. 32. Helen Henderson, “Viewing \V<»rkbyGPT)B Philadelphia Inquirer, 6 November 1927. 33. Other works executed in A. ice include Grande Bleue, Nice, 1930 (collect! on unknown) and Place Ma. A>«, 1930 (collection unknown). 34. 35. 36. 37. ASTST, ASTST, ASTST, ASTST, P. P. P. p. 128. 191 191. 253. In 1927, Pent fir,-.. painwl a portrait of Bedatu.’s vile ii: liaiy. ike'r ■ social status is attested by the fact that Iluire st l.r.-b . r married in the Bcdaux's French chateau. 38. GPDB, quoted in Van Wyck BnxAfJ**" A Painter's Life (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1955? 12. 39. Krausbaar’s distinctive r. ’.r.d Erm also a 1926 print by John Sioan. „ were .... favorite 40. Many of the New York eateries tr*em. 1 u»wx.-— -haunts of the artists who uepicxcu depicted them. Patron. ot tr* jjJ,. 1Q17 anJ Roman^ Marc ylane'’ss.. 1922, the subjects .ubf«* «* print, by Sloan, enjoyed the inexpensive kn,t«ou»n«* « f �e, ~n Mio r h,s a, 4 n-^g3 ' Cn i iok’o2 ’ 4fH **°n'.ic fi».fD‘n 1940 '=• ‘ s’7 ; ' d a drink. ®T hb ’/^P^eduBoi. ^ . ■ most Another painting * eujnotAxnerica^AZ jiX-'" lean Art w* 1 ^een one evening at a. 4 — Ddme' T_i=_ **'*=,• the imingway. “A Gajd Cafe Mooeable Feast, p. 5 the ft "-■ce d. ker examples include Awr;w Gk; s: ^aris, 1926 (collection -I’.rr ~<t. ki . — ?27 (Pkillips Collection', and >-—f C««<e-25 (private collection! zgerald. Tender Is the S-aht r merican Printers' 'X-'rit 5« u Header, ^,^6Nove m^ 9^.^^ 6 Novend* r 1^* her works executed in. 930 (collection unknown Election unknown) itst, P-128 :TST, p- 191- ■TST. pT 1927. ;TST, p- 253-1’> edaux's »n e l" attested by D’ . chaU3v • B1UaU*SJdin Van «> ‘e^jo55’ >DB, E. P. r*tU^ ■ ,r. 35. Country Wedding, 1929 oil oh canvas, 36 x 29 in. 1 hit MaiUKigian Collection Photograph courtesy I he Maitoogian Collection �J ,I,.....C(tnl,li,l,I hose venturing I.. 1 larlenl'. i.mreasmglv popular jazz club, could discover scene, similar to recorded by Charles Domulh in At Manhalls, 191 / (Barnes liuundalion). 11. Alll><>ugl> it was published in the New York Her­ ald Tribune, ?A November 1926, as ICafe Madrid, Spain, I clly part of dlc I'1'0am not convinced that Spain is correct ned Cafe Madrid which There was a New York restaurant namv- opened in 1911-1912. In Gentlemen Prefer Blonde, Anita Loos also alludes to one in Paris: "so when we went to a place called the Madrid to tea and it really was devine" (p. 99). Pihie du Bois was more likely to have had contact with the Dales in New York and Paris. While the settings of several of kis restaurant scenes are specifically identified, more characteristically Ciuy Pene du Bois preferred to create generic types, as he did with people. Typical is Restaurant No. 1 and Restaurant No. 2, 1924 (Art Institute of Chicago), a diptych painted before he left for France. The first depicts a single man in evening dress, while the second shows two slinky women at a table, one with her face turned away from the viewer. This is the sort of scene treated with impassive humor in a 1925 car­ toon by Peter Arno published in The New Yorker, "Nightlife,” (The New Yorker 1 [24 October 1925]: 17) in which a series of tables of repetitively similar dour couples is pictured. Clad in elegant evening dress, they rigidly do not converse with each other and are attended by equally indif­ ferent waiters. 42. The Chester Dale collection included The Confi­ dence Man, 1919 (Brooklyn Museum), Pouter Pigeon, 1922 (collection unknown). Hallway Italian Restaurant, 1922 (National Uallery of Art), Restaurant 1 and Restaurant 2, 1924 (Art Institute of Chicago), Cafe du Dome, 1925-1926 (National Gallery of Art), and La Rue de la Santa, 1928 (National Gallery of Art). 43. ASTST, P. 251. 46. Although the word flapper received its fullest definition in Fitzgerald s novels of the 1920s, she had been identified by H. L. Menck en as existing by 1910. See H. L. Mencken, “American Slang,” in The American Language (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1931): 373; and The Ameri­ can Language, Supplement I (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1945): 514—515. See also May, The End ofAmerican Inno­ cence, pp. 339—340. In a Fitzgerald story, ' The Offshore Pirate, a male protagonist has another character swear “oxi your honor as a flapper," in Flappers and Philosophers f p. 23. 45. Stevenson, Babbitts and Bohemians, p. 139. 46. "Flapping Not Repented Of,” New York Times, 16 July 1922, reprinted in Mowry, The Twenties, p. 174. 47. William Henry Lkafe, The American U’brrtun, p. 49. See also "Women Smokers," A'cw York Times, 19 Feb- rujry 1920, reprinted in Mowry. 7Xc Tu-eni . ,. PP- 178-179. 48. Thi.- image is echoed by the sprightly the prints of Martin Lewis, as for example, Dan« 1930. The brisk urban chic of hi? f cure? - ., erful ,lr J the move. Another view is given in Kenneth Him Miller's Shopper, 1928 (Whitney Museum of America:. \rij. Xlthough she wears the skinny low-wasted a-, younger contemporaries, her matron!,, fi.-are re.._5;. is too old for their kinds of activities. 49. The women depicted by Pane du B.’ia may veer the skinny form-fitting dress of the peri U, a, Oprm 1926 (Whitney Museum of American Art), hut his ammoesque female scarcely suggest, flappery. Hi? u"-mcn urA Cigarette, 1929 (Whitney Museum of American Art) aUc pictures two strong, looming female figure-. Their miie companions are not visible, and the bulging forekuid ut the woman firmly holding her cigarette makes the ensemUe highly disturbing. Ironically, while women wearing the latest fashions (albeit in larger sizes than the ideal) appear regu­ larly in his paintings, only one of kis canvases specifically names the type who was the model in a title—5 tapper, 1922 (Greensboro, University of North Carolina Xeatkerspoon Gallery). His single figure is decidedly inelegant, more a school girl on her way to the library than someone about to go to a cafe. 50. Zelda t?ayre Fitzgerald, “Eulogy on the Flapper." published in Metropolitan Magazine, June 1922, quoted in Nancy Milford, Zelda. A Biography (New Tore: Harper C* Row, 1970): 91. 51. Bruce Bliven, "Flapper Jane. in L;.* A.-i. Rejr-rlic (9 September 1925), quoted in Stevenson. Bohemians, p. 141. J n;5/2' Bobs Her Hair," in fbpprr tnd ai Philosophers, p. Ho. 53. Ibid., p. 120. 54. ASTST. p. 132. 55. GPDB. “Reflections ci Men and .Art." Arts ana Decoration 13 (25 June 1020'.: $2. 56. Ibid. . 5?. i he figures are similar to hi.. "Mari.’ c.’;? i-. Metropolitan Opera." published in li,,-'::. H - in December 58. These works echo earlier composih.-ns .Vc«:' Monster, IQ 14 (Metropolitan Museum of Ari! an J and Brunette. 1915 (W'hitoes Museum ot a later work. Mr. \>s .M-.;.)'IJ35 unknown), he continues Lis interest in tvpe<. 5Q. .1S7SZ’ P. 254. 00. ASTST P. 255. 01 ASTS," p. 25o. Vo. L <5 �I"8-"-,. lrr°CannianArt)^° n' .] 't eari°fl the lalert “P^rregu ‘ epecifiejjy ^—--F’appcr, >■egant, ^^ pocr mcre a onieone about to e on the Flapper" 1922, quoted in fork: Harper & n Flic New Repubon, Babbitts and Hair, in Flappers d Art,” Arts and larionettes at the -j-r in Decibar sitions, irt] and B’^ , American b&- 10 J5 (collection 2, George Moore with Seated Woman (Former title: George Moore and Sarah Bernhardt), 1920 oil on canvaJ, 19 X 25*/i in. Smith College M useum of Art, Nortllampton, Massachusetts Photograph by Peter A. Juicy & Son �£ Note: Boll, my Comoran catalogue and my dissertation contain extensive bibliographies; and, except for a few basic sources, publications listed hero are intended to expand these listings, as well as to include some useful historical sources on the period treated in my essay The artist’s papers arc in the Flanner, Janet. Pans Was Yesterday, 1Q25—1Q3Q. New York: Viking, 1972. Goldstein, Ben. “Daumier's Spirit in American Art," Print Review 11 (1980): 127-144. Hansen, Arlen J. Expatriate Paris: A Cultural and Literary Guide to Paris oftkc 1920s. New York: Arcade PubliskArchives ofAmerican Art. Allen, Frederick Lewis. Only Yesterday: An Informal History ing, 1990. Hemingway, Ernest. A Moveable Feast. New York: Ckarl of the lQ20s. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1931. American Heritage History of the 20’s and 30’s. New York: Hills, Patricia, and Roberta K. Tarbell. The Figurative Tradi­ American Heritage Publishing Company, 1970. Beard, Rick, and Leslie Cohen Berlowitz, eds. Greenwich Village: Culture and Counterculture. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press (for the Museum of the City of New York), 1993. Berman, Avis. Rebels on Eighth Street: Juliana Force and the Whitney Museum of American Ari. New York: Atheneum, 1990. Brooks, Van Wyck. Days of tkc Phoenix: The Nineteen- Twcntics I Remember. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1957. Cashman, Sean Dennis. Prohibition: Tkc Lie of the Land. New York: The Free Press, 1981. Chafe, William Henry. The American Woman: Her Changing Social, Economic, and Political Roles, 1920—1930. London: Oxford University Press, 1975. Clair, Jean, ed. The 1920s: Age of the Metropolis. Montreal: trangement: Women and Men, 1912—1924,” M.A. thesis, Madison: University of Wisconsin, 1984. Douglas, Ann. Terrible Honesty: Mongrel Manhattan in the 1920s. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1995. Erenberg, Lewis A. Steppin' Out: New York Nightlife and tkc Transformation of American Culture, 1890—1930. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1981. Fahlman, Betsy. Guy Pene du Bois: Artist About Town. exhibition catalogue. Washington, D.C.: Corcoran Gallery of Art, 1980. York: Whitney M useum of American Art, 1980. Lieberman, William S., ed. Art of the Twenties. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 19/9. Loos, Anita. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. New York: Boni and Liveright, 1925. May, Henry F. The End of American Innocence: A Study of the First Years of Our Own time, 1012—1017. London: Jonathan Cape, I960. Morris, Lloyd. Incredible New York; High Life and Low Life of the Last Hundred Yars. New York: Random House, 1951. See especially “Some Liked Ii Hot," pp. 317-337. Morton, Brian. Americans in Paris: An Anecdotal Street Guide. Ann Arbor, Michigan: The Olivia and Hill Press, 1984. Mowry, George E., ed. The Twenties: Fords, Flappers and Nash, Roderick. The Nervous Generation: American Thought, 1917-1Q30. Chicago: Rand McNally, 1970. Pene du Bois, Guy. Artists Say the Silliest Things. New- York: American Artists Group, 1940. Perrett, Geoffrey. America in the Twenties: A History. Neu- York: Simon and Schuster, 1982. Sinclair, Andrew. Prohibition: Ike Era of Exccess. Boston: Little Brown, 1962. Smith, Page. Redeeming the Time: A People's History of the 1 Q20s and the New Deal. N ew York: Penguin Books, 1987, volume 8. ------------ . “Guy Pene du Bois (1884-1958)," Ph.D. disserta­ tion, University of Delaware, 1981. Stevenson, Elizabeth. Babbitts and Bohemians: The Ameri- can 1920s. New York: MacMillan, 19o7. ------------. “Guy Pdne du Bois; Painter and Critic." Art and Antiques 3 (November-December 1980): 106-113. Fitzgerald, F. Scott. Flappers and Philosophers. New York: New Charies Scribner’s Sons, 1948 [1920], ------------ .Six Tales of the Jazz Age and Other Stories. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, I960 [1922-1924] -------- —. Tender Is the Night. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, I960 [1934], York: Ckarles Scribner’s Sons, I960 [1920]. Flam, Jack. “Guy Pdne du Bois, ’’ American Heritage Sullivan, Mark. Our Times: The United States, 1900-1Q23. VI. The Twenties. New Tork: Char!es Scribner’s Sous, 1935. Todd, Ellen Wiley. Tkc “New tyoman'' Reused. Painting and Gender Politics on Fourteenth Street. Berkeley: 1 niver- sity of California press, 1993. Turner, Elizabeth Hutton. Amerfcan Artiste in Faris 1010- 1020. Ann Arbor, Michigan: UM I Research Press IJ88 Xlatson, Steven. Strange BedfcFows: The First American Avant-Garde. New \ork: Abbeville, 1991. (Fehru- cry 1989): 72-82. tion and tkc Whitney Museum of American Art. Neu* Fanatics. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1963. Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, 1991. Doherty, Charles E. “Guy Pdne du Bois* Paintings of Es­ 7' ni^3afParaJiS,:’ Scribner's Sons, 1964. \oung, Mahouri >harp. “American Realists of the 1930>. ApJb 113 (March 1981): 146-189. �j93q U. in ■“ L;rci- c Pcat. N, lartelj Urn °/A, of the 979. Mondes. "'can Innocence- . 1912-ig^. • London; Lied It Hot,-pp. 317_337 nS ’ An Anecdotal Street in: The Olivia and Hill itics: Fords, Flappers and , NJ.: Prentice-Hall, 1963. zncration: American Thought, d McNally, 1970. the Silliest Tilings. New =>up, 1940. Twenties: A History. New 1982. excess. Boston: ic Era of El e: A P^plc 7 History of the ;w York: Penguin Book, nd Bohemians: The Ameri- .Charles Scribner.^- jed: Pa’ni,n9 nan"■ Rovis. anJ Jb=W->"u"ot i Str^- - >3. m—i UMI R^earcJ Jiu..*930- ;an Reali^ ° [46-1®9’ 1988- 30. After the Circus, 1928 watercolor and ink on paper, 13’A x 1744 in. Helena Gunnarsson Collection Photograph hy Dean Beasoni �dp 1. Billboa rd, 1920 oil on panel, 25 x 20 in. NorFolk Southern Corporation, Norfolk, Virginia Photograph courtesy of Norfolk Southern Corporation J1 �Jr 3. An American Oriental, 1921 oil on canvas, 2O‘/16x25‘/8m. Art,,---------Los Angeles Los Angeles County Museum cof ------a Mr. anti Mrs. William Preston Harrison Collects ion of Art Photograph © 1995, Museum Associates, Los Angeles County Museum �/ i 5 i 27. Peasants Returning, 1927 ™ ™ eanva,, 25'/. x 36 in Ali Mo^huder, M.D., Colleelion �28. Pets, 1927 oil on canvas, 217/a x 185/p in. Museum of Ari, Fort Lauderdale, Florida Ira Glack cijb Bequest Plioto^raph courtvsy Muyuuni of Art ��5. In the Wings, 1921 oil on panel, 191/’ x 14% in. Allen Memorial Art M useum, Oberlin College, Ohio ( lift of Mru. Malcolm L. McBride, 1948 Photog raph <'■> Allen Memorial Art Museum ��b. Chanticleer, 1922 oil on canvas, 241/’ x 32 in. San Diego Museum of Art I-’urchasrJ with funds from Helen M. Towle Bequest Photograph courtesy San Diego Museum of Art �7. The Coachman, 1922 charcoal, ink, watercolor on paper, 15% x 13% in. I iclena Gunnanason Collection Photograph hy I lcl^a Photo Studio, courtesy Hirchl 6* Adler U allenes, Inc. I �8. Disarmament Conference/Peace Conference, 1922 oil on canvas, 20 x 2L> in. .Marjorie and Charles Benton ( ’olio linn Photograph by Mi>di;i(.l Irapcd, courtesy C arolyn Klein Ad Consultants �9. The Life Soldier (Former itie Wooden Soldier), 1922 oil on panel, 25 x 20 in. BowJoin College Museum of Ari Gift of Walter K. 1 autxnan, ’24 Photograph by Arthur Evans, courtesy Bmvdoin College Museum �10. • .h<ai ‘I !ini.1923 -.J •> j < i-iv.is, 20 / 1414 in. ' .rh' ..'j! Mwmii i.(American Art, Smitlwonian hwlitution Gift f/( .■•mi R'.ly I oimtLilimi I'I ">h ./r-ipL court, .y Naliomil Mu.ijt iuii «»l American Ari �1 3. Isabel Riskop, 1924 oil mi can van, 48 x 36 in. Arthur J. mill Ihlilh S. Levin PruintNiil Gill In the Nation.il Muuseuin of Aiuerivau Art. ■ initli loni.in hr hlulion �a ?r• J 4, RailnniJ Compurimant, 1925 .. I nn pan- I, k IM in. J hula I h lil> iJh-jP I 'apl.hi H ■>ph ' "lull »y I .hula I-i* lih ul" •».! kupl.in �I G (>nl Iiuhj I Lir Sk | ...I 'I 16 13 . All '• • ' ' . .1 A... .<• Ill \>! I'hilltp \ L -■*' i J. /.J. ‘ i • ' .> v i.Jl. i I \u. ., o, ; ���'-Wl^- .vcnp— 21 . J r . r <’>n>r. -■; A -jm-xr _-. er -.3 ■ 52 PF-„x»»r- »” '__ •-• '- ’- •*»■ <" �J L * ' V'j • 'll ( II . . Hit I 11 u I ' I X .X H ‘ 11 ‘ II. Mu . I..II ..I•• m \l .1.: I II- H U« m III rl. . .. <( I. »’ •!» • \ b* i ' i' ■ K X ' V > X �23, Girl at Montparnasse, 1927 watercolor and ink on paper, 15 x LVZi in. Richard and Carol Levin Photograph by Helga Photo Studio, courtesy I lirschl & Adler Galleries, Inc. ��26. The Opera Singer, 1927 oil on canvas, 13!Z? x 10 in. Kraushaar Galleries Photograph courtesy Kraushaar Galleries �I 1 *'3 31. MatJier and Datignter, 1M28 oil on canvas, 2P» x 18 in. \vkitney Museum of American Art purchase Ptiotograpk courtesy kitney M-jl �I 33. Avenue Je la Victoire, Nice, 1929 watercolor and graphite on paper, 13^ x 1014 in. Austin P Kelley Collecti on Photograph hy Professional Photographic Services �------- ] I faille ’ T*,' tW k-rm f, ■ " ■''' ir ' "' 1 kite* k» ...... .............. ‘ “■’ ■ ■ r;:„;......... ..... yu’lr,w ».vl r. .-■>»■ «•« j.Und. 1 '>.ipk, .1- Xmcrxan irbrt*. « vh ’irt <k»Pit! iu.pr.4ifi-. .jlput I '•'..anti »rt k»>.t>rMn». »n,h tke rk • Beu, l*Mnun h«vr n-iumi. H t cntwJwntmg. -• .^1-, ;r,|^bn-.r „ ’ ,n < •• Jn,,'!*’ »-k >J’"'1 h,. J . * i 37. The Art Opening, n.d. 13 in. r- • " »*w, L± T*1 - 5 *«l47 k'** 4»i *° ”'4. charcoal and watercolor on paper, 15 Helena Guiinare^on Collection Photograph by Dean Bea-om - i . **K �s The Artist as Critic Stanley I Grand When Henry Pene du Bois died on skipboard enroute home from France in May 1906, kis twenty-two-year-old son Guy, with whom ke kad been traveling, suddenly found himself in need of a job. After his arrival in New York, the young artist obtained a position—largely through family connections—as a reporter with the daily New York American, where his fatker had worked as a critic. Over the next half-century, in addition to painting and teacking. Guy Pene du Bois wrote hundreds of articles and reviews, several mono­ graphs on American artists, and a charming autobiography entitled .Artists Say the Silliest Things} Yet despite his prolific output, most subsequent critics and art historians, with the notable excep­ tion of Betsy Fahlman, have minimized or igno red Pe ne du Bois’ critical writings. This oversight is unfortunate and unde­ served, especially since his essays are delightfully readable. He brought to his subjects both a mor­ dant nit and a sophisticated, at times jaded, sensi­ bility. Frequently—assuming the guise of the amoral flaneur watching the passing parade from a point somewhat above street level—ke com­ mented dryly on the foibles of his contemporaries. His panoramic view of the aesthetic landscape included observations on clothing, billboards, critics. [They give] none of the many doubtful students a ground to stand on. They stand on none themselves. They say they are broadminded quite as though this all inclusive breadth of view were of value to the world.”3 This essay considers a number of themes that inform Guy Pene du Bois criticism written between 1912 and 1924.4 Not only do these essays most closely relate to the paintings in­ cluded in “Guy Pene du Bois: The Twenties at Home and .Abroad and thereby provide a further hey to understanding„ th<le exhibition, but they also were written during the time when he enjoyed his greatest success, influence, and importance as a critic. As the recently appointed editor of Arts and Decoration, ke kad kelped prepare tke public to understand the famous Armory Show, which opened at the 69th Nation al G uard Regiment Armory on Lexington Avenue in February 1913, ky dedicating tke Marek issue to tke exkibition. His own contribution in tkat issue, entitled "The Spirit and the Chronology of the Modem Move­ ment," explained that the seemingly radical Cezanne, “the great man of the great modem movement ... is essentially a classicist; that is, like Ingres, he demands last of all, order, measure, the harmonious scheme that is essential. 5 In “The Spirit and the Chronology of the Modern Movement," Pene du Bois articulated cosmetics, and health, in addition to the fine arts.* Nonetheless, despite his ironic perch, he maintained a great fondness for people as they are. Indeed, he was an articulate advocate for the individual in an era that was becoming increas­ ingly depersonalized and dehumanized. As a critic two philosophical tenets that would characterize his writings for the next dozen years. The first, that art must be based on life, reflects the influ­ ence of Robert Henri, with whom he had studied he expressed a clear set of values; he distrusted and dismissed equivocation: “Chameleons are not at the New York School of Art. Prior to Henn s appointment in 1902, tke students kad been �f d h n4 S‘SaU” pki!°S°Pky as inter„ Ph SCh°° S pnn?Pal “^Ctor William Merritt Chase. Henri on the other hand, taught 1 art for Me s sake. Almost forty years later, Pene du Bois described Henri’s revolutionary impact on the students: He “completely overturned the apple cart: displaced art by life, discarded technic, broke the prevailing gods as easily as brittle porce­ lain. The talk was uncompromising, the approach unsubtle, the result pandemonium.”6 On his first day as the instructor in the life class, Henri ap­ figure for he s honesty of tin , ......... along with his good ">■* Tru °?t kis w*h life: "The terrible tkirfg M X the tepid thing that is the medio^tL Jn life, is -king. ”15 Jn sum art must ke alive, regulated by the and honest. y ne intellect, Pene contravened the laws of nature with spatial dislo­ cations, acid colors, distorted anatomical propor­ tions, and an ironic, frequently erotic, sensibility. Mannerism, in sum, was an art based on art The extreme aestheticism of Mannerism eventually provoked a backlash. In the late sixteenth century, Academies dedicated to restoring the ideal art of Raphael were established. Simultaneously, around 1600, in a parallel reaction to the excesses of Ute Mannerism, Caravaggio created a new realistic style that substituted truth to nature for deco­ rum: since peasants had dirty feet and fingernails, let them appear thus in paintings. During the following centuries the cycles of art oscillated. In the nineteenth century, for example, the Realism of Courbet was followed by the aestheticism of I Bois distinguished te art- s "71“4r i-“;- proached one hapless student and, after consider­ ing his work, asked in a voice audible to all: "Was ien [he] a man or not, and by inference were we, that we could draw' or paint this woman in all her glo­ rious nudity as though she were a plaster cast, a thing less alive than a cabbage? Life certainly did that day stride into a life class.”7 In 1913 Pene du Bois clarified the distinc­ tion between art and life when he wrote: “Art conservative Irke Ingres, the first potent modern despot, or radical like "Manet or Renoir, the realists, followed the laws of nature in preference to those of art.”17 Ingres’ accomplishment, for example, consisted of his ability “to regulate his as worthless as a body when there is no life in it. subject absolutely without denuding it of all artis­ tic or rather aesthetic virtue. He made the classic formula his own, made it do his bidding, turned Painting when there is nothing hut life in it, when and twisted and moulded it.”18 Cezanne, on the it is without regulation, is not art."8 In his view "Art is not exactly life—it is greater than life. Life other hand, "who was a genius, evolved a new theory of painting by keeping away from the com- is barbaric, impulsive, unrestrained. . . . Art is the pany of painters."19 The insistence that art follow the laws of when there is no life in it is just as dead and just restraint constructing order out of chaos. 9 For Pene du Bois, art transcended style or the means of expression. Consequently he could praise the Classicist Ingres, the Romantic Delacroix, and the Realist Courbet because all three were “incontrovertahly H connected with life. Their art epitomized life's particular phrases [sic]. Each started with nature; each was a gardener: Life is the root, the plant; art the gardener.”11 Their ky-ferences were merely in how they chose to train ■heir plants: Ingres chose order, Delacroix exulted in the sensuous. Metaphorically speaking, Courbet combined Ingres' formal garden with Delacroix's English garden to produce a synthesis M -W Since Pene du Bois believed that art "regulation,” he had no use for unbodied . 1^: "Art requires the services of the mind 6i much as it requires the services of the . /. r - \,,r did he have any sympathy lor dis .-jVrei. hot one bind of bad ..rt .nd ... ,„,.rt."»’lo ibis point he had.„- TL.. I Whistler. The second philosophical tenet, then, was a cyclic view of art, which Pene du Bois shared with Heinrich Wolfflin (1864-1945), the German art historian and theoretician, who had described the progression of artistic stages from archaic to clas­ sic to baroque;21 In a similar vein, Pene du Bois nature” reflects an ongoing discourse in Western art. The art of the Medieval era was conceptual, an art of signs, signifies and formulas. As a human­ istic world view supplanted the theocentnc, a per­ ceptual art based on the study of nature gradually came to replace the earlier art. In Italy, beginning with Giotto, artists slowly abandoned the Byza tine conventions in preference for a more natural­ istic mode. During the quattrocento, Italian artists, influenced by their g-wing ^trng of—nd fa.cin.lion “XL the ideal in nature, tha w IC Northern accidents of .p=si& ™»,(““J ,„dsd te- Eu.ope.n artists, » ward unado rned verism- By t e ear Y century, d» ‘I-*- iJ'J'T .l which High Renaissance art o« P t imp„v. on not merely to af »*J a„ jde. ••• One consequence of e P |f.„(e,enliJ. >» that art became i.-»^ „1. the courtly, arisloerat.0, m a.d ; r, mc Mvers: "He is Diogenes with '. I known as Mannerism, I i wrote: "The cycl es of art are like the cycles of life. They are Lorn, reach maturity and then . . . begin the downward slide to death ... at the base of whick there is inevitably a new life begun, a re­ naissance.”21 In "Despotism and Anarchy in Art” (1915) he described the succession of art move­ ments as a cyclic process in which "Anarchy suc­ ceeds despotism and despotism succeeds anarchy.”22 According to Pene du Bois, both the "Anarchistic and despotic parties of art realize equally that it is art’s traditions that is hw b twyi-r ; 5 , . J. ture and destroy ' the —- worn-out formula* whxk tix> complacently we have made _.r . The year before, and n. t hv : ... Pene du Bois had identified aestheticism as one of the most pernicious formal ,s. Cei.mmr c < officially recognized American” painiit . : . a number of Gennan graphic art; J.-. iK i ... J , academic work of lit? countrymen rtbv i r its "timidity, craven fear, [and] abs Jute unwittingness to ‘take a chance.' an art, in urn. d-. ,nnnated by a total fear of error.' l ive . ■,■.<>>_ f "the spirit predominating them all [the Ameri­ cans] may he traced back to the time when Will­ iam M. t..liase, perhaps inspired by epigrams mad* in a light left-handed' way by Whistler, began the promulgation of the theory of 'Art for Art's Sake. ■ In another article, also written in 1914. Pene du Bois observed that "1 he art that sur­ rounded him [Jerome Myers] when lie began to produce pictures some twenty years ago owed its thesis to an idealism that, with no basic founda­ tion in fact or in nature, had become superficial and puerile. . . . Beauty then was a matter to be secured and stamped on canvas not by the study of nature but by strict adherence to the rule book of proportions and of values.”'4’ Eleven years later, his position remained unchanged: "the art atti­ tude . . . became a pair of artificially colored glasses between himself [Whistler] and the thing seen, a device defeating fresh vision or any empiric<:al deduction." impossible to obviate a tendency that man holds Pene du Bois' disdain of formulas and his cyclic view of art colored his subsequent attitudes in common with sheep. 23 Consequently both parties offer formulas; the former (classicism) lays own rules, while the latter (expressionism/subjectivism) offers individual freedom: "Artists of the despotic state claim that art is beauty and beauty toward modernism. Shortly after the Armory Shhow closed, he and eight other artists resigned from the Society of American Painters and Sculptors, Inc., which had organized the exhibi­ a act, tangible and positive. The anarchists see in art the search for self, for the particular vision of turned the society into a Cubist, a Futurist, a Post-Impressionist organization as radical and the individual and deny positivism,”24 Not unexpectedly, as a consequence of his narrow in its aims as the National Academy of ,n erydfS themes, Pene du Bois had a great istrust for “formulas" whether old or new. Writtb 1 “TL. 6 mc”v Show he expressed the hope . fbis international exhibition should . . international exhibition ■naulate our creative power, power, show show the way to d0m' t0 in^Pendence, throw off the veil of throw o] tion, because "confirmed extremists . . . nave Desig n is radical and narrow in its aims. 311 As one who saw art movements swinging Like a pen­ dulum between birth and death, rise and fail, youth and age; he consistently advised artists to avoid extremes, to shun the poles of the cycle. Like Horace, he sought the Golden Mean, the middle way, that is the mid-point of the arc. �i.uiia’lv. as we have seen, Pene du Bois ap:• ‘?u.'..‘J the new art. He appreciated the courage its practitioners who threw off the constraints ct iired formulas. I rd ike in America, "In the rest or the world, in Germany, France, Scandinavia, neo-and post-impressionists, expressionists, cub­ ists futurists, a host of extremists, are running the whole gamut of freedom and, as is the case in art. not seldom to their own destruction. They fail often, but from excess of trying.”31 The prob­ lem was, as he lamented in 1918, that "the strong men make the formulas which the weak men fol­ low after them. There is no good to come of con­ scious art, this constant repetition of the rules of arrangement which, growing older, become more and mere abstract and more and more unfittable to the chances of life.”32 In Pene du Bois’ view, modernism had become simply another formulary. Critics have tended to see Pene du Bois' turn against modernism as reactionary', as representing a return to his realist roots, rather than as the mature criticism of an anti-authoritarian who saw modernism as a manifestation of the growing consolidation of power in the West and its dimi­ nution of the individual. Observing how Goya had suhverted the authority of absolute monarchs by means of satire and, in formal terms, by dis­ placing the king as the central figure, Pene du Bois argued that: “It was after Goya that Courbet began the humanist propaganda; that realism came to do away with reverence, and that reverence, in the old sense, was to become obsolete. 33 Courbet "retained, nevertheless, the idea of the importance of the individual. If he felt that all figures were worthy of an equal respect, he still could not consider them en masse—he was a hu­ manist. It remained for a later political age to consider man by the million, man in the aggre­ gate.”24 Although he frequently praised the Mas­ ter of Aix-en-Provence, he believed that he epito­ mized the modem, anti-humanist trend: "Cezanne . . . has always seemed to me to be a voice giving expression to the modilern desire (or organization, Indeed. I have never been able to separate his w ork from socialism, communism, trade unions and trusts.”" Modernism's emphasis on systems v.er people became its prime error: "cubists, post- imoressionists and so forth . . . have made anat .mica: c -ruction [ric] (that landmark of the Academies) in their canvases subservient to th organization of the whole, broken hones in o J, to perfect systems got rid entirely of the potency ot the individual, ot Goya s satire, of Courbet’s h maoism. A step further than Matisse is Pica«l whom we found, for a time, using abstract symbol carrying no suggestion of humanity, in order to portray the actions and reactions of forms, the' pull and push, give and take of forces, in which individual will is as of little consequence as a cork bobbing unconsciously on the surface of any lit­ eral sea."36 By adopting recipes and focusing on systems instead oh lite, the modernist fails as “he rants against institutions, against old gods and ghosts. He is not an artist exactly—he is an iconoclast. The freedom he vaunts about? That is his prison."37 The prison.' distinction between the artist and the iconoclast is one that Pene du Bois reframed and returned to throughout this period, gradually coming to the conclusion that “the man of action is rarely a man of vision. Artist really means a man of vi­ sion. It must be unquestionable that he will cloud his vision in the dust of combat.”33 In another article, also written in the 1920s, he counseled: “The artist must not forget that he is an observer, a man watching the parade from a safe though convenient distance and armed, in any case, with enough strength of character to be kept physically out of it.”39 In sum: “The artist as a seer should be beyond such stupid adherence to dogma. He must be beyond or beside the contemporary phi­ losophy. He must be a spectator. 411 Since art is derived from, and based upon, life, it follows that the artist must change to re­ flect his life experience. Pene du Bois ridiculed the painter who clings to his youthful, virgina vision: He “does not move in his tracks, no blots mar his original purity, no new huskiness is a e the rosy pink to his original soprano, no scars on ire and life is there. of the first flesh. Art is heic ---------He was especially harsh on the members o mei Eight:42 “With two or three exceptions [they] were republicans, singing the song of the plain man and his family...We were a real republic: every man as good as his neighbor. 43 Or at e3st. s° i went the myth. In reality, Pene du Bois believed that “Courbet may already have emptied the bottle when our republicans began their admira- tion society' 44 and he questioned whether “the iism which reflected that time was republican realii not already . . . a kind of reminiscence of something which was good whde we had it but which ”43 He reserved his harshest now, ___ alas,_ was gone. criticism, however, for his former instructor Rob­ ert Henri, “the high priest of these republican Americans,”40 who "having lost the revolutionary radicalism of his youth, the early discontent . . . has settled comfortably upon the optimism of bhintmiddL.-.L,,, Pollyanna. 47 Pene du Bois' ultimate rejection of The Eight had nothing to do with their "Ash Can” subject matter or political views. In 1920, for example, he minimized the importance of subject matter altogether: "Art is, after all, a matter of expression. The subject matter in art is inciden­ tal."48 Two years later he would add, in a state­ ment that anticipates the formalism of Clement Greenberg, " The literary or the descriptive end of a picture is padding in so far as the art or the aesthetic quality is concerned.'4J Given his belief that art was more than aesthetics, Pene du Bois could never become a pure formalist. Consequently, he rejected the arguments of those who proscribed politics from art: But th ere is no logic at all in the theory or dogma that artists must not ‘prosti­ tute’ their art al the feet of political interest."3'1 Con­ tinuing he noted “Art has always occupied itself with life in one way or another. It has always, as Taine has thoroughly well shown, summed up the prevailing tide, given the synthesis of the thought of a par­ ticular generation of mankind, even expressed the ' J,. aktr ' words, the artist starts with nature. lk, faJt j unconscious thought of a generation."5; The problem with The Eight was that their paintings no longer, if they ever did, represent their times. This conclusion represents his ultimate re- leC?i°n Robert Henri s philosophy: "One of my o professors once said, and is probably still saymg to male disciples, that the way to being an artist is through manhood, or in order to become an artist you must first he a man. ... But it is only by inference that one arrives at his definition o man. • • . In America he became something of a sjyas uckler, a loud talking hearty- sort of faker ordinarily designated, and with an efL,v t praise, effort of as a rough diamond.”52 But America had now come of age: Perhaps America, like New York, is beginning to tire of the simple statements of the , mtellectua long way lr. i:. th. J ........... th? •JctarL piwith th . . .. ' I' ' h lork Realist; tb,< |L , later on, dsa writer.’2 In ar . FF i ,;'u ■ • 1bmldmg V as pkd.isophy 1?'” 7 ^ tkerinout of th. cm ’■ > J ’h bv those who approach the problem from the oppo­ se dmvliom ’ Ike critic in doubt or wanting the laculty probably imaginative, required in any fecund researvli, can always go to his subject armed‘with a theory, like a tailor with his tape measure. Freud's system probably will do for this poor chap as well as any other. 1 lowever, the man who can arrive al tree deductions from encountered facts will go lurthcr. Anya priori theory is misleading. We find that which we seek."5*' Pene du Bois s "free deductions" assumed an increasingly aristocratic cast as time progressed. Contrasting his dual personas, he observed “The writer is an aristocrat . . , the painter is a plain man. " I le came to detest the herds, the follow­ ers, the sheep. No friend of democracy, he ob­ served that “A republican state ruled by the will of the majority is ruled by the mediocrity." ■' N or was he sympathetic toward the precious, effete or contrived: Exotics are febrile sensitives who, with the taut nerves of invalids and eyes jaded by the commonplace, seek relief and amusement outside the familiar world. Perhaps they are men suffering spiritual and physical nostalgic. Intense, they are of no physical health, of no physical stature, fidgety people, bored, sophisticated and extravagant."'' Neither decadent nor virginal, republican nor intellectual, Guy Pene du Bois was a constant voice for honesty in art: "bad pictures are reflec­ tions of men every kit as muck as are the good pictures. Hypocritical or sanctimonious pictures are records of the men who created them. ' Be­ cause he accepted the heroic quality of modem life, he faulted those who turned away from life, His description of Toulouse-Lautrec could also be a portrait of Guy Pene du Bois, the artist as critic: “He would be impossible in the America ot �;.1J h’-ls* darlings who are as innocent or more innocent than 7 hackeray's Amelia, or Ficldiug’s for that matter. The artist and the man in this instance, as with Daumier and Forain, keep pace and are inseparable. The artist is not busy denying himself and life. His esthetics far from willfiJ are unavoidable. His morals? He has none. He is neither preacher nor modifier. Fie does not draw for children. He may he a critic. But behind his cruelty and malice there lurks a great fondness for life as it is, never a blinding sun to him, never a thing which one fa< faces from behind glasses darkened hy religion or nn morals orals in m order that its vitality will he dulled, along with its profundity and beauty."61 Looking back from an era when much writ­ ing about art appears arcane, convoluted and programmatic, Guy Pene du Bois' criticism seems clear, well written and honest. He still has much to teach us and deserves a reevaluation. 38. Guy Pene du Bois, “Art By the V r. ” < ' 48 G« tional Studio (July 1922): 340. 39. Guy Pene du Bois, “Guy Pe ne Ju E -••• ‘ rn‘.--»- j. tional Studio (June 1922): 245. 40. Pene du Bois, “Art by the Wav “ I - t ■, Studio July 1922): 340. 50 Pan 41. Guy Pene Ju Bois, “Art by the Xtuy ” In'.-? - a 51 lb. 1. I|.ppvb’U V i 'T--f 14.” a 1 tench h’ -’? in ji ■ j hl 42. The Eight, consisting of Robert Henri, L hrh-a.i William Glackens, Everett Shinn. Gc.-rge LuL-r Arthur B. 5?.. Ptfne Ju Him*, Davies, Ernest Lawsen, .mJ Maurice Brazil PniiJcr,: iteJ together in 1908 at the Macbeth Gallcric*. K’tud’o (Man.lt 1923); 549 1. For a comprehensive bibliography of Guy Pene uis’s see Betsy Lee Fahlman, “Guy Pene du Ju Bois’s writings Painter, Critic, Teacher,” Ph.D. dissertation, University Bois: of Delaware, 1981, pp. 228-251. This essay owes a great debt Art: The Symbolism Dedicated to the Future and the Real­ ism of the Present," Arts and Decoration (January 1915): U.S 2. See, for exampie, Guy Pine du Bois, “Refl ec­ tions of Men and Art," Arts and Decoration (June 25, 1920): 81-82, 118, and “The Barbaric Rouge Pot and Civilization," Arts and Decoration (August 1920): 149. 3. Guy Pine du Bois, “Art in America: A Rambling 18. ibid. Kunst [Classic Art j (1899), and Kunstgcschichthchc Grun 1 21. Pene du Bois, “ Fhe Spirit and the ClimnoL / 152. 22. Pene du Bois, "Dcspoti:is in an J Anarchy, p 97 American, between 1906 and 1912; (2) bis contributions to Hals, Goya, Manet . . . Renoir and George B. Luks r. Arts and Decoration from 1912 to 1921; (3) his monthly sent anarchy in art. In the other party are Durer, Rap! Le Brun, Ingres . . . Matisse, Arthur B. Davies, and 1924; and (4) his beelance writings from 1930 hiatus between 1924 and 1930 coincides with his stay in Key non Cox." 25. Pdne du Bois, “1 he Spirit and the Ch ronol France, which was terminated abruptly by ike stock market P- man Graphic Art: The Striking Difference between the 27. Ibid., p. 123. 28. Pene du Bois, “Jerome Myers," p. 90. 29. Guy Pfcne du Bois, “Art By the Wiy," Intema- The Spirit and the Chronology," 9. Ibid. 10. ibid., p. 153. 31. Pene du Bois, “Bold Freedom, 12. Pene du Bois, “Art in America, p. 107. 32. Guy Pene du Bois, “Official American Paint­ and Decoration (February 1916): 168. 14. Guy Pene du Bois, “Jerome Myers,” Art and Progress (January 1914): 92. 15. Pene du Bois, “Art in America,” p. 108. 16. Guy Pene du Bois, “Art By the Way: The Pass­ ing of Republican Painting," International Studio (Septem­ ber 1922): 534. 17. Guy P&ne du Bois, “Despotisi >m and Anarchy in p. 125. p- 81- In* Interna­ id Art,” pp36. Pene du Bois, “Reflections of Men ant Man: The Best Eyes in American Art,” Arts and Decoration Deli. •••. l\I" L'" - p 246. .ng J h. Pa 536. ' r,i l-unl- .• ,• ■ < r 1'' -iTtr! r, " Internal< ty . < 5 *)-53/ :>*;;]■ Intc'rr ih.-n ;■ t'’. r• , j u|p- (July 1914)- 154-355 "An Exj-r< ph n of JnJ. .• •bj ih’ty. The Gallatin ollrtlirin of (>r »pL* ■ Ari Aris and D-coral’m (IcL- inker Irtcmj* n i’ .ytudio -Hiker I ureij’n and Ancru an Pnnliiit • 11," li?'-, i;. tional ? b ,w at tb»: ( iric /rf/.-T.j* . r.j' oia ;. j (March r in.: pi‘r J urg), “ Aria and Decoration (May 25, I9/'O. 9. Y1, 44. 19231:547 549 . "Guy Pcti' du Bn; . Intemotior.s!ritudio (Juiia “Art hy thiAXay /riL-rrdf..-?’.z!^d>a (Miy 1923): 179 181. 1922): 242 24/) -----------“Jerome My< Internal:.'.na' Studia (July 1923): 349-352 ----- rah.-r. ruary 1916) 168 17 i Art ky the \X jy —------- “Art by the A n (Jmiwry 1915; 95 'i-; j |.J L<l»jl.«ti(iii« at the < .Jh rit t',r ’ ' -J‘i llnji , Aris ,md Ik \ . ». h?r, 181 ------- -— ‘Art by (hr ‘Aa- I t< > »l. • I uhm- -hi 1 lb»- h‘£Ji ,,, ArUandH i>r,ihL>n la -. "Art in America: A Pdink'iug i..J Informal '/iew. * -------- —. A^irsts Say tnc Sd!ie&t Things. New York: Ameri­ can Artists Group, 1940. ------------ . “The Barbaric Rouge Pot and Civilizab on. A.ris ------------ - “The Bold Freedo m of German Graphic A.rt: The striking Difference between the Present Tenden-.es of German and American Art." Arts and D&:oratian ‘r'erruaiy 1913): 123-126, 138. Guy Pene du Bois, “William Glackens, Normal (September 1914): 404. *1 -. -1 • f>0. Fvtu- Ju Boi . Art A h: Vir’i 3. 3. ’ p p 108 1U.H hl. Pane Ju Bi : -. "Art by the Wr; Internal Kindi SudwCOcb.ler !’)’.») 89 ]•> it- n ■ . and Decoration (August 1920):149- tiona! Studio (December 1922): 240. 81-82.3d. V-.y, Arts and Decoration (January 1918): 106-108. 34. Ibid. 35. Guy Pene du Bois, “Art by the Vlay, p;i 1921). 192. 19221:240 244. exhibition’s proceeds, jealousy, and personality clashes also ing," Aris and Decoration (March 1918): 203. 33. Pene du Bois, “Reflections of Men and Art, ..Hl I ’.rilin',p. .. \rt i \ the ' . i, " Interna- 5;i Guy P* lie >u HI! ■ r» "X iii’hr'p t hinhr ’I he Man .1 Normal 1 » eik." V' nJ M n (].<•:♦ vy 19221. 87 91. ---- Art by the Painters and Sculptors Squabble," Arts and Docoration (July played a part in his decision to resign from the Society. I /nfemah rj- . "Art by the tional Studio (July 1923): 350. 30. Guy Pene du Bois, “Exhibitions at the Galleries: 11. Ibid., p. 151. 13. Guy P&ne du Bois, “An Expression of Individu ality: The A. E. Gallatin Collection of Graphic Art,” Arts inK’ ------ 1914): 355. Financial irregularities in the handling of the p. 151. - . “Ari by the A i 19221.177 1913): 154. 7. Ibid. j i Ju Ih“Art Lv the Wi. 58. I'< Rrpubl -a, s.a.ul {ri,,h • i>n 5i. I’ll) Ju Hr,-. tV J,., (|, ||H. (July 1922): 345 34- Decoration (February 1913): 124. ogy of the Modem Movement, Arts and Decoration (March (New York: American Artists Group, 1940): 86. ’. ■’ B rb r' .< hugely cstif Mongrel Manhath Ian in In j • ■ _ Y rl- Farrar Slrauft /in J < «iri>u , 2. F G. ‘ ■_ h , I li: ■ Unit •. calling I Lun a I’ •'''b. imn . .1-. ntiFcd (-.• st t r> « ntali’.r < >f pt'pul *r. !• rabri ft.*, » ulturt 178. 26. Guy Pene du Bois, “The Bold Freedom of C er- Present Tendencies of German and American Art,” Arf- ird 6. Guy P£ne du Bois, Artists Say the Silliest Things ' Guv 1’0:". < I I '",! S'f;. m? (M.iy V-• Al* 1,9 rqurl, ».i a Br ’. j* >. i: : Pctn-du B. •?•, “Art I . . supplement his income while in France with periodic ar­ The Spirit and the Chronol­ ■ 7, ticles, be did very little writing for publication while abroad. 5. Guy P&ne du Bois, J>. [• LE< IED IIIIMCI 111 y columns for International Studio, written between crash in October 1929. Although he had intended to the her nsr of I .If a 23. ibid., p. 98. 24. ibid., p. 97. Pene du Bois continued: “Reinbn ■ (1) his tenure as a music and art critic for the New York 1922 and on. The ituurakk- optimistic __ in 1910 llif movie version, 'tarring Mary 17.'-' ■- . • • i “ >, a ir ,titd f-»r v«irn»ng iu 19.3). I \ u. J) I rrj H-n- hegriffe [Principles of Art History] (1915). Pen I'Ci.e ' i 1‘ 1 P 'Jyaima. an 1 >■ “AH In -A, p 81 .[til ri'ivr I . .1 19 I -J TJ‘, jnna. a novel and it* Baroch [Renaissance and Baroque] (1888), Die hlassiache and Informal View, "Arts and Decoration (January 1918):108. 4. Guy Pene du Bois’ essays fall into four periods: ll>:J , p. 515 i !• vrii year «JJ, fiK ce.« 20. Wolfflin’s major work* are Renaissance and P- 46 47. Ibid , p 517 19. ibid., p. 95. to Betsy Faklnian'fi pioneering work on Guy Pene du Bois. 8. P^ne du Bois, 54 44. Ibid Ibid , p 536. 1S.X j£u3j ><t, 53-Guv Pin; Ju Bt'ji Republican Painting," p. 535 45 : 8/kJv (Ju’v 1019 <15 43. Penc du B.-n , “zXrt by the Vtay: The Pi.-iug t; NOTES du I'. I, p 81. tionalStudio (October^ 1922): 88. —-------- . “Despotism and Anarchy in Art: I he *ymboiisni - Ari and Progress |J&r,ugry 1914). 89-94. ----- . "Officiul Aiu'.n- an {minting " Arts and Dscjrahon (March 1918). 2(H 203. ------- “Lefts *:o r._ of .Me:; and Art." Arts and Decoration (June 25. I92C :81-82, 118 ----------- . ^l inthrup Chin! r Lhe Man a Nurmal Evnric. * A.ris ar.d Decoration (January 1921j 192. _______ “The Spirit and the l.-hr -r'iLgy t f the M Aern Mcvemer-t," /Iris and iJecaralian t.M irch 1913): 151- 154, 178 _ ______ . "4,.': in: G.ackena, Normal Man: j he Beat Eyes in America." Arts and Decoration (September lc,14i 464-466. �Checklist cf the Exhibition 12. The Beach, 1924 1. Billhoard, 1920 ... 24. O-V.7-, oil on panel, 2d x 20 in. od on panel, triptych, each panel 20 x 15 in. Norfolk S outhem Corporation, Norfolk, Virginia sheldon Memorial Art Gallery, Montparnasse; 1 927 oil on canvas, 21 ’4 v U ■." 2.George Moore with Seated Woman F. M. Hall Collection (Former title: George Moore and Sarah 13. Isabel Bishop, 1924 25. Bernhardt), 1920 od on canvas, 48 x 36 in. od on panel. 20 .. x 25 oil on canvas, 19 x 2514 in. Arthur J. The Broolku Muscur* Smith College Museum of Art, and Edith S. Levin Promised Gift to the National M uicuin of Northampton, Massachusetts American Art, Smithsonian Institution 3. An American Oriental, 1921 14. Railroad Compartment, 1925 Los Angeles County Museum of Art panel, 21 x 18 in landa Lichtenberg Kaplan Mr and Mre. William Preston I larrison 15 oil oil on canvas, 20*/i»» x 25*/a in. Collection 4. At the Station, 1921 Helena Gunnancon Collection St iVtrrnburg, Florids od <»n panel, 21 u/r> x 18Vr in Oberlin College, Ohio Addison (lallery of Axneru an Art, 17. (9n the Bridge, 1926 oil on panel,22 a 18 in. Purchased with funds from New Hnhiti .Muaeum of Amrru an Art Helen M. Itnvle Bequest Harriet Ru*»eli Stanley Fund Heir ni Guzmanw^n Collection Helena Gunnanson Collection 19. li nt du Jour, 1926 on paper, 19 * x 16r & in oil on canvas, 20 x 25 in B'L.-r lY-i no Collection Marjorie and Charles Benton Collection 20. Subway Steps, 1926 The Wooden Soldier), 1922 od on panel, 25 x 20 in. Bowdoin College Museum of Ari Addison Gallery of American 21 Uomen s Locker Room, National Museum of American Art, ' :r / N . .■ J'Lr, 1928 M ir»e'. . Ana:r; «u Art IVn. 32. / '.eJ ■ . ir;?r 'A, 1928 Jooulu.,. 37 x 29 m Tdkm A C» *df*r Fund Aj.^nse C ■ L - r?. Sice, 1 3 ’• x 10 »in. Auettn P Kcdey CrHett. in Art. 34 Bal des (Juatru Arts, 1929 <il on ...n.-.’ja, 28. i x 36JZ: ui. 1 lie David and Alfred Crr.-irt Museum nf Gift of Fbter Adams, *52 Island, 1926 eW-f« 51 r.. :. r ind graphite -n pafxr, PlulLpa Academy 10. Shovel Hats, 1923 1928 -■ i I 1 A < I'/ A in L-inrur ■:. «i • <Jk turn 33 od on panel, 21 ’* x 171m Gift of Walter K. Gutman, ‘24 od on canvas, 20 x 1414 in. ,.14,11 '/i in ' u-L .. ., 11:-; -.t-.n-.r . uid M _i - .7:. < f Art watenuLjt; charcoal, and graphite Confercnce, 1922 title: JVjVttr V V watcnalr ami ink on pajx-r, 16 4 x 16 m 13% in. 9. The Life Soldier (Former ' - i ' «'! - u t *’■. 13.. T * x 18 in 18. Pans Cafe, 1926 8.Disarmament Con]ere nee/Peace ■' ; i Jm Knuyltuar, l')?7 ! ! San Diego Museum of Art 15 ax ■> 30. After iC Dale od on canvas, 24’. ■ x 32 in 7. The Coachman, 1922 r V> m. I’lidlipii Academy Gift of I ’ll*- it er 6. Chanticleer, 1922 Aojontj Return,na, VP; ■ <! on '.«iv.u, 25' Ire Gle Irr’ , 16. Gid Tying Her Shoe, 1926 19*2 x 14*/* in. Allen Memorial Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Malcolm 1. McBride, 1948 oil on rain j... 1 V . x IQ m 23. fit,, 1927 J "n . ... .’!•/. x 18',Sin ‘ Art. li-rt UuJmlJe, 1-L.rJj Bequest of John Hinkle 5. In the Wings, 1921 oil on panel, S'njrr. 1027 26. Jfic Ak M. .■7x1 -t. '! I.). Collection oil on panel, 21 A * 18 in Museum of Fine Arts, Gift of die Charter Pal,- Knualuu GeUeriu Cafi Madrid (Ibrtratt of Mr. and watercolor on paper, 13 x 10’Zi in 57- 27 Mrs. Chester Dale), 1926 charcoal, ink, watercolor on paper, . University cf Nebraska-T -inert!n Coney od on canvas, 20 x 16 in. John P. Axelrod Collection * Art, The I diversity of cL-ago Gift of Wdliam Benton 35. Country Wzdding, 192i od ou canma, 36 z 29 in. Smithsonian Institution 22. Americans in Pans, 192i The Mauoogian Collection Gift of Sara Roby Foundation od on canvas, 281 * x 36J/a in. 36. Bather and Son, 1929 11. Studio on Lafayette Street, 192-3 (73 x 92.4 cm) The Museum of Modern Art, New York od an canvas, 21 x 18 inWmtney Museun of .Wrican Art od on panel, 1914 x 24% in. Bavly Art Museum of the University of Virginia Given anonymously, 1935 23. Girl at Montparnasse, 1927 PUrckase 37. He Art Of*™?, n.l watercolor and ink on paper. !□ x 1172 in­ Richard and Carol Levin Helen. G-^a®cr- Gilecboo _ ��� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1995 May 21 Guy Pene Du Bois: The Twenties at Home and Abroad Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Guy Pene DuBois Betsy Fahlman Stanley I. Grand Stanley I. Grand Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1995 May 21 - August 13 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/152ab81eb935e2bd8eafe65fdec8996b.pdf eb9cc444487b23248e3758507d4bc029 PDF Text Text ������ Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1995 March 19 Selections from the Alice Henry Weston Collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Josef Albers Carl Andre John Cage Christo William de Kooning Jim Dine Jean Dubuffet Rafael Ferrer Richard Hamilton Hans Hofmann Robert Indiana Jasper Johns Wassily Kandinsky Franz Kline SolLeWitt Man Ray FrancisPicabia Robert Rauschberg Dorothea Rockburne Betye Saor Kurt Schwitters George Segal Robert Smithson Saul Steinberg Richard Tuttle Andy Warhal TomWeesselman AliceWeston Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1995 March 19 - April 23 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/ab13f50468d422cd9e61b8e28003d1ba.pdf 05cc1d8a08e654da18a043b1ed42d906 PDF Text Text �������������������������� https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/d159ed1fb1bb4dcae2607e1282db4599.pdf 183a72c8dc25bb86b3fcd10ff2bae74a PDF Text Text SORD GA NE2860 D795 1994 he Drum Lithographs: 1960-1963 �Tin: jm Lithographs; 1960-1963 1 ’.xliibitimi < aimhil by Sundry H.t.iiiJ Cntnlogur I’ -Mix by Cliniou \il;iin1 liy lltlr S||r| ill.tn •j(> i WiLKES UNIVERSITY WtLKES-BARRE. PA xd- oi Vi GaU’n « slkr. I %>!;•- ■ Il.r.-- f'-r ■ - > ©|>>H ©r* i' • > vi > �acknowledgments IOKW MU) Stanley I Grand Jules Sherman I first met Jules and Lorraine. Sherman while working on my dissertation. Ihey invited me out to their Long Island home and. during the course of our visit, introduced me to the Drum Lithographs. At the time, I thought that these little-known lithographs would make an excellent exhibition. In 1993, their son Michael and his wile Kim donated 121 of the prints to the Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes I niversity. This exhibition is drawn primarily from that generous gift. I am particularly grateful to Clinton Adams, whose knowledge of lithography and twentieth-century American lithographers is unrivaled, for writing the catalogue essay. He has been a delightful person with whom Io work. Ken Showell photographed the lithographs al Christopher and \ vettc Deelons New York studio. The Metro Agency7 designed the catalogue, which was printed by Penn ( Creative Litho. Finally, 1 wish to express my thanks to the Sordoni Art Gallery staff. Friends of the Sordoni Art Gallery7, and the Gallery's Advisory Commission. ARCHIVES I remember it as a dark, winter evi 1 ♦>()()—I can t sax exactlx7—w In n lb gio Reginald. reienih irttirnvd train Pan l> establishing an experimental lithographic pt \n \leliei' hi a coninieu ial litho pb I phoned mx wife canceled dmmi personal dream xxtis about to lie tulhlb'd. begun and Collci tors Graphics was born \\« Legau work almost immediatelv and aluminum plate., coalings and et< techniques and materials. Nothing workei paper plate- l)e-igned exchl-ivelx lor sho plates xv« iv unstable, fragik and tempers bt-xond our wildest expectation. ith tl print program b< gan in carn< -I. We agreed, at the x< r\ beginning- ll artists or their work that all costs would h not be inhibited by financial consider educational and joyous and that the ultum < io]lectors Graphics was to be a -elf Jacquis Lipchitz. Ma-ter. friend ol realized the freedom of Collectors Graphic an evenings production: everything was in the flu and deeply apologetic about his mi nonetheless reluctant to break the schcdiil permit me to lie hi- eye- I would describe to the waiting pressman. I le agreed! Later that evening. I delivered the was overwhelmed. He left his bed. hugg ‘"Jules, yon have given me new hope for a With undxing love for Reginald, wl With undxing luxe for Merrill, hi- i With undying love for Lou. their b �FORWARD Jules Sherman raine Sherman while working on my dissertation. They [and home and, during the course of our visit, introduced At the time, I thought that these little-known lithographs ition. In 1993, their son Michael and his -wife Kim donated i Art Gallery, Wilkes University. This exliibition is drawn ift. il to Clinton Adams, whose knowledge of lithography and lographers is unrivaled, for writing the catalogue essay, i with whom to work. led the lithographs at Cluistopher and Yvette Deeton's New ned the catalogue, which was printed by Penn Creative : my thanks to the Sordoni Art Gallery staff. Friends of the tilery's Advisory Commission. 1 remember it as a dark, winter evening in late December 1959 or early January 10pQ I cant say exactly—when Reginald Pollack entered my shop, and my life. Reginald, recently returned from Paris, had telephoned a few hours earlier to propose establishing an experimental lithographic print program. An Atelier! In a commercial litho plant! I phoned my wife, canceled dinner and awaited his arrival with no doubt that a personal dream was about to be fulfilled. Several hours later, a lifelong friendship had begun and Collectors Graphics was born. We began work almost immediately, devoting weekends to experimenting with zinc and aluminum plates, coatings and etches, and other contemporary lithographic techniques and materials. Nothing worked. Finally we custom ordered special press-size paper plates. Designed exclusively for short runs on small Multilith equipment, the paper plates were unstable, fragile, and temperamental; but they functioned magnificently — beyond our wildest expectations. With the basic production problem now resolved, the print program began in earnest. We agreed, at the very beginning, that no restrictions would ever be imposed on the artists or their work; that all costs would be absorbed by the shop so that the artists would not be inhibited by financial considerations; that our aim in printing was solely educational and joyous and that the ultimate product would reflect this philosophy. Collectors Graphics was to be a self-sustaining love affair! Jacques Lipchitz, Master, friend of Modigliani, Picasso and their contemporaries, realized the freedom of Collectors Graphics and brought forth its soul. We had scheduled an evening’s production; everything was in order when the phone rang. Sick at home with the flu and deeply apologetic about his inability to be present at the printing, Jacques was nonetheless reluctant to break the schedule. I was at press side and asked him if he would permit me to be his eyes: I would describe what I saw’ and he would respond, through me, to the waiting pressman. Fie agreed! Later that evening, I delivered the prints to his home. This gentle giant of a man was overwhelmed. Fie left his bed, hugged me and said in his endearing French accent, “Jules, you have given me new hope for a life in art! With undying love for Reginald, who taught me to See. With undying love for Merrill, his identical twin, who taught me to Share. With undying love for Lou, their brother, who taught me to Feel. ■ 1 - I �THE DRUM LITHOGRAPHS: 1960-1963 Clinton Adams As has often been the case in the history of artists’ lithography, a fortuitous meeting between an artist and a printer made possible the fine prints produced at Drum Lithographers between 1960 and 1963. The artist was Reginald Pollack, who had been making lithographs in New York and Paris since 1941; the printer was Jules Sherman, who offered to print Pollack’s hand-drawn offset lithographs for the sheer joy of it. 1 Pollack had first encountered lithography while an apprentice to Moses Soyer in 1941; soon thereafter, he and some friends had printed lithographs from stone, using presses and equipment at East Side House in Manhattan. In 1948, after military service during World War II, Pollack went to Paris for study, with support from the G.I. Bill. He soon met the French printer Gaston Dorfinant, who permitted the young artist (he was then twenty-four) to draw his stones at a work bench once used by Toulouse-Lautrec. While living in Paris, Pollack continued to exhibit in New York, most often at the Peridot Gallery, established by his brother Louis in 1949. To earn money on the side, he began buying prints in Paris—on the quais and at auctions—acting as agent for Louis Pollack, Charles Stem, and the print dealer, Peter Deitsch. In the late 1950s, he made several color lithographs in Paris, including one on commission from William S. Lieberman, then Curator of Prints at the Museum of Modem Art.2 Simultaneously, a new interest in lithography was developing in the United States. In New York, Margaret Lowengrund opened the Contemporaries Graphic Art Centre (predecessor to the Pratt Graphic Art Center) in 1955, and Tatyana Grosman began her collaboration with Larry Rivers and Frank O’Hara in 1957. In Los Angeles, June Wayne, with a grant from the Ford Foundation, established Tamarind Lithography Workshop in 1960.3 Each of these workshops had its own character and objectives. At Tamarind, a primary goal was the training of a new generation of master printers who, in concert with artists of diverse styles . . . [might] restore the prestige of lithography by actually creating a collection of extraordinary prints.”4 Reginald Pollack, however, had come to believe that collaborative lithographic workshops were caught up in a “quagmire of lithographic technology” that caused art to lose its spontaneity. It was the technology that was of interest, rather than the work of art.”5 This conclusion (which would be contradicted by history) caused Pollack to seek simpler ways to make prints. Soon after returning from Paris to New York, he began work with the printer Martin Levitt, who introduced him to the Multilith process, a form of oJ>ffset lithography that makes use of plastic-impregnated Pollack worked with Levitt to create a suite of lithographs, “Interiors and Exteriors." later boxed and Meanwhile, over lunches in New York. Pollack had coin ArtNeirs magazine: Walter Bareiss. a noted collector: an the possible ways to stimulate use of lithography by otl to fruition, the project they discussed—"Editions A collaboration between artists and poets (and was thus j 21 Etchings and Poems, a historic publishing project 1960)/ Precisely because of its lack of technical com process as an ideal means for such collaborations I technical barriers: what the artist draws or the poe written, without reversal of the image.’ "We were tillii “but nothing came of our conversations. 1 he interest the mechanism was not.' ” It was then that Pollack met Jules Sherman, a Drum Lithographers, was located on East 1’wentieth Si not been satisfied with the small size of the plates On i was delighted to discover that Sherman was able (by sj [Sherman] was interested in rm research Io create his presses. In the course of that year, using the la prints with the port John Hollander. They were d< on the plates, the poetry, anil 1 did drawings ami v Vision" and was never put on the market.’' For .hiles Shannon. the collaboration with Pol provided a welcome break from business; "My shop transformed into a joyous atelier on weekends, w transcended commercialism. '11 They began work morning. "At the end of each day s work." Pollack and fired w ith the sense of doing something importan the pressroom (“only those who were most curious a direct interaction between the artists and the print instructions about the plates and about the transp �): 1960-1963 case in the history of artists’ lithography, a fortuitous meeting rinter made possible the fine prints produced at Drum and 1963. Die artist was Reginald Pollack, who had been ork and Paris since 1941: the printer was Jules Sherman, who d-drawn offset lithographs "for the sheer joy of it.”1 >untered lithography while an apprentice to Moses Soyer in id some friends had printed lithographs from stone, using st Side House in Manhattan. In 1948, after military service went to Paris for study, with support from the G.I. Bill. He Gaston Dorfinant. who permitted the young artist (he was lis stones at a work bench once used by Toulouse-Lautrec. continued to exhibit in New York, most often at die Peridot other Louis in 19-19. To earn monev on the side, he began le quais and at auctions—acting as agent for Louis Pollack, lealer, Peter Deitsch. In the late 1950s, he made several color ing one on commission from William S. Lieberman, then am of Modem Art.2 interest in lithography was developing in the United States. . engrund opened the Contemporaries Graphic Art Centre phic .Art Center) in 1955, and Tatyana Grosman began her rs and Frank 0 Hara in 1957. In Los Angeles, June Wavne, ■oundation, established Tamarind Lithography Workshop in lops had its own character and objectives. At Tamarind, a ; of a new generation of master printers who. in concert with . [might] restore the prestige of lithographv by actually rdinary prints.”4 (.’ever, had come to believe that collaborative lithographic a quagmire of lithographic technology” that caused art to die technology that was of interest, rather than the work of i would be contradicted by history) caused Pollack to seek Soon after returning from Paris to New York, he began work tt, who introduced him to the Multilith process, a form of lithogiaphj that makes use of plastic-impregnated, paper-base plates. 1 ollack worked with Levitt to create a suite of small black-and-white and color lithographs, Interims and Exteriors,” later boxed and distributed by the Peridot Gallery. I Meanwhile, over lunches in New York, Pollack had conversations with Tom Hess, editor of i ArtNews magazine; Walter Bareiss, a noted collector; and journalist Kermit Lansner about the possible ways to stimulate use of lithography by other New York artists. Had it come to fruition, the project they discussed—“Editions New York”—would have involved collaboration between artists and poets (and was thus parallel in intention to the portfolio 21 Etchings and Poems, a historic publishing project begun in 1951 and completed in I960).6 Precisely because of its lack of technical complexity, Pollack saw the Multilith process as an ideal means for such collaborations. In Multilith printing there are few technical barriers: what the artist draws or the poet writes appears just as drawn or written, without reversal of the image.7 “We were tilling the ground,” Pollack remembers, “but nothing came of our conversations. The interest was there, the spirit was there, but the mechanism was not.”8 It was then that Pollack met Jules Sherman, a printer whose commercial business, Drum Lithographers, was located on East Twentieth Street in Manhattan.9 As Pollack had not been satisfied with the small size of the plates on wltich he and Levitt had worked, he was delighted to discover that Sherman was able (by special order) to secure larger ones: Oidhet [Sherman] was interested in my research to create prints, and offered his friendship and his presses. In tire course of that year, using the larger paper plates, I created a suite of prints with the poet John Hollander. They were done in my studio; John would write on the plates, the poetry, and I did drawings and washes. The suite was entitled “A Beach Vision” and was never put on the market.10 For Jules Sherman, the collaboration with Pollack—and soon with other artists— provided a welcome break from business: “My shop, commercial during the week, was transformed into a joyous atelier on weekends, where the magic of creating prints transcended commercialism.”11 They began work early, usually at six o’clock in the morning. “At the end of each day’s work,” Pollack remembers, “we were all hot, dirty, and fired with the sense of doing something important. Because few of the artists visited the pressroom (“only those who were most curious about the process ),1- there was little direct interaction between the artists and the printer.18 “We provided the artists with instructions about the plates and about the transparent inks used in lithography, but �nothing was proofed; the plate went on the press, and that was it.”1-* Whether in black and white or in colors, the plates were printed as drawn, without change or corrections. As a means to distribute the lithographs, Sherman and the Pollack brothers decided to form a new corporation, Collectors Graphics, Inc., and to invite a number ol artists— including some who were represented by Peridot Gallery to make lithographs, rhey liired artist Joel Goldblatt to serve as a liaison: “He would visit artists studios and go over the technical requirements with them, then, a week or two (or three) afterwards, [he] would collect the plates and deliver them to the press. After printing, Goldblatt would return the completed editions to the artist lor signature. We concentrated on artists who were being pushed aside in the ferment of the abstract expressionist heyday, and the bulk of the art we chose was figurative. . . . Lou persuaded Milton Avery’ to do a color print; Drum also did a three-color print for Jacques Lipchitz, which was donated to the State of Israel.15 I contacted and invited Larry Rivers, Marisol, Fairfield Porter, and others to contribute. More than 100 editions were soon completed, and on 17 April 1961 an initial exhibition was presented at the Peridot Gallery. The announcement stressed the “new technique of lithography” that had been employed in the making of the prints, a point widely echoed in reviews of the exhibition.15 Writing in Village Voice, Suzanne Kiplinger spoke of the “vigor and spontaneity” of the prints: [They] make one realize with relief that, after all, vigorous drawing hasn’t disappeared, it’s simply submerged for the moment. As one who enjoys rehearsals, sketches, run-throughs—anything in its nascent, budding state—I recommend this exhibit to others who have grown a little tired of full orchestrations.17 Clearly, it was this quality of improvisation that most attracted many of the artists who participated in the project: Highly personalized prints resulted. Fairfield Porter enjoyed the entire concept, an approach that allowed maximum spontaneity and a freedom comparable to drawing in his own sketchbooks.' He liked the loose fingerprinted, almost haphazard look of the finished lithograph. The direct quality of the medium, the paper plates, made it possible lor him to select the best drawings.15 In November 1l*(i2. a number of agent for Sears, which advertised them 1 Attractive Prices.” Price, an astute am meant for everyone. ami now can be I selected every item offered. . . '.1 lithographs produced at Drum Lithogn purchasers.20 A second exhibition of the prin Peridot in December 1963. It im hid announced, “were selected on the has subjects range from Reginald Pollac puppeteers, to Milton Avery's broadly b Tribune thought the prints "more spout stone. Large color prints by Freilicht quality of watercolors.' 22 \\ riting in 4r himself forget his stringent sense of dt turbulent. 23 The 1963 exhibition proved to moved to Los Angele.-, during 1963. collapsed. When Reggie said, Tin leav love-making project with no commerc Bv 1965, Lottis Pollacks health was consigned the remaining lithographs tc “Collectors Graphics Collection”;25 late In the past thirty years the litl known and little seen, eclipsed by the presses at Tamarind, I .L.A.E.. and oi as we look at them anew, we are st! economy” of Man Frank’s linear dra landscapes: the force of Robert Good of James Brooks’s brush drawing; th Kingdom™ ami by many other accott can be no question but that these vi long neglected) chapter in the history �the press, and that was it.”14 Whether in black and j In November 1962, a number of editions were purchased by Vincent Price as an d as drawn, without change or corrections. igraphs, Sherman and the Pollack brothers decided I| Attractive Prices. Prices.” Price, an astute and informed collector, wrote inl a foreword: “Art is graphics, Inc., and to invite a number of artists by Peridot Gallery—to make lithographs. They I I iaison: “He would visit artists studios and go over then, a week or two (or three) afterwards, [hel to the pres,.’ After printing, Cldblati wo„M tin >t for signature. ■re being pushed aside in the ferment of and the bulk of the art we chose ded Millon Avery to do a color print: Drum ques Lipcliitz, which was donated to the nvited Larry Rivers, Marisol. Fairfield ton completed, and on 17 April 1961 an initial t Gallery. The announcement stressed the “new n employed in the making of the prints, a point on.16 Writing in Village Voice, Suzanne Kiplinger he prints: : that, after all, vigorous drawing merged for the moment. As one who roughs—anything in its nascent, ixhibit to others who have grown a little tion that most attracted many of the artists who . Fairfield Porter enjoyed the entire maximum spontaneity and a his own sketchbooks.' He liked the ard look of the finished lithograph, he paper plates, made it possible aiigeut for Sears, which advertised them for sale as “(Collector’s Contemporary Graphics at meant for everyone, and now can 1be bought at Sears by everyone. I have personally selected every item offered. . . jJules Sherman estimates that roughly half of the lithographs produced at Drum Lithographers were sold either to Sears5 or other volume put chasers.-® r . . A.Ssecond “°,,cl 7* “*”.“ ‘of A* ’ prints Prints published by CoUeetor. exhibition the Collectors Crapin, Graphics was held at Peridot in December 1963. It included works by twenty-six artists who, the gallery announced, were selected on the basis of their drawing ability. . . . The styles and subjects range from Reginald Pollack’s humorous and metaphorical renderings of puppeteers, to Milton Avery’s broadly blocked landscape. ’21 The reviewer for the Herald Tribune thought the prints “more spontaneous and free than more difficult lithography on stone. Large color prints by Freilicher, Hillsmith, Frasconi and Cicero have the lively quality’ of watercolors.”22 Writing in ArtNews, Valerie Petersen praised Frasconi, who “lets himself forget his stringent sense of design and opens up unlabored forms, crowded and turbulent.”23 The 1963 exhibition proved to be the project’s swan song. Reginald Pollack had moved to Los Angeles during 1963, and in his absence, Sherman says, “the energy collapsed. When Reggie said, I’m leaving, I said, okay, that’s it. It had been great fun—a love-making project with no commercial implications—but it was over and done with.”24 By 1965, Louis Pollack’s health was deteriorating, and in December of that year, he consigned the remaining lithographs to the F.A.R. Gallery, where they would be sold as the “Collectors Graphics Collection”;23 later, he sold Peridot to Joan Washburn.23 In the past thirty years the lithographs included in this exhibition have been little known and little seen, eclipsed by the larger, more complex lithographs that came from the presses at Tamarind, U.L.A.E., and other workshops across the country’. Today, however, as we look at them anew, we are struck by their immediacy: by the “exemplary lyric economy” of Mary Frank’s linear drawings;22 the lively expressionism of Jane Freilicher’s landscapes; the force of Robert Goodnough’s tangled time-and-motion studies; the power of James Brooks’s brush drawing; the “extraordinary facility” of David Levine’s Animal Kingdom-™ and by many other accomplished and fresh statements. Taken together, there can be no question but that these vibrant lithographs constitute an important (and too long neglected) chapter in the history of American lithography. �press my gratitude to Jules Sherman and Reginald isable) assistance in the writing of this essay° field. As a director of the Print Council of Ante ' > J. H. Gusten, its executive secretary. Gustav. a’ onal Graphic Art Society (IGAS), which commissioned lerican and European artists, and a member of the rd. Also a member of that board, Lieberman sought rsion of funds from Tamarind to Pratt) for a pro°T York. •hers, 1900-1960: The Artists and Their Printers ■> Press, 1983), pp. 182-206. Jthograph in the United States,” a proposal and the Arts of the Ford Foundation. 1959. an Ludman, 8 August 1979. I thank Joan Ludman w. •re d’Artiste in America: Reflections on 21 Etchings -indPapers 13 (1990): 35-40. :e reversed: once upon transfer to an intermediarv e paper. It thus appears on the paper as the artist image reversal encountered in other forms of .dams. 23 July 1994. that the Drum lithographs were printed by “a erman] who invited artists to visit his home on Long jgraphic facilities he had there" (Thompson, in the owhee. N.C.: Department of Art. Western Carolina ths were printed at Drum Lithographers in i began early in 1960. Each lithograph was eginning with seven prints hy Carmen Cicero, four otherwise noted, all quotations are from this letter. dams. 23 July 1994. ey Dinnerstein. David Levine, Jacques Lipchitz, hose who came to the pressroom. Warns. 26 July 1994. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21 22 23 24 25 26. 27. 28. Lipchitz made a total of three lithographs at Drum. In tact, American artists had made original, hand-drawn, offset lithographs since the 1930s. Jean Chai lots Picture Book (1933) was printed by Will and Lynton Kistler in Los Angeles; die following year, while, teaching at the Florence Cane School in New York, Chariot acquired a Multilith press and, together with Albert Carman and Emilio Amcro made a number of Multilith prints (1934-35); the historic portfolio published by American Abstract Artists (193.) was printed on the Cane School press. Carman subsequently printed many color offset prints for “The Artists Color Proof Associates” (ca. 1936-41) and for Marc Chagall’s The Tales from the Arabian Nights (1945). In San Francisco, Richard Diebenkom (and others) made lithographs for the portfolio Drawings (1948), printed by Multilith. See Adams, American Lithographers (cited n. 3), and Janet Flint, Art for All: American Print Publishing Between the IFars (Washington: Smithsonian Institution, 1980). Tillage Boice, 27 April 1961. Joan Ludman, Fairfield Porter: A Catalogue Raisonne ofHis Prints, Including Illustrations, Bookjackets, and Exhibition Posters (Scarsdale, N.Y.: Highland House, 1981), p. 16. Price wrote: “We’re really tremendously thrilled at having these [lithographs] to add to the collection and I just wanted you to know how really wonderful you were about everything” (Price to Louis and Reginald Pollack, 9 November 1962). According to Sherman, the Rock-Hill-Uris Group, a hotel chain, purchased “several thousand prints” on 12 October 1961. Sears made payment of $53,531.50 for 3,540 impressions on 19 November 1962. Editions purchased by Sears included Carmen Cicero, Abstraction-, Robert Goodnough, The Chief, David Levine, Coney Island-, Reginald Pollack, Old Man at Table, Mario as Arab, Still Life with Garlic, and Actor, 3/4 Fiew; Paul Resika, Seated Girl-, and Larry7 Rivers, IFebster (sales catalogue published by Sears, 1964). Transcript of announcement on WNEW-TV, 30 December 1963. Unsigned review, New York Herald Tribune, 14 December 1963. “Collector’s [sic] Graphics, Inc.,” ArtNews 62 (December 1963): 55. Sherman sold Drum Lithographers in 1970. Letter of agreement between Collectors Graphics, Inc., and F.A.R. Gallery7, Inc., 28 December 1965. I thank Joan T. Washburn and Jay Grimm for making available this letter and other materials contained in the Peridot Gallery scrapbooks. Louis Pollack (b. 1921) diedin 1970. Hilton Kramer, quoted in Underexposed (cited n. 9), p. 5. Underexposed, p. 11. ��z4 ■ £(' '/ K f cr i > • '/ ROSEMARIE BECK, Violinist Sketches, lithograph. 12 3/4 x 10. �sitsBssmram JAMf S BROOKS / / > �ir. lithograph, 12 1/2 JAMES BROOKS, Black and White, lithograph, 10 x 14. �- CARMEN CICERO, Bird Lives (1960). lithograph, 9 x 13. MARY FRANK Hi �MARY FRANK, Woman Figure, lithograph, 10 x 12 3/4. �~W • ' < \""J 5 <* 6 JANE FRE1LICHEH ANTONIO FRASCONI. Field ofScrap (1963), color lithograph. 29 x 23. �JANE FREILICHER, Landscape, lithograph, 23 x 28 3/4. rap (1963), color lithograph, 29 x 23. �-I ..... M I V PAUL GEORGES. If'inter Landscape (1963), color lithograph. 22 l/2 x 28. JOEL GOLDBI. VI’ �4 raph, 22 1/2 JOEL GOLDBLATT, Still Life with Dark and Light, lithograph, 13 5/8 �ROBERT GOODNOUGH, Horseman. [Black & Sepia], color lithograph. 23 x 29. Bl RI HAM ’S /< ________ �'Black & Sepia], color lithograph, 23 BURT HASEN, Face Constellation (1963), lithograph, 28 x 21 �WOLF K\ll\ \u<!‘ Jh Joi IN lll'l IKEK 5 ?•' ��DAVID LEVINE,/Ih/zh<//Mi ALEX KATZ, Double Portrait [Ada], lithograph, 10 x 12 1/8. �r/ Double Portrait [Ada], lithograph, 10 x 12 1/8. �MAHIMH h* �le Lnknown, lithograph, 27 x 20 3/4. MAR1S0L, Foot and Faces (1961), lithograph, 13 1/8 x 10. �I RICHARD MAYHEW, Trees, lithograph, 10 x 12 3/4. MICHAEL NAZI R 1. til Hied �■lithograph, 10 x 12 3/4. �UL « 1 4 -V r r WALTER MARK MCAFEE, You 0ill Never Catch .Me, color lithograph, 28 x 23. �t WALTER TANDY MURCH, Bricks, lithograph, 23 x 19. ithograph, 28 �si i PHILIP PEARIKI f CONSTANTINE NIVOLA. To"o People in Bed (1963). color lithograph, 1 ’ �■Vr PHILIP PEARLSTEIN, Landscape, lithograph, 23 1/8 x 29. Bed (1963), color lithograph, 29 x 23. ��CK. LantJscnp. u'th Cloudi. lid?.,graph. 9 7/8 x 12 3/-». FAIRFIELD PORTER, Child Writing [Lizzie Drawing]lithograph, 10 x 14. �LARRY RIVERS. Hebstpr I ALL RES1KA, Child Playing with Top (1963), lithograph, H x 10. �»W truh L,,,. i-r; ; i . , , ■. �HOSS. „n imo n>|or li(||o2r;i{(|) 2;$ * �olor lithograph. 23 x 28 7/8. TOBIAS SCHNEEBAVM. Jurigh- ;W<. kJ, lithograph. 2" x �HI HIOVSIIAl l(M\\ /. full •«>!<>< Iithogf-ipli 20 .'.'4 t 2" Kt.l Bl \ 1 v �/ REl BEX I AM. �IL color lithograph. 20 3/4 x 27 3/8. REUBEN TAM, Monhegan Shoreline, lithograph, 22 1/2 x 28 5/8. �ciie( ki isi <>i uh i \innirio\ pinlm.lw «r«- «tw« •« <>♦’ •••■- Millon S»»r» ’ J.M Frrtbrhn K t*j l*rJ t <*«mI h. 1^23 < awAtaun L<h><t«pi*. 10 « 14 ,SM ’ /,.•<■!>■ H!‘ | ■ ■ »,K>.r<l !•'»■■■ *"-1 < .„.<<■ •• ■ ' •" »< ■ "'"■■ Ho.i-niarir lb • k ' . I 0 '• ' ■ 1 ■* ♦ ' 1• lull-., i »ph i’' igli» Mgni il I'** » - and cujinU i> 4 ’’’ v I '.< *phi- ■ *WI -^•r. 4 . •« , ,v)k i (...Ik- Janb • HUI* hlliTtur Inlii.c/mph l‘Hi< l’.,U«4 • ■ J»«t ( lilli • ti.r. ( » iph* ***12 -1 ■ •» I 1 *• • I i' • 4 npp* ’ r • l'.«l l«m< I> IT>1 0 . • 10 I » I (grffecwra Cr^Mrv tfi ! lOtMi l*l*r’2i ///«/< / II h>h |ilh«iyiapt 10 i H • ij, H» 4 !■• a •• » 11<J Ll I -J I (Jiri |«ifA I .1 ij-hrf I Carmen < i<. i» I. I‘>.n. |«e| I nMMaft k l*J Il.i.ll'i.. I'n.n “■■*»*/1 •/* u«aA fhtfi ««Ai lilltiigr.iiJ. '» » 1 ’. M, <r»pla. 13 V8 i U «l iippt r right i%.>jf i. - .• • J /2. /.’. lof • I I < .<|I|< Mgrtfd k*trr f»|b m4 ‘ i-liry vi“ bftptar-* •! Mar) I rank 'l» l*»43. I ogUfvb i.whW^ Hand '•igi»» 4 h-MrT jigh» ..»«•! nberrd 44/74 « »IM b ‘ "4U i f<,r. Graph I Hurtr ir»>1 ^Hirr IO t 12 V< lilh<-graph b«fyy«p*i. 10 a 14 Mpixd |r«**T n«h* Gil>rM- •» •«' Man I r ink b. |»#.'» { f ngtand; H "num I t, -j rf lifhopr.ph h» i 12 *'4 *£’’Nt-«l b « . r .i„nt «J ;•' % Antiiiiio F ra»roni b rttf> j»;h| • r »gr>Zti V•* rt " «M *o4 W10. I ruguav; R*4**n t .4^-4***< V»*94r IWirf) kih*<rsph )b t Z4 «yrd kmer t'^of I’M, •_ • ' l'.f hn.- gr,i.h ' Mf><r«pi<. 23 i ,, .j : [/■ <x4b«»«.? G> s-.- . /»» /.-/ <if 20 » 2 : <hud tow r.ght *i<4 . • ,J ; ;■ /, f ‘ i>. ".1 . . f p,‘, Jane Cr-Un her b. 1*24 I•! if! 1‘”' ' ; <• I ftfrhrrt Bwilb'^ I •' .• + -I !.,•< r rizht ^.,.4 , ( ,rap»j«-. • :' ) r,.-i r l^« r- baUtgrtpfe. 28 <21 l» y-*^ wr« »-r **•*! i xArcbm* ’ -r apb*"* • �CHECKLIST OF THE EXHIBITION Dimensions are given in inches, height precedes width. Milton Aven- (1893-1965) Landscape color lithograph, 22 x 27 3/4 signed lower left and numbered 4/118 Courtesy of an anonymous private collection Jane Freilicher (b. 1924) Landscape color lithograph, 28 5/8 x 23 signed lower left and numbered 22/104 Collectors Graphics #168 Rosemarie Beck (b. 1923) Hohnist Sketches lithograph. 12 3/4 x 10 signed lower right and numbered 30/85 Collectors Graphics #81 Paul Georges (b. 1923) Landscape lithograph, lOx 13 signed lower right and numbered 57/76 Collectors Graphics #181 Janice Biala (b. 1903, Poland) Interior lithograph, 12 1/2 x 10 signed upper right and numbered 37/95 Collectors Graphics #175 Paul Georges (b. 1923) Standing Child color lithograph, 29 x 22 1/2 signed lower right and numbered 18/112 Collectors Graphics #149 James Brooks (1906-1992) Black and White lithograph, 10 x 14 signed lower right and numbered 73/75 Collectors Graphics #85 Carmen Cicero (b. 1926) Bird Lives, 1960 lithograph, 9 x 13 signed upper right and numbered 68/85 Collectors Graphics #2 Mary Frank (b. 1933, England) Hand lithograph, 10 x 12 3/4 signed lower right and numbered 44/74 Collectors Graphics #187b Man Frank (b. 1933, England) Woman Figure lithograph. 10 x 12 3/4 signed lower right and numbered 61/67 Collector® Graphics #184 color lithograph. 26 x 22. Paul Georges (b. 1923) Binter Landscape, 1963 color lithograph, 22 1/2 x 28 signed lower right and numbered 17/117 Collectors Graphics #139 Joel Goldblatt (b. 1923) Still Life with Dark and Light lithograph, 13 5/8 x 10 signed lower right and numbered 25/85 Collectors Graphics #15 Robert Goodnough (b. 1917) Horse and Rider, 1960 lithograph, 10 x 14 signed lower right and numbered 69/85 Collectors Grapliics #18 Robert Goodnough (b. 1917) Horseman [Black & Sepia] color lithograph, 23 x 29 signed lower right and numbered 35/75 Collectors Graphics #22 Antonio Frasconi (b. 1919, Uruguay) Fifdd ofScrap, 1963 frAor lithograph, 29 x 23 signed and dated lower right and numbered cd /109 Collectors Graphics #169 Robert Goodnough (b. 1917) Nomads. 1960 lithograph, 10 x 14 signed lower right and numbered 68/85 Collectors Graphics #17 Jane FrHlieher (b. 1924) I^mdsr.uf/e lithograph. 23 x 28 3/4 rigned lower right and numhered 20/97 Graphics #151 Burt Hasen (b. 1921) Face Constellation, 1963 lithograph, 28x21 1/4 . signed lower right and numbered 25/1IH Collectors Graphics #138 John He liter (b.1909) Landscape lithograph, 10 x 12 3/4 signed lower right and numbered 84/90 Collectors Graphics #178 John Ilcliker (b. 1909) Self-Portrait lithograph, 12 5/8 x 9 5/8 signed lower right and numbered in blue pencil 70/85 Collectors Graphics #26 Wolf Kahn (b. 1927. Germany) Nude, Head Thrown Back lithograph, 10 x 14 signed lower left and numbered 69/85 Collectors Graphics #84 Alex Katz (b. 1927) Double Portrait [Ada] lithograph, 10 x 12 1/8 signed lower right and numbered 69/85 Collectors Graphics #32 David Levine (b. 1926) Animal Kingdom, 1963 color lithograph, 17 1/4 x 29 signed upper right and numbered 19/105 Collectors Graphics #157 David Levine (b. 1926) Fat Girl, 1963 lithograph, 17 5/8 x 13 1/8 signed and dated upper right and numbered 110/122 Collectors Graphics #133 Jacques Lipchitz (1891-1973, Lithuania) Title Unknown lithograph, 27 x 20 3/4 signed lower right and annotated artist s proof Courtesy of an anonymous private collection Jacques Lipchitz (1891-1973. Lithuania) Title Unknown lithograph, 24 x 19 signed lower right and annotated artist pn<of Courtesy of an anonymous private collaction �Marlsol [Escobar] (b. 1930, France) Foot and Faces. 1961 lithograph. 13 1/8 x 10 signed lower right and numbered 68/85 Collectors Graphics #72 Richard Mayhew (b. 1924) Trees lithograph, 10 x 12 3/4 signed lower left and numbered 19/89 Collectors Graphics #207 Michael Mazur (b. 1935) Figure Group lithograph, 23 x 28 3/4 signed lower right and numbered 48/88 Collectors Graphics #154 Michael Mazur (b. 1935) Untitled [Adult Holding a Child with Book] lithograph, 23 x 29 unsigned and unnumbered, edition of 85 Collectors Graphics #145 Reginald Pollack (b. 1924) Larry Rivers (1). 1923) Connecticut Landscape lithograph, 10x12 3/4 signed lower right and lithograph. 21 x 28 numbered 44/55 Collectors Graphics #187 Reginald Pollack (b. 1924) Landscape with Clouds lithograph, 9 7/8 x 12 3/4 signed lower right and numbered 20/65 Collectors Graphics #176 Reginald Pollack (b. 1924) Southampton Beach lithograph, 10 x 12 7/8 signed lower right and numbered 56/80 Collectors Graphics #185 Fairfield Porter (1907-1975) Child Writing [Lizzie Drawing] lithograph, 10x14 signed lower right and numbered 76/85 Collectors Graphics #94, Ludman #12 Mark McAfee You Will Never Catch Me color lithograph, 28 x 23 signed lower right and numbered 35/112 Collectors Graphics #141 Fairfield Porter (1907-1975) Snow Landscape lithograph, 8 1/2 x 13 signed lower left and numbered 30/85 Collectors Graphics #87, Ludm an #14 Walter Tandy Murch (1907-1967, Canada) Bricks lithograph, 23 x 19 signed lower right and annotated artist’s proof Collectors Graphics #68 Courtesy of an anonymous private collection Paul Resika (b. 1928) Child, 1963 lithograph. 12 3/4 x 10 signed lower right, dated and numbered 36/82 Collectors Graphics #192 Webster. 1961 Alvin Ross (1920-1975) Constantine Nivola (1911-1988, Sardinia) Two Beds, 1963 color lithograph, 28 7/8 x 22 signed in plate, dated and numbered 16/125 Collectors Graphics #144 I Fishing on the Amo color lithograph, 23 x 28 7/8 signed lower right and numbered 35/86 Collectors Graphics #163 Tobias Schneebaum (b. 1921) Jungle [Black] lithograph. 29 x 23 signed lower right and numbered 16/98 Collectors Graphics #153 Burton Silverman (b. 1928) Retired lithograph, 14 x 10 signed lower right and numbered 42/60 ) I I Collectors Graphics #77 Burton Silverman (1). 1928) Toledo at Nightfall 1 color lithograph . 20 3/4 x 27 3/8 signed lower right and numbered 29/120 Collectors Graphics #158 Reuben Tam (b. 1916, Hawaii) I Monhegan Shoreline lithograph. 22 1/2 x 23 5/8 signed lower right, titled and Paul Resika (b. 1928) Child Playing with Top, 1963 lithograph, 14x10 signed lower right, dated and numbered 105/111 Collectors Graphics #206 I signed and dated in the stone, low! •er right Courtesy of James (midman numbered 55/71 Collectors Graphics #114 Reuben Tam (b. 1916, Hawaii) I I I I Surf lithograph, 22 1/2 x. 28 5/8 Constantine Nivola (1911-1988, Sardinia) Two People in Bed, 1963 color lithograph, 29 x 23 signed center and numbered 16/127 Collectors Graphics #131 Philip Pearlstein (b. 1924) Ilandscape lithograph, 23 1/8 x 29 Mgni d lower right and numbered 69/75 Odlenm. Graplrn •. #69, Lundwrhr #1 Paul Resika (b. 1928) Seated Child, 1963 lithograph. 12 3/4x10 signed lower right, dated and numbered 74/80 Collectors Graphics #191 signed lower right, titled and numbered 39/53 Collectors Graphics #115 Jane Wilson (b. 1924) I I I Landscape Paul Resika (b. 1928) Standing Boy lithograph, 14x10 unsigned and unnumbered Collectors Graphics #205 color lithograph. 26 x 22. signed low er right and annotated arlLt s pn>*f Collectors Graphics #124 Courtesy of an anonymous private i �100015S511 WILKES UNIVERSITY LIBRARY �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1994 November 13 The Drum Lithographs 1960-1963 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Milton Avery Rosemarie Beck Janice Biala James Brooks Carmen Cicero Mary Frank Antonio Frasconi Jane Freilicher Paul Georges Joel Goldblatt Robert Goodnough Burt Hasen John Heliker Wolf Kahn Alex Katz David Levine Jacques Lipchitz Marisol Escobar Richard Mayhew Michael Mazur Mark McAfee Walter Tandy Murch Constantine Nivola Philip Pearlstein Reginald Pollack Fairfield Porter Paul Resika Larry Rivers Alvin Ross Tobias Schneebaum Burton Silverman Reuben Tam Jane Wilson ClintonAdams Stanley I. Grand Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 November 13 - December 20 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource The Drum Lithographs were made when artist Reginald Pollack and printer Jules Sherman were introduced. Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource SAG, Clinton Adams https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/3eb7e7a3606db0201bbc2e33a3e83aa7.pdf 7ee05bc079731354e9343e523bf30e4f PDF Text Text ��������� https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/a189e09b55243de2e78f1c470f869540.pdf 78c38ca908ab0fb92c54cf29a7fbcd49 PDF Text Text <1 I i- ; ; 5, ■the City Observed SORD GA ND1159 C6 �The City Observed Barry Roal Carlsen Douglas Safranek Stuart Shils October 2-November 6,1994 E.S. ^.RLEY LiBRAR? WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA Sordoni Art Gallery Wilkes University Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania © 1994 Sordoni Art Gallery �ARCHIVE at n A( Lenders to the Exhibition Barry Roal Carlsen, Madison, WI Gregory and Dorothy Conniff, Madison, WI David Grossfeld, Chicago R. Hiteshew and D. Panzer Collection, Philadelphia Diana Kingman, Berwyn, PA Julilly Kohler, Milwaukee WI Ben Mangel, Philadelphia Mangel Gallery, Philadelphia Lorrie Moore, Madison, WI Thomas and Janet Paul, Loudonville, NY Diana Sargent, Fishers Island, NY Schmidt-Bingham Gallery, New York Stuart Shils, Philadelphia Kenneth Waliszewski, Brookfield, WI Judith Woodburn, Milwaukee, WI Three Anonymous Private Collections n behalf of the Sordoni Ar I to loan works to this exh Julilly Kohler and Jordar Mangel Gallery, Philadelphia; and been especially helpful in arrangir ■ Dale Mainer supervised the packi west. Nancy Krueger of the Sordo ing the exhibition. Earl Lehman i Dr. William Sterling read drafts o Barry Roal Carlsen designed the ( As a the Fin us. Sta Dir ays I am grateful for the su * doni Art Gallery. I thank Barry Roal Carlst r I Grand >?r �1 I Acknowledgments 5 Exhibition on.WI ti, Philadelphia to loan works to this exhibiit"7Chris „eJsXnl'T"0-'-’ag'“in« LJ Julilly Kohler and Jordana Joseph of InternoXiLy Xaufee TO R M 3°*’ Mangel Gallery Philadelphia; and Diana Sargent of The Pandi’on Gallery, Fishe'rs been especially helpful m arranging loans. ’N *’ nave Dale Mainer supervised the packing and crating of the Carlsen paintings that came from the Mid­ west. Nancy Krueger of the Sordoni Art Gallery co-ordinated the many details involved with mount­ ing the exhibition. Earl Lehman installed the exhibition. My colleagues Dr. J. Michael Lennon and Dr. William Sterling read drafts of the essay; I appreciate their editorial comments. j, NY Barry Roal Carlsen designed the cover and provided the catalogue layout. As always I am grateful for the support provided the Gallery by Wilkes University and the Friends of the Sordoni Art Gallery. Finally, I thank Barry Roal Carlsen, Douglas Safranek and Stuart Shils for sharing their visions with 5 us. Stanley I Grand Director 3H" ■ ;8t �The City Observed A Ithough Barry Roal Carlsen Douglas A Safranek and Stuart Shils each creates XX small-format paintings depicting contem­ porary urban landscapes, their sensibilities, for mal concerns and content differ considerably. Carlsen’s pictures of a mid-sized, midwestem city express a poetic, oneiric sensibility. Safranek s punctiliously delineated meditations order the discordance and cacophony of New York City. Shils responds spontaneously to the stimuli of a city undergoing constant cycles of decay and re­ birth. With dramatic contrasts of light and dark, glowing enameled colors, and a multiplicity of detail, Barry Carlsen creates an enigmatic, per­ sonal and marginal world bathed in crepuscular light. Suspended between night and day, twilight marks the transition from work to home, public to private lives, waking to sleep. It is a bridge and, not surprisingly, the bridge recurs frequently as a motif in Carlsen’s paintings. Carlsen depicts a poetic borderland where dif­ ferent worlds intersect and loyalties diverge. Stations suggests the conflict that the artist feels between his studio and his family. In this pic­ ture the artist is a night-shift worker for whom the comforting presence of family, suggested by the light emanating from an upstairs bedroom window, is denied. The child’s sled, abandoned by the side of the house, underscores the mood of isolation. The tension between home and work is expressed differently in Night Shift where lower-middle class backyards butt up against industrial sites. People become marginal in Carlsen’s world. The brave-new-world skyscrapers of the modern service industries march proudly past the ver­ nacular structures of the old rustbelt distribu­ tion centers, which seem strangely quiet eerie and preternatural. The individuals, like those in Not Forgotten, who hang around these by­ passed enterprises engage in mysterious, and often ominous, encounters with each other. Me­ mentoes of projects begun, but left unfinished abound. The mood is haunting, melancholic and elegiac. Even the world of The Dreamer is troubled by disturbing outside forces—symbol­ ized by a strong wind that depresses and flat­ tens the ascending smoke. The painting’s highly finished, glossy surface becomes a mirror of dreams. Despite their small scale, Carlsen’s paintings share some of the grandeur of classic nineteenth­ century American landscapes. The dramatic, ex­ pansive skies recall those of Frederic Edwin Church, but the mood is closer to that of Thomas Cole’s allegorical Course of Empire, updated to show the waning of the American empire. Other influences include the Immaculate painters: Re­ union II in particular shows a knowledge of Charles Sheeler’s photographs of the Ford Mo­ tor Company plant at River Rouge, Michigan. The tension in Douglas Safranek’s paintings derives, in part, from the paradox of imposing a rigid sense of order on what has become, increas­ ingly, a subject synonymous with disorder. Un­ like, Stuart Shils, Safranek paints the city from an intellectual point of view: he brings to his paintings a Cartesian sense of order, reinforced, no doubt, by his undergraduate training as a French major. Typically, as in Still Open, Safranek employs a high, god-like perspective. He looks down on the city from the safety of a window in a tall building. He is a distanced viewer, a flaneur, who orders what he sees, care­ fully removing all chaotic and accidental elements from the composition. His choice of medium expresses well his re­ lationship to his subject. Working in egg tem­ pera, a difficult medium that involves mixing dry pigments in egg yolk, he applies his colors to a carefully prepared surface with small, deliberate brushstrokes. Since egg tempera colors—unlike oils do not blend easily, the artist must lay down many, semi-transparent layers of paint. The medium requires the artist to work slowly, to eliminate chance effects, and encoi most meditative attitude, as that of ing and illustrating manuscripts wl outside spins out of control. Egg t quality, in contrast to the juiciness forces this perception. Egg tempera is ideally suite whose work has a strong linear qual also draws in silverpoint, one exar is included in this exhibition, a virtu that is unexcelled for precise drau His linear sensibility aligns him wi cal, rational tradition that gives the intellectualism of line over the color. Safranek’s clear, deliberate f tours look back to the Classicism of than the Romanticism of Delacroi: A Classical air of quietude anc permeates Still Open. The glowi Mini Market draws residents of ai borhood together on a desultory s Two women lean against the side ( watching four men and a boy, care to form a flattened circle. The sin ing passerby is balanced by anothe Graffiti tags, a frequently cited sj decay, become mere visual inch lights, like jewels, draw the eye a: position, in which a solitary offic nates the horizon. To the left ma ers suggest the presence of Manh lighted catenaries of the suspensio planar recession of the buildi unanimated by glimpses of huma: through open night windows. He Edward Hopper or a John Sloan, drawn. Stuart Shils, on the other hai din, the noise and the dirt of the quickly with oils on paper in a pai style, his plein air cityscapes cap tory and impermanent nature of t Shils has said that his paini �mentoes of projects begun, but left unfinished abound. The mood is haunting, melancholic and elegiac. Even the world of The Dreamer is troubled by disturbing outside forces—symbol­ ized by a strong wind that depresses and flat­ tens the ascending smoke. The painting’s highlyfinished, glossy surface becomes a mirror of dreams. Despite their small scale, Carlsen’s paintings share some of the grandeur of classic nineteenth­ century American landscapes. The dramatic, ex­ pansive skies recall those of Frederic Edwin Church, but the mood is closer to that of Thomas Cole’s allegorical Course of Empire, updated to show the waning of the American empire. Other influences include the Immaculate painters: Re­ union II in particular shows a knowledge of Charles Sheeler’s photographs of the Ford Mo­ tor Company plant at River Rouge, Michigan. The tension in Douglas Safranek’s paintings derives, in part, from the paradox of imposing a rigid sense of order on what has become, increas­ ingly, a subject synonymous with disorder. Un­ like, Stuart Shils, Safranek paints the city from an intellectual point of view: he brings to his paintings a Cartesian sense of order, reinforced, no doubt, by his undergraduate training as a French major. Typically, as in Still Open, Safranek employs a high, god-like perspective. He looks down on the city from the safety of a window in a tall building. He is a distanced viewer, a flaneur, who orders what he sees, care­ fully removing all chaotic and accidental elements from the composition. His choice of medium expresses well his re­ lationship to his subject. Working in egg tem­ pera, a difficult medium that involves mixing dry pigments in egg yolk, he applies his colors to a carefully prepared surface with small, deliberate brushstrokes. Since egg tempera colors—unlike ails do not blend easily, the artist must lay down many, semi-transparent layers of paint. The medium requires the artist to work slowly, to eliminate chance effects, and encourages an al­ most meditative attitude, as that of a monk copy­ ing and illustrating manuscripts while the world outside spins out of control. Egg tempera’s dry quality, in contrast to the juiciness of oil, rein­ forces this perception. Egg tempera is ideally suited for artists whose work has a strong linear quality. (Safranek also draws in silverpoint, one example of which is included in this exhibition, a virtuoso technique that is unexcelled for precise draughtmanship.) His linear sensibility aligns him with the Classi­ cal, rational tradition that gives precedence to the intellectualism of line over the sensuality of color. Safranek’s clear, deliberate forms and con­ tours look back to the Classicism of Ingres rather than the Romanticism of Delacroix. A Classical air of quietude and timelessness permeates Still Open. The glowing facade of a Mini Market draws residents of an urban neigh­ borhood together on a desultory summer night. Two women lean against the side of a parked car watching four men and a boy, carefully arranged to form a flattened circle. The single, approach­ ing passerby is balanced by another who departs. Graffiti tags, a frequently cited symbol of urban decay, become mere visual incident. Yellow lights, like jewels, draw the eye around the com­ position, in which a solitary office tower domi­ nates the horizon. To the left massed skyscrap­ ers suggest the presence of Manhattan as do the lighted catenaries of the suspension bridges. The planar recession of the buildings is static, unanimated by glimpses of human activity spied through open night windows. Here, unlike in an Edward Hopper or a John Sloan, the shades are drawn. Stuart Shils, on the other hand, relishes the din, the noise and the dirt of the city. Working quickly with oils on paper in a painterly, gestural style, his plein air cityscapes capture the transitorY and impermanent nature of the urban scene. Shils has said that his paintings are about thetic 1 Place- His is an aes’ cewed n • a s?1cl01°Slcal> P°int of view. Con­ cerned primarily with visual phenomena he records what he sees but refrains from making overt programmatic or political statements. He invites the viewer to contemplate the scene but, by means of an empty, foreground intermediary zone, keeps the viewer at an aesthetic distance. Although his palette, which consists prima­ rily of earth colors, recalls that of the Ash Can Painters, he does not share their picturesque view of poverty. Shils lacks the optimism of a Robert Henri or George Luks who viewed pov­ erty as a transitory state populated by individu­ als whose lives were more raw, more full, more gutsy. Nor does he explore the themes of alien­ ation, loneliness and estrangement, like Edward Hopper, or those of human suffering and pathos, as did Ben Shahn. In Alley Near Schmidt’s Brewery Shils finds a certain tattered beauty, like that of an old face, reflecting experience and, perhaps, wisdom. De­ spite having fallen on hard times, his buildings maintain their dignity. Abstract pictorial con­ siderations, however, predominate: the architec­ tonic structure begins to dissolve, forms open up, edges become brushy and indistinct, broad flat areas of paint are rendered expressionistically. As in most of his paintings, the alley is deserted, but no sense of melancholy intrudes. Throughout the twentieth century, artists have found inspiration in the American city. De­ spite a wide variety of styles, from the naturalis­ tic interpretations of the Ash Can Painters or the American Scene Painters to the increasingly abstract paintings of the Immaculates, Stuart Davis or Piet Mondrian, the city has fascinated artists. The City Observed demonstrates the continuing vitality of this tradition. Stanley I Grand Director �I Barry Roal Carlsen he places I visit in my paintings are reconstructions of another time. They are amalgamations, the kind of blending or restructurM ing of place that our memories recall for us. While they are spawned from memories of my past and the people that were and are dear to me, I want very much not to make the narratives just a visual diary of personal F■ I events. I see the paintings as vehicles to convey emotions, rather than just formal landscapes. They may represent a reconciliation with the past, an homage to a certain person, the completion of an unfinished conversation, or just a wellspring of nostalgia bubbling up. Whatever the content of the given piece, I am cautious to avoid cementing the objects and setting completely in the realm of the personal. I want the viewer to bring his or her own experience to bear in viewing the work. One of the things I enjoy most is hearing others comment on my work. I have heard a single painting interpreted as expressing bright hope and optimism as well as the darkest sense of loss and depression. Either is equally valid to me, both may even exist in the work. I leave it in the viewer’s hands. When I hear interpretations of my paintings, it is like discovering a part of myself. I want to stand quietly in that place between events, spanning both sides of the question. It is important that the narrative is not altogether complete. There must be room for the viewer to complete the picture. The time and place are not meant to be too specific. I am most interested in the human scale in the environment and the relationships between given objects. I like to watch and record the transitional: the implied event, the light from an unseen source, the time just before nightfall or those first moments of the day. These are the things that intrigue me. Barry Roal Carlsen, Not Forgotten, �jSEN are reconstructions of another > kind of blending or restructur­ in’ us. While they are spawned hat were and are dear to me, I : just a visual diary of personal lotions, rather than just formal ation with the past, an homage finished conversation, or just a er the content of the given piece, s and setting completely in the bring his or her own experience rs comment on my work. I have ssing bright hope and optimism ssion. Either is equally valid to it in the viewer’s hands. When ke discovering a part of myself. i events, spanning both sides of tive is not altogether complete, lete the picture. The time and most interested in the human ps between given objects. I like iplied event, the light from an 1 or those first moments of the Barry Roal Carlsen, Not Forgotten., 1991, 9 x 18 inches, oil on masonite. �Douglas Safranek Tk Tew York City’s density was quite overwhelming when I first I arrived from the vast and tranquil West. Upon months of 1 observation, however, intimidation subsided to fascination. I began to appreciate the clashing contrasts of the big city, and the di­ versity of the people and structures within. The buildings are piled high and crammed together, and millions of people share this small space. Life is never on hold—the city is perpetually moving. Run­ down tenements share the streets with cold, steel giants. In my Brook­ lyn neighborhood, artists walk along-side Polish immigrants, Italians, Puerto Ricans, and Hasidic Jews from Hungary. I was inspired to por­ tray unparalleled diversity in my paintings. i I found that through the slow, meditative process of egg tempera, I was able to maintain a sense of intimate stillness in even the most active compositions. I wanted to note not only the clutter and eccentricities of daily life, but also to bring out that which seemed timeless and uni­ versal in a fast-paced environment. My present work continues to de­ velop these New York images. Being a delicate, precise medium, egg tempera encourages working on a smaller scale than I had been used to. I found, however, that I could achieve the same visual impact in miniature with tempera that I could only achieve on a grander scale in other media. The fragility yet ultimate permanency of tempera seems appropriate for what I hope will be timeless, meditative paintings of a dynamically changing world. i Douglas SafrarJ �1 I I I uite overwhelming when I first ■anquil West. Upon months of ation subsided to fascination. I rasts of the big city, and the di* vithin. The buildings are piled ions of people share this small y is perpetually moving. Run­ cold. steel giants. In my Brookide Polish immigrants. Italians. Hungary. I was inspired to por­ tings. s- I ex § £>X 3 ve process of egg tempera. I was tillness in even the most active ly the clutter and eccentricities which seemed timeless and uniy present work continues to dea delicate, precise medium, egg dler scale than I had been used ieve the same visual impact in ily achieve on a grander scale in ? permanency of tempera seems leless, meditative paintings of a Safranek, Still Open, 1994, 4 5/8 x 4 inches, egg tempera on �Stuart Shils 1 ’ T have an appetite for the material of the city; it’s a sensual re­ sponse really. I try to paint in the same way that you eat grapeI fruits in the morning, where you stop thinking about what you’re doing and just enter into the doing of it. It’s like a physical attraction to another person, very animal like. I don’t mean that I paint like an ani­ mal, but I try to connect on a purely visual level. —I don’t think there’s any story in my paintings: if there is, I don’t know about it. The paintings don’t have a psychological or sociological orien­ tation; I’m interested in visual meanings: how one wall relates to an­ other, what that relationship means abstractly, or in the tonal quality of light. —I’m painting the city as it exists today. My colors might seem “old fashioned,” but that’s the city. I don’t see bright reds and oranges. I paint my emotional response to the city, but I’m not transforming my colors in a fauvist way. I’m trying to understand the color that I’m seeing. —I’m not engaged in the whole life-on-the-street issue or involved in what’s going on there. I’m just watching the world go by in a very de­ tached, even voyeuristic, way. That feeling of separation and distance may come through in my work although I’m not thinking about it. Rather, I’m trying to remake what I’m looking at, to put it together in a sensual and tactile way. —The city in its decrepitude is magnificent. I’m not trying to glorify these horrible places, I don’t think there’s any virtue to living there, although I am trying to glorify their visual magnificence. Of course I’m interested in the life of the city and this interest pro­ vides me with a certain momentum, but not in formal terms. When I go out to paint its really more like eating an ice cream cone. Stuart Shils, Alley excerpts from a conversation �------------- ? F I g- terial of the city; it’s a sensual re­ in the same way that you eat grapeyou stop thinking about what you’re of it. It’s like a physical attraction to I don’t mean that I paint like an aniy visual level. gtn O B. Q ny paintings: if there is, I don’t know a psychological or sociological orienanings: how one wall relates to ans abstractly, or in the tonal quality7 of today My colors might seem “old ion’t see bright reds and oranges. I e city, but I’m not transforming my ig to understand the color that I’m e-on-the-street issue or involved in tching the world go by in a very7 det feeling of separation and distance igh I’m not thinking about it. Rather, ng at, to put it together in a sensual ignificent. I’m not trying to glorify t there’s any virtue to living there, r visual magnificence. life of the city and this interest prol but not in formal terms. When I go ling an ice cream cone. Stuart Shils, Alley Near Schmidt’s Brewery, 1994, 10 5/8 x 11 inches, oil on paper. t" I �OF THE EXHIBniON Barry Roal Carlsen Bachelor Party, 1990 0 x 6, oil on panel Courtesy of Gregory and Dorothy Connitt Barn Roal Carlsen C.;s.'-n.c Off II, 1989 0 x 12, oil on copper Courtesy of Dav id Grossfeld Barry Roal Carlsen 1992 5 I 2 x " 1 2. oil on masonite Courtesy of Barry Roal Carlsen Barry Roal Carlsen Factory, 1989 6 x 9. oil on panel Courtesy of Gregory and Dorothy Conniff Barry Roal Carlsen The Meeting Place, 1989 9x 12, oil on copper Courtesy of Lorrie Moore Douglas Safranek Before Dark, 1994 5 3/8 x 6, egg tempera on panel Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Douglas Safranek Common Ground, 1994 32 x 22, egg tempera on panel Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Douglas Safranek Domino Sugar, 1994 5 3/8 x 7, egg tempera on panel Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Barry Roal Carlsen Midnight Wind II, 1994 12 x 28. oil on masonite Courtesy of Barry Roal Carlsen Douglas Safranek Ordinary Life, 1993 16 1/2 x 12, egg tempera on panel Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Barry Roal Carlsen Night Shift, 1989 9x12, oil on copper Courtesy of Barry Roa! Carlsen Douglas Safranek Snow/Steam, 1992 8x7 1/2, silverpoint, gouache on toned board Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Barry Roal Carlsen No! Forgotten, 1991 9x18, oil on masonite Courtesy of Lome Moore Barry Roal Carlsen Reunion 11. 1992 5x9, oil on masonite Ct urtesy of Thomas and Janet Paul Barry Roal Carlsen Shared Gift, 1989 6 x 9, oil on panel Giurtevy of Gregory and Dorothy Conniff Barry Roal Carlsen Slant,ns, I'M 9*6 oil on masonite C ‘run.esy of Kenneth Waliszewski Barry RoaJ (arisen 1he Dreamer, 1992 6 x 9. otl on masonite Courtesy ofJulilly Kohler Barry Roal Carlsen lheIs iton, 198990 12 * 16, oil <m masonite Cosmevy of Judith Woodhum Douglas Safranek Still Open, 1994 4 5/8 x 4, egg tempera on panel Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Douglas Safranek Walking the Dog, 1993 28 1/4 x 17, egg tempera on panel Courtesy of Schmidt-Bingham Gallery Stuart Shils 33rd and Diamond Streets, 1994 7 3/8 x 12, oil on paper Courtesy of Diana Sargent Stuart Shils A Corner of East Fishtown, 1993 9 5/8 x 11 13/16, oil on paper Courtesy of Private Collection Stuart Shils A Dark Side Street, 1992 7 3/8 x 11 1/2, oil on paper Courtesy of Private Collection Stuart Shils >/K x 11, oil on Counesy of Stuart Shils Stuart Shils Construction Near Delaware Avi'enue, 1993 11 1/8 x 11, oil on paper Courtesy of Ben Mangel Stuart Shils Delaware Avenue with a Red Truck, 1992 8 7/8 x 11 3/8, oil on paper Courtesy of Stuart Shils Stuart Shils Demolition on Norih American Street, 1993 117/16 x 9 7/8, oil on paper Courtesy of Diana Kingman Stuart Shils Grey's Ferry and Federal Streets, 1991 7 1/4x10 5/8, oil on paper Courtesy of Private Collection Stuart Shils Mellon Bank Tower, 1992 9 1/4x8 3/4, oil on paper Courtesy of Stuart Shils Stuart Shils Nocturne, 1992 8 1/8x10 1/2, oil on paper Courtesy of Stuart Shils Stuart Shils Nocturne Over Manayunk, 1985 7 1/2x14, oil on paper Courtesy of R. Hiteshew and D. Panzer Collection Stuart Shils Old Warehouses with Stack, 1993 10 3/4x11 1/8, oil on paper Courtesy of Stuart Shils Stuart Shils The Relic Still Afloat, 1993 8 1/2 x 12 1/2, oil on paper Courtesy of Mangel Gallery Stuart Shils Urban Ruins, 1994 10 5/8 x 10 5/8, oil on paper Courtesy of Stuart Shils Height precedes width, all dimensions in inches �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1994 October 2 The City Observed Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Barry Roal Carlson Douglas Safranek Stuart Shils StanleyI.Grand Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 October 2 - November 6 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource Although Barry Roal Carlsen, Douglas Safranek, and Stuart Shils each creates small-format paintings depicting contemporary urban landscapes, their sensibilities, formal concerns, and content differ considerably. In this exhibition, exploration into these different aspects is explored. Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource SAG https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/5769ad16f8f920ec389422135baf6cb8.pdf be43b398809bad85bced81a966567cb4 PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1994 May 1 Water Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource John Bromberg Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 May 1 - June 5 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/d041447d88a3e182edd2b103bfeb867a.pdf a4d3ba8b5ab62ae70254a5860072d8f9 PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. 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Title A name given to the resource 1993 May 30 Twentieth Anniversary Exhibition: Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1993 May 30 - June 25 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/81c559720c951e9e89ab2b548aee1d5a.pdf 09350f36b73c483bd71b5b6e34700e4a PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. 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Title A name given to the resource 1993 April 25 Wilkes University-BA Senior Exhibition and BFA Senior Exhibition Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource BA Creators: Diane Belusko| Nicole Corbo| Chris McCarty| Kim Metzger| Mary Jo Moses| Betty Matt| Nancy Nokaitis| Candida Sabol| Christopher Scappaticci BFA Creators: Kelly Erickson| Shawn Felty| Sara Hylan| Tracy Kishel| Beth Lulewicz| Scott Morris| Mollie Oleyar-Keavitz| Brian Waclawski| Richard Zeszotarski Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1993 April 25 - May 3 1993 May 9 -16 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource BA and BFA Senior Exhibitions for 1993 Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/5bf5faae85e0de7a29a2b1f3f8b8a44b.pdf e4f1d27920e8711f307029deda8b1983 PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. 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Title A name given to the resource 1993 March 14 Directors Choice Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Elizabeth Smith Fulton James Penedos Karl Wilson Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1993 March 14 - April 18 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/2ede6481952592de9f825f5de5b4c50e.pdf 5b227c51e9bde2d4bcadb0d980f3d8b8 PDF Text Text �� https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/956cf91bcb5010e6dc75a4cfe0724fc6.pdf c0854e3e30702f8f261847f58b8ef9f0 PDF Text Text I I.K! Mb II It i d ■i <! SORD GA N5030 R8S37 �E.S. FARLEY L IBRARY WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA THE FARNSWORTH ART MUSEUM Rockland, Maine �I g 8 AF The July Bergei Septem W jan Copyright © 1992 The Farnsworth Art Museum All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages. ISBN: 0-918749-03-4 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 92-70664 Published by The Farnsworth Art Museum, Rockland. Maine. Printed in the United States of America. Major f baj been pro* �Kan£Sdvtag_ In memory of Paul A Retrospective Exhibition organized by Suzette Lane McAvoy for The Farnsworth Art Museum Rockland, Maine July 11 - September 13, 1992 in cooperation with Bergen Museum of Art & Science Paramus, New Jersey September 22 - November 15, 1992 and Sordoni Art Gallery Wilkes University Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania January 17 - March 7, 1993 e mechanical ral publisher, iges, 70664 kland. Maine. Major funding for the exhibition and catalog has been provided by the Richard A. Florsheim Art Fund. J 0“ _ I. ,. o �acknowledgments Mrs. Ruth W B Potter. Ms. Judith Pitt. Mr. and Mrs Sidney Sass. Mr. and Schrag. Mr. and Mrs Raymond V J Schrag. Mr. JePrey Stark. Mrs Max M Wangh and SkyTell Corporation Karl Schrag is represented m most major m the United States as well as Europe We are indebted to the Brooklyn Museu Art. the Metropolitan Museum of Art. the Museum of Modem Art. the Nation Whitney Museum of Amer,can Art for lending several key works to the exhib Guggenheim Museum. New York, for permission to reproduce Boe Arches. Jc collection. Carole Pesner and Katherine Kaplan, of Kraushaar Galleries Ne ways from the very outset. The mutual loyalty and respect between Kraushaa Kraushaar has been his primary dealer for forty-five years— is probably a rec today’s volatile art world. Ci orn in in 1912 1912 in in Germany Germany and and immigrating immigrating to the United States in 1938, Karl Schrag has witnessed the U central moments of twentieth century art on both sides of the Atlantic. His esthetic roots can be traced to the great European expressionists of the preceding generation—Marc, Kirchner, Derain, Matisse— as well as to such American visionaries as Blakelock, Ryder, Hartley and Burchfield. Continuing and extending this legacy, Karl Schrag has produced a compelling body of work combining sonorous color, charged compositional schema and technical mastery. While long admired and respected by critics, curators, collectors and fellow artists, Schrag’s independence and stylistic remove from post-World War II movements and trends in American art have kept his work partly hidden from wider public recognition, something we hope this exhibition will begin to redress. In the self-portraits, from youth to the present, in the recurring wide-eyed stare and slightly arched eyebrows, there is a sense of fearless confrontation and, I also extend our sincere appreciation to Lucien Goldschmidt and Paui Schra catalog. Carol Inouye's elegant design for the catalog is an essent-al ccntnrx Farnsworth registrar, Edith Murphy, orchestrated the complex logistics o insurance, and with the able assistance of preparator. Phil Kaelin, managed details that are largely invisible but always critical to any project of this r Museum staff pulled together to make this exhibition possible and i deeply app Above all, we thank Karl and Use Schrag Use has been Karl s longtime con constant source of inspiration They are living testimony to the agelessness of | perhaps, bemusement with changes wrought by time. That these changes are external rather than internal, Christopher B Crosman Director of surface rather than substance, is something Schrag well knows. From his studio on Deer Isle, Maine, The Farnsworth Art Museum where he has summered for nearly forty years, the artist continues to look inward into himself and into the primal rhythms of a particular place that holds infinite variety and inspiration. In an interview several years ago, Schrag cited Andre Malraux: "...what appears in the background in youth comes to the fore in old age." This exhibition marks Schrag’s eightieth year and an old age where it is youth that comes to the fore. To summarize a career of such majestic proportions—in its breadth and depth—is an ambitious undertaking for a small museum. We are grateful to many individuals and institutions for their support and cooperation. Curator Suzette Lane McAvoy conceived and organized the exhibition, including the production of the accompanying catalog, a truly heroic individual effort and an obvious labor of love. I also thank Carl Little, poet and critic now living in Maine, for his penetrating and sensitive essay, revealing new insights into the artist and his work. One of the important goals of this project was to share it with a wider audience. We are especially pleased and grateful to Dr. judith O’Toole, director of the Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and Mr. David Messer, director of the Bergen Museum of Art and Science, Paramus, New Jersey, for enabling us to share the exhibition with their communities. Funding for the exhibition was provided by a generous grant from the Richard A. Florsheim Art Fund, and I am grateful for their early and enthusiastic support. not have tak/n phce-S c°operat'°n V "umerous private and institutional lenders, the exhibition could Mr,. Robert Cothran., Mr. and Mr,. Lotten Gold.thmidt. Or. and Mr,. Johan H,ma» �Mrs. Ruth W. B. Potter, Ms. Judith Pitt, Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Sass, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Schrag, Dr. Peter Schrag, Mr. and Mrs. Raymond V. J. Schrag, Mr. Jeffrey Stark, Mrs. Max M. Stern, Ms. Katherine SchragWangh and SkyTell Corporation. Karl Schrag is represented in most major museum collections throughout the United States as well as Europe. We are indebted to the Brooklyn Museum, Colby College Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the National Academy of Design and the Whitney Museum of American Art for lending several key works to the exhibition. I also want to thank the Guggenheim Museum, New York, for permission to reproduce Blue Arches, Jamaica I, from their permanent collection. Carole Pesner and Katherine Kaplan, of Kraushaar Galleries, New York, assisted in countless ways from the very outset. The mutual loyalty and respect between Kraushaar Galleries and Karl Schrag— Kraushaar has been his primary dealer for forty-five years—is probably a record and nearly unthinkable in today's volatile art world. I also extend our sincere appreciation to Lucien Goldschmidt and Paul Schrag for their assistance with the 138, Karl Schrag has witnessed the catalog. Carol Inouye's elegant design for the catalog is an essential contribution deserving special thanks. Farnsworth registrar, Edith Murphy, orchestrated the complex logistics of loans, travel arrangements, Atlantic. His esthetic roots can be Marc, Kirchner, Derain, Matisse— and Burchfield. Continuing and work combining sonorous color, - insurance, and with the able assistance of preparator, Phil Kaelin, managed the myriad behind-the-scenes derails that are largely invisible but always critical to any project of this magnitude. Indeed, the entire Museum staff pulled together to make this exhibition possible and I deeply appreciate their collective efforts. and respected by critics, curators, imove from post-World War II an from wider public recognition, tits, from youth to the present, in :nse of fearless confrontation and, are external rather than internal, a his studio on Deer Isle, Maine, k inward into himself and into the don. In an interview several years uth comes to the fore in old age.” ith that comes to the fore. epth—is an ambitious undertaking or their support and cooperation. , including the production of the ir of love. I also thank Carl Little, ly, revealing new insights into the are it with a wider audience. We the Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes if the Bergen Museum of Art and th their communities. Funding for sheim Art Fund, and I am grateful lal lenders, the exhibition could Bernkopf, Mr. and Mrs. Richard midt, Dr. and Mrs. Julian Hyman, Above all, we thank Karl and Use Schrag. Use has been Karl’s longtime companion, sometime model and constant source of inspiration. They are living testimony to the agelessness of great art and the human spirit. Christopher B. Crosman Director The Farnsworth Art Museum �KARL SCHRAG: A SEARCH FC <\ s Karl Schrag enters his 80th year we might feel that a career as an artist Here before us shines a choice retrosi drawn from over 70 years of creative activity We know this m landscape, his profound pursuit of personal and universal truths. Yet. at the end of each summer, the season's harvest at hand, > the individual who modestly sets out the canvases one by one Isle, on the coast of Maine, the visitor can expect to be shown ; tree, an island nightscape, but look: this year, the portrait of thi has a newly triumphant radiance, and a band of luminous colo has utterly transformed the moonlit land All bets are off: the world is invented anew, the self redefined and once again we follow Karl Schrag into territory he is jc beginning to explore. The road I have traveled stretches far back Mto the past. I have been painting and drawing since I was four years old. Ever since. I thought of myself as an artist. Everything I saw, aH thoughts and dreams were subjects to be drawn or painted Karl Schrag. Credo. 1990 If we cannot predict Karl Schrag's next esthetic mo«e. we c attempt to put in perspective his Me and achievement as an an up to now It won't be easy we're dealing with a mar who h for all intents and purposes, devoted b's entire Me to making a To go from a small linoleum cut. The Funeral, that he made 1926. at age 14. to. say. The Convos 1990 'xarp-ote p 65/ to make a long and prodigious artistic journey And when c considers that Part III of the Catclogue Roisonne of Schrag s g/ap work appeared two years ago. and that he nad h-s iSm oi person show at the Kraushaar Gal'enes m New York .'as: ye one begins to appreciate the artist's remarkable longevity < productivity. �KARL SC H RAG: A SEARCH FOR THE ESSENCE aLX s ^arl Schrag enters his 80th year, we might feel that a likely time has arrived for summing up his career as an artist. Here before us shines a choice retrospective of his life’s work, paintings and prints drawn from over 70 years of creative activity. We know this man, we tell ourselves, his love of nature and landscape, his profound pursuit of personal and universal truths. We can safely give an overview. Yet, at the end of each summer, the season’s harvest at hand, we must adjust our vision of the art, and of the individual who modestly sets out the canvases one by one. Seated in Karl Schrag’s barn studio on Deer Isle, on the coast of Maine, the visitor can expect to be shown a self-portrait, an homage to a favorite apple - tree, an island nightscape, but look: this year, the portrait of the artist shows a different man, the fruit tree has a newly triumphant radiance, and a band of luminous colors has utterly transformed the moonlit land. Facing page: The Ladder (Self-Portrait), oil on All bets are off: the world is invented anew, the self redefined — and once again we follow Karl Schrag into territory he is just canvas. 1969, collection of Jean and Raymond V. J. Schrag. Below: Funeral, linoleum cut. 1926, collection of the artist. beginning to explore. “The road I have traveled stretches far back into the past. I have been painting and drawing since I was four years old. Ever since, I thought of myself as an artist. Everything I saw, all thoughts and dreams, were subjects to be drawn or painted.” Karl Schrag, Credo, 1990 If we cannot predict Karl Schrag’s next esthetic move, we can attempt to put in perspective his life and achievement as an artist up to now. It won’t be easy: we're dealing with a man who has, for all intents and purposes, devoted his entire life to making art. To go from a small linoleum cut. The Funeral, that he made in 1926, at age 14, to, say, The Big Canvas, 1990 (colorplate p. 65), is to make a long and prodigious artistic journey. And when one considers that Part III of the Catalogue Raisonne of Schrag s graphic work appeared two years ago, and that he had his 18th oneperson show at the Kraushaar Galleries in New York last year, one begins to appreciate the artist's remarkable longevity and productivity. 7 �Yet study he did. Moving to Paris in 1932, he enrolled in the Ec< also found livelier instruction at the Academic Ranson (where proved an influential teacher) and the Academie de la Grande exhibition in 1938. at the Galerie Arenberg in Brussels. Belgium. An outstanding oil from the 1930s. The Pagans (1934), finds Schr commentary, a response, no doubt, to the growing unrest in his humanity — priest, doctor, et al. — has turned its back on the t cross were a reason to socialize. The indifference of mankm memorable manner When Paul and Karl decided to emigrate to America in 1938, d helpful in making their move a relatively smooth one While his graphics at the Art Students League, studying printmaking witl York paintings is rhe striking Madonna of the Subway. 1939, a serenity amidst the hurly-burly of the masses In his essay for the catalogue that accompanied Schrag s firs American Federation of Arts, it opened at the Brooklyn Mi Whitney Museum of American Art. notes how the artist's $[ itself in the early New York work The view of a highway tha Town. 1940, represents, for Gordon. "Nature beckoning to the edition of Robert Louis Stevenson's The Suicide Chib. 1941, sho» Hbllenfahrt ernes bosen Weibes (The Going to Hell of a Wicked Woman), pen and wash drawing, 1930. collection of the artist. The Pagans, oil on canvas, 1934. collection of Kathenne SchragWangh. Below Edge of the on canvas. 1940 col'ection of Ka0.tr Right. Illustration from The Su/ode Club by Robert Lo ur. Steve n$oi pub'-xi Beres. New fork. 1941 etching and aquatint Karl Schrag was born in Karlsruhe, Germany, in 1912, the youngest of four sons of Hugo and Bella (Sulzberger) Schrag, the latter American. His father, a highly respected lawyer who administered funds for the care of widows and orphans of the First World War, took the traditional skeptical stance toward his son’s choice of profession. “Why don’t you study law," Karl has quoted his father as saying, "and rnaybe you could be a judge in a small town and paint, because you would have a great deal of free time "• Hugo Schrag was finally convinced of his son’s gift when Karl’s brother Paul, devoted champion of his sibling’s artistic ambitions, took a group of his drawings for appraisal to Emil Orlik (1870-1934). a highly regarded Berlin artist and teacher. Orlik did not mince words in delivering his verdict: "It would be a sin if this boy did not become an artist.”3 Looking today at one of the drawings from that group, Hbllenfahrt e'oes bosen Weibes (The Coing to Hell of a Wicked Woman), 1930, we are not surprised by Orlik’s judgment, it s a striking piece, darkly beautiful, the work of a mature hand and intellect. In 1931, Schrag graduated from ithe Humanistisches Gymnasium in Karlsruhe. Concerned about troubknj developments in Germany, that same )year Karl's father moved the family to iunui. Zurich. Switzerland. ------ — pursued his studies at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Geneva. Remarking> on this school's regimented approid’ to art in a profile published in Down East magazine, Schrag displays a wry sense of humor: "It was i academic and the constant painting painting of of nudes nudes annoyed annoyed me. I don’t think the world consists entirely ol>f nude women. 4 8 | �Yet study r.e did. Moving to Paris in 1932, he enrolled in the Ecole Nationale Superieure des Beaux-Arts; he also found livelier instruction at the Academic Ranson (where an artist friend of Braque’s, Roger Bissiere, proved an influential teacher) and the Academie de la Grande Chaumiere. Schrag had his first one-person exhibition in 1938, at the Galerie Arenberg in Brussels. Belgium, where his brother Paul had moved to work. An outstanding oil from the 1930s, The Pagans (1934), finds Schrag working in a Daumier-like mode of social commentary, a response, no doubt, to the growing unrest in his homeland. In the picture, a cross section of humanity — priest, doctor, et al.—has turned its back on the crucifixion, and carries on as if death on the cross were a reason to socialize. The indifference of mankind to suffering and death is expressed in a memorable manner. When Paul and Karl decided to emigrate to America in 1938. their mother's New York background proved helpful in making their move a relatively smooth one. While his brother practiced law, Karl took a course in graphics at the Art Students League, studying printmaking with Harry Sternberg. Among his earliest New York paintings is the striking Madonna of the Subway. 1939, at once a social commentary and a study of serenity amidst the hurly-burly of the masses. In his essay for the catalogue that accompanied Schrag's first retrospective in I960 (sponsored by the American Federation of Arts, it opened at the Brooklyn Museum), John Gordon, then Curator of the Whitney Museum of American Art, notes how the artist’s “special philosophy of nature" begins to assert itself in the early New York work. The view of a highway that winds into distant countryside in Edge of a Town, 1940, represents, for Gordon, “Nature beckoning to the artist"1; and even an illustration made for an edition of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Suicide Club, 1941, showing a wild display of stars and clouds above a oil on canvas, 1934, collection of Katherine Schrag- youngest of four sons of Hugo and Bella espected lawyer who administered funds for k the traditional skeptical stance toward his ; quoted his father as saying, “and maybe you ave a great deal of free time.”2 rl’s brother Paul, devoted champion of his apraisal to Emil Orlik (1870-1934), a highly n delivering his verdict: “It would be a sin if e drawings from that group, Hollenfahrt eines are not surprised by Orlik’s judgment: it’s a tellect. in Karlsruhe. Concerned about troubling ed the family to Zurich, Switzerland. Karl ti arking on this school's regimented approach flays a wry sense of humor: “It was rather 11 think the world consists entirely of nude Below: Edge of the Town, oil on canvas, 1940, collection of Katherine Schrag-Wangh. Right: Illustration from The Suicide Club by Robert Louis Stevenson, published by Pierre Beres, New York, 1941, etching and aquatint. �embnee Jnd^al north'a fewanyears later wXing'to the fore the artist’s nascem love of landscape standing rip at the rail of ocean ""Inspired by summers at the coast of Maine, I wanted to show the immensity of the sea. to find a visual parallel for the fragrance of grasses, for the sound of the sea and of falling rain, and to express the influence of the moon upon the ocean. It was a search for the essence and spirit of an experience. Karl Schrag, Happiness and Torment of Printmaking, 1966' Nineteen-forty-five was a wunderjahr for Karl Schrag. He married Use Szamatolski, a fellow German emigre, who continues to this day to be a guiding light in his life (and who appears, muse-hke, in a number of his canvases and prints); he made the first of many summer sojourns to Maine, with Chebeague Island, Martin's Point in Friendship, Castine, Vinalhaven and Spruce Head Island preceding his final move to Deer Isle in the late 1950s; and he had his first one-man print exhibition, mounted by the National Collection of Fine Arts, Smithsonian Institution (he’s had nearly ten since). And one mustn’t overlook the ending of the Second World War: the close of this dark chapter in the history of mankind played a crucial role in the evolution of Schrag’s creative enterprise. Many of his prints from the first half of the 1940s — Persecution. Meal of the Poor, To Hell with Hitler, War (“Fear"/. etc. — evidence an artist wholly engaged with the woes of the world. After 1945, we find him opening up his repertoire more and more to the life-giving forces of nature as he experiences them on the coast of Maine and elsewhere. Movement of a Field, Night Wind, Rain and the Sea: these are the subjects Schrag will favor, . -. . . • although he will never lose sight of social concerns or the minions of death. It was in 1945, too, that Schrag began his association with Stanley William Hayter, a British geologist whose enthusiastic and innovative approach to art and printmaking proved liberating to so many artists, Horn Chagall to Pollock. Schrag was a member, and later director, of Hayter’s famous Atelier 17, which had moved from Paris, 17 rue Campagne-Premiere, to New York’s Greenwich Village during the war. (Hayter " Gabor Peterd. Mauricio Lasansky and Aar' Serrig a), mm-.y-ypr ntmaking in the U SA throughout ere I 9$0s ' The various " tag c tectinques Schrag experimented »rtn at At returned to Paris in 1950: while living there in 1985, I paid him a visit, bearing an introduction from Karl p cto'-'ii nxx-on and a-’ected per-. hrs pai-trng and pr-rtma«;rg Pi Schrag, and spent the better part of a morning trying to keep up with his dynamic train of thought.) the two-color etching, e-grav-rg and aquatint. The .'-Aience of 9 Schrag couxi become -n h«s render ngs of coasts -noofc *s Like another legendary teacher of art, Robert Henri, Hayter seemed almost selfless in his encouragement of the esthetic act. Schrag s estimation of him highlights this quality: Hayter was inspiring as a person and not at all a teacher in the usual sense. We did things, not /. The group itself was moving forward. It was something just to see Miro working alongside of you. The humble attitude of such important that "The true end of Art is not to irrxate a fond materof condKao In the spirit or Harter s openness to '*« -nodes o* expression. : mediums •’Cudirg etcNng. engrawng. aquaont and iabograpty 1 affirmed c> vx senes of I‘ ;■ ts ■'C executed at the T»marm<9b2 Schrag has also oee- m**._ng -nonctvpes o* and or met t 980 he speaks of the extraordinary freedom surprise, airmess « artists was revealing/ Certain Schrag pnnts ac*-ev» me complexty of C-i^e'XX^Co^ °n hiS knowled£e t0 °'hers, teaching art at fkoo^ uksk. tr. Sound « exampie. touches ol vx ethers act nke accents .r, » me«ody o essent a to the o»e'a compostoon Loo* ig at dws won we Johnsen’ s nt odueben to K«d Scfc-oj 4 Grtoxagut Axw** she H Modern Art li-.t' Srhri^as one^T h ^97S’’ Riva Castleman. Curator of Prints at the Schrag as one of the three most important artists to come out of Master s woxsnop 16 whole not ust some suggest ve oetar-s must b-.nj owt re very achieved h* goal time and agam u a tr>pute to ne unceasing deeet �symbolic approach Schrag will soon artist's nascent love of landscape. ow the immensity for the sound of ; moon upon the Printmaking, I966‘ matolski. a fellow German emigre, ■ars, muse-like, in a number of his e. with Chebeague Island. Martin's ; his final move to Deer Isle in the ■ National Collection of Fine Arts. close of this dark chapter in the :ive enterprise. Many of his prints with Hitler, War ("Fear"), etc. — 945. we find him opening up his Left: Rain and the Sea, etching and engraving, 1946. Above: Landscape with Fruit, oil on canvas, 1950, collection of Dr. Peter Schrag and Katherine Schrag-Wangh. mces them on the coast of Maine re the subjects Schrag will favor. Hayter, a British geologist whose mating to so many artists, from 's famous Atelier 17. which had ) Village during the war. (Hayter taring an introduction from Karl tamic train of thought.) | "Gabor Peterdi, Mauricio Lasansky and Karl Schrag, all immigrants," she writes, “dominated the field of printmaking in the U.SA. throughout the 1950s."’ The various intaglio techniques Schrag experimented with at Atelier 17 enhanced his sense of line and pictorial motion, and affected both his painting and printmaking. Pieces like the oil, Landscape with Fruit, and the two-color etching, engraving and aquatint, The Influence of the Moon, both 1950, show how abstract Schrag could become in his linear renderings of coastal motifs. He might be heeding George Inness' claim that "The true end of Art is not to imitate a fixed material condition, but to represent a living motion." selfless in his encouragement of In the spirit of Hayter’s openness to new modes of expression, Schrag has worked in all manner of print le usual sense, something just uch important mediums, including etching, engraving, aquatint and lithography. His mastery of the last-named process is affirmed by the series of I I prints he executed at the Tamarind Lithography Workshop in Los Angeles in 1962. Schrag has also been making monotypes off and on since the 1940s. In “On Monotypes," written in 1980. he speaks of the “extraordinary freedom, surprise, airiness, even mystery" of this printing technique. Certain Schrag prints achieve the complexity of music. In Sound of a Forest Brook, 1986 (colorplate p. 51), for athers, teaching art at Brooklyn example, touches of six colors act like accents in a melody comprised of numerous marks, each one essential to the overall composition. Looking at this work, we recall Schrag s ideal, as set forth in Una Johnson's introduction to Karl Schrag: A Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, 1939-1970: the print as a whole, not just some suggestive details, must bring out the very essence of a landscape. ’ That Schrag has tor of Prints at the Museum of achieved his goal time and again is a tribute to his unceasing devotion to the art of printmaking. me out of Hayter’s workshop- II �“The island has a beauty of its own—/Something which is like the winds and sun, I Complete and all in all and very final. I No place could lie so open to the sky / shifts in light that one can experience in the course of a Ma ne 0; by placing them side by side, letting the different subjects..in v; And be without a kind of holiness." Robert P. Tristram Coffin, “The Island” The Maine island environment — its isolation, its openness to the sky and water and weather h Karl Schrag’s imagination for going on 50 years. At the same time, the simplicity of the landscaop 7. Uelet* has stated, “like when you of the picturesque have challenged the artist. “It’s not just served to you,” Schrag ' go to Italy, or even to Colorado, and you see the mountains, and it’s; so wonderful, and immediately you see it. Maine is more subtle, I think: it has to be almost brought to life or created by the artist.”10 subtle, I think; it has to Like his Kraushaar stablemates and close friends John Heliker and William Kienbusch, Schrag has been sustained by the constant elements — I was about to say companions of his Maine surroundings. There is Gogh’s words, "sing against each other.” In his book Landscape into Ar. Sir Kenneth Clark wrote: "Tl enchanted garden — be it Eden, or the Hespendes or Tir-nan-C — is one of humanity’s most constant, widespread and consob myths." The Maine island of Schrag’s invention merits Inclusion that list, a place of enchantment, of consolation, of great art "If you want to enjoy the world, you must give value to the world.” Goethe, to Schopenhauer the backyard apple tree that, over the years, has assumed the spirit of the artist. There are the islands that cast their spell of distance. There is the sea, which, in the painting Infinity, 1990, suggests the end of land and While the discovery of Maine was crucial to Schrag’s growth a: time. And there is the night. landscape painter, he was also taken with other places, amo them Spain and Italy. Mexico and the Caribbean. Inspired by a v. Schrag is the master of the Maine island nightscape even, it sometimes seems, its inventor. So often we to Spain. Montserrat, I9S8. a gouache John Gordon term miss the night in our lives: the shades are pulled, the curtains drawn, the doors locked. Schrag reaffirms our "breathtaking." features a powerful thrusting calligraphy that p>. need of it; paintings like Island Night, 1978 (colorplate p. 43), Night Woods with Apple Tree, 1983 (co/orplate p. the eye into the landscape. It’s interesting to note that Schr 48), and Barn Door and Moonlit Field, 1984-85 (colorplate p. 49), invite us to partake of the moon-haunted realm of otherworldly apple trees, of meadows edged with dark spruce. In these nocturnes, Shakespeare's works almost exclusively in gouache for his tropical pictures, ap matching this brilliant opaque watercolor medium witf Midsummer Night’s Dream finds a new stage, on the coast of Maine. landscape of bright hues. . Schrag’s use of intense colors has drawn comparisons to van Gogh, Munch and the German Expressionists. Summer—Apple Tree and Yellow House, 1975-76 (colorplate p. 34), and The Green Night, 1982 (colorplate p. 47), are good examples of the way in which the world can be colored as much by the artist’s psyche as by the pigments he places on the canvas. In the former, the bright yellow house and the fiery trunk of the tree have a feverish quality, an almost tropical heat. By contrast, the green canopy of the night sky in the latter work lends a coolness to the artist’s, and our, view of house and barn, moonlit trees and rocks. The canons of realism are overridden by the intensity of Schrag’s emotional response to the scene. In recent years, a new pictorial device has been incorporated in Schrag’s paintings, a narrow, irregular band of color along the edge of the canvas. I recall my initial amazement at this daring addition. While I had seen Equally remarkable is Blue Arches, 1979, an etching and aquatint seven colors which, in August Freundlich's words, "captures t tropical lushness of Jamaica..., the color is ripe, lush, full." • This [ 1978 (colorplate p. 40). which also focuses on the visually striking New York City, where Schrag spends his winters, has been the In the extraordinary Seventeen Night Figures, 1973 tcotorptae p. congregate on the sidewalk, on a summer night, their postures youth. Describing this painting in the The New York Times (Feb. wondered at how "pastoral delicacy is abandoned for a lurid a Kirchner." painted frames before, this was something quite different: the color border modified the tone and mood o what lay within it, investing the Maine views, still-lifes and portraits with an extra optical charge. Amazement It makes a noteworthy study to compare this painting with Self turned to admiration at the visual leap Schrag had made. which Schrag again depicts other generations: mother with c Knowing the history of Schrag’s palette and the prominent role color has played in his work, the fram J standing, stretching on a sunlit beach. A mixture of puzzleme face of the artist, who seems to turn his back on youth. And y< bands seem a natural step forward, albeit a giant one. In a similar manner, his inventive juxtaposition echo, respectively, the warm sand and distant water, connectin different times of day on a single canvas did not come out of the blue, but has developed over the yei sbecoming a major theme only recently. SchZ’Uonve°o? T LC0'°r^te 60> and N'W°"’ NiSht ^d Morning (co/orpfate p. 61). both 1990. Schrag s love of what he calls in a 1968 letter, "a landscape of big contrasts " He underlines the 12 "It is true that at moments, when I am in a goofl alive in art. and eternally aiive. is in the first place thl place the picture" Vincentva| �winds and a the sky / he Island” • and weather — has fueled >f the landscape and its lack has stated, "like when you j|, and immediately you see ae artist.”10 enbusch, Schrag has been line surroundings. There is There are the islands that shifts in light that one can experience in the course of a Maine day by placing them side by side, letting the different subjects, in van Gogh’s words, "sing against each other." In his book Landscape into Art, Sir Kenneth Clark wrote: “The enchanted garden—’be it Eden, or the Hesperides, or Tir-nan-Og — is one of humanity’s most constant, widespread and consoling myths." The Maine island of Schrag’s invention merits inclusion in that list, a place of enchantment, of consolation, of great art. "If you want to enjoy the world, you must give value to the world.” Goethe, to Schopenhauer iggests the end of land and While the discovery of Maine was crucial to Schrag's growth landscape painter, he was also taken with other places, among its inventor. So often we >/e Tree, 1983 (colorplate p. to Spain, Montserrat, 1958, a gouache John Gordon termed “breathtaking," features a powerful thrusting calligraphy that pulls the eye into the landscape. It's interesting to note that Schrag ake of the moon-haunted works almost exclusively in gouache for his tropical pictures, aptly nocturnes, Shakespeare’s matching this brilliant opaque watercolor medium with a landscape of bright hues. them Spain and Italy, Mexico and the Caribbean. Inspired by a visit eked. Schrag reaffirms our le German Expressionists. ght, 1982 (colorplate p. 47), e artist's psyche as by the ery trunk of the tree have ght sky in the latter work and rocks. The canons of , a narrow, irregular band Montserrat, gouache 1958. col'cct-,.. Whitney Museum of Amencan Art. ’>•. Equally remarkable is Blue Arches, 1979, an etching and aquatint in seven colors which, in August Freundlich's words, "captures the tropical lushness of Jamaica..., the color is ripe, lush, full." ■ This print grew out of an oil. Blue Arch'-',,] ima: i I. 1978 (colorplate p. 40), which also focuses on the visually striking open-air island architecture New York City, where Schrag spends his winters, has been the source of some of his strongest figural work. In the extraordinary Seventeen Night Figures, 1973 (colorplate p. 33). young men and women. Hippie-looking, congregate on the sidewalk, on a summer night, their postures and half-hidden visages lit with the energy of youth. Describing this painting in the The New York Times (Feb. 8. 1975), then chief art critic Hilton Kramer wondered at how “pastoral delicacy is abandoned for a lurid and powerful image reminiscent of Munch and iddition. While I had seen ed the tone and mood of Kirchner." ptical charge. Amazement It makes a noteworthy study to compare this painting with Self-Portrait with Bathers. 1990 (colorplate p 59/. in which Schrag again depicts other generations: mother with child, a couple in half embrace, single figures in his work, the framing inventive juxtaposition o leveloped over the years, reflect p. 61). both 1990, I . the intense 4e underlines standing, stretching on a sunlit beach. A mixture of puzzlement, sadness, even alienation, plays across the face of the artist, who seems to turn his back on youth. And yet his yellow shirt and the blue band of his hat echo, respectively, the warm sand and distant water, connecting him to the scene. "It is true that at moments, when I am in a good mood, I think that what is alive in art, and eternally alive, is in the first place the painter and in the second place the picture.” Vincent van Gogh, letter to Theo, 1888 13 �1 io-nj h orr Atiddtr T<m IHJ -cm:- 73 !D Jx SU? M . •■' ■ v.xnet* non- a o z* jj>.' ' ..-t ■ -t j a •. t-a-•?.«i iuhmx lyjf’ In .i p> • >! ’ ■_ k • ■■ ’ ' enchnsiism c»fy ■ •976 kivif "I '• «•• oactvng rhe moment when, both *i 1 peoon to Che posvbOity of fr«4( freedom I Hel I am breaking don barriers m my worl. taking more chthCM I am MV••■.' bill .. |.| !.• •u •. i « I .•••’.•. t.-jiU- 1 ..{,kj ; • : ■ i.. w I,.•..'Ilf. ; • > ; I' Igi all «I. I !♦■ I. t••*■.! I >■! ■ i- ■' ........... • i • '■ ■ r l. i • ■' * ■ < ■ 'r^. »O long' *3-. i94t r , regard* -■ i rr!f. er;^ qil'-Z'Oir. hi. .r rj'!Hf ' •/<'.»« i rvfr* Above: Artst .v i/i P-jprr Hat, o>! on A - .u a.or >,■■ n ••■ t ; ,■ • .■ /'.•! . 1,' . ■' V5’ir.| ■ N ■■ ■ ■, ji|.,'i ■••. '.r It e .it ! 1788 ,. u ■ 11 If >.p." Iin". Rerent y*»>» i ved pcxtren actyuH-ed t>y t but .1 few ft • ini H.r pur '.. the Audi r* .<■■ I *U»e «< . jk • lam always studying nher nature and it iim to me that I r .! ♦ turn Mu4» 1 Dr. Peter Schrag /■>•■>..■. Right St -'■-■■■. ■ has been shown He has been moved by a new seif-portrait. eeMarac collection of the National Academy of Dei'gn br< -itli .it t‘"• ... ■' ': ‘ • r ■ '..•■ : wb.lt I wild Carl Urrlfc /■!.:< The Farnsworth’s retrospective begins and ends on portraits of fie .•>• t. • ‘ Mj . iW th s theme of self­ inquiry as no exhibition has in the past. Artist with Paper Hat. 1941, the earliest, displays an mtngumg sew t ' naaTyn Hagar* Art awareness well beyond the artist's years. The straightforwardness of this depiction is fascinating and enigmatic, the youthful artist captured at an odd moment, the hat. like a dunce's, emphasizing the figures vulnerability. 2 »• • ♦* *** - < .4 ' i : Jumping 50 years, the latest self-portrait. Night Time. 1991 'colorplate p 69), shares the early work's seder ' ™ t* 5 - <■ • • Yattaw * *• fjr? larwi ■ demeanor. Confined, it seems, to his cell-like bedroom, the painter paints r 1 witro :t f > Jr ‘ ’ : and wide awake, his eyes black dots. Critic Theodore Wolff likened this painting to Munch’s seff-porti* Between the Clock and the Bed. 1940-42. Both artists infuse a quotidien rr.omer.t z. tr. psycho ogca:1" rd a forthright acknowledgment of mortality—that we are all, in Yeats formula, 14 Csf»mgM»r< by i A*-»' ‘ fastened to a dyir g ar ma s.4 CaxAnaa D*<a �The comparison to Munch is a very apt one. Going from face to face in the gallery of Schrag self-portraits — from the almost jocular man in tophat in The Middle Years, 1961 (colorplate p. 27), to the unflinching artist who faces us in Self-Portrait, Paintings and Windows, 1973, to the introspective painter in the intimate Self­ Portrait with Candle, 1987 — I'm reminded of how, in Munch’s paintings of himself, the artist seems to be “following himself, sometimes in a suspicious manner, sometimes lingeringly, and at other times in a biting, ironic way."1’ It would seem the artist’s sense of himself is never fully resolved, and so he tries again and again. In a profile published in American Artist magazine in 1976, Schrag, then 65, spoke of his future with the enthusiasm of a young man: “I am approaching the moment when, both as a person and as an artist, I have the possibility of great freedom. I feel I am breaking down more and more barriers in my work, taking more chances. I am attracted to the danger zones.”1' Karl Schrag has never lost this fearless approach to art. Recent years have witnessed new ground broken, new heights reached in painting and printmaking. I have avoided listing the laurels that have come his way, but a few from the past decade can’t hurt: a self-portrait acquired by the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, in 1983; the Andrew Carnegie Prize for Painting from the National Academy of Design in 1988; two print retrospectives, in 1986 and 1988; and critical plaudits in the major art magazines. For all the glory, Schrag maintains a healthy sense of despair as regards the success of his esthetic endeavors. He is fond of a quotation from a letter Cezanne wrote in 1906, the year he died, in which the French master questions his accomplishments as an artist: “Will I ever attain the end for which I have striven so much and so long?—I am always studying after nature and it seems to me that I make slow progress." At the close of a visit to the barn studio on Deer Isle, the visitor finds himself rhapsodizing about what he has been shown. He has been moved by a new self-portrait, exhilarated by a brilliant bouquet, and held his breath at the unveiling of a landscape. Karl Schrag, the artist, listens carefully, half smiles, and says, “I did what I could." Carl Little Somesville, Maine, 1992 Notes 1. Kcri Schrag: A Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, Part III, 1981-1990, Introduction by DomenicJ. lacono, Syracuse University, 1991. 2. "Karl Schrag: An and Serious Laughter," interview with the artist by Stephane Mackay Levy, Preview!. Ellsworth, Maine, August 3-10, 1990. 3. Cited in John Gordon. Karl Schrag, The American Federation of Arts, New York. I960. 4. Jacks. Shirley. "Getting Maine on Canvas,” Down East, September 1990. 5. Gordon. John. Karl Schrog. f>. Artist's Proof. A Journal of Printmaking, vol. VI, numbers 9-10, Pratt Graphic Art Center, 1966. 7. Cited in John Gordon. Karl Schrag. 8. Castleman, Riva. Prints of the Twentieth Century: A History. The Museum of Modem Art. New York, 1976. 9. Karl Schrag: A Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, 1939-1970. Introduction by Una E. Johnson, Syracuse University, 1971. 10. “Karl Schrag: Art and Serious Laughter," Preview!, 1990. I I. Gussow, Alan, A Sense of Place: The Artist and the American Land. Friends of the Earth Series. The Saturday Review Press. New York. 1971. 12. Karl Schrag: A Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, Part II, 1971-1980, Commentary by August L Freundlich, Syracuse University, 1981. 13. Arne Eggum, et al., Edvard Munch: Symbols and Images. National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, 1978. 14. Cochrane, Diane, "Karl Schrag: On Landscape." American Artist. November 1976. 15 �END OF NIGHT AND DAY Bl CLARIFYING MY THOUGHT wedding of dream and reality—one of their offspring so much inner peace and happiness. I know that I am out of step with dominant directions in con is in German called innerlichkeit—-spiritual intensity, intimacy Figure compositions, imagined scenes with many figures, wer young artist in “the New World,’’ I was struck by the great spirit of these works was not so much social as humanistic a I wished to convey an almost religious message. There w images were formed by white lines, like a script in white. Right: Madonna of the Subway, oil on canvas, 1939, collection of the artist. Facing page: Self-Portrait aquatint, 1963. �END OF NIGHT AND DAY BREAK: CLARIFYING MY THOUGHTS A wedding of dream and reality—one of their offsprings is the art which gives me so much despair and so much inner peace and happiness. I know that I am out of step with dominant directions in contemporary art as I am fervently striving for what is in German called innerlichkeit—spiritual intensity, intimacy, warmth, and depth. Figure compositions, imagined scenes with many figures, were the subject of many of my early paintings. As a young artist in “the New World,” I was struck by the great loneliness of each one within a city crowd. The spirit of these works was not so much social as humanistic and compassionate. In my prints of the war years, I wished to convey an almost religious message. There was a group of deeply bitten aquatints in which images were formed by white lines, like a script in white. Righc Madonna of the Subway, oil on canvas, 1939, collection of the artist. Facing page: Self-Portrait, aquatint, 1963. 17 �Abstract expressionism was, and will always remain, inspiring m its ongmahty and darmg v.tality. The gr0Up Abstract expressionism of American and European artists working in S. W. Hayter’s Ateher 7 were in close contact with the artist, o Jus movement and at night, after our work at Hayter’s on East 8th Street, there were regular meetings of the two groups at the Cedar Tavern or The White Horse, for beer and talk. But from the beginning, my very strong and everlasting love of what is seen in nature, and my intense involvement with people and places needed an art which would transform but not relinquish reality, admired the work of the abstract expressionists and was a friend of many of the movement’s leaders. Abstract expressionism was a liberating force for American painting and sculpture, and I was impressed and affected by the new gained freedom and by the movement’s reliance upon the mysteries of the subconscious. But I could not join this, at the time, so dominant direction in art. As I contemplate a long life's work, I see that my love for nature and the real did1 not lead to any attempt at is obviously there. Rather, I was always in search of my own language of exactitude in representing what is t of my world’s deeper truths visible to myself and to others. forms, to make an inner vision < ‘ , Motion is not Emotion Motion —and lack of motion — can have great expressive power in art. The movement of lines, brushstrokes, forms, and colors in rapid or slow transition provoke an infinity of emotional responses. But movement is frequently only physical, without spiritual meaning. It is also only one of an artist’s many ways for expressing an emotion. Lines can be the melody, color the orchestration. I believe that the intense moments seen in my work mirror the vitality, the nervous alertness, and the tension of the extreme situations in our lives and of our time. Subjects that appear time and again are the radiant sun, the uncertainty and mystery of night scenes, the effect of wind and rain upon sea and land, the silver glow of meadows when the moon is full, the intense inward look in a face. The landscape paintings would be impossible without innumerable studies from nature. Over the years these studies—usually done with pen or markers and often with oil crayons for color notations—have filled many sketchbooks. But nature appears in the paintings and prints as it is remembered rather than as it is seen, the transformation of nature into art is not just a simplification or summing up. The paintings strive for the creation of a personal “language” of form, light, color, and movement. I can feel the mood and character of a painting strongly from the very beginning, but the form (which, I hope, will parallel the inspiration) grows and develops as the work progresses — sometimes with ease, often with “blood, sweat, and tears.” The painting takes shape from within itself, forcing upon the artist its own rules and needs, so that the finished work may seem enigmatic and surprising even to the artist. A Work of Art is Beyond the Reach of Words The most varied thoughts and feelings can be sensed in paintings and prints. Expressions of peace and calm are as profound and alive as those of anxiety and drama. They are like the slow movements in a m composition, corresponding to beautifully pure and quiet moments in life. I remember when, as a boy, I heard the mt laid singing those gentle, often sad, German folk songs while she was cleaning up in the kitchen at night, and II was trying to sleep. I wish I could in my work come close to[ e sincerity and simplicity of those songs. 18 Above: September, oil on canvas, 1989, collection of Mr. and Mrs. John S. Ames III. Right Midsummer, oil on canvas, 1990, courtesy Kraushaar Galleries. Works of art of limited dimensions are for me particularly spellb Schubert’s to Mahler's, short stories and poems. There must be no set method in my work, no pattern and easy repe — like handwriting. Works of art should be considered and ren considered and later remembered. Technical brilliance was never my aim. In many contemporary prints of a workshop — cannot overcome the feeling of coldness and em striking effect. The groping, unfinished, even painfully incomplete cf moves me deeply—the old age style of painters like Titian, Rembra by Giacometti and by the aged Michelangelo. The need for what seem to be color frames or borders surroundin several years ago. I had observed that it was only after much deli color in which my signature should appear on a new painting. The work; the entire painting is reacting to its placement, color, size, learned that I have the freedom of introducing invented color are; the appearance and expressiveness of the entire work. The wide or narrow "frames” are not a decorative device nor only the composition — they are important, integrated parts of the pa seen in relation to the forms and colors of these borders. They ma; color altogether—according to which particular part of the pain addition to, but a part of the work, they strongly influence the appt �ring in its originality and daring vitality. The group ’s Atelier 17 were in close contact with the artists on East Sth Street, there were regular meetings of ;e, for beer and talk. But from the beginning, my ■e, and my intense involvement with people and iquish reality. I admired the work of the abstract \ & ; leaders. Abstract expressionism was a liberating ssed and affected by the new gained freedom and onscious. But I could not join this, at the time, so ature and the real did not lead to any attempt at , I was always in search of my own language of visible to myself and to others. sive power in art. The movement of lines, provoke an infinity of emotional responses. But Above: September, oil on canvas. 1989. collection of Mr. and Mrs. John S. Ames III. Right: Midsummer, oil on canvas, 1990, courtesy Kraushaar Galleries. ling. It is also only one of an artist’s many ways e orchestration. or the vitality, the nervous alertness, and the Works of art of limited dimensions are for me particularly spellbinding: drawings and prints, Heder from Schubert’s to Mahler’s, short stories and poems. ne. Subjects that appear time and again are the i effect of wind and rain upon sea and land, the There must be no set method in my work, no pattern and easy repetition. I think that style evolves naturally vard look in a face. — like handwriting. Works of art should be considered and remembered one by one, like people are considered and later remembered. -able studies from nature. Over the years these I crayons for color notations — have filled many ; it is remembered rather than as it is seen, the i or summing up. The paintings strive for the vement. I can feel the mood and character of a ch, I hope, will parallel the inspiration) grows se, often with “blood, sweat, and tears.” The t its own rules and needs, so that the finished Technical brilliance was never my aim. In many contemporary prints this brilliance—usually the achievement of a workshop — cannot overcome the feeling of coldness and emptiness which often follows their at first striking effect. The groping, unfinished, even painfully incomplete character of the works of certain masters moves me deeply — the old age style of painters like Titian, Rembrandt, Braque and Corinth—or sculptures by Giacometti and by the aged Michelangelo. The need for what seem to be color frames or borders surrounding my compositions appeared in my work several years ago. I had observed that it was only after much deliberation that I chose the place and the color in which my signature should appear on a new painting. The signature is on the painting, part of the work; the entire painting is reacting to its placement, color, size, and character. From this observation I learned that I have the freedom of introducing invented color areas into my painting, which strongly affect igs and prints. Expressions of peace and calm ey are like the slow movements in a musical the appearance and expressiveness of the entire work. The wide or narrow “frames" are not a decorative device nor only intended to arrest the space and flow of ents in life. sntle, often sad, German folk songs while she 3.1 wish I could in my work come close to the the composition — they are important, integrated parts of the paintings. Forever the composition will be seen in relation to the forms and colors of these borders. They may change in intensity of color—-or change color altogether — according to which particular part of the painting they enclose. Since they are not an addition to, but a part of the work, they strongly influence the appearance of every other color, and also the 19 �p«Bbe' yam structure and light within the work. On some canvases the color bands are only along the top and bottom of the paintings — then they seem to prolong the concept of these works in space and time. Any retrospective exhibition, particularly one spanning so many years, speaks of the passage of time. The gradual or sudden changes in an artist’s work correspond to his In music it is usual, even expected, that composers can n march or a scherzo. Why in the visual arts should an as expression that mirror the infinite variety and astounding In ending these notes I wish to express my gratitude to journey, understood and supported my efforts as a man a more difficult than to be an artist. inner development as time goes by. In the exhibition, the obvious changes from the painting of the boyish Artist with one showing old artist sitting wide Paper Hat to the t---------' ’ _ the 1 his bed at night — and all the self-portraits in awake on between — clearly speak of the passage of life and time. In the late landscape paintings time s passage is shown differently and in new ways: change of mood, weather, and time appear in a single painting. These changes usually flow one into the other—evening turns into night, night into daybreak, or summer haze may be abruptly contrasted with autumn wind. Dawn, noon, and night gradually merge First of all — I want to thank Use, my great love and wife I for their endless loyalty, love, and kindness. They and m me. Among the friends, I feel special gratitude toward th sincere admiration gave me assurance and, at dark mome Close to the exit door, open to deepest darkness, stanc applauds those who applaud him with much sincere ferv untouched. Karl Schrag New York City, 1992 into one another as the color framing corresponds or contrasts with adjoining parts of the composition. The differences of mood and time within the same work At N litho intensify the realization of great changes. The structure, Self-Portrait with Pine Tree, oil on canvas. 1989. collection of Mr. Jeffrey Stark. rhythm, and color of the so different parts within one ___________________________________________ work strengthen the awareness of time and of the amazing variety of nature’s and man’s moods — like the contrasting color harmonies "singing" against each other. It is as if there are two artists within me and they are at war with each other. The one blindly obeys his instincts and wants to go his way like a sleepwalker. The other is wide awake, an architect and careful builder of compositions, always questioning and highly critical. There is, of course, no wall separating feeling from thinking, and sometimes I say to myself that other men have the same double nature and are in tune with the life-giving forces of this eternal strife which appears in my work. My strong desire to express from sunlit serenity to the darkest moods has its roots in a constant awareness of myself being a part of the nature and life which I observe. With every breath I take, with every heartbeat, I feel within myself the rhythms of nature. It would be good if my work, mirroring so many feelings and thoughts, were to be as alive and strong as a healthy human being, able to overcome all attacks and hardships. The happy sensations of vitality and growth which some have felt within my work have, by others, been seen as expressions of anxiety and anguish. The inhumanity, persecutions, and crimes of the Hitler time are engraved in my memory, and narrow escapes from severe illness have left their mark upon my outlook. As it I i'kp m™01 na7e 30 Underlying' ®enera' philosophy in work which speaks of so many different emodom work mine 'S n°C °ne P'ece’ anc* both celebration and despair find expression in my The intend?"1 The intensity of the most contradictory feelings is characteristic of our time 20 ri 1 �ie work. On some canvases ig the top and bottom of the to prolong the concept of .". muSiC i, is usuai, esen expected, that composers can masterfully andante or masterfully write write an an andante or an an allegro, allegro, aa funeral funeral march or a scherao. Why in the visual arts should an artist not search for and find in his work forms of expression that mirror the infinite variety and astounding wealth of human emotions? particularly one spanning so sage of time. The gradual er 's work correspond to his m ending these notes I wish to express my gratitude to all — the dead and the alive — who, during a long iOumey. understood and supported my efforts as a man and as an artist. To be a man, ein mensch, is perhaps more difficult than to be an artist. >es by. In the exhibition, the iting of the boyish Artist ,, g the old artist sitting wide and all the self-portraits ;n e passage of life and time, in First of a —I want to thank Use, my great love and wife for almost fifty years, and all the others in my family tor the:" endtess loyalty, love, ano kindness. They and many wonderful friends were of the greatest help to me. Among the friends. I feel special gratitude toward the many artists in different fields, who by insight and sincere admiration gave me assurance and, at dark moments, new strength. ; time's passage is shown ange of mood, weather, and , These changes usually flew turns into night, night into tay be abruptly contrasted n, and night gradually merse Close to the exit door, open to deepest darkness, stands in fading light the old artist, tired but smiling. He applauds those who applaud him with much sincere fervor, while others shrug their shoulders and leave— untouched. Kari Schrag New York City, 1992 >r framing corresponds or s of the composition. The ne within the same work :at changes. The structure, At Night—The Artist and His Wife, lithograph, 1989. different parts within one mess of time and of the d man’s moods — like t~e . The one blindly obeys his e, an architect and careful e, no wall separating feerng jble nature and are in tune ats in a constant awareness take, with every heartbeat, □ring so many feelings and overcome all attacks and have, by others, been see' nes of the Hitler time arc- ark upon my outlook. - ■ > many different emotions, nd expression in my *ork. 21 �■- ; ----------- - - ---------- ■ j- i The one who looks at my work must bring his own [personality and feelings to the work in order to grasp it. He himself becomes; to some degree the painter. Wind, Wave and Tree, oil on canvas, 1955 �ig his own personality and feedings :lf becomes to some degree the painter-" cr.rf Trtt, oil on canvas, 1955 �s 1 The Sound of the Sea, etching and aquatint, 1958 Jia/iK t > Dork Trees at Noon, etching, engraving and aquatint 24 �J) a,-.k i ■ ■ • * -- Dark Trees at Noon, etching, engraving and aquatint, 1961 25 �on canvas, Ll �.'vJSISSK “Lines are me me'oo, ccc' me c Overgrown Path, lithograph, 1962 �istration." Outgrown Path, lithograph, 1962 29 �"Much of the inspiration for my landscape comes from Maine because it has so many contrasts—the darkest woods, the most luminescent distances— and so many moods which correspond to the feelings one has about life." blue Apple Tree—White Sky, oil on canvas. 1965 �n for my landscape comes from Maine because s—the darkest woods, the most luminescent distances— lich correspond to the feelings one has about life.” Blue Apple Tree—White Sky, oil on canvas, 1965 31 �Seventeen Night Figures, oil on canvas, 1973 33 �^5sgaw»f ^v.-: Dark Branches and Sunny Meadow II, oil on canvas, 1976 Summer—Apple Tree and Yellow House, oil on canvas, 1975-76 �on canvas. 35 �a -•s I “At no time have 1 endeavored to improve upon my personal styli style develops naturally—like handwriting.” jht Sounds of a Brook, monotype and gouache. 1977 �improve upon my personal style.idwriting." 5 - ofg firooR, monotype and gouache, 37 �feel but-snot there“What is most important to me is to paint and draw w �on canvas, 1977 I feel but is not there.” �1 I. Park Toward Evening, Jamaica, gouache, 1978 Blue Arches, Jamaica I, oil on �'■ • - - C'C Ear:.'gouache, 1978 41 �mm Hight, oil on canvas. 1978 �My self-portraits follow me like a story." i Self-Portrait—Night, oil on canvas, I' �lel.ke 3 story. �The Green Night, oil on canvas, 1982 �Night Woods with Apple Tree, oil on canvas, 1983 Born Door and Moonlit Field, oil on board. ��of a Forest Brook, etching and aquatint, ! SI �“Paintings should be remembered like people, one by one. ’ In the Forest—The Artist a �Ilke people, one by one." ��Midsummer Night, oil on canvas, 1988 S t Cloud, Land and Water, monotype, 1989 ��■ ! _ “Picasso said it takes a long time to become young. I think he is right. Self-Portrait with Batliers, oil on canvas, 1990 �ne to become young. I think he is right." with Bathers, oil on canvas, 1990 �° MorninS- oil On canvas, 1990 �J • intfall. Night and Morning, oil on canvas, 1990 ! J I �The conviction has stayed with me that I have something within me that wants to be expressed...the treasure is there and as far as I could, I tried to bring it out.” ed Tree Full Moon, oil on canvas, 1990 �ir Fl '' . $ 11 J =n has stayed w,th me that I have something within me that wants ed„.the treasure IS there and as far as I could. I tried to bring it out." ’ Moon, oil on canvas, 1990 63 �fl r■ F■r " . ■■ 1 ‘i PC “What we carry away from an experience often lives in our memories more intensely and more eloquently than that which we actually see." L I 'he Big Canvas, ail on canvas. 1990 �science often lives in our memories more intensely :h we actually see.” �[Time and Mood, oil on canvas, 1991 �.-Z �■ I •.jrtTwe, Oil on canvas. 1991 �<■ I exhibition of paintings and prin'.j Galleries. CHRONOLOGY 1912 1931 of Hugo and Bella Born in Karlsruhe, Germany, son was an American from (Sulzberger) Schrag. His mother New York City. His German father was a lawyer. Graduated from Humanistisches Gymnasium where subjects included Latin and ancient Greek. Parents moved to Zurich, Switzerland. Studied at Ecole des Beaux Arts. Geneva.I. Won two prizes for drawing. 1932 J a competition and was admitted Went to Paris, passed Ecole Nationale Superieure des (free of charge) to E Arts? Also studied at Academic Ranson with Beaux * *•Roger Bissiere, an abstract painter, and at La Grande Dehn. 1953 The Newark Museum . i: g af ? Schrag painting from the Ar;; -■..de"*/ of Arn ;nc Letters. In 1978 anot'e: tr.g given to the Springfield A»t Museum. M . Catalogue Ra-sonn of: Grapi..; Wo-k-, '939-1970. published by Syracuse Universe/ Catalogue introduction by Una E. Jcr-on. Karl Shrag print archive established at Syracuse Joined faculty at Cooper Union and taught there until Museum. 1968. Included in Twenty American Drawings at the Contemporaries Gallery, Nev/ York (other artists included Avery, Ben-Zion, David Smith and 1938 University. 1971-72 Included in Tamarind, an exh bitic circulated by the Internationa! Exhibitions Foundation. 1972 Retrospective exhibition of prints, National Ccliecton of Fine Arts, Smithsonian Institution, Wash ".gtor D.C. 1973 Gives lecture at Sheldon Museum. University of Nebraska. Lincoln, and at the Joslyn Museum, Omaha, n conjunction with exhibition A Sense cf Place. 1976 Included in American Prints, 1913 - (963. the Museum cf Modern Art. New York, which was Circulated to ma-or European museums. Included in Contemporary American Prints, Gifts of the Singer Collection, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Commissioned by the Brooklyn Museum to make a pnnt for fundraising. 1980 Honored, with the other members of the Adv.scry Board of New York Artists’ Equity, at a luncheon at New York's 67th Street Armory Walkowitz). 1956 York, with Harry Sternberg. 1941 New York. Taught Graphic Arts at Brooklyn College (replacing Kurt Seligman). 1954 First one man show at Gaierie Arenberg. Brussels. 1939 to Jamaica. St. Barthc'emy - c Included in 14 Printmakers, joint exhibition ar Stable Gallery. Kraushaar Galleries and the Brooklyn Went to Brussels, Belgium to paint. Came to the United States. Studied printmaking at the Art Students League, New f made trips First print acquired by the Museum of Modern A 1953-57 Chaumiere. 1936-38 J-!*aar Included in Second International Exhibinc: :,r 5.,,.. and Prints in Lugano, Switzerland. Four . each country were chosen. The other An- ■ '-2 rorn were Louis Schanker, Armin Landed, ar.^AdoTh First participation in Society of American Etchers Represented in exhibition, Modern An in the United States, shown at Tate Gallery, London and. under the auspices of the Museum of Modern Art, traveled to other European cities. Annual. Illustrated deluxe edition of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Suicide Club published by Pierre Beres. First of many invitations to participate in annual exhibitions at the Whitney Museum of American Art. 1944 Became a citizen of the United States. 1945 Married Use Szamatolski; adopted Peter, her son from her first marriage. First summer in Maine, on Chebeague Island. In other years he and his family summered on Spruce Head Island, in Castine, in Harborside, in Friendship (Martin’s Point), on Vinalhaven and in Ellsworth. After 1959 almost every summer has been spent in an old farm house on Deer Isle. Joined S. W. Hayter’s Atelier 17. in New York, which included the European artists Chagall, Masson, Miro, Lipchitz, Dali and Tanguy, and among the American artists Rattner, Alice Mason, Louise Bourgeois, Lasansky, Peterdi, Calapai, Racz, Sue Fuller, Minna Citron, Ortman, Grippe and Anne Ryan. First one-man exhibition at National Collection of Fine Arts, Smithsonian Institution. 1957 Included in Fifty American Drawings at the Brooklyn 1958 Trip to France, Germany and Spain. One-man exhibition of prints at Staatliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe, Germany, and at Oslerreichisches Konsulat, Museum. Baden-Baden, Germany. I960 One of twelve American artists selected by the American Federation of Arts, under a grant from the Ford Foundation, for a retrospective exhibition and monograph (text by John Gordon, curator at the Whitney Museum of American Art). Exhibition of thirty-five paintings and ten prints opened at the Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, Part (I, 19711980. published by Syracuse Um/ersity Catalogue introduction by August L Freundlich Elected Academician. National Academy of Design, New York. Brooklyn Museum and traveled to sixteen museums and universities throughout the country. 1961 Featured in film Printmakers USA (with Lasansky, Moy. Peterdi and Worden Day) produced for international circulation by the United States Information Agency. Exhibition of gouaches at Staatliche Kunsthalle, Baden- 1984 Baden, Germany. Participated in 10 Prints by 10 American Artists organized by the American Federation of Arts for exhibition in Essay on Karl Schrag’s work by Bernard Malamud introducing the exhibition of paintings at Kraushaar Galleries. Evening lecture by the artist, Painting, the Inide. G^de. at Nev/ York’s Art Students League. 1947 First one-man exhibition of paintings at Kraushaar Galleries, New York, beginning an association which continues to the present. 1950 Director of Atelier 17. Daughter Katherine is born. 1952 Trip to France and Italy. Included in American Artists Under 40 chosen by William 5. Lieberman, print curator at the Museum of Modern Art, New York. Shown in Salzburg, Austria and Vienna's Secession Gallery. Interviewed by Dore Ashton on WNYC during 70 India. 1962 Under a grant from the Ford Foundation, spent two months at Tamarind Workshop, Los Angeles, with 19B7 related paintings at Associated American Artists Catalogue introduction, About Kar! Schrag, by S. W, Hayter. Albers and Diebenkorn. Served on National Screening Committee for Fu.bright 1962, 1965 Included in exhibition of American art at the Fc-A-g." AMuseum in Sofia. Bulgaria. The works in this exh.u.uor Awards for Study in the Held of Painting. Received Certificate of Merit from the India Fine Arts 1963 were donated to the Museum by the artists. Society at ceremony arranged by the American 1988 Federation of Arts. Summer in Mexico, mostly in Oaxaca. Retrospective exhibition of prints, monotypes and One-man show of prints at Elvehjem Museum, University of Wisconsin. Madison. �tition of paintings and prints at Kraushaar ies. led in Second International Exhibition of Drawings rints in Lugano. Switzerland. Four artists from rountry were chosen. The ocher American artists Louis Schanker, Armin Landeck and Adolph 1966 print acquired by the Museum of Modern Art, York. it Graphic Arts at Brooklyn College (replacing Seligman). and Letters. Exhibits print portfolio By the Sea at Kraushaar Galleries and at Associated American Artists, New York. (Portfolio acquired by National Gallery. Washington, D.C.. the Metropolitan Museum of Art and New York Public Library.) Trip to Martinique. The artist subsequently made trips to Jamaica. St. Bartholemy and Sanibel Island, Florida. 1971 The Newark Museum receives gift of a Karl Schrag painting from the American Academy of Arts and Letters. In 1978 another painting is given to the Springfield Art Museum, Missouri. Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, 1939-1970, published by Syracuse University. Catalogue introduction by Una E. Johnson. Karl Shrag print archive established at Syracuse University. 1971-72 Included in Tamarind, an exhibition circulated by the International Exhibitions Foundation. 1972 Retrospective exhibition of prints. National Collection of Fine Arts, Smithsonian Institution, Washington. D.C. 1973 Gives lecture at Sheldon Museum, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, and at the Joslyn Museum, Omaha, in conjunction with exhibition A Sense of Place. 1976 Included in American Prints, 1913 - 1963, the Museum of Modern Art, New York, which was circulated to major European museums. Included in Contemporary American Prints, Gifts of the Singer Collection, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Commissioned by the Brooklyn Museum to make a print for fundraising. 1980 Honored, with the other members of the Advisory Board of New York Artists’ Equity, at a luncheon at New York's 67th Street Armory. 1981 Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, Part II, 19711980, published by Syracuse University. Catalogue introduction by August L. Freundlich. Elected Academician, National Academy of Design, New York. 1984 Essay on Karl Schrag’s work by Bernard Malamud introducing the exhibition of paintings at Kraushaar Galleries. Evening lecture by the artist. Painting, the Inside, Outside, led in 14 Printmakers, joint exhibition at Stable ;ry, Kraushaar Galleries and the Brooklyn urn. J faculty at Cooper Union and taught there until ded in Twenty American Drawings at the emporaries Gallery, New York (other artists ded Avery. Ben-Zion, David Smith and Grant in Art from American Academy of Arts owitz). esented in exhibition, Modern Art in the United ;, shown at Tate Gallery, London and, under the ces of the Museum of Modern Art, traveled to ■ European cities. 5 ded in Fifty American Drawings at the Brooklyn ium. to France, Germany and Spain. man exhibition of prints at Staatliche Kunsthalle, ruhe, Germany, and at Oslerreichisches Konsulat. n-Baden. Germany. of twelve American artists selected by the rican Federation of Arts, under a grant from the Foundation, for a retrospective exhibition and ograph (text by John Gordon, curator at the tney Museum of American Art). Exhibition of :y-five paintings and ten prints opened at the jklyn Museum and traveled to sixteen museums universities throughout the country. ured in film Printmakers USA (with Lasansky, Moy, rdi and Worden Day) produced for international ilation by the United States Information Agency, bition of gouaches at Staatliche Kunsthalle, Baden- en, Germany. icipated in 10 Prints by 10 American Artists organized he American Federation of Arts for exhibition in Print commissioned for members of the Madison Print Club. 1989 Recent paintings included in exhibition. The Painter and the Printmaker, at Associated American Artists. I99| One-man exhibition of paintings and prints at St. Botolph Club. Boston. Included in Artists Choice: Chuck Close, Head-On/The Modern Portrait, Museum of Modern Art. Nev/ York. Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, Part III, 19811990, published by Syracuse University. Catalogue introduction by Domenic J. lacono. In connection with this publication, one man show of paintings and prints at Syracuse University, Syracuse. New York. Print commissioned for members of the Cleveland Print Club, Ohio. Participated in Twining Gallery forum, Enduring Creativity, with Dorothy Dehner, Herman Cherry and Mildred Constantine. 1992 Retrospective exhibition of paintings and prints organized by the Farnsworth Art Museum, Rockland. Maine. at New York's Art Students League. ier a grant from the Ford Foundation, spent two nths at Tamarind Workshop, Los Angeles, with 1987 ers and Diebenkorn. ved on National Screening Committee for Fulbright rards for Study in the Field of Painting. ceived Certificate of Merit from the India Fine Arts ciety at ceremony arranged by the American deration of Arts. mmer in Mexico, mostly in Oaxaca. 1987 Retrospective exhibition of prints, monotypes and related paintings at Associated American Artists. Catalogue introduction, About Karl Schrag, by S. W. Hayter. Included in exhibition of American art at the Foreign Art Museum in Sofia, Bulgaria. The works in this exhibition were donated to the Museum by the artists. 1988 One-man show of prints at Elvehjem Museum, University of Wisconsin, Madison. 71 �Lincoln National Corp., Fort Los Angeles County Museum of Ar:. Pu-ase Award. T^O^M^New^rk.19^1950. Lieber l960' i 963, Sonia Waiter Award. I964 . d Oakland. California. 1959. 1961. Certificate of Merit. 4th International Exhibition of Contemporary Art. New Delhi. India. 1962. Ford Foundation Fellowship for Study at Tamarind Nels^R^feXch^'lward for Painting. New York State Exposition. 1963. $2,500 Grant in Art American Academy of Arts and Letters, New York, 1966. Albion College Purchase Award, Albion, Michigan, 196b. Purchase Award, Childe Hassam Fund, American Academy of Arts and Letters, New York, 1970, 1974. 1977. Drawing Prize. Ball State University, Muncie, Indiana, 1970. Davidson College Purchase Award, Davidson. North Carolina, 1974. National Academy of Design, New York, First Benjamin Altman Prize for Landscape Painting. 1981, Landscape Prize, 1983, Carnegie Prize, 1986. Elected member of National Academy of Design. New York, 1981. Certificate of Merit, Government of Bulgaria, 1987. Grant, Richard A. Florsheim Art Fund, Florida, 1991. One of twelve American artists selected, in I960, by the American Federation of Arts, under a grant from the Ford Foundation, for a retrospective exhibition and monograph (text by John Gordon, Curator, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York). Exhibition of thirty-five paintings and ten prints opened at the Brooklyn Museum and traveled to sixteen museums and universities throughout the country. ONE PERSON EXHIBITIONS Galerie Arenberg, Brussels, Belgium, 1938 University of Alabama. 1949 Philadelphia Art Alliance. Pennsylvania, 1952 University of Maine, Orono, 1953. 1958 Oslerreichisches Konsulat, Baden-Baden. Germany, 1958 Staatliche Kunsthalle. Karlsruhe, Germany, 1958 State University of New York, Oneonta. 1953, 1959 Gesellschaft der Freundejunger Kunst, Baden-Baden Germany, 1958, 1961 W,s1° M0Unralnv,lle. New York. 1967 "T ,Fine Ar“' Smithsonian Institution, retrospective) Joseph I. Lubin House, Syracuse University, New York Cit ity. 1988 Associated American Artists, Nev/ York. 1971, (print retrospective) 1980, 1986, 1990 (monotypes) Jane Haslim Gallery. Washington. DC, 1989, i99i St. Botolph Club, Boston, Massachusetts. 1991 Lowe Art Gallery, Syracuse University, New York, 1981. 1991 Kraushaar Galleries, New York, 1947, 1950, 1952, 1956 1959 1962, 1964, 1966, 1968, 1971. 1975, 1977. 1979. 1982 1984, 1986, 1989, 1991. PERMANENT COLLECTIONS Achenbach Foundation, The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, California University of Alabama Anchorage Museum of History and Art, Alaska ARA Services, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania The Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois Atlanta University, Georgia Bates College, Museum of Art, Lewiston, Maine Bergen Museum of Art & Science, Paramus, New Jersey Bethlehem City Center, Pennsylvania Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, France Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts Bradley University, Peoriar-Illinois Rose Art Museum, Brandeis University, Waltham, Massachusetts The British Museum. London, England The Brooklyn Museum, New York Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio Grunwald Center for the Graphic Arts, University of California, Los Angeles Canton Art Institute, Ohio Central National Bank of Cleveland, Ohio Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio Colby College Museum of Art, Waterville, Maine Columbus Museum, Georgia Columbus Museum of Art, Ohio Commerce Trust Co., Kansas City Coos Art Museum, Coos Bay, Oregon Hood Art Museum, Dartmouth College, Hanover, New Hampshire Detroit Institute of Arts, Michigan Everson Museum of Art, Syracuse, New York The Farnsworth Art Museum, Rockland, Maine Free Library of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Georgetown University, Art and History Museum. Washington, DC Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. New York Joseph H. Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington. DC Krannert Art Museum, University of Illinois. Champaign Joslyn Art Museum. Omaha. Nebraska LaSalle University. Art Museum, Philadelphia. Penny v Lehigh University Art Galleries. Bethlehem. Pennsypan­ Library of Congress. Washington. DC Lincoln Life Insurance Company. Nebraska 11 . University of Maine The Metropolitan Museum of Art. r-; . Minnesota Museum of Art. Sa nt P-l University of Minnesota. University Art M. University of Missouri. Museum of Art and Columbia Munson-Williams-Proccor Institute. Utica. The Museum of Modern Art, New York National Gallery of Art. Washington. DC National Museum of American Art. Washi Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery. University The Newark Museum. New Jersey New York Public Library Oakland Art Museum. California Palmer Museum of Art. Pennsylvania State University Park Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania Portland Museum of Art. Maine Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of D Memorial Art Gallery. University of Roche Rockefeller University. Nev/ York Jane Voorhees Zimmerli Art Museum. Rui New Brunswick. New Jersey Salomon Brothers. Inc.. New York Museum of Fine Arts. Springfield. Massach Springfield Art Museum, Missouri Saint Louis Art Museum. Missouri Scaatliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe. Germany Stanford University Art Gallery. Palo Alto Syracuse University, New York State University of New York, Oswego Uffizi Gallery, Florence. Italy Victoria and Albert Museum, London, Eng Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford. Connec Whitney Museum of American Arc, Nev/ Wichita Art Museum, Kansas Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut PUBLICATIONS WITH PRINTS BY KARL SCHI Stevenson, Robert L. The Suicide Club. Pie 21 limited edition. and Poems. introduction by Jan Sweeney. Morris Gallery, 1959. y the Seo, 1966. A portfolio with eighteel poem by the artist. ARTICLES BY KARL SC ■Some Thoughts on Art." The Cable. Stud. Cooper Union, 1958. "ThPPAneSS and Torment of Printmaking,'' e Art,st Alone vs. the Artist in the Wi "Liohn“er3'IX 17!0^;,£- Autumn 1967. Volts got and Darkness in Contemporary Pri Prmr 7 PraCt GraP*>ics Center. 1977 ectors’ Newsletter, Vol. XVII. no I. �Kornbluth Gallery, Fairlawn. New Jersey. 1987 Elveh|em Museum, Madison, Wisconsin, 1988 (print retrospective) Joseph I. Lubin House. Syracuse University. New York City l9Se Associated American Artists. New York. 1971, (prjnt retrospective) 1980, 1986. 1990 (monotypes) Jane Haslim Gallery, Washington. DC 1989. 1991 St Botolph Club. Boston, Massachusetts. 1991 Lowe Art Gallery. Syracuse University. New York. 1981, 1991 Kraushaar Galleries. New York. 1947. 1950. 1952. I9S6. 1959 I96Z 1964. 1966. 1968. 1971. 1975. 1977. 1979, 1982. 1984, 1986. 1989, 1991. Lincoln National Corp., Fort Wayne, Indiana Los Angeles County Museum of Art, California PERMANENT COLLECTIONS Achenbach Foundation, The Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, California University of Alabama Anchorage Museum of History and Art, Alaska ARA Services. Philadelphia. Pennsylvania The Art Institute of Chicago. Illinois Atlanta University, Georgia Bates College, Museum of Art. Lewiston. Maine Bergen Museum of Art & Science, Paramus, New Jersey Bethlehem City Center, Pennsylvania Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, France Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Massachusetts Bradley University. Peona. Illinois Rose Art Museum, Brandeis University. Waltham, Massachusetts The British Museum. London. England The Brooklyn Museum, New York Butler Institute of American Art. Youngstown. Ohio Grunwald Center for the Graphic Arts, University of California. Los Angeles Canton Art Institute, Ohio Centra! National Bank of Cleveland. Ohio Cleveland Museum of Art, Ohio Colby College Museum of Art, Waterville, Maine Columbus Museum, Georgia Columbus Museum of Art. Ohio Commerce Trust Co.. Kansas City Coos Art Museum. Coos Bay. Oregon Hood Art Museum. Dartmouth College. Hanover. New Hampshire Detroit Institute of Arts. Michigan Everson Museum of Art. Syracuse, New York The Farnsworth Art Museum. Rockland. Maine Free Library of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Georgetown University. Art and History Museum, Washington, DC Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. New York Joseph H. Hirshhom Museum and Sculpture Garden. Washington, DC Krar.nert Art Museum, University of Illinois, Champaign Joslyn Art Museum, Omaha. Nebraska LaSalle University, Art Museum. Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Lehigh University Art Galleries, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania Lenity of Congress, Washington. DC Lincoln Life Insurance Company, Nebraska J 1 University of Maine The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Minnesota Museum of Art, Saint Paul University of Minnesota, University Art Museum, Minneapolis University of Missouri, Museum of Art and Archeology. Columbia Munson-Williams-Proctor Institute, Utica, New York The Museum of Modern Art, New York National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC National Museum of American Art, Washington, DC Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery, University of Nebraska, Lincoln The Newark Museum, New Jersey New York Public Library Oakland Art Museum, California Palmer Museum of Art, Pennsylvania State University, University Park Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania Portland Museum of Art, Maine Museum of Art, Rhode Island School of Design, Providence Memorial Art Gallery, University of Rochester, New York Rockefeller University, New York Jane Voorhees Zimmerli Art Museum, Rutgers University. New Brunswick, New Jersey Salomon Brothers, Inc., New York Museum of Fine Arts, Springfield, Massachusetts Springfield Art Museum, Missouri Saint Louis Art Museum, Missouri Staatliche Kunsthalle, Karlsruhe, Germany Stanford University Art Gallery, Palo Alto. California Syracuse University, New York State University of New York, Oswego Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy Victoria and Albert Museum, London, England Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford. Connecticut Whitney Museum of American Art, New York Wichita Art Museum, Kansas Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut PUBLICATIONS WITH ORIGINAL PRINTS BY KARL SCHRAG Stevenson, Robert L, The Suicide Club, Pierre Beres, 1941, limited edition. 21 Etchings and Poems, introduction by James Johnson Sweeney, Morris Gallery, 1959. B/ the Sea, 1966. A portfolio with eighteen etchings and a poem by the artist. ARTICLES BY KARL SCHRAG Some Thoughts on Art," The Cable, Student Yearbook of Cooper Union, 1958. appiness and Torment of Printmaking,” Artist’s Proof, 1966. ne Artist Alone vs. the Artist in the Workshop,” New .... ~™-'ersrty Thought, Autumn 1967, Volume 5, Number 4. 'J t and Darkness in Contemporary Printmaking,” Print Renew 7, Pratt Graphics Center. 1977. on Collectors' Newsletter, Vol. XVII. no I, March-April 1986. BOOKS ED BIBLI°GRAFHV Acton. David, C. Adams & K F B»all A '89°~Kew “l 985reSS,°nS- Cr°US^^’Sfty’prMsJ1Lwidonn'970In^ Alfred K"°Pf‘ Oxford Cummings, Paul. Dictionoty of Contemporary Amencon Anw St Martins Press. New York 1966 '“York6 Van N°Strand Reinh0ld C°” EiC ¥0^1976°' Th£ °r,he Prin‘’ H’rry N'AbramS- New Esposito, Carla. Hayter & Atelier 17, Electa. Milan, 1990. FaUxA?er’ 3nd Ziegfe,dl EdwinToday, Holt. Rinehart & Winston. New York. 1969. Gordon, John, Karl Schrog, American Federation of Arts. I960. Gussow, Alan, A Sense of Place: The Artist and the American Land, Friends of the Earth Series, The Saturday Review Press, New York. 1971. Hayter, Stanley W., Nev/ Ways of Gravure, Pantheon, New York. 1949. -------------------About Prints, Oxford University Press, London. 1962. Hofer, Phillip. The Artist and the Book 1860-1960, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1961. Johnson, Una, Drawings of the Masters: 20th Century Drawings. Part II, Shorewood Publishers, 1964. ________ . 10 American Printmakers, United States Information Agency, 1964. , American Prints and Printmakers, Doubleday & Co., Garden City, New York, 1980. Lieberman, William, and V. Allen, Tamannd: Homage to Lithography, The Museum of Modern Art, 1969. Moser, Joann G., Atelier 17, University of Wisconsin. Madison, 1977. Peterdi, Gabor, Printmoking, Macmillan Publishing Company. New York. 1959. Reese, Albert, American Prize Prints of the 20th Century, American Artists Group, Inc., New York. 1949. Ross, John, Claire Romano and Jim Ross. The Complete Printmaker, The Free Press. New York, 1990. Rugoff, Milton (ed). Encyclopedia ofAmerican Art, E.P. Dutton. New York, 1981. Skolnick, Arnold, (ed). Introduction by Carl Little, Paintings of Maine Clarkson Potter/Publishers. New York. 1991. Syracuse University. Karl Schrog A Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphic Works, 1939-1970, Syracuse. New York. 1971. introduction by Una E. Johnson. Karl Schrog: A Catalogue Raisonne of the Graphc Works, 1971-1980. Syracuse. New York. 1981. introduction by AugustL Freund Cawlogue Raixnne of the G-aphc Wifa’l 981-1990, Syracuse. New York. 1991. introduction �by Domenic J. lacono. Zigrosser, Carl, The Book ofFine Prints (revised edition), Crown Publishers, New York, 1956. . Arts in the United States, Graphic Arts in the 20th Century, McGraw Hill. New York, I960. PERIODICALS A.C., Le Monde, January 31, 1951. A.N.. “Karl Schrag." Uffizi, March 1983. Allen. Henry, "A Printmaker in Retrospect," The Washington Post, January 8, 1972. Archives ofAmerican Arc Journal, Vol 24. no 1, 1984. Art News, November 1968; “The Vasari Diary, October 1985. Arts, Summer 1970; 1975; September 1984. Ashton, Dore, Art Digest, 1954. , “The Situation in Printmaking," Arts. October 1955. Broner, Robert, Detroit Sunday Times, February 21, I960. Burnside, Madeline, "Karl Schrag, Review of Exhibition." Art News, May 1976. Surrey, Suzanne, "A Decade of American Printmaking," Arts, May 1956. , “Karl Schrag, Movement Above and Below," Arts, June 1956. Burrows, Carlyle, New York Herald Tribune, January 12, 1947. , New York Herald Tribune, February 6, 1955. Canady, John, The New York Times, March 4, 1964. , The New York Times, June 20, 1971. Carlson, Helen, New York Sun, January 10, 1947. Coates, Robert M. "Whitney Annual," The New Yorker, April 28, 1956. , "Brooklyn Watercolor Exhibition,” The New Yorker, April 20. 1957. Cochrane, Diane, "Karl Schrag: On Landscape," American Artist, November 1976. Cullinan. Helen, “Expressionists are Triple Treat,” The Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio, March 1990. Devree, Howard, The New York Times, January 12, 1947. , The New York Times, November 9, 1952. . The Nev/ York Times, June I, 1956. Elkoff, Marvin, “Collecting Original Prints,” Holiday, February 1966. Genauer, Emily, New York World Telegram, January 11,1947. Hall, Dorothy, "Schrag at Kraushaar," Park East, May 1984. Hayter, S. W., Introduction to Exhibition, Associated American Artists, New York. 1986. Heller, Alex. "Contemporary Painting I,” Critique, January 1947. Hunnewell, Richard F., “Schrag at Kraushaar," ArtlWorld, November 1986. Jacks, Shirley, "Getting Maine on Canvas,” Down East, September 1990. Johnson, Una, “Contemporary American Drawings," Perspectives USA, Autumn 1955. Kessler, Pamela. "Karl Schrag. from Hitler to Vibrant Seas,” Washington Post, Feb. 19, 1988. Keyishian, M. Deiter, "Karl Schrag.” Arts, 1982. ... "Karl Schrag," Art News, March 1991. Kramer. Hilton, “Pictures on Exhibit," The New York Times November 16. 1968. . Karl Schrag.’ The New York Times, February 1975. 74 L. H.G., "Schrag at Kraushaar,” Park East, No.emb.-, , "Schrag at Kraushaar.” Park East, January 198^ Levy. Stephanie Mackay. “Karl Schrag: Art and Serio,.- La- -l-ter*’ Preview!, Ellsworth. Maine. August 3 - 10, 1990. Little, Carl, “Karl Schrag." Arts, May 1984. . "Karl Schrag at Kraushaar." Art in America. March 1989 Malamud, Bernard. Introduction to Exhibition. Krau:var Galleries, New York, May 1984. McBride, Henry, New York Sun, March 26. 1948. Mellow, James, "14 Painter-Printmakers," Arts. December 1955. _>"Schrag Exhibition at the Smithsonian." Art News. November 1945. Panczenko. Russell, The Eivehjem Museum of Art Scene, University of Wisconsin - Madison, Vol 4, no 2. 1988. Pincus-Witten. Robert, “Karl Schrag. Exhibition Review," Art Forum, June 1971. . "Karl Schrag. Exhibition Review," An Forum. February 1972. Preston, Stewart, The Nev/ York Times. February 26. 1950. Raynor. Vivien. The New York Times (Nev/ Jersey edition). March 6, 1988. Reed, Judith Kaye. Art Digest, March I, 1950. Secunda, Arthur. "Tamarind," Artforum, 1962, vol. I, no. 3. Tillim, Sidney. "Karl Schrag," Arts, March 1959. , “Karl Schrag," Arts, April 1962. Weeks. Dan, “Late-In-Life Passion." Traditional Home, March 1992. Willard, Charlotte, "Eye for I (Self-Portraits by Contemporary Artists)," Art in America, March - April 1966. Young. Vernon, “14 Painter Printmakers." Arts, May - June 1957. . “Trends in Watercolors Today, Italy and the US,” Arts. May 1957. ________ , "The Double Craft: Two American PainterPrintmakers." Kunst, Copenhagen. Denmark, 1958. no. I. SELECTED GROUP EXHIBITIONS Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, Annual Exhibition. 1941. 1951, 1953. 1954, 1955, 1957, I960. 1961. 1962, 1963, 1965. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Artists for Victory, 1942. Worcester Museum of Art. Massachusetts, 1947. The Brooklyn Museum. New York, Print Annual, 1947 and annually thereafter. Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Philadelphia. 1947, 1949. 1951, 1952, 1953, 1956, 1957, 1958, 1959. 1961-1969. The Art Institute of Chicago, Illinois, Abstract and Surrealist American Art, 1947. Montclair Art Museum, New Jersey, Annual Exhibition, 1948, 1952. 1954. University of Indiana, 1949. Petit Palais, Paris. France. Exposition Internationale de la Gravure Contemporaire, 1949. University of Illinois, Urbana, Illinois. Drawings, i 950. Toledo Museum of Art. Ohio. 1950. 1969. Virginia Museum of Art. 1950. Grace Borgenicht Gallery, New York. Atelier 17, 1951. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 25th Anniversary Exhibition of American Prints of the 20th Century, 1951. The Art Institute of Chicagc i The Metropolitan Museum Watercolors. Drawings a- . •: ■ - - Exhibition. ,9^2. Kunstorerferbundet. Oslo. Sv,.Philadelphia Museum of A' t. '■ ■ ' California Palace of the Logic-- c’ •:•. S. Franc s; Annual Exhibition of Contend' r, Ameren Pc.-nnr»g William Rockhill Neison G ’:•/ • C.ry. Msso.; 1952. 1953. The Brooklyn Museum New ' * .'-iiema! jnal Wo?? Exhibition, 1953. 1955 University of Nebraska. 1953 Albany Institute, New Yorl 1953. The Museum of Modern Art. New York. 1953 Los Angeles County Museum of Art. California. Rt'cei Acquisitions. 1954 Musee Nationals d'Arr Modcrne, Paris, France. Conte Drawing in the United States. 1954. Parrish Museum. Southampton. New York 1954 Dayton Art Institute, Ohio. 1954, 1956. Illinois Wesleyan University, Bloomington 1954, 196 University of Illinois, Graphic Arts - USA 1954 Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown. Ohio, Exhibition, 1955. 1956, 1961. 1965. 1967. 1969. 1 The Museum of Modern Art, New York, Drawings, I Guild Hall, Wagner College. Staten Island, Nev/ Yorl Schrag & Richard Zoellner, 1955. Tecolote Book Shop, Santa Barbara. California, Karl ‘ Andree Rucllan. 1956 Tate Gallery. London. England, Modern An in the Unit States, 1956. Montclair Art Museum. New jersey. Drawing. 1956 Museum of Art. Pennsylvania State University, Colle; Pennsylvania. 1956 Musee d'Art. Strasbourg, France. Dessms AmMcains Conternporains, 1956. The Brooklyn Museum, New York, Golden fear- of fl Drawings 1905 - 1956. Trends tn Watercolor Today, United States, 1957. Galleria Nationals d'Arte Moderns, Rome. Italy, Cun Graphic Art in trie United States, 1957. University of Illinois. 50 American Printmakers, 1958. Tweed Gallery, University of Minnesota, 1958. Ohio Wesleyan University, Delaware, Ohio. I959. Renaissance Society University of Chicago, Illinois I Staten Island Institute of Arts and Science, New Yor I960, 1962 Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, Connectici American Prints, 1950- I960. I960. Whitney Museum of American Art. New York. 30’h Exhibition. American Art of Our Century, 196! Coiumb-a University, New York. Unique impress Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts, :4:h A Print Exhibition. 196 L Boston Arts Festival. Massachusetts 1961. Contemporary Arts Center,. Cincinnati Art Museum Oh>o. 1961. 1963. Pfatt Graphic Center. New York, 35 Prize W^r.r.gfl Pnnts, 1962. �4 : institute of Chicago. Illinois. Draw.ngs, 1952, 1954. T’-s Mctrcpci.nn Museum of Art. New York. American ?-s. Draw ngs end Prints. A National Competitive DdAitibn. 1951 xOslo, Sweden. New American Graphics. 1952 71 Museum of Art. Pennsylvania, Print Exhibition. 1952. * Park East. November lQB6 East January 1989. rag: Art and Serious Laughter ” ust3 - 10, 1990. y 1984. ‘ Art in America. March {9£9 > Exhibition, Kraushaar L -x-r.-Ja Palace of the Legion of Honor, San Francisco. 5th Ex*- bi&on of Contemporary American Pointing. 1952. V,7 Er Rockhill Nelson Gallery. Kansas City. Missouri. rch 26, 1948. akers.” Arts, December 1955 > Smithsonian.” Art News. 1952-1953. Brooklyn Museum. New York. International V\ aterco’or EvWwn. 1953. 1955. University of Nebraska, 1953. Albany Institute, New York, 1953. Museum of Modem Art. New York, 1953. Les Angeles County Museum of Art. California. Recent Arc-s’: ms. 1954. b’usee NEtiona e d’Art Modems. Paris. France, Contemporary u? tire f-.tec States. 1954. =zmsh Museum. Southampton, New York. 1954. Zh-.-xn Ar: institute. Ohio. 1954. j 956. -ais Aesievan UrrSfersity. B’oommgton, 1954. 1968. _ -versity c4’. nois. Grep-.:C Arts - USA 1954. B_t=- hsEtuffi of American Art. Youngstown. Ohio, Annual Ex-otor 1955. 1956. 1961. 1965. 1967. 1969, 1970. The Musam of Modem Art. New York. Drawings, 1955. 3_ r . Wagner Co. ege. Smen island. New York, Karl Irrtg i Richard Zzeiine’. 1955. “eccitne Book Shop. Santa Barbara. California, Karl Schrag & -rr~r_=.~, 1956 're Ga =-•. London. England. Modem Art in the United Srt-s. .=56. luseum ofArt Scene, sen. Vol 4. no 2. i 98S. ig. Exhibition Review,” Art i Review.” An Fcrum, nes, February 26. 1950. s (New jersey edition k h 1. 1950. 'rum, 1962. vol. *. no. 3. larch 1959. il 1962. ” Trcditc.iG/ Home, ■Pcrtra ts by Contemporary -April 1966. takers," Ans. Ma;- - June 5 957. s Today, Italy and the US o American Patrrteren. Denmark, 1958.no • EXHIBITIONS „ New York.. Annual 954. 1955. 1957. '960. New York. MarttiaY Arc Muu=_t~.. New jersey. Drawing, 1956. ’•'uisur- of .Art. Pennsylvania State University, College Park, r=r-t¥ ‘956. t Art. Strasbourg, France, Dessins Americains _ 1956. ’ he s'cs . r-: M useum York, Golden Years of American 9C5 - 1 956, Trends in Watercolor Today, Italy •>t»d States 1957. Ga =-a \-t_crttie d Arte Modems, Rome, Italy, Contemporary Art United States, 1957. z: -rzz. 59 American Printmakers, 1958. *eed Gale-y. Ln. -e.-tny of Mmnesota, i958. c Weceyzr. U^^erz.zy Delaware, Ohio, 1959. zh’jsetcs, 1947. . Print Annual. 1947 ar.c Arcs. Philadelphia 1947, .949 8 958. 1959. 1961-1969. is Abrtrcrt and Surrey, st •'fatsa’-ce Society, Un.versity of Chicago. Illinois, 1959. -tzter. : Institute of Arts and Science, New York. 1959, 56: .962 7' ferc ty Art Gai’ery. t4ew Haven, Connecticut, y. Annual Exhib :t*on. n. Internationale de <959-1960, I960. *'1' r-ey Museum Amer.can A.rt Tlew York. 30th Anniversary Erl. An-er car Ar. af Century, 1961. Gzcr-ife York. 25th Anniversary he 20th Century. 195 i Watercolor Biennial 1963 ' 22 d ,nIe™"onol Pro^7^b'Rhodels,and'K-*™^ of£e2M &XT 1967; DrX"l967Maine' ' °° PnntS Des Moines Art Center. Iowa, 1965 Salle Dalles, Bucharest, Romania. 50 Prints by SO Contemporary Whitney Museum of American Art. New York, A Decode of American Drawings, 1955- 1965, 1965. The Secession Gallery, Vienna, Austria, 50 Prints by 50 American Artists, 1965. National Institute of Arts and Letters, New York, An Exhibition of Contemporary Painting, Sculpture and Graphic Art, 1966. American Academy of Arts and Lecters, National Institute of Arts and Letters. New York. Exhibition of Works by Newly Elected Members and Recipients of Honors and Awards, 1966. Procter Art Center. Bard College. New York, First National Print Exhibition, 1966. Saint Paul Art Center, Minnesota, Third Biennial Exhibition Drawings USA ‘66, 1966. Storm King Art Center, Mountainville, New York. 79 Original Drawings by 20th Century American Artists, 1966. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Pennsylvania. Prints of Two Worlds, 1967. Vancouver Art Gallery, British Columbia, Canada, Vancouver Print International, 1967. Norfolk Museum of Arts and Sciences, Virginia, American Drawing Biennial, 1967, 1969. Storm King Art Center, Mountainville, New York, Still Life, 1967. Wichita Art Museum, Kansas, 1968. Rijbsacademie, Amsterdam. The Netherlands, 28 Contemporary American Graphic Artists, 1968. The Brooklyn Museum, New York. 30 Years of Collecting Prints and Drawings, 1969. Art Gallery, Ball State University. Muncie. Indiana, 1969. Kent State University. Ohio, 3rd Kent State University Exhibition, 1969. New Jersey State Museum, Trenton, Color Prints of the Americas (American Color Print Society), 1970. 7*. .ers;t/. New fork, Ur<.aje Impret'.'ons, 1961. -:--r cf Fme An: Boston. Massachutens, I4rh Annual »s. Drowfngs. I95C. C, 1969. ' jrk. Ateher /7, 1951. Americanlp°nB7od^'|9«bri‘lgC' Massachus«B. _^n. 1961. Festival. Matsat-husetts. 1961. p -'r"Ar'r-zry Arts Ccmcr, Cincinnati Art Museum, 96:, 1963 Cemcr: New York, 35 Prize Winning American 19^,2 GSffio* O»V*on. Nonh Corolln,. Dowdson Nationai Print and Drawing Competition. 97 �Arc Museum. South Hadley. Massachusetts, Notional Prints CHECKLIST OF Unless otherwise noted Kraushaar Galleries, New 1963. 1976. Exhibition traveled abroad, including Albertina, Vienna, Austria. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York. Contemporary American Prints. Gifts from the Singer Collection, 1976. The Brooklyn Museum. New York, 30 Years ofAmerican 2. Landscape with Fruit, 1950 oil on masonice. 4g x 48 inches Collection of Dr Peter Schrag and Katherine Schrag-Wangh 3. Wind, Wave and Tree. 1955 oil on canvas, 34 x 45 inches Collection of Katherine Schrag-Wangh Atelier 17, 1977. National Academy of Design, New York, Annual Exhibition, Artists, 1980. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Prints: Acquisitions Montserrat, 1958 gouache. 38 x 26 inches Collection of the Whitney Museum of Am Purchase, with funds from the Friends of t Museum of American Art 1977-81, 1981. Associated American Artists, New York, 50 Years ofFine Prints, 1984. Maine Coast Artists, Rockport, Maine. The Founders, 1984. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, In Pursuit of Abstraction - American Prints 1930 - 1950, 1986. Mary Ryan Gallery, New York, Atelier 17, 1986. Gallery 68, Belfast, Maine, Karl Schrag, Master Printmaker, 1987. Krasdale Foods Gallery, Bronx Museum of the Arcs, New York. In the Country, 1987. Foreign Art Museum, Sofia, Bulgaria, American Exhibition, 1987. The works in this exhibition were donated to the Museum by the artists. Associated American Artists, New York, The Painter and the Printmaker, 1989. American Embassy, Sarajevo. Yugoslavia, New American Graphics, curated by Joann G. Moser. 1989. The Noyes Museum, Oceanville. New Jersey, Artists' Gardens, 1990. Scheele Galleries, Cleveland. Ohio. Karl Schrag, Syd Solomon and Irving Kriesberg, 1990. The Farnsworth Art Museum. Rockland. Maine. Gardens - Real and Imagined, 1990. Sylvan Cole Gallery, New York. Prints reproduced in The Complete Printmaker, 1990. Twining Gal^ry New York. The Nude: Drawings of the Figure by the New York School Artists, 1991 g Ma7wzni i".ery'New York'Greot American Prints- 1915- ’ Artist with Paper Hcl 194 i oil on canvas. 35 x 25 mJ.es Collection of Dr. Peter Schrag Printmaking, 1976. Elvehjem Museum of Art, University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1978, and annually thereafter. University of Delaware, Wilmington, Distinguished Mid-Atlantic -G; 5. The Middle Years, 1961 oil on canvas, 26 x 36 inches Collection of Katherine Schrag-Wangh 6. Blue Apple Tree—White Sky, 1965 oil on canvas, 32 x 44 inches Collection of Colby College Museum of A Gift of Mr. George Daly The Ladder (Self-Portrait). 1969 oil on canvas, 36 x 32 inches Collection of Jean and Raymond V.j. Schra 8. Red Sun and Silence, 1971 gouache. 26 x 38 inches Collection of Dr. and Mrs. Julian Hyman 9. Meadow in Moonlight, 1971 oil on canvas. 38 x 42 inches Collection of Jud. th Pitt 10. Maine Coast Artists, Rockport, Maine, Recent Work by Senior __ Statesmen, 1991. The Museum of Modern Art. New York, Artists Choice: Chuck Close, Head-On/ The Modern Portrait, 1991. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts. Modern Printed Portraits, 1991. Seventeen Night Figures, 1973 oil on canvas. 50 x 38 inches Self-Portrait, Paintings and Windows, 1973 oil on canvas, 71 x 40 inches Collection of National Academy of Design 12. Summer—Apple Tree and Yellow House, I9i oil on canvas. 50 x 58 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Schrag 13. Dark Branches and Sunny Meadow (I. 1976 oil on canvas. 42 x 50 inches Collection of Dr. and Mrs. Peter Schrag 76 �CHECKLIST OF PAINTINGS 14. Unless otherwise noted, al! paintings courtesy Kraushaar Galleries, New York City I. 4 Late Summer Night, 1977 oil on canvas, 50 x 50 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Braunstein 16. Park Toward Evening, Jamaica, 1978 gouache, 31 1/8 x 43 inches Collection of The Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the Artist 17. Island Night, 1978 oil on canvas, 48 x 54 inches Collection of The Farnsworth Art Museum. Gift of Paul J. Schrag 18. Self-Portrait—Night, 1980-81 oil on canvas, 50 x 40 inches Collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Henry and Margo Samton 19. The Green Night, 1982 oil on canvas, 40 x 50 inches Collection of Mrs. Ruth W. B. Pot )tter 20. Night Woods with Apple Tree, 1983 oil on canvas, 50 x 40 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Braunstein 21. Barn Door and Moonlit Field, 1984-85 oil on board, 38 x 26 inches Collection of Michael and Jeanne Bernkopf 22. In the Forest—The Artist and His Wife, 1987 oil on canvas, 50 x 40 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Lucien Goldschmidt 23. Self-Portrait with Candle, 1987 oil on canvas, 40 x 30 inches 24. Night Silence I, 1987 oil on canvas, 34 x 40 inches Collection of the artist 25. Midsummer Night, 1988 oil on canvas, 40 x 50 inches 26. Flowering Plant at Night, 1988 oil on board, 26 x 29 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Sass Sef-Foftrart, Pa r togs and Windows, 1973 o 1 on car /as. 71 x 40 inches Co ection of National Academy of Design 27. September, 1989 oil on canvas, 30 x 36 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. John S. Ames III Summer — Apple Tftt and Yellow House, 1975-76 28. Sultry Night, 1989 gouache, 26 x 38 inches Collection of Mrs. Max M. Stern A •is! t'.th Paper Hat 1941 c' cn canvas, 35 x 25 inches Collection of Dr. Peter Schrag .V-c. tow and Tree. 1955 o-: on canvas. 34 x 45 inches Co. ecoon cf Katherine Schrag-Wangh .V.srtsemst 1958 gouache, 38 x 26 inches Co. ecscn. of the Whitney Museum of American Art, Purchase. with funds from the Friends of the Whitney Museum of American Art 5. ~e Yeses, 1961 ou on canvas, 26 x 36 inches Collector} of Katherine Schrag-Wangh 6. £ j= AppJe Tree—White Sky, 1965 c or. carr/as. 32 x 44 inches Co -Section of Coiby College Museum of Art, Gift of Mr. George Daly T-e Ladder Seif-Pcrtroit/, 1969 o.j on canvas, 36 x 32 inches Co' ectcn ofJean and Raymond V.J. Schrag 8 Red Sun end S ience, 1971 gotacne, 26 x 38 inches Co-lecDor. of Dr. and Mrs. Julian Hyman Meudow ;n A'ocr ‘gr.t, i 971 o.i or canvas. 38 z 42 inches CoUectior of Judith Pitt Se.erCf*'- N grt Figures, 1973 o. on canvas, 50 z 38 inches ii. 12 r- ■ on canvas. 50 / 58 inches Co'lecfon of Mr. and Mrs. Fred Schrag ;3 Robert Cochrane IS. Landscape « th Fruit, 1950 o l on masonite. 48 x 43 inches Collection of Dr. Peter Schrag and Katherine Schrag-Wangh 3. Red Earth, Blue Distance, 1976 gouache, 26 x 38 inches Collection of Mr. and Mrs. fork nnd Sunn/ Meadow II, 1976 <- on canvas, 42 / 59 inches Co leston of Dr. and Mrs. Pr ter Schrag 29 Self-Portrait with Pine Tree, 1989 Oil on canvas. 40 x 34 inches Collection of Mr. Jeffrey Stark �The Influence of the Moon, 1950 etching, engraving and aquatint in two colors on cop edition of 30, 19x25 [National Gallery of Art] Self-Portrait with Bathers, 1990 oil on canvas. 26 x 40 inches 30. Dawn, Noon and Night, 1990 oil on canvas, 48 x 60 inches 31. The Sound of the Sea, 1958 etching and aquatint in four colors on copper, edition of 50, 20 x 28 [Philadelphia Museum of Art] 8. Nightfall. Night and Morning, 1990 oil on canvas. 40 x 50 inches Collection of SkyTell Corp. 32. Dark Trees at Noon, 1961 etching, engraving and aquatint in five colors on copper and zinc, edition of 50, 25 x 19 [The Museum of Modern Art] 9. 33. Midsummer, 1990 oil on canvas. 40 x 40 inches 34. Infinity, 1990 oil on canvas, 40 x 50 inches 35. Red Tree—Full Moon, 1990 oil on canvas. 40 x 40 inches Overgrown Path, 1962 lithograph in six colors on stone and zinc, edition of 30, 36 1/2 x 22 3/4 [The Museum of Modern Art. The Art Institute of 10. 19. Night Sky-—0* -■ lithograph, hand . edition of 40. 23 - 20. Sound of a Fo: : .. . • etching and aq j ? . ■ s.x c. ?rs on 2.nt anc| COD£3F. edition of 40. 18 x 24 21. Autumn Wind and '.-j, ;. 1988 lithograph in (out colors, edition of 60, 20 x 24 [The Farnsworth Art Museum] 22. At Night—Tib! Arlr.t and Hu Wife. 1989 lithograph, edition of 50. 26 x 17 3/4 23. Night Cloud, Land and Water, 1989 monotype, unique. 18 diameter 24. Late in Life Passion, 1990 etching and aquatint on zinc, hand-colored by the artist, edition of 40. 20 x 14 25. Flowering Tree- -Moonlight, 1990 lithograph, edition of 260, 19 x 18 [Cleveland Museum of Art] Chicago] 36. The Big Canvas, 1990 oil on canvas, 40 x 50 inches 37. Of Time and Mood, 1991 oil on canvas, 35 x 50 inches 38. Night Time, 1991 oil on canvas, 32 x 40 inches Pond in a Forest, 1962 lithograph in two colors on stone, edition of 35. 36 x 17 1/2 [The Museum of Modern Art, The Art Institute of Chicago. Los Angeles County Museum of Art] II 12. Self-Portrait, 1963 aquatint on zinc, edition of 50. 24 x 20 [The Museum of Modern Art] CHECKLIST OF PRINTS: 13. All prints in the exhibition (with the exception of #16) are from the artist's collection; public collections which have impressions of the prints are indicated in brackets. All dimensions given in inches. I. 14. Persecution, 1940 etching and aquatint on zinc, edition of 75. 12x12 3. Solace, 1944 aquatint on zinc, edition of 50, 10x12 [National Museum of American Art] The Two of Us, 1945 monotype, unique, 12x10 American Art] 15. 6. 78 Portrait of Una Johnson, 1974 etching and aquatint in eight colors on zinc and copper. edition of 50, 24 x 18 [The Brooklyn Museum] 16. Rain and the Sea, 1946 etching and engraving on copper, edition of 30. 15x11 [The Museum of Modern Art, National Gallery of Art] 5. Portrait of Bernard Malamud (The Writer). 1970 aquatint in five colors on copper and zinc, edition of 50. 24 x 18 [National Portrait Gallery, National Museum of [Library of Congress] 2. The Artist’s Daughter. 1965 etching and aquatint in two colors on copper, edition of 50. 13x18 [Syracuse University] Night Sounds of a Brook, 1977 monotype printed in black with gouache additions, unique, 18 13/16 x 24 15/16 Collection of The Museum of Modern Art, John B. Turner Fund Silence, 1947 etching in two colors on zinc, edition of 25, 12x15 [The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The British Museum. London. Bibliotheque Nationale. Paris] 17. Falling Night, 1949 etching, engraving and aquatint in two colors on copper, edition of 25. 17 1/2x12 [Victoria and Albert Museum, London] 18. Blue Arches, 1979 etching and aquatint in seven colors on copper and zinc, edition of 50, 24 x 18 inches [Stanford University Museum of Art] The Painter (Red Self-Portrait), 1983 etching and aquatint in two colors on zinc and copper. edition of 50, 20 x 16 [Museum of Fine Arts, Boston] '. . , �if the Moon, 1950 ving and aquatint in two colors on copper, 19x25 ery of Art] ■je Sea, 1958 ■uatint in four colors on copper, 19. 20. Sound of o Forest Brook, 1986 etching and aquatint in six colors on zinc and copper. edition of 40. 18 x 24 21. Autumn Wind and Stars, 1988 lithograph in four colors, edition of 60. 20 x 24 [The Farnsworth Art Museum] 22. 8t Night—The Artist and His Wife, 1989 lithograph, edition of 50, 26 x I 7 3/4 23. Night Cloud, Land and Water, 1989 monotype, unique. 18 diameter 24. Late in Life Passion, 1990 ■ 20x28 museum of Art] ■s/oon, 1961 wing and aquatint in five colors on copper ■on of 50, 25 x 19 ■ of Modem Art] k 1962 |ix colors on stone and zinc, 36 1/2x 22 3/4 of Modern Art, The Art Institute of t 1962 wo colors on stone, 36 x 17 1/2 of Modern Art, The Art Institute of tngeles County Museum of Art] Night Sky—Deer Isle, 1985 lithograph, hand-colored by the arte 1st, edition of 40, 23 3/4 x 17 3/4 2inC' hand-CO'Ored by the 25. Flowering Tree—Moonlight, 1990 lithograph, edition of 260, 19x18 [Cleveland Museum of Art] |63 lie. edition of 50, 24 x 20 ■of Modern Art] rghter, 1965 uatint in two colors on copper, 13 x 18 fersity] □rd Molamud (The Writer), 1970 colors on copper and zinc, 24 x 18 rait Gallery, National Museum of Johnson, 1974 uatint in eight colors on zinc and copper. 24 x 18 Museum] f a Brook, 1977 ited in black with gouache additions, ,16x24 15/16 fhe Museum of Modem Art, ■ Fund 79 uatint in seven colors on copper and zinc, 24 x 18 inches 'ersity Museum of Art] id Self-Portrait), 1983 uatint in two colors on zinc and copper, 20 x 16 ine Arts. Boston] 79 �( i 1 ■ I Photography by Geoffrey Clc-mer.f. .t ■ erptran* of page* 7,8 (righe), 9 (Wt> by Over B»Ur page* 3i. 43 by Banpnw Magro pages 24, 29. SI. 57 by William Thuss. and page* 9 (>>ght) II i.c':i.2l o/D'.b ' Wr: •' Additional photography. . Blue Arches. Jamaica I. 1978. o.i on canvas. collection of Solomon R Guggenln'm NuMM. Ne* York. g." of H ■ 1 Mr» Henry A Samton. 1979; photography by DarJ He.'-J cop/r : ft.u • P . re : ■ . Night Sounds of a Brook. 1977. monotype, printed in black * .th gouache add •. ;. s. The Museum of Modern Art. New York. John B Turner Fund. reproduced on page 37 Design by Carol Inouye. Inkstone Design Printed and bound by The Stinehour Press Distributed by Tilbury House Publishers. Inc. 80 ’ ... 8 :3 n ■ 24 I �IIIIIIHIIII iDooia?iaa MILKES COLLEGE L16RAPT �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1993 January 17 Karl Schrag Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Karl Schrag Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1993 January 17 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/f1b107492f3504e4aad9a295bd0d7296.pdf bdde710a09be902a0869137eccff227f PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1992 December 7 Echos of Africa Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Inge Markarian Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1992 December 7 - 1993 January 10 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource N/A https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/89485338525222d0c21eb087758a27fc.pdf 4a8a40b3ebded51c084ecfa9be0538df PDF Text Text ���������������������������������� https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/05930834e2fa2713a812bf0a0b334afb.pdf 31d072e2d7fe7b75105beb928a0c3d54 PDF Text Text II i '2 .■5 e 1 i ■ ■ ■ I I Virgin Landscapes, Native Cultures: The Artist-Explorer in North America Sordoni Art Gallery Wilkes University SORD GA N8214.5 U6S83 1992 �I Virgin Landscapes, Native Cultures: The Artist-Explorer in North America An exhibition organized by the Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University, in recognition of the Quincentenary of the voyage of Columbus I1 I I ■- Dr. William H. Sterling, Guest Curator October 11 through November 29, 1992 Support provided by Pennsylvania Council on the Arts Northeastern Bank Anonymous Friends E.S. FARLEY LioHALY ” WILKES UNIVERSITY WILKES-BARRE, PA �I LH 5 | 3 TABLE OF CONTENTS s ■ Lenders to the Exhibition Copyright 1992 by the Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University’, Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania All rights reserved Acknowledgments iv v The Artist-Explorer in North America ISBN 0-942945-03-4 Introduction Wilkes University Christopher N. Breiseth, President J. Michael Lennon, Vice President for Academic Affairs 1 Discovering America (1492-1800) Into the Wilderness (1800-1850) 3 13 From Exploration to Tourism (1850-1875) Sordoni Art Gallery Judith H. O’Toole, Director Nancy L. Krueger, Assistant Director Kathy L. Scott, Secretary Mary Jo Moses, Gallery Intern Biographical Notes 51 Bibliographic Note 54 Checklist of the Exhibition Front cover: Exhibition No. 12 Inside cover: see p. vi 55 35 ■ �ACKNOWLEDGMENTS How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth ofthe land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own thefreshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them? lenders to the exhibition American Philosophical Society' Art Gallery of Windsor The Butler Institute of American Art Everhart Museum The Heckscher Museum Joslyn Art Museum Kennedy Galleries, Inc. Missouri Historical Society Museum of Nebraska Art National Museum of American Art, Smithsonian Institution The New York Historical Society The Rockwell Museum Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery', University of Nebraska - Lincoln Sordoni Art Gallery, Wilkes University Sordoni Family Collection The Thomas Gilcrease Museum W est Point Museum Yale (Jniversity Art Gallery 1 his yas the response of Chief Sealth of the Duamish Tribe to President Franklin Pierce’s inquiry of 1854 regarding the purchase of a large tract of Indian land. Obviously, the two men had vastly different concepts of man’s relationship to his environment. Virgin Landscapes, Native Cultures is about the encounter between two continents and the inhabit­ ants of each, although admittedly through Anglo-European eyes — the artists represented here were Westerners who recorded as faithfully as they could the “native cultures” and “virgin landscapes” they encountered in North America. Planning for this exhibition began several years ago, although the original concept has gone through several permutations since then, and our small staff has worked diligently to bring it into being. We are grateful to Dr. William H. Sterling, Associate Professor of Art at Wilkes University, who served as the exhibition’s curator, providing a selection of objects and an essay which are both enlightening and sensitive to the subject. His careful research is revealed in the following text which, refreshingly, manages to be both lively and scholarly. We are indebted to those listed on the title page who provided support and others including Andrew J. Sordoni, III; Vai and Gus Genetti; the Cultural Events Committee, Wilkes University under the chairmanship of Robert Heaman; and anonymous friends. The gallery staff, new to a project of this ambition, tackled their responsibilities with diligence, professionalism, and, when needed, good humor. Nancy L. Krueger handled all the correspondence with lenders and coordinated all the varied details that go into assembling an exhibition and catalog of this scope. Kathy L. Scott lent her expert typing skills to the transformation of the manuscript from pen to computer printout. I am grateful to both of them for taking the exhibition’s concept and making it a reality'. Annie Bohlin approached the design of this publication with her usual intellectual curiosity and created a perceptive and appropriate document to accompany and survive the exhibition. Dr. Rena Coen, Professor Emerita of St. Cloud University, and Kenneth Haltman of Yale University assisted in the location of works by some of the more obscure artists and suggested valuable source material. Beth Carrol-Horrocks of the American Philosophical Society made access to that collection available to Dr. Sterling. Mary L. W’atkins of the E. S. Farley Library at Wilkes University kept pace with the steady stream of requests for inter-library loans. Also deserving of our thanks are staff members at the lending institutions, in particular: Barbara Rothermel, Everhart Museum; Marsha Gallagher, Joslyn Art Museum; Clyde Singer, The Butler Institute of American Art; John McKirahan, Museum of Nebraska Art, University of Nebraska at Kearney; William H. Trcuttner, Abigail Terrones and Kimberly Cody, National Museum of American Art; Cathy N lastin. Art Gallery of Windsor; David N leschutt and Pat Dursi. West Point Museum; William Fl. Titus, The Heckscher Museum, and Lillian Brenwasser, Kennedy Galleries, Inc. Finally, as always, we thank the institutions and private lenders listed in this catalog whose generosity made this exhibition possible. Judith Hansen O'Toole Director it �THE ARTIST-EXPLORER IN NORTH AMERICA I4 INTRODUCTION i~ This exhibition surveys the era during which the pictorial exploration of North America evolved from the reportorial to the expressive. It was also an era which saw other momentous developments: the transcontinental settlement by Euroamericans and the attendant uprooting of the native cultures; the creation of a national1 sense of destiny and history; and the emergence of a cultivated indigenous art community. The artist was never the point man in any campaign of geographical exploration. He recorded mostly what others had already discovered. Nevertheless, the term "artist-explorer" is useful as an indication of the difference between those artists who worked at home, using only their imaginations or the reports of travelers, and those artists who followed the pathfinders into the field to bring back eye-witness images. Some of the artists and themes appearing in this exhibition, particularly those of the American West and the American Indians, have been featured in many other recent exhibitions. These themes naturally occur in the current project, because they overlap so broadly our primary­ subject of the artist-explorer in North America. If your favorite western painter is missing in this show, keep in mind that many portrayals of the West were by the stay-at-homes, and many more were the work of artists whose travels came after those of the vanguard. In this exhibition, we are focusing on artists who, driven by a quest for fame or fortune, inspiration or knowledge, undertook arduous, and often dangerous, journeys into uncharted terrain. i.<r, I I !.l t HI ] >90 In 1494, Albrect Diirer, the great German artist of the Renaissance, crossed the Alps to visit Italy. This trip had nothing of the magnitude and risk which marked Columbus’s first voyage across the Atlantic. Still, in those days, Diirer's journey was a challenging venture. His motives were not altogether different from Columbus’s. Both men believed that their trips could bring them fame and fortune, as well as enlightenment. The wonders and wealth of the East beckoned Columbus. The art of antiquity and the Renaissance lured Diirer. Both the navigator and the artist hoped to return with treasures. For Diirer, that meant a deeper understanding of classical style and the newer discoveries by Italian artists. Diirer thus helped to establish a tradition which remained the primary object of artists' physical explorations well into the nineteenth century. Any similarity between their travels and those made by explorers of sea and land were mostly metaphorical. Indeed, prior to the nineteenth century, artists were not particularly interested in new lands or exotie peoples. Representations of Blacks and Asians by European artists, for example, were few and far between. Art was intensely Eurocentric in both style and subject matter. I'he Christian religion, classical mythology, history anti portraiture dominated subject matter. Genre, landscape, and still-life, as independent categories, began to flourish only in the seventeenth century and remained firmly tie voted to familiar ami near-at-hand images for two hundred years. Eventually, these lower ranking categories in the hierarchy of artistic subject matter would become rhe backbone of both objective naturalism and subjective expressionism, exemplified in the nineteenth century by rhe Realist and Romantic movements. * <>m|>Jt> . "t I'lllhljl iphl I 1 �. nril, demand for that kind of art developed howev er, there was no reason for an artisc 1 f some faraway wilderness or abongmal community. Even as philosophers and C1> travel oft to .< i .indseventeenth centuries began to posit connections, both literal and historians in the six ancient ,in(J bibllCal history. fcw artists (or th <"•'"*» ,n >”"■ ' .T“"p'e h“ sh°',n e d t" S concern was the tradition of art itself. An American wdderness, or its inhabitant, was X powerful stimulus than an old master landscape or an antique statue. Art tended to perpetUtCSKond1nlPdeminvoh ing Diirer seems to confirm this interpretation. In 1520, he had occasion to visit the Emperor's art collection. Among the newest acquisitions was a hoard of Mexican Indian artifacts. Diirer writes in lus diary that he was overwhelmed by these •wwdrous... [and] wonderful works of art. Aet so far as we know he didn’t sketch them or describe them in anv detail. As marvelous as he found them to be, they must have been curiosities which did not fit into his artistic world Artists became explorers, in the geographical sense, only when art itself begai began to embrace the real world in all its diversity. Somewhere between the categories of art and curiosity, there began to flourish, in the Renaissance, a body of natural history illustration (i.e„ careful studies of flora, fauna, and geology) requiring the skills, if not the imagination, of an artist. Some very significant artists took part in this development, most notably Leonardo da Vincg whose field trip to the Alps made him a forerunner of the artist-explorer. The New World offered naturalists a wealth of new species to examine and record. At first, most of the natural history illustrators remained in Europe and worked from imported specimens. In the late sixteenth century, naturalists and colonizers of the new territories began to take along artists to make both naturalistic and idealized portrayals of sites ripe for settlement. Some of die earliest scenes of America were, in a sense, real estate promotions. Hovering over all these pragmatic programs of exploration and representation, however, were the more subjective concerns of moral philosophy: where did America belong in the greater scheme of things: what aesthetic value did its wilderness have; were its natives subhuman or civilized? Artists, like their patrons, would work such concerns into their interpretations, consciously and unconsciously, over the next three centuries. One must also remember that ocean and wilderness travel before the age of mechanized and comfortable transportation was full of hardship, not to mention risk to life and limb. As a class, professional artists tended to be as ill-disposed to arduous travel as they were to military service. Check the household list of “great” European artists, and you will find that, before the nineteenth century, virtually none of them ever left their home continent. Only with the rise ot Romanticism and the wanderlust it engendered did a significant number of artists begin, physically, to seek inspiration in faraway places or alien cultures. Romanticism made the artist into a hero of culture, whose personal odyssey could take place within the imagination or atop a real mountain. V\ ith this kind of encouragement, artistic exploration of both kinds came into its own in the nineteenth century. DISCOVERING AMERICA (1492-1800) No artist accompanied Columbus on his voyages to America, and no professional artists that we know of sailed to these shores much before the seventeenth century. The earliest visual representations of the New World by the Old were based either on descriptions brought back by explorers or on pure fantasy. Virtually all such representations were the work of obscure illustrators. America was not a subject of much interest to artists. The continent had come within Europe’s purview accidentally and was regarded mostly as a geographical impediment and a philosophical inconvenience. The earliest images of America, appearing in 1493 to preface tracts on Columbus’s maiden voyage, are wholly imaginary generic landscapes. In 1505, the Master of Viseu, an anonymous Portuguese painter, portrayed an American Indian in the role of one of the magi in an Adoration ofthe Magi altarpiece (Viseu Muscu, Portugal). The American replaced the more conventional black African here as a representative of remote peoples in the trio of magi. 1 lad the Master of Viseu been to the New World? No one knows, but his Indian seems to be based more upon descriptions than direct encounter. Only his deep bronze complexion and feathered headdress identify him as a native American (these features became standard symbols of the Indian in European art for the next three centuries). Even when Indians were brought to Europe, it is doubtful that many artists had an opportunity to see them in the flesh. Symbolic images were adequate for the kinds of scenes in which America usually appeared, such as the cosmological allegories so popular in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. An Indian, a parrot, ora palm tree inserted into a conventional European landscape was enough to signal the New World. Authenticity' in visual representation was far less critical in the sixteenth century than it was in the nineteenth. The European landscape, itself, was seldom portrayed with topographical accuracy in the Renaissance. In the 1540s, when the Dutch artist Jan Mostaert painted West Indian Scene (Frans Hals Museum, Haarlem), probably no one was upset that the whole thing was entirely imaginary. More extraordinary is the fact that Mostaert was perhaps the only noteworthy sixteenth century artist to portray an extensive American scene at all. The meager excitement generated in artists and their patrons by the New World, as a subject for art, was apparently widespread. Even when artists began to make the journey themselves, what they reported seems not to have inspired many others to follow. It was a rough and hostile environment. Painting as “travelogue” only became popular in the eighteenth century, when tourism began to flourish. By that time, well-traveled patrons were less inclined to accept surrogates for their favorite scenes. The earliest extensive visual reports of America done on site did not appear until Jacques Le Moyne visited Florida in 1564 and John White settled in Virginia in 1585. Both men were trained cartographers and skilled draftsmen, and both had been sent out on royal commissions to promote colonization. Le Moyne accompanied Rene de Laudonniere’s expedition, while White traveled with Sir Walter Raleigh to become the governor of the ill-fated Roanoke colony. The drawings and paintings produced by Le Moyne and White presented for the first time a straightforward and detailed picture of Indian life. Although conventional artistic devices such 3 �i -,,i nines crept in, these portrayals seem to be laigeh accurate. A few years later both these engravings; W hite’s original pictures are m rhe Bnnsh Museum . Comparable pictorial studies of the Spanish ami Portuguese colonies to the south had not vet been done, despite the fact that American exploration began in those latitudes. The reasons for this are not clear. Perhaps Spain's somewhat secret, ve posture concerning her goldbearin- territories discouraged publicity. I he English and the 1; rench, in contrast, were eager to stimulate colonization in rhe North. The book illustrated with White’s pictures described Vir-inia as a "pastoral paradise” (Thomas Hanot, BneJ and 1 rue report of the new found land of Xirfnia. 1590). If White’s images fall short of accuracy in any significant way, it would be that thev accentuate the positive. His purpose, after all, was to attract immigrants. The most accomplished artists in America before the late eighteenth century were a pair of Dutchmen. Frans Post and Albert Eckhout. They did go to the south, but not to the Iberiancontrolled territories, and their purpose was less promotional than scientific. Post and Eckhout had been hired, in 1638. by Count Johan Maurits of Nassau-Siegen, governor of the Dutch colony in Brazil, to record the natural history of the region. Post painted numerous landscapes in the spacious Baroque naturalism prevailing in the Dutch school at that time. Eckhout concentrated on the native peoples, producing a series of life-sized, full-length portraits of unprecedented authenticity, only faintly glamorized by their Van Dykian compositions. He captured, with equanimity, both their innocence and their cannibalistic habits. Count Maurits was rather ahead of his rime in bringing artists along on his expedition to record this material in its natural setting. (Eckhout’s paintings belong to the Royal Danish Museum, Copenhagen; one of Post’s Brazilian landscapes may be seen in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York) As settlement increased in America, artists found more traditional reasons to undertake the journey themselves. Established colonial towns created a demand for portraits, altarpieces and interior decorations. The artists who came to meet this demand were not explorers in any sense; they were cultural emissaries, bringing an element of Old World refinement to settled communities. The first professional European artist to emigrate to North America was probably the Swedish portraitist. Gustavus Hesselius, who settled in Delaware in 1711 and later established himself in Philadelphia. Hesselius, and others like him, set a standard for nativeborn colonial artists, but the colonies were still the boondocks as far as cultivated Europeans v ere concerned. None of the great names in art history boarded a transatlantic ship until several generations after Hesselius. The first was Jean-Antoine Houdon, who came over fora brief visit in - So to sculpt Washington, Jefferson, Franklin and several other luminaries. About a century ‘dter. anfjt er great Frenchman, Edgar Degas, traveled to New Orleans to visit his Americanborn mother s relatives. A few portraits and local genre scenes resulted from this trip. Maternal cjoncctions attracted Degas equally great countryman, Paul Gauguin, just a few years later. ’ J^n \mot er" asana tit e ofAmerica in the fullest sense, having descended from Incas. He / ■jLt'P!-r^nnect'on "Eh his exotic heritage, perhaps, but his stay, in Martinique, •r,.',/ .11 ‘ 1 jerate escape from the confinements of European culture took him to tour&Hr'S a COl?ny °f Tahiti’ which> by that time, was already on the South Seas for four Xs\n ay0“"SChl .d 'dnd l0ng b-ef0re he became an artisc’ Gauguin had lived in Peru nevershovt-d nn?n ^questionably influenced his artistic personality but almost roster of ore tv r-nri^l?mat“r’ The Only othcr famous European artist to join this short America(18301 ml-y- 1 ^'*ntuF VISEors was Camille Pissarro. Pissarro was actually born in to Paris, w here he r<-n^u ,jarenti’on the island of St. Thomas. In his early twenties, he migrated considered e.xnlorers 1 )C reSt b*s l°ng life. None of these illustrious men could be At the level off i"C ?K concerncd with here. insalubrious, and u nc< i rh * <|U buroPe s condescending attitude toward America as a raw, American landscane was u i^i W| Pcrs'sted into the nineteenth century. What is more, the ' L "dS Sald t0 be less interesting than Europe’ s own. That was due partly to 4 Hoftium oppich no&u incendendi ratio. XXXI Bry, Theodor de [America] Frankfurt, 1590 Part II, Plate 31 Illustrated by Jacques LeMoyne Enemy Town Burnt in a Night Raid Photo courtesy of Rare Books and Manuscripts Division, New York Public Library. Astor, Lennox and T'ilden Foundation the fact that it was a landscape “lacking history.’- notwithstanding the presence of a native civilization. Even the Europeans' fascination with the exotica of Indians and the “Wild West” amounted to a kind of vicarious thrill-seeking, amply fulfilled by novels, fanciful illustrations, and touring troupes (Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show was a sellout everywhere it went). Indian society was seen as prehistoric and inscrutable. From the earliest days of exploration, the Indians drew ambivalent responses from Europeans. Two stereotypes came to prevail: the primitive savage, without law or religion (Hobbes’s brute); and the noble innocent, uncorrupted by luxury (Rousseau’s “natural man”). One dwelt in a hostile wilderness; the other, in a gentle Arcadia. In art, Indians of either stereotype tended to be represented with the ideal postures and proportions of classical figures. This isn’t particularly surprising, since classical 5 �3 idealism was still the rule in figurative art between the fifteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Indeed, this classical treatment was strikingly substantiated by the fact that many In ians encountered by the Europeans were, indeed, impressive physical specimens with strong rows, aquiline noses, dignified bearing - and, like the great antique statues, often nude. Among the earliest paintings of lndians in this exhibition - the small watercolor sketches by George Heriotlcat. nos. 20. 21). dating between 1799 and 1804 - conform to this tradition. Heriot was a British official who traveled through eastern Canada in preparation for his c l'ne!’ as postrnaster-general of the colony. Although he was not a professional artist, he had stu le with the noted English draftsman and watercolorist Paul Sandby, and had obviously absor re the artistic fashions ot his day. In these two scenes, from a series on Indian ceremonies, erl0t v. .is faithful to native costume and choreography’ as well as to European composition an 1=,U/C types. 1 he classical poses and proportions of the Indians, arranged in a frieze across tie foreground stage, and the briskly sketched landscape, divided into closed and open sPace ’ comply with the compositional tradition of Poussin. That Heriot’s explorations took piac mostly in tamed countryside is suggested by the row of well-dressed colonists in the Ceremoni ■ adp bailee, obsen mg the reenactment of a presumably obsolete practice. . Respite the conventions in 1 leriot’s portrayals of Indian life, they conveyed a suggest o authenticity rarely seen since John White. Authenticity, as an artistic objective, was ■ man , t ic province of the natural history painters, and we may include 1 leriot in then ia 6 as a part-time ethnographer. A small number of other exploring artists in eighteenth ccnturv North America were full-time naturalists. The English animal painter, Mark Catcsby. traveled through the east and south in the early part of the century, and the native-born botanical artist William Bartram covered similar territory before the Revolution. They were followed in the early nineteenth century by the more famous John James Audubon, who crisscrossed the American frontier during the first four decades. For the most part, these artists, like their predecessors in the naturalist field, maintained a narrow focus, isolating individual species on blank or generically natural backgrounds. Their subjects were effectively detached from their greater environment and from human narrative. William Bartram is the earliest artist in this exhibition to have been born in America. Almost all of his works conform to the format just described. The Canna Indira (cat. no. 2, p. 8) exhibited here is one of the few in which Bartram provided a bit of scenery to give a sense of place to his featured specimen. Simple as it is, this economically drawn expanse of hillside suggests a particular kind of environment, and seems to confirm that the artist set foot there himself and was not merely observing a specimen delivered to his studio. In his travels, Bartram did gather plantings for his father’s extensive gardens near Philadelphia (the elder Bartram had been appointed botanist of North America by George 111), but his drawings circulated much farther and were admired by English and Continental naturalists. Long after his explorational tours ended, Bartram’s book of Travels (1791) added narrative interest to his scientific work, and was 7 �• 4 ‘v te, *■ - : ' /flvnxiu-t.rivL ~ s> :7!i i (jlwfj Jc'ttia./. .J �great cataracts, vastness of scale, extremes of light and dark, and the like. Late eighteenth century landscapists increasingly embraced this concept. In the last decade of the century, a young Irish writer named Isaac Weld traveled through the United States in order to evaluate the new country’s promise for emigration. It failed to live up to his expectations, but he conceded, in his Travels (1797), that Niagara was “justly ranked amongst the greatest national curiosities of the known world.” Weld went on to describe his journey through the Blue Ridge Mountains, noting that Thomas Jefferson had proclaimed that the area where the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers cut through was one of the most "stupendous scenes in nature, and worth a voyage across the Atlantic.” While agreeing that it was a “wild and romantic” place and "deserving of attention." Weld was far from accepting that it was worth an ocean crossing. "To find numberless scenes more stupendous, it would be needless to go farther than Wales," he concluded. Most of his European contemporaries still shared this sentiment at the turn of the century. pictorial parameters of naturalist n< ’. partlcularly ln the ,ater works. T his expansion of the vanguard and took ven ser' 1 P,.lntll?gwas not Audubon’s alone, but he certainly stood in the its own sZ? firstT P-*). landscape, for training to insure that rheirrC • t™. ™ny army topographers received professional The earliest work in th ShihT''-'v $ Up t0 the ^mands of accurate reconnaissance. aBritishofficerondun inCnn.1 \ ^gc/ra Falls From Below (cm. no. 18) by Thomas Davies, The Falls were still rather rem 330 ‘ e"A ork from the 1760s through the Revolutionary War. they had rarely been represent'd0 '"r W^en Davies is thought to have painted them, and Father Louis Hennepin’s ^rSt ^nown sketch was made in 1698 to illustrate topographicalrecordformilitan-3' 'CS s,waterco’or impresses us as something more than a obviously tried to convev rhe purposcs- 1 hough his approach was basically documentary, he rendering which included two r/i'ma an^ majesty of this natural wonder in his panoramic met the criteria of the sublime wh; a^r apparentb’ absorbed in its grandeur. The Falls clearly J"'l“‘'y"ltotheOrigtnOfQurTj f ,,C’^un^ burke had outlined in his essay, A Philosophic capable of arousing awe or terror tllC1757). Any natural phenomenon as considered sublime: violent storms, craggy mountains, 11 10 �INTO THE WIEDERNE T 'i “To the pencil our country affords an inexhaus effect, cannot be surpassed in any part of the old world Murray in an 1809 issue of The Port Folio, perhaps in r travelers like Isaac Weld. When Murray spoke of "piett aesthetic alternative to the more dramatic sublime. Tl hail recently articulated the picturesque principle (7 Picturesque Travel; On Shetc/iin^ Landscape, 1791), assc awesome than the sublime, but more irregular than the I of beauty anil pleasure through interesting variations accompanied his article with an engraving of “Btitterm vania, a rustic scene clearly of a different order than Xi If America’s sublime landscapes were few and f still little known), her picturesque ones were extensive, settlers saw the wilderness only as an obstacle or an i cleared away. Aesthetic attachments developed only as vantage point of a comfortable settlement. Ironically, its pleasure in America's wilderness, and most of the ea America were transplanted Englishmen, such as Williat Joshua Shaw, all of whom arrived between 1790 anti 182 explorers, for though many of them traveled extensive! Two important developments in the early nine interest in rhe American landscape and its representatic magnet for travelers and immigrants, curiosity about th markedly. The wilderness, first regarded as a symbol began to be seen as an endless resource, something to I second development was the rise of Romanticism as tl Europe and America. The Romantic spirit embodied id, which were to have a profound influence on society’s became the mirror of both the transcendent creator ; landscape, then, offered enlightenment and self-discov From the Renaissance to the late eighteenth ccr rested upon its historical associations, predominantly tl: landscape without history was primitive and, for all int European lack of interest in America’s w ilderness rcsid sublime sights, but also in its ahistorical rawness. Art present. (Its only ruins, found in Central America, we Barbara Novak has described how this interpretation cam wilderness, ever new in its virginity, also stretched back i America’s “lack of history” was precisely the beginning The association of Nature with the creating Spirit was �INTO THE WILDERNESS (1800-1850) To the pencil our country affords an inexhaustible abundance, which for picturesque effect, cannot be surpassed in any part of the old world,” wrote the Philadelphia artist George Murray in an 1809 issue of'The Port Folio, perhaps in reaction to the Eurocentrist opinions of travelers like Isaac Weld. W hen Murray spoke of “picturesque effect,” he alluded to a specific aesthetic alternative to the more dramatic sublime. The English aesthetician William Gilpin had recently articulated the picturesque principle {Three Essays: On Picturesque Beauty On Picturesque Travel; On Sketching Landscape, 1791), asserting that wild terrain which was’less au esome than the sublime, but more irregular than the formal garden, could produce sensations of beauty and pleasure through interesting variations of pattern and composition. Murray accompanied his article with an engraving of “Buttermilk Falls” in Luzerne County, Pennsyl­ vania, a rustic scene clearly of a different order than Niagara Falls. If America s sublime landscapes were few and far between (the more sublime west was still little known), her picturesque ones were extensive. As Roderick Nash has shown, the early settlers saw the wilderness only as an obstacle or an economic resource, to be consumed or cleared away. Aesthetic attachments developed only as it was tamed and lost, or seen from the vantage point of a comfortable settlement. Ironically, it was the E uropean visitor who first found pleasure in America’s wilderness, and most of the early professional landscape painters in America were transplanted Englishmen, such as William and Thomas Birch, Francis Guy, and Joshua Shaw, all of whom arrived between 1790 and 1820. None of these artists could be called explorers, for though many of them traveled extensively, they never penetrated the frontier. Two important developments in the early nineteenth century stimulated intensified interest in the American landscape and its representation. As the new United States became a magnet for travelers and immigrants, curiosity about the country and its appearance increased markedly. The wilderness, first regarded as a symbol of backwardness by the young nation, began to be seen as an endless resource, something to be trumpeted rather than hidden. The second development was the rise of Romanticism as the most powerful new cultural force in Europe and America. The Romantic spirit embodied ideals of personal freedom and discovery, which were to have a profound influence on society’s perception of the landscape. Nature became the mirror of both the transcendent creator and the individual human soul. The landscape, then, offered enlightenment and self-discovery. From the Renaissance to the late eighteenth century, the significance of landscape had rested upon its historical associations, predominantly those of antiquity or the middle ages. A landscape without history was primitive and, for all intents, artistically unworthy. 1 he early European lack of interest in America’s wilderness resided not only in its perceived paucity of sublime sights, but also in its ahistorical rawness. America seemed to have no past, only a present. (Its only ruins, found in Central America, were as cryptic as its native inhabitants.) Barbara Novak has described how this interpretation came to be inverted by Romanticism; 1 he wilderness, ever new in its virginity, also stretched back into primordial time, she m rites. \ irgin America’s “lack of history” was precisely the beginning of all history, the still-flow cling Ellen. The association of Nature with the creating Spirit was also a central feature ol the Romantic 13 �I Stunderof the I ludson Rix er School, as well as American landscape painting h, P ' to the nineteenth century, most ambmous American-born artists, such as West and C.' .« vent abroad for study or patronage, Dole may have absorbed something of the Engli J . I tradition dliring his adolescence, but once in America he hardly looked back. Like an, limner, he picked up technical tidbits from local hacks, but his particular talent and sensibd f were perfectly fitted for rhe new Romantic age. I o be self-taught was not necessarily a liah’r ' from the Romantic point of view. If anything, it might lead to a fresher vision. Cole’s vi would be consumed by landscape — landscape picturesque and sublime, real and imagin i” Ohio was no longer a frontier region when Cole arrived, but its scenery contained \V ilderness to flavor his readings of Cooper, Wordsworth, and other Romantic writers Aft^h" move to .New York in 1825, the artist encountered more inspiring wildernesses in drat sparsely settled Catskills and Adirondacks. Although not in the frontier, many sections oH mountains were still virgin, and Cole mined from them a repertoire of dramatic motifs continued to appear in American landscape painting for generations to come (cat no 17 ' aq Cole's approach to landscape reflected Archibald Alison’s views (Essays oft/ie\a'ti°' Principles ofTaste, 1790), which stressed the psychological association of beauty, imaginati morality, as well as the more contemporary writings of his friend, William Cullen B '°n’ described paintings of the unspoiled wilderness as “acts of religion.” Cole, himself art'™ I i most ardently the new conception of landscape and America’s adequacy to provide ir« this famous Essay on American Scenery (1835), he writes: a®e’ n “There are those who through ignorance or prejudice strive to maintain that American scenery possesses little that is interesting or truly beautiful__ that it is rude without picturesqueness and mountainous without sublimity — that being destitute of those vestiges of antiquity, whose associations so strongly affect the mind, it may not be compared with European scenery....yet the most distinctive, and perhaps the most impressive, characteristic of American scenery is its wildness....there are those who regret that with the improvements of civilization the sublimity of the wilderness should pass away: or the scene of solitude from which the hand of nature has never been lifted, affect the mind with of m-in hCeP COnued em°tlOn than aUS,K Which the hand of man hM touch^ Amid them t|)e cons “ »' G<x> ■l>0 cream, - they are Iris M'orks. and rhe mind is case into rhe itcmplation of eternal things.” ' oiivii.riou that iheaim'rofhh 0''° s W0|-k to allegorical landscape, reflecting his ynnl'l be met through ' I)'UI'I||’K — first in rhe traditional hierarchy of subject matter 1,1,1 y" f'-XW <///.//,•( IK39 I()|ls ',;iri(,n.s serial works, such as T/m Course ofEmpire (l^b) " i'1'. ' '.cere increasingly imiirin.n'P ? ■ i* ^oin!lnt'c infinitude of time and space in landscapes II nit tlicjr focus upon the 11> ? " S exl’l<l|:llions became more cerebral than geograp ’> h "i itiote, of scientists and ■irtisi'n'’ ( mid evolution paralleled the more phssM 14 If the wilderness symbolized God and creation tor R echo, the physical evolution of the world for their scientific cc only eight years younger than Cole, and his vision of Nature• Darwin, the scientist, replaced symbolism and allegory with explorers of rhe first half of the nineteenth century tended in spirit. This is not to say that the moral and historical ideas .them, but, on the whole, it was the direct observation of pla< After the Louisiana Purchase (1803), the governnie new territory. The Lewis and Clark Expedition and severs and inventoried part of this vast region, but no artists aceomp; when Major Stephen Long was assigned to bring back pictc data. Long's partv. protected by a complement of soldiers, and two artists: Samuel Seymour and Titian Peale. Seyn Indians, Peale, the flora and fauna. Seymour, who goes dow artist to depict the Rocky Mountains (cat. no. 32, p. 12), rt probable an English immigrant whose previous commissioi �brace these new ideas was 1 homas Cole, a young sin Ohio in 1820. Cole has been popularly hailed well as American landscape painting in general ; American-born artists, such as West and Copley iy have absorbed something of the English art merica he hardly looked back. Like any country al hacks, but his particular talent and sensibility To be self-taught was not necessarily a liability it might lead to a fresher vision. Cole’s vision ; picturesque and sublime, real and imagined, n Cole arrived, but its scenery contained enough rdsworth, and other Romantic writers. After his tered more inspiring wildernesses in the still lough not in the frontier, many sections of these tm them a repertoire of dramatic motifs which iting for generations to come (cat. no. 17, p. 48). jchibald Alison’s views (Essays ofthe Nature and lological association of beauty, imagination, and ings of his friend, William Cullen Bryant, who as “acts of religion.” Cole, himself, articulated nd America’s adequacy to provide its image. In writes: ;h ignorance or prejudice can scenery possesses ly beautiful — :squeness and ity — that being destitute whose associations so lay not be compared the most distinctive, >ive, characteristic of ess....there are those ovements of civilization >s should pass away: which the hand of affect the mind with lan aught which the hand em the consequent :ator - they are his I is cast into the ;s.” work to allegorical landscape, reflecting h' in the traditional hierarchy of subject m rial works, such as The Course ofEmpire ticinfinitude oftime and space in an , j_ itions became more cerebral than geof £cal and evolution paralleled the more p ! I ■- ■- If the wilderness symbolized God and creation for Romantic poets, it preserved, like an echo, the physical evolution of the world for their scientific contemporaries. Charles Darwin was only eight years younger than Cole, and his vision of Nature was equally unorthodox. However. Darwin, the scientist, replaced symbolism and allegory with evidence and analysis. The artist­ explorers of the first half of the nineteenth century tended to be more Darwinian than Colian in spirit. This is not to say that the moral and historical ideas so important to Cole did not touch .them, but, on the whole, it was the direct observation of places and people that drove them on. After the Louisiana Purchase (1803), the government set out to explore and survey its new territory. The Lewis and Clark Expedition and several subsequent expeditions mapped and inventoried part of this vast region, but no artists accompanied these explorations until 1819, when Major Stephen Long was assigned to bring back pictorial as well as written and physical data. Long’s party, protected by' a complement of soldiers, consisted of naturalists, surveyors, and two artists: Samuel Seymour and Titian Peale. Seymour was to record landscapes and Indians, Peale, the flora and fauna. Seymour, who goes down in history' as the first professional artist to depict the Rocky Mountains (cat. no. 32, p. 12), remains a shadowy figure. He was probably an English immigrant whose previous commissions must not have taken him much 15 �. ' ? j’Afe.h beyond Philadelphia, nor into any prominence. He may have been lured into acceptingMajor Long’s risky low-paying appointment in order to boost a stalled career. W het ter re deeper motives is unknown. rm™ into an Titian Ramsay Peale, II, on the other hand, appears to us in vivid detail. ,j‘s[ illustrious artistic family, he, at age twenty, already enjoyed a growing reputation as a na The previous year he had made a field trip to Georgia and Florida, which prepare um more demanding journey to the West. Peale was a born explorer, coupling an ent adventure with an innate curiosity about the physical world, which latter quants y je(| from his famous father, Charles Willson Peale. On the Long Expedition, he often acc01^j the lead parties, hunted buffalo with Indians, and became an expert archer. I e rcrun\ire ,UK| more than a hundred drawings and paintings rendered in the field with meticu oU* ^jscape sensitivity (cat. no. 27, p.15). Many of his specimen subjects appear a§?linst.-,‘n jnCjian backgrounds, as in Yellow headed Blackbird (cat. no. 28, p. 49) with its distant yew o /)/Y/i^xcod village. I he native Americans come into sharper focus in one small painting, uin • cts [0 on die river 1‘lalle (cat. no. 26). I lere, Peale strays from his assigned natural historypea]e record with documentary clarity a particular scene of Indian life as he fount it. ... .injafour participated in two later extensive expeditions: a two year exploration of Co offl u 16 year trip around the world as a senior nai (1838-42, usually known as the Wilkes E Wilkes). There is no record that his coll wilderness journey. Samuel Seymour ha portraying some of the earliest views of Pl; apparently failed to send off his career. \ record. Perhaps this was due, in part, to th was still runningahead of public interest.! did not accomplish what Thomas Cole's n with James Fenimore Cooper's first Leat Mohicans (1826). These literary bombsh �y have been lured into accepting Major |t a stalled career. W hether he had anv Blears to us in vivid detail. Born into an ■yed a growing reputation as a naturalist, ■nd Florida, which prepared him for the ■n explorer, coupling an enthusiasm for ■vorld, which latter quality he inherited Bong Expedition, he often accompanied Ime an expert archer. He returned with ■ in the field with meticulous care and I'n subjects appear against landscape b. 49) with its distant view of an Indian In one small painting, Indian breast tatorb [his assigned natural history subjects to Indian life as he found it. 1 itian Pea c [ear exploration of Colombia; and a four year trip around the world as a senior naturalist with the United States Exploring Expedition 118.38-42, usually known as the Wilkes Expedition, after its leader, naval Lieutenant Charles Wilkes). J here is no record that his colleague on the Long Expedition ever made another wilderness journey. Samuel Seymour had also returned with a respectable set of watercolors, portraying some ofthe earliest views of Plains landscapes and Indian gatherings, but these works apparently failed to send off his career. Within three years, his name had faded from historical record. Perhaps this was due, in part, to the fact that, in 1820, scientific interest in the wilderness was still running ahead ofpublic interest. Seymour’s competent but unexciting little watercolors did not accomplish what Thomas (Joie’s more extraordinary canvases did a few years later, along '■ ith James h cnimorc < looper’s first Leatherstocking rale, 77/r Pioneers (1823) and The 1 .nsrofthe .Mohicans (1826). These literary bombshells by (Joie’s friend and neighbor quickly reached a 17 �J flr'i/t (■/ ■ /jir{ 31 . o/wact& /tac^fA'/(.ma 30 "as a Swiss teenager, artistically nmr- • er' d*^erentc’rcumstances. PeterRindisbacher an arduous emigration to the wilds ofr°CI0U|S^llC mostIy se,f-crained. In 1821, he had endured h'ghhghts of the journey in close!, ^ntral Canada with his homesteading family by recording throughout his short life. His nJr i , erved documentary drawings. He continued this habit or the landscape, and his rrrisrh-. .t l.lriosirV focused more on Indian life than on the settlers l’aJnc>ngs in the frontier comm ?Itl0ns seem to have been modest. The popularity of his ric“. crthcless induced him to scel-UniCICS " lei^e flc lived, first in Canada, then in Wisconsin, parallclingCo]e’s.ljnios ' Vtl rnoresoPh*sticatedcareerin the burgeoning citv of St. Louis, "ork always remained rooted i C<,|nCc,n^orary move from Oh io to New York Citv. Rindisbacher’s ons were based on direct in the settled Rast. I |c \ o m'1’111'.’ :llld Prov*ded an authentic glimpse ofa world known to no’ 29, p, J7jf ,Jn(| ||(. (|c • ,,c '^d to have painted the earliest scene ofa tipi interior (cat. 111 nm women and children more often than most of rhe other 18 painters of Indians. His views of a Chippewa family tra documentary' approach (cat. nos. 30, 31). Rindisbacher’s death in 1834, at the age of twei become a more illustrious career. .Although his techniqu those of a provincial painter, the potential for wider recogn already been established. When several of his paintir magazine shortly before his death, an anonymous writer "first artist" of "untamed wilderness....[giving] to the wi which he was bred.” To what extent he appreciated that depictions of that wilderness is not clear, but he could hard was changing daily and an entire Indian culture was changi the middle of the century, there were still opportunities which had been little adulterated by the white man. and the 1830s sought to do just this. There is no record that George Catlin encountere to the latter's adopted ci tv between 1830 and 1834, but he had already sensed the growing public interest in Indian si �.■ I I i I i (' //,///, u/ C i.y L/ ll ci/ftr 31 q Iftil/ Jntier. es, the first true "frontier nees. PeterRindisbacher n 1821, he had endured ding family by recording He continued this habit 1 life than on the settlers t. 'The popularity of his ida, then in Wisconsin, geoningeityof St. Louis, ork City. Rindisbacher’s >ns were based on direct ipse of a world known to ;ne of a tipi interior (cat. than most of the other n painters of Indians. His views of a Chippewa family traveling in different seasons typify his documentary approach (cat. nos. 30, 31). Rindisbacher’s death in 1834, at the age of twenty eight, cut short what might have become a more illustrious career. Although his technique and style had not advanced beyond those of a provincial painter, the potential for wider recognition, based on his subject matter, had already been established. When several of his paintings were reproduced in a Baltimore magazine shortly before his death, an anonymous writer observed that Rindisbacher was the “first artist” of “untamed wilderness....[giving] to the world themes as fresh as the soil upon which he was bred.” To what extent he appreciated that his work might also be among the last depictions of that wilderness is not clear, but he could hardly have been unaware that the frontier was changing daily and an entire Indian culture was changing with it. Fora very brief time before the middle of the century, there were still opportunities to observe native American societies which had been little adulterated by the white man, and a trio of important artist-explorers in the 1830s sought to do just this. There is no record that George Catlin encountered Peter Rindisbacher during his visits to the latter’s adopted city between 1830 and 1834, but he must have known of his work. Catlin had already sensed the growing public interest in Indian subjects. 11 owe ver, his route to a career 19 �lifterent from, and much more ambitious than, Rindisbacherk lv,^ on that insight was v er ^^m the site of this exhibition. His father, a mode^ Catlin was born only a sho t d < wi|kes.Barre from Connecticut, and hoped his son would successful law ver, hd not , jngpreoccupauon. with pam mgcutshorth.s legal career, follow him into the law. < J hia in 1821 to establish himself as an artist. Like Cole and however, and he movedt01' ht yct polished enough to gain acceptance in exhibitions Rindisbachcr. he was ^thin a few years. Catlin recognized, with n2 at the Pennsylvania • aiture was the most reliable way of surviving as an artist, but it other voting pamteis. tna f fortune. Most of the great reputations were made in the was not the surest roau ti . painting. It must have become clear to him that, already fiskicr, 1W demand ng by stQrm CrkicaI response t0 his WOfk was > A his thirties, he was n , dlsU|tingly hostile. William Dunlap, the leading art critic of his emims.ast^and m prodai d Cadin ^competent.” If he was lacking and a llioma. hc|castl)it deficient m ambition and initiative. Forcseeingadead‘7r/^ Mek portraitist, Gatlin resolved to make his mark outside of the art establishment d sown imique form of history painting, subject to his own standards something - ' ?-■" 7" I - w is beginning to do at just about the same time. (Cole and Catlin had both moved ‘ <<w YorkCitv around 1825, but there is no record of them exchanging ideas.) " ' ' On sex oral occasions, Catlin had been intrigued by Indians he had encountered m the ...... < ... j citics where he had lived, and he had even done a portrait of one of them. Now the ", - - < ■ -A him that the native Americans were on the verge of losing their natural culture, and \\herOugh pictorial record, taken from life, would preserve their ways. Aside from the few ■ces; Indian subjects by Seymour and Peale, which Catlin had certainly seen in the Pealc Museum in Philadelphia, he probably knew of no other authentic portrayals of the Indians in native habitats. Here was an opportunity not only to make a name for himself as an artist, but to contribute something of significance to history' and science. "City” portrayals of Indians were not exactly rare by the 1820s. Gustavus Hesselius had done several studio portraits around 1735, and Benjamin West had imagined Penn’s legendarytreatv with the Indians some thirty five years later, but no one had ever attempted a comprehen­ sive record of Indian civilization. The pictorial stereotypes of the preceding two centuries continued to prevail, along with the Hobbesian and Rousseauian conceptual stereotypes, even though white men and red men had interacted over those years with steadily increasing frequency. The people having the most intimate contact with unassimilated Indians were usually not artists or writers, but traders, trappers and prospectors. Catlin understood this, and knew that his project would require a deep penetration of the unsettled frontier. M ith a considerable investment of time, energy, and money, he would have to retrace the steps, more or less, of Seymour and Peale. Catlin was a man of his time, and he felt the winds of Romanticism as surely as Cole did. He wrote in his Letters and Notes (1841), “My enthusiastic admiration of man in the honest and elegant simplicity of nature....together with the desire to study’ my art independently of the embarrassments which the ridiculous fashions of civilized society have thrown in its way, has led me t° the wilderness for a while, as the true school of the arts.”’ Whatever the scientific value is un ertaking, it was audacious to the point of foolhardiness, and confirmed Catlin as hot i -irrTn31?01^^ a"adv^oturer. Yet, as Brian Dippie has noted in his recent study of Catlin scarcer, men of otTT3 wou d ?ot 8e dle exclusive domain of moon-eyed dreamers....it would atyac' type” n SenSe edlcated to achieving success, artist-entrepreneurs, and Catlin was o 1 (of Lewis'and ((■lark L°uis in 1830> he made contact with Governor Wdliam hnwledecahl,. *. re), who was then Superintendent of Indian Affairs and pro .1 «edBoal,lt as anyone about the tribes west of the Mississippi. Clark greeted rhe arusts 29 plans with favor and provided him with tangib a comparatively modest trip up river to Wiscor Fort Leavenworth. This excursion prepared journey two years later. Catlin’s 1832 expedition took him. p; thousand miles up the Missouri to Fort Unioi encountered communities of Blackfoot, Crov tively free of the white man’s influence. Catli his return journey, he spent nearly a month w extinguished by an epidemic a few years later, ground since Seymour and Peale, and none h Traveling in the frontier only during t in the winter in order to finish his paintings and his 1832 trip, he had produced enough paintii was to be the prototype for the much grander t took the opportunity to tag along with the first tribes of the southwest. This trip was shorter fiercely hot summer. Fever hit the large party four hundred and fifty five soldiers died. Catl in Oklahoma, he decided to make the five hu his mustang. Catlin’s final journey into the Great legendary Pipestone Quarry in southwester, obtained the red stone from which they made t to the Indians, few white men had ever visite, to call upon all of their wits to avoid disaster at entrance to the mythic site. Catlin not only p: character. The red mineral which he was the honor. (An intuitive geologist, just as he was a, usually astute.) The product of Catlin’s four exploratii Gallery, consisting of four hundred and eig' thousands of artifacts. Whatever fame or fortu former, none of the latter), Catlin could take [ a symbiosis of art and science akin to Charles ) history. The critical reception of his paintings in 1837 than it had been a decade earlier, ar public, at large, also responded enthusiastical the artistic form. Despite this success, Catlin for the proposed Smithsonian Institution was Historical opinion has varied over tl studies on the artist. Catlin was clearly an incc for expedience in his rush toward success. At i and worthy of positive judgment by the likes < been ambivalent about his goals. His mission because it was sincere, even passionate. I ultimately failed, because, in fact, itwassubor himself, in the Letters and Notes, that his projc his machinations to win fame as an artistcent< the artistic. Thomas Cole, by contrast, neve �I ■■S' ambittous than, Rindi , mion. His father, a ‘SbJch*r’s. rent, and hoped his anting cut short his le ^ W°uld □self as an artist. Like m 7^’ o gain acceptance ir. C.olc ar>d Catlin recognized, w^ y of surviving as an arti J " anY ‘’comparatively modest trip up river to Wislonsh"followed by’a si^tdpTonX M^uri to XXZ" i.» ammhim “lly ■nd logisti““’ f» - t reputations were made’i?’?1 'ecome clear to him that alm response to his work ,y nlap, the leading art critic OS icompetent.” If he was lacl ’ id initiative. Foreseeing a dead8 outside of the art establishment o his own standards, something oOle and Catlin had both moved exchanging ideas.) lians he had encountered in the ortrait of one of them. Now the losing their natural culture, and ; their ways. Aside from the few had certainly' seen in the Peale ntic portray'als of the Indians in e a name for himself as an artist, nee. :1820s. Gustavus Hesselius had had imagined Penn’s legendary id ever attempted a comprehenof the preceding two centuries in conceptual stereotypes, even years with steadily increasing ith unassimilated Indians were ors. Catlin understood this, and the unsettled frontier. With a I have to retrace the steps, more imanticism as surely as Cole did. iration of man in the hones .a^d jy my art independently t^ have thrown in its way has ed ’’ Whatever the scie^ficva^ ss, and con^n\efdcCX’s career, is recent study o m attract :yed dreamer* CaVin was of the :preneurs, and Catm — i Clark - — William ict with Governor ■ - -obably as Affairs and proL? Indian ‘ d the artist s I I Catlin’s 1832 expedition took him, partly by steamboat, partly by canoe, almost two thousand miles up the Missouri to Fort Union, in extreme western North Dakota There he encountered communities of Blackfoot, Crow, and Assiniboin Indians, which were still rela­ tively free of the white man s influence. Catlin was elated to find their culture still intact On his return journey, he spent nearly a month with the hospitable Mandans, who were virtually extinguished by an epidemic a few years later. No artist had gone so far west or covered so much ground since Seymour and Peale, and none had ever depicted so much Indian life. Traveling in the frontier only during the warmer months, he would usually return cast in the winter in order to finish his paintings and maintain contacts with the art world A year after his 1832 trip, he had produced enough paintings to assemble his first “Indian Gallery,” which was to be the prototype for the much grander traveling exhibition he was planning. In 1834, he took the opportunity to tag along with the first United States military expedition to contact the tribes of the southwest. This trip was shorter but more grueling, made on horseback during a fiercely hot summer. Fever hit the large party before it reached the Rockies, and a third of the four hundred and fifty five soldiers died. Catlin fell ill, too, but after recovering at Fort Gibson in Oklahoma, he decided to make the five hundred mile journey back to St. Louis alone with his mustang. Catlin’s final journey into the Great Plains occurred in 1836. His objective was the legendary Pipestone Quarry' in southwestern Minnesota, where the Sioux and other tribes obtained the red stone from which they made their pipes. Because of its isolation and its sanctity to the Indians, few white men had ever visited the quarry'. Catlin and his two companions had to call upon all of their wits to avoid disaster at the hands of a band of guardian Sioux and to gain entrance to the mythic site. Catlin not only painted the quarry', he also examined its geological character. The red mineral which he was the first to describe was later named Catlinite in his honor. (An intuitive geologist, just as he was an intuitive ethnologist, Catlin’s observations were usually astute.) The product of Catlin’s four explorations into the West was the immense touring Indian Gallery, consisting of four hundred and eighty five oil paintings, a full-size Crow tipi, and thousands of artifacts. Whatever fame or fortune it might bring him (there would be some of the former, none of the latter), Catlin could take pride in its artistic and documentary value. It was a symbiosis of art and science akin to Charles Willson Peale s museum of portraiture and natural history. The critical reception of his paintings in the New York art community was more positive in 1837 than it had been a decade earlier, and the Europeans were no less affirmative. '1 he public, at large, also responded enthusiastically, though more to the exotic subject matter than the artistic form. Despite this success, Catlin’s ardent campaign to sell the Gallery to Congress for the proposed Smithsonian Institution was a failure. Historical opinion has varied over the years, as William Treuttner has shown in his studies on the artist. Catlin was clearly an inconsistent painter and sometimes sacrificed quality for expedience in his rush toward success. At its best, the work could be impress^ c an mot ing, and worthy of positive judgment bv the likes of Delacroix and Baudelaire, at in seems to avc been ambivalent about his goals. His mission to preserve Indian culture for posterity succeeded because it was sincere, even passionate. His mission to be remem ere as a oreat a i ultimately failed, because, in fact, it was subordinated co his anthropo» ogica impuse. , himself, in the Letters and Notes, that his project was more anthropological than artistic and all his machinations to win fame as an artist centered on the scientific value of his '^™e”ha" the artistic. Thomas Cole, by contrast, never allowed his obsession wit a eg , I ■ 1 ■: i ■: sippi- Clark greeted - 21 �15 artistic perspective. Even though Catlin’s anthropological mission succeeded, the product was not flawless. Documentary’ assessment of his work has undergone much revision over the years. Catlin astutely realized that his largely unprecedented images had to compete with those public pictorial and literary stereotypes we have already mentioned. Fie appended to his Letters tint Sotes the authenticating endorsements of numerous experts in high places, such as Governor lark. 4 hey terified that the artist had, indeed, visited the Indians on their home turf and hat recorded them accurately’. Not all of his contemporaries agreed with that estimate. Alfred Jaco r i nr h‘m a humbug,” whose representations of the frontier were accepted only because t e pu ic was more naive than travelers like Miller himself. Modern scholars have turnc up n,U"!erous maccuracies and omissions, but these have not been serious enough to cast any destruction'™^ rema'nS a vaIuable and compelling picture of Indian culture before its near- narur-1li?t|l'in Snep.Ortage Was ^hstically objective on the whole, in the tradition of artistS Z i CaleL His greatest achievement, the Indian portraits, reveals a mastery of zatifn (1 n I?"8’ with CconomY and flair and without unnecessary glamour or ideah encountered (cat. nos. 12, p. 45; 14, 15), and he rendered them with freshness and a sense of drama, not only pictorially, but literarily (in the Letter and Notes}, as well. As an artist-explorer, Catlin rivaled Titian Peale in indefatigability and miles traversed. After his four trips to the West, Catlin took his Indian Gallery on tour to Europe, where he resided, off and on, for the next thirty-two years. In the 1850s, he traveled to South America, portraying some of the native tribes there, then sailed up the Pacific coast to Washington and penetrated the Rockies from the west (he had never made it into the mountains on his earlier trips). All of this speaks for a certain restlessness of spirit, not to mention endurance of body. The second artist to trek into the deeper wilderness of the West in the 1830s made only one great journey, but it exceeded slightly in distance, and considerably in duration, any of the four Catlin made. Karl Bodmer was also a more polished and consistent artist than Catlin, although his work is less well-known to the general public. Bodmer was a twenty-three-searold Swiss artist, already well-trained, when he was selected by Prince Maximilian of Wied to accompany him on a trip through the North American wilderness. Maximilian, born into the ruling house of a small Prussian principality, had earned considerable respect as a naturalist in the mold of the great Alexander von Humboldt. For his scientific exploration in America, he 23 22 �11 observe with penetration and record with precision. Bodmer w, required an artist whocou>d and portraitist as well as a meticulous miniaturist. Fo the right man. a sensmt k throlIgl the eastern United States making almost a year, the armt an 1 These included contacts with other scientists’ preparations tor theirear » thcm T'itian Peale. While viewing the paintings from the Long naturalists, and explorers ' „ wkh astonishmen[ that factual representations of the Indians Expedition,Maximiha States (this was a ycar before Catlin assembled his first seemed to be so rare ^eEumpeans traversed the same territory all rhe way up to Fort Union. Unlike their nmdecessor thev extended their journey into the deeper wilderness of Montana, and into the moredangerous winter season. Maximilian wanted to explore the Rockies as well as the Plains, and thev reached the farthest outpost of the American Fur Company, F ort McKenzie, i n August. Hostilities between neighboring Indian tribes deterred the party from further advance. AlthouCTh there was always risk in traveling through the wilderness, most of the tribes east of Fort Union were on amicable terms with the white man in the 1830s. Rindisbacher, Catlin and, later, Alfred Jacob Miller never encountered any actual combat during their travels. Maximilian and Bodmer, however, did witness a bloody battle between the Blackfeet and the Assiniboin outside Fort McKenzie. Frontier wisdom warned that whites could easily be caught up in such a war, so the travelers turned back to spend the winter months at Fort Clark, a small outpost in North Dakota. It was one of the harshest winters on record; their quarters were primitive, and their provisions meager, but they managed to accumulate extensive data on the friendly Mandans, whom Catlin had visited the previous year. Although Bodmer had to thaw out his frozen colors almost ever)’ morning, he executed an impressive body of work during those hostile months. We don’t know precisely why Bodmer had sought to join Maximilian’s wilderness expedition. Perhaps itwas the opportunity forayoung artist to make a reputation; or the promise of an expenses-paid vsanderjahre of a kind increasingly popular with the Romantic generation. But Bodmer s crisp, objective style suggests a less restless temperament than Catlin’s, and one can imagine that it was a stem Swiss resolve, as well as a disciplined absorption in his work, that kept him going through that brutal winter. Whatever the case, Bodmer never went on another expedition. After his return to Europe, he moved to France and settled down in the pastoral solace of Barbizon. There is no question that Bodmer was a disciplined technician (Catlin, on average, probably produced half a dozen paintings to every one of Bodmer’s). He typically spent two or ree a\s on a watercolor portrait, and this carefulness has endeared him to historians and arri?r° P/StS' >, .wb,at did the subiec'ts, themselves, think about these likenesses by a white Some T ^nCe \IaX,n]ll'an wrote (as did Catlin concerning his own portraits) that reactions varied, areas whlSl Portrayals a« “bad medicine,” particularly in the more remote Mandan who had'h laia"cs 01 anY kind had rarely been encountered. On the other hand, the Bodmer well camo r on£er contact with the whites and who got to know both Catlin and themselves o’ortraved°; aPkreClate S>°d hkenesses, and were often extremely proud to have they could trv working in rh'^p3'' ^"° ^andans even asked to borrow Bodmer’s materials so (John Ewers has reomrinn 7 ?ropeanma"nerthemselves. Hegracefullyaccommodated them oftheirdecorated robes sll T.6*7 orts 'n °fa Vanishing Frontier). Bodmer’s portraya s which commemorated thc°" C e7worked with two kinds of images: stick figures, in scenes symbols and decorations m/T S eXpl°its (usuallY Panted by men); and abstract geometric , Only one person 17 Y by WOmen) <caL no’ 7>’ Buffalo Bull's Back Fat not a M t0.haVe been Porcrayeci by both Catlin and Bodmer. That was ’ Ot a Mandan> odd|y enough, but a Blackfoot chief. Comparison of the i J jTF'W ■ F' ? F t YXk'y O c & r- F* if -fr" I *■ 7 two portraits reveals a distinct similarity of likeness, despite the difference in vantage points, thus confirming the probable accuracy of all the portraits done by the two artists. Catlin’s oil paintings were done, or at least started, in the field, and show his customary bravura technique and richness of color. Bodmer’s crisp field sketches were worked up into more refined engravings after his return to Europe. His powerful portrait of Pe/iriska-Ruhpa (Paso Ravens) in the Costume ofthe Dog Dance (cat. no. 10, p. 26) typifies the kind of detailed attention to attire and paraphernalia required by the artist’s naturalist patron. Bodmer and Catlin both endowed their human subjects with great dignity and vitality, as well. Comparison of their landscapes shows that they were equally impressed by the topographical wonders they encountered. Neither painter felt any need for dramatic exaggera tion (cat. nos. 6, p. 28; 12, p. 45). Catlin, more than Bodmer, however, preferred a sweeping panorama, usually from a high vantage point. The Swiss was more inclined to take a lower and eloser position, allowing hills and rock formations to loom above us. In some current interpre­ tations of landscape painting, Catlin’s view reveals an implicit sense of human dominance, 25 ��3 I I s iSB MH tI • ■ ' ■ ! J reflecting the spirit of Manifest Destiny.” Bodmer’s, by contrast, suggests the av. csomeness and mystery- ofnature, aspects of the sublime which often characterized Romantic onc-ptions of an scape in Europe. This quality is evident in Bodmer's Assiniboin MedicineSign Zr. nY’ P’ *; a.haunnnJ close-up of a talisman erected by the Indians near Fort Union to windsu eptTaHeVin^is“ou^iXe."^ t0 B°dmer’S " set themselves the longer task of ---- ing the before that colored editions were verv limir i d hich meant the artist-explorers after! 830 hlr|c, C ,.c.cause oftile broad interest in nicn supers, most of ’ie beginning, in fact, tjlat r. , .?leo published. Maximilian had intended from expedition. Bodmer’s personal i/V P!cturcs would accompany his written account of their rOr" "t,lcr Painting opportunities ? VCI?cnt ln the production of the portfolio took him away first ‘,'11’*,,c(''r'’tllnPr)r>tform in Maximilian’0 p IC "aS be’ng well-paid for it. Bodmer's images ■ ■■>». as well as in a separate Published some of his nicrures. although he was more in the habit of <’ --, rlc |->V I °b™kXp„hs' s illustrated bv printed line drawings he had adapted from his paintings. nma,im| Alfred Jacob Miller, the third artist in this trio of significant frontier exp lo c T far fewer printed versions of his paintings than either Catlin or o mcr. i <-. “ ,’oi[in„ his many painted copies of his originals but never seems to hate accn intc vs c • f ” re­ work through publication. His temperament appears to have icon more t c. technical neurial. A native of Baltimore. Miller had studied m Europe and dplayed a^techni^ sophistication closer to Bodmer’s than to Catlin s. 1 hs mom cs or acu. 3 Drummond Stewart’s offer to accompany him on a trek into the Ro k Mountain.^ unclear. Stewart, an adventurous Scottish aristocrat and W aterloo \ etcran. ’ countrv. Miller had on his fifth expedition to the annual trappers rendezsous, c cep i . skillful artists in that a studio in New Orleans at the time and may have been one of the ■ hat shv and city when Stewart passed through in preparation for his expedition. 1 he �refined artist was an unlikely companion for the '’W^bu^ and tumble frontier. Miller, for his part, was a cumpc n but [() his carecr. have felt that this sort of Romantic odyssey cotdd add the frontier m Stewart’s small party embarked from St. Louis the pLaramie and uptheOre^ springof 1837. His itinerary took them alongthe I latte R 1837and Bodmer in 18^- 1 f ffi. „.UK further ... .he solid. dun du. taken by Mmm ,he £ group reached the South Pass on the Continental D. beautiful region, b * the Wind River Mountains. Miller was the irst artist P encountered. He P less interested in the landscape than the Indians a u likenesses and actiu gjve steady Bow of drawings and watercolors which < caPtu^ groups. The variety of his genre subjects exceeds tha o of his scenes show i ^[jller his work a greater narrative flavor overall (eat. nos. -o, _4 nveen men and w orn _ between trappers and Indians, including interracia ’y0 civilization. revealthe was as conscious as Catlin was of the fragility o . more inchnc . heirvirg'n snowflakes in the sun" he wrote in his Rough Draught he^ depict them assimilationofthe Indians than eitherCathnorBodmer, wn state. While Miller's then Catlin’s and Boi echoes Rembrandt ai Captain Stew have been more diffe on deliberate advent anee and flirtations w we see the captain att his white stallion. Il Bridger, to wear in th was also captured by celebrating the past y far and wide. Millerc artist to present any e civilization. Like Bodmei �■long into thorough ■portraitist and mav ■his career. ■ the frontier, in the ■ and up the Oregon ■frnerin 1833. The ■J the wilderness of [region, but he was fed. He produced a p activities of both Is and tends to give Is show interactions nd women. Miller melting away like dined to reveal the hem in their virgin ... army veteran set out WUl1U accompanied byaovert endur---anu nitrations with death.___________ In Miller ’s drawing. Pursuit of G/ishdisplays of"manly j]d~J/nCSSl)n we see the captain attired in his trademark white buckskins ga opmgt iro n friend Jim his white stallion. He even brought along a full suit of armor for hisTront cr>™n Bridger, to wear in the rendezvous parade, like a knight out o some i •summerfest was also captured by Miller). The annual rendezvous a n^^three celebrating the past year’s hunt and attracting hundreds PP ..swell as the onlv far and wide. Miller could claim to be the only artist who ever documented m as uel artist to present any extended record of the mountain men be orc Like Mill« never even. on anorher wiUe.oess expedid.n, He se.ded ■ 31 �pcacefukontentiota \ .,rjdua1K dxMndl^ : deepened RmnamK ,ua‘ tn>m the nature neater spirit otexpiv ,>sophisticated arsts I 9ltO/r sz /tlrrH**' �■ T away from the naturalist tradition of artists like Catlin, Bodmer andp0?’0^ P'aintin~ a '^P greater spirit of expressiveness, closer to Cole’s, which would fire rh" C’ 1 hev ^raided a of sophisticated artist-explorers. e che v>sion of a new generation 5 ! i f ■t i 33 �X’.' I I ♦ i FROM E X- Settlement ant middle of the ninetee Mississippi exacerbate more dangerous than e survey topographer, Bi topographer, met the ! conspicuous as a resnh contribution to the trad and painting with Rolx in 1829 and must have during the Seminole VS began to paint more ass well by this time. With his polish which had the look of Henry Schoolcraft's bo< authoritative interprete reflects his background mainstream European composition and figur: references to paintings dimension \\ hich strike executed a decade earli tastes of the American [ cons incingly the real ai Romantic ideal numerous trips into rhe to Hawaii, riicallegoi Historical Center) refl dreamers than on-the-t Pacific shore with the s s i m i lar composition oft Historical Society). a W picture was a patently i e also brought to his f By this time, so tation. When Stanley p c >e paintings were large t tan Catlin s. In spite < ''I'ccessful than his cm 34 �FROM EXPLORATION TO TOURISM (18S0-187S) iims, wpvgrapher Benjamin Kern, killed by Indians in 1848. His bmrher Rioha™“"a topographer, met the same fate five years later. The presence of the Army became more ennspicnous as a result of these hostilities. In fact, an army man made the next significam contribution to the trad.non of the artist-explorer. Seth Eastman studied drawing at West Point and painting with Robert Weir. He was first posted to Fort Crawford on the upper Mississippi in 18’9 and must have been there when Catlin passed through in 1830. After a stint in Florida during the Seminole War, Eastman was reassigned to the Midwest in 1841. It was then that he began to paint more assiduously, focusing on the life and customs of the Indians, which he knew well by this time. \\ ith his polished style and more leisurely pace, Eastman produced easel paintings which had the look, of salon pieces more than field studies. The engravings he executed for Henry Schoolcraft’s book on the Indians quickly made a hit and established his reputation as an authoritative interpreter of Indian culture. The basically objective approach to detail in his work reflects his background as a topographic draftsman, but his respect for the classical traditions of mainstream European art is unexpected. He sought to monumentalize his subjects through composition and figural poses, as we see in the Indian Burial (cat. no. 19, p. 47). Its clear references to paintings of the Descent from the Cross by Rubens and Caravaggio add a mythic intension which strikes us as more artificial than Bodmer’s similar subject of a funerary scaffold, executed a decade earlier (cat. no. 9). Eastman’s conception satisfied the increasingly elevated tables of the American public. An authentic Indian fighter, he was uniquely qualified to bridge convincingly the real and romantic worlds. Romantic idealism also characterized the work of John Mix Stanley, an artist who mac e ’ oierous trips into the frontier during the 1840s and 1850s, and eventually tracejed all t re was to I lawaii. The allegorical tone of his well-known paintingZ.^o/77/f//-/?z/n?(18o7, Buffalo Bill ill tontal Center) reflected a perspective which was more characteristic of stay at tome creamers than on-thc-trail observers. The picture shows a group of Indians assem c on t ie ’ '-ific Lore with rhe sun setting in the background. Stanley was apparent y in uence irnikircompositionof’thc same theme, painted in 1847 by 1 ompkins. atteson ic , , 1 L .torn al Society), a New York artist who, unlike Stanley, never went w est. couis, picture was a patently imaginary scene, too, and it reflected the romanticizing pi ............. .... . ' -'-ii. V> hen Stanley pm together an Indian (tailcry <>f l'ls ° Virion and expression : - !-■ .intin---, were larger and more dramatic, il not me lot Ira mat n, tn <01111 were no more ( "Im s. In spitcoftliis, Stanley's efforts to sell the collei non to - h '"'cssfnl than his competitor's. Unhappily in 18f>5, most o up �& I . ,,. ir luUi been on loan fora number of years. (Gatlin’s Gallery was t() Smithsonian.""■ , ,(1U| jr remains there today.) Smithsonian alter Ins de. ■ sllbjects< Stanley was also a fine landscapist. Itl ,hi, Better known l< • wc scc in .sWr/torfcar. no. 33, p. 50), probahi-. p ,inr l’"C?J'';S^Sfe«»S.c.o»- ScspeJ....... , to die Washington Territory *;..... , “J ,lltcl h,s Ib.soiui" 1 . , , composition, the idiosyncratic details of, ,,p. ing P«r.e»l..e «O ., pain[ing. sKvera Expedition . ....... “S5fe Xi ’*•>* Pl°"ed T trans“nt,n““l W* Ml in tl,i, '-'nr-xt St ink's naturally gave more attention to the topographic realities of the scene. When the Golden Spike was driven into the final rail in 1869 it was also driven into the he irt of the wilderness. The next generation of artists exploring the W est sometimes by train, dfeeovered that the virgin landscape was vanishing almost as rapidly as the native American. Ss with a profound wanderlust began to seek out alternative itineraries One of the greatest American landscape painters of the period, Frederic Edwin Church, turned his gaze southward rather than westward. We have already mentioned the early expedition of Count Maurits in Brazil the later journeys of Humboldt and Maximilian ofWied (both accompanied by artists), Titian Peale’s 1830 trip to Colombia, and Catlin’s excursion (or should we say. exile) through the southern continent in the 1850s. Frederic Church made his first trip to Colombia in 1853, and went there again in 1857. (In 1859, he went to the other extreme and joined an expedition into the Arctic.) A student of Thomas Cole, he was already famous for his Hudson River School works. Like his mentor, he sensed the epic implications of the landscape, but framed them in a more scientific context. He was an avid follower of Humboldt’s work, and took an especially keen interest in current geological theories (as did Catlin). Out of this grew his infatuation with volcanoes; his many views of Cotopaxi in Ecuador are among his best-known paintings. In the Andes (cat. no. 16, p. 34), a late work based on his earlier trips, reveals his complementary- interest in exotic flora and fauna, in their own way as suggestive of the primordial world as the volcano. The spiritual and the scientific continued to be intimately linked in the contemplation of the natural world. Humboldt, Darwin, and many other naturalists at this time sought the keys to Creation in the plants and rocks they studied. Landscape painters like Church embraced this same goal in their own way. All the artist-explorers we have examined had been touched, in one way or another, by the historical implications of their subjects. Whether it was geological history or human history, the artist was increasingly cognizant of time and the tension between change and eternity. This was graphically evident in Romanticism’s fascination with ruins. Alfred Jacob Miller was not alone in likening certain American landscape formations to ancient architectural ruins. Catlin and Bodmer had both painted the “white castles” along the Missouri. But real architectural ruins were virtually- non-existent in the wildernesses of North America. Indian civilization might be dying in the Plains and Rockies, but it would leave little physical evidence behind. Only in the ' cep southwest and in Mexico and Guatemala were there conspicuous architectural remnants of ancient cultures. i r i th0 firSt art*scs’an<^ arguably the most impressive, to seek out these ruins was an mulish architect named Frederick Catherwood. In 1839, with his American companion, the t . | , lf ir< |'|‘lc? (,glst John L. Stephens, he traveled to the home of the Mayas and Aztecs, th*' ‘• r .111 ^Cn part as 11 draftsman in previous archaeological expeditions in Egyptaiu n-disi <>• < h " le"‘ls "c^’c<iuipped for this independent undertaking. 1 le and Steph'-1’-' to ■■ ■•< -c u< lifr'C Cltles <)f C°Pan and Palenque on their first trip. 1'hex returned in 15^ V, *4 �Gallery was given to the andseapist. In this ,ilv ) , p. 50). probably paints d errib >ry. ’ ss a I, atic details of spvsiih tpcditioll oia ;S. aital svstcin. and n ;i> ■. ■ ities of tin: sceiic. i \s as also di... • .■ ■•■. -1 I’cst, I. th< Lies. < >t • .-i f-:C [med h>s g; lion of Count Maunts liccotn panic si t Id we sav, exile1 ' ,cnt there a . X- he Xo ’>< i; . ‘ V- -' ' ■■ . [sen I [ lercst o m cxous-flora.) Icano, l hesi-a- t[>n of tiu oata-.; I- kes-s to Cheat I . ; th I II II lostoixtahoe II I: , ml A . b ■ v-ngtasm^ - 1*41 IV vb- • ' 3 ■calism i- ' i!k lu-Hsdtsd.-’-5 ...ur a<iJ �irri«,ts either joined • I 'j’.inki'i- wilderness. Alberr I’ ,r metric and aestlcti-. ’ r'; ';Xp|or.irion m - • L'l'v cpri"n<,t wilderness I ■; ' ■' - i ' ■ C° r likely to traftxfofmtealiti into myth I '"o- ided the dominant i.r .•• iI( !'r'' mvasc* filled "ith .•■■ . ■_ j'hcir canvases frcmiemh m..-. ; ,cn j .flighted hn *irandil'>'p • lev. - -aitl.m . r \s Patrici?'1 re:/-.: • J J Ater i •■perfect keeping with the gargantuan vulg i W 'I these artists. Thex uls-.-.i. Ct. - ir cdrhenwn Rudkin.w hose essay cm m >untr inbeauty a a P itt \ , 1As6i. Just >.•>(.• ; .-.”d (>>le hat landscape paintin'/. Bic mi M- ran became virtual cliches r : Biersr the then popular DusseLD"'S-.-h and hr than American. Veri ' : different places end effects -rhere, of grandeur and :;...■. w . . :■ •• eicr cumulatively orat> ane . i.-ncc rr mcntofj mils of\atute. [hcl d:J ■ :: -c. 1 true impression." ( nderh ing these justiti. iti nb, of tin',/-j’ld ('rc.itian . .. . . (cat. no. 25 " hde :v.. re a./v!.. of pr;niordial - . . >I . as t national parks and tsre'C's/tii'n me', e- '. i'.ot s defined 5. terms ■_.•.._■ pca^s a ce.:racteri.-cJ I'ocn.mJ \.c... ... ...■ >\lirxi ■‘pesto:.;!” one. Most Vx.:. ’.an scenes . Unds<apeoai\ 'o^moten j'-.oi-.vk pastoral environment. Bierstadt's t/-: :<• ■ leers tilts iotmo’asn-h'K !>\ ;.i\:,;p,.s:'i/p.i ■ ■-'r d back. IA is pictu:/ ais ■ _■?. es man :ic coinbt.)/s p.jst ami p.c'c r:— -c< \ _ical U'lsk-cgi .und ;;l'd i,o';s t'c radiant s-c- Manifest Destine in fa , str.de. I he spscirot Iv.c'stadi’sjiii t'arecoul P ■liiu vi l>\ ! :n;cs I . \\ f sms some ruentv v pucimc, toecthci "moving panorama'’ of i uavsdc,.! along the trail and saw its wiklerne '■‘r’ ■"'Hcht to < apture the diama and m -b's. liptivc entertamnient. “ of indivuhial paintings, akin to a i ■■■■ •■■■■ .s i •■.agerv. I iiesc travelogues b< ' ' !!l h’lin than exhibits like the in "irl: cai Indians performing nativ ''ss Pinind. In contrast to Wilkins’s i �i A more artists either joined the various geological surveys or mm. , , , shrinking "ilderness Albert B.erstadtand Thomas Moran stun U,' 'e'r *w" r“ravs into the sheer metric and aesthetic extravagance of their work. Coming “' gmup f.)r thc ,ut.stic exploration in the American frontier, these two men assi.niI-r . Cnd <,fa of conception of wilderness landscape and orchestrated into their person 1' *-tUal1- evcr>' previous most likely to transform reality into myth, without obliterating rhe renli v'r'T th°Se cl‘-’™ents provided the dominant models. Bierstadt and Moran sought to cmn.r. d e and (;lll‘rch had on vast canvases tilled with an astonishing variety of topographical and 1W lmmcnsity of nature Their canvases frequently stretched ten feet and more across an Pr'coroloSical features, spotlighted his grandiloquent views within darkened proscenia ro’reinf er^adc occasionally spectator. As Patricia Trenton and Peter Hassrick have pointedJ outZ *mpaCt °n the ™is“Pi,'S *“ 'he g“Sa"n“n VUlS“ity °f ,hc ‘j Theyalso. however, echoed rhe more highmindedexpressio„s„faesth«ici.„s like W,„ Ruskm. whose essay on mountain beauty was a veritable recipe for their effects (l/,7 D • partV. 1856). Just as Church and Cole had adopted various heroic conventions of EureS landscape painting Bierstadt and Moran assembled stock compositions and effects Z became virtua cliches m their work. Bierstadt, a native German, was especially influenced by rhe then popular Dusseldorf School, and his Rocky Mountains sometimes appear more Alpine than American. Verisimilitude existed in details, but the whole was a fiction based on manv different places and effects of atmosphere. The “truth” of the whole lav in its overall sensation of grandeur and magic, which a traveler through the mountains might experience either cumulatively or at some chance moment of perfection. Moran said that while he “desired to tell truly of Nature, [he] did not wish to realize the scene literally, but to preserve and to convey its true impression." Underlying these justifications, of course, there were still the allegorical concerns of time and Creation which had preoccupied Cole. Moran’s small study of Tower Falls, Yellowstone cat. no. 25), while more documentary’ than his larger pastiches, nevertheless achieves an effect uf primordial sublimity. (Images such as these played their part in the establishment of the national parks and the preservation movement later in the century’.) The ancient landscape was not always defined in terms of great peaks and valleys. More often, in fact, a less rugged terrain characterized Eden and Arcadia. Leo Marx has differentiated the “primitive” landscape and the “pastoral” one. Most Arcadian scenes in the Claude Lorrain tradition suggest a primitive landscape only in remote mountainous backgrounds, while the nearer stages show a more gentle pastoral environment. Bierstadt’s On the Oregon Trail (cat. no. 3, p. 43; a copy of a larger work) alters this formula slightly by juxtaposing pastoral and primitive on the left and right, rather than front and back. This picture also gives man a greater role than is usual in Bierstadt syork. ere he combines past and present — geological creation and historical progress - in his sv eeping middleground, and allows the radiant sunset beyond to augur the golden uture. ere painted L-. James E. Wilkins some twenty years earlier (cat. no. 35, p. • Wilkins putting together a “moving panorama” of the Overland Trail during the Gold Rt sh VS i ^eled along the trail and saw its wilderness scenery in a more virgin sta‘e But he sought to capture the drama and magnitude of the Roc ties in Pntial prescn- ut bh; fora descriptive entertainment. (“Moving panoramas canvases of 1 ’ions of individual paintings, akin to a modern slide show, or CSL ,)nj werc more ' ontinuoir, imagery. I hese travelogues became very popu ar at nut . • .j U[1 (lis •’arnatic in form than exhibits like the Indian galleries, alt longi .“ ;)|S() |iai| public U'Hery with real Indians performing native dances.) Bierstadt, 1 , .’ecm overblown r'-T'.nsv, in mind. 1„ contrast to Wilkins’s reserved scene, his ostial epu ma ■ 3l> �today, but one cannot deny his canny showmanship or the ingenuity with which he struck so many conceptual and visceral chords relating to nature, nationalism, and divinity. The pastoral mode of wilderness painting ripened as the wilderness itself became less Sqi|ltOliS Md 'tS s,ol!tude ™ore alluring. The Hudson River painters and then the Luminists s™ e«ffy SaV°recd t o and S'lent m°0ds of nature- Worthington Whittredge was one of (his friendsPTriRSirf the Huds°n ^lver Sch°o1 who toured the far West in the 1860s and 1870s had soem rlnF;KenSet7nd Gifford.were others). An accomplished landscapist who Bienstadt) Whirr^H stl1 and traveling in Europe (where he had shared a studio with Mexico in’l 866 H • ace<)mPanied General John Pope’s inspection tour of Colorado and New in part, bv Bicrsridf^ C t'\Om()re1friPswcs,:scveral years later. He may have been motivated, inspiration free fmn ^slona success with western themes, but he also sought fresh mountainous areas W1 ,DllSseldorf influence. While he journeyed into some remote There was “grandeur in rheh Un German friend, found his inspiration on the plains. Ihr 1‘lntlf (t;lt no .. orizontal as well as the perpendicular,” he said. CattlfGnizingMong this:,ri"n was toTirianPe- > l?UC°llc skcCches he did of the prairie. One wonders how near St>*i'’ritally,ofcolirse thevarc*” S- j ?U'no'“6)’ Pa>nted halfacenturyearlieralongthesamcriver, or tin. < !f]ji r (J|K. ;| qu’V()r' j. . lni csaP‘*rt, yet the later work by no means lacks sound reportage, Whittredge had bctmnr 'f'S.t|l,li't ■ ' rat*os kave °nly been reversed. 'juierudc replaced I hisseklorf 'i *L 'K ln^llence °l the French Barbizon School, whose rustic W'Blakelo.), «ho |)H ' lai"a'»lhc t; sics of the seventies. His younger compatriot 'Ui\c\ to a cluse, shared in this transition. Blakelock could •It) hardly be called an artist-explorer in the li He made the first of his two trips to th apparently broke no fresh trails. (Thom traveled in country which was still quite travelers, or "Romantic wanderers." as Ka tions were as much psychological or dra paintings, even at their most romantic and of which he had some direct know ledge. B relationship with Nature—dreams and rev nu- d, p. 42), probable done long after his t Arcadian w ilderness. Here nostalgia has si ' anished landscape and a vanished cull Blakclock's younger contemporaries. Frei this same approach.) Blakclock's introspJ dow n. He found an internal wilderness external ones. I �■iity sr ith w hicli he -rr_.ek ■ ^■m, and dis inits. ^ftildcmess itse!: ijccLi"'.e: ■ ters and then the Liimimsts ■gton \\ hittredge was one of K^cst in the IShUs and l.S7’i-> ■complished !andsc..pi-.r .vh'. He had shared a studio with H.m tourofColorado and ,\u-.r He may has e been mor? ate J. Bs. but he also sought fresh Burney ed into some remote Bn's inspiration on rhe plains. ■ he said. Catth. ■iric. One wonders how near ft earlieralong the same rh er. fticans lacks sound reportage, len reversed. arbizon School. " hose rustic is. His younger compatriot transition. Blakelock could & •ft a *z ‘ '* r - dr ftT ” 35 He made rhe first ^ist-cxplorer of hU tP ■ ln tfle literal “T Sense that has been adopted for this exhibition, trips cto“ the West ijln 1869, three years after Whittredge, and apparently broke no fr t. two W0. tnps traveled in connm- -k S’ •(Thomas -Moran didn’t reach the West until 1871, but he rra’elers, or “kr . "• "aS St'H 9l|ite wild.) Blakelock represents a new breed of artistt’ons ver<- a- Jmannc "ar>derers, as Katherine Manthorne has called them, whose explorapaintings <-■ <-rmiJC,1 P^'^hological or dramalurgical as they were geographical. Bierstadt’s 'J‘ b li'-1,3,j tneir most romantic and imaginary, were still primarily about the wilderness, jjj.. , • d)rcct knowledge. Blakelock’s seem to have been more about his personal 4. p _p Jt.’ at,lre drcams and reveries rather than particular places. ]A'isLtindscape(cn. Acadian ’ done lf,n£ after his trips, imagines a bucolic Indian camp nestled into an ‘Wished h ' ' p-rc nostalgia has supplanted reality and allegory alike — nostalgia fora j n 'ap< an^ a vanished culture, but without ideology. (In their own ways, r,li's’am, ..‘-^temporaries, 1'rederic Remington and Charles Russell, represented douri jj pp,,,a‘-"-) Blakelock’s introspection ultimately ended in complete mental bieakn. 1 'r'-rn:d (in'/111" Ul i|ir(ttial wilderness which Romantics had sought as passionately as 41 �I ! II i: I In the beginning, the artist-explorer hud been more explorer than artist, and he had given precedence to documentary values o\ er artistic ones. As the wilderness and its inhabitants gained favor as a source of aesthetic and iconographic contemplation in the nineteenth century, artists of greater accomplishment had been draw n to visit them, anil artistic values came to rival and exceed the documentary ones. Men such as Pcale, Catlin, and Eastman were naturalists, ra tsmen, or topographers as much as they were “fine artists," but after them, artist-explorers ',° °ne k'n(^’ but not the other. 1 opographic specialists (w ho are not included in rnHpdrt 1-tlOn "eresou£htbx most ofthe later surveying expeditions, and most of them soon h HastonZenrf™eras- Photography invaded the fine and popular arts, as well, toward sketches ancTrh -1C B'erstadt> (or example, frequently used photographs in place of stereoscopic views. PAs\h7eraof NorthV"11*^5 C°l'ld bC ChcaP’'' William H Iwkcnn i r- . J.' . z^nlerican exploration rode to its end, cameramen like Painters such as BiersTad/wh" ^,ns Provide exact descriptions of the last frontiers, ittredge and Blakelock no longer had obligations of that kind. William H. Sterling, Ph.D. Associate Professor of Art ilkes L niversitv 42 i �■ than artist, and he had ■mess and its inhabitants the nineteenth century, istic values came to rival i.stman were naturalists, er them, artist-explorers (w ho are not ineluded in ,. and most of them soon ular arts, as well, toward I photographs in place of Id be cheaply fed with its end. cameramen like ions of the last frontiers, bligations of that kind. - - - �'x'" ' 5 / 44 45 �i ft <4 I - / 46 47 ���biographical notes JOHN JAMES AUDUBON (1785-1851) Born in Haiti to a French father and a Creole mother. Audubon was edu.-m-d • r with Jacques Louis David. In 1803, he returned to his father's estate in Mill G pC,: and btud>ed briefly collecting and drawing wildlife. After several business failures in Kentucky he moye^in i«rfs"'3' Md be«Jn devote himself to natural history painting. His monumental corpus on \„r'th • .'“t. "' Oceans to 1826 and 1838, entailed extensive field work throughout the East and Midnest. In 184? h'^’ P“bllshed bet"ecn mammals, which took him as far as the Yellowstone River. Audubon's artistry and oer's'nnsl|T" ls""llar,1PU'<'n fame both here and abroad. His innovative portrayal of specimens as “alive and movina" magnitude of his projects, established him as America's foremost artist-naturalist. ’ '"C WILLIAM BARTRAM (1739-1823) Bartram was born in Kingsessing. near Philadelphia, where his father was an eminent botanical gardener His early drawings attracted the attention of European naturalists, and he and his father were commissioned to collect specimens in Florida. In the 1770s, he took a more extensive field trip throughout the southeast, reaching as far as the Mississippi. After 1777, he managed the family gardens and never made another long exploration. Hi" book of Travels (1791), based on the earlier tours, was a popular work. His naturalist drawings were typical of the genre in the eighteenth century', and, like Audubon, he almost never departed from his specialty. ALBERT BIERSTADT (1830-1902) In 1832, Bierstadc’s family moved to Massachusetts from his native Solingen in Germany. He may hare been mostly self-taught as an artist. In 1853, he went to Dusseldorf to polish his skills, but did not enterthe academy. He shared a studio there with Worthington Whittridge, did much outdoor sketching, and traveled extensively in Germany and Italy. Returning to America in 1857. he joined Colonel Frederick Lander’s survey expedition intn the Wind River Mountains, and returned to New York City to begin his large canvases of the West. Popular and critical acclaim followed soon after. Bierstadt made many more trips west between 1863 and 1889. He was an effective promoter of his work and achieved great wealth at the height of his success. I lis later work became harder in style, formulaic, and less fashionable. His career declined rapidly in the 1880s. and he died in much reduced circumstance'. RALPH ALBERT BLAKELOCK (1847-1919) Blakelock was born in New York City, and ga\ e up medical studies to become an artist. He was mostly taught, experimentive with media (which led to the darkening of many of his painting'), and neurotic in He toured the West in 1869 and 1871, and used his impressions later on to create ev ocativ c. often v w narv. ... c 1 of a highly personal kind. His style was influenced by the French Barhizon painter-., but ii' M jn approach was closer to the newer Symbolists. Critical reaction was mixed, anil his urea >u ut ' J" i te''while incurable mental breakdown in 1899. Soon after, his work gained fresh and posmve notice, bur ' ■ ■ ■ he lay dying in a sanatorium, forgers were already at work copy ing his sty le to meet t w nev KARL BODMER (1809-1893) ()j Bodmer was born near Zurich and studied w ith his uncle. Johann Meyer, as wsu significant part opening a studio in Koblenz, Germane, he met Prince Maximilian of lul •l,‘l tlu ,7. j_ pjrjSi where he worked of his long career. In 1834. after his American expedition with the Prince. . is!,-t..,mmunity nfBarbizon or four years on the engiav ings made from his field sketches. In 1849. k mm ja 1 .n;t,n in ]lte and settled into a moderately successful career. 1 le turned to magazine am .1 FREDERICK C.VFHERWOODll^ Cathcrwood studied architecture ami exhibited watercolor'in •‘"Ks expedition to Egypt, Palestine, ami Arabia in 1831. He met the Ar Mh- and they made their first trip to Central America three years larer. . inning Robert iei,logist John 1 ■ 8-P ,,ude three nwre fournvv �South and Central America anti to California by way of rhe Pacific Coast. I n between these excursions he • time in New York City working on the publication of his field work. In 1854, returning to New York aft .Spent 'fluch home to England, he was lost at sea with the steamship Antic. Like Bodmer. Cathcrwood achiever'P back significance by mating his estimable artistic sensitivity to an extraordinary subject. ‘ cd historical •( ALFRED JACOB MILLER no Miller was born in Baltimore. There is conjecture I K(1810-1874) (ls10-187< In 1833, he visited Europe, taking courses at rhe Ecole des Re? "°levid'-'nce. that he st,, r , GEORGE CATLIN (1796-1872) Catlin was born in Wilkes-Barre. Pennsylvania, and spent much of bis childhood in Broo York. He opened a law practice in Montrose, Pennsylvania, bur soon gave it up for an art cir ■ °llncY> New Philadelphia in 18’1. Experiencing only modestsucccssasa mostly self-taught portraitist, Catlin det"^0'’ m°vin8 to his name asa painter of the Indians. His four expeditions between 1830 and 1836 covered vast stretch ™lncd torr>ake In 1837. he opened his touring "Indian Gallery" in New York, to public and critical acclaim H ■ ■ '.CS °. e Prairie. greater success in London (1840) and Paris (1845). Expenses exceeded revenues, however an jC^pdr.lence‘i even ultimately brought bankruptcy. Partly toescape creditors, he trav eled through South America an ? i Invcstrr>ents to California between 1852 and 1859. Catlin had dreamed of selling the entire Indian Galler ■ ” I lcPac'fic coast instead, he lost it in the bankruptcy. From 1860 to 1870. he lived in Brussels, trying to reconstruct’th° Cl ,gOVernment; his peripatetic ways. Catlin was an exceptionally prolific artist who also found time to publish ■ ° , , D’- Despite travels. 1 ° 1 scvcral books on his s "wk, and it was rd[e|y Like Thomas Cole beforehim.Moran moved vv^hh^faInn3f’l9^6) in 1844. and 'Thomas became an apprentice wood engraver' [ft 7 .■ancashi“-'- Thcv settled in Phi . , exhibitionsand traveled to England, in 1861, rosceTurners voA If frc‘l“cnted the Pen XJhPhi^ year, and some critics called him the "Turner of the West." FREDERIC EDWIN CHURCH (1826-1900) A native of Hartford. Church studied with Thomas Cole, who influenced him considerably. By his mid­ twenties. Church was already a successful New York artist, regarded by many as the successor of Cole, who had died in 1848. In his search for inspiring landscapes, he began to travel extensively through eastern North America. His work became less allegorical and more concerned with light and topography. He made his first trip to South America in 1853. He later traveled to Labrador. Europe, the Middle East, and Mexico. His taste for the exotic is seen in his villa, Olana. overlooking the Hudson River, as well as in his paintings. After the mid-sixties, his work often became excessively melodramatic, but he retained his reputation as one of America's greatest landscapists. < THOMAS COLE (1801-1848) Cole and his family immigrated from Lancashire in 1818. They settled eventually in Steubenville, Ohio, where Thomas designed patterns for his father’s wallpaper factory' and learned the rudiments of portraiture from an itinerant painter. In 1823. he began his serious career as an artist in Philadelphia, then moved on to New York City, determined to bea landscapist, up to that timea less popular special ty in American art. His style ofgrandeur and drama changed that, and his ascent in the art world was rapid. After a three year trip to Europe, he turned increasingly to allegorical landscapes, such as his series, The Course ofEmpire. In 1836, he settled in Catskill, New York, closer to the mounciins he loved. 7 1 dCa',yonofl,,eYdlos:sll>lllAl.M^^ TITIAN RAMSAY PEALE, II (1799 irrsv Titian was the sixteenth of seventeen children born to the e ' . m. Charles Willson Peale, (his namesake brother, 'Titian I, died the year before his bird'\d'’i''-’?a paintM and naturalist, established himself as an artist; and grow ing up in his father's natural history m„s,'‘ ™ny °f his siblinRS he He studied anatomy and entomology, was an avid hunter and collector and 1,..^ ’ bccamca naturalist as well, in the pathbreaking Long Expedition in 1821 ensured his place in history I Ik'"'V ™ C?ipert t,Lxi‘Lrmisr. His pan and around the world (rhe Wilkes Expedition) took him away from the eurito^ldn '^S'’U'h Am,:riw bankruptcy forced its closure m 1842. 'Titian became an examiner for the I■ S Parent (lift /TV musci"n' and candidacy to become first curator of the Smithsonian Museum ‘mice alter his unsuccessful PETER RINDISBAGHER (1806-1834) his family answered I ordThomas Dimgh^llfi,^ provincial success as a painter prompted him to seek wider notice in Sr. Louis, where he opened a studioin 1829. His untimely death from unknovy n causes at the age of twenty eight cut short that quest. Whatever future he might have nad, no one can dispute his importance as the first comprehensive painter of Indian life on the frontier. THOMAS DAVIES (ca. 1737-1812) Davies was a British army officer who served in North America from 1759 to 1790. Having studied drawing and painting as a cadet, possibly under the eminent watercolorist Paul Sandby, he was often assigned to do topographical studies. In 1760, he explored the Lake Ontario region, and about 1768, he published six views of American waterfalls. Although he was a professional soldier, Davies enjoyed considerable respect both as an artist and a naturalise After his retirement from the service, at the rank of lieutenant general, he continued to paint and to exhibit at the Royal Academy. He is best remembered today, however, for his carlv documentation ofthe Canadian wilderness. SAMUEL SEYMOUR (fl. 1797-1823) Biographical information ----;n on Seymour is scant. I Ic w as probably born in England, but was working as an engraver in Philadelphia by 1808. After a seemingly modest early career, he was selected for the Long Expedition in 1819. In 1822. Seymour’s name no longer appears in the Philadelphia census, although he was reportedly seen in New York City by an the following year. There is speculation that he returned to Englandand may have dropped out of the "acquaintance . ___ ic art profession. Seymour's existence in recorded history is thus predicated almost entirely on his brief role as an artist-explorer. SETH EASTMAN (1808-1875) assigned to Fon Crawford f™m Wesc Point in 1829 and made the army his career. He was first administrative stints in Washington *7?d Minnesota, Florida, and Texas, in addition to time he studied painting with rhe II,, i " D.c 3 so (au?ht drawing at West Point between 1833 and 1840, at which in 1848, when he wasin Washington Rl''crartlst R°bert Weir. His Indian paintings began to attract attention he spent the most time on the frontier Th' ° ls career involved the American Indian, and, of all the Indian painters, culture. Is exPenence added weight to his reputation as a faithful recorder of Indian Heriot„Jsami|j[an, ” 6 JOHN MIX STANLEY (1814-18/2) Born in Canandaigua. New YorkyStanleybeganhiscareerasasigji^MmtcriH^.^H^^^^ j [^jedto incorner. 1834. he<• settled Where he took lessons from a local portraitist- R\c?Rni f nv ir-pS to. all t e in DctmitWisconsin in 1839 to make on-the-spot sketches I h.s was both a tounng Ind..anC^ as Hawaii. Ambitious and energetic, like his predecessor jic also tried, invain.ro w a moving panorama, Stanley's Western Wilds or. the Indian andHt. (. •'.[ the government. In 1864,'he ended his traveling and returned GEORGE HERIOT (1766-1844) e'?nmalftbL??" England " ith Paul 'sanX^iiT^ torra'e|'l A "mnRP-isrmasrcr-generaloftheNmrl V ' ° woRTHixtmiN wnrrrK®® Born in Scotland, he had t0 Canada "hcr‘ he joined the postal service, Born in Springfield. Ohio, he began America aS a landw^t and ' olume w as\ " L|' a J°UI dle tcrritories. A mani of wid,'.rnerlcan ‘-"Ionics. This position afforded him an opportunity Britain in ISl/'T? e'Cd' ,h,)_E and published an ill,,eriot began amultivolumc//Zr/ozy<y'fi77Wr//7(<>ne 1SI6’ but cont|nued to travel, paint anj ' ,C "t his style contrasted markedly with the mure tram aoy-i Moran, and proved durable throughout his long career. 52 1 ........ 5.5 �JAMES b. " Academy. In 1844, he settled in St. Louis. The ,n [.-rwlishm-m. Wilkins «ud,^’"Xke a sketching tour of the Overland Trail via wagon train, in r i? Rush inspired him. in 1^4 ». to nu d in 1850, was a great success, and he continued to do ^SoXamoting P" dijrv uas also a valuable document of life on the Trail, fjgin-.rx landscapes based on ■ > BIBLIOGRAPHIC NOTE i In the preparation of this exhibition, rhe follow ing sources were of particular value and are recommended mrtunhc^eadmg.^ i. wi||iam H Gcrdts- nlasshc Art Across America (New York, 1990), which includes rnanv Ifale-knmvn artists. A brief, but useful, earlier survey is J. 1 Flexner’s Nineteenth Century America,, York, 1970). For biographical material on the artists, the standard biographical reference books and individual monographs were consulted. On the earliest artist-explorers. Hugh Honour s lac A<y Golden Land:European Images ofAmerica from the DiseoCerierthtxPKSe.r'Tin.viLondun. 19761 offers much fascinating material. Of similar value is Edward J. Nygren’s i:j.' •../lac r..- .k.-..4.w.. Landscape before AWtWashington. D.C., 1986). E. P. Richardson's general history, Pmr.tingin .l^nnziNew York. 19561, contains a chapter on early artist-explorers. On the themes of the American Indian and the vv estern frontier, there is an extensive literature. Providing broadcov erage vv ith some controv ersial interpretations is William H. T ruettner (ed.), The West as America: Reinterpretinglr:szs'f&F.-j-dir. !8N-ZP-V(Washington. D C.. 1991). Less broad, but equally revisionist, are the essays in Dis.’,-.ndiat:ds. lmter.t,d Pasts: TramfcmingVisimis ofth, American IJ«/(New Haven, 1992) by Jules David Prown, Nancy K. Anderson. William Cronon. Brian W. Dippie. Martha A. Sandweiss. Susan Prendergast Sehoelwer, and Howard R. Lamar. An earlier set of interesting essay s appears in John F. A IcDermotr (ed.), The Frontier Re-Examined (L'rbana. 1967). Patricia Trenton and Peter Hassrick’s TheRorhy Mountains: .1 Visionfor Artists in the Nineteenth Century (Norman. Oklahoma. 1955(provides extensive material on lesser-known as well as major artists in the far West. Two useful catalogues of narrower focus, from the Joslyn .An Museum's Center for Western Studies, are William II. Goetzmant’and JosephC Porter's Th, Westas RomanticHorizon [Omaha, 1981), with emphasis on Bodmer and Miller, and John C. Ev.crs.etjJ, Viczsofa Vanishing FnjmicrtOmaMi, 1984), centering on Bodmer. William H. Truettner’s, T: Natural Mir Of.:- r.\d: .1 Study MCatlin's Indian Gallery (Washington, D.C., 1979) is the definitive work on its subject. F...r a fascinating account of the saga surrounding the Indian collections of Catlin, Eastman, and Stanley, sec Brian W. Dippie's CatTm and H.is Cunt, ,,:[•■ raries: Th, Politics of Patronage (Lincoln. Nebraska, 1990). _ On North Americans in South .America, essential information appears in Katherine Emma Manthorne’s N_.nh Anu titan Artists ExploringLatin Amirica, 1839-1879 (Washington, D.C., 1989) and Dawn Ades -zAc Art in Latin Armrica: The Modem Era. 183.' - /WlNew Haven, 1989). Br. ader. more philosophical discussions of die themes of nature and landscape mav be found in Barbara Nmak >m::,r.ar.dC,dmr,:AK,riw^^ Boime's 77/rMagisterial G^vAAashingrcn. D.C.. 199D. and Roderick Nash's Wild,mess and rhe American Mind (N, ew Haven, 1967). , Among theu hangs by the ani>ts themselves or their associates, several are of particular interest: George ( ’? u''7‘f Lu.'tom:. and Condition ofthe North American Indians (London, 1841); Thomas \, Stencr-~ (1835.. in John McCuubrcy WA American Art. 1700- 1960(E^\c^A Cliffs, John James Audubon (1785-1851) Towhe Bunting; Fringilla Erythmphthalma Linn.. Blu.kberrv R„h„ t •/, Hand cohired lithograph. 27 1/2 x 20 inches 1 The C. B. Reif Collection of Natural 1 listory Prints. A\ ilkes I 'niversily n-4 2. William Bartram (1739-1823) Canna Indica, lab. VHI (Elements), 1784 Ink on paper, 21.0 cm x 26.9 cm (8 1/4 x 10 1/2 inches) American Philosophical Society 3. Albert Bierstadt (1830-1902) The Oregon Trail. 1869 Oil on canvas, 31 x 49 inches The Butler Institute of American Art. \ oungstown, Ohio 4. Ralph Albert Blakclock (1847-1919) Landscape, n.d. Oil on canvas, 16 x 24 inches Collection of Heckschcr Museum, Huntington, Neu York. August Heckscher Collection. 'i 1 5. 6. Karl Bodmer (1809-1893) Assiniboin .Medicine Sign, 1833 Watercolor on paper, 9 5/8 x 12 1/4 inches Joslyn Art Museum, Omaha, Nebraska. Gift of the Em iron Art Foundation. Karl Bodmer (1809-1893) Rock Formations on the I pper Missouri, 1833 Watercolor on paper, 7 7/8 x 12 3/8 inches Joslyn Art Museum, Omaha, Nebraska. Gift of the Enron Art Foundation. 7. Karl Bodmer (1809-1893) Ilidatsa Buffalo Robe, e. 1840 Watercolor on paper, 14x17 5/8 inches Joslyn Art Museum, Omaha, Nebraska, Gift of the Enron Art Foundation. 8. Karl Bodmer (1809-1893) Forest on the Lehigh, n.d. Hand-colored lithograph, 13 1/2 x 17 1/2 inches Imp. de Bougeard, Grave par Salathe . . Gilbert McClintock Collection, Eugene Shedden Farley Library, Wilkes I nnersity 9. Karl Bodmer (1809-1893) Tombeaux des Indians Sioux, n.d. Lithograph, 8 1/4 x 6 1/4 inches Bartram'S 10. Hand-colored aquatint and line engraving. 21 .1 16 x 13 1 «L1ys Imp. de Bougeard. Se. Rend Rolkt: Published bv Ackerman <x '■ Bordoni Family Collection 11. , Frederick Catherwood (1799-1854) . "•7/ ar Bolonchen, 1884 (from an ink drawing done in 1 Colored lithograph, 377 mm x 277 mm <14 3'4 x 10 •. *nc i<ale 1 'niversily Art Gallery. Gift of Henry Schnackenberg. 54 55 �25. Thomas Moran (1837-1426.1 The Towers of Tower Falls. 1872 Watercolor on paper. 10 1/2 x 7 7/8 inch.-. The Thomas Gilcrease Institute nt Mmrimn Ilk-..-. anj •, 20. Titian Ramsay Peale 11799-1>S5> Indian breast work on the riser P;,.:ie > Watercolor on paper, 21.5 cm \ lti.4 h. 18211 American Philosophical Soviets 27. Titian Ramsay Peak- (1794-1885 Sandhill Cranes. March. 1.82(1 Watercolor on paper, 23.2 cm x 18.6, cm,,J 1^x7 1/4 inchw) American Philosophical Society 28. Titian Ramsay Peak-(1744-1885) Yellow headed Blackbird. May. 1820 Watercolor on paper. 22.6 cm x 18 7 cm (4\7 1/4 inches) American Philosophical Society Sordoni Family Collection 29. 16. Frederic Edwin Church (1826-19(1(1) In the Andes, 1878 Oil on canvas. 15 x 22 inches The Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio Ikler Rintiishadier < I -Silt,- 183 I> Sirne in an Indian lent. e. 1824-34 Watercolor on paper. 7 1/2 x 8 incites Courtesy ot the We ’ Point Museum, 1 S. Military Academy .West Point, Men \ork 30. 17. Thomas Cole (1801-1848) Adirondack Landscape, e. 1825-40 Oil on cam as, 20 x 30 inches Collection of E\erhart Museum Peter Rindish.n her (1806-1831 t Chippewa M'ideof hn ellinit m the Spline and Slimmer,?. 1830 Watercolor on p iper, f. 1/1 . It) inches Courtesy of the V-v’ Point Museum. I .S. Milium Xctidciny, West Point. New \<irk 31. Thomas Davies (c. 1737-1812) Niagara Falls from Bclozv. c. 1766 Watercolor on paper, 13 1/2 x 20 5/8 inches. The New York Historical Society, New York; Abbott and Foster-Jarvis funds, 1954, 1954.3 Peter Rindish.n I. . r ■' I Ml 1831) ('heppewci\-M I M de of I in: lime in the Winter, c. 1830 Watercolor on pape:r. 6 1/4' lOimhvs Courtesy of the We i Point Museum, I S. Military Academy, \\cM p,,)nb 32. 19. Seth Eastman (1808-1875) Indian Burial, 1847 Oil on canvas. 33 .\ 25 inches The Thomas Gilcrease Institute of American History and Art, Tulsa, Oklahoma Samuel Seymour <11. 1747-1823) Viewut the Baof the Rm L-ie.. c. 1820 _ W atercolor, ink. and pencil on paper. 5x7 7/8 inches The Rockwell Museum. • arming, New 'I ork 33. 20. George Heriot (1766-1844) Calumet Dance. 1799 Watercolor on paper, 8 3/8 x 13 inches The Art Gallery of W indsor collection. Purchased by special subscription and with the assistance of The Canada Council, 1967. John Mix Stanley (1814-1872) Snake Rr.er. Idaho and II ■ ■hinelon Oil on cant as, 36 1/2 x 54 inches ( amrtesy of Kennedy *ialleries, Inc.. New i ork 34. Worthington Whittred.c 1 1820-PHO) Cuttle Gr,i.u:e IMbc the Platte, 1871 Oil on cant as. 24 I 4 x 32 inches Museum ot Nebraska Art 35. James Wilkins (1808-1888) Cat ered llagroi-s in the Rockies, 1854 Oil on cans us. 22 x 30 inches . f rom the < atlkctiorts of the Missouri Historical Society 12. George Catlin (1796-1872) l/n/rf/z ofthe Platte River, WO Miles Above St. Loins, 1832 Oil on enn\ as, 11 1/4 x 14 1/2 inches National Museum of American Art. Smithsonian Institute. Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr. 13. 14. George Catlin (1796-1872) Com. A Miniconjou Warrior. 1832 Oil on canvas, 29 x 24 inches Smithsonian Institution, Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr. National Museum of American Art, George Catlin (1796-1872) W ounded Buffalo Bull Surrounded by White Wolves, n.d. Hand-colored lithograph.il 1/4 x 17 1/4 inches Sordoni Art Gallery, W ilkes University, Gift of Dr. and Mrs. Robert L. Mayock and W. Graham Arader, Ill 15. 18. 21. 56 George Catlin (1796-1872) Buffalo Hunt, Cnderthe White WolfSkin . 1832-33 Hand-colored lithograph, 12 3/16 x 17 9/16 inches Catlin del.; on Slone by Mc( rahey: Day & Haghu lith. to the Queen George Heriot (1766-1844) Ceremonial Scalp Dance . c. 1804-05 W atercolor on paper. 8 1/4 x 12 3/4 inches The Art Gallery of W indsor collection. Purchased by special subscription and with the assistance of The Canada Council. 1967. 22. Alfred Jacob Miller (1810-1874) Pursuit of a Grisly [sicl Hear in the Black Hills Near Fort Larriniier [sic], n.d. Ink sepia with pencil on paper, 7 3/4 x 7 1/8 inches University of Nebraska - Lincoln. Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery. Gift of Olga N. Sheldon. 1973. 1 -3295. 23. Alfred Jacob Miller (1810-1874) Pursuit. 1837 Wash, ink and Chinese sxhite on paper, 17 1/4 x 22 inches Tire Rockwell Museum. Coming. Nets York 24. Alfred Jacob Miller (1810-1874) War-Ground, 1837 Wash. ink. and Chinese white on paper. 14 5/8 x 18 3/4 inches The Rockwell Museum, Corning, New York Photo credits: Curtis Salonick: 1, 8, 9, 10, 14. 15 Saltmarche, Toronto: 20,21 James O. Milmoe. 1991: 23, 24,32 . (||| ( VJineh Wk ��IMM lOOOlflS^20 HUKES COLLEGE LIBRARY �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1992 October 11 Virgin Landscapes, Native Cultures: The Artist Explorer in North America Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource John James Audubon William Bartram Albert Bierstadt Ralph Albert Blakelock KarlBodmer Frederick Catherwood GeorgeCatlin FredericEdwin Church Thomas Cole Thomas Davies Seth Eastman George Heriot Alfred JacobMiller Thomas Morgan TitianRamsa yPealeII Peter Rindisbacher Samuel Seymour John Mix Stanley Worthington Whittredge James F. Wilkins Dr. William H.Sterling Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1992 October 11 - November 29 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource This exhibition surveys the era during which the pictorial exploration of North America evolved from the reportorial to the expressive. Type The nature or genre of the resource N/A Subject The topic of the resource America North America landscape explorer artist Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource SAG https://omeka.wilkes.edu/omeka/files/original/e9b63917c2a1757b6a07d327306b022e.pdf 0e16d37ad3ec8868c8c40062e5c37340 PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Exhibition Programs, 1973-present Description An account of the resource Exhibition programs created by the Sordoni Art Gallery from 1973 to the present. Digitized by Wilkes University Archives interns, Zachary Mendoza and Sophia Kruspha. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The Sordoni Art Gallery Source A related resource from which the described resource is derived Wilkes University Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The Sordoni Art Gallery Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1973-present Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Wilkes University retains copyright of these exhibition programs. Language A language of the resource English Type The nature or genre of the resource Exhibition programs, flyers, and calendars. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 1992 August 23 Wilkes University Art Faculty Biennial Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Sharon Bowar Richard Fuller William Sterling Jean Adams Mark Cohen Kevin O'Toole Michael Standford Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1992 August 23 - September 17 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource PDF Description An account of the resource The Wilkes University Art Faculty Biennial is a showcase of work from the arts faculty circa 1992 Type The nature or genre of the resource Postcard Subject The topic of the resource Wilkes University faculty