Philip de Laszlo: A Royal Command

"Wilhelmina Cassel" by Philip de Laszlo

"For his honeymoon Philip de Laszlo took his bride to the English Lakes, new country to both of them, but while they were at Windermere he received a command from Queen Victoria to paint the portrait of General Sir George White, who had recently returned from the Boer War. De Laszlo had been hoping to obtain permission to paint the Queen, but her preoccupation with the war had made it impossible. Now that she had given him this commission instead, he could not decline it,even though it meant the honeymoon being interrupted.

A studio was found for him in London and the sittings began. The Queen took a great interest in the portrait and wished to see it immediately upon its completion. De Laszlo inquired whether it would be proper of him to show it to Her Majesty in person. But his contact replied, 'It will be the best if you send the portrait... It will remain in the Queen's room so that Her Majesty will be able to inspect it when she has time to do so.' So the portrait was sent to Windsor and de Laszlo was informed that Her Majesty was very pleased with it. 

But before he could obtain a commission from Queen Victoria, she died. Later when he asked the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador to help him gain a commission paint her successors, King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, he was told, "I fear I cannot give you much hope. English artists complained so much that the late Queen preferred foreign painters, that I am afraid their Majesties will not easily be persuaded to sit to a foreigner.'

However, de Laszlo was not entirely preoccupied with the great. He could find spare moments to advise and encourage beginners, even though they were very young, as this letter shows:

'Dear Mr. Philip Laszlo, Artist-Painter,

I must apologize for again worrying you with my drawings. In December I received your very esteemed letter, for which I repeat my thanks. I have followed your advice and am diligently drawing all sorts of subjects. Now I again sending you some drawings and beg you to tell me your opinion of them. I am passing my examination for the 4th Class and shall be nine years old on 27th of October. Now I would beg you to tell me where I should study in order to develop my ability in drawing. Looking forward to your kind reply, I remain, Buchwald Laczi

There can be little doubt that this persistence, so like that of his own youth, warmed de Laszlo's heart towards the little boy."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

 

Philip de Laszlo: Marriage

"Philip de Laszlo and His Bride, 1900"

"After a visit to France to paint Count and Countess Jean de Castellane, Philip de Laszlo went to England, then crossed to Ireland to visit Lucy and her family. She drove the pony-trap to meet him and it was teatime when they reached the house. The garden was glowing in the sunshine and the family was on the lawn under the hawthorn tree. It must have been a difficult moment for de Laszlo, as he strode across the grass to greet them all. Certainly he was no longer the shabby artist. He  had painted kings and princes and was doing quite well financially. 

But he was ignorant of the ways of the Irish upper-middle classes to which the Guinnesses belonged. Some of the greatest families in Europe had welcomed him, but de Laszlo could not know that in the country houses of Ireland and England artists were considered scarcely respectable unless they were Royal Academicians. It meant that, despite his success, he still had to fight for recognition and to battle with the British prejudice against foreigners. 

But he had courage and persistence. He had shown his devotion to Lucy by respecting her family's wishes and waiting seven years for her. His behaviour had been impeccable. In the end he won over Lucy's mother. He may not have been the son-in-law she would have chosen, but she knew that her daughter's affection had been tried as well as his, and she bowed to the inevitable. When de Laszlo returned to England he was able to proclaim that he was engaged.

Their wedding took place at the parish church of Stillorgan, Ireland, on 7 June, 1900. De Laszlo wore the traditional gala dress of the Hungarian gentleman. It was of dark green velvet, trimmed with black astrakan, high boots, and a fur-trimmed hat decorated with an eagle's feather. With his sword at his side and his orders upon his chest he looked magnificent, and while he was waiting for the bride he turned towards the congregation to let his future wife's relatives and friends have a good look at him, without a vestige of self-consciousness.

The bridegroom's English was still far from perfect, and, fearing that he might make a blunder, Lucy had taken him through the service very carefully beforehand. He did not make a single mistake in his responses, and after the ceremony, to the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, he and his bride walked down the aisle, which was strewn with rose petals by four small boy and girl Guinness cousins. While a military band played 'The Sun was Shining' de Laszlo posed for his photograph with his wife. His expression suggests the triumphant satisfaction of a man who has found attainment after seven years of struggle, waiting and devotion, and her face glows with happiness and love."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Making a Name for Himself

"Baroness Hugo von Reischach,
née Princess Margarethe von Ratibor"
by Philip de Laszlo

"Philip de Laszlo was now making his name. He was a gold medallist of the Paris Salon. No longer would he have to count his centimes. Never again would he have to travel fourth class. He had painted kings and princes. He had stayed in their palaces. They were glad to call him their friend, and he no longer felt awkward and abashed in their company.

In March, upon finishing the portrait of the German chancellor, he went to Vienna, where as he said, 'I rented a fine studio and became acquainted with many prominent people in that enchanting city. During the next five weeks I painted the portraits of Prince and Princess Max Egon von Furstenberg and another dozen portraits, all of great interest. Among my sitters were the beautiful Countess Aglya Kinsky, her husband, Count Ferdinand Kinsky, who was Master of the Horse; the Lord Marshal, Prince Rudolf Lichtenstein; the Hungarian Prince Tasillo Festetics, and the lovely Princess Montenuovo.'

In May he went to Budapest, where he painted the Hungarian Premier, Count Julius Szapary and made a sketch of Dr. Julius Wlassics, the Minister of Arts and Education. Then returning to Germany he painted Baron and Baroness Friedrich Diergardt and their two daughters. These contacts led to his painting the Empress later in the year, who, having no time to give sittings for oil portraits, was greatly impressed with the speed with which he executed his sketches and wanted one to give the Kaiser. It was a year of tremendous activity and hard work. 

He was being particularly successful in Germany, and was obtaining high prices for his work. Nowhere in the world do family portraits hold such an important place as in the noble families of Germany. Every member of each generation find a place on the walls of the ancestral castle. In the years before the war Germany was a fruitful field for the portrait painter. There were large families to paint, and the money forthcoming to employ artists of repute.

He  worked with amazing rapidity and concentration, and yet he seemed always to find time to develop lasting friendships with his sitters. Commissions were pouring in and de Laszlo could not refuse them. Apart from his personal ambition, he had determined to show Lucy Guinness' mother that he was no long a penniless art student, but a successful man who could give her daughter a comfortable home."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Prince Chlodwig Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst

"Chlodwig Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst"
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "Early in March, 1899, I arrived in Berlin, where I stayed at the German chancellor's palace. A delightful studio had been arranged for me in a covered verandah, and there I met the Chancellor's son, Prince Alexander. It was the family's wish to have the portrait of the Chancellor painted for his eightieth birthday. Prince Alexander wished to have his father painted standing as if delivering a speech. I could understand his desire to see his father perpetuated thus, yet the Chancellor was a very small man, exceptionally bent.

To paint him as I saw him would have been almost impossible, and I came to the conclusion that I must try to avoid doing what I had been asked to do. I wanted to reduce the picture so far as possible to a head-and-shoulders, to enable me to concentrate on his deep searching expression and noble features. I particularly admired the expression of his pale blue eyes, which seemed to become more brilliant, like large aquamarines.

The situation was too delicate to explain to his son. Happily circumstances helped me to achieve what I believed should be done. After my fourth sitting, I received from the Hungarian Minister of Art and Education an official letter in which he asked me if I could persuade the Chancellor to give me sittings for a head-and-shoulders portrait for the National Museum of Fine Arts, as a pendant to the famous portrait of Bismarck by Lenbach.

I immediately showed the letter to the Chancellor, who was visibly flattered, and asked him if he would mind my putting aside the portrait I had begun, and start the one I had been asked to do for Hungary. He good naturedly consented.

I was so keen about it that I started the new picture next morning, hoping that when he compared my own conception with the desired portrait, in which his physical failing were so obvious, he himself might wish to be painted in that way. I went to work with all my heart and soul. At the second sitting he stepped down from his platform to look at the picture and asked, 'Why did you not paint the portrait I am to have like that?' So I had my way without being obliged to explain my reasons.

I never thought that this picture would mean so much to my career. On the day of the last sitting the Chancellor was giving an official dinner party in honour of the German Emperor, and afterwards showed the portrait to the Emperor. He was so pleased that he expressed the desire that it should be exhibited at the Schulte Gallery in Berlin. But I had intended to show the picture, with the Chancellor's permission, at the Paris Salon, and there were only a few days for it to reach Paris in time. I explained this to the Emperor, who insisted 'The picture cannot be shown in Paris before the Berlin public has a chance to see it. I will arrange for it to be sent by a special courier to Paris.'

And so it was, and when the picture was shown in the Salon of 1899 it received a Gold Medal, thus becoming hors concours, meaning in the future de Laszlo was free to enter works for the Salon without competition. Over the next few months the portrait was exhibited to similar acclaim in Baden-Baden, Budapest and Vienna, and commission after commission came his way."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: The Ratibors and Beyond

"Prince Maximilian von Ratibor"
by Philip de Laszlo

"Early in 1897 Philip de Laszlo became acquainted with Prince Max Ratibor, the German Consul-General in Budapest, and the meeting led to a long and happy friendship with the various members of this family. The Ratibors are large landowners in Germany and are related or connected by marriage with most of the German nobility.

His first Ratibor portraits were those of Prince Max and his wife. These and the picture of Princess Victoria, their daughter - which de Laszlo always maintained were three of his best portraits - were to bring him further fame and success.

'I am being begged to exhibit your pictures which we have here,' wrote Prince Max Ratibor from Weimar, where he was then German Minister at the Court of the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, 'before you will need them for your coming exhibition in Berlin next year. They will be shown in the Museum here. The patron is the Grand Duke of Weimar.'

The Grand Duke was delighted with de Laszlo's work and commissioned a portrait of himself, which was painted immediately. The Grand Duke was so pleased with it that he decorated de Laszlo with the Order of the White Falcon. The exhibition was held in February, 1898, at the fashionable Schulte Gallery, and besides the German portraits de Laszlo showed, there were those of Count and Countess Albert Apponyi, Count Chotek, Dr. Alexander Wekerle, Herr Pretorious, and the Archimandrite Gregorius. The reception of the critics was all he could have wished.He was accepted no longer as a promising young artist, but as a fully-fledged painter with a great career before him.

In the spring of 1898 de Laszlo exhibited his portraits of Princess Max Ratibor and Daniela Grunelius at the Paris Salon. The portrait of Daniela aroused particular attention and was reproduced in colour on the front page of 'L'Illustration.' The National Art Gallery of Adelaide, South Australia, wished to buy it for their collection, but it was not for sale. 

An American gentleman, Mr. Minot, saw the portraits in the Salon and wanted de Laszlo to return with him to Boston to paint a picture of his daughter-in-law and her son. On learning that de Laszlo's outstanding commissions made this impossible, he suggested that as he was taking a house in the Isle of Wight, the portrait might be painted there. He offered a fee of 500 pounds and travelling expenses. This offer de Laszlo accepted.  

He wrote to Lucy Guinness to tell her of his forthcoming visit to England. He had not heard from her for two years and even though his letter was written in formal terms, it did not disguise his excitement at the possibility of seeing her again."

To be continued

(Excerpt from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Artist to Royalty

"Archimandrite Gregorius of Philippopolis"
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "Since the portraits of the Prince Ferdinand and Princess Marie Louise were required for official purposes I had to paint both sitters in full court dress with all their decorations. To save them from sitting too long I had two life-sized dummies dressed up, so that I could paint in the details by myself. One day, after spending the morning struggling with the intricacies of Ferdinand's brilliantly-coloured orders, I saw on my return from luncheon that the position of one of the stars on the Prince's dummy had been changed. Later on the Prince came in and asked me, with his knowing smile, if I had noticed the alteration. I replied that I had. 'I did it,' said His Royal Highness. 'It was not in its correct place.' The result was that the whole star had to be painted again. 

The Prince also asked me to paint a three-quarter length portrait of the Archimandrite Gregorius of Philippopolis, who was then visiting. A splendid studio was arranged for me at the palace, and I could not have wished for a more inspiring and intelligent subject. He had perfect classic features. When he first entered the studio in his simple black robe and black headdress, I was deeply impressed by the dignity of his bearing and the calmness of his presence. I painted him as he sat in his chair and finished the portrait in twelve sittings.

Besides this work I was also asked to paint a copy of my portrait of Princess Marie Louise, then one of their infant son, Boris, and a small picture of the only child of the Prince's personal secretary, M. Stancioff.

My experience at the Court of Sofia was very helpful to me in my future career. I learned how carefully one has to move, not so much in the presence of the sovereigns themselves, but amongst their entourage. Young though I was, I learnt the value of discretion. 

Before I left Sofia, Princess Marie Louise presented me with a very beautiful tie pin, in the form of a fleur-de-lys and her crown set in rubies and sapphires. This was my first Royal present, and Prince Ferdinand honoured me with his Order for Art and Science. It will not be difficult to imagine what it meant to me at that age to receive the first tokens of appreciation of this kind, and I left Bulgaria happy to feel that I had fulfilled the expectations of the Royal family."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Alexius de Lippich

"King Ferdinand I of Bulgaria"
by Philip de Laszlo

"In 1893 Philip de Laszlo became closely associated with Mr. Alexius de Lippich, who was then secretary of the Fine Arts Department of the Ministry of Education. Lippich was some ten years older than de Laszlo, and was a typical member of the exclusive Hungarian landed gentry class. It is remarkable, therefore, that he should have made friends with a young artist whose name, when thefriendship began, was scarcely known even in Hungary.

Lippich's letters show that he was a shrewd man of business.It is reasonable to suppose that he recognized de Laszlo's unusual talent and thought it worthwhile to help in the shaping of his career. At the same time there seems no doubt that he was sincerely fond of de Laszlo, and he commissioned him to paint a portrait of Mrs. Lippich which was exhibited at the Winter Exhibition of 1894. In February he got him a commission to paint the portrait of the daughter-in-law of a famous poet, Janos Arany. 'I believe that this commission will give you the entree into a new society set,' wrote Lippich, 'which may be of great advantage to your future career.'

It is clear from this letter that Lippich had constituted himself de Laszlo's mentor, and when de Laszlo had to write letters to those in a higher social sphere, Lippich would even make a draft for him to copy. Thenceforward he had a profound influence on de Laszlo's career and it seems highly probably that it was through Lippich that de Laszlo obtained his first royal commissions - the portraits of Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria and of his consort, Princess Marie Louise of Bourbon-Parma. 

De Laszlo spoke of his experience: 'I had brought with me all the necessary materials for painting the portraits and the Prince allowed me to use one of the aide-de-camps' rooms, on the north side of the palace, as a studio. On the day I was to start the picture the Prince entered the studio in uniform, with all his magnificent decorations. 

'Look at my forehead,' he said to me solemnly. 'You can see that it is the forehead of a thinker, who has many sorrows and much trouble. Look at my hands. They are the hands of a sovereign who often sits through the night when all the world is asleep, working hard at his desk, at that desk where all the wires of Europe concentrate for me to pull.' Such were the words with which Ferdinand introduced himself. It was difficult for me to keep and solemn face and not burst out laughing.'" 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Military Service

"Sir Charles Burn" by Philip de Laszlo

At the age of eighteen every man in Hungary without exception, had to present himself for military service and undergo a medical examination. The thought of this had given Philip de Laszlo great anxiety because his lack of a proper education meant he would have to serve three years in the army instead of one. However, taking initiative as always, he attended special evening classes that enabled him not only to pass the needed exam, but also choose the branch of the army he wished to join and the time for his military service. This enabled him to pursue his art studies freely until his twenty-third birthday when he would join the Infantry.

At twenty-three he said goodbye to the Valentins in Munich and left all his studio belongings with them until his return. He took his pictures, the 'Hofbrauhaus' and another called 'L'Incroyable,' planning to exhibit them at the Winter Exhibition in Budapest. He also took a number of studies hoping that he might sell some of his work to defray his expenses.

He wrote: "As the first of October approached, my dear mother and all at home became very depressed. When I showed myself to them, dressed up as a soldier, they were all in tears. Until then I had been independent, eager to work, to study to become an artist, free as an eagle.

I had to report at the barracks at six o'clock next morning. My mother got up about five and prepared coffee for me before I set off. It was strange leaving the house so early. The street lamps were still alight. There was no one but a sleepy milkman about, and it was a dark misty morning. When I reached the main entrance, a sentry saluted me. I had not the slightest notion that his salute was meant for me and did not return it. I was stopped and taken to the orderly officer. 'Don't you know you have to salute the sentry on entering the barracks?' he began. 'No,' I replied. 'Don't answer me back!' he shouted. 'And remember next time!" Voila - such was my first experience.

From six to eight every morning we were drilled on the barrack square. From eight to nine we had an interval for breakfast, then assembled at the Cadet School until lunch. In the afternoon there was drill again. After a fortnight, I came to the conclusion that during the coming twelve months I must put aside all thoughts of art and become a soldier and nothing else. Art and militarism are incompatible.

After six weeks all this military glory came to an end. Through the constant marching I developed varicose veins which caused me much pain. I also have a physical defect - one of my toes is more developed than the others. My case met with sympathy, as I was a young artist with two scholarships, and after appearing before a military board I was dismissed from the army for ever."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Miss Lucy Guinness

"Portrait of My Wife" by Philip de Laszlo

"The year 1892 brought Philip de Laszlo the greatest happiness he had yet known. Every winter a ball was given in Munich by the students' Austro-Hungarian Society, the proceeds of which were used to help struggling students. It was there that de Laszlo met his future wife, Miss Lucy Guinness.

Philip de Laszlo described their meeting: 'Although fancy dress was not obligatory at the ball, I decided to go in costume, and as I had just painted a French revolutionary and liked the outfit, I got permission from the Academy to wear it for the evening. I had a dark wig with long hair, and a three-cornered hat, a lorgnette hanging on a black ribbon and a smart tall cane of the period. I was in high spirits that night.

My friend Baron Von Krahl and I had been sitting barely a quarter of an hour at our table when we were asked if we would allow some English ladies to sit at the unoccupied part of our table, since they could find room nowhere else. They turned out to be two charming and distinguished golden-haired girls, holding themselves very erect. Miss Lucy, the younger sister, was dressed in a rose-coloured silk gown, simply cut, with no jewelry and long white gloves. She carried a little fan and had a pink velvet ribbon in her hair. 

Conversation dragged until I turned to her. I talked about the coming World Exhibition in Chicago, where I hoped to show the 'Hofbrauhaus' or another painting. It struck me at once how splendid it would be if I could get her as a model for my picture of the Hofbrauhaus. She was just such a figure as I had thought of. I went on to speak of these pictures, wanting to let her know that I was an artist and working in the Academy. She was obviously interested in all my chatter and was very pleasant, but after supper left the table and went to the ballroom."

The upshot of this was that de Laszlo found her and spent the rest of the time with her. It was clear that they had strong feelings for each other. This developed into love, but when the subject of marriage came up her family strongly disapproved of the match. And Philip's oldest sister scolded him as well saying, 'You're so young and you aren't even an established artist yet. You must be mad!' So for seven years de Laszlo worked hard at his profession, remained true to Lucy, and established himself as a successful artist. In the end he more than proved himself to be worthy of Lucy's hand in marriage.

To be continued

(Excerpts from Owen Rutter's biography "Portrait of a Painter.")

Philip de Laszlo: "Hofbrauhaus"

"Hofbrauhaus" by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "Since my first students days in Munich I had wanted to make the Hofbrauhaus the subject of a picture. I used to go there and take my evening meal in the midst of that wonderful crowd of men drawn from every class. I was always impressed by the Bavarian waitresses in their national costumes, carrying in one hand as many as a dozen clay mugs full of foaming beer. I do not think I ever enjoyed anything more in my life than my meals of pork, sauerkraut and black bread in those picturesque surroundings.

I used to go there day by day and watch the movements of the people: a soldier and a cabman, a small official and a business man, a student joking with a waitress. Unnoticed, I made a number of drawings straight from life and built up the composition in my studio. One day, as I sat watching, I saw a couple of English tourists going round and gazing at the scene. They just fitted into my picture. 

Naturally Prof. Liezenmayer had his bit to add and I trusted his judgment when he came with his piece of charcoal and made ruthless corrections. In time the composition of the 'Hofbrauhaus' grew until there were twenty-five figures in it. Gradually I found interesting models, and made individual sketches of each of them. With the help of a gas-reflector I managed to reproduce the lighting much as it was. The good Frau Valentin got me a table and chairs like those in the Hofbrauhaus, and similar beer mugs. 

I also bought myself a large camera for at this time it was a common practice for painters and students to make photographic studies of poses, although I always felt that this was wrong and very bad for their work. A student should always have a sketchbook and make as many studies as he can from life. From these studies he will learn to reproduce movement, to observe, and to simplify, and with a few lines to portray the essential characteristics of his subject.

One of the models de Laszlo used for this painting was a young Irish girl, Lucy Guinness. She posed as one of the English tourists, and wrote to a friend that the time in his studio, along with her sister, were twelve 'most enjoyable' afternoons. There is much more that will be said of Lucy because she eventually became his wife.

'Hofbrauhaus' was finished in time for the exhibition of composition students' work at the Academy. De Laszlo designed the frame for it himself - old gold, wide and simple, without ornamentation - and Haage, the famous framemaker of Munich, who was an old friend of the Valentins, executed the design. De Laszlo won the Silver Medal, an award which had been inaugurated by King Otto of Bavaria. It had the King's portrait in relief on one side, and de Laszlo's name was engraved on the other."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Back to Studies in Munich

Philip de Laszlo as a Student in Paris

"Philip de Laszlo had been in correspondence with his former master, Professor Liezenmayer, with the object of returning to Munich. Eventually it was arranged that he should return to the Royal Bavarian Academy as a 'composition student' - painting compositions instead of studies - with a studio of his own. Full of fresh enthusiasm for his work, he left Budapest at the end of September, 1891. His narrative continues:

'My studio was on the second floor of the Royal Bavarian Academy, in the corner of the building. I was delighted to have a studio of my own, and the extra amenity of heating provided by the State of Bavaria. The State also paid the expenses of cleaning and gave every student an allowance to pay for models.

Two days after I had taken possession of the studio, my master invited me to tea at his house, and there I was introduced to Frau Marie Valentin, the good and charming lady who was to have such an important influence on my life.

Professor Liezenmayer was always extremely kind to me, and, knowing that my financial circumstances were not of the best, he arranged for me to have a room in the Valentins' house, which was refined, comfortable and delightful. They were well-to-do people - he a retired business man, very cultured with a great interest in the art world of Munich, and about seventy-five years of age. I soon felt like their adopted son. They were much interested in my work, and entered eagerly into my ambitions.

Professor Liezenmayer lived in the same street, on the third floor of a big house. I was privileged to visit him from time to time, and I also had the exceptional honour of calling almost daily on him at the Academy where he too, like all the masters, had a studio to see him at his work, and accompany him for a walk. The walks and discussions with my master, who was thirty years older than I, were certainly of great influence on my inner life, and I cherish their memories."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Study at L'Academie Julien, Pt. 2

"Madonna of the Rose" by Dagnan-Bouveret

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "In the studio we were given six mornings to make studies of a given size. I think this was an excellent idea. The student was obliged to see and to understand the whole body, not only from the point of view of character or colour, but of movement also. Later, when I was in Munich, we sometimes painted the same head for three weeks. I admit that it is an advantage to study the subject thoroughly, but if too long is spent there is a danger of the students seeing too many details and not feeling the whole enough. 

Compared with Paris the whole atmosphere of Munich was heavy with knowledge, too much thoroughness, which interferes to a certain degree with the freedom of the spirit. Paris after Munich was like spring, full of hope. It was intellectual champagne!

As time went on, the walls of my humble room became more and more crowded with the studies which I hung up, and early in the mornings, while I was washing, I used to look at them with an extremely critical eye, searching for development, and having in mind the study which I had to send in at the end of each term to the Ministry of Education in Hungary.

It was during my student days in Paris that Dagnan-Bouveret painted his two most famous pictures. The first was the 'Recruited Peasants Marching with the Flag' ['The Recruits']. It was painted in the open and was wonderful in colour and tone. The second showed Mary holding the infant Christ, the divine light breaking through her shawl which covered the child. It was lovely in harmony, clean in colour, full of depth, the expression of the real artist soul. 

Yes, in those days Dagnan was our ideal. He expressed the modern healthy tendency in art - to paint an open air subject on the spot, and not in the studio. Very few pictures that I have seen since have reached his standard. 

After studying for some time under Lefebvre I worked under Benjamin Constant. He had great feeling for portraiture, although he was not strong in individualization, but besides this, what I liked about him was that he was a gentleman. Lefebvre was a good French bourgeois in spirit, solid, thorough and an excellent draughtsman. He understood the value of pure line to express the character and movement of the body, and for those qualities I had a great admiration. I spent two terms at Julien's and then returned to Budapest."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Studying at Academie Julien, Pt. 1

"Man Wearing a Fez," Academic work
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "The Academie Julien was an old building, square and sombre without any artistic or architectural beauty - and a great lack of cleanliness! But the interior was enlivened by the aspirations, the hopes, the enthusiasm of hundreds of young artists gathered with one aim and one love - art and beauty. There was one studio after another with models of both sexes, surrounded by four or five rows of eager students. Each studio had its different master, whom the student was free to choose when he entered the Academie. It was the very world for which I had been longing, and I only wished I could have known it sooner.

The rules in force at Julien's were most ingenious. Every Monday morning each class had a new model for whom there were often fifty or sixty students. To avoid arguments about places, every Saturday the master gave out a subject for a composition to paint that afternoon or on Sunday morning - there was scarcely any time to read up the subject or the opportunity of making preliminary sketches at home.

We were each given a canvas, about ten by sixteen inches, to paint at the school, watched by the head of the class, so that no one should copy another's work. We left the sketches on the easels, signed them with a motto or pseudonym, so that the criticism should be quite impartial, and on Sunday the master inspected them and allotted them number from one to ten. The remainder were given no number at all. Each number one sketch was kept by the school and exhibited at the end of term; from those the Council bought the best, which was hung in its respective class as an example of contemporary work. Many of those sketches became famous. I remember that among the subjects we had to paint were 'Julius Caesar crossing the Rubicon' and 'LAbandonnee' - a poor woman with a baby in her arms.

When the students assembled on Monday mornings the head of the class read out the pseudonyms on the selected sketches. The painter of number one had the right to choose his place first, and the other nine in succession. Those who saw they had no chance or had done no sketches, were looking round, easel in hand, and after the the numbers had been read out they ran to the places they had chosen and stood in them until everyone had been placed. Then the names were written in white chalk on the floor under the easels.

This rule had great moral advantages. It not only encouraged the students to practice expressing their thoughts on canvas, but prevented squabbling and jealousy."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: To Paris!

"Madame Mátyás Polákovits
with her sons Ödön and György"
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "When the term at the Academy had ended in May, I returned home. Restless as I have always been throughout my life, I soon began to paint again. I painted a picture, half life-size, called 'The Happy Family,' for submission to the Ministry of Arts and Education. I was very anxious to do my best work, so that I could continue my studies at the Academie Julien in Paris. Happily I won the scholarship!

After this, a wealthy businessman, Mr. Polakovics, invited me to paint a portrait of his wife and youngest son. It was my first full-length portrait, and my first acquaintance in Budapest with a well-to-do family. When I think that I painted that large canvas in a small narrow room, where I could hardly step back, I know I could not do it today. I am sure the portraits were good likenesses. Everything was well finished, but there was no atmosphere in the picture. Well, I was only twenty-one then. The portrait was not only my first important commission, but earned me the highest price I had yet received: 1,000 florins."

With this and the sale of other pictures, he was provided with funds for his journey to Paris and left Budapest late in the autumn of 1890. He continues:

"On the morning after my arrival I went to present myself to Professor Lefebvre to whom I had a letter of introduction. He was a man of culture and dignity, now so rare, and received me in a most sympathetic manner. Not only did he accept me, but he told me to begin work in his class, where I should find myself among forty or fifty students of all nationalities, painting a a life study for the annual class competition.

That same day I also called on the great Hungarian master Michael Munkacsy. He had spent most of his life in Paris, where he was respected and beloved. It was Friday, his At Home day. It is difficult for me to describe my emotions as I entered that splendid and sumptuous house. Since my earliest youth Munkacsy had been the great inspiration of my life. Of humble origin he started life as a carpenter, and ended with an international reputation as a great artist. 

After I told him my plans for the future and asked his advice, he said in his slow voice: 'Many young students from Hungary have called on me in the past. Alas, few have succeeded! I have only one piece of advice to give you, and that is, bear in mind that you are here in a great cosmopolitan city and that there is no middle road for a young man like you. Either you will go down like many of your fellows, or you will go up. Be here for what you came, and come and see me as often as you can.' 

So I left his house saying to myself, 'You too, like Munkacsy, who also began as a poor young man, must raise yourself from the common ruck.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Studies in Munich

"Lady Wantage" by Philip de Laszlo

"Munich! How different, how modest, hard-working! There I found art, science, strength, self-confidence. All that made a great appeal to me. I knew a few Hungarian students from Budapest, and visited them for advice. I had my scholarship, and therefore I wanted to become a member of the Royal Bavarian Academy of Art, but entrance would be difficult since it was the middle of the term. 

The director granted me an interview, expressed approval of my work and told me to paint a study for criticism, promising that if it were satisfactory he would take me. I left him happy and confident of success. I took an old man as model.He had a long beard and wore and big black felt hat. He was a professional model, a cheerful old fellow. I spent about a week painting his portrait, during which time I led a life of the utmost seclusion. When the study was finished I showed it to the directory, who put my name before the council, with the result that I was received as a regular student forthwith.

I rented a room the same day. In the mornings I got my own breakfast, brewing my coffee, and had my midday meal in a small restaurant opposite the Academy, where I could eat well for 1.50 marks. In the evenings I brought home something cold for myself. I could buy a new loaf at the street corner for six pfennigs, and a sausage for twenty at the meat shop, where I could enjoy, at least, the delicious smell of roasting pork. Thus I did not spend much money and lived on my savings. My scholarship money I hardly ever used, and gave most of it to my sister Szerena to buy her wedding outfit. But I often think now that I was too frugal when I remember how I sat working in my overcoat through the long winter evenings without a fire.

I was not popular with my fellows. I lived for my work, and even in the evenings I remained in my room, while my countrymen spent their nights drinking and card playing. In the mornings some of them would sneak off behind the folding screen in the studio to sleep. During work in the painting class it was the custom to have a tankard of beer on the floor by one's side. The Germans drank continuously. If the lid of a mug were left open, the studio servant would bring along another.

As I look back, I can see that I was perhaps at this period of my life of a too serious turn of mind. But I had already ten years of hard work behind me, and I wished to use every hour profitably. I had a feeling of great responsibility towards my own future, and I was desperately anxious to become of real help to my mother and sisters as soon as I could."    `

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: To Venice

"Johanna Laub, the Artist's Mother"
by Philip de Laszlo

"It was the celebrated painter Arpad Feszty, who first inspired young Philip de Laszlo to study in Venice, but the plan met with considerable opposition from his father, who was loath to lose his contributions to the household expenses, which by this time were considerable. His mother and sisters supported him, however, and finally it was arranged that he should go. His departure was delayed by an attack of fever, but his impatience overcame his discretion and his family allowed him to set out before he had fully recovered in the hope that the change and the sea air would do him good."

He wrote: "A sea voyage was a new and mysterious experience for me. The sea was calm and the sky clear and full of stars. I felt rather homesick. I tried to sleep, but without success. Early in the morning I hastened on deck. We were approaching the fortifications of Venice, and at last, out of the morning mists, appeared the silhouette of the city. It was even more beautiful than I had imagined. I forgot my sickness and all else as I gazed at this new world before which we had anchored.

That afternoon I took a gondola and went to see Professor Moritz Than, to whom I had been given a letter of introduction. I enjoyed the experience of arriving at his door by water. My gondolier pulled the bell, a window was opened and by means of a cord a little wooden box was lowered into which I put the letter. After a few minutes the door was opened and I was admitted.

The next morning Professor Than took me to the Accademia delle Belle Arte. There I was accepted as a pupil. We visited the galleries together. Titian's great mural painting of 'The Child Mary on the Steps of the Temple' made a great impression on me. We visited the collection of Tiepolo's drawings in the Doge's Palace. How I enjoyed the good taste of the composition and the sureness of the drawing! Titian, Bellini, Verrocchio, Michaelangelo - I saw all these great ones blessed by God. I dreamed of a splendid future. In my breast burned the desire to work, to strain every nerve.

But by the evening I felt so ill that good Professor Than put me to bed. He was immensely kind, but sadly my condition grew worse. Finally he came with the doctor and brought a nurse. My hopes of studying in Venice were wrecked. A week later a consultation was held, and I preferred to return home rather than go into hospital.

At Budapest I was met at the station by my mother, my sisters and a doctor, who put me straight to bed, and nursed me back to health. All the time I was ill I had but one idea, to get away again and continue my studies abroad, but my memories of Venice were so sad that I had no desire to return there and decided to go to Munich, to the famous Royal Academy of Bavaria."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Winner

"Portrait of Princess Max Egon von Hohenlohe-Langenburg,
born María de la Piedad de Yturbe" by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "The Academy of Arts in Budapest held three public exhibitions a year, in spring, autumn and at Christmas. The Emperor Francis Joseph, King of Hungary, placed at the disposal of the Academy a fund from which a committee had to select two, or at most three, works from each exhibition to be purchased as additions to the collections at the Royal palaces.

In 1888, when I was nineteen years of age, I decided, after much deliberation, to send in one of my works for the Christmas exhibition, and the work I chose was entitled 'The Goose-girl.' The pictures went before a selection committee of professors of art and directors of schools of art, among whom was my own master, Professor Lotz.

I well remember the night when the committee held its final sitting to descide on the pictures for the Christmas exhibition. I had told no one, not even my mother, that I had submitted a picture, because I felt that I could not bear the hurt to my pride if it were rejected. At last the members of the committee came out, stood a moment bidding each other good-night, and then departed to their homes. I waited until Professor Lotz was alone, then addressed him. I had hardly begun to speak when he realized what I wanted to know.

'Your picture is accepted, my dear boy, I congratulate you,' he broke in. He too was proud and happy since I was his pupil. Yet another piece of good fortune awaited me for the 'Goosegirl' was one of the three chosen to be bought for the Royal collection.

I now decided to try for a Hungarian State scholarship, and sent in some of my work for it. Three of these were granted every year. No doubt my picture having been accepted for the exhibition and bought for the Royal collection helped, and I also had the recommendation of Professor Lotz. I received the scholarship, which amounted to three hundred florins. 

I was now ready to go abroad, to leave my home and my native land for the first time. My uncle Philip asked me to paint the portraits of his mother and father, and also of his wife's parents. In return for these four portraits he provided me with all the linen I required for my stay in Venice, where I had decided to continue my studies."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Quickly Advancing

"Madame Jenő Hubay de Szalatnya,
née Countess Róza Cebrián" by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "During my first six months at the Academy I worked under John Greguss. At first I drew in pencil and charcoal, and later painted in oils. In spite of my short hours I made such progress that I won a State scholarship, which enabled me to be less dependent on my photography job.

I lived for the time when I should be allowed to draw in the life class, and it was during my second year that I was able to do so under Professor Szekely, one of the best historic painters in Hungary. I always looked forward to the two days in the week when he came through the studios, looked at our work and talked to us. We worked in charcoal and chalk on grey paper.

By this time I had saved enough money to take a week's holiday in the country at Easter with a fellow student. It was wonderful to give my whole day to drawing. When my friend and I were drawing a peasant wielding his scythe, he approached us during a break with his wife to look at the pictures. 'Why is one drawing more like you than the other?' we heard her ask. 'It is because the young man has used up more pencil than his friend,' he replied.

During this holiday I spent the whole of my time drawing men, women and children, in preparation for the next term at the Academy, when I was being promoted to the class where drawing from life began. The first day in the new class was an exciting one. There were about thirty students, of whom I was among the youngest, most of them being men five or six years my senior.

In the evenings there were also life classes for the advanced students. I was very anxious to attend these which were held by Professor Lotz, Hungary's leading mural painter, and an artist for whom I had a reverent admiration. He was a man of about sixty, gentle, distinguished in mind, living only for his art. To gain admittance to these classes one had to write one's name on the blackboard in the hall of the Academy, and also to submit drawings, which were examined by the Council, and then shown to Professor Lotz himself, with who rested the final decision.

I consulted with my master, put down my name and waited. One morning one of my fellow students greeted me with: 'Well, you are lucky chap! You have only just started here and you're deserting us already.' To my great delight I found my name amongst those who had been admitted to the advanced class. I was intensely keen to prove myself worthy of the great privilege which had been accorded me, and worked very hard."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.) 

Philip de Laszlo: A Turning Point

"An Italian Girl in Her National Costume"
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "My employer Strelisky let me study at the School of Arts and Crafts three times a week, on Sunday mornings and two evenings. Despite the few hours at my disposal, I tried to be the best of the pupils. At first I drew ornamental motifs from plaster reliefs. To free myself of the monotony of my daily work I spent all my spare time in drawing and began to use colours. I was also able to be of real assistance to my mother, as I was now earning twenty-five florins a month.

One day, soon after I was sixteen, Dr. Videky asked me to lunch with him, a great honour. He told me that the school was taking part in the first Hungarian National Exhibition, and that he intended to send in examples of his students' work.  He said that he didn't have enough good work to submit and asked if I would go to the school every evening from eight to ten to draw special subjects which he would set. I could have wished for nothing better. I was surrounded by life-size casts of famous Greek and Roman sculptures. They seemed to move in the dark shadows. I drew heads of Moses, Michaelangelo, Cicero, Mars, Nero, Venus de Milo, the Sleeping Slave and others. My last drawing was one of a real skull, which used to give me an uneasy feeling, for it seemed to grin at me. 

The exhibition opened with the King and his ministers present. I had an entrance card for myself and my parents. When we came to the cases where the drawings chosen by Videky were exhibited, I felt intensely proud to see mine there. This was the encouragement I needed and an incentive to go on studying so that I could free myself from the photographic work. 

Dr. Videky was so pleased with my success at the exhibition that he suggested I should try to get into the Academy of Arts, which in Hungary is a national institution and ranks with the university educationally. I knew that I had not the necessary education qualifications for entrance since I had left school during fourth grade, but Dr. Videky gave me an introduction to the president of the academy, who granted me an interview.

With patience and evident interest he examined my large collection of drawings. Some were those I had done at the School of Arts and Crafts, others were studies I had made of peasants from life. After he had looked through them he told us that he would make an exception in my case and admit me to the Academy as a part-time student. That was a great moment for me. It was the first turning-point in my career. After this I continued to work part time at Strelisky's retouching five or six photographs a day in order to earn money, and in the evenings I studied anatomy from the works of Leonardo da Vinci, modelling and perspective - and in my free time I was trying to paint in oils."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Progress

"Mrs. Philip de László, née Lucy Madeleine
Guinness" by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "I had now had had three different apprenticeships. Deep was the concern at home over my present and future. My father, who was seldom content with anybody, considered I was wasting my life because I was no longer earning money, and through him my home became a hell. 

Meanwhile I racked my brains to think how I could become a painter. Suddenly my mother and I hit upon the idea that I should become the pupil of a sign-painter. The head of the business was a man called Neumann. He also painted portraits, and I entered his service at five florins a month. It was Neumann's custom to charge fifty florins for a portrait, but the work was done by an old and impoverished artist, who received only half the commission - and the portrait was merely painted from a photograph. One day I was told to take a canvas, together with some photographs, to this artist. 

I took the canvas with me when I went home that evening. Overnight I drew the whole of the picture in with black chalk and next day handed it over to the old man. When he saw the picture he was astonished. 'Did Herr Neumann do this drawing?' he asked. 'No,' I replied, 'It is my work.' He told me that I was wasting my time in Neumann's service and that I should choose a calling which would give me an opportunity of painting in my spare time. 'That is impossible,' I told him. 'My parents are poor and I must earn money.' He then told me to go to a good photographer, where I should be able to use my talents and earn better money, and at the same time attend an art school.

He was also good enough to give me an introduction to Sandor Strelisky, one of the oldest and best known photographers in Budapest. Strelisky gave me a three years' contract. I had to colour photographic prints with watercolors. Later I learned to retouch the prints and went on doing this till the end of my time. Some of the notable people whose photographs I painted became my intimate friends later on.

When I was fifteen I drew a head of Count Eugen Zichy in charcoal, my uncle Philip giving me the money for the frame. With my mother I went to show Count Zichy the picture. He received us in a friendly manner and gave me an introduction to the Director of the Arts and Crafts School, Dr. John Videky. The drawing was exhibited in the leading bookshop in Pest and found a buyer. This was my first step in getting away from photography to serious art."

To be continued

(Excerpts are from "Portrait of a Painter" by Otto Rutter.)

Philip Alexius de László: A Difficult Start

"Philippe de Gramont" by Philip de Laszlo

When Philip de László was a lad of nine, small for his age, thin and pale, he began a series of jobs in spite of his father's displeasure with the profession of an artist. He recalled those days thusly:

"At this time a very popular play was being performed at the People's Theater. For one scene a number of children were needed, and I took part in it for ten kreuzers a performance. But what impressed me most was the painted scenery. I became obsessed with the idea of becoming a scene-painter. After much persuasion I induced my mother, unknown to my father, to take me to see the celebrated scene-painter Lehmann. My mother told him of my ambition. He looked through the drawings I had done especially for the purpose. 'All right, then,' he said finally. 'Come, and we'll see what you can do,' and promised me five florins a month. 

I was given little scenes to paint for practice. Soon I was busy cooking the colours. What I found most difficult was the preparation of the canvas, but I did it willingly and was the happiest boy in the world. In the second month I was allowed to begin to paint small-scale models, pieces of sky, walls, and so on. After a time I received higher pay, which not only helped me but my mother. When he asked me, however, to act as a messenger boy in his love affairs, I thanked him for what he had done for me, but refused to return. 

My father made me suffer for this, but my mother, always patient, then went with me to one of the foremost scene-painters of the Royal Opera House in Budapest. He had a higher position than Lehmann and had a number of good painters working under him. To my great delight he agreed to employ me, but there was one student who disliked me. One morning while I was busy drawing, he and his friends seized me and bullied me so heartlessly that I collapsed. When I recovered, I left the studio never to return. Nevertheless, this experience gave me strength and persistence and the will to hold out and go forward. I determined that nothing should prevent my becoming an artist. 

My father, who shunned any kind of responsibility, gave me up, and my uncle Philip introduced me to Vogel, an architectural sculptor. He took me into his workshop as an apprentice. I was then about eleven years old. The workshop was an hour's walk from my home, and I had to be at work by six o-clock every morning. My mother used to give me hot soup before I left, and pack my lunch - sausage and bread - for me to take in my pocket. 

Vogel worked himself and was always busy. He had about forty assistants and took very little notice of me. For five florins a month I had to light the fire in the stove, put everything in order and then, in a dark cellar, prepare the clay before the men came. Often I thought my hands would freeze. But on Sundays and Saturday afternoons, when the workshops were empty, I used to try my hand at modelling for my own pleasure. One Saturday afternoon I modelled a group of fruit, and as Vogel was passing through Monday morning he saw it and asked who had done it. From that time he let me do modelling only and paid me a small extra wage. I remained with Vogel for about three months. But once again I suffered from the jealousy of my comrades and became convinced that it would be better for me to leave."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip Alexius de László: Early Influences

"Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother of Great
Britain, nee Lady Elizabeth Angela Marguerite
Bowes Lyon; Consort of George VI" by
Philip de Laszlo

"'Has any one painter ever before painted so many interesting and historical personages?' wrote Lord Selborne to de Laszlo in 1927. It would be difficult to think of one. During the course of his career de Laszlo painted over 2,700 portraits. Not even Antony Van Dyck left so representative a collection of his time, and de Laszlo's was the momentous period of transition from the nineteenth to the twentieth century.

In his biography he begins by recalling his life as a child: 'It was in the year 1869, on 30 April, that my dear mother bore me in humble circumstances in Budapest. When I was born I already had two sisters, after me came my brother Marczi, then Pauline, then Arnold, who after a weary illness died a few years later. I think that after Arnold I had three more brothers, who all died during the first years of their lives.

As I grew older, drawing alone gave me pleasure. It was a hobby of mine to collect the rough coloured papers in which groceries were delivered to use them for drawing on. I kept the drawings in the divan which also was my bed. If my aunts came, my little brother would bring out my drawings, but my aunts showed little enthusiasm for my art, and my father even less than they.

My school days came to an abrupt end when I was nine and thrashed by the headmaster for kissing a girl. Needless to say I avoided seeing her again, and the school never saw me again either. When I left school I had an earnest desire to find work so that I could lighten my mother's burden.

Also at this time my great fellow countryman, Michael Munkacsy, had earned an international reputation with his picture 'Christ before Pilate,' and had come to Budapest. The picture was on exhibition and I wanted to see this great work which all the world admired, but I lacked the few kreuzers that were necessary. Therefore I went to my uncle, who was a doctor, and unlike my father, took a great interest in my love of art. He gave me a whole florin.

I went early next morning when there was hardly a soul in the room. I can find no words to describe my feelings as I stood there looking at the picture. I gazed at the Christ with his godlike expression undergoing his earthly fate. I trembled before the greatness of the work. Child as I was, I could not fully understand it, yet I felt its artistic worth with my whole being. I went away gripped by the resolution that I too would accomplish something great in art like this Michael Munkacsy, who had started life as poor as I was myself."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

William Merritt Chase: Final Days

"The Young Orphan" by William Merritt Chase

"The winter of 1915-16 William Merritt Chase continued with his private class, but he did less painting than usual. Although not aware that he had any serious ailment, he was conscious of not feeling himself.

In the spring he gave a talk to the students of the Art League - his last. In May he went to the meeting of the Federation of Arts in Washington, the last public function that he was to attend. In June the New York University conferred the degree of Doctor of Laws upon him. Though he grew steadily weaker through the summer, he continued to go to his studio. A portrait of Mr. Gwathmey was his last work.

In September he went with Mrs. Chase to Atlantic City. The first days of his stay there Chase was able to walk a short distance. He bought a few rings at a near-by shop, and strongly desired a Japanese hanging of dark blue and silver that he saw in a window, but didn't buy it. So Mrs. Chase had it sent to the hotel as a surprise for him. He took a great fancy to this decoration, and had it placed where he could see it from his bed.

To ill to read and not wanting to be read to, he cared only to talk of pictures and art, reviewing with his wife the art treasures of the European galleries - playing a sort of game of remembering each detail of a canvas, even its placing upon the gallery wall, and what other pictures were in that same room. 

At last as he only grew weaker, he was taken back to New York. A few days before his death, while he was still able to talk, his friend Irving Wiles came to see him. Although very weak and near the end, he had sent to his studio for some pictures to show his painter friend. An artist to his inner most soul, that last characteristic act had a touching significance to those who knew and loved him.

As his wife was leaving the room to tell Wiles to enter, he called her back. He wanted the Japanese hanging arranged so that it would show all its beauties to the other artist. Before he died he expressed the wish that Wiles should finish his unfinished portrait commissions.

The last two days of his life he was unconscious. On October 25th he died. He was interred in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn."

(Excerpts from "The Life and Art of William Morris Chase" by Katharine Metcalf Roof.)

William Merritt Chase, the Teacher

"Japanese Print" by William Merritt Chase

"William Merritt Chase once said: 'I believe I am the father of more art children than any other teacher.' He had classes in New York, Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Hartford and Chicago. He taught altogether twenty-one years at the Art League, twelve years at the New York School of Art, thirteen years in Philadelphia and five in Brooklyn, in addition to the classes held in his own studio. He had summer classes in California, England, Italy, Belgium, Holland and Spain, and taught for eleven summer at Shinnecock. Also while he was teaching in Philadelphia Chase had a free class for students who could not afford to pay for instruction.

'Association with my pupils has kept me young in my work,' he often said. 'Criticism of their work has kept my own point of view clear.' His criticism was always a painter's criticism, suggestive rather than explicit. To the honest young student in the museum who said she did not like the Manet 'Woman with the Parrot,' his kindly amused reply, 'No? Oh, but you will,' was always remembered. Concerning those things that can come only with the growth of perception, he did not instruct but left them to time. 

Other well known words of advice to his students were: 

'Don't try to make comparisons between your own pictures. Forget what you have done and think only of making the best of what you are doing.'

'Combine a certain amount of indifference with your ambition. Be carefully careless. If you don't succeed today, there is always tomorrow.'

'Do not try to paint the grandiose thing. Paint the commonplace so that it will be distinguished.'

'When you begin to wonder what to do, stop.'

Essential artist that he was, he was ever humble before the great spirit of art. In his mind there remained always the distance between his ideal and his achievement, a deep feeling expressed once when, after showing a number of his pictures to a guest, he pointed to a blank canvas. 'But that is my masterpiece,' he said, 'my unpainted picture.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Life and Art of William Merritt Chase" by Katharine Metcalf Roof.) 

William Merritt Chase: Self-Portrait for Richmond, Indiana, Pt. 3

"Self-Portrait in the 4th Avenue Studio" by William Merritt Chase

Ella Johnston wrote: "This was to be my last call on Mr. William Merritt Chase and I planned to be serious and severe. I wrote him several weeks before going, the date of my arrival and that I would expect to find the portrait finished as he had promised. I phoned him as soon as I was settled and was greeted warmly and told that the portrait was finished, that he had done an important canvas which he thought would please me. He asked me to bring Mr. Warner Leeds, who was giving $500 towards the work, and come to the studio the next morning. 

Mr. Chase met us at the door with beaming face and gave us a gracious welcome. He seemed that morning to be keyed up to an unusually high pitch. He led us across the the first studio and turning to the right we found ourselves immediately in front of a very large painting on an easel in the middle of the room.

A photo of Mr. Chase's portrait in his studio

With one swift glance I saw on the canvas not only a three-quarters portrait of the painter but all the still life I had asked for. For a full half minute, which can be a long time, I was absolutely dumb, then I stole a glance at Mr. Leeds to see the effect on him. He looked anything but pleased, and I knew instantly that he was thinking, 'They are about to hold me up for several thousand dollars.' Chase saw Mr. Leed's dilemma and said, 'No, no, I have not forgotten what you are to pay me.' 'But not this painting, Mr. Chase,' I said. 'Yes,' he replied, 'this is your picture!'

Then with the greatest enthusiasm and much stroking of his mustache he told Mr. Leeds what fun he had had in bringing into the composition all the still life I had suggested, and yet keep the picture the portrait of a painter. He was happy to have so much of his studio in the picture. I asked him what was on the empty canvas in the painting. 'That,' said Mr. Chase, 'is my masterpiece, the alluring, tantalizing great picture which I always hoped to paint and have never quite succeeded in creating.' He was in the white heat of accomplishment. It was a thrilling revelation that I shall never forget.

Finally Mr. Leeds, still a little mystified, said, 'But Mr. Chase why did you do this? Why did you paint such an important work when we only asked for a head?' The painter replied, 'Indeed, I could get more money for it than you are to pay me. A dealer this morning offered me a handsome price for it but I told him the painting was already sold.' 'Why did I paint it? I will tell you, I painted it for Mrs. Johnston here, I think she deserves it for all she has done for art in Indiana and the West.

It was a grand gesture, characteristic of Mr. Chase. He would have made it freely, magnificently though he had not a dollar left in his pocket. Such was the man. He lived well - beautifully, and, I am told, died poor."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Art Movement in Richmond, Indiana: A History" by Ella Bond Johnston. My thanks to Richmond Art Museum director, Shaun Dingwerth, for sending me a copy of this story.)

William Merritt Chase: Self-Portrait for Richmond, Indiana, Pt. 2

"Self-Portrait" by William Merritt Chase

"The next year when in New York I hurried to William Merritt Chase's studio, I found no portrait ready. He had only excuses. He had been too busy with his pupils, his portrait commissions, and summers in Italy to think of doing his own head - but he would get at it soon. He was so sorry to disappoint me and so gracious in showing me his latest works that I had to forget my disappointment and try to smile, but before leaving I said, 'Mr. Chase we have waited a year for our picture. I think you might put some of this interesting still life in the portrait, these twinkling new tubes of paint and this bowl on the table.' 'All right,' he said, 'I will. I'll make you something nice.'

The next year when I called at his studio he was busy getting ready for a sitter but asked me in and began profuse apologies for not having our portrait head ready but declared that he would soon do it. To avoid showing my extreme annoyance (I did want to get that portrait sometime) I resorted to the pleasantry of the year before and suggested that since we had waited two years, he should put in our picture that beautiful gold box and the blue vase with the brushes. He was amused and with a most enthusiastic bit of acting, declared he would put them in with their rich coloring and that he would make us a fine picture.

The third year I went to New York there was still no portrait. I had some difficulty in keeping a smiling face but I listened patiently to his earnest protestations that he could certainly soon paint a head for us. I made an effort at friendliness and said, 'Now we have waited three years. Please put in that brilliant pile of old brocades by the window that are so lovely in the afternoon sunlight.' He declared dramatically that he would put in everything I wanted and that he would make us something important, and he asked, 'Wouldn't you like a fish too?' 'No,' I replied, 'I fear there would not be room for your head which is what we want.' 

When I had given up all hope of ever getting a Chase head for our Richmond gallery and had gone in 1915 to San Francisco to serve as Senior Docent in the Fine Arts Palace of the World's Fair, I again met William Chase who was there serving on the Jury of Awards. We renewed our friendly acquaintance but I did not mention the portrait. He did, and assured me that it would be finished when I would be in New York early in 1916. But would it really?

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Art Movement in Richmond, Indiana: A History" by Ella Bond Johnston. My thanks to Richmond Art Museum director, Shaun Dingwerth, for sending me a copy of this story.)