Daniel Chester French: Lighting the Lincoln Memorial

"When the Lincoln Monument was finished and the statue put in place, it was found that the lighting was so bad that for those first few years it was a constant grief to the sculptor and his artist friends. If Mr. Bacon had lived, this could, of course, have been corrected, but, with the architect of the building gone, it became a serious problem.

As at first designed, the whole ceiling was of glass, the light coming from above, as it should, to light the statue properly. During the process of building, the scheme was changed and a slightly colored marble was used in place of the glass. This gave a beautiful soft glow to the interior of the great room, but, alas! it, in conjunction with the hard light coming from the blue sky in front, was fatal to the face. At certain times of the day it was well enough, but at other times the effect was distressing. It made the face lined and haggard, and the knees unduly prominent. I think at the time, Mr. French was so discouraged about it, and for a while so hopeless of any solution of the problem, that he felt that it could never look as it was intended to look."*

"Nothing could be done, of course, without the government's sanction and an appropriation from Congress. When French's initial appeals fell on deaf ears, he turned to modern technology for evidence. He had photographs made of the large model still at Chesterwood - lit perfectly by his overhead studio skylight. Then he ordered corresponding photos of the statue in Washington as it looked in the worst possible light streaming in from the visitor entrance, then he released the comparative shots to the public.

In 1927, he asked Ulysses S. Grant III, the new director of public buildings and grounds, to allow Tiffany & Co. to try designing new glass panels overhead - to no avail. Finally he turned to the Sunlike Illuminating Company to design 'not merely a bulb, but a specially made reflector with a prismatic arrangement of cobalt oxide mirrors inside' to light the statue artificially. At last Grant came around, and floodlights were finally installed on the ceiling, removing the last barrier to the perfection French had long sought for the Lincoln Memorial. He described himself as a 'happier man' after visiting Washington in the spring of 1929 and finding the illumination 'more satisfactory than I could have believed possible.'**

To be continued

(* Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.
** Excerpts from "Daniel Chester French: The Lincoln Memorial's Sculptor" by Cynthia Close for "Art & Object.")

 

 

Daniel Chester French: The Lincoln Memorial, Pt. 2

The Piccirilli brothers lifting the left 
hand of the Lincoln statue into place. 

"The Piccirilli Brothers were awarded the contract to cut the Lincoln in marble from the plaster model. The great size - it is, I believe, the largest marble statue in existence - made it necessary to build it up from twenty pieces of stone. It is a proof of the accuracy with which the copying was done that, although the pieces were cut separately and were not assembled until put together on the pedestal in the Memorial, they fit together as perfectly as if carved from one block and sawn apart.

Mr. Bacon and the young architects in his office worked for some ten years upon the plans. Once given the order it had become the absorbing object, the inspiration of his life. He took but small interest in other work, his whole mind seeming to concentrate upon the gradual evolving of this monument, as well as to the idea of abstract beauty for which it stands.

A year after its completion he died at the age of fifty-eight. His friend Dan French said of him, at the time, that it seemed as if Bacon had been created for the sole purpose of making the Lincoln Memorial; that he had achieved a reputation for monumental work when the commission was given him; that after its achievement it would have been difficult for him to go back to more commonplace work; that, his great work finished, it seemed almost part of the scheme that he should pass on.

Great honor was conferred upon him. The greatest of these, and indeed the greatest ever conferred upon an architect in America, was when the Institute of Architects presented its medal to him at a dinner which concluded the Annual Meeting of the Institute in Washington, May 18, 1923. The dinner, attended by five hundred members and guests, was held in a great marquee at the east end of the Lagoon in front of the Lincoln Memorial, and at its close there was a beautiful pageant. Bacon, attended by the President of the Institute, guests of honor, and special guests, embarked upon a barge in the Lagoon and this, escorted by the members in costume upon either bank, was rowed down to the steps of the Memorial, which was effectively illuminated for the occasion. Here President Harding awaited them, and, introduced by Chief Justice Taft, the Permanent Chairman of the Lincoln Memorial Commission, he presented to Henry Bacon, with an appropriate address, the Gold Medal of the American Institute of Architects - 'the highest honor within its power to give.' Mr. Cortissoz referred to Henry Bacon as 'an embodied conscience.'" 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.)

 

 

Daniel Chester French: Lincoln Memorial Preliminary Work

Daniel French with a 6 ft. high model for
the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.

"It was during the last years of the war [WWI] that Mr. French made, or at least finished, the seated statue of Lincoln for the Memorial in Washington D.C. His friend, and for years his collaborator, Henry Bacon, had been appointed the architect to design and build the Memorial, and he immediately engaged Mr. French to make the statue for which his beautiful building was to be the shrine. This was in 1915, but it was not till 1920 that it was finished and erected.

Few people understand the hazards, aside from the labor,  of cutting a statue in stone. The finest marble still comes from the ancient quarries in Italy - Carrara and Serravezza; but however carefully selected, a dark spot or defect of some sort may develop, necessitating the choosing of another block and beginning all over again. An excellent white marble from Georgia was chosen as being particularly well adapted to the execution of so large a figure as the Lincoln.

The popular idea that a sculptor rises from his couch at midnight, seizes his mallet and chisel, and, in a fine frenzy, hews out a beautiful statue before morning, exists only in poetry. Sculpture is a much more serious business than that. Occasionally a sculptor, when the spirit moves him, himself cuts a head or a torso out of the marble without a model or previous study, but usually the sculptor's model is copied by a marble-cutter and finished by the artist. There is evidence to prove that the old-time sculptor proceeded in much the same way as do the sculptors of the present day.

In order to determine how large the statue should be, a temporary plaster model of the Lincoln was made about twelve feet in height and erected in place in the Memorial. This proved much too small, and two solar prints were made, one eighteen feet in height, the other twenty feet, and put in place. Cut out from the background, they looked strangely like the real thing, and, as a consequence of these experiments, the statue was eventually made twenty feet in height instead of twelve as was orginally planned. Mr. French and Mr. Bacon, our daughter, and Evelyn Longman, who did much of the decorative work in the Memorial, went down to Washington to try the experiments."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.)

 

Daniel Chester French: Portrait Painting!

"Margaret French," a pastel by Daniel French

"During our summers at Chesterwood, Mr. French's greatest amusement was to play at portrait painting. He always hoped for a free summer when he might go off with a painter friend and study, and, with no idea of exhibiting, he painted all the girls who came to visit us. He was quite wonderful at catching a likeness, which showed, of course, his trained hand and eye in another line of work.

Some painters, as we know, care but little for the likeness, but Mr. French always claimed that, if the drawing were absolutely correct, the painting must look like the sitter. 'A likeness,' he used to say, 'consists not so much in getting in all the details, as in getting what you do get right. It really does not need very many details to convey an impression of a face or figure. A silhouette is a strong likeness as far as it goes, and it goes pretty far in spite of the fact that there are no eyes, no ears, no modelling of any kind. If the outline is absolutely correct, it looks exactly like the person.'" *

"In 1885, he took lessons and studied in Paris the following year and frequently painted portraits of his daughter, Margaret. She sat for at least four oil portraits and five in pastel. Inspired by her father, she also studied art at the New York School of Applied Design for Women, and became known as a portrait sculptor. And it was Margaret, the Frenchs' only child, who ensured that Chesterwood and her father's legacy would be transferred to the National Trust for Historic Preservation." **

To be continued

(* Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.
** Excerpts from "Daniel Chester French: The Lincoln Memorial's Sculptor" by Cynthia Close for "Art & Object.")

 

 

Daniel Chester French: The Question of Expense

Maquettes by Daniel French

"In connection with studio life and the making of statues, there is one question - grave to every sculptor - which is naturally little understood by the outside world - the question of expense. A large room - for architectural sculpture a huge room - is an absolute necessity. The clay, the wax, the setting up of statues and busts, the skilled carpentry work, heavy express charges, models, the turning of the clay into plaster, and later the turning of plaster, by skilled workmen, into bronze or marble - all, unless a man is highly paid, eat up a large part of the profits.

I have known, in Mr. French's case, that sometimes when a statue was put in place, it was found that the entire large appropriation - in one case some $50,000 - was entirely used up in the expenses of casting, stonework, water for the pool, etc. Except in the case of another appropriation being made, there would be nothing left for the sculptor.

People generally do not understand the expense. For example, there was one of the great captains of industry. He wanted a statue of a certain kind for a certain place. He commissioned his architect to ask Mr. French - not to give the order, but to make a model on approval. Mr. French said that he should be glad to do so and submit the model, but that he charged for his designs, and that the price would be $500. Shortly after this, the architect received a letter from the captain of industry saying: 'What's the matter with these artist fellows What does French mean by charging for a design? Tell him that when I want a job, I go for it! Why, I've crossed the ocean in search of a job.' This so amused the architect that he told us about it, and Mr. French's comment was, 'Tell Mr. R___ that it's a great many years since I have had to go to Europe, or anywhere, to get a job.' 

I have often wished that I knew Mr. R___. He is a big man in his way, and I know that he must have a sense of humor and would appreciate the idea, if his attention were called to it, that he could not approach a work of art as he would a leak in the bathroom." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.)

Daniel Chester French: The Chesterwood Studio

Daniel French studio, Chesterwood

"In 1897 we bought our place in Stockbridge, about three miles out in the country. We had lived in Concord and had spent two summers in Cornish, but we wanted to be on the direct route to New York with which, in those days, Mr. French felt obliged to keep in touch, both with his own work and especially with that of the Metropolitan Museum, of which he was a trustee.

We chose Stockbridge because we loved it from the first moment we looked upon it, the long flat street, with its old houses and great trees, its atmosphere of respectability and culture, and its intimate hills. We bought a place about three miles out on a back country road with a rambling house and beautiful trees, and a view which had an air of being especially created for our front porch. And there we settled down to live for the rest of our lives, at least from May through mid-November."

"The sculptor turned his immediate attention to the construction of a new free-standing studio, for this was to be not only a country home but a workplace. Construction began in the summer of 1897 while the Frenches were touring Europe. But the following summer, back in residence in Stockbridge, French was able to take up occupancy in his new studio, which he made sure included a colonnaded piazza from which, seated in wicker chairs, the sculptor and his visitors could enjoy unobstructed views of Monument Mountain. 

In the northern entranceway to the studio, French set up a sitting room to receive guests and patrons. The high-ceilinged workroom featured a strategically placed skylight to supply all-important soft, indirect illumination without shadows and shelving and pedestals ample enough to display plaster and bronze maquettes in abundance. A bookcase overflowed with easily accessible research volumes on such vital topics as military uniforms. Hanging intriguingly on one large hook was a leather saddle, ready whenever needed to accommodate a model posing indoors for an equestrian statue. A trap door in the floor allowed assistant to store old casts and fresh clay in the cellar.

'A fine casting room was at the back of the studio replete with all the paraphernalia that a sculptor needs at hand. There was a sink and faucet for the water that has to be sprayed on a clay statue every day. A portable wooden potter's wheel stood on casters, enabling French to roll his clay models from room to room so he could examine them from many angles and in different shades of light. But by far the most innovative feature of the studio was a revolving modeling platform atop a railroad flatcar. The car sat on a submerged indoor track leading outdoors through twenty-two-foot-high, double doors. By utilizing it, French could roll his latest work outside so he could view even his largest models in the full light of day - just as the public would eventually view his finished statuary."

To be continued

(*Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.
**Excerpts from "Monument Man: The Life & Art of Daniel Chester French" by Harold Holzer.)

 

Daniel Chester French: Six Bronze Doors and a Headstone

Bronze door depicting "Wisdom"

Bronze door depicting "Knowledge"

"When Mr. French made six bronze doors for the Public Library in Boston, it was just nine years from the time he began them until they were finished, and McKim, slightly discouraged, used to write to him and say, 'How long, at the rate you have taken for the doors, would it take to make two statues for Alabama or' - or any one of his numerous projects? The doors drew high praise from sculptor Lorado Taft who described the low relief  as 'one of the final tests of a sculptor's skill' Then he noted: 'In the importunate and most difficult problems of composition, foreshortening, and draping, reduced almost to the ethereal, Mr. French has shown his skill to be quite equal to his refined taste.'

About this time, Mr. French had the opportunity and pleasure to doing something towards the completion of the headstone which the Alcott family were having made for their famous Aunt Louisa. After it was finished, her nephew, Mr. Pratt, one of Meg's sons, in writing Mr. French, wished they could show their appreciation of what he had done, and for which, of course, he had not been willing to take any remuneration.

Mr. French, after thinking it over, wrote back to him and said: 'There is something I would like you to do. My child is eight years old, and it would be a great pleasure if she could have some memento of Miss Louisa and her work. Perhaps you would send her one of the books - for instance, 'An Old-Fashioned Girl.' Later, to our great surprise, and almost - but not quite - to our embarrassment came a box with twenty-seven volumes of Miss Alcott's works, beautifully bound in blue and gold, with an autographed poem in the first volume. Of course we were all delighted, and Margaret almost overwhelmed at the importance of such a present..."

To be continued

(*Excerpts from "Memories of a Sculptor's Wife" by Mary Adams French.