Joseph Pennell: Determined

"Broad Street, Philadelphia" by Joseph Pennell

"The third of Joseph's Pennell's drawing teachers at school was Joseph Ropes, long since forgotten. He was original neither in his teaching nor in his work which was mannered, a fact he apparently realized. He had written to one pupil on the need of close contact with Nature to save the artist from mannerisms, but he kept on falling into them himself, and they were inevitably appropriated by the pupil. Ropes sole recommendation was his enthusiasm and to Pennell it meant a great deal to find at last a master to whom enthusiasm was not a crime. Master and student sometimes worked together in the master's studio, the student's father paying for lessons in watercolor. Sometimes they sketched out of doors. They shared the same subjects and motifs, tried the same methods. This experience more than made up for the mannerisms which by the youth were as quickly dropped as borrowed. 

So the school years went on. Pennell kept up with his class, passed examinations, wrote papers and read them, and when the time came, graduated with honours, the first boy to graduate in the Germantown Friends' School. This was in 1876, the year of the Centennial, and his plans for the shaping of his life were definite and decided. He never doubted that he was created to be an artist, an illustrator, and his energy was devoted to fulfilling his destiny. 

That his friends were shocked and his relations unwilling, was natural. The duty of the American youth of his generation, who had not the means to go to college, was to begin at once to make money. In the America of those days art was thought, if thought of at all, a pleasant pastime, never a lucrative occupation. This was not because Americans were indifferent to art. They simply had no time to think of it, no leisure to spare from the essentials of life for its luxuries. Not until the Centennial which came as a revelation, did Americans realize that art was worthwhile and that they, almost alone among civilized people, were without it.

That summer of 1876 must have been an anxious one in the Pennell household. But the youth wanted his time for the study and practice impossible during his school years. He could repay his family in the years to come, as he did, lavishly, providing comforts and luxuries. He speculated in Cochin China fowls and their eggs brought him enough money to invest in a few casts of hands and feet. Among his other purchases were Ruskin's 'Modern Painter,' pencils, pens, inks, chalks, and paper. In a hot upstairs room under the roof, he drew from the casts, carried out the sketches brought home from long prowls, studied the illustrators whose work most appealed to him and made was he called 'imaginative marines.' He was indefatigable."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Life and Letters of Joseph Pennell" by Elizabeth Robins Pennell.)  

Joseph Pennell: First Success

"On the River" by Joseph Pennell

"In the years before standardized education for everybody was invented, a boy like Joseph Pennell, so preoccupied with drawing, would have been apprenticed to an artist, received a practical training in a practical studio - a workshop - and left to pick up as best he could whatever further education he felt was needed. In the eighteen-seventies Pennell's parents would have reproached themselves had they not given him the schooling considered necessary for all boys and as they were Friends [Quakers], sent him to the Germantown Friends' Select school. 

Happily a drawing class had just been started, an innovation. Drawing teachers in day schools are not art to be eminent artists or inspiring master, but three in the school were above average. One was W.H. Goodyear, eventually the curator of art in the Brooklyn Museum. He lectured on art when practical lessons were what one at least of his pupils wanted. 

His successor, James R. Lambdin, who succeeded him, was a painter of some repute in Philadelphia during his lifetime, and for one thing he should be remembered. Whether or not he studied in Paris under De Boisbaudran, I cannot say, but, like the great French master, he insisted on the necessity to the artist of a trained memory. 

De Boisbaudran would bid his students look at a selected subject until they had memorized it, take no notes or memoranda, and afterwards in the studio put down what they could remember upon paper or canvas. In like fashion Lambdin taught the student to use eyes, brain and memory, a sound foundation for an illustrator. Another of his merits as a teacher was his genuine interest in his students. He showed it one year by offering a prize for the best drawing brought back from the summer holidays. When Pennell's careful study of an ugly house across the street was chosen instead of a rich rival's drawing of Yosemite, and the prize, a silver crayon holder in a leather case, was placed in his hands, he was stunned. He has described how he sat in the schoolroom, bewildered, staring at it, while the class trooped out into the schoolyard and said unkind things, and when he joined them let him know how they felt about it - a heavy price to pay for his first success." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Life and Letters of Joseph Pennell" by Elizabeth Robins Pennell.)  

Joseph Pennell: Beginnings

"Upsala, Germantown" by Joseph Pennell

Elizabeth Robins Pennell wrote: "Joseph Pennell's father was a sad, silent man. His wife had died before we were married, nor could I ever get the impression of the woman she was from Joseph. He rarely spoke of her, though he could not say enough of the sympathetic, practical help his father gave him when he was young. All the same, father and son were poles apart. 

From the start Joseph was sufficient unto himself, happiest when no one shared his games, finding his own amusements, inventing stories, making drawings to illustrate them. I have sheets of these early drawings, in pencil, in watercolor, in colored chalks, on odd scraps of paper, bits of old letters, envelopes, books of unused cheques his father brought home - on anything he could find. The greater number of early drawings in my possession are of war. And it is amazing how full of character, life, movement they are. Soldiers march, horses prance. That they are the work of a child is unmistakable. He was not the infant phenomenon picked up in the schools or on the roadside by patrons of art who patronize and praise until promise vanishes like smoke. But an enthusiasm for his subject and a power of observation that were Joseph Pennell's through his working life are unmistakable in these childish illustrations of childish war stories.

After his family had moved from Philadelphia out to Germantown, an open green suburb, he found himself taking walks alone. He drew the old houses, the old mills, and the woods and streams. Untrained, untaught, he knew the right things, seeing beauty in the beautiful. 'Once, he wrote, 'I went away up Germantown Avenue to Cresheim Creek, winding then through open fields, till I came to the glen and then the gorge which carries it to the Wissahickon. It was so beautiful that I sat down, all alone, and cried for the beauty of it. And then I tried to draw it.' In this incident you see Joseph Pennell, the illustrator, as he was through life. I, who later went on so many of his journeys with him, know how, when he came to the place where he was to work, there was the long wandering in search of his subject; when he found it, the pleasure that is akin to pain in its beauty, and then the oblivion to everything save the endeavour to express its beauty in terms of art."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Life and Letters of Joseph Pennell" by Elizabeth Robins Pennell.)  

David Davies: Final Years

"Untitled" by David Davies

"Between painters there can be made no proper comparison, but of the great painters of landscape of this generation David Davies is one, both on account of his great technical proficiency and his spiritual attitude. In this latter respect he is unique among Australian artists, and in a way difficult to describe; but if it is permissible to think of Arthur Streeton's work as Hellenic, it would seem that the term Gothic would be reasonable to apply to Davies'. His pictures are always beautiful in themselves, but more than their actual beauty is the beauty that lies in their significance, for they hint of imperishable things."

And it is here that "The Art & Life of David Davies" ends, though the artist had nine more years to live. From the scant information that is available online, it seems that he ended these years with his wife in Looe, a picturesque, coastal town in the southeast of Cornwall. He died just five days before her, on March 29, 1939, at the age of seventy-five.

(Excerpts from "The Art & Life of David Davies" by James MacDonald.) 

David Davies: Process

"St. Ives" by David Davies

"Ordinary sized pictures David Davies generally painted on the spot, but when he had a large canvas in mind he would first make a small painting, on which, as he worked, he mentally, as well as by brush stroke, registered the points which he reckoned it would be necessary in the bigger picture contemplated, to stress. Nocturnes, or fleeting impressions, he would memorize, supplying any deficiency of memory from his store of accumulated knowledge. His practice, in such cases, was to gaze hard at his subject and deliberately concentrate on its graphic features with reference to the practical handling and perpetuation of them. He never troubled with the artistic outcome, but let his subconscious deal with that side of the question.

His taste governed his choice in selecting a motif; therefore, his subjects were always those brief states in which nature chants the gloria and exalts us momentarily to a disregard of the restraints of time and space. The reception of such brief intimations is vouchsafed to all men, but the man who can recapture these disclosures and record them is a rare man - one of the rarest of men - and David Davies is that kind of man.

Fine as his pictures may be as presentments of certain terrestrial aspects of nature, they are yet finer as symbols of the larger nature of which our earth and sea and sky are but a part; nature immanent,* limitless, everlasting...

*Immanent (adjective): Something that is naturally present, inherent, or existing within something else (often used in philosophy to describe something that remains completely within the mind). 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Art & Life of David Davies" by James MacDonald.)  

David Davies: A Man of Principle

"Cottages (Late Afternoon)" by David Davies

"Artists continued to buy David Davies' pictures at artists' prices, and his reputation remained where it was. Wrapped up in his work, he went on painting his dark seas, with their tumbling waves, a-frill with pearly foam, seen under a dying sky of sullen rose, in which two ash gray cloud-ships sail; or white-walled and sable-roofed, the tiny village standing in starlight, vague but palpable. 

As a by-outlet for his spiritual activity, he carved frames of restrained but rich design, and he liked to improvise at the piano, for, though not a trained musician, he was well versed in the works of the great composers, and had original views and theories on the subject of music and musical instruments. He, seemingly, was not a great reader, but on occasions would bring to light much knowledge of literary men and their performances. A disinclination to pose as an erudite man usually inhibited him from displaying any historical knowledge of the plastic arts, but among friends he threw this off and disclosed such scholarship as would be a rebuke to the ordinary painter.

The vice of painting for approbation - that easy snare of so many otherwise gifted painters - could never be attributed to him. His artistic conscience prescribed the scope and range of his attempts, and if ever he secretly had any desire to impress others by a cheap display of dexterity, with which, had he so chosen, he could have astonished them, he never did so, but always resisted the deluding temptation and subordinated even the legitimate accomplishments he owned, so that the unity and harmony of his picture might be effected, the sum of his pictorial units consolidated, and their full weight and strength ranged on the side of truth, beauty and sincerity. 

Where he differed from the bulk of painters was that he was scrupulous, that he never prostituted his faculties; and without doubt this is true of all great painters who, with a fixed and high purpose always before them, scorn the devices of the conscienceless; for conscienceless they are, well knowing that their brother brushes know of their sharp practices, but will not, for the sake of the craft's reputation, betray them."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Art & Life of David Davies" by James MacDonald.) 

David Davies: Every Kind of Scene

"Moonrise" by David Davies

"David Davies not only painted every kind of scene, but he painted those scenes under many skies and at different times of day. The sea in storm, at sunset, or flushed with the dawn; mid-day, deep-blue, snowy-ruffled seas; swelling, green seas after storms; silver seas and pallid skies with dark boats and their dark reflections silhouetted against them; cornfields in golden noonday light; stooks like miniature copper castles in the horizontal glow of the last shaft of the setting sun; warm farm houses nestling in clustered trees, against the smouldering after-glow clouds; silvery full moons; golden crescent moons; rising or setting at no matter what hour of the day or night, for Davies' clock was set by his artistic wants; old cottages or backyards full of stocks and phlox and wallflowers, by day or night - it was all one to him. Uplands, bare but for patches of heather and mossy outcropping rocks; moorland pools, 'paved with bits of the sky;' hamlets in the dusky valley with their house lamps lit; moonlit gardens, or the part of the landowner; the curve of a beach at twilight; the farmer with his men carrying lanterns on their last rounds of the horses and cows; the poppy fields - a wonderful variety.

He exhibited some of these at local and London picture shows, and had his pictures well hung, and, in a few cases, had examples bought by municipal galleries of provincial cities. His main customers, however, were either artists or private means, or those who had become successful by good work or clever business methods. Many of them swapped canvases with him, and in most such cases the advantage lay with the one who got the Davies canvas. His own country never bothered about him, for he was never press-agented, and neglected to pay for cablegrams announcing the interesting fact that he was exhibiting at the Royal Kilburn Limners Society's annual exhibition, or that he had earned the right to put distinguishing letters after his name."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Art & Life of David Davies" by James MacDonald.)