Edward Seago: A Generation Risen

"A Generation Risen,' was the third book in which twenty-four of Edward Seago's pictures were matched to poems by John Masefield. Masefield had been hard put to find time to write all the poems needed because he had committed himself to do war work. 'The composition may take longer than I supposed,' he wrote. The book was the title of the tribute in pictures and poetry to the anonymous heroes of war, and was the only instance of Seago's collaboration with Masefield in which the illustrations were rated higher than the poems.

'Seago has gone to the source for his material while Masefield has gone to Seago,' wrote the critics of the 'New York Times,' unfairly discounting the older man's experience of an earlier war. Undoubtedly there was a new strength of draughtsmanship and a stark realism in the lightning pencil drawings of groups of young soldiers and airmen preparing for battle, planes wheeling into the sky, lorries lumbering along rain-lashed roads; the relentless war march, halted for a series of brief moments by a painter who was acutely aware, because he was part of it all, and had trained and exercised his talent in the make-believe worlds of the circus and the ballet until he was completely equipped to portray the dramas of real life.

Seago did great work in the war because he was seeing it from the inside and not as an official artist. Anonymous, though the people were in the drawings many can be identified, 'The Reconnaissance Pilot' in the book was his closest friend Bernard Clegg, and Peter Hurndall, the man who taught him to fly, had sat for the 'Portrait Study of a Pilot.' One drawing in the book, 'The Bronze Soldier,' was a personal tribute to sculptor and friend Charles Jagger who had died in 1934 and whose greatest work resulted from the First World War. Seago's picture showed a group of soldiers standing in front of Jagger's colossal bronze memorial at Paddington Station, perhaps his friend's own most impressive memorial.

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: Wartime Camouflage

"Southern Highway (South County Highway)"
by Edward Seago

"When war was declared Edward Seago wished to get involved. He applied to become a camoufleur in Air Raid Precaution, volunteered for the air force and pestered his influential friends to write to even more influential people on his behalf. In late November the longed-for call-up notice arrived and he was told to report as a Camouflage Officer to the Headquarters of the School of Military Engineers at Chatham in four days' time. His relief was mixed with deep gratitude as he cleaned his paint brushes, stacked his canvases carefully away and closed up his studio. Who knew when he would use it again? Deep inside his soldier's valise went the inevitable paint-box. He could not have seen it as a key to friendships and wartime adventures beyond his wildest dreams.

He had no time to think of painting during the first weeks of army life. After a brief course on camouflage, he went to France as a Second Lieutenant with the British Expeditionary Force, then was posted back to England with the rank of Major in the newly-formed Camouflage Corps at Farnham Castle, and eventually was appointed Camouflage Officer, 5th Corps, Southern Command.

His approach to the problem of camouflage was refreshingly new. He made no attempt to paint out buildings and identifiable objects individually so that, from the air, it appeared that they did not exist, but he set out to make them converge with their background or look like completely different objects. For instance a battleship could be painted so that, from the air, it looked like a string of barges. 

He wrote a thesis on dummy shadows advocating that they should not, as in the past, be applied as flat, dark green or brown areas, but with the addition of half-tones and dark tones to reproduce the luminosity of real shadows and provide a complete camouflage even in sunlight, against both the human eye and the camera. He advocated camouflaging a large area, like an aerodrome, with groups of painted trees and four or more sets of dummy shadows to each group so that some shadows were in the right direction at any time of day.

Moreover, alongside the technique of the artist he brought the imagination of the showman to the business of camouflage as when he requisitioned a London film studio to produce hundreds of life-size models of Neville Chamberlain wearing battle-dress and a tin hat.  Every model had a rifle fixed at a different angle and was mounted on an individual turntable and used to man dummy anti-aircraft sites, strategically placed around the south coast to deter the invaders. They were remotely controlled so that they rotated and changed positions to give a most realistic effect when photographed from the air. Nothing delighted Seago's humour more than to think of the model Neville Chamberlains he had created defending the country."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: From Ballet to Equestrian Paintings

"Le Carnaval" from 'Tribute to Ballet' by Edward Seago

"At the end of the summer of 1938, the Ballet Company was booked to dance in New York, and it was suggested to Edward Seago that he should go there, too, and show his ballet pictures. An exhibition of his work was arranged at the Carroll Carstairs Gallery in New York to coincide with both the ballet's opening and the publication of Seago's 'Tribute to Ballet.' 

Hardly a newspaper failed to notice the exhibition, but the serious art critics largely dismissed it as 'Not very deep stuff' and 'A lot of cleverness but very little design or substance in his work.'  With not one picture sold, he and his friend went with Mimi Cushing, a New York socialite, to stay at the attractive stone house of horse-loving Mrs. Mary Stevens Baird. His hostess recalled the name 'Seago' from a reproduction on a Christmas card of a painting showing two of her riding friends. This resulted in an introduction to a friend who had been painted on horseback by Munnings, and she offered Edward a fee of a thousand dollars to do a companion portrait of her husband. It proved the first of a series of similar commissions from hunt country people eager to be portrayed on their favourite horses.

So although most of the exhibition pictures remained unsold, these commissions proved to be the start of a steady stream of requests for equestrian portraits. It reached a crescendo when Edward made a chance remark to a reporter from a newspaper syndicate that was blown up into a story which made full-page spreads: 

"Ballet Dancers are Same Animals as Race-Horses, says Noted Artist'  

'A fine dancer and a great horse are, literally, the same in their bodies and in their temperament,' the painter explained. 'A dancer's feet and legs must develop the same terrific suppleness that a horse's delicate little legs have. If you watch slow motion pictures of a horse taking a jump and a dancer leaping into the air, you realized that the movement of the two bodies is identical...' 'The better a dancer is, the more nearly his feet grow to resemble an animal rather than a human foot. Nijinsky's feet were so far developed in this way that X-rays of his strange bone formation were recorded by the medical profession.'

Most reports  included a neat little pen-portrait of the painter who had expounded the entertaining theory, and one commented, 'Mr. Seago's only two hobbies in life; sitting on a fence watching horses and sitting in the gallery watching the ballet.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: The World of Dance

Edward Seago painting Alicia Markova

"Through his excursions into print, royalties from reproductions of his paintings, portraits and illustrations for magazines and books, Edward Seago hoped to be able to manage without the commissions for equestrian paintings and was heard to vow that he would never paint another horse. At this point he turned more to Degas than to any of the painters to which the critics had compared him. He went to the ballet and discussed it with John Masefield in terms of poems and pictures as a possible subject for a book Masefield, a staunch balletomane, was enthusiastic.

Ballet offered all the colour, light, movement and world of make-believe as had the circus world. Off-stage it provided an antidote to loneliness in the opportunity of belonging to an unconventional élite - a substitute family to which it was by no means as difficult to gain admittance as it had been to his less sophisticated but closer-knit family of the circus. 

He rented a room in London and nearly every night went to the ballet at Sadler's Wells and Covent Garden. He saw the performances from the front of the house, well to the right, which afforded him a three-quarter view of the theatre taking in part of the wings and orchestra as well as the stage and giving the fullest dimension to the light and movement he longed to portray. During the day he watched rehearsals from the wings and sketched at the regular morning classes attended by even the leading dancers. Within a few weeks many of the principal dancers were his friends. Once again, through painting, Edward found himself in a new and exciting world. 

He painted for most of the day. His studio, over a pastry shop, had a large window with a balcony and a view of an old wall covered with wisteria in full bloom and a distant glimpse of the sea. In the evening he was at the theatre to see the ballet,  and afterwards joined some of the dancers for supper. Once again his talent had precipitated him into an intoxicating social life which, nevertheless, was not necessarily conducive to paint and he was increasingly dissatisfied about his work.

Even so, in 1938, 'Tribute to Ballet' made its impact and was recognized by the public and the critics as a handsome recognition by two arts of a third one, rather than as an example of poetry and paintings. At the same time it represented the beginning and the end of Edward's short-lived ballet period. He had watched and painted the worlds of make-believe for long enough and was at last persuaded to concentrate his talent on portraying life's realities."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: The Country Scene

"The Crest of the Hill" by Edward Seago

"Sons of Sawdust" was Edward Seago's next book, a fictionalized account of his travels with the circus in Ireland intermingled with stories 'Pop' Baker had told him. Among the congratulatory letters was one from the Poet Laureate, John Masefield, which ended with an imaginative suggestion that changed Edward's life. Masefield wrote: 

'I have been enjoying your Irish book and feel (from the illustrations) that you have an extraordinary feeling for landscape. Why not give up a year to wonderful English country life, shepherding on the downs, horse-training at Newmarket, ploughing in Sussex and in Berkshire, hopping in Kent and in the West, a horse-fair and cattle market, a harvest home and a fruit picking with views of some of our valleys, White Horse, the Golden Valley, the Wye, the Severn and the Avon?' 

Almost by chance, it seemed, Masefield had hit on a way to channel Edward's abilities in a more appropriate direction. Edward wrote back, 'Your suggestion for a year of Country Life appeals to me enormously.' He wondered 'if it might be done in book form? A sort of Parlour table album with all the pictures reproduced in colour, with a note about each one, and a thumb-nail drawing on the opposite page. Both men were so excited about this idea that it became a collaboration with the Poet Laureate writing the text to accompany the pictures.

While working on the book Edward divided his time between his family home at Brooke and Melchet Court and fulfilled a steady flow of commissions, although his work was constantly interrupted by heart turns which confined him to bed for days and often weeks at a time. 'But,' he wrote to Masefield, 

'I've been able to work most of the time although only at home, of course. In December I had a wonderful piece of good fortune. A family of ten Romanian gypsies passed through Norfolk. I have been able to get a meadow for them to camp on, and I think they are the finest models I have had. They are the most marvellous people to look at and have such a grand sense of colour: dressing themselves in the most gaudy hues and yet they never seem to clash. I hope you will pick one of the pictures for the book...'

Masefield and Edward chose 'The Country Scene' for the book's title, which was published a year later and not only marked Edward's permanent break with the circus but brought him international recognition."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: Henry Melchett and Italy

"Gondolas by the Santa Maria della Salute Venice"
by Edward Seago

"One of Edward Seago's patrons, Henry Melchett, not only commissioned him to paint. At the same time he provided him with material security, treated him like a member of the family and also perceived the need for him to broaden his painting horizons. While he believed in his work, he perceived the weaknesses, particularly an inability to draw, and he was in a more subtle position than either Priestman or Munnings to do something about it.

In Venice that summer the family had rented a villa, Casa Leone, and Melchett confronted Edward with the work of the great Italian masters and watched while he reacted to the wonders of the Titians and the Tintorettos, the Canalettos and the Bellinis and marvelled at the Italian skies over the lagoon and the sheer flamboyance of the Venetian sunset; skies such as Constable and the English school of painters had never attempted, where a painter might indulge in a riot of colour yet still paint well within the bounds of nature. But despite the exuberance around him, Edward was intrigued most by the subtle differences in light and atmosphere and expressed himself in a series of dark, emphatic waterscapes.

Before he left Venice, as Melchett had foreseen, its centuries of history gave him a new perspective and his letters reflected the first signs of real humility:

'Actually, I am trying to paint here,' he wrote. 'No very marked success so far! I have seen some pictures which clearly show me that (1) painting is the greatest of all; (2) I don't possess it!!! and what is more I see no way of attaining it!' 

In the end he completed twelve pictures, nailed them up in a coffin and sent them to England for his next summer's exhibition at the Alpine Gallery. Five of the canvases for this show would be lent and of the rest, among some fine equestrians studies, was a painting of Foxhunter, latest winner of the Ascot Gold Cup; an impressive portrait of Michael Hornby in pink coat and silk hat riding his magnificent horse over the Oxfordshire countryside; and also a poignant study of a middle-aged man in bedraggled ruffles and conical hat and with an anxious, puzzled expression discernible under the grease paint, with the caption: 'Smile at us, pay us, pass us. But do not quite forget,' a fitting epitaph to Edward's own life with the circus people."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: Writer

"Edward Seago remembered his early attempts at writing and once again felt a desire to express himself in words. At the same time he recalled that John Masefield, the recently-created Poet Laureate, lived near Oxford, and he wrote to say he was a painter and a life-long admirer who happened to be travelling in the neighbourhood with a circus and would like to call. His letter was sympathetically received. Masefield loved young people and in his early years it had been touch and go whether he would become a painter or a writer. He was also fascinated by the circus, and invited Edward to lunch.

His short, formal invitation represented the beginning of a deep friendship based on mutual admiration, that was to develop into a successful professional partnership and last until the poet died. 'What you want to do when you're beginning to write,' Masefield told Edward, 'is to write and write and write and then tear it up 'til you get it right.' Back in Brooke with his family after the circus had disbanded for the winter, the painter did just that. He also worked on the canvases he had started during his travels with the circus that summer. 

The Christmas after his meeting with Masefield, Edward told the Poet Laureate about the circus book he was writing and sent him a painting of the circus. 'I shall love to read it,' Masefield replied. But before Masefield had finished reading it, he was writing to point out its shortcomings.

'The book's best passages are what I can only call word pictures of what you have painted... Circus life is what the world wants from you. So strong a dose of it that all readers will feel that they too have lived with the circus. Do not lose so splendid a chance. Turn to it again... Think what we would give for an account of Shakespeare's rough Globe Theatre as seen by an actor of the time and how eagerly every detail, even the stenches, would be followed.'

Seago tried a second draft - and a third. After one more revision, the book, 'Circus Company' was finally published. It was dedicated to the memory of Tommy Baker, the artist's dear friend whose family had adopted Edward into the circus family. It is not surprising that the book was very well received for what would-be writer could have enlisted a more suitable tutor than a poet laureate? It also proved to be a significant milestone in Seago's career since it heralded a series of important collaborations between poet and painter, and introduced the name of Edward Seago to a new public and gave him an authority it would otherwise have taken years to achieve."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)