Cecilia Beaux, La Farge and Homer

 

Carnegie Institute Jury, 1899: Top row from left - Schofield,  Anders Zorn, Frank Duveneck
Bottom row - John Wesley Beatty, William Merritt Chase, Cecilia Beaux, Edmund Tarbelle, Julian Alden Weir, Unknown Gentleman

Cecilia Beaux wrote: "I was taken to call on John La Farge in his studio. He had returned from Samoa and the Pacific Isles, bringing watercolors and drawings. I was, of course, fascinated by his distinction, his subtlety, the controlled lightning of his temperament, which was of the gentlest and the most fearsome. He was engaged with his creations in stained glass. He was a man of parts in any field, a thinker, a leader, who chose to be an artist.

I once heard La Farge lecture to students, laying stress from first to last on the hand and its discipline by the mind. He was one of the members of the Carnegie jury for one of its early exhibitions. I also served, and was made happy by the attention and care that he showed me as the solitary female of the committee. The officers of the Institute were untiring in their attentions to all of us. It was proposed that we should drive about and see the town. Four barouches were drawn up at the door of our hotel and into the first of these Mr. La Farge, Mr. Caldwell, the President of the Institute, a mysterious stranger and I were invited to ascend. 

The ambiguous person I took to be a high official. He was a spare, oldish man with a short, dark, almost unnaturally dark, moustache. Everything he wore, and even his cane, was new - and seemed to oppress the wearer a little. He remained absolutely silent during the drive, but there was something intense, observant, in his quiet. I inquired who he might be, and the answer was 'Winslow Homer, of course.'

Until nearly the end of our labors which, with the entertainment so generously provided, filled every moment of the day and a good deal of the night, Winslow Homer maintained his silent attention to duty. He came and went, voted and endured, until nearly the end, when he became restless, and finally confided to one of the men that he grudged every minute now passing.

He had planted nine stands of corn (as models, or course). They would be now exactly ready - that is, just dry and ripe enough for his plan for painting. It was November. They might be ruined by a storm! He also would have liked to depart when and how he pleased. The greatest care was being taken to provide everything in the best manner to save us all trouble in leaving. As we walked, for I, too, was a little impatient: 'I could have bought my own ticket,' said Winslow Homer."

To be continued

(Excerpts from Cecilia Beaux's autobiography "Background with Figures.")