Frank W. Benson: The Great Outdoors

"The Sisters" by Frank W. Benson

"From 1889 to 1893, Frank W. Benson spent his summers at Dublin Lake, New Hampshire, enjoying the freedom from a confining studio. First introduced to Dublin by Joseph Lindon Smith, Benson was no doubt also attracted to this burgeoning artistic summer colony by the opportunity to share ideas with other artists, scientists, philosophers, and men of letters. Nestled at the foot of Mount Monadnock, the area had long been a mecca for hikers from all over the East Coast. Benson spent his summers there painting out-of-doors and profiting from time spent with an early mentor, Abbot Handerson Thayer. The mountain itself became the subject of a number of paintings. Beginning in 1893, Benson spent the next five summers on the seacoast at Newcastle, New Hampshire. Here he taught open-air art classes with Edmund Tarbell, his fellow instructor from the Museum School.
____________ 

'The two little girls are having trouble keeping still. The baby, dressed in a long, white dress, continually wants to toddle off toward a dock to which a small boat is tied. She has ridden in the boat before and is eager to do so again. She loves to watch her father pull hard against the oars as they bob across Portsmouth Harbor on their way to Kittery, Maine. Her older sister, hat clamped firmly on her head, has given up trying to keep the baby's bonnet on and is focusing on their father's request to try to keep the little girl near her. Their father, standing before an easel, is attempting to catch the fleeting moments of childhood as well as his fleeting baby. He swoops her up and carries her back to her sister so that they can pose together once again. He tries to capture it all, the feel of the fresh summer breeze, the delicate tracery of the leaves against the summer-blue sky, the sunlight as it washes the girls' dresses with light. The baby runs off again. He puts down his brushes and gives chase.'

_____________ 

 In Dublin and Newcastle, Benson introduced his children to the joys of sailing and attempted to paint them in all their happy, summer pursuits. At first, he considered these early outdoor forays into figures 'en plein air' as not very successful. The critics, however, were impressed. When an early outdoor work, 'Mother and Children' of 1894 won first prize for oils at an an exhibition, a critic gushed, 'It shows a chasteness of sentiment and a classical yet refined treatment... There is a subtle modeling of the baby flesh, a pensive tranquillity that gives Mr. Benson a unique niche.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.)   

Frank W. Benson: The Art of Wildfowl

"Ducks in the Rain" by Frank W. Benson

"Together with his two brothers-in-law, Frank W. Benson bought a small farmhouse in Eastham on Cape Cod. A simple, weathered building without electricity or running water, this little house overlooked the Nauset Marsh that featured prominently in Benson's sporting works for years to come.

The influence on his art of this hunting retreat - which the owners called, simply, the Farmhouse - was powerful. Many of his later hunting works can be traced directly to scenes glimpsed on the ponds and bays, marshes and inlets of Eastham. Moreover, Benson's fond memories of his years spent on the marsh there lingered on until the end of his life. It is perhaps no small coincidence that shortly after the purchase of the Farmhouse, Benson painted a large canvas of wild swans flying across a gray sky. Titled 'Swan Flight,' it appears to be the earliest known exhibited painting that depicts wild birds. Before 1893, his exhibited work had never included wildfowl; thereafter this would be a theme to which he returned time and time again  throughout his life.

 'Swan Flight' was sold almost instantaneously, a portent of his later years when such works would sell virtually before he could finish them. He could hardly keep up with the demand. In 1925 he wrote to one of his New York dealers, 'I made [a painting of wildfowl] the other day at home and I looked forward to exhibiting it and, almost before it was dry, a visitor saw it and carried it off! It's my good fortune to be doing what people like, but it keeps me on the jump.'

In the early 1890s, wild birds were not universally recognized as 'appropriate' subject matter in the serious art world. Benson, however, had obviously reached an enthusiastic audience. From this point on, he included at least one wildfowl painting in each of his larger exhibitions. All of them sold." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

 

Frank W. Benson: Black and White

"Early Morning" by Frank W. Benson

"With the assurance of a regular salary it became possible for Benson to experiment with a variety of motifs and mediums. His early studio works were mostly figures set in richly appointed interiors. Young women in white stretch their hands out towards the glow of an unseen fire; a lady in black sits in a chair that is placed on an exotic tiger-skin rug; his daughter, Eleanor, poses with her cat. Paintings like these, as well as a steady influx of portrait commissions, earned for Benson both renown and financial rewards.

But it was his outdoor paintings that pleased Benson most. On the many hunting and fishing trips he took with his friends and family, Benson frequently experimented with wash drawings. These were done with a wash of black watercolor on white paper and were often spur-of-the-moment affairs. He left them behind at the spots he visited. He hung a few in an exhibition or two and, by 1910, they were gaining for him the same critical acclaim as his oils.

Typical of these is the dramatic, stark wash drawing of a dead goose, lying awkwardly in the shallow water of a marsh pond, that gives testimony to Benson's ability to find beauty even in death. Perhaps making a slight bow to European painters who often arranged an assortment of dead birds as still life, Benson has caught a once-vital and graceful bird in its stillness. In this work, the artist acknowledges that, while he most often found inspiration in the pursuit of wildfowl or the elegant composition of birds against the sky, he was also able to present the somber quietude that was the end result of the hunt. One can also see the influence of the black and white watercolor masters of the Far East on Benson's own wash drawings."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

 

Frank W. Benson: The Museum School Curriculum

"Eleanor Holding a Shell" by Frank Benson

"By 1897, a fairly long and rigorous curriculum had been developed at the Museum School in Boston. Ideally, students - men and women of all ages - stayed in the school for seven years, gradually moving up from level to level. To quote a supplement to the 1897 annual report: 'The applicants...are placed where their capacity warrants which is ascertained after a week's work with Mr. Philip Hale. Those who have not acquired sufficient knowledge by previous training are placed in the beginners room to draw from plaster ornaments and heads. By the middle of the year, all the pupils...are in the galleries, drawing from the antique. 

This most difficult and valuable work upon which so much stress is laid in the French schools, continues until the students become sufficiently proficient to be sent up to draw the whole figure from the nude under Mr. Benson. There the pupil...begins by drawing the outlines of the figure in order to get the action; and, when fairly accomplished in this, is allowed to devote the whole week to the figure. When proficient in drawing in the character of the figure in light and shade, he is allowed to paint from still life in the afternoons under Mr. Tarbell.' The national reputations of these three successful artists brought students from all over New England and beyond, eager to study under the guidance of these famous instructors.

Benson loved to teach and felt a deep involvement with the training of young people. He touched the lives of thousands of aspiring artists. His influence can be clearly seen in the work of his pupils as well as the works of the students they later taught. Yet, with typical humility, Benson felt that he was the one who gained from his years as a teacher. A former students quoted him as saying, 'Although I may have helped others, I learned the most!'" 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

Frank W. Benson: Flourishing

"Portrait of My Daughters" by Frank W. Benson

"Returning to America in the summer of 1885, Frank W. Benson set up a studio in Salem and began to seek commissions. He quickly started doing portraits and exhibiting his work widely. By 1887, as his paintings were gaining him recognition, Benson was hired to teach at the Portland Museum of Art, a few hours' train ride north. The steady job was just what he needed to convince Ellen's mother that he would be able to support a family.

The two were married in the autumn of 1888, and by the following spring, Benson was delighted to be named instructor of antique drawing at the Museum School in Boston. He was joined at the school by his old friend Joseph Lindon Smith, who also worked there as an instructor. By 1890, Benson had not only won the Hallgarten Prize at the National Academy in New York but had also become a father. In 1891 he had his first private exhibition with Edmund Tarbell at Boston's Chase Gallery. Both his family and fortunes were burgeoning. The Hallgarten was the first of a long series of awards, later earning him the sobriquet 'America's Most Medalled Painter.'

His daughter, Eleanor, was the first of what Benson fondly referred to as his 'homegrown models.' George was born in 1891, Elisabeth in 1892, and Sylvia in 1898. Their father was to capture them often on canvas. These painting are among some of America's favorite works, icons often featured on museum calendars and notecards.

Benson's association with the Museum School was a long and fruitful one. Together with Edmund Tarbell, he turned the school into a nationally and internationally recognized institution. Barely three years after the two were hired, they send a letter to the Board of Directors outlining 'the urgency of increasing the number of teachers in their department owing to the fact that the number of pupils is nearly double what it was when they began their connection with the school.' During the nearly twenty-five years of Benson's tenure, students won numerous prizes, enrollment tripled, a new school building erected, and visiting delegations sought the secret of their success." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

 

Frank W. Benson: Ellen

"After the Storm" by Frank W. Benson

"The summer between their two years at the Académie Julian, Frank W. Benson and Lindon Smith headed for the little fishing village of Concarneau in Brittany where Benson could paint boats and the sea to his heart's content. In Concarneau, Benson fell in love with Ellen Peirson, while painting her portrait as a surprise gift for her mother. He had played tennis long hours on her family's court in Salem, but it was not until she and her mother and sister stayed in France for several months that he considered her more than another of his sister's friends. This active, vibrant young woman quickly joined in the games and parties, picnics and sketching outings of the group of artists and friends that summered in Concarneau. Even Benson's models were impressed by her and described her as 'tremendously independent.'

The following fall, shortly after his return to America, Benson asked Ellen to marry him. She was the perfect partner for this forthright, outdoor man. Benson admired her spirit and intelligence, later telling one of his grandchildren that having her along on a fishing trip was as 'good as having any man.' It would be a long engagement, for Benson needed to prove to Ellen's mother that, even though he was an artist, he could earn a living.

In 1885, Benson and Lindon Smith, now living on the more 'artistic' Left Bank, submitted several canvasses to the jury of the famed Paris Salon. Neither was accepted. To his great delight, however, Benson's 'After the Storm,' a painting of two young girls looking out over a wind-tossed sea, was accepted in London by the Royal Academy. When his parents rendezvoused with him in that city on their way to enroll his brother, John, at the Ecole des Beaux Arts to study architecture, Benson was able to proudly taken them to the Academy to see his work. Although it was 'skied,' (hung just below the ceiling), Benson later told his children that he wondered then whether this canvas would be the only work of his ever to hang in Europe. He should not have worried." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

 

Frank W. Benson: Academie Julian, Paris

"The Open Window" by Frank Benson

"On his twenty-first birthday Frank Benson asked his father if he could study abroad. There probably was a long pause while the fiscally conservative cotton broker thought the matter over. Ultimately, perhaps because of Benson's teaching position in Salem and this public acknowledgment of his talent, or the paycheck he was able to bring home, his father relented. In the autumn of 1883, together with his classmate, Joseph Lindon Smith, Benson sailed for Paris. His parents gave him $1,000 and told him to come home when it was spent.

Benson's days in Paris were filled with his studies at the Académie Julian. Securing rooms for themselves at No. 10 Rue Croix des Petits Champs, he and Lindon Smith spent their days drawing from the models at the Académie where criticisms were given once a week by renowned instructors from the Ecole des Beaux Arts. Such men as Bouguereau, Lefebvre, Robert-Fleury, Constant, Doucet, and Boulanger gave 'crits' to students from all over Europe and America. It was Boulanger who gave Benson the highest commendation that any of the students had ever heard from him. 'Young man,' he said, studying Benson's portrait of an old man. 'Your career is in your hand... you will do very well.'

Although he enjoyed his studies, Benson always found time for sport and spent as much time as possible out-of-doors. With a group of friends, he soon found a French sparring club where they practiced boxing and tried their hand at fencing. Benson sketched them. It was not just the act of a sport that fascinated Benson, but the look of the people engaged in it. He studied their movements and their positions then translated these quickly to paper. Years later, when his own daughter announced her intention to become an artist, he encouraged her to take several anatomy classes, for it was an area in which he felt he had always been weak. He found that when he tried to paint the human figure from memory, it did not go well. His sketches of people were sometimes awkward and ill-proportioned."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

 

Frank W. Benson: School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

"Untitled (Elizabeth)," an etching
by Frank W. Benson

"Although a career as an artist was obviously not what Frank W.  Benson's businessman father would have chosen for him, his mother encouraged his interest. She was, as she said, a 'Sunday painter' and had created a small studio for herself in an attic room. It took several years for George Benson to relent.

In 1881, the elder Benson, thinking art might be a passing fancy, finally agreed to let his son attend the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Every morning they traveled together by train and walked to Copley Square where the Museum of Fine Arts had opened its Gothic-style building in 1876. Although not originally built to house an art school, by the time Benson entered in 1881, the building's attic and basement rooms had been full of students for four years.

Art historians would later call Benson's class the 'banner class' of the school. A number of his classmates - men such as Edmund Tarbell and Robert Reid, John Redmond and Philip Little - all later made names for themselves in the art world. Under the tutelage of Otto Grundman and Frederick Crowninshield, Benson moved from drawing from plaster casts of antique sculptures to drawing live models. In his second year, he began copying old masters in oil and studying anatomy.

He obviously excelled in his studies, for during his second year of art school, he was hired, together with his friend, John Redmond, by the Salem Evening Drawing Classes to teach their students. What is also striking is that, even as a young man, Benson strongly believed in fairness and loyalty. In his last year at the Museum School, he wrote to Dan Henderson, 'I haven't got the drawing school this winter as the committee had serious objections to Redmond, and I wouldn't serve without him.' Such a comment is typical of Benson, whose strong Yankee principles caused him to take firm stands for causes in which he strongly believed. Several times he risked his own interests or the security of a position to stand by someone he felt had been wronged."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

Frank W. Benson: Love of Nature

"Bound Home," 1918 by Frank W. Benson

"When Frank Weston Benson was born in Salem, Massachusetts, Essex County was a hunter's paradise. The marshes were a bicycle trip away, the local train conveniently stopped at rich fishing spots, and upland game was plentiful within a half a day's carriage ride. The fields and marshes, the inlets and brooks that lent their names to many of Benson's later paintings were his for the tramping. His father, George Wiggins Benson, a cotton broker in Boston, gave him his first shotgun and taught him to hunt the wildfowl and shorebirds that teemed along the North Shore. His mother, a descendant of some of Salem's founding families, was an amateur painter.

Benson and his brothers and sisters inherited their grandfather's love of the sea. They were all given their own small sailboat at the age of twelve. The margins of Benson's childhood journals are filled with tiny drawings of boats tacking smartly or running before the wind, sails filled, flags flying. Pictures of sailboats filled his art school sketchbooks. The children reveled in sailboat racing: ribbons and trophies crowded their mantelpiece.

In his little boat, Benson explored the many coves and inlets, islands, and marshes that surrounded Salem. Family journals indicate that the children were encouraged to be independent and adventuresome. Each of them had a toolbox and a weekly allowance to be spent on 'things of an educational or experimental nature.' Benson's younger brothers experimented with photography in an attic darkroom and later photographed their brother at his easel.

It is only fitting that Benson's first known works in oil were of birds: a rail and a snipe hanging on a barn door. As a child he had been fascinated by birds and had decided at an early age that he wanted to be an ornithological illustrator. He haunted the halls of the Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard and pored through the thick volumes in its library. He admired the work of Audubon, hoping to follow in his footsteps." 

 To be continued

(Excerpts from "The Sporting Art of Frank W. Benson" by Faith Andrews Bedford.) 

Edward Seago: The Final Stage

"The Church at Porto Cervo, Sardinia" by Edward Seago

"In 1973 Edward Seago wrote: 'For the last two months I have been suffering from middle ear trouble.' Did you know that you've one in the middle as well as on either side?' It seemed the painter flatly refused to consult a specialist as his doctor had advised, probably because, since boyhood he had discounted the advice of doctors, to good effect, and he maintained that all he needed to put him right was the sunshine of Sadinia. He and his assistant Peter flew there on 11 August where Seago insisted on driving the car along fourteen miles of the Costa Smeralda to Porto Cervo. As soon as they started that final stage of the journey Peter realized that Seago could hardly see and he had to talk him round every bend of the winding cliff-top road. But he drove the car for the next month despite protests. He also ignored his friends' insistence that he should see a doctor.

He painted two or three pleasant pictures and then, one day, a picture Peter described as 'an unbelievable horror.' It was an upright landscape on a long, horizontal canvas. Later, one afternoon in mid-September, he called to Peter, 'I think I've done a rather good picture. What do you think?' Peter studied a small panel of a chain of barges. 'It's awfully difficult to tell till you've finished it,' he said. 'What are you going to do with the left half?' 'What left half?' was the answer. 'What do you mean? I have finished it.'

A fortnight later Seago collapsed. He was operated on for a brain tumour in the main hospital in Sassari. The prognosis was hopeless but two weeks later he was taken to England in a privately-chartered jet, accompanied by Peter and a leading British neurologist who had flown out to bring him back. On his return he had intensive treatment in hospital where for three months Peter hardly left his bedside. He was with him when he died there on 19 January 1974.

Once upon a time, Edward Seago had attended a gypsy funeral and had watched the ashes of a man who had spent all his life in the open air, scattered to the wind so that the tiny particles of dust were returned to the earth and to the sky. 'I should like to think that when I die,' he once wrote, 'this body of mine will be turned to ashes and cast to the winds from a high green hill.' It was Peter who made the choice. One bright winter's morning he went alone and scattered the ashes of the man he most admired over the Norfolk marshes where land and sky meet in a wide landscape such as Edward Seago never tired of painting. Just to look at such a landscape, the painter said, set his mind free."

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

Edward Seago: The Last Portrait

"The Bend in the Canal, Alkmaar" by Edward Seago

"As the years passed and Edward Seago was not made a Royal Academician or given official recognition, and his work was not bought for any National Collection, his insecurity reasserted itself. Close friends sensed the bitterness behind his reluctance to be described as 'a Norfolk artist' because, he complained, few people in Norfolk liked his paintings. This false assumption was based on his inability to recognize that any local resentment to him as a man bore no relationship to the admiration and pride his paintings engendered in his native county. The indifference had built up over the years largely because, with an ever-widening circle of friends and increasing commitment, he felt compelled to discard old, out-worn friendships and, to some extent, divorce himself from local affairs. 

He protected his pictures by meticulous conditions in an otherwise extremely simple will which he made in August 1972. Firstly, he instructed that one third of all his paintings in the studio at the time of his death should be destroyed by the artistic executors. This was because he accepted the fact that even a good painter could at times produce bad pictures. Edward Tsui, a friend, was left a Boudin and three of Seago's own paintings to be chosen within one month of his death; a week later, according to the will, another friend, Jeremy Spenser, was to select three Seago paintings. After that the artistic executors were to select three more pictures for the first friend and three for the other, then the solicitor and John Erle-Drax of the Marlborough Galleries were to choose one painting, and finally the artistic executors should choose one for each of the painter's eight godchildren. The rest went to his assistant Peter Seymour, providing he survived Seago by five years, otherwise they would go to museums or public art galleries. 

About that time Seago painted his last portrait. It was of Donald Sinden in the part of Sir William Harcourt Courtley that he was playing in 'London Assurance' at the Aldwych Theatre.  Seago had seen the play and invited Sinden and his wife to Dutch House for a week. Every morning Sinden would spend an hour putting on his stage make-up and costume. He kept it on all day and posed for an hour or so at a time.

He described how after a painting session Seago would light up his pipe, glare at him and the portrait from different parts of the studio and then study them both through a two-foot mirror to get a reverse and more objective view. In the then end there were two portraits: one a full-length study of the vain, extrovert character in the play with his arms outstretched, the other a head and shoulders of the actor sitting as he would have been after the show, not the part he was playing."

To be continued

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

 

 

Edward Seago: As a Host

"Venice" by Edward Seago

"Edward Seago invariably contrived that the stream of visitors to Dutch House, his home and studio, had every opportunity to see him paint. His desire for an audience arose, perhaps, not from vanity but from a positive need for constant reassurance and admiration, to combat the persistent feeling of insecurity that no financial reward appeared to allay. He disliked being alone and, moreover, enjoyed sharing with friends his own passionate love of painting so that, just as a great musician in the role of host might offer to entertain his guests by playing to them, Seago was also happy to display to them his own greatest gift.

Friends accepted as a matter of course that after dinner everyone adjourned to the studio to talk or watch television. After a time their host would move over to his easel and begin painting. Occasionally someone would stroll across and watch and offer not too critical comments. Michael Denison and Dulcie Gray, two of Seago's many stage friends, recalled the first time they stayed at the Dutch House. After dinner the painter said, 'You've only seen my finished work, would you like to see me painting?' Denison watched a familiar scene on the Grand Canal in Venice re-created, with lightning brush strokes, in less than half an hour. As the picture took shape he asked if some of the smaller insignificant buildings, at the left of the church of St. Mara del Giglio, were products of the painter's imagination. 'No, no, no,' Seago protested. 'They're exactly correct. I have a total mental photograph of the place.'

Invariably he used oils when painting in front of his friends. 'With oil I can be totally relaxed,' he told Denison, 'but with watercolours, I'm as taut as a bowstring.'

With the help of his assistant Peter Seymour he was a good host and revelled in the role, although he always assumed his guests would be happy to fit in with all his activities and accept him on his own terms. He provided an idyllic setting where it was easy to relax surrounded by fine paintings, including several Boudins, and a collection of early English watercolours. Meals were produced by the gardener's sister, the inimitable Miss Thompson, who lived in the village but as a young girl had learned to cook in the kitchens of great London houses."

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: 'Seagoland'

"A Rainy Day in Istanbul" by Edward Seago

"The time had come when Seago rarely used 'Capricorn.' He parted with her and in 1958 acquired a studio in Sardinia with a magnificent view of the Mediterranean from his balcony. He had, since 1960, discarded his technique of painting directly from nature, and out of doors he made only color notes and pencil sketches from which to create the finished picture in his studio. Indoors he could portray his personal experience of places or subjects that had once sparked off his imagination and be undisturbed by superficial visual distractions which intruded when he set up his easel outside. Applying this technique, when he was in Sardinia he often painted Norfolk scenes and home in Ludham he worked on the views from his Mediterranean holiday home.

Once on his way to Sardinia, he made a detour to visit Istanbul, where from his bedroom balcony at the Park Hotel, he had an incredible view of the Bosphorous. He made watercolors and pencil sketches there to translate into oil paintings and then went into the streets and filled his sketchbooks [pocket-sized, 4.5" x 7"] with meticulous drawings; street scenes where the houses were correct to the smallest window, a stretch of wall exact to every stone, crowded squares where every person was represented by a tiny pencil stroke. At a time when he had never painted more freely and with such apparent immense facility, his sketchbooks represented a discipline he practiced consistently until the end of his days.

The later sketch books, however, represented exercises in technique rather than memory training because, by that time, the image of ever place or subject he had ever seen and wanted to paint was stored in his mind in complete detail. The wealth of images, he told his friend, the actor Peter Cushing, was stored in 'Seagoland' from where he drew on it at will. His challenge was to express the image on canvas. Sometimes he painted a real landscape from memory; at other times he created a composite imaginary picture which he described as a 'Seagoscape.'"

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: Painting with the Prince

"Portrait of the Duke of Edinburgh" by Edward Seago

"For Prince Philip the journey on the Britannia involved a full programme of official commitments but he obviously regarded painting as an integral part of relaxation. He and Seago often worked together, either at separate easels or combining their efforts to produce a lino-cut for a 'Red Nose' certificate to be given to each member of the ship's company to commemorate their visit inside the Antarctic Circle. 'Prince Philip has really done the design for it although the wardroom asked me,' read the entry in Seago's diary, 'but I must admit his idea is better than what I had in mind! I am amazed at his keenness and energy.' This was written on the day when both men had experimented on an improvised roller to print three hundred sheets from the lino-block. 'The first pulls were not awfully encouraging,' Seago wrote, 'but Prince Philip was full of determination.' When the technical problems were resolved, the Prince headed a team of shift workers who volunteered to work the roller.

At one point during the voyage world tour during the voyage, the prince painted a portrait of Seago at his easel on board the Royal Yacht, Seago, in turn, made a portrait of the prince at work with his oil paints. The pair of paintings were shown together in the 2016 exhibition “Portrait of the Artist” at Buckingham Palace. 

One afternoon just before Christmas Seago wrote in his diary that he and the Prince had a joint effort of sea and sky. Some years afterwards recalling the 'joint effort' Prince Philip said he suspected that his own part was to ask Seago where he had gone wrong in his picture and Seago would have come over and put him right. 

Prince Philip spent quite a lot of time on the trip trying to do skies and seas, but not with any great success. He found it always very discouraging to try and learn from Seago because one felt as if one were riding a bicycle on the ground while the painter was riding another on the high wire above. Just watching Seago at work gave him great pleasure, he said, 'because while the results were fantastic, just watching the way he achieved them was even more fantastic.' 

Seago wrote down a list of colours he recommended should be put on the palette and Prince Philip always kept the old envelope with the list on the back in his paintbox although he noted that Seago was far more economical in his colours than he was.  

Seago's capacity for work was tremendous, the Prince recalled: 'He was always sketching. He always seemed to have a pencil in his hand and with just a few lines could reproduce all the atmosphere and feel of a place with just the smallest pencil sketch. He also had this photographic memory and if he'd ever painted anything he could always remember exactly how he'd painted it; not just what he'd painted but the way he'd done it.' 

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: To the Antarctic

"In 1956 Prince Philip invited Edward Seago to join him on part of his world tour on board the royal yacht Britannia for a trip to Antarctica. Such a journey, Prince Philip thought, would give a painter of Seago's talent a tremendous opportunity to work where no other artist had really tried to paint - with the exception of Wilson who did a few pictures on the expeditions with Shackleton and Scott.

"The Whaling Station, Leith Harbor, South Georgia" 
by Edward Seago

Seago met up with the tour in Australia before sailing to Antarctica. On Boxing Day, Britannia encountered her first iceberg, a castellated beauty about two and a half miles long and a hundred feet high. From then on, Seago concentrated on painting the exciting, unfamiliar scenery around him. 'It was tremendously thrilling,' he said afterwards. 'I had always expected something that was very, very flat, and instead of that it was mountainous with tremendous peaks and black rock. I thought there was going to be wide expanses of nothingness and now and again queer upright icebergs and, of course, I thought it would be colourless; a mixture of greys and blacks and whites. Instead of that the colour was tremendous. It was full of rich blues and greens and the cavities glowed with the most rich luminous blues and greens, which were tremendously exciting to paint."

While he painted there, Seago was aware from an artistic point of view that he was in completely unknown territory. 'You see,' he told a radio interviewer, 'we can't help being influenced by pictures we have seen by other painters of the past of various parts of the world and it was rather fascinating to go to a part of the world where you had seen no pictures at all because nobody had ever painted it. It was was particularly fascinating because I live in a part of the world which has been painted over and over again and really is the teething ground of landscape painting.'

Although the sub-zero temperatures made it impossible to use watercolour, Seago found the dry cold no worse than a winter's day in England. He painted about sixty pictures on the expedition and gave them all to Prince Philip who sent most of them to Balmoral and had a particularly fine painting of an iceberg hung in Britannia. The Prince said it was a marvellous gift but if ever the painter wanted any pictures back for reproduction purposes or anything like that, to be sure and ask for them. 'Oh, that's quite unnecessary,' Seago replied. 'If I want them at any time I can easily remember them.'

In support of this he told the story of a painting Seago had given the Wardroom of the ice-breaker John Biscoe, the research ship in which the party travelled to one of the remotest Antarctic bases. The Captain though it was intended as a personal gift for him and when he left the ship he took it away with him, to the annoyance and disappointment of the officers. Seago did not hear about the incident until some ten years afterwards. He then painted the same picture all over again and sent it to the officers of the ship. Telling the story, Prince Philip said if the two pictures were hung side by side, it would have been impossible to tell the difference."

To be continued

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

 

Edward Seago: Thoughts on Modern Art

"Mooring Posts, Grand Canal, Venice" by Edward Seago

"Edward Seago was always willing to be a guest speaker and revelled in the opportunity to express his views on modern art. 'I believe that more than fifty per cent of abstract art is pure balderdash, absolutely phony,' he told Norwich Rotary Club in 1952 when he deplored its exaggerated worship by a gullible public, even while admitting there were many sincere abstract painters to be found.

'This is an age of experiment,' he wrote, 'when talent must be willfully moulded and eyes can no longer see without the brain distorting their vision. It is no long enough, apparently, to approach nature with humility, hoping only that one's personality may stamp the interpretation. Nature must be put in her place, bent to the will of man's inflated sense of intellect. I have read much concerning this superior attitude and I have seen the bewildering products of its cult. 

I admit wholeheartedly that, by their standards, I am old-fashioned; I do not think that I shall receive the sympathy of the intellectual forces in the great art world for I admit that I am offering nothing new by following in a great tradition - except that I am me, and anything that I do cannot have been before. But I work in all sincerity, as I feel and as I see.'

 To be continued

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

Edward Seago: The Capricorn

"August Afternoon, Champs Elysées" by Edward Seago

"Apart from occasional trips to London and the visits to Sandringham, the only time Edward Seago spent any time away from home was to live on his boat. At sea he became more ambitious and exchanged 'Endeavour' for a younger, more seaworthy craft, 'Capricorn,' a thirty-ton auxiliary ketch, which he equipped as his ideal floating studio.

Even her name fired his romantic imagination. It had been chosen because she was registered in the month of December and Seago learnt with satisfaction that those born under the symbol of the goat were headstrong and brave of heart. Further investigation revealed that the symbol should, in fact, be a sea-goat - half goat, half fish. He interpreted it in a pair of frolicsome creatures with long scaly tails which he had cast in brass, covered in gold leaf and fixed to either side of the bow of his boat's blue-green hull. A red pennant held by another golden capricorn streamed from the top of the main mast.  Gold flashed from her symbols, the name on her hull, her lifebelts and from an extravagant thin gold line just above the rubbing rail. 

In his refitted floating studio he crossed the Channel to Dieppe for the first of a series of memorable cruises to Paris. He had never seen the port, but he felt he knew it well from the pictures of Bonington, Fancia and Whistler. Its character had been changed by modern features like lamp posts, telegraph poles and traffic, and he queried whether the older artists would have recognized it. But, for his own part, he often found good painting material in the evidence of modern times. In Dieppe, Seago set up his easel near the port to sketch the ragged skyline of leaning roofs and chimney stacks and old grey-washed houses.

Capricorn cruised up the Seine in the August sunshine and the painter made notes in his sketchbook of the passing scenes. Had he stopped long enough to set up his easel and make more permanent records he knew he would have been faced with the difficulty he invariably encountered in strange places where he saw so much to paint that he did not know where to begin.

'At first, all the more obvious compositions catch the eye,' he wrote in his last book 'With Capricorn to Paris,' after they had passed a chateau he longed to paint. 'If I had painted the chateau it would have been the whole chateau as I had first seen it - pink and grey against the dark trees and the cool, green pattern of the shadow-streaked pasture. Then I expect the light would change and I should want to paint it again. Only after I had worked there several days would my eye become more selective. I should find bits of the chateau - a corner of a terrace and some stone steps; perhaps only one doorway - and then I should leave the chateau and find endless subjects under the trees and along the smooth grass of the river bank where anglers sat by the hour.'" 

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: The Royals

"The Fish Quay, Istanbul" by Edward Seago

"The Royal family, it appeared, were as united in their interest in Edward Seago's work as the critics were in ignoring it. Queen Mary visited one of his exhibitions on the eve of the birth of her great-grandchild to see Seago's portraits of the King and Queen. Soon afterwards Seago was invited to stay at Sandringham House for the first of a series of bi-annual visits in January and July, when the Royal family were in residence. It seems that he established a particular rapport with Queen Mary. In a letter from Sandringham in her flowing handwriting dated 11 January 1950, Queen Mary warmly thanks Mr. Seago for his book, expresses her pleasure in meeting him and in watching him sketching so quickly. Afterwards he sent her his painting of Old Babingley Church. His gift was reciprocated by a book of drawings of Windsor by Paul Sandby which Queen Mary thought he would 'find attractive.' 

As a result of that first visit, Seago also designed the mascot for Princess Elizabeth's and Prince Philip's car - a silver statuette of St. George and the Dragon. Afterwards he usually sent gifts of paintings to Queen Elizabeth (later the Queen Mother) at Christmas and just before her birthday, on the occasion of his summer visits to Sandringham over the next twenty-two years.

The allegations that Seago deliberately sought Royal favour and in so doing dropped some of his old friends were refuted by many Royal letters over the years. For instance, he declined the Queen Mother's suggestion that he might like to spend a few days with her in Caithness to see if he felt like painting her some pictures - she thought it would be so delightful to show him the strange landscape and wonderful skies. Later, he refused Prince Philip's invitations to stay at Balmoral or to join him for two months on the Royal Yacht for a winter cruise to the Far East.

Sandringham, however, was conveniently a part of his familiar Norfolk while the Royal approval of his work was the much-needed antidote to his perpetual insecurity. Phrases like: 'I cannot thank you enough for giving me yet another glorious addition to my Seago collection...' were the encouragement he never tired of receiving and he responded with generosity."

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: The Annual London Exhibition

"After Rain - Upper Horning" by Edward Seago

"Before the opening of Edward Seago's annual London exhibitions, queues of potential purchasers camped in Bond Street from first light so that exclusive neighbouring tradesmen protested at the unprecedented sight. When the Colnaghi Gallery's doors opened at nine o'clock, the scene inside the normally quiet, elegant galleries was an undignified scramble, comparable to the first day of a sales week. Genuine collectors were enraged when they saw the pictures they wanted snatched from under their noses while speculators bought anything on which they could lay their hands. By the end of the first morning it was indeed rare for any picture to be without a red dot indicating its sale.

The annual free-for-all was a growing embarrassment, and eventually the directors of the gallery devised a routine whereby numbered catalogues were issued when the doors opened. One hour later, a member of the firm stood in the centre of the gallery, called out the catalogue numbers in sequence and took an order for one picture only from each holder. Still the queues formed long before opening time and sometimes several members of one family could be recognized there as well as representatives of an agency which had been commissioned to obtain numbered catalogues. The painter who was the cause of all the rivalry would have been far happier to see critics from some of the national newspapers at his exhibitions but, after the early years, almost without exception, they stayed away.

For the newspaper reporters it seemed the annual success story had become repetitive; for the critics the pictures rarely varied in style and content. Edward Seago rated attention only when he was lured away from his beloved landscapes to apply his craftsmanship and personal idiom to the pageants and personalities of the time. At the wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten he made three impressions of the Royal procession turning into Parliament Square, paintings in which the scarlet and gold uniforms were startling in their effect in contrast to the sombre day and the dim greyness of the crowds. With such scenes of light and movement the painter's unrivalled gift of a photographic memory, painstakingly trained, came into its own. With landscape he had a total recall for up to seven years."

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: "Endeavor"

"The Bure Near Upton" by Edward Seago

"Back in Norfolk after the war, Edward Seago found a temporary antidote to his restlessness in the shape of an old naval sailing vessel and sported a 'For Sale' notice across her bows. The 'Endeavor' was fifty-two feet long, sturdily built and suitable for cruising on the Broadland rivers and at sea. Seago visualized sailing her up the Norfolk coast to familiar painting spots or going south to explore the Suffolk and Essex estuaries and then cruising up the Thames, lingering in the Pool of London to paint before working his way up the river to Oxford and the Berkshire meadows.

His preoccupation was with tantalizing views from the wheelhouse of subjects he could hardly wait to paint. He visualized himself, during the coming years, mooring his floating studio to every yard of bank along some two hundred miles of local rivers. So he finally embarked on his life-long mission which was to discover and portray the meaning behind the beauties of nature he recognized all round. 

From then on, like Constable, he took nature as his subject and was the constant student. 'My attitude to nature is one of enquiry - an endless search for explanations and discovery,' he noted in pencil on blank pages of his sketchbook. 'I believe that the more searching one does the more one's appreciation grows. Subjects present themselves which had not been apparent before, and fresh lines of thought invite enquiry.' 

It was the first time since his lonely boyhood that he had long periods of quiet to indulge his thoughts uninterrupted by the succession of events that had crowded his life since the day, sixteen years ago, when he had left home to join the circus. The circus and the ballet had tested and proved his technique and broadened his personal perspective; the war had released his capacity to express emotion. At last he had arrived at a point when he could accept that his senses were most stirred by the great expanses of sky and by moving clouds and the shadow of trees reflected in slow-moving water so that he need go no further than the familiar places he had loved in boyhood, where wind and weather and the seasons offered him a new subject every day and a joy which it was his challenge to convey."

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: Ins and Outs of Army Life

"The Tape Line to Forli" by Edward Seago

"Edward Seago had been taken ill with a prolonged heart turn and, as usual [trying to hide his condition from the army], was in the care of a civilian doctor. After he had been absent for a couple of weeks, a conscientious army medical officer decided to pay a courtesy call on Edward, whom he though was suffering from influenza. He was shocked and startled to discover the real nature of his illness. On his report, Seago was summoned before a medical board and told to consider himself out of the army from the moment he left their presence. As far as Seago was concerned it was the ultimate rejection.

The pain and humiliation were clearly apparent in a letter which he wrote to General Harold Alexander, a close friend who had become Commander-in-Chief of the 15th Army Group in Italy. The General's reply was characteristic of his firmness and readiness to turn his power to patrician use. He wrote: 

'My Dear Ted - This will be a grand opportunity for you to come out and pay me a limitless visit. You will stay at my HQ as my guest and I can probably find some work for you to do if you get bored - but bring all your painting materials, and you will be able to paint to your heart's content...' 

Upon arrival in Rome, he was driven to Alexander's advance headquarters, which was a little group of caravans and tents in the middle of a wood. The commander explained, 'I thought you might like to come and paint here. If the army doesn't want you, you might as well paint, and what better place to paint than Italy? You can paint the campaign.' Edward was surprised but gratified, and wrote to a friend, 'I never knew what position I was appointed to. I had a driver, and a jeep and a pass from Alex which enabled me to go anywhere from the 5th Army to the 8th Army and attach myself to any Battalion on either front. I wasn't an official war artist, I was Alex's official artist and I remained a Major!' 

Again he knew an overwhelming desire to paint, but for once he felt quite unable to express his feelings by selecting a focal point and then seeing the whole of the picture in relation to it. '

The battered towers of ruined churches signified so much more than an 'upright' of value to the composition,' he wrote. 'Groups of rain-sodden men and vehicles, deep in mud, ceased to be mere combinations of shape and tone. Shattered houses, spilling their structure in a pile of rubble could not be dismissed as a pattern arrangement of coloured walls, and weary refugees on their journey without purpose could hardly be sketched as 'incidentals' in a landscape."

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: The Play of Light

"The East Window" by Edward Seago

"A letter from an old friend had arrived inviting Edward Seago to hold a one-man show at the Castle Museum in Norwich. It seemed only a short time ago that his mother had taken him there to admire the work of Munnings and Crome, Constable and Cotman. He would make sure that, despite wartime difficulties, it would be the most comprehensive display of his work that could be assembled, and he advertised in 'The Times' for an assistant to help him prepare it. The successful applicant was nineteen-year-old Vernon Russell Smith, recently invalided out of the RAF and waiting to go up to Oxford to study architecture. On Seago's instructions he assembled oils and water-colours, portraits and landscapes, ballet and circus scenes, and wartime studies.  

As the exhibition approached, Edward had a heart turn and for twenty-four hours the terrifying sound of his pounding heart and his laboured breathing could be heard all over his tiny cottage. Vernon was completely unprepared for the frightening sight and at times had real doubts as to whether the exhibition would be anything but a posthumous one. When the attack was over Seago lay propped up in bed, while the late afternoon sunlight traced shadows of the small square panes of glass on the flimsy curtains. He was fascinated by the play of light, and his finger itched for a paint brush. 

When he was up and about again, he was haunted by the memory of the sunlight flushing the bedroom curtains to a warm pink, and he toyed with the idea of making a picture, but could think of no context in which to use the effect of the light playing on the curtains. Then, one afternoon, he noticed his assistant Vernon shaving at the kitchen sink, with the light from the kitchen window falling across his face. He saw his picture. At four o'clock in the afternoon he persuaded Vernon to change into pajamas and transfer his shaving operation to the upstairs bedroom. By the end of the day, he had completed what he considered to be one of the best pictures he ever painted.

The small oil of a young man shaving in front of a bedroom window was listed No. 1 in the exhibition and afterwards Seago gave it to the City of Norwich to commemorate the exhibition. It was called 'The East Window,' implying that morning was normally the time for shaving. A keen observer, however, might detect a soft mellow quality about the sunlight, more evocative of afternoon than morning and a visit to the cottage would prove that not one of the tiny windows there faced the east."

To be continued

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

Edward Seago: Happy Is the Artist

"Early Morning" by Edward Seago

In the foreward to his book, "Peace in War," Edward Seago wrote: "The seasons of the year still pass, but now they are regarded as factors in the tactics of war. I try not to see them so. They hold other meanings for me, and I watch them pass with a sadness I have seldom felt before. My time is filled with Army duties, and the landscape has become a background for military activity. No longer can I lie on the springy downland grass and hear the crickets chirp, or pass long hours by the wood fires of the gypsies. Sometimes I have passed their painted wagons on the road. From the Army car I have caught a glimpse of a dark-eyed child, pulling at the bridle rein. For the next few miles I've travelled on my memories.

Brief spells of leave come like milestones on this wartime road. For a few days one can try to take the old life out of pawn. I imagine whatever that old life was, it will have frayed with wear, but that which won a man's endearment I feel may still be found...

I think most people will allow that the mentality of an artist is unsuited to the Army, but there are thousands equally disinclined to leave their civilian life. Actually, I think the artist is in many ways more fortunate. He has a more keenly developed perception of beauty, which gives him consolation in surroundings where others find none. This inward happiness is a continual source of joy which cannot be taken away, but with it there is the pain of being deprived of the means to express it; the longing to put paint on canvas which has to be suppressed.

I believe that a painter does not lose by this. His perception may even become stronger, so that when he returns to his work in life, his feelings will assert themselves with greater definition. There have been so many painters whose finest work has been achieved in times of great trial; who, beset with difficulties, have somehow overcome them. And I believe that almost every artist in the Services today is finding, during his leave and leisure moments, the opportunity to express himself in the medium he loves best." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Peace in War" by Edward Seago.)  

Edward Seago: Peace in War

"The Rain Cloud" by Edward Seago

"'Author Henry Williamson saw Edward Seago (on leave from the army) on the uplands of his farm, huddled on a stool, wrapped in a rug against the east wind, painting for hour after hour. Williamson met him going home in the twilight, lamenting in his quiet voice that the sky tints changed so rapidly and each so marvellously that he could hardly bring himself to leave them. Williamson invited Seago to join him for a cup of tea in the old smallholder's barn where he wrote his books. There they smoked their pipes before the open fire, surrounded by books, farm paraphernalia and hanging bunches of dried tobacco leaves, and discussed the better England they both believed would emerge from the war.

Edward told the older man about his next book which he saw as a combination of pictures and essays describing how each illustration came to be painted. It was to be called 'Peace in War,' 'a record,' Williamson recalled, 'of his escapes into the world of colour and form and line. Which is not to say that the good artist cannot be the good soldier.' In the book Seago expressed his feelings about the English countryside:

'There is a strange grandeur . . . and a strange subtlety of constant change, which has inspired some of the greatest English landscapes. Each mood has a beauty of its own, whether in repose, or raked by a sharp east wind. In the happy painting ground of Cotman, Crome and Constable, I am making no more than a modest attempt to follow in the traditions of the English school, which they endowed with such brilliance and harmony . . . I have only a simple perception, but the country is full of simple things of real beauty, and many of them pass unnoticed by those more out of touch with a simple life.' 

Edward Seago had travelled a long way to discover that philosophy, and it took a war for him to recognize it so that at first only in rare moments did he express it through painting. 

One illustration, 'The Rain Cloud,' that represented a small but perfect example of Seago's complete awareness of a moment of visual ecstasy, was bought by John Hill for twelve and a half guineas. He saw it on a visit to Edward's cottage and took it back unframed in a large Government envelope to his room at the War Office. For him it proved a prophetic purchase for, after the war, quite unexpectedly, he bought an old water mill to convert into a home and afterwards discovered he was living not two miles from the scene in the picture."

To be continued

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

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.)