Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Giverny Aesthetic

"Rest (Femme au Sofa)" by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"Beginning in 1906 Fred and Sadie Frieseke began to spend the warmer months in Giverny, a comfortably bucolic village within easy reach of Paris. Giverny also enjoyed all the urban advantages of a well-established art colony, one that had been especially favored by Americans. During the months from April through October the surroundings were a movable feast attended by regulars such as Ernest and Mary Blumenschein, the Karl Buehrs, Theodore Butler, the A. B. Frost family, Lawton Parker, and Guy and Ethel Rose. The men fished together. There were countless musical evenings, tennis matches at the courts of the Hotel Baudy, and afternoon teas. The Friesekes took tea with the Monets. Monet and Sadie, herself an ambitious gardener, eagerly discussed the expansion of Monet's garden, and the new bridge from which his water lily garden could be enjoyed.

Alieen O'Bryan, Sadie's niece, spent the summer of 1910 in Giverny with the Friesekes and left a memoir that preserves some of her impressions from that time. 'It was not alone the desire to paint gardens that brought this group together,' she wrote. 'They wished to be rid of business and political ties, rid of petty vanities and avarice, rid of fashions and affiliations.' As a cultural model for the group and its aesthetic she suggested the works of Horace, in which were to be found 'a kind of breviary of good taste, of poetry, or practical and worldly wisdom.' 

'It was our custom to spend a great deal of the time in the garden. Sadie would usually read aloud while Fred painted. Occasionally I would get out my water colours; but more often I would pose for Fred and listen to whatever my aunt had chosen from their well-filled bookshelves. As I look back, life was very pleasant, and much of the pleasure lay in the fine aestheticism.'

An state observer, Aileen O'Bryan was surely correct in her suggestion that idealism was a significant factor in bringing and holding the group together. Appropriately, the nude figure outdoors, the symbol of this urbane community, is an Arcadian motif claiming a civilized innocence."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.) 

 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Professional Success

"Afternoon Tea on the Terrace" by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"On his return to Paris at the end of May 1904, Frederick Carl Frieseke learned that the director of the Luxembourg Museum had selected one of his Salon nudes for purchase by the French government. The triumph must be celebrated with a dinner at Lavenue, a cafe-restaurant in a first-class hotel near the Montparnasse railroad station. Fred invited a party that included the Clarks and William Merritt Chase, who was in town.

Frieseke, who had begun to work in larger scale, exhibited three sizable canvases at the spring Salon. Fortunately, he now had enough money to devote his studio space exclusively to painting, because he had to plan and execute an even larger-scale composition - the mural project for the Hotel Shelburne in Atlantic City. The mural, designed as a single composition, but completed in seven segments, depicts a beach scene with figures, principally elegant young ladies, although a few children, an occasional male, and even a donkey also appear. Sadie was the model for many of the figures. The mural was installed under his supervision in February 1906. 

Frieseke's professional life was booming. His entries to the Saint Louis World's Fair of 1904 had earned him a silver medal. A large nude submitted to the ninth Internationalen Kunstausstellung in Munich in 1905 was awarded the gold medal. That same summer he made what may have been his first visit to Giverny. 'I am leaving in a few days with Young,' he wrote Sadie. She had gone back to Pennsylvania to help her sister Kitty with a new child. 'Giverny is where Monet paints, and MacMonnies lives. You'll like the Youngs.' Frieseke was at least a month in Giverny during the summer of 1905, but what or how he painted there is not recorded."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.) 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: All for Sadie

"Through the Vines"
by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"The O'Bryans had returned to Paris in October 1903. They took an apartment in a rather opulent new building just by the boulevard du Montparnasse. Frederick Carl Frieseke lived a mere ten-minute walk away. Sadly, Judge O'Bryan died rather suddenly on March 1, 1904, following an operation for appendicitis. The family was obliged to pack, parcel their belongings out among friends for safekeeping, vacate the apartment, and accompany O'Bryan's body on its return to the United States for burial. Fred had spent the hours of watching with the family, and he accompanied them on their voyage.

He had other business in America - business that may have had as its motive the desire to qualify as a husband for Sadie O'Bryan. The previous year he had begun to provide illustrations and marginal decorations for the 'North American,' a Philadelphia newspaper owned and managed by the Wanamakers' eldest son. He pressed Frieseke to come to Philadelphia as an advisor to the art department and to provide more drawings for both the paper and the Wanamaker stores. Though Frieseke was provided with ample studio space, it amounted to an office job, and it did not agree with him. 

By Spring Frieseke was decidedly out of sorts. He complained to Sadie:

'I want to paint and, honey, the longer I stay the harder it will be for them to get on without me. Oh, dear, if only I were not ambitious... As a great compliment and favor they are going to give me a full-page ad, 'The American Girl by Frieseke.' Well, I hadn't the heart to refuse. They meant it so kindly. But to think I'd ever do such a thing! I've drawn the girl, though, and they are pleased to death with her. And this is fame, dearie. I'm an ungrateful little slob.' 

True, Fred and Sadie were of the same national origin, but after that there were significant differences. Sadie was elegant and tall, almost six feet; Fred was short and dumpy, a condition he could alleviate only by good humor. He concluded one letter with 'I send you all the love that's possible from a person of my size.' Sadie's family was militantly Catholic, while his approach to religion was tangential. Sadie's family enjoyed an ostentatious display of wealth, while Fred was poor and of a family whose economic status could be described as 'comfortable' at best. Fred was modest, determined and introverted. Sadie was dramatic, gregarious - and probably even more determined. As it worked out in due course, they were married in Paris on October 31, 1905. It proved to be an excellent match." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.) 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: John Wanamaker's Patronage

"The Birdcage" by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"At the end of May 1903 Frederick Carl Frieseke wrote:

'I had a call one day from John Lavery, Joseph Pennell and two other members of the International Society in London. They wanted me to send three of my Salon pictures over there to their exhibition in June - but they are all invited to America so I don't know what to do.'

The honor, which Frieseke was able to accept with a suitable submission, came before the artist had reached his thirtieth birthday and established his rise to the height of recognition among his peers. Founded in 1899 the exclusive International Society of Sculptors, Painters and Gravers in London had Whistler as its president. Its membership included John White Alexander, Albert Besnard, Gustav Klimt, Frederick MacMonnies, James Jebusa Shannon, Fritz Thaulow, Henri Fantin-Latour, Edouard Manet, Claude Monet,  Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, Félix Vallotton, and Edouard Vuillard.

To this success was added a stroke of economic good fortune. John Wanamaker guaranteed to purchase every year a certain number of Frieseke's paintings for the fixed amount of $2,500 - then a princely sum. Wanamaker had started buying from the Salons during his frequent trips to Paris in the 1880s. He was hard-nosed, civic-minded, opinionated, and successful. And he knew what he liked. 

'He was attracted to canvases where the landscapes were gay. He wanted his skies bright, his trees honestly green, and the girl standing in the field beside the river not too drably dressed. He expected a picture to tell a story... He did not like nudes. His women had to be clothed. and he was emphatic is his belief that disgusting realism had no place in art or literature.' 

As he commenced collecting, he took back with him across the ocean works that embodied his aesthetic principles; that art in its highest sense is the expression of ideal beauty, and that it should depict the beautiful or teach a lesson. So he amassed works by Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Rose Bonheur, William Bouguereau, Corot, Charles-François Daubigny, Jean-François Millet, and many more.. He purchased 250 paintings from the 1903 Salons alone.

There is no indication that Wanamaker's tastes had a direct effect on Frieseke's production, short of encouraging him. But his patronage cannot have failed to make itself felt. For one thing it gave the young man hope that he could demonstrate himself to be a good financial risk."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.) 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Jeanne Blazy

Detail from "Jeanne" by Alfred Maurer

"In Paris again at the end of November, Frederick Carl Frieseke settled into a new living and working space at 6, rue Victor Considerant. His rooms were above the apartment of Alson and Medora Clark, who for the next few years would provide familial stability and comradeship. The three shared meals and evenings of Parcheesi or bezique. Medora sewed his buttons on and frequently posed for the two men; she is the model for Frieseke's 'The Green Sash.' Also and Fred spent much time together, whether playing billiards, visiting exhibitions, or buying new top hats in time for the opening of the Internationale exhibition.

Once settled in, Frieseke engaged the services of a model from heaven, Jeanne Blazy.

'I've had a nice model. She's as useful as anything in other things besides posing. Brings my things for luncheon and cooks them before she leaves, hunts up anything I wish and is always cheerful. Always late but works on as long as I wish. She has posed for Whistler and lots of the big men. Posed for MacMonnies' statue in the Luxembourg.'

Given her essential contribution to the work of many artists, Jeanne Blazy might qualify for her own exhibition. In addition to the talents Frieseke discovered, Jeanne, it seems, could also stand on one foot for a long time while balancing an infant on her arm, as she apparently did for MacMonnies' 'Bacchante with Infant Faun.' Alfred Maurer's 'Jeanne,.' painted around 1904, presents a very different image of the same woman who appears in Frieseke's 'Sleep,' shown at the Salon in 1904. Maurer's interpretation won a gold medal at the 1905 Internationalen Kunstausstellung in Berlin."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.) 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Business Back at Home

"The Gold Locket" by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"In the late spring of 1902 Frederick Carl Frieseke returned to the United States. He had been away five years. He had family matters to keep up with and it was also time for him to tend to the American side of his career. It had become the practice in some parts of the American art establishment to defer to the jury systems of the Paris Salons. An American artist who had been accepted by the Société des Artistes Français or the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts was more than likely to be invited to the annual exhibition of the Art Institute of Chicago the following October, and thence to the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. It was prudent for the young artist to build upon his European success. If he was to make a living at this business, his paintings must be not only seen but also sold.

 'I'm going to bring all my pictures home,' Frieseke wrote, 'and with the stuff I shall paint there during the summer, try to arrange for some exhibitions in different cities... I"ll stay in America until next fall in time for the Internationale show here.' So, leaving his four submissions hanging at the Salon, he sailed for home. During the next seven months he managed to spend time in Owosso, transact business in New York and Chicago, continue the regular supply of drawings for Wanamaker, and see Sadie in New York. A series of meeting with William R. French [sculptor Daniel Chester French's brother], director of the Art Institute of Chicago resulted in a special exhibition of eight of his paintings, which were hung together in Chicago's annual exhibition.

Only occasionally during his career is there any sign that Frieseke thought seriously of living and working in the United States. Nevertheless, he was encouraged by his reception in Chicago.

'The painters here all seem to like my things. I have been awfully well treated by them here and several have asked me to locate here, but I wouldn't live here for the world as - to show the art interest of the town - I may say that only two of the morning papers had any mention of the exhibition. I was well treated in both, but it makes one tired to see so little interest displayed. I but I am wild to get back to work.'"

So back to Paris he went! 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.) 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Inner Thoughts of an Artist

"Woman Before a Mirror"
by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"The O'Bryans had gone back to the United States in February of 1901 and would not return to Paris until October 1903 - to Fred and Sadie's dismay - but to our profit, since the separation led to an enlightening exchange of letters. For this reason we are able to over hear the painter as he describes his progress with a painting and struggles with his definition of himself as an artist. He seems a man both modest and determined. As he wrote, 'My father told an aunt of mine once, 'Fred never says much but he does and gets what he wants.' Here are a few excerpts from these letters:

January 14, 1902: 'Am working hard on a picture and think it will come out pretty well... It's so hard to paint anything good - something that has artistic merit and is solid and well drawn and good color. It's maddening knowing what you want to do and not being able to do it. Perhaps I may some day. Who knows? Anyway, I get a little nearer all the time.'

January 20, 1902: 'Well, I finished my picture... I think it is pretty successful. Am sure it's better than last year's but can't hope for the same success to be repeated. It will probably be some years before other important steps will take place in my progress and it means so much hard plug and worry and disappointment that I lose courage when I think of it. This week I am doing nothing. Have no model.'

February 4, 1902: 'Things haven't been going well with me lately. Last week I destroyed my picture that I had been working five weeks on and it was the best one I had done in - only - just - because I couldn't get it to suit me quite. I lost my head and scraped the whole thing out. Have already started another of the same subject though and I hope to make it better than the last. If only I had someone to watch me and make me stop when I should I might paint much better things. I want you to come and watch me dear... I must hustle pretty hard or I won't have anything of importance for the Salon.'

February 18, 1902: 'I do so want to be a good painter and it's so beastly hard to do anything good. I'm most discouraged. One gets a thing done and is most pleased with it - for about a day - then you can't stand the sight of it any more. I just long for the time when I shall do something that I shall continue to like.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.)  

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Calisthenics for the Artist

"Grey day on the river (Two Ladies in a Boat)"
by Frederick Carl Frieseke 

"Paris was no place for artists during the summer months. It was uncomfortably hot, and all of the other artists were gone. In the summer of 1901 Frieseke set off with a group of fellows for a three-months' stay in Brittany in the little fishing village )by this time also artist colony) of Le Pouldu. Excited by the series he had begun in the Luxembourg Gardens during the spring, Frieseke intended to concentrate on landscape.

His letters from Le Pouldu describe his surroundings and some of the summer's events:

We are staying in a private house, a fine old country house, part of it built in 1728, so it says on the sun dial... The country seems so lovely, and the sea and the river too... It seems so peaceful down here. The people are so slow and I like everything: the black and white cows, the narrow little lanes with the trees meeting overhead, the dunes with one lonely cottage almost hidden, and the farms, houses of stone with thatched roofs and surrounded by trees which the sea winds have blown and twisted in strange shapes.

I have to confess that landscape is by far the most difficult thing I have tackled and that I am utterly unable to grasp it so far.

Not long after his return from Brittany at the end of August, when Paris had begun to slide into the peculiar damp and sooty light of its winter, Frieseke began the first of a lifelong series of studio nudes. The study of the nude in the classroom atelier is as common to an artist as calisthenics are to an athlete. As a subject to command the attention of even an unruly student, the human body is hard to beat. It is straightforward, complex, varied, compelling, amusing, and measurable. And it is a valuable teaching tool since it either does or does not translate believably from three dimensions to a two-dimensional place. Its skin exhibits a surprising variety of colors in an excruciating sequence of almost indistinguishable shifts. 

But Frieseke was now out of the classroom and was looking to build a reputation. For him the nude subject must be not just a study but also a work of art." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.)    

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Sadie

"Girl Dressing Her Hair"
by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"By this time Frederick Carl Frieseke had met the young woman who was to become his wife. Sarah Anne O'Bryan of Pittsburgh, known as Sadie, was the daughter of John Duross O'Bryan, an American jurist who had made and lost a series of fortunes in speculative ventures in the American West. O'Bryan was in the habit of bringing his wife and members of his large family to Paris from time to time, and in the late 1890s he still had two daughters to 'finish,' Sadie and her younger sister Janet. Sadie, highly intelligent, vivid, and variously talented, was subject to parents who never would have smiled upon educating her for a serious career. In Paris she studied drawing and painting as well as voice and cello. She and Frieseke met in Paris soon after his arrival. Their mutual attraction was speedy. Very early on they had agreed to a sort of provisional engagement, which was thwarted, however, by Sadie's father, who was opposed to the idea of his daughter marrying an artist.

Despite the regular income from Wanamaker's Frieseke was poor. His living and studio space was probably as cheap as could be found in the outskirts of Montparnasse. Henry Ossawa Tanner, who managed to live in very straightened circumstances, had space in the same building. Tanner was his senior by fifteen years and also an habitué of the American Art Association. The two became lifelong friends. In the neighboring spaces were the Australian painters James MacDonald, Ambrose Patterson, and Hugh Ramsay. The young men did much in common, shared meals and information, traveled together, and both criticized and borrowed from each other's work. They shared models as well, thus spreading the cost, and were on hand to cheer or bait one another."

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.)    

 

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Associations

"Selecting a Necklace" by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"The same year that Frederick Carl Frieseke had spent the summer sketching in Holland, James McNeill Whistler founded his Académie Carmen. Named for his Neapolitan model Carmen Rossi (who had posed for Rodin's 'The Kiss'), the Académie Carmen followed the formula devised by Julian, in which a model was available all day. Off the rue Notre Dame des Champs, the academy was in the midst of the Montparnasse artists' quarter. Frieseke attended it, as did Will Howe Foote, whose son later passed along a description of the instructional style of the master. 

When he did appear among the students, Whistler would do so in full dress - cane, gloves, and all - followed by an attendant. When the great man was moved to do so he would pause before a cringing student's wet canvas and, using the tips of his gloved fingers, inscribe corrections into the paint. He would then cast the soiled glove aside, accept a fresh glove from the attendant, and, slipping it on, proceed to the next student. Whistler, finding Frieseke at work in watercolor, thought enough of his efforts to suggest that he change to oils. Already a superior draftsman, with a line both accurate and elegant, Frieseke now added to this foundation instruction in the use of oils according to Whistler's method.

Soon after his arrival in Paris Frieseke made his way to the American Art Association of Paris, on the boulevard du Montparnasse. This club had the backing of such prominent Americans as Whitelaw Reid, minister to France, and Rodman Wanamaker, son of the department store magnate John Wanamaker. The club held regular exhibitions, where members could see each other's work. It also held special programs, and Frieseke would on occasion make spirited drawings for these. As a result there followed an invitation to become the illustrator of catalogues and advertisements for John Wanamaker's stores in Philadelphia and New York 'at a large salary,' an offer that Frieseke was able to finesse into a more modest arrangement that allowed him to remain in Paris. He agreed to provide Wanamaker with a regular supply of drawings in exchange for a salary that would cover his living expenses. The association with the Wanamakers was to continue, and to lead to significant commissions in later years."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.)   

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Studies Abroad

"Woman in the Light of a Window"
by Frederick Carl Freiseke

"Although Frederick Carl Frieseke had set out to be no more than a journeyman draftsman producing the line drawings that were much in demand by the publishing industry, the young man changed course, deciding to become an artist. No doubt he was encouraged by such colleagues as Lawton Parker, then in his third year at the Art Students League, as well as by the larger cultural life of New York. 

Again with backing from his father - $500 this time - in September 1897 Frieseke sailed for France on the SS Massachusetts. With him was Will Howe Foote, a lifelong friend and fellow Michigander who had also been a student at the Art Institute of Chicago. Montparnasse, an historic neighborhood on the Left Bank in Paris, was to remain his home as long as he lived in Paris. This area, very much favored by Americans, attracted the chic as well as the least affluent of the young art students who flocked to Paris - the necessary place to come, both for their education and to introduce themselves into the pecking order of a thriving art establishment whose grand old men controlled access to the academies, the salons, and all hope of advancement.

Frieseke enrolled in the Acadèmie Julian in 1897 or 1898. Sometime prior to 1901, he engaged at least the criticism, and possibly the tutelage, of the painter Auguste Delecluse, who maintained an academy in Montparnasse. In 1890 Delecluse had joined the rebellious group seceding from the Société des Artiste Français and founded a new Salon, the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts. It was in the latter Salon that Frieseke, barely off the boat, exhibited three watercolors in April-May of 1899.

 During his first summer abroad, Frieseke went on a sketching trip to Holland, working exclusively in watercolor. His subject was primarily the landscape, as seen and rendered in the browns that were the academic mainstay of the period."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.)   

 

Frederick Carl Frieseke: Birth

"Self-Portrait, 1938" by Frederick Carl Frieseke

"Frederick Carl Frieseke was born in 1874, one of the first generation of Friesekes born in the United States. At the time of his birth in 1874 much of the country was still wilderness, and many of its inhabitants had only recently arrived from Europe. In 1858 the artist's grandfather, Frederick Frieseke, a veteran of the Battle of Waterloo, arrived in Owosso, a small town in central Michigan. His sons Julius and Herman Carl enlisted in the Union cause, and once they had both completed their tours of duty, Herman established an operation to manufacture brick and drain tile from the local salmon-colored clay. The first paved streets in Owosso were surfaced with Frieseke brick and many of the town's buildings were made from the same material. Herman married Eva Graham of Owosso. Their first child, Edith, was born in 1871; Frederick Carl, the second, in 1874. Fred was six when his mother died.

In 1881, after his wife's death, Herman went to Jacksonville, Florida, taking the children with him. He remained there for the next four years, establishing a brick-making operation, but then went back to Michigan.The stay in Florida when Fred was at an impressionable age was to remain in his imagination, and late in his life, when he considered returning to the United States, it was toward Florida that he turned his thoughts.

He was sent to the public schools of Owosso. He drew continually but nonetheless graduated from Owosso's public high school. Although the drawings in his textbooks reveal the true course of his early talent, he was then - and continued to be - an avid reader, beginning with such rags-to-riches sagas as the Horatio Alger series and Charles Dickens' 'David Copperfield.' His course was set when, at the age of nineteen, he visited the art pavilion of the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago. Here, in the midst of the visual riot of paintings, posters, and prints, he first recognized that there might be a living to be made with the talent for drawing he had been idly developing.

He attended classes at the Art Institute of Chicago between 1893 and 1896. Having mastered some basics, and confident in his skill as a draftsman, he persuaded his father to stake him to a season in New York. With $200 in journey money he made for New York, where he enrolled in the men's afternoon life class at the Art Students League. His plan was to make his living by selling cartoon drawings to such periodicals as 'Puck,' 'Truth,' and the 'New York Times.'

'I remember I didn't much like my winter in New York,' he wrote later to his fiancée. 'I was doing jokes, and it wasn't much to joke about, trying to make a living out of them. If I had had more success, though, I should never have come abroad, never have painted, and most important of all should never have know the dearest girl in the world.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Frederick Carl Frieseke: A Biography by Nicholas Kilmer" in Frederick Carl Frieseke: The Evolution of an American Impressionist"published on the occasion of an exhibition of Frieseke's work.)   

Daniel Chester French: A Heritage of Beauty

"Death and the Young Warrior" by Daniel French

"At the age of eighty-one, Daniel French took to his bed more frequently than ever, repeatedly felled by unspecified illnesses. In September he suffered a heart attack, but stubbornly refusing to be hospitalized, remained at home to convalesce. 'Mr. French may live to a hundred, and I hope he does,' commented his neighbor, 'but when the end comes, he will be found still working, like the artist in his own beautiful piece which stands in the Metropolitan Museum called 'Death and the Sculptor.' In truth, French's working days at the studio had come to an end.

On October 6, 1931, the ailing old sculptor summoned the strength to leave his bed while a nurse changed the sheets. He used the opportunity to glance out the window to take in the splendid view that had first enthralled him four decades earlier: his long-inspiring Chesterwood realm, so rich in memories of creative accomplishment and family happiness. The next morning Daniel Chester French died - as customary with him, without further word - in his sleep.

The funeral took place on Sunday, October 11, in the flower-bedecked Chesterwood studio, with his sculptures serving as a backdrop, and several of his plaster models arranged beside his coffin. Most conspicuous of all was his beckoning angel 'The Genius of Creation,' its hands outstretched toward the bier as if in blessing. Nearby stood the large model for the enthroned Lincoln, with French's many medals and awards arrayed at its base. To another side rested an unfinished bust in clay of Daniel Webster, with the working tools just as he had left them the last day he was in the studio.

During the memorial service, Frank Stockbridge read a poem he had composed to honor his friend:

'Where the great craftsmen stand
Close to the Throne -
Ageless the Sculptor's hand,
Flawless the stone -
There shall these hands work on
For work's pure joy alone,
Find in Celestial stone
Beauty unknown.'

French's onetime model, Rosalie Miller, whose musical studies the sculptor had helped to fund, then sang two hymns, ending with Schubert's 'Rest in Peace.' Afterwards, French's ashes returned to Concord for interment at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, where his 'Melvin Memorial' still stood. The gravestone was simple. Beneath a laurel wreath designed by his daughter, just four words were inscribed: 'A Heritage of Beauty.'"

(Excerpts from "Monument Man: The Life & Art of Daniel Chester French" by Harold Holzer.) 

 

Daniel Chester French: Death Staying the Hand of the Sculptor, Pt. 2

"The Angel of Death and the Sculptor" in marble
by Daniel Chester French

"Having brought the plaster version of "Death Staying the Hand of the Sculptor" with him to Paris, Daniel French left it behind there to be cast in bronze. In May, the completed work went on exhibit at the Salon de Champs-Élysées, where it won a third-place medal from the jury, a rare honor for an American. 'To those who understand the undercurrents of the Parisian art world,' marveled art critic William A. Coffin, 'the significance of such an award under the circumstances is very great, for it shows that the work was thus recognized purely because of its transcendent merit.'

French had meanwhile shipped the plaster model back home to New York, where it soon stimulated an extraordinary publicity wave of its own, fueled by two separate and widely praised local exhibitions, the first at the Society of American Artists, the second at the New York Architectural League. Photographs of the model were soon 'seen in every picture store,' with sculptor Lorado Taft reporting that 'they hang in thousands of homes' and could be found 'in offices and upon the desks of men of business.' Applauded Taft: 'It is a wonderful thing, a very great privilege, to be able to talk thus to one's countrymen. - and to do it in a language so exalted, with an eloquence so sustained.'

The craze for these photos made French aware for the first time of a potentially lucrative confluence of media: sculpture and photography. One-dimensional images of his three-dimensonal works might not convey the full depth of the originals, but they could successfully 'puff' his creations and, in the bargain, earn extra money as authorized reproductions. Within months, the sculptor would copyright an official photograph of 'Death and the Sculptor,' presumably to begin marketing copies on his own. For the rest of his career, French kept a close watch on photographs of his statues, trying when he could to control the images and profit by them.

In August 1893, without the fanfare of an official public dedication, the Millmore family quietly installed the original bronze over their brother's gravesite at Forest Hills Cemetery. With the approval of the Milmore heirs, Dan French authorized four new plaster copies - one each for museums in Boston, St. Louis, Philadelphia and Chicago, where it became a mainstay and an inspiration to both writers and musicians. One poet composed an ode, a minister wrote and published a long sermon lauding French for 'shaping death as a friend', New England composer George Whitefield Chadwick created 'a Symphonic poem,' which he debuted at the New York Philharmonic that February, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, commissioned French to  produce a marble version for their permanent collection. By depicting an artist confronting the tenuousness of life against a backdrop of eternal mystery, he had managed to suggest that great art would outlast great artists - and much more."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Monument Man: The Life & Art of Daniel Chester French" by Harold Holzer.)

 

Daniel Chester French: Death Staying the Hand of the Sculptor

"Death Staying the Hand of the Sculptor"
by Daniel Chester French

"Without question, the most acclaimed of French's works in the 1890s was the ambitious composition in extreme high relief formally titled 'Death Staying the Hand of the Sculptor.' This memorial to French's deceased contemporary and onetime artistic rival, Martin Milmore, was commissioned for the Forest Hills Cemetery in Boston.

French knew precisely what his subject looked like.. He had known Milmore in both Florence and Boston, though never intimately enough to consider him a close friend. Milmore had died of cirrhosis of the liver at the age of thirty-eight in 1883, without ever approaching French's success.

French's original clay maquette showed an elaborately winged angel calling home a vigorous young sculptor midwork, his chisel and mallet in hand, and his knee resting on a ledge for support as he labors on a sculpture of his own. His final composition strayed little from this. It showed the angel of death hooded, her face in somber and perpetual shadow, yet somehow unthreatening, even comforting. She would appear clutching a garland of poppies, signifying both death and the bestowal of fame, leaning towards and gently touching the chisel held by the visibly startled, quintessentially modern young artist. 

As always, French conducted methodical research to get his details exactly right. In 1890, he even wrote to his childhood bird-watching companion, William Brewster, with this request: 'I have this winter to model an angel and it occurred to me...that you might help me in the study of wings. Can't you without much trouble...get me a lot of them? I should like half a dozen pairs or so of different kinds and sizes, not with a view of copying anyone particular specimen, but for the purpose of studying up on the subject.' Before long, French's studio boasted a collection of birds wings. 

He took a plaster version with him on yet another extended European trip that began in November 1891. Returning to Paris, he established a 'dear little studio" not far from the Arc de Triomphe. Here, French received compliments from guests who inspected the Milmore as it progressed, and then basked in additional praise from a hundred 'artists and otherwise" who visited  when French exhibited the finished plaster at a studio salon in January 1892.  

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Daniel Chester French: The Lincoln Memorial's Sculptor" by Cynthia Close for "Art & Object.")

 

Daniel Chester French: Lighting the Lincoln Memorial

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

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

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

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

To be continued

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

 

 

Daniel Chester French: The Lincoln Memorial, Pt. 2

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued

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

 

 

Daniel Chester French: Lincoln Memorial Preliminary Work

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued

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

 

Daniel Chester French: Portrait Painting!

"Margaret French," a pastel by Daniel French

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

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

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

To be continued

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

 

 

Daniel Chester French: The Question of Expense

Maquettes by Daniel French

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

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

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

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

To be continued

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

Daniel Chester French: The Chesterwood Studio

Daniel French studio, Chesterwood

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued

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

 

Daniel Chester French: Six Bronze Doors and a Headstone

Bronze door depicting "Wisdom"

Bronze door depicting "Knowledge"

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

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

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

To be continued

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

Daniel Chester French: The John Boyle O'Reilly

"John Boyle O'Reilly Memorial" by Daniel Chester French

"One of those winters, Mr. French was making the John Boyle O'Reilly for the Back Bay in Boston. It was a large group, and he had already devoted himself to it for a couple of years, but he called me into the studio one day and said with a few anxious wrinkles in his forehead:

'Mary, I left this group here last spring on purpose so that I shouldn't see it for six months and could come back to it with a fresh eye, and now what should you think' - he gazed at me with a still more troubled expression - 'if I told you that I was going to pull it to pieces and make it over, more like the original sketch? We may not have much to eat for a while' - which was, of course, only a figure of speech - 'but I know I can better it, and I really don't see what else I can do.'

So we studied it carefully - I had always liked the sketch better myself - and that winter was devoted to getting into something that he felt he had missed in his previous year's work. Of course, all artists do that kind of thing, and having an artist for a husband and cousin, I was quite used to the idea.'"*

"John Boyle O'Reilly was an Irishman, who had agitated, sometimes violently, for Irish independence in the old country. He had been captured, tried for treason, and exiled to remote Western Australia. From there he had escaped and come to Boston, where he resumed his campaign for a free Ireland. He also quickly rose to prominence, writing for, and later running, the Catholic Newspaper, the 'Pilot,' and published half a dozen books of fiction and poetry. Sadly, he died young in 1890 after accidentally ingesting an overdose of his ailing wife's sleeping potion, and quickly became a legend. His passing unleashed an outpouring of grief which resulted in a campaign to raise fifty thousand dollars to fund a statue in his honor. His admirers invited French to design and execute 'a suitable memorial to the genius and manhood of John Boyle O'Reilly.'

"French proposed a larger-than-life bronze bust of the thickly mustachioed O'Reilly set against a richly carved granite stele. For the opposite side, against a similar backdrop, he would install a trio of allegorical statues in tribute to O'Reilly's virtues. A draped, hooded, and enthroned central figure would represent Erin, the personification of Ireland, her head downcast in mourning, weaving a wreath of shamrock for the fallen hero. She would be surrounded by statues representing 'Patriotism,' a Celtic warrior clutching a sword in one hand and an oak leaf - the symbol of strength - in the other; and the seminude, winged figure of 'Poetry' offering laurel - the ancient reward to poets. 

 Dedication day for the finished bronze was scheduled for June 20, 1896. With outgoing Vice President Adlai E. Stevenson I in attendance and Daniel Chester French looking on, the presentation exercises drew a large throng to witness a program of prayers, orations, and music. Toward the conclusion of the ceremonies, a male chorus sang out the words of 'Forever,' one of O'Reilly's beloved poems, aptly beginning with: 'Those we love truly never, never die.' As its final verse floated into the air, the Irish martyr's daughter tugged at a cord, releasing the veils, and revealing the striking memorial to the appreciative crowd."**

To be continued

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

 

Daniel Chester French: Cornish

"Christmas Morning" by Maxfield Parrish

"Cornish was, in my day, and of course still is, a community rather than a village, a scattering group of houses among the New Hampshire hills. For the mail and for whatever small business affairs there were, we drove down long hills, and along flat river banks, and through an old ramshackle covered bridge, into the town of Windsor.

The places were lovely and unusual. There was none of the old-fashioned method of clearing off a tract of land, cutting down trees, filling up ravines, laying out roads between the house and the view. In other words, the taking out of everything that naturally grew there and putting in everything that was foreign.

I think of the sculptor, Herbert Adam's place how exquisite it was, and yet a house and a barn about sixty feet apart with a high fence connecting the two and painted white, a parallelogram of green inside, a few columns, a stone floor against the house, and am amphora or a colored relief against the white walls of the barn - one might have been in Italy or anywhere, and yet no effort, no expense, no display.

And of course Maxfield Parrish's place - a little rambling farmhouse on a hillside, as I remember it. We wandered up along a winding pathway, and there, in front of the house a few yards away and slightly lower, was the oval pool which he has made famous with blue waters and peaked Alps, recumbent maidens and youths.

Charles Platt's home was a kind of American Italy. The Tom Dewing house, low upon the road, with its little garden ablaze, as I remember it, with every shade of yellow, and upon the hill opposite, the Italian villa which Mrs. Johnston, then Miss Annie Lazarus had built and made beautiful.

Some of the artists used to say that Saint-Gaudens had the only real house in Cornish. It was a brick of the severe Colonial type, and had in the earlier days been a tavern. He had done everything to it that he could think of to make it as little like New England as possible. He had put an elaborate fence around the top of the bank with Greek heads at regular intervals, and a big, elaborate porch at the front to get that 'infernal Puritan look' out of it, which offended his Celtic soul. This porch looked towards Ascutney, as do most of the houses in Cornish, just as in Sicily they look toward Aetna, and in Japan towards Fujiyama."

To be continued

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

Daniel Chester French: The Chicago World's Fair

Daniel Chester French's statue of the "Republic" with his
and Edward Clark Potter's Quadriga atop the Great Arch

"When our child and I came back to America in the spring of 1893 and went to Chicago, we found Mr. French with a tremendous group of other artists working upon the buildings of the World's Fair. It was an interesting time, with so much going on, on a very big scale, everyone doing something, Millet, MacMonnies, Kenyon Cox, Blashfield, and others. Augustus Lukeman, sculptor of the 'Stone Mountain Memorial,' had charge of Mr. French's particular gang.

Mr. French was building the great statue of the 'Republic,' sixty-five feet high, which was to stand in the Lagoon. It was a good deal, it seemed to me, like building the Tower of Babel. They made a big square platform a few feet from the ground, and upon this, near the edge, a kind of stockade or fence ten feet high in broad convolutions, covered it with a mixture of jute and plaster which gradually developed into the great ripples of a not very conventional woman's skirt.

Of course, it was a good deal of a job for a mere artist to plan this great structure, but I have always said that, if Mr. French had not been a sculptor, he would have been an inventor; and the work went steadily on until finally all the sections, one at a time, were carried out, planted in the Lagoon, and the head and shoulders of the statue settled into place.

He and Edward Potter were also making some figures for the Quadriga, which was to stand upon the Great Arch where the Lagoon opened out into the lake, and four groups of bulls and horses and humans, to stand at the entrance of the Agricultural Building. One corner of the interior of the building was fenced off from this particular work into a rough studio, and there Mr. French and Mr. Potter made their horses with the attendant figures of girls and pages, and here the models came and posed for them, some in Greek draperies, and sometimes, I imagine, without draperies.

I used to go down and watch the work going on and shiver to see my only husband climbing around at such a height. The men were always tumbling off things, the work was rushed, and the workmen were perfectly reckless. Ambulances were dashing around the town at all hours of the day and night, and we wives, sitting at home, used to wonder at each noise clanging by the house which particular husband was being brought home, and what particular accident had happened to him!"

To be continued

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

Daniel Chester French: The Music Club

"La Carmencita" by J.S. Sargent

"In those early years in New York we were invited to join the Music Club. It was started, I believe, by Mrs. Gilder, Mrs. Pierpont Morgan, Mrs. Henry Holt, George Vanderbilt and those two tall beautiful Minturn girls, who would have lent distinction to any assembly. It met in the great studio of William Merritt Chase on West Tenth Street. 

Chase was a real Bohemian with his soft tie, his narrow French silk hat, looking (as he, of course, wanted to look) as if he had just escaped from the Latin Quarter. He had no money to speak of, but he was long as to children - I believe there were eight - and as to studios. Room after room, as I remember them, full of all kinds of curios that he had picked up all over the world. We used to go there once a month in the winter to hear great artists play amid congenial surroundings and among friends. Among others I there heard Ysaye, Plançon, and Paderewski.

One evening Carmencita danced there, but it was not for the Music Club, and I did not see it and had to be content with that my husband told me of it. Sargent was painting her portrait. They said he sat and watched her as if almost in a trance, hypnotized by the motion, grace, abandon, which he put into every inch of one of his greatest of portraits."

To be continued

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

 

Daniel Chester French: Marriage

"Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet and Alice Cogswell"
by Daniel Chester French

"Dan French and I were married in Washington in July, a terrible time and place to be sure, in which to marry, or to do anything, but if one will marry an artist...

A few weeks before the day set for the wedding, which was to have been in June, Dan wrote me, 'What should you think if I told you that even now at the last minute I must change my statue' - this was the Gallaudet which was to be put up at the Deaf Mute College outside of Washington -' and I am afraid it will put off our wedding for a month.'

The rest of the letter was apologetic and contrite, but - 'Saint-Gaudens has been in and says that the legs are too short. Perhaps I should have known this without any one telling me, had I not been diverted by the prospects of approaching matrimony. However, when you can pin Saint-Gaudens down and get a real criticism from him, it is better than anybody's, and so what can I do except give the Doctor an inch or two more of leg, and meanwhile, what kind of a lover will you think me anyhow?'

Of course I knew well enough that, in sculpture, legs and arms and heads were always being cut off and jostled about, and there was nothing to do but accept it, so we picked out a nice hot day in the hotteset city in the world, so to speak, and were married, and I went to New York to live.

Dan French had lived in New York only that last year before our marriage, having given up his studios in Concord and Boston. That first winter he had worked in that of his friend while his new house in West Eleventh Street was being prepared for us. This house was most interesting and I loved it, but a home in a side street, with all the hustle and hubbub of a great city, with no intimate friends and no neighbors, seemed somewhat appalling to me after the easy-going life of Washington in which Ihad grown up. My husband knew already most of the literary and artistic people who afterwards made our lives interesting, but it took a little while for me to know who people were, and to get used to the hurried, slap-dash methods of a metropolis.

There were the Gilders, the Saint-Gaudenses, the Will Lows, the Dewings, the Kenyon Coxes, the Blashfields, William Dean Howells, the Martin Conways, and always Mr. French's old friend, Benjamin C. Porter. And at these houses, which were thrown open to us, there were all their friends, writers and painters from all over the world."

To be continued

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

 

 

Daniel Chester French: Endymion and Home

"The Awakening of Endymion" by Daniel Chester French

"Ensconced in the fairytale setting of Thomas Ball's studio whose uplifting atmosphere he likened to a Renaissance workplace of old, Dan French began shaping his concept for 'Endymion," the long-slumbering Aeolian shepherd of Greek myth. Although he carefully observed Ball chipping away skillfully at polished stone, French had not quite mastered the technique himself. If nothing else, he learned in Florence to concentrate on his clay and plaster models, and delegate to specialists the task of enlarging, casting, and carving his 'sketches' into final form. It was a routine he would follow for the rest of his long career. 

As French learned, great sculptors conceived their works, but did not necessarily carve them, too. Michelangelo may once have done so in this city, but the masters of the modern age were no longer expected to be expert marble cutters. French vowed never to take chisel to marble again. Except for polishing and finishing, which he would always insist on performing himself before any of his marbles were unveiled, after 'Endymion' he never again worked in the medium. 

During his final months in Florence, he added the finishing touches to his sculpture, for which he had high hopes. He had labored on it for more than a year. Once, after sending a photograph of the conceptual clay sketch home to his father, he had been gratified to learn that his family and friends thought it 'the loveliest thing that ever was.' But then others added what must have been received in Florence as a devastating critique 'Can a sleeping man's arm stay up from his body as the left one is? Would it not fall down?' Young French set to work trying to subdue it.

Not until late June did he satisfy himself that the sculpture could not be improved upon further. After bidding goodbye to the sprawling Powers family, French departed Florence on July 10, 1876 - just six days after the centennial of American independence. He was also determined to attract a high-paying customer for 'Endymion.' He was destined to be disappointed. Eventually, shipped back to Concord at considerable expense, it earned decent enough reviews when placed briefly on exhibit at Boston's St. Botolph Club, but still ended up a white elephant. Years later, perhaps eager to forget the entire experience, a disappointed French would leave the statue behind when he moved out of his Concord home. A century later still, a subsequent owner would relegate the weather-beaten marble to the backyard. Not until 1983 would it be rescued and installed at Chesterwood."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Monument Man: The Life and Art of Daniel Chester French" by Harold Holzer.)