John Singer Sargent: In Memoriam, Pt. 3

"Breakfast in the Loggia" by John Singer Sargent

"In Rome (1868-69), John Singer Sargent's parents kept a white-capped chef and gave dinner parties with ices. For it would happen that when myself and protecting housemaid had clambered up the 200 steps leading from our Piazza Mignelli to the one-storeyed and many-windowed house, hired for the winter by John and Emily's parents, I would meet cabs and vetture di rimessa, drawn up outside, and we children would eat downstairs while the dinner party above sent us down its sumptuous broken victuals. 

Meanwhile, in the drawing room, where the cupola of St. Peter's looked straight in at the windows for all the world like its sunset effigy on the lampshades we tried to imitate, in the drawing room, between the marble busts of George Washington and of the goddess Isis, there were being entertained some of those legendary artists: Harriet Hosmer, Randolph Roger, W.W. Story, and so forth, were having coffee upstairs, with a due proportion of painters almost as crimson and gold as those lampshades.

And to these now long-forgotten immortals, Mrs. Sargent would occasionally display the sketches which her boy had made (using the maternal paint box) when she sat on her campstool on some Roman villa terrace or before some sunset-flushed broken arches of an aqueduct. Of course the boy would never be more than an amateur, since he was, you know, going into the U.S. Navy. But for an amateur surely not without promise?

I then saw clearly dear, eloquent, rubicund, exuberant Mrs. Sargent, exhibiting those sketches not without wistful glances. And, on the other side, Dr. Sargent, a little averted, or, at most, with some curt glance or word expressing his estimation of that small boy's futile talent; and, to anyone who could take his meaning, his repulsion from all this art, this expatriated fooling with paints and clay and all this doubtful world of marble fauns and spurious romance when there, out there, was the real, manly romance of the high seas - a vocation from which he himself, possibly for health reasons, had been thwarted."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "J.S.S.: In Memoriam" by Vernon Lee.)

John Singer Sargent: In Memoriam, Pt. 2

"Village Children" by John Singer Sargent

When Vernon Lee was twelve, as she recounts, "The Sargents began to play a dominant part in my life. We had moved into a gaunt house facing the sea and the sweep of the promenade des Anglais. Then was established a regular coming and going between us. Afternoons, moreover, were spent in painting.

I do not know whether at that time John Sargent yet possessed a paintbox of his own. He certainly used mine. And I feel sure that my perennial supplies of watercolors and porcelain palettes and albums of vario-tinted paper were what drew him to me; and that our fraternal friendship grew out of those afternoons of painting together. Together, in the sense that we consumed refreshments and paints in company, and conversed the while on elevated topics: I must have poured forth about the weekly nights in the family's box at the Nice opera, with vocal imitations, perhaps, of performers and discussion of the verisimilitudes in Verdi's and Donizetti's librettos. 

But never did John Sargent participate in my pictorial self-expression or show any interest therein. To him paints were not for the telling of stories. There were illustrated books and papers lying about, and a stretch of Mediterranean and perspectived houses and coastlines looked in at the windows, and to the reproduction of all these did John Sargent apply himself. - and with miraculous intuition and dexterity. 

I can see the clean juxtaposed blue and green of sky and waves, the splendid tossing lines of sea and ships, see even the bold pencil title in a clearer version of his grown-up writing, the title in a corner, 'U.S. Ship (name, alas, forgotten!) Chasing the Slaver 'Panther.' His sister, on my mentioning this work, suggests that he may have copied it from some 'Illustrated London News' or suchlike. But even if it was so copied, the rendering of the composition, the quality of the lines, above all, the fresh, slick color which he had added, made it into a free translation, indeed, a transfiguration. Thus did he already see in that marvellous mind's eye of his, the things presented by Nature, or by other of her interpreters. At Nice in 1867-68, John Sargent, in furtive use of his mother's paints or long afternoons with my preposterous and horribly messy boxes, was already a painter. In spirit and in fact."

To be continued

(Excerpts from Vernon Lee's "J.S.S.: In Memoriam.")

John Singer Sargent: In Memoriam

Detail of "Vernon Lee [Violet Paget]" by J.S. Sargent

After John Singer Sargent's death, his old friend Vernon Lee wrote her memories of him and his family. Here are two excerpts:

"Take, for instance, the matter of John Sargent's heredity, and the respective parts played by his parents. Already his sisters have demurred to my view, and tell me that his special gifts must have come from his father's side, since among his paternal ancestors there was, at least, one painter of Colonial times. But to me, who see in recollection Mrs. Sargent painting, painting, painting away, always an open paint box in front of her, through all the forty years I knew her, her whole jocund personality splashed, as it were, with the indigo of seas and the carmine of sunsets, to me the painting gift of John Sargent is all from his mother; while what he had from his father was the deep-seated character, the austere, self-denying strength which smelted and tempered that talent into genius."

"When I was a child, and John and Emily and I (eighteen months separating the youngest of us from the eldest) were children together, for two winters at Nice and one (so memorable) in Rome. I adored Mrs. Sargent and was rather afraid of Dr. Sargent. Not that he ever scolded me, or his own children in my presence. With perfect courtesy he passed over my vain little person, whereas Mrs. Sargent, bubbling with sympathies and the need for sympathy, treated everyone as an equal in the expansiveness of her unquenchable youthfulness and joie de vivre. When I come to think of it, Dr. Sargent could not have been so very tall, but his head seemed higher up than other people's, longer and stiffer. One knew whenever he spoke, not without an austere twang; and I, at all events had a childish impression that his words implied disapproval." 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "J.S.S.: In Memoriam" by Vernon Lee.)

John Singer Sargent: The Final Voyage

"Cashmere" by John Singer Sargent

"In April, 1925, John Singer Sargent was once more due to start for America. He had shown no outward sign of ill health. His friends had thought him tired, but he had been pursuing his ordinary life of unrestricted activity. For several days he had been engaged in his preparations, packing, lifting cases, and, in disregard of the protests of his friends, putting on himself a physical strain of much severity. On the evening of the 14th a few of his friends met at 10 Carlyle Mansions for a farewell dinner given by Miss Sargent: Mrs. Ormond, Lady Prothero, the two Misses Barnard, L.A. Harrison, Wilson Steer, Henry Tonks and Nelson Ward.

Sargent was in high spirits, he had dispatched to America the final installment of his decorations for the Museum of Fine Arts and he was spending his last evening with his friends. He acted, as he always did at his sister's parties, as host. The party, as was the custom, broke up at 10:30. The guests said goodbye, with wishes for Sargent's speedy return; and then, after lingering a little with his sister, he drove away.

It was his habit to read before going to sleep. When the maid knocked at his door on the morning of April 15, there was no answer. John Sargent was dead. Beside him lay an open volume of the 'Dictionaire Philosophique' of Voltaire. His glasses had been pushed up over his brow. He had the aspect of one quietly sleeping. Death had come with soundless tread, 'unexpected and unrecognized,' as in January, 1905, he had written of his mother."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "John Sargent" by Evan Charteris.)

John Singer Sargent: Watercolors

"Quarry at Chocorua" by John Singer Sargent

"John Singer Sargent's watercolors have a happy air of impromptu, of the artist having come upon a scene at a particular moment and there and then translated it into paint. He had a preference for scenes in which the hand of man had taken a part. If he turned to natural scenery, he chose wildness rather than beauty, strange effects in mountain formations, gorges, tumbling glaciers or rocks strewn as though they were the missiles on a Titans' battlefield. But whatever he painted, watercolor in his hands seemed to lose something of its limitation and become a more powerful medium, giving the substances represented a solidity and volume more associated with oil color. 

His general habit was to make the lightest indications in pencil to fix the relative position of objects, and then, after wetting the paper, to paint with great rapidity. It was not his habit to use the opaque method. He trusted for his highlights to the white of the paper. From the white of the paper he would with equal facility conjure the satin of a dress, the texture of a marble, or the silky flanks of the ox. 

He paints as a man of muscle rather than mood. His power is displayed in the supremacy of his drawing, the opulence of his color, the skill of his statement, finite as it often is, and the glowing warmth of his sunlit scenes. And in these he excels, not so much by the subtlety of his omissions as by the harmony of his assertions and his exuberant objectivity.

Of his own watercolors he was a severe critic; rarely satisfied, deprecating praise, and always ready to point out what he regarded inadequate or mistaken. When he brought home one of his well-known sketches, 'Quarry at Chocorua,' Mrs. James said to him: 'How delightful it must be to know that every time you work you will bring back something fine.' Sargent replied: 'But I hardly ever do! Once in a great, great while.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "John Sargent" by Evan Charteris.)

John Singer Sargent: Honors and Shyness

"Reconnoitering (Ambrogio Raffele)" by John Singer Sargent

"In the course of his career John Singer Sargent received decorations and diplomas from many countries: America, France, Italy, Germany and Belgium, each in turn paid him honour. In England in 1904 he received a D.C.L. [Doctor of Civil Law] from the University of Oxford. In 1907 he was offered a knighthood by the Prime Minister. Pleading his American citizenship, he declined. In 1913 he was give the degree of LL.D. [Doctor of Laws or an honorary degree] by the University of Cambridge. Gratifying as these titles may have been, they were a source of great perturbation to Sargent in so far as they necessitated a public appearance. Even when assured that no speech would be expected he seemed afraid lest some unforeseen contingency should bring upon him the hated ordeal. In reply to a letter asking him to address a philosophical society of Harvard University on Art he drafted this reply:

 'Dear Sir, It is an honour that I fully appreciate and am deeply grateful for having been thought entitled to. I should be pleased to accept if I had the least right to hope that a miracle would happen in my favour. The miracle of overcoming something like panic when asked to speak has never happened to me yet, and the spectacle of panic instead of a speech is the entertainment I have afforded and long wince resolved not to afford again. The annals of the society would have a disaster to chronicle that I feel bound to spare them by declining an honour that would entail the saddest consequences...'

This nervousness in public did not hinder him from doing public work. It did, however, prevent him, on the resignation of Sir Edward Poynter in December, 1918, from accepting the Presidency of the Royal Academy. When pressed very hard he said to his friend Sir Arthur Cope: 'I would do anything for the Royal Academy but that, and if you press me any more, I shall flee the country.' Sir Arthur adds: 'There is no doubt that if he had allowed his name to stand he would have been elected, not only without dissent, but with acclamation.'" 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "John Sargent" by Evan Charteris.)

John Singer Sargent: The Choice of Subject

"Gassed" by John Singer Sargent

"The subject which John Singer Sargent had been specially invited to paint was a scene illustrating the co-operation of British and American troops. But there were difficulties with that as he discussed in a letter: 

'British and American troops working together,' has sat heavily upon me for though historically and sentimentally the thing happens, the naked eye cannot catch it in the act, nor have I, so far, forged the Vulcan's net in which the act can be imprisoned... How can there be anything flagrant enough for a picture when Mars and Venus are miles apart whether in camps or front trenches...

'I have only seen three fine subjects with masses of men - one a harrowing sight, a field full of gassed and blindfolded men - another a train of trucks packed with 'chair a cannon' - and another frequent sight a big road encumbered with troops and traffic...'

But in the end it was the scene which he witnessed with Professor Tonks, that was chosen as the subject for his war picture 'Gassed.' During an attack by the English the Germans had put down a gas-shell barrage, which failed to stop the advance. Later in the day the heat of the sun set the gas in movement, and the 99th Brigade and the 8th Brigade of the 3rd Division, passed through it to capture Courcelles and suffered its effects. It is the men of these units that appear in the picture. When the picture was finished Sargent was in doubt what to call it.

He wrote: 'I don't quite agree with your objections to the title 'Gassed.' The place is merely a clearing station that they were brought to - the date would lead people to speculate as to what regiments were reduced to that pitiable condition, and I think their identity had better not be indicated. The word 'gassed' is ugly, which is my own objection, but I don't feel it to be melodramatic, only very prosaic and matter of fact.'

The painting carries a great deal of sentimental significance. He has shown some of the horror of War, much of the moral quality of those taking part in it, and has interpreted the emotional intensity of a scene calculated to rouse compassion in the onlooker. The subject has been treated with impressive simplicity with the severity of a processional frieze. There is no striving after the picturesque. Dramatic account has been entirely dispensed with. He has given a spiritual value to realism, and dignity and solemnity to the facts. The desultory rhythm of the figures silhouetted against the sky, the diffused light of evening, the harmony of colour with which the scene is invested, have entered into the inspiration."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "John Sargent" by Evan Charteris.)