Month: April 2019

Many theaters forget their past. Fire, hurricanes, tornados or renovations can destroy artifacts that were never documented in the first place. Painted scenes and machinery are removed, stored, or disposed of at some point and then forgotten. When considering the amount of change that happened to Thalian Hall over the past 150 years, one has to believe that this drop curtain keeps reappearing for a purpose.

Changes made to the theater since it opening in 1858 were documented in a paper, written and compiled by Isabelle M. Williams in 1976. There is also a wonderful book and numerous articles written by D. Anthony Rivenbark about the theater. Much of the information below is from the research of these two authors.

In 1858, Russell Smith received $200 for the drop curtain, a bill paid by five businessmen in Wilmington, North Carolina.

In her paper, Williams notes that major revisions to the theater took place at Thalian Hall in 1867-9, 1881, 1900, 1904, 1909 and 1938. She wrote, “It was remarkable that Thalian Hall has endured it all …” The renovations made over the decades were substantial, but it was the continuing delivery of scenery to the venue that really intrigues me the most.

In 1858, the original proscenium was described as 30 feet high and a little less in width, with a stage area measuring 42 feet by 57 feet. It is believed that the original width of the proscenium was actually 28’ wide by 22’ high, making the drop curtain’s 29’w x 23’h measurements noted on the preliminary drop curtain sketch reasonable.

At the time of installation, it was common for a theater to include a painted grand border; this often occupied the top third of the proscenium opening. A painted grand border and painted side tormentors reduced the proscenium opening for a much more intimate staging. However, if the painted grand border, torms, and drop curtain were removed, the large proscenium opening could accommodate other forms of entertainment, such as aerial acts.

The current remnant of Smith’s original drop curtain was constructed with vertical seams, very similar to the backdrops manufactured at the Sosman & Landis studio in Chicago. The drop curtain panels measure between 26” and 27” wide. There are eleven full panel sections and two partial panel sections, in addition to the two fabric extensions that were added to each side at a later date. The total width of original painted fabric that still remains is approximately 27’ wide. The original edges of the drop, complete with leather rings rope guides, were retained and shifted; with a fabric insert in between the final panel, cut in half to extend the overall width of the drop curtain.

Williams further writes that by 1900, the “curtains” surrounding the drop curtain were replaced, as plans called for a new proscenium and grand drapery. At the time, the term “curtains” often noted painted pieces, while “drapery” described hung fabric that was not painted. It is likely that the original painted tormentors were replaced with actual draperies, thus necessitating the original drop curtain to be enlarged. Also, the Thalian Hall stage was altered “to give more room for scenery.”

There was also another drop curtain installed at Thalian Hall by William F. Hamilton. On October 10, 1899, “The Dispatch” reported, “Mr. A Schloss, the lessee of the Opera House has closed the contract for a new drop curtain for the Opera House. It will be painted by Mr. W. F. Hamilton of the Star Theatre of New York City. William F. Hamilton is the same scenic artist who I have previously written about; the one who partnered with Thomas G. Moses and formed Moses & Hamilton in 1900. The studio produced scenery for opera, Broadway and Coney Island from 1900-1904. Moses & Hamilton set up their new studio at Proctor’s 125^th Street Theatre, a variety theatre in New York City that included a scene room. They also rented paint frames at two other theaters. When their partnership ended, Moses returned to Sosman & Landis while Hamilton stayed in New York.

Hamilton was no stranger to Wilmington. In 1896, The “Wilmington Morning Star” reported, “Mr. F. C. Peckham, of New York, assistant to Mr. W. F. Hamilton, scenic artist and stage manager of the Standard Theatre, arrived in the city yesterday and will commence work on the scenery and a new drop curtain at the Opera House (Wilmington, NC, 26 August, 1896, page 1). It was not uncommon for a venue to include more than one drop curtain; a front drop curtain (landscape composition surrounded by ornamental frame and painted fabric surround), an advertisement curtain (sponsored by local businesses), and an olio curtain (for entr’acte pieces, such as short musical numbers between melodramatic acts); these would all be termed “drop curtains” to accompany the remained of painted settings. Drop curtains could also indicate painted backings, what we consider backdrops now.

J. Constantine provided another drop curtain and two scenes. Constatine was from the Grand Opera House in New York in 1900. The constant trickle of scenery into the theater is not unusual at all. Unfortunately, we do not know the exact compositions for any of the drop curtains painted besides that of Russell Smith. Consantine’s two additional settings, however, were described somewhat. The new scenery included an interior parlor setting with fourteen pieces and a street scene with borders (Star, May 8, 1900, page 13). I interpret this description to mean that the interior parlor scene included fourteen interchangeable flats that were lashed together, a standard interior box set for the time. The street scene included a backdrop, wings, and sky borders. That year, the stage was also remodeled to make room for the additional scenery, necessitating the purchase of new stage machinery at an expense of $740.

By 1904, there was a mention about a change in the proscenium, with the stage being enlarged by 10 feet. This did not include the proscenium opening, just the actual backstage area.

The original Russell Smith drop curtain was finally taken down and stored in the attic when a new front drop curtain arrived from New York City in 1909. The proscenium opening was not listed in Julius Cahn’s Official Theatrical Guide as being 35’ wide. A renovation of this sort, often demands new scenery or the refurbishment and expansion of existing scenery. The well-known Russell Smith curtain could have been enlarged and hung for sentimental purposes on an upstage line, or simply stored and replaced; it is not clear of the exact inventory and line sets at this time. Something prompted the removal of the curtain after the renovation in 1909.

By 1932, however, the original drop curtain was discovered in a storage room of Public Library. Smith’s work again appeared on stage in 1938 when it was hung for a brief period of time before returning to storage. At this point, records indicate that it was stored on the stage and subsequently damaged, with the top third being destroyed. Some accounts note that wheelbarrows were rolled across the top while it was on the floor, causing the damage. And the drop disappeared again before rediscovery a few decades ago.

It is astounding that this curtain survives at all, let alone is still hanging at all in the original building.

To be continued…

In 1907, the “Boston Sun” published an article about hanging a drop curtain painted by Russell Smith in 1872. The curtain was a replica of an earlier version painted in 1856-1857. The article noted, “In the painting of the curtain Mr. Smith was assisted by his daughter who executed the drapery effects, which were her specialty.”

Russell Smith, his wife and two children all painted. Smith married Mary Priscilla Wilson, in 1838; she was a talented artist in her own right. Two were born to the couple, a boy and a girl. Xanthus Russell was born in 1839, and his sister Mary in 1842. Russell encouraged his children’s interests in art. This is not unusual as many artists who have children are eager to share the joy of sharing their trade and the fulfillment of art. Russell even traveled to Europe with the entire family to experience historically significant and artistic landmarks together from 1851 to 1852.

Of their talents, Xanthus was recorded as specializing in landscape and marine subjects, while Mary was recognized for her paintings of animals. It is not unusual that the children also helped their father with his theatre projects, hence Mary specializing in painting draperies for drop curtains. The two certainly worked together on many projects. In 1876, both Russell and his daughter exhibited their artworks independently at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. Her early passing only two years later had a profound effect on Smith and he continued to talk about his daughter until the end of his life.

In 1894, Russell Smith spoke of his career in an interview with “The Times” of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (20 May 1894, page 16). The interview was two years before his death, and Smith’s recollections convey the profound sense of loss for not only a child, but also a kindred spirit; a fellow artist’s flame who was snuffed out much too early. Even the illustration of Smith accompanying the article conveys exhaustion, an emptiness that has worn down his features.

Here is what the article noted about Smith’s daughter:

“Naturally, the sweetest memories of the veteran painter linger about his dead daughter, Mary. Both of his children, Mary and Xanthus, naturally inherited the talent of their parents, for Russell Smith’s wife was also a water-colorist of ability. His son, Xanthus, who lives at the castle with his father, served during the was under Admiral Dupont, and his knowledge of the war has been repeatedly utilized in illustration work.

“Mary Smith, who died seventeen years ago, was best known as a successful painter of animals, and during her short life painted not less than 300 pictures. The old scene painter touches tenderly a little book of drawings made by Mary when traveling in Europe with her parents. At that time she was only 9 years old. Among the drawings are representations of a gaily-dressed lady at a piano, a procession of Swiss peasants entering a church, Welsh women in blue coats driving pigs to market.

“Like all tender-hearted women, Mary Smith loved flowers and animals. She delighted in her garden and raised large families of poultry. Chickens she loved especially and at all seasons of the year had a basket of chicks hanging on her easel.

In the parlor of the castle hangs a portrait of a gallant rooster, about which the artist tells this story: ‘Not content with the days labor Mary would rig up a large lamp on winter nights and make careful life sized studies from an old hen or lordly rooster. It required no little perseverance or determined will with occasionally a rap with a maulstick to make them even tolerable sitters, but the result was always a successful interpretation of chicken character. On one occasion when the sitter was shown his portrait he at once made a determined assault upon I t and the study still shows the gashes about the head made with his pugnacious bill.’

“It was Mary Smith’s desire that at her death a portion of her earnings should be invested in such a manner as to yield an annual income of $100, this to be awarded by each years’ exhibition committee of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts for the best picture in oil or watercolors painted and exhibited by a resident woman artist in Philadelphia. The Mary Smith prize has regularly been awarded since 1879, and among the women who have received the honor are Cecilia Beaux, Alice Barber Stephens. Emily Sartain and Lucy D. Holme.”

Mary may be the first publicly recognized female scenic artist in America, and her specialty was draperies.

To be continued…

 

According to Virginia Lewis in her book “Russell Smith, Romantic Realist, “ in 1872, the artist Russell Smith painted a replica of an earlier work. In 1857 Smith created the entr’acte drop curtain for the Academy of Music in Baltimore, Maryland. This replica composition was described in the “Baltimore Sun” during 1907. That year, the article reported, “a curtain, painted by the late Russell Smith, famous the world over as a curtain painting artist, has just been hung. The curtain, painted more than a quarter of a century ago, has been retouched around the borders so that it will harmonize with the decorations of the proscenium arch.” In other words, they added colors to unify the old painting with the new interior décor.

This parallels what happened to the 1858 drop curtain at Thalian Hall in Wilmington, North Carolina. The Smith curtain was enlarged and altered at some point. I studied the additions and alterations over the course of a few hours while sitting in the Thalian Hall lobby on April 23, 2019.

What initially struck me was the addition of black paint. The reason for my surprise is that black is seldom used in 19^th century and early 20^th scene painting, unless it is for lettering on an advertisement curtain. The darkest color is typically Van Dyke Brown, especially for shadow areas and it reflects light better than black. For the Smith curtain in Wilmington, opaque black shadow lines were added by a second artist well after the original composition was painted. The black was added to the painted ornament on the frame, the center medallion and the statue on the right side of the composition. However, black was not the only new paint introduced to the original painting, as both a red glaze and green glaze were added to the frame. These two colors were likely an attempt to “harmonize” the drop with the decorations of the proscenium arch, similar to what happened at the Academy of Music in Baltimore when Smith’s curtain was rehung in 1907.

In regard to the Thalian Hall drop curtain, the center medallion was repainted in a style inconsistent with the remainder of the composition; specifically, the portrait and lettering are of an inferior quality. The inferior brushwork not only applies to the actual features Thalia, but also the lettering of “Thalia.” For both, the painting style is much more rudimentary than the remainder of the work, especially the quality of the lettering. The lettering “Thalia” is not centered and even touches the bottom of the portrait. Furthermore, the font is muddy and the brushstrokes unrefined.

There is also the problem with the use of black for background for the portrait that dominates the entire composition. The black immediately draws focus from the rest of the composition. It is likely that the second, and currently artist, recognized his mistake as soon as he stepped back from his work. I always hate to presume what an artist was thinking when creating a painting; we cannot know what was going on in another’s mind during the time of artist creation. However, here is my hypothesis, as I too have unwittingly placed myself in a similar position. After adding a detail that was too dark for the painting, you panic a bit, and think “Oops! Well, I’ll just add a little more of that same color here, and here, to make it look like as if it belongs.” This is always mistake, as a once small inconsistency grows into a substantially larger problem.

In an attempt to unify the work, the artist took the same black color from the medallion and added little touches here and there throughout the lower third of the painting to make it seem like it was part of the original color scheme. Unfortunately, the artist did not have the same ‘hand” as Smith. It is his inferior technique that gives away the over painting in addition to the color. The artist who added the black lines did not use a straight edge to draw the straight black lines. The remainder of the composition clearly shows that all of the straight lines were painted while using a straight edge. Without a straight edge, the lines waiver and suggest an artist’s inexperience; this still happens in scenic art today too.

The same can be said for the shadowing of the other ornamentation along the border where black is applied. The little “U” shadows placed at the bottom are also inconsistent and sporadic, unlike the remainder of the original shadow work in deep brown and sienna glazes. The black also reads as opaque, unlike the remainder of the painted ornament around the frame. Smith’s style harkens back to the English tradition of glazing. The center medallion and black accents are opaque and inconsistent with this tradition.

In addition to the over painting, the width of the entire curtain was extended and the bottom border was repainted to match the new décor, just as the case with the Academy of Music in Baltimore during 1907. In Wilmington, the fabric extensions on either side of the drop were painted in a reddish hue, likely to match the new décor. This same color was also added to the ornamental frame surrounding the landscape composition, placed as an accent on the original white and gold frame. In addition to red, green was added at the bottom. You can see that the frame was originally white with gold trim; the golden shapes being defined with yellow, ochre, burnt sienna, umber and a bit of Van Dyke brown. The red is placed as a glaze over some of the detail; effectively obliterating the dimension and making it area appear flat. The also glaze extends onto the fabric extension, which is how we know it is not original to the composition. The same can be said for the green glaze; the color again obliterates some of the detail.

It would be wonderful to see the drop as it looked when originally painted by Smith, without the black, red and green additions; they all detract from the soft atmospheric effect of the composition. In particular, without the later red accents, the small touches of that same color in the clothing of the figures would have jumped out, making the scene come alive with splashes of brilliant colors.

To be continued…

In addition to writing my daily blog, I have a published a few article this spring. One is “Brown’s Special System for Scottish Rite Theaters in North America” for Die Vierte Wand #009. Past articles for this journal also appear in issues #007 and #008. Die Vierte Wand is a wonderful publication by Stefan Graebner, Director of the Initiative Theatre Museum in Berlin. with articles in German and English.

Here is the link for issue #008:  https://issuu.com/itheam/docs/itheam_d4w-008

Here is the link for issue #007: https://issuu.com/itheam/docs/itheam_d4w-007

Here is the link for Die Vierte Wand (The Fourth Wall) #009: https://archive.org/details/iTheaM_d4W-009/page/n3

The issue is free online, with the print price being € 10,- +  shipping.

 

According to Virginia Lewis in her book “Russell Smith, Romantic Realist, “ in 1872, the artist Russell Smith painted a replica of an 1856 entr’acte drop curtain. The drop curtain was originally installed at the Academy of Music in Baltimore, Maryland. The painting for the curtain was described by “The Philadelphia Inquirer” on Dec. 16, 1894. The article noted that although the scene was titled “Como,” the actual scene was from sketches that Smith made at the head of Lake Lugano, in Northern Italy.” The article described, “A conventional design with huge frame, the center of the lower border included a Greek bust. The scene depicted a brilliant summertime view with Italian skies above the glitter and sheen of greenish blue waters.” Lewis notes that the curtain was painted on British imported linen and the drawings were inked in with logwood, commenting it resulted in “soft atmospheric effects which could not be gotten otherwise.” The article also noted that “the colors were made by him personally, as was his custom.”

A recipe for logwood ink appeared in the 1912 publication of “The Standard Reference Work for the Home, School and Library: “Logwood ink is made easily. Logwood may be boiled in soft water, or else extract of logwood may be used. When ink of a proper consistency has been obtained, add one part in ten of ammonia or alum dissolved in boiling water. This gives a violet ink.”

Logwood is a small redwood tree indigenous to Central America, Mexico and the West Indies. Introduced in Europe during the 16^th century, it is still used today in a variety of industries. The dye is contained in the heartwood of the tree, cut into small blocks and then chips for use. Logwood was inexpensive at the time when Russell Smith was using it and provided a wide color range, spanning from violet and blue to deep brown and black. Logwood was not only used for inks, but also watercolor paints.

I immediately thought back to the ink lines still visible on Smith’s 1858 drop curtain. Although water damage washes away an artist’s painting, it often reveals the original drawing beneath, such is the case with the drop curtain at Thalian Hall.

A variety of logwood inks appeared in the 19^th century after the design of the steel pen necessitated new ink; iron-gall inks corroded the steel nibs. Chrome-logwood inks were noncorrosive and flowed freely. Cr logwood inks were among the most popular in use, reaching the market in 1848. Unfortunately, chromium caused the ink to gelatinize in the bottle and other alternatives were repeatedly sought out.

There were also alum-logwood inks and copper-logwood inks. Logwood inks were cheap, but not a perfect solution to replace the traditional and expensive black inks.  Some of the early violet inks also came from logwood, with the best versions appearing as an intense blue black. Once dry, logwood inks could be wetted without smearing or spreading; a perfect application in inking scenic art compositions that would be painted over. Van Gogh also used chrome-logwood ink for many of his paintings.

It is very possible that the Smith’s inked lines, now visible in the Thalian Hall drop curtain, were made with logwood ink.

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

Russell Smith (1812-1896) took pride in his nature sketches. Tromping out into the wilderness with stool, paint box and easel was a time-honored tradition for many nineteenth century scenic artists. Sketching trips provided an opportunity to gather source material for future compositions, whether placed in an art gallery or on the stage. These plein air paintings, or portions thereof, were incorporated into many settings for the stage. Twentieth century scenic artists continued this practice, long after printed sources became readily avaialble, as it was a way to hone their artistic skills. Thomas G. Moses (1856-1934) wrote of his sketching trips with fellow artists during the 1880s. His traveling companions included Henry C, Tryon, Walter Burridge, Edward Morange, John H. Young, Hardesty Marratta and many others, publishing his recollections of the outings years later. They all had ties to Russell Smith.

Scenic artists who were associated with the Düsseldorf School, such as Sosman & Landis artists David Austin Strong (1830-1911), also supported plein air painting, leaving the four walls of their studios to work from nature as it was integral to the artistic process. Strong was a contemporary of Smith who also sought training in Europe and became a prolific scenic artist in his own right. He was one of the original scenic artists for “The Black Crook” at Niblo’s garden in 1866 and later settled in Chicago, working at the Sosman & Landis studio. Strong’s work was well known throughout the United States in hundreds of theaters from New York, Boston, and Philadelphia to Chicago, Kansas and California.

I think back to Moses’ records describing the numerous sketching trips where he peacefully sat and captured the pristine beauty of mountain valleys, sunlit meadows, and babbling brooks. Their trips to the Catskills, Rocky Mountains, Canadian Rockies, New Mexico, California, and many other picturesque locations were immediately incorporated into both small-scale and large-scale projects, ranging from art exhibitions to scenic spectacles. The expansion of America’s railway system opened up possibilities for ambitious artists.

Smith discussed in detail the need for nature studies throughout his journals. Virginia Lewis included many of these remarks in her 1956 book “Russell Smith, Romantic Realist.” Of note, Smith acknowledged that some artists replicated specific engravings or paintings, while he used his own materials. Of mentioning the need for nature studies, one director responded, “Oh what’s the difference so its pretty, you’ll spend much money and time making sketching tours when you could buy something just as good or better by Calame or Harding for fifty cents.” The manager was referring to the many lithographs available at the time by Alexandre Calame (1810-1864) and James Duffield Harding (1798-1863).

Calame was a lithographer and a popular artist associated with the Düsseldorf school of painting, as Strong had been. A Swiss landscape painter, Calame’s work was featured in numerous series of lithographs depicting picturesque mountain regions. Similarly, Harding’s work was readily available in print form for scenic artists to replicate. Harding was an English landscape painter, lithographer and author of drawing manuals. Harding’s “Lessons on Art,” “Guide and Companion to Lessons on Art,” “The Principles and Practice of Art,” and “Elementary Art, or the use of the chalk and lead pencil advocated and explained,” were widely sought after.

Much more could be said of both Calame and Harding, but the main issue at hand is Smith’s identification of artists whom opted for printed sources in lieu of sketching trips. Nature studies provide training for the artistic eye, something a printed work cannot do. Although the blue in a lithograph can be replicated, it is not the same as capturing the brilliancy of a clear blue sky. There is a depth of color that is lost in translation in print form.

The difference between the artists who easily purchased prints for reference instead of creating their own can be identifiable in their painting, taking on a flat and lifeless characteristic that accentuates any overall lack of skill. Sitting outside and observing nature, trying to replicate the color of atmospheric landscapes yields different results than those who dutifully copy a print. Smith continued to describe the artists who “captured the truth.”

Near the end of his life, Smith wrote, “What I am going to say of some scene painters I knew in early life I hope may not be attributed to the general tendency of the old to praise the past at the expense of the present. There were forty or fifty years ago, some, in Philadelphia, New York and Boston, that were true artists; men who could make a fine original drawing from nature, and paint a scene possessing much truth as well as beauty; and were not content to work from print only. Robert Jones, a pupil of Stanfield’s was one of these, but seemed to aim more in the style of Turner. Then there was James and William Coyle, both of whom had painted with Marinari in Drury Lane Theatre, were excellent in Gothic and Picturesque architecture. Whilst Harry Wilkins, a pupil of Naysmith’s, the Edinburgh landscape painter, was admirable in landscape, trees and rocks. Hugh Reinagle, a brother of the Royal Academician Reinagle, was also a very fine architectural painter. So was Mr. Hilliard, well known in New York. I have preserved specimens of the work of all these painters and any good artist can see the truth of what I say. Now there is such a glut of design, in fine woodcuts, engravings, chromes, photographs, and even paintings that a young man who can copy and desires to paint scenes, can for a little money, supply himself with a collection that will enable him to furnish a scene of any subject, or a view of any remarkable place; and like all easily acquired knowledge, is very shallow. As a consequence there are a very few scene painters now who could rank as an artist-studying and bringing from Nature their skill. Many believe that the same may be said of actors in general; but of that I cannot pretend to judge.”

 

Smith passed away in 1896. His work remains part of the American scenic art legacy, artists who saw value and benefit in gathering source material from nature. These were also artists who worked in both small scale and large scale, each requiring a unique skill set and distinct understanding of contrast, color, and detail for each. Many artists can produce small artworks, easily transported and hung on both private and public walls. Not all are able to successfully transition their ideas to a large-scale format that is best viewed from a distance. Tightly painted and detailed artworks become fuzzy from the back of an auditorium. The stage demands the separation of color and an increased contrast that allows the audience’s eye to work and see the illusion. Smith could do it all.

 

To be continued…

The 1858 Thalian Hall drop curtain is a significant artifact within the framework of American history. It is much more than an old piece of scenery created for a theater. This signed drop curtain is a large-scale artwork painted by a nationally recognized artist, one who left a substantial written legacy. Written records of Smith’s design, painting and installation of the curtain provide additional artistic provenance for the piece. Smith’s journal entries provide an extensive historical context not only for the 1858 drop curtain, but also theatre work at the time.

Smith’s memoirs give insight into the life of the artist, his art, and the shift in American theatre practices. Many of his journal entries were interpreted by Virginia Lewis and published in the book “Russell Smith, Romantic Realist.” Of Smith, Lewis wrote, “All through life he enjoyed talking and writing about his scenery work, and liked to explain his philosophy of scene painting, writing many thoughts into his journals.”

When Russell Smith painted the drop curtain destined for Wilmington, North Carolina, he was 46 years old. A well-known and established scenic artist, by this point in his career he had worked for three decades.

Of interest to me is Russell’s studio at Edgehill in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania. He built his studio specifically for painting drops that he sometimes referred to as the “painting room for the Academy of Music.” This provided better light and a quiet environment to focus on his painting. A private studio space was preferable to the traditional one used by most artists in the theater. Most often, scenic artists painted scenery on frames that existed in the theater that they were creating scenery for at the time. However, a theater space was often busy with the hustle and bustle of rehearsals and stage preparation prior to a production. As there were fewer people watching him work, it is likely that criticisms and “suggestions” were kept to a minimum – a benefit when working off site. Smith suffered from chronic headaches throughout his entire life; to create art in the peace and quiet of his own studio must have been a relief from the noise of a commercial space.

Of Smith’s studio at Edgehill, Lewis notes that a frame structure was attached to the wing of the stone house. Smith wrote: “After the refreshment of sleep I would lie an hour and plan in my mind my day’s work – contrive the composition, dispose the masses of light, shade and color; and go over more than once, in fact, think it out; so that when I came before the canvas after breakfast, I never hesitated or lost time rubbing out, but went straight forward, and by night there would often be a finished scene. Some of the other prominent scene painters, Coyle and Jones, for instance, would express their surprise at the directness and the speed with which I pushed forward. They knew not the cause. But even that speed would not satisfy some stage managers; and I have been induced to paint three entire scenes in forty-two consecutive hours, and they were not simple scenes, like a calm sea and sly, or a quiet lake and distant hills, but represented an encampment, fortifications and a City, for ‘Edward the Black Prince.’”

Smith followed a traditional design process that is still used by many artists today, myself included. The design starts with a pencil drawing, or a simple concept sketch. This initially defines the composition. From this preliminary sketch, a quick painting or study is produced in a slightly larger format. These early works evolve into a finished picture, or scale color rendering that will be used for full scale painted drop. As today, this design process verifies the direction of the composition at every step. Ideally, it prevents a flurry of recommendations and alterations after any on site installation.

However, beauty lies in the eye of the beholder; then, as now, the value of scenic art varies from one to another. In his memoirs, Smith commented that some perceived scenic art as “but a coarse kind of daubing, indeed an inferior trade; and no doubt much of it deserves no higher position-with its want of nature and extreme exaggeration of color. But the best poetry of the Drama justifies the grandest and most beautiful illustration; and if the audience would demand it and the painter could bring to his great canvas sufficient genius a wide experience of nature and mastery of execution, where would lie its inferiority? And how much less would his power of instructing and pleasing be than a painter who strived to do so in the space of a yard or square foot? This was always my estimate of my profession; and I ever strove to sustain it by avoiding all false color, glitter and exaggeration of every kind, whilst striving to represent the most beautiful features of nature, I could see with reverential love of truth. The material, canvas and color, I used were also genuine as that of the best oil pictures; and as I painted in my own painting room, out of town, I was freed form the injudicious dictation of prompters, stage-managers, etc., who care little for real good art and are justly blamed for their shortcomings of the Stage, but who always justify themselves by saying. ‘The business must pay, and therefore it is our duty to give to the public what they want to see.’”

To be continued…

I spent much of yesterday examining a drop curtain painted by William Thompson Russell Smith (1812-1896) in 1858. At the time of installation, a local newspaper placed his work alongside that of other scenic artists whose work hung in many prominent New York theaters.

On October 7, 1858, the “Daily Herald” in Wilmington, North Carolina, reported, “There are many theatres there [New York], but none which possesses even a decent drop curtain as a work of art. Take the great Lyric Temple on Fourteenth Street, what have we there? A large masse of elaborate drawing, a pile of impossible architecture, devoid of the poetry and charm of color, and feeble in light and shade. Again at Burton’s there is an extensive canvass, the subject the town of Miessen, Saxony, celebrated for the clay which forms the world famous Dresden china, treated in a tame and common place style. At Laura Keene’s there is another mass of incongruous architecture, with great plethoric Shakespeare in the centre, at whose feet are some figures of sitting boys holding scrolls, having the appearance of very uncomfortable seat, and dangerous liability of slipping off. At the Broadway, the subject is an allegory, something of Shakespeare-for the Bard of Avon is unmistakably there-but what is about, must ever remain as inscrutable as the Egyptian Sphinx. Then at Wallack’s and the Bowery, we have one, a view on the Hudson, the other the Falls of Niagara, neither possessing a single feature entitling them to rank as works of art. The province of art, as of poetry is to expand the mind, and prepare it for the reception and diffusion of elevated ideas and reflection. And in this respect, has Mr. Smith well chosen his subjects. There are doubtless, who would have preferred a local, or national subject for a drop curtain.

“Without desiring to ignore the beauty of American scenery, or importance of many of our historic annals, let us fairly place the picture before us in the balance, and find out what are its superior attractions and intellectual teachings.

“Americans must bear in mind, that–nationally–we are but infants. We present to the world the nucleus of a great Future, the artist has portrayed the customs and great beauties of the great Past. Therein lies the lesson.

“On the banks of a beautiful river–an arm perhaps of the fair [Argean]–rises a majestic Temple of the Doric order, grand and imposing in its proportions, pure in details. On the steps of the portico a mystic ceremony is taking place. The Seers, are invoking the protection of the Gods on some favored warrior, perhaps, who is evidently about to embark on a warlike expedition, indicated by the fleet of gallies ‘peacefuly slumbering’ on the golden waters.

“When the eye has thoroughly scanned and surveyed the varied beauties of the pictures; then let the mind enquire who were those people who related such imposing edifices, sailed on such gorgeous gallies; and lived in a land of perpetual sunshine?

“As we said before, the picture is a perfect study and well worthy of an extended visit….We predict an entire success to Mr. J. F. Marchant and the new Theatre.”

The fact that this curtain still exists is unbelievable when considering that much of the original scenery was repainted over the years, and then replaced multiple times when the stage was enlarged and repeatedly renovated. The drop itself was widened, shortened and “tweaked.” Regardless of the alterations, Smith’s original design and painting radiate from the fabric.

When looking at the overall history tied to both the curtain and the theater, it is remarkable that anything remains of Smith’s painting. This significant cultural artifact disappeared and reappeared over the years, yet kept returning home. The drop curtain now permanently hangs in the lobby, greeting each new patron who arrives to see a performance at Thalian Hall.

I am going to devote the few posts to what I discovered yesterday about the drop curtain and the prolific artist who painted it. Simply put, this curtain is a national treasure.

To be continued…

 

My daily blog follows the life and times of Thomas G. Moses (1856-1934), a prolific scenic artist who worked for sixty years behind the curtain line. In 1931, he compiled a typed manuscript that recorded many of his projects over the years. In the early 1990s when I compiled an index for both this typed manuscript and Moses’ scrapbook, I vowed that one day I would go though his writing, line by line, and expand on each specific event and project mentioned by the artist. I am on year 1909.

I have examined not only his work and that of his contemporaries, but also Moses’ predecessors; scenic artists from previous generations who paved the way for the painting techniques employed not only by the artist, but also at the Sosman & Landis studio. One of Moses’ scenic art predecessors was William Thompson Russell Smith (1812-1896).

Smith was integral in the training of Moses’ one time business partner and life-long friend, Walter Burridge. At one time, Burridge worked at various Philadelphia theaters, many the old stomping grounds of Smith. It was the strong recommendation of Smith who supported Burridge’s employment at the Academy of Music, in Baltimore. Burridge was hired to paint some of the scenery for that venue during his early career.

Smith was mentioned in numerous publications over the years, including the article “Curtain and Scene Painting,” published in the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch,” 21 Jan. 1884, page 8. The article reported, “The other first-class curtain painters of the country do not number more than half-dozen. All enjoy national reputations, and their services are in demand to the other.” The article listed those they held in highest regard, including “Russell Smith, formerly of the Academy of Music, Philadelphia, makes a specialty of landscapes.”

Like Moses, Smith left a legacy that extended far beyond examples of his art for the stage or fine art galleries. Smith left a detailed written account of his life, family and projects. In 1856, Virginia E. Lewis wrote “Russell Smith, Romantic Realist.” She does a wonderful job chronicling Smith’s life while incorporating segments of his words. About a year ago, I decided that it was Smith’s scenic art career that I would explore after completing the life and times of Moses. Smith’s generation of scenic artist defined American scenic art techniques, infusing old world artistry with a new spirit. Moses’ generation further developed and shaped the field of subsequent schools of American scenic art.

I am in Wilmington, North Carolina, to give a presentation on 19^th century scenic art and historical painting techniques. My trip began after a conversation with D. Anthony “Tony” Rivenbark at the League of Historic American Theater’s national conference last July. He is a nationally recognized theatre historian and Executive Director of Wilmington’s Thalian Hall. Tony shared an image of their extant drop curtain painted by Smith in 1858. Although it is no longer used during performance, the painted curtain has been conserved and is prominently displayed at the Thalian Hall Center for the Performing Arts. Here is a link to the theater: http://www.thalianhall.org/#map

I am looking forward to seeing it in person today.

To be continued…

 

Part 726: Advertising for Sign Painter, 1909

Sosman & Landis seldom posted want ads for labor. I have encountered only a few over the years. Often the ads were seeking individuals who possessed basic trade skills, seamstresses and carpenters to fill basic positions without any specialized interests. However, in 1909, there were numerous advertisements placed in the “Chicago Tribune” for sign painters. Here is one example from the “Chicago Tribune” on January 6, 1909 (page 4)

“WANTED-MALE HELP

Sign Painter-First Class. Up to date, on advertising curtains; good chance for young man to learn scene painting business.

SOSMAN & LANDIS CO., Scene Painting Studio, 236-238 Clinton-St.”

There are a few things to consider about in regard to the 1909 Sosman & Landis ad. The first is that 1909 is a peak period for Masonic theatre production at the Sosman & Landis Studio, even though fraternal scenery only made up about 25% of all projects. Hundreds of Scottish Rite drops, flats, set pieces, and props are being designed and manufactured in Chicago before they ship to various locations. In 1909, their main studio was swamped with work, as was their second “annex” studio. The production of Masonic scenery requires the studio’s most experienced artists to produce, leaving much other work to second-rate artists employed in the shops.

Other Studio projects included the production of massive scenic spectacles for the Ringling Brothers’ circus. As with Masonic scenery, the production of grand circus spectacles necessitated the use of topnotch artists on staff. In addition to high-end scenery for prestigious clients, there remained endless orders of stock scenery for small town opera houses, vaudeville theaters and music halls. In addition to roll drops, wings, flats, interior box sets and drop curtains, there was the continued demand for advertising curtains. Also referred to as Ad Drops, these compositions required artists to paint hundreds of characters in various fonts, filling the numerous advertising spaces. Although lettering requires skill, it was a trade mastered by many individuals at the time. Various levels of artists painted signage that ranged from commercial billboards to daily placards.

It would make no sense to place any scenic artist on a lettering project that could be completed by any sign painter, temporarily hired off of the street. Sign painting also required skilled artisans, but not with the same training and intuitive sense necessary for figure painting, draperies, landscapes, or other scenic illusions.

What the 1909 Sosman & Landis want ad also suggests is a possible spike in requests for Ad Drops. In the past, I have explored the origin and evolution of advertising curtains, especially those produced by Lee Lash in San Francisco, Philadelphia and New York (see past installments # 578-584). From 1900 through the 1920s, the design and manufacture of advertising curtains was big business that generated massive profits for many studios. For example, when Lee Lash had advertising curtains in 1700 American theatres, it resulted in an annual income of $250,000 (“Star-Gazette,” 4 March, 1973, page 7).

In many cases, studios directly collected the revenue from clients for their advertisements prior to the creation of an Ad Drop. No upfront loss for materials. This also allowed studio to place Ad Drops “free of charge” while even generating income for the theater. Free drop, free installation and possible revenue! The only requirement on the theater’s behalf was that they lower and display the advertising curtain at certain times specified in the contract. This was similar to out current advertisement slots for television programs. Furthermore, the position of advertisements in spaces, as with specific times for television and radio ads, varied in price that was dependent on placement.

In looking at the big picture of theatrical manufacturers during the early twentieth century, the increase in the demand for advertising curtains harkens back to a bustling economy and the expansion of products and services.

To be continued..