Part 710: Scenic Art Training
Over a year ago, I was contacted by a fellow scenic artist in the UK. She was searching for information about instructional guides that described the painting process in the 19th century. It is fun to converse with and assist a fellow scenic artist who is also focusing on the history of scenic art. While keeping an eye open over the past year, I stumbled across “The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting” in “Britain at Work. A Pictorial Description of Our National Industries,” published in 1902. One particular sentence that caught my eye as I started to read the article: “In these pages, however, it is with scene- painting as an avocation rather than as an art that we are primarily concerned.” This is a loaded statement that signified a shift in the scenic art profession, and one that should be considered today.
Before I post this article in its entirety (over the course of the next few days due to length) there is something to consider about our theatrical past, our future and the training of scenic artists. I say this from the perspective of one who has been criticized for not sharing enough about my personal scenic art and restoration techniques.
I’ll start with the historical context of sharing scenic art techniques with fellow scenic artists, or the general public. During the 19th century, the mystery of scenic art was unveiled in multiple publications. This continued into the twentieth century, although the process somewhat shifted to stress a simple avocation. During this time, the roll of the scenic artist as “genius,” “visionary,” and “master artist” starts to disappear. The scenic artist becomes the mere translator of a scenic designer’s vision. For stage scenery, another concept enters the public perception of scenic art, and that is the idea that “anyone can paint.”
All the while, numerous instructional pamphlets and publications began to appear, most accentuating that scene painting is more of an avocation than an art form, and it can easily be studied and mastered. These publications promote that a book can adequately instruct any student, or interested individual, to paint theatre scenery. Even the title of the 1902 article attempts to convey the “mystery” of the scenic art avocation. This was part of a growing trend where 19th century scenic art techniques and stage effects are shared with the general pubic for enjoyment and reference. Innovative and intriguing mechanical effects even appeared in “Scientific American” as popular topics. In some ways, this was the equivalent of a magician revealing its secret to the crowd, as inquiring minds wanted to know. Another fascinating publication was “Magic Stage Illusions and Scientific Diversions Including Trick Photography,” compiled and edited by Albert A. Hopkins in 1897. This is all part of a growing trend that intensified by the early twentieth century.
Meanwhile, between approximately 1850 and 1950, the perception of the art aspect to scenic art, becomes promoted as a craft. The scenic studios systematically cranking out scenery greatly contributed to this perception. The painting techniques and overall stage aesthetic of painted illusion also began to shift at this time. It is pretty easy to identify when examining backdrops over the course of several decades when they were painted; an artistry began to gradually fade, and is replaced with a more systematic and formulaic approach that has continued to this day. This does not mean that the skill wasn’t present in artists, but the paint application and actual training started to follow a different course. There is also the interesting introduction of the perception that a scenic artist’s job could be successfully completed by any well-intentioned and slightly skilled individual. In other words, with just a little time and some guidance, they could successfully paint stage scenery. In a similar vein, think about the manufacture of cars; a lot of companies make cars, but they are not all equal, ranging from $12,000 to $750,000. The all have four tires and a steering wheel, but there is a difference in quality, even when the basic function is the same.
Then we consider the actual training of scenic artists, as it began to shift from studio to school. I remain on the fence about scenic art being taught at a University versus in a paint studio. I am of a generation who received scenic art instruction at University and benefited from a liberal arts approach. Exploring scenic art techniques was placed within the wonderful context of supplemental knowledge discovered in humanities and art history classes. But I did not learn scenic art in a studio, where I lived and breathed it six days a week for six decades.
The entire American stage aesthetic also shifted during this same period, 1900-1930. This era included an increased appearance of draperies for settings instead of strict painted illusion. The decorative nature of popular art began to permeate the stage and the rise of scenic designer increased, delegating the scenic artist to become a translator for their vision. The dominance of the Düsseldorf and Hudson River Valley schools’ romanticism was somewhat replaced with stencils and paint-by-number on a variety of fabrics, including silks and plush velvet. However, for standard high school, community, ethnic hall or other productions, instructional manuals helped and encouraged amateur artists paint the necessary stage scenes. We can be thrilled that art permeated all aspects of our culture, but it also redefined the field scenic art.
Only so much scenic art instruction can be passed along in a book or online, even with a lovely YouTube video. This is a profession that requires hands-on instruction and mentorship, as well as intensive study and years of practice. In the end, not all scenic artists are equal. Now, this is my belief, and I have certainly been read the riot act about this stance, yet I cannot think of any profession where all individuals are equal, just look at the medical profession. If all scenic artists were the same, we would all charge the same rate and everything would look the same; there would be no need for unions or people receiving any higher rate than another..
While working with Vern Sutton at Opera in the Ozarks one summer, I heard him say something pretty profound to a group of young opera singers; his message could really apply to all artists. He was explaining how very few world class singers were out there. Unless he had specifically told an individual that they were world class, they weren’t; “you will recognize a world class voice instantly.” That same summer, I heard my first world-class voice and it was unmistakable, no question; there was only the one in the dozens of performers that year. The same can be said for scenic art. There are some who rise to top of their profession, whether as a rocket or bubble of air seeking the surface. Many scenic artists spend an increadible amount of money and time perfecting their techniques and knowledge of the industry.
Understandably, these journeymen scenic artists are hesitant to give their “secrets” all away, unless they are in a secure position. This is not a new stance, as I have repeatedly encountered this topic in scenic artists’ memoirs and newspaper articles throughout the nineteenth and twentieth century. Think of the entire point of guilds protecting trade secrets. I think of the newspapers that heralded a handful of scenic artists when there were hundreds painting during the 1890s. These were exceptionally skilled individuals. Only a few rose to the top of their profession, and they did not give free or reduced-rate workshops for aspiring artists. They may have painted alongside apprentices in fine art studios, or at the paint frame, but there was a hierarchy in the industry based on skill and experience.
When you have a formula, or trade secret that works really well for you – one that took years to understand or develop – would you share it with a direct competitor? Would you share a formula, or trade secret, with a fellow scenic artist in another region or country that did not directly compete with you? Would you share your research with the world before publishing? Knowing the time and expense that you invested in training and experience, would you share a recipe or technique with someone who is just starting out? I was once told, if you give something away, it can devalue what you are actually offering. In context, please consider, that I have likely done more pro bono work over the course of my career than actual paid work. I frequently give away much of my research and what I know, but I am not putting a restoration or painting recipe on a card, as it devalues what I have to offer as a professional and what I have worked so hard to accomplish.
Here is another consideration: If you are a teacher with health insurance, benefits and a retirement plan, it is part of your job to share your recipes and train your students. If you are a freelance artist and have struggled to do it all on your own, is it not your job to share and train. If you have a secure and full-time position in a paint studio, this is very different than an itinerant artist who never knows where their next project will take them. Skilled students directly benefit, and reflect positively on a university instructor or full-time charge artist in a shop; they are a direct credit to their mentor’s skill and leadership. This is not the case for the experienced freelance artist or any independent contractor. I can think of no other profession that expects professionals to share all of their knowledge with someone who is just starting out, unless they are grooming them to be a replacement at the end of a career. Enough of the diatribe, I welcome feedback and criticism of my thoughts.
To be continued…
