Copyright © 2021 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett
It has been three decades since I first created an index for the 1931 typed memoirs and scrapbook of Thomas G. Moses. At the time, I promised myself I would track down every little bit of information recorded in its pages. Five years ago, I began to explore each entry, and track down every project, event and personality mentioned by Moses in his writing. I am now at the end of 1922. Moses passed away in 1934, so there are still eleven more years to go. These will be the most difficult period to write about, as Moses begins to lose hope that the world of scenic art will ever return to the old ways.
At the end of 1922, Moses wrote a particularly eloquent passage, reflecting on his life and the times; one that provides a glimpse into his soul.
It is long entry, but I am leaving it in its entirety:
“This year has not been a record breaker in any one particular. Nothing very startling. After leaving the west I seemed to let down and lose all ambition to do anything. I have not been able to paint any pictures. Now that I have rolled up another year’s record, I feel in a reminiscent mood, and as I have accomplished one of my desires, the writing of my life’s journey to date, which I sincerely hope will be interest to someone. I will dwell on the last interesting incidents and wonderful inventions of 1800 and the beginning of 1900.
While I have done nothing to assist in the making of history, even in a small way, I feel that I have been very fortunate to have lived in the two centuries, which have been a wonderful advancement in Art, Science, Music and Literature. It seems but a few years ago when we were making dipped candles, and now it is an easy matter to turn on a switch, as we have wonderful electric light. Darius Green jumped from the roof on his father’s barn with a common umbrella as a parachute, and now he could have a wonderful time in an air-ship, which did so much good in our late World’s War. From the clumsy high wheel velocipede to our highspeed motorcycle and the highpower automobile. From Jules Verne’s story of “The Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea” to the real submarine gunboat, that accomplished more than Jules Verne ever dreamt of. From the wood burning locomotives to the hundred-ton engine that will pull the heavy train of loaded freight cars up the steep mountain grades. The old wooden battleships of the rebellion days to the enormous dread-naughts.
From the three-story brick building of 1860 to the modern skyscrapers of twenty and forty-five stories buildings, constructed of steel and fireproof hollow tile, marble and glass. The improvements in the Merchant’s Marine service have been a great expense to the government during the late war, but it has shown the wonderful strides that has been made from the full rigged ships to the steamers of today. The inventors of the past sixty years have given the world more wonderful inventions than any other period. Those that stand out in the limelight are the electric lights, talking machines, telephones, the wireless radio, all descriptions of flying machines, submarines and thousand and one others too numerous to mention.
I am ashamed to say that I have not made any decided approach towards the “Hall of Fame” while I have worked hard all my life, and have accomplished a little, and have had a little glory and honor thrust upon me, but not enough to entitle me to a laurel wreath. I trust my diary will be of some interest to my relatives and brother scenic artists.
I feel sure that my work will be of some interest inasmuch as I was compelled to travel over the United States a great deal from Maine to California, which gave me a great chance to meet big people of the dramatic world in the days of real actors and plays of real merit.
In a way, the art of scenic painting has progressed to a higher plane and has been taken up by a number of so-called designers or scenic decorators who have knowledge of the technical part of the art, but simply design and call the artist to carry the design for the completed product. We that paint, as well as design, frown upon the new fad for fabrics. We trust it will soon die out and we will all return to the old way of painting with up-to-date designs.
In my youth, I planned and hoped to reach several goals on the road to Fame – they all seemed so far ahead after my years of hard work. I have passed them and in looking back, I realize they were not so hard and that I had picked out some easy ones. But now at sixty-six years of age, I find the big goal is still far ahead, it is the missing link between Mediocrity and Greatness. As I was not endowed with a wonderful amount of ability, it has been a struggle to secure a foothold in the art world. I derive a great deal of pleasure from the mere fact that I am able to draw at all and paint, and have given my impression of the woods, mountains and the restless sea. My art life is behind me, but the flickering light of hope is still in sight and I will strive to reach it while I breath, I hope. Many times, I have nearly given up when something worthwhile has presented itself, which gave me a new lease on life.
I have many artist friends who only need the missing link to reach the apex and place the magic letters “N.A.” to their signatures. They have nearly arrived; so close that it is really pathetic that the Great Honor does not reach them over night, to be followed by a life of success in the art world, which is truly an ideal existence.
I often think of Edward Bellany’s book called “Looking Backward,” as I do a lot of looking backward. There are so many incidents that occurred in the past that will spur me on to better ideas and correct future plans. Many of us are very much criticized when we get to reminiscing, and we are politely requested to come out of it and get our feet on the ground. I have met but very few men or women of sixty years of age or more who are strongly inclined to look backward and exclaim, “it might have been” and live it over again, as to many the past is a sweet story. “The good old days” you will hear them exclaim, as they were back in the “Old Home Town.” No matter how well they have prospered since leaving their old home, there is always that home love that is uppermost in their minds. To the men, the thoughts of the old swimming hole the orchards and vineyards, that all belonged to the small boy. A few have remained behind and continued a business that was started by their father and possibly by their grandfather.
I am drifting back to the days when some of the present-day successful artists were working for me and Burridge and we were together and we had Jules Guering with us. He had climbed to the top, within a few years, he was well equipped with money to start and a lot of ability. He has made his home in New York for the past twenty years.
In 1893 Harry A. Vincent applied to me for a position. I tried to convince him that he was foolish to break into a business that had a future only in hard work. He succeeded and has become one of the cleverest landscape painters in America. He went to New York in 1898 and worked for Gates and Morange, then joined the Salmagundi Club. Captured several prizes which boosted him in the art world. Many of his pictures are being reproduced and selling well. He is now in Italy on a sketching trip.
Frank Peyraud, now celebrated as a landscape painter, was with me in 1893. Victor Higgins, now in Taos, New Mexico, another of our boys. Edgar Payne, now in France, was with us only a few years ago. John H. Young was another assistant that made good in scenic painting, but never stuck to the picture end of it as he started to make money in New York and that settled his picture ambitions (if he ever had them very strong). As I look backward over the names of the successful ones, I wonder what I would have done had I been gifted with the same amount of talent.
So it goes on, year after year, and you keep just a little bit ahead of the game, just enough to convince your friends that you are really a good fellow and that you haven’t abused their confidence.
But you are bound to look backwards and wish for the “Land of Beginning Again”:
I wish that there were some wonderful place,Called the “Land of Beginning Again”Where all our mistakes and our heartachesAnd all of our poor, selfish grief,Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the doorAnd never put on again.
To be continued…
Here is a link to full text of Louise Fletcher Tarkington’s poem “The Land of Beginning Again” – http://www.rainydaypoems.com/poems-for-kids/inspirational-poems/the-land-of-beginning-again-louisa-fletcher
“The Land of Beginning Again” was also turned into a song, sung by Bing Crosby in “The Bells of St. Mary’s” (1945) – one of my favorites – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99I0yVxVukQ
Britannica entry for Edward Bellamy: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Edward-Bellamy#ref126075
