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Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 366 – “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (translucent drops, part 3)

Part 366: “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (translucent drops, part 3)

An article depicting Joseph A. Physioc’s studio and his design process was published in “The World” (New York, 6 March 1898, page 43). It provides great insight into some nineteenth-century scenic art techniques. Here is the third of four installments describing Physioc’s studio and his artistic process:

Illustration of a Drop Curtain at Harris’ Hudson Theatre, painted by Joseph A. Physioc and published in the New York Times (30 August 1908, page 50).

“The drop in the third act of “The Bonnie Brier Bush” must be transparent, so it is made of the finest unbleached muslin. It is stretched on a frame and then given a coat of starch sizing. This is nothing more than a starch made into paste and thinned down. It is laid on with a kalsomine brush. This stretches the muslin very tight. If Physioc is particularly interested in a drop he may paint it himself, but it is more likely that he will turn it over to scenic painters, who can follow the model and do it just as well.

The whole scene is first sketched in with charcoal, after the canvas is laid out in squares to make sure of perspective. The painter works constantly beside his canvas. The bridge is only three or four feet wide. He cannot walk away and see how the thing will look, and it would not do him much good if he did, because a scene in daylight bears little resemblance to one at night.

Joseph A. Physioc’s paint palette table in his studio. Illustration published in “The World” (March 6, page 43).

The painter simply has to know what his work will look like illuminated by artificial light. In daytime the best scenes are frightful looking things, outrageous daubs for the most part, utterly untrue in drawing and color. Having sketched the scene with charcoal, the painter may lay it in with ink in order to preserve it. Then he lays on a thin priming.

“It looks to be blind and uncertain work to a lay man,” said Physioc, “but the painter knows exactly the effect he is producing. Things that look like mere daubs to the unskilled eye have a deal of meaning to the educated one. The painter can see the broad effects toned down, the yellow turned whiter, the purples grayer, the blues deeper, the pinks pinker. One has to learn these things by going constantly to the theatre and watching the effect of light on scenes and the results of using different tones.”

Nothing emphasizes more clearly the difference between a landscape or figure painting and scene painting than the palette. Your oil artist has a palette which he holds in his thumb and upon which he mixes his colors daintily. The scenic painter has a palette. It is a bench seven feet long and a foot and a half wide. There is a little shelf on the back, which runs the whole length. This supports the colors, placed in dishes like the abominable things in which vegetables are served in country hotels.

The paint palette table of Jesse Cox, currently on display at the Theatre Museum in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa.

a paint dish and brush on Jesses Cox’s palette table, now on display at the Theatre Museum in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa.

There are thirty-two colors in active use as a rule. Of course, a painter blends now and then in order to get an effect. When you look at one of the drops on the frame, you wonder what the painter does with the thirty-two colors. They look amazingly untidy. The painter dips his brush into a jar of very dirty water [size], gathers up some paint, mixes it on the palette and applies it in an offhand manner that suggests a determined effort to get rid of it.

A signed watercolor painting by Joseph A. Physioc that recently sold during an online auction.

When it comes to painting in the river in this “Bonnie Brier Bush” scene, the matter becomes delicate. To begin with, the Drumtochty is flowing along as peacefully and smoothly as Scotch dialect. But the storm causes it to overflow its banks and make trouble, just as the Scotch dialect does when there is too much of it.

The painter must make allowances for the rising and general misbehavior of that river, just as he must make allowances for the sky. The effect is gained by manipulating the back of the drop. If you look at the drop on the miniature stage with the lights in front the Drumtochty is peaceful. Place a light behind and it is moving over the banks and tearing down the bridge. Of course both scenes are painted in, and one or the other is brought out by the different position of the lights and the stereopticon. A stereopticon properly played on a drop prepared with this end in view can give almost any effect. The difficulty is in the preparation of the drop.

After the drop is painted for the sunlight scenes, it must be painted for the night scenes, the dark ones rather. This is done by painting the back. A boy takes his position at the back. A strong light is played upon the drop. It is plain enough where are the trees and other things through which the light is not to shine. The back of these is painted brown or black so that they are opaque. Whereas the sky, the interstices in the foliage and river are left translucent so that the red light behind it will suggest a sunset, and a blue light will convey the idea of a moon and so on.

It will, therefore, be seen that the relation between lighting and the scenery is peculiarly intimate, and Physioc’s reason for taking up the mysteries of lighting as well as painting is apparent. It may be remarked incidentally that in this third act in Ian Maclaren’s dramatized story the audience is in London, before Westminster, to be exact. The change is made in a few seconds.

“This Westminster drop is a good deal harder to paint that the Drumtochty scene,” says Physioc. “It doesn’t require any creative power or any great draft upon the imagination, but it must be exact for the reason that Westminster Abbey is a reasonably well-known piece of architecture. Not only is it necessary to make a close copy, but we must be careful about the coloring. As a matter of fact, the majority of people cannot see Westminster Abbey as it really is. Therefore we must paint it as the majority think they see it. This holds good in the whole realm of scenic painting. If we were absolutely truthful, if we copied nature as closely as may be, the scenes would be frightful failures. The truth, the actual thing would look not in the least a bit real. We must present what the greater number thinks is true, and this makes the difference between good and bad scene painting. We cannot forget for an instant that people look at our work over the footlights.”

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 312 – African-American Scenic Artists

The tragedy at the New Lyceum Theatre when the paint bridge collapsed was published all across the country. The Times Herald reported about the “accident of four scenic artists and their assistants” (Port Huron, Michigan, 5 December 1894, page 3). The details of the article described, “Seven men, four white and three colored assistants, were hurled through a crashing scaffold and fell forty feet to the floor of the new Lyceum theatre.” All were part of the paint crew hired by Thomas G. Moses for this specific project.

Article describing the paint bridge collapse that injured Thomas G. Moses’ paint crew at the New Lyceum Theatre during December 1894. From “Rock Island Arous and Daily Union” (5 Dec 1894, page 1).

As I re-read “three colored assistants,” my mind flashed back to a blog comment from last month. A gentleman brought to my attention the scenic art career of an African-American during the 1870s. I was surprised, but not shocked, as studios didn’t always advertise hiring people of color or women. However, I was thrilled to have another name for my database and tucked away this little bit of information for further research. However, his story allowed me to read “three colored assistants” in a much different light and ponder if they were simply helpers or artists in their own right. I looked at the 1894 newspaper article with a different perspective than I would have a year ago, knowing that an African-American had been publicly acknowledged as a scenic artist two decades earlier.

Were the three assistants for the New Lyceum Theatre local hires? If so, some could argue that they were ready labor to help on site. The answer is “no.” One of the three gentlemen was from Chicago – Horace Posey. Posey was likely on Moses’ staff at the Sosman & Landis annex studio. He suffered both a broken arm and sprained ankle when the bridge collapsed. The other two gentlemen were from Memphis – A. E. Wells and John Wiley. Wells (also spelled as Well or Weil in some newspaper articles) broke his leg during the accident and Wiley suffered a sprained ankle. Wiley was the luckiest one of the entire paint crew.

The use of “colored assistant” to describe these three men suggests that they might be paint boys for the project, also termed “pot boys.” Pot boys filled the artists’ pots of color on their palettes. They also made one-fifths of a scenic artists wages. Regardless of the word, pot boys had a very important job in preparing both the pigment and binder. They may have also been artists in their own right who were painting sections for the journeymen. The one thing to keep in mind is that there is no way Moses would have had anyone on that paint bridge who was not qualified or hard working. He expected perfection. All of Moses’ writing suggests that he demanded speed and quality; not just from himself, but from all those on his staff as well. It is highly unlikely that these “assistants” were inexperienced or randomly selected. They, like all of his staff would be paid a weekly salary.

Finding information about African-American scenic artists in print during the nineteenth century is just about as difficult as locating women scenic artists from that same time; these three gentlemen have been left out of theater history. I thought back to graduate school and recalled studying African-American stereotypes and characters, but not African-American theatre practitioners beyond playwrights, directors and performers.

While painstakingly looking for any crumb of evidence that suggested these three gentlemen had a scenic art career in the public eye, I stumbled across another name – Jas. W. Bell.

Bell was purported to be “the only colored scenic artist in the country” in 1892. Well, that was wrong. The St. Louis Dispatch included an article titled, “Negro Demonstration” (10 May, page 2). The article reported “The ‘day of prayer’ set apart by the colored people of the United States, May 31. will be followed by a race demonstration by the Square League. This demonstration will be given at the Exposition Building at some date between June 1 and 15. It will embrace a discourse on ‘The Great Iniquity,’ by Geo. Vashon; with tableaux illustrative of the cause by Jas. W. Bell, the only colored scenic artist in the country.” That was like Grace Wisaahr, a decade later being the “only woman scenic artist in the country.” Nice tag line, but incorrect.

Article about Jas. W. Bell, reported as the “first colored scenic artist in the country” in 1892. From “St. Louis Dispatch” (May 10 1892 page 2).

I believe that there were many more African-American scenic artists. One just doesn’t pop up out of nowhere with the skills to paint scenery and survive on the profession. The problem is that we just haven’t included them in theatre history – yet. Tomorrow, we’ll look at an African-American scenic artist who predated Bell by more than two decades – Solomon E. White.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 309: Stage English

Stage English

Every once in a while you stumble across an unexpected gem while doing research. In many cases for me, it has absolutely nothing to do with what I was looking for on my quest. It just magically appears on the same page, or somewhere nearby. That is why I always like looking for books in the library; three rows over there might be a book that I would have never otherwise encountered.

Today’s discovery looks at something that is evasive, even for theatre technicians – stage terminology. It changes from country to country and decade to decade. Unless there is an article that clearly explains the vernacular for the stage at a certain point in time, we can only hazard a guess or piece together bits of information from memoirs, trade journals and newspaper articles. The current words that we are familiar would seem foreign over a century ago to our predecessors. I discovered an article from 1895 that defines “meanings of some behind-the-scenes technical terms.”

It was in a January 6, 1895, article for the Detroit Free Press titled “Stage English” (page 15). I am posting the article in its entirety, as it is extremely valuable for deciphering our past and should be available for my colleagues. The attached photographs are of a model that I recently built for the Matthews Opera House in Spearfish Matthews when I was asked to depict what their original 1906 Twin City Scenic Co. collections would have looked like at the time of delivery.

“Stage English”

“The patrons of the theatre hear a great deal about “flies,” “borders,” “tormentors, braces, wings, traps and many other things belonging to the arcana of the stag, but comparatively few have anything like a definite idea of their meaning. Some industrious recorder of facts has taken pains to make a cursory collection of these for the general information.

The pieces of canvas running across the top of the stage, representing sky, ceiling, and so on, are “borders,” and the “flies” are the galleries on either side of the stage, made continuous by “the paint-bridge” at the back.

Wood, interior and sky borders created for the Matthews Opera House model by Wendy Waszut-Barrett in October 2017.

The back scene is generally in two pieces called “flats,” but when the scene descends from above or ascends from beneath the stage an is one piece, upon a roller or otherwise, it is called a “drop.”

Roll drops for the Matthews Opera House model created in October 2017 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett.

The narrow side scenes are “wings,” and they run, top to bottom, in “grooves,” which are divided into “cuts.”

Wings for the Matthews Opera House model created by Wendy Waszut-Barrett in October 2017.

The inclined platforms are “runs” and used in mountain scenes, battle scenes and so on. The small painted frames used to hide from sight the audience the “runs” are known as “masking pieces.” A “box scene” is a room with solid walls and ceiling, and you cannot “box in” a forest scene. The pieces of canvas overhead are “sky borders,” and the space over these, sometimes stretching up to a great height, is known as the “rigging loft,” and the intricate webs of ropes up there are all worked from “the flies.”

“The “paint bridge” is the continuation and connecting part of the two galleries constituting the “flies,” which are stationary galleries and immovable. But the “paint bridge” is made to rise and lower as the pleasure of the scene painters and others, and immediately behind it is the “paint frame,” also to be raised and lowered so as to bring within easy reach all parts of the scenery the artists may be painting.

Paint bridge illustration from an 1890 article in the Philadelphia Press.

The holes on the stage are called “traps,” and underneath them are the trap cellars.” The “star” or “vampire” trap is a hole in the stage through which disappear r shoot upwards some of the principles in the pantomime and other spectacular pieces.

Stage trap at the Matthews Opera House in Spearfish, South Dakota.

The noise resembling the breaking of timber and the falling of houses is made by means of a gigantic rattle, moved by a handle. Against the wall of the stage, generally at the exit to the street, is the “call box,” upon which, or rather within which, are posted the “calls,” or notices of rehearsals and other important events to occur. A “sea-cloth” is a piece of canvas, which is painted to represent water, and is shaken to produce an imitation of waves. The instructions from the author to the carpenter concerning the scenes in the play are called “scene plots.” The particular part of the stage where the stage carpenter stows his scenes is called “the dock.” This term is elastic, however, and applies to any place in or out of the theater where scenery is stowed.”

Garden scene for the Matthews Opera House model as originally designed by the Twin City Scenic Co. in 1906. Created by Wendy Waszut-Barrett in October 2017.

Scenic elements for the original garden scene for the Matthews Opera House model designed by the Twin City Scenic Co. in 1906.

An angle view of the street scene for the Matthews Opera House model created by Wendy Waszut-Barrett in October 2017.

Scenic elements for the 1906 street scene designed by the Twin City Scenic Co. for the Matthews Opera House in Spearfish, South Dakota.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 302 – The Scenic Art of Fred McGreer

In 1900, Fred McGreer described his artistic process to the Cincinnati Enquirer (15 April 1900, page 12). The article’s heading was “Vast Amount of Artistic Labor Contributed by Scenic Artist Fred McGreer Toward the Success of Many Pike Productions. Will Be Shown in Details of Presentation ‘Quo Vadis.’ Some Interesting Light on the Architectural Side of Scene Building – The Artist’s Work.”

Cincinnati Enquirer article from 1900 about Fred McGreer, scenic artist

McGreer worked for two years as the official scenic artist for the Pike Theatre after venturing south from Chicago with Thomas G. Moses. The Cincinnati article is certainly worth posting in its entirety, especially as the newspaper scan is barely legible and I have spent hours deciphering the faded font. The article provides invaluable information pertaining to the scenic art process during the 1890s.

Here is the first section of the article:

“Perched up in a little room on level with the head of a big white lady who holds a cluster of electric lights, over the right proscenium box at the Pike, is a small room in which an unseen factor in many successes at that house toils industriously day after day making for success on the Pike Stage.

The potent influence is Mr. Fred McGreer, the capable scenic artist, whose stage settings at the Pike have been a prominent feature of the 60 odd productions seen at the house during two seasons he has worked there.

The writer, after climbing up a narrow flight of winding stairs and stumbling over bits of scenery reached this little den the other day, and found Mr. McGreer hard at work sketching out the stage plan for Nero’s banquet hall which will be seen there this weekend in ‘Quo Vadis.’ Rich in scenic opportunities, Mr. McGreer had spread himself on this big production, and, judging solely by the care and work he has lavished on it, the scenic side of the piece promises to be a triumph. Leading man and lady, villain or adventuress, or the others have thrilled with the applause at the Pike for their efforts, but Mr. McGreer who has contributed a great share to the stock company’s weekly offerings, seldom hears the same applause for his art as distinctly worthy as that of the players.

If the reader will follow we will take journey into his little den off the third landing of the winding stairs and see if we can’t get a faint peak at the amount of work a new production means to the indefatigable artist. You can imagine you climbed the stairway and arrived at the room, him half out of breath, with the writer who felt how sadly he had neglected his athletics. A generous part of the room is Mr. McGreer, a young man attired in a well-frescoed pair of shoes highly daubed overalls pulled over his other clothing. His sketches are works of art and marks the backdrops used in the course of a season, while at the other end a big roll of paper stands awaiting instructions.

When the photographer arrived, Mr. McGreer had just finished the elevation for the Nero palace. He gave clear insight into the business side in painting a theatrical setting, which the average playgoer sitting in front would never realize from simply looking at it. “We’ll begin at the beginning,” said Mr. McGreer when told that his description of how a scene is built up was wanted. “The first thing that I do is to read the manuscript of the play to be put on. Then comes a consultation with the stage director regarding the practical openings for each setting of the play as every exit and entrance must be letter perfect so that the players will be kept within the point or sight and at the same time be able to make their exits properly. This done I map out the stage plans for the carpenter with the elevations for each set, and he sets to work to make the wooden frames for the various scenes.”

On these plans the frames are all cut out and placed just as they go. Then the heavy drill cloth is fastened to the braces which are attached to the paint frame. This is worked by a windlass that can raise or lower the canvas at will. The artists work on what is called the bridge while painting the scenery. This is a narrow platform suspended about 30 feet above the stage at the rear wall and the paint frames operates up or down close to this so that we can work up to the height on the drop merely by moving the windlass in whatever direction desired.”

Scenic artists painting a drop from the paint bridge and carpenters covering flats on the stage floor at the Pike Theatre (Cincinnati Enquirer article from April 15, 1900, page 12).

Fred McGreer instructing scenic artists on the paint bridge at the Pike Theatre in Cincinnati (Cincinnati Enquirer article from April 15, 1900, page 12).

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 246 – Men Who Found Fame in the Wing and Drop Curtains, the Scenic Studio

The same year that the Sosman & Landis Annex studio opened, an article appeared in the Chicago Sunday Tribune, “Paint Mimic Scenes, Men Who Have Found Fame in the Wing and Drop Curtains” (Dec, 18, 1892, page 41). Here is the continuation of that article started in installment #245:

Illustration of the paint bridge at the [Chicago] Auditorium. Published in a Chicago Sunday Tribune article, 1892.

“The scene bridge being the highest inhabited portion of the stage few people are familiar with its surroundings, or how the artist gets his effects. He paints primarily for location in a great “shadow box,” which is the stage, always making calculations for distances, angles, and the witchery of lights. Scenic art of high grade is, however, regarded today as only different from other studio art in its breadth – a mere question of scale. As to the quality of finish it may be remarked that when scenery is lacking in detail it is due to lack of knowledge in the painter, lack of time, certainly not in accord with any principle of stage painting. Formerly the theatrical painter was expected to be truly catholic in his accomplishments, and was called to attempt any subject that the playwright might designate. Now this work, as in other lines of art, is falling more to specialists, and with far better results in figure, drapery, landscape, or architectural design. In spite of many drawbacks in the past, scene painting as a school has been an excellent one. Witness many good men who have left it to win distinction in the galleries of Europe and America: De Loutherbourg, Porter, Boulet, Jacquet, Lavignoc, Leitch, Stanfield, Roberts, Allen, Cole, Detaille, Kingsbury, Potast, Rymnosky, Wets, Guetherz, Peigelheim, H. Fillaratta, Homer Emmons, Charles Graham, and J. Francis Murphy. It will be observed that this list has members of the English Royal Academy, some famous Germans and Frenchmen, and, too, America is ably represented.

Scenic painting is not necessarily a course art because one cannot read a square yard of a scene 70×40 feet at a distance of a few feet. To judge any picture one should be sufficient distance to allow the eye to take in the entire subject. On the basis of this test a well and carefully painted scene will be found to be as finished as the majority of pictures, or even more so.

Extending over the rear of the stage on a level with the “fly gallery” is the scene bridge. It is from six to eight feet in width, but this is the distance from which the artist must regulate his perspective and study his color effect. The canvas to be painted having been glued in its frames, and hung in position so that its top is level with the gallery, the great frame on either side of the bridge being raised or lowered as occasion requires, the canvas is treated to a coat of priming by an assistant. The artist then goes over this surface with a charcoal crayon enlarging the scale of design from a small model previously prepared. He may then outline detail in ink and dust off the charcoal. As the color work is all done in distemper and dries rapidly, the artist must not only be active but certain in the performance of his task. If the scene be an exterior, particular care must be observed in the blending of the sky, as laps of color will ruin atmospheric effect. In using distemper the artist must paint solidly, otherwise his work will take the dirty complexion of thin oil and be ruined. He must avoid powerful greens which become coarse; strong blues which grow black; exaggerate yellows which are robbed of strength by excessive light; and, if the management is economical, use carmine sparingly.

Limited space will not permit of any description of scenic work in interesting detail. It is a curious fact that in Europe scenery is painted on the floor instead of having the canvas stretched on a framework. The original outfit of the Auditorium was thus painted in Vienna. Long-handled brushes are used in this work and the artists perch high on stools to gain their idea of perspective.

Note: I was fascinated that the article mentioned the first scenery for the Chicago Auditorium was painted in the European style – on the floor and not on a vertical paint frame. Then there is the suggestion that this only pertained to the first set, not all other painted scenery produced for the venue. Furthermore, the article included an illustration of the Auditorium paint bridge.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 234 – Thomas G. Moses and the Grand Opera House in Ogden, Utah

The Grand Opera House in Ogden, Utah. Scenery installation by Thomas G. Moses, assisted by Edward Loitz, with stage machinery by Joe Wikoff. Venue opened December 29, 1890. Illustration of the Ogden Grand Opera House floor plan from the December 30, 1890, in “The Standard” (No. 308, Vol. 3, front page)

The Ogden Grand Opera House was partially funded by the Browning Brothers and opened with Emma Abbot’s performance of “Carmen.” A full-page review about this new entertainment venue was published on the December 30, 1890, in “The Standard” (No. 308, Vol. 3, front page). Here are some details from the article pertaining to the stage space and painted front curtain by Thomas G. Moses:

Illustration of the Ogden Grand Opera House floor plan from the December 30, 1890, in “The Standard” (No. 308, Vol. 3, front page)

The auditorium was 65 feet between the walls in width and 72 feet in length. Seating accommodated 1700 people with was overflow available in the foyer and other rooms that could accommodate another 100 people. The first floor of the auditorium was divided into orchestra and orchestra circle, while the gallery was divided into a balcony and family circle with a second gallery above. The proscenium arch measured 32 feet in height by 38 feet in width. The distance between the curtain line to the footlights was five feet. The distance from the footlights to the back wall was 45 feet.

Illustration of the Ogden Grand Opera House from the December 30, 1890, in “The Standard” (No. 308, Vol. 3, front page). Scenery was contracted by Sosman & Landis and painted by Thomas G. Moses and Edward Loitz.

A sounding board with “artfully painted figures,” measuring 11 feet by 65 feet above the proscenium arch. This reminded me of the proscenium arch that I just saw at Matthews Opera House in Spearfish, South Dakota. In Spearfish, the painted figures above the sounding board by the Twin City Scenic Company depicted portraits of Shakespeare, Joseph Jefferson, and Edwin Booth.

Sound board with painted portraits of Edwin Booth, Shakespeare and Joseph Jefferson above the proscenium arch in Spearfish, South Dakota (Matthews Opera House, Twin City Scenic Co. , 1906). This is similar to what the article describes for the sounding board with “artfully painted figures” in Ogden, Utah, at the Grand Opera House.

Shakespeare painted on the sound board above the proscenium arch in Spearfish, South Dakota (Matthews Opera House, Twin City Scenic Co. , 1906). This is similar to what the article describes for the sounding board with “artfully painted figures” in Ogden, Utah, at the Grand Opera House.

Joseph Jefferson painted on the sound board above the proscenium arch in Spearfish, South Dakota (Matthews Opera House, Twin City Scenic Co. , 1906). This is similar to what the article describes for the sounding board with “artfully painted figures” in Ogden, Utah, at the Grand Opera House.

Edwin Booth painted on the sound board above the proscenium arch in Spearfish, South Dakota (Matthews Opera House, Twin City Scenic Co. , 1906). This is similar to what the article describes for the sounding board with “artfully painted figures” in Ogden, Utah, at the Grand Opera House.

Ogden’s stage measured forty-two feet in width by seventy feet in height. There were with four sets of “modern grooves hanging twenty-feet above the stage.” The height to the fly girder was twenty-seven feet and to the rigging loft fifty-six feet. At this same time, the proscenium arch would increase from 32 feet high by 38 feet wide to 36 feet high by 38 ½ feet wide in 1905, suggesting a renovation (Julius Cahn’s Theatrical Guide).

There was a paint bridge planked by two counterweighted paint frames, each measuring thirty feet by thirty-seven feet in size. This is where all of the scenery would have been painted onsite by Moses and Ed Loitz. In Fort Scott, Kansas, Moses had also constructed a paint frame on site to use for the drops. The wood was later incorporated into top battens, unlike in Ogden, Utah, where it was left to hang for future projects. The Ogden Grand Opera House also had two quarter traps, a center trap, and one thirty foot bridge. “The Standard” article printed that all of these features were “fitted in the most appropriate styles.”

The article also noted,“2,500 feet of rope used for hoisting and cording the counterweights and 12,000 yards of canvas used for scenery purposes.” Based on standard Sosman and Landis drop construction, 143 yards of fabric would have been used for a 33’ x 39’ drop (36” wide muslin with vertical seams). This would be enough fabric to create 83 full-size drops. Based on the inventory of past collections, I believe that there would have been approximately 50 drops with the remaining fabric being used for wings, borders, and flats that would lash together to form box sets.

For me, however, the most interesting aspect of the entire front-page article was the description of the scenic artists and the front curtain painted by Moses.

“The stage equipment will be equal in every respect to any metropolitan theatre in the country. Sosman & Landis, the scenic artists have been represented here by Thos. G. Moses, an artist of wide reputation and ability, who has fitted up some of the largest and finest theaters in the country for the firm he represents. His work reflects great credit on Sosman & Landis and himself.

The drop curtain is without doubt one of Mr. Moses best efforts. It is purely oriental in design and color, and represents a view in the Orient from the interior of a mosque. The delicate blue sky is softly blended to a warm grey of the hazy distant city, which is seen beyond the river. The greys and purples of the middle distance form a charming contrast between the extreme delicate distance and the warm supply foreground where the minarets and domes of the ruined mosque stand in bold relief against the clear sky, and fairly glitter in the strong sunlight. The cool green palms and delicate vines lend a very picturesque effect to the architecture, while the lazy natives and ungainly looking camels put life to the picture and give the landscape a most decided oriental feeling. A cool shadow is thrown across the immediate foreground which partially throws the arch of the interior in shadow, where the polished wood is thrown in strong relief against the landscape and is nicely draped with blue plush with a lining of ecru silk, which falls in soft folds on the polished floor, on which is spread an oriental rug, with a vase of flowers and gold and silver urns, etc., gives the whole finish which is artistic and homelike.

Mr. Thomas G. Moses has been assisted in his work by Mr. Edward Loitz, a rising young artist and Mr. Wikoff, the stage machinist. The combination is one that could only be created with much study and one gifted by nature for this special class of art. The picture sets well its beautiful frame, it’s coloring is rich, the distance is good and the foreground approaches near nature. The mechanical arrangements of this, as well as the asbestos curtain, are of the most approved description, being hung and counterweighted to hoist speedily. To the right and left are encore entrances, obviating the necessity of drawing the curtain aside when necessary for the performers to appear before it.”

To be continued…

Although very little is included of the Grand Opera House scenery or building, Beth Browning’s 1947 thesis Brigham Young University, “History of Drama in Ogden,” may be of interest to someone. Here is the link to her paper: http://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi…She eyewitness accounts of family members and interesting stories surrounding the theatre community in Ogden.