Painting Process – Page 2

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 992 – A Successful Woman Scenic Artist, 1918

The following article was written by Henry T. Parker and published in “American Magazine” (August 1923, page 68). Keep in mind that this was the same year that Sosman & Landis closed their doors. Times were certainly changing.

“A Successful Woman Scenic Artist.

When Mabel Buell was a child of two, and barely able to crawl about a California beach, she grasped a stick and began to draw figures bigger than herself in the sand. When she was ten she painted two heroic tapestries for a hotel in southern Florida. When she was a year older she “splashed” huge signs over a theatre curtain in Savannah, Georgia, and when she was fifteen she climbed an eighty-foot ladder to a ‘bridge’ above a theatre stage and began to paint her way down, rung by rung, to success, paradoxical as that may sound. To-day, at twenty three, she is called upon for some of the biggest productions along Broadway. She is the only woman scenic artist in America.

“Her success, she says, is due to the fact that she has always held to one ideal and has reused to be swayed from it by criticism, handicaps, or disappointment. Even from those earliest days on the California beach she knew that she could never deal in the miniature in art. She wanted only the heroic, the statuesque, the bigger-than-life-itself. But once did she try to evade the issue. Then, at the insistence of her father, she studied landscape and portraiture for two years in London.

“Scene painting is an exacting art. It calls for a physical strength and endurance that is not demanded in any of the allied arts. Many times, especially when one is working in stock, and one or more complete sets must be turned out each week, the scenic artist is called upon to work for thirty and forty hours at a stretch. And when one considers that every minute of each of those hours is filled with wielding a brush that weighs from five to eight pounds, turning the big windlass that raises or lowers your canvas, mixing one’s own paints, and forever considering the details of colors and lights that are involved, it is easy to realize that scene painting is not child’s play.

“I talked with Mabel Buell of the arduous side of her work, as she paused after ‘sweeping’ a sky line across a forty-foot canvas that was destined to be a back drop for a new production by the Coburns. Miss Buell looks all of five years younger than her confessed twenty-three. She is small, slim, and dainty, and her trim knickers and tailored smock were so bedaubed with pigments that she looked as though she should have been in a nursery, coloring cut-out dolls, rather than tackling the huge canvas that hung before here.

‘Hard work? Of course, it is hard work,’ she said; ‘but then so is everything else that is worthwhile. I am never so happy as when I am ‘way up here on my bridge with my paints, brushes and canvas. It is only then that I am really living my life as I first conceived it, and I know that I would be miserable if I couldn’t do it. I despise the detail of little work, and have ever since I was a child in pinafores. Making a set in miniature drives me to distraction and sometimes – even when I am in a hurry to finish a model to show to some manager or director – I have to quit and come up here in this atmosphere of bigness to think things out and get the right perspective.

‘But I do know that it is the so-called drudgery of the thing that turns most women against scene painting as a means of expression and livelihood. I have had hundreds of girls come to me and ask about my work and by what means they, too, might take it up and succeed at it. And they have all seemed highly interested until I have told them that the real scenic artist must of necessity do all or most of his own painting, then they have turned away.

‘It was simply too much for them, and very wisely, I presume, they have sought other fields more suited to their tastes. Not necessarily that they are afraid of so much of it and also of the handicaps that beset every woman who takes up scene painting as a profession, for there is, as always will be, a great prejudice against women in this field.’

‘It was probably the knowledge of this fact that, more than anything else, led my father to try and discourage me against it. Even to-day many theatrical managers are inclined to refuse to allow women on the bridge, and it is only there that one can work satisfactorily. The scenic artist naturally sees only part of his work at the time. The vast canvas is stretched out before him, and, unless he knows the exact scale on which he is working, the perspective is likely to go all wrong.

‘I have found many men, managers, electricians, stage carpenters, and others, who have been only to glad and willing to help me in every way. That is – as soon as they learned that I knew my business and was competent to do the work for which I have been employed. But they must be convinced, and therein lies the hardest part for the girl who is trying to break into the game. Of course I learned much from my father, though even he was more often than not loath to have me around. It was my brother who used to act as his ‘paint boy,’ cleaning his brushes and mixing his paints. But I made the most of my opportunities. I hung around and picked up what information I could, and always kept in mind that some day I was going to climb to the bridge and do scene painting all by myself.’”

Mabel Buell directing operations in one end of the ballroom in the Opera Club of Chicago. Photo accompanied “A Successful Woman Scenic Artist” by Henry T. Parker and published in “American Magazine” (August 1923, page 68).

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 984 – Reflections on Scenic Art

This is a long and contemplative post, so my apologies in advance. Quarantine is providing me with a little too much time to think, hence why I am painting so much; it silences the internal dialogue.

In 1918, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “Pitt and Stella dropped in on us from Trenton on my 62^nd birthday on the 21^st, and we all enjoyed their surprise and their visit.” Pitt was Moses’ eldest son who lived in New Jersey. Today, Moses may be considered three years away from retirement. In 1918, he was mid-career with no retirement in sight. What were the physical barriers of a scenic artist working in the early-twentieth century versus now?

There are a few things to consider about the careers of scenic artists during the early twentieth century. The first is that they were not working on the floor, most painted on a vertical frame, one that moved up and down. Aged scenic artists didn’t have to crawl around on the floor to tack down a drop, or bend over to paint some little detail. They did not spend a lifetime having to suddenly drop to the floor or kneel for extended periods of time.

Thomas G. Moses working at Less Lash Studios in New York, ca. 1910.

How long could scenic artists work during the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century? Until death. If you don’t have to kneel down, and the painting was at a comfortable height, why stop working? With no social security net, stopping work at any point might not be an option. Take away the physical obstacles and you could paint as long as your mind stayed sharp.

It’s pretty simple if you deconstruct the early-twentieth century painting process. What are the greatest obstacles that an older artist may encounter in a shop if they are above the age of 60? Kneeling, crouching and climbing. I am almost fifty-one years old and consider myself in pretty good shape. I am overweight, but I have remained active my whole life and spent hours working on the floor. Starting out as a dancer, the flexibility remains with me – so far. That being said, I can no longer crawl around on my hands and knees for extended periods of time anymore, without suffering the next day. I had a big epiphany a few months ago when I was painting an ad drop on a motorized paint frame at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. I was putting in an ungodly amount of hours, all by myself, yet did not feel the strain. Although I enjoyed what I was doing, the key for me was painting on a vertical paint frame. At every step of the process, my painting was at the perfect height. No over-reaching, no crouching and no straining. Why would I need to ever retire if I could physically do the work I love?

There is another thing to keep in mind about the early-twentieth century American scenic studio that is really important– journeyman artists had assistants. That is not the case with every journeyman artist now, especially if you freelance and do not enjoy a permanent position. These young assistants, “pot-boys” (for filling pots of paint), would tack up the drop on a vertical frame, prime it and possibly base-coat many of the basic colors. If you were at the top of your profession, you may only need to show up to paint the complex part of scene, adding in flourishes to add dimension and sparkle. There are pros and cons to our industry at every step it seems.

The industry really began to change in the 1920s – and then completely shifted in the 1930s during the Great Depression. Scenic artists noted the shift in their memoirs and in newspaper articles. Those who recalled the changing times at the end of their life detailed the cause of change in scenic art. A few years back, I read a series of letters between John Hanny and Dr. John Rothgeb from 1979. They are now part of the Rothgeb collection at the University of Texas, Austin. Hanny was hired at Sosman & Landis by Thomas G. Moses in 1906; he was 16 years old at the time and earning $6 a week. Although his salary increased five-fold in six years, by 1920, he and four other artists left to form Chicago Service Studios. That business only lasted six years. In 1926 Art Oberbeck of ACME studios of Chicago bought the studio. Hanny’s scenic art career was tumultuous at best beginning in the mid-1920s.

When asked by Dr. Rothgeb in 1979 to describe the era from 1900 to 1929, Hanny wrote the following:

“The depression of 1929 just about stopped the production of stage scenery – at least in Chicago. Road shows, musicals, etc. if any were being produced in New York and Hollywood. At this point all the studios disappeared but the scene painter just couldn’t disappear and had to become freelancers. There was no such thing as a steady job and the boys were hard put to find a day’s pay. Most of the following 10 years were really tough and 1929 proved to be a big change in our business, in purpose, in design, paint and other materials.” Hanny goes onto describe the emergence of a new theatrical supplier: “These were not Scenic Studios but rather combinations of carpenter and machine shops equipped to turn out booths, revolving turn tables, electrical effects and so on. The art was done in any available loft or vacant store space.”

This is when scenic art shifts from an art, to a craft; no longer does painted illusion drive the industry, it almost becomes an after thought of the production process. Yes, there are exceptions.

Hanny continues, “The biggest change to us painters was our paints. Luminal Casein was pretty well established as a very practical and useful medium so, it, and show card color was the norm. So – no more ‘dry’ colors – no more soup bowls or hot size, and of course no more paint frames. Drops, if any were painted on the floor.” THIS is a turning point in American scenic art. We abandon something that worked incredibly well for over a century. Not everyone transitions to floor painting, and pockets remain with scenic artists continuing to paint on vertical frames – just look at Hollywood. Scene painting continues to thrive there more so than anywhere else in the United States.

With the shift from painting on a vertical frame to the floor for live theatre and industrial shows, standard techniques and tools also changed. Hanny recalled, “The house painter’s sash brush came into use and many of the former ‘tools’ such as snappers and center-poles and others were no longer needed. The folding 2 ft. brass bound rule gave way to the yard stick.”

When this industry wide change occurred, Hanny was in his forties and Moses was at the end of his career. I cannot imagine watching my entire life’s work be condemned as “old fashioned” as much pictorial realism went out of vogue. Think of the theatre world that Moses entered in 1873. He was from the generation of scenic artists who chummed together on sketching trips to gather resources. The generation who took art classes together at fine art academies and garnered some of the top salaries in the theatre profession. This was all ending, faster than any of them realized.

We talk about evolution in the theater industry; technological innovations that herald change and produce ever-better products. Sometimes the only way to forge ahead is to forget the past. If we don’t look back, we can’t lament what is lost. Such was the case when the golden age of American scenic art came to an end. 1880 to 1914 is what I consider the golden age of scenic art. Yes, I am sure there are many who disagree with those dates. Much scenic art training simultaneously shifted to academic institutions around this same time. This created a very different atmosphere, a departure from scenic studios that began training sixteen-year-old boys.

As with everything, a massive shift in any industry affects the accepted standards. What we consider “beautiful” or even “acceptable” is sometimes based on the lowest common denominator. As with many things, “quality” work is relative to accepted industry standards and the times.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 877 – “The Truth About the Painting Business,” 1913

The same year that Walter W. Burridge passed away, an interesting article was written about the demise of the decorative painting business. Many scenic artists and studios relied on decorative painting work. Ornate auditoriums and picturesque murals were often the work of the same artists who delivered the stock scenery and stage machinery. However, the world of painting and its place in the theatre industry was changing.

“The Truth About the Painting Business,” was included in “The Road to Success,” was a publication by the Charles Kraut Academy of Decorative Art in Chicago. Here is an the article that especially resonates with the state of scenic art today:

“The Truth About the Painting Business.

Of great importance to every man interested in the Painting and Decorating Business, be he Master or Workingman.

READ CAREFULLY AND EVERY LINE OF IT.

The Painting business in the United States and Canada has been on the downward grade for a number of years. Every painter knows this and has wondered why it is that the Painter is classed now with the unskilled laborer, where in fact he ought to be considered a high grade and skillful mechanic.

The reason is that the great majority of the Master Painters, as well as the Painter in general, have neglected to go with the times. The majority are satisfied with the “unskilled labor” part of the business. They are satisfied if they can even make a few dollars out of a job, which they got away, perhaps through unfair competition, from the other fellow, where by rights he ought to make good money and have twice the amount of work on the same job. Now-a-days a painter, if he thinks at all, thinks and tries to invent new mixtures to skin the work still more to beat his competitor, while by rights he ought to strive and learn something that the other fellow does not know and start in on a competition of skill, and persuade to House owners to have rooms decorated in refined taste. This will give him more work to do on individual jobs, he will be able to employ the working men longer, he will get more money for the job, he will be recognized as an artist and he will get more satisfaction and pleasure out of the work.

Now comes the objection that every painter springs on me, and that is: The public in general does not know anything about Art, the people are not educated in this direction and are well pleased with “wall paper” which is cheaper. I admit that this is true, but who’s fault is it tat the public is ignorant of Art, and especially Decorative Art?

“It is the duty of the Painter to educate the general public. The general public is willing, even anxious, to be educated in this line, every house owner, or the lady of every household will gladly listed to a painter in the direction, providing the painter knows what he is talking about and has a reputation in this direction; and as it stands now, there is only about one Painter in every hundred who can carry on a conversation of this sort which he will convenience the head of the household that he is able to carry out what he proposes. It is a wonder that people prefer to have their homes tinted in plain colors or are satisfied with wall paper? Is it a wonder that they do not ask the painter to think up some decorative scheme for their rooms? They do not trust the man, because he does not make the suggestion himself, and consequently class him with the unskilled laborer.

In Europe, the general public is educated in this direction, and no flat, no matter how small, is without some decoration, free-hand work, while all the Residences, Churches, Theatres, etc. are elaborately decorated. Well, who would educate the people in Europe? Do you suppose this line is taught in the public schools? No, the Painter did this; in Europe competition in skill is considered first and above the competition twice

[Me: Re-read the last line, as this was the case in American until a notable shift occurred during the 1890s].

Is it not high time that something is done to regain the prestige of the Painter in this Country and to get more and better work at higher profits?

This can only be done by first educating the individual Master Painter and workingman, and he in turn is bound to educate the general public. It is high time that a move in this direction should be taken. Every Master Painter and Painter has the opportunity now to educate himself and at very little expense. Of course he can not learn in a month or one year everything which a practical Decorator must know, but he can gradually educate himself by practicing during his spare hours at home, an opportunity that is not given the painter in Europe.

A man who can afford to practices and study for about three months at a stretch every year (during Winter) will do wonders in that line. A man can become a skilled and high grade mechanic only be devoting his spare tie to study and practice for a year or two, and if he makes up his mind to succeed, he cannot fail, if he practices as much as is necessary, and he will never regret having taken the trouble.

At every Convention of Master Painters and Painters so far, it has always been emphasized that it is necessary to educate the Painter in the business,-the school question has always been a leading item, If the Master Painters and Painters will only co-operate in the direction laid down by me, a revolution in our profession is sure to come. Educate yourself, tell your men to acquire and education in the business and to become Decorators, and the education of the public is bound to follow.

Do not be afraid of over-production in this line. Only the narrow man will think it. There is no over-production in Europe, although schools have been turning out Decorators for over 100 years, and the schools are still growing. The more Decorators there are, the more the general public will become educated in this line. Within a short time competition in skill will take place in the painting and decorating business in this Country, and the man not educated in this line will have to be satisfied to be known and classed with the laborer, while the other man who gets an education in the decorating business will have the opportunity and ability to complete with the man who is taking the extra cream of the work now, and by that competition in skill will ensue. Your old customers will certainly have more respect for you, if you can prove that you are able to execute artistic work.

It is high time that a move in this direction should be started, because the most beautiful of all styles in decorative work is coming to us now. This is the “Up-to-date Conception of the Italian Renaissance,” a style in which very elaborate Ornaments, Flowers and Figures are employed, To be able to do this kind of work, a schooling is absolutely necessary, as the work is all frees-hand, and stencils will not be used, You can watch this style breaking through everywhere. Look at the new Furniture, Frames, or Wood-work (trim) of high grade work, go to the leading Hotels and look at the Banquet Halls and Lobbies which have been decorated recently, and you will see the new direction, Within two of three years it will be in full swing, and you ought to prepare yourself and also tell your men to prepare themselves to be able to meet the demand when it comes.”

But a world war was just waiting around the corner, and the education that he spoke of took a different turn. This sets the groundwork for Thomas G. Moses 1914 entry in August.

To be continued…

Example of decorative painting at Schloss Rosenau in Austria.

Above the curved staircase. Example of decorative painting at Schloss Rosenau in Austria.

The curved staircase. Example of decorative painting at Schloss Rosenau in Austria.

Here are a few examples of decorative painting at Schloss Rosenau in Austria. Here is one of many links about this interesting building: https://www.inspirock.com/austria/schloss-rosenau/osterreichisches-freimaurermuseum-im-schloss-rosenau-a1254825113

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 859 – Jesse Cox, Scenic Artist

Much has been written about Jesse Cox, the scenic artist purported to be the inventor of the Diamond Dye process for scenery. Cox’s obituary even credits the artist as the “originator of commercial dye painted scenery for theatrical productions.” His obituary details Cox’s process that involved mixing dye with warm water, making it “possible for scenery to be much lighter in weight and transported more conveniently.” I highly doubt that Cox was the first scenic artist to use commercial dyes on scenery, especially when looking at his birthdate and timeline. However, I do believe that he popularized the process, if only through sheer self-promotion.

*Jesse Cox sitting in one of his sets. Image from Michael Kramme’s “Palimpset” article “Opera House Illusions: Jesse Cox and Theatrical Scenery” (Vol. 71, No. 4, pages 154-172).*

*Jesse Cox. Image from Michael Kramme’s “Palimpset” article “Opera House Illusions: Jesse Cox and Theatrical Scenery” (Vol. 71, No. 4, pages 154-172).*

There is also no question that the Diamond Dye manufacturers would have been thrilled to have Cox as a poster boy for their company, however there is no clear evidence that suggests Cox was the inventor of the process. Even the Jesse Cox Scenic Company’s early twentieth-century catalogue makes no mention of their specializing in dye scenery or Cox’s reputation as the inventor of this unique scene painting process. I have to wonder when the Diamond Dye process of painting scenery became specifically associated with this artist, as the earliest mention that I have uncovered to date is 1936. To all indications, Cox’s story was shared at a time when he was reflecting on his own history, and contributions to the world of scenic art. I am reminded of the erroneous credit given to Lee Lash for his invention of the ad drop. Over time, facts blur and history is carefully shaped by those who gain the most from its telling.

Here is a little background about Cox that was included in his 1961 obituary:

Jesse Matthew Cox was born on March 3, 1878, in Seneca, Illinois, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Cox. One of five sons born to the couple. His eldest brother was James, and his younger brothers were George, Chauncy and Spencer Jr. The family moved to Estherville in 1891. At the time, Jesse was at the age of 13 years old. Initially, he worked for his father, but soon became interested within the next three years, going on the road as an actor at the age of 16. He initially toured with the [Warren G.] Noble Dramatic Shows of Chariton. As many young performers involved with touring productions at the time, Cox also performed as a musician and assisted in other technical duties. It was while on tour that Cox became interested in scene painting, likely out of the company’s necessity for additional settings. There is no indication that he became a scenic artist by going through any traditional training or apprenticeship program.

After touring, Cox worked as an itinerant artist in Chicago, Minneapolis and St. Paul, spending several seasons in the Twin Cities. It is reported that Cox returned to Estherville to settle down, painting “great quantities of scenery” there and shipping much of it to California and Texas. Local newspapers cite that his return to Estherville coincided with the decline of demand for road shows. In Estherville, Cox started a scene painting studio in the old Lough opera house, the same venue where he once worked as a prop boy before going on the road with Noble. Cox had little luck with studio locations throughout the duration of his career, as the first was destroyed by fire and the second razed by a tornado. Cox’s third studio was located at 606 N. 12^th St. There he worked with his son Robert, primarily making scenery for theaters and high schools, but also completed many sign painting projects. The firm’s business gradually expanded to include neon signs. His company continually diversified as the demand for painted scenery continued to decline. This was the case with most scenic studios that survived the Great Depression. In regard to neon signs produced by the studio, in 1942 the Estherville Daily News announced, “The Jesse Cox studio has been busy the past week building the first complete neon sign to be fabricated in Estherville” (22 Sept 1942, page 1). The sign was made for the Hossack Motor Company.

Cox’s scenic art and performance career was supplemented with entertainment news. He and his brother George established and edited the Opera House Reporter, an entertainment industry trade paper, from 1898 to 1907. In the greater scheme of things the establishment of the publication coincides with his development of the Diamond Dye process and touring on the road. The dates just don’t add up when compared to newspaper accounts. The Opera House Reporter included a variety of information, such as office reports from theaters and general theatre advertisements. The Cox brothers are also credited with running the first movie projector in the state of Iowa. They were quite an innovative and busy pair.

Of his personal life, Cox was twice married, first to Mabel Gerberick and second to Carrie Beaty in 1939.

Cox died at the age of 83, a longtime businessman and member of the Estherville City Council. His health was failing for some time, with his passing being attributed to the “complications of advanced age.” Cox was an active member with the Knights of Pythias and the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks. His assumed high offices in each fraternity, with achieving the Elk’s rank of Exalted Ruler.

Cox’s professional and personal memorabilia are on display at the Theatre Museum of Repertoire Americana in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa. Even his accordion is on display. The museum’s library includes an article written in 1990 by Michael Kramme for Palimpset, a publication advertised as Iowa’s popular history magazine (Winter issue). His article “Opera House Illusions: Jesse Cox and Theatrical Scenery” was included in Vol. 71, No. 4 (pages 154-172). Kramme credits Cox as “the inventor of a system of painting theatrical scenery that revolutionized the industry.” Unfortunately Kramme gives no specific technical information or dates to support this statement. Again, I question the legitimacy of Cox’s claim to fame as the inventor of the dye system of painting scenery.

The earliest mention that I encountered in my research describing Cox’s dye process is in an article from the Estherville Enterprise on 9 Sept. 1936 (page 2). The article reports, “There is a very interesting story connected with the [Jesse Cox Scenic Studio]. Jesse Cox, the owner and operator, when a very young man was a trouper with Nobles’ Stock company for seven years. While following the road and assisting in handling massive curtains, Mr. Cox conceived the idea of painting scenery with diamond dyes. These could be folded and packed in a trunk and were much easier to carry. During the summer of 1899 Mr. Noble sent Mr. Cox to Estherville on pay and in the old low opera house, the young man designed and painted the first diamond dye scenery, now popular the world over. Later Mr. Cox closed with the Noble Company and started the business of scenery painting. He has shipped scenery to every state in the Union and from New York City to San Francisco can be found scenery labeled in the corner, The Jesse Cox Scenic Studio, Estherville, Iowa. The largest scene Mr. Cox ever panted was 24 x 150 feet for the Robinson Bro. Circus. Many of the largest traveling companies have used Mr. Cox’s scenery but the outstanding feature is the fact that he conceived the idea of diamond dye scenery which is now used extensively throughout the world.”

My research does not suggest that Diamond Dyes were that extensively used for scenery production in the United States at the time.

What I found interesting, however, is that the 1900 census lists Cox’s profession as “actor” and not “artist” or “scene painter,” as was the case with other scenic artists at the time. By 1900, he was editing the Opera House Reporter and supposedly running a scenic studio, as well as working in other cities throughout the Midwest.

In Kramme’s article he describes, “Cox developed and patented a process of painting scenery with heated dye rather than paint.” However, some of his scenery on display at the Theatre Museum is clearly painted with dry pigment and his paint table has pots of dry pigment too. In terms of a patent, there is a Jesse Cox that designed a hay knife. There are quite a few “Jesse Cox” individuals living at the same time in the United States. Kramme goes on to explain, “His technique remained a trade secret. But the result, vivid color that would not peel, crack, or rub off, was shared nation-wide as owners of opera houses and managers of acting companies bought lavish sets of scenery.” I am perplexed that his use of Diamond Dyes on cotton sheeting would require any trade secret. The preparation for dyes in scene painting is pretty consistent. Furthermore, aniline dyes had been around for a while and were widely used in the theatre industry for variety of effects. By the 1860s chemical aniline dyes were readily available. The process for preparing dye to use in scenic art is not like dying yarn or clothing fabrics where different mordants baths shift final color results when fixing the dye.

Jesse Cox’s paint table with containers of dry pigment. Image from Michael Kramme’s “Palimpset” article “Opera House Illusions: Jesse Cox and Theatrical Scenery” (Vol. 71, No. 4, pages 154-172).

I also have to point out an alternative to dye in theatrical scenery. When applied properly, and in thin coats, dry pigments result in vivid colors that will not peel, crack or rub off. The English practice of glazing scenery results in lightweight and foldable scenery. See past posts that distinguish between the two schools of scenic art that were established in the United States. When using thin coats of dry pigment, the fabric remains pliable. I known this first hand because the scenery that I transported to Europe this summer in my luggage was folded and crushed during transport without any harm to the painted composition or permanent wrinkles. The only problem is when dry pigment is applied in thick coats or with strong size water. Thick coats of paint also make scenery heavy to transport.

Keep in mind that there are historic scenes well over a hundred years old whose colors remain stable and can easily be folded without irreparable damage. It all depends on the application coat and strength of the binder at time of manufacture and subsequent environmental conditions. The biggest threat for scenery painted with dry pigment and diluted hide glue remains water damage and high humidity, ultimately causing the breakdown of the binder and reactivating the paint. This causes as much damage as poor preparation of colors or size during the initial painting of each scene. Not every scenic artist or potboy thoroughly understood the preparation of paint or binder. In many instances, corners were cut, and the life expectancy of the scene was ephemeral at best. I always think of the Demotivator © poster defining the word mediocrity: “It takes a lot less time and most people won’t notice the difference until it’s too late.”

From https://despair.com/collections/demotivators

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 843 – Ambition and Hustle, 1913

In 1913, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “On the 20^th of May, I completed in less than eight hours, a dark wood drop, 24×40, without any help. That is something I never accomplished before – that much in that time. Sosman was pleased with it. I didn’t wait for anything to dry – worked in the wet.” We can get some sense of Moses’ woodland composition for the stage at the time. Many of his landscapes still hang in in Scottish Rite theaters across the country, including his 1912 setting for the Santa Fe Scottish Rite that Jo Whaley photographed for our book “The Santa Fe Scottish Rite Temple: Freemasonry, Architecture and Theatre” (Museum of New Mexico Press, 2018).

Scenic art by Thomas G. Moses for the Santa Fe Scottish Rite Theatre, 1912. Photograph by Jo Whaley.

Moses was 57 years old in 1913, with almost four decades of experience as a scenic artist behind him. His specialty remained landscapes, particularly picturesque woodland scenes with babbling brooks or small waterfalls running through the composition. He was very good and very fast by this point in his career.

Moses’ reputation was built on his speed, a skill set that he remained proud of until his passing. He was certainly a workhorse and asset to any project, or studio. As a young scenic artist he wrote, “I was full of ambition and hustle. If I had been endowed with a like amount of ability I would have set the world on fire… The others were able to draw more, because they were better in the artistic end, but I had it over them when it came to speed.”

In the end, it was a scenic artist’s speed that turned a profit at any studio. It was speed that initially secured Moses a position Sosman & Landis, and speed that elevated him to the position as Sosman’s right-hand man. Moses’ innate drive resulted in the rapid production of painted settings at Sosman & Landis throughout his duration there, amassing large profits for the stakeholders. This is one of the reasons that Sosman pleaded with Moses to return to the studio in 1904 and supervise all design, painting, construction and installation from that point on; his drive would ensure success. Moses left his growing business in New York City (Moses & Hamilton) and returned to Sosman & Landis’ main studio in Chicago.

In the end, Moses expected all of his colleagues to work at his same rapid pace. I completely understand where he is coming from as I also expect that of my fellow artists too. Moses’ impatience with slower co-workers is very apparent throughout his memoirs. For example, in 1907, he commented on the speed of fellow scenic artist Ansel Cook who was the shop manager at Sosman & Landis’ annex studio on 19th street. Moses wrote, “We opened our annex studio at 19 W. 20th Street in July, and Ansel Cook went there as a manager…He did some very good work but was a long time doing it, which, of course, didn’t pay us.” Moses divided his time between Sosman & Landis’ main and annex studios that year and after one extended absence wrote, “Took charge of the 20^th Street Studio on my return weeks. Cook did $750.00 of work in three weeks. My first three amounted to $3,500.00, some difference. I hustled while he talked art and what the firm ought to do to get business.” In Moses’ eyes, anyone that didn’t “hustle” couldn’t pull his full weight at the studio.

I too have built a reputation based on quick turn around times and high productivity. Much has to do with my individual drive and incentive; the other reason is that I don’t like stopping for breaks or slowing down. I hate sitting still and frequently forgo breaks or meals maintain my pace and productivity. I often don’t want to stop until the end of the day. For me it is difficult to watch any co-worker puddle around or stop mid-way in a project to take a fifteen-minute break.

I have also noticed that one slow person can drop the overall productivity in any shop, reducing any group speed to match that of the slowest worker. So, I sympathize with Moses, sharing his views of those who did not “hustle.” Any supervisor of a shop looks for an excuse to drop the dead weight, which Moses touched upon in 1913 when commenting on a Union strike.

Moses wrote, “The Union called a strike because Sosman refused to sign a new scale of wages. I prevailed upon Sosman to sign as I disliked any labor trouble. It only results in being obliged to weed out some of the non-producers.” Weed out some non-producers. That says a lot and may have been Sosman’s main goal. Sosman was also known for his speed, as were most of the top scenic artists of the day. An artist working at a snail’s pace gouged the profit margin of any project.

Moses also touches upon an interesting perspective regarding union strikes; providing an opportunity for a company to “weed out the non-producers.” As the vice-president of the company and supervisor of all Sosman & Landis activities, Moses was on the front line, not Sosman. Regardless of Moses’ desire to make peace with the staff, Sosman still controlled the administrative end of the business and held a tight fist on wages. In 1913, Moses was in charge of all design, construction, painting and installation at the main studio and annex studio in Chicago, but not the wages.

If the strike ended poorly, Moses was the one who would have to continue supervising a group of disgruntled workers, realizing the potential problems if a significant number of the scenic artists were to leave “en masse.” Moses would have been left holding the bag and scrambling for their replacements, all the while understanding the deep-seeded sentiment of his fellow artists. He was really caught in the middle during 1913, and his fear of a group of journeymen artists leaving the studio would happen seven years later. In 1920, six scenic artists left the Sosman & Landis studio to form Service Studios. This would have caused more than a ripple in the shop, especially is a large project was in the studio at the time. The former Sosman & Landis employees even marketed black and white photographs depicting Sosman & Landis designs as their own, carefully compiled in sales books. This is really the beginning of the end for Sosman & Landis. The shift in demand for painted scenery, the rise of the modern designer, the pressure of the union, and the desires of stock holders are just a few factors that are all at odds during this time. Sure, business will keep pouring in, but the challenges will continue to gain ground and suddenly seem insurmountable after Sosman’s death in 1915.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 803 – Size Water, 1912

In 1912, Thomas G. Moses wrote, “January 15^th the big furnace at the studio fell over and started a fine fire – a loss of about $2,000.00, a week’s delay in repairs and getting started.” That is the equivalent of a $53,000 loss today, no small fire. However, with the fabric and other flammables stored in the studio, the damage could have been far worse.

Moses’ record of the studio fire is an opportune moment to contemplate some practical considerations of running a scene painting studio in Chicago during 1912, such as making the binder for paint. In 1912, stage scenery was painted with a combination of dry pigment (powdered color) and size water (diluted animal hide glue/gelatin). The dry pigment was transformed into a paste and then mixed with size on the scenic artists’ palettes before applying the paint. The type of paint used by Moses and his colleagues included only three ingredients: color, water and binder. All were kept separate until just prior to application, an ideal way to store paint with an indefinite shelf life. Today’s paint uses the same three ingredients, and then some – other additives for shelf life, flexibility, etc.

Handling any paint requires an understanding of both the product and usage. Manuals not only train artists, but also may sell a particular product. In 1916, scenic artist Frank Atkinson discussed the use of size in his publication, “Scene Painting and Bulletin Art” (1916, page 154). He wrote, “The medium for binding distemper is known as ‘size,’ or sizing. For making it, gelatin is preferred, although the best grade of White Cabinet Glue answers very well and is most commonly used. Drop four or five pounds into the cauldron, cover it with water, and fill the water vessel two-thirds full of water. Apply the heat, and when the glue is melted you will have extra strong size. One dipper full of strong size with four dippers of clear hot water will produce working size.” Atkinson worked for Sosman & Landis during the early twentieth century, so his description of the process is likely the same used at many paint studios at this time.

Depending on the strength of the size, there is a tendency for it to gel. Even the perfect ratio of water to strong size will gel if a paint studio gets cool, hence, keeping the studio warm with a big furnace. The other option was to keep the size warm, but this was a bit tricky since you don’t want the glue to scorch. Making and storing unused size is like a juggling act, where all of the balls need to keep moving in the air without one hitting the ground. The smell of rotting glue is when a juggling ball hits the ground. Now in the case of Sosman & Landis, averaging the production of 4 drops a day, the size barrel was never left full for long. The key to painting with size is rapid turnover, where size water is constantly being mixed and replenished for scenic artists’ palettes.

Over the years, I have done quite a few experiments with size water, studying the strength and storage; all the while understanding that size water should really be mixed daily. Just as dry pigment palettes are prepared in the morning, preparing size each day is quite easy and takes about the same amount of time.

The greatest complaint among older artists is the rancid smell of old size. It is an organic compound that will spoil, no surprise to anyone. But like old food, there is a point when you throw it out instead of still using it. There are many ways to prevent the size from rotting and smelling like a dead animal. I have successfully kept size for over a month without any noticeable odor, you just have to understanding this little science experiment that you are creating.

The container is the first issue. Plastic and metal are not good long-term storage containers. Glass or glazed pottery (porcelain) containers are the best options, as nothing will leach into the size. I learned this from a chemist who specializes in hide glue and technical gelatin.

The container should never be tightly sealed, as this starts a little science experiment. Loosely draping the top with size, or fabric, allows the size to “breathe” and prevents contaminants from building up in the storage container.

Finally, keeping size at a cool temperature will cause it to gel, but it also preserves it like many organic substances. Gelled size just needs to be warmed up again prior to use.

Discussing the dry pigment painting process and cooking of size is nothing new or unique to our industry. There were a variety of publications and articles describing the scene painting process. As the use of dry pigment was gradually replaced with pre-mixed products, paint manufacturers and distributers took it upon themselves to include directions in their product catalogues. Bob Foreman recently shared a section about paint in a 1964 Paramount Theatrical Supply catalogue (http://vintagetheatrecatalogs.blogspot.com/…/paramount-thea…).
In the section on “Scenic Paint,” there was an article written by Mr. Wayne Bowman, College of William and Mary, Norfolk 8, Virginia. Bowman’s article was placed immediately below a brief description of Paramount’s scenic paints, dyes and the necessary cast-aluminum glue pot for evenly heating size. The catalogue offered “regular colors” and “prepared colors,” adding that “regular colors are more economical.”

Wayne wrote:
“For general stage use, the most satisfactory painting is done with dry scenic colors mixed with size water. The scenic colors cannot normally be obtained locally, but through theatre supply houses, such as Paramount Theatrical Supplies.” I was reminded of a conversation that I had with Italian scenic artist, Umberto di Nino, this summer. He explained the clients who wanted the best quality scenery paid for it to be created with dry pigment, whereas those without the substantial budgets used pre-mixed paints. Dry pigment is a superior product. This says a lot, as there is a visible difference of dry pigment scenery under stage lights, especially LEDS. I was able to see the difference when attending a CITT session last month where various lighting instruments were compared on paint samples. There were both dry pigment and pre-mix paint samples. In every case, the dry pigment had a greater depth and vibrancy, regardless of the lighting instrument or lamp.

Wayne’s article in the 1964 article continued: “Size water is a mixture of water and glue. Ground glue is most commonly used. The glue must be melted by covering with water and heating in a double boiler. In most scene shops, a water bucket or lard can is used for the water, and the glue is placed in a somewhat smaller container. It is good practice to place a block of wood under the glue container, so that it will not scorch if the water should boil dry. As a general rule, size water consists of one part glue, by volume, to sixteen parts of water. Since glues vary in their properties, it is necessary to test size water in this manner: wet the thumb and forefinger in the size water, touch them and then separate them. They should feel slightly sticky. If not, add more glue.”

When theatrical supply companies stopped adding instructions about dry pigment, the use went down. When demand decreased, the product was removed from many theatrical supply catalogues. The same can be said for any specific painting product; if a client is unsure how to use it, the demand goes down and then the product is discontinued by the distributor. If the product is difficult to obtain and shipping prices are high, it is less likely that the client will risk purchasing the product.

I have to wonder if that is why the use of house paint for scene painting has continued to increase over the years. The false perception that it as more expense and dangerous, combined with either the difficulty in quickly obtaining the product and expense shipping rates. For smaller institutions, it is cheaper to use, and people are willing to sacrifice the latex or acrylic sheen for convenience.

Finally, many people have used paint from a hardware/lumber store; the same cannot be said for scene paint. Many people default to a product that they are most familiar with and is easily obtainable. When the majority of academic institutions switch to house paint, storing gallons of latex from the local lumber store instead of scenic paint, the theatrical paint manufacturers will have a problem. Those students carry their training out into the professional world. Unfortunately, this trend has already started; the use of inappropriate paints for stage scenery is gaining ground at many schools.

To be continued..

Travels of a Scenic Artists and Scholar: Russell Smith and Logwood Ink

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.

Drawing revealed after water damage. Inked lines on the 1858 Russell Smith drop curtain at Thalian Hall in Wilmington, NC.

Drawing revealed after water damamge. Inked lines on the 1858 Russell Smith drop curtain at Thalian Hall in Wilmington, NC.

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…

Travels of a Scenic Artists and Scholar: Russell Smith’s Paint Studio

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.

Small sketch for the Russell Smith 1858 drop curtain at Thalian Hall in Wilmington, North Carolina. It is approximately 2″ high by 3″ wide – very small. Almost like a sketch on a bar napkin!

1858 drop curtain by Russell Smith shows the final composition, after it evolved during the design process.

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…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 713 – The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting, 1902

The following is the third in a series of posts pertaining to the article “The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting,” published in “Britain at Work. A Pictorial Description of Our National Industries” by W. Wheeler, during 1902. Here is the final of three posts:

“When a manager, sometimes with help from the author, has roughly indicated the kind of scene he requires, the scene- painter makes a sketch, and if that is approved he proceeds to construct of cardboard a complete model, on a scale, say, of half an inch to the foot. It is here that the resourcefulness and inventiveness of the scene-painter are able to make themselves felt. The model shows every thing, down to the smallest detail — not only the landscape, but door and windows, those which have to open in the actual scene being made ” practicable ” in the model.

Image from “The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting,” published in “Britain at Work. A Pictorial Description of Our National Industries” by W. Wheeler in 1902.

“Wings “and “top-cloths” [borders] are also shown, and even the pulley and ropes which will be used in the adjustment of the scene are indicated. This part of the work, as may be supposed, calls for abundant patience, but its importance is manifest, and no scene-painter begrudges the time he has to spend upon his model, even when he knows that he will have to toil early and late to get the work finished by the stipulated time.

The model, when at last it is completed, is submitted to the manager’s consideration. It may be that he or the author desires some alteration, generally an in considerable one. When the modification has been made, the model is handed over to the master carpenter, who constructs the framework which is to receive the canvas. Having been affixed to the frame, the canvas is prepared by the painter’s labourers, whose business also it is to mix the colours. These are ground in water, by means of such a machine as is figured in one of our illustrations. Now the artist draws the design in chalk or char coal, and then the colours are filled in, always, as I have said, with due regard to the artificial conditions under which the picture has to be viewed, certain colours, therefore, which appear very differently in artificial light as compared with natural light, being avoided al together, or modified, as the case may be.

That scene-painting, like most other modes of earning one’s daily bread, is not without drawbacks, I am not prepared to assert. Strange indeed would it be if this were not so. The work, as the reader will know for himself, has a plentiful lack of regularity, and while both master painters and assistants often have to toil under heavy pressure to get their scenes ready by the eventful night, the assistants, at any rate, sometimes have periods of enforced leisure.

The attractions of the vocation, however, to those to whom the work itself is congenial, far outweigh this disadvantage. If the practitioner of the art is clever and resourceful, if he can not only wield the brush swiftly and deftly, but is also facile in inventing a scene from the manager’s brief hints, which is a much rarer gift, he in no long time may rise to distinction, besides being liberally rewarded in a pecuniary sense for his industry and skill”.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 712 – The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting, 1902

Part 712: The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting, 1902

Image from “The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting.” Published in “Britain at Work. A Pictorial Description of Our National Industries” by W. Wheeler, during 1902.

The following is the second in a series of posts pertaining to the article “The Art and Mystery of Scene Painting,” published in “Britain at Work. A Pictorial Description of Our National Industries” by W. Wheeler, during 1902. Here is part two of three posts:

“In former days each leading theatre had its own staff of scene-painters; now the rule is for the scenes to be distributed among several artists, regard being had, of course, to the special aptitudes of one just indicated, is that the work is no longer for the most part done in the theatres, but in buildings rented or acquired by the various artists, and by them adapted to their requirements. Almost the only exception to this rule is Drury Lane, which is such an enormous structure that there is room in it for at least some of the scenes that are presently to grace the stage to be painted “on the premises.” At Drury Lane, indeed, there is room for everything.

Other theatres have to store their scenes in railway arches, and so forth, and my readers will doubtless remember how not so very long ago a fire in one of these arches wrought havoc among the beautiful scenes which Sir Henry Irving had accumulated; but Drury Lane Henry Irving had accumulated; but Drury Lane.

This leads me to speak of yet another change that has come over the -” mystery ” of scene -painting. Formerly the canvas was spread on the floor, and the artist traced his designs with a brush having a handle long enough to permit of his standing over his work. The inconveniences of this modus operandi are obvious enough. In the first place, the work could only be done in a building with a large superficial area. The Covent Garden Opera House requires scenes seventy feet long by forty feet broad, and though the stage of Covent Garden is the largest in this country, scenes

for an average theatre have to be some forty feet by thirty-five feet. The position, too, was an awkward and tiring one for the painter, who must have known excellently well what backache means, and who was also reduced to the painful necessity of treading his work under foot. Now all these drawbacks are avoided by the simple expedient of a windlass and a slit in the floor, through which the canvas, attached to a frame, is raised or lowered so as to bring that part of it which is being operated upon at the moment on a level with the painter’s arm.

It is still necessary, of course, that the painter should have a fairly lofty building to work in, but he requires comparatively little floor space. In Macklin Street, between Holborn and Drury Lane, a large warehouse has been converted into painting rooms by two well-known scenic artists. Other scene-painters have appropriated and adapted such buildings as factories and mission chapels rather farther afield, where probably space is a less costly commodity than it is within a stone’s – throw of the Holborn Restaurant; and there is one painting room so far away from theatre-land as Lewisham. Mr. Bruce Smith, who works only for Drury Lane and Covent Garden — though he does not, of course, monopolize the contracts given out by these two theatres, since he is only capable of doing the work of two or three men and not of a round dozen — does some of his painting at Drury Lane; and, as he is one of those who can do two things at once, friends who call upon him here seldom find him too busy to have a chat.

Before passing on to describe how scene- painting is done, I should mention the rather curious circumstance that our ingenious neighbours across the Channel still paint on the floor. That they produce good results, at whatever inconvenience to themselves, may, to use one of their own idioms, go without saying, for so artistic and theatre-loving a nation as the French are not likely to be content with inferior work. Speaking generally and roughly, the French scene – painter aims, perhaps, at rather quieter effects than his English compeer, but it would require a robust patriotism to assert that they are less artistic.

To be continued…