Painting Process – Page 4

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 365 – “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (scale models, part 2)

Part 365: “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (scale models, part 2)

Below is an article depicting Joseph A. Physioc’s studio in New York, published in “The World” during 1898 (March 6, page 43). It provides great insight into the scenic art profession and design process at the end of the nineteenth century. Here is the second of four installments:

“The average person who goes to the theatre and is delighted and amazed with the beauties of the settings has the most shadowy idea of how they are brought about. He cannot grasp the enormous amount of work involved.

When a scenic artist is engaged to make the settings for a new production. The play itself is first read to him, or he may be permitted to read and study the play for himself. The manager determines how elaborate the scenes are to be.

The scenic artist is supposed to be able to roam over the wide world. He must know how a bungalow looks in India and make himself familiar with the vegetable life and foliage of the country. He must go research back in ancient Egypt of into modern Africa. He must know architecture and the habits and life of the people who appear in the play.

Of course the scenic painter carries these things and a thousand others that he must know in his head. But he must know where to turn for them. Sometimes the research requires months.

Then he must carefully study the action of the play and make all allowances for any business that is of more or less importance. He must preserve the harmonies. For instance, the surroundings of the romantic play like “Under the Red Robe” would be entirely different from a pastoral play, although they might be held in the same place. That which is called the optique de theatre must be preserved.

The scenic artist must so design the scenery that it may be easily handled, and above all, every piece must be so made that it will pass through a door of 9 feet 6 inches. That is the size of doors of baggage cars, and it is expected that every play will “go on the road.”

Physioc is now working upon the scenery for “The Bonnie Brier Bush,” and it serves as an excellent opportunity to illustrate the method of preparing for a big production.

After reading the play, he secured pictures of Drumtochty – actual photographs. He secured photographs of the houses and the furnishings. He read up on the manners of the people and made sure about the tables and chairs and the clocks and all manner of things.

Having gathered his material he prepared to lay out the scenes. First he drew a sketch on a piece of paper – a rough pencil sketch. Some of the minor interior scenes he worked out swiftly enough. The more important scenes were studied over for a long time. A day was spent over the final sketch of the third set scene, which is the most effective of the play.

Then he set about making the model, and this is the most important part of the whole process. It is an exact miniature representation of the scene as it will appear on stage.

It shows the Drumtochty in the background, spanned by bridges. In the middle ground the road apparently sinks into a depression. On the right is a hill, on the left a rye field surrounded by a stone fence.

The first difficult thing is perspective. Stage perspective is absolutely false, according to the rules of art and optics. But it is true to itself. The reason lies in the flat stage. The base line cannot conform to the line of vision. Therefore it is necessary to make an imaginary base line some five feet above the real line.

The color scheme is less important from the first. Your scenic painter must paint one scene to meet all manner of meteorological conditions. In this particular scene the action opens in the morning, late in midsummer. The mist is rising from the river and the mountains. This effect is secured by means of gauze and screens. Then the sun shines in splendor. Everything is bright and brilliant. The rye n the field is waving, the leaves in the trees are rustling. The lights are largely responsible for this effect.

Then a tremendous mountain storm breaks forth in darkness and fury. Again are the lights is to be depended upon, but the scenery must be so painted that the lights can be effective.

The rear drop is made to bear the burden. It is translucent. Throwing a light in front with the back dark makes one effect. A light back of the drop produces another. Wherefore it will be seen that the painting of these drops is a silicate matter. They must be effective, artistic, and have a similitude of truth under wholly different conditions.

Physioc finishes his models very carefully. He makes them to a scale of three-quarters of an inch to a foot. Every tree is in its place and painted carefully. The foliage is cut out exactly, as it is in a finished scene. And this is the only work that the artist does not do himself.

The finished model is firmly supported on a frame. It is about three and a half feet long. Then it is taken to the miniature stage for the final test. It is slipped in place and it only remains to turn on the lights.

In order to carry out the illusion, this little stage has a proscenium arch. It has footlights of different colors and all manner of other lights, including a calcium effect. The lights can be regulated so that any degree of brilliancy may be had. Physioc has established an electric-light plant of his own, simply for his miniature stage.

The switchboard is exactly like that in a theatre. It is much bigger than the stage itself. There are red lights, blue lights, combinations giving the effect of dawn, of early morning, of high noon, of dusk, of night, of storm and moonlight, every possible thing in the way of lighting on a stage is shown with this model. Nothing is left to guess work. It is perfectly demonstrated how a finished scene will look. If there is anything wrong, it can be corrected.

If you ever look at scenery at close range, you will understand what an advantage this miniature is. Physioc has found this device, which is his own invention, of enormous value. Often he has torn a model apart because the test showed that it was not satisfactory.

If the model meets with approval, then the making of the actual scenery begins. Of course the rear drop is the first thing painted, as this dominates the whole setting.”

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 364 – “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (Physioc’s studio, part 1)

Part 364: “How Theatrical Scenery is Made,” 1898 (Physioc’s studio, part 1)

To fully understand the life and times of Thomas G. Moses, I am including a newspaper article describing a New York scenic studio from 1898. It provides great insight into the scenic art profession at the end of the nineteenth century. The article describes J. A. Physioc’s studio and his art. It was published in “The World” (New York, 6 March 1898, page 43). By 1899, Moses would also work in New York for Henry Savage at the American Theatre. Physioc was only one of many scenic artists whom Moses would compete with for work in the Big Apple. Here is a little background on Physioc to place him in context.

Joseph Allen Physioc (1866-1951) was born in Richmond, Virginia to J. T. Physioc. J. T. Physioc would later be listed as president of Physioc Studios, Inc., with his son and grandson as treasurer and secretary. The Physioc family moved to Columbia, South Carolina, when Joseph was four years old. Interestingly, one of Joseph’s childhood playmates was Woodrow Wilson (Tampa Times, 4 August 1951, page 2).

Physioc’s theatrical career started in small venues thoughout the south. He tried his hand in Alabama, and then headed to New York City after gaining some experience. He studied his trade at the Metropolitan Opera while working as an assistant designer (Index Journal, Greenwood, SC, 4 August, 1951, page 3).

By the age of 27, Physioc received a contract to stage Bernard Shaw’s “Arms and the Man” for Richard Mansfield at the Herald Square Theatre. His success with this play and others propelled him to rank among those at the top of his profession in New York. Physioc worked as Augustin Daly’s “house artist” at Daly’s Theatre in New York City and for twelve years traveled with Richard Mansfield as his “special artist.” Later in life, he moved to Columbia, returning to his family after his eyesight began to fail and he could no longer paint. In 1951, Physioc passed away at his son’s home (Joseph A. Physioc, Jr.).

Advertisement in Julius Cahn’s Official Theatrical Guide for Physioc Studio Co. from 1900.

I am posting this article describing Physioc’s studio and his artistic process during 1898 in four installments due to its length. It was the second line of the article that caught my eye when I was doing research, especially after delving into the histories of Strong, McDonald, and other scenic artists who belonged to the Theatrical Mechanics Association. The top scenic artists were also knowledgeable stage mechanics. Physioc was also an electrician.

Here is the first installment of the article:

“The studio of Physioc is a workshop as well. He says that no man can be a really successful scene painter unless he is also a stage mechanic. His success has made his opinion of value. He painted Daly’s and Mansfield’s scenery for years. The young man’s studio is a wonderful place. To begin with it is perhaps the largest in the world. It occupies the greater part of what was a five-story stable at No. 519 West Thirty-eighth Street.

The building was in the form of the letter U, Physioc filled the front with glass and roofed the open space with a skylight. You ascend to the studio by means of fire escapes on either side. Between them are suspended paint frames. The frames can be lowered forty feet. Four drops can be painted at one time. A cyclorama drop, that is, one which encircles the whole stage, ninety feet wide, can be painted without rolling. This is the advantage of the great space. The paint-bridge is always stationary.

Sectional of Physioc’s Studio from “The World” (New York, 6 March 1898, page 43).

Detail of Physioc’s Studio from “The World” (New York, 6 March 1898, page 43).

In addition to the paint-bridge there are property rooms where all manner of things for the stage are made: the electric-light room, the model room and the miniature stage.

“Usually a scenic artist does nothing but paint,” says Physioc, “Yet he is held responsible for the whole setting and scene. The properties are very important accessories. Therefore I design and make them all. This insures a harmony, a completeness and accuracy which might be otherwise be lacking. I take it that the modern idea of stage scenes requires an artistic whole, a finished creation. I know exactly what the effect will be before a scene is painted.

I not only design the scene myself, but I make the accessories and arrange the lighting, which is almost as important as the scenery itself. I am not only a scene painter, but also function as the property man and electrician as well.

It is a strange and interesting art, this of scene painting. Time was when a painter made merely a drop and wings, or profiles. Now the scenic artist must make a composition. It is vastly different.”

This was 1898 and a crucial period during the development of degree productions for Scottish Rite stages in the Southern Jurisdiction. The scenery now used in Yankton, South Dakota, is from this same year.

1898 scene by Sosman & Landis Studio (Chicago) for Wichita, Kansas. This scenery is now in Yankton, South Dakota.

1898 counterweighted lines by Sosman & Landis Studio (Chicago) for Wichita, Kansas. This counterweight system travelled with the used scenery collection and was installed in Yankton, South Dakota. Photograph from November 2017 with Rick Boychuk when we examined the rigging.

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 343: “The Artist in the Flies,” Second Half

Part 343: “The Artist in the Flies,” Second Half

This is the second part of an article, “Artist in the Flies,” started yesterday from the New York Tribune (4 Aug 1895, page 14).

“[The scenic artist] is often interrupted in his work, when rehearsals are going on, for while the frame is being lowered it makes a horrible noise, which naturally interferes with the work of the actors.

“Oh, say, up there, won’t you give us a chance to hear ourselves think?” or “Say, just wait a few minutes until se get through the scene and then you can make all the noise you want,” are common cries. Sometimes the assistant, whose work is to run the windlass, pays no attention to the calls from below, and goes right ahead, making all the noise possible, until the stage manager in despair mounts the paint bridge and in a forcible language commands the young man to desist; this he does after growling and grumbling about the delay.

After the scenery has been painted it goes back into the hands of the stage carpenter and his men. In a wood scene or a rural scene there is a great deal of cutting to be done. The leaves and branches are cut away from the canvas which has not been painted.

After the properties have been made – they are usually of papier-mâché – they are sent up to the paint bridge to be touched up with a coat of paint. The stage cloths or carpets are also painted by the artist. The getting up of the scenery is the most expensive part of a production. It is no wonder that a manager is leery of putting on a new piece. The great cost incurred before the curtain goes up makes him hesitate about engaging in a venture which the audience may find dull.

The most expensive scene drop is one which requires a number of faces painted on it, to represent an audience, for instance. Here the services of a portrait painter are generally called in, and each face is actually a likeness. Of course the faces in the background are not as perfect as the front ones. After one season of wear and tear in traveling, the scenery is not a thing of beauty. It is hardly worth storage room. When a piece is to be played a second season, the scenery goes back into the hands of the scenic artist and stage carpenter to be patched up and retouched. A great deal of this old scenery is bought by small out-of-town managers, to whom scenery is only a second consideration. In one-night towns it is often a puzzle to find out “where the actors are at.” The backdrop represents a French chateau and the house in the foreground is an English Inn. The properties used “have nothing to do with the case,” but they help to fill the stage.

It is a small wonder that scenery is in such a tattered condition when it returns after the season is over. The carting of scenery is an important to the stage carpenter, who travels with the company, as the box office receipts are to the treasurer.

In New-York may be found wagons especially built for the transportation of scenery, but few other cities have these wagons.

Advertisement for scenery transfer in Chicago. Julius Cahn’s Official Theatrical Guide, 1906.

Detail from scenery transfer advertisement in Chicago. Julius Cahn’s Official Theatrical Guide, 1906.

When “Rob Roy” was on its travels last spring, the scenery was being carried from the theatre to the railroad station. The wagons were not long enough to carry scenery properly, and the tower of Sterling Castle hung way out of the back of the wagon and touched the ground. This almost drove the stage carpenter to despair, until a happy idea struck him. He borrowed a wheelbarrow, and then hired a sturdy boy to follow the wagon, with the top of the tower resting in the barrow. This scheme worked beautifully for a few blocks, until the boy got tired. He demanded his pay, and said the work was too hard. He could not be induced to resume his journey. Again the stage carpenter put on his thinking cap. “Come, boys, let’s have a drink,” he said to his employees. All retired to the nearest barroom, and when they returned each and every many was perfectly willing to carry the tower on his shoulders down to the train.

All of the big railroads have cars especially adapted for the transportation of scenery. Francis Wilson rents a whole house for the storage of his scenery. He has complete sets with properties, costumes, etc., of all his operas from “The Oolah,” his first production, to the “Devils’ Deputy.” In case of accident by fire or railroad disaster, he will not be obliged to close his season, but can resume it after a few weeks of rehearsals, of one of his former operas. The final resting-place of all the beautiful grottos, ballrooms, etc., is the furnace in the boiler-room down in the cellar of the theatre.”

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 342 – “The Artist in the Flies,” First Half

Part 342: “The Artist in the Flies,” First Half

Throughout my research, I have encountered a series of delightful articles. They were not only enlightening, but also changed my understanding of theatre history and the late-nineteenth-century scenic art. In many cases, I transcribed these unknown bits of writing and posted them online. I believe that might have worth to other theatre historians and practitioners.

I discovered “The Artist in the Flies” after reading “Stage English” (installment #310) and tucked it away for the time that I would cover the year of 1895 (4 Aug 1895, page 14). The article really resonated with me and reminded me of Thomas G. Moses. This story is a slightly different presentation from the somber depiction of the artistic process described in yesterday’s post. This will be posted in two sections due to the length. This is a wonderful article to read before continuing with the activities of Thomas G. Moses in 1894-1895. Enjoy!

“No Summer Vacation for Him. He is turning out castles, forests, and interiors by the hundred yards in these warm days.”

“The busiest men connected with the theatrical business at present are the scenic artists and their assistants. Before the artist begins his work, the frames have passed through many hands. To begin with, a number of sewing women are engaged to sew the canvas together, for which they receive a certain amount for each yard. After the canvas has been sewed together, it passes into the hands of the stage carpenter, who has put the frames together. The canvas is stretched taut over the frames, and glued and nailed to the wood. This is a trade itself. When the frames are ready they are put upon an immense frame, which is behind the paint bridge, usually at a great height from the stage, up in the flies, where the different drops may be raised or lowered as needed. The paint bridge stretches across the stage from fly loft to fly loft on either side. Here the artist is away from the madding crowd. The scenery receives a preliminary coat of paint, and when dry is ready for the different colors needed in the scenes.

As a general rule, the artist outlines the different scenes and puts in the most difficult and delicate touches, and then allows his assistants to fill in the rest. He is guided by his model, which is set in a complete stage by itself. One artist in an uptown theatre has a small room in the flies where he builds his models on a small scale, and has a complete electric light apparatus, by which he can judge the effect of the different lights on his models. This is a great help to him in his work. The paint bridge is usually crowded with pots of paints, and the uninitiated would wonder how the artist could move around without sending a few of them on to the stage below.

An amusing accident of this kind happened at the old Standard Theatre before it was burned down. The dressing-rooms of the chorus were on a level with the fly loft, and occasionally the bridge was used by the chorus of people who had to make an entrance on the opposite side of the stage. Instead of going into the cellar under the stage, they took this crossing.

One night one of the girls did not heed the flight of time until she was recalled to her senses by the sound of music, which was her cue to go on stage. She rushed through the fly loft and over the paint bridge, not heeding the paint pots with which it was covered. Away went the young woman in a heap on the floor of the bridge, luckily escaping the fate of two pots of paint, which fell to the stage below, completely deluging a “super” who was awaiting his cue to go on the stage. The accident was seen be some of the gallery urchins, who set up a shout of delight. After the accident the paint bridge was the sacred property of the scenic artist.

To be continued…

Here are some images from a Sosman & Landis collection created in 1898. It was for the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry stage in Yankton, South Dakota. The was a “used” scenery collection, originally created in 1898.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Originally painted in 1898, two years after the article was written for the newspaper. This is a Sosman & Landis installation.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Stage left side with Rick Boychuk taking photos for research (he provides scale).

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Looking toward stage right side.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. JBM tomb back.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. JBM tomb front.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Stage left side and counterweight system.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. 1898 flat construction.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Front of flat.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Detail of painting. Sosman & Landis Studio, 1898.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Detail of wooden batten at bottom of the drop. Sosman & Landis installation, 1898.

Scottish Rite stage setting in Yankton, South Dakota. Detail of netted edge. Sosman & Landis installation, 1898.

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Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 341 – Green Room Gossip From 1895, the Scenic Artist

Part 341: Green Room Gossip From 1895, the Scenic Artist

Thomas G. Moses worked as the scenic artist at Chicago’s Schiller Theatre during 1895. He painted the settings for all of the productions on their paint frames. He also rented the old Waverly Theatre space as he had more work than could be completed at the Schiller.

I understand that it is hard to appreciate the complexity and demands of the painting process at the time that Moses was working, especially as I discuss the many projects that Moses’ was simultaneously completely during the late-nineteenth century.

Below is an informative article about the artistic process and the role of the scenic artist, published in the Times-Picayune (New Orleans, Louisiana) on February 10, 1895 (page 22). Here is a portion of the article from the “Green Room Gossip” section of the Times-Picayune. It provides additional context for Moses’ story as we move forward:

Heading from the Times-Picayune (New Orleans, Louisiana, February 10, 1895, page 22) that details activities related to the theatre.

“When a manager has finally decided to produce a new play, his troubles have just begun. One of the first things to demand is the proper pictorial equipment. Just as the editors of illustrated periodicals of to-day send their accepted articles to the artist for illustration, so the theatrical manager puts his play in the hands of the scenic artist. Sometimes periodical illustrations cause the reader to wonder whether the illustrator read the story before he made the drawing or whether the cuts got mixed in the composing-room. The play illustrator is too important a factor in the box-office success to admit of similar mistakes.

[The manager] sometimes employs a scenic artist by contract, but usually the necessary assistant rents the space he needs in the theatre and charges the manager for work done for him, just as he charges outside managers for work done for them. The scenic artist, then, receives the manuscript from the manager, reads it carefully, notes from the authors description of scenes whether the locality is special or general, and where the scenery must be “practical” – with real doors to open, trees which may be climbed, fences that may be jumped- and where it is possible to make it purely representative.

The locality is the first point, naturally. Even if none be mentioned, in these days of photography, it is far more satisfactory to find a real locality which would fit the play, and which would, therefore, be more likely to differ from a thousand and one other scenes which have already been used as backgrounds for other general plays. From photographs or sketches of real bits of scenery, the artist most often draws his ground plans for what he considers a good stage picture suited to the action of the play.

These models are then placed convenient to the eye and hand in his studio, the main feature of which is really the back wall of the theatre, with a great paint bridge running about 25 feet above the stage floor. There is a space about a foot wide between the bridge and the wall, and in the space hangs the paint frame. When the stage carpenter has built the scenes according to the artist’s model, the paint frame is lowered to the stage floor, a piece of scenery is attached to it by means of a narrow ledge at the bottom, drops are tacked on and set pieces fastened at convenient points, then the frame is raised until it is where the artist wants it as he stands upon the bridge. The frame can, or course, be moved up and down, at the painter’s need.

The prime coating of the canvas is made of a mixture composed of whiting, glue and water. The artist has several assistants, many of whom are virtually learning the trade, but in exterior scenes the scenic artist himself usually does all of the painting; in the interiors he makes the finishing touches. Of course the work is done by daylight, and it takes a very skillful worker in colors to know just what the effects the various kinds and degrees of artificial light will have upon the painted scenery.

And yet the scenic artist is not too highly valued from a financial point of view. It takes, usually, six or eight years to attain the necessary skill and an average income of $80 a week is considered very good. From the manager’s point of view there is a difference. The necessary scenery for a play will frequently cost $1500 for the carpenter work and twenty-five hundred dollars for the coloring, without taking into account the sums paid for costumes, properties and the innumerable other accessories to proper play-producing.

Until applause greets him on the momentous “first night” and large audiences greet him for many nights thereafter, the manager, be ever hardened, endures endless anxiety from the minute the new play is chosen. If one proves a failure, he will be out a considerable sum at the best, for critics will know if he attempts to use the same costumes and special properties later on, or if he saves the scenery until it can be worked in other plays, a piece at a time; and critics seldom keep anything to themselves. He may have a new scene painted on the back of the old and save a part of the carpenter’s bill, but this is frequently the best that can be done. With all his risks and frequent failures, the theatrical manager is usually the last one to complain. When a play does not go, he simply pays the piper and tries again.”

To be continued…

Tales from a Scenic Artist and Scholar. Part 303: The Scenic Art Process of Fred McGreer

Next to photo in article: “The illustrations accompanying this show Mr. McGreer and his assistants at work on the paint bridge as well as several other phases of the work incidental to making the scenic productions for the famous play.” Cincinnati Enquirer 15 April 1900, page 12.

In 1900, Fred McGreer described his artistic process to the Cincinnati Enquirer (15 April 1900, page 12). Here is the second half of the article:

“I am able to outline the scenes after they have been coated with glue priming, for which a particular glue is used that will not crack. After the priming had dried I sketch the outlines with charcoal, and meanwhile the assistants are mixing their paints in buckets, and when I have concluded they set to work painting the scenery. In this process, first the broad colors are laid in and then comes the ornamentation, such as the figures on the walls of interiors, or colors for the moldings to get the lights and shadows. This is ended with the detail work of what we call bringing the scene together. It is like the finishing touches you see the rapid-fire artists put on their pictures in the vaudeville theaters when a form emerges out of what is apparently a chaos of conflicting colors. At this period I may discover too much red at the base of a scene, or not enough red beneath the cornice of an exterior, and these must be toned down.

With the scene painted it is again hustled off the paint frame to make room for another act. The painted set goes back to the carpenter to be cut out and attached to the lines running to the rigging loft, there being three lines to each drop. The columns and solid sections which will be noticeable in “Quo Vadis” are made of what we call profile board. It is a wooden veneer and is pre-hinged to a stand shipping. These columns also stand by themselves as though apparently part of the setting.

Cincinnati Enquirer article on Fred McGreer (15 April 1900, page 12).

In the first scene for “Quo Vadis” the case is different. The entire scene was originally painted on one big drop and then after it was completed I ‘red lined’ the whole scene. This is to outline the columns and vases with a delicate red line, which the carpenter follows in sawing out these separate sections. They are then all placed in position on the stage and the stuff that has been cut out is fastened together with a delicate netting which is invisible to the audience. The perspective created the impression that they are standing alone though really the entire set is one big drop. Some idea of the work required can be gained from the explanation that a single drop of this description generally requires the efforts of the carpenter and four assistants an entire evening to fix up. On the drop for this garden scene we used 1080 feet of cloth and about 75 pounds of paint. In order to attach them to the rigging loft about 300 feet of rope is also used. Now another heavy scene is in the arena setting for the last act, in which over 700 feet of platform space is required, built up to a height running from two feet and reaching the topmost platform 15 feet above the stage. These platforms are all hinged and made so they will fold for shipment as the piece goes on the road after it is used here.

In ‘Quo Vadis’ every scene is numbered and arranged so that it can be put together hurriedly and when brought into a theater is very much like the animal puzzles that are so popular with the Children at Christmas. Only the stagehands will just know where every piece goes without being puzzled.

Mr. McGreer in conclusion estimates that he has painted over 30,000 feet of canvas for the big production this week and used about 2,000 pounds of paint in doing it, in addition to five barrels of whiting alone was used, while the paint was distributed among 20 or more colors. For ‘Quo Vadis’ everything had to be made new as nothing like it had been produced at the Pike.

Mr. McGreer during his two seasons at the local theater has mapped out and painted over 220 stage settings, and of these the ratio ran about three interiors to one exterior. The mere mechanical work of making the scenes is antedated by studies of the costumes as the ladies dresses and the scene colors must harmonize, and historical research as historical accuracy is demanded in these times. In all his stay, nothing has been used over much, excepting the solid doors that figure in Pike productions. These doors have been doing service for three seasons. They have been slammed by the impetuous Nigel or gently brought to by the careful Todman, but in all that time the same old doors groaned under the weight of added paint until now they are so heavy it takes a firm grasp and a long pull to draw them open.

But this is digressing from Mr. McGreer. Next week this popular artist will bid adieu for the summer, at least to his den back of the big white lady. He goes to New York, having been engaged by Gates and Morange, the scenic artist there. If long and varied experience will count for aught, Mr. McGreer is sure to make his mark there for few visiting attractions as the first class houses have exhibited scenery which compares to that which has been in evidence so frequently at the Pike.”

During the summer of 1900, McGreer left for New York to work for Gates & Morange. This was the same year that both Thomas G. Moses and Grace N. Wishaar were painting scenery in New York City too. It was the place to be that later led to many other projects across the country for inspiring young artists. By 1901 McGreer was listed as creating the scenery for Morosco’s Grand Opera House in San Francisco. It doesn’t appear that Fred McGreer ever returned to Cincinnati.

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…