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:
“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.
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.
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.
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…
