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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Weller, Allen S. (Allen Stuart), 1907–1997, author.
Lorado Taft: the Chicago years / Allen Stuart Weller; edited by Robert G. La France and Henry Adams with Stephen P. Thomas. pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
isbn 978-0-252-03855-6 (cloth : alk. paper)
isbn 978-0-252-09646-4 (ebook)
1. Taft, Lorado, 1860–1936—Criticism and interpretation.
I. La France, Robert G., editor. II. Adams, Henry, 1949– editor. III. Title.
nb237.T3W45 2014 730.92—dc23 2014004541
f r on T is P ie C e . Lorado Taft in his early studio (with a bust of Joan of Arc), photograph March 1887 (artwork in the public domain; image provided by the University of Illinois Archives, ID: 3828, RS: 26/4/1).
In memory of Harold A. Schultz (1907–2004): willing listener, constructive critic, and valued friend.
Contents
aCK n o W l edgMen T s ix
a b breviaT i ons xi
in T r odu C T i on 1
C ha P T er 1. Paris to Chicago 8
C ha P T er 2. Before the Fair 30
C ha P T er 3. The World’s Columbian Exposition 66
C ha P T er 4. After the Exposition 86
C ha P T er 5. Taft’s Students 108
C ha P T er 6. Taft as an Author 122
C ha P T er 7. From The Solitude of the Soul to The Blind 132
C ha P T er 8. The Development of the Midway Plaisance 152
C ha P T er 9. Taft’s Roaring Twenties 184
Cha PT er 10. The Final Period 218
a PP endix a Lorado in Paris 236
a PP endix b Allen Weller: From Francesco di Giorgio to Lorado Taft 266
n o T e s 291
b i bliogra P h Y 319 index 329
Acknowledgments
This is a l len s . W eller’s boo K , revived after his death by his admirers from the University of Illinois community, his successors at the College of Fine + Applied Arts, his daughter Judith Weller Harvey, Cyril Harvey, and his son John M. Weller. Allen Weller wished to dedicate Lorado Taft: The Chicago Years to his close friend Harold A. Schultz, a painter and professor in the university’s former Department of Art and Design (now the School of Art + Design). The editors of the text would also like to extend the dedication to include the author, who not only shaped the College of Fine + Applied Arts as its former dean but also directed Krannert Art Museum.
Before the fall of 2011, Professor Henry Adams, formerly of the University of Illinois, acted as the custodian of Weller’s manuscript for more than a decade. I would like to thank him for his assistance editing the text, and recognize the contributions of several of his students and graduate students at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, including Catherine Watkins, Rachel Duszynski, Katie Steiner, Christina Larson, and Amber Stitt, as well as Kristen Ehrenberger, former graduate assistant at the University of Illinois Press. Professor Adams’s guidance, personal connection to Allen Weller, and impressive scholarship on American art permeate this volume.
After October 2011, new funding to conduct research, finish the text, edit the manuscript, obtain illustrations with permissions, and publish the book came from the Krannert Art Museum Council in honor of its 50th anniversary, Krannert Art Museum courtesy of the Wilma Alston Estate, and a College of Fine + Applied Arts Creative Research Award. These sources also enabled a comprehensive photographic campaign to document the remaining works from Lorado Taft’s studio at Krannert Art Museum. Lorado Taft and I owe a debt of gratitude to the entire museum staff, particularly Director Kathleen Harleman, Claudia Corlett-Stahl, Brenda Nardi, Christine Saniat, Anne Sautman, Chris Schaede, Diane Schumacher, and Walter Wilson. Additional funding for the publication was kindly provided by the Spurlock Museum and the University of Illinois Library.
Stephen P. Thomas carefully read and corrected various versions of the manuscript and
unstintingly shared his knowledge of Chicago’s history. He deserves special thanks for recognizing the importance of Weller’s text and supporting this volume at several critical points during the editing and funding process. In Urbana-Champaign, Muriel “Mickey” Scheinman and Marcel Franciscono, emeritus professor, maintained a strong interest in completing Weller’s text. And my deepest gratitude remains for Willis Goth Regier, director of the University of Illinois Press, and Roxanne Frey, director of the University of Illinois’s Office of Library Advancement, for believing that the fallow manuscript would one day sprout into a green field. I also benefited greatly from the generous assistance of William Maher, university archivist. I want to thank him and Rory Grennan, graduate student assistant, for scanning many illustrations in this book from materials in the Lorado Taft and Allen Weller Papers in the University of Illinois Archives. These images are now available online for future study. I must also express my appreciation to John Hoffmann, who welcomed me, an Italian Renaissance scholar, into the mysteries of the Illinois History and Lincoln Collections at the University of Illinois Library. Dedicated librarians like Hoffmann, and the incomparable Jane Block and Chris Quinn at the Ricker Library of Architecture and Art, not only make art-historical research at the University of Illinois possible, but also a pleasure. Also at the University of Illinois, Wayne T. Pitard, professor and director of the Spurlock Museum, kindly shared his knowledge of Taft’s plaster casts and lent his support to this project from my earliest involvement. Winton Solberg, emeritus professor, also added his wisdom by commenting on portions of the text.
Finally, I am grateful for and encouraged by the scholars who have shown their enthusiasm for the art of Lorado Taft by contributing to The Chicago Years. I particularly want to acknowledge Lynn Allyn Young for her photographs reproduced in this book and her recent publication on the artist, which reflects her hard work and sleuthing abilities. In addition, former University of Illinois librarian Betty M. E. Croft of Oregon, Illinois, and
Director Marsha Zaccone of the Oregon Public Library dutifully maintain Taft’s legacy in Ogle County. Likewise, Pam Lott Paige does the same in Taft’s birthplace of Elmwood. These people graciously informed me on my visits to Taft sites, and their names are mentioned throughout the notes. Several others assisted me with research and illustrations for Weller’s text, and I thank them for their help: Sherry Byrne, preservation librarian, University of Chicago Library; Jessica Caddell, former curator, Rockford Art Museum; Remo Cosentino, Hall of Fame for Great Americans at Bronx Community College—CUNY; Karla Gerdes, archive assistant, Champaign County Historical Archives at the Urbana Free Library; Timothy Grider, Illinois photographer; Sidney Hamper, president of the John H. Vanderpoel Art Association; Susan Heskin, director of the Superior Public Library in Superior, Wisconsin; Chris Jones, library assistant, Grinnell College Libraries, Department of Special Collections and Archives; Alice Kain, campus art coordinator, Smart Museum of Art, University of Chicago; Police Sergeant Joe Kipka, Chicago City Hall; Denise Mahoney, collections manager of American art, the Art Institute of Chicago; Professor Jacquelyn Musacchio, Wellesley College; Janet C. Olson, assistant university archivist, Northwestern University Library; Lisa Pasquesi of Old Gillett Farm in Elkhart, Illinois; Gina Radant, curator, Kenosha Public Museum; James Shedlock, director, and Ron Sims, special collections librarian, Galter Health Sciences Library, Feinberg School of Medicine, Northwestern University; Erin Tikovitsch, rights and reproductions, and Kevin Whitman, assistant, Chicago History Museum Research Center; Fabrice van de Kerckhove, Archives et Musée de la Littérature, Brussels; and Cathérine Verleysen, Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Ghent.
I reserve the last sentence to thank Areli Marina and Vernon and Heather Hyde Minor for their assistance and unfaltering encouragement.
Robert G. La France Champaign, December 20, 2013
Abbreviations
AWP Allen S. Weller Papers, 1860–1997, University of Illinois Archives, Series Number 12/1/20
ca. circa
KAM Krannert Art Museum, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
LT Lorado Taft
LTP Lorado Taft Papers, 1857–1953, University of Illinois Archives, Series Number 26/20/16
RGL Robert G. La France (abbreviation indicating insertion by editor)
Lorado Taft
Introduction
Robert G. La France
f igure 2. Allen Weller with Mary Webster’s portrait bust of Lorado Taft (bronze, 1936, Krannert Art Museum and Kinkead Pavilion, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, Art Extension of Illinois Purchase, 19394-1), photograph 1983 (artwork in the public domain; image provided by the University of Illinois Archives, ID: 5088, RS: 39/1/11).
and self-proclaimed “art missionary” Lorado Zadok Taft (1860–1936) led the field of American sculpture for half a century. From the late 1880s through the 1930s he erected major public monuments across America from Seattle to Washington D.C.; his articles and lectures shaped the public understanding of art; his instruction at the Art Institute of Chicago molded the careers of midwestern artists; and his academic , remains one of the
aft’s impact was marked in his native state of Illinois (where his first name is pronounced “Laredo”)1 and particularly in Chicago, where the sculptor rose to prominence during the World’s Columbian Exposition, installed many of his greatest masterpieces, and established the legendary Midway Studios (now part of the University of Chicago). As a University of Illinois alumnus, Taft designed the bronze sculptural group that embodies the university’s beloved symbol, the Alma Mater, whose outstretched arms have welcomed generations of students, faculty, and alumni. Despite Taft’s formidable reputation during his lifetime, the only major, comprehensive monographic study of this artist’s achievements slated for publication, Lorado Taft: The Chicago Years, was left incomplete upon the death of its author, Allen S. Weller (February 1, 1907–November 16, 1997). Weller, a former University of Illinois professor, dean of the College of Fine + Applied Arts, and director of Krannert Art Museum, dedicated
decades of study to the artist dubbed “the dean of Chicago sculptors.” This volume completes and revises Weller’s manuscript, propagates art historical research produced in the College of Fine + Applied Arts, promotes the university’s archives and collections as a hub for the study of American art, secures Krannert Art Museum’s reputation as the legitimate storehouse for Taft’s art, and honors the legacy of both the sculptor Lorado Taft and the scholar Allen Weller.
Weller labored to bolster Taft’s fading critical fortune in the last quarter of the twentieth century, when the École des Beaux-Arts style that Taft favored had fallen out of fashion. In 1983, Weller curated the first one-man show of the sculptor’s work, Lorado Taft: A Retrospective Exhibition at Krannert Art Museum, and wrote the associated catalogue. Two years later, his first book on the sculptor appeared, Lorado in Paris: The Letters of Lorado Taft 1880–1886 (1985). His brief study of Taft’s sculpture The Blind (1988) and an essay analyzing Taft’s reaction to modernism (1990) followed.2
Lorado in Paris examines Taft’s beginnings and artistic education at the Illinois Industrial University (later renamed the University of Illinois) in the twin cities of Urbana-Champaign and the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. That book ends approximately where this one begins, with the 1886 competition for an equestrian monument in memory of the recently deceased President and General Ulysses S. Grant destined for Lincoln Park in Chicago. Weller argues that the young, relatively inexperienced sculptor left Paris for Chicago expecting to win the Grant commission. Despite Taft’s naive fervor, the expensive project was awarded to the Italian-born, American sculptor Louis T. Rebisso, already a well-established artist and teacher in Cincinnati. To aid the reader with background information, the current volume’s appendix includes Henry Adams’s elegant, analytical summary of Weller’s account of the sculptor’s training.
The Chicago Years is more than a sequel to Lorado in Paris. It examines the mature sculptor’s highly productive, fifty-year career, starting with the story of Taft’s hubris and failure in 1886, reaching a crescendo with the sculptor’s celebrated fountains in the 1920s, and ending with
his death in 1936. The Chicago Years documents this midwestern artist’s many successes prior to the eclipse of his preferred, Beaux-Arts style by the merciless modernism of the Machine Age. Weller surveys Taft’s career, interweaving biographical narrative and art-historical analysis, while examining the sculptor’s writings (letters and publications) to illuminate specific commissions. He also offers insights into Taft’s public role as a tastemaker, since Taft’s newspaper accounts, magazine articles, and popular lectures may have persuaded more people of the importance of art than his sculptures ever did.
Weller’s Sources and Style
Weller, a consummate researcher, astutely mined the vast reserves of primary source material contained in the University of Illinois Archives— principally the Lorado Taft Papers, series number 26/20/16 [hereafter LTP]. Weller also donated his extensive collection of research notes, photographs of works of art, correspondence, photocopies from obscure publications, and other documents (including some of Taft’s original letters, transcriptions, newspaper articles, and various versions and fragments of the manuscript for this book) to the archives as the Allen Weller Papers, series number 12/1/20 [hereafter AWP]. These two collections provided the foundation for the reconstruction and editing of The Chicago Years, as cited in the notes.
In addition to the repository of primary sources, Weller made good use of the catalog in Lewis Williams’s 1958 dissertation, “Lorado Taft: American Sculptor and Art Missionary,” which remains an invaluable reference today.3 In many ways, Williams was Weller’s silent partner in this book, although the two men did not always agree on aspects of Taft’s career. Weller often invoked other important publications, such as James L. Riedy’s Chicago Sculpture (1981); Ira J. Bach and Mary Lackritz Gray’s Guide to Chicago’s Public Sculpture (1983); and Timothy Garvey’s essential Public Sculptor: Lorado Taft and the Beautification of Chicago (1988).4 Garvey’s research and ideas informed parts of Weller’s text, acting both as a resource and invisible interlocutor. Weller acknowledges his debt to all of these sources and took a
different approach. While Williams endeavored to present a catalogue raisonné or a complete listing of all the sculptor’s works, Weller’s Chicago Years does not itemize all of Taft’s artworks. Rather, it is a monographic analysis that explores most of the artist’s production and highlights what Weller considered Taft’s greatest accomplishments.5 Similarly, while Garvey focused on key periods and commissions in the sculptor’s career, Weller presents both a broad and often detailed examination and interpretation of a half-century of the sculptor’s life and scores of both projected and finalized works.
Because Weller never completed the manuscript, it varies in tone from a novelistic retelling of Taft’s biography in the style of Lorado in Paris to a more analytical, art-historical account of the sculptor’s production. In spite of The Chicago Years’s scholarly character, Weller avoided academic jargon, preferred straightforward narrative, and used the unadorned prose associated with the diction of the American Midwest. His plain speech sometimes borders on the folksy, as if capturing Taft’s unpretentious writing style. Consequently, Weller calls the mass-produced Civil War monuments “catalogue mail-order jobs” (chapter 1); he explains that Taft wanted “to show what he could do with an active group of figures” (chapter 2); and he relies on certain idiomatic expressions, such as “strangely enough” or “nothing ever came of it.”
Occasionally, Weller employs idiosyncratic language. He uses “humanistic” as a stylistic term meaning “figural” in cases that only vaguely invoke a particular work of art’s focus on human rather than divine matters or that only remotely reference the principles of Renaissance Humanism (which Weller knew well).6 Sometimes, however, he applies the adjective “humanistic” as descriptive shorthand for a human-centered system ultimately based on classical ideals that he perceived as diametrically opposed to modernism’s emphasis on nonhuman form, soulless technology, and the rejection of the past. Henry Adams better analyzes the use of this term, as well as Weller’s take on the contemporary art movements of his time, in the essential, scholarly biography of the author at the end of this book.
Completing the Manuscript and Exhortations for
Future Research
In the process of transforming the draft manuscript into a polished book, the editors endeavored to preserve Weller’s distinctive voice by deleting repetitions and reordering paragraphs or sentences to more logical positions in the narrative. Parts within chapters were reorganized (particularly chapters 3, 9, and 10), while Weller’s chapter titles, his chapter order, and his desired scope for the text were rigorously maintained. Weller only sketched some sections and never finished chapters 8, 9, and 10. The author’s plans for these parts of the book were followed by reworking and completing his fragmentary drafts when they existed. When they did not, new sections were rewritten based on Weller’s notes and data in the AWP and LTP combined with new research. My initials [RGL] precede all significant alterations to Weller’s manuscript.
For example, it was clear that Weller wished to include several important commissions in the book that did not appear in the draft—such as the Thatcher Memorial Fountain in Denver, the Columbus Memorial in Washington D.C., and Taft’s design for a Peace Medal—but did not live long enough to do so. After consulting the primary material and secondary sources collected in the LTP and AWP, examining Weller’s relevant publications, and reviewing recent scholarship, the corresponding sections on these projects were rewritten. The time available, however, did not permit the inclusion of several other noteworthy designs and commissions that Weller omitted from his draft manuscript, e.g., Taft’s rare Christological relief titled Come unto Me (1933), the lovely Idyll and Pastoral sculptures at Chicago’s Garfield Park Conservatory (1908, 1913), the Danville War Memorial (1922), the Charles Page Memorial in Sand Springs, Oklahoma (1930), the McGuffey Monument (unexecuted design 1932), and the Babler Memorial (unexecuted design 1936) among others.7
It is likely that Weller intended to copiously illustrate The Chicago Years, although he had not prepared a list of figures or gathered the necessary material. I photographed several of Taft’s sculptures myself, obtained illustrations from
various sources, and sponsored the scanning of many of the sculptor’s own photographs and a few of his drawings in the LTP and AWP for this book. My final selection includes many unpublished images of Taft’s sketches, destroyed models, and lost works. These provide a glimpse into multiple stages of the sculptor’s creative process and a more comprehensive picture of his prodigious output. I was responsible for obtaining all reproduction and copyright permissions.
The editors strove to make the book’s scholarly apparatus more robust, in keeping with current academic standards and the goal of facilitating further research. In addition to fact-checking quotations, bibliography, text, and citations for accuracy, I updated many notes with recent publications and added various new references. Since Weller was fond of academic shorthand, I made certain to insert the full names of artists, the complete titles and locations for works of art, and a bibliography, in order to help the reader locate comparative illustrations and full-text digital content in print or digital sources. Indeed, readers may want to approach this account in a way that Weller may not have imagined in the 1990s: with one hand on the book’s pages and the other on the computer keyboard. While The Chicago Years is a carefully edited and researched entity, it often refers to arcane articles, obscure people, and works of art that are not illustrated in the text, but are easily found by searching the Web. Similarly, Weller clearly hoped that the LTP would be more minutely catalogued, so that researchers could quickly locate individual letters. I have maintained or enhanced Weller’s textual markers for Taft’s letters (i.e., “on March 12, 1889, Taft wrote”) so that scholars can locate them using the finding lists for the LTP and AWP on the University of Illinois Archives website.8 I hope that efforts will continue to digitize these invaluable resources and make them publicly available and fully searchable, perhaps on the model of the Smithsonian Institution’s Archives of American Art. With any luck, the complete run of the Chicago newspapers the Record and Inter-Ocean, which often carried Taft’s byline, will soon be scanned and searchable online, much like the Chicago Tribune and New York Times are today.9
This book’s lengthy examination of Taft’s sculptural projects and writings on art opens up several new paths for further study. Among these is Taft’s role as a playwright, stage manager, and director of both people and figural sculpture. Weller likely envisaged a section on Taft’s play, the Gates of Paradise (1925), in which the sculptor directed both schoolchildren and adults to re-create an imagined scene from Renaissance Florence related to his historical dioramas or “Peep Shows” (chapter 9).10 In fact, the relationship between Taft’s live performances in lectures (such as the “clay talks,” in which he created sculpture on stage before live audiences), tableaux vivants, traditional or Vaudeville theater, the Peep Shows, and role-playing in art education would have required the insertion of a long excursus into Weller’s text. Even the dramatic unveiling of Taft’s sculptural models at carefully choreographed events or press conferences, such as the announcement of his plans for the Midway in 1910, are fertile ground for future study.11
Likewise, Weller discusses Taft’s teaching career in various locations throughout the book and dedicates chapter 5 to Taft’s many students and collaborators, who were often women. Weller likely planned to expand this incomplete chapter, and by combining and consolidating his notes on the Midway Studios (in the AWP) many, though not all, gaps were filled. Taft made the Midway Studios an essential component of his mission to spread the gospel of sculpture, and their thirteen rooms served as a communal workspace for several of these women artists and their husbands. Taft also opened his classroom and studio doors to immigrant and African American sculptors.12 Weller left it to a new cohort of art historians to better examine these artists’ careers, including those of several women sculptors at the World’s Fair, the so-called White Rabbits (i.e., Zulime Taft, Julia Bracken [Wendt], Bessie Potter [Vonnoh], Carrie Brooks, Janet Scudder, and Enid Yandell).13
Perhaps the chapter’s largest omission is a more detailed biography of Taft’s sister Zulime, nicknamed Tetie. She had followed in Lorado’s footsteps, trained in sculpture at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, studied at the Art Institute of Chicago, and also assisted in her brother’s
studio (chapter 1). Aside from a few statues at the World’s Fair, her oeuvre remains obscure. Like so many other women of the age, it appears that motherhood and marriage (to the writer Hamlin Garland) distracted her from the art of sculpture, despite her brother’s protests.
By the standards of his time, Lorado took a highly progressive position concerning the status of women. For example, Weller explains how Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s famous speech, the “Solitude of the Self” (1892), inspired the title and concept for Taft’s masterpiece, The Solitude of the Soul (1901) (chapter 7). The suffragette’s words deeply moved him, and Taft envisioned figures pressed together yet emotionally disconnected and alone, as a meditation on Stanton’s theme. Weller’s account of Taft’s earlier, unsuccessful portrait of Susan B. Anthony (1887) is even more surprising. How many male artists in 1890s America would have fought for the privilege of sculpting Anthony’s image after an initial rejection because of their gender? And on top of this, Taft later confessed that Adelaide McFayden Johnson’s portrait of Anthony was better than his. These episodes, and Taft’s legacy of diverse students, warrant greater exploration by today’s art historians.
Weller and Taft
For Weller this book was personal. He had attended Chicago’s University High School as a classmate of Taft’s youngest daughter Jessie and, while an undergraduate at the University of Chicago, Weller had been invited to lunch in the sculptor’s Midway Studios.14 Previously, as a precocious fourteen-year-old in 1921, Weller had admired Taft’s plaster model for the Fountain of Time and he had not only penned a sonnet about the sculpture but had also mailed it to Taft accompanied by a letter. This was not an unusual thing to do. In chapter 8 Weller cites various poems inspired by The Solitude of the Soul. In other places he remarks that The Blind and the Fountain of Time had motivated several poets to take up their pens, though he doesn’t mention his own juvenile work. Imagine Weller’s delight, however, when he discovered his own youthful handwriting, on his personal stationery, while rifling
through Taft’s papers decades later at the University of Illinois. Indeed, his excitement is proven by the fact that he carefully transcribed his sonnet and made several copies of it and the letter.
Dear Mr. Taft:
I suppose you are receiving messages of praise and appreciation from all over evoked by your magnificent “Fountain of Time.” May I add mine, which expresses very faintly my great admiration and respect for you and your work? Of course, I realize that the fountain is not yet in marble, but I hope it will be soon. “Stone” sounds much better than “plaster” in a poem!
Sincerely yours, Allen Weller
August 15, 1921
s o nne T on l o rado Taf T ’s “f o un Ta in of TiMe ”
The mystery of life! ’tis here expressed In marble, chiseled by a master hand. We rise, and for a moment we withstand The gaze of Time; we seem to win our quest, But, striving for an unseen goal, we cannot rest.
Then—hurled to mystery. We do not understand, We but obey Time’s pitiless command. Surely were the sculptor’s fingers blest! And Time, that crag-like figure, gazes on, Scorning our petty vanities and hopes, Gazes—till our strength and hopes are gone, Gazes—as for death an old man gropes. And thou, oh master sculptor, hast in stone Carved us a monument, without a peer, alone. 1921 Allen Weller15
I doubt that the young Weller of 1921 could have imagined the mature Weller curating a Taft exhibition more than sixty years later in 1983. By that point, he had gathered a lifetime’s worth of Taft’s art in the original Krannert Art Museum building. The student newspaper review of the show, titled “Krannert Shows Dull Works by Alma Mater ’s Creator,” must have stung Weller, but he documented it nonetheless, inserting photocopies
f igure 3. Sketch of Man with a Frock Coat, clay, 1887, Krannert Art Museum and Kinkead Pavilion, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, University of Illinois Purchase, 1937-1-94 (artwork in the public domain; photograph by Robert G. La France, courtesy of Krannert Art Museum).
of it in his papers.16 The student reviewer faulted the sculptor’s portrait busts for not displaying emotions and called them “stale, highly stylized and terribly self-conscious.” He praised instead the “smaller works” (i.e., Taft’s preliminary design sketches or esquisses in French) as eloquent and dynamic; particularly Taft’s man with a frock coat. Did Weller explain that few early-twentieth-century bourgeois sitters would have agreed
to have themselves portrayed exhibiting any potentially undignified sentiment? Did he point out that Taft and other sculptors of his time considered the little clay sketches, which appear so pleasingly spontaneous to the modern eye, unfit for formal public display until they had been reworked, enlarged, and refined? While it is too late now for these answers, this book gives Weller the last word.
Paris to Chicago
ne arlY TW en T Y- six Y e ars old and fresh from Paris, Lorado Zadok Taft established himself in Chicago early in 1886.1 At that time the single professional sculptor in the city with more than a local reputation was the veteran fifty-eight-year-old Leonard Volk. Only five works of sculpture had been installed in public places. Three of these were by Volk, and all three followed the conventional design of official monuments of the period, with a lofty classical shaft surmounted by a heroic standing figure with relief sculptures or allegorical personifications at the base. Two of these are in Rosehill Cemetery: a memorial to a group of firefighters (1864) and a Civil War monument (1869). The third was the more elaborate tomb of Stephen A. Douglas on Thirty-fifth Street (1881). Volk is now chiefly remembered for the casts he made of Abraham Lincoln’s face and hands in 1860.
The city erected an incongruously elaborate fountain on the South Side as a memorial to Francis M. Drexel, with a standing portrait figure presiding over a base covered with bronze classical gods and nymphs, acanthus leaf borders, winged lions, and scallop shells (1881).2 This was the work of Henry Manger, a pedestrian German sculptor working in Philadelphia. The only work in Chicago that comes close to the artistic aims and intentions Taft had assimilated at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris was John Boyle’s The Alarm, representing an American Indian family on the alert, erected in Lincoln Park in 1884. It was the commission that
brought Boyle back to this country from Paris soon after Taft had met him there in 1880.3
Aside from Volk and Taft, five other names are listed as “sculptors” in a massive annual directory of the city of Chicago in 1886. These were Edward P. Goutink, Charles Hofman, Howard Kretschmar, William W. Starr, and Henry N. Zearing. Kretschmar, the teacher of Taft’s friend Robert Bringhurst in St. Louis, had lived in Chicago since 1884 but was mainly active as an osteopath. He produced a number of public monuments in St. Louis, but none in Chicago. The other four remain completely unknown and were probably modest makers of grave monuments.4
At the time, the city was without doubt the center of architectural developments of great significance. The enormous amount of construction that took place after the great fire of 1871 brought architects from all over the country (and from Europe as well) to share in these opportunities. Again, the business directory published in the year of Taft’s arrival lists no fewer than 195 names under the category of architects. There was also the possibility of sculptural decoration connected with some of these buildings, which were constructed with astonishing speed and with many technological innovations. Still, much of the architectural design remained curiously derivative of historical precedent. The 1886 list of architects contains the names of numerous firms and individuals who are remembered as significant in the history of American architecture: Adler and Sullivan, Burnham and Root, Holabird and Roche, as well as such individual practitioners as William W. Boyington, Henry Ives Cobb, William LeBaron Jenney, Irving K. Pond, and John M. Van Osdel. In contrast, though the same directory lists almost exactly the same number of artists (194), there is not a single name among them that arouses the slightest sense of recognition.5
Chicago already had a professional art school when Taft arrived there. This was the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts, founded seven years previously. In 1882 its name was changed to the Art Institute of Chicago. From the beginning, it had announced a threefold purpose: the maintenance of a school of art and design, the formation and exhibition of collections of works of art, and the
cultivation and extension of the arts of design by all appropriate means. After some years of carrying on its program in rented space in a business block on State Street, it was housed in a building on Michigan and Van Buren until its own building on Michigan and Adams was completed. This was a handsome Romanesque structure designed by Burnham and Root, activated and occupied in the fall of 1886.6
How was an unknown young American sculptor to make a living in Chicago, a city not noted for art production and patronage? To a sculptor of his generation there were three kinds of commissions for which he could hope and for which his years in Paris had equipped him. His professional maturity came just at the time when an enormous number of Civil War monuments were being erected all across the country. It was just over twenty years since the war had ended, and the generation of men who had fought it had reached a stage when they wanted to memorialize it in heroic terms. The great majority of these monuments were little more than catalogue mail-order jobs, but every competent sculptor in the country was seeking and receiving commissions in this field.7 A second sculptural opportunity was the grave monument. Throughout the nineteenth century, the cemetery was a major attraction in almost all cities and towns, and a lucrative business for the artist. Finally, and in a category which most artists regarded as somewhat less desirable, there was the continuing demand for portrait busts. These were sometimes the result of the life and death masks that sculptors frequently made during the era. Taft was well prepared in all of these genres: his training at the École des BeauxArts had given him a great deal of experience in the kind of design that was expected in the first two directions, and he had already proven himself as an accomplished portraitist.
Taft knew that, as an unknown artist, he was unlikely to immediately obtain major commissions in any of these fields, but the possibility existed for engaging in purely commercial decorative work, such as designs for bronze or iron low-reliefs used as fire screens and as overmantel decorations. Firms produced objects in multiple copies and issued catalogues
that reproduced many different designs. Several bronze companies in Chicago, St. Louis, Indianapolis, and elsewhere specialized in producing and marketing such works, which seldom carried the names of the artists who designed them. In addition, there was the possibility of designing sculptural decorations for buildings or portrait medallions of popular heroes, which were in particular demand. Taft had already determined to enter the competition for a major monument in Chicago, and this was no doubt one of the reasons he installed himself there, but he promptly made contact with bronze companies and was successful in obtaining orders for work of this commercial type.8
Two or three other professional activities might also have been a source of income to a young sculptor, and Taft was soon involved in all of them. Such occupations included teaching, lecturing, and writing. Teaching, first in his own studio, and later at the Art Institute, became a
continuing part of his life. It was not long before people discovered that he was a knowledgeable and appealing public speaker, and this was a period when lectures were a popular form of public entertainment. There was a possibility of writing for one or another of the Chicago newspapers, and there was apparently a good deal of interest in the accounts that a young American could provide of living and studying in Paris.9
Taft had returned to this country from Paris in October 1885 at the age of twenty-five. The return was a sudden and rather unexpected one; he had been in Paris most of the time since 1880 and had already made plans for another year’s work there, though he had not been enrolled as a student at the École des Beaux-Arts for two years. Still, he had successfully exhibited works in two of the annual Salons.10 There were two important reasons for Taft’s return to America: he decided to enter a competition for a major monument to President Grant in Chicago, and he was in love with the beautiful Carrie Louise Scales, who had returned with her widowed mother from Paris to their home in St. Louis.11 Moreover, a close friend, Robert Bringhurst, with whom he had lived and worked as a student in Paris, was just setting up shop in St. Louis.12 Taft’s family had left its hometown of Champaign, Illinois, and had moved to Hanover, Kansas, so it seemed natural and desirable that he should follow Carrie and Bringhurst.
On his return, Taft no doubt visited relations in Massachusetts and his family in Kansas, but by November he had joined forces with Bringhurst, who had a studio on Washington Avenue in St. Louis. Taft moved in with him and they lived and worked together for a brief period. The two artists planned to submit models to as many competitions as they could learn of and hoped to collaborate on some big commissions. The large equestrian portrait of Grant for Chicago was of course a major concern, but they had also learned of a competition for a standing Grant for Leavenworth, Kansas. The sculptors posed for each other and one day bought a blue Union officer’s overcoat for two dollars, a useful studio prop. Soon their studio was full of clay horses and figures, some of which the artists cast in plaster. Taft also began working on a figure of Commodore
f igure 4. Portrait of Carrie Scales (Lorado Taft’s first wife), photograph February 25, 1886 (artwork in the public domain; image provided by the University of Illinois Archives, ID: 6299, RS: 12/1/20).
Stephen Decatur (1779–1820), started studies of various reliefs, and continued to draw.
A new professional experience arose when the young sculptors were employed to make a death mask. The three-year-old daughter of Dr. J. H. McLean, the famous St. Louis patent medicine man, had died of diphtheria. McLean wanted a cast made of her features the day after her death. Taft and Bringhurst made a mold of the little face and hands and hoped that an order for a bust or medallion would result. This was probably the first of a number of death masks that Taft made in his early professional years; and it gave him the idea for an ambitious melodramatic short story, which was never actually brought to a satisfactory conclusion.13
During the two months he was in St. Louis, Taft was, of course, seeing Carrie Scales and her mother frequently—indeed, it was their presence that probably accounted for his being there. Although in one of his letters to his family he writes, “I don’t see Carrie very often and that distresses me because I feel that I am not doing my duty to the fatherless” (he was actually meeting with her nearly every day).14 He went to church with them, took walks with Carrie, and was entertained at their home. He took her to a reception at the art museum and they attended concerts together. Mrs. Scales was evidently fostering the romance; early in December, Taft writes, “Carrie is wonderfully nice, and I guess she likes me. I know her mother does.” He kept Mrs. Scales fully informed of the news he received from Hanover about his father’s bank, and she seems to have considered investing some of her funds in the new venture.
Taft spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve with Carrie and her mother. By the end of the year, the two young people had made their feelings for each other known and had become engaged, no doubt with Mrs. Scales’s approval. Taft’s letter to his parents announcing this important event has not been preserved, but his mother’s reply on December 23 expresses the ambivalent feelings she must have experienced at this news from the one she adored toward a girl she had never seen: “I shall not moralize upon the magnitude of the step which you have taken. Neither shall I tell you whether joy or pain seemed to predominate upon
the announcement. Wait until I see the little syren [sic] who has captivated my treasured heart. If she can manage to stand by your side and maintain her part in the Mama’s affection—then I promise to receive you as one.”
The engagement to Carrie was evidently supposed to be secret: at any rate she preferred not to be introduced to the famous American singer Emma Thursby, who gave a concert in St. Louis on December 30, soon after the engagement. Taft had heard Miss Thursby in Paris and had met her on several social occasions, and she had shown him marked favor on her visit to Champaign a few years earlier. “Carrie slipped away behind a post, fearful that I might want to present her and ‘tell them all about it.’ She says I have to ‘tell everything’ and that I shall make her hair turn grey with worry if I don’t learn to keep my counsel.”
Taft spent a quiet New Year’s Eve with Carrie, and started out the next morning for Chicago, stopping in Champaign to visit old friends. Carrie was still insisting that he keep their engagement a secret. He spent two nights with his friends Henry and Marietta Beardsley and wrote a long letter to the family almost entirely concerned with his encounters with former neighbors: the names of nearly forty of them are introduced. He carried photographs of his work with him and exhibited them proudly. He was asked to dinners, went to church on Sunday morning, received the kisses of some of the older ladies, and informed his mother that many of her friends in Champaign were anxious for a visit from her.
Taft was soon settled in a room on South State Street (No. 243) in Chicago, which he also used as a studio, but he needed more space for a really professional environment. In March, he discovered on the same street (No. 103) a space that he longed to convert into a studio. “I saw such a beautiful studio this morn. It is at the top story of a big business block, an immense sky light— walls beautifully tinted—pretty fireplace, tout qu’il fait—unoccupied and only fifty dollars a month! O dear, for once I wished myself rich. I may take it yet if some of these plans ‘pan out.’ Then I would be one of the swellest artists in town!” The generous Mr. Simeon B. Williams, who had proposed that Taft enter the Grant monument competition,
f igure 5. Head of a Girl, marble, 1884–1885, Krannert Art Museum and Kinkead Pavilion, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, University of Illinois Purchase, 1937-1-142 (artwork in the public domain; photograph by Robert G. La France, courtesy of Krannert Art Museum).
promptly offered to guarantee the annual rent up to $500, and in addition advised him to organize his own class in modeling.
Taft shared the studio from the first with a young architect, W. Mead Walter,15 and it was not long before C. Clayton Minor, painter and photographer, joined them. Both paid part of the rent. Taft was soon working in this happy environment, assisted by a youth named Charlie Mulligan.16 By this time he was working on an order for a bas-relief on a Civil War subject for which he was to receive $100 when it was finished. An exhibition of the Western Artists Association at the Illinois Club on Ashland Avenue included four of his works—two plaster busts, the head of a soldier, and a so-called “Ideal Head,” probably a little
f igure 6. Robert Whittaker McAll, 1885, plaster, Krannert Art Museum and Kinkead Pavilion, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, University of Illinois Purchase, 1937-1140 (artwork in the public domain; photograph provided by Krannert Art Museum).
marble portrait of a girl he had carved in Paris the year before.17 One of the plaster busts was likely the portrait of the Rev. Dr. Robert W. McAll, which he had brought back with him from Paris.18
Once Taft was established in his studio, the premises were open to visitors who, almost from the beginning, found their way there, along with private pupils. He practically held “open house,” and was delighted that visitors and guests came in increasing numbers. As he described in a letter from April 7, 1886: “There is a kind of exaltation and joy in the present struggle that does me good. I like this meeting of the wealthiest and most cultured people, not as a starving art student but as a rising artist. You would be ashamed to hear myself talk but it seems to take and it’s what they expect.”
By midsummer of 1886 Taft was thriving, and he wrote an enthusiastic note to the family: “Prospects are now accumulating at a terrible rate, rolling up like clouds. There must be something in them. . . . I believe I can astonish them.” He had lost no time in making professional contacts with several of the bronze companies which fabricated and sold reliefs, medallions, other types of decorative metal work and arranged orders for larger monumental pieces. He already had had a commission to make a death mask of one of the city’s oldest settlers (Philo Carpenter, see later in this chapter), and he had been virtually promised the job of making a life-size figure of the Marquis de Lafayette for Lafayette, Indiana.19
Taft had not been long in Chicago before William M. R. French (1843–1914), the director of the Art Institute, approached him for professional reasons. The director asked him to deliver a talk on sculpture in France (illustrated with stereopticon slides) for a course of lectures scheduled at the Art Institute; this led to requests from other groups and individuals. William French’s younger brother, Daniel Chester French (1850–1931), was an already established sculptor with a growing national reputation. Finally, William French asked Taft, during the sculptor’s first summer in the city, to join the staff of the Art Institute as an instructor in sculpture classes when the next school term opened in the new building in October. Taft was delighted. “I am so pleased at the prospect of teaching and building up a department of sculpture, in that fine new building which the Art school is to occupy in the fall.” His schedule called for two mornings and three evenings a week, and he was paid $50 a month.20
We can be sure that Carrie was never far from his thoughts, and no doubt they were in constant correspondence. Taft had been a faithful and voluminous letter writer during his years in Paris, sending back to the family detailed accounts of his activities, artistic and social. He continued to write frequently from Chicago, and it is evident that he valued his own letters and perhaps sensed their historic importance, on one occasion saying: “Please see that they are preserved with the greatest care and wrapped in pink cotton-batten [sic] with a blue string,” and on another suggesting
that the letters he and his father had exchanged ought to be published. Unfortunately, the many letters that must have passed between him and Carrie have not been preserved.
The Scales had relations and friends in Lincoln, Illinois, and in Evanston, north of Chicago. Taft joined them on one of their visits to Lincoln, where Carrie’s aunts and cousins enthusiastically received him. In July, Carrie was in Chicago for some weeks before going on to visit relations in New England. By this time, Taft was teaching a Sunday School class, which was made up of about ten little girls; he was “smitten” by some of them, but hastens to add, “my little Carrie is not neglected.” His mother joined him in Chicago in the summer, after she had been visiting in Champaign and before she traveled to her family in Massachusetts. There were also many suggestions or requests that his sister Zulime, usually called Tetie, should come to Chicago and enroll in the Art Institute.
Throughout the early months in Chicago, Taft’s primary concern undoubtedly was the model for the projected Grant monument. Such a memorial had been decided upon soon after Grant’s death in July 1885, while Taft was still in Paris, and a committee of prominent Chicago citizens announced two competitions: one for the architectural setting, the other for the equestrian portrait statue which was to surmount it. These were to be submitted by August 1886. Taft’s friend and patron Simeon B. Williams, and his pastor at the American Chapel in Paris, Dr. Augustus Field Beard, urged him to enter the competition and wrote glowing letters of recommendation for him. His work on the design of the statue began during the two months he was in St. Louis and continued in Chicago as soon as he was settled there.
Francis M. Whitehouse won the architecture competition for the monument. He was a member of the Chicago firm of Burling and Whitehouse and had designed the First National Bank Building in 1882 and the splendid residence of Samuel M. Nickerson, one of the members of the Grant Memorial Committee, in 1883. Whitehouse designed a massive Romanesque structure, almost fortresslike in character, with a passageway underneath to allow foot traffic and roadway to pass below
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APPENDIX
BOHR’S THEORY OF THE HYDROGEN SPECTRUM
THE mathematics involved in this theory is so simple that only a very slight acquaintance with elementary dynamics is required in order to understand it.
Let us consider an electron revolving in a circle about the nucleus. Let be the mass of the electron, a the radius of its orbit, its angular velocity. Also let be the (negative) charge on the electron and the (positive) charge on the nucleus.
Then according to elementary dynamics, the centrifugal force of the electron in its orbit is while the force attracting it to the nucleus is by Coulomb’s Law. These two must be equal, so that
So far, we have been proceeding on traditional lines. But we come now to the application of the quantum theory.
The kinetic energy of the electron is ; the potential energy is . In virtue of the above equation, is double , so that the total energy is equal to the kinetic energy with its sign changed. The impulse corresponding to is , and this has to be taken round one complete circuit of the orbit. This yields the value , which must be put equal to a multiple of , say , where is an integer. Thus we have the equation
Now and and are known; thus (1) and (2) determine and as soon as is fixed. We have
The smallest possible orbit is got by putting ; thus its radius is , where
The next possible radius is
The kinetic energy in the orbit is
Since the total energy is the kinetic energy with its sign changed, the loss of energy in passing from the to the orbit is
If this transition is to give rise to a wave of frequency , we must have by the principle of quanta. That is to say is given by the equation
If is the velocity of light, this gives a wave-number . Now the empirical formula for the wave-numbers of the lines of the hydrogen spectrum is
where is Rydberg’s constant. This shows that, if our theory is right, we ought to have
By substituting the observed values for , , , and , it is found that this equation is satisfied. This was perhaps the most sensational evidence in favour of Bohr’s theory when it was first published.
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