John Stobart traveled some distance to join in what was going on at South Street Seaport in New York forty years ago-but this turned out to be only the beginning of another journey, one that has proved immensely rewarding to the American heritage in seafaring. Joining us in our voyage of exploration into the seafaring past, John painted a portrait of the ship Wtzvertree and donated the proceeds from the print he made to help raise funds to bring her here from South America, where she had ended her career after being dismasted off Cape Horn. He went on to become the leading artist of the historic seaports of America, giving us a lively appreciation of the whole heritage of American seafaring. How we would crowd into my small office in South Street to see his latest painting unwrapped amid dog-eared books and toppling piles of paper! As he revealed his latest effort, we'd be transported to an elder world-smelling salt air and entranced by small boats dancing on the harbor swell, tugs busy about their multifarious tasks, and the great ships that towered over the shops of sailmakers, block makers, chandlers and counting houses. When John asked recently what he might do for the cause, my wife Norma and I stumbled over each other (as is our wont) to answer-give us a flock of your best paintings that bring the seafaring story home to New Yorkers-oh, and do add the story of how you came to paint them. A tall order! What follows is part of his response, the whole of which is soon to be published by the National Maritime Historical Society in a small volume, which embraces an oceanic outreach. John's work is full of the call of the wind, in a world wider and more wild than the one we know today, a world alive with the splendor of sunlight playing on broken water and the appeal of a tall ship outward bound toward far horizons. -Peter Stanford, President Emeritus, National Maritime Historical Society
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A Fair~&~ S~tred
ne thing an artist needs above all else is luck, and oh boy, have I had luck! Ir was sometimes hard to discern the lineaments of good fortune when it came, since a lucky break may come in heavy disguise, as though ro avoid detection . But sometimes fortune's tide turns fair, as it did at my first exhibition at New York's Kennedy Galleries, where I met Peter Stanford and, at his urging, came to Lower Manhattan to explore the fledgling South Street Seaport Museum. There, I walked into a world where the fair tide was running strong and clear- a surge of adrenaline in my veins. It was a pretty long and winding road to discover that world. One early stroke of luck was my decision to come west to Canada in 1957. I was feeling cramped and restless in my career as a painter of steamship portraits for calendars commissioned by shipping companies, and I saw no doors of opportunity opening before me. It seemed my colloquial Derby accent was holding me back in getting attention from the exclusive London art galleries of the day; they could not be bothered with an unknown artist from the sticks. Even seven years at London's Royal Academy Schools, a superb training ground for artists, could not obscure my provincial origins, which in any case I had no wis h to hide! I was inspired early by ships and the sea; the steamer paintings I had begun to paint in my later student days turned out to be a magic 28
by John Srobarr
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San Francisco: The Flying Cloud Entering Port card of introduction in Canada-for the shipping company calendars headed with my paintings carried those images worldwide. I was amazed to find that my reputation for painting ships had preceded me. The calendars had quietly served as free advertising! I rook to making trips ro Canada, finding new patrons in an age when shipping magnates still rook pride in each new ship they launched. This was a pride I shared ever since my childhood visits to my grandparents' home in Liverpool, where I longingly watched the great ships steam out of sight, bound for far horizons. Years later, when I was doing well enough ro
take a sabbatical, I headed to Canada with my fami ly for a six-month stay in Toronto. There, with the help of the dedicated museum curator Alan Howard at the Toronto Maritime Museum, I threw myself into a study of the merchant sailing ships that had haunted my imagination since I'd first seen their successor ships steam out to sea. Alan advised me to take the results of my studies and seek representation, not in Canada, with its population of some 10 million, but across the border where the market was then upwards of 200 million. So boldly, I headed for New York by train, taking with me four paintings of sailing ships underway wrestling with tumultuous
SEA HISTORY 123, SUMMER 2008