Alberti’s Window

Photograph of Louisa Keyser, called Datsolalee (also spelled “Dat-so-la-lee”)

It’s always interesting to me when art historical worlds collide. Just yesterday I was writing about how Anna Alma-Tadema, the daughter of Lawrence Alma-Tadema, exhibited the watercolor The Drawing Room at the Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chacago. And then today, in a tour of an exhibition of American Indian art curated by David W. Penney, I learned that the Washoe basketweaver Louisa Keyser (called “Datsolalee”) exhibited her basketwork at this same exhibition! In fact, Penney said that this exhibition helped Datsolalee to achieve more fame and renown for her basketweaving.¹

Louisa Keyser (Datsolalee), Degikups (“day-gee-coops”) basket bowl (“Harbor Lights” design, as dubbed by Keyser’s dealer), 1907. Willow shoots, redbud shoots, bracken fern root.

It’s striking to me how a Western taste for “the exotic” can be found in just these two examples that I have been thinking about this week, although the “exotic” looks to two different non-Western cultures. Anna Alma-Tadema’s watercolor contains textiles, tilework, and laquered furniture which are Eastern and/or Eastern-inspired in style. The inclusion of Datsolalee’s baskets in the 1893 fair is one way that Westerners were interested in American Indian cultures. This fair also was the first to include a live exhibition of American Indians (see one photo HERE).²

It seems to me that such live exhibitions and displays could help to disseminate an understanding of American Indian culture on some basic level, but the sheer spectacle and to-be-looked-at-ness of these displays suggest an “exoticization” and Other-ing on part of the Westerners to who organized and attended the fair. Although I realize that this Western interest in (and exploitation of!) the exotic can be found at many other of the World Fairs that were held during the 19th century and beyond, I think that this particular fair is somewhat-wryly appropriate, since the Columbian Exposition celebrated the 400th year that Christopher Columbus arrived in the New World in 1492. Given this context, it seems fitting that Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show performed at the exposition, just outside the main entrance to the fair!³

Datsolalee is an interesting artist to me, especially since she was able to be successful, due to and in spite of the Western culture which encroached and superimposed itself on her people. Datsolalee’s people, the Washoe, are from the area in the United States called northwest Nevada. She married a man of mixed blood, Charlie Keyser, and made her living as a camp cook and laundress, but her skills at basketweaving were soon recognized by Amy and Abram Cohn. The Cohns became Datsolalee’s art dealers (in fact, they gave her the “Datsolalee” nickname, perhaps as a marketing strategy) and promoted her work.⁴ She wove baskets for Cohn’s Emporium for thirty years until her death. (Read more details of her biography HERE and an article written in the Reno Evening Gazette just after her death in 1925.)

Dealer Abram “Abe” Cohn with baskets by Datsolalee

One of the reasons why Datsolalee is well-known today is not just because she achieved exposure through Cohn’s Emporium or the Columbian Exposition, nor just because of her impressive craftsmanship (her best work is recorded to be baskets that had eighty strands to an inch!), but because of the cataloging of her baskets that was done by her dealer, as well as the bill of sale that was given with her baskets. The Cohns wrote these bills of sale to include several detailed bits of information: a description of the basket, stitches to the inch, the design of the basket, the amount of time it took to create the basket, and Datsolalee’s handprint. Datsolalee used her handprint, which was copyrighted, as a signature! As a result, these baskets were easily identified and connected back to her, which wasn’t always the case with American Indian weavers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Although the Cohns were known to fabricate and exaggerate elements of Datsolalee’s biography, as well as include incorrect information on the bills of sale, these bills still helped to connect the baskets to Datsolalee as a specific, unique individual.⁵

On one hand, the “exoticizing” of American Indian culture and craft at Western venues like the 1893 Columbian Exposition likely spread some inaccurate information or perceptions of American Indians to those who visited the fair. At the same time, though, this Western venue helped to promote Datsolalee and her basketweaving. And, thanks to the the detailed bills of sale written by Datsolalee’s art dealer, we know about Datsolalee today (although, admittedly one needs to separate the truth from myth). I think these points help illustrate that the dissemination and preservation of knowledge, especially accurate knowledge, is a tricky thing when it comes to cross-cultural interactions.

What do you know of other ways in which Westerners helped to preserve the information about American Indian craftsmen and artists? Do you know anything else about Datsolalee which interests you? I learned today that she requested to be buried with one of the last baskets she made, which I thought was fitting.

1 Tour with David W. Penney, Seattle Art Museum, February 10, 2015.

2 Elizabeth Hutchinson, The Indian Craze: Primitivism, Modernism, and Transculturation in American Art, 1890–1915 (Durham, North Carolina: Duke University Press, 2009), p. 43. Available online HERE.

3 Marsha C. Bol, “Defining Lakota Tourist Art,” in Unpacking Culture: Art and Commodity in Colonial and Postcolonial Worlds, by Ruth B. Phillips, Christopher B. Steiner, eds. (Oakland, California: University of California Press, 1999), p. 200. Available online HERE.

4 The name “Dat-so-la-lee” means “Big Hips” in Washoe. However, I also found elsewhere that the nickname was actually due to “Dr. S.L. Lee,” the first white man to admire and take an interest in Datsolalee’s baskets. See HERE.

5 For more information on the myths that were propagated by the Cohns, see Christopher Ross, “Datsolalee and the Myth Weavers” in The Historical Nevada Magazine: Outstanding Historical Features from the Pages of Nevada Magazine by Richard Moreno, ed. (Reno, Nevada; University of Nevada Press, 1999), 86-94. Available online HERE.

This afternoon I learned that I can no simply write “Alma-Tadema” to designate the paintings of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, a Dutch-born artist who worked in England in the latter part of the 19th and early 20th centuries. Writing just the last name would be too confusing, since I now have learned that Lawrence was not the only painter in his family: his second wife, Laura Theresa Alma-Tadema (maiden name: Laura Epps) was a painter as well, as well as his daughter Anna! I love the thought of the Alma-Tademas painting together and consulting each other on their latest artistic project. I want to highlight these two lesser-known female Alma-Tadema artists, Laura and Anna, in this post.

According to her obituary in The Times in 1909, Laura was being trained as a musician until she met Lawrence Alma-Tadema, who subsequently taught her how to paint. The two were wed that same year, in 1871. The paintings by Laura Alma-Tadema are different than her husband, though I do think that their styles are complementary. Although both husband and wife were interested in depicting scenes from the past, Laura’s paintings tended to focus more on genre and domestic scenes.

Laura Theresa Alma-Tadema, “Always Welcome,” 1887. Russell-Coates Art Gallery and Museum.

The painting Always Welcome (shown above), suggests the interior of a Dutch home in the 17th century, particularly due to the clothing of the little girl. In this scene, a young girl has come to visit her invalid mother. This painting was owned by the collector Sir Merton Russell-Coates, and it was Merton’s favorite piece in his extensive collection. The painting also resonates with me, since my littlest sister, a blonde, was five years old when my dark-haired mother fell very ill and was bedridden some years ago.

Similar subject matter that celebrates the Golden Age of Holland can be seen in lots of Laura’s other paintings, including At The Doorway and Sweet Industry. Although I do think that her husband was the greater of the two artists (there are some bits of awkwardness in her proportions and stiffness in her figures at times), I’m glad to know that Laura was a painter in her on right. She exhibited regularly at the Royal Academy and also exhibited elsewhere in Europe, including the International Exhibition in Paris (1878) and International Art Exhibition in Berlin (1886).

Lawrence Alma-Tadema, “This is Our Corner,” 1872. Image courtesy Wikipedia

There is no doubt that Lawrence and Laura’s artistic influence played a role in the art created by Lawrence’s daughter, Anna. Anna and her elder sister Laurence were born to Lawrence’s first wife, Marie-Pauline Gressin Dumoulin, who died the year that Anna turned two years old. The two sisters are depicted in This is Our Corner (shown above), painted by their father Lawrence in 1872.

Anna Alma-Tadema, “The Drawing Room” (also called “The Drawing Room at Townshend House”), 1885. Watercolor

Anna Alma-Tadema enjoyed some success as an artist, particularly during the time that her father was also alive. Like her stepmother Laura, Anna also exhibited at the Royal Academy and other international exhibitions. Anna was a talented artist with an eye for fine detail, which allowed her to create some beautiful paintings of domestic interiors full of exotic and luxurious items. One watercolor, The Drawing Room (1885, shown above), was created when Anna was a teenager. This painting was exhibited in the Columbian Exhibition in Chicago in 1893. I think it is easy to see how Anna’s taste for luxury and exoticism fits with the aesthetic of her father’s romanticized and orientalist paintings.

Anna Alma-Tadema (1865-1943), Self_Portrait, n.d. Oil on paper.

The two Alma-Tadema sisters never married – in fact, Laurence, a writer, wrote a short poem, “If No One Ever Marries Me” in 1897. The two sisters reputedly lived in poverty and obscurity after their father’s death, which is unfortunate given their talent and promise. In order to help pull Anna’s work out of obscurity, I’ll be more careful and specific when I label something by one of the Alma-Tadema painters. Even in writing this post, I found several paintings by Laura and Anna which were attributed to Lawrence (something that another blogger lamented back in 2011!).

What are your favorite paintings by either Lawrence, Laura, or Anna Alma-Tadema?

Albert Edelfelt, “The Luxembourg Gardens, Paris,” 1887. Image courtesy Wikipedia.

Over the past couple of days I have been obsessing over paintings by the Swedish-speaking Finnish artist Albert Edelfelt. I am drawn to several of his portraits and outdoor scenes, such as Idyll (1878), Good Friends (Portrait of the Artist’s Sister Bertha Edelfelt) (1881), Chez L’Artiste (Les Graveurs) (1881), and The Luxumbourg Gardens, Paris (1887, shown above). The painterly style and/or plein air subject matter remind me a little of French Realism and Impressionism, so I wasn’t surprised to learn in the artist’s biography that the artist lived in Paris for over fifteen years.

However, I was surprised to learn recently, given the more avant-garde tendencies of Edelfelt’s art, that the artist studied under the academic painter Jean-Léon Gerome. It wasn’t until I did a little bit more research that I discovered that Edelfelt originally wanted to establish himself as a history painter! He started painting in this traditional vein by drawing inspiration from historical subjects that were written by the Finnish historical novelist Zacharias Topelius. Edelfelt’s first history painting, Queen Bianca (also called Queen Blanca, 1887, see below), was accepted into the Paris 1877 Salon. Although the medieval Queen Bianca was Swedish, this canvas is considered first major history painting to depict a Finnish historical subject, since Finland once belonged to Sweden.¹

Albert Edelfelt, “Queen Bianca” (also appears as “Queen Blanca”), 1877. Image courtesy Wikipedia.

This painting depicts Queen Bianca bouncing her son Haakon on her knee, while singing to him at the same time. Although I really like this darling subject matter, I’m also drawn to this painting because there is a Swedish children’s song, “Rida, Rida, Ranka” (“Rider, Rider, Rocker”), which is connected to the subject matter of this painting. (Do you know of other songs which have served as direct inspiration for the subject matter of a work of art? Please comment below!) The song discusses a “little knight” and rider (the young prince), who is riding the “horse” Bianca. The song continues by discussing the joy that the boy will one day find through marriage. This song references the marriage that Bianca helped to arrange between Haakon and Princess Margareta of Denmark, a marriage which resulted in the union of Denmark and Sweden between 1397 and 1453.²

I love the interaction between the mother and boy in this image, and I love the healthy curves of the boy’s childish body. Edelfelt has quite sensitive and loving depictions of children and women in many of his paintings (which no doubt aided in the success of this particular painting in the 1877 Salon). The artist didn’t become a father himself until more than ten years after Queen Bianca was painted; his son Erik was born in November of 1888, and was depicted the following year in The Artist’s Son Erik in His Pram).

Are you familiar with Albert Edelfelt’s paintings? Which ones do you like? Do you know of any other works of art which are connected to a children’s song?

1 A second loosely-historically-inspired painting, “Duke Karl Insulting the Corpse of Klaus Fleming,” was created by Edelfelt the following year, in 1878. For discussion of this painting, see Natasha Bulatovig Trygg, “Cutting Through the Legible – Study of Painting Duke Karl Insulting the Corpse of Klaus Fleming by Albert Edelfelt, 1878,” available online HERE.

2 Google Art Project, “Queen Bianca, 1877.” Available online HERE.

Alphonse Mucha, “Winter” from “The Four Seasons,” 1900

Lately I’ve been on an Alphonse Mucha kick, largely because I seem to be spotting books and calendars on Mucha wherever I look. It’s been fun for me to peruse through these items, because I love the flowy, gauzy female figures that appear in his posters and prints. I thought it would be fun to highlight some Mucha images that are appropriate for this holiday, wintery season. I’m especially drawn to his depiction of Winter (shown above) from his 1900 series of The Four Seasons. (Although this image of the series does not seem completely true to Mucha’s original colors, I still like rich tones quite a bit.) Mucha also did other series of The Four Seasons in 1896 and in 1897.

These days, given my recent fascination with Mucha, I’m beginning to familiarize myself with more of his other works of art, as well as his biography. Alphonse Mucha was born in Moravia, an area in Central Europe which was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and later Czechoslovakia during Mucha’s lifetime. As an adult, Mucha lived several places in Europe, including Paris. One holiday image that Mucha created while living in Paris is his Noél cover for L’Illustration at the end if 1896 (shown below). In this scene, Mucha depicted two female figures which represent the old year dying and the rise of the new year.

Alphonse Mucha, “Noel” cover for “L’Illustration,” 1896

Despite spending most of his life in Europe, one of the things I learned this week about Mucha is that he visited America multiple times between 1904 and 1921; he even lived in America for a few years during that time span.¹ Collectively, Mucha spent about ten years of his life in America. In fact, some of the earliest paintings to comprise Mucha’s Slav Epic first debuted in America, in an exhibition in Chicago from June to November of 1920.²

Alphonse Mucha, “Christmas in America,” 1919. Approx. 32″ x 30″ (81.2 cm x 76.8 cm). Private Collection.

One of the paintings that Mucha seems to have made at the start of his seventh (and final) visit to America is Christmas in America (1919, shown above).³ In this painting, a female figure, who is wearing a wreath of evergreen branches, looks out at the viewer. She holds a candle and fruit in her hand, as well as what appear to be either nuts or bells. It has been suggested that this image might be a commentary on the Czech traditions in America. This suggestion makes some sense to me, particularly because the floral patterns on the figure’s sleeves remind me a bit of those found on traditional Czech dresses.

I love Christmas in America because the composition and colors are very calm, straightforward, gentle, and simple. To me, this woman personifies the goodness and peace that embodies the holiday spirit. May your holiday and new year be filled with such goodness, dear reader!

1 For a detailed discussion of Mucha’s time in America, see Anna Daley, “Alphonse Mucha in Gilded Age America, 1904-1921,” Master’s thesis, Smithsonian Institute and Parsons the New School for Design, 2007. Available online: http://www.readbag.com/si-pddr-si-jspui-bitstream-10088-8790-6-annadaleyalphonsemucha

2 Daley, p. 72.

3 Mucha is thought to have arrived in New York in late 1919 or early 1920. I think this painting is a good indication that Mucha had already arrived in America, given the title. See Daley, p. 72.

Lately, in coordination with my volunteer responsibilities at a local art museum, I have been reading What Are You Looking At? The Surprising, Shocking, and Sometimes Strange Story of 150 Years of Modern Art by Will Gompertz. Although a good portion of the things in this book are a review for me, I still am learning several new things, which is fun. I also appreciate Gompertz’s humorous and approachable writing style.

This book isn’t without a few minor flaws, however. I am only about a third of the way into the book, but so far I have noticed a few assertions which seem historically unfounded, as well as a quote about Cézanne which was interpreted slightly out of context. But even these slight errors are providing a diversion for me, since they are making me curious in wanting to know more.

One such diversion for me revolved around Gompertz’s assertion that a scene from Frank Capra’s movie It’s a Wonderful Life was influenced by Gauguin’s painting Vision After the Sermon (Jacob Wrestling the Angel). Gompertz points out that the tree in Gauguin’s painting is used to as a compositional device: the tree is set at a diagonal to divide the earthly realm in the lower left portion of the canvas from the heavenly vision in the upper right (shown below).

Paul Gauguin, “The Vision After the Sermon (Jacob Wrestling the Angel),” 1888. Image courtesy WikiArt

Gompertz then explains that there is a similarity with this composition and a scene from It’s a Wonderful Life. This scene comes just after a pivotal moment in the movie in which George Bailey, who was about to attempt suicide by jumping off a bridge into a river, ended up jumping in the river to rescue the angel Clarence who was drowning.The following scene shows George resting and drying off in a wooden shack with the angel Clarence. Due to the perspective of the camera, some shots of this scene are divided by the diagonal of a clothesline; this line separates the heavenly angel Clarence from the burdened, careworn mortal George Bailey (see below).

Film still from Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” (1946)

I agree with Gompertz that there are compositional and symbolic parallels between Capra’s film and the Gauguin painting. And I appreciate that Gompertz brought this to my attention, especially since It’s a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies. My issue, however, is that Gompertz asserts a direct, one-to-one historical relationship between the painting and film. He explicitly states that Capra “referenced this painting” by Gauguin.¹ I cannot find any source by Frank Capra or anyone else associated with It’s a Wonderful Life to verify that Capra had Gauguin’s painting in mind when he created his classic film.

Interestingly, though, my research did lead me to find that Capra was interested in Gauguin and his art. Capra’s autobiography, The Name Above the Title (1972), discusses Gauguin at one point. In this section, Capra addresses what some critics could perceive as the “gee whiz!” factor in his films – that is, characters in the films walk around wide eyed, perceiving things as larger than life. Capra defends this “gee whiz” factor by explaining that to some people, “all that meets the eye is larger than life, including life itself.”² Capra then explains, “Gauguin was a gee whizzer. He painted the South Seas not as he found them, but as he wanted to find them. He created his own South Seas.”³

There is no doubt, then, that Capra thought highly of Gauguin, and it seems like he also liked Gauguin’s paintings, by extension. However, I’m still waiting to find a direct historical connection between It’s a Wonderful Life and Vision After the Sermon, even if a visual connection can be made. If I was writing Gompertz’s book, I would have wanted to point out this visual similarity, but also mention that Capra may have been influenced – either directly or indirectly – by other artistic factors when he considered the set up for this scene with George Bailey and Clarence. I’m particularly reminded of Japanese paintings which use diagonal lines to divide different spaces, such as the division between private and public spheres in a scene from the Tale of Genji (see below).

Kano Ryusetsu Hidenobu, scene from “Tale of Genji,” late 17th century – early 18th century

Gauguin’s Vision After the Sermon was definitely influenced by the Japanese aesthetic, but Gauguin wasn’t the only 19th century artist who was interested in diagonal lines (or even trees-as-diagonal-lines, for that matter – see Van Gogh’s Flowering Plum Tree, which is a copy of a Hiroshige print). So, my guess is that several factors are contributing to Frank Capra’s scene. Does anyone have other thoughts or know more about Capra’s artistic influences as a director?

Also, do you know of other places in which diagonal lines are used to create a strong symbolic distinction between two types of spaces (such as earthly and unearthly, or public and private)? This compositional device is intriguing to me.

1 Will Gompertz, What Are You Looking At? The Surprising, Shocking, and Sometimes Strange Story of 150 Years of Modern Art (New York: Plume, 2012), 66. Source available online as a Google Book: http://books.google.com/books?id=gBXxKol-XVYC&lpg=PT56&ots=fD3Hou_k0j&dq=frank%20capra%20george%20bailey%20gauguin&pg=PT56#v=onepage&q&f=false

2 Frank Capra, The Name Above the Title: An Autobiography (London: W. H. Allen, 1972), 138. Source available online as a Google Book: http://books.google.com/books?id=x_E09IWRomMC&lpg=PA138&ots=31sjkINX8o&dq=%22the%20name%20above%20the%20title%22%20gauguin&pg=PA138#v=onepage&q&f=false

3 Ibid.