Arts and Letters

Yeats, the portrait painter, father of William Butler Yeats, the poet, and John Yeats, the painter, was one of the men I heard Sloan express admiration for. It was not for the painter, however, that his admiration went out, but for the talker, the conversationalist. Yeats is reported as saying that "John Sloan was a North Irishman and was his own worst enemy." Sloan was not a simple soul; but was full of crotchets, whims, and contradictions. He went his own way; he followed his own star; he lived his own life and practiced his own art as it seemed best to him to do. He was very definitely a man of character; he was also very definitely a character.

Born in 1871 at Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, he drifted to the Pennsylvania Academy at the time when Robert Henri, George Luks, James Preston, Everett Shinn, and William Glackens were students there. He was a pupil of Thomas Anshutz. Some of the men in this list of names were destined years later, in New York, to organize "The Eight," which made such a mark in American art and whose fame still continues. Sloan must have profited by the severe training he got there.

The instruction of the Academy must have been good to have turned out such artists as the men he met there, and what undoubtedly was just as valuable was the association, companionship, and influence of that remarkable group of young men. Matthew Arnold speaks of the value of the voices of great men heard in early life and states that "nothing can come up to it," but I feel that perhaps even of more value is to find, "in that susceptible period of youth," friends and associates of talent, intelligence, and serious endeavor, starting out with you on the high road of life. In all of this, I feel, the young John Sloan was very fortunate.

From the Academy he went to work on the Philadelphia Inquirer, where he had Glackens as a companion. After a period of illustration, which he seemed to regret, he came to New York. I distinctly remember some delightful drawings, in imitation of colored woodcuts, which he did for Collier's. Then one of his paintings won a prize at the Carnegie International. After that he was known as a painter of the Ashcan School. These early pictures had as subject matter things seen in and around the streets of New York. They are dark, low in tone, with the interest on the human and his and her environment. Wherever he traveled, whatever he brought back, it was always man and woman and their setting. In New Mexico he did some pure landscapes but, good as they are, they don't loom large in the total of his productions. To me, personally, these early pictures are his supreme achievement as a painter.

But another and equally important phase of his activity was his etching. In this he was complete master; they were unlike any other etchings then being done. I heard him once say that he preferred John Leach to Charles Keene. This remark in some ways is rather revealing. At that time C. K. was little less than a god to most of us and John Leach was more or less forgotten. Glackens, on looking at an original Keene, remarked, "You know, I'd rather have an original Keene then a Rembrandt." This gives something of the estimation in which Keene was held. One of the characteristics of Sloan's etchings that marked the difference from most contemporary work was that his plates were never sketches but complete works; works pondered on, worked on, and as completely realized as it was possible for him to make them. In every way they were as serious works as important pictures or statues, or shall we say, as novels or symphonies. Sloan put all he had into these works, small in size as they were, but not on that account unimportant. Perhaps they constitute his most important contribution to the broad stream of art.

As a draughtsman Sloan was sound, solid, and talented; none of his figures was without form and weight. When The Masses started he found his opportunity, as did many another artist with radical leanings. In its pages he poured out his feeling of revolt, sympathy, and humor. I'm sure the knowledge that his drawings would be reproduced and published was a great incentive. It was a case of the time, the place and the girl. These times come to some artists for long and for short periods and, unfortunately, to some they never come. Sloan made the most of the flowering of The Masses.

Though mention has been made of the illustrations in Collier's, there was another set which must not be overlooked, the etchings made for the monumental edition of Paul de Kock. These illustrations were made as illustrations for this particular edition. They were etched plates and in every way take their place in the body of his etched work. In them there is no feeling that the artist was just doing a job or that the opportunity was below him. Sloan put everything he had into them.

In 1920, on my way to the Navajo country, I stopped over at Santa Fe. When Sloan found I was in town, he insisted on my staying with him. For ten delightful days I enjoyed the stay with him and wandered all over Santa Fe. Sloan at that time was doing the drawings for Masters' Mitch Miller.

One afternoon we went to Randall Davies' ranch and spent the evening there. Then I learned how great was the respect Sloan had for Robert Henri. He asserted that Henri had influenced all of us, including myself. One little incident happened which made a distinct impression on me. In speaking of Henri, Sloan said he was afraid Henri was getting soft: "In the old days, in criticizing pictures, he would kick out his foot and say, 'It's rotten take it away!' Now he says, 'Wait a minute, let's see what we can find in it.'" Sloan seemed to think this attitude was one to be guarded against. At that time he feared growing old and any softening seemed to mean deterioration—softening meant not ripening but rotting. But the inevitable did come to him: as age came on he did become more amiable. I called his attention to some very old apple trees in my yard, the apples of which either ripened or rotted. These last were found when opened to have a worm at the heart. He made no answer to this.

As worker in the arts he practiced, there was nothing of the radical or modernistic in him. His art was completely traditional; the subject matter was his own. He never went to Europe so that he never experienced the art schools there at first hand and he did not know the galleries. What he knew of the past he gained from our galleries here and from importations of the dealers. Modern movements passed him by. In his work there isn't a trace of Impressionism or the more recent modernisms. He never tried to catch a car that had already passed. I can point to no specific influence in his work but can only remark that in its general trend it stems from Great Britain, but not from any one artist or school. He has affiliation with Hogarth, Rowlandson, and Morland, but there is no direct influence or imitation that I can see. As to certain phases of his later art, I can only say that I do not understand them.

As he never visited Europe he was in this like George Bellows and, until his last year, Howard Pyle, who died in Florence. The reason I do not know. But during the life of all these there was current a feeling that, at last, an artist could develop here, in his own country; and another idea which had great prevalence was that, by going, a certain American flavor would be lost. I never heard that Rembrandt's reason for not visiting Italy was ever given, but he is reported to have said that "he hadn't time."

Sloan taught on several different occasions at the Art Students League and was a very popular teacher.

The New Society once gave an etching demonstration to raise funds. Sloan conducted it. He explained the whole process and made a plate which he carried out to completion. I had the honor of assisting him, but I assure you there was little I could do; John Sloan needed no help. I have always regretted that his running commentary and explanation, as he carried on the developing of this plate, was not taken down and published. I know of none of the treatises on etching more clear or understandable than this one which he delivered extemporaneously. Once I heard him say, "At one time I knew a lot about etching," and I am here to say that he certainly did.

It has always been somewhat of a mystery why Sloan went to Santa Fe. He was such an urban dweller in his habits, interests, and thoughts. He did do work there. His landscapes were mostly of the country around Santa Fe. But none of his western work has the authentic note found in the New York work. They are Sloan all right, but that's because he did them.

For a long time Sloan was President of the Independents. He evidently took a real satisfaction in this. He had liked to thinkof himself as an Independent of the left wing. I have always felt that he knew and appreciated the advantage this affiliation gave him; it gave him a certain unique isolation. He never became a member of the National Academy of Design. I never heard that he refused to, but I'm sure he would have, had it been offered to him. But I'm just as sure that during most of his life he would have been welcomed as a member.

He took pleasure and satisfaction in his membership in the National Institute of Arts and Letters and the American Academy of Arts and Letters, though this was partly ironic. The reception of The Gold Medal in 1950 both interested and amused him.

When he died he left a host of friends and many former students who revered him just short of idolatry.