Arts and Letters

The words "architectural sculptor" make a convenient label for a man whose work is done in relation to a building. It has a double meaning and may denote the noblest kind of sculpture or trivial ornamentation.

Lee Lawrie was alive to these differences in meaning and when he competed for the statue of Thomas Jefferson for the Memorial in Washington, Mr. Giboney, one of the members of the Memorial Committee, asked him: "Are you not an architectural sculptor, Mr. Lawrie?" Lee, whose nature was sensitive and impulsive, believed from the man's tone of voice that there was something belittling in his question, and answered, "Yes, Mr. Giboney, I am, and so was Phidias an architectural sculptor."

Lawrie's proud retort was admirable because the sculptors of Olympia and the Parthenon, the men of the portals of Amiens and Chartres, and in their own time and place, Donatello and Lee Lawrie, himself, were architectural sculptors in the noble sense. Their sculpture is the fine flower and supreme expression of the twinned intention of architect and sculptor and gives to the edifice its culminating beauty.

Lee Lawrie believed that architecture provides the most appropriate place for sculpture and his cooperation with Bertram Goodhue and other architects justifies his belief. The finial of the Nebraska State Capitol, "The Sower," is, in itself, a brutally powerful figure, but in place at the culmination of the massive tower of the Capitol it is almost as light and gay as a weather vane without losing a whit of its power and significance. This state Capitol gives proof of Lawrie's power to combine abstract figures with architecture and to make the figures arresting and significant in themselves; for example the figures of Wisdom and Justice, of Hammurabi and Charlemagne, and best of all, the figure of Lincoln. This characterization of Lincoln is the most spiritual that I know of. The likeness is replete with power but purged of anxiety. The man now lives before us in calm finality. It is a triumph of artistic insight.

Another important work of Lawrie's is in a different mood. The Bok Singing Tower at Lake Wales, Florida, is designed in a mood of fantasy and of playful decoration. Beautiful designs, pierced in stone, fill the windows, designs made of tropical foliage interlaced and full of sap and vigor. Mingled with their festive forms are birds and humans, a bird-feeder, a water carrier. The supports of balustrades are marching flocks of cranes, pelicans and such, all in pierced work. The crown of the tower is octagonal, its windows high and gothic, filled with more birds and foliage, while the supports between the windows end in a coronet of well-fed cranes. Pierced work in stone or bronze became a favorite motive with Lawrie and he used it in Rockefeller Center and at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Lawrie's third major phase of achievement was in religious sculpture. Here his work is more traditional than in Nebraska and Florida, because the architecture, as well as his clients, demanded it. But within these restrictions, his religious sculpture remains personal and animated. The figure of Our Lord of St. Thomas's Church in our city and the figures of Isaac, Joseph, and Moses are strong and noble characterizations, equal to any on European cathedrals. There is much of Lawrie's powerful religious work about the country as well as in New York, and I admire especially the tomb of Bertram Goodhue in the Chapel of the Intercession. Its noble simplicity expresses forcibly the finality of death and the expression of Goodhue's portrait is moving in its pathos.

Equal success in three diverse moods—at Nebraska with "The Sower" and the conventionalized figures—in Florida, romantic fantasy—and in the East semi-traditional religious figures—such success is a remarkable feat for any artist. Lawrie's versatility and imagination in mastering these triple problems are astonishing. He may have over-produced but his high spots are mountains of achievement.

Lee Lawrie was born in Rixdorf, Germany, in 1877. At the age of four or five he came with his mother to this country and they lived in Chicago, and for a time in Maryland. When he was ten he realized he could help his mother. He sold newspapers and delivered telegrams, he was hired and fired from a medley of grocery stores and electrical shops and finally landed in a lithographic company. Lee had always drawn and he became skillful at designing foaming beer mugs and jovial Gambrinuses to decorate the walls of Chicago saloons. But saloon art did not satisfy him and when he heard that a studio boy was wanted by Mr. Richard Parks, a sculptor, he applied and was accepted. The lithographers protested, for he was becoming valuable to them, but Lee cared not and stayed for a year with Mr. Parks, who recognized his unusual talents.

The Columbian Exposition was under way in Chicago and hoards of young sculptors from all over the country were enlarging the models of the older artists to colossal size and at the same time learning their trade. The Exposition was a university for young sculptors and in the ensuing years many of them became well known. Lee applied for a job when he was fifteen years old and became a part of that joyous hive of endeavor. He left Parks with regret and all his life felt for him affection and gratitude, but he never saw him again.

Two years later when jobs at the Fair were over, Lawrie was working in the studio of William Ordway Partridge at Milton, Mass. Near Milton he saw a church, small but a gem, designed by Cram and Goodhue. It fired his admiration. On impulse he called at their office in Boston, which was a small affair of one or two rooms. Cram was out but Goodhue was at work on a drawing. Lawrie describes Goodhue at this time as young, blond, nervous in manner, and a chain-smoker. Lawrie inquired: "Might this office have any work for a sculptor?" Goodhue replied, "Not right away, but what have you done?" This was the first interview of the future collaborators, and each made a strong impression on the other. Not long after, Goodhue gave Lawrie the contract for six marble panels for the Pawtucket Library in Rhode Island. This was Lawrie's first commission for sculpture on a building.

Lawrie and Goodhue continued their collaboration in sculpture and architecture at West Point, Nebraska, and elsewhere. One day Goodhue said to him, "How would you like to help me produce the largest reredos in the world? It is for St. Thomas's and would require sixty-three free-standing figures besides a group of thirteen figures with symbols, etc." Lawrie jumped at the offer and thought no sculptor before him had been offered a more glorious opportunity.

These two men were indispensable to each other, but their personal relations were peculiar. Occasionally Lawrie, who at times was a heavy drinker, quarreled seriously with Goodhue and would not go to Goodhue's office for weeks. During one of these spats Goodhue wrote him a tirade concluding with a list of his faults. He called him a drunkard, but since he was the best man for the job, Goodhue wanted him to come back.

The two men addressed one another as "Mr. Lawrie" and "Mr. Goodhue." They had almost no contact outside the office. In 1921 when Goodhue was convalescing from an operation, Lawrie wrote to Mrs. Goodhue and asked if he might make a portrait medallion of him. She replied that it was an excellent idea and the sittings began. They talked constantly while Lawrie worked, and now called one another "Goodhue" and "Lawrie." Mrs. Goodhue told the sculptor that Bertram looked forward every day to his coming and Lee considered it as one of the pleasant experiences of his life.

The Depression did not strike Lawrie as early as it did many sculptors for he had several commissions to complete. But when no more work came, he decided that sculpture was dead and planned a new life for himself. Boyhood memories of a year spent with his mother on the Eastern Shore drew him to Maryland. At Easton he found a place that suited him, Locust Lane Farm, and there he spent the rest of his life. It seemed ideal for a small farmer which he purposed to be: two fields in grain, chickens, hogs, and sheep. Lawrie failed as a farmer, but sculpture revived and the farm proved a wonderfully satisfactory spot for working and living.

Lawrie was an illustrious citizen of the Eastern Shore, respected and beloved. He had keen sympathy for the struggles of artists young and old, and helped found the Academy of the Arts at Easton. He brought new ideas and inspiration to the annual Arts Festival which is sponsored by the Easton Lions Club.

His sympathies were vividly aroused by the predicament of older artists who have worked honorably all their lives and who in old age are unable to work or are stranded by the tides of fashion. In such cases, he advocated insurance or annuities. Similar possibilities have been discussed at recent meetings of our Academy and it may hearten the advocates of such measures to know how thoroughly Lawrie agreed with them.