Arts and Letters

Lorado Taft held a unique position among American sculptors. Important as his own creative work was, his influence through the spoken and written word was no less so. That influence was wide-spread. From coast to coast, he aroused public interest in the art of sculpture, and in its proper use in civic development.

He was born in Elmwood, Illinois, April the 29th, 1860. His father, Don Carlos Taft, was professor of Natural Sciences and Geology at the University of Illinois. As a boy, Lorado showed a decided aptitude for modelling; but it was not until after his graduation with honor from the University that he devoted himself whole-heartedly to the study of sculpture. In 1880 he went to Paris, where he studied and worked for five years. On his return to his native land in 1885, he settled in Chicago. At that period, he found the Middle West a barren field for sculpture, and there were long, lean years for the young artist.

Nevertheless, progress was being made in aesthetic matters. The Art Institute of Chicago was developing an important art school, in which Mr. Taft received a position as instructor. He evidently found it easy to express himself in words (a rare gift among sculptors). Within a few years, he was made a lecturer in the Extension Department of the University of Chicago.

From then on to the very end, he was in demand as a lecturer in the field of art. The subject called forth his enthusiastic devotion. He did pioneer work in the Middle West, but as his reputation increased, his addresses on sculpture and civic art were eagerly sought in all parts of the country. From this it must not be inferred that he gave the major portion of his time and talent to the lecture platform. Quite the contrary. He was a distinguished practitioner, and produced many important works.

It was the Centennial of 1893 that gave him his first real opportunity as a sculptor, through a commission to make sculptural decorations for the Horticultural Building. A little later came the Black Hawk monument, a colossal figure forty-two feet in height, representing an Indian chief who gazes out over the beautiful valley of the Rock River at Oregon, Illinois. Following this, he created the group called "The Blind," a work which added materially to his fame, and led to the commission for the heroic bronze group for "The Fountain of the Great Lakes." Then came a succession of memorials, fountains, and statues, placed in widely separated locations.

Lorado Taft was by nature a religious man, with a heart full of compassion for human suffering, and in sympathy with human joys. His faith took the practical turn of good will toward his neighbor. His particular creative interest was in symbolic themes, expressive of human experience. What he earned by his lectures and commissions went back into these ideal creations. His great "Fountain of Time" on the Midway of the University of Chicago is the most ambitious of his many subjects developed in sculpture. The group was inspired by Austin Dobson's couplet,

Time goes, you say? Ah, no!
Alas, Time stays. We go.

His hope for the future of art in our country lay in the aesthetic education of the young. It was a subject he often dwelt upon. For years he struggled (let us hope not in vain) to bring about the founding of a great historic museum of architecture and sculpture. He used to speak of it as the dream of his life.

His idea was to have in such a museum a reproduction of every fine piece of sculpture and of some fragment from every noble work in architecture known to the world. Whatever was shown should be properly arranged as to period, and furthermore, should be suitably lighted. He often discussed the vexed question of lighting sculpture, and maintained with perfect truth that a sculptor's work is seldom lighted so as to reveal its full beauty.

A visit to his studios made one think of the workshops of the Renaissance artists. There one found Lorado Taft surrounded by his pupils, some of them working on projects of their own, with an occasional suggestion or criticism from the master, and others acting as his assistants in the time-honored way. One saw a happy family of artists cooperating with enthusiasm toward a common end. It was unique. I know of no other workshop like it.

His lectures never seemed to distract his mind from creative effort in his studio. You would see him absorbed in his modelling. Some one would say, "It's train time!" "All right, I'm off!" And away he goes.

On the platform, or before the microphone, he had a friendly, natural manner,—a way of capturing the interest of his audience. He never indulged in artistic jargon or in modernistic phrase-making. He used words that meant something to his hearers. His attitude toward his contemporaries in art was unfailingly generous. He looked for the good in everyone's work and in every school of sculpture; at the same time criticizing with frankness that which he felt was false or unworthy. His writings on sculpture have definite importance. His monumental History of American Sculpture, first published in 1903, is still, in its revised edition, the standard work of reference on the subject.

Most modest as to his own attainments, magnanimous in his whole outlook, he remained young in spirit to the last. When his end was approaching, he meditated on one of his great conceptions, a work which for a long time had been in process of development. He called it "Creation," and intended it as a companion to his "Fountain of Time." On October the 30th, 1936, Lorado Taft asked to be taken to his studio once more. With this farewell to earthly achievement, a noble spirit left the world but a few hours later.