I^XETVEBIT£SJ
YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

The Estate of
KATHERINE S. DREIER

GOING TO THE SPRING
IN A PRIVATE COLLECTION
Canvas. Signed at the right. 9 inches high, 5V£ inches wide.

RALPH ALBERT BLAKELOCK

BY
Elliott Daingerfield

New York
PRIVATELY PRINTED
MCMXIV

Copyright, 1914, by
Frederic Faircbild Skerman

The Ghost Dance 16
Indian Encampment 16
Pegasus 24
Indian Camp 24
Moonlight 2b
At Nature's Mirror 30
The Captive 30
The Brook by Moonlight 33
Moonlight tL

RALPH ALBERT BLAKELOCK

RALPH ALBERT BLAKELOCK
PART ONE
j^^^^^^^T IS often the fate of a man to be mis*
llilr Pyilftfi under^tood in his own generation, even
Ili^llPiil to ^e ignorec^ and if his pursuit in life be
Isi^lllSli ^rt t^s *s particularV the case, because
l^li^iS^^ai it is the few who find deep enough inter*
est in the matter to devote time and Study to acquiring
knowledge. It is far easier to accept the fashion of the
hour, and, since our -walls demand pictures for their
decoration, obviously it is best to secure those which
are the fashion. The fate of such a man is not a hard
one essentially, although it may mean privation.
There is an implied compliment in the negligence, a
suggestion that he is not understood, and so, quite un*
consciously, the public places him upon a height. This
is a comforting sort of reasoning, but does not mean to
say that the condition is a right one. A man who is
in earnest — deadly earnest — that kind of earnestness
which is -willing to endure sacrifice, that man knows
that he labors for a small audience. His appeal is to
the cultivated few, and rarely, I think, does a man
live and work well in a complete and solitary silence.
Somebody knows, and somebody cares for his work,
perhaps understands it, and this is the great re-ward, —
to be understood.

The province of the artiSt being to express the beau*
tiful, —a phrase that from oft repetition becomes rather
a platitude, though it should be an axiom,— he is in
some sort a messenger, and there can be no need of a
messenger if there is no message. If, then, he tries to
deUver his message of beauty, sad indeed is his lot if
he can not win at least an audience of one.
A great value in a work of art is that we may read
the man in his work, — nay, more, — we may read the
man and his time, and art which is immortal renders
a people immortal.
Fashion, tendency of the time, schools of art, the
dealers, are influences behind moSt of what passes
current as the art of the day, but somewhere in a gar*
ret, maybe, a solitary man, -working in his own way,
oblivious to the schools or the clamor of fashion, ere*
ates work which surely finds the Hght and arouses the
highest and nobleSt emotions.
In our own land it is curious how many of the
greatest painters are without the tradition of School.
Self-taught we say in the catalogues. The reason is
not to be found by inveighing againSt schools, which
are very useful, very needful indeed to the ordinary
sort of student, but it is rather because men of genius
need no rule, their foundations are built within their
own souls, and the convictions of such sanctuary in*
evitably beget great -works.
Therefore to Stand alone, free, independent, is
almost a necessity for great result.
I have heard men say, VkI muSt make my work
8

more hke the things other men are doing." There
is nothing more deadly, nor more indicative of me*
diocrity, nothing which more Stultifies the mind or
more surely points with unerring finger to the com*
monplace. It is insincere, and when that is said, the
final breath of hope is gone, for no good art can exist
without sincerity.
There are those who argue that a man may follow
a leader -with great sincerity. The answer is, in art
each man must be a leader, not a follower, for no two
men are alike, no two souls are given the same mes*
sage, and while it may amuse the critic to trace like*
ness, the great truth remains that true art is personal.
Long hair does not make personahty, nor would
the wearing of green trousers. Eccentricity is the
vanity of feeble talent. The thing has been hinted
at, — it is the aspiration of the soul.
If Ingres' hne had no other quality than its ex*
actness it could not have been, as it is, great art.
If our admiration for Franz. Hals stops or begins at
his brush* work we have not seen the true Hals.
I know, quite well, in saying this I shall be contra*
dieted, for to the majority Hals is marvelous because,
and only because he had the most dexterous touch
the world has seen; but he had something more, and
the keenness and precision of his observation, his
complete grasp of the entity of his portrait, these were
quite as marvelous as his brush. Dexterity is not
enough. We look and gasp even, we marvel and ad*
mire, but -we see with our eyes only, and are not
9

lured in the spirit. The -way, the manner, is not the
fine thing in a noble work, though it may, for the
moment, charm. ^Vhat has been said to me in this
picture? — how much finer is the observation than my
own? Can I love the report here set down always?
Is the mind of the observer ennobled? Such things
give value.
A -work of art should express some profound love
or behef in the heart of the artist — behef in the har*
mony, in the design, in the effect, as -well as in the
meaning, else it is merely a work of craft, — handicraft,
— and to be valued as such.
This does not exclude those things which are at*
tempts to render impressions received from nature,
however passing, because beautiful impressions are
the creators in us of our intensest loves.
V/hen I am in the presence of -work -which tells
me any or all of these things, I know that an artist
has spoken.
It is -with some such thought that I contemplate the
work of Ralph Albert Blakelock.

PART TWO

MR. BLAKELOCK was born in New York, on
Greenwich Street, I think, in 1847. His father,
an Englishman by birth, -was a Homeopathic physi*
cian. There is httle record of the boy's earlier years,
no evidence that much time was given to education,
and always he seems to have had the love of painting

10

and a passionate love of music. V/hether these gifts
descended to him from some ancestral source, we do
not kno-w, or whether, as in so many distinguished
cases, his gifts came to him directly; in any event he
heeded the call of art and very early in life began to
paint. His desires did not lead him to enter any art
school, or seek the guidance of any special master.
He began to teach himself by the laborious but
most valuable method o£ close study from nature.
Very painful are those early ventures, for some of
them still exist, and wholly devoid of any suggestion
of the knowledge of craft. One may imagine him
doing precisely -what other boys have done — trying
-with small brushes to reproduce every httle thing be*
fore the eyes. How tiny are the touches, how feeble
the grasp of form in its largeness of character, and yet
there is so much of faithful devotion to his task, that
we kno-w both hand and brain were gaining in power
and understanding. V/e may believe, however, that
at the outset he was not equipped -with great powers
of observation. To the unfolding, expanding mind,
there is no teacher of so great -worth as observation —
not merely the ability to see acutely or fully, but that
rarer phase in which selection is the significant thing.
To be able to see fully and select finely those qualities
or parts which beSt indicate character — that is obser*
vation, — artistic observation, — and later by its use will
come the gift which is the hardest to obtain, and the
laSt to come in the development of an artist,— the abil*
ity to omit. This brings synthesis , the utmost remove,

n

probably, from reality, but the realm in which the
nobleSt creations of art may be found. It does not
come early in life. It is -won by travail and strain,
even suffering, and the synthesist of fifty is usually
the literaliSt at sixteen.
With Blakelock his training was slow and achieved
under great handicap. Revelation did not come until
later. He never went abroad, although he was an in*
tense lover, we are told, of the old masters. JuSt -what
that means it is difficult to say. because at the time we
had, in America, little which was of value from the
great painters of long ago. The museums were much
cluttered with trash, since removed, and the great
wave of importation, inaugurated by dealers and col*
lectors which has brought to us many of the precious
canvases of the -world, had not begun. We muSt
believe, then, that his love was based on photographic
reproduction, which is admirable ground for study,
but one is forced to consider form alone in these works
since color is denied, or at best only suggested.
Later we are to say that Mr. Blakelock was a dev*
otee of color, one to -whom color -was pure music.
^^hence, then, did his inspiration come? The answer
is not easy.
Probably when he made his first journey to the
West and began to study the Indians, — when the
barbaric depth of their color, the richness and pleni*
tude of reds and yellows, the strength of shadow and
brilliancy of light a-wakened his vision and set tingling
those pulses of the brain which control the color

12

emotions. His own soul an untamed one, responding
to no conventional law, these children of forest and
plain appealed to his deepest instincts. Until the end
of his career, they ever and again recur in his com*
positions. Never, I think, did he attempt portraiture
— Indian portraiture — but the nomadic hfe, the inci*
dents of daily routine, the building of canoes, or pitch*
ing of encampments, the dances, these were his
themes and his love for them never cooled or grew
less. V/e have no drawings or group of studies in
which to trace his processes. Whether or not he
made direct studies from life, or by intense concentra*
tion secured his information, does not matter here.
We have the results and through them we know his
temperament. He was always an experimentalist. V/ho is not
when seeking to improve? But with him experiment
led into many fields, and chance -was not scorned if
he could gain from her -whims. It -was not unusual
with him when some interesting mingling of color
chanced upon his palette, to develop it there into -what*
ever theme was suggested, and cut out the chosen
piece of wood as expressive of artistic value. We find
many of these httle panels, unimportant so far as sub*
ject is concerned, but very beautiful in quality both of
color and of surface.
These two words, quality and surface, come quick*<
ly to mind when critically examining a Blakelock,
even an unimportant one. These merits do not seem
to be secured by a trick, as so often is said, yet no
l3

doubt the purely experimental ones may seem so; but
taking them for what they are, experiments in the
procedure of development, and then turning to the
nobler can vases of the man, — the ideas of trick, of
sham, of chance, pass speedily away and we see the
work of a man -who, seeing and feeling artistically,
tried to express himself in a technique fitted to his de*
sires. He -would have had httle patience with the
man -who says the only honeSt painting is that which
takes the mixed tint from the palette and applies it to
the canvas with as glib a touch as may be, moulding
and modeling his bit of form in its hght and atmos*
phere as deftly as possible, and frankly avows all else
to be bad art.
Such men doubtless exist, but they know nothing
of the subtleties of color, the influence of one tone
vibrating through another, the increased luSter of
tone upon tone, and the magic carrying power of cer*
tain colors for certain others — nor do they know the
^ beauty of surface, — surface merely, — when the paint
has been so applied that future workings find a tooth,
a mat to hold the tint making it resonant, deep, luster*
ful, glowing even into the depths of shadowed blacks.
These things Mr. Blakelock knew and practiced with
the love of a musician for his tone.
Literary questions, story telling, moral meanings,
nor history were in his ideals of art. ^Vith his love
for the Indian he might have essayed profound lessons
for the renascence of the race, a recrudescence of their
primitive privileges, and failed in his art. Rather he

sought in their hves and habits the beauty which
would lend itself to the art of painting, — the rhythmic
sway of figutpsun the dance seen dimly under the
shadowy trees, the silent tepee -with the lingering
light concentrated upon it — the barbaric mingling of
colorful groups in contrast with deep woodland shad*
ows. It was enough for him to search out the beauty
of these. He probably would not have liked that rare
and dignified Indian picture of Mr. George de Forest
Brush, "The Sculptor and the King," -with its re*
minder of a romantic page in an almost forgotten his*
tory. He, doubtless, would have found fault with
the severe intellectuality of the treatment, and this
reason traced further merely means that the theme
was not treated by Mr. Brush subjectively.
Blakelock al-ways expressed himself subjectivelyfC^-
and, in his ripened art, with complete success. This
is one of the precious qualities in the work he has
given us.

PART THREE

DURING all his hfe, probably, Mr. Blakelock
was harassed by the need of money. Very
probably, also, he -was not provident with that which
came into his hands, and being careless in his expendi*
tures he was constantly in need.
It is an oft urged dictum that an artist is better off
without money, his art should be all in all to him,—
but our modern hfe imposes obligations in the mere
*5

business of keeping alive, -which keeps this thought
very prominently in mind, and no argument is need*
ed in suggesting the value to any mind*worker of a
mind at peace. This is one of the pitiful things in this
man's career, —that his advance toward that brilliancy
which would have rewarded him and finally did
honor his time, was so greatly impeded, if not meas*
urably reduced, and the man himself broken upon
the -wheel of s uffering . Of the shadowed mind -which
closed forever his labors, certainly the story is sad
enough. Mr. Blakelock -was married and had a large family.
He had known his wife since childhood. She is still
hving, the family much scattered, and every picture
and study has been disposed of to stay the smart of
need. Mrs. Blakelock knows the burden of hard
work, and the wolf has often looked in her door, but
she is a brave and patient woman!
There are countries which do not allow such
things to be, — countries that we consider far behind
our own in civilization which recognize the perman*
ent value of art and see to it that suffering shall not
stay a gifted hand.
Mrs. Blakelock talks gently and quietly of her hus*
band. She tells many httle stories which show his
extreme devotion to his art — its dominance in every
moment of life. She tells of his habit of seeing pic*
tures, compositions, in everything, — the markings on
old boards ; the broken or worn enamel in the bath*
tub being a field of great suggestiveness. Painters
16

THE GHOST DANCE
COLLECTION OF J. G. SNYD ACKER
Canvas. Signed at the right. 21 inches high, 39 inches wide.

INDIAN ENCAMPMENT
METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART
HEARN COLLECTION
Canvas. Signed at the left. 37 inches high, 40 inches wide.

-will have no difficulty in understanding this — just
how the shadows and hghts -will twinkle or break
up — how the glow in the exposed copper will sug*
gest sunset sky, and the shining higher note become
the gleam of hght on -water. Such things are frequent
and very interesting in an artist's experience.
In his years of work Blakelock had evolved a style,
a style so specific that it might be said his pictures are
all alike. This is not true except in so far as his
method makes them alike. There -were times -when
in the seaEchJorjJreat darkness he used bitumen to
the detriment of his worE! It is a trying7tKough very
seductive color, and has proved an enemy to many a
painter's -works. It never really dries , and under cer*
tain conditions of heat it becomes moist and gummy,
— -worse, — it runs. There is a very amusing though
sufficiently tragic story about two pictures of Blake*
lock's. A gentleman, who owned some nine o£ his
works, came to me one day and said, "You remem*
ber my Blakelocks?" "Yes," I said. "Well, I found
two of them on the floor this morning . " ' l You should
have used stronger wire," I told him. "Wire noth*
ing," he flared back, "The frames are hanging on the
wall all right, but the pictures just slipped off the
canvas, and were lying on the floor in a mass of
brown gum."
The truth was, probably, that the weather had
been very hot and the bituminous color melted away
firom the panel and shpped off to the floor. Such a
thing would never happen again, and no one need
l7

feel anxious. Blakelock gave up the use of bitumen
and secured his darks in a -wiser manner and with
better colors.
It is a curious truth that a great -workman pursues
his craft under the very eye of those who love him and
-wonder at his abihties, that he will often have friends
who become intensely interested in his methods, and
watch daily feats of craftsmanship which are almoSt
magical in their results, and achieved by processes,
principles and laws -which the -workman has perfected
for himself, eliminating all element of haphazard or
chance, and which from repetition become almost a
sort of portrait of himself, — and yet no one sits down
and reports this man's speech; no one tells us specific*
ally of that process which brings about the beauty
and which, if told, would be immensely interesting to
the general public.
That Blakelock suffers this fate is matter for real
—V regret, and he has never written a word about his
work, himself, or his craft. We can discover much,
and if one is used to kindred processes it is not difficult
to tell the manner of his procedure. The effect of thin
paint in itself was not satisfying to him. He needed
•— ^ a firm, hard, impasto ground. This was doubtless
achieved by Staining in the form he wished, — al-ways
a tentative and slight theme — and about this he
•wrought a thick, rich, opaque body of silvery tone.
He used most frequently Winsor and Newton colors
and dilute varnish, (copal) as a medium.
Atone time he experimented in making varnishes,
18

and many painters will remember the "Blakelock
Varnish" which was on sale. This was probably no
more than a good copal -with a few drops of cold
pressed linseed oil added.
Wlien the silvery ground of his picture was hard
and dry, he floated upon it more forms, using thin^- —
paints much richer in quality of color; -when partly
dry these were flattened with a palette knife, the
forms brought into relief by subtle wipings, and once
more allowed to dry. This process -was repeated fre*
quently, and -when the surface became gummy or over
glazed, he reduced it by grinding -with pumice Stone.
The effect of this -would bring the under silver of his
firSt impasto into view, and -with this for his key
of gray he developed his theme, drawing -with the
darker and relieving with the under paint.
So bald a Statement as this refers only to procedure,
and has nothing -whatever to do with the genius -which
guided the hand in each touch, nor with the taste or
sense of color -which controlled every move. It is
offered to those who wish to know how Blakelock got
his effect. By him it was very beautiful; by another
it might be foolishness.
It -was the custom of old Turner, the great Enghsh
painter, to allow no one in the Studio -while he worked,
nor to see him make his outdoor sketches. We can
not believe it was timidity with him, or a modeSt
doubt about his ability to do the thing -well. That he
objected to any one's finding out his methods is the
more likely reason, and -we miss very much the hints
x9

-which would have given us a clue to the -wonder of
his color and textile accomplishments.
In Blakelock the problem is easier for any one who
has acquaintance with technical methods, or the mys*
teries of the palette.
The accusation againSt Blakelock that his canvases
blacken with time is hardly fair and seldom true, ex*
cept in the cases noted, — and if I am correct in the
description of procedure, it is a simple matter if a can*
vas is suspected of darkening, to expose it to direct
sunhght, which wonderfully freshens and clarifies the
color. I doubt if the artist himself ever failed to do this,
and it is a much easier thing to do than to subject a sub*
tie work to the untender hands of a restorer, who, to
brighten a -work, removes entirely the last exquisite
modulations of the artiSt.

PART FOUR

HOW long he was in reaching the power to ex*
press himself completely, to produce those dis*
tinguished works which we know to be his, is a
matter of httle moment, at beSt a question of opinion.
V/hat really cc-ncerns us is that against all the hard
conditions which surrounded him and beset his years,
he continued to work and to hold faithfully all the
canons ofhis artistic faith. Also, he succeeded and the
hght ofhis genius found true expression.
To say of a picture, it is like a Blakelock, is high
\ praise and suggests color, quality, tone and complete

20

unity. That his style -was formed upon his own con*
vidtions is evident. He could not have known Isabey ,
nor Monticelh, both of whom might have influenced
him. Knowledge of the Barbizon men was probably
slight, and of httle influence upon his mind.
Here, then, we have a man whose work is like none
ofhis great contemporaries.
Inness, ^^yant, Homer Martin, he muSt have
known well, but there is no trace, to me, of their in*
fluence in his work.
I should think he might have loved Albert Ryder
intensely. At times the quality of light is very similar
in their work.
I remember a picture Ryder once showed me in his
Studio — this studio was merely a back room in an or*
dinary house and the sun shone brightly in the win*
dow. The picture -was a moonlight, and I complained
that the sunhght fell full upon the canvas. Ryder
moved it into a corner, and the canvas shone and
gleamed with the rare beauty of pure light. To my
exclamations of wonder Ryder gently said, "That is
-what I call its magical quahty! " — It is just this magig^—
that makes the kinship with Blakelock.
It has been said that to be truly great, a man's art
must found a school, it must be of such compelling
power that it will have a following, and everywhere
we should see reflections of the artist's genius. If this
be so then Blakelock is not a great man. No school
came into being, no group of men, believing and un*
derStanding his ideas, carries on his work. Of imita*

21

tors there are many, — men -who think it is easy to
make a canvas look like a Blakelock, and they hurry
to do it because of late the works of Blakelock are in
demand, but these paltry things are mere gummy
masses rubbed together and left glaze upon glaze to
disgust one -who understands what Blakelock did in
his fine things. The impression is very false that he
secured his effects by heavy, superimposed glazes.
That he kne-w the use and value of a glaze as few men
now do is true, but many very beautiful examples o£
his work exist in which the quahty seems to have
been secured at the outset, and, because of that very
precious thing, left alone. Bring together a large num*
ber ofhis pictures, and his range at once becomes ap*
parent. Not only range of technical method, but of
idea and theme. That he should enjoy the very mani*
pulation of paint itself in his search for effect is only
to say what all coloriSts enjoy. There is something
amounting to an insanity in the emotions aroused
when color is behaving, — when it is obedient to the
guiding will of the painter, and resolving itself into
glow, jewels, atmosphere, hght, or velvet shadow.
All painters are not endowed -with such sensi*
tive emotions, and perhaps will not concur with me.
Blakelock -was so endowed to a high degree. I kno-w
a painter -who has a fair measure of success, and yet
he said, "I dislike the -whole business of painting,
and I know -when I begin the paint -will not behave."
From such a man we -would not expect fine color.
Monticelli makes a different statement,— "I know

22

no higher emotion than the laying on of a fine tone o£
black or sumptuous yello-w!" To him the very paint
was a medium of joy, and he offers to us those sensa*
tions of color, considering that message enough. At
times it is so with Blakelock and he will Stop midway,
it would seem, in the completion ofhis canvas, be*
cause the musical chord of color was reached.
There was a httle picture in the recently sold col*
lection of Mr. Evans, entitled "Pegasus," in which
the Statement is very slight, the tones exquisite in the
rhythmic flow, though there is very little of the rich*
ness of color found in very many of his pictures, yet it
has a quahty of gray that is maSterly and moSt lovely.
The forms are scarcely more than promised, but an
added emphasis or touch would spoil it. The title
"Pegasus" is probably amiss and not his. Doubtless
the httle figure was to be an Indian brave upon a white
horse, but something in the beauty, — rare indeed — of
the tones stayed his hand, and the thing remains in*
complete but very beautiful and very artistic.
Mr. Charles W. Snow tells me an entirely differ*
ent Story. He bought the picture from Mr . Blakelock,
who called it, "The Lady Godiva"— why, no one can
say, since there is no town, no Street, (surely no lady
rides here) — merely a bit of rocky woodland. His fur*
ther story is more interesting. Upon buying the pic*
ture Mr. Snow gave it to his wife. A dealer became
much interested in it and tried to buy it from Mrs.
Snow, but she refused to part with it. Finally the
dealer came to her, and laying the canvas down on the
23

table he carefully placed gold pieces, two*dollar and
a half gold pieces, all around the picture. l 'Now, " said
he, "will you keep the picture or its gold frame?"
The presence of the gold was too great a lure, and she
parted with the picture.
Another instance of titles to which I take exception
is a picture in the possession of a distinguished collector
of Chicago. It has been called, "The Ghost Dance,"
merely, it would seem, because of the indefinite, shad*
owy character of the group of faintly indicated figures
moving into the picture from the right.
This is one of the very noblest of the artist's pic*
tures. I am not sure that even a higher place might
not be claimed for it. To describe it briefly, — although
description carries httle true information about such a
work, — the composition is very simple and dignified.
A sloping piece of ground -with a dark grove of trees
on the right, enough verdure grows at the left to bal*
ance, and the dark mass relieves againSt a filmy drift
of unformed cirrus cloud, behind which and filling the
upper left*hand corner the blue, distant sky is seen.
AlmoSt in the center of the canvas is an indetermi*
nate, glowing spot, -while from the right, leading into
the picture and againSt the dark group of trees an ir*
regular mass of luminous color fills the space. This is
all, but as an ensemble of color Blakelock has done
nothing finer. The painting of the foreground, the
splendid velvety depth of his shadowed trees, is
achieved -without heaviness or blackness, and the en*
tire earth theme revealed againSt a sky of incompar*
24

PEGASUS
PROPERTY OF THE AUTHOR
9 inches high, 12% inches wide.

INDIAN CAMP
IN A PRIVATE COLLECTION
Canvas. Signed at the right. 10 inches high, 14 inches wide.

able beauty. The film of white cloud is both luminous
and elusive, a veritable vapor of light, throbbing, and
trembhng. Here is no paint, but light itself. How it
has been done we may not kno-w, but there is no paint,
only lovely pearly light, and the blue, far lakes of the
sky. The thing is a dream and as a dream the central
glowing note engages our attention.
Upon very intent inspection one discovers that
there is the suggestion of a mother and child, a mere
suggestion, as if the painter -were feeling his way in
the matter of form. The interest of this httle group
both in pose and hne of direction seems to be addressed
to the moving mass of figures beyond, figures evident*
ly, but very faintly suggested. Enough is shown to
lead one to feel the presence of a sort of processional,
a vague vision of hfe, — His life perhaps, since the
mother and child have a Madonna*like pose and char*
acter, — here revealed to Him, the Child, and this is
presented to us in tentative form, timidly even, as if
the artist's hand halting in the presence of so great a
theme, dared not reveal all o£ his own vision. The
dream, the vision is all there for us, however, if our
eyes are not darkened to all imagination, and the set*
ting is superb . I do not know that we should be sorry
for its incompleteness, more might have shocked the
senses, and the rare genius of the painter knew when
to Stay his hand. "A Vision of Life" seems a fairer
title than "The GhoSt Dance".
The suggestive incompleteness of this canvas leads
me to speak o£ another -which to a very rare degree
25

has the quality of perfect completion, — the "Moon*
hght" recently sold at the Wm. T. Evans' sale. Mr.
Evans has ever been a great admirer of Mr. Blakelock
and has given several fine examples ofhis work to the
National Gallery at Washington, but not until the
dispersal ofhis entire collection could he bring him*
self to part with this superb Moonlight. The picture
has for years been well known and a valued-work both
by the pubhc and by the artists. In the profession it
has been called a perfect moonlight, and, it has no
enemies, — a strange thing, indeed, as painters have
Strong prejudices. Its beauty depends quite entirely
upon the sky, — there is little else. Slight trees above
the earth hne, a very low horizon or sky*line, and the
mysterious glint of water somewhere out there
among the shadows, but the great sky soars up from
horizon to zenith, arching overhead superbly, and
baffling all search in its gradations; the moon hangs
low and fills the air -with hght, a faint haze surrounds
it, almoSt a halo, and the hght is that mysterious
mingling of opaline colors merging into pale greens
and blues, splendidly assembled, and performing their
work of gradation quite perfectly.
Authors and critics have an easy way of writing
things about pictures which mean httle, rhapsodising
sometimes and condemning at others, and always
building up meanings for the reader's pleasure. Isn't
it enough, perhaps, to say that a man's vision has
been handed on to us by processes of perfect craft
so that -we are aware,— completely so,— of its beauty
26

MOONLIGHT
COLLECTION OF EX*SENATOR WM. A. CLARK
Canvas. 27 inches high, 37 inches wide.

and haunting charm? This Mr. Blakelock has sue*
ceeded in doing in this "Moonlight," and the music of
it does not leave us, nor its loveliness fade.
The picture was bought by ex*Senator Clark, the
price marking a record for Mr. Blakelock's work in
the picture world. Regret that the artist can not
kno-w of the great price his picture brought is unnec*
essary. A painter's joy in his art does not arise from
knowledge of money values, but from the Work it*
self, and we may imagine Blakelock knew this joy as
the serene completeness o£ his canvas reached its
height. ;
He could not know, as we now do, that this work
alone would assure him the honor and loving appre*
ciation of a people.
I am disposed just here to partially contradict my*
self in my statement that painters -work for the joy of
the -work alone, — there is, perhaps, this thing added, —
a great -wish for the commendation of the artists them*
selves. I remember an incident which quite pathetically
verifies this: — At a banquet, the guests being nearly
all artists, I sat next a very diStinuished painter, a
man -well on in years, and one who leads a quiet, re*
tired hfe devoted wholly to art. I ventured to speak
of my admiration for his pictures. He thanked me
with a gentle sadness, adding, "But artists generally
do not care for my pictures." There had recently
been held at the Lotos Club an exhibition of selected
American pictures. I turned to several painters at
27

the tables and asked, "What picture at the Lotos was
admired moSt by the artists?" The answer was quick
and indicated the painting of my companion. His
eyes filled with tears,— "Boys," he said, "that's the
best thing I've ever had said to me."

PART FIVE

TWO phases of nature appealed specially to Blake*
lock. Moonlight and that Strange, wonderful mo*
/ment -when night is about to assume full sway, when
the hght in the western sky lingers lovingly, glow*
ingly, for a space, and the trees trace themselves in
giant patterns of lace againSt the hght. All the earth
is dim, almost loSt in the shadows, and the exquisite
drawing of limb and leaf makes noble design, design
so subtle as to bring despair, almoSt, to an artist's soul.
This was Blakelock's moment, and it took such hold
upon him that his vision translated it into all his work.
The dayhght things are permeated with this lovely
mystery, and he silhouettes his trees -with beautiful
drawing againSt silver gray and golden skies illumined
with splendid dayhght.
At times he can break away, as in the glowing,
"Indian Encampment" at the Metropolitan Museum,
in which he reveals the earth and trees -with a com*
pleteness of vision and fidelity of form quite Rous*
seaudike in solidity and truth.
Few of us probably realize the rare beauty of this
work, and in the haste with which we try to be mod*
28

ern, we do not pause long enough to study the purity, '
the vibrant swimming hght and air reached in this
canvas. No tricks of dots placed in juxtaposition — no
decomposition of the spectrum, no giving up of form
for the sake of a dazzled eye, but a clear and firmly
designed work, -with style and mass in its contours^;
—with a noble sky, tremulous with hght and perfectly
adjusted to the forms below in line and balance; in
gradation all that it should be . The phrase l 'Rousseau*
hke" is amply justified. It is one of the fine canvases
of the Museum, as, certainly, we muSt so consider
that other Blakelock, "The Pipe Dance."
I do not find, "The Pipe Dance" so complete as the
"Indian Encampment" — complete in the sense of de*
tail or elaboration of form; it is rather the outpouring
of an emotion. The painter has not troubled to elab*
orate the great trees which lift themselves againSt the
sky in stately perspective. His figures are not -well
drawn, he has not seemed to care, as, for instance, he
did in the little, "Nature's Mirror" figure; but he has
contrived to secure the sense of that strange, rhyth*
mic motion, the recurrent cadence of the sound, and
the barbaric spirit of the scene. These to him were
more desirable qualities than academic exactness.
^Ve are no longer in the Museum looking at pictures,
but somewhere the great wood has opened and let us
in, — in upon a clearing where the sound is weird and
the color wild — the song of birds is hushed, and civi*
lization silenced — aboriginal man performs his rites,
and the watchful spirit of the artist seizes and gives to
29

us the tragic mystery. Could we ask him to do more ?
There are also those canvases where he sought
great glory of color, usually sunset themes with the
-world involved in a golden red haze. In these works
he could combine much of that dignity -which mys*
tery gives.
Any one who has seen the "Seal Rocks" now in
Chicago must feel the myStery and see the splendor
ofhis effort, and the weird, lonely rock, peopled for
the moment -with seals, — Strange creatures of the sea
— is impressive indeed. If we are moved to think of
Turner, it is only because -we shall never more be able
to see the sun descend through a golden haze -without
such thought, and this, in a way, but pays a subtle
compliment to Blakelock.
There is a current opinion that Blakelock signed
his pictures, all of them, with his full name enclosed
in an outlined arrow*head. I do not find this to be true,
for many ofhis very noble works are not signed at all.
So current is this arrow*head notion that the forgers
of his pictures, of whom there are many, glibly en*
close the signature on their monstrous perpetrations
with an arrow*head. Therefore, in a general way, its
presence may be good cause for caution.
It is a Very dreadful thing that we must submit to
the manufacture of these and other pictures, and that
there is no law to protect a man and his work. Pro*
ceeding on a theory, suggested in the earlier part of
this essay, these forgers produce, by heavy bitumen
glazes over rich undertones, pictures that readily pass
30

AT NATURE'S MIRROR
THE NATIONAL GALLERY, WASHINGTON
EVANS COLLECTION
Canvas. Signed at the right. 16 inches high, 23% inches wide.

THE CAPTIVE
MUSEUM OF THE BROOKLYN INSTITUTE
Canvas. Signed at the right. 16 inches high, 24 inches wide.

the scrutiny of the untrained and unsuspecting buy*
er . The satire of it does not seem to make any differ*
ence, and the pubhc absorbs all that appear. The
"Oh ! -well, it does not hurt any one except those who
buy the miserable things ! " is neither fair nor true. It
hurts the artist's reputation, it hurts in the proper
understanding ofhis art and his purposes.

PART SIX
MR. BLAKELOCK had a large family, nine chil*
dren in all, eight of whom are still hving. The
maintenance of this family, even though he was ably
seconded by his wife, was a heavy burden, and, being
a dreamer, he was not al-ways wise in the use of the
moneys which came into his possession. The old
story of an artist being in difficulty about money mat*
ters -was often repeated in his experience, and his
actions at such times of Stress -were as unwise as they
-were hurtful to his progress.
There -was an old curiosity shop on Third Avenue
many years ago, in which I saw one day many panels
and pictures by Blakelock. The proprietor, a man
known to many artists -when in difficulty, told me
there -were thirty*three of them, and remarked calm*
ly, "I paid one hundred dollars for them all! "
Blakelock had several friends -who helped him
when in these times of trial. Mr. Harry W. Watrous
was one of these, and in the old Sherwood Building,
having adjoining studios, he came to kno-w Blakelock
31

well. He tells many Stories of him and his peculiari*
ties; also, he was often appealed to for aid. He tells
of one of these appeals: — "Blakelock came into my
Studio and asked for a loan. I had only a day or so
before let him have fifty dollars, and I refused this last
request, saying, — 'I can't do it, Blakelock,— what did
you do with the fifty I let you have two days ago?'
1 Well,' he said, 'A new baby came to us yesterday
and money goes faSt at such times.' 'Yes,' I said, 'But
you aheady had a big family to support and now this
one ! How many have you now with this new one ? '
'Eight, Watrous,eight— I juSt had to have an octave.' '
There is another story -which Mr. Watrous tells,
and this is indicative, also, of the -whimsical, Strange
painter. Watrous had been annoyed all day by a
queer, tinkling, weird sort of music, the sound ofwhich
came jerkily, but incessantly, from Blakelock's studio.
Unable to endure it longer, he went into the Studio
and found Blakelock alternately rushing from his easel
to the piano, playing a few notes of this fantastic air,
and back again to the easel, painting a few haSty
touches. The picture was an "Indian Dance" — "I
can't make these Indians dance, Watrous; all day I've
been trying and they won't dance ! " And off he would
go to the piano and bang out the notes which haunted
him from some incident in Indian hfe . AVhich shows
that he was an impressionist of the better sort, wish*
ring more the idea of motion, than drawing or color or
other questions of craft. These probably didnot bother
him; and -while these painterdike qualities may not
32

THE BROOK BY MOONLIGHT
COLLECTION OF CATHOLINA LAMBERT
Canvas. Signed at the left. 80 inches high, 54 inches wide.

have troubled him, because he could compel his ma*
terial to respond to his will, there is always that in his
work which impels criticism.
Ease of execution is not present, nor is it necessary
that it should be, but the difficulty, the labor, muSt
never be seen. We have no business to affront the
taSte of the observer by the evidence of either Struggle
or incompetence, and for those men who obscure the
beauty of their theme by the flaunt of illy placed
paint, we have no patience. To them the observer
might say, quite juStly, learn your business before you
ask my attention.
I do not think Blakelock ever affronts us by the ob*
viousness ofhis struggle. I would not say of him that
he was a great colorist, or that he knew the sonorous
splendor which great coloriSts reveal, or the glory of
rich contrast, the color marshalled host upon hoSt
until perfect tone is reached. Inness could do this, —
Titian, of course. Wyant never tried such a thing.
MonticeUi, yes, but always at the expense of form.
We have grown into the habit of calling certain
painters colorists, who paint, and can only paint -with*
in the limited scale of dull gray or brown, who with
dehcate tints produce a harmony. I doubt the justice
of such title. Inness has left us a splendid phrase, —
"The fullness of tone can only be had in the fullness
of color." If this dictum be true, very many high
reputations fall. W^hiStler melts before its blast, and
Blakelock will not hold the title of colorist.
Final appreciation of WliiStler will consider him
33

chiefly as an exquisite stylist, a man of consummate
taste, and having a sensitiveness to tonal gradation
httle short of the marvelous, but he was never inter*
eSted in the intensities of color. So, also, Blakelock
never reached the color heights, but was masterful in
tone of a luminous, tragic sort. At nightfall he sat
upon a height, and played upon the deeper organ
pipes, and his music is low and very sweet.
It has been said of the Barbizon men, — ' 'They secure
their color at the expense of truth, and envelop their
foreground in a dark brown shadow; this is false and
impairs the beauty of their -work." Certainly, if this
is true it suggests a limitation. Inness has been called
a colorist, and we find him using every inch ofhis can*
vas to bring together into harmonious relation wave
upon wave of pure color. Blakelock erred in the
Barbizon manner and used over*dark masses of fore*
ground to lend color and hght to other portions ofhis
pictures. A weakness, perhaps, but -with excellent
precedent to support it. When -we look upon the
exquisite tracery of his black trees against divine
skies, we may forgive him much, and love intensely
his vision of the nightfall hour.

PART SEVEN

AMONG his great moonlights there are three
,/"\. which, I think, take first place. Of one I have
already spoken, the "Moonlight" from the Evans'
collection. Another in the possession of Mr. Frederic
Fairchild Sherman has the fineSt qualities of Blake*

34

lock's palette. It is very sumptuous, though reserved
in color. The composition is slight — we have said that
he cared little for linear composition — a dimly dark
Stretch of earth serves for foreground, a tree rises on
the right, and there is a hint of water in the middle
distance. Over this rises the sky —one of those lovely,
broken, flocculent skies, not the unpoetically called
mackerel sky, but cirrus, close woven and yet open,
with depths behind, and lit by a greenish moon;
there is also a faintly seen halo of iridescent tones.
The picture has nothing to do with fact. It is a dream
of the night; the painter's mood is melancholy, his
heart is heavy and he looks into the far sky spaces
-with sadness. Yet the picture is not wholly sad —
there is promise, hope even, and music. No moonlight
sonata could more perfectly convey the sha do-wed
myStery of the night, or suggest the witchery of fairy
presence. The picture, then, seems peculiarly to be*
long to Blakelock's most intimate expression, to be
verily part of himself, and being so, takes a high place
in his art.
The third of these great moonlight pictures is the
noble canvas in the collection of Mr. Catholina Lam*
bert of Paterson, New Jersey. The picture is painted
on an upright canvas. The composition would give y.
joy to a Japanese. It is definitely a design, — a thing^
rare in our art, — and depending for its balance upon
the flat silhouette of a tree which fills the upper half
of the canvas. Smaller darks reach from the ground
at the lower left, dim trees and a moonlit waterfall are
35

placed in the center. This -waterfall gives the title to
the picture, "Brook by Moonhght." The wonder of
the work, from a craftsman's point of vie-w, is the
placing of the moon which is directly behind, and seen
through the great tree, — doubtless an oak. This tree
is pure lace work, full of drawing, lovely, character*
ful drawing, and by -what mystery of color he has in*
duced the white moon to retreat into space, amid all
the black lace, one may not divine. It does it, how*
ever, and proceeds to fill the httle valley and its broken
stream with a moonhght as soft, as elusive as music.
Had the picture been called, "The Music of Moon*
hght," the title would have been justified.
How simple are the means, how few the colors,
and yet the whole is pervaded with an iridescence like
unto but one thing, — moonhght itself!
A variant of the Lambert picture -was in the collec*
tion of the late Mr. Wm. M. Laffan. The composition
was quite the same, but in this canvas the labor is felt
if not seen; it lacks the suave certainty of the other,
and againSt it the charge of blackness might well be
brought. I do not think the picture is ' 'growing black";
it probably was so, and Mr. Blakelock essayed another
canvas for that very reason, and certainly in the last
— the Lambert picture — reached a height only fore*
shadowed in that of the Laffan collection.
In describing these three pictures one does not wish
to ignore the many smaller canvases -which are scat*
tered through the collections of the land, many of
them quite as exquisite as these, but lacking the im*

MOONLIGHT
COLLECTION OF FREDERIC FAIRCHILD SHERMAN
Canvas. Signed at the right. 22 inches high, 27 inches wide.

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portance. Yet I would not seem to say that size has
anything to do with the importance of a work of art.
A small moonhght in the collection of Dr. Alex*
ander C. Humphreys has great charm. The picture
is called, "Early Evening" and shows Blakelock once
again wrestling with the same theme -which inter*
eSted him at all times, and which he never seemed to
express to his final satisfaction. He uses the same
compositional means, — dark earth near by, — a pool of
water, the trees small and scattered, and the moon
seen at the full, hung low in the sky, quite at the cen*
ter of the canvas; but in this picture he seems to search
for that high note which delicate, pale*green tones
give, and these feel their -way through fields of silver,
glinting, trembhng and altogether beautiful. One al*
moSt feels that it is an axiom that Blakelock is at his
finest in silver, greens and pale blues. With them he^
plays up and down the scale, and sounds all the mys*
tic wells of hght.
Wlien we look upon such a sky, and feel the per*
fection of its atmosphere and hght, we wonder why
it was necessary for so called Impressionism to be
born, when hght, if secured at all, is secured at the
cost of loveliness in other ways.
In all of Mr. Blakelock's pictures, we may read
that strain -which continued to the end of his working
days — the strain of melancholy . It is felt in the heav*
iness of much ofhis composition, the depth and somber
quahty of his shadows, and the silence of his line.
The sun seldom bursts upon the earth in a golden
37

smile, there is never the flicker and sparkle of hght
upon young growths, the very streams flow slowly
and sadly down to the sea, and the moonhght, if it
falls upon a fairyland, like Keats's, it is a "fairyland
forlorn." These very qualities reveal the intense love
of the man for his art.
Within his soul is a joy so intense, there is no room
for jest or laughter, nor need for either. His is a
shadowed figure in the world of our art.

PART EIGHT

IONG ago I saw him pass through the National
-/Academy during an Annual Exhibition. He was
at that time slight of figure, a httle stooped, thin and
very sad of face, the gloom of melancholy already
upon it, the hair brushed back from a high, white fore*
head was long and curly at the ends, falling quite to
the shoulders. Wliat he bore in his mind, what he
thought of the pictures shown there, we may not
know. He was in, not of the hfe or the art.
Within the present year, the National Academy of
Design has reminded herself of his merit and elected
him an Associate member of that body. That he
-will attain to full membership is undoubted, for there
-will be many to meet, eagerly, the requirements of
the Academy's rule concerning such elections. He
-will not know of this tribute by the artists, the veil
which has fallen over his mind can not be pierced, but
the Academy in honoring him, honors herself and pre*
38

serves in her great roll of Americans a very shining
name. Mr. Arthur Hoeber has told in the "Literary
Miscellany," the story of the final blow which stilled
his brush and silenced forever the flow of beauty from
him tous: —
"In need for the necessities of life, he went to a
man to -whom he had sold pictures before— always
at an absurdly low price. To him he offered one of
his masterpieces, and for it this person offered a sum
so low as to Stagger even Blakelock who was not
unaccustomed to starvation figures, and he recoiled
from the offer, returning home to find in the end he
must take it. So back he went, but the man, discov*
ering his pressing needs, now offered even a lower
figure, and again Blakelock left. A third visit result*
ed in a further reduction, but the dazed artiSt was
obliged to accept. A short while after-wards he was
found outside the office tearing up the paper money,
quite out ofhis mind, one of the most pathetic figures
in the annals of art."
Sad enough it is, full of tragedy, and with a pierc*
ing criticism of the pubhc in its attitude toward art.
That Mr. Blakelock had endured all the Strain possi*
ble and merely broke down at this point is all we need
to know. On September 12, 1899, it became neces*
sary to remove nim from his home to that haven
where he still hves, shattered in mind and blind to
those impulses which swayed his life. On that very
day his youngest child -was born!
The cycle of strain is over, the golden brush is
39

dull, — in the thoughtful places of men's hearts he has
high and distinguished consideration, but to the outer,
larger, more casual world he is not yet known. From
dim, forgotten places, in the future years, other gen*
erations will find and bring to hght his quiet, glow*
ing jewels of color and tone, precious asje-wels muSt
ever be, whether they be from the mines of the Lord,
or from the deep places of the human heart.

40

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES
OF THIS BOOK ON DUTCH HAND*
MADE PAPER PRIVATELY PRINTED
BY FREDERIC FAIRCHILD SHERMAN

3 9002

i