04 October 2008

Sonia Knips From Portrait To Patron

A woman possessed of a coherent aesthetic sensibility and a wealthy husband, Sonia Knips, nee Baroness Poitiers des Eschellles, was a major patron of the Weiner Werkstaette.  When she sat for her portrait by Gustave Klimt in 1898, she was newlywed and he was an up-and-coming artist.

Sonia Knips had known Klimt before she was married (see the sketch below, made in 1887) and there had been a romance between the two, ending with his rejection of her according to those who knew both of them.  Knips became acquainted with Klimt’s confidante, the designer Emile Floge, and Knips wore and promoted “reform dress”, a material contribution to the emancipation of women of her day. With what mixture of emotions she regarded the portrait that brought Klimt his first great success, we can only speculate.
Sonia Knips also commissioned Josef Hoffmann to design a country house for her family in 1903 and a family sepulcher in 1919. But the last thing Hoffmann designed for Sonia Knips – and his last urban villa – was a masterpiece on a level with Klimt's portrait.

Villa Knips (1924-25) has an impressive Arts & Crafts fa├žade, accented by rows of diamond-shaped ornaments that mimic the design of the windowpanes. The interior was designed by Dagobert Peche (“the greatest genius of ornament that Austria has possessed since the Baroque”). Christine Ehrlich, a pupil of Hoffmann's, executed the exterior stucco decorative work.

Sonia’s bedroom suite was described in the Viennese press as “ a cross between an Oriental divan and a French boudoir”, decorated with a Venus designed by Susi Singer, paintings by Maria Strauss-Likarz, a small bar, smoking accessories, sweets, and wool for knitting. The suite also boasted a salon reserved for the Klimt portrait. Her dressing room was reconstructed at the Paris International Exposition of 1925, and later that year again displayed at Macy's New York store to much acclaim.

26 July 2008

Bertha Jaques: Chicago Printmaker

Recently I discovered the etchings of Bertha Jaques (1863-1941) while rummaging around the lower shelves of the University library. The book Bertha Jaques and The Chicago Society Of Etchers by Joby Patterson (Fairleigh Dickinson: 2002) only caught my attention because I had never heard of her.

Her story is as dramatic as her art, yet the two aspects coexist in tantalizing proximity without revealing an obvious plot line.

We meet her first, a young woman, married to a surgeon, publishing poems in The Railway Conductors' Monthly in Cedar Rapids, Iowa (1885). Eight years later, when Jaques attended the 1893 Columbia World's Fair in Chicago, she experienced an epiphany on encountering the etchings of James Abbott McNeill Whistler. In between, she had not only moved from a backwater to one of America's great cities, but she and her husband had suffered the grievous loss of their three children.

Jaques had liked to paint, but something happened when she brought a copper plate home and applied wax, pitch and nitric acid to it with a dentist's drill and a paint roller. Her husband, William, took her efforts seriously. When Bertha could find no usable equipment, he improvised. "From surgical instruments he shaped tools for the etcher's trade, and soon Bertha Jaques had everything to work with except a press. Inventor Jaques though a clothes wringer might be made to serve, but tinker as he might, the wringer would not exert enough pressure to print. Nor could three persons standing on a plate make it impress itself on a square of printing paper." Eventually they were able to obtain a second-hand press from nearby Milwaukee.

The first of her 400 etchings was completed in 1897. Technically, Jaques could do anything she wanted with a needle, from capturing the steam rising from a dump by Lake Michigan to architectural renderings.
She had the eye of an engineer for perspective and an unconventional (especially for a woman of he time) taste in subjects. Backs of houses, waterfront workplaces, a rag picker's shop in Florence, even travels abroad failed to elicit conventional views from Jaques .

When the respected Swedish artist Anders Zorn was passing through Chicago in 1900 and wanted to make a test print from a newly completed plate, someone remembered hearing about Bertha Jaques. she never forgot his encouragement, nor that of Helen Hyde (1868-1919) who also came to Chicago in 1902. The two women became such good friends that Jaques took charge of marketing Hyde's work for the many years that Hyde lived and studied printmaking in Japan. An extended visit to Japan in 1908 inspired Jaques' book Red Letter Days In Japan. In 1915 Jaques organized a traveling exhibition of prints by Hyde and Elizabeth Colwell, who had studied at the Art Institute of Chicago with B. J. O. Nordfeldt.

With equal parts energy and generosity, Jaques gathered together a group of local artists at her home in August, 1909 and jollied them into chartering themselves as the Chicago Society of Etchers. A prepared statement, that she read to them, said in part: "The Needle Club is a club without organization, without officers, without dues and without any special purpose. It was not discussed or promoted or agreed upon. It may not be said to even exist except in the imagination of the writer who thro' sixteen years of solitary work in etching has enjoyed the
mutual companionship of all great etchers back to Rembrandt."

Their first official exhibition took place in 1911, and two years later it had grown to international scope and taken up residence at the Art Institute of Chicago. Yet, as one Eleanor Jewett recalled in 1932, "[It] was never in all its days first a museum piece. It was always a popular frolic..." It was Jaques who came up with the novel idea of offering demonstrations of etching for curious visitors. And the Society presented a major exhibition of woodblock prints in 1919. Most of the Chicago printers shared Jaques' breadth of interests - industry, hard work, and poverty inspired as many works as picturesque views.

In 1923, Bertha Jaques became the first artists to have a solo exhibition of graphic arts at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., an honor she received again in 1930 and in 1931. Today the Institution is home to 77 works by Bertha Jaques in various media.

16 June 2008


 "I could have a job, but I'm too lazy to choose it;
I have got land, but I'm too lazy to farm it.
My house leaks; I'm too lazy to mend it.
My clothes are torn; I'm too lazy to darn them.
I have got wine, but I'm too lazy to drink;
So it's just the same as if my cup were empty.
I have got a lute, but I'm too lazy to play;
So it's just the same as if it had no strings.
My family tells me there is no more steamed rice;
I want to cook, but I'm too lazy to grind.
My friends and relatives write me long letters;
I should like to to read them, but they're such a bother to open.
I have always been told that Hsi Shu-yeh
Passed his whole life in absolute idleness.
But he played his lute and sometimes worked at his forge;
So even he was not as lazy as me."
- Po Chu-I, 811 C.E., from The Importance Of Being Idle by Stephen Robins, Prion Books, Ltd., London: 2000
Laziness (La Paresse) by Felix Vallotton, 1896.