Albín Polášek: Boundaries of Continents and Ages
FILOSOFICKÁ FAKULTA MASARYKOVY UNIVERZITY
Dějiny umění
Seminář dějin umění
Bachelor thesis
ALBÍN POLÁŠEK: BOUNDARIES OF CONTINENTS AND AGES
Author: Mgr. Anna Jaegerová
Thesis advisor: doc. Mgr. Pavel Suchánek, Ph.D.
Brno 2017
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I hereby declare that I have authored this thesis independently and that I have not used other than the cited sources and literature.
Mgr. Anna Jaegerová
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Firstly, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my thesis advisor, doc. Mgr. Pavel Suchánek, Ph.D., for the continuous support, guidance and great patience. The door to doc. Suchánek’s office was always open whenever I ran into trouble or had a question about my research or writing. He allowed the thesis to be my own work, but steered me in the right direction whenever he thought I needed it. I could not have imagined having a better advisor and mentor for my work.
Enormous thanks goes also to my father, Steven Jaeger, who has helped me with researching sources in the United States and with making my understanding clearer by leading long discussions about sculpture with me. He has dedicated a tremendous amount of time in the past few months to support me in any way he could to make my thesis the best it could be, for which I am very thankful.
I would like to thank Dominik Matus, DiS., who helped me with archival research in the Czech Republic and who took valuable photographs for my study and for the appendix of images.
Last, but not least, I would like to thank my family and my fellow schoolmates for their feedback, support and of course their friendship. They motivated me to work harder and deliver a better performance by expecting nothing less than a great result from me.
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Table Of Contents
1 INTRODUCTION ...... 5
2 LITERARY RESEARCH ...... 7
3 BIOGRAPHY ...... 11
3.1. EUROPEAN BEGINNINGS ...... 11
3.2. EMBRACING THE NEW WORLD ...... 12
3.3. PRIX DE ROME ...... 15
3.4. NEW YORK STUDIO...... 17
3.5. CHICAGO CAREER ...... 18
3.6. CREATING FOR HIS HOMELAND ...... 21
3.7. DEPRESSION AND WAR ...... 22
3.8. FINAL YEARS...... 23
4 CONTEXT AND TRENDS IN AMERICAN SCULPTURE ...... 26
4.1. AMERICAN CLASSICISM AND MORAL EARNESTNESS...... 26
4.2. CHARLES GRAFLY ...... 28
4.3. MODERN CHALLENGES TO RODIN ...... 29
4.4. ARCHAISM AND THE ROME ACADEMY FELLOWS ...... 30
4.5. EXPRESSIONS OF PATRIOTISM AND RELIGION ...... 33
5 ANALYSIS OF THE THEODORE THOMAS MEMORIAL ...... 35
5.1. MODELS OF THE ‘SPIRIT’ ...... 35
5.2. THE FINAL FIGURE ...... 37
5.3. ICONOGRAPHY ...... 39
5.4. THE ENSEMBLE WITH THE GRANITE WALL ...... 43
5.5. BEAUTIFYING THE CITY ...... 44
5.6. CONNECTION TO ARCHAISM ...... 47
5.7. FOUNDATIONS OF POLÁŠEK’S WORK: MAIDEN OF THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA ...... 48
5.8. LATER WORK: A NOTE ON RADEGAST ...... 52
6 CONCLUSION ...... 59
7 BIBLIOGRAPHY: ...... 62
8 APPENDIX OF IMAGES ...... 66
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1 Introduction
While the pages of exhibition catalogs, textbooks, and popular literature are filled with the names of history’s most famous and talented artists, the works of countless, less recognized individuals sit beside the iconic pieces of art history in the galleries and, especially in the case of sculpture, also in our public spaces with a story of their own. Every artist responds to their environment with their own set of skills, influences and visions as they create works of art for themselves and for their patrons. One such artist, a twenty-two year old immigrant to America at the turn of the twentieth century, found his calling as a sculptor and built himself a career around his vision of the world. Albín Polášek, like millions of his fellow immigrants, came to the United States looking for a chance to better his lot in life and developed his talents into a respectable, if not spectacular, career. By examining the life and character of the man and analyzing representative sculptures from his oeuvre - especially one of his most important public commissions in Chicago, the Theodore Thomas Memorial - while at the same time setting them in the context of his American contemporaries, I hope to shed light on the choices that shape the form of his art and begin to identify its meaning.
Polášek has passed through time unheralded despite leaving behind a lifetime of work, much of which still stands in public places both in the United States and in the Czech Republic. According to the Albin Polasek Foundation, he created over 400 works, which display a great variety of subject matter, style, material and scale.1 In his time, he was sought-after for his portraiture, producing distinguished busts, but also portrait reliefs and commemorative statuary. Although his output in America included allegorical figures, mythological garden statues and funerary memorials, today he is primarily recognized for his public monuments – several of which are generally recognized among Czech people despite their knowing little or nothing of the man who created them. Most notable in the latter category is the monument of the pagan god Radegast situated on Mount Radhošť near Polášek’s birthplace in Moravia, which is not only a popular tourist site, but also a well-known image, for it has been used commercially as the logo of a local brand of beer. Similarly, statues of Saints Cyril and Methodius – also situated on Mount Radhošť – and the Woodrow Wilson Monument in Prague, which was destroyed by the Nazis in 1941 and re-erected in 2011, may be familiar on this side of the Atlantic.
Polášek’s work deserves a fair hearing of its place in the history of art, for the enduring nature of sculpture, and often its public display, maintains its presence in the physical environment. Alice Levi Duncan, director of the Gerald Peters Gallery and author on American sculpture, suggests that the
1 Debbie Komanski – Karen Louden – Cynthia Sucher, The Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Gardens, Winter Park 2008, p. 4.
5 diminished interest in Polášek’s work may be due to his reliance on academic traditions, his focus on technical skill and the overall air of severity in his work, which doesn’t correspond to the current vision of modern art.2 Despite his faded repute, I will attempt to revisit Polášek’s work in the context of place and time in order to reveal aspects of his life that shaped his vision of what sculpture should be.
As an immigrant to the United States in 1901, Polášek lived most of his life in his New World home while not losing sight of his Bohemian origins and Moravian identity. I can personally relate to Polášek in this respect, for I also have roots in both countries. This has afforded me the opportunity to conduct research in Illinois, where many of Polášek’s works are on display and where he taught modeling at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago for nearly 30 years. My access to documents in Moravia has supplemented the research. Having learned the trade of woodcarving in Vienna, Polášek was little more than a craftsman when he arrived in the American Midwest and commenced to work. It wasn’t until several years later that he endeavored to learn the high art of sculpting when he enrolled at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts.3 Subsequently, following a three year stay at the American Academy in Rome, he built a respectable career in the United States, working mostly in Chicago. Consequently - and opposed to the general perception in Czech circles – I will put forward the proposition that Albín Polášek must be viewed as an American sculptor; albeit one that was inspired by antiquity and the Italian renaissance and whose heart rested in his Moravian countryside. My attempt will be to broaden the current understanding of Polášek’s artistic activity and merge the influences of New World idealism with the moral earnestness he felt in his Slavic heritage, hopefully raising questions for further scholarly research.
2 Ibidem, p. 4. 3 Henceforth referred to as PAFA.
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2 Literary research
Literature on Albín Polášek is scant and much critical review or academic research is particularly rare. The most detailed and comprehensive source of information about his life can be found in a biography, Carving His Own Destiny: The Story of Albin Polasek4, which takes its title from one of his signature works, Man Carving His Own Destiny. Oddly enough, this biography was written by a former student and later-to-be wife, Ruth Sherwood and states in the forward it is “simply the story of a sculptor rather than a critical survey of his sculpture”, going on to say, “I can only narrate the principal events of his life, trusting that some of his rare personality will shine through the crude efforts”.5 These admissions accurately reflect the contents of the book. Although Sherwood acknowledges her sources were primarily Polášek’s own memory, accounts of family members and friends, and her own experiences, the style is exaggerated and blatantly subjective. The intention of the text is clearly to show Polášek in the best possible light in every aspect, from his character to his artistic abilities. Although one must read through the glamorizing stories with a critical eye, the biography remains the most detailed and comprehensive source of information on Polášek’s life story, from which it is possible to ascertain his personal opinions about art and attitudes toward sculpture. The book was published in 1954 and in the course of Polášek’s life ends with the design for his final Chicago commission, the Masaryk Memorial of 1941. Only in an epilogue do we get a glimpse of his final years in Florida where he continued to work in a diminished capacity due to a debilitating stroke.
A second publication, Albin Polasek: man carving his own destiny6, was correspondingly assembled by his second wife Emily Muska Kubat Polasek and published after Polášek’s death in 1970 by the Albin Polasek Foundation, established by the couple in 1961 in order to perpetuate his legacy. It consists of a set of photographs of Polášek’s works with short commentaries offering a story connected to the making of each piece. Except for the later work in Florida which has original commentary, the majority of the text is transposed word for word from Sherwood’s biography. Similar in nature is the 2008 publication by The Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Garden which presents his sculpture in color photographs alongside reproductions of his paintings and images of his estate in Winter Park, Florida.7 The museum and gardens are open to the public on the site of his former residence and contain a large body of his output. Despite attempts to address Polášek’s work in a more
4 Ruth Sherwood, Carving his own destiny: the story of Albin Polasek, Chicago 1954. 5 Ibidem, p. 12. 6 Emily Muska Kubat, Albin Polasek: man carving his own destiny, Jacksonville 1970. 7 See Debbie Komanski et al. (fn. 1).
7 systematic manner by dividing into chapters by type of sculpture, the book again relies predominantly on Sherwood’s biography.
Two of Polášek’s monographs published in the Czech Republic were written by Jiří Klučka, former director of the Frenštát museum. The first, titled Albín Polášek; strůjce svého osudu: život a dílo A. Poláška8 came out in 1994 in Czech and was followed by a slightly briefer English translation in 1995.9 Although the content is, once again, mostly biographical, Klučka achieves a more impartial account of Polášek’s life based on a number of sources. As a local historian and director of the Frenštát museum, Klučka approaches the topic with more understanding of Frenštát as Polášek’s hometown, including a historical description of the town during Polášek’s childhood. Additionally, the Czech version contains a short article by Tomáš Pospiszyl, one of the only critical texts setting Polášek’s work into the context of contemporary American sculpture.
Material retrieved from archives, consisting mostly of photographs and sporadic correspondence, along with contemporary periodicals, supports and verifies information in the biographical sources. The Art Institute of Chicago10 provided Polášek’s contracts of employment, his letter of resignation, details about the School of the AIC and an insight into Chicago’s art scene through bulletins issued for various events and exhibitions held there. Although I reached out to the Albin Polasek Foundation in Florida for additional research material, I received limited response from them. This is somewhat disconcerting considering that their stated mission is to promote the legacy of the Czech-American sculptor.11 Archives in the Czech Republic provided only supplementary information in the form of a few letters, articles and photographs. Articles from newspapers and publications of the time, both in America and Czechoslovakia, helped to create an image of Polášek’s reputation in both countries during his career.
Primary sources for the chapter on contemporary sculpture include Lorado Taft’s encyclopedic, The History of American Sculpture12, and his Modern tendencies in sculpture13, also known as the Scammon lectures of 1917. As a fellow Chicago sculptor and associate of Polášek’s, Taft provides the authoritative and prevailing point of view on sculpture in America at that time. Herbert Adams’ short but incisive article from The American Magazine of Art of 1921 epitomizes the conservative critique of avant-garde modernism, while proposing the classical archaic movement of the alumni of Rome as a
8 Jiří Klučka, Albín Polášek: strůjce svého osudu: život a dílo A. Poláška, Frenštát pod Radhoštěm 1994. 9 Jiří Klučka, Albín Polášek: man carving his own destiny: life and work of Albín Polášek, Frenštát pod Radhoštěm 1995. 10 Henceforth referred to as AIC. 11 Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Gardens website, available at: http://polasek.org/, accessed 17. 8. 2017. 12 Loredo Taft, The History of American Sculpture, New York 1924. 13 Loredo Taft, Modern tendencies in sculpture, Chicago 1921.
8 viable path for modern American sculpture. 14 An article from Art and Progress by Gorham Stevens from 1914 gives a contemporaneous account of The American Academy of Rome.15 Secondary sources include a collection of essays by various authors published by the Whitney Museum of American Art, 200 Years of American Sculpture.16 The two essays referenced were written by Wayne Craven, the professor of art history at the University of Delaware17, and Daniel Robbins, former Director of the Fogg Art Museum.18 Herbert Read’s 1964 A concise history of modern sculpture, although stringently modernist in its bias, was useful in understanding early modern sculpture.19 Gaining from the perspective of time, Sculpture 1900-1945: after Rodin by Penelope Curtis, director of Tate Britain, clarified the most prominent trends in modern sculpture in both Europe and America.20 John S. Crawford’s 1979 article The Classical Tradition in American Sculpture: Structure and Surface from The American Art Journal was useful in providing an analytical tool for evaluating classically inspired American sculpture in the 19th and 20th centuries.21 Finally, several essays, particularly those by Thayer Tolles, on The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s website were useful sources for understanding the history of American sculpture.
Articles associated with Polášek consist mostly of news events and, if they go more into detail about the sculptor, are again mostly biographical. Articles of a more academic nature are essentially missing. Therefore, none of the publications so far have attempted to critically analyze Polášek’s sculptures, define their typical features or interpret them in the context of contemporary sculpture. For the analysis section of this paper I had to rely primarily on my own visual judgements and compared Polášek’s sculptures to the tendencies and artworks of sculpture at the time. In order to find sources of his inspiration in classical sculptures I searched iconographical lexicons and for specific elements and topics of each sculptural piece I used a variety of secondary sources consisting of academic papers, articles and other publications.
A particularly daunting aspect of locating sources related to Polášek’s sculpture is the fact that he wrote virtually nothing about his own work or art in general. Unlike his fellow Chicago sculptor
14 Herbert Adams, Aspects of Present-Day Sculpture In America, The American Magazine of Art, vol. 12, no. 10, October 1921, pp. 334–336, http://www.jstor.org/stable/23937001, accessed 28. 10. 2017. 15 Gorham Phillips Stevens, The American Academy in Rome, Art and Progress, vol. 5, no. 4, February 1912, pp. 124–129, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20561083, accessed 28. 10. 2017. 16 Tom Armstrong (ed.), 200 years of American sculpture, Boston 1976. 17 Wayne Craven, Images of a nation in wood, marble and bronze: American sculpture from 1776 to 1900, in: Tom Armstrong (ed.), 200 years of American sculpture, Boston 1976, pp. 26–73. 18 Daniel Robbins, Statues to sculpture: from the nineties to the thirties, in: Tom Armstrong (ed.), 200 years of American sculpture, Boston 1976, pp. 112–159. 19 Herbert Read, A concise history of modern sculpture, New York 1964. 20 Penelope Curtis, Sculpture 1900-1945: after Rodin, Oxford 1999. 21 John Crawford, The Classical Tradition in American Sculpture, Structure and Surface, The American Art Journal, vol. 11, no. 3, July 1979, pp. 38–52, http://www.jstor.org/stable/1594165, accessed 18. 11. 2017.
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Lorado Taft, who lectured extensively and published his History of American Sculpture, Polášek was all but mute regarding his artistic philosophy. This silence, I believe, has contributed to his lesser stature among his contemporaries in that it is difficult to penetrate the motives behind his art, which must speak for itself. Therefore, the basic source in talking about Polášek’s art are naturally the sculptures themselves. And although Sherwood says that, “as in the case of all art, no commentary can make it either better or worse”, it can definitely guide us toward a deeper understanding.22
22 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 11.
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3 Biography
3.1. European Beginnings
Born on Valentine’s day 1879 in Frenštát pod Radhoštěm, Polášek grew up in the Beskydy mountains of Moravia, one of the Slavic regions of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Czech national consciousness was strong in Frenštát and many activities with a nationalistic tone took place in the region during the second half of the 19th century.23 His father died when Albín was just nine years old and his mother, Petronila, therefore had a dominant influence over her seventh son. She was a hardworking but rather strict and emotionally remote woman, who raised her children to be financially independent. Albín was baptized a Roman Catholic and professed strong faith throughout his life, which manifested later in the various sculptures he made for churches and for private devotion.
Sherwood speaks extensively of Polášek’s youth, a period in the sculptor’s life which shaped his character and may also provide a better insight into his later artistic choices. A childhood accident caused Polášek to limp, which he compensated for by developing his upper body strength, affording him one of the vital predispositions for any sculptor. We may infer that, from an early age, Polášek had a disagreeable nature - he is said to have often engaged in fights and developed a sense of self- righteousness. His mother had instilled a strong work ethic in him, although he was also a stubborn and solitary boy, who spent much time in nature. From an early age, he liked to draw and to carve wood; his first achievement being a Nativity scene, which he elaborated upon at various times in his life. His enthusiasm prompted carvings of crucifixes, garden figures, picture frames and mechanical toys.
Apparently unsure of his talent, he dismissed the idea of attending art school and embarked on a long series of failed apprenticeships before taking a position in a Viennese woodcarving shop. It was here that he displayed a penchant for figure carving, particularly heads, and completed his apprenticeship by becoming a journeyman. Subsequently, he found employment at a furniture factory, where he worked for two years before moving to a small shop that specialized in gilt and polychromatic carvings. The frames that this company produced for churches did not provide Polášek the opportunity to carve the figures which he preferred. Polášek’s beginnings in woodcarving show that he had an intuitive artistic understanding of the three dimensional and reductive work.
23 See Klučka, Albín Polášek: man carving his own destiny (fn. 9), pp. 4–5.
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Despite his health and physical strength, Sherwood tell us that Polášek believed himself to be unattractive. It is probable that this insecurity led to his obsession with physical perfection, an appreciation for human beauty and the study of anatomy. He was an enthusiastic participant in the Sokol athletics organization and even founded a chapter in the United States. Likewise, he was a passionate music lover and enjoyed singing, even performing in public on several occasions, which later proved to be a vital part of the Moravian persona he created in America. As he developed his skills as a craftsman in Vienna, he began to resent being a mere artisan who only copied the designs of others and longed to express his own ideas. Unhappy with his present situation, he made up his mind to follow the example of his brothers Robert and Emil and emigrate to the United States.
3.2. Embracing the New World
Polášek arrived in New York in 1901 unable to speak English and quickly failed to find employment. Necessity forced him to Minnesota, where his brother Robert preached to Bohemian immigrants in their Roman Catholic parish. It wasn’t long before he found work at a repair shop in Dubuque, Iowa where he reworked life-sized sculptures that had been rejected by unsatisfied clients. One of his first tasks was to rework a figure of St. Joseph which captured the attention of a Mr. Hackner, the owner of a large sculpture factory in La Crosse, Wisconsin. The work, at first mundane, became fulfilling when the opportunity arose to implement his own ideas for St. Michael’s church in Chicago. A pair of angels, that Polášek carved to support the pulpit, later garnered a gold medal for Albin’s employer at a St. Louis exposition.24 During his free time, Polášek stayed in touch with his love of nature by exploring the countryside and he was thrilled to stumble upon an encampment of Indians along the Mississippi River during one of his outings, which sparked a lifelong interest in Native American culture.
Meanwhile, expressed frustration over tedious and uncreative work motivated his decision to pursue academic training. He gathered enrollment papers from schools in New York, Chicago, Buffalo, San Francisco and Pennsylvania and began to save up his earnings. The decision to attend PAFA25 was settled, when Polášek viewed sculptures by Charles Grafly, the school's head instructor, during a visit to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition of 1904 in St. Louis.26 Clay modeling and antique drawing classes
24 Ibidem, p. 8. 25 More information about PAFA can be found in: Mark Hain et al., Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, 1805-2005: 200 years of excellence, Philadelphia 2005. 26 Ruth Sherwood incorrectly states that Polášek went to St. Louis to visit the Louis and Clark Exposition. The Louis and Clark Exposition took place in Portland, Oregon, a year later in 1905. It is unlikely Polášek would have travelled as far as Oregon at this time (later in his life, when he planned to see the Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco, Sherwood herself states that he was traveling west for the first time). Moreover, Grafly had not exhibited at the Louis and Clark Exposition, but at the much closer Louisiana Purchase Expo in St. Louis, Missouri. Further information about the expositions can be found in their catalogues:
12 presented the opportunity to be noticed by Grafly and Polášek’s copies of classical busts earned him a promotion to classes of modeling from life. For the final assignment that year, on the subject of William Penn, Polášek created “literally hundreds” of figures, which he arranged into groups “as actors on a stage”, which told Penn’s life story.27 This approach, similar to the arrangement of Nativity scenes, was not the “sculpturesque way” of creating a composition and Polášek learned a valuable lesson, when the award for the final work was given to a student, who made a “rectangular block of severe simplicity”.28 Perhaps setbacks as this influenced the fact that Polášek created very few group compositions, and when he did, he found it difficult, as with The Promised Land, which he later failed to complete in his final year at the American Academy in Rome.29 His insecure and withdrawn personality can be illustrated by an occasion illustrated in Sherwood that took place during his first year. Apparently, several students, including Polášek traveled with Grafly to New York to tour the Metropolitan Museum and to visit Daniel Chester French’s studio, but, while the other pupils were able to converse with their instructor regarding the experience, Polášek remained utterly silent.
Even in the second year at PAFA, Polášek’s shyness prevented him from making friends or socializing with fellow students. As a result, he spent much of his free time on long solitary walks exploring the sights around Philadelphia. Mostly though, he concentrated on his classes, which now included anatomy and perspective drawing. Students were asked to recommend themes for a composition assignment, to which Polášek suggested, Man in Nature. To prove that he could create a more sculptural solution than he previously had, Polášek modeled a nude male figure, seated on a rock, clutching at a hand extending from beneath the earth. The joy on the subject’s face conveys the inspiration the man and the artist receive from nature. The symbolic rendering of the topic, communicated through a nude figure, established a theme that Polášek would return to on several projects.
He tried his hand at painting that same year and was pleased when William Chase, a well- established painter, suggested he should abandon sculpting for the pallet and brush. Flattering though it was, Polášek remained faithful to sculpting and his dedication began to earn awards. For the final composition assignment of the year, students were given the task of an equestrian theme, to which most responded with the well-worn ‘military figure on horseback’. Polášek, however, gave his solution the title Progress, “representing a nude figure seated upon a saddleless, bridleless horse, the man
Halsey Cooley Ives et al., Official catalogue of exhibitors: Universal exposition, St. Louis, U. S. A. 1904. Division of exhibits ... Department B. Art, Saint Louis 1904. – H. B. Hardt et al., Official catalogue of the Lewis & Clark Centennial and American Pacific Exposition and Oriental Fair, Portland, Oregon, U.S.A., June 1 to October 15, 1905, Portland 1905. 27 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 148. 28 Ibidem, p. 149. 29 A photograph, further description and interpretation of the sculpture can be found in: Dorothy Hough, Man chiseling his own destiny, in: Art and Archeology, Washington, D.C. September 1929, pp. 84–88.
13 blindfolded, with one hand groping forward”.30 Polášek was especially delighted to receive an award for this piece, because the prize consisted of a bust of the winner executed by Charles Grafly himself. Later in the Masaryk Memorial, Polášek also treated the equestrian theme symbolically, representing a Blaník knight rather than a direct representation of the commemorated man.
During summer holidays before the start of his third year at the Academy, Polášek returned to La Crosse to work, employed also by a marble cutter. Among his first works in marble were an archangel and a life-sized statue of Jan Hus. Unlike the common custom at the time, Polášek did not use the method of pointing31 when carving sculptures and to prove his abilities to Grafly, Polášek completed a wooden figure of St. Scholastica. That school year, Polášek’s capabilities were recognized and rewarded with an academic scholarship, known as the Cresson scholarship, which allowed the recipient to travel Europe during summer break. He tried to make the most out of this tour of European art, focusing on Renaissance and ancient classics, but showing interest in contemporary European sculpture as well. He made a point of studying Michelangelo’s works wherever he had the occasion, and visited the finest galleries of London, Paris, the Netherlands, Florence and Rome. In Venice, he took the opportunity to visit the international exhibition of modern art and he did not fail to miss the Paris Spring Salon with its extensive exposition of contemporary sculpture. Polášek’s mother died in May, shortly before his travels, and he longed to see his family for the first time since leaving his birthplace. It would be the first of many returns.
Enriched and energized by this experience, the following school year Polášek produced one of his most successful and renowned sculptures in America, Man Chiseling His Own Destiny, depicting a muscular figure dramatically hewing himself out of the stone from which he is emerging. Six known versions were created in the following years: 1907, 1916 (destroyed by the sculptor), 1920 [1], 1928 (named Evolution), 1932 and 1949. A version from 1920 not only won a Silver Medal from the Chicago Society of Artists, but sold five replicas to various institutions throughout the country. The original version of the sculpture, however, secured him a second Cresson scholarship in the summer of 1908. This enabled him to see many of the sights that had eluded him in the busy schedule the previous summer, particularly Dresden and Munich’s Alte Pinakotek, and to revisit others, such as Venice, Paris, London and, of course, his beloved Moravia.
In 1909, during his fifth academic year, Polášek not only obtained his United States citizenship but also won a third, and final, Cresson scholarship. That summer, he focused on Greece, spending
30 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 151. 31 For further information about the method, see: Jane Bassett et al., Looking at European sculpture: a guide to technical terms, Los Angeles 1997.
14 most of his time in Athens, climbing up to the Acropolis and visiting the National Museum. Not only its art, but indeed, the atmosphere of Greece itself enchanted him and “he thought that even before the days of the real Greeks the very air of the peninsula and islands, or perhaps it was their beauty, must have bred the minds of the people a certain sensitiveness to proportion and form”.32 This notion, that the beauty of the city, the countryside, and the pure nature as the source of inspiration gives rise to artistic genius, is typical for Polášek. He repeated this idea, earlier in his studies, in regard to the Florentine masters. It can be said that Polášek believed that his creative spirit was driven and influenced by his relationship to the Moravian countryside.
Polášek decided that the sixth year in Philadelphia would be his last and obtained permission to work on a single large composition for the entire year. The product was a sculpture entitled Eternal Moment composed of life-sized male and female nude figures. This rendition of a young girl leaning her head back to kiss a man, who is gently holding her arm and waist, was intended to depict the innocent and ethereal moment of first love. Sherwood states that Polášek worked from memory and imagination alone, without the use of live models – a method which he employed throughout his career. Because of its sheer size, Polášek chiseled the sculpture in a large space in the basement of the Graphic Sketch Club, where he received his first teaching experience by giving modeling classes.33
3.3. Prix de Rome
Now that he was an American citizen, Polášek could apply for the Prix de Rome – an annual competition of the best American sculpture, painting and architecture students who had completed their studies. The prize consisted of a three-year residence at the American Academy in Rome, where recipients could work and collaborate freely. The American Academy was conceived of by architect Charles McKim and his Beaux-Arts compatriots while planning the ‘White City’ of Chicago in 1893. They hoped to develop the talents of American artists in the classical tradition in order to foster cooperation among the various artistic disciplines.34 Conversely, “Grafly was inclined to an all-American training rather than classical influence, so he didn’t encourage his students to apply”, nevertheless, he supported Polášek in pursuing this prestigious award.35 Polášek’s application for the scholarship included carving
32 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 192. 33 An art school founded by Samuel Fleisher for students interested in graphic arts, who couldn’t afford to study at the Academy. Further information about the club can be found in: Margaret R. Sherer, A sketch club and its sanctuary, The American Magazine of Art, vol. 16, no. 10, October 1925, pp. 526–528, http://www.jstor.org/stable/23929957, accessed 15. 10. 2017. 34 A description of the academy provided by its director Gorham Stevens in 1914 can be found in: Stevens (fn. 15), pp. 124– 129. 35 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 200.
15 a relief on the theme of Charity which clenched the victory, and he left for Rome in September of 1910.36
One of Polášek’s first pieces in Rome was a portrait bust of fellow student Paul Manship, who began his scholarship the previous year and had briefly attended PAFA before transferring to the Art Students League of New York.37 Polášek submitted the bust to the International Exposition in Rome, making it the only piece representing the American Academy that year. The following year brought new students38 and new projects for Polášek, including a classically inspired figure titled Maiden of the Roman Campagna and a bust of Mrs. Crowninshield, the wife of the Academy’s director. However, his supreme achievement was The Sower [2], a larger than life, male nude which would later win him recognition in Paris and Chicago. A more immediate success came with the bust of Francis Millet [3], a prominent artist and one of the co-founders of the Academy. Rarely did Millet consent to sit for an artist, so allowing Polášek to do so was a great achievement for the budding sculptor. Millet passed the time during these sessions conversing with a friend. “A talking model presents a difficult task, but if the artist can do it, it results in a more animated portrait”.39 Despite the artistic qualities of the bust, a dreadful tragedy resulted in notoriety in the portrait; for, on the return voyage to America, Millet perished while trying to save others on the ill-fated RMS Titanic. Consequently, nine bronze replicas were requested by various buyers in America. Later that winter, Polášek created four more portrait busts, but none achieved such tribute as that of Millet’s.
For an assignment during his final year at the Academy, Polášek eventually decided on an over- life-size group of figures with the title The Promised Land [4]. He intended to depict an immigrant family seeking shelter in America, which was to be symbolized by a Native American growing out of a tree - a figure later omitted for a lack of time. Although he was busy sculpting portraits - he set himself the impossible goal of making busts of all the trustees of the American Academy - and creating compositions, he also found time to teach private modeling classes. Before returning America, Polášek decided to exhibit The Sower at the Spring Salon in Paris, where it received an Honorable Mention.
36 News of the winners of the Prix de Rome could be found in various journals of the time, for example: THE 1910 AWARDS OF THE AMERICAN ACADEMY IN ROME, The American Architect, vol. 98, no. 1808, 1910, p. 49. 37 Further information on the work of Paul Manship can be found in: Susan Rather, Archaism, modernism, and the art of Paul Manship, Austin 1993. A contemporary review of Manship’s sculpture can be found in: A. E. Gallatin, The Sculpture of Paul Manship, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, vol. 11, no. 10, October 1916, pp. 220–222, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3253462, accessed 3. 11. 2017. 38 The new sculpture fellow was Harry D. Thrasher, a former apprentice of the renowned Augustus Saint-Gaudens and attended the Art Student League in New York with James Earle Fraser, for whom he later worked after returning from Rome. Further information on Harry D. Thrasher may be found in: Biographical Review Publishing Company, Biographical Review Containing Life Sketches of Leading Citizens of Cheshire and Hillsboro Counties, New Hampshire, Boston 1897, pp. 159–160, https://archive.org/stream/citizensofmerrim00biog#page/160/mode/2up, accessed 15. 9. 2017. 39 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 231.
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Finally, before departing for the States himself, Polášek took a holiday in Greece and southern Italy and visited his family in Moravia.
3.4. New York Studio
With his long years of study finally behind him, Polášek returned to the United States to establish a studio and embark on a career as a professional sculptor. The year was 1913 and New York was the place. He declined a second offer from his former teacher, Charles Grafly, to join him in Philadelphia and a similar invitation from Daniel Chester French in New York. The artist colony that surrounded his studio in New York provided a stimulating atmosphere.40 He banked on his reputation as a portrait sculptor - which the bust of Francis Millet had established - while mingling with the wealthy and elite of east coast society. During his three years in New York he completed portraits of the Boston philanthropist John Forsyth; Dorothy Tiffany, daughter of the Louis Tiffany; geologist/theologian Professor William North Rice; American Impressionist painter William Chase; and of course, the late J.P. Morgan Sr., one of the wealthiest bankers-financiers of the era. Such prestigious commissions, along with his association with the American Academy and his proximity to Paul Manship, were perhaps what brought Polášek to the attention of Martin Birnbaum.41 Birnbaum was an influential Madison Avenue art dealer who approached Polášek offering to promote a one-man show. Birnbaum promised the exhibition would create a sensation and make Polášek a celebrity, but because he suggested that Polášek create “something eccentric” specifically for the exhibition, Polášek felt pressured into bending his art to popular taste and refused to participate. Of this Sherwood states that, “the very soul of sincerity himself, he could make only what he felt, what came from his own mind and heart, and the idea of creating something just to be talked about was revolting to him”.42 Birnbaum then turned to Paul Manship and arranged his highly successful exhibition of 1916.43 We can only speculate how Polášek’s career may have turned had he accepted Birnbaum’s patronage, and despite this lost opportunity, professional success was beginning to come to Polášek.
40 Among his neighbors were such artists as James Earle Fraser and his sculptor wife Laura Gardin Fraser, or the painter Edwin Willard Deming, who shared an interest in Native American culture with Polášek. More information on the prominent sculptor J. E. Fraser can be found in: A. L. Freundlich, The sculpture of James Earle Fraser, Parkland 2001. Information on W. Deming: Therese O. Deming, Edwin Willard Deming: His Work, New York 1925. 41 See Rather (fn. 37), 170. 42 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 285. 43 Likewise, he gave American painter Maxfield Parrish his first one-man show, and introduced Wassily Kandinsky and his fellow Russians, Bakst and Jacovleff to American audiences. A summary of Martin Birnbaum’s life was given in his obituary in the New York Times: Martin Birnbaum Is Dead at 92; Art Dealer, Traveler and Writer, New York Times, New York 24. 6. 1970, p. 31, http://www.nytimes.com/1970/07/24/archives/martin-birnbaum-is-dead-at-92-art-dealer-traveler-and-writer- friend.html, accessed 20. 9. 2017.
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He submitted a number of pieces to the Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco of 1915 including The Sower, Maiden, Aspiration and a portrait of Rufus Marshall.44 Not only did he win a Silver Medal, but he sold copies of all the pieces, except for The Sower. Unfortunately, he did not carry through with his plans to attend the exposition when his emotional attachment to his New York fiancée, Nancy Halvor, caused him to abandon the journey halfway across the country. The following winter, he received his first significant, public commission when he was called upon to create a monumental memorial of James G. Batterson for Hartford, Connecticut, which would occupy him over the following years.
3.5. Chicago Career
Polášek received an offer in early summer of 1916 for the position of Head of the Department of Sculpture at the AIC. His candidacy was proposed by one of the trustees of the Institute, after seeing The Sower at the National Sculpture Society Exhibition in Buffalo. The decision to relocate to Chicago was a difficult one and it ultimately resulted in the end of his engagement. It was at this time he met Ruth Sherwood, one of his first students and his future biographer and wife. Upon arriving in Chicago, Polášek established a studio and began teaching in October 1916. He was excited to be able to pass on his own artistic truth, which was described by Sherwood as “the fundamental saneness of art”, to the younger generation.45 He critiqued students twice a week and had a weekly night class in life figure and portrait modeling, which left him with plenty of time for his own work. Sherwood, who was one of his students at the time, recounts that Polášek’s teaching method was “simple but forceful” and that he emphasized “what he called the “A B C” of art, the universal language of sound construction by which an artist can intelligibly convey his ideas to others”.46 Classes were attended by a variety of students of different nationalities, social backgrounds and ethnicities; for example, the African- American sculptress Ida McClelland Stout. He instilled competitiveness among pupils by encouraging them to participate in competitions for foreign traveling scholarships.
In November of 1916, the AIC hosted the 15th Annual Exhibition of American Paintings and Sculpture, gathered by the National Sculpture Society as the largest collection of American sculpture up to that time. Six pieces by Polášek were included and to honor the new professor, the Institute placed The Sower outdoors in front of the building. This spurred a controversy in the Chicago papers
44 Although Polášek returned to New York on his way to San Francisco and therefore did not see the exhibition firsthand, he had the opportunity to see 31 pieces of sculpture from the exhibition at the AIC the following year. See: Art Institute of Chicago, Annual report, Chicago 1916. Polášek’s work at the exposition is noted in: S. G. S. Perry et al., The Sculpture and Mural Decorations of the Exposition A Pictorial Survey of the Art of the Panama-Pacific international exposition, San Francisco 1915, pp. 164–165, https://archive.org/details/sculpturemuralde00perrrich, accessed 2. 10. 2017. 45 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 292. 46 Ibidem, p. 293.
18 over the display of a nude figure in a public location. Even the mayor of Chicago demanded that the sculpture be appropriately covered or removed entirely, while the press and public expressed differing opinions on the topic. The Friends of American Art purchased the sculpture and donated it to the AIC’s permanent collection, but The Sower wasn’t removed from its controversial place until January 1917 to become a part of Polášek’s one-man exhibition.47 The whole affair brought Polášek notoriety and the public streamed in to see the works of the new professor of sculpture.48 That year Polášek also executed a companion figure to Aspiration entitled The Bubble. It’s worth noting here, that these two ‘garden statuettes’ eventually proved to be the most salable pieces of his career.49 That summer, he modeled the Batterson Memorial in New York at the rented studio of Daniel Chester French, but the final marble sculpture was executed by a stone-cutter in Hartford.
Turned down by the marines because of his disability, Polášek spent the First World War teaching to emptier classrooms. Unable to participate in combat, he took it upon himself to further the Czechoslovakian cause for independence by means of his artistic talent. To help Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk raise money among American Bohemians for the Czechoslovakian army, Polášek executed a design for a patriotic medal to be sold for the cause. He spent the war years establishing himself among Chicago’s social circles, including the expatriate Czech community and those associated with the broader artistic and musical scene. These relationships paid off for the sculptor with commissions for a number of portrait busts and finally, a large public monument to Theodore Thomas. At war’s end, with the founding of the first Czechoslovak Republic, Polášek shared a sense of pride with his fellow Czech-Americans. As with many artists whose ethnic identity was tied to a newly emerging nation, Polášek nurtured a public persona associated with his Slavic heritage. This fact will be borne out in the relationships he formed, the commissions he accepted, and the personal projects he undertook over the following decades.
In February 1919, Polášek vacationed in the southwest United States, where he admired the culture of the Hopi Indian tribe and was captivated by the beauty of the Grand Canyon. He hadn’t seen the mountains of his homeland since 1913 and wondered what changes the war may have wrought. He was therefore very pleased to meet Alfons Mucha for the first time in June 1920. The renowned Moravian illustrator-artist had come to Chicago to exhibit the first five murals of his Slav Epic,
47 Among the works exhibited were the Maiden of the Roman Campagna, Aspiration, Eternal Moment and works done in New York: Spirit of the Woods, Spirit of the Desert, Old Man of the Sea and Butterfly. Polášek’s portraiture was represented by busts of Millet, Grafly, Chase, Miss Russell, Dorothy Tiffany and others. Catalogue of the exhibition can be found at: Albin Polasek – Art Institute of Chicago, Exhibition of sculpture by Albin Polasek : at the Art Institute of Chicago, January 5 to January 28, 1917, Chicago 1917, http://www.artic.edu/sites/default/files/libraries/pubs/1917/AIC1917APolasekSclpt_comb.pdf, accessed 16. 8. 2017. 48 A review of the exhibition in the Fine Arts Journal can be found in: Agnes Gertrude Richards Source, The Polasek Exhibition, Fine Arts Journal, vol. 35, no. 2, February 1917, pp. 122–126, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25587448, accessed 20. 8. 2017. 49 See Komanski (fn. 1), p. 20. – Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 296.
19 sponsored by the Chicago philanthropist and millionaire Charles Crane. Polášek and Mucha walked through the Institute’s galleries together discussing art and found a mutual appreciation for Egyptian art “for its noble mass, its revelation of the knowledge of form and life, and its sensitively restrained decoration”.50 He would later meet Mucha on several occasions in Europe.
That same year, Polášek agreed to execute a portrait memorial for the capitol in Springfield, dedicated to Richard Yates, governor of Illinois during the Civil War. Presented with the difficulty of ‘modern’ clothing, he simplified the attire in order to accentuate the expressive portrait head. The standing figure is set against an armchair ornamented by American eagles and reliefs of Yates’ political achievements during the Civil War. Work on the memorial delayed his first trip home since the end of the war until June 1922. After a few weeks in France to tour historical monuments and galleries - notably the Musée Rodin - he continued on to his family in Czechoslovakia. The pride Polášek felt for independent Czechoslovakia was mixed with bitterness, for one of his brothers had not survived the years of his absence and died of starvation. He returned to the States in January 1923 through Rome, where he visited the new residence of the American Academy.
For several years, Polášek had been contemplating a composition of a young Indian man playing the flute to a deer. This idea was transformed during the winter of 1924 into a statuette named Forest Idyl, depicting a nude female holding a fawn in her arms with the mother deer gently lifting its head toward its baby [5]. During this same period, Polášek also received a commission for a cemetery monument, for which he designed a classically inspired bronze figure of a man standing before a granite doorway. Polášek wanted a reflecting pool to be placed in front of the monument, thus reinforcing the symbolism of the pilgrim contemplating his past, but this could not be achieved because of the size of the cemetery plot. The third opus of mention from that year was a companion piece to Man Carving His Own Destiny. As a counterpart to the muscular male, Polášek sculpted a delicate female nude “kept in bondage through the ages, now at last breaking through the clouds of ignorance and superstition into the full light of freedom”, rising and reaching upward.51 He titled it Unfettered and it was regarded by Grafly as Polášek’s best sculpture; a judgement substantiated by the several awards it later received.52
50 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 331. 51 Ibidem, p. 359. 52 Unfettered was acquired by the AIC for its permanent collection in 1925, where it remains until today.
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3.6. Creating for His Homeland
Polášek received a commission of great esteem during the summer of 1926. The community of expatriate Czechs in America funded a memorial to president Woodrow Wilson, “to honor the man who did more than any other foreigner to champion the cause of the subject nations”.53 It was to be a gift to the city of Prague. Polášek quickly arrived at a design that was approved by the committee, but actual work on the monument did not take place until two years later. Meanwhile, Polášek was offered to become an Associate Member of the National Academy of Design in New York. This honor required the submittal of an oil painting depicting the inductee, which would be placed in the permanent gallery of the National Academy. The exercise of painting a picture impressed on him the advantages the medium had over sculpting; namely the expenditure in time and cost, and he would occasionally return to canvas from time to time.
Despite the allure of painting, two commissions for large group sculptures kept him once again true to his principal artistic medium. Firstly, the directors of the Bohemian National Cemetery in Chicago asked for a piece that would be a symbol of life and hope to be located in a setting that is predominantly somber. For this, Polášek designed a composition on the theme of motherhood. This monument spurred a debate over the propriety of placing such a statue in a cemetery. Nevertheless, all but one of the committee’s members welcomed the prospect of being the first place to erect a monument to mothers in the United States, as was pointed out in a contemporaneous article by Arthur Brisbane.54 The second sculptural group from this period was of the Saints Cyril and Methodius for the Cathedral of St. Paul, Minnesota, which was based on a wooden model previously carved during the summer in Frenštát.
Polášek arrived in Europe in July to spend the second half of 1927 fulfilling the commission for the Wilson Monument in a rented studio in Prague. During the very first meeting of the project’s committee - comprised of such notable figures as Alfons Mucha and the project’s collaborating architect Bohumil Hübschmann - one of the members, Josef Štýbr, made several critical comments about the model. This angered Polášek immensely and he officially resigned the commission. However, he continued to work on the sculpture in secret and revealed it to the committee only after it had been completed near the end of October. Similar to the Richard Yates composition, Polášek set the standing politician in front of an ornamented chair of state. This time, however, he united the two elements by means of a cloak, decorated with stars and stripes, which flowed down from the figure’s shoulders
53 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 370. 54 Jan Diviš, Padesátileté jubileum českého národního hřbitova v Chicago Illinois: dějiny půlstoletí trvání a činnosti sboru hřbitovního od jeho založení v roce 1877 do slavnosti jubilejní v roce 1927, Chicago 1927, pp. 280–281.
21 over the seat. Wilson’s slightly extended hands suggest a protective gesture toward the fledgling nation’s struggle for freedom and democracy. On either side of the base, in both Czech and English, was inscribed the motto, ‘The World Must Be Made Safe For Democracy’. The committee was thrilled with the final composition and Polášek “was especially pleased by Mucha’s understanding of the drapery, his comprehension of the reasons that had led him to bring it from the shoulders to fall over the chair, thus giving unity, color and graduation to the monument.”55 The unveiling took place on July 4th, 1928 in recognition of American Independence, with many significant people attending the event [6]. Among these was president Masaryk, who later awarded Polášek the Order of the White Lion for his artistic service to Prague. In Masaryk’s absence, Polášek received this honor in Chicago at a banquet held to celebrate the 10th anniversary of Czechoslovak independence. Additionally, he completed a private memorial at the Bohemian National Cemetery called The Pilgrim and still another large-scale plaster version of Man Carving His Own Destiny, “barbaric and Slavonic in the character of figure and face and decoration”.56
Despite his busy workload, Polášek accepted a position of honorary professor at the American Academy in Rome for the school year of 1930-1931. There was no formal instruction, but only critique of students’ works while he was free to work on his own projects. Most notably, he sculpted a life- sized version of his earlier Forest Idyl and a new composition he called Primeval Struggle, in which a powerful Slavic figure wrestles a wolf that represents Germanic aggression. Sherwood tells us that he was perplexed by the rebellious attitudes of the younger generation of artists who, he felt, were critical of anything traditional. Further waves of change hit him during a vacation to Athens where, much to his disappointment, the city had become a modern metropolis congested with traffic. Prior to Greece, he traveled to Egypt and Palestine. Polášek then travelled back to Frenštát for the unveiling of two of his monuments, Radegast and Cyril and Methodius, gifts of the artist to his homeland, on July 5th, 1931. The event was advertised as a great Slavic pilgrimage on the day of the saints’ holiday and was attended by tens of thousands of visitors. During the ceremonies, Polášek received a diploma from the National Council of Czechoslovakia, the highest award of the state.
3.7. Depression and War
After his return to America, an attack of rheumatism and the financial depression made life and work more difficult. The times were changing and Polášek felt overwhelmed with the thought his career may be nearing its end. “He felt that the world of art had so changed that it offered little place for sincere
55 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 385. 56 Ibidem, p. 394.
22 effort. The old standards had fallen…The premium was set on cleverness rather than knowledge and understanding of life, on smart sophistication rather than poetic insight.”57 He felt that the students were no longer responding to his opinions on the importance of symbolism and meaning in art over mere aesthetic concerns. He began to plan for his retirement in Frenštát, where he wanted to build a house of his own design, but eventually World War II ruined his plans. During the 1930’s, Polášek worked on smaller commissions, for example a reduced reproduction of Man Carving His Own Destiny, and a request for a standing portrait of Father Pierre Gibault for Vincennes, Indiana. He was honored with full promotion to the National Academy of Design in 1933. Increasingly, personal projects occupied his time as he continued to paint more often. Likewise, he began a long-term project carving a series of Slavic gods intended for the garden of his future Frenštát residence. Polášek’s pantheon included Triglav, Perun, Svantovit, Vesna, Lada and lastly Živena which was finished in 1945. Attempting again to revive ancient Slavic history, he relied on symbolism and material to express the character of each subject. On his visit to Czechoslovakia in 1938, the last before World War II, Polášek presented a bronze cast of Primeval Struggle to the town of Frenštát, which placed it on the main square as a memorial to the victims of World War I. The time and place gave rise to a new interpretation of the sculpture by the people of the period, who saw it as a symbol of Czechoslovakia preparing to defend itself from the growing German threat.
The anger and despair he felt over the events in Europe were mildly compensated by a recognition given to Polášek by the National Institute of Immigrant Welfare in New York, which honored him in 1940 for his outstanding contribution to American culture. With the war in Europe preventing any hope of retiring to Moravia, Polášek turned to religious themes by accepting a commission to decorate the St. Cecilia Cathedral in Omaha, Nebraska. Over the course of the next eight to nine years, he created a number of sculptures for the church, including a crucifix for the high altar, a white marble Madonna blessing Omaha’s corn and fourteen stations of the cross in bronze. Meanwhile, the absurdity and ferocity of the war was portrayed in Polášek’s Mother Crying over the World from 1942, which was later placed in the New York Hall of Fame.
3.8. Final Years
Polášek’s final, major commission also came to him at the beginning of the nineteen-forties from Chicago’s Bohemian-Americans, who wished to erect a monument to president Masaryk. Most members of the committee wanted a portrait of the president, but after Chicago’s Fine Arts Commission ruled that no more portrait statutes could be placed in the city, Polášek welcomed the
57 Ibidem, pp. 438–439.
23 opportunity to change the design to a symbolic subject. After much debate by the committee, he was given a relatively free hand at determining the composition. In the end, he chose the form of a colossal bronze equestrian statue; a legendary Blaník knight on a robust stallion, all mounted atop a 20-foot- tall granite plinth. The monument required a large amount of bronze, but after Pearl Harbor, all the foundries across the country diverted their production to support the war effort. The difficulties with production and finances delayed completion of the monument until 1949, and the dedication until May 29th of 1955.58 The unveiling, at the east end of Chicago’s Midway unfortunately took place without Polášek, who was indisposed due to health issues.59
The last time Polášek saw his hometown of Frenštát was in 1947. He was asked to execute a monument to the victims of both world wars for which he created a piece in the form of Christ’s head, entitled Suffering. However, after the communist coup the following February, erecting public monuments of a religious form became an impossibility. A life-sized sculpture of president Masaryk designed in 1948 by Polášek and executed by a Czech sculptor in bronze for the town of Petřvald u Karviné suffered due to the regime as well, when it was destroyed in the early seventies. The prospect of returning to Czechoslovakia for retirement was again unthinkable in such a climate and, although Polášek began to question his plan to bequest various works to Czechoslovakia, he did donate several pieces to his hometown, which awarded him an honorary citizenship in 1947.
After ending his teaching career at the Art Institute of Chicago in 1943 for lack of students during the war, Polášek ultimately decided to retire to Winter Park, Florida, where he built a residence amid the lake scenery. Sadly, he suffered a stroke in 1950, which left him paralyzed on the left side of his body and confined him to a wheelchair. For some time, he stopped sculpting entirely and focused only on painting. At this point in his life he decided to marry for the first time to his former student and biographer Ruth Sherwood. They did so in December 1950, but unfortunately Ruth passed away only two years later. From the mid-fifties Polášek started sculpting again, producing a number of pieces; for example, Victory of Moral Law from 1956, in which he uses the symbol of St. George killing the dragon as an allegory for the Hungarian revolution of that year, or Chibiabos from 1964, portraying an Indian character out of Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha. Beside new compositions, Polášek returned to his earlier themes. Ironically, the final version of his signature piece, Man Carving His Own Destiny was left unfinished. During the last phase of his life he was cared for by his second wife of Czechoslovakian origin, Emily Muska Kubat. In 1961, the year they got married, the couple also founded the Albin
58 A contemporary news article speaks of the dedication: Chicago Tribune, Tribute paid to Masaryk at dedication, 30. 5. 1955, in: Ryerson and Burnham Libraries – Art Institute of Chicago, Scrapbook of art and artists of Chicago, Chicago 1995, p. 42. 59 See Klučka (fn. 9), p. 27.
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Polasek Foundation to maintain the sculptor’s legacy after his death, which came four years later, on May 19th, 1965.
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4 Context and trends in American sculpture
4.1. American Classicism and Moral Earnestness
On both sides of the Atlantic, the art world was undergoing exciting changes in the years surrounding Polášek’s arrival in America in 1901. International fairs, such as the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago and the Exposition universelle de 1900 in Paris, were opportunities for the general public to experience the latest trends in art, music, technology, transportation and consumer products. It is not surprising, therefore, that it was the visit to the St. Louis World’s Fair that Polášek, upon seeing Grafly’s works, determined to study sculpture at PAFA. Expositions were coveted opportunities for sculptors to work alongside the leading architects of the day and display their craft in front of a mass audience. These temporary metropolises were idealized versions of what real world urban planners were trying to achieve via the City Beautiful movement which “focused attention on a deliberately planned network of buildings, thoroughfares, and parks while acknowledging the importance of monuments and architectural sculpture to their embellishment.”60 However, each of these opportunities for sculptural expression reveals the limited function of ‘statuary’ in American society and the secondary role that the sculptor played therein.
In the first decades of the newly formed American nation, commissions for sculpture went to European sculptors, who “brought from abroad the Neoclassical aesthetic that native sculptors strove to emulate through the mid-nineteenth century”.61 Works created within the American branch of this movement, which author John S. Crawford terms “surface classicism”, can be found as late as 1910, but criticism of this approach - as mere formal derivation of classical models - could be heard already in the mid-19th century, expressed for example by the American novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne.62 Among the traits that Crawford ascribes to surface classicism are a refined surface treatment, classical poses and anatomical proportions of figures, which are often nude, or dressed in classical attire.63 For many middle and lower class Americans however, the foreign classical references were quite detached from the American reality, leading to the “rejection of the style on the grounds of nationalism” and the desire to ‘Americanize’ sculpture. Change began in the late 1840s with sculptors such as Henry Kirke Brown and his pupil John Quincy Adams Ward, who turned toward a more realistic style and more
60 Thayer Tolles, From Model to Monument: American Public Sculpture, 1865-1915, Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, New York 2000, https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/modl/hd_modl.htm, accessed 14. 10. 2017. 61 Ibidem. 62 See Crawford (fn. 21), pp. 42–43. 63 Ibidem, p. 38.
26 familiar American themes.64 This tendency in sculpture, sometimes called American realism, is described as “structural classicism” by Crawford. He characterizes structural classicism by its more textural and contrasting surface treatment of the various parts; by the adaptation of classical poses with frequent twisting of the figure’s axis for a more natural and emotional effect; by employing realistic proportions for the body and face and, finally; by incorporating contemporary details such as modern clothing. It can be said that this tendency had become the first truly American movement in sculpture, more adapted to the American environment and audience. It became the leading trend, especially after the Civil War, with the birth of the so called American Renaissance, a period in which the United States started to express and represent its national identity and values in public sculpture, leading to a larger demand for public monuments.65 Predominantly, the sculptor’s trade was limited to commissions for civic monuments, which functioned to promote the moral ideals of the nation or glorify the generals and statesmen of the past, or to serve the subordinate role as decoration on public buildings. Consequently, sculpture in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century was “an embodiment of lofty virtue, noble idealism and familiar symbolism”; or what was later described as “moral earnestness”.66 Although the tastes of private collectors began to change after the First World War, public sculptures executed in popular American realism can be found well into the 1930’s.
Archetypal of this context is the Smith Memorial Arch [7], erected between 1897 and 1912 on the former site of America’s first world’s fair, the Centennial Exposition of 1876 in Philadelphia. This monument epitomizes what Thayer Tolles calls, “the great age of American civic sculpture in bronze” in the years between the Civil War and World War I.67 Funded by Philadelphia industrialist, Richard Smith, and designed by the architect, James H. Windrim, the memorial’s limestone edifice is adorned with fifteen separate bronzes, including two equestrians, three figures, eight busts and two eagles. The conglomeration was produced by no less than twelve contributors, among them the sculptors John Quincy Adam Ward, his student Daniel Chester French, and French’s apprentice, Edward C. Potter. This master-apprentice relationship was, as Daniel Robbins points out, “for a time in American sculpture, at the end of the 19th century and well into the 20th, an apprenticeship program existed that was more akin to the atelier systems of earlier centuries than still existed in any other art or, indeed, any other nation”.68 It is therefore significant that a further contributor to the Smith Memorial Arch was Charles
64 Thayer Tolles, Henry Kirke Brown (1814-1886), John Quincy Adams Ward (1830-1910), and Realism in American Sculpture, Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, New York 2000, http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/reas/hd_reas.htm, accessed 14. 10. 2017. 65 For more information about the American Renaissance, see: Howard Mumford Jones, Ideas in America, Cambridge 1945. 66 See Robbins (fn. 18), p. 115. 67 See Tolles, From Model to Monument (fn. 60). 68 See Robbins (fn. 18), p. 117.
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Grafly, who would become Polášek’s mentor at the Pennsylvania Academy at precisely the time when the memorial was under construction.
4.2. Charles Grafly
Like many American sculptors of his generation, Grafly oriented himself to the French school, when in 1888 he studied drawing under William Bouguereau at the École des Beaux-Arts and modeling under Henri Chapu at the Académie Julian. Grafly exhibited at the Salon of 1890 and 1891; his Mauvais Présage winning an honorable mention at the latter. Upon his return to Philadelphia in 1892, he took a teaching position at both the Pennsylvania Academy and the Drexel Institute. He exhibited pieces at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago and Exposition universelle in Paris, as well contributing to the sculptural design of the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo of 1901 and the previously mentioned St. Louis fair of 1904. At the same time, he completed public commissions alongside Daniel Chester French at architect Cass Gilbert’s magnificent, Beaux-Arts style Customs House in New York City in 1904, and the Smith Memorial Arch described above. Grafly was also renowned for his portrait busts which dominated his work after 1905 and subsequently won him honors.69 “But as popular as Grafly’s portraits and academic pieces were, some of his work left his contemporaries bewildered because of its very personal use of symbolism.”70 This observation is borne out in Lorado Taft’s balanced critique of Grafly’s The Symbol of Life [8] of which he wrote, “I could not fathom its meaning, so did not try; the modeling of those splendid bodies was a language more intelligible to me.”71 However, in the final analysis, Wayne Craven points out, “the acclaim that came to Grafly was not from art such as this, but from his portraits, his academic work and his teaching.”72
The foregoing account of Grafly’s career is taken up here because he is undoubtedly the one sculptor for whom we can regard as ‘master’ to Albin Polášek and certain features of the master can be ascribed to the pupil. We are told that Polášek “admired Grafly immensely, this silent, undemonstrative artist with his great knowledge and mastery of his art”.73 If we are to believe the development of the relationship between the two men that is portrayed in Sherwood’s biography, Polášek was initially shy and reticent, while Grafly appears friendly, yet brusque. Apparently, several students, including Polášek traveled with Grafly to New York to tour the Metropolitan Museum and to visit Daniel Chester French’s studio, but, while the other pupils were able to converse with their
69 See Armstrong (fn. 16), p. 275. 70 See Craven (fn. 17), p. 71. 71 Helen W. Henderson, Charles Grafly, Sculptor, An Apostle of Symbolism, The Booklovers Magazine, vol. 2, Princeton 1903, p. 7. 72 See Craven (fn. 17), p. 71. 73 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 133.
28 instructor regarding the experience, Polášek remained utterly silent. Later, during his second year of study, Polášek was greatly pleased to be given the opportunity to have a portrait bust done by Grafly as the award for his Progress equestrian. In this same year, we are told, the master asked the young novice if he would assist him in his atelier, but after a night of intense reflection, Polášek turned down the offer because, “his independent spirit rebelled fiercely against the possibility of anyone else’s influence over his own ideas and work”.74 Polášek held admiration toward his teacher, so the more difficult it was for him to refuse the prestigious offer of apprenticeship at his studio. Not being able to work independently and freely in the carving shops and factories was exactly the reason he joined PAFA. Despite this refusal, there appears to have been a genuine appreciation each had for the others talent and, it must be pointed out that the careers of the two sculptors had much in common. Certainly, the fact that both men took upon themselves the role of instructor for much of their lives is a telling similarity: Grafly in Philadelphia and Polášek in Chicago. Simultaneous with their teaching positions, they continued to pursue public commissions and produce works on speculation. Perhaps the most striking similarity is that both sculptors were highly accomplished and well-regarded portrait artists and, although portraiture is a salable skill that can win notoriety within the exposition circuit, did nothing remarkable to move the genre beyond polite flattery. Finally, it might be said that each man had a penchant for rather fanciful, allegorical figures. Taft’s critique of Grafly’s perplexing allegorical figure, The Symbol of Life might equally be applied to certain of Polášek’s more imaginary creations. Despite accolades from their contemporaries, neither Grafly nor Polášek would receive tremendous recognition from posterity.
4.3. Modern Challenges to Rodin
It must be acknowledged, however, that sculptors, on both sides of the Atlantic at the turn of the century, confronted the formidable and ubiquitous phenomenon that was Rodin. Rodin’s universal fame - embodied in his dynamic torsos and fragmented body parts that captured movement in a way that symbolized modern man without the narrative of classical and traditionally academic references - was a challenge to his fellow artists. Sculptors struggled to either embrace Rodin’s style, or differentiate their work from Rodin in order to stake their claim on what would earn them the label ‘modern’. These directions can be illustrated in such pieces as Wilhelm Lehmbruck’s, Woman’s Torso (1910) or Aristide Maillol’s, Action in Chains (1906), which retain Rodin’s compositional approach of truncated limbs, and yet, Rodin’s energized and infinitely detailed surface treatment begins to smooth and the body fills to the volume displayed in Maillol’s tranquil and static The Mediterranean (1902-05)
74 Ibidem, p. 139.
29
[9].75 A second trend in modern sculpture was to turn away from fragmentation and return to wholeness of line, the closed profile or arabesque of Matisse’s, nu couché 1 (1906-07) or his Figure décorative (1908).76 The nude female figure, either standing or reclining, was a recurring subject for ‘modern’ sculptors to work through new ideas and new techniques.77 Returning the figure to its complete, and unbroken form, was one more way of distancing oneself from Rodin. One further way for sculptors to express their modernity was to prove their authenticity by being ‘true to the materials’ and carving directly into the medium. This, in part, was a reaction to Rodin’s ‘factory’ approach of his studio, which produced multiple copies of originals – typically bronze casts - until the authorship came into question.78 Direct carving revealed the artist struggle with every strike of the chisel and, although this trend wasn’t fully embraced until the 1920’s and 30’s, it did have its origins in such works as Brancusi’s Kiss (1907-08) or Alexander Archipenko’s and George Gray Barnard’s contributions to the Armory Show of 1913 in New York.
4.4. Archaism and the Rome Academy Fellows
The introduction of abstract art to America came as a shock to public and critics alike. The art of the avant-garde that we know and study and appreciate so well now, was far from being embraced by more established and conservative audiences outside of Europe. In his AIC lectures of 191779, Lorado Taft observed, “We Americans have been told more than once that we are too sane to become great artists. We accept the dubious compliment and acknowledge that we do not expect to find a Carpeaux nor Mestrovic among us, but neither shall we add to the world’s art horrors through the misguided activity of a Matisse or an Archipenko.” This is echoed in sculptor, Herbert Adams’ summary of ‘present-day sculpture in America’ when he writes disparagingly of ‘the new-born European art’, “unfortunately, side by side with honest effort, there is to be seen so much work by perverts, fakirs, and
75 See Curtis (fn. 20), p. 219. „Such a framework was provided by the standing female nude, the treatment of which was progressively simplified. By rejecting naturalistic modelling and smoothing out the ‘accidental’ incident, sculptors were able to focus on the overall relation of forms and volumes. Such a focus was understood to be modern, but also to owe much to the past.” 76 See Read (fn. 19), p. 34. „Matisse’s criticism of Rodin is that he neglected the whole for the sake of the carefully realized detail - that he conceived of the whole as an assemblage of such details. Matisse knew instinctively that wholeness has a quality of its own which differs from the sum of its parts, and that it is more important to capture this unique quality of wholeness than to get lost in the study of detail.” 77 See Curtis (fn. 20), p. 219. „Indeed the close focus given the female nude can be understood as a modernist interest in art for art’s sake, removed from the literary symbolism of the late nineteenth century, and, as yet, largely innocent of the political symbolism of the succeeding period. “ 78 Ibidem, p. 73. „After his death in 1917, the question was raised as to the extent to which the master would actually have been involved in much of the work that was sold as his. The affair of the ‘faux Rodin’ - in which a sculptor named Charles Émile Jonchéry was accused as a forger - occupied the courts during the first six months of 1919, and as other examples emerged, it became clear that technically speaking there was very little difference between a genuine Rodin and a fake Rodin. “ 79 Although there is no direct evidence that Polasek attended the lectures, it is reasonable to assume that the newly hired Head of the Department of Sculpture at the AIC would have participated in the lectures if at all possible. See Taft (fn. 13), p. 118.
30 peasants that one is inclined at times to discount the whole movement as a huge farce.”80 Adams then goes on to describe a group of young sculptors who sought inspiration from the most recent archeological finds of pre-classical ages. “Evidently some of them have been much impressed by the sense of design, the simplicity, the idealism of this early work, as these qualities are strongly reflected in their own sculpture. I refer to the fellows of the American Academy in Rome. Indeed, I believe that through such men as Manship, Fry, Polasek, Gregory, Jennewein and others, the American Academy in Rome is the strongest influence in American sculpture today.”81 Adams rightly states that Rome was a strong influence in sculpture at the beginning of the 19th century with the dominating neoclassic style, but starting in the 1870’s, the focus shifted to Paris, where young sculptors travelled to study in the Beaux-Arts style. However, Adams goes on to say that Rome is “again a force in our art”, emphasizing that the American society of students take only inspiration from the classics, while “trying to solve (the artistic problem) in (their) own way”.82 Less enthusiastically, Taft remarks, “without question the superficially dominant tendency among the younger American sculptors is that same archaistic vogue, brought over by the graduates of the school in Rome. It is an interesting if inexplicable eddy in the current of American art.”83 Regardless of Taft’s misgivings, ‘archaistic’ sculpture quickly came into fashion. Paul Manship’s Centaur and Dryad [10] was begun in Rome as early as 1909, completed in New York in 1913, and purchased by the Metropolitan in 1914. And, as A.E. Gallatin points out, “to the larger public interested in artistic achievement the first exhibition of Mr. Manship’s sculpture, held in New York last winter, was a veritable sensation”, referencing the exhibition Birnbaum organized in 1916.84
The extent to which Polášek associated himself with the movement is worth investigating. Biographical accounts indicate his deep admiration and respect for Hellenic culture. On his first tour of Greece, he mentions seeing Praxiteles’ Hermes and the Infant Dionysius at Olympus and, in the museum at the Acropolis in Athens, “an unfinished statue that impressed him more than anything else. It was a group of two men, blocked out with tremendous force and great understanding.”85 Unfortunately, he was unable to purchase a photograph of it or to identify it in any way. We are never told how these encounters actually impact his art or influence his approach to
80 See Adams (fn. 14), p. 335. 81 Ibidem, p. 336. – „It’s interesting that 78 years after the Adams article, one observer lists the same Rome Academy sculptors without including Polášek. “The influence of archaism can be traced from master to pupil. In America we find such lineage behind Paul Manship, who had studied with Isidore Konti, who had studied with Karl Bitter. This affected the way Manship used his Rome Scholarship, and indeed led to the American Academy in Rome becoming closely associated with an archaizing neo-classicism perpetuated by Manship’s circle there: Sherry Fry, John Gregory, and Carl Jennewein.” See Curtis (20), p. 220. 82 See Adams (fn. 14), p. 336. 83 See Taft (fn. 13), p. 144. 84 See Gallatin (fn. 37), p. 218. 85 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 192.
31 sculpting. Similarly, there is little, or nothing, in regard to discussions among his fellow artists at the Academy. Manship is mentioned several times throughout Sherwood’s memoir; first, in a brief encounter at PAFA; then again, at the American Academy in Rome, where we’re told Polášek sculpted Manship’s portrait. After Rome, Manship is brought up only in regard to Birnbaum and the exhibit, but never again in terms of a personal relationship. The same is true of the other Rome ‘fellows’ associated with Archaism, although we’re told Polášek did socialize with others former students of the Academy, at least during his New York studio years. Lacking evidence of direct contact, we’re left to look for clues in the work itself. In order to make that comparison, it would be useful examine the salient traits of Archaism as exemplified by Manship.
Foremost, Manship’s Archaism references classical narratives and playful mythological themes, as in the formerly mentioned Centaur and Dryad, or Europa and the Bull (1922-24), or Diana (1925) and its companion piece Actaeon (1925). However, gesture and stylization might reference Etruscan, Egyptian, Mesopotamian sources, or in the case of Dancer and Gazelles (1916), Hindu Indian [11]. This eclecticism is a second characteristic Manship’s sculpture; one that Taft apparently does not approve of when he says, “to the American who has stayed at home such pyrotechnics are rather bewildering. Truly we are the heirs of the ages, and some prodigals delight in decking themselves – or their works – with the entire heritage.”86 Turning to more formal aspects, it is said that Manship’s work possesses “elegance, clarity of outline, streamlining of form” and that “his smooth, energetic, linear force identified with the popular requirements of modernity.”87 Enthusiasts and critics alike admire his workmanship saying, “it was very good, superbly crafted, and arrived on the scene just in time to offer an alternative to the heavy monuments of public art, which no longer seemed fashionable to the children of the very rich who had paid for memorials in the past.”88 This final characteristic - its tendency to be more gallery and garden friendly - is true of Manship’s early career when the scale is typically smaller than life-size and the themes are light. Later on, however, he is well-renowned for his large public displays such as Prometheus in Rockefeller Plaza New York, The Celestial Sphere Woodrow Wilson Memorial for the League of Nations in Geneva, and the sundial Time and the Fates of Man at the 1939 New York World’s Fair.
“It was inevitable that Manship’s streamlined style would triumph in the United States after the war, when the bloom had come off civic virtue, and the destination of sculpture was less likely to be a public plaza than a private garden. Since it had come down from the pedestal, sculpture was now more
86 See Taft (fn. 13), p. 144. 87 See Robbins (fn. 18), p. 124. 88 Ibidem, p. 124.
32 in demand for the embellishment of private outdoor spaces.”89 Daniel Robbin’s observation reveals a shift that took place following ‘the war to end all wars’, away from the idealism and moral earnestness of the decades that preceded World War I. In the age of jazz, patrons of art were more inclined to purchase objects for garden settings, or smaller, playful figures with a hint of narrative content to be displayed in a domestic setting. Accessible reference to European antiquity mixed easily, or was replaced altogether, with Eastern cultural borrowing to form an eclectic style characterized Manship’s work. His interest in Asian sources is revealed, for example, in Flight of Night (1916) which amplifies gesture and drapery to accentuate drama and movement. Gaston Lachaise – assistant to Paul Manship in the early part of the decade – had his first exhibition in 1918, which was described as “early- Egyptian, early-Arabian, at least pre-Greek!”90 Penelope Curtis points out that, “the new classicism of the early twentieth century owed as much, if not more, to pre-classical or non-Western sources as to the Classical and Renaissance traditions.”91 We are told by Sherwood that Polášek was particularly interested in the design of prehistoric Greece during his visit of the National Museum in Athens.92 An appearance of this eclectic trend in Polášek’s work might be recognized at the Theodore Thomas Memorial which will be examined later in this paper. By the time of the 1925 Paris Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts, a market for luxury goods had developed that included Art Deco sculpture. Manship’s small, well-crafted, mythologically inspired figures sat comfortably next to the chryselephantine statuettes that epitomized jazz age chic.
4.5. Expressions of Patriotism and Religion
Upon the death of American lumber merchant Benjamin Franklin Ferguson, a trust fund was established to erect statuary and monuments throughout Chicago’s public spaces. Lorado Taft’s Fountain of the Great Lakes (1907-1913) was the first installment to benefit from this fund, followed eleven years later - and just steps away - by Polášek’s Theodore Thomas Memorial and four years later, in 1928, the Ferguson Trust funded an installation by the Croatian sculptor Ivan Mestrovic. The pair of American Indian figures on horseback, titled Bowman and Spearman were created in Zagreb and brought to Chicago where the flank the entrance to Grant Park on either side of Congress Parkway. Sherwood’s biography recounts a dinner party that Polášek held in honor of Mestrovic’s visit the year the sculptures arrived and describes him thusly, “Mestrovic was a man of pleasing personality and charming manner. A pair of expressive dark eyes and a pointed black beard set off the rich ivory color
89 Ibidem, p. 138. 90 See Curtis (fn. 20), p. 219. 91 Ibidem, p. 219. 92 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 192.
33 of his skin.”93 In 1919, the Scottish historian, writer and advocate for Slavic independence, R. W. Seton- Watson summarized, “in Mestrovic there is a double current, the national and the religious. In much of his work there is intensity, a burning conviction, that comes of national consciousness; while in his later moods we find a profound piety worthy of the ages of faith”.94 The events of the 20th century often elicited very personal responses from artists; Picasso’s Guernica or Dali’s Ten Thousand Things might be cited as obvious examples. Polášek and Mestrovic were not immune to expressing their political or religious convictions through their art. Although a lengthy comparison between the sculptors cannot be accomplished here, it would be fascinating to explore the parallels between these two men. Such a study would recognize that both men lived through virtually the same period of history; both came from similar peasant backgrounds within the Austro-Hungarian Empire; both identified with their Slavic ethnicity in advocating for nationhood for their respective homelands; and both professed a strong religious faith based in the Roman Catholic Church. Despite these similarities, one would need to consider the artistic choices that each man made and the striking difference between the results those choices produced. Whereas Polášek restricted himself to a fairly naturalistic approach, Mestovic was free to express his inner vision through a greater range of stylistic modes. It is noteworthy that both sculptors turned to religious themes late in their careers. I would suggest that the pathos conveyed through Polášek’s Mother Crying over the World (1942) is a theme that Mestrovic wished to convey in Seated Woman/Meditation (1947-50) and that the highly personal and deeply religious carvings Mestrovic executed in his final years at Notre Dame University could be compared to Polášek’s head of Christ, titled Suffering from 1947 now on display in Frenštát.95 The final analysis of a study such as this might reveal those aspects of character and art that ultimately determine how an artist is regarded within the history of their art.
93 Ibidem, p. 94 Robert B. McCormick, Ivan Mestrovic at Notre Dame, Notre Dame 2003, p. 12. 95 Ibidem, p. 32.
34
5 Analysis of the Theodore Thomas Memorial
Trustees of the Art Institute of Chicago, empowered to use finances from the B. F. Ferguson Fund for the erection of monuments “commemorating worthy men or women of America or important events of American history” in Chicago’s public places, chose Polášek, along with Howard Shaw as consulting architect, to execute the Memorial to the late Theodore Thomas, founder of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.96 It was autumn of 1918 and Polášek worked on this memorial for the following six years until its dedication on April 24th 1924, during which time he reworked the design many times, presenting the committee with a total of four different models, which are enumerated by Sherwood.
5.1. Models of the ‘Spirit’
By the terms of the contract, Polášek was to submit a sketch of the monument by the first day of December 1918. Polášek submitted to the committee a small model in plastilina. Its description, given by Sherwood, corresponds essentially to the form the monument has today. However, considering inconsistencies in Sherwood’s writing, it is questionable whether or not Polášek truly had a definite idea of the final form right from the very beginning. The design was to consist of a colossal bronze figure set against the backdrop of a granite wall decorated with carved reliefs and adjoined by a bench. The figure is identified by Sherwood at this stage in the biography as “the Goddess of Music”, although later it is also referred to as a spirit or an allegory of music.97 Apart from the later indicated changes to the figure, the design of the reliefs in granite is described consistently to its final form. The proposal was accepted by the committee and Polášek proceeded with enlarging his sketch of the figure. Nevertheless, the sense of grandeur and monumentality that Polášek felt after a visit to the Grand Canyon in February 1919 caused the sculptor to abandon the initial concept of the figure. Sherwood states that Polášek destroyed the first 5-foot working model and set out to create a version, which would better reflect “the enlarged conception of Nature” he had obtained.98 Concerns about adequate monumentality of the figure reoccur during later versions as well. Although he created yet another 5- foot tall model in the fall of 1920 and had it approved by the committee, he was once more unsatisfied with it and temporarily turned his attention to the newly commissioned Yates Memorial.
One person, however, who seemed pleased with the progress of the Thomas memorial, was Daniel Chester French, who writes to Polášek on August 19th, 1921: “I think the Thomas Memorial has great beauty and charm. Your nude figure has great power and is a masterly study of the figure, with
96 Timothy Joseph Garvey, Public Sculptor: Lorado Taft and the Beautification of Chicago, Champaign 1988, p. 8. 97 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 318. 98 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 327.
35 much originality.”99 D. C. French is one of the most acclaimed American sculptors of the first decades of the twentieth-century, particularly renowned for his monumental sculpture.100 Tolles states that he was also “one of the last significant American sculptors to opt for training in Italy over Paris”, although he later spent almost a year in Paris studying the Beaux-Arts style.101 A foundation in classical training can be seen in both Polášek and French’s work. The two sculptors also share “naturalistic treatment of human form with ideal subject matter”102; a trend that French used effectively in his funerary and memorial projects. An example of an ideal theme expressed through a draped female figure can be French’s Spencer Trask Memorial (1913-15), also known as ‘The Spirit of Life’. Similarly, Polášek’s Theodore Thomas Memorial is commonly referred to as the allegorical ‘Spirit of Music’. Another of French’s figures, Mourning Victory from the Melvin Memorial (1906-08) [12], can be compared to Polášek’s ‘Spirit of Music’.103 It is a similarly rendered semi-nude female with a strong torso, de- emphasized breasts and rather unclassical facial features. Both compositions accentuate the figure’s shift of weight in the way drapery hangs from the hips and the knee protrudes from beneath the garment. Furthermore, both monuments represent symbolic female figures commemorating men who have passed away. It is also interesting to mention that Polášek used French’s popular motif of “a draped female figure for symbolic effect” in his funerary monument The Pilgrim. It’s clear that, even though Polášek declined to work in French’s studio, he valued French’s opinion of his work and drew inspiration from him.
Nevertheless, Sherwood informs us that Polášek stored the working model for the Thomas memorial in a cellar and it eventually was destroyed.104 The sculptor then began work on the fourth and final version of the spirit in the fall of 1921 [13]. He chiseled a model straight into wood, which is an unusual medium for a study since it does not readily allow for subtle changes, and would indicate that he had a clear idea of the final form in mind at this point. The half nude female holds an ornamented lyre, which she rests on her left hip, while her free right hand is raised and bent upward as if she might be holding up a torch. In fact, the gesture represents the triumphant crescendo in the act of plucking the strings of the lyre. The lower end of the instrument is ornamented with a small mask, which, as Sherwood tells us, Polášek insisted represented himself. Although Sherwood indicates that this was a last-minute touch to the final design, it is clearly visible on the earlier wooden model.
99 Ibidem, p. 337. 100 More information about D. C. French can be found in: Margaret French Cresson, Journey into Fame: The Life of Daniel Chester French, Cambridge 1947. – David B. Dearinger et al., Daniel Chester French: The Female Form Revealed, Boston 2016. – Michael Richman et al., Daniel Chester French, an American sculptor, New York 1976. 101 Thayer Tolles, Daniel Chester French (1850-1931), Helibrunn Timeline of Art History, New York 2000, https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/fren/hd_fren.htm, accessed 24. 10. 2017. 102 Ibidem. 103 For more about the Melvin Memorial, see: Omar H. Sample, A New Development in Monumental Sculpture, Art and Progress, vol. 2, no. 4, February 1911, pp. 95–100, www.jstor.org/stable/20560300, accessed 26. 10. 2017. 104 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 338.
36
Her lower body is covered in flowing drapery which is held diagonally by a decorative belt around her hips while a long cloak descends from her shoulders. She’s wearing an ornate headdress, her hair pulled back apart from a pair of curly strands that drop down around her breasts. The woman’s contrapposto, created by leaving her left leg to bear the weight and bending the right backward, is accentuated by the belt on her shifted hips. Her face is feminine and her gaze is driven forward with an expression of confidence, which permeates the whole figure. The semi-spherical base on which the female stands was, as Sherwood indicates, a part of Polášek’s sketches early on in the planning, and yet, it is absent in the wooden model. Polášek is said to have created the figure with Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in mind, which would have been incorporated into the base as a relief forming musical notation of the opening cords.
5.2. The Final Figure
Work on other commissions and his first trip to Europe after the world war had delayed the start on the final 15-foot figure [14] until January of 1923. To save time and effort, he hired a craftsman from New York to build a pointed armature of iron, wood and lath.105 He then proceeded to model the figure in plastilina, but because of its size, Polášek received permission from the AIC to work on it in space of Blackstone Hall. As he had previously done with the Yates memorial, he modeled the body and head separately, lowering the latter onto the neck with a help of a pulley.
Polášek however did not adhere to the study he carved in wood and made considerable changes while modeling the final figure in clay. Sherwood states that with each model and even during the final modeling process the ornamentation of the lyre and headdress was altered, but more importantly, Polášek now felt that the model did not sufficiently achieve the sense of gravity and universality of music that he sought to convey, finding it too feminine and gentle. He strengthened the chest by slightly changing the rounded breasts of a maiden to such that resemble somewhat swollen masculine pectoral muscles. He also defined the bone and muscle structure around the ribs and widened the torso, which further lead to the necessity of adjusting the vertical dimensions. He ignored Greek canon by foregoing the conventional seven and a half heads in proportioning the overall height of the figure, instead opting for nine heads tall. This decision deviates further from a strictly realistic rendering of anatomy, although the elongated proportions achieve a more majestic impression. The tall proportions tend to make the head appear small in relation to the body and are somewhat corrected for by the arrangement of the diadem headdress, the new decoration of which in Sherwood’s words “made for
105 Ibidem, p. 349.
37 greater dignity and more unity of design”.106 Vasari also points out that statutes in a high position should be made “one head or two taller” because of the foreshortening and Polášek’s figure is elevated on 5-foot tall base.107 The anatomical proportions are therefore idealized, yet not adhering strictly to classical Greek canon. Polášek appears to have modified the proportions to reinforce the underlying concept of the grandeur of music while taking into account the raised position of the sculpture on its pedestal.108
The countenance of the figure underwent revisions during the study process as well. The distinctly maidenly facial features became more androgynous and are reminiscent of Leonardo’s St. John the Baptist with its curly strands of hair similar to those with which Polášek now frames his sculpture’s face.109 Although the hair is long, it is now all hanging loosely down the back, the two wavy gentle strands of the model omitted. An addition was made by a laurel wreath, the leaves of which are decoratively placed over the hair. An adjustment was also made to the position of the hand, which is no longer clenched, the fingers now distinctly apart creating an expressive contour. Finally, the concept of the reliefs planned for the semi-spherical base was changed completely from musical notation to a depiction of Orpheus playing his lyre and Chibiabos - the Indian character that would be executed by Polášek later in his life as a freestanding sculpture - playing the flute. The two legendary musicians, one from classical mythology and one from Longfellow’s mythical poem, play to a buffalo, a moose, a bear and a deer - animals native to the American wild [15].110 Although interpretations of the myth of Orpheus taming animals by music have transposed over the centuries, e.g. drawing Biblical parallels to David or Jesus111, I would suggest here that the figure of Orpheus represents the pure, ideal embodiment of a musician, emphasizing the Greek roots of the art of music. He is paralleled with a Native American character, signifying that the art has been mastered in America and that its power can captivate an American audience, in the form of American animals, as well.112 It is also fitting in connection to the story of Theodore Thomas who was as a German immigrant himself, but also
106 Ibidem, p. 349. 107 Giorgio Vasari, Vasari on Technique: Being the Introduction to the Three Arts of Design, Architecture, Sculpture and Painting, Prefixed to the Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, Dover 1900, p. 145. 108 On the evolution of the canon of proportions in American sculpture, see: Jonathan L. Fairbanks, America's Measure of Mankind: Proportions and Harmonics, Smithsonian Studies in American Art, vol. 2, no. 1, 1988, pp. 73–87, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3108965, accessed 29. 10. 2017. 109 Further reading about the androgynous forms in art, see: Günther Feuerstein, Androgynos: Das Mann-Weibliche in Kunst und Architektur, Stuttgart 1997. – Catriona MacLeod, Embodying Ambiguity: Androgyny and Aesthetics from Winckelmann to Keller, Detroit 1998. 110 More about Hiawatha’s legend can be found in: Stith Thompson, Stith, The Indian Legend of Hiawatha, PMLA, vol. 37, no. 1, March 1922, pp. 128–140, www.jstor.org/stable/457211, accessed 1. 11. 2017. – Rose M. Davis, How Indian Is Hiawatha?, Midwest Folklore, vol. 7, no. 1, 1957, pp. 5–25, www.jstor.org/stable/4317617, accessed 1. 11. 2017. 111 Michael Hicks, Soothing the Savage Beast: A Note on Animals and Music, The Journal of Aesthetic Education, vol. 18, no. 4, 1984, pp. 47–55, esp. p. 49., http://www.jstor.org/stable/3332626, accessed 1. 11. 2017. 112 Similar myths to the one of Orpheus exist around the world. A comparative study of the legend of Orpheus to the Native American traditions exists. See: Robert Todd Wise, A Noncomparative Examination of the Orpheus Myth As Found in the Native American and European Traditions, Dissertation at Temple University 1998.
38 regarded as one of America’s first great symphony conductors. The figures on the base, executed in flat relief, are nude and classically inspired, Chibiabos distinguished only by a hat with a long fur tail. Polášek had used a similar ‘primitive’ headwear on a male figure representing a Native American in sculptural group titled, The Promised Land. Such an approach is reminiscent of nineteenth-century attempts to ‘Americanize’ classical sculptural models by changing clothing or physical context while retaining the formal characteristics of the model. An example of this is Thomas Crawford’s The Indian: The Dying Chief Contemplating the Progress of Civilization [16], a marble sculpture of a Native American, which derives its proportions and surface finish from the Torso Belvedere, while superficially applying recognizable facial features and the “objectified attributes” of an Indian; headdress, moccasins, blanket and hatchet.113
Modifications Polášek made to ‘Spirit of Music’ were done in pursuit of capturing and communicating the glory and solemnity of personified music. The pose expresses confidence and authority - the endeavored effect being one of awe rather than amusement, also a reason for the deliberate defeminization, which would subdue any erotic perceptions of the sculpture. The drapery creates a rhythm in the contrasting concave and convex folds and, at the same time, forms a backdrop to the figure, which produces a stronger outline of the overall sculpture. Polášek used this drapery backdrop affect several times in his work; for example, in Forest Idyl and The Mother. The garment expresses the volumes of the body and is paper thin in areas of contact with the body, such as at the knee or around the shoulders. However, as the drapery falls, its verticality echoing the strings of the lyre, it becomes heavier until it terminates in thick decorative folds at the hems, which accentuate movement and gestures and contribute to the overall harmony of the sculpture. The material choice of bronze for the monument, rather than marble seems appropriate to the form. Bronze, which was popular for American memorials compared to the classical connotations of stone, is used to express the fluid motion of the fabric in a way that would have been difficult in more rigid and solid marble. Furthermore, the metallic figure contrasts nicely with the granite wall behind, which serves not only as its backdrop, but as a surface to inscribe a commemoration to memorials namesake as well. Polášek repeats this foil of bronze against stone later in his funerary monument Pilgrim at the Eternal Gate.
5.3. Iconography
It has already been established that there was a tradition in America for sculptors adopt the poses of classical precedents, or to alter classical models to fit the contemporary context. During the three years that Polášek lived and worked in Rome, along with his extensive travels throughout the continent
113 See Crawford (fn. 21), p. 43.
39 visiting the finest museums, he would most certainly have been inspired by the ancient art he witnessed along the way. The half-nude figure he created for the Thomas memorial, with its classical attire and ancient instrument is never referred to as a muse and there is no indication given by Sherwood as to Polášek’s intention of creating a muse. Rather it is called the ‘Spirit of Music’, the personification of an abstract concept and is therefore a materialized allegory. His preference for abstract titles recurs again and again in Polášek’s pieces; Forest Idyl of 1924, for example, could have comfortably been termed a forest nymph or a dryad, and the official titles of Spirit of the Desert and Spirit of the Woods are further examples. Perhaps he believed that distancing the piece from direct mythological reference, it would be regarded as more timeless and therefore more contemporary than the form would suggest. This approach perhaps made Polášek feel he had more artistic freedom in constructing the figure by not being tied to specific traditional iconography. His concerns about the personification appearing overly feminine, and his subsequent steps to create a more androgynous solution lead to different archetypes than a muse. Moreover, the muses are rarely depicted as solitary figures (sculptural representations are known only from written sources).114 The figure doesn’t coincide with any one given iconographical model, but rather seems to be eclectically constructed from different elements. That being said, I would like to assert that the final sculpture has most in common with the images of the patron god of music and the leader of the muses Apollo, specifically with the type of Apollo Kitharoidos or Citharoedus.115
As the name implies, Apollo Citharoedus is portrayed holding or playing a lyre, usually in his left hand and most typically the type known as a kithara, “the great concert instrument of the Greeks used in contests, theatre and festivals”.116 A similar type, the Apollo Musagetes, is also represented with a lyre or a stringed instrument, but as the leader of the muses, he is usually shown in their company.117 It should be noted that the muse of music Euterpé is conventionally depicted with a flute rather than a stringed instrument, which is on the contrary associated with Terpsichoré, the muse of dance and song. Polášek’s avoidance of a feminine representation could be an attempt to distance the figure from the muses. The instrument she holds is more of a harp than it is a lyre, because the strings of a harp enter directly into the hollowed frame of the instrument as opposed to passing over a bridge and more importantly a harp is plucked by the fingers, while a lyre usually with a plectrum.118 Of the lyres that were played by the fingers, the one most similar to Polášek’s instrument would be the three-sided
114 Bertrand Jaeger – Pierre Müller – Bruno Margi et al., Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae (LMIC): et, Addenda Kassandra I, Kyknos I, Mousa, Mousai, Musae, Nestor. VII, Oidipous-Theseus, Zürich 1994, p. 659. 115 For more information on the changing iconography of Apollo in Greek art, see: Karl Arno Pfeiff, Apollon. Die Wandlung seines Bildes in der griechischen Kunst, Frankfurt am Main 1943. 116 Thomas J. Mathiesen, Apollo's Lyre: Greek Music and Music Theory in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Lincoln 1999, p. 236. 117 Helene E. Roberts, Encyclopedia of Comparative Iconography: Themes Depicted in Works of Art, Abingdon 2013, p. 981. 118 Michael Levy, Composer for Lyre, 2017 [online], available at: http://www.ancientlyre.com/historical_research/, accessed 6. 11. 2017.
40 trigonon. Polášek would most certainly have known the differences between the various instruments through his musical interests or through the archives of the AIC. However, Sherwood refers to the instrument solely as a lyre, which could indicate that Polášek defined it that way as well. We can assume that it was a formal choice to create an original instrument, which enabled him to ornament it with his own designs.
There are several poses that sculptures of Apollo Kitharoidos have taken on, either sitting or standing. Most often they are holding the instrument in the left hand, as Polášek’s ‘Spirit’ does. In the early imperial Rome, a popular type of upright Kitharoidos was one in a dance-like pose, one foot holding the weight and the other drawn back in expression of a dance step reflected by flowing dynamic drapery around the legs, very much like the rendering of Polášek’s figure. One example of this type is the Apollo found in the villa of Quintus Voconius Pollio and acquired by pope Leo XIII in 1886 for the Vatican Museum [17]. Polášek could readily have seen this, along with other examples, during his years in Rome.119 In Greek sculpture, Apollo Kitharoidos is portrayed fully clothed. However, in the Roman Imperial era a half-nude Apollo appears in large sculpture, wearing a chiton that has fallen to cover only the lower half of his body, one of the first known examples being the Apollo from the Temple in Cyrene, which Polášek may have seen during his visit to the British Museum [18]. The representation of Apollo is usually very sensual, his figure frequently androgynous – the Apollo from Cyrene even being compared to the Venus de Milo.120 The god is frequently depicted with long hair, drawn to the back behind the head with a few strands occasionally falling down in front. And it is not only the development toward a more androgynous build that indicates Polášek’s move toward an Apollo-like final figure. The halo-like pattern on the diadem, reminiscent of the role of Apollo as the sun god, was reinforced by a laurel wreath, Apollo’s common headwear, the final hint that Polášek derives his concept from depictions of Apollo.
Roman sculptures of Apollo Kithadoros are not the only sources of symbolic imagery that Polášek may have incorporated into the ‘Spirit of Music’. The classical diadem, or headdress, is not unusual to find on a wide variety of Greek and Roman sculptures. However, the one that Polášek has provided here is decidedly larger, wider and subtly shaped like a linden leaf. Whether intentional or not, it certainly is reminiscent of the traditional Russian kokoshnik.121 He had previously used linden
119 Silva Aglietti – Dario Rose, La villa di Quinto Voconio Pollione. Le vicende ottocentesche, in: Silva Aglietti – Dario Rose, Tra Alba Longa e Roma, 2008, pp. 79–110, esp. p. 100, https://www.academia.edu/4991139/La_villa_di_Quinto_Voconio_Pollione._Le_vicende_ottocentesche_in_S._Aglietti_D._ Rose_a_cura_di_Tra_Alba_Longa_e_Roma._Incontro_di_studi_sul_territorio_di_Ciampino_2008_, accessed 5. 11. 2017. 120 Jean-Robert Gisler – Pierre Müller – Christian Augé, Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae (LMIC). II, Aphrodisias- Athena, Zürich 1984, p. 383. 121 Examples of Russian kokoshniks: Auguste Racinet, Geschichte des kostüms in chronologischer entwicklung von A. Racinet, Berlin 1888, p. 163,
41 leaves, overtly, as symbols of the five provinces of Czechoslovakia on the Victory medal for the Czechoslovakian cause.122 Perhaps Polášek added this features as subtle Slavic reference - a personal imprint of the creator, who took every opportunity to express his pride and patriotism for the land of his birth. His biographer recounts various parties he hosted for which he, and the students he employed as servers, would be dressed in Moravian costumes and traditional Bohemian and Polish dishes were served. Although he presented himself foremost as a Moravian, the most ardent example being the self-portrait in Moravian attire for the National Academy of Design in New York, he seemed to have adopted a general Slavic image by embracing elements of other Slavic cultures in his presentation, a special example being a substantial collection of “traditional Slavic art” in his studio.123
The ‘Spirit of Music’ figure is evocative of other sculptural antecedents beside the predominant Apollo Kithadoros examples. The presence of the diadem and raised right arm bring to mind Juno Campana and Barberini Juno or versions of Ceres, the goddess of agriculture, raising a torch or a sheaf of wheat, but the affinity with Polášek’s figure is too equivocal to discern the precise source of inspiration. There is one specific model that could come into mind of especially American spectators, however, which held a significant emotional bond for Polasek – the Statue of Liberty by Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi. Sherwood tells us that when Polášek arrived in the United States for the first time “he saluted with his whole heart the Statue of Liberty, whose uplifted torch symbolized to him as to countless thousands the light of a new life”.124 The Statue of Liberty is herself an amalgam of elements taken from classical personages such as Truth, Faith, Liberty, Eternal Felicity and Divinity, “but because of its notoriety, the total configuration of the statue became itself the symbol of liberty”.125 The principal connection was however with the figure of Faith, who cradles the New Testament in her left hand, while her right is raised holding a heart with a flaming candle. The nimbus and the torch lifted in the right hand of the Statute of Liberty evoke an “idea of radiance” and were a popular combination, not only in antiquity, but in public works of the end of 19th century.126 Polášek’s figure, despite the dissimilarity of specific details, is in my estimation evocative of the Statue of Liberty, especially for American viewers. Particularly immigrants at the beginning of the twentieth century, who arrived through nearby Ellis Island in New York harbor, would not fail to miss the similarity. It is not just the draping classical garments, the androgynous facial features, the sturdy, upright female figures, the one
https://archive.org/stream/geschichtedeskos05raci#page/n161/mode/2up/search/russland, accessed 8. 11. 2017. 122 More on the linden tree as a symbol: R. V. Ţenche-Constantinescu at al., The symbolism of the linden tree, Journal of Horticulture, Forestry and Biotechnology, vol. 19, no. 2, 2015, p. 237–243, http://www.journal-hfb.usab- tm.ro/romana/2015/Lucrari%20PDF/Lucrari%20PDF%2019(2)/41Tenche%20Alina%202.pdf, accessed 7. 11. 2017. 123 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 354. 124 Ibidem, p. 98. 125 Marvin Trachtenberg, The Statue of Liberty, New York 1977, p. 79, https://archive.org/details/statueofliberty00marv, accessed 15. 11. 2017. 126 Ibidem, p. 75.
42 arm raised and object resting on the opposite hip, but especially the mental connection made from the nimbus-like pattern on the headdress to the gesture of the raised right hand. In connection with the lyre it is in a decidedly exultant motion of plucking the instrument, yet the hand is in such a position that the association with bearing a torch is conceivable to the specific audience.
Polášek’s desire to associate the ‘Spirit of Music’ with the American symbol of liberty would make sense on several levels. Firstly, it may have been an attempt of Americanization an otherwise classical figure through a visual correlation with the quintessential American statue. This reinforces what I previously demonstrated in the way the relief sculptures on the base of Orpheus and Chibiabos are a bridge between the Old World and The New. Secondly, it may be a recognition that America accepted the immigrant Theodore Thomas, as well as the immigrant Albin Polášek, and gave them the opportunity to express their art and find success in their adopted home. And finally, on a more conceptual level, it could also intimate the liberating aspect of music itself.
5.4. The Ensemble with the Granite Wall
The granite frieze [19] consists of seven panels, which create a horizontal band on level with the base for the statue. When viewed from the front [20] the central granite panel is obscured by the plinth and bronze hemisphere base. The three panels on either side portray the two halves of the orchestra, the seated musicians on each side facing toward the center. Sherwood states that the reliefs were intentionally flat and decorative “so as not to compete with the main figure”.127 To achieve this, Polášek used a sunk relief technique, creating bas-reliefs with a demonstrably Egyptian feel. He carved the reliefs after finishing the bronze figure during the summer of 1923, less than a year after the opening of Tutanchamun’s tomb in 1922, an event that “rekindled a popular enthusiasm for Egyptian art”.128 The linear figures and their instruments are defined by pronounced outlines, which are easily recognizable from afar. The surfaces within the outlines are kept flat, suggestion of volumes of the bodies almost absent. Details are focused primarily on the faces and instruments. The figures are not done in the typical Egyptian conventions for constructing figures, but are fashioned with the use of arbitrary elements evoking Egyptian art.129 For example, the sharp silhouettes of feet in profile and the shape of the seats are reminiscent of those seen in Egyptian reliefs. As mentioned above, we know of Polášek’s shared interested in Egyptian art with Alfons Mucha at nearly the same time he was working on the memorial. Although his trip to Egypt didn’t take place until almost ten years later, we know he
127 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 318. 128 See Curtis (fn. 20), p. 220. 129 More about figure conventions in Egyptian art can be found in: Erik Iversen – Yoshiaki Shibata, Canon and Proportions in Egyptian Art, Warminster 1975. – W. S. Smith – W. K. Simpson, The Art and Architecture of Ancient Egypt, New Haven 1998.
43 admired Egyptian art in the collection of the AIC. Perhaps a wall fragment from the Tomb of Thenti dated to the Old Kingdom, which was purchased by the Institute in 1920, may have provided inspiration for the positions of the legs, or shape of the feet for instance. Furthermore, it could be pointed out that this ‘Egyptian treatment’ by Polášek proceeds by nearly a decade, Gaston Lachaise’s similar treatment of The Conquest of Time (1933) at the Chicago World’s Fair.130
Theodore Thomas’s name is inscribed in large lettering under the feet of the performers in such a way that from the frontal view the name Theodore can be seen to the left of the bronze’s plinth and Thomas to the right. The obscured central panel, which can be observed only after moving around the bronze sculpture, depicts a portrait head of the conductor in profile with an inscription around it reading “Scarcely any man in any land has done so much for the musical education of the people as did Theodore Thomas in this country. The nobility of his ideals, with the magnitude of his achievement will assure him everlasting glory”. Consequently, from a frontal perspective, the viewer’s focus is mainly drawn to the bronze figure. Afterward, he can examine the overall composition, noticing the inscribed name, which reveals the commemorative function of the sculptural ensemble. This leads to a required movement of the viewer, which gradually reveals the entirety of the monument. If he wishes, he may proceed to walk up the steps and around the bronze, the closer distance enabling him to inspect the reliefs on the globe along the way. Approaching the granite wall, the viewer can discover more about the man being commemorated by reading the inscription or looking at his portrait. While sitting on the bench, the viewer takes the perspective of a member of the orchestra, mirroring the seated positions of the musicians above, with a view toward the back of the bronze and beyond into the distance following the conducting gesture of the ‘Spirit of Music’ itself.
5.5. Beautifying the City
Collaboration between architects and sculptors was a common practice from the beginning of the American Renaissance. Together they sought to harmonize the sculpture with the architectural elements of stone plinths, arcades, plazas of the surrounding environment. Sculptors often developed long-term partnerships with prominent architects, for example D. C. French partnered with Henry Bacon, with whom he created among others the mentioned Melvin Memorial.131 Polášek, on the other hand, never nurtured such a collaborative arrangement. Information regarding Polášek’s interaction with the architect, Howard Shaw, on the Thomas project is missing and it is therefore difficult to judge the extent of his contribution to the concept of the memorial. Some indication was given that Shaw
130 See Robbins (fn. 18), p. 155. 131 See Tolles, From Model to Monument (fn. 60).
44 designed the granite wall carved with Polášek’s reliefs, and it would not be unreasonable to guess he may have contributed to the stone pedestal and the stepped plaza that connects all these elements.132 We do however get a glimpse of Polášek’s attitudes toward artistic collaboration from various parts of the Sherwood biography where she writes: “He soon found that to maintain his high standard he must do his work alone. It proved as unbearable to let others help him as it had been for him to work for others…(He) was criticized even by his own pupils, who compared him with sculptors who let their students help with commissions. Polášek found that he could not do it. He felt with each piece of work that his integrity as an artist was at stake. It had to be as fine as he could make it, or he could not do it at all. He could not compromise with his goddess of Art”.133 Although the statement refers to the sculpting process rather than to conceptual collaboration, it again demonstrates the recurring pattern of Polášek’s inability to compromise and collaborate with other artists. This appears to be a habit of his childhood that recurred throughout his life, as seen in his rejection of apprenticeships.
Cooperation between the various artistic disciplines was however the initial concept behind the American Academy in Rome; a place where sculptors, like Polášek, were expected to work together with architects and painters to create harmonized compositions that would embellish American cities. This vision grew out of the City Beautiful movement, which temporarily became manifest at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, where Charles McKim conceived the idea of the Academy. Therefore, Polášek was not only educated under the principles of the City Beautiful movement, but also built his career in Chicago - a city where this movement held a strong connection.134 The Commission of 1913 to ‘Make Chicago Beautiful’ and the B.F. Ferguson Fund for public monuments are two examples of the movement in action.135 The Thomas memorial was intended not only to commemorate an individual, but also to serve the public good of ‘beautifying’ the urban environment and raising the collective consciousness by educating and inspiring through the arts. The dual function of memorializing a deceased conductor and beautifying the city was a challenge that required a serious response. Rather than a heavily somber, melancholy remembrance, Polášek chose the didactic and allegorical approach through the personification of the spirit of music, the commemorated man’s profession. This creates more opportunities for decorative effects and engages the public with an
132 Dennis H. Cremin, Grant Park: The Evolution of Chicago’s Front Yard, Carbondalle 2013, p. 112. 133 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 316. 134 For further information about the City Beautiful movement, see: W. H. Wilson, The City Beautiful movement, Baltimore 1989. – Jon A. Peterson, The Birth of City Planning in the United States, 1840–1917, Baltimore 2003. – Contemporary views on the movement can be found in: Frank Koester, AMERICAN CITY PLANNING, The American Architect, vol. 102, 12. 10. 1912, p.141, https://uofi.app.box.com/s/20j5jjqofimsy430vzfjclcin4k8xxeq, accessed 19. 11. 2017. About the influence of the movement in the world, see: Robert Freestone, The internationalization of the City Beautiful, International Planning Studies, vol. 12, no. 1, Robert, 23. 5. 2007, https://doi.org/10.1080/13563470701346527, accessed 19. 11. 2017. 135 Further information about the Chicago Plan can be found in: Walter D. Moody, ‘The Chicago Plan’: To Make Chicago Beautiful, Healthful and Convenient, Fine Arts Journal, vol. 29, no. 3, September 1913, pp. 560–574, www.jstor.org/stable/25587202, accessed 19. 11. 2017.
45 accessible and eternal concept than would have been available had it simply been a portrait monument to Thomas the man. At the same time, the public is invited to participate further by approaching and viewing the granite frieze to learn more about the celebrant. The commemorative function of a public memorial, which had become less popular after World War I, was in that way subdued by initially attracting the attention to the allegorical bronze.
The location and setting of monuments was of the utmost importance for artists working under the principles of the City Beautiful movement. Sherwood tells us that the relationship of sculpture to its surroundings, especially architecture was always a crucial point made by Polášek as a teacher. Assignments of certain scale were given to the students in order to practice these skills, which included proper sizing of the pedestal for the dimensions of the sculpture. She goes on to say that Polášek maintained the assertion that the size of a piece must be determined in connection to the space of the final location, bearing in mind the distances to buildings around it. In accordance with these principles, Polášek created the monument for the specific site at the end of Jackson boulevard directly south of the AIC. The memorial was to face west down the long street, which would have been illuminated by afternoon sunlight. The bronze figure would have cast its shadow onto the granite wall, while the contours of the sunken reliefs would have been sharp and distinct. However, even before the completion of the memorial and beyond the sculptors control, the site had to be moved slightly closer to the AIC, because Jackson boulevard was extended east into the park. It was in this revised location that the memorial was unveiled with the sound of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and placed in the permanent shadow of adjacent high-rise buildings. Furthermore, it suffered further interventions over the following decades. In 1941, because of the reconstruction of the AIC garden, the bronze figure was separated from the frieze and placed in front of a classical peristyle near Randolph street and in 1953 was forced into storage due to construction of an underground garage. Five years later, it was brought back to public view near Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park, yet still without its original granite backdrop. Finally, in 1991 it was moved to its current location at Bilbao Drive and Michigan Ave., reunited with its granite frieze, which had been lost since the separation and just recently rediscovered on the banks of Lake Michigan. It is facing north toward the nearby AIC and is again covered in the shadows of the tall neighboring edifices. It is, however, located in an area of the park directly facing a stage where musical performances take place. The small park-within-the-park is well defined by pathways and landscape plantings, which deliberately draw the visitor to the center, from which the viewer may face the memorial from an adequate distance. It is a testament to the endurance of the monument to have inspired the contemporary setting in which it resides. Although it never was presented as Polášek initial envisioned it would be, he made use of the experience later in his career
46 with the citing of the Wilson Monument when he insisted on placing it farther from the busy street because of his discontent with the proximity of Michigan Avenue traffic to the Thomas Memorial.
5.6. Connection to Archaism
As previously mentioned, nineteenth-century American society did not readily accept nudity, even if partially dressed in classical attire, when it came to publicly displayed sculpture. Such attitudes were still prevalent in 1916 when Polášek’s The Sower stirred controversy among Chicagoans. Despite the bare torso of the ‘Spirit of Music’, it is interesting to note that it spurred a debate over something entirely different. Detractors called out the androgynous character of the figure which, to them, was nothing like the slim ideal of feminine beauty popular in the 1920’s. Moreover, some critics disapproved of the exaggerated proportions of the figure – the exact quality Polášek was deliberately striving to achieve. Irwin Tucker of The Chicago Herald and Examiner found fault in the scale of both The Sower and the ‘Spirit of Music’, writing in 1927 that “it is on too great a scale to be beheld close by. Both of (the statutes) require distance to soften down their heroic proportions to dimensions we little folk may easily comprehend”.136 This attitude reflects the shift in preferences after World War I from large public monuments to smaller and more intimate sculpture, which was discussed earlier in relation to the popularity of Manship’s archaistic statuettes, although it was also noted that Manship later created large public statuary as well. We can trace a hint of the archaistic fashion in Polášek’s Theodore Thomas Memorial by examining the characteristics of archaism of the time. References to classical narratives are clearly depicted around the base in the reliefs of Orpheus charming animals and then, of course, in the goddess-like figure who personifies music. Although the titles of Polášek’s pieces don’t contain direct allusion to classical mythology, his formal approach to the body is more authentically classical and less stylized than Manship’s interpretations. Unlike Manship, who often identifies his figures as mythological characters, Polášek prefers vaguer and more abstract titles. One feature of archaism which is shared with the Theodore Thomas Memorial is the eclectic mix of styles and references to ancient cultures. Behind a predominantly Hellenic-inspired statue, Polášek set a frieze wall treated in flat bas-relief with a decidedly Egyptian feel. As mentioned earlier, stylization referencing art of different ancient cultures and the departure from strictly Western authority was a popular theme in Manship’s work as exemplified in the Hindi inspired Dancer and Gazelles (1916).
In the decades following Polášek’s return from Rome, a number of his sculptures reveal characteristics of the Archaism that was in vogue in those years and reasonably associate Polášek to
136 Irwin St. John Tucker, Chicago’s statues: Polasek’s ‘Sower’, The Chicago Herald and Examiner, Chicago 23. 5. 1927, in: Art Institute of Chicago – Ryerson Library, Art Institute Scrapbook, reel 54, p. 57–58.
47 the manner. Perhaps, after the several paid commissions for portrait busts, the aspiring sculptor in his New York studio felt comfortable enough to embark on a speculative work when created a small (16 inch/41 cm), modeled figure of a seated female titled Aspiration [21]. Holding aulos pipes in one hand, and a disembodied, winged cherub in the other, the figure twists her head back to drink inspiration from the muse. Deeply folded drapery below one thigh intertwines and accentuates the figures long, angular legs eventually terminating at sandaled feet. These purely decorative elements further reinforce the classical feel of the piece. Although the figure shares the taut, smooth surface anatomy characteristic of classical modernism, the hair and drapery retain a more naturalistic treatment than the stylized effect that Manship employed. Several years later, Polášek created a companion piece to Aspiration called The Bubble with a similarly seated and twisting female figure – mirrored symmetrically – but in lieu of a flute and cherub muse, the girl holds a small bowl in one hand and balances a bubble on the raised wrist of her opposite hand. With tilted head and pursed lips, reminiscent of her earlier companion, she playfully blows at her ephemeral toy. Her bare foot holds down a crescent moon amidst a bed of clouds. Although the figure is rendered in the same, smoothly finished manner as before, the hair is depicted with incised parallel waves more like one might see in Manship’s Centaur and Dryad. The size, form and light thematic motif appear directed at a similar audience, yet again Polášek’s fanciful creations lack the narrative that Manship’s derive from mythological reference. Even the rhythmic effect of gesture, apparel and prancing fawns in Dancer and Gazelles create movement that can be heard. Contrast this with Polášek’s Forest Idyl with its well ground, voluptuous female holding a young fawn in one arm while its mother looks on attentively. Her robe - serving as a backdrop for the figure – hangs heavily to the ground, while her free hand lifts the hem in attempt to balance the composition. The connected gaze of the three creatures is endearing, but the overall effect is somber and pensive as opposed to the airy jubilance of Manship’s light-footed dancer. Despite their difference, The Thomas Memorial remains a telling example of how the archaistic trend that came out of the American Academy in Rome had an influence on Polášek’s work.
5.7. Foundations of Polášek’s work: Maiden of the Roman Campagna
Closer consideration of one of Polášek’s earlier pieces created at the Roman Academy may shed light on the foundations of the sculptor’s work in order to reveal his progression as an artist. The Maiden of the Roman Campagna [22] was modeled in 1911 when Polášek was in his second year at the Academy and, because the fellows were not restricted by requirements, was conceived freely without the impetus of a patron or an assignment. It is the depiction of a young woman in bronze and yet, unlike the ‘Spirit of Music’ which was executed on a monumental scale, is a rather small statuette of only four feet tall. Therefore, it has an entirely different function than a large, public memorial and is instead
48 planned as an academic work that would sit well in a private collection or a museum gallery. Sculptures of this size and subject matter were highly marketable at the time. His biographer indicates that he saved money from his stipend to have the statuette cast at a foundry in Rome, along with The Sower and several unspecified busts, prior to returning to America. The Maiden did in fact meet with success. At the Panama-Exposition of 1915, where Polášek sold a number of pieces and won a Silver Medal, he sold two copies of the Maiden to private collectors from Chicago and New York.
The completely nude figure stands with her weight shifted onto her left leg while the right is relaxed and the heel is slightly raised off the ground. The contrapposto is similar to ‘Spirit of Music’, yet she is not in forward motion, but rather standing in place gazing at the ground with her head slightly bowed. Her left hand reaches up to the side of her head with the palm facing up and the bent arm is a counterpoint to the right leg. She raises her right hand above her head, holding the end of one of her two long braids along with a flower. The other braid wraps around her left ear and over the top of her head, falling loosely down past her shoulder. The hair around her pensive, yet serine face is decorated with delicate flowers. She stands on a simple utilitarian base with minimal decoration. Her pose is not dynamic, but very calm with no indication of extreme or rapid movement. Anatomical proportions conform to the classical canon of seven and a half heads to the height of the overall figure, the facial features are realistically handled with a subtle display of inner contemplation seen in the slightly open mouth and downward gaze. The surface of the body is smooth and refined, contrasting the more textural element of the flowers and hair, which draw attention to the wistful face. Although a freestanding statue, the figure is to be mainly viewed frontally inviting the observer to focus on the part of greatest activity – the face, for the mental activity seems to exceed the physical.
After returning from Rome, Polášek created a statuette he titled Aspiration as the answer to a debate with another sculptor, who believed that sculpture should have one dominant viewing plane. Sherwood tells us that Polášek “favored statutes with a definite front, but insisted that other views were also tremendously important and that the composition should be made harmonious all around”.137 Polášek applied the principles visible in the Maiden to his later work as well. He held a “high ideal that the basics design must be made by the movement of the figure” and “drapery and accessories must be supplementary. He felt that in sculpture, as in architecture, ornament must be entirely subservient to the main structure”, the simplicity of the Maiden’s figure being an extreme example of this principle.138
137 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 271. 138 Ibidem, p. 272.
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Sherwood describes the figure as having “dignity and nobility of a priestess, in character, if not in size, expressive of the heroic. The grandeur of its very simplicity recalls the solidity and power of classical Rome”.139 Comparing the young girl, who exposes her nude body to the viewer seemingly unaware of his gaze while playing with her hair, to a dignified priestess is somewhat incredulous, but I think Sherwood was trying to express and underpin the strong effect of clarity and directness the figure conveys. There are no distracting objects or a difficult body position to confuse the spectator. And it is precisely the natural behavior of the girl, who being absorbed in her own thoughts isn’t trying to cover her nakedness, nor attract the observer, that creates a sense of her integrity, purity and innocence that perhaps lead Sherwood to her statement. What she was correct about, however, is the measure to which the figure is reminiscent of classical Rome, though the models for Polášek’s Maiden were by no means depictions of priestesses, but without any doubt, the sculptural representations of Aphrodite Anadyomene.
The iconographic type of Aphrodite Anadyomene represents the goddess in the moment of her birth from the foam of the sea, portrayed through the conventional motif of her wringing out water from her hair [23].140 A search for the precisely first sculptural representation of Anadyomene has occupied art historians up until this day. At the beginning of the 20th century, scholars debated Furtwängler’s 1901 assertion that the original prototype was a bronze executed by the ancient sculptor Euphranor in the 4th century BC and, although different judgements were made later on, this was the predominant opinion at the time Polášek created his Maiden.141 Bronze was therefore associated with the ancient archetype, which made it a fitting choice for the statuette. The theme remained popular for centuries, resulting in numerous sculptural examples having survived from antiquity. It should be noted that artworks inspired by or explicitly titled as Aphrodite Anadyomene were popular even to the modern times - Venus Anadyomene by the sculptor William Wetmore Story from 1864 being a later- day, American example. In ancient sources, Anadyomene was most commonly depicted in a standing position, either entirely nude or with drapery covering the lower half of the body, generally knotted at the groin. Marble figures were occasionally fitted with supports in the symbolic form of “a dolphin, a Priapus, an Eros, a vase, a triton, or a combination of these figures”.142 Polášek omits any attributes that would connect his Maiden explicitly with Aphrodite, presenting us only with the figure itself. However, the classical poses associated with Anadyomene are essentially consistent, and agree
139 Ibidem, p. 225. 140 Jean-Robert Gisler et al. (fn. 120), p. 54. 141 Furwängler’s theory: Adolf Furwängler, Aphrodite Diadumene und Anadyomene, München 1901. 142 Marianne Eileen Wardle, Naked and Unashamed: A Study of the Aphrodite Anadyomene in the Greco-Roman World, Dissertation at the Department of Art, Art History and Visual Studies Duke University 2010, p. 10, https://dukespace.lib.duke.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/10161/3120/NakedandUnashamedFinalSubmission.pdf?sequenc e=1, accessed 21. 11. 2017.
50 remarkably well, with those of the Maiden: hands lifting the center-parted hair, right hand raised above the ear and the left to shoulder height, the head bowed slightly and a contrapposto with the left leg carrying the weight. “Like many other naked Aphrodites, the Anadyomene was not posed to conceal the body, but with arms raised, naked and unashamed, exposing the goddess’ body to the gaze.”143 Another prevalent feature is Anadyomene’s body type, characterized by full hips and thighs and smaller breasts, and the predominantly frontally oriented composition. “Anadyomene’s slightly down-turned head and rather blank facial expression create an impression of self-absorption and preoccupation”, a further element of the Maiden that corresponds to the archetype. On the other hand, Polášek deviates slightly with the rendering of the hair. While Aphrodite’s hair is either completely unbound or partially tied in the back, Polášek’s Maiden has a pair of long flat braids, which are not a typical classical hairstyle. Perhaps this could be another subtle reference to the sculptor’s Slavic background and an homage to his culture. Polášek was proud of this statuette years after its execution, which is clearly demonstrated by the fact that he painted the image of the Maiden in the background of his self-portrait for his induction into the National Academy of Design in New York in 1927. In this painting, he chose to present himself in traditional Moravian costume and carved the picture frame with Moravian motifs. It is apparent that he wished to associate himself, not only with his Moravian origin, but with the classical influences of his academic training; the two foundations of his work.
We are told by Sherwood that Polášek employed a model named Caterina, a local Roman girl, to stand for the Maiden and we can infer that the more realistic facial features are hers. Paul Manship also speaks of using model named Caterina during his time in Rome and Susan Rather makes a connection between the body type of the Maiden and Manship’s Duck Girl [24], both created in the same year at the Academy.144 It is clear that studying classical sculpture in Rome influenced Manship’s work as well. The dynamic deep folds of the Duck Girl’s peplos, the dance-like stride of sandaled feet, the position of the right hand and the slightly turned head adorned by a wreath may remind us for example of the very similar execution of the previously discussed Apollo from the Villa of Quintus Voconius Pollio. Be it the Apollo, or any other ancient sculpture that was the source of Manship’s inspiration for Duck Girl, we can sense the original approach in the light dynamic pose of the figure and focus on the structure of lines, something Manship developed in his later productions, creating an effect of a visibly ‘modern’ sculpture. The piece received a favorable review at the time by art critic Kenyon Cox, who wrote “we are as far from the mechanically constructed pseudo-classic ideal as from
143 Ibidem, p. 5. 144 See Rather (fn. 37), p. 262.
51 vulgar realism…It seems to me an original work of true classic inspiration”.145 And Curtis says that “Manship absorbed his homework without making it too obvious; he wore his learning lightly”.146 Compared to Manship, Polášek’s Maiden is much closer to the classical models with only hints of new approaches to the subject, which are nonetheless identifiable.
Of the many directions that sculpture was taking at the turn of the 20th century, I previously mentioned the reaction to fragmentation of the body and move towards a smooth, full surface treatment. Moreover, I pointed out that stylistic explorations often utilized the nude, female figure as the subject of such experimentation. “...the use of a figural type sufficiently established in itself to allow sculptors to concentrate on nuances of internal and formal variation rather than on dramatic profile or narrative thrust. Such a framework was provided by the standing female nude, the treatment of which was progressively simplified.”147
Finally, I would like to make the observation that the Maiden of the Roman Campagna seems to share an affinity with certain ideas coming out of Munich around this time. The sculptor and theoretician Adolf von Hildebrand had moved to Italy in 1872 to study Florentine Renaissance sculpture although, “his influence was associated with Munich, where he worked after returning from Florence and Munich thus came to represent a restrained and archaizing classicism.”148 Hildebrand’s 1893 essay Das Problem der Form, asserted that “truth is revealed in form, with subject matter of relatively minor importance. This idea had immense impact on the formalist aesthetics of twentieth- century Modernism.”149 The stability and symmetrical grounding that Hildebrand gives a piece like Der junge Jäger [25] is unmistakably akin to Polášek’s Maiden. Moreover, the Maiden, as well as The Sower, share a strong stylistic resemblance to the work of another German sculptor active in this period; Georg Kolbe. Although Polášek never explicitly acknowledges influence from the German classical school, the stylistic expression has much in common.
5.8. Later work: A note on Radegast
One of Polášek’s later creations, the monument of the pagan god Radegast, would appear to be an anomaly in comparison to Polášek’s previous oeuvre, yet it is one of his best-known pieces among
145 Ibidem, p. 118. 146 Ibidem, p. 220. 147 Ibidem, p. 219. 148 Ibidem, p. 216. 149 The J. Paul Getty Museum, Adolf von Hildebrand [online], available at: http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/artists/849/adolf-von-hildebrand-german-1847-1921/, accessed 17. 11. 2017. – For Hildebrand’s original work, see: Adolf von Hildebrand, Das Problem der Form in der bildenden Kunst, Strassburg 1918, available at: https://archive.org/details/dasproblemderfor00hilduoft.
52 people in Czech Republic today. One ethnological study done at the Department of European Ethnology at Masaryk University has found that the most common associations of Czechs from all across the Republic with Mount Radhošť is specifically Radegast, statue or god.150 It is not surprising, because the sculpture has become a symbol not only of the mountain and the region, thanks to lively tourism, and a local brewery, which used the sculpture’s image for their brand label, but also to the likeness of the pagan god himself. In another study conducted by the Department, research sought to reveal the public’s knowledge of who sculpted Radegast, however the respondents were mostly local and Polášek is well known in Frenštát and the surrounding areas.151 Yet, in regions of the country further from his birthplace, it is my impression that his name has mostly been forgotten. Moreover, he was not essentially a Moravian artist, but rather an American, or specifically a relatively successful Chicago sculptor, who created Radegast. The sculpture should therefore be regarded in the light of all that has been said here about its creator, for there are elements of Radegast that reflect Polášek’s earlier work and his American ideas.
It was in 1925 that Polášek dedicated part of his summer in Moravia to carving his first image of Radegast, a small wooden sculpture only two feet in height. Sherwood describes the figure as follows: “He treated the new statuette formally rather than realistically, depicting a benignant, dignified, white- bearded old fellow holding his harvest horn-of-plenty, his formal robe flowed outward toward the base giving him a cone shape similar to fir trees”.152 The benevolent god is depicted sheltering a deer under his cloak and Polášek painted it in silver and colors. The fact that he brought the carving home with him to Chicago, despite his annual visits to Moravia, indicates that the idea of executing a full-size version may not have developed in his mind at this point. But the theme of the pagan god lingered in Polášek’s mind since that first small carving.
He finally became determined to create a Slavic monument that would stand on mount Radhošť, the location where, as legend has it, the god’s idol once stood centuries ago. “He felt a missionary zeal to link the Slavonic past to the present, to bring to the world of today a glimpse of the picturesque poetry of Slavonic antiquity”.153 This statement by Sherwood may remind us of Mestrovic’s “burning conviction that comes of national consciousness” as described by R. W. Seton-Watson, and is indicative of the contemporary trend among immigrant artists of dedicating monuments to their homelands. Because it was a personal gift of the artist, Polášek had complete freedom in determining its form, the only limitations being time and expenses. Sherwood tells us that “the sculptor had a rollicking good
150 Adam Muras, Památná hora Radhošť: Její historie, symbolika a odraz v lidové kultuře, Brno 2016, p. 40. 151 Jana Tichá, Radegast: Emická a etická historie radhošťského mýtu, Brno 2001, p. 54. 152 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 366. 153 Ibidem, p. 395.
53 time modeling this ferocious fellow. With no committee hanging over him, no one to please but himself, he could give free rein to his imagination and humor.”154 Public opinion was however a concern to Polášek’s as well. So as not to upset Christian sensibilities, he arranged to have his previously executed Cyril and Methodius [26] cast in bronze and also placed on the mountain, where it is said that the saints overthrew the pagan worship of idols and erected a cross. Although there were still opinions being voiced against the donation before its installation, most notable by a Frenštát sculptor named Jan Knebl, who said that the sculptures would interfere with the cultural tradition of the mountain and are of “problematic value”, I do not believe that this affected the likeness of the pagan god.155
Adding Cyril and Methodius to the project meant however, that he had to pay for the execution and transportation of two large monuments. In my opinion, the additional cost played an important role in final choice of material used for the Radegast figure, which was ultimately cast in an artificial stone compound. From a distance, the figure would therefore appear to be from a block of stone, and yet it didn’t have to be chiseled, but cast from a modeled form. Considering the limited amount of time, he had, modeling was a much less time-consuming method, and more significantly allowed him to experiment and alter details during the process. The appearance of stone was also appropriate in order to harmonize the sculpture with the rocky mountain top and the organic nature of the idol, while at the same time contrasting again the sophisticated, civilized qualities of the bronze saints.
He began a clay study in the summer of 1929, once more in a studio in Prague, creating a monumental and stylized figure [27].156 Instead of representing an old, gentle deity, Polášek chose to portray the mythical figure as a fiercely powerful and majestic lion god. The male figure stands at over ten feet tall and, like the ‘Spirit of Music’, is androgenized by adding features of the opposite gender, in this case slightly larger breasts implying female forms. He is half-nude, an ornate belt holding up a skirt with geometric designs and two wide slits, which reveal the legs beneath. The basic geometric shapes decorating the figure are difficult to compare to any specific type of traditional design, but Sherwood describes the ornamentation as “typical for that part of the world”157 and Horečka, a
154 Ibidem, p. 397. 155 See Klučka, Albín Polášek: Strůjce svého osudu (fn. 8), p. 11. 156 In my opinion, Klučka and other sources, like the information label to the original Radegast at the town hall in Frenštát, erroneously state that Radegast was made in the summer of 1930. This would leave Polášek only two or three months to model the sculpture, have it cast, design the plinths and have them carved, chose the sites and transport the sculptures to the top of the mountain in September 1930 before leaving to teach at the American Academy. Although not impossible, other indications of Polášek’s whereabouts in 1929 and 1930 given by Sherwood do not correlate with this theory. We learn, for example, that after finishing the model in 1929, Polášek was struck by the death of his friend, Mr. Oumiroff, which took place on December 12th, 1929 and the following summer, when he was to order the granite plinths and chose the locations, he visited with Mrs. Oumiroff, now a widow. This means, that Radegast wasn’t dedicated until two years after his completion. However, considering the limited amount of time Polášek spent in Czechoslovakia, this is not a surprising scenario. 157 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 397.
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Frenštát writer and contemporary of Polášek, interprets them as “old Slavic ornaments”158 citing for example an astragal, a sun or waving or zigzagging lines. The type of sandals on his feet are called krpce and are a typical part of traditional Moravian costumes. The decoration, as the entire composition, is strictly symmetrical about the vertical axis, the only difference being the position of the forearms. The right hand extends forward holding a cornucopia with a duck sitting atop, while the left hand is down at his side resting upon what is called a shepherd’s axe, a long thin axe used in the Carpathian Mountains. The head and claws are of a lion, while the horned helmet-like headgear is adapted from a bull and creates three distinct points on each side of the god’s head, producing a type of stylized halo - perhaps reminiscent of the shape of pine trees. The pose is very rigid. The extraordinarily muscular arms are tightly pressed to the body, producing an overall closed composition which is reminiscent of a thick column, or tree trunk firmly planted in the ground. This communicates a sense of stability and strength, but also makes the figure look static and immobile. The rough surface texture of the original sculpture might imply the unrefined character of the primal god. Radegast’s fearsome aspect is further conveyed by the snarling expression of the savage face. The proportions of the body are stylized. The head and hands are especially large as compared with the rest of body, which is covered in bulky musculature. The larger-than-life-sized scale, combined with the powerful design and elevation on a plinth, creates a monumental effect. The composition is primarily frontal, again emphasizing the rigidity of the figure, but considers the viewer’s motion around the freestanding object, as we have seen in Polášek’s previous sculptures.
The stiffness of the pose may be expressing that the god is not only strong and unyielding, but that he is also inflexible and unable to act. I believe that the relationship to Cyril and Methodius plays an important role in Radegast’s meaning. In addition to the contrast of material choices of the two sculptures mentioned above, the form and style of Radegast appears as a counterpoint to the Christian monument. The unrefined surface, style and form of figure may be intended to represent a god of ‘primitive’ and inactive paganism, but one that connects with the basic elements that can be found in nature. Radegast is definitely one of the most stylized creations of the sculptor, who adamantly opposed avantgarde abstraction and always advocated for art to be the imitation of nature. But conceivably, the execution of Radegast in a more stylized manner is an artistic statement in itself, asserting a choice of a more ‘primitive’ style for a primitive idol of a pagan god. In other words, this approach reveals how Polášek’s concept of stylization should be used; when it contributes to the meaning of the sculpture. A similar case can be made for the ornamentation. Sherwood tells us of a lecture Polášek attended in Chicago after returning from the unveiling of Radegast and Cyril and
158 František Horečka, Umělcův dar (Ze života a díla prof. Albína Poláška.), in: František Horečka (ed.), Kniha o památném Radhošti, Frenštát pod Radhoštěm 1931, p. 77.
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Methodius in 1931, at which the lecturer compared designs of ancient cultures that were rooted in nature and expressed an idea hidden in a symbol, to modern designs. Polášek felt strongly that purely aesthetic modern art lacked the quality of the ancients, because the design had no depth and didn’t express an idea. “Spots and curlicues and wriggling lines were in some cases perhaps pleasingly arranged, but behind these things lay no meaning, a blank inanity.”159 I think it is fair to say that Polášek’s ornamentation and Radegast’s distinct form were therefore in no way incidental.
It is clear that some elements of the sculpture are direct allusions to Slavic culture – the axe, the shoes and possibly the ornamentation - while others are derived from the legendary image of the pagan god’s idol that were said to have been worshiped on Mount Radhošť, a theory which had been disproved already at the beginning of the 20th century.160 While an extensive history of the sources on Radegast’s worship is beyond the scope of this paper, a short excursion into the depictions of Radegast should be mentioned at this point.161 Thought to be the god of Polabian Slavic tribe of Ratars, the earliest accounts of Radegast’s idols appear in German chronicles, which describe golden statues of a crowned god with a black bull head on his chest holding a double-sided axe. Bothon’s chronicle from the beginning of the 15th century replaced the crown with a helmet showing a bird spreading its wings perched on top. A similar picture is described in Středovský’s Sacra Moraviae Historia sive Vita S. Cyrilli et Methodii from 1710, the first account of the god’s image in Moravia [28].162 At the beginning of the 19th century, a Moravian polymath and doctor, Josef Heřman Agapit Gallaš, proposed two images: the first description corresponds essentially to the earlier ones, but the second is very different. The second image was of a bearded man with ram horns symbolizing strength; large ears indicating his listening abilities; swollen female breasts, because he breastfed his followers and; a pregnant stomach, because of the good advice he always gave.163 The 19th century then saw a nationalistic wave of romanticized depictions of mythological themes. One such example is the drawing of Radegast by Mikoláš Aleš from 1896, later reproduced in painting in Jurkovič’s cottage Libušín near Radhošť. His illustration depicts Radegast as a young man of Slavic origin on horseback with braids and wearing krpce, the double-sided axe and bull symbol on his chest the only attributes distinguishing him as the
159 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 439. 160 Horečka speaks about the incorrectness of that theory in his contemporary article about Polášek’s Radegast in 1931. Later archeological evidence had only confirmed that no Slavic settlement existed on Mount Radhošť, see for example: Zdeněk Klanica, Počátky slovanského osídlení našich zemí, Praha 1986. 161 For more information on the worship of Radegast, see: Ignác Jan Hanuš, Die Wissenschaft des Slawischen Mythus im weitesten, den altpreußisch-lithauischen Mythus mitumfaßenden Sinne. Nach Quellen bearbeitet, sammt der Litteratur der slawisch-preußisch-lithauuischen Archäologie und Mythologie, Lember 1842. – Jan Máchal, Bájesloví slovanské, Praha 1907. – Josef Růžička, Slovanské bájesloví: mythologie, Olomouc 1907. – Zdeněk Váňa, Svět slovanských bohů a démonů, Praha 1990. 162 See Tichá (fn. 151), p. 41. 163 J. H. A. Gallaš – Josef Skutil, Gallašovy mytické povídky o bozích a bohyních moravských Slovanů: (podle rukopisu z r. 1820), Valašské Meziříčí 1940, p. 25.
56 pagan god. As to not make the viewer wonder about the identity of the horseman, the name Radegast is included in ornate lettering. An article from 1939 in Lidové noviny states that Jurkovič and Aleš were the ones that sparked interest in art of the region, introducing “Wallachian myth and ethnographical elements”, and their works of late romanticism were the inspiration for later pieces created on the mountain, proposing the question of whether Polášek’s work follows upon this tradition.164 Although nostalgic and nationalistic sentiments lead Polášek to create Radegast, his rendering is quite different from the romantic depictions of mythological figures by artists like Aleš.
Polášek’s method was again eclectic. It is clear he has taken elements from different sources stated above and compiled them arbitrarily into his own original version of Radegast. The bull is present, not as a symbol on the chest or on a shield, but in a form of a helmet, combining the feature with Gallaš’s ram horns. The bird, which was previously perched on the helmet, now sits atop the horn in a form of a duck. Sherwood states that the duck was Radegast’s “special symbol”, however the birds in the earlier accounts are not identified that way.165 The duck resembles traditional Wallachian bird ornaments through its angular geometric forms and the prominent round eye.166 Polášek took the element of swollen breasts from Gallaš’s version of Radegast, emphasizing the bountiful and fertile nature of the god. The axe is present, though clearly not double-sided, but as a shepherd's axe. Even though earlier depictions had the axe as a double-sided weapon, Polášek takes the axe generically and works with it in his own way, emphasizing the connection to his Wallachian region. Radegast’s lion features are most likely taken from the Prillwitz idols, 18th century forgeries of Slavic statues, including one of Radegast portrayed with a lion head [29].167
Placed in the center of his massive belt is sun ornament [30], which refers to Radegast’s assigned role as a solar god.168 The circular shape has a face constructed out of three horizontal lines for the two eyes and mouth and a small triangle for the nose, surrounded by a striped band indicating the rays of light. This component doesn’t correspond to the Slavic sun symbols, which are circles with different abstract ornamentation - either a dot in the middle or a cross, or a couple concentric circles with dots around etc. – but they do not portray faces.169 It is my opinion however that the sun symbol looks very
164 Lidové noviny, vol. 47, no. 541, Brno 28. 10. 1939, http://www.digitalniknihovna.cz/mzk/view/uuid:4f0d4ab0-53da-11dd- aa93-000d606f5dc6?page=uuid:f4fd3110-5317-11dd-af14- 000d606f5dc6&fulltext=Alb%C3%ADn%20Pol%C3%A1%C5%A1ek, accessed 23. 11. 2017. 165 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 397. 166 Eduard Weichet, Prvky našeho svérázu: sbírky základních motive lidové ornamnetiky československé, Praha 1919, p. 126. 167 Karel Sklenář, Slepé uličky archeologie, Praha 1995, pp. 9-12. 168 Jozef Rika, Slovanské bájesloví (mythologie), Praha 1907, p. 66, https://archive.org/details/slovanskbjes00rikauoft, accessed 22. 11. 2017. 169 Madlenka Wanklová, Moravské ornament. [Seš. I.], Olomouc 1903, p. 20. – Karel Jaroslav Maška, Pravěké nálezy ve Štramberku, Olomouc 1886, p. 13. – B. Večeř, O národním ornamentu (Z vysvětlívek ku nástěnným předlohám měřického národního ornament), in: Pedagogické rozhledy: věstník literárního a pedagogického odboru při Ústředním spolku jednot učitelských v Čechách, Praha 1899, vol. 12, no. 10, 1. 7. 1899, p. 29.
57 similar to the kachina (spirit) dolls and masks of Tawa [31], the sun god of the Hopi tribe of Indians, which Polášek visited in 1919.170 Tawa’s round face is also composed with very basic geometric elements, the two distinct horizontal lines for eyes and a triangle in the place of a nose or mouth encircled by a pattern of typically feathers arranged in a way to suggest rays of sunlight. This detail could perhaps be a parallel made by Polášek between the god of the Slavic pagans and the New World pagans, pointing to the close relationship to nature which both cultures shared. Polášek’s interest in Indian culture began soon after he arrived in America and recurred throughout his life. It was a deep appreciation for nature that he and in common with the Native Americans that caught his imagination. Furthermore, the sun symbol may not be the only connection between Radegast and Native American iconography. The very rigid, columnar pose; the additive manner of stacking the two animal forms of the lion and the bull atop each other; and the wide snarl of the god baring his teeth, are all comparable to features found on the totem poles of Native Americans in the Pacific Northwest. I have found that there are others who share this impression with me, particularly Drahomír Strnadel, a local ethnographer from the Frenštát area.171 Strnadel also associated Radegast with totem poles. As with other sculptures discussed where I proposed that Polášek planted hints at his Slavic origins, Radegast perhaps expresses a similar statement by the sculptor - one that now conversely refers to his American identity.
170 More about kachina’s can be found in the following article including a kachina of Tawa: Edwin M. Loeb, A Note on Two Far-Travelled Kachinas, The Journal of American Folklore, vol. 56, no. 221, 1943, pp. 192–199, http://www.jstor.org/stable/535600, accessed 22. 11. 2017. Hopi totemic signatures, including sun symbols can be seen in: J. Walter Fewkes, Tusayan Totemic Signatures, American Anthropologist, vol. 10, no. 1, January 1897, pp. 1–12, http://www.jstor.org/stable/658258, accessed 22. 11. 2017. 171 See Muras (fn. 150), p. 41.
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6 Conclusion
In art, as in every aspect of life, the 20th century was a time of unrelenting upheaval and innovation. Individual responses to the changing world were as varied as the number of artists who worked to communicate their understanding of the world. While some embraced change and determined to create new forms that reflected the increasingly dynamic and developing society, even if that meant rejecting the traditions of their European heritage, still others were unwilling to reject the artistic inheritance received from generations past and continued to express their understanding of life through time honored forms. Albin Polášek was a man, an artist, a sculptor, a teacher, who falls into the latter category. Right or wrong, the history of the first six decades of the 20th century art was written with the former in mind. It is rightly the job of art historians to scrutinize the qualities of a given subject, and to interpret the thing’s relative importance. In doing so, we must occasionally acknowledge the countless artists, who were mostly disregarded, if only for the reason that the art, the objects themselves, live on. In order to understand where they came from and what they mean, we must examine their sources.
It must be acknowledged that Albin Polášek was a sculptor not without a certain amount of skill. He had a keen eye and an aesthetic sensibility, which can be seen in his portraiture which was valued in its time for being true to its subject’s appearance, while also capturing character. In his figurative work, he displayed an understanding of balance, weight and movement. He learned and demonstrated all the technical abilities of carving and modeling that would be expected of any professional sculptor. In his conceptual work, he displayed a certain cleverness for metaphor. Man Carving His Own Destiny is a good example of an idea that Polášek developed, that resonated with people and was recognized as creative and unique. I would like to propose several aspects of his personality and connection to the world that contributed to his diminished standing in the history of art.
Polášek was not at easy with modern society. We are told of how telephones and automobiles, and radios were a constant annoyance to him. At one point, Sherwood tells us explicitly, “He often said that he should have lived in some other age, at least before the days of mechanical devices.”172 His resistance to change and innovation carried over to his artistic sensibility as well. He had no tolerance for abstraction or deviation from what he himself referred to as ‘Nature’. Therefore, in the exact decades that he was most active as an artist, his tastes ran contrary to many of the popular trends and particularly to abstract Modernism. Sherwood seems to be giving the closest thing to Polášek’s own words when she writes, “The days had gone when an artist spent a lifetime of concentrated study, and
172 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 331.
59 then knelt in humble prayer before he painted his picture.”173 I can’t help but think of his signature piece, Man Carving His Own Destiny, a work that symbolizes the struggle of every individual. Everyone has their own stone that holds them back. For Polášek, it was perhaps his fondness for ages past and reluctance to embrace the present and the future, or maybe his inability to connect more deeply with himself and those around him, that never let him to truly free himself from the stone.
We are told of friendships and relationships that Polášek nurtured in his life, but rarely, if ever, are they significant relationships with other artists. We are told that he passed up opportunities to work with Grafly and French and that his students resented the fact that he never hired them to perform even the most menial studio tasks outside of school. Moreover, in terms of his success as an instructor, there are few, if any, that went on to notoriety. Polášek perhaps lacked the boldness or the foresight to look deep within himself and find an artistic expression that would capture the world’s attention. In the years following his return from Rome, when he set up studio in New York, and the art community was beginning to recognize him, he seems to have backed away from that life just at the moment he might have captured fame. Instead, he accepted a teaching position in Chicago and continued to produce art in order to make a living and to satisfy his own aesthetic, staying true to his own artistic truths. Sherwood says that “other people’s standards had never influenced Polášek, he saw everything through his own eyes and formed his own opinions”.174 Nonetheless, the analysis presented here of Polášek’s most exemplary works has shown that his work was on par with the major current of American sculpture of his times. He admired the ideas of Charles Grafly who first introduced him to what a professional sculptor could be. As a pupil of the Roman Academy, he was educated in the ideas of the City Beautiful movement, which he applied in his public memorials, namely the Theodore Thomas Memorial, which manifests features, especially its eclecticism, that are comparable to pieces by his Prix de Rome fellow Paul Manship. The inspiration he drew from classical sculpture was established by presenting specific iconographical types, which were the foundations of many of his compositions. The classical sources were however modified by the introduction of realistic elements, as we saw for example with the Maiden. This approach coincides with trends towards realism that were taking place in American sculpture from the end of the 19th and into the 20th centuries. Throughout his career he stayed true to a strict imitation of nature and symbolic expression of ideas. “Sacrificing structure and purposely distorting form for the sake of design never touched Polášek. He believed that the greatest sculpture must first of all present a great idea, expressed with vigor. But if it makes a good design without construction, the chances are that it will make a still better
173 Ibidem, p. 439. 174 Ibidem, p. 340.
60 design with it; and only with construction can it approach the spirit of basic truth that endures.”175 He created sculpture that spoke of national identity and patriotic values, akin to the sculptural sensibilities of the American Renaissance. Yet he was aware that he was not solely an American. Sometimes in their thematic conception, and sometimes in the smallest detail, his work alluded to his Slavic origins. He was an immigrant artist, a patriot of independent Czechoslovakia, while also an American citizen. This mixture was reflected in his art, as was proposed in Radegast. He not only accepted this position, but embraced the role of Czech immigrant in Chicago and socialized with the Bohemian society, which in turn awarded him commissions. In the twenties however, growth of immigrant communities slowed with the passage of strict immigration laws and diverse cultures were steadily being assimilated into the broad American culture. Tomáš Pospiszyl says that the weakening of the Czech community could have led to unfavorable acceptance of Polášek’s expressions of nationalism, which might very well explain delays in the completion of the Masaryk Monument after World War II.176 Polášek’s acceptance of these changes in society’s attitudes, which could be evidenced by Sherwood’s remark that toward the end of his teaching career Polášek liked to lecture on „the opportunity for American artists to select American subjects”, lead to his eventual retirement to Florida.177
Having said all this, is should also be acknowledged that his work lives on and continues to be enjoyed by the people who encounter it. In parks and galleries and in private collections, his work abides. A large collection of his life’s work is on display at the Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Gardens in Winter Park, Florida, where in 2016, nearly 10,000 visitors paid a small fee to view his house, its grounds and his sculptures.178 Tourists climb Mount Radhošť and take selfies with Radegast, music goers in Chicago enjoy an evening’s concert under the graceful watch of the ‘Spirit of Music’ and The Sower spreads his seed amidst the flora of the Chicago Botanic Gardens. The enduring nature of Polášek’s work can even be seen by the fact that his monument to Woodrow Wilson, despite being destroyed by one regime, was been recreated anew by another. Perhaps people will see his work and ask themselves who made it, where did they come from and why did they make it like that. If this paper sheds any light on those questions, I will be pleased to have brought a bit of understanding to the life of Albín Polášek.
175 Ibidem, p. 294–295. 176 See Klučka, Albín Polášek: Strůjce svého osudu (fn. 8), p. 18. 177 See Sherwood (fn. 4), p. 465. 178 The only piece of information provided by the Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Gardens was a sheet of statistics of visitors and income of the museum by Marnie Vanture, Marketing and Operations Coordinator, November 2017.
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7 Bibliography
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16. Jiří Klučka, Albín Polášek: man carving his own destiny: life and work of Albín Polášek. Frenštát pod Radhoštěm 1995.
17. Debbie Komanski – Karen Louden – Cynthia Sucher, The Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Gardens, Winter Park, Florida 2008.
18. Emily Muska Kubat, Albin Polasek: man carving his own destiny, Jacksonville, Florida 1970.
19. Karel Jaroslav Maška, Pravěké nálezy ve Štramberku, Olomouc 1886, http://www.digitalniknihovna.cz/mzk/view/uuid:c2bd4e80-ab17-11e2-b6da- 005056827e52?page=uuid:71d44a70-c334-11e2-9592-5ef3fc9bb22f, accessed 21. 11. 2017.
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21. Robert B. McCormick, Ivan Mestrovic at Notre Dame, Notre Dame 2003.
22. Adam Muras, Památná hora Radhošť: Její historie, symbolika a odraz v lidové kultuře, Brno 2016, https://is.muni.cz/th/323995/ff_m/adam_muras-pamatna_hora_radhost-diplomova_prace.pdf, accessed 25. 11. 2017.
23. Susan Rather, Archaism, modernism, and the art of Paul Manship, Austin 1993.
24. Herbert Read, A concise history of modern sculpture, New York 1964.
25. Jozef Rika, Slovanské bájesloví (mythologie), Praha 1907, https://archive.org/details/slovanskbjes00rikauoft, 22. 11. 2017.
26. Daniel Robbins, Statues to sculpture: from the nineties to the thirties, in: Tom Armstrong (ed.), 200 years of American sculpture, Boston 1976.
27. Ruth Sherwood, Carving his own destiny: the story of Albin Polasek, Chicago, Illinois 1954.
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28. Karel Sklenář, Slepé uličky archeologie, Praha 1995.
29. Gorham Phillips Stevens, The American Academy in Rome, Art and Progress, vol. 5, no. 4, February 1912, pp. 124-129, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20561083, accessed 28. 10. 2017.
30. Loredo Taft, Modern tendencies in sculpture, Chicago 1921.
31. Loredo Taft, The History of American Sculpture, New York 1924.
32. Jana Tichá, Radegast: Emická a etická historie radhošťského mýtu, Brno 2001, https://is.muni.cz/auth/th/23294/ff_m/text.pdf, accessed 25. 11. 2017.
33. Thayer Tolles, From Model to Monument: American Public Sculpture, 1865-1915, Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, New York 2000, https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/modl/hd_modl.htm, accessed 14. 10. 2017.
34. Thayer Tolles, Henry Kirke Brown (1814-1886), John Quincy Adams Ward (1830-1910), and Realism in American Sculpture, Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, New York 2000, http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/reas/hd_reas.htm, accessed 14. 10. 2017.
35. Marvin Trachtenberg, The Statue of Liberty, New York 1977, https://archive.org/details/statueofliberty00marv, accessed 15. 11. 2017.
36. Irwin St. John Tucker, Chicago’s statues: Polasek’s ‘Sower’, The Chicago Herald and Examiner, Chicago 23. 5. 1927, in: Art Institute of Chicago – Ryerson Library, Art Institute Scrapbook, reel 54, p. 57-58.
37. Giorgio Vasari, Vasari on Technique: Being the Introduction to the Three Arts of Design, Architecture, Sculpture and Painting, Prefixed to the Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, Dover 1900, https://books.google.cz/books?id=djPDAgAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q=sculptur e&f=false, accessed 30. 10. 2017.
38. B. Večeř, O národním ornamentu (Z vysvětlívek ku nástěnným předlohám měřického národního ornament), in: Pedagogické rozhledy: věstník literárního a pedagogického odboru při Ústředním spolku jednot učitelských v Čechách, Praha 1899, vol. 12, no. 10, 1. 7. 1899, http://www.digitalniknihovna.cz/mzk/view/uuid:7250a5d0-d1c4-11e3-93a3- 005056825209?page=uuid:1bbce950-d2d1-11e3-94ef-5ef3fc9ae867, accessed 21. 11. 2017.
39. Madlenka Wanklová, Moravské ornament. [Seš. I.], Olomouc 1903, http://www.digitalniknihovna.cz/mzk/view/uuid:85b12110-5bc1-11e2-bcaf- 005056827e52?page=uuid:75d692b44fcb2f89575240a4ce6f4017, 21. 11. 2017.
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40. Marianne Eileen Wardle, Naked and Unashamed: A Study of the Aphrodite Anadyomene in the Greco-Roman World, Dissertation at the Department of Art, Art History and Visual Studies Duke University 2010, https://dukespace.lib.duke.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/10161/3120/NakedandUnashamedFi nalSubmission.pdf?sequence=1, accessed 21. 11. 2017.
41. Eduard Weichet, Prvky našeho svérázu: sbírky základních motive lidové ornamnetiky československé, Praha 1919.
Encyclopedic publications:
1. Jean-Robert Gisler – Pierre Müller – Christian Augé, Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae (LMIC). II, Aphrodisias-Athena, Zürich 1984.
2. Bertrand Jaeger – Pierre Müller – Bruno Margi et al., Lexicon iconographicum mythologiae classicae (LMIC): et, Addenda Kassandra I, Kyknos I, Mousa, Mousai, Musae, Nestor. VII, Oidipous- Theseus, Zürich 1994.
3. Helene E. Roberts, Encyclopedia of Comparative Iconography: Themes Depicted in Works of Art, Abingdon 2013.
Exhibition catalogues and reviews:
1. Halsey Cooley Ives et al., Official catalogue of exhibitors: Universal exposition, St. Louis, U. S. A. 1904. Division of exhibits ... Department B. Art, Saint Louis 1904, http://dl.mospace.umsystem.edu/mu/islandora/object/mu%3A200752#page/1/mode/2up, accessed 7. 10. 2017.
2. H. B. Hardt et al., Official catalogue of the Lewis & Clark Centennial and American Pacific Exposition and Oriental Fair, Portland, Oregon, U.S.A., June 1 to October 15, 1905, Portland 1905, https://archive.org/stream/officialcatalogu00lewi#page/n169/mode/2up/search/Grafly, accessed 7. 10. 2017.
3. S. G. S. Perry et al., The Sculpture and Mural Decorations of the Exposition A Pictorial Survey of the Art of the Panama-Pacific international exposition, San Francisco 1915, pp. 164-165, https://archive.org/details/sculpturemuralde00perrrich, accessed 2. 10. 2017.
4. Albin Polasek – Art Institute of Chicago, Exhibition of sculpture by Albin Polasek : at the Art Institute of Chicago, January 5 to January 28, 1917, Chicago 1917, http://www.artic.edu/sites/default/files/libraries/pubs/1917/AIC1917APolasekSclpt_comb.pdf, accessed 16. 8. 2017.
5. Agnes Gertrude Richards Source, The Polasek Exhibition, Fine Arts Journal, vol. 35, no. 2, February 1917, pp. 122-126, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25587448, accessed 20. 8. 2017.
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8 Appendix of images
[1] Polášek working on his signature piece in clay. Albín Polášek, Man Chiseling His Own Destiny, 1920, clay, Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Garden. Photo: Debbie Komanski – Karen Louden – Cynthia Sucher, The Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Gardens, Winter Park 2008, p. 13.
[2] The cast of The Sower that aroused controversy in Chicago in 1916. The inscription on the label today reads: “The world before us,/the world after us,/our actions foretell…/we reap what we sow”. Albín Polášek, The Sower, 1912, bronze, Chicago Botanical Garden. Photo: Anna Jaegerová.
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[3] An example of Polášek’s portraiture. Albín Polášek, Francis Davis Millet, 1912, bronze with brown patina, Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. Photo available at: https://www.pafa.org/collection/francis- davis-millet
[4] Polášek’s final year piece at the Roman Academy – being unsatisfied with the unfinished result, he wanted the piece destroyed, but eventually had it shipped to the United States. The subsequent fate of the sculpture is however unknown. Albín Polášek, The Promised Land, 1913, clay, unknown. Photo by Philip B. Whitehead in: Dorothy Hough, Man chiseling his own destiny, in: Art and Archeology, Washington, D.C. September 1929, p. 84.
[5] Albín Polášek, Forest Idyl, 1924, bronze with green patina, Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Garden. Photo available at: https://www.invaluable.com/artist/polase k-albin-ldq45t4ye6
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[6] Unveiling of the Woodrow Wilson Memorial in Prague on July 4th, 1928. Albín Polášek, 1926-28, bronze, destroyed. Photo: Ruth Sherwood, Carving his own destiny: the story of Albin Polasek, Chicago 1954, p. 301.
[7] Charles Grafly, Alexander Stirling Calder, Daniel Chester French, Edward C. Potter, John Massey Rhind and John Quincy Adams Ward and others, Smith Memorial Arch, 1897-1912, bronze and limestone, Fairmount Park, Philadelphia. Photo available at: http://mapio.net/pic/p- 87920182/
[8] Charles Grafly, The Symbol of Life, 1897, bronze with black patina and an ivory ball, Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. Photo available at: https://www.pafa.org/collection/symbol- life
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[9] Aristide Maillol, The Mediterranean, 1902-05, bronze, Musée Maillol. Photo available at: http://museemaillol.com/en/mediterrane an
[10] Paul Manship, Centaur and Dryad, 1909-13, bronze, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo available at: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collecti on/search/480598
[11] Paul Manship, Dancer and Gazelles, 1916, bronze, Smithsonian American Art Museum. Photo available at: https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/dance r-and-gazelles-15740
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[12] Daniel Chester French, Mourning Victory from the Melvin Memorial, 1906- 08, carved 1912-15, marble, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo available at: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collecti on/search/10912
[13] Albín Polášek, Model for the ‘Spirit of Music’, 1921, wood, Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Garden. Photo available at: https://artistshomes.org/site/albin- polasek-museum-sculpture-gardens
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[14] Albín Polášek, ‘Spirit of Music’, 1923, bronze on granite plinth, Grant Park in Chicago. Photo available at: http://www.publicartinchicago.com/chica go-grant-park-theodore-thomas- memorial-the-spirit-of-music-statue-by- albin-polasek-sculptor-and-howard-van- doren-shaw-architect/
[15] Reliefs on the hemisphere base of ‘Spirit of Music’. Albín Polášek, ‘Spirit of Music’, 1923, bronze reliefs, Grant Park in Chicago. Photo: Anna Jaegerová
[16] An example of early American realism inspired by classical sculptural “Americanizing elements”. Thomas Crawford, The Indian: The Dying Chief Contemplating the Progress of Civilization, 1856, white marble and wood, New-York Historical Society Museum. Photo available from: http://www.nyhistory.org/exhibit/indian- dying-chief-contemplating-progress- civilization
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[17] Apollo Kitharoidos found in the villa of Quintus Voconius Pollio. Apollo in the waving robe of a kithara player, Roman copy of a 5th century BC Greek sculpture, marble, Vatican Museums. Photo available at: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/c ommons/thumb/0/0e/Apollo_citaredo%2 C_rielaborazione_romana_da_originale_g reco_del_V_secolo_ac.%2C_testa_di_rest auro%2C_da_marino%2C_inv._2274.JPG/ 800px- Apollo_citaredo%2C_rielaborazione_roma na_da_originale_greco_del_V_secolo_ac. %2C_testa_di_restauro%2C_da_marino% 2C_inv._2274.JPG
[18] Apollo with kithara and quiver, Roman copy of a Hellenistic original of about 200- 150 BC, marble, The British Museum. Photo available at: http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/ collection_online/collection_object_detail s.aspx?objectId=460420&partId=1
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[19] Albín Polášek, Theodor Thomas Memorial, 1918-24, granite frieze, Grant Park in Chicago. Photo available at: http://www.publicartinchicago.com/chica go-grant-park-theodore-thomas- memorial-the-spirit-of-music-statue-by- albin-polasek-sculptor-and-howard-van- doren-shaw-architect/
[20] Albín Polášek, Theodor Thomas Memorial, 1918-24, bronze and granite, Grant Park in Chicago. Photo: Anna Jaegerová
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[21] Albín Polášek, Aspiration, 1914, bronze, Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Garden. Photo available at: http://www.artnet.com/artists/albin- polasek/
[22] Albín Polášek, Maiden of the Roman Campagna, 1911, bronze, Albin Polasek Museum & Sculpture Garden. Photo available at: https://learninglab.si.edu/resources/view/ 362658
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[23] An example of Aphrodite Anadyomene – this sculpture belonged to the restorer Albacini, who restored both arms, hands and locks of hair. Aphrodite Anadyomene, 1st century BC – 2nd century AD, Vatican Museums. Photo available at: https://iconographic.warburg.sas.ac.uk/vp c/VPC_search/record.php?record=15629
[24] Paul Manship, Duck Girl, 1911, bronze on limestone base, Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia. Photo available at: https://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/DU CK-GIRL/7C88C4F3C70429DB
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[25] Adolf von Hildebrand, Der junge Jäger, 1910-20, bronze, from the Hubertusbrunnen, Nymphenburger Schlosskanal, Munich. Photo: Penelope Curtis, Sculpture 1900-1945: after Rodin, Oxford 1999, p. 217.
[26] Albín Polášek, Cyril and Methodius, 1927, bronze, Mount Radhošť. Photo available at: http://idlespeculations- terryprest.blogspot.cz/2011/02/saints- cyril-and-methodius-co-patrons.html
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[27] Albín Polášek, Radegast, 1929-1931, artificial stone, Frenštát pod Radhoštěm city hall. Photo: Dominik Matus
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[28] Image of Radegast as described by Středovský. Photo: František Horečka (ed.), Kniha o památném Radhošti, Frenštát pod Radhoštěm 1931, p. 15.
[29] Prillwitz idol of Radegast. Image: Jozef Rika, Slovanské bájesloví (mythologie), Praha 1907, https://archive.org/details/slovanskbjes00 rikauoft, accessed 22. 11. 2017, p. 60.
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[30] Detail of the sun symbol on Radegast’s belt. Albín Polášek, Radegast, 1929-1931, artificial stone, Frenštát pod Radhoštěm city hall. Photo: Dominik Matus
[31] Mask of Tawa, the sun god of the Hopi tribe of Native Americans. Photo available at: http://nativeamerican-art.com/zuni- art.html
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