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Full text of "Sketchbook, Spring 1936"

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SPRING.NUMBER 1936 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

Lyrasis IVIembers and Sloan Foundation 



http://www.archive.org/details/sketchbookspring1936penn 




MAY, 1936 

THE SKETCHBOOK 

PUBLISHED BY STUDENTS OF THE 
PENNSYLVANIA MUSEUM SCHOOL OF 
INDUSTRIAL ART 



SPRING, 1936 




SKETCHBOOK STAFF 

Editoh-in-Chief Donald E. Cooke 

Literary Editor Oscar Mertz, Jr. 

(Morris Berd 
Layout Editors < Victor Trasoff 

\Morris Guariglia 

Financial Secretary Betty Grasso 

Publicity Sol Freedman 

Advertising Manager Jacob Landau 

Charcoal Dust Charles Boland 

EDITORIAL STAFF 
William Rickert, Jr., Samuel Feinstein, 
Hugh C. Brooks, John B. Eves, Florence Keast, 
Daniel Sutton, Waldo Sheldon. 

Cover design this issue 
♦ by MILTON WEINER ♦ 

4 



EDITORIAL 

AFTER the lusty March winds have swept the landscape clean, and when the 
.sun has drawn up the glittering pools of April rain, somewhere, from across 
the rolling emerald hills comes an eerie melody from the pipes of Pan. For the 
woodlands are stirring with his colorful legions — advancing armies of green — 
troops of flowers, birds and strange denisons of the forest. 

It is May, the month of warm sunlight and dreams. The woods especially are 
full of dreams that scamper through the mysterious budding underbrush like 
elves and nymphs. Vague, haunting dreams they are, that mock our faltering 
footsteps and call to us in the songs of birds and in the whispering of the breeze. 

The great, lazy cloudbanks that float easily across the sky are full of dreams. 
Theirs are the dreams of aspiration and ambition — dreams that fling our long- 
ing souls into the heavens and build up massive structures out of nothingness. 

The dancing fields and meadows, too, are overrun with sparkling dreams. 
These are dreams of warm delight and enchanted gayety. They appear to us in 
the gleaming dew drops and are hummed in our ears by the droning bees, the 
dragonflies, and by the brilliant whistle of the quail. 

Even the city street is not without its dreams. It is true that they are scat- 
tered and confused, having lost their way in a place that seems quite foreign to 
them, but they are dreams, nevertheless. They cry aloud in the ricocheting echoes 
of traffic, bounding from one office-building wall to another, trying to escape, then 
rushing through the hurrying crowds of people to the greener quiet of the park, 
only to murmur discontentedly among the dusty leaves that there are bigger 
trees and far more luscious foliage in the land they came from. 

Down the tumbling hillside and the rocky glen rush wild and lonely dreams 
— dreams of unbridled freedom, passion and adventure. They frolic with the 
echoes among the rocks. They roar in wild abandon through the gorge and over 
the cataracts to be lost in the ghostly mist and writhing foam — floating like 
desperate wraiths among the gloomy caverns of the valley, and calling out with 
the voices of swirling rapids. 

And where the stream becomes wider, flowing quietly between moss-covered 
banks and caressed by the long, green strands of willows, we find dreams of con- 
tentment — peaceful, easy dreams, having no desire beyond their own existence, 
for they are all in all — creation at a standstill. 

No one can escape these dreams, for in May, the world is all a dream and all 
the world is dreaming. There are some who dream away their lives in idle fan- 
cies, but the one who understands and learns to use his dreams can mould and 
shape reality to his ends. 

Somewhere, from across the rolling, emerald hills, the pipes of Pan are call- 
ing. They fill the woods with strange, esrie melodies that whisper all the secrets 
of the universe. But they are wafted to us from far across the formless gulf that 
divides the land of fact from the land of dreams, and it is hard for us to under- 
stand. Listen! Do you hear them? Calling ... calling. .. . 



ART FOR THE 

PUBLIC 

BY BENTON SPRUANCE 

DURING a period of social readjust- 
ment, such as the one in which we 
are now living, existing institutions and 
conditions have all come in for their 
share of criticism. In manners just and 
unjust, they are aired and flayed by 
critics of all sorts. Some critics offer 
sound, constructive opinions — others 
air personal prejudices. 

The art schools have not been spared 
any of the above types of criticism. 
Unfortunately, most of that criticism 
seems to have fallen into the two last 
categories. The most often repeated 
bleats are that the courses are inade- 
quate — that the faculties are made up 
of people who cannot make good in the 
world of art, and that the present plight 
of the creative artist is directly trace- 
able to the poor training he has been 
subjected to when attending one of 
these schools. 

The critics expand further, saying 
that the art schools are entirely out of 
date by teaching drawing and painting 
to a student who will never have the 
opportunity to use it, since industry 
and the machine have relegated draw- 
ing and painting to the limbo of pleas- 
ant memory. 

Now these statements simply are not 
true, and in fairness to the thousands 
of young people who are investing time 
and money in the several art schools 
throughout the country, this type of 
criticism must be answered fairly. 

The art schools have taken, in gen- 
eral, a broader view of the situation 
than have the critics. They realize 



that creative expression has always been 
a part of the happiness of man, and, 
very likely, always will be. They realize 
that, while external pressure may tem- 
porarily condition it to meet the rapidly 
changing demands of advertising in- 
dustry and propaganda, there exists a 
deeper, more enduring demand for 
pictures as such. 

This demand can be met only by men 
and women who are working free of 
the shifting styles and fashions of the 
moment. 

To train a person to meet this de- 
mand, it is one duty of the art schools 
to develop in a student a vocabulary, a 
technique and a spirit that wiU aid him 
in his own mature expression. 

An inquiry into the curricula and 
faculties of the larger schools will con- 
vince one that this duty is being per- 
formed in a sound fashion. 

Another duty of the art schools is to 
teach the student to adapt that vocabu- 
lary, technique and spirit — to the com- 
mercial demands of the industrial 
world. But the student must be made 
and is made to realize that the indus- 
trial world can absorb only a certain 
percentage of those who study art — and 
then only after an apprenticeship as 
rigorous and as exacting as in the non- 
commercial fields of expression. 

An inquiry similar to the one above 
will convince one that the schools con- 
taining these courses are performing 
this duty in a like fashion. 

But a defense of the art schools will 
not answer the questions. In spite of 



the training the student receives — in 
spite of the public's need for pictures, 
in spite of industry's use of a number 
of fine artists, the artist's condition has 
been a desperate one. In recent years, 
a large part of the blame may be laid 
to the depression — the woes of which 
we have all experienced, but the blame 
must in the larger part be put at the 
feet of the artist himself. Largely it is 
because the artist has failed to compre- 
hend the situation — and failing that has 
made no adjustments on his own part 
to meet it. 

I mentioned above that man has al- 
ways demanded pictures. Before the 
days of reproduction processes, the only 
pictures that one could get were origi- 
nals. They may have been religious 
picture cards — playing cards — or altar- 
pieces, but they were original works of 
art. They were usually purchased di- 
rectly from the artist, and for a modest 
price (except in the case of the altar- 
pieces). They were bought not because 
the purchaser was gambling in names 
or buying masterpieces for investment, 
but because they were the only means 
of filling the ever present need of a 
picture. Good taste was no more ram- 




pant then than it now is and the esthet- 
ics of the thing was a quality that did 
not enter into the bargain as a general 
rule. Some one just wanted a picture; 
the artist supplied it and was paid for 
it. Thus, the artist filled an active 
place in his community by supplying a 
demand. 

Now all this is changed. The same 
need for a picture exists and that need 
is met. By the artist? Hardly. Instead, 
by the tabloid, the rotogravure, the 
photograph, the Sunday supplement. 

To illustrate — in an 18th century 
barber's shop, one might find on the 
walls a painting or two, some gay en- 
gravings or etchings and an elaborately 
painted sign of the trade. In the 20th 
centuiy barber shop the pictures are 
still there. But are they originals? 
More likely they are the beauty that 
goes with the calendar, a rotogravure 
portrait of President Roosevelt and a 
photograph of Joe Louis in action. As 
I said, the pictures are still there, but 
the artist is left out in the cold. 

This is not the consumer's fault. His 

taste is pliable, he has few prejudices — 

he would gladly buy originals were they 

available and cheap enough for his 

Continued on page 30 



Our readers will remember that in the last issue, the "Sketchbook" published 
an article by Charles T. Coiner, Art Director at N. W. Ayer, in which the author 
somewhat condemned art schools as being inadequate training grounds for the 
commercial field. The article by Mr. Spruance, a member of our own faculty, 
was written to refute the opinion of Mr. Coiner on this point. We should like to 
mention that the "Sketchbook" will always be glad to publish both sides of any 
controversial question. The Editor. 




MEMORIAL HALL, the only me- 
morial to Philadelphia's Centen- 
nial Exposition, was established in 1892 
as a possible Municipal Art Gallery. 
Sometime later the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road built one of its largest engine 
houses nearby at 44th and Parkside. 
Those who know both places will be 
likewise inclined toward linking them 
together. And whoever would venture 
to Memorial Hall, will surely sense, per- 
haps through the nose, the presence of 
the engines in front of the museum. In 
winter a gray snow-covered earth will 
result from the sooty expirations of 
hundreds of invalid iron-horses that 
pass in and out of the circular hospital. 
In spring the blossoms round-about take 
on a neutral hue, and never is the grass 
fresh blue-green in summer. 

Of the two contestants for importance 
the round-house is occasionally victor, 
causing the hall's retirement over long 
periods. They say economic reasons 
keep it inactive, but that statement 
brings only menacing guffaws from the 
throats of victorious locos, adding to the 
structure's plight. I was surprised in 
reading that "here is installed the Penn- 
sylvania Museum of the School of In- 
dustrial Art ... a treasure house of 
industrial arts, paintings, antiques, and 



SPIRIT OF '76 



curios ! 

Had I not been in search of an ex- 
ample of Early American coaches, 
which I believed to be there, I might 
say that nostalgia impelled me to visit 
the Hall recently. I remembered one 
excellent coach that stood at the foot 
of the stairs leading to the basement, 
but to my surprise the lower chambers 
were dark, and the vehicles had moved 
into their new home, the Franklin Insti- 
tute. (I had been there and made 
drawings of a coach, perhaps the very 
same old acquaintance.) 

Strange! My enthusiasm had been 
keen, yet disappointment didn't now 
occur. For there was still that marvel- 
ous scale model of Imperial Rome. 
There were beautiful though much- 
faded Japanese drawings, cases of 
ancient weapons; some early 19th cen- 
tury French pistols in their leathern 
case. I had made a drawing of them 
with some fidelity about six years ago 
which aided me in winning my first 
prize: a memorable accomplishment, 
and cause enough perhaps for occa- 
sional nostalgia. 

These are a few of the old "notables", 
my "teachers" as it were, who knew I'd 
someday come again to see them in a 
different light, more as they are. 

But, look! was that not Eakins, there 
through the glass doorway? Too late! 
The sunless day was nearly ended, and 
he had withdrawn. I had but a glimpse 
of him brushing through a gray-blue 
curtain into the darkness of an inner 



8 



By JOHN B. EVES 



room. In the long interval since my 
last visit I had become acquainted with 
Gericault and Delacroix, and was sur- 
prised to find them represented here. 
And THermitte! Both his great work 
in the Metropolitan and his powerful 
suggestiveness are brought to mind in 
this smaller though no less admirable 
picture. His work has that "welcome 
accessibility" which arouses interest, 
and yet, you know, can only be attained 
by work and a quality of mind. 

And there in a room of Dutch crafts- 
men is a Rubens painting of people and 
still life. It leaves you exhausted. The 
others in this room approach his level, 
and because it is the only room so far 
that tends to wear you down, you begin 
to realize that you're in an art museum. 
There is not too much of this, for space 
is limited and choices are excellently 
varied. Incomplete you say! Some- 
what, but worth seeing certainly, and 
ready for all comers. The "Great" to 
be sure are often cloistered in a private 
collection and thus remain unknown, 
so we must make comparisons under 
these limitations. 

If you long for the "Great" come 
with me. Here in an adjoining gallery 
are two of Tiepolo's paintings. They 
are small but not unlike his masterful 
drawings in their seeming facility, al- 
though they miss in expressing the 
subject for they are not as clearly 
competent in manner. And what will 
you think of the early Italians working 
so much after El Greco's conception 



and color? Even more amazing is it 
to find his "Crucifixion" hanging in 
this obsequious gallery. It used to 
hang in the Parkway Museum; then it 
disappeared. Henceforth, look for 
your discarded favorites here. 

In Memorial Hall there are enough 
Religious paintings in the category of 
the Johnson collection to cause you 
once more to wonder at the number 
the world must hold. If you can get 
beyond their usual ghastliness you may 
appreciate their power — perhaps their 
ghastliness is their power. 

I've just skimmed over the surface 
and plunked to the bottom somewhere 
short of the shore unless I've made it 
evident that there is a lingering world 
of great art in that old Hall, that it is 
a kind of place that is instructively 
entertaining. You know: the sort of 
institution wherein learning is such a 
delight that one does not realize it is 
taking place. 

Nowhere will you find a finer, more 
hospitable group of works of art. You 
feel that they know the effect of appre- 
ciative admiration and have about them 
a glimmer of the pride arising from be- 
ing in fine company. Surely theirs is 
the function of existing in an active 
manner not unlike their creators. With 
this as their destiny, and being now 
aware of their domain, why not purge 
the surface thing, the drabness of place 
and surroundings, and become ac- 
quainted with the more vital thing 
that is Memorial Hall? 



CRAFTSMANSHIP 
OF PAINTING 



THE history of art has been directly 
influenced throughout the various 
schools of painting, among other things, 
by the materials available to the artists. 
During each period, we find the artist 
keenly feeling the limitation of his ma- 
terials and in striving to give expression 
to his artistic creations, seeking and 
developing new media. Even today, 
with the more or less rapid advance of 
chemistry and physics as sciences dur- 
ing the last 100 years, it has not been 
possible to develop an ideal medium 
serving the emotional demands of the 
painter. Today, we are indebted to the 
industrial paint chemist for a selection 
of brilliant, permanent and durable 
color pigments, far exceeding in num- 
bers the palette of the painter at any 
other time. In fact, it is just this which 
causes the artist to run into technical 
difficulties. If he is not somewhat ac- 
quainted with the properties of the pig- 
ments he uses, he runs into trouble. 
The improper use of pigments that are 
chemically unalterable, causes pictures 
to age with loss of color, cracking, etc. 
Only too frequently do we find the 
artist condemning the materials he used. 
But this is seldom the true cause. Lack 
of even elemental knowledge of the 
craftsmanship and technique of paint- 
ing is causing more damage in modern 
pictures than use of faulty materials. 
The pigments, oils and varnishes of to- 
day, if properly used, will yield works 
of art equal in every respect, in color, 
brilliancy and permanency of those of 



F. W. WEBER 

any other period. Today, the artist is 
more fortunate than at any other time. 
With the very extended selection, he 
may readily paint in any of the methods 
of the early schools. 

As we advance through the history of 
painting, from the very earliest evi- 
dence of art — namely, the wall paint- 
ings of the paeleolithic man in Alta- 
mira, Spain, through the early Egyp- 
tian, Assyrian, Phoenician, Mycean, and 
later Grecian painting, we find not only 
an exceedingly limited palette of colors, 
but also a very elementary or primitive 
craftsmanship. At first, we find glue 
size, later eggs and wax used as painting 
mediums, then oil and bitumen used by 
the Byzantines as varnish over glue, egg 
and wax paintings. It was this practice 
which caused the darkening and de- 
struction of many of these paintings. 

Throughout the four main periods of 
art, we find the artists' implements, 
painting grounds, pigments and me- 
diums evolving from the primitive to 
the establishment of such sound tech- 
niques as tempera and true Buon 
Fresco by the Florentines, and a mixed 
oil-emulsion technique by the Flemish, 
the influence of which is evident 
through to modern painting. The study 
of the chemistry, physics of light and 
color of these early techniques shows 
what remarkable craftsmen these paint- 
ers were, when one considers that 
chemistry or physics had not yet been 
developed as a science. And yet, we 
often hear the contemporary painter 



10 



excusing his own technical deficiencies, 
stating that the Old Masters had better 
materials with which to paint. The Old 
Master had neither the large selection 
of durable products at the disposal of 
the modern painter, nor the chemistry 
and physics commonly known today. 

In the days of the guilds, the student 
served an apprenticeship, spent through 
several years of rigid training, having 
assigned to him the duties of preparing 
and refining pigments, oils, mediums 
and varnishes. But in the last half of 
the 19th century, industrial chemistry 
began to develop a wide range of very 
brilliant, tempting colors, many of 
which were offered under fanciful 
names, hiding the true identity some- 
times of dangerous, fugitive colors. The 
artist, welcoming the severance of this 
uninspirational phase of his profession, 
used untried and recently developed 
colors indiscriminately. As a result, 
men like Sargent, Whistler, Eakins, who 



are representative of their period, have 
left some paintings whose souls have 
departed in an amazingly short time. 
Laboratory research has definitely 
shown that only in very few isolated 
instances are such changes as darken- 
ing, cracking, yellowing, etc., caused by 
faulty material but are directly trace- 
able to faulty craftsmanship and lack 
of technical knowledge. 

There is every reason to believe that 
the student of painting today can pro- 
duce works which are every bit as bril- 
liant and as permanent as the paintings 
of any former period, if he will only 
give some thought and study to the 
mechanics of paint. With the ma- 
terials at his command, the modem 
painter has only to choose his pigments 
carefully, and to acquire a knowledge 
of the action of oils, varnishes, glazes 
and other details of his craft, in order 
to feel confident that technically his 
paintings will be as fine as any in the 
world. 




Decorations by 
Irving Penn 



BY LAMPLIGHT 

The lamplight falls in soft, white glowing 

plane. 
My thoughts are scattered and my mind beset 
With endless things I ponder while I let 
The minutes drop around me. As the rain 
Slips from the eaves and gurgles in the drain 
I see the world and love it, shining wet. 
The glistening trees are bare of leaves and let 
Soft, misty shafts of light up from the lane. 
My thoughts are calmer now; I've watched 

the night 
And heard its endless mutter. As it falls. 
The rain is cheerless and I'm glad to keep 
My place where I can see the lamp's soft 

light. 
I sense the mute protection of four walls, 
And tired now, I heedless sink to sleep. 

BETTY SUMNER 




11 



THE SOUP-PREME 



BY WALDO SHELDON 



Superb Studio of Commercial Art 
1330 Elm St^ Phila^ Pa. 
Feb. 4, 1936 
Zenith Adv. Co. 
46 Lincoln Pl. 
Detroit, Mich. 
Gentlemen : 

I am submitting for your inspection 
a portfolio of advertisements for the 
Supreme Soup Co., whose account you 
have. Kindly note the superb quality 
and realism of the paintings. We went 
to great pains to achieve this result — 
namely, keeping the soup hot while it 
was being painted. Joe (that's my kid 
brother) , almost wore out a pair of 
shoes running back and forth to heat 
the soup every twenty minutes. After- 
wards we ate each kind and it certainly 
was delicious. 

Hoping to hear from you soon, I 
remain, 

Yours truly, 

EUwood Truman, Pres. 



Zenith Adv. Co. 
Inter-office Memo. 
From — Wm. Cans, Art Director 
To — Herbert J. Cross — Remarks 

Herby, take a look at the museum 
pieces sent to us by the "Superb Studios 
of Commercial Art" (File No. 76AA3), 
and write the kid who made them a nice 
letter so he won't get too discouraged. 
Only, for Pete's sake, don't tell him to 
try again. 

BiU. 

Superb Studios 
Dear Betty: 

Well, darling, like you suggested, I 

sent off some of my work to the people 

who do the Supreme Soup ads, and I 

expect to hear from them any day now. 

It's about time they put out some 

decent advertising. How people can 

stand those kewpie-dolls they use for a 

trade mark, I don't know. I'll bet you 

even had enough taste to dislike them 

before I taught you all about Art. Of 




12 



SACRIFrCE 



ILLUSTRATED BY JACOB LANDAU 



course, I had to sacrifice some of my 
principals in order to make the kind of 
paintings they need. To my mind, a 
good, realistic bowl of soup will make 
anybody hungry for it — so I did my 
paintings in a very academic way. 

Joe and I ate the three cans of soup 
after we finished, and it was so terrible 
that it gave us stomach aches. It cer- 
tainly must be punk soup, because we 
hadn't eaten since the day before, and 
we sure were hungry. 

Well, I sort of dashed oflf a canvas 
with the paint that was left on my 
palette, trying to reproduce my nausea 
after that rotten soup. I did it as sort 
of a joke to amuse Joe. When the thing 
was finished, I thought it had pretty 
good color and design, and it really did 
create a nostalgic mood, so I'm going to 
call it, "The City Dump", and send it 
along with my "Flying Soul" to the 
Modern Art exhibition at Rockefeller 
center. It would be wonderful if one of 
them won a prize. 

I am going to send them under a dif- 
ferent name this year. I think the rea- 
son I was rejected last season was be- 
cause some one found out I was the 
"Superb Studios of Commercial Art", 
and you know how those judges feel 
about advertising artists. 

Well, sweetheart, keep up the good 
work at the hospital, and you'll be a 
nurse before your father, ha, ha ! 

Love, EUwood. 
Zenith Adv. Co. 
To Superb Studios of Commercial Art. 
Mr. Ellwood Truman, Pres. 
Dear Sir: 




Your canvases and layouts of Feb. 4 
have been received and duly considered. 
While the work is in itself highly meri- 
torious, we regret to say that it does 
not meet our present needs. It is not 
the policy of our clients, the Supreme 
Soup Company, to use such a usual 
type of advertising. Might we suggest 
that the excellent technique employed 
in your paintings would be better 
adapted to some form of fiction illustra- 
tion? 

Yours truly, 

Herbert J. Cross, 
Assistant Art Director. 
A.W./HJ.C. 

Supreme Soup Company, 
Battle Creek, Mich. 
Zenith Adv. Co. 

Attention: Mr. W. J. Flaherty, Pres. 
Dear Sir: 

After serious contemplation of the 
facts, we have come to the conclusion 
that our recent decrease in sales is due 
to faulty advertising. But for once — 
maybe — the fault isn't yours. You have 
always carried out our stuff in the true 
Supreme Soup style. But I think the 
public is getting tired of it. 



13 



What I want now is something so sen- 
sational, so startling, that it will put the 
words "Supreme Soup" in every mouth 
in the country. And incidentally, the 
soup, too. It's going to be a grand new 
campaign, and if it's good enough, we 
might even allow a little more for ad- 
vertising on this year's hudget. 
Sincerely, 

Ogden Ginsberg, Pres. 

Zenith Adv. Co. 

Inter-office Memo. 

From — Wm. Gans, Art Director 

To — Herbert J. Cross, Assistant 

Herby, I'm going crazy trying to think 
up ideas for W.J.'s new campaign. Me, 
I'm supposed to be an Art Director, but 
W.J.'s new copywriters are no good, so 
I have to propound aphorisms for dear 
old Supreme Soup. I'm getting to the 
point where I half expect him to like 
anything that's absolutely awful. Do 
you remember a kid named Tulip or 
Truly or something, who sent us some 
fine-art portraits of the soup a few days 
ago? See if you can get them back. 
It's a long shot, but a last straw. 

Bill. 
Superb Studios 
Dear Betty: 

Well, honey chile, it seems as if 
tough luck is just dogging my foot- 
steps. First of all, the Zenith Adver- 
tising Co. sent back my soup paintings, 
which made me feel very despondent. 
The dam things weren't any good to 
me, so yesterday I started scraping the 
three canvases so that I could use them 
over again. I had just put paint- 
remover on the third one, and sort of 
rubbed it with a rag, when Joe came 
running in with a letter. It was from 
the Zenith Advertising Co., and they 
wanted my paintings back on approval 



— immediately. And I had just scraped 
two of them, and practically ruined the 
third. Well, I'm sending it off, anyway, 
even if it is all out of kelter now, be- 
cause I am so despondent I don't care 
what happens. Joe is down at the ex- 
press office as I'm writing this. He is 
shipping off the ruined soup, and my 
two canvasses for the Modem exhi- 
bition. I am sending under the name of 
Svengali Czwyk — because that sounds 
as if it ought to win a prize no matter 
what kind of canvas it was signed to. 
Be good, darling — and don't worry. My 
tough luck can't last forever. 
Great big juicy kisses. 

EUwood. 
Zenith Adv. Co. 

Inter-office Memo. 
From — ^Wm. Cans 
To — Herbert J. Cross 

You can stop worrying about the 
Supreme Soup campaign, Herby. The 
old man got the dizziest idea from a 
couple of paintings that came in yester- 
day, but it's just screwy enough to be 
sensational. I'll see you at lunch and 
give you the details. 

Bill. 

From the Art Section of the New York 
Times, Feb. 17, 1936. 

. . . the prize winning canvas of the 
show stimulated more sensation than 
any one painting in this exhibition has 
ever done before. It is a still life of a 
bowl of soup by an unknown artist 
named Ellwood Truman. The line, 
color and chiarascuro are magnificently 
carried out. Already artists are hailing 
Truman as an American Van Gogh . . . 
Superb Studios 

Dear Betty : 

So many things have happened that 
I hardly know where to begin. I have 



14 



run into piles of good luck, and all be- 
cause of a careless mistake of Joe's. He 
sent my distorted bowl of soup to the 
exhibition, the "City Dump" and "Fly- 
ing Soul" to the Zenith Advertising Co. 
Zenith accepted my canvases, and are 
using them in a campaign to show the 
difference in sensation before and after 
eating Supreme Soup. 

That sounds like funny advertising to 
me, but it will certainly make people 
talk about my paintings. And I have a 
commission for six more of a similar 
kind! You probably read in the paper 
Sunday how I won first prize at the 



exhibition. 

Darling, I have fame and fortune at 
last, and all at once! 

Tubes of love, 

EUwood. 

Miss Betty Randolph 
Madison Hospital 
New York City 
Dearest Ell wood: 

Just a quick note to ask a favor. I 
know how you are about ideals and 
truth — but for mercy's sake, darUng, 
don't go bungling things up now by 
telling anybody that the "before" paint- 
ing on the new Supreme Soup ads was 
done after eating the darned stuff! . . . 



CONGRATULATIONS! 



WE have reserved this space to give a little credit where credit is due, for in 
this struggling world of ours, a little credit now and then is relished by the 
best of men. (We are not talking Finance, though even there the maxim still 
holds.) 

First we should like to congratulate Samuel Feinstein, famed fourth year 
student who captured the Philadephia Sketch Club medal this spring in the 
annual exhibition of oil sketches. We are sure this is the beginning of a brilliant 
career in painting for Mr. Feinstein. 

And of course we cannot neglect to mention Henrietta Jones, also of fourth 
year. The fact that her drawings were selected as one of the ten best groups in 
the nationwide Limited Editions Club contest is perhaps the biggest thrill of the 
year. She still has a chance of winning a prize, and we're all hoping. 

Last, but by no means least hearty are the congratulations we extend to 
William Craig Smith, a first year student who won third prize in the Art Alliance 
stage design contest. He made a model of a set for "Bluebeard" with the assist- 
ance of Ronald Hower. Mr. Smith's work in stage designing has already come 
to the attention of important members of the profession. 



15 




a.>^\^ s\>^ 



FOR quite some time now I have 
been interested in looking for les 
maisons vieilles Americaines. ("Look- 
ing for old American houses" to you.) 
Last summer, since I had the oppor- 
tunity and time — you've all heard of 
unemployment by now — I pursued this 
hobby of mine with renewed vigor. 

Little equipment is needed for the 
M.V.A. hobby. A pencil, paper (blank 
paper preferably), a camera if you can 
beg, borrow or steal one, a car or good 
hiking boots, a "gift of gab", and lots 
of nerve — the last is most essential. An 
entree is best procured by having some 
other interest besides just wanting to 
look at old houses. My other interest 
was genealogy — a safe bet since every- 
one has one, and no one knows much 
about it. My first point of contact was 
Aunt Ella, the oldest living member of 
the family and whose memory holds a 
veritable library of family history. It 
seems that great, great, eight-genera- 
tions-back-great grandfather came to 
settle in New Jersey in 1677. Fortu- 
nately, few of his descendants inherited 
his pioneering spirit, and so had all 
settled within the confines of Jersey — 
in fact, for the most part, in Salem 
County. Our self-appointed job — 
there's one thing about unemployment, 
you can be your own boss — was to find 
where, how and why these descendants 
had lived. Strange it is that one's grave 
marker is the best clue to one's place of 
residence while alive, but so it goes. I 
visited cemeteries and studied grave 
stones. Then, fortified with a map on 



which I had plotted where the old 
family homesteads were supposed to be, 
I started out. 

First I stopped to get Uncle Ezra — 
we'll call him Uncle Ezra. He was out 
with Dobbin, crooning into the ears of 
silken corn which swayed in unison to 
the pulsating rhythm of his flute-like 
whistle — or something. Would he like 
to go for a ride? Would he like! Dob- 
bin needed the rest anyway, and supper 
wouldn't be ready for four hours, and 
he didn't like to cultivate com anymore 
than you do, and . . . we were off. 

With Uncle Ezra as a guide, I soon 
arrived at Jericho where several of the 
ancestors had lived. This is the scene 
of "Bull Tavern" famed by George Ag- 
new Chamberlain. The old tavern, 
built by John Brick in 1708, was de- 
stroyed about a half century ago. All 
that remains on the original site is two 
stories of the three-story annex built by 
John S. Wood about 1803 to take care 
of the increase in business. By the 
names of these builders, you might be 
led to suppose that the place is built of 
brick and wood, and as a matter of fact, 
so it is. The ground floor contained the 
bar, "respectfully restricted to gentle- 
men." The second floor was the "ball 
room"- — wide floor boards sprinkled 
with com meal or sand, the fiddlers 
three (or was it two) , the merry "young 
folks." And the third floor contained 
the guest rooms. Across the road to the 
north lay the mill pond which fed the 
saw and grist mills, and was the scene 
of summer and winter sports. Down 



16 



By FIRMAN BRADWAY, Evening School 



the road to the south stands the man- 
sion of John S. Wood where the "400" 
of that day gathered. The mansion is 
a two-story brick edifice buih in 1801. 
"Ivy Manor" as it is now known makes 
an ideal rendezvous for those who want 
to get away from it all. You can throw 
another log on the fire as often as you 
like — there's a fireplace in every room. 

Upon following one of the old roads 
along Stow Creek, we came upon a two- 
story house of brick laid in the Flemish 
bond pattern — alterating rows of 
"stretcher" and "header", the header of 
glazed blue brick. We approached 
cautiously, but found the owner young 
and amiable with no barking dogs. It 
developed that this was the house that 
had been built by an ancestor in 1700 
A. D. with bricks, the legend goes, that 
were brought from England as ballast 
in ships. But some of the local kill-joys 
think the bricks were made of clay dug 
from the creek bed at low tide and hard- 
ened in the sun. We were invited to 
inspect the house. After watching 
about five minutes of our rigorous in- 
specting, the owner started to think we 
were revenue officers in disgust — par- 
don me, disguise. In answer to our 
suspicious scrutiny of a half filled pan 
on the living room floor, the following 
story came to light. 

It seems that the previous year, while 
trying to make the house more modern, 
the electrician and his wires poked into 
the golden treasure of the owner's non- 
paying guests, a swarm of bees. It 
wasn't discovered until that night, when 



17 



the aforesaid owner was awakened, 
quite rudely, by the drip of something 
on his forehead. The "golden treas- 
ure", aged over a hundred years, had 
sprung a leak. It took fifteen minutes, 
by actual count, for the owner to realize 
that the only way to relieve the situa- 
tion was to move the bed. And now it 
had been "nigh onto ten months" since 
the placing of that graceful urn under 
the spot where the honey still dripped. 
Eat it? Did you ever taste "slightly 
aged" honey that had been used as a 
mausoleum by bees? So have I. 

Outside, the house is little changed. 
The buttonwood trees have lived to 
tower over the house like giants, and 
Stow Creek is slowly encroaching upon 
the front yard. The surrounding farm 
buildings are the kind that artists just 
love to paint. Their age makes the 
milking machine and the modem car 
within seem like anachronisms. 

There are lots of other old houses I 
have visited. Most of them appear very 
much the same from the outside, but 
each has a history and atmosphere all 
its own. 




NOTES FROM STUDENTS' 



BY MARY E. WINSTON 



AT the behest of one Donald Cooke, 
. patient editor of ye Sketchee 
Booke, I promised to write a "running 
commentary" to accompany the 
sketches which enliven these pages. 
That which constitutes a running com- 
mentary was as unknown to me as the 
reason why a dog always stretches with 
his front legs first. In desperation, 
therefore, I consulted Old Faithful — 
not a horse but a dictionary. A com- 
mentary, it appeared, was an explana- 
tion. Well, said I to myself, I'll write 
no commentary, running or otherwise, 
for the simple reason that these lively 
little sketches need no explanation. 
They speak for themselves and for the 
authors of their being, and speak elo- 
quently. No one, for instance, could 
imagine for a moment that Henrietta 
Jones's sketches had been created by a 
heavy-handed female with a burning 
passion for expressing The Things That 
Matter. The delicacy and humor of 
these quaint little figures bespeak a 
light touch and a gentle ironical atti- 
tude towards humanity. I don't mean 
to infer that H. J. ignores things that 
matter. She doesn't. But after all 
everything that is important need not 
be given a grim and serious treatment. 
The spirit of an era is important, isn't 
it? Lots of people spend a great deal 
of time writing books, heavy and other- 
wise, in an attempt to bring to life 
some period of history; but all H. J. has 
to do is to take a pen in that left hand 
of hers, wiggle it around a bit, and be- 
hold ! a lady with a large hat — a lady of 




^t^MjUnX^^^-^^^^ 




such swish and pertness that she seems 
to be the very embodiment of that joy 
of living which is supposed to be 
characteristic of the Gay Nineties. Or 
we have the checked-coat gentleman, 
complete with handle-bars and cane. 
He stands stiffly and self-consciously as 
tho' posing for his photograph. There 
is something about this gentleman 
which makes me think he would be 
glad to get away from the camera so 
that he might visit that particular 
heaven which is entered through swing- 
ing doors, a jolly heaven where he may 
rest his foot on a polished rail and sing, 
not hymns but nauseating Sweet Ade- 
lines. 

Libby Lovett, another gal with a light 
touch, also has a talent for catching a 
characteristic of a bygone day. In these 
sketches of hers there is all the sweet- 
ness — and — light and wide-eyed inno- 
cence which goes with buttoned booteea 
and assorted petticoats. The doves, or 



18 



SKETCHBOOKS 




V AA^ji4^ \ciu</xm 




whatever they are, flying around the 
little girl with the bunch of flowers 
give a really delicious emphasis to the 
atmosphere of naivete which is in that 
sketch and in all the others. Inci- 
dentally, the bewildered expression of 
that little girl reminds me of an old 
rhyme in which another petite enfant 
was found in a field, crying, by a kind 
old gentleman. He asked her, "Why 
are you crying, my pretty child?" "Oh 
Sir," she said, "the flowers they are 
wild!" 

There is none of the Prunes and 
Prisms age about Vincent Faralli's 
work. The sort of demoniacal satire in 
these sketches of his is as far away from 
the little-ray-of-sunshine type of thing 
as the North pole is from the South. I 
have an idea that Vincent's particular 
kind of satire is the principal quality in 
his work which makes it individual and 
interesting. When he draws a face, the 
result, as far as these sketches are con- 



cerned, is not what is commonly 
thought of as a human face; instead the 
result is rather like what Popeye would 
call a "monstrosiky." Vincent seems to 
have quite a warm spot in his heart for 
implements of warfare. In the sketches 
before me there are four swords, a vil- 
lainous-looking knife, and a tomahawk, 
all wielded by various gentlemen who 
look as tho' it would be a positive joy 
to slice someone's gizzard or bash his 
head in. There is a great deal of gusto 
and spirit in these sketches. They 
have, for me, a sort of horrible fasci- 
nation, particularly the odd soul with 
the big feet. I once 
had a nurse who 
used to tell me, 
with much rolling of 
black eyes, that if I 
was n't good the 
bogey-man would get 
me. I never could 
figure out quite who 



19 




the bogey-man was or what he looked 
like, but after gazing upon this one-eyed 
creature in the night-shirtish garment, 
I need wonder no longer. 

Another young hopeful with a pen- 
chant for satire is Jacob Landau. I am 
not very well acquainted with his 
work, but if the sketches spread out be- 
fore me are any indication, he is inter- 
ested in a variety of subjects, nationali- 
ties, and periods of history. Almost all 
of these sketches are simple and direct, 
drawn with a fluent and expressive line, 
and in nearly all he seems to be poking 
quiet fun at somebody or something. 
That horrendous trait of exaggerated 
piety comes in for quite a bit of leg- 
pulling in this sketch of the priest with 
the bony hands and so-sanctimonious ex- 
pression. Then there is the picture of 
the Viking. I am not sure that Landau 
intended him to be funny, but there is 
something about the pin-feathers on his 
forearm and the odd way his legs prop 
him up that makes me think the wild 
Noi-seman is not being taken too seri- 
ously. 

Juliette Fleche is another brush- 
wiggler whose sketches exhibit a sense 
of humor. The little girls in be- 
flowered and be-striped jumpers who 
are going in for strenuous exercises on 
this page were sketched by Juliette in a 
gymnasium. She said the gym was 
simply swarming with young gymnasts 
who were trying enthusiastically to see 
in how many different positions they 
could wangle their limbs. While Ju- 
liette was sketching these brats she 
naturally received a lot of attention and 
the inevitable questions. "0-ooh, look! 
There's Maisie! It is Maisie, isn't it?" 
"And that's Sally! LookatSaUy!" All 



followed by the gurgles and squeals and 
piercing yelps which generally express 
infantile amusement, and which bear a 
strong resemblance to the chattering of 
Frank Buck's monkeys. I guess Darwin 
was right. At any rate, these sketches 
have a great deal of spontaneity and 
"go" to them. If I were still running 
around in rompers I'm sure that I also 
would squeal and gurgle with delight at 
the sight of them. 

There is spontaneity, too, in Marcella 
Broudo's life sketch. These sketches of 
hers do not give as good a clue to her 
work as some of the other sketches give 
to their creators' work. However, this 
life sketch more than hints at strong, 
individual work, with plenty of what 
Sam Weller might term "wim and 
wigor." Marcella is usually a very 
serious artist, regardless of the reply 
she gave to the question of what 
thought was uppermost in her mind 
while working. With one of her pleas- 
ing and rather infrequent smiles she 
said, "Oh I don't know. I just have a 
hell of a good time splashing around." 
As a matter of fact, the question was a 
rather superfluous one; because when 
Marcella has finished a picture, it is 
pretty obvious what her chief thought 
has been, but I just wanted to see what 
she would say — and I got what I 
wanted. At the present time Mar- 
cella's preoccupation is with the ideal 
of progress. She apparently does not 
agree with those wise guys who regard 
progress as a lavender-scented illusion. 
I wouldn't know, but I think it would 
have to be a pretty thick-skinned wise 
guy who, after absorbing the enthusiasm 
and spirit in Marcella's pictures, could 
resist the impulse at least to wish that 
he believed in progress. 



20 





^fUMd2e^^*y*<''^ 



9^ 




21 



CHARCOAL DUST 



Drawings by 



WE sat down rather abruptly the 
other day and decided that, this 
issue, our column would be different. 
The most unusual thing about this was 
that we were able to make a decision; 
for one must first have thoughts in order 
to decide about them, and, well, you 
know us! 

Anyway, after chewing away a dozen 
Venus HB pencils, we finally compiled 
a list of people who do not look alike. 
We realize this is a terribly radical 
move, but here is our little brain child : 

BEA MURRAY and TOM MIX. 

NONNY GARDNER and OLD 
BLACK JOE. 

BEN GRIM and OMAR KHAYYAM. 

MIDGIE FAISON and MAHATMA 
GHANDI. 

SUE CARTER and RIP VAN WIN- 
KLE. 

Just a rough idea, but it's illustra- 
tive, we hope. 

We pause here to reflect that at the 
rate of speed Danny Redden rushed 
through those pictures of the history- 
making football game, we can probably 
expect exclusive shots of the Battle of 
Gettysburg any day now. And while 
we're messing around with reflections, 
we wonder if the gals from the League 
House have ever gone picnicking in 
Filler Park; — or if Moessner will be 
a fireman when he grows up; — or if 
Sam Dunbar will get a muffler to go 
with his checked suit; — or if Quinn 
will ever get a new smock. 

Adelaide Nelson reports that during 
the Van Gogh exhibition she witnessed 
the following spectacle: 

A gushing creature clad in mink 



(or some other capitalistic raiment) 
came floating up the steps of the 
museum and made directly for a 
poor, ill-clad, sad old lady selling 
penny candy and stuff. The gushing 
creature, on reaching her destina- 
tion, paused, put on her best gush, 
and inquired sweetly, "I say, do you 
have 'Lust for Life'"? 
Blame Jack Chew for the loud noise 
that recently disturbed the quiet and 
repose of the school, for one day Chewie 
appeared in a shirt of screaming 
orange and purple. Anyone with an 
eye for business could have made a 
fortune in smoked glasses. 

Bitter experience has taught Rudy 
Freund that Barbers' Colleges should be 
seen, and not patronized. 

And several people have promised to 
scream above high C if Billie Nonama- 
ker's fatal story of the Wooden Indian, 
or any of the variations that sprang 
from it, are repeated in front of them. 




22 



by the SCRATCHER 

Henrietta Jones 



And now, if you will close your eyes 
for a moment, we will disguise ourselves 
as a sports department and tell you all 
about our school's ping-pong and bas- 
ketball games. To begin with, we 
haven't won any of the ping-pong 
tournaments, always going under a 3-2 
margin, so if we sort of edge away from 
the subject. . . . 

But when it comes to basketball, our 
Basketeers are there with the goods! 
A score of 23-11 showed the Academy 
that we are not to be trifled with. And 
we even have a sneaking suspicion that 
we could beat them at jackstraws. 

We hope the courtyard committee 
will plant a couple of weeping willow 
trees out there; it's so darned dusty 
during hot weather. 

Tony, the mustachioed model, gives 
such a homelike atmosphere to Mr. 
Rushton's class: the other day he posed 
with the sweetest little doll you ever 
saw. 




A spectacle is the semi-annual 
"Freshman Confusion". It is interest- 
ing to observe it in any of its forms. 
Last February we caught sight of a fair 
example. Our subject was on his way 
to the supply room to lay in his Me- 
chanical Drawing equipment. He ap- 
proached the "required" list bravely, 
ordered the whole works. He even in- 
vested in some "futures", then made his 
way toward the stairs. He climbed ; but 
halfway up, he hugged the wall to let 
a fellow pass, and immediately his 
T-square began to slip. Unusual angle. 
He righted it, but a check-up revealed 
that his expansive sheet of hot-press 
paper was beginning to elude his grasp, 
dulling its edges on the dusty stairs. 
He moved to seize it firmly, thus caus- 
ing the charcoal paper he shouldn't 
have purchased to glide away. In a 
frenzy he dashed up the stairs to reas- 
semble his method. A rattling to the 
rear pulled him up short, three from 
the top; he turned to woefully look on 
as instrument set and water bucket 
clattered gaily down the stairs, much in 
the manner of Jack and his Jill. From 
his general agitation we deduced that 
his arm had been too short for his 
drawing board; and at that point we 
felt sorry for him and went to his 
assistance. 

One thing about Emerson Urion 
troubles us, for he will sit in front of a 
beautifully posed model, and draw 
locomotives. 

It is our personal opinion, and many 
feel as we do, that something should be 
done about Bill Wence, — in the way of 
loud praise and wild acclaim. Figura- 



23 



lively speaking. Bill is P M S I A's 
power behind the throne; he is Keeper 
of the Keys, Sovereign of the Supply 
Cell, the Hanger-upper of Exhibitions, 
or anything else you may think of. 

For instance, an exhibit is to go on 
the walls: "call Wence!"; if the pro- 
jection machine gets surly, "call twice", 
no, no! But if the model's cold, "tell 
Billy", or if you find a lost base drum 
or something, "notify Willy". If the 
De Medici casts refuse to sit still for 
Miss Hall, "Bill will fix their little 
feet". If you come into school some 
morning and find six Chinese coolies 
playing mah-jong in your locker, "Billy 
will get them all right, all right". 

So you see, he's really indispensable. 

Therefore, we think he should be 



given some token of appreciation, say, 
for instance, a fly-swatter for his little 
office behind the supply store. Flies 
must bother him awfully in the sum- 
mertime. Or perhaps a step-ladder, 
without any steps, so he wouldn't have 
to climb to hang those exhibits. Or 
maybe a fuse box without any fuses, so 
he could have the satisfaction of look- 
ing at it in contempt. Or something. 

Come to think of it, "Wence upon a 
time, . . ." 

And we mustn't forget the Alumni 
Ball. We thought seriously about it, 
and finally covered ourselves with mud, 
going as one of those irreparably bad 
roads Mr. Renzetti claims abound in 
Mexico. 



LIBRARY AND ITS PURPOSE 

EUGENIE M. FRYER, Librarian 

A LIBRARY is a living thing. It 
grows, expands, broadens year by 
year. It is not only the repository of 
thought, it is a place of enlightenment, 
of stimulation to fresh thought and 
greater endeavor. Its purpose is to 
serve, and its usefulness is measured by 
the breadth of its service. 

Fourteen years ago, the School Li- 
brary was uncatalogued. Today there 
is not only the complete indexed cata- 
logue, but also a printed catalogue, a 
copy of which is given to each first year 
student that he become the quicker ac- 
quainted with the content of the library. 
A diagram in the front of the book 
gives the key to the arrangement of 
books by subject. Being a reference 
library, the student realizes quickly that 
the subjects covered are confined to 



those related to the courses he is taking. 
In entering the library, the world of his 
special research unfolds before him. It 
is the place where he can enrich his 
background, where he can become 
familiar with the art of all ages, where 
he can absorb and draw inspiration 
from the culture of the past. One must 
take in before one can give out. Tech- 
nique is essential to expression; but un- 
less one has something worth while to 
express, it is valueless. 

Research is like the beginning of a 
quest. It leads one into endless paths 
of adventure never dreamed of at its 
beginning. A student will come in 
search of information about some 
phase of Spanish life, for example. In 
his search, he will, perhaps, first look for 
articles on the subject in the National 



24 



Geographic. This in turn will lead him 
to the books on costume; to the books 
on Spanish architecture or Spanish in- 
teriors. He will become absorbed in a 
book of travel, or a book on Spanish 
painting. Besides discovering the 
special material for which he is search- 
ing, he finds more and more avenues 
opening up. His mind is constantly 
getting new vistas; his sense of propor- 
tion grows; his outlook on life widens; 
his creative faculties become alive as 
never before. His imagination is stirred 
as he becomes familiar with life and 
peoples of many countries and eras. He 
learns to understand the reason for cer- 
tain customs or styles of architecture in 
varied times and countries. He recog- 
nizes that they are expressions of that 
particular age, or are due to prevalent 
conditions. In his study of birds and 
animals, flowers and trees in the nature 
section, he unconsciously supplements 
his observations made at the Zoo or in 
Horticultural Hall, or in the woods and 
fields. A chair is no longer a mere 
chair. He sees it in the setting for 
which it was designed. So he learns 
discrimination and acquires a knowl- 
edge indispensible with good taste. 

Last spring, a lending shelf was insti- 
tuted, and has been very popular with 
the students. It is a miscellaneous col- 
lection of biographies, fiction, and a 
sprinkling of art books. The growth of 
this shelf is largely dependent upon the 
generosity of our friends, and we are 
always glad of contributions. 

Since 1922 some eight hundred books 
have been added to the library, so that 
our collection though by no means as 
large as we would like, is yet of high 
excellence. One of our shelves we keep 
for books that have been illustrated by 



former students. We are anxious that 
this shelf should constantly expand. 

In all libraries, some simple rules are 
of course necessary; for the main pur- 
pose of a library is to aflford a quiet 
atmosphere in which to work and study. 
Of these, freedom and silence, both un- 
written laws, are vital to its existence. 
Further, the library must be for all, not 
for the few. In order that the library 
may reach its fullest usefulness to the 
student body, students and librarian 
must cooperate to that end. Freedom, 
not to be confused with license, is as 
equally vital as silence in a library, 
freedom to come and go, to have access 
to the shelves and magazines at all 
times. Unfortunately for the past year, 
depredations have been going on. Books 
and magazines have been mutilated, 
thus impairing the usefulness of the 
library, and depriving the students of 
material that by rights is theirs. If we 
are to maintain the freedom of the li- 
brary, and so keep it at its fullest 
capacity for usefulness, this mutilation 
of books and magazines must cease. The 
public opinion of the students, I feel, is 
the most powerful force to end this 
abuse of privilege. To that end, I ask 
the cooperation of every student to put 
a stop to this unfortunate condition. I 
am whole heartedly working to keep the 
library so free and quiet that it may 
give you opportunity to fully enjoy it 
under conditions which can only be 
realized if the student body supports 
me in my efforts to maintain their 
rights. Will you not aid me in preserv- 
ing the freedom of the library? The 
library strives to give freedom, quiet, 
service to all who use it. It needs the 
constant cooperation of the students to 
fulfil its purpose. Together we can in- 
crease its usefulness. 



25 




N NOTES 



THE SPRING FASHION SHOW SEEN BY IRENE COLDWELL 



SPRING really arrived on April 28th 
and 29th when our loyal daughters 
presented their annual Spring Fashion 
Show at the Manufacturers Club. My 
friend and I were led to our seats just 
in time to hear the introduction by Mr. 
Warwick. We noticed as we looked at 
our program that the cover design was 
done by John Eves. 

When the curtains parted, the stage 
was quite dark; then, beginning with 
a soft lighting effect representing dawn, 
the illumination gradually broke into 
full daylight, and through a half- 
opened inner curtain we beheld a huge 
airplane with a pilot, Fred Rothermel, 
and a hostess nearby. We found that 
the girls had just arrived in Hollywood. 
Miss Althea L. Rickert, who com- 
mented through the entire show told us 
about the twelve garments we were 
about to see which were made from im- 
ported fabrics. A cocktail suit designed 
by Kae Cole and modeled by Betty 
Godfrey and a lastex satin gown of light 
blue designed and worn by Edith War- 
ner were two things especially worthy 
of mention. 

While waiting for the next scene we 
found time to look at our programs 
more thoroughly and found some of the 



people on the judges committee such 
as Mrs. George S. G. Cavendish, chair- 
man; Mrs. John Story Jenks, Mrs. 
Henry Brinton Coxe and Mrs. Julius 
Zieget. Professional people who were 
selected were Miss June Roades, manag- 
ing director of the velvet guild; Miss 
Caroline Meyer, merchandising man- 
ager of Bonwit Teller, and Miss Adelia 
Bird, the fashion editor of "Mbdern 
Screen." But the curtains parted and 
our findings were interrupted, for we 
were taken to Malibou Beach to a sand 
cafe where sports clothes were shown. 
One of the outstanding features of this 
display was an outfit worn by Georgia 
McKinney. Many hands had helped in 
the making, for the material was de- 
signed by Jacob Landau in Miss Hiflf's 
color and design class after which Ria 
Bundrock and Florence Keast carried 
out the design in batik. Leo Surowski 
of the evening school designed the 
unique coat worn over an aqua sports 
dress in which we saw Miss McKinney 
looking her best. Next in our memory 
we see a model designed by Ruth Gretz 
and worn by Ella Yeager. It was of 
turquoise with a beaded yolk and a 
jacket trimmed with braid. Bettie 
Sharpe came forward in something 




26 



Decoration by Virginia Burr 

smart and showed us the new culotte 
skirt of print pique with a brown 
haker. Just after the curtains were 
closed, Miss Virginia Beegle stepped out 
in an exquisite white, washable velvet 
negligee which she had designed. 

Grauman's Chinese Theater was the 
background for the next display, and 
it was shown in evening light. Then, 
just as the theater was springing to life, 
my friend leaned over and asked if I 
knew who had designed the scenery. 
Of course I knew; the stage craft group 
at our school had designed it and Miss 
Schaill had carried out the work. It was 
indeed an impressive sight before us 
with such young men as Joseph Cos- 
tello and J. Kirk Merrick in attendance 
and looking extremely smart in top hats 
and white ties. We were convinced now 
that some glamorous gowns would be 
shown and all our expectations were 
gratified when Edith Warner stepped 
out in a topaz evening gown with a 
brocaded evening wrap lined with 
chartreuse. It was designed by Leo 
Surowski of the evening school. 

You all have seen Chintz window 
shades at some time or other? Well, 
what has Paris done now but dress 



Milady in chintz! Marion Marsh ap- 
peared, looking very lovely in her blue 
and white glazed chintz evening gown 
which was also designed by her. Now 
we saw the successful co-operation with 
the Textile School, for Dorothy Roden- 
hauser wore a white gown and a wrap 
designed by Ella Yeager. The material 
in the wrap was designed by Marguerite 
Wagner of our school and woven by 
the Textile School. Again the curtain 
closed but a delightful thing happened. 
Ruth Conner stood in silhouette 
against a large, white heart and dif- 
ferently colored lights were thrown on 
her. Then, as she walked down the run- 
way under a floodlight which showed 
the true color of her pink net evening 
gown, we almost forgot to breath again. 

A rustle of excitement spread through 
the audience as the strains of the 
"Wedding March" were heard. An- 
other second and then — yes, there they 
were — the two lovely bridesmaids look- 
ing like twins, for they were Ruth Gretz 
and her sister Mari. "Here comes the 
bride" said the music, and in stepped 
Muriel Quinn as our bride; and I chal- 
lenge anyone to find a lovelier bride or 
a greater fashion show! 




27 



MEXICAN BALL 



BY BARBARA 
CRAWFORD 




'^^^^ 



<^Vv wW'*- 



28 



WHAT THE YOUNG 
ILLUSTRATOR SHOULD KNOW 

EDWARD SHENTON 

THESE are random notes, set down 
in no particular order of impor- 
tance. A few are my own observations; 
most have been swiped shamelessly 
from the remarks and writings of abler 
and more distinguished artists. In com- 
bination with some degree of talent, 
they may be of some assistance in 
achieving, if not complete success, at 
least enough of an income to avoid the 
more unpleasant aspects of starvation. 
Learn to be complete master of at 
least one medium and to be fairly pro- 
ficient in one or two others. Work until 
your technique in that chosen medium 
is not only expert, but brilliant and 
individual. 

Study carefully the various methods 
of reproduction by which your picture 
is transferred to the printed page, to 
understand what it is necessary to do 
in a picture to secure the effect desired 
in the reproduction. 

Get a fair knowledge of type-faces, 
their relative weights, sizes and color; 
i. e., the value of the entire page of 
type, whether it is gray or black, solid 
in appearance, or broken. 

Acquire a competent knowledge of 
layout and design. The illustrator to- 
day is more than a maker of pictures. 
He must understand page design in 
somewhat the same manner as the ad- 
vertising lay-out man. 

Learn to letter proficiently in at least 
three or four styles. 

Work hard. 

Beg, buy or steal all the books pos- 
sible. 

READ THEM. 

Read history and economics and fic- 



tion and fairy tales and biography and 
travel and adventure, in addition to all 
the books necessary to your technical 
education. 

Don't read moving picture magazines. 

Drink plenty of milk, get enough rest 

and exercise. An illustrator needs as 

much energy as a stevedore, if not more. 

Work harder. 

Look at people, draw them, think 
about them, talk to them; find out how 
they live, work, play and die. 

Forget your rubbers if you will, but 
not your sketch-book. 

Carry a sketch-book in one pocket 
and a camera in the other. The sketch- 
book is the record to emotion, the 
camera, fact. 

Work harder and harder. Follow 
the ant, not the grasshopper. 

Don't marry while in the freshman 
class. 

Don't accept anything your instruc- 
tors tell you as true until you think 
about it, unless you're planning a career 
as a Hollywood "yes-man." 

Don't object to anything your in- 
structors tell you until you have 
thought about it. 

Art schools are too soft. It's tough 
outside the gate. Know what to expect 
and prepare for it before you graduate. 
If in doubt, ask the boys and girls who 
graduated two or three years ago. 

Be prepared to work longer hours 
than a doctor and more intensively than 
a research scientist for a little matter of 
five or six years, maybe longer; prob- 
ably longer. 

The finest illustrators are also the 
best craftsmen; learn your trade as 



29 




thoroughly as any plumber or car- 
penter. 

Learn to do something with your 
hands besides drawing, like cabinet- 
making or repairing motors or sewing. 

Writing is a valuable asset to the 
illustrator. Try to compose pictures or 
ideas in words. It compels you to think 
vigorously and clearly. 

Specialize in the direction of your 



most profound interest, but don't let 
that be an excuse for not finding out all 
you can about everything as you go 
along. 

Study two or three aspects of life and 
the world until you know them thor- 
oughly. There is just about enough 
time for that before you're carted away. 

These few paragraphs barely touch 
the surface of an illustrators require- 
ments. Art is long and getting longer. 
We have more general knowledge than 
the Old Masters and we must find out 
what to do with it. Most students 
cherish their minds so tenderly that 
they never have a chance to develop. 
Put them to work; they are capable of 
ten times more than you demand of 
them. 

I haven't even gotten around to "in- 
spiration." I suspect the old bromide 
about it being mostly hard work is the 
truth. 



• ART FOR THE PUBL 

purse. And he could very likely be 
proud of a few etchings or drawings. 

The barber shop is, of course, a sym- 
bol. In millions of shops, offices, 
homes, even mills, the same trend is 
seen. The pictures are there, the artist, 
not. 

The artist is not there because he has 
sold his birthright for a mess of pat- 
ronage. He has had it drummed into 
him ceaselessly that art is for the select 
few; that the herd will never appre- 
ciate it. They will appreciate it soon 
enough if the artist will supply it for 
them to own — to grow to like. 

Great traditions of art are full of in- 
stances in which the artist searched the 
people. Unlimited editions of prints 
by Goya, Daumier, Hogarth, Rem- 



IC • Continued from page 7 

brandt, Duer, etc., were all sold to the 
people. Those people may not have 
realized or appreciated the extreme 
greatness of the work they bought, but 
they bought it — and liked it. It filled a 
need — a need for a picture. 

Today it is an admittedly harder job 
for the artist. The competition may 
seem insurmountable. I do not believe 
that it is. I feel that if art is brought 
down from the ivory tower in which it 
has been self -imprisoned and mingles 
with life — if the artist becomes again a 
working member of society, consciously 
attempting to integrate himself in that 
society — there will be no need to criti- 
cize art schools or their methods of pre- 
paring young artists for a full and 
richly rewarded profession. 



30 




ART IN INDUSTRY 

Experience and training underlying 
artistic creation cind application o£ 
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leading to professional work in In- 
dustrial Design. Emphasis on de- 
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select. Students are grounded not 
only in the best art of the peist and 
present, but trained to solve prob- 
lems of art appropriate to American 
life of the twentieth century. 



DAY COURSES 



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Teacher Training leading to degree. 



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Advance instruction given for a 
limited number of graduates of Art 
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colour and illustration. 



PENNSYLVANIA MUSEUM 
SCHOOL OF INDUSTRIAL ART 

BROAD AND PINE STREETS . . . PHILADELPHIA 



31 



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* 1 71 CHESTNUT STREET 



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18 SOUTH 10TH STREET, PHILADELPHIA 
RACE 2601 WALNUT 1216 



32 



GOOD LUC 



TO THE SCHOOL FROM THE SENIORS 
TO THE SENIORS FROM THE JUNIORS 
TO THE SKETCHBOOK FROM 1ST AND 
2ND YEARS 



AND A PLEASANT SUMMER TO 
EVERYONE! 



^■j 


nr 


■^■■■21 


^ 


s 




oc 


\ 


J 



THE 
ELDON PRESS 

Printers of the Sketchbook 

373 East Go wen Avenue 
Phone CHEstnut Hill 3376 



THANKS! 

To the classes 
for their generous 
contributions to the 
Sketchbook 

THE STAFF 



• SPECIAL PRICES FOR 

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ON CANVAS - 50 INCHES - 45 CENTS 
100 SHEETS OF CHARCOAL PAPER - 
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33 



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34