Master Of Sensuos Line (October/november 1985 | Volume: 36, Issue: 6)

Master Of Sensuos Line

AH article image

Authors: Sandra Leff

Historic Era:

Historic Theme:

Subject:

October/november 1985 | Volume 36, Issue 6

In the early 1900s John White Alexander was considered one of the four preeminent American painters of his day, the peer of Whistler, Sargent, and E. A. Abbey. In 1905 he won a $175,000 commission to paint the murals at the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh; in 1909 he became president of the National Academy of Design; and following his death in 1915, a commemorative exhibition of his work traveled to eleven cities. Then, for several decades, he was forgotten.

 

Alexander’s sudden fall from favor coincided with the profound shift in taste around the time of World War I, which affected an entire generation of painters. Alexander’s very success contributed to the decline of his reputation, since his family had no financial need to sell or even to publicize his paintings. Now that modernism as a movement has itself receded into history, many forgotten artists, Alexander among them, are being reexamined! and discovered to be of enduring interest. In recent years the National Collection of Fine Arts in Washington, D.C., and the Graham Gallery in New York have organized major exhibitions of his work.

He managed to save three hundred dollars in three years, and in 1877 he set off for Europe.

John White Alexander was born outside Pittsburgh in 1856 into circumstances that soon became desolate. His father died when he was an infant, and his mother returned to her own father’s house. She suffered from tuberculosis which steadily grew worse. In the fervor of her Calvinism, she sought to teach her five-year-old son of life’s uncertainty by keeping him in the room with her while she died.

 

Alexander went from somber boyhood to rigorous apprenticeship. Having taught himself to draw by copying the illustrations in Harper’s Weekly , he went to New York at the age of eighteen and found a demanding job in the art department of the newspaper. His letters home offer a vivid glimpse of life on the lowest rung of the editorial ladder: “It is anything but romantic in the ‘Art Department.’ … Davis, though he still talks as though he were my friend, seems to think I am a slave, and nothing else. It never strikes him that I get tired.… Our rooms are very high up—seventy steps, and it seems every time I come in tired and hot, he is waiting for me to send me out again. He never gives me two or three things to do at once, even though they are in the same direction, but gives them to me at separate times. … If he gave me things to do connected with the office I would not mind but when he gives me things to do for himself, such as cleaning a sprinkler before he takes it home, and even folding his paper so it will go in his pocket. …”

Despite all