Up to this time there had been one and only one real influence upon my artistic life, and that was Doctor Rimmer. While at the Boston Art Museum I used to go over to the Institute of Technology to his classes in art anatomy. Dr. William Rimmer, who is only to-day being given any recognition, probably occupies in the artistic world somewhat the same position that Samuel Butler does in the literary world. Rimmer’s work is being dragged out of obscurity to-day by men like Gutzon Borglum, as Butler’s was by Bernard Shaw.
He was a large man with a foreign accent, a crank, but an enthusiast and very excitable. His absorption in his work was that of a crazy genius, but his knowledge of the structure of the human figure, combined with his delicate sense of beauty and vigor of execution, was of inestimable value. In his life he was absolutely impersonal and cared for no man. Doctor Rimmer did me more good than any other man except one—Boulanger.
I had been told by Crowinshield, in Boston, that I had something that would be of great value in the future, but was very dangerous then—chic. With the conceit of youth, I thought it meant something, so I began to paint as soon as I joined Julian’s. My first work was the head of an Italian; it was very bad. Boulanger stopped in back of me and said:
“If you go on this way, you might as well go home and make shoes.”
A thing like that had seldom happened to me; I couldn’t help showing off, and it hit hard. I realized that the criticism was right, but I thought that he should have told me how to cure myself. So I left the room and waited on the stairs for a half hour before he came out. Seeing me, he tried to push by, but I stopped him, saying:
“I admit everything you said. I do not know anything, but I came here to learn. (By this time the tears were streaming down my cheeks.) You shall not leave here until you tell me what to do.”
He thought for a moment. “Well, have you seen the outline drawings by Gérôme?”
I thought them the finest things I knew of, and said so.
“Go back and make one, and mind you, young man, see that you take a week over it. Good morning.”
These drawings were larger than the academy paper, so I got a three-foot stretcher and put wrapping paper on it. They wouldn’t let me in the front row at school because it was too large and obstructed everyone else’s view; I had, therefore, to go in the back of the room and stand up to see the model. In two days I had finished it, and I started it over again, rubbing out so much that I wore holes in the paper. After one every week for three weeks, they came easier.