The beginnings of all arts in this country have been timid and imitative. Literature, music, and painting had something to found themselves upon in the national tradition; but sculpture was never abundant in England, and this art, usually one of the earliest, was the last to appear in America. Its first inspirations were Italian, and for half a century American sculpture was a crude parody on the art of Canova and Thorvaldsen. Many of our sculptors, like Powers, Greenough, Crawford, Story, Randolph Rogers, Rinehart, Ball, Mead, and Harriet Hosmer, made their homes in Florence and Rome, and welcomed the ever swelling tide of American travel with wistful greetings. Perhaps their influence was greater there upon the receptive travelers than it could have been at home; but one cannot help feeling a high regard for men like Palmer, John Rogers, and Ward, who “held the fort,” developing the native material of their own land.
About the time of the Centennial, France was suddenly discovered by our young sculptors. Her opportunities were appreciated, and soon the entire stream of students was diverted thither from Italy and Germany. Saint Gaudens was the first important product of the American-French school of sculpture, and his talent and training together offered an irresistible argument for the new methods.
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS WARD
PAUL WAYLAND BARTLETT AND JOHN QUINCY ADAMS WARD
WASHINGTON, BY WARD
On Wall Street, New York City. The pedestal bears the inscription: “On this site, in Federal Hall, April 30, 1789, George Washington took the oath as the first President of the United States of America.”
Before speaking further of our greatest sculptor, a few words should be devoted to the last and most distinguished of the pioneers, John Quincy Adams Ward (1830-1910), who was privileged to see the triumphs of American sculpture at home and abroad, and to participate in them to the end. Always keenly alive and vibrantly responsive to the forces at work about him, he was ever a contemporary of the youngest men of his profession. Ward’s earliest success, “The Indian Hunter” in Central Park, New York City, was the result of a long journey among the red men. Its intensity is an unconscious revelation of the man who made it: no lackadaisical dreamer could have conceived the idea, much less have carried it to its happy realization. The emotion of war times found expression in “The Freedman,” and later in a notable series of memorials to heroes of the conflict, culminating in the great “Henry Ward Beecher” of Brooklyn, one of the most impressive portraits in this country. None but a big man could have grasped that character; none but a strong nature could convey to others that impression of exuberant vitality and of conscious power. The great preacher stands solidly upon his feet, enveloped in a heavy overcoat and cape, his hat in hand. The poise is superbly confident; the leonine head uplifted as if in command rather than in exhortation.
