cab, offered double fare if he could get to the Gare du Nord in time for the boat train ... and so, presently, he had passed through Cherbourg and was on a ship headed for America.
This ended an era in his life and marked, definitely, the beginning of another. He was never to return to Europe except for the placing of work he had produced in the United States.
CHAPTER SEVEN
QUIET IN NEW YORK
The first thing Gutzon Borglum did in New York was to join—or, perhaps, originate—a movement whose object was to make American art distinctive and national. This was a bit out of the ordinary. Gutzon, so far as he had expressed himself, hadn’t much concern about American art. What he had seen of it annoyed him, and he didn’t intend to give much time to its promotion. He was presently to return to England ... but somehow he could never find time to book a passage.
In the early days of the twentieth century his journal mentions, and many of us unfortunately remember, European and classic influences were dominant in art. Our public buildings were often Greek or Roman temples adorned with sculpture right out of Homer’s mythology. In New York the extreme example of this tendency was a building erected by some art society on Lexington Avenue which was decorated across the front with a frieze from the Parthenon in Athens. The New York version of the frieze was so exact as to include all the mutilations that the march of hundreds of years had inflicted on the original.
Artists—painters, sculptors, musicians alike—had to have studied abroad before they could get a hearing in America. But, unfortunately, most of the people who patronized art learned about the subject from a few simple home rules. They were breaking out of the awesome, gewgaw-enveloped homes of the eighties and nineties and moving into chateaus imported by the boatload from France. But there is no record that any art dealer ever succeeded in selling an American house to some customer in Paris.
It often happens that a convert to a religious sect is more fanatical in his beliefs than one born into the fold. Gutzon’s father had come to the United States from Denmark to escape the ancient fetters of thought, and Gutzon himself had become thoroughly disillusioned by his years abroad. He considered America to be the last stronghold of freedom for the spirit. And he believed that the time had come for the country to express itself culturally. He had a theory that many people are born Americans though their physical birthplace might have been Denmark or Poland or Timbuktu. He insisted that although America was comparatively a young nation, the significance of her discovery, colonization and development offered rich sources for the painter or sculptor seeking decorative themes. He wanted architects to stop copying classic models.
He was a great admirer of Louis Sullivan’s individual art, and he understood it. Once, driving through a small town in Ohio that he had never seen before, he suddenly stopped the car and went back to look at a red-brick building. “Built by Sullivan,” he said. And so it was.
The subject of the Prix de Rome scholarships, in his opinion, was debatable. He thought it a mistake to send talented young artists to Rome during their most formative period and expose them to the overpowering influence of the great masters. He lived his theory, for he did not see Italy until late in life, rather than lose his individuality in the presence of those giants, Michelangelo, Da Vinci and Donatello, whom he deeply revered.