ART-PATRONAGE IN CUBA.
Our Studio--Our Critics--Our Patrons--Still-Life.
Assisted by Don Benigno's nephew Tunicu, Nicasio and I in time meet with
a residence suitable for art purposes.
Our habitation consists of six rooms on a single floor, with a wide
balcony in front, and a spacious patio, or court-yard, at the back. We
have no furniture worth mentioning; furniture in Cuba being represented
by a few cane or leather-bottomed chairs, some spittoons, and a small
square of carpet. But our walls are well hung with works of art in
various stages of progress, which, in a great measure, compensate for
the otherwise barren appearance of our apartments. Our studio is a
spacious chamber on a level with the street which it overlooks. The
windows occupy more than half of the wall space, are guiltless of glass,
and are protected by iron bars. The accessories of our strange calling
lend an interest to our domestic arrangements, and form a kind of free
entertainment for the vulgar. To insure privacy, we have sometimes
curtained the lower half of our enormous windows; but this contrivance
has always proved ineffectual, for in the midst of our labour, the
space above the curtains has been gradually eclipsed by the appearance
of certain playful blacks who have clambered to the heights by means of
the accommodating rails. Gentlemen of colour have little respect for the
polite arts; they look upon our sanctum as a sort of permanent
peep-show, and upon us as a superior order of photographers. Primed with
these delusions our Spanish Sambo comes for his carte-de-visite at all
hours of the sunny day, persuaded that we undertake black physiognomies
at four dollars a dozen; and when we assure him that ours is the
legitimate colouring business, and that we have no connexion with Senor
Collodion up the street, our swarthy patron produces a ready-made black
and white miniature of himself, and commissions us to colour it in our
best manner.
The press of Santiago dubs us 'followers of the divine art of Apelles,'
and an inspection of our works of art is thus described in one of the
local papers:
'We have lately visited those industrious gentlemen Don Nicasio
Rodriguez y Boldu and El Caballero Ingles Don Gualterio who, as the
public are aware, have established a studio in Cuba for the practice of
the divine art of Raphael and Michael Angelo. It is the duty of every
art-loving person to inspect all temples of the beautiful whether they
be represented by the luxurious palaces of the great or the humblest
cottages on earth. Knowledge reveals itself in the dullest as well as
the brightest localities, for true genius can abide anywhere.
'He who, like ourselves, has frequently traversed the Calle de Santa
Rosa, must have observed that in that street stands a priceless casket,
which being open leads to the studio of the two distinguished followers
of the divine art of Apelles to whom we have referred.'
After continuing to indulge in this poetical strain for another
paragraph or two, the enthusiastic writer is recalled to his duties of
art-showman, and proceeds to describe in glowing colours all that is
contained in the 'priceless casket,' open for his inspection. He lingers
lovingly over a large copy of Titian's 'Venus' which, together with
other pictures and unfinished sketches, we had brought with us from
Italy. He is perfectly enraptured with the charms of the painted
goddess, from whom he can scarcely tear himself away even on paper, and
he concludes with the remark that, 'after contemplating this life-like
representation of nature, the spectator is disposed to touch the canvas
to convince himself that what he beholds is merely a painted shadow of
the reality!'
Sketches and portraits next occupy his attention; 'and if,' he adds,
'the visitor's curiosity is not satisfied with the representations of
men and women, he can relieve his vision by regarding beasts and birds,
which, although only depicted upon canvas, appear to be endowed with
animation!'
In spite, however, of these and other published tributes to our genius,
we find that high art, at least, does not pay in our part of the
tropics. Regardless of posterity, therefore, we abandon the sublime, and
offer our art services for anything that may present itself. A bona fide
painter is a rarity in the town I am describing, so Nicasio and I are
comparatively alone in the fine art field. Our patrons are numerous, but
we are expected by them to be as versatile as the 'general utility' of
theatrical life.
Nicasio finds a lucrative post vacant at the public 'Academy of
Arts'--an institution supported by the municipality of the town. There
is a great dearth of 'professors of drawing,' owing to the sudden
resignation of a gentleman who previous to our arrival had been the sole
representative of 'the divine art of Apelles.' The academy is a dreary
apology for a school of art. The accommodation is scanty, and the
'models' provided for the scholars or 'discipulos,' as they are grandly
styled, consist wholly of bad lithographic drawings. The post of
professor, however, yields a fair monthly stipend, and it being offered
to and accepted by my companion, contributes no inconsiderable item
towards our united income.
We are overwhelmed with portrait work, but most of it is connected with
defunct people, for we cannot induce our patrons to believe that a
living person is a fit subject for our brush. And so it often happens
that we are summoned from our homes, doctor-like, at all hours of the
night, to hasten to the house of a moribund, for the purpose of making
such notes as shall afterwards serve as guides for a replica of the late
lamented in his habit as he lived.
One of our first applicants for this kind of patronage is Don Magin, the
merchant, whose acquaintance we have made at Don Benigno's tertulia. The
Don stops me in the street one day, and with a disturbed countenance
tells me that his only child--a girl of three--has been lately buried.
Will I, or my partner, be so good as to restore her to life on canvas? I
agree to undertake the work if Don Magin will provide me with a guide in
the shape of a photograph.
'I am sorry to inform you,' says the Don, 'that my poor child never sat
for her photograph.'
'Then,' I remark, 'I will be satisfied with a slight but faithful
sketch, or even a coloured miniature.'
'I regret that I cannot supply you with any representation of my
departed daughter,' replies Don Magin.
'How then can you expect to possess a portrait of her?' I enquire.
'Easily enough,' he answers. 'It is true that I have no actual likeness
of the child; but equally good guides are at your disposal. I can
provide you with the little dress, the little hat, the little shoes and
socks which she was accustomed to wear. I have also taken the measure of
her height, and the size round her pretty waist. I can furnish you with
minute particulars respecting the colour of her complexion, hair and
eyes, and I will show you a lovely child who resembles my own in many
ways. Besides this, my Engracia was considered to bear a strong likeness
to her father. Make her appear so also in the painting; introduce the
accessories which I have mentioned; take a notion or two from the girl
that I will send, and I am convinced that the result will be
satisfactory to both of us.'
In vain do I endeavour to show the impossibility of such an achievement;
the merchant will not hear of refusal, and as an inducement for me to
make only a trial, he offers me a large price, promising to double the
amount if I succeed to his liking.
It is a source of infinite consolation to the distressed old
gentleman--who by the way is very grey and wrinkled--when I finally
agree to make a trial; but I warn him that his anticipations about the
result will never be realised.
Sanguine and happy, my strange patron departs, and in due course I
receive the various articles he had specified. The pretty child serves
well enough as a model for the proportions of the figure, and attired in
the garb of her late lamented playmate, she enables me to devote every
attention to the detail. I am also able to crown the little pink dress
with an infantile face, whose hair, eyes, and complexion I colour
according to instructions; and with the introduction of a landscape
background and with a stray flower or two arranged in the foreground,
the sum total is a pretty picture which, on that account, leaves at
least a 'balance in my favour!'
The portrait (?) having been placed in its gilded frame, my patron is
invited to inspect it.
For many long moments Don Magin contemplates the work without uttering a
word. His countenance, which I watch with an anxious eye--as yet
expresses neither approval nor the reverse.
Does this portrait on my easel remind the bereaved parent of his lost
offspring?
It does! yes; there faithfully depicted are the very dress, the very
little hat, and the still smaller shoes which she was wont to wear in
life! The figure, complexion, colour of eyes and hair, are all hers to a
shade. In short, a resemblance to his child gradually developes itself
before the old gentleman's vision, till at last clasping both my hands,
and with tears in his eyes, he declares that I have succeeded far beyond
his best expectations.
In this instance everything terminates like the last scene in the
drama, where the aged father recognises his long lost child. But work of
this nature does not always end so satisfactorily.
Happily, portraiture is not our only resource. We hold important
professorships in colleges, schools, and ladies' academies, where we
impart every accomplishment in which drawing-paper and pencils are used,
including the art of caligraphy, missal-painting, and designing for
fancy needlework.
Whenever a strolling company of Spanish players encamp for the season at
the theatre, our services are required as the company's special scenic
artists. The demand for scenery at the Teatro Real Cuba is, however,
small; a divergence from its standard repertoire being considered as
next to an infringement on public rights; so our labours rarely extend
beyond an occasional property, or 'set' in the shape of a painted
'ancestor,' a practicable piece of furniture, or a bit of bank for
introduction into the elegant saloon, the cottage interior, or the wood
scene. Once only are our scenic services in special request for a fairy
piece, which the manager has announced with 'entirely new decorations.'
Though the public believe that four months have been employed in the
preparations, we have barely as many days for the purpose, and during
this short space we produce that gorgeous temple which is destined to
form a conspicuous feature in the well-worn wood scene, and we add to
the native charm of the elegant saloon and the cottage interior with
suitable embellishments. Dutch metal and coloured foils, lavishly
administered, cover a multitude of imperfections, and we have still the
red fire and an indulgent public to fall back upon. Our efforts are
rewarded by thunders of applause on the part of the audience, and
eulogistic paragraphs in the local papers.
To oblige our worthy friend Don Benigno we are, upon another occasion,
induced to paint and embellish his quitrin--a two-wheeled carriage of
the gig class, the component parts of which bear one to the other
something of the proportions of a spider and his web; the body of the
conveyance being extremely small, the shafts inconceivably long, and the
wheels of a gigantic circumference. The street-doors of most Cuban
houses are constructed with a view to the admittance of such a vehicle,
which when not in use is carefully enveloped in brown holland, like a
harp or a chandelier during the out-of-town season, and is deposited in
the hall or passage of the threshold, and in some cases in a corner of
the marble-paved reception room. The presence in our studio of Don
Benigno's quitrin is therefore not very remarkable. Many weeks, however,
elapse before we can get rid of this unsightly piece of furniture.
Several coats of paint and varnish have to be applied, and innumerable
coloured lines introduced, before it is ready to receive the more
artistic touches. All devices connected with painting are by our Cuban
patrons generalised under the head of 'paisaje' or landscape, and in the
present instance the landscapes include two views of Don Benigno's crest
together with his elaborate monogram.
A couple of mulatto art-aspirants whom we graciously receive as
disciples for one hour daily, help considerably in this undertaking, and
take such an especial delight in it that it is a sorrowful day for them
when Saturnine--Don Benigno's black postilion--comes to wheel away their
handiwork.