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| Norman Rockwell, Willie Takes a Step, Oil on Canvas, The American Magazine, January 1935 | |
When Norman Rockwell started to paint from photographs
around 1937 he ceased to be a very fine oil painter. You could no longer look with admiration and
awe at any of his later pictures and say, “What a great job he did on painting
those shiny black patent leather shoes,” as I did when I first saw an original
Norman Rockwell painting in an exhibit of his work many years ago. The distinctive textures and true colors of
different materials as seen in nature, the modeling of form, the placement of
figures and objects in space with atmospheric perspective, the supreme physical
beauty of oil paint itself, and other obvious signs of a skilled craftsman who
could draw incredibly well from life were no longer of utmost importance to
him. Where he once took pains to
convincingly portray muscles of the human body at work -- hands grasping a
brush or holding a book, legs and arms tensed -- he was henceforth content to
accept the camera’s unconvincing, flaccid portrayal of such motor activity. His drawing and painting became dry and
photographic.
But by using photographs
as reference material, he was able to explore a much broader range of subject
matter outside the confines of his studio, as well as capture groupings of
people, difficult poses, interesting viewing angles and transient effects without spending months working directly from live models.
As a result, he was able to expand his output from a lot of brilliant “one-liners”
to a lot of brilliant multi-figured compositions with homespun narratives that
perfectly captured the prevailing mood of the country. “I guess I am a storyteller,” he once said,
“and although this may not be the highest form of art it is what I love to
do.”
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| J.C. Leyendecker |
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Norman Rockwell, Fortune Teller, 1921, Saturday Evening Post
Cover
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Norman Rockwell, Doctor and the Doll, 1929
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| Norman Rockwell, Gary Cooper as The Texan, Post Cover, May 1930 |
Rockwell (1894-1978) first emulated the illustrations of the
great Joseph Christian (J.C.) Leyendecker (1874-1951) before developing his own
distinctive style.
He painted for 25
years from live models without any help from the camera, but grudgingly began
using photographs to compete with his fellow illustrators, who were already using them and thus could complete
their deadline assignments much faster.
Rockwell had this to say about photographs in the 1946 book
Norman
Rockwell Illustrator by Arthur L. Guptill:
“I feel very strongly, however, that no one should resort to photographs
until he has learned to draw and paint extremely well without them…The artist
who can’t draw or paint will never get anywhere trying to work from
photographs.”
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| Norman Rockwell, Homecoming Marine, 1945 |
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Norman Rockwell, Homecoming, Post Cover, December 25, 1948 (including himself and Grandma Moses in the group and one little girl in red posing as the twins)
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| Norman Rockwell, The Runaway, Oil on canvas 35 3/4 x 33 1/2 in. Post Cover, Sept. 20, 1958 |
Rockwell did not take the photographs himself.
But he did choreograph the entire operation,
moving models, props and lighting around until the scene was to his liking
before the photo was taken.
He often had
75 photographs taken to do one Saturday Evening Post cover.
Guptill (1891-1956), who authored several well-regarded
books on drawing techniques, noted that “paintings based on photographs are
likely to look too photographic – too inanimate.
As Rockwell says, ‘The folks don’t step out
of the picture and talk to you as they do when you paint from them directly.’ ”
I couldn’t agree more, and what a shame that is.
Rockwell’s use of photographs and his further
comments on this practice are well-recorded in Guptill’s book.
It’s a fascinating account of the working
methods of this beloved illustrator, but it’s not the only one.
There is a lot of information available about
America’s
favorite illustrator.
So-called fine artists are pretty much out of the business
of storytelling these days. It’s nigh
onto impossible to make a beautifully crafted painting that conveys the
impression of life itself while still telling a story that the general public
can readily understand. Some compromise
between beautiful paint handling and clear narrative seems
inevitable.
Rockwell himself was conflicted on this matter.
In an Oct. 31, 2011 post on the website
History of Advertising,
E.B. Carrier contends that “while Rockwell’s paintings depicted a bucolic
charm, he was filled with angst. He painted a life that ran counter to his
upbringing and reality around him. He suffered extended bouts of deep
depression several times in his life, unknown to even close friends…Why would
someone who reached the top of his field and achieved worldwide fame be filled
with such torment?
One reason is that
he never really did achieve the personal goal he set for himself. When he first
entered art school, he dreamed of becoming a great illustrator in the mold of
Howard Pyle.
At that time, illustration
was still seen as a style worthy of the fine art classification. That changed
as the 20th century progressed.
An
illustrator came to be seen as a hired gun, an artist who executed directives
for a buck, instead of expressing his soul…And despite the beautiful, touching
work Rockwell did throughout his career, he struggled internally to reconcile
his career as an illustrator with his fine artist tendencies.”
Here’s the link to Carrier’s extremely plausible
analytical take on Rockwell:
http://historyofads.the-voice.com/http:/historyofads.the-voice.com/advertising/norman-rockwell-2
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| Norman Rockwell, Breaking Home Ties, Post Cover, September 25, 1954 |
You can see how much more painterly his earlier work is from
the few examples I’ve shown here. But
you can also see in his later work how the use of photographs enabled him to
explore a wider range of social themes that testify to his greatness as a
storytelling illustrator. Rockwell’s painting
titled Breaking Home Ties, for example, one of my favorites, is a masterful depiction of a
universal human experience. He used
photo references creatively and with great sensitivity to paint this poignant
father-son moment. That sad-looking Collie Dog he added to the scene just makes you want to cry. I think he may have painted some elements in this picture from life, which he told Guptill he continued to do occasionally. As a matter of fact, those shoes look a lot better in the painting than they do in the photographs. If you are forced to
use photographs to earn a living today, please try emulating Rockwell, Andrew
Loomis, Haddon Sundblom, Gil Elvgren and a host of other top-notch illustrators
who turned sterile photographs into iconic images of American life that will
live forever in our collective conscious.
