The History of Halloween

Although people around the world view Halloween as a thoroughly American holiday, it has a far more complicated story than that. In fact, Halloween is a mash-up of ancient Celtic paganism, early Roman Catholicism, nineteenth-century American immigration, modern suburbanism and commercialism, and much, much more.

It all started about two thousand years ago, when the ancient Celts made sacrifices around sacred bonfires in celebration of the harvest’s end. Think of this as the moment the earth makes its transition from abundant autumnal life to silent wintry death, and—perhaps—a moment when the boundaries between the worlds of the living and dead are blurred.

When the Roman Empire sprawled into Celtic lands in 43 AD and remained there for the next four hundred years, it mingled culturally with existing pagan rites. After the Roman Empire took on Christianity as its official religion in 313 AD, rather than continue the Celts’ tradition of honoring ancestral spirits, the Church focused instead on honoring religious martyrs. Sometime in the 8th century, the pope named November 1 “All Saints’ Day,” the Middle English term for which was “All-hallowmas.” The night before, October 31, became known as All-hallows Eve—today’s Halloween.

A few particulars of the Celtic and Catholic celebrations stand out as familiar to us today. The Celts left out food and wine as offerings for the dead in order to appease them and prevent them from entering their homes—think of it as the earliest form of trick-or-treating, except instead of little children in colorful costumes arriving at the door, it would be a spirit with malicious intent. This practice of food offerings was replaced later in the Christianized version of the holiday by “soul cakes,” food given to the poor rather than to the dead. “Going a-souling” became a child-friendly activity within a community where beggars would go from door to door to receive food or alms.

Dressing up has early roots as well. Fearful they would encounter evil spirits on this unusual night, people wore masks to conceal their faces and stay safely unrecognized. Also, the “trick” in trick-or-treat owes its presence to a centuries-old history of pranks and jokes—perhaps a reference to the kinds of acts people feared from spirits on their one, restless night back among the living. These Halloween pranksters also wore masks to conceal their identities—except this time they would have been more concerned with being recognized by the living. And finally, the harvest has always contributed greatly to the All-hallows Eve atmosphere, with games, parties, and superstitions involving autumn produce such as apples, turnips, and nuts.

Student Halloween party at the University of Southern California, ca. 1890. USC History Collection.

Student Halloween party at the University of Southern California, ca. 1890. USC History Collection.

A Halloween dinner in Vermont, ca. 1900. The Poultney Historical Society.

A Halloween dinner in Vermont, ca. 1900. The Poultney Historical Society.

 

Halloween in America

So how did these traditions migrate from the British Isles to America? An intense period of immigration in the mid-nineteenth century (a period that gave Chicago—and other major cities—its historic Irish, Italian, German, and Swedish neighborhoods) brought Old World traditions to a new country. Millions of Irish in particular, fleeing the potato famine of 1846, had inherited the blended Celtic-Roman tradition of celebrating the dead, and helped make Halloween an American tradition by the end of the nineteenth century, during the period known as the Gilded Age. House parties and celebrations in Irish- or Scottish-American homes often included retellings of legends from the old country or a reading of Robert Burns’s poem ”Halloween.” They influenced their neighbors to join the fun of dressing up and going door-to-door asking for food, treats, and money. And of course, pranks abounded as well, mainly harmless ones such as taking a neighbor’s gate off its hinges. 

People in the Gilded Age were also fascinated with death. Group séances, spiritualist mediums, and sentimental memento mori were all wildly popular in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol and other, more frightening tales of the era reveled in the possibility that the dead may return to earth and speak to the living. This existing trend in the cultural imagination may have made people more receptive to Halloween taking root in American life.

 

Howard Chandler Christy, Halloween, 1915.

Howard Chandler Christy, Halloween, 1915.

1930s newspaper headline in The Oregonian, in which columnist Marian Miller advocating for a safer Halloween holiday. To read the full article, click here.

1930s newspaper headline in The Oregonian, in which columnist Marian Miller advocating for a safer Halloween holiday. To read the full article, click here.

The Gilded Age was, if anything, an age of industry in America. The rise of factories, railroad networks, mining operations, and commercial farming defined an era of unprecedented economic prosperity. Between innovative industrial processes in factories and extra spending money at home, the commercial delights of Halloween were soon as much a staple as the old traditions. The first producer of candy corn, a sugary nod to autumnal harvest, was the Wunderle Candy Company of Philadelphia in the 1880s. Dennison Manufacturing Company published its first catalog for Halloween decorations and stationary, including tips for holiday entertaining, in 1909.

After the turn of the century, the Gilded Age faded into the Progressive Era. In the same spirited mood of reform that would address public issues and fears such as sanitation, poverty, and alcohol consumption, some Americans agitated for change. They wanted to steer the focus of the Halloween holiday away from the dark, superstitious—and, many felt, sacrilegious—spirits and witches of its Celtic roots. They also feared the increasing intensity of pranks and tricks, which could take on the destructive quality of vandalism, especially where other tensions were present. (A late example comes from 1933, when at the height of the Great Depression young men overturned cars, sawed down telephone poles, and taunted the police.) Newspapers urged people to eliminate the grotesque elements of the holiday in favor of fun games that wouldn’t frighten. Accordingly, traditions like parades and parties increasingly focused on children. In the boom that followed World War II, the mass production of candy and costumes added to the storebought goodies that had begun in the Gilded Age. And so, slowly, Halloween evolved into the not-so-spooky, family-friendly, neighborhood holiday it is today.

 

Resources
History.com, “History of Halloween” http://www.history.com/topics/halloween/history-of-halloween
NPR.org, “Halloween for Adults: A Scary Story” http://www.npr.org/sections/theprotojournalist/2014/10/29/359547119/halloween-for-adults-a-scary-history
HistoricUK.com, “Halloween.” http://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/Halloween/
Edwardian Promenade, “Halloween in the Gilded Age.” http://www.edwardianpromenade.com/amusements/halloween-in-the-gilded-age/ 

The Belle Époque posters adorning the galleries of the Driehaus Museum right now shouldn’t, by all rights, exist. They are more than a century old, printed on flimsy paper, with inexpensive inks. Some were once even displayed outside, where the wind, rain, and sun of Paris in its various seasons beat down on them.

The fact that we can enjoy exhibitions like L’Affichomania today, in the 21st century, is thanks to the first devoted collectors who preserved the posters. These adorers of the color lithographic poster, which transformed the formerly drab French capital into a bright, colorful, open-air museum in the last half of the 19th century, were known as affichomaniaques—literally “poster maniacs.”

These collectors gave the color poster—first and foremost an advertising medium—a legitimate place in the realm of high art, upending time-honored French traditions and institutions that traditionally defined what high art could be. The popularity of poster collecting rose in the 1880s, and peaked with wild enthusiasm by 1891, when the term affichomanie, or “poster mania,” entered the parlance. The Parisian art world, epitomized by the exclusive annual Salon, had been a conservative bastion of proud ideals defining what art was, who could make it, and who it was for. Suddenly, however, art exploded all over the streets, as available to be seen and enjoyed by the working class as to the upper classes. It was a revolution.

Jean Béraud, Parisian Street Scene, ca. 1885. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Jean Béraud, Parisian Street Scene, ca. 1885. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Émile Mermet, La publicité dans las rues de Paris en 1880 (Advertising in the Streets of Paris in 1880). Fold-out lithographic illustration in La Publicité en France, Guide Manuel, 1880. New York State Public Library, Albany.

Émile Mermet, La publicité dans las rues de Paris en 1880 (Advertising in the Streets of Paris in 1880). Fold-out lithographic illustration in La Publicité en France, Guide Manuel, 1880. New York State Public Library, Albany.

In addition to redefining what could be classified as art, the poster collectors’ enthusiasm also had a profound influence on poster-making itself. Beginning with French lithographer Jules Chéret and his hand-drawn letters, the text had always been an essential and fascinating part of the poster’s design and advertising purpose. But soon, some artists began to produce limited-edition prints “without letters,” not for the street but for affichomaniaques to display in their private collections. Dealers like Edmond Sagot, Édouard Kleinmann, and Victor Prouté stocked their galleries with these special, rare posters, printed without letters and on expensive papers, especially to provide to a wealthier collecting set who didn’t want their images so closely associated with the consumer delights they promised.

However, the infinitely reproducible medium of lithography also allowed the galleries to provide prints of the original posters for just a few francs, so someone could have a real work of art for the same price as one would pay to go to a restaurant or cabaret for an evening. For a similar fee per publication, subscribers to new poster journals, such as Les Maîtres de l’affiche, La Plume, La Revue indépendante, and Le Courrier français, received small reproductions that were easy to display at home.

If you didn’t possess even these financial means, however, there were plenty of posters out on the street to be had. Some bribed the billposters so they could put get their hands on the newest prints before they were glued onto billboards, kiosks, shop windows, and Morris columns. Many more risked being caught and fined by police and surreptitiously peeled posters off the columns at night for free.

The affichomaniaques therefore came from all corners of society. Another aspect of the Belle Époque’s poster revolution is that the first time, you didn’t have to be wealthy to have your own art collection. “The gold frame is for the time forgotten, and all have their eyes on the lithographer’s stone,” wrote Londoner Charles Hiatt in 1895.

Jan Toorop, De prentenliefhebber (The Print Collector) (Dr. Aegidus Timmerman), 1900. Oil on canvas. The Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands.

Jan Toorop, De prentenliefhebber (The Print Collector) (Dr. Aegidus Timmerman), 1900. Oil on canvas. The Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands.

Jules Chéret, Ernest Maindron, cover illustration, Les Hommes d’Aujourd’hui 6, no. 299 [1887]. From the collection of Ruth E. Iskin, image from her book The Poster: Art, Advertising, Design, and Collecting, 1860s–1900s.

Jules Chéret, Ernest Maindron, cover illustration, Les Hommes d’Aujourd’hui 6, no. 299 [1887]. From the collection of Ruth E. Iskin, image from her book The Poster: Art, Advertising, Design, and Collecting, 1860s–1900s.

What was the appeal? Certainly one reason for this fierce popular interest is that the new poster took the somewhat mundane elements of a Parisians’ daily urban life—applying face powder, drinking an aperitif, using new technology like the Théâtrophone, and enjoying a bawdy dance at the Moulin Rouge—and elevated them to delightful, even glamorous, activities immortalized in a colorful work of art. This is something consumer advertising has honed to perfection today, but in the late 1800s, this was the first time one saw one’s own life take on a new shine through fantasy images of, say, the beautiful Sarah Bernhardt of Alphonse Mucha’s posters or one of Jules Chéret’s cherettes.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1899. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1899. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901).  Moulin Rouge: La Goulue, 1891. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Moulin Rouge: La Goulue, 1891. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

"Job," Alphonse Mucha, 1896.

Alphonse Mucha, Job, 1896.

Théâtrophone, 1890.

Jules Chéret, Théâtrophone, 1890.

Though many embraced the astounding prevalence of these bright and colorful advertising images, others balked at what they viewed as a gaudy and unavoidable display. “This is what distinguishes the poster,” wrote French author Maurice Talmeyr in 1896, “that it does not propose its ideas more or less persuasively, but it imposes itself on me. I read a book if I want to do so; I go to see a painting if I feel like it; I do not buy my newspaper despite myself. But the poster? I see it, even if I do not want to see it. … I am obliged to breathe it and to have its force enter my blood!”

Pierre Bonnard, L’Estampe et l’Affiche, 1897. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. In this poster, which was commissioned from Bonnard by publisher André Mellerio to advertise the publication by the same name, the elderly woman personifies the older, traditional black-and-white poster peering suspiciously at the wild-haired bohemian youth representing the new color poster.

Pierre Bonnard, L’Estampe et l’Affiche, 1897. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. In this poster, which was commissioned from Bonnard by publisher André Mellerio to advertise the publication by the same name, the elderly woman personifies the older, traditional black-and-white poster peering suspiciously at the wild-haired bohemian youth representing the new color poster.

Whether one loved or hated them, however, the sheer power of these posters and the devoted passion of the collectors behind them was certainly not debated. Come and enjoy the exhibition L’Affichomania, a testament to the “poster maniacs” who preserved the ephemera of Paris’s golden age, before it closes on January 7.

 

Resources
The Poster: Art, Advertising, Design, and Collecting, 1860s–1900s by Ruth E. Iskin. Dartmouth College Press, 2014.
Posters of Paris: Toulouse-Lautrec & His Contemporaries by Mary Weaver Chapin. Milwaukee Art Museum / Delmonico Books, 2012.

Japonisme

Lindsey Howald Patton —  September 20, 2017 — Leave a comment

In 1853, an event in the world of foreign relations and commercial trade transformed Western art forever: Japan opened its borders. Wares from this once heavily isolated island in the Far East began to flow into Europe for the first time since 1633.

The effects on the West after rediscovering Japanese art and design—from painted porcelain to ukiyo-e woodcut prints, fans, bronzes, and silks—cannot be underestimated. It transformed the way great avant-garde artists like Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, Henri de Toulouse Lautrec, and James Whistler approached color, subject, and perspective. It influenced interior design and architecture as Christopher Dresser, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, and Frank Lloyd Wright adopted Japanese stylized nature motifs or the symmetrical simplicity of Japanese buildings and gardens. It pervaded Western textiles, sculpture, and performing arts.

This craze for Japanese art and design became known as Japonisme. The French critic Philippe Burty is said to have coined the term in the early 1870s, a few years after the International Exposition of 1867 in Paris. This was the first world’s fair in which Japan participated with a national pavilion, exhibiting its art to a wider number of people than had previously seen it—about nine million of them, according to attendance figures.

Japanese Satsuma Pavilion at the 1867 International Exposition in Paris.

Japanese Satsuma Pavilion at the 1867 International Exposition in Paris.

Postcard depicting the Japan Pavilion at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris.

Postcard depicting the Japan Pavilion at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris.

At left, the famous woodblock print by Japanese ukiyo-e artist Hokusai ("The Great Wave off Kanagawa," ca. 1829-32). At right, glazed earthenware Wave Bowl by British designer Christopher Dresser, ca. 1880, echoes the curve of Hokusai's wave.

At left, the famous woodblock print by Japanese ukiyo-e artist Hokusai (“The Great Wave off Kanagawa,” ca. 1829-32). At right, glazed earthenware Wave Bowl by British designer Christopher Dresser, ca. 1880, echoes the curve of Hokusai’s wave.

At left, a print by great Japanese ukiyo-e printmaker Ando Hiroshige seems to have provided a reference for American architect Frank Lloyd Wright's choice to frame his elevation drawing of the Winslow House in River Forest, Illinois, with draping vegetation in 1910.

At left, a print by great Japanese ukiyo-e printmaker Ando Hiroshige seems to have provided a reference for American architect Frank Lloyd Wright’s choice to frame his elevation drawing of the Winslow House in River Forest, Illinois, with draping vegetation in 1910. Image via the Smithsonian Magazine.

Japonisme and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

A photograph of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864-1901) in Japanese garb.

A photograph of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864-1901) in Japanese garb.

Like many of his contemporaries in Paris, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, whose posters are currently on view at the Driehaus Museum in the exhibition L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posters (through January 7), fell in love with Japanese art and started his own collection of inexpensive ukiyo-e woodblock prints. Flat areas of color, strong outlines, cropped compositions, and asymmetry or oblique angles—all characteristic features of ukiyo-e—began to feature prominently in Lautrec’s posters.

When depicting the performers of Paris’s bohemian Montmartre, Lautrec looked to Japanese kabuki theatre prints for his exaggerated colors, contours, and facial expressions. Kabuki is a kind of classical Japanese drama combining dance, music, and even acrobatics. A kabuki theatre print would portray one actor in full costume and makeup from the play, and audience members clamored to collect their favorites. Neither idealistic nor realistic, these prints revealed, even unflatteringly at times, the performer’s true self just behind the character he played. Likewise in Lautrec’s images of his muse Jane Avril, the avant-garde French dancer he knew well from the Moulin Rouge, we do not see a photographic representation of her looks or performance. Instead, Lautrec focused on the essence of her personality and so-called “explosive” dance style. In one famous poster from 1899 (below), he wraps a multicolored snake around her body, suggesting her sinuous movements.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1899. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1899. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

 

An example of a kabuki theatre print. Kabuki Actor Ōtani Oniji III as Yakko Edobei in the Play The Colored Reins of a Loving Wife (Koi nyōbō somewake tazuna), by Tōshūsai Sharaku (Japanese, active 1794–95), 1794. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, JP2822.

An example of a kabuki theatre print. Kabuki Actor Ōtani Oniji III as Yakko Edobei in the Play The Colored Reins of a Loving Wife (Koi nyōbō somewake tazuna), by Tōshūsai Sharaku (Japanese, active 1794–95), 1794. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, JP2822.

Side-by-side images showing how Henri de Toulouse Lautrec imitated the compositions and postures he found in Japanese kabuki theatre prints. (Left, "May Belfort" by Lautrec, 1895. Right, one print from a series called "Three Kabuki Actors  Playing Hanetsuki" by Utagawa Kuniyasu (Japanese, 1794–1834), ca. 1823. Both from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 41.12.1 and 2001.715.4a–c.

Side-by-side images showing how Henri de Toulouse Lautrec imitated the compositions and postures he found in Japanese kabuki theatre prints. (Left, “May Belfort” by Lautrec, 1895. Right, one print from a series called “Three Kabuki Actors Playing Hanetsuki” by Utagawa Kuniyasu (Japanese, 1794–1834), ca. 1823. Both from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 41.12.1 and 2001.715.4a–c.

 

Japonisme at the Driehaus Museum

The vogue for all things Japanese wasn’t only a European phenomenon. It also reached the United States, influencing great artists, collectors, and tastemakers on both coasts. Here in Chicago in the late 1800s, Samuel and Mathilda Nickerson, the wealthy family who commissioned the mansion that is today the Driehaus Museum, especially favored the Far East in their private art collection. They donated that collection to the Art Institute of Chicago in 1900, the largest gift that museum had received since its founding in 1879, and the catalogue lists 56 Japanese prints and paintings (including works by great ukiyo-e masters Hokusai, KuniyoshiUtamaro, and Harunobu), nearly 100 Japanese swords, a Japanese Buddhist shrine, 27 Japanese pipes and pouches, over 100 Japanese carvings in ivory and wood, and nearly 200 pieces of Chinese and Japanese porcelain and pottery (including three stoneware tea caddies, here, here, and here, currently on display in the Art Institute’s Asian galleries).

Artist unknown, Japanese, Meiji period. Patinated cast bronze vessel (center) and two bronze phoenix-form candelabras (at sides), c. 1893. Original to the Nickerson House. Photo by John Faier, (c) The Richard H. Driehaus Museum.

Artist unknown, Japanese, Meiji period. Patinated cast bronze vessel (center) and two bronze phoenix-form candelabras (at sides), c. 1893. Original to the Nickerson House. Photo by John Faier, (c) The Richard H. Driehaus Museum.

They also incorporated Japanese design in their home. In the Smoking Room of the Nickerson Mansion, as part of an eclectic room design that also features elements from ancient mythology and the Italian Renaissance, a chrysanthemum-studded Lincrusta frieze encircles the upper section of the walls. Painted in rich and exotic shades of red, gold, and black, it mimics the flatness and stylization of Japanese nature patterns. Upstairs, in the Nickersons’ only son Roland’s former bedroom, original English Minton tiles surround the fireplace in a delicate display of flowering cherry blossoms—a classic homage to springtime in Japan.

You can still visit the intimate Smoking Room and Roland’s bedroom at the Driehaus Museum today to see this living testament to the influence of Japanese culture on Gilded Age style.

Japanesque Lincrusta frieze in the Smoking Room at the Driehaus Museum.

Japanesque Lincrusta frieze in the Smoking Room at the Driehaus Museum.

 

Detail of the Japanesque fireplace surround tiles in Roland Nickerson's bedroom in the Driehaus Museum. Photo by Michael Monar, (c) The Driehaus Museum.

Detail of the Japanesque fireplace surround tiles in Roland Nickerson’s bedroom in the Driehaus Museum. Photo by Michael Monar, (c) The Driehaus Museum.

Resources
“Japonisme.” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/jpon/hd_jpon.htm
“Japonisme.” Tate London. http://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/j/japonisme
“East Meets West – Japonisme and Impressionism.” The Art Institute of Chicago. http://www.artic.edu/aic/collections/my/east-meets-west-japonisme-and-impressionism/13453
“Japonism.” The Van Gogh Museum. https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/prints/subject/5772/japonism
“Style Guide: Influence of Japan.” Victoria and Albert Museum. http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/s/style-guide-influence-of-japan/
“Second Paris International Exposition of 1867.” National Diet Library, Tokyo. http://www.ndl.go.jp/exposition/e/s1/1867.html

 

In Paris in the nineteenth century, Jules Chéret and the other grand masters of the lithographic poster—Alphonse Mucha, Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen, Eugène Grasset, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec—took the medium from mere informational advertising to high art, causing the medium’s popularity to skyrocket.

The trend started in Paris but quickly spread, evolving into a lasting and approachable art form that continues the original aims of eye-catching design and powerful communication—whether about a shop, company, event, product, or idea. Let’s take a look at just a few landmark poster artists who owe a debt of history to the poster’s golden age during the Belle Époque, but reinvigorated the medium in keeping with cultural change.

 

Designer: Leonetto Cappiello (1875–1942)

Purpose: Advertisement for the French aperitif Maurin Quina

Year: 1906

Leonetto Cappiello (Born Italy, 1875–1942), Maurin Quina, 1906. From the collection of the National Gallery of Australia, NGA 2005.367.

Leonetto Cappiello (Born Italy, 1875–1942), Maurin Quina, 1906. From the collection of the National Gallery of Australia, NGA 2005.367.

A cunning advertiser who moved to Paris in 1898, Leonetto Cappiello invented the idea of associating one image or character with certain products. We take this technique for granted today, having accepted Kellogg’s Tony the Tiger, the Geico Gecko, and Mrs. Butterworth as regular parts of our modern life.

In one famous example by Cappiello above, an emerald-colored demon with a forked tail cast an atmosphere of devilish allure over the French aperitif Maurin Quina. With this character, Cappiello intentionally sparked associations with absinthe, the infamous Belle Époque drink also known as la fée verte (the green fairy).

 

Designer: John Hassall (1868–1948)

Purpose: Advertisement for Britain’s Great Northern Railway

Year: 1908

John Hassall (British, 1868–1948), Skegness is SO Bracing, 1908. From the collection of the National Gallery of Australia, NGA 81.1989.

John Hassall (British, 1868–1948), Skegness is SO Bracing, 1908. From the collection of the National Gallery of Australia, NGA 81.1989.

English illustrator John Hassall’s hilarious take on Jules Chéret’s flouncing chérettes for a seaside town along Britain’s Great Northern Railway made for one of the most popular poster images of the twentieth century. A chubby, rosy-cheeked fisherman in Wellington boots and a vivid red scarf skips buoyantly along the beach, promising a delightful, good-weather vacation for the whole family. The Jolly Fisherman, as he’s called, is still a beloved icon of the town of Skegness today.

 

Designer: James Montgomery Flagg (1877–1960)

Purpose: U.S. Army recruitment (World War I)

Year: 1917

James Montgomery Flagg (American, 1877–1960), I want you for U.S. Army: nearest recruiting station, c. 1917. From the Library of Congress Print & Photographs Division, POS US .F63.

James Montgomery Flagg (American, 1877–1960), I want you for U.S. Army: nearest recruiting station, c. 1917. From the Library of Congress Print & Photographs Division, POS US .F63.

The first half of the twentieth century saw much of the world engaged in large-scale war. Luxury sundries and entertainment were less prolific in wartime, while the government had great need for poster designs to recruit soldiers, encourage the public, and establish impressions of the enemy. James Montgomery Flagg’s I Want YOU for the U.S. Army is perhaps the single most recognizable American poster. It was published as a magazine cover in 1916. The following spring, the United States officially declared war on Germany. The image then began appearing as posters with a blank space available at the bottom, so the printer could jot in an address for the nearest recruiting station.

 

Designer: E. McKnight Kauffer (1890–1954)

Purpose: Advertisement for The Daily Herald

Year: 1919

E. McKnight Kauffer (Born United States, 1890–1954), Soaring to success! Daily Herald - the early bird, 1919. From the collection of the National Gallery of Australia, NGA 97.641.

E. McKnight Kauffer (Born United States, 1890–1954), Soaring to success! Daily Herald – the early bird, 1919. From the collection of the National Gallery of Australia, NGA 97.641.

E. McKnight Kauffer’s stark image of birds, streaking across a yellow sky as a single mass of geometric black and white, heralded a new era of modernism in poster design. The poster, first printed in 1919 for London’s Daily Herald, embodied new aspirations for the machine age after the conclusion of the First World War. The campaign organizer, Sir Francis Meyness, described it as “a flight of birds that might almost be a flight of aeroplanes; a symbol, in those days of hope, of the unity of useful invention and natural things.”

 

Designer: Heinz Schulz-Neudmann (1899-1969)

Purpose: Promotional poster for the film Metropolis

Year: 1926

Heinz Schulz-Neudamm (German, 1899–1969). Poster for Metropolis, 1926. From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Heinz Schulz-Neudamm (German, 1899–1969). Metropolis, 1926. From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

The influence of Futurism, an artistic movement that started in Italy in the early twentieth century, is unapologetically clear in this rigidly geometric, monochromatic poster design by Heinz Schulz-Neudamm for a German dystopian sci-fi film by Fritz Lang. Emphasizing the uneasy relationship between man and machine in the post-industrial era, the figure in this poster is arranged almost uncomfortably close to the viewer, with the rigid city skyline far behind. Neudamm’s visual theme here had lasting effect; only look to the 2013 poster for the film The Great Gatsby to see how this style is still associated with the so-called Roaring Twenties.

 

Designer: A.M. Cassandre (1901–1968)

Purpose: Promotional posters for steamship travel

Year: 1931, 1935

A.M. Cassandre (born Ukraine, 1901–1968). Left: L'Atlantique, 1931. RIght: Normandie, 1935. Christie’s Posters sale, 8 June 2014 and 4 November 2015, London.

A.M. Cassandre (born Ukraine, 1901–1968). Left: L’Atlantique, 1931. RIght: Normandie, 1935. Christie’s Posters sale, 8 June 2014 and 4 November 2015, London.

A.M. Cassandre, a Ukranian émigré who landed in the rich artistic soil of Paris, drew inspiration from the latest avant-garde art movements, including Cubism and Futurism, for his travel posters. He arranged flat fields of color in dramatic but simple compositions to convey the strength of these trans-Atlantic ships. Notice how he uses the birds in Normandie and tugboat in L’Atlantique to exaggerate their size.

 

Designer: Lester Beall (1903–1969)

Purpose: Promotion for the Rural Electrification Administration (REA)

Year: 1937

Lester Beall (American, 1903–1969), Rural Electrification Administration, 1937. From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, 221.1937.

Lester Beall (American, 1903–1969), Rural Electrification Administration, 1937. From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, 221.1937.

Lester Beall created comforting nationalistic photomontages on bright American flag backgrounds for the New Deal program’s Rural Electrification Commission in the 1930s. They were meant to help communicate technological changes to rural communities across the United States, a vast majority of which didn’t have electricity yet. But as with many paintings, murals, and prints that came out of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, Beall’s modernist vision made this series of posters works of art in their own right.

 

Designer: J. Howard Miller

Purpose: Morale-boosting poster for Westinghouse Electric (World War II)

Year: 1943

J. Howard Miller (American, 1918-2004). We Can Do It!, 1943.

J. Howard Miller (American, 1918-2004). We Can Do It!, 1943.

Although it didn’t become famous until years later, this is another wartime image indelibly stamped on American visual culture. Pennsylvania manufacturer Westinghouse Electric hired J. Howard Miller to produce a poster that would boost worker morale and celebrate the difficult work they were doing to produce wartime goods. Many worker posters of the period showed men with their sleeves rolled up, ready to work for their country, but this one celebrated the contribution of women to the manufacturing industry. Miller created a naturalistic, wholesome illustration here, almost like the popular Normal Rockwell paintings of quiet family life from the same period, but charged it with vivid, attention-grabbing color.

 

Designer: Milton Glaser

Purpose: Record insert for musician Bob Dylan

Year: 1967

Milton Glaser (American, ). Dylan, 1966. From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Milton Glaser (American, born 1929). Dylan, 1966. From the collection of the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

The 1960s in America brought a contemporary spin on the florid Art Nouveau styles explored in Alphonse Mucha’s posters of the late 1800s. The psychedelic poster craze combined Art Nouveau’s fluid, nature-inspired lines with the wild colors and dreamlike shapes of surrealism. These images iconized an era of unencumbered exploration of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll in art and culture. In the above poster, specially commissioned by CBS Records to accompany the album Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits, Milton Glaser rendered the music star’s curly hair in swirls of psychedelic color.

 

Designer: Paul Rand

Purpose: Advertisement for computer technology corporation IBM

Year: 1981

Paul Rand (American, 1914-1996). Eye, Bee, M (IBM), 1981 (detail). From the collection of the Cooper-Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum.

Paul Rand (American, 1914-1996). Eye, Bee, M (IBM), 1981 (detail). From the collection of the Cooper-Hewitt Smithsonian Design Museum, New York.

With the increasing dominance of photography as a visual medium, posters placed greater emphasis on text and typeface as an expressive graphic element. This is something the grand masters of the late nineteenth century had already experimented with, often writing a cabaret or product name by hand in decorative script. But this poster by Paul Rand takes an emphasis on text to another level. In his minimalistic composition on a field of black, Rand places three simple images, two of which are clever pictograms — an eye and a bee, to communicate the “I” and “B” in the company’s name, respectively — and only one of which, the ‘M,’ is recognizable as part of the company’s now-famous logo.

 

Designer: Shepard Fairey

Purpose: Promotional poster for Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign

Year: 2006

Sheperd Fairey (American, born 1970). Hope, 2006.

Sheperd Fairey (American, born 1970). Hope, 2006

Former president Barack Obama successfully campaigned in a presidential race against Senator John McCain on a promise of “Hope.” This heavily 1960s Pop Art-inspired poster by Shepard Fairey, an American street artist and graphic designer, communicated the message in intense hues of red, beige, and blue. Peter Schjeldahl, longtime art critic at The New Yorker, said it was “the most efficacious American political illustration since Uncle Sam Wants You” (see above).

 
Resources:
“A Brief History of the Poster,” International Poster Gallery. http://www.internationalposter.com/about-poster-art/a-brief-history-of.aspx
“Collecting Guide: 8 poster designers to follow at auction,” Christie’s, October 16, 2015. http://www.christies.com/features/Collecting-Guide-the-most-collectible-poster-designers-6076-1.aspx
“Collection: Egon Schiele: Secession 49. Austellung, 1918.” The Stedelijk Museum. http://www.stedelijk.nl/en/artwork/22610-secession-49-ausstellung
“Edward McKnight Kauffer (1890 – 1954), Soaring to Success! Daily Herald – The Early Bird. Lot essay, Christie’s Vintage Posters sale, 13 May 2010, London. http://www.christies.com/lotfinder/Lot/edward-mcknight-kauffer-1890-1954-soaring-to-5311602-details.aspx
“Hope and Glory: A Shepard Fairey Moment,” Peter Schjeldahl, The New Yorker, February 23, 2009. http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2009/02/23/hope-and-glory 
“Skegness is SO bracing.” The Victoria and Albert Museum. http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O74309/skegness-is-so-bracing-poster-hassall-john/
“The Birth of the Modern Poster,” National Gallery of Australia exhibition 10 February – 13 May 2007. https://nga.gov.au/modernposter/“Top 15 Poster Designs in History,” Sean Coady, Creative Market, May 2, 2016. https://creativemarket.com/blog/top-15-poster-designs-in-history
To see the works of Henri de Toulouse-Laturec and his contemporaries on view now at the Driehaus Museum, visit the L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posters exhibition site

There is perhaps no other artist as closely associated with Paris’s ‘Beautiful Age,’ the Belle Époque, than Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. His art of the late 19th century captured the colorful whirlwind of a raucous, modernizing city, from raunchy cabaret promotions to provocative brothel scenes. He was drawn to the avant-garde performers and prostitutes at very edge of society; an outsider himself, his own experiences informed his subjects.

 

The Outsider Aristocrat

Lautrec was born Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa, a descendent of one of the oldest and most prestigious French families, on an estate in Albi in southern France. He was his parents’ first child and came from generations of counts and viscounts, but would nonetheless live the life of an outcast as a dwarf. Between the ages of 13 and 14, he broke each of his legs in turn. Neither fully healed and the legs ceased growing, presumably because of a genetic disorder caused by inbreeding in his aristocratic family—his parents were first cousins. Lautrec therefore grew into adulthood with the foreshortened legs of a child below a normal-sized torso. He stood at 4 feet, 8 inches tall, and used a cane to walk with difficulty for the rest of his life.

Photograph of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec at approximately age 3.

Photograph of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec at approximately age 3.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec in 1894, at the age of 30.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec in 1894, at the age of 30.

Mocked for his physical appearance and prevented from participating in the sports and outdoors activities appropriate for a boy of his background and which he longed to do, Lautrec coped using alcohol. He drank copious amounts, especially the alarmingly potent absinthe. He even hollowed out his walking cane in order to fill it with liquor and always have a drink close by. Highly intelligent and always bitterly aware of how a normal, pleasurable, successful life in society remained out of his grasp due to his deformity, he developed a stinging wit. “I will always be a thoroughbred hitched up to a rubbish cart,” he said.

He also escaped into the world of Parisian brothels, where he surrounded himself with prostitutes. Although known for his louche behavior, he didn’t spend time with these women for sexual pleasure alone. He found a kind of camaraderie in their common status as outsiders. Lautrec was drawn to these women and even adopted them as a kind of family. Fellow painter Édouard Vuillard commented,

 

“Lautrec was too proud to submit to his lot, as a physical freak, an aristocrat cut off from his kind by his grotesque appearance. He found an affinity between his own condition and the moral penury of the prostitute.”

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec wearing the feathered hat and boa of Jane Avril (daughter of a courtesan, Moulin Rouge dancer, and close friend), ca. 1892.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec photographed wearing the feathered hat and boa of Jane Avril (daughter of a courtesan, Moulin Rouge dancer, and close friend), ca. 1892.

The Sympathetic Artist

Lautrec learned to draw as a child while bedridden with various illnesses. He favored horses as a subject; his father kept a full stable of them in Albi. In 1882, Lautrec moved to Paris at the age of 18 to study art in the studios of Léon Bonnat and Fernand Cormon. At Cormon’s he met other young members of the avant-garde, including Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh and French writer and painter Émile Bernard. Lautrec settled in Montmartre, and became a legendary fixture of the bohemian neighborhood over the next 20 years.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). A Woman and a Man on Horseback, 1879-81. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). A Woman and a Man on Horseback, 1879-81. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). At the Moulin Rouge, 1892/95. The Art Institute of Chicago.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). At the Moulin Rouge, 1892/95. The Art Institute of Chicago.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901).  Moulin Rouge: La Goulue, 1891. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Moulin Rouge: La Goulue, 1891. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Although Lautrec was an outsider in society and at the fringe of the Paris art world among the avant-garde, he would meet with wide acclaim and financial success through his posters, prints, and illustrations for journals and magazines. His first poster for the Moulin Rouge, The Dance at the Moulin Rouge featuring the striking, bawdy can-can dance of La Goulue (“The Glutton”), catapulted him to overnight success. This and the many so-called commercial works to follow inspired his contemporaries to view posters as fine art; arguably, Lautrec’s greatest masterpieces were advertisements for the famous Moulin Rouge and other eager clients in the entertainment business.

Lautrec didn’t merely observe Paris’s hot spots for the sake of his work. His art and life were inseparable, and he was a celebrated customer at the very brothels and cabarets whose prostitutes and performers he immortalized in his art. The Moulin Rouge even reserved a special front-row seat for him in the nightclub in addition to displaying his paintings. Lautrec formed close relationships with some of Paris’s greatest actresses, singers, and dancers; they were his muses, and, in return, he their publicist. Performers whose careers were supported by his exuberant posters and occasional portraits include American dancer Loië Fuller, French dancer and close friend Jane Avril, and French diseuse Yvette Guilbert. Paul Leclercq, a friend of Lautrec’s, described a typical scene at the Moulin Rouge that captures the spirit of Belle Époque Paris and the harmony between Lautrec’s personal life and work:

“In the midst of the crowd, there was a stir, and a line of people started to form: Jane Avril was dancing, twirling, gracefully, lightly, a little madly; pale, skinny, thoroughbred, she twirled and reversed, weightless, fed on flowers; Lautrec was shouting out his admiration.”

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1899. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1899. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1893. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Jane Avril, 1893. The Richard H. Driehaus Collection.

 

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Miss Loïe Fuller, 1893. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Miss Loïe Fuller, 1893. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Lautrec was a master lithographer, tossing away artistic convention for his own vision and making exceptional use of all the latest innovations in color, texture, and printing. And like many artists of his generation, he drew heavy influence from the Japanese prints that were entering Paris for the first time at the end of the 19th century. He borrowed techniques like outlined areas of flat color, shifts in perspective, cropped compositions, and unusual angles.

One of Lautrec’s most notable achievements is his Elles series. Through these 50 paintings, Lautrec lifted the curtain on the intimate inner lives of the prostitutes he knew. The paintings depict the women in moments of solitude and repose. They aren’t romantic, floating feminine types; nor are they laughing, flirting, bawdy prostitute types; rather, they are real flesh-and-blood individuals. Through these paintings, the viewer enters an introspective, private moment that makes the women seem breathtakingly human.

Much of Lautrec’s work, and the Elles series in particular, reveal an artist who understood, even favored, the people who were consigned to the fringes of society. He showed deep sympathy for them, capturing qualities that they held in common with the rest of humanity, rather than emphasizing what set them apart as outsiders.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Elles (portfolio cover), 1896. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Elles (portfolio cover), 1896. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

 

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). The Sofa, ca. 1894-96. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). The Sofa, ca. 1894-96. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Woman Before a Mirror, 1897. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (French, 1864–1901). Woman Before a Mirror, 1897. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Unfortunately, Lautrec led a lifestyle that far outstripped his body’s ability to cope. He boldly declared at the age of 24, “I expect to burn myself out by the time I’m forty.” He died earlier than his prediction—at the age of 36 in 1901, from the combined effects of alcoholism and syphilis. He left behind a body of work that included 737 canvases, 275 watercolors, 363 prints and posters, 5,084 drawings, ceramics and stained glass work, and an uncounted number of lost works. These, and the spirit of Belle Époque Paris they immortalize, are his legacy which resounds today.

 

 

Resources
“Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec.” The Art Story: Modern Art Insight
“Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec,” by Cora Michael, Department of Drawings and Prints, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, May 2010. The Metropolitan Museum of Art Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/laut/hd_laut.htm
“Toulouse-Lautrec and Jane Avril: Beyond the Moulin Rouge.” Exhibition June – September 2011, The Courtauld Gallery, London. http://courtauld.ac.uk/gallery/what-on/exhibitions-displays/archive/toulouse-lautrec-and-jane-avril-beyond-the-moulin-rouge
Toulouse Lautrec in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, by Colta Feller Ives. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 1996.

 

Our staff is always asked about their backgrounds and how they came to work at the Driehaus Museum.  So we wanted to share some of our amazing team with everyone. And, as always, let us know if you have any other questions.

IMG_9013What role does your position play at the Driehaus Museum?
It is my responsibility to facilitate private museum rentals for individuals as well as corporate clients.  The home was designed by the Nickersons for entertaining and socializing, so seeing events come to life in the Museum is particularly special and exciting!

How long have you worked at the Museum? 
I started in this position in October of 2016.

Where are you from/where do you currently reside? 
I am a born and bred Hoosier, having lived in Indiana most of my life.   I moved to Chicago in 2012 after receiving a job offer right out of school.  I currently live in Logan Square with my significant other and two adorable pups.

What is your education/experience background? How or why did you come to work at the Driehaus Museum? 
I graduated from Indiana University Bloomington with a Bachelor of Science in Art Management.  Throughout my time in school, I was fortunate enough to intern at the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra and Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians and Western Art.  Through these opportunities, my appreciation and interest in the arts sector grew.  Since then I have made it a goal to create a career path for myself within the museum industry.

IMG_0267If you were a staff member of the Nickerson Mansion at the turn of the century, what role would you have and why?
The head chef without a doubt! Not only do I enjoy cooking as a hobby, but I have a hard time relaxing unless I know that everyone is happy and full.

If you were trapped in the Museum overnight, what would you do?
Assuming that the normal Museum rules don’t apply here, I would invite a group of friends over for a dinner party in the dining room, and maybe a live jazz trio and cocktails after!

Photograph by Matt Ferguson, 2014

Photograph by Matt Ferguson, 2014

What is your favorite holiday/program or event at the Museum?
Nothing is quite like the holiday season at the Museum.  The Holiday Jazz Cabaret is one of my favorites!

Tell us about one of your favorite moments during your time working at the Museum?
One of my favorite moments has been participating in the development process of A Toast to the Gilded Age, a new Museum program which focuses on the history of various libations during the turn of the century.  It has been exciting to do something a little out of the box.

For more information about working with Marissa and hosting your special event at the Driehaus Museum, click here.

This poster for Joseph Bardou Company, or JOB, a Parisian manufacturer of cigarette papers, unabashedly celebrates the sensuous delights of smoking. The young woman’s eyes are closed with pleasure as the lighted cigarette sends a smoky arabesque curving around the image. Her hair cascades around her shoulders and arms, dominating the picture frame. Her white dress, low-cut and gently loose around her body, communicates a freedom only a few women would have enjoyed in the 1890s.

The poster designer, Alphonse Mucha, was a Czech-born artist in his late 30s. He moved to Paris in 1887 seeking fame. There he mastered French Art Nouveau, an avant-garde style that stretched and elongated decorative lines and text into sinouous, vine-like tendrils that seem straight out of a fairy tale. In Mucha’s posters of women—from big-star performers like Sara Bernhardt to imaginary parisiennes—he often applied that Art Nouveau style to their wild, flowing, abundant tresses. These glamorous, larger-than-life posters helped define the place of the female in advertising in the industry’s earliest days.

Job is probably one of Mucha’s best known advertising posters. And it was radical at the time in its depiction of this glamorous woman enjoying freely an activity once reserved for men alone.

There is plenty of evidence that in ancient times, women might have smoked as openly as men. Tobacco was an integral part of Mayan religious rituals, for example. But sometime between then and the 17th century, female smokers in France, Britain, and America came to be seen as, at best, backwards or socially deviant, and at worst, vulgar and immoral. Appalachian mountain women, Breton peasants, or lower-class prostitutes smoked pipes; uneducated factory workers used snuff; and eccentric Bohemians smoked little cigars. In reaction to these stereotypes, a widespread social attitude dictated that respectable women shouldn’t dare associate themselves, however indirectly, with this supposedly unladylike activity. Wild claims about smoking abounded—it gave women mustaches, some said; it made them go insane; said others. In some American school districts, female teachers could be fired for smoking, while no such prohibition existed for men. In 1908, New York passed a law outright prohibiting women from smoking in public.

Women who did smoke—or wore pants, or worked, or rode bicycles—were satirized in cartoons in France and America as the ‘femmes nouvelles,’ or new women. It wasn’t a compliment. These women were breaking down boundaries that held rigid ideas of masculinity and femininity in place, and not everyone welcomed these bold changes.

Left: Postcard depicting a woman in the French region of Brittany, smoking a pipe. Right: Historic photograph of a woman in the Appalachian region of the United States, smoking a pipe.

Left: Postcard depicting a woman in the French region of Brittany, smoking a pipe. Right: Historic photograph of a woman in the Appalachian region of the United States, smoking a pipe.

French lithograph (1840) showing women playing billiards and smoking with men. Based on the time period, this image would indicate they are prostitutes or morally loose women.

French lithograph (1840) showing women playing billiards and smoking with men. Based on the time period, this image would indicate they are prostitutes or morally loose women.

Satirical cartoons about women smoking often indicated a deeper fear about gender roles. Here, a man does laundry while caring for the baby, while his wife and other women women smoke, play cards, and discuss the workday ahead.

Satirical cartoons about women smoking often indicated a deeper fear about gender roles. Here, a man does laundry while caring for the baby, while his wife and other women women smoke, play cards, and discuss the workday ahead.

Cartoon from the 1890s showing a bohemian woman riding a bicycle and smoking a cigarette, wreaking havoc. The sentiment is that women would not be able to handle the same freedoms as men, and would endanger society.

Cartoon from the 1890s showing a bohemian woman riding a bicycle and smoking a cigarette, wreaking havoc. The sentiment is that women would not be able to handle the same freedoms as men, and would endanger society.

 

But in Job, Alphonse Mucha makes smoking seem—well, sexy. This is no old-fashioned rural woman puffing on a little pipe, but an illustrious beauty enjoying a rebellious pleasure. In the early years of the 20th century, when women began agitating for equal rights, smoking—a male activity heretofore held back from women—became a way to subvert those oppressive social norms. By the 1920s smoking was seen as a chic, enlightened activity claimed by independent women who loved to socialize, dance in clubs, and enjoy their freedoms.

Other advertisements and photographs appeared around the same time, many of which were ushered along by a burgeoning tobacco industry that saw women as an untapped market with great potential. These helped continue to transform the smoking taboo into an act that proclaimed your independence, eased stress, and helped you lose weight. In 1929, Lucky Strike Cigarettes hired ten beautiful debutantes to walk, lit cigarettes boldly in hand, in New York’s Easter parade. Others hired famous admirable women, like Amelia Earnhardt, for advertisements. Moves like this followed Mucha’s Job posters in a radical redefining of what smoking could be for women—not deviant, but glamorous.

 

Another poster for Job cigarette papers by Alphonse Mucha, this one from 1897.

Another poster for Job cigarette papers by Alphonse Mucha, this one from 1897.

Aleardo Villa, "Cigarrillos Paris: Son Los Mejores."

Aleardo Villa, “Cigarrillos Paris: Son Los Mejores.”

A 1900 advertisement for Ogden's Guinea Gold Cigarettes, showing a woman on a bicycle in a more positive light. This New Woman is empowered and confident.

A 1900 advertisement for Ogden’s Guinea Gold Cigarettes, showing a woman on a bicycle in a more positive light. This New Woman is empowered and confident.

A highly successful 1929 campaign for Lucky Strikes promoted cigarettes as a way to lose weight.

A highly successful 1929 campaign for Lucky Strikes promoted cigarettes as a way to lose weight.

Audrey Hepburn (1929 - 1993) smoking using a long, slender cigarette holder. The actress and icon smoked heavily from the age of 15, and her drinking and smoking habits were seen as part of her sexual allure.

Audrey Hepburn (1929 – 1993) smoking using a long, slender cigarette holder. The actress and icon smoked heavily from the age of 15, and her drinking and smoking habits were seen as part of her sexual allure.

 

Today, of course, we have a new smoking taboo in our culture. But rather than being based on an arbitrary idea of what is appropriately feminine and masculine, this taboo is based on medical research showing the devastating health effects smoking has on all of us—men and women alike.

 

Resources
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, “Women and Smoking,” 2001 Mar. A Report of the Surgeon General, Office on Smoking and Health.
Daily Mail, “Tobacco Traces on Mayan Flask Proves Race Did Smoke,” Gavin Allen, 11 January 2012.
Mucha Foundation, Poster for ‘Job’ Cigarette Paper (1896).
POPSUGAR, The History of Women and Smoking, Colleen Barrett, 11 June 11 2012
Stanford School of Medicine, Stanford Research into the Impact of Tobacco Advertising

 

 

The Broadside

The history of the poster starts with black-and-white broadsides in the 1600s, which evolved in the wake of the printing press. These one-sided sheets of paper were a quick way to mass-distribute information. Shopkeepers propped product announcements in their windows; governments called people to action in the event of war; public decrees were quickly distributed. A wanted poster of the old American West would be a classic example of a broadside. The Declaration of Independence is also a famous example; printed as a broadside, news of the victorious revolution spread quickly throughout the American colonies.

dunlap_broadside

The first 150-200 copies of the Declaration of Independence were broadsides, printed by John Dunlap of Philadelphia on July 4, 1776.

chi-fire-broadside

This broadside announced a meeting to take action against the Great Chicago Fire on October 9, 1871. Image via the Chicago History Museum.

A broadside from the 1800s, showing addition of a single color and illustrations to highlight the informational text.

A broadside from the 1800s, showing addition of a single color and illustrations to highlight the informational text.

A Turning Point

Broadsides were an ephemeral form—easily printed, distributed for quick impact, read for the information they contained, and then tossed away. But as time passed and technology advanced, the broadside evolved. Typefaces got a little more interesting—larger, more decorative. Images were added to grab a viewer’s attention.

And then a turning point came in the 19th century in Paris. The poster transcended its role as attention-getting carrier of practical information. It became beautiful. It became desirable. It transformed the gray urban commute into a pleasurable stroll punctuated by cheerful color. It became the passion of a group of aficionados who avidly collected these posters, preserving them from the short life cycle of ephemera. In short, the poster became art.

So how did it happen?

There are a number of factors: the rise of the middle class in Paris with more expendable income for collecting, advances in technology that allowed for larger and more complex poster designs, a multicultural milieu with artists of all types mingling and sharing ideas in Paris’s bohemian neighborhoods, a city redesign that included street furniture designed specifically for posters, and more.

But one of the central factors is the reinvention of lithography, the process by which many posters were made before they became fine art.

And Jules Chéret is the one who reinvented it. Chéret is widely known as the father of the modern poster, and it is in his footsteps that the rest of the major artists in the Driehaus Museum exhibition, L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posters, followed.

Jules Chéret (French, 1836 - 1932)

Jules Chéret (French, 1836 – 1932)

Jules Chéret

Chéret was born in 1836, the son of a French typesetter in Paris. He briefly studied drawing, then started training at age 13 in lithography, working as an apprentice and journeyman in Paris and London for 17 years. He got his break when perfume manufacturer Eugène Rimmel hired him as a designer. Soon after he started his own lithographic printing firm in Paris, firmly believing that lithography would soon replace his father’s letterpress industry as the premier printing technique.

Card for Eugène Rimmel, designed by Jules Chéret.

Card for Eugène Rimmel, designed by Jules Chéret.

Jules Chéret's first major poster commission was this one for Jacques Offenbach for his 1858 production of "Orpheus in the Underworld."

Jules Chéret’s first major poster commission was this one for Jacques Offenbach for his 1858 production of “Orpheus in the Underworld.”

Lithography

Lithography wasn’t new. It was invented in 1798 by a Bavarian actor and playwright, Alois Senefelder, to reproduce his scripts. Senefelder’s printing process is simple to understand if you keep in mind that oil and water don’t mix. To make a lithograph, you take a greasy or waxy crayon and draw images or words onto a large, smooth limestone surface. Then you douse the surface of the stone in water and roll it with ink. The greasy drawing repels the water and soaks up the ink, while the wet areas without any drawing repel the ink. So when you press the stone—with considerable force—onto a piece of paper, it transfers the inky images and text onto that paper.

If you wanted a color lithograph, also called a chromolithograph, things got a little more complicated. You had to prepare as many stones as you want colors. It was laborious and the stones were incredibly heavy, so lithographs remained pretty much monochromatic well into the 1860s. If color was utilized at all, it was a little splash as a highlight to the heavily crammed text, and not a core part of the visual design.

litho-stone

An artist drawing on a lithographic stone.

litho-designhistory

Illustration of printing a lithograph. Image via DesignHistory.org.

 

The Artistic Poster

Given the lack of design consideration, low quality, and disposability of earlier commercial lithographs, lithography got a reputation as an unworthy artistic medium. To say that you were making lithographic art in the 19th century would be like printing a full-page advertisement in a glossy beauty magazine today and calling it your chosen artistic medium. It isn’t impossible. It would simply be difficult for many to imagine elevating this medium we associate with makeup advertisements to the realm of museum collections. It was the same with lithography. It suffered from its association with quick and commercial information. There was nothing daring, original, or beautiful about lithography.

That is, until Jules Chéret. Visionary artists often take an idea or form that already exists and transform it so completely that it appears new and original. This was the case with Chéret, who appeared unconstrained by the negative associations with lithography and decided to use it for colorful, cheerful, and vivaciously French artworks. In 1884 Chéret organized the first group poster exhibition in art history, ushering in an era of these images being accepted—and enthusiastically celebrated—as fine art, and in 1886 he published the first book on poster art. Chéret would also eventually work with printing houses that catered to collectors who wanted poster art for their own.

Chéret made advances to lithography in the mid-19th century that others would soon imitate. He designed his own lettering, taking advantage of the fact that the lithograph, as opposed to the printing press, allows for the artist to draw freehand on the stone’s surface. The text therefore became a part of the poster’s overall design. Chéret also reduced the amount of text, leaning heavily on the image to communicate about a product or event. He also simplified the chromolithographic process by using three primary colors: three stones inked with red, yellow, and blue. By making these colors semi-transparent, he could layer them and create different shades. Finally, Chéret approached the limestone in a painterly way, using animated brush lines, crosshatch, stipple, soft watercolor-like washes, and areas of flat color. A fellow chromolithographer, André Mellerio, heralded this fine art of the street, calling the new color poster “the distinctive art of our time.”

Chéret’s creative advances transformed the world of advertising. His posters featured cheerful, lightly clad, often eight-feet tall beauties who became known as Chérettes. Chéret’s women were inspired by the well-heeled, garden-party women of Rococo paintings, a glorious age in France immortalized by artists like Jean-Honoré Fragonard and Jean-Antoine Watteau. These alluring women showcased the pleasures of Paris to tantalizing effect, including music halls, theatres, performers, beverages, medicines, and lamp oil.

Folies-Bergère: La Loïe Fuller, 1893.

Folies-Bergère: La Loïe Fuller, 1893.

Yvette Guilbert: Au Concert Parisien, 1891.

Yvette Guilbert: Au Concert Parisien, 1891.

Théâtrophone, 1890.

Théâtrophone, 1890.

Chéret was recognized in his own time as ‘the king of the poster’. One art critic remarked that “there was a thousand times more talent in the smallest of Chéret’s posters than in the majority of the pictures on the walls of the Paris Salon.” He was often imitated, and an entire generation of artists would follow and build on his work. One of them was Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. To acknowledge his debt to the older artist, Lautrec sent Chéret a copy of every poster he produced.

After creating more than a thousand posters in Paris, Chéret retired to Nice in the south of France, where a museum was established in his honor in 1928, four years before the artist died at the age of 96. The Musée des Beaux-Arts Des Nice, as it’s called today, still stands as a testament to the artist’s transformation of the world of fine art.

 

 

 

Resources
Eskilson, Stephen. Graphic Design: A New History
Encyclopaedia Britannica, “Jules Cheret.” Updated July 21, 2009. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Jules-Cheret
Graphic Design History’s “History of Posters” series, designhistory.org
Hamilton, Sarah Elizabeth. From Publicity to Intimacy: The Poster in Fin-de-siecle Paris
Ives, Colta. “Lithography in the Nineteenth Century,” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, The Metropolitan The L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posters, essay by Jeannine Falino. The Richard H. Driehaus Museum. The Monacelli Press, New York, 2017.
Museum of Modern Art, gallery labels on works by Jules Chéret (moma.org/collection)
Museum of Art. October 2004. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/lith/hd_lith.htm
“A Brief History of Broadsides,” Tavistock Books, blog.tavisbooks.com/?p=12

 

To see more of Sarah Bernhardt and other stars of the French Belle Époque poster, including Yvette Guilbert, Loïe Fuller, and Jane Avril, visit the special exhibition L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posterson view beginning February 11, 2017An entire exhibition gallery is devoted to these celebrated stage performers and the poster artists who made them unforgettable.

Join the discussion about Sarah Bernhardt’s exciting life and legacy in this winter’s book club at the Driehaus Museum, Saturday, February 25! Sarah: The Life of Sarah Bernhardt by Robert Gottlieb is the foundation of our discussion about this captivating woman who, despite her scandalous and obscure beginnings, transformed herself into the darling of Paris and one of the most respected actresses who ever lived. For more details and to purchase tickets, click here

 …

Young and stunning, with sculpted eyebrows and a head of rich brunette curls, French actress Sarah Bernhardt first captured the ardor of Paris’s theatre-going elite in the 1870s. The rest of the world’s attention inevitably followed. Admiring critics, resorting to poetic metaphor, likened her voice to pure gold, a nightingale, silver dawn, the stars and moon, and murmuring water.

She was in a class all her own—the Marilyn Monroe of the French Belle Époque. “There are five kinds of actresses,” declared American writer Mark Twain. “Bad actresses, fair actresses, good actresses, great actresses—and then there is Sarah Bernhardt.”

However gifted and alluring she was, stardom like Sarah’s isn’t made in a vacuum. One of the most captivating aspects of her presence actually occurred offstage, along the open boulevards of Paris. Striking promotional posters by Czech artist Alphonse Mucha catapulted Bernhardt from well-respected actress to international icon at the turn of the century, and have proved as lasting memories of her electric mystique. In turn, Bernhardt made Mucha a major success in the lively Parisian art world.

L: Sarah Bernhardt, about 20 years old in ca. 1864 (Photo by Nadar).  R: Alphonse Mucha, self-portrait in his studio, TK.

Sarah Bernhardt, about 20 years old in ca. 1864 (Photo by Nadar). Alphonse Mucha, self-portrait in his Paris studio, early 1890s (The Mucha Trust).

The pair met serendipitously. Alphonse Mucha, a struggling Czech illustrator, was temping at the massive Paris printing firm Lemercier & Compagnie just after Christmas in 1894, while all the steady professional artists were away celebrating the holidays with their families.

Sarah Bernhardt approached Lemercier, desperate for a poster to promote her show debuting just after the New Year at the Théâtre de la Renaissance, a Greek melodrama called Gismonda. She was director and lead actor, playing a widow of the Athenian nobility who pledges herself to a commoner. Bernhardt needed the poster immediately, so Mucha, despite his lack of poster experience, was asked to draw something up for the esteemed actress. He came up with a stylized, monumental, full-sized portrait of the actress in a glorious empire-waist dress and gold-embroidered drapery, her face in dignified profile and crowned with orchids, grasping a palm branch. The lettering was architectural and exotic, mimicking Byzantine mosaic work. Mucha did what creatives in advertising firms still do today: take a real female human’s likeness and reveal a goddess.

Gismonda, 1894. Alphonse Mucha (Czech, 1860-1939).

Gismonda, 1894. Alphonse Mucha (Czech, 1860-1939).

 

Bernhardt absolutely loved it. A week later, billposters had plastered Mucha’s image all over Paris and Bernhardt had offered Mucha a six-year contract to design posters, stage sets, and costumes for her. Posters for La Dame aux Camélias (1896), Lorenzaccio (1896), La Samaritaine (1897), Médée (1898), La Tosca (1898) and Hamlet (1899) followed. Mucha designed them all with the same elongated, full-length format, almost like altarpieces—with Bernhardt in place of a saint. It’s no surprise she became known to her fans as ‘la Divine Sarah.’

posters1

Lorenzaccio, 1896 (left) and La Samaritaine, 1897 (right). Alphonse Mucha (Czech, 1860-1939).

 

posters2

The Tragic Story of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, 1899 (left) and La Tosca, 1899 (right). Alphonse Mucha (Czech, 1860-1939).

Mucha’s images held Bernhardt’s likeness before the public imagination, and her fascinating performances burned her there. She is still considered one of the greatest actresses to have ever lived. “Something seemed to burn within her like a consuming flame,” said George Tyler, an American producer. “On the stage she loved and cried, not only with her soul, but with all her body,’ said Jules Lemaître, a French critic.

Sarah Bernhardt was born Henriette-Rosine Bernard, the illegitimate daughter of a Dutch Jewish courtesan, in about 1844. Her ambitions as a teenager to become a nun ceased when her mother’s lover put her onstage, where she found another kind of calling. She performed in works by some of the greatest playwrights of past and present: Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Jean Racine, Eugène Scribe, Voltaire, and Victorien Sardou. She played Cordelia, Cleopatra, Adrienne Lecouvreur, Phédre, Joan of Arc, Desdemona, Marguerite Gautier, and, daringly, Hamlet, as one of the first known women to perform the title role in Shakespeare’s tragedy. She appeared in silent films and lent her face to advertisements. She toured in Europe, the United States, Canada, South America, Australia, and the Middle East. She owned her own theatre, the Théâtre Sarah-Bernhardt, producing and directing plays as well as acting in them, and training young actors. She toured onstage and acted on film sets well into her 70s, and never retired—she was in the midst of a film project when she died. A few fragments of film and audio survive: here she is as Hamlet (video); as Elizabeth Queen of England (video); in Le Samaritaine (audio); and Phédre (audio).

Bernhardt was arguably the world’s first international star, setting a course for celebrity in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Predictably, her personal life was the subject of much fascination, and her adventures did not disappoint: there was an affair at age 20 with a Belgian prince resulting in an adored illegitimate son, Maurice; a duel proposed by gentlemen defending her honor from journalists; marriage to a foreign man 12 years her junior; an affair with a 27-year-old leading man at age 66; other affairs with the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII), Victor Hugo, and other famous men. She injured her knee during a dramatic moment in a performance in Rio de Janiero and, as gangrene set in a year later, wrote another of her lovers, a great doctor, demanding her own leg’s removal.

Photograph by William and Daniel Downey, London.

Photograph by William and Daniel Downey, London.

1882. Photograph by Nadar.

1882. Photograph by Nadar.

1885. Photograph by William Downey.

1885. Photograph by William Downey.

1891. Photograph by Napoleon Sarony.

1891. Photograph by Napoleon Sarony.

 

1922. Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Division.

1922. Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Division.

In March 1923, Bernhardt died in Paris. She was 78 years old. Her death induced a worldwide lament. The L.A. Times published a somber announcement: “There is but one sentence today on the lips of Paris – ‘Bernhardt is dead.’ It has been uttered alike by concierges and Cabinet ministers, midinettes and princesses. One hears it spoken softly in cafes and whispered in churches.”

Her funeral, as you’ll see in this video, was a grand, majestic affair. Hundreds of thousands of devoted fans thronged the boulevards of Paris to mourn and pay their respects. For those unable to attend, one might purchase a memorti mori of ‘Divine Sarah,’, an Ophelia-like funereal photograph taken decades years earlier, in which the young actress poses, eyes closed and hands clasped, in the coffin she kept in her room.

Sarah Bernhardt posing in a coffin, late 19th century.

Sarah Bernhardt posing in a coffin, late 19th century.

 

c. 1880. Photography by Sarony.

c. 1880. Photography by Sarony.

In death, as in life, Alphonse Mucha’s masterpieces–in which Sarah is monumentally, vibrantly alive–secured this great performer’s immortality in the cultural imagination.

 

Resources

Encyclopaedia Britannica, “Sarah Bernhardt

Sarah Bernhardt’s Leg,” History Today, by Richard Cavendish, 2 February 2015.

Jewish Women’s Archive: Sarah Bernhardt,” by Elana Shapira

Face of Great Actress Subtle Even in Death,” LA Times, March 23, 1923

The Mucha Foundation, “Sarah Bernhardt

Sarah Bernhardt’s Dramatic Life, Onstage and Off,” NPR book review of Sarah by Robert Gottlieb, September 24, 2010, by Glenn C. Altschuler.

 
 

During the Gilded Age, the American traditions of New Year’s Eve started to transition from the folk celebrations of immigrants to the elaborate soirees we are more familiar with today, especially for those of a certain class.

New Year’s Eve in Chicago and at the Nickerson Mansion

Chicagoans in the Gilded Age celebrated New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day in a similar manner to the way many Americans do today.  The week leading up to New Year’s was full of entertainment, with society leaders like Bertha Palmer and Matilda Nickerson hosting grand New Year’s Eve events where guests danced in the New Year to music played by Johnny Hand’s Orchestra, Gilded Age Chicago’s favorite bandleader.

Johnny Hand conducting his orchestra. Chicago Daily Tribune, “Round About Chicago: Johnny Hand,”. September 15, 1910. The paper noted, “Nobody that was anybody could think of  giving a party until they knew if they could get Johnny Hand to play.”

Johnny Hand conducting his orchestra. Chicago Daily Tribune, “Round About Chicago: Johnny Hand,” September 15, 1910. The paper noted, “Nobody that was anybody could think of giving a party until they knew if they could get
Johnny Hand to play.”

In 1890, the Nickerson’s “Marble Palace” was the site of a lavish New Year’s Eve Reception. The guest list of over sixty-five included the children of neighbors and other prominent Chicago families from both the North and South sides.  The Nickersons followed the common practice of featuring elaborate floral arrangements at receptions.  The marble hall was “decorated with calla lilies” and “the centre-piece on the dining-room table consisted of a bank of delicate pink carnations on a background of maiden-hair ferns.” (Chicago Daily Tribune, “Children Make Merry,” January 1, 1891).

The Chicago Daily Tribune, "Mrs. Nickerson's Party," January 1, 1891.

The Chicago Daily Tribune, “Mrs. Nickerson’s Party,” January 1, 1891.

Dressing Up for New Year’s Eve 

Just as it is customary today to wear something with plenty of glitz and glamour, guests also wore fashion-forward designs in the Gilded Age to New Year’s Eve events. Men wore formal “white tie” dress with black tailcoats while women donned glamorous evening gowns often designed by the preeminent House of Worth in Paris, and received great attention in the society pages of the newspapers.  According to one account, Bertha Palmer wore a “black velvet gown, the bodice studded with diamonds, and a diamond tiara in her hair” at her New Year’s Eve cotillion (“In the Society World,” January 6, 1901).

Left: Cover of Ladies Home Journal from January 1901 Right: Bertha Honoré Palmer. From Address and Reports of Mrs. Potter Palmer, 1894.

Left: Cover of Ladies Home Journal from January 1901 Right: Bertha Honoré Palmer.
From Address and Reports of Mrs. Potter Palmer, 1894.

New Year’s Eve at the Mansions of Newport

Newport, Rhode Island was home to some of the most fabulous mansions of the Gilded Age.  Although initially established as a quiet summer retreat for the newly-wealthy, as the nineteenth century progressed, Newport became a center for the affluent to gather not only during the summer but also during the winter holiday season.  New York society elites, like the Vanderbilts and Astors, threw lavish New Year’s Eve receptions and hosted sumptuous New Year’s Day events reflective of their newly established social status.  Newport celebrations continued to rise in prominence and eventually society reporters began travelling from New York City to cover these spectacular events. While across the nation prominent families of the Gilded Age hosted exclusive and extravagant New Year’s events, Newport was one of the most popular destinations.

Celebrating With Champagne

When attending a New Year’s Eve reception, guests enjoyed novel party favors, refreshments featuring the “delicacies of the season,” a light super (often featuring en vogue French cuisine) at midnight, and plenty of champagne.

moet-chandon

Chicago Daily Tribune, “Moët & Chandon,” December 16, 1901.

French Champagne became a popular drink among wealthy Americans who enjoyed the perceived sophistication of the drink and its intoxicating effects. Beginning in the 1870s, Americans consumed champagne in “astonishing” large quantities and would often pay exorbitant prices for the imported beverage (champagne was subject to import taxes).  In 1894, for example, Americans imported over 70,000 cases of champagne, a significantly greater amount than just twenty-five years before (Chicago Daily Tribune, “Champagne Drank in This Country,” February 24, 1894). Etiquette manuals gave advice on how to host a “bachelor” Champagne supper, and champagne was the drink of choice for celebratory toasts- including on New Year’s Eve. French Brands such as Moët & Chandon catered to the luxury market, with advertisements persuading Chicagoans that the “ablest excerpts” pronounced the brand to be “without question, far superior in quality to any other brands” (Chicago Daily Tribune, “Moët & Chandon ‘White Seal’ Champagne,” May 1, 1900).

Alphonse Mucha, Menu, c. 1899, The Richard H. Driehaus Collection. For more information on this work by Mucha, visit L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posters, opening February 11, 2017.

Alphonse Mucha, Menu, c. 1899, The Richard H. Driehaus Collection. For more information on this work by Mucha, visit L’Affichomania: The Passion for French Posters, opening February 11, 2017.

New Year’s festivities during the Gilded Age reflected the evolving expectations of celebrations, from the lavish receptions of the wealthy to the café and dancehall revelries of the middle and working classes.  Although at the time celebrating with champagne would have been reserved for society’s elite, champagne is a nearly obligatory part of New Year’s Eve rituals today. We still associate champagne with social status, sophistication, and prosperity. So when you raise your glass of champagne to usher in the New Year, you are making a gesture that is a nod to the past, while also celebrating the future New Year and all of its possibilities.

Sources:

Top image: Wikipedia

Chertoff, Emily. “How Rich People Celebrated New Year’s Eve in the Gilded Age.” The Atlantic. (2012). http://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2012/12/how-rich-people-celebrated-new-years-eve-in-the-gilded-age/266663/.

Glover, Ellye Howell. “Dame Curtsey’s” Book of Etiquette. Chicago: A.C. McClurg & Co., 1909.

Sengstock, Charles A., Jr. That Toddlin’ Town: Chicago’s White Dance Bands and Orchestras, 1900-1950. Chicago and Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004.