GREAT ARTIST’S EARLY STRUGGLE

Evening Star, Issue 18318, 4 July 1923, Page 2

GREAT ARTIST’S EARLY STRUGGLE

MR SEYMOUR LUCAS TELLS IHS

STORY,

[By M. H. Spielmann, in ‘ The Times.’]

Tho announcement of the death of Mr Seymour Lucas, R.A., -reminds me of a document confided to me thirty-eight years ago, when tho artist’s election to the associateship of the Royal Academy seemed to him to fling open the gates of success—when his irtain object in life had been well-nigh attained, and when the rest would be easy. I never saw a man happier, or more confident, or _ more modest in what seemed to him his triumph. “ If I round it off as I hope to do,” he said, laughing, “ you must be my biographer: you have seen me paint aw chief pictures, all my chief pictures.” tft that case, I replied, he must provide i®) with the opening chapter, showing how h» had arrived at the completion of the fir®4 stage. “It might be interesting,” h® said seriously; “to young artists who find the fates arrayed against them it might bo useful. It would give them courage and driving force.” A few days afterwards I received the following statement;— I come from a Norfolk family, which has been settled in Lynn as far back as I have been able to trace. Tho Lucases came from Holland-—and you will find the name dotted along the high road from tho coast to London. My great grandmother nursed Nelson on her knee, for the two families wore cronies. . . . I was born in London on December 21, 1849. One of my first recollections is rny scribbling on the walls of the kitchen and on the meat safe with chalk, with sad results for me—for the chalk sketches of even a predestined Academician don’t come off so easily. From drawing zigzags I got my first idea of a human face, and I was for ever practising the drawing of them, moved by an irresistible desire to decorate the kitchen wall which no punishment could quench. There was an ancestral possession, a wax doll, which my sister played with as a reward—the highest to which sho could aspire; and I conceived the fiendish idea of scraping off tho wax features and modelled them into a portrait of Uncle Richard. I knew the wages of my sin; but when my parents recognised the- likeness for a capital one they soon forgave ne. Unhappily, the painful acknowledgment of my efforts had already been administered.

When quite a small boy, I v(aa sent to a private school in St. AJlartin’s lane, where among my fellow-pupils were two boys, sons of the Haymarket art dealer, Air Tooth; it is curious that in later years our acquaintanceship was renewed, and their father bought my first picture. While at school I failed lamentably at grammar and geography, but I kept my place through the help of my schoolfellows in return for the assistance I gave them when drawing day came round. In 1864, I being fifteen years old, I had to leave school to earn my own living, for my father’s business did not prosper, and I was a lax he could ill afford. I was destined for trade, but my horror of business, particularly of coachbuilding, was softened for a time by the advances of a clever monumental sculptor named Ross. I went to him for .a term of three months. I knew it was a trade, hut. I was enamored of the art that was in it, and I was happy. But towards the end of the period, when all went well, ray dear mother conceived the idea that a monumental sculptor must work upon a scaffold, and, being there, must fall from it and break his neck. She would listen to nothing; arid the Ross connection came to an end.

I was now redestined to detested trade. In my despair I went secretly to Lincoln’s Inn, “and secured a junior clerkship at a I solicitor’s,. my idea being that with, pen in hand and paper before me I might draw surreptitiously. While there a fel- . low-clerk lent me Scott’s novels, and the , wonderful scenes of the Aliddle Ages were thrown open to me, and I would daydream .and conjure up the scenes which I had read-and fill in details from my , own imagination —exactly as I do now i when composing a picture. No author could more appeal to one of my temperament or more stir my appreciation of , poetry, of picturesque medievalism, _of i chivalry, manor .houses, cavaliers, Eliza- | bethan mansions, .seventeenth century i costumes and customs, tapestry, and all ; the rest of it. They filled roe with awn and inspired me with all that love of art that possesses me now. I So I began to carve little ivory heads, I which were shown by one of my employers at the Floral Hall, and which attracted the notice of Gerard Robinson, a ■ wood carver, who applied to my father ’ as he wished to have me as apprentice, in view of tho ” extraordinary talent ! shown in my exhibits. Here was happii ness! I left tho .solicitor, and was now I in Art, learning the rudiments of composition and the balance of the figure. But i Air Robinson was not appreciated; he ! went to Newcastle—my indentures lapsed, : and tho hideous spectre of trade, coach--1 building, threatened to claim me. Here was misery! In these straits I begged a piece of wood from my father, anti permission at his expense to work out a. group in other words, to become a wood-carver on my own account. He agreed, and the group, now belonging to one of my representing Wallace at the Battle, of Sinling, was begun. Hero was happiness! It took me three months of assiduous labor, and was exhibited at the Society of Arts. My success reached; the cars of my distinguished uncle John [John Lucas was a Court painter who refused _a knighthood J, and brought about his visit—tho visit of one who moved in Court circles and trod the higher walk's of life to the struggling coachbuildcr whom he had not seen for years. “ This boy/’ he oried, “must be an artist. Mv clover son, John, must take him’’ —which in the event ho dirt; and, my articles being drawn up and signed, my art education as it proceeded was delirium of delight sweetened by the kindness and gCTioiX'sit.v of my master-cousin. I was bound for only five years, because then I should reach my majority, and no premium was to be, paid by my poor father, and I should receive a.small wage. Photography arrived, and would, it was declared, supersede the art o( portraiture. My roaster,, being a person of resource, took up photography, and clients were offered the choice of the two methods when they called at the rooms in the . II ay market. But photography had no attractions for mo. 1 attended St. Martin s School of Art, and met there Miss Mario Corndissen, whom years afterwards I was to make mv wife, and my ambition was fired. I lived with my brother William, and would rise before daylight in the winter months and get that devoted fellow to pose to me in tho nude, shivering, for my life studies. Then, after the day was over, finish up at the Art School, and at last, with my own money, make a, holiday in the country and paint my first picturesketch from Nature— 1 ‘ Alley IWater-mill.’ Then I made crayon portraits of people, and sold things; and it was a proud day for me when, coming home to my poor old father, unable to pay his rent. I could say: “ I can pay the rent, and keep myself besides!" Here was happiness!”