August, 1971.
Leicester Square, London, in my youth was the place to demonstrate, make merry and vent your frustrations at The Man.
Snapped on my then newly acquired Leica M3, 50mm and 90mm Elmar lenses, TriX film, scanned on a Nikon D800. I was 19 years old:
You can read about the Soledad Brothers here.
Steam train painting master.
Ask me which photography book I would choose if I could only have one and the answer has been unchanged for decades. It’s O. Winston Link’s (1914-2001) Steam, Steel and Stars. A masterpiece of nostalgia, composition and technique, it’s so good that I own two copies, the lighter paperback joining me on my travels:
But a photographer can only go with what is there. Yes, he can change the lighting and composition but he does not have the creative freedom afforded a painter whose limits are those of his imagination. And if you want something of the same caliber as Link’s photographs on a canvas the only choice is the work of Terence Cuneo (1907-96).
High drama is a given in his moving train canvases:
Yet the more mundane images are no less powerful and nostalgic:
Cuneo would generally make pen and ink sketches first and completed many commissions for British Railways. In this example, where the cab is being lowered onto the wheels and chassis, he arrived too late. Because he was well known by the operators it was a moment’s work for them to raise the cab so he could complete his sketch:
And then, Boom!, an absolute masterpiece:
Imagine an advertising campaign today with this ‘backroom’ approach? Pictures of Chinese slave labor assembling iPhones? I don’t think so.
And if you desire Impressionist genius, Cuneo is happy to oblige, as in this image on the Orient Express:
These images are from a splendid book titled ‘Terence Cuneo: Railway Painter of the Century‘. It’s long out of print but available from used sellers and the quality of the printing on very thick stock does justice to Cuneo’s canvases.
Santa hits the bottle early.
iPhone 12, Apple ProRAW.
Creepy.
Wandering through local new construction I could not help but be struck by the eeriness of the setting:
An outstanding illustrator.
For an index of articles on art illustrators, click here.
The House of Kuppenheimer, alert and responsive to every tendency,
has caught this new spirit in a remarkable way.
The styles are for the new American figure, upright posture, slender waist and
full chest. Fabrics, patterns and tailoring are such as to again justify
the reputation of the best tailored young men’s clothes in America.
House of Kuppenheimer ad text, March 8, 1919.
The Chicago men’s clothing store of B. Kuppenheimer, the creation of Bernard Kuppenheimer in 1876, folded in 1997 when starched collars and creased trousers gave way to torn tee shirts and tattoos. During much of its early years Kuppenheimers resorted to the art work of J C Leyendecker of New York to help sell its clothing and the art Leyendecker provided was never less than exceptional.
The supremely elegant models, Borzoi included, are rendered in strong brushstrokes reminiscent of Van Gogh or the Fauves, the gazes direct, the composition tight.
While marketing increasingly turned to photography for its images after WWII – cheaper, more choice for editors – the era of style and class created by illustrators prior to that time has rarely been equaled in photographs. And certainly the period work of Leyendecker has not been matched.
Little is known or remembered of the artist today, who lived from 1874 to 1951. There is one splendid monograph on his work at Amazon:
There is some unadulterated BS about how Leyendecker’s homosexuality infused his imagery. Utter nonsense. Look for yourself.
Leyendecker illustrated hundreds of Saturday Evening Post covers (322, to be exact, one more than Rockwell) and his successor, Norman Rockwell, copied many of the themes, though the target demographic was poorer and lower. Populism replaced sophistication. All of Leyendecker’s 322 SEP covers are reproduced in the book.
Other prominent Leyendecker clients include Arrow collars and shirts (pretty much defunct by acquisition in 2004) and Interwoven Socks, now owned by an Italian conglomerate.
Feast your eyes on Leyendecker’s work for these manufacturers:
These are mostly from the Roaring Twenties.
These images harken back to a world when young men attended the Ivy League, their future spouses went to Bryn Mawr, legacy admissions were the done thing and equality had yet to rear its ugly head.
Enjoy.