MEŠTROVIĆ'S AMERICAN
EXPERIENCE
MATTHEW MEŠTROVIĆ
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Journal of Croatian Studies, XXIV,
1983, – Annual Review of the Croatian Academy of America, Inc. New York, N.Y.,
Electronic edition by Studia Croatica, by permission. All rights
reserved by the Croatian Academy of America.
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Ivan Meštrović first
considered going to the U.S. at the time of the 1911 International Exhibition
in Rome, where his figures for the Kosovo Temple were shown in the Pavillion of
the Kingdom of Serbia, causing a great deal of excitement in the art world. In
later recollections, Meštrović did not indicate exactly who first
suggested an exhibit in America, but it seems that the idea originated with
some Americans Meštrović met in Rome. By the time World War I started, a
number of Meštrović's works had been crated for shipment to the U.S. and
it was only at the last moment that the plan had to be scuttled.
So it was only at the end of 1924
that Meštrović's first American exhibit opened at the Brooklyn Museum. At
the time Meštrović was at the height of his artistic fame and popularity
in Europe. The New York press coverage of the Brooklyn exhibit was extensive
and enthusiastic as indicated by the article published in the now defunct
Brooklyn Eagle. From New York the exhibit went on a U.S. tour, to Chicago Art
Institute, to Los Angeles and elsewhere. Several museums purchased
Meštrović s sculptures. The Brooklyn Museum acquired the white marble
Angel Gabriel, the Chicago museum a marble carving of Meštrović's mother
and a small bronze of Moses.
Meštrović also received a
number of important portrait commissions, including that of Herbert Hoover, who
was to become President. Meštrović also made a portrait of Hamilton Fish
Armstrong, the longtime editor of Foreign Affairs, who was influential in U.S.
foreign policy. Many years later, after Meštrović returned to America in
1947, he stubbornly refused contact with Armstrong insisting that the latter
had asked him to make his bust, but had failed to pay for it. Characteristically
Meštrović refused to remind Armstrong of the debt.
During Meštrović's first
American stay, which laisted eight months, from December, 1924, throught the
summer of 1925, he received the important commission for two equestrian Indians
for Grant Park on Chicago's Michigan Avenue. The choice of the subject as well
as the artistic treatment was left entirely to him. In payment he received
$150,000, at a time when the dollar was worth far more than it is today and
when he was not required to pay income taxes; the money came from the Ferguson
Fund. Meštrović returned to Zagreb to make the Indians, which were also
cast there in the Bubanj foundry, then disassembled, crated, shipped to America
and reassembled in Chicago. Meštrović returned briefly to America in 1926
in connection with the Chicago statues.
Meštrović's impression of
America was largely formed during his first stay in this country, in 1924-1925.
He lived several months in New York City and developed an intense dislike for
life in the great metropolis, the haste, coldness, indifference, the rudeness
and the activity that never stops. He also disliked the self-advertising,
public relations and superficial social gregariousness that he felt were
essential for success in the U.S.
In an unpublished manuscript,
Meštrović said that he hated to attend large gatherings, that he felt
terribly uneasy because of his poor mastery, particularly of English, that he
felt a complete stranger and was certain that people who came to meet him had
exaggerated expectations and consequently that when they saw him in person,
inevitably were disappointed. He had very little formal academic education, his
background was that of a peasant, he lacked the easy social grace that is
required of the famous, when they mingle with the powerful, wealthy and well
born. Meštrović carried these feelings throughout his life. They were
important in his decision, when he returned to the U.S. in 1947, to go to
Syracuse in upstate New York, and later, in 1955, to Notre Dame in Indiana, far
away from New York City.
At the same time, Meštrović
had a positive attitude toward life. He rarely, if ever, complained about
anything. It is therefore interesting, and uncharacteristic, that he wrote
during his 1925 stay in New York about being terribly depressed, even of having
dark thoughts of suicide. He wrote of walking the streets of Manhattan and
having the sensation that everybody was looking at him in a hostile way. Even
though these were passing feelings of despair, they are the only references to
deep depression in the thousands of pages he wrote about his life, encounters,
travels and conversations.
The end of World War II found
Meštrović stricken with phlebitis in Geneva, Switzerland. To occupy
himself during his infirmity, when he could not sculpt, he wrote constantly.
His old friends in the U.S., notably the sculptress Malvina Hoffman and
attorney Artur Nikolorić wrote him in Switzerland, urging that he come to
America. At the same time, he was visited by representatives of Tito's Yugoslav
revolutionary government—I remember specifically Dr. Nikola Nikolić, a
physician—who kept pressing him to return home.
Meštrović hesitated, having
heard about the mass killings and arrests carried out by the Communist regime.
In 1946, Meštrović went to Rome where he obtained a studio at the American
Academy. Malvina Hoffman, who was socially well connected, helped persuade
Myron Taylor, the former U.S. Steel chief, and later Director of the
Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan, to sponsor a one-man show by
Meštrović at the Metropolitan. This was the first time the museum
presented a one man show by a living artist. Malvina also spoke to William P.
Tolley, the Chancellor of Syracuse University, who right away offered
Meštrović the position of sculptor in residence at the university.
The offer of a job at Syracuse and
the prospects of the Metropolitan exhibit made Meštrović's move to the
U.S. a realistic alternative. Meštrović was unable to make any sales
during the war. The family lived spending part of the million gold Swiss francs
that Meštrović had been paid in 1940 by Romania for the two gigantic
equestrian figures of King Carol I and King Ferdinand. (The statues were
apparently carefully dismantled by the Russians in 1945 and taken to the Soviet
Union). The balance of this money made it possible for Meštrović to move
to Italy in 1946, to complete carving the great marble Pietŕ which he had
modeled in 1942, and to cast a number of other statues which he made in an
enormous burst of energy in 1946 in Rome, and which constituted the bulk of the
Metropolitan exhibit the following year.
Meštrović's hesitation about
returning to Yugoslavia were high-tened by the harrowing experience of
imprisonment in a Zagreb jail in 1941. He described the prison experience in
his memoirs published by the Hrvatska Revija in Buenos Aires in 1961. (A
somewhat edited version was published in Zagreb by the Matica Hrvatska, in
1969.) As he says in his memoirs, he came within minutes of being killed, when
the executioners received countermanding orders over the phone. This
experience, however, left a lasting impression on Meštrović. It was all
the more painful because he was almost killed by his own people.
Meštrović did not think that the
Tito regime would imprison him. But he feared that he would be forced to serve
the regime with his art and that Belgrade would use him for its propaganda
ends. He told me on a number of occasions that it would have been impossible
for him to work in peace in Yugoslavia. How could he—he said— live comfortably
in his palatial villa in Split, when his friends and other people were being
persecuted and imprisoned?
He liked living in Italy,
particularly Rome. He liked the Italian climate, which reminded him of his
native Adriatic Croatia. He liked the Italians, their emotionalism and warmth.
He liked the Italian landscape and ambience. Besides his homeland, Italy was
the country where he felt most at home. Rome held many happy memories of his
younger years. He lived there from 1911 to 1915 and still had many close
friends from those days, such as Dr. Angelo Signorelli, Papini, and others. It
is there that he met Ružena Zatkova Khvoshinsky who had such a tremendous
impact on his art for a decade or more. But financial consideration made it
impossible to remain in Rome. The money in Switzerland was running low and he
had many people to help and support, not only his immediate family, but
sons-in-law, relatives and friends in desperate need. So America seemed the
only realistic alternative to returning to Yugoslavia.
He did not go to the U.S. in
January, 1947, with any particular enthusiasm and I do not think that he
planned to settle permanently. Rather, on the basis of his earlier American
experience, he hoped for substantial sales over the next several years. By
then, he hoped post-revolutionary conditions in his homeland would have settled
sufficiently for him to return. Alternatively, he would settle in Rome or
possibly Spain.
But things often do not turn out
as planned. Meštrović's Metropolitan exhibit received enormous publicity.
All the major newspapers and magazines wrote about it, The New York Times,
the now defunct Herald Tribune, Life, Time, Newsweek, and so on. The
publicity was overwhelmingly positive, though perhaps superficial and
perfunctory. There were a few negative voices, mainly from those who regarded
themselves politically and aesthetically progressive, and who saw
Meštrović's art as reactionary, with its stress on religion and traditional
values, and the Metropolitan exhibit as part of America's mounting
anti-Communism of the Cold War.
Despite the laudatory media
coverage, Meštrović's sculpture no longer had the broad appeal in the
artistic world which it had enjoyed earlier, in the initial decades of the
century, when Meštrović's art was novel, innovative, iconoclastic.
Meštrović art was symbolic, his treatment of figures often highly
stylised. He drew his subject from religious sources, the Judeo-Christian
Bible, as for instance his numerous renditions of Moses, Job, Jesus, the
Pietas, and so on. Another source of his inspiration was Greek classical
antiquity (Prometheus, Icarus, Atlantis, Persephone, etc.).
Through his statuary he sought to
express revulsion against war, destruction, senseless human suffering, while at
the same time idealizing motherhood, traditional values, the consolation of
religion. Also, by mid-century, his artistic style—his combination of extreme
stylisation and apparent realism—seemed outdated and passé. It was a period of
the triumph of the non-representational and abstract in art.
Meštrovićs Metropolitan
exhibit was followed by others across America—Cleveland, Dayton, Boston,
Washington. Meštrović had hoped that some wealthy art patron would
purchase his Pietŕ and donate it to the Metropolitan. But this did not
happen. After the New York show, the Pietŕ was stored at the
Metropolitan for years—it was far too heavy to go on tour across the U.S: until
the museum indicated that it could no longer keep it because of overcrowding of
its storage facilities. It was then that the Pietŕ was moved to the church on
the Notre Dame campus. The university purchased it in 1962, after
Meštrović's death.
In the 1950s, Meštrović's art was far outside the mainstream of contemporary art. Another problem, I think, was that historians found it difficult to categorize Meštrović's sculpture within the various schools and trends of present day art, and often left it out altogether from their surveys.
There was still another dimension
to the problem of Meštrović's declining popularity, entirely of his own
making, or rather the result of his personality, his outlook and his attitude.
He had no feeling for and no understanding for the importance of advertising
and publicity in the art business. He was shocked and angry when a reputable
and highly successful New York art dealer offered to find clients for his
sculpture, in return for a 33 percent sales commission. Whenever he spoke of
this incident, he would recall how art dealers had ruined Rodin in his old age,
and how the French master had died in dire financial straights.
He preferred to have his younger
brother Peter act as his manager and financial adviser. Though Peter was a
likeable and decent man, he was extremely indolent and a poor businessman, who
simply did not possess the qualities required for success in America. In the
U.S., as he had done in younger years in Yugoslavia, he lived off and on with
his older brother. He got up late, went for long walks, read The New York
Times, and spent many an afternoon at the movies. In the evenings he would type
Meštrovie s correspondence slowly, with one finger. He stubbornly clung to the
philosophy that the key to success was patience. He did not allow anything to
upset him.
The Metropolitan exhibit and all
the others that followed over the years did not bring Meštrović the hoped
for major commissions which would have given him financial independence. So he
was forced to supplement his small professor's salary with the last of the
money he had in Switzerland and which he eventually transferred to the Chase
Bank in New York.
By the early 1950s he finally did
get a number of commissions, but though some of them were for very large
statues, the financial rewards were minimal. Thus for instance, he was paid
only $32,000 for the 24 foot statue of "Man and Freedom" that adorns
the facade of the Mavo Clinic's diagnostic building. Meštrović's Syracuse
University studio, a converted barn which he shared with students, was too
small to make the enormous statue in one piece. So he made it in two parts,
separately—the lower body separately from the torso, head and arms—and to my
great surprise the two sections fit perfectly when they were joined together.
On several occasions, the Tito
government offered to purchase Meštrović's statues (including the Pietŕ),
or alternately, to offer him generous commissions. The monetary offers were
considerable, but Meštrović stubbornly refused to accept any money, though
he did make a number of monuments for Yugoslavia free of payment, as for
instance the statue of Prince Bishop Petar Petrović Njegoš, for his
mausoleum atop Mt. Lovćen.
Under these circumstances
Meštrović was never able to reach the point where he could give up
teaching. Meštrović was unhappy with his studio facilities at Syracuse
which were quite inadequate for his needs. This was one of the main reasons he
decided in 1955 to accept a Notre Dame offer to move to Indiana. He was
promised a brand new studio exclusively for his use. He was 72 when he left Syracuse.
At that point, Syracuse University
bought several of his best pieces for its art collection.
When Meštrović was not
working on some statue or other, or writing something, he would talk about Yugoslav
politics. For a while he kept in Syracuse an old friend, Pavle D. Ostović,
who doubled as a secretary and companion, while writing under Meštrović's
supervision a book titled, The Truth About Yugoslavia, which sought to offer a
balanced account of Yugoslav history and Croat confederate strivings. No
publisher could be found to print the book at his own risk, so Meštrović,
Peter and three Croatian friends put up the money for the book's publication by
Roy Publishers.
Meštrović enjoyed himself
most when some compatriot from Yugoslavia would visit him in Syracuse and later
South Bend, or when he spent a few days in New York, Washington or Chicago
meeting Croatian friends, such a Bogdan Radica, Jozo Poduje, Rev. Dominik
Mandić, Karlo Mirth, and many others. On those occasions he felt
comfortable and expansive. He would speak for hours about the past—about King
Alexander, the Serbian Radical party leader Nikola Pašić, about his
Croatian associates in the World War I Yugoslav Committee in Exile, Frano Supilo
and Ante Trumbić, about the poli-tics of Yugoslav unification and the
deepening divison brought on by the Serbo-Croat conflict in the interwar
period. All of these stories were told in Meštrović's memoirs,
Remembrances of Political Leaders and Events. Meštrović always told the
same stories in very much the same words. His Croatian, and sometimes Serbian
listeners, would listen with great attention.
On rare occasion, when he felt
particularly good and was in especially congenial company, Meštrović would
recite the national epic poetry about Prince Marko and his horse Šarac, Musa
Kesedjija, the Albanian outlaw who was a greater hero than Marko, but whom
Marko managed to kill by treachery with the help of his fairy protectress, the
so-called Bosnian "women's' " love poetry and the verses of Andrija
Kačić-Miošić, the 17th century Franciscan poet. Meštrović
knew by heard literally thousands of verses which he had learned as a boy in
the village from his father, his grandmother and others.
Meštrović's political
activities consisted largely of interventions on behalf of the imprisoned
Archbishop (later Cardinal) Alojzije Stepinac. He repeatedly went to New York
to see Cardinal Francis Spellman and other Catholic prelates to get them to
pressure President Eisenhower and Secretary of State John Foster Dulles to
intercede with Belgrade for Stepinac's release. He firmly believed in
Stepinac's total innocence of the charges which had been brought against him by
the Tito regime. Meštrović was also convinced that Stepinac symbolized the
Croatian resistance to Communist totalitarianism and that a greater measure of
religious freedom in Croatia would contribute to greater human freedom in
general.
Meštrović knew CIA Director
Allen Dulles from the wartime years in Switzerland, and through him had met his
brother John Foster Dulles. While urging the U.S. to extend economic and
military assistance to Yugoslavia after the 1948 break with the Soviets,
Meštrović also tried to persuade U.S. officials to pressure Tito into
granting more internal freedom to the people. He refused, however, to get
involved in America's Cold War anti-Communism. He refused association with
CIA-sponsored Committee for a Free Europe and turned down a $500 per month
no-obligation stipend that had been offered him by the Committee for a Free
Europe. (The Committee was disbursing similar payments to Dr. Vlatko
Maček, the leader of the Croatian Peasant Party, as well as other exiled
Yugoslav politicians of the pre-World War II period).
As I mentioned earlier, after
eight years at Syracuse University, Meštrović moved to South Bend,
Indiana. By this point he had received a number of commissions from churches,
mostly Catholic and some Protestant. He also sold Old Testament figures, such
as Moses and Jeremiah, to Jewish temples. The financial rewards were mostly
modest. But as far as Meštrović was concerned, he preferred doing statuary
for religious institutions rather than for government departments. I remember
the commission he received from the New York Public Works Department to make
six reliefs for the facade of a hospital, at $2,000 a piece (he was being paid
by the square foot, in accordance with a scale set by the National Sculpture
Society). Meštrović was totally uninspired by the subject matter. The only
appealing figure in the reliefs is that of a young nurse, inspired by the
lovely daughter of Public Works Commissioner Zurmullen.
The New York hospital reliefs
illustrate Meštrović's creative problems in the U.S. Neither the American
landscape nor society interested him; he did not understand American society,
its dynamism, struggles and tribulations. His reaction was to isolate himself
as much as possible from America while living and working here. He consoled
himself with the thought, expressed on several occasions, that the artist is
always an exile, whether living in his own country or elsewhere.
In his writings, he said that he
had always drawn inspiration from his native milieu, the rugged, barren
landscape of the Dalmatian "Zagora," and from the physiognomy of its
people, which he rendered in so many of his statue, particularly the Kosovo
period, in all its elemental vigor and roughness. He said that he did not need
to live permanently in his country to nurture his creativity. In fact from the
age of 17 to 36, he had lived abroad, in Vienna, Rome, Paris, London, Geneva,
Cannes. But except for the years of the First World War, he had returned to his
homeland on visits every year, he had gone to his native village of Otavice to
see his family and the friends of his youth, he had gone to Split, and to
Zagreb, and to Belgrade, in Serbia. He felt that these visits were essential to
his artistic inspiration, that through these brief contacts he replenished his
energy and creative inspiration, even though he felt that his own people did
not understand him and that even among them he was forever isolated and alone.
In his younger years, his works
had also been inspired by various women to whom he had been physically
attracted. Much later, in his sixties, he wrote that these encounters were not
important to him as sexual experiences, but as a source of aesthetic and
artistic inspiration. He was drawn particular to women with full breasts and
broad hips which he connected with woman's essence, her life giving role. On
the other hand he claimed to dislike women intellectuals for intellectuality
deprived them of essential feminity. Of course, much of Meštrović's
statuary is of himself and express his feelings, thoughts and perceptions, at
various stages of life. Thus there is a great resemblance between
Meštrović and his renditions of the prophet Moses; Meštrović's is
Bishop Gregory of Nin with his arm raised in defense of Croatian church
liturgy, and thus of Croatian national identity. He is Marko Marulić, the
Remaissance poet who wrote "in Croatian verses", that stands within
the walls of Diocletian's palace in Split (as a child I was convinced that this
was a representation of my father).
Meštrović is also St. Rock in
the Cavtat mausoleum of the Račić family, and the dog at the saint's
feet is not the saint's dog, or a dog in general, but Meštrović's dog when
he was a boy, whom he had to shoot because the animal was diseased. He did not
think it right that his father Mate should kill the animal, for the dog was his,
and the responsibility was his. So he took the animal behind the house to shoot
him and the dog kept looking straight into his eyes, as if he knew everything
that was going to happen. "Throughout my life", Meštrović told
me, "I have seen the eyes of this dog looking at me". And there is,
turned into stone, head lifted, looking at Meštrović in the Cavtat chapel.
Many of his earlier works were
inspired by his first wife Ruža Klein, by Ružena Zatkova-Khvoshinsky, the Czech
wife of an imperial Russian diplomat whom he met in Rome in 1912, who obsessed
and tormented him for years until she died of tuberculosis in a Swiss
sanatorium. She inspired his various Vestals, the winged angels adorning the
Cavtat chapel, for he said that when he first kissed Ružena on her forehead he
had a split second vision of wings rising from her shoulders. Many of the
female nudes of the 1920s are inspired by Meštrović's second wife, my
mother, Olga Kesterčanek. For instance she is the dreamy Woman by the Sea,
she is Contemplation, and many others. In his later years his inspiration
seemed to ebb at times. My mother understood this and felt sorry. She had been
very beautiful when young and was sensitive to the physical transformation
brought on by what Milton aptly called, the "shipwreck" of old age.
He drew from his remembrances of
things past in old age, the memories of people, places, and encounters of long
ago. In an interview that was published in the quarterly Hrvatska Revija on the
occasion of his seventieth birthday, Meštrović said that no matter how far
the frail tree of his life had been blown by life's tempests, it drew
nurishment from the barren, stony soil from which it had sprung.
By the late 1950s Meštrović health was failing and this in addition to perennial financial worries made it impossible to contemplate retiring to some Mediterranean country, as he would have liked. My mother said that after his visit to Yugoslavia in the summer of 1959, which suddenly and temporarily energized him, Meštrović might have gladly returned to his homeland to spend at least part of each remaining year, if she had encouraged him. But she did not wish to live in Yugoslavia; her memories of her life there with Father between the world wars, surrounded by his friends and hangers-on, were not pleasant ones. Too much of the time she had felt neglected, abandoned and ignored while he was absorbed by his art and sought relaxation in the company of friends. Already in his late 70s, infirm and tired, he could not make the decision to go home.
The last two years were difficult
ones. Meštrović's health was failing. He suffered a stroke that left him
partly paralysed for months-and affected his vision permanently which, of
course, made it difficult to work. But he resisted infirmity, he kept going to
his studio even. though at times he did not have the strength to work. He would
simply sit in the studio for a while, amidst his statues, before returning
home. Then in the fall of 1961, his son Tvrtko took his life in Zagreb.
Meštrović was shattered by this event. He found it difficult to believe
that Tvrtko was a suicide, and at times of deep depression, suspected foul
play.
Meštrović's was convinced
that Tvrtko's death would soon be followed by his own. In a letter he wrote at
the time, he compared himself to a tree, two of whose branches had been broken
away (an allusion to the death of Tvrtko and the passing of his daughter Marta,
in 1949, when she was only 25). During the last months of life, in his Notre
Dame studio, Meštrović made a series of statues representing an old
man—himself—ni deep despair, and also a Pietŕ in which the crucifixion
of Jesus represents Tvrtko's tragic death and his own grief.
I think that he did not have any
regrets when death came. In the afternoon of January 16, 1962, he suffered a
mild stroke at home. At this point, weak and unable to hold up his head, he
said to mother, "Da bar svrši". (If only it would end). It did that
evening at eight. One of the great winged angels from the Cavtat chapel had
come to take his soul.