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Friday, May 27, 2016

Gertrude Abercrombie

Demolition Doors, c. 1957, Gertrude Abercrombie
Abstract Expressionism, Jazz, poetry,
film, drama, all came together to
form the "Beat" era.
Many (many, many) years ago as I was growing up in a remote corner of southeastern Ohio, I was vaguely aware of what was known as the "Beat Generation." They were called by some "beat-niks," their characteristic image being a black turtleneck sweater with tight blue jeans or black leotards (for the women). Long hair had yet to become fash-ionable for men but was appro-priate for females while pointy goatees were favored by males. They played improvised jazz and recited bad poetry exploring, while at the same time influencing American culture in the urban post-World War II era. They were the generation which came just before the onslaught of baby boomers (like me). The bulk of their work was published and popularized throughout the 1950s, its central element being a rejection of standard narrative values, spiritual quests, the exploration of religions, rejection of materialism, explicit portrayals of the human condition, experimentation with psychedelic drugs, and sexual liberation. All of this not to be confused with "hippies," which came later, but otherwise were virtually identical except for a more colorful mode of dress. The Chicago painter, Gertrude Abercrombie, was an early card-carrying member of the "Beat Generation."

Gertrude Abercrombie, though no great beauty,
painted some of the ugliest self-portraits I've ever seen.
Gertrude and Jazz great
Dizzy Gillespie, 1948.
Gertrude Abercrombie has often been called "the queen of the bohemian artists." She was involved in the Chicago jazz scene, being friends with musicians such as Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and Sarah Vaughan, whose music inspired her creative work. Gertrude Abercrombie was not, as one might expect, an abstract expressionist. Born in 1909, her artistic roots went back much further than the so-called New York School, which was, in any case, a thousand miles removed from the "windy city." Gertrude's meager training dated from the late 1920s when she earned a degree in Romance Languages from the University of Illinois and later studied very briefly at the Art Institute of Chicago. She also spent a year studying commercial art at Chicago's American Acad-emy of Art. Her style and content was a rather pristine Surrealism, which she apparently de-veloped quite apart from any then-prevalent French influences. Abercrombie's Slaughter-house Ruins at Aledo (below), from 1937, is typical of her early work.

Slaughterhouse Ruins at Aledo, 1937, Gertrude Abercrombie
Gertrude Abercrombie had
rather unique tastes in fashions.
Gertrude Abercrombie's first job was that of drawing gloves for Mesirow Department Store advertisements. She also worked briefly as an artist for Sears. In the mid-1930s Gertrude moved from her family's home and became active in the regional art scene. Within Aber-crombie's avant garde social circle was the lawyer, Robert Livingston, whom she married in 1940, and in 1942, gave birth to their daughter, Dinah. They divorced in 1948, the same year she married the music critic Frank Sandiford. Dizzy Gillespie performed at their wedding. The couple were active in Chicago's bo-hemian jazz scene. They met musicians through Sandiford and Abercrombie's own skills as an improvisational pianist. The couple divorce in 1964. Gertrude was the inspiration for the song, Gertrude's Bounce, by her friend, Richie Powell.

A Terribly Strange Tree, 1949,  Gertrude Abercrombie
By the time the Beat Generation was in full swing during the late 1950s Gertrude Abercrombie's health had begun to decline. She endured financial difficulties, alcoholism, and arthritis, causing her to become reclusive. Bound by a wheelchair Abercrombie was eventually bedridden. After 1959 her paintings diminished in number and scale. During the final year of her life, a major retrospective of her work was held at the Hyde Park Art Center. Gertrude Abercrombie died in Chicago in 1977. Her will established the Gertrude Abercrombie Trust which distributes her work and the work she owned of other artists to cultural institutions throughout the Midwest.

Design for Death, 1946, Gertrude Abercrombie--
said to have been Charlie Parker's Favorite Painting.
White Cat, ca. 1935-38,
Gertrude Abercrombie






















Black Cat, Gertrude Abercrombie









































 

Thursday, May 26, 2016

The Cruising Art Gallery

Art at sea is a bit more compact, but otherwise not too unlike what
one would find in a storefront gallery.
Elvis Rocks, Scott Jacobs
As I've mentioned a from time to time recently, we just got back from a fifteen-day cruise aboard Princess Cruise Line's Island Princess. Being the "arty" sort, I find it fascinating to view from afar the world of art as it applies to the ubiquitous cruise ship art gallery. Virtually every cruise ship I've ever been aboard (twelve in all) has a generous amount of space leased to a land-based art gallery in order to tempt the comfortably well-off guests aboard into purchasing various types of art (usually limited edition prints). Originals are a bit pricey even for this crowd. Although there are some "off the rack" sales, most of the money changing hands for art comes as a result of numerous art auctions on "sea days" during the cruise. To their credit, these floating art purveyors do make some effort to educate potential buyers. Their seminars are a quick and easy way to pick up a few interesting tidbits on art from the past. Princess Fine Arts featured a presentation, "Thirty Thousand Years of Art." This they covered with a PowerPoint presentation lasting forty-five minutes. I could probably have done a reasonably decent job narrating the show myself, but even at that, my head was spinning by the time the art "expert" finished his discourse.

On Caribbean cruises, works such as this by Alex Pauker are always
a crowd-pleasing favorite.
I use the term "art expert" cautiously in that most of these people's art expertise is in selling art rather than expounding upon it to any great degree other that to hype their stable of living artists. There are always a few headliner artists who have become household names (Peter Max, Thomas Kinkaid, and LeRoy Neiman, for instance). But by and large, most are relatively unknown, many of them not without good reason. Roughly three years ago I wrote glowingly about the lavish art collections many cruise liners boast. I also mentioned in passing my unfavorable opinion of onboard art auctions. Maybe I've mellowed a little but in more recent years I've come to the floating art racket with something more like an amused fascination. I kind of enjoy watching fellow passengers pour good money into mediocre printed art as an investment. Some investment! Limited edition prints are exceedingly hard to resell at a profit, though they do exceedingly well in covering up cracks in the plaster.

Duplex with 6 Mattresses, Fanch Ledan
Despite what I said a moment ago about the stable of living artists floating galleries such as Park West and Princess Fine Art maintain, I did find a few which, insofar as my own tastes are concerned, stood apart from the others. One or two, such a Fanch Ledan and his Duplex with 6 Mattresses (above), I found refreshingly creative in a clean, simple manner rare in narrative art today. Then there was the very generous space Princess offered Alexander Chen (below) with his urban scenes from New York and many other major cities around the globe. I was utterly captivated by his work.

New York, New York! Alexander Chen.
Kudos to Princess Fine Arts for highlighting his work.
And while I'm touting favorites, let me mention another artist by the name of Chen (no relation so far as I know). I'd seen and admired the work of Hua Chen in a number of other seagoing art galleries before. Princess's showing of his work (below) was somewhat meager, but seems to be a favorite of both those who abhor art auctions and those who flock to them. I wouldn't buy one of his paintings (even if I could afford it) and you already know what I think regarding prints, but that doesn't keep me from admiring his loving warmth whenever I see it.

Warm and loving or cool and glamorous, Hua Chen handles exorbitant quantities
of paint with confident strokes few other painters have mastered.
Also exceedingly well represented in the Island Princess art gallery was the work of the fifty-year-old Russian painter, Victor Shaivko. Although he and Alexander Chen both paint urban scenes, any other similarities end at that point. In viewing Saivko's work (below) he seems more Italian than Russian with perhaps a little Parisian thrown in for excitement. I suppose I like his work because I like Venice (despite having visited there for only two days). Saivko appears to not only like Venice but to be infatuated with it's quaint canals and narrow passages lined with picturesque shops and sidewalk cafes. it's all fantasy of course. Venice may be picturesque but "quaint," as seen by Saivko, it's not. Still, we can all daydream if we like, and Victor Shaivko seems to like nothing better, except for painting his daydreams.

Shaivko is not totally Venetian. He gives equal time to other
quaint, picturesque, Mediterranean venues as well.
And finally, last but not least, comes the wildlife of Andrew Bone. I saved him for toward the end because, as wildlife painters go, while his work is above average in many ways, he's also just one of many wildlife artists working today of equal or greater talent. However, he stands apart as seen in the movable feast of cruise ship art only because, either inadvertently or deliberately, these galleries do not display much along the line of Bone's specialty. There are probably dozens of marketing and economic factors in play with regard to selling wildlife art and I'm guessing few of them are particularly favorable to the art auction scenario. Be that as it may, the work of Andrew Bone deserves more exposure than it gets on the limited movable partitions and the forest of easels on a cruise ship.


How's this for exposure?

Marine art is never far removed from seagoing
art galleries. Try as I have, I can't decipher the
artist's signature on this one.

















They say elephants can create abstract
paintings. Looks like they're right.
Princess Fine Arts has a sense of humor.
































 

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Basuki Abdullah

Diponegoro led the Battle, Basuki Abdullah
Although it seems as if I've written about artists from virtually every country on earth, from time to time I come to the realization I've missed a few. So far as I can recall, I've never written about an artist from Lichtenstein (other than Roy), Bolivia, Morocco, Algeria, Botswana, or Indonesia, to name just a few. Today, I came upon an artist named Basuki Abdullah (there are two or three different spellings of that name, by the way). Mr. Abdullah was born and raised in Jakarta, Indonesia. He was born Islamic in 1915 but converted to Catholicism as a young man. His image of a desert fighter (above) with a crucifix firmly lodged behind his belt is symbolic of this dual cultural and religious heritage.

Basuki Abdullah
Abdullah received formal art training in Europe at The Hague during the 1930s. In returning home amid the Japanese occupation of Indonesia, Abdullah found work as an art teacher. Following the war, he became known internationally, after winning an art competition on the occasion of the accession of Queen Juliana to the throne of the Netherlands.

Abdullah's official portrait of the first President of Indonesia,
Dr. Ir. Soekarno (above, right)--one of many.
Back to Nature,
Basuki Abdullah
Dawn,
Basuki Abdullah
Basuki Abdullah's status as the most famous Indonesian artist of his time provided him an oppor-tunity to paint the official portrait (above, lower-right) of President Ir. Soekarno (Suharto). However, quite apart from his presidential portraits, Abdullah is probably best known for his lovely female por-traits. His artistic talent comes from his father, Abdullah Suryo Subrata, who was also a painter and dan-cer. The artist's grandfather was prominent in the national revival movement in Indonesia in the early 1900's. Since the age of four years Basuki Abdullah was fond of paint-ing. At an early age, his portraits of well-known figures included Mahat-ma Gandhi, Rabindranath Tagore, Jesus Christ and Krishnamurti. Lat-er in life he added such luminaries as Mother Theresa, his country's first president and various visiting dignitaries.

Abdullah was also noted for his striking naturalism
of his wildlife paintings.
Mother Theresa, Basuki Abdullah
As is the case in most small countries such as Indonesia, a successful artist must be versatile. Abdullah's wildlife paintings (above) and his many mildly erotic female nudes (below) bear witness to an artist who, though specializing in portraits, is similarly adept in many other genres. His landscape, Coast of Flores (bottom) adds yet another indication of the depth and breadth of Abdullah's painting talent. Basuki Abdullah met a tragic death in November, 1993 when he was beaten to death by thieves who broke into his Jakarta studio. Today, a broad selection of Abdullah's work including statues, masks, puppets, and weapons can be found in the Basuki Abdullah Museum located in South Jakarta, Indonesia.

Nudity, Basuki Abdullah
Coast of Flores, Basuki Abdullah















Bad Boy, Basuki Abdullah






































 

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Edwin Austin Abbey

The Coronation of King Edward VII, 1902-07, Edwin Austin Abbey
I have often written about the "Golden Age" of Dutch painting. No doubt several other countries have similar eras of excellence either largely unrecognized or known by other terms. Such periods are fortunate eras when all the social, economic, political, and artistic elements are favorable to the creation of outstanding art as compared to what went before and what came afterwards. The United States had what art historians have come to call the "Golden Age of Illustration." I suppose that phrase has risen to differentiate such work, chiefly for publication, from paintings intended for public display. Perhaps that's not too surprising in that, by and large, the painters' art in the U.S. during this era was "nothing to write home about." In both style and spirit such paintings were decades behind the avant-garde of European artists. Strangely, that was not the case as to the illustrator's art. The "Golden Age of Illustration" has come to encompass the latter part of the 19th-century up through the advent of television.

The beginning and the end of an age.
As with many such "eras" exact dates are ill-defined. Generally speaking this "Golden Age" began with the development of color lithography as applied to mass media printing during the latter part of the 1870s, and ended with the gradual fading of weekly news magazines due to the growing dominance of television advertising (the 1960s). In terms of art eras, that's a very long time and thus it encompasses a tremendous evolution as to painting and drawing styles. The American-born illustrator Edwin Austin Abbey is typical of the earliest part of this era while the passing of Norman Rockwell in 1978 would suggest a definitive closure as to style (above).

Abbey as seen by other artists.
The Queen in Hamlet,
1897, Edwin Austin Abbey
Edwin Austin Abbey was born in Philadelphia in 1852. He studied art at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. He began at an early age as an illustrator for such magazines as Harper's Weekly and Scribner's Magazine. Around 1871, before he was twenty years old, Abbey moved to New York City. His work was strongly influenced by French and German black and white art of the time. By 1875, Abbey was illustrated best-selling books, including Christmas Stories by Charles Dickens, Selections from the Poetry of Robert Herrick, and She Stoops to Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith. He also illustrated a four-volume set. The Comedies of Shakespeare for Harper & Brothers around 1896. Several other illustrations for Shakespearian clas-sics followed such as The Queen in Hamlet (left) and King Lear, Act I, Scene I (below).


King Lear, Act I, Scene I, Edwin Austin Abbey
In 1878 Edwin Abbey moved to England to gather material concerning Robert Herrick. He settled there permanently in 1883. That same year, Abbey was elected to the Royal Institute of Painters in Watercolors. A well-known British critic praised Abbey as "...a genius of a high order, combining almost inexhaustible creativeness, clearness and vividness of conception, a versatile fancy, a poetic perception of beauty, a quaint, delicate humor, a wonderful grasp of whatever is weird and mysterious, and admirable chiaroscuro, drawing, and composition." Abbey was made a full member of the Royal Academy in 1898. In 1902 he was chosen to paint the Coronation of King Edward VII (top). It was the official painting of the occasion, which now resides in Buckingham Palace. In 1907 Abbey receive a knighthood; however, in that he was an American citizen, he was obliged to refuse it.

Sir Galahad and the Holy Grail, 1896-1901,
Boston Public Library, Edwin Austin Abbey
During the 1890s Abbey completed murals for the Boston Public Library as well as a frieze for the Library titled The Quest for the Holy Grail. Working out of his studio in England, it took Abbey eleven years to complete this series of murals. In 1908–09, Abbey began work on an ambitious set of murals and for the newly completed Pennsylvania State Capitol in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. These included allegorical medallion murals representing Science (below), Art, Justice, and Religion for the dome of the Rotunda, as well as four large lunette murals beneath the dome. Abbey was working on the Reading of the Declaration of Independence mural in early 1911, when he was diagnosed with cancer. His studio assistant, Ernest Board, continued work on the mural with little supervision from Abbey but with contributions by John Singer Sergeant. Edwin Austin Abbey died in August of 1911, leaving two rooms of the capitol commission unfinished.

Allegory of Science, Pennsylvania State Capitol, Edwin Austin Abbey
After her husband’s death, Edwin Abbey's wife, Gertrude, was active in preserving her husband’s legacy. She gave her substantial collection and archives to Yale University. Edwin had been a strong supporter of the newly founded British School at Rome so, in memory of her husband, Gertrude Abbey donated £6000 to assist in building the artists’ studio block. Later, in 1926, she founded the Edwin Austin Abbey Memorial Scholarships, established to enable British and American painters to pursue their studies.

Near Easthampson, 1878, Edwin Austin Abbey,
one of his rare landscapes.
















Death of Mercutio,
Romeo and Juliet, 1903,
Edwin Austin Abbey






































 

Monday, May 23, 2016

Louise Abbema

An Afternoon Song, 1885, Louise Abbema, typical of the era in France.
One of the chief functions of art historians is to classify art. The idea being that when they label various styles and types of art, such works become easier to understand and recall. It's somewhat like putting similar items into a file folder then arranging them to form some greater assigned order. Some might argue that doing so simply adds another layer of complexity to such art making still more difficult to grasp. I suppose such labeling and filing has its place so long as one is willing to learn and use the filing system. However, the attempt to simplify by adding order ends up undercutting its purpose if, in doing so, the labeling becomes too detailed, causing the filing system to become ambiguous or excessively large. On the plus side, the act of labeling allows disimilar criteria to be cross-referenced.
 
Where Angels Play, 1878, Louise Abbema
Perhaps it would be easier to think of a file cabinet marked 19th-century art, with drawers containing only French, English, Spanish, and American art of that period. In each drawer would be folders containing only Impressionism, Realism, Romanticism, etc. Inside these folders one would find images by various artists representative of these styles. Digitize it all and within seconds one can compare the work of the American Impressionist, William Merritt Chase with that of Claude Monet. The problem arises when art historians begin to break down major categories into relatively minor ones having to do with eras, media, movements, and other esoterica. For instance, Impressionism reached its height of popularity during the latter two or three decades of the 19th-century. But so did Art Nouveau and Fauvism, as well as any number of lesser styles and movements. Therefore, art historians decided to call this final quarter century La Belle Epoque (French being the favored language of obfuscation). Translated it means simply, "The Beautiful Era," which adds little or nothing to the understanding of works from this period in that, presumably, pretty much all 19th-century art was imbued with some element of beauty. Worse still, the period has been stretched historically, to encompassed the entire time from the end of the Franco-Prussian War (1871) to the beginning of WW I (1914). That's some forty-three years making up the adolescence of Modern Art, not to mention some very dissimilar styles and types of art.
 
Louise Abbema, artist of La Belle Epoque.
Louise Abbema was a French artist of this era. And, while her work is quite stylish and beautiful as befitting the defined era, it is not Impressionist, nor Art Nouveau, nor does it fit into any other important stylistic category. Her career as an artist does, however, fit very neatly into this so-called "Beautiful Era." Louise was born around 1853 (possibly as late as 1858) in the town of Étampes, Essonne (north-central France), which would have her coming of age as an artist around 1873 having studied under such notables as Charles Joshua Chaplin, Jean-Jacques Henner and Carolus-Duran. She excelled at glamorous society portraits. And, as so often happens, she first acquired some degree of recognition not for how she painted nor how well, but for who she painted, in this case, the famous French stage and screen actress, Sarah Bernhardt (below).

Sarah Bernhardt, ca. 1875-78, Louise Abbema
Although Abbema painted portraits of several notable celebrities, through her lifelong friendship with Bernhardt, Louise also garnered commissions to paint panels and murals to adorn the Paris Town Hall, the Paris Opera House, and other theaters including the Theatre Sarah Bernhardt, and the Palace of the Colonial Governor in Dakar, Senegal. Abbema exhibited frequently at the Paris Salon, once receiving an honorable mention for a panel in 1881. A bust of Sarah Bernhardt (above, lower-right) sculpted by Abbéma was exhibited in the Women's Building at the 1893 World Columbian Exposition in Chicago.

Luncheon In The Conservatory, Louise Abbema
As educational opportunities became more available during the "Beautiful Era" of the 19th and early 20th-centuries, women artists such as Louise Abbema took on integral roles in professional enterprises, including founding their own art associations. Even so, artwork made by women was considered to be inferior to that of men. To overcome this stereotype, women became increasingly vocal and confident in promoting their work. They became part of the emerging image of the educated, modern and creative "New Woman". Abbema was one of many who played crucial roles in representing the New Woman, both by drawing images of the icon and exemplifying this emerging type through their own lives, Abbema created androgynous self-portraits linking intellectual life through emphasis on successful women such as herself and Miss Bernhardt.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Marine Art--Steamers

Traditional Marine Art, from the Island Princess Collection.
When we think of Marine Art, we generally think of paintings of sailing ships such as the one above, though in fact, the term is so broad as to include virtually any type of art having do with the sea. A couple weeks ago, my wife and I completed our twelfth cruise with a little fifteen-day jaunt from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, to Los Angeles, California, via the Panama Canal aboard Princess Cruise Line's Island Princess. As is the case with virtually all cruise liners today, the Island Princess was adorned with an international collection of contemporary art, spanning a broad range of styles and content. What made the art collection of the Island Princess rather unique was its concentration of Marine Art. However, unlike that of some ships we've enjoyed, the Marine Art collection of this ship was consisted of paintings featuring the maritime transition from sail to steam. In some ways this awkward, and painful "growing up" might be analogous to that of a child going through puberty. It wasn't always pretty, but historically, as with puberty, it was vitally important.

From small, river "packets" to ocean going vessels
in little more than a decade.
The first tentative steps in this transition came as early as 1813 when a small, steam packet traveled downriver from the English town of Leeds to Yarmouth. Though the trip was mostly via inland waterways, there was a short period under steam along the Eastern British coastline between the mouths of two rivers. From there it was but a short trek to cross the English Channel, and before long, to cross the Atlantic in 1822 with the American built S.S. Savannah. Incidentally, the N.S. Savannah went into service some 140 years later, in 1962, as the world's first nuclear powered cargo chip, though it saw service for only about ten years.

An early transat side-wheeler from the awkward period when steam
looked promising but still had many operational problems.
Tracing history through the work of artists, no matter how exhaustively detailed, is always a delicate undertaking. Artists don't often "lie," but they and their wealthy clients are not without a tendency to "embellish." They also have been known to dramatize and exaggerate. Be that as it may, and being no expert on sailing ships, I do know something about Marine Art, so this discourse is not so much about ships but what their painted depictions say about oceanic travel and the gradual changes in marine architecture coming as a result of the advent of steam.

SS California, the first ship of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company,
was used between Panama and San Francisco from 1848 until 1894,
when she was wrecked off the coast of Peru.
Although most of the paintings in the Island Princess collection are neither signed nor dated, for our purposes, the name of the artist matters little and the date of the painting even less in that many such works were done well after the ships they depict were long out of service. However, by comparing masts, stacks, propulsion systems, and the emerging superstructure of early steam vessels, it is not hard to place the approximate years during which the ship was built and served. The long, lean, simple lines of the early steamer below tell us she had a screw propeller, that her engines were reliable enough to eschew sail for coal-fired boilers, and that she was likely built around 1840, when the SS Archimedes became the first screw-propelled steamship.

A steel-hulled, screw-propelled steamer dating from the 1840s.
We often tend to date iron-hulled ships from the historic 1862 battle between the U.S. Navy's Monitor and the C.S.A. Navy's Merrimack. However, this naval landmark is wrong on two counts. In the first place, both were structurally made of wood with iron plating, and in fact, ships build totally of iron had been sailing the seven seas for as much as two decades before either ironclad warship hit the drawing boards. As can be seen easily in the painting above and the one below, the advent of the iron (and later steel) hull did as much or more to alter the shape of things as regarding naval architecture as did the conversion from sail to steam or the advent of the screw propeller.

The iron hull not only did away with rotting, worm-eaten wood, but
allowed for the lengthening of ocean-going vessels from no more
than 300 feet to lengths approaching one-thousand.
Hulls of iron and steel added structural stability, both from an engineering standpoint, and in the manner in which such ships were "sailed." However, added length meant added height, bringing forth changes in the hull proportions. This also allowed the addition of several decks of superstructure due to the tremendous changes in the center of gravity as naval architects moved it closer and closer to the waterline (and eventually) below it. Coal, boilers, and engines, not to mention cargo, are all quite heavy, demanding "deeper" hulls, greater drafts, and structural innovations such as double hulls and watertight compartments, all of which arrived in the latter years of the 19th-century.

This painting from the Island Princess collection is indicative of the
type of ships sailing around the turn of the century.
A forerunner of England's
first generation of  "Queens."
As ships grew in size and speed, they also took on a greater and greater degree of luxury. Whereas during the early years, before the advent of steam, crossing the ocean was an ordeal, at best, and often quite dangerous. Steam power meant a more consistent and, eventually, more stable movement through the waves, as well as a greater degree of creature comforts along the way. Steam, alongside screw propellers, and iron or steel hulls opened up amazing possibilities for ever grander and grander accommodations that largely isolated passengers from the vagaries of the sea. The 20th-century ushered in a race among European countries to build ever larger, faster, and more luxurious ocean liners beginning with the S.S. Great Britain as early as 1847 to Cunard's three magnificent "Queens" of today. The Viceroy of India (right), and later Cunard's Oriana (below) from the 1950s, moved the passenger liner of the first half of the century to the present day dominance of cruise liners such as the Island Princess (bottom).

The Oriana, seen here in Sydney, Australia, was one of the first ships to be
devoted solely to the budding cruise market of the 1950s and 60s.
The Island Princess