Click on photos to enlarge.

Friday, November 24, 2017

1940s Art

Welcome Home American Legion WW II Veterans, Hy Hintermeister.
The war ended...we won, by the way.
Even though I was born half-way through the decade, about three weeks after the War in the Pacific ended, I naturally don't remember much, if anything, of the social chaos that marked the most important decade of the entire 20th-Century. I was a child of five when the decade ended. I vaguely recall playing on the back porch of our home in Stockport, Ohio around 1949. For that reason, in exploring the art of the 1940s I'm forced to choose the art and artists I've read and heard were important, or that which I now find intriguing, or which looks as though it might have been representative of the art from that period. Normally art and war don't mix, but even though we refer to the war as World War II, actually only about half the world was involve. As they are prone to do, artists fled the conflict for those countries which were safer. In most cases, that meant the United States. Thus there was a tremendous amount of art produced during this decade, either by those fleeing the war or those artists such a Norman Rockwell, Thomas Hart Benton, Hy Hintermeister (top), and James Montgomery Flagg seeking to do their part in winning the war.
Salvador Dali, during the war and after the war.
War changes people. Nothing on earth has the power to alter the course of so many lives, for better or worse, than armed conflict, especially on the scale of the Second World War. Salvador Dali's war was the Spanish Revolution as depicted in his Face of War (upper image) from 1940. For some, the changes are temporary, for others the trauma of war runs much deeper. Dali's The Madonna of Port Lligat (lower image) from 1949, stands in stark contrast to the earlier wartime image.

More subtle reflections of the 1940s.
In Europe, especially in England, there was nothing subtle about the war or the art reflecting it. British artist, Clive Branson, in 1940, painted The Blitz: Plane Flying, attempting to capture the war from the point of view of the men and women in the street. Notice the plane has both Nazi and British insignia, underlining the fact that the terrors of war are felt by the civilian population on both sides. The painting has a surreal quality to it, but then too, so does war.

The Blitz, Plane Flying, 1940, Clive Branson
Meanwhile, back on the home front, to see the Cannon Towel ads running in major magazines, one might get the idea that war was fun (below). This is just one of several depicting GIs frolicking in the water, drying off with Cannon Towels, which in some cases barely concealed their nudity. Today, such ads would probably be deemed highly inappropriate, but back then, times were different. Americans were in need of comic relief, no matter how tasteless.

The desert war in north Africa, which this scene suggests, while perhaps having some ancient ruins, they were not known to be littered with ancient swimming pools. Pity the poor guy near the top serving guard duty.
Other companies were quick to feature GIs in their ads. The ad below is supposedly for an airline, but the windows are so large as to suggest a railroad car. In any case, notice that there are no enlisted men along for the ride. In periods of conflict since WW II, ad agencies have generally limited the use of military men and women to recruitment posters.

Officers fly. The enlisted men take the train.
The art of the 1940s reflects three conflicting images insofar as women were concerned. The media depicted them either as loving wives and mothers keeping the "home fires" burning; or as substitute industrial workers of the "Rosie the Riveter" genre; or as sex symbols ostensibly intended to give the GIs something to be fighting for. In any case, the 1940s saw the sowing of the seeds for feminism which, some twenty or thirty years later burst into a full-blown revolution which continues to rage even today.

Women traded in the acetylene torch for a sparkling new kitchen and booming babies..
The war ended with a blast (two of them, in fact). The GIs came home, and despite the best efforts of Norman Rockwell (bellow)and other illustrators to suggest otherwise, found themselves facing problem and shortages that had festered untended for four long years. At the same time, though, the U.S. found itself a world leader, the Great Depression hardly more than a bitter memory. The economy was booming as never before as the U.S. helped the war-torn countries of western Europe recover from the tragedy of destruction and deprivation the war left in its path.

The Homecoming GI, 1945, Norman Rockwell.
Some things remained the same after the war. Hometowns like Bristol, Virginia/Tennessee (below), though they had changed little during the war were destined to explode with prosperity. In other places things remained as bad or worse than before. Harlem in New York City as depicted by Paul Raphael Meltzner, despite the much-touted Harlem Renaissance of the 1930s, was even more dismal than before, only slightly better off than the worst small towns in the South with their lingering Jim Crow laws and black poverty.

State Street at Night, Bristol Virginia, Tennessee, Denise Beverly
Harlem, 1940s, watercolor, Paul Raphael Meltsner
Perhaps no other art form brings back the nostalgia for the 1940s more than that era's music. It began with the fading popularity of jazz and ended with what we've happily come to call the "swing" era. Janet Brice Parker's 1940s Jazz (below) suggests both eras. Click the video at the bottom to get "In the Mood."

1940s Jazz, Janet Brice Parker

The Unfinished Portrait of
President Franklin Delano
Roosevelt, 1945,
Elizabeth Shoumatoff.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Willem Witsen

A Wintry View Of The Brouwersgracht, Amsterdam,  Willem Witsen
Today the combination of a photographer who's also a painter might seem a little strange. Photographers, accustomed to the instant gratification of digital images and the ease with which they are created would probably not have the patience to produce paintings based upon their photos. Of course, in my own case, the combination doesn't seem strange at all though I'm by no means a professional photographer. I've never "sold" a photo in my life, but I've sold many paintings based on my own photos. Perhaps that's why I found the Dutch photographer/painter/etcher, Willem Witsen quite interesting.
Amsterdam in Winter, Willem Witsen
The painting Amsterdam in Winter (above) and A Wintry View Of The Brouwersgracht, Amsterdam (top) were both painted by Witsen based upon photographs he made around the turn of the century (1890-1911). If that seems somewhat unremarkable, keep in mind that photography back then was as much or more a science as it was art. And as if two art media weren't enough, Witsen was also a master at etching, particularly the use of aquatints, which, if done well, render something of a photographic looking print.

The face in the center is a self-portrait drawing.
Willem Arnoldus Witsen was born in 1860. Except for a brief period in London in 1888 where he lived for three years, Witsen spent his entire life in Amsterdam. He died there in 1923. Witsen was a painter, etcher, photographer, and writer, associated with the Amsterdam Impressionism movement. He was born into a wealthy upper-class family, dating back to the governing families of the 17th-Century. He studied at academies in Amsterdam and Antwerp. Witsen’s work, was influenced by James McNeill Whistler, often portraying calm urban landscapes as well as agricultural scenes. Witsen also created portraits and photographs of prominent figures of the Amsterdam art world.

A View Of The Leidsegracht, Amsterdam, Willem Witsen.
He seems to have had a liking for bridges.
Willem Witsen was a quiet, almost shy man, inclined towards melancholy. He had many artist friends whom he at times provided with money. His cool reserve hid a nervous sensitivity. He wrote that he suffered from 'moods of deep hopelessness, but I try to find satisfaction in my work.’ He could relax with his friends; was a good chess player and musician; he played cello. His works often concern city images, as when the fog eats downtown London. His works show us his 'passion of loneliness’, but also show sternness and reserve. There are seldom people in his paintings, or if so, they only appear as small figures.

An untitled (at least insofar as I could discover)
oil painting by Willem Witsen.
Witsen made a name for himself as an engraver, and aquarelist (a style of watercolor), and a painter of townscapes. He mastered the art of etching to such a degree of perfection that fellow artists called on him for help. Witsen tried to capture the essence of the city in his work. As a young man, he was especially fascinated by what he called "de groote brokken" (the great chunks) in rain, snow, haze, and fog. In order to approach his subjects as closely as possible, he even worked from a row boat. Between 1911 and 1914, Witsen had a barge at his disposal that had been converted into a studio. Witsen was an important presence in his country's art scene around 1900. Although he made numerous paintings, it is especially his graphic art for which he is renowned. All in all, he made some 220 separate etchings, showing a particular preference for the aquatint technique (which, despite the name, has nothing to do with watercolor).

Jew's Wood Garden, Willem Witsen. Is it an aquatint, a photograph, or a painting? With Witsen, it's difficult to decide.

Aquatint is an intaglio printmaking technique, a variant of etching. Like etching, aquatint uses the application of a acid to etch into the metal plate. Where the engraving technique uses a needle to make lines that print in black (or whatever color ink is used), aquatint uses powdered rosin to create a tonal effect. The rosin is adhered to the plate by controlled heating and then acid etched. The tonal variations are controlled by the level of acid exposure and thus the image is shaped in large sections at a time. Mezzotint, begins with a plate surface that is evenly indented so that it will carry a fairly dark tone of ink. The mezzotint plate is then smoothed and polished to make some areas carry less ink and thus print a lighter shade. Alternatively, beginning with a smooth plate, areas are roughened to make them darker. Occasionally these two techniques are combined as in some of Witsen's images.

The upper image appears to be an aquatint, while the lower image has the attributes of a mezzotint.
When Witsen moved from Amsterdam to London, he was inspired by the rapid modernizing city, as exemplified by the electric lights along the Thames which he depicted in watercolor. Witsen was constantly trying to renew himself as an artist. In addition to watercolors, he made etchings, experimented with photography, and reworked the same scenes from different views. He continued many of the techniques he developed in London after returning to Amsterdam. Art experts believes Witsen was most interested in conveying atmosphere and emotion during his London period. In his Carriages at the Victoria Embankment, (upper image, above) he tried very hard to give an impression of a rainy, misty walk along the Thames. Witsen was usually more interested in emotional depth than in depicting a perfectly realistic cityscape. The London period contains some of the artist’s strongest and most exciting works.

Atelierwoning Studio house in Amsterdam, at Oosterpark 82.
Atelierwoning (above), was established in 1884. It was built for the sculptor Roskam, who died prematurely. The blocks of natural stone above the entrance were meant to be worked by the sculptor. Built to a design by the architect Eduard Cuypers in a Neo-renaissance style, from 1890 on it was inhabited by Witsen, who had a floor installed halfway through the very high workshop. This resulted in two workshops. The lower workshop was originally intended for the painters Haverman and Isaac Israël; while the upper workshop was for Breitner. Witsen later retained the headroom for himself. The workshop covered the entire width of the house. The living quarters were located on the upper floors. It is open for tours by appointment only.

Fair Gate, 1911, Willem Witsen. In the aftermath of WW II bombing, few, if any, of these building remain today.
A charming little
Portrait of W.K.F. Engelbrecht,
1913, Willem Witsen, one of his few.


Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Ferdinand von Wright

The Surprise, 1880, Ferdinand von Wright.
When we Americans think of ornithologist artists the first, and unfortunately, the last name that comes to mind is John James Audubon. Okay, we Americans don't think of ornithologists very often, either those who paint them or simply watch them. Of course, those who paint them also have be birdwatchers, watching them very closely, silently, and quickly in order to sketch them, inasmuch as simply the "click" of a camera lens is enough to sometimes frighten these beautiful, but "flighty" creatures into a hasty departure. Moreover birdwatching, and I suppose, bird painting as well, have a sort of "effete" connotation many artists and photographers are reluctant to assume. That being the case, there are not very many birdwatchers and even fewer bird painters. Quite likely, any artists with the skills needed to paint our fine feathered friends are more likely to choose an area of art that pays better. Let's face it, not many art collectors buy bird paintings (or even prints).
The Fighting Capercaillies, 1886, Ferdinand von Wright
The Owl Strikes Hare,
1860, Ferdinand von Wright
Though he sometimes painted human portraits, still-lifes, and landscapes, the Finnish-Swedish painter, Ferdinand von Wright is mostly remem-bered as a bird painter. One of his most famous works, The Fighting Capercaillies (above) dating from 1886, might seem to suggest neither he nor the birds he painted were quite as "effete" as we might think. The same might be said for von Wright's equally popular The Owl Strikes Hare (left) from 1860. Apparently von Wright's clients had a distinct prefer-ence for aviary violence.

Wilhelm (left), Magnus (center, and Ferdinand von Wright (right).
The story of Ferdinand von Wright is not the story of just one artist but three. Ferdinand also had two older brothers, Magnus, born in 1805 and Wilhelm born in 1810. They were also artist, though not much in the way of birdwatchers. That area of content, Ferdinand had all to himself. In any case, it's likely they taught him to paint. Born in 1822, the youngest of the three, Ferdinand and his brothers grew up on their father's estate near Kuopio, (central) Finland. Ferdinand traveled to Sweden for the first time when he was fifteen, visiting Bohuslän Province with Wilhelm, who was working as an illustrator for the zoologist Bengt Fredrik Fries. The following year, he went by himself to work for an amateur ornithologist named Count Nils Bonde, who had recently subsidized the publication of a multi-volume Svenska Fåglar (Swedish Birds), with illustrations by Magnus and Wilhelm.

The lower-left image is a self-portrait.
Still-life, 1868, Ferdinand von Wright
Ferdinand von Wright briefly studied at the Royal Swedish Academy of Arts with the sculptor Johan Niclas Byström around 1842. He went back home in 1844, having been in Sweden for almost six years. Five years later, he went to Turku, where he took some additional lessons from Robert Wilhelm Ekman. In 1852, he and his brothers went to Helsinki, where he set up a studio and began painting more de-tailed scenes, rather than individual animals. Around 1858, Ferdinand took a trip to Dresden, where he spent two months studying with the noted animal painter Johann Siegwald Dahl. He then travelled to Orust with Wilhelm, remain-ing there for a year.

View of Lugnet, 1877, Ferdinand von Wright
Ferdinand von Wright
in his labors, 1897, Arvid Liljelund
In 1863, von Wright built a home near his family's estate, which he named "Lugnet" (above, meaning serenity or tranquility in Swedish). Von Wright lived there for the next twenty years. In the early 1870s, he had several strokes and was often bedridden. Nonetheless, von Wright continued to paint as much as possible. Even-tually, he had to move out of the main part of his home and occupy two smaller guest rooms upstairs. He made his last trip in 1881, to Orust, visiting Wilhelm, who was also ill. The artist's work became more commer-cial from that point on. In 1886, he produced his best-known work The Fighting Capercaillies. He also contributed articles to various ornithological journals. Sometime later, von Wright received a state artists' pension. Many former students came to visit and, in the late 1890s, including another bird painter, Matti Karppanen, who stayed on to be his pupil and assistant. Slowly, Ferdinand became more withdrawn. He died in 1906 at the age of eighty-four.

Rooster and Hens, 1871, Ferdinand von Wright

Winter Landscape, Ferdinand von Wright.
During winter in Finland there aren't many
birds to paint.


Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Eduard Wiiralt

The Violinist, 1931, Eduard Wiiralt
Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia are some-times referred to collectively as the "Baltic" countries. Indeed, they are all on the Baltic seacoast on northern Europe. Of course so are what we refer to as the Scandinavian countries as well--Sweden, Norway, Den-mark, and Finland. Of course Russia, Pol-and, and Germany all have Baltic ports but apparently each of those countries are too big or too important to get lumped together except in a general reference as northern Europe. Several years ago, my wife and I cruised the Baltic and I spent one day touring Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, and the smallest of the "Baltic countries."
Street in Sceaux,
1928, Eduard Wiiralt
Reclining Tiger and Cat, 1937, Eduard Wiiralt
Eduard Wiiralt
So far as I can tell, I've never written about an Estonian artist, although I did come up with an item on the Latvian painter, Auseklis Ozols, however he spent much of his life in the United States. The Estonian painter Eduard Wiiralt, though born in a small town called Goubanitzy near St. Peters-burg, Russia, in 1898, his parents moved the family to Estonia in 1909 when he was eleven, and inasmuch as his parents were Estonian, the Estonians have long since claimed him as one of their own, considered the best Estonian graphic design artist of his time. During World War I the young artist was educated in the Tallinn Arts and Crafts School. After finishing there in 1919, he continued his studies in the Pallas Art School in Tartu under Anton Starkopf. He created his first woodcuts and linocuts in 1916 and his first etchings in 1917. In 1923 Wiiralt visited the Dresden Academy of Art, in Germany, where he studied under professor Selmar Werner. Soon after he began his career as a book illustrator.

The Head of a Woman, 1916, Eduard Wiiralt
Women in Top-Hats, 1927, Eduard Wiiralt
Wiiralt's studies were interrupted by his participation in the Eston-ian War of Independence. In 1922–23, Wiiralt continued his training, as a grantee of the school, at the Dresden Academy of Art in Germany under the supervision of Professor Selmar Werner. Wiiralt returned to Tartu in the fall of 1923. In 1924 he graduated from Graphic Arts Department of art school Pallas leading its graphic studio during following year. In his print, Cab-aret (below), the artist details well-attired men and diaphan-ously dressed women dancing in a club that looks to have been owned by a latter-day Hieron-ymous Bosch. Similarly disconcerting in its juxtaposition of the too carefully observed and the extraordinarily imagined is the aptly titled Hell (below), where in the crowded jostle of heads we find contorted physiognomies and mechanical beings that might have been conjured by an obsessed modern Giuseppe Arcimboldo. Clearly, the optimism that informed the group of Estonian Artists in the 1920s had diminished significantly by the early 1930s, when Wiiralt presented his alternative to the constructed world of Arnold Akberg and the latter's philosophy of progress.

Hell (bottom) is Raamat's most accomplished film. The film is based on three black and white etchings (Cabaret and two versions of Hell) made by Wiiralt while he was living in Paris.
Revolution, 1931, Eduard Wiiralt
Deeply influenced by the German Expres-sionism which Wiiralt had encountered a decade earlier while studying in Dresden, the etchings above express the frustrations of wartime, poverty and corruption. In the drawings, Wiiralt depicts human figures in surreal and grotesque caricatures. The first drawing, Hell (second image above), is an anarchistic vision of hell filled with contorted heads branching out of one another, violent mechanical objects, and heads exploding in-to mushroom clouds. In Cabaret (upper im-age above), we see an orgy of grotesques revelers, some well-dressed, and others in rags, dancing, drinking and flirting. The set-ting is a strange nightclub populated with dancers, a creepy old violinist (top) and his two naked colleagues who perform atop a massive violin. In the background we see branches with ghoulish souls reaching out. Finally, in the Preacher (below), from 1932, in which a group of people have gathered around a preacher to hear his warnings of what is to come. Preacher contains the same grotesque and surreal images of the previous drawings as well as their powerfully expressionistic flavor.

Preacher, 1932, Eduard Wiiralt
In this film, Rein Raamat merges these images into one and depicts Wiiralt's drawing in an underground nightclub where people dance, eat, drink, and flirt without limitations, torn between the enticing music of a flute-playing demon (top) and the more soulful, heavenly strings of a maestro's violin. Heaven and hell co-exist in this world, as they do within every one of us. But, so too does reason. Raamat notes that: "We can find these characteristics inside every one of us, the destructive side of hell is covered over by civilization like concrete in today's world. Personal hedonism and lust is regulated within society." Every person is responsible for his or her self-regulator to warn against chaos.


Monday, November 20, 2017

Pedro Weingärtner

Ballerinas, 1896, Pedro Weingärtner
We are at a broad point in the natural evolution of art, transitioning from the era of Modern Art to that of Postmodern Art. This transition began with the passing of Minimalism in the 1970s, the anticlimax of roughly one-hundred years Modernism commencing with Impressionism around the 1860s. During this period Modern Art evolved in a gradual, somewhat orderly progression propelled to a great extent by the technical and aesthetic revolution brought on by photography. Photography not only taught artists new ways of producing art but new ways of thinking about art as well. The transition from Modern Art to Postmodern Art has been so gradual that many artist have hardly noticed. Certainly their outdated wall decorations give no indication of such awareness. For the most part, the movement from one era to another has more to do with undertakers than artists. When artists die, they take with them the old styles and old ways of thinking. Their place is taken by a new generation, having been trained in Postmodernism and all that term entails.
The identity of the figure in the upper-left corner is questionable.
The painting is titled The Notary.
The Brazilian painter, Pedro Weingärtner endured much the same transition during the 1890s until his death in 1929. The difference was that he was on the front end of the Modern Art juggernaut--trained classically, and largely unable or unwilling to "go with the flow" of Modern Art as "one thing led to another." Pedro Weingärtner was born in Porto Alegre (southern) Brazil in 1853. If the given name and the family name seem not to correlate, there's a good reason for that--his parents were German immigrants. He was probably introduced to the art by his father, who was an amateur draftsman. At the age of twenty-four, Weingärtner decided to dedicate himself to painting. He went to study in Europe at his own expense. After some time and some money difficulties, he gained a grant from Brazil's emperor, Dom Pedro II. Weingärtner spent several years attending famous academies and receiving guidance from distinguished teachers.

Too Late, 1890, Pedro Weingärtner. The painting appears to depict a traveling salesman arriving at a mercantile establishment after the owner has already been sold a bill of goods by a female competitor.
After finishing his preparations Weingartner installed himself in an atelier in Rome, but he traveled frequently to Brazil. Although he had been absent from Brazil for many years, Weingärtner asked permission from the emperor for a six-month visit to his fatherland. He arrived in Porto Alegre in August 1887 and was received with a party in a ship full of friends and admirers. Although on vacation, Weingärtner painted several portraits which made a very positive impression. He also showed works brought from Europe, which became the objects of several positive notes and articles in the press. Due to his commitments, Weingärtner left Porto Alegre in November, and went to Rio de Janeiro, where he held his first solo exhibition in February 1888. He presented ten works. The event was a success. Weingärtner took advantage of his stay in the city to visit the emperor in order to express his gratitude for the financial assistance he'd received. During the meeting the monarch marveled at the canvas titled Rights, which he saw in a photograph brought by the artist. Informed that the work had been sent to him from Europe as a gift, the emporer informed him that it had never been delivered. Weingärtner eventually discovered that it had been held at the customs house as unclaimed, and therefore had been put up for auction. The artist had great difficulty locating and retrieving it from the buyer. The case was widely commented upon in the press and attracted additional public exposure for the exhibition that was in progress. Weingärtner had many other exhibitions, gaining sufficient fame to be considered one of the best Brazilian painters of his time.

Offering to the god Pan, 1893, Pedro Weingärtner.
Weingärtner lived in a period of profound changes in the society and culture of the West. Two radically different models of civilization clashed. He was a faithful and disciplined follower of the most conservative academic principles, but did not remain oblivious to the changing world around him. His vast and polymorphous work is a sensitive reflection of the contradictions of his time. His style fuses neoclassical, romantic, naturalistic and realistic elements, expressed in landscapes, genre scenes and portraits. He also focused on classical and mythological themes (below). Yet, his most notable contribution to Brazilian art is probably his paintings of regional inspiration, portraying immigrants and gauchos in their typical activities, which have great aesthetic and documentary value inasmuch as he was a pioneer in this thematic field. Weingartner had a refined technique that paid close attention to detail, at times approached photographic fidelity.

A caldarium is a hot bath while, as the name suggests, a frigidarium features unheated water.
After his vacation, Weingärtner returned to Rome, where he began an especially fertile period in his career, working tirelessly and visiting places of historical and artistic interest, such as ruins, museums and monuments. He developed a special fascination as to the aura of Pompeii and Herculaneum, which fed his love for antiquity and opened a new repertoire of formal motifs and models. Rome, although no longer the focus of the European artistic avant-garde as it had been for centuries before, was still a major cultural center, chosen as the home of other important Brazilian artists such as Zeferino da Costa and Henrique Bernardelli, who painted Weingarten's portrait. His workshop, a friend noted, "...was a veritable repository of things of art, methodically grouped together as he works from sun[up] to sun[down]. Weingärtner spent his summers in the village of Anticoli Corrado (about ten miles northwest of Rome) where he enjoying the bright and colorful landscape of the region, which appears in several of his works. Until 1920 Weingärtner divided his time between Italy and Brazil, where his collective exhibitions, generally sold well, sometimes the whole lot to a single buyer.

Revolutionaries, Pedro Weingärtner. The work is undated but probably depicts Italian revolutionaries.
Elizabeth Schmitt
(the painters wife), 1918,
Pedro Weingärtner
In 1912 Weingärtner was again in Rome, but he did not linger there. Fellow artist and friend, Angelo Guido, explained that the Weingärtner was in crisis: "He had come to one of these critical points in the life of the artist, who, being fulfilled, at the same time faces the impossibility of going further or continuing the ascent or top work as strenuously as before. He does not seem to have the courage to face some of those compositions of classic motifs or of living human content that have established his reputation. He is limited to painting small frames of genre, where the creative spirit is not present, but his technical ability, which was highly developed. He needed new motives, a new natural and human landscape to excite him." In 1913 Weingärtner returned to Brazil. Passing through Rio, he showed several works, with excellent reviews. He set up a studio in his home, and despite advancing age, still felt vigorous, continuing his artistic production at an intense pace. He worked on several themes, but gave special attention to landscapes, portraying the scenarios of various nearby localities (below).

Portraits of gauchos chimarreando, Pedro Weingärtner
Weingärtner continued to exhibit regularly in Porto Alegre and in the center of the country. As always, was received favorably. But little by little the weight of the years made themselves felt. He began to experience some motor difficulties and his vision weakened. He did not travel much. In 1925, always faithful to his academic aesthetics, he made his last exhibition in Porto Alegre, which was weakly received. Times were changing; a new model of civilization and culture was fermenting, and its style already sounded like an anachronism. After that the master was no longer seen in public. In 1927 Weingärtner suffered a stroke that left him a paraplegic and seriously impaired his lucidity and memory. The artist died the day after Christmas, 1929. Several newspapers reported his death, but did not speak of him with the same enthusiasm as before.

Studies, Pedro Weingärtner