Laurence of Alaska

Me Great. Man has. Challenged. June 1900. First fully successful McKinley Klein led by a typically indomitable Alaskan pioneer the Reverend Hudson stuck. One of those tiny ironies of history. At the precise moment reveries celebrating his triumph in another Alaskan year was challenging the immensity of. It was a small. Middle aged man.

Partly deaf. Wearing neither eye sex. Nor with. His tools were quite different and his challenge. To trying to put its immensity on canvas. His name was Sidney Mortimer Lawrence artist adventurer. And at the time some might say. Lost Soul. I wasn't miles from his family. His artistic roots. He faced a more intimate challenge as well. Overcoming years of retreat. And rediscovering his ability. To any way. I learned a lot about student loans way back in the summer of 1940. I was young then. Developing artist myself. On the way north to

the great land to join a Met making team for the summer. The steamer was full of the usual eager tourists. And it's the mall you might not have noticed one small. Well-dressed elderly man. A bit infirm. Walking. And speech. And if you'd paid any attention to. How could you possibly suspect he not only lived a very arduous life. In the Alaskan pioneer. But was the pioneer artist. In this. Vast territory. I had met Sidney Lawrence several times over the past year or two. Although we had talked shop. He was usually quite reluctant to speak about life but something was very different on this 1940 trip. For some reason Lawrence opened up and shared a great deal as we sailed up the coast of Alaska. Looking back. I now realize Sydney had a hunch it was

time to be talking. Hypers trip up. Thirty six years ago fresh from being a warrior illustrator. Trying to be a family man. What brought you up. Why I was attracted by the same thing that attracted all the other sectors. Gold. We were the wildest kind of dreamers ready for the promised land. Most of us expected to strike it rich the minute we went ashore in Alaska. The boats dropped us off at places like Juneau Skagway and guess what we found that pretty much the whole world was there ahead of us. EVERY was an arguer. But the dead daughters know we never doubted we'd all find gold. Of course I thought I'd be oh really smart. So I went much further north and

to the west with all the way up books and. Thinking to beat the crowd to those sudden and easy riches and thinking a lot about. The far off place I'd like. To say dives. You see although I was born in Brooklyn I had spent a fair chunk of my early wondering artist years in Cornwall. Why a. Rugged. Course. Wonderful sees incessantly. Exceptionally light and ever changing skies. St Ives was an old and lovely little fishing village which was also becoming quite an artist's colony. We started an arts club right down by the waterfront.

And got together to paint study and socialize. Plenty of Brits there of course but also a huge passel of European artists and eager young Americans like myself. Many of us also set up studios in say diet was readily available. Net storage lofts. Just. Close to the sea with exquisite light. I had to find a better studio anywhere I reckon. Course we also followed the French painter's idea of getting much of our stuff outdoors.

Trapped all. Love to. Us. These outdoor subjects were much more exhilarating. And often much more elusive and anything we'd encountered in studios or classroom use might be needed. Green took off. Good enough to get me into the RBA the society of the Royal British artists and I guess that might seem a bit stuffy but I thought it was dandy for a kid like me from Brooklyn to have some. Life in those end of the century art college. It's been pretty heady stuff. Bloody dust than. Practically sewers Sydney. I can understand how when you came to Alaska it must have seemed like a pointless. Well yes. Alaska's incredible beauty. Vast. Empty.

Almost overwhelming after tidy and orderly little England. Co-host Oh it sure was no jolly British because I started driving around the Alaskan wilds in my eager hunt for gold. I no longer serve Sydney. Suddenly it lists Howard old Sydney. They say that prospectors follow an old relentless dream trail to riches. Yeah and that trail usually leads to nothing but hard work and frustration. But. Gotta keep still for some reason. And I kept doing it for years. Learning as I went from that great teacher experience. It's funny in England we had heard what to take to our last pocket Shakespeare is for

aged cook books and many other things equally useful to and out of what you really needed most was that ingenious invention the gold Pam though you rarely found gold at night. It was good for a multitude of uses. I even thought of using a gold pen for my art. Maybe painting a small scene on it but nah. Who would ever buy a painting on the go. So you continued with your painting while you were becoming a sourdough. You know how to touch the sore points don't you fits my boy. No not what you paid. I did the odd bartering piece I guess. Probably a word being said but what the hell.

But now not much painting. Back then of course I thought about real Arctic cation life spatially one of the first times I got close to that some of them they took my kids. When. The pain. But I wasn't ready. And I knew it. Wasn't sure I'd ever be ready. Heck of a subject for. Alaska.

Wouldn't you say Mr. Lawrence. Oh it can scare a person off. It's too damn much of it. You scarcely know where to begin. But on the other hand. Beauty gets right into you. Later found out. Alaska said yes of course it was years and years before I learned that. Back then it was over. Which had me totally enthralled. So year after year I staked my claims hoping that at least one of them would stake me to success. I wanted to take a pile back to England only to to prove something. What was it. Eight thousand. Found a way. Those damn people you post just. To sounds fairly new.

And my wife. We had these photos taken as postcards. What do you think of your family. Coming soon to a song. Her name was Alexandrina do pray Another would be artist. Despite the exotic money there she was in New Jersey. I met and courted her during our art student days in New York. Once again. You know Alexandrina was studying at the National Academy of Design. Bunch of traditionalist very old fogy some thought and lay down. And were you one of those Mr. Lawrence. Oh I was at the art students and the young rebels in art. Yours truly included. I am. New York was great but of course Alexandrina got out of town to. Taking our young

artistic patients and other patients up to the family's New England retreat. For instance. I'd argue. No sir. Not yet. I suppose love an art can mix for some. Family comes up. Well we were married in the spring of 1880. Innocent. And ready to launch into the grand whirl of the serious art. Full of young hopes we started the mediately on the obligatory artist pilgrimage to Europe.

The idea was to soak up artistic spots like the delightful French countryside. And Venice. Water water everywhere and nary a drop to drink but plenty to paint if you could stand all that constant singing on the canals. And then you were expected to settle down for some intense and serious painting in an arts colony like saida years. And after all lead were supposed to go home ready to take the American art world by storm. But. Come one little detail. OK. Bill. Didn't allow much for supporting yourself and your family. So my time at St. Ives got longer and the time to do fine art diminished. But at least I didn't have to hit the coal mines to earn money.

Because I found I could travel to use some of my skills. I started going off with my sketchbook to visit the world's battlefronts. You see an illustrated newspaper the London black and white offered me the chance to make a few bucks. For shillings to be more exact. I wandered through some rather exotic locales as a war correspondent an illustrator. I kind of arc paid pretty good money before photography took over the fed my family and certainly fed my hunger for adventure. You noticed my hearing aid souvenir of one of those damn wars. I was right in the middle of the interests of the British formation. Those Invincibles couldn't stop one warrior and his swinging knob Kerry. Almost turn me into another earless Van Gogh. My hearing's gotten lousier in

love ever since. Then there was a Spanish-American War did a few drawings for that one to Cuba turned out to be lots of disorganized charging around. Like many wars it was nuts. Speaking of nutty things on the way back through New York I spotted some photos of another far off land Alaska. Chilkoot Pass sluice boxes aid in the mysteries of the great land itself. I got excited like most everybody else but I had. Commitments. And besides a soon had me off again covering the jolly old boy. And the craziness of the Boxer Rebellion. And then since they like the way I did ships I was asked to draw the Royal Navy Corps Tahj when Queen Victoria died. And to illustrate lots of other naval

maneuvers from South America to the Mediterranean. You've done quite a few ships since then have you. Oh sure people seem to think of me is that Alaska Mt. painter. But I'll tell you it's been seas and ships for me well ever since I was knee high to an RV. In fact when I was a boy in old New York two things which most appealed to me even then. Were drawing in the sea. Oddly enough though I got the ocean going bug when my family sent me to military school. At Peekskill up the Hudson River near West Point. Well even uniforms and regimentation couldn't smother my real interests. In addition to keeping right on with my art I often looked out over the mighty Hudson thinking about where it was flowing not just down to New York but out past the harbor and off to the luring ocean.

And it didn't take long before this pint sized teenage kid skipped out and shipped out to work on vessels plying the Atlantic. Course I had to deal with the decks the baby pictures. But that time at sea was good for me. It. Sounds like you had quite a busy time of it as a young man. Yeah. Military cadet. Daycare and art student. Husband and father. War correspondent. Journalist prospector. And on and on. And artist. All while trying to be a serious artist too. You're right. I was a busy chap 8. I wanted to ask Lawrence more about the little family he left in England. But instinct told him to keep quiet. It seemed much easier for him to talk about his adventures.

You know I haven't told you anything about my busy Alaskan winters haven't. During those long and chilly months I'd have to find other things to be doing. It couldn't be prospect ing in the snow so you had to occupy yourself. Most especially with making enough to pay for next summer's gold search. Winter after winter I'd hole up with any job I could find putting together my next grub stake. You always were meant to be. And my art. To answer your continuing question fits well. It seemed to slip into the background mostly unless you count Sid the sign painter earning two bucks per masterpiece. Mind you I did give painting another brief stab around 99 when I wanted to do something better for my winter grubstake than mindless labor. Every gay Haig was his name. One of the Alaska territories pioneer

photographers an entrepreneur by coincidence it was Haig's Klondike pictures which had caught my eye back in New York in 98. Even though I didn't know him at the time and here he was operating in the new little town of Cordova. So I proposed the deal. I had helped him in his photo studio in Emporia. If he'd let me winter there and then set me up for the following summer. You don't need large paintings. It didn't take long for something special to pop into Haig's busy mind. And the next thing I knew I was earning my keep by working on the biggest painting I'd tackled since leaving England during our almost 16 feet long and the other Cordova businessman wanted to promote their town by sending this virtual billboard of mine down to the big Alaska you caught an exposition in Seattle a tad commercial you might venture to say. Well maybe. But anyway I

painted Barclay curious to see if I still have the touch. And did you. I felt a little shaky but everyone else liked it well enough. It's beautiful Sidney. But believe it or not despite people's enthusiasm I still figured my real fortune was waiting in the hills. So in the summer I joined the miners in the Sioux City the land of promise they called it to turn those promises into gold go go. Can you believe it. Sidney Mortimer Lawrence with a father who'd been a successful businessman. My mother an artist my brother making a name for himself in ceramics decorating. And he. Was. Almost 45 years old and rubbing in the dirt with hands so dirty you could plant potatoes in the

creases at the old law. With my own claims. He just had to be time for a change. So. Oh yes I decided to make a change all right. I tried a different form of rugby. Instead of the dirt of them there are hills it was beach day and say. I wasn't quite empty. I still want to raise a glass for the taste. Yeah and to head off your question. Mark kept nudging at me too. I'd have to bring up a pencil and brush. To keep that little voice from Nike. You know with all that seaside hardware. Fellow would get hungry. And start looking all over anchor point for a juicy rabbit or

a nice I'll. Course they were usually smarter than I was. So I'd sometimes go to visit the younger school teacher at the little beach village of Milch. I'd trade or the use of my old shaving mirror in exchange for a friendly chat. We've been doing in the art lately. A cup of coffee. I've been trying to sketch these volcanoes on the other side of the inlet but it sure isn't easy and both do. When you do think Keller's someday. Well I'm thinking about it. I'm trying to work out the smoke right now. I wonder.

Odd thing happened that summer of 1912 I think I gave the mountain gods an idea for such a way as a nation and yours truly only a hundred miles away. There was one good thing came from that Katmai eruption. It left us with sensational sunsets for a long time to come. Well the question is did I accept this latest message from Mother Nature that maybe a prospect as life was the wrong course for me. Nope I wasn't listening. So I was given one more little message a couple of months later.

There I was playing sailor. Taking my summers go down the cell the. Big Hall about 11 bucks worth for all my trouble. That. Turned out to be Freddy lead. So I headed in the fixer up. He would think a little wet couldn't hurt you. Not. Wrong. Alaskan waters can be fierce cold. Deadly cold. Just placed in my chips.

Who knows how many good folks helped me. Oh dear Mr. Take a rest. Morning Mr Lawrence. Are you writing. I came to the valleys hospital just in time to stop them from MP taking my frostbitten legs. Oh. I'll take my chances short enough already. I for sure still hadn't struck it rich. And another winter was upon us. So now what your little city know. Oh my. God.

This is it. Well you've probably heard the story of my big grubstake. Not for prospects. This time I was I just make my claim on page 18. Well the kindling metal the first painting that can be. Really big would. Be Michelangelo to try to prevent more. Force the story goes it was a bunch of drunken miters who will be always the joke's on you with fool's gold. Not that some of us weren't just a tiny bit squiffy. Able to give you a buck or two in here somewhere. But the truth is I mean they were shrewd friend to your business Mis. Remembered my big Cordova painting and saw me as a good investment. You're going to think there's some are really going to hate me. I was just hoping I could pull it off starting with just getting to him again.

Going to work in those days Alaska travel was usually easier in winter than in the muck and mud Arab spring or early summer. So there I was. Gone to the box. And learning the hard way again. OK. I set out on something like a 400 mile bike and everything's unfinished railroad tracks. Frozen lakes and rivers. Trails other people it made and often the trails I had to break completely myself. There's an old adage that the shortest winter trail is the one with the fewest Miles.

It's the easiest trade. I was still feeling some affects of my little bout of near-freezing. But the sound of those grubstake coins clinking in my pockets get make one better than any medicine. That one breather mid-trib. Valentine's Day 1913 and I made it into the little town of old convict. Warm. It was. Just. Stop. They.

Still. Love. Us. During this long cold an arduous trip. I wasn't thinking too much about my PD. Yes. Yes. Thank you. Sir. Let's. Go to sleep sometimes much or if I wake up. Even if I wanted to. As I got closer to me things started happening. I began losing the kids. Damn I. Was playing games

with me. Talk about losing sight of your goal. It'd be gone completely for days. I felt like I was heading deeper. Deeper into. Nothing. Like. Nothing. Finally. Like many cheek icebergs floating in the. Wrong in. My own little wind trap about 40 miles from McKinley I settled in to wait out the weather.

And to worry about trying to be an artistic. Knowing I wasn't going to back out I'd sold my dogs to some miners. But I had a nifty plan for part of the sled. So there I was at McKinley finally ready to get out it. Proved to be a bitter moment. Oh. Good i.

Just. Couldn't even really put it. Cold for you. Mark. What a sight that must of bad. The biggest pile of rocks and snow in the country and one of Alaska's smallest man waving is purely brush at it. You reach that one point in life you gotta run.

You gotta put your talents on the line. Forget about. Her and don't ask me how. Some. Thing. With. That. Maybe even if it meant that it was all right to use my imagination. In. Such an intimidating inception. I hate. I suppose ember of 1939 Lawrence had all the sketches and trial

needed. But as the world focused eagerly on Hudson stocks Priam. At the park with. No one. Lawrence was trying down below the great mountain. So. Far it's made its way. Heading toward the next part of this challenge turning his field ideas into form. Once I had returned to Val DS a lot of folks were startled to see. Mr. Lawrence. We heard you froze to death on the trail. I

wasn't sorry to be able to prove that really wrong. Setting up a studio in valdés I got to work right away on my McKinley idea. It's turning out quite a few pieces. The eye catcher among those new paintings of course was my grubstake the way the Big Top of the pack. My business friends ship this off our Mon to the Smithsonian. Just as proud as if they'd painted it themselves. Since I still had some of their grub stake money left I could afford the time to do some other paintings too.

I had older she was whispering at the end. In the middle of all this painting it was another coincidence a reminder of how small the world really is. My schoolteacher friend brought by a vacationing East Coast artist to show him some authentic Alaska are well below us. Hello Sidney. What a surprise to see you here in Belize. Well we're between steamer as it happens he knew me from much earlier times. God Sidney Lara's What are you doing here hiding away in Alaska. We heard you were dead. So sorry to disappoint you sir. I've known Milton burns during the Boer campaign that seemed like and was

another life. And now he shows up in my Alaskan studio and playing critique at that first rate Lars you've come quite a ways. Yeah. About a thousand miles. It's wonderful stuff from a very modest house. At least he knew what he was talking about. Extremely subtle shifts of light and dark that creates immense depth you understand. And really use of your warm and your cool colors. And look. Takes true brushstroke of the old school. Sort of sidesteps what a true impressionist would do. But perfect for this type of landscape. Good God man this is poetry indeed. Lawrence we simply must ship some of these off to New York and London. I'll help you myself. Absolutely not but city they're wonderful. Most kind of you to drop in. But if you'll excuse me I do have some work to do. Ls. My regards to those volcanoes in your backyard.

Past is past. Excuse me Mr. Lawrence. But why pass up the chance. Burns was right on target about the quality of your work. The innocence of the young. It's when you're a bit older you learn the fragile nature of self-confidence. And perhaps you understand that. You simply can't hold back. Going forward wasn't that hard. Mind you I raised another small stake by selling those other paintings and used it to go white collar. Mr. Sidney Lawrence photographer. I set up a photo studio and rowdies and continued painting there hoping to

support myself with art to end the camera. OK so the place is straight. But as 1915 moved into spring neither of photography or painting brought in enough. So I look for another opportunity and decided that my client was all over the newspapers. No not the war but something closer to home. That year everybody was talking about a tent cities springing up around the new railroad Terminus over by Ship Creek on cooks and. Lots of opportunity for work. Maybe a great chance for a photographer I don't. Know. So there I went with my camera hoping to make a buck or two and what they claimed was the coming metropolis of Alaska finally named Anchorage. I haven't seen this many tents since the Boer War. Click my shutter all over the place says the tent city grew into a town 25 bucks a lot

hoped I could start selling local views postcards. But I didn't turn out to be another Matthew and it was hard just to earn enough for three squares a day. What about your painting. Re still at it. You should have been a reporter. Not an artist. I thought I had to put survival first. And greet. The odd keep coming for a while. But. I still had dreams of. A Gold Strike. Still had ants in my pants. So I dropped most of my flagging photography business and went out to stake more claims. Amazing that. Over 50 years old and there I was wandering on the trail again hoping there'd be riches.

Just don't wait. There's something different about these latest trips though. I didn't my prospects. Aren't tagged along much more insist. Than before. And something funny happened right about this time. We're not always the best persons to see the ironies of our own lives but even I can spot this. I finally made a plea it wasn't the brain of war it wasn't a giant nugget. It was that damn art itself and especially that damn McKinley. You see Anchorage now had real buildings real hotels. I was living in one of them off and on and they gave me space to paint and show the stuff. And by God it started to sell to a goldmine I'd never thought about the tourist. The real frontier artists. Once folks discovered the new metropolis of anchorage in the railway to the interior. Suddenly there were

regular boatloads of tourists not only looking at my work but with the money to buy it. So I gave in. I started doing more paintings and became Tawana artist and tourist attraction. My audience. In the early 1920s on top of the tourist sales further good fortune seemed to come my way. A couple of patrons popped out of the woodwork. One was a sharp business woman from Juneau who began vigorously selling my paintings through her art and everything else store. And the other patron was a department store magnate from the Midwest came to see Alaska. I stumbled across my work and soon was asking for more than I could paint between all this and the tourists. I eventually made enough to buy something I had long craved.

Once a wanderer always a wonder. In those days it only took a few minutes to reach the Anchorage town limits and the wilderness beyond. And to reach another potential subject. Northern Lights. Strange. Boy. People would tell me McKinley was a tough subject but there's nothing quite as tricky as those now you know you don't know them much. There isn't a pigment on earth that can do a proper job. If.

People survive the success. Of those that is selling us. By God selling Iraq does something for you though. I found I could afford to travel more on these steam ships paying my way instead of bartering paintings for passage and that let me have a fresh go at my old standby. See you probably heard the story that I asked the captains to detour closer to shore so I could get my sketches. Yes I have heard that as a nutter but is it true. Well things were a bit more easy go lucky back then. Decides the other passengers got closer ganders at wonderful places like Cape St. Elias. My little brush was positively humming now and in the twenties a

busy decade. I did work after work. Coming out of my long years of Alaskan wanderings. People sometimes ask is this really the way Alaska looks. Well sure. But it's me. Too. You've got to use your artists license to make a painting of nature. Alaskan or otherwise. I guess that's one of the lessons I learned up at McKinley. If you want pure reality and take it with your damn code then you've also got to leave your subject matter. And by God you know I put it my dues. You know artists often lead a double life. Lots of us first have to grind out stuff to make a living in and then we try to do the art we really want.

There's so little time. In my case it got crazy. One side Ben discovered I was doing more and more of what I call bread and butter potboilers a lot of and less and less of anything else. Besieged that's what it was churning it out instead of waiting for the right mode to strike. You can see it was older duffers become cynics. Well anyway cynic are no. By late 1925 I was doing well enough to afford a second studio in Los Angeles. My winters. Where I wanted the warm. Light. I spent most of my Los Angeles time carrying right on with my Alaskan stuff so my growing public expected it you see. Naturally I was still doing continuous abuse of that well-known mountain of mine. Something in great demand. MacKinlay. Great love.

Great ate. My nemesis. Tired of it like you get tired of having pancakes for breakfast every morning. But I had to keep doing my kid not to improve on what I'd already paid but because they sold. You might find it a bit ironic. Back in 1913 I thought I'd challenge Mt. McKinley and want. But instead I got hooked to the thing for life. One way or another that damn Now the last laugh on anyone. In one thousand twenty eight Sidney Lawrence married for a second time. Jeannie Homan a younger artist whose Los Angeles studio joined his became his partner in his summer winter sojourns. Sure enough it wasn't long before we were off to you guessed it Mt. McKinley Sidney Lawrence photographer got a non-core this

time as a home movie maker. Jeannie and I friends thought they were really roughing it but for me it was nothing especially when I thought back on my first big McKinlay trip this turned out to be Lawrence's final visit to the symbol of his success and of his frustration. Within months of his return from McKinley Lauren suffered a stroke. Left me down but not out. A changed man a bit shaky though still willing and able to work. But right at that same time came a depression not mine particularly but the depression. Things looked a bit tough again. Then some kind folk in a

Seattle hotel took us in and gave me a place to keep going as a sort of resident artist. I kept puttering away doing mostly the Alaskan things for those who could still afford it. And wandering about looking for other inspiration wherever I could find it like a favorite spot out in Seattle's Elliott Bay. I never could stay away from the water. Good at. I never could stay away from Alaska. So we're still heading here every summer. To my old anchorage studio. As I watched him look out the last. I saw a certain melancholy sympathy in his eyes. It was as though he shared something the Alaskan wild. Secrets. Memory. And understanding.

The heart. I wanted to. Know what he knew. To see things the way he saw. Landed. And. Funny. I came up here. And it was where I had looked at. The tip of my paintbrush. And then by God success turned out to be a demanding mistress. I tell you if it's the only ones not there then as painters. Or poets. Not yet. But something makes you do it. You just get into it. I couldn't escape. Not for my art. Sidney Lawrence never left Alaska again. In September of that year 1940 he startled the small town of acreage

by cheerfully announcing Good bye old boy his last barber shop shave. OK whatever the last piece of art. Checked himself into the hospital made his goodbyes. And was gone. As I look at Sidney Lawrence's works today and think back to all that Lawrence experienced. I marveled at his fortitude. Like many Alaskan pioneers this artist adventurer was first and foremost. A survivor. His was the paradox of a man who fled his art. And rediscovered it. But had to come to on easy terms of commercial success. And ironically though he did much of his art despite.

The paintings of Sidney Lawrence not only have survived. But continue to excite. Far beyond his adopted. Alaska. Where. I have. A woman. Who.

You. Know.