Another Gilbert Stuart Lost Painting

In my most recent book, CIRCUS RIDER; a novel history of the first American circus, the identity of the sitter for a Gilbert Stuart portrait is an object of debate. The two contenders for who’s who in this piece of early American art history are John Bill Ricketts, an Englishman who brought the first circus to the United States in the 1790s; and Jean Baptiste Breschard, who with his partner, Victor Pépin, captivated the newly liberated colonists with their performances from 1807 until 1815. Traveling a seasonal circuit including New York, Philadelphia, Richmond, Boston and Charleston; Breschard, a Frenchman, and Pépin, a native New Yorker, entertained Americans at their permanent circus theatres with years of sold-out performances including equestrian shows, circus acts, classical drama, melodramas, comic plays, hippodrama and lots, lots, more!

In 1970 the National Gallery of Art renamed this portrait “John Bill Ricketts,” disregarding the definitive 1879 identification of the sitter as Jean B. Breschard by George C. Mason (author of The Life and Works of Gilbert Stuart), George Washington Riggs (known as “The President’s Banker” and a founder of the Corcoran Museum of Art) and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Mason’s book and the Boston Museum’s exhibition weren’t sufficient evidence for the NGA. Living witnesses to Breschard’s performances weren’t enough. Instead they turned to a small note by T. Allston Brown, a gentleman with a reputation for inaccuracy, and changed the name of Stuart’s painting from "Breschard, the Circus Rider" to "John Bill Ricketts."

The entire NGA identification rests upon unsupported statements by T. Allston Brown as to who owned the portrait previous to George Washington Riggs. According to Brown the last owner before Mr. Riggs was a certain Peter Grain, a Frenchman and artist. This is the NGA provenance and primary reason for changing the identification. http://www.nga.gov/fcgi-bin/tinfo_f?object=3160&detail=prov

Oddly enough Peter Grain’s son, Peter Grain, Junior, spent most of his professional career working as a scenic director at the Walnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia which was built by Pépin and Breschard. If someone could show that Peter Grain, the elder, was a member of the Circus of Pépin and Breschard, it certainly would go a long way to discrediting the NGA provenance based on the words of T. Allston Brown (This was a man who could publish six factual mistakes within a single paragraph. See my January 8, 2010 blog post. ).

By request of Beth Ahrens-Kley who publishes a Gilbert Stuart blog and is currently researching this particular debate, what follows is fairly definitive proof that Peter Grain was a member of the Circus of Pépin and Breschard. Peter Grain would certainly be capable of identifying his old boss, Jean Baptiste Breschard and passing this information along to George Washington Riggs. This should put an end to any justification for the current NGA stand that the portrait is of Ricketts. Any reasonable institution should once again identify the portrait as Breschard, the Circus Rider.

An 1809 advertisement for the Circus of Pépin and Breschard in New York

 

“This Evening, Aug. 2, 1809, Messrs. Pepin, & Breschard, will have the honor to give a brilliant representation of Horsemanship, Vaulting and Dancing.

To which will be added for the first time the New Pantomime of BILLY, or the Reward of a Good Action, performed with combats, &c. by Mr. P. Grain”

and now from the Walnut Street Theatre

 follow this link: Stuart portrait identified as Breschard

This is  only the beginning. It's time to bring back this forgotten piece of history.

CIRCUS RIDER

a novel history of the first American circus

and a great Gilbert Stuart American portrait

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Bad history

Just for fun I decided to revisit the work of T. Allston Brown, who the National Gallery of Art depends upon greatly for their provenance.

from T. Allston Brown's History of the American Stage, 1870 (nine years after the citation used by the NGA)

Peppin and Burschard. - Peppin and Burschard, with a French Circus, landed in Boston in 1806, from Spain. They performed in conjunction with West, at Philadelphia. Peppin built the Walnut Street Theatre. Peppin had a thorough military education. He was an officer in the cavalry of France. He was born in Albany. His parents were French. They left Albany for Paris when Peppin was two years of age.

http://www.circushistory.org/History/Brown.htm#P

Aside from not knowing how to spell Pépin or Breschard, getting the year they arrived in the USA wrong, 1807 not 1806, Pépin and Breschard together not ever working with West, both Pépin and Breschard building the Walnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia, not Pépin alone, and Mrs. Pépin having never gone to France, I guess the rest of his piece is correct.

For someone who is relied upon as a source for the Smithsonian, getting six facts wrong out of a possible ten is a poor, poor performance.

This is the author the NGA uses to negate Mason, Riggs, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

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More governmental errors

(The following is  in reply to an inquiry.)

As has been mentioned, Peter Grain worked in the Circus of Pépin and Breschard. At the moment I’m looking at an image of an 1809 newspaper notice. P. Grain’s drama “Billy” is advertised by Pépin and Breschard and Grain has the leading role. Grain was a member of the company for at least a year. Having worked with Jean Breschard, I feel comfortable in assuming Grain would be capable of recognizing a portrait of his former boss.

You should look into exactly who George Washing Riggs was. Among other things he was probably the richest man in the United States during his time, an advisor to Presidents, and one of the founders of the most prestigious Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. It was he who identified the sitter to Mason. In my files is a copy of a handwritten note from Riggs to Mason identifying the portrait as being that of Breschard.

Pépin and Breschard were the premiere performers in the U.S. from 1808 until 1815. (Very few people in this country can name the most popular performers of any decade during the 19th century.) Calling either of them a minor circus equestrian shows poor scholarship on someone’s part. Some research into historical newspapers will prove an education on this point. The NGA has been professionally negligent about this.

Ricketts’s brother being the first owner of this particular painting is a misreading of an extremely dubious source. This attribution is at best a rumor and at worst, well, never mind. This is by far the weakest part of the NGA provenance and does not rise to meet any academic standard.

When someone is in the entertainment business, there are numerous reasons why one would wish their portrait painted.

M indicates that Ricketts left for the West Indies before the painting was finished. This is without any factual basis. A Mr. C at the NGA had serious doubts about the Ricketts ID in the late 60s (I’d have to look at my notes for a more precise date), his research into the identification was a bit shallow since, I believe, the NGA is basically more interested in the portrait being by Stuart than in exactly who the sitter is.

Breschard, the Circus Rider by Gilbert Stuart

In 2004, thanks to the wonders of Google, a portrait of Jean Baptiste Breschard by Gilbert Stuart became known to me. Having only discovered the existence of this historical Breschard a few years previous, I was intrigued. Unfortunately, the name of this particular painting was no longer “Breschard, the Circus Rider,” the sitter was now designated as “John Bill Ricketts,” the portrait's identification being changed by the National Gallery of Art sometime in the 1970s.

After having completed a great deal of research and having read pertinent parts of the NGA archive, I became convinced by the existing evidence that in all probability the portrait by Gilbert Stuart was indeed that of Jean Baptiste Casmiere Breschard.

So I wrote a book about the man, the circus, the artist, the painting, the NGA, etc.. I’m presently in the process of having it published.

The main reason I’m writing this is due to the fact that another student of Stuart has come across the controversy and is using some of the entries I’ve helped edit in Wikipedia as sources for posts to her blog. All I can say is that like all encyclopedias, Wikipedia doesn’t contain all the facts, and if I can be of any help, let me know.

Partial list of Democratic Party failures in past year

-Failure to prosecute those United States officials who authorized the torture of prisoners and those US agents and mercenaries who actually performed those criminal acts. This failure to  prosecute may itself be a criminal act.
-More than doubling the amount of troops and mercenaries in Afghanistan.
-To this day, a failure to reduce the number of troops in Iraq.
-Failure to close Guantanamo.
-Failure to bring single payer healthcare up for debate in Congress and Obama’s failure to campaign for a public option or similar method of health care insurance.
-Endorsing a mandatory purchase of private insurance by US citizens. This is probably unconstitutional.
-Continuation of a "never ending" war policy.

For myself, the Green  Party has now become the only organized political party worth backing.

Voted most popular

Now that Obama’s poll numbers are in the pits, how long will it be before some new major military action suddenly pops up? Will it simply be a variation on the ongoing misadventure in Afghanistan or will the head of the Democratic Party want a war all his own? I sincerely hope I’m wrong on this one. Wouldn’t it be nice if the “Larynx from the Loop” didn't disappoint for a change. His list of failures is getting to be a bit too long. Let’s all hope more people aren’t killed for the political expediency of another party.

Amateurs

Over the past few months I’ve had the occasion to witness more than two local area amateur art presentations. At times I have been amused, awed, confused, disappointed, annoyed, and many of the other states in which one finds oneself when presented with performances not advertised as being anyway professional.

Overall they were certainly worth every penny I paid and for the most part were an enjoyable way to spend an evening, sometimes needing to leave the performance itself aside, and concentrate on the social aspects which accompany these mostly under rehearsed presentations.

Which leads to the subjects of criticism, satire, racism, elitism, and free-fire zones.

Let’s start with the definition of a free-fire zone since it is the simplest to explain and where the greatest consensus should be discovered. My standard for a FFZ is simple and elegant. If a performer takes cash money from the public, they may be fired upon at will. As with most things, exceptions abound. Nominal sums collected for charities of one type or another, along with obviously non-professional performers are given a pass. But even if the toll at the door is minimal, if the company makes any claims to being professionals, they may be shot on sight if the infraction demands such punishment.

In short, take my money, expect my wrath if you step onto the stage under prepared.

But we are discussing amateurs. Lovers of the arts. Is it elitism not to criticize their performances? Not at all. If fact it is a far, far better thing to ignore an amateur performance than to employ either a condescending or uncritical eye to such shows.

Racism. Not exactly but try this for a moment. How should sportswriters sum up the Special Olympics? Should they compare the competitors to actual Olympians? Of course not. Should they ink yard by yard coverage of each thrilling race? Maybe if there is a thrill here or there but that’s probably not the best way to go. Or should they simply gloss over the whole event and eventually proclaim that a good time was had by all and everyone enjoyed a day out in the sunshine and fresh air. You can probably guess where I side on this one.

Which leads to another annoyance. There has been a trend of late by professional entertainers to satirize amateur performers and under talented professionals. This is the equivalent of grammar school punks mocking a schoolmate’s lisp. It’s right up there with Special Olympic’s jokes. Where is the art in creating mediocre art in order to mock untalented performers? What pride can be taken in attempting to capture the essence of a failed performance? It’s a race to the bottom.

What these professional entertainers are achieving is the distancing of their audience from the object of their ridicule. In order to be entertained by such rubbish, you have to view these objects as not being like yourself. As being the other. As in “even though I’m a thirteen year-old idiot, at least I’m better than anyone who lisps.” It’s dehumanizing another human being. It’s the old minstrel show. It’s the same technique as racism.

Satire should only be used on objects in need of attack. If you think your amateur theatrical group is in need of attack, you need serious help.

Public criticism should be reserved for those who seek assessment on a professional level. Amateurs perform for the love of the work. Those who mock amateurs are in it, at best, only for the money.

Peanut Butter Moosey Cookies

Moosewood Peanut Butter Cookies


1 cup peanut butter
1 cup butter, at room temperature
2 cups packed brown sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder


preheat oven to 350 degrees


Cream the peanut butter, butter, and brown sugar until light and well blended. Beat in the eggs one at a time. Stir in the vanilla. Sift together the flour, salt, baking soda, and baking powder. Gently fold the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients. Roll ½ tablespoons full of dough between your palms to form 1-inch balls and place them 2 inches apart on the baking sheets. Bake for 10 minutes. Transfer the cookies to a rack to cool.

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Breakfast Services at Barb's Diner

"Hey, these numbers can't be right." Phil steps up to the counter as he inspects the stats one more time. "No way, not for a kid his age."

"Some kids got it. Some don't. He's got it. He's got a lot of it." George rearranges scrambled eggs on his plate. "They'll gobble him up in no time flat. Probably be playing the Bigs before he's eighteen."

Phil waves down the woman working behind the counter then parks his butt on a stool next to his partner. She moves into position, and braces both men. "Barb, hey, how's 'bout some of your excellent waffles this fine morning?" Nodding, she scribbles notes in her pad. "Coffee, one of these bad boys," he points out a particular cruller beneath a plastic dome perched on the Formica counter, "and let's have some cranberry juice this morning. Hey, just for the hell of it. I'm feeling 'venturous today."

"Sure, hon." Barb rips a sheet from her pad and then impales it on the kitchen/counter passthrough spike. She slaps the bell, awakening Bernie, "The Chef". She pours Phil his java then shouts over her shoulder to the kitchen "Rise and shine, sweety pie, you can sleep when you're dead."

Bernie is moving and cooking before he's aware he's awake. He always answers the call. He tosses frozen waffles into the toaster, then sits himself down for another catnap. Dreams of southern climes and playing ball with his buddies flood Bernie's mind. He needs the rest. This isn't his only job.

"Take a kid like this guy we're talking about," George borrows Phil's newspaper. As he sips his brew, George marks notes around the article, "twenty years ago, he would've been doing what? Running cross-country?"

"Yeah, maybe baseball." Phil's half-eaten cruller rests in one hand while he brushes crumbs from the front of his zip-up jacket with the other. "Forget football, not enough meat on his bones. Forget basketball, too short. Hockey? Hey, get real. That leaves track and baseball. Yeah, cross-country or shortstop. Looks the type to me."

"And they play the damn game just about all year round. Who would have thought?"

"Here you go, hon." Barb parks a waffled filled plate and set-ups on Phil's place mat, "Anything else?"

"Hey, did I already drink my cranberry juice?"

"Sorry, Phil. You know how I get." Turning her back to the partners, Barb pours cranberry juice as she takes an order over her shoulder from a customer who's just come in and taken a seat.

"How ya doin' this mornin', hon?"

Barb delivers the order. "Happy now, Phil?"

"Couldn't be more delighted." He sips his juice. "Hey, how's your boy these days? Staying out of trouble?"

Barb's tired face lightens a bit. "Thanks for askin', hon. Who knows with kids his age? I haven't caught him at it again and the cops haven't either. So knock wood."

George motions for more coffee. "He should play sports. Keep him away from bad elements." Both George and Phil laugh. "Seriously, what's he now, thirteen, fourteen?"

"Thirteen."

"That's plenty young. Get him out of the apartment. Away from those damn computer games. Or worse. Get him out running around playing in fresh air. Supervised." George polishes off his eggs. "He like any particular sport?"

"Nothing I know anything about."

"What you mean, Barb?" Now it's Phil's turn for more coffee. "It's Spring. I know a couple of teams he might be able to play on. Hey, didn't he play Little League a couple of seasons?"

Barb rests her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. "Forget it. He never liked baseball. The way he played, I can't blame him. He kills time watching soccer now and then. That's about as active as he gets."

Both Phil and George groan at the mention of soccer.

"Hey, Georgie, got somethin' for me?" Walking into Barb's small diner, Charlie C is all smiles.

George matches him, grin for grin. "Of course, Charlie, had yourself a good night last night. Didn't you." George looks to Phil who slides an envelope to his partner. "Who you like today?"

"Not today, Georgie. Sorry. Today I've got to cash out and run. Kids I coach need some new uniforms."

The light bulb inside the lamp Phil maintains in the recesses of his mind for illuminating brilliant ideas switches on. "Hey, still coachin' middle school, Charlie boy?"

"Yeah, Phil, ten to fourteen. I actually do some real good work with kids that age. Any older and their life's already pretty much set in stone." George hands Charlie C bills from the envelope. "Thanks, Georgie. I like workin' with kids. Keeps them from sitting in front of stupid electronic screens all day, playing video games instead of actually living."

"Not soccer is it?" Phil hopes against hope.

Charlie C cracks another grin. "Sure is, Phil, soccer. Soccer, football, whatever you want to call it." Charlie C calls out to the cook in the back. "Right, Bernardo? Football, Bernie, football. Gooooooooooal!"

From his station behind the diner's wall Bernardo chimes the call bell three times and shouts out enthusiastically, "Football!"

"Football, soccer, I don't care." Phil signals Barb, who by now has drifted off to tend other customers, to come back. "Hey, Charlie, you know Barb's kid, right?"

"Can't say I've seen him in a couple of years."

Barb joins the conversation. "Mornin', Charlie C, get ya somethin'?"

"No thanks, hon. I've got to get my rear in gear. Just now Phil mentioned your boy. Haven't seen him for a while. How's he been doin'?"

"Thanks for askin', hon. He's doin' O.K., I guess. Usual kids' stuff."

Phil catches Charlie C's eye, urging him on.

"Listen, Barb, I'm coachin' a soccer team for the parish and I need some more players. How old's the boy?"

"Thirteen."

"Perfect. How's about I give him a call later tonight and see if he wants to play on my team?"

For the first time all morning, someone smiles a smile of actual joy. "Charlie, that would be great. Let me write down the number for ya." Taking the pencil from behind her ear, Barb again scribbles in her pad. Handing the note to Charlie C, for a moment, a simple moment, their eyes meet.

Neither George nor Phil miss seeing that.

"Good man, Charlie C." George toasts him with his coffee cup. "We'll be seeing you later in the week then?"

"Sure." As Charlie C starts to leave, he looks toward Barb again and stops. "What the hell, Georgie, I'm feeling lucky this morning. Put me down for half a hundred on the Tigers."

George nods, Phil gives a quick wave, Barb's smile gets even wider, and Charlie C hits the street.

"Refills, boys? On the house." George and Phil both tap their coffee cups for more. Barb tops them off and moves on to other customers.

"Soccer. I'll never get it." George bemoans the changing times.

"So it's not our sport, George, no big deal. Adapt and move on. Hey, that's what I always say. That's my motto."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll tell you one thing and it ain't two, Phil."

"What's that, George?"

"The public is never going to get the kind of service we deliver from those damn internet bookmakers. No way, no how. I'll tell you that. They can't deliver our kind of service."

"You're damn straight, George. Hey, they can't beat the personal touch."

With that, the two bookies finish their coffees. They've more work to do and other stops to make.

As the partners leave the diner, Bernie the cook awakens from another catnap dream of green fields and soccer balls. "Gooooooooooal!!!!!"

END
 
from IN THE WIND

A Fine Belgian Ale Recipe

1 pound 40 Lovibond caramel malt

8.25 pounds pale liquid malt extract

2 ounces Cascade hop pellets, boil 1 hour

2 ounces Cascade hop pellets

4.2 ounces orange peel

3 chamomile teabags

Wyeast 1214 Belgian Ale or White Labs WLP530 Abbey Ale

If you don't know what to do with these, let me know.

Previous Posts

A Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor,
I find it deeply offensive that Creationism is not being taught in our schools. Of course the Creationism of which I speak is not the Christian Creationism, it is the Zachooly Creationism passed down to all Zachoolyists in the sacred scrolls of our religion. As is taught in our most enlightened faith, the earth was created by the wise Mistress Zachooly on the third evening of the second day of her journey through the magic forest of Zaab. All of this is well documented in the holy writings. Christian Creationism and the Creationist truths of all religions should be offered in our public schools, along with the true Creation teachings of the Mistress God Zachooly and her group of elfin warriors. Science, on the other hand, may well be an entirely different kettle of fish. Enjoy the upcoming lengthening of the day.
PJB