The mysterious painter of the Capitol muses

For about 125 years, eight painted figures have stared down at visitors from inside the state Capitol dome; for most of those years, no one knew exactly who had painted them. The figures, known as the muses, each represent a different means (i.e., agriculture, art, astronomy/science, commerce, education, industry, justice, and law) through which Michigan citizens can prosper and brighten the state's future.

A few of the Capitol dome's muses

 

The paintings are absolutely gorgeous, and for years, historians believed they might have been the work of Lewis Ives, an artist who has other pieces in the Capitol. Then, in 1992, a visitor named Geoffrey Drutchas entered the building, looking for works by a nineteenth-century Italian artist. Drutchas's inquiry led to an investigation that ultimately revealed the paintings' true creator. But more on that later; first, a quick background on how the muses became a part of the Capitol in the first place.

The current state Capitol opened in 1879. For the first few years of its existence, the Capitol's walls were bare, as the state couldn't spare any money for artwork. Eventually, the state had extra cash, so the legislature commissioned William Wright, owner of a Detroit decorating company, to handle interior design duties. The Capitol's architect, Elijah Myers, said that he wanted allegorical paintings (in other words, paintings whose subjects look like one thing, but represent something else) to appear above the Capitol rotunda. That's how the Capitol ended up with its muses. At first glance, the women in the paintings that Wright delivered to the Capitol are simply figures from Greek mythology; however, if a viewer looks at the paintings closely, he or she finds that each muse holds or is surrounded by items that represent a specific aspect of Michigan's economy and culture.

Wright never revealed who created the paintings, and as years passed, their origin became even more mysterious. The paintings had been signed with a symbol that looked like a stick figure, and no one at the Capitol knew what---or who---the symbol represented.

Symbol on the Capitol's muse paintings

Then Drutchas entered the picture. (No pun intended.) The Taylor resident was a fan of nineteenth-century Italian painter Tommaso Juglaris, who had lived in Boston during the late 1800s. Drutchas read that some of Juglaris's work was in the Michigan State Capitol, so he took a trip to Lansing. His query raised a few eyebrows, as staffers had never heard Juglaris's name attached to the muses. However, after some research (including a trip to Italy that Drutchas took in 2000, during which he found the stick figure on paintings that Juglaris was known to have painted), as well as the 2003 discovery of sketches that Juglaris had made of four of the muses, Capitol staff could officially state that Tommaso Juglaris had painted the dome's artwork. (FYI, the "stick figure" signature is actually a combination of Juglaris's first and last initials.)

Tommaso Juglaris

How did Juglaris's work go undetected for so long? At the time he painted the Capitol muses, only American citizens could work on public buildings and projects. Though Juglaris lived in Boston, he was an Italian citizen, so his work for the state Capitol was a no-no. Wright, who had commissioned the paintings from Juglaris, got around that fact simply by stating that the paintings came from his company; consequently, while Juglaris got paid for his work, he didn't get official credit---at least not until over 125 years later, when a visitor's curiosity wrote a chapter for Juglaris in the Capitol history books.

Rivera brings art (and controversy) to Detroit

In 1932, the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) became the setting of an unlikely collaboration between capitalism and socialism. That year, William Valentiner, the DIA's director, and Edsel Ford, son of Henry Ford and president of Ford Motor Company, commissioned Mexican artist Diego Rivera, a Marxist, to create a series of frescoes at the DIA. Valentiner and Ford wanted the frescoes to depict industry in Detroit, and had only one requirement: that the murals portray the Ford company in a positive light.

That a socialist artist would agree to such a commission might seem curious, to say the least, but Rivera found the project intriguing. Although he believed in Marxism (which is a complicated philosophy and which I'll summarize by saying, "workers are good, business owners that exploit workers are bad"), Rivera was also fascinated by the network of factories and workers that Henry Ford had amassed in Detroit. Seeing potential in this industrialized city, Rivera accepted the commission, moved to Detroit with his wife, Mexican painter Frida Kahlo, and began work on the frescoes in April 1932.

Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera

From the start, Rivera's presence in Detroit incited controversy. Critics railed against the idea that a foreign artist, and a socialist one at that, had been selected to paint iconic images of Detroit. The controversy flared anew when Rivera completed his frescoes and unveiled them to the public in March 1933. Called "Detroit Industry", the work consisted of 27 panels that depicted industrial scenes in the Motor City. The two largest panels portrayed workers at the Ford Motor Company, while smaller frescoes depicted other prominent Detroit industries, like medicine, the pharmaceutical field, and chemistry. Rivera sought to portray workers as being in harmony with their machines. Rather than have me describe how he did this (and fail miserably at my attempt), I'll just show you a closeup of one of the frescoes itself:

 

At first, almost everyone in Detroit found something to hate about the murals. Members of the clergy called the work "vulgar" and decried the Biblical symbolism Rivera had used. (For example, one of the murals included a pseudo-Nativity scene that, instead of the Holy Family, featured a physician administering a vaccination to an infant.) The murals also suffered assaults from critics who denounced their use of nude figures, and the fact that Rivera painted people of different races working together. (Remember, this was during the 1930s.)

However, despite (or because of) the controversy, Rivera's murals became an immediate hit among Detroit art lovers, 10,000 of whom came to visit the work in a single day. The murals also received support from the Detroit Arts Commission. Edsel Ford himself, though not explicitly praising the murals, said that he "admire[d] Rivera's spirit" and joined with Valentiner in successfully defending Rivera's work from members of the clergy who wanted it removed from the DIA.

Eighty years later, "Detroit Industry" has withstood the test of time, and remains one of the DIA's most popular attractions. The frescoes surround an area known as Rivera Court, where they remind visitors of an unlikely collaboration whose tribute to Detroit is vibrant, controversial, and full of character--much like the city itself.

More Information:
DIA web page about Rivera Court

Interactive, high-resolution view of the murals

What About Frida?
Rivera's wife, Frida Kahlo, was a respected artist in her own right, and made quite a splash when she arrived in Detroit in 1932. Kahlo didn't enjoy the city, to say the least. It was in Detroit that she learned of her mother's death in Mexico, and that she suffered a miscarriage at Henry Ford Hospital. Kahlo hated attending the society parties she and Rivera were forced to frequent as a function of Rivera's commission, and also decried the racism that she witnessed around her.

Kahlo was nothing if not outspoken. She knew that Henry Ford, Detroit's respected scion, had a reputation as an anti-semite. One evening, while attending a dinner party at Ford's home, she asked him whether he was Jewish. According to Rivera, Ford laughed and called Kahlo "a little pistol."

Critics speculate that Kahlo's unhappiness in Detroit inspired some of her most unique works, including "Self-Portrait on the Border Line Between Mexico and the United States", which includes images of Ford's Rouge Plant (below).

 

Save the Detroit Institute of Arts!

That headline might contain a bit of hyperbole, but exactly how much remains to be seen. A few days ago, reports hit the media that Christie's auction house in New York City will appraise artwork in the Detroit Institute of Arts (DIA) as part of efforts to resolve Detroit's financial woes. Christie's says that its appraisal is simply a method of helping the city determine the artwork's value for Detroit's bankruptcy proceedings, and that the city has no intention of selling any of the DIA's pieces. Detroit's emergency manager, Kevyn Orr, echoed that sentiment. Here's a Detroit News article with more information:

EM Orr hires Christie's to appraise DIA art

The thought that the DIA might find its halls razed of priceless artwork leaves me with a sick feeling in my stomach, especially because the DIA is such a vibrant part of the community, a beacon of culture in a city that all too often gets bashed in the media for its supposed coarseness. I sincerely hope city and state leaders aren't so shortsighted that they would agree to destroy an institution that has served Detroit for over 125 years in the interest of paying off what will probably be a drop in the bucket in terms of what the city owes. I know I don't have much of a leg to stand on when saying this because I don't live in Detroit and therefore don't have a direct stake in its financial woes, but I truly believe that some things are worth more than money. If sold, the DIA's artwork, which includes pieces from European masters as well as an extensive collection of African American art, will never be reclaimed. Instead of exposing thousands of visitors, young and old, rich and poor, to the beauty of human creativity, each piece of art would sit on a collector's shelf, gathering dust while its owner waits for it to appreciate in value so that he or she can sell it to another collector.

However, as Christie's and city leaders say, that isn't their intention, so let's hope none of this ever comes to pass. Please share this post with your friends and family so that they are aware of the situation and can join their voices in support of the DIA. Also, if you're so inclined, please sign this petition to protest the possible selling of the DIA's artwork:

Save the DIA

And check out the DIA's website here:

Detroit Institute of Arts