Louis Rosenthal, Sculptor - Third Floor written by Michel Rosenthal Begun Perpetual Motion - Interview with Ken and Natt Michel, (Louis Rosenthal's daughter) being interviewed by her husband Natt Begun and their son Ken. |
The Eyes of Zohar written by Bernard Rosenthal Biography of Louis Rosenthal transcribed from the tapes of Michel Rosenthal Begun on August 1, 1974 |
... a prominent French woman came over to view the work of Rosenthal ...impressed by the satire in his work .... Three Generals Carrying a Dead Victory. The Devil on Ice Skates - vactioning in cool lands, sniffing a rose .... Then she saw something that shocked her. Napoleon's clothes! Unmistakably the hat and uniform of Napoleon, but with no Napoleon in them. A run down horse, and ... "What's that?", she asked. "Thats the God of War, Mars, auctioning off Napoleion's clothes and horse after his defeat," explained Rosenthal. "How could you," exclaimed the woman, terribly offended. "The world's greatest general! The world's greatest man and you view him like that?' "My dear woman," said Rosenthal, "if I didn't see a little humor in everything in this world I couldn't live. And for my little jokes, you will notice, I pick only the world's greatest men!"
... When our mother died in November, 1958, we found among her personal things a number of stories about our father.... .... the man she married, whom she called a "farblunget" eskimo. Father rarely wore a coat in winter, and if he did, he never buttoned it against the cold. To mother he was a strayed, lost, mixed up eskimo.... .... "Did I have trouble this morning," said father. "What happened?" asked mother. "Nothing much, really. Just that I walked out with my shoes on backwards." "How could you put your shoes on backwards?" "Not backwards, exactly. On the wrong feet. I was running down the street to catch the bus when I see that one foot is going East, the other going West..." ... She would read to him while he worked on his sculpture. Mostly she would read American History, the Bible, or mythology..... ... When she became pregnant, he dragged her to every violin concert in town, hoping that their first child would grow up to play the violin.... ... When the three of us, Michel, Elaine and Bernie were small, in the early 1930's, Dad always made the rounds at night tucking in our mosquito netting. If anyone else in Baltimore, Maryland or the whole country for that matter used mosquito netting, we never heard of it... ... Years later, when his first grandchild was born, he walked over a mile almost every night to make sure the little one was tucked in properly.... ... Mom diligently taught the Ten Commandments to her three children, and for Michel and Elaine she added one more: "Don't marry an artist!" ... Dad came home .... "I feel like three men today. I felt like one person in the studio, another on the streetcar coming home, and here at home I feel like an entirely different person." "You're not three people," said Mom, "you're fifteen people." "Fifteen people," said Dad. "Well what's wrong with that? You don't know how lucky you are. What woman wouldn't want to be admired by fifteen different men? You don't appreciate what you have; a different admirer for every day for over two weeks. But me, what do I have? The same woman over and over. One wife yesterday, this same wife today, tomorrow the same wife, and if we live fifty more years, it will be the same wife for fifty more years!" ... That night Mom had some special advice for Elaine and Michel, "Don't marry an artist. Marry somebody in the food business. People have to eat." ... When we were kids, people would often ask us why we were always laughing in our house. At dinner Dad always had stories to tell.... ... In November 1958, Louis Rosenthal's wife died. A few months later, in January 1959, his daughter Elaine, Mrs. Howard Carasik died. For many months, Louis Rosenthal, age 71, could not work. But then the force, which had driven him all his life to create, again began to assert itself. Perhaps it was the element of discord in his life which had driven him to exert his powers and develop his capacities. He had continued to work through wars and the threat of wars, and would do so even when men threatened each other with the most terrible weapons conceivable. All during his struggle for existence, and his stuggle to assert his existence, he was a kindly man. ... In 1963 another blow fell. The City of Baltimore informed Rosenthal that he would have to move from his studio (due to remodelling downtown)... ... To Rosenthal, age 75, this was the final blow. "I'll go down with the studio," he shouted. "Like the Tower of Babylon, I'll go down with the studio." |
... so engrossed in his work that frequently he seemed quite absent-minded to people he met on the street. Perhaps he was thinking of the Deluge, when a man called to him from a distance, "Mr. Rosenthal, how are you?" Into the Deluge, he had worked nineteen figures, human and animal, all seeking safety from the floods upon the summit of a great rock. "I'm fine, sir," he called back. "And you?" The man was closer now. "Fine, just fine, Mr. Rosenthal. And the family?" "Oh, just fine, sir. They're all just fine." They were now close enough to shake hands. "It's good to see you again Mr. Rosenthal." "Yes, yes, nice to see you, sir." "Who am I, Mr. Rosenthal?" "I'll be damned if I know!" ... when seeking the proper way to express an idea, or when troubled by a difficult composition, Rosenthal would leave his studio to walk around the block. A man stopped him on the street one day when he was in the act of creating a new work of art. The Awakening, perhaps, with its delicate composition - a slim, lovely woman reclining on a couch, just rousing from sleep. Hovering above her a sprite, with dragonfly wings, poised to flee instantly when the woman she is waking opens her eyes. The man who stopped him asked, "Mr. Rosenthal, when do you work? Every day I see you come out of your studio and walk around the block. I always think that maybe you're going someplace, but then you come around the corner and go back up to the studio. When do you work?" "If people like you wouldn't disturb me," said Rosenthal, "I'd be working now!" ... Up until 1929, Dad was one of the highest paid artists in the country, selling his miniatures throughout the country as fast as he could make them. After 1929, however, things were a little different.... ... We had little money for food or rent in the early 1930's, but somehow we were among the first in Baltimore to own an electric phonograph.... ... a large case of Dad's wax miniatures ... Mom broke the arm off of one figure... decided to fix it herself. "All these years I've been watching him," she said. "If he can do it, I can do it." She set up a candle on the kitchen table, heated a knife blade, and melted the arm back onto the figure. Not only was the arm now crooked, but by melting off a little too much wax, it was now shorter than the other arm!.... ... Neighbors would tell us that they saw Dad walking the street a few miles from the house, coat thrown open on the coldest winter days... ... Almost every night he came home with a story to tell... "I had to leave all the windows open in the studio when I left. I hope they're all gone so I can close them in the morning." "Who are all gone?" "The bees." "The bees? What bees?" "I tried a little experiment today. I had to melt some beeswax to mix something else, and when I came back from lunch the studio was full of bees. I don't know how they got in. But I left the windows open to let them out." "I thought it was a bird that got into your studio." "No, that was last week. The bird I chased out. His wings broke two of my miniatures, but I got him out. Today is was bees!" ... At times, Dad would use a mirror at home to pose for his own work. He would stand in front of the mirror moving his hands and arms about looking for a new position for one of his dancing girls.... ... During student days, Dad spent some time in New York with some college friends and slept in their dormitory.... There was a large mirror in the dormitory and after everyone was asleep, Dad got up and tried to assume some of the poses Michelangelo had modelled, twisting himself every which way. He thought no one saw him, but the next morning one of the fellows said to the others, "I didn't sleep all night. I just lay there with one eye open watching Rosenthal. At first I thought he was a contortionist practicing for the stage. Then I began to tremble, and I thought I might have to scream for help. He took off his pajamas and twisted every which way. He seemed to be trying to tie himself into a knot, and for awhile he didn't even look human!" ... Dad said, "Beethoven was inspired to begin his Fifth Symphony by a knocking on his door - duh duh duh daah! |