When we look at a work of art, we expect that the artist has taken some creative license, that he has drawn on his knowledge of composition and technique to maximize visual effect. He also draws on his personal experiences to give us a “real” image.
However, when the artist embellishes his biography, does the work become less real? Elena Ivanova has spent more than a decade researching the life of Russian-American artist Leon Shulman Gaspard, trying to separate fact from fiction. The result is “Leon Schulman Gaspard: The Real Story,” a biography that is as much detective story as it is art history.
Ivanova, who lives in St. Petersburg, Russia, became interested in Gaspard when she joined the Stark Museum of Art in 2009 as curator of education. The museum has 30 paintings by the artist. Ironically, even though both she and Gaspard are from Russia, she was not familiar with his work until she was working on a Master of Liberal Studies with a museum emphasis from the University of Oklahoma (she said that her American degree, Ivanova already had a doctorate in pedagogy in Russia).
A classmate of his was from Taos, New Mexico, and said that there were two Russians in the art community there. Nikolai Fechin (which is also represented in the Stark Museum). But the second Gaspard was new to him. His name doesn’t even sound Russian, she said (his name changed over the years).
Little is known about Fechin. So, when she went to the Stark Museum, she chose to research Gaspard. Many articles were written in the 1920s when Gaspard’s fame was at its height and a monograph was written by his friend Frank Waters, but the more he looked into his life the more inconsistencies he found, and quoted Sherlock Holmes To do, the game was on.
Ivanova’s book is an interesting mix of art history and mystery. She sets out not to destroy a myth, but to shed light on the truth behind this underrated artist. In reality, Gaspard created himself as much as he created his work, which, along the way, is technically brilliantly rendered, the artist proving himself to be a master colorist.
In the book’s epilogue, Ivanova gives us an insight into the amount of work that went into the research, including several trips to Paris, Russia and Belarus, where she spent weeks lurking in record offices sifting through documents that would trace the artist’s journey from Leiba to Will reveal Schulman for the decidedly French-sounding Léon Gaspard. Along the way, Ivanova charts her course from the prestigious Odessa Art Institute to Taos, via Paris and Chicago.
Gaspard also traveled to China and Mongolia and the works he did after that expedition made him famous. In the 1920s, his subject matter was not only expertly painted, but also painted exotic locales, which were in high demand. Gaspard claimed that he spent two years traveling in Asia, although Ivanova proved that it was only months.
Gaspard was a notorious name dropper, but Ivanova carefully points out that many of those encounters could not have happened. Early in his career, Gaspard only recounted experiences, but as he aged, his stories became more bizarre. When Boris Pasternak’s “Doctor Zhivago” was released in the West, the Russian author became a celebrity. Gaspard claimed to have studied under Pasternak’s father Leonid at the Moscow Art School, even going so far as to claim a painting of a boy to be a young Boris. However, Ivanova tells us that Gaspard moved from Odessa to Paris and there is no timeline for studying in Moscow. And before Pasternak became a celebrity, Gaspard never mentioned him.
So why would Gaspard tell such tall tales? As a young man it helped him create a story that would make him stand out among other artists. After all, nobody had internet back then, so it wasn’t like the truth was available at the click of a button. Gaspard’s paintings and subject matter already made them interesting, so some embellishments certainly couldn’t hurt.
Truly outsider stories didn’t come about until he was much older, when the art world had shifted to regionalism, and abstraction was all the rage. He settled down to become a Taos artist, although he spent his life establishing himself as an internationalist.
However, Ivanova’s book is not only on biography. She also shows her process. He was technically excellent, and his work evolved with the times. His peers and critics consistently praised his use of colour. If one were to describe his style, I would say it is a bridge between impressionism and post-impressionism, with increasingly expressionistic brushstrokes. His work is beautiful and the subject matter, whether Russian, Chinese or Pueblo Indian, shows a fascination for the rituals and routines of ordinary people.
Ivanova’s book is well researched and a fascinating glimpse of an artist who should have known better.
As part of her research, Ivanova said she heard a recording of Gaspard at a house party. After a particularly grand story, someone says, “But Leon, did that really happen?” And Gaspard says, “Well, isn’t that a good story?”
Ivanova has tried to get to the bottom of Gaspard’s biography. And it’s a good story.
“Leon Schulman Gaspard: The Real Story” is available through the Facebook page and Ivanova will be signing copies. Cost is $27 including shipping.