He Painters

Boys who play football at Stanford are seldom seen in or near the University's art gallery. But last week the entire Stanford football squad could have entered the gallery in a body, unashamed. It was an occasion. The two great football coachesGlennScobie Warner of Stanford and Robert Carl Zuppke of Illinois-- known to the public respectively as Pop & Zup--were having a joint exhibition, not of new play diagrams or designs for uni- forms, but of paintings they themselves had done. On view were landscapes, watercolors, pencil sketches actually executed by two famed hemen. Best known to the art world are the opera of Illinois' chunky, spluttering Germanic Zup. Coach Zuppke was a painter before he was a football coach. In 1905 he arrived in New York with $4 in his pockets and earned a precarious living as a sign painter (once he was overcome with dizziness while painting an enormous cigar sign high over Broadway). Somehow he obtained the post of history instructor and football coach for the Muskegon (Mich.) High School. For the past 18 years he has coached at the University of Illinois. But he never gave up art. He has exhibited many times at the Chicago Art Institute and with private dealers. He makes trips to the Rockies and to Switzerland to paint forests and mountains. Intensely supersti tious, he puts five thin rings on his index finger at the beginning of each football season, keeps them in that order until his team loses a game, shifts them from finger to finger in various combinations until the team wins again. Year ago he wrote a book on football coaching containing innumer able detailed schedules and diagrams (drawn by himself). At the end of each chapter were groups of Zuppke maxims containing such constructive thoughts as: "Get to possible." the "The scoring linesman zone as should quickly not as be taught to punish the face of an opponent." Artist Zuppke takes his painting very seriously, is eager to assure people that it is not an effeminate occupation.

"I lose more weight when painting steadily than I do when coaching,'' he says. "After a couple of weeks of continuous painting I become hollow-eyed. . . . They tell me my work is too brutal sometimes, especially when I do forests. . . . Why should I not paint the forests as they are; is not nature often brutal? I go hunting in the Rockies in Colorado. The trees scratch me, scrape me, their roots trip me . . . and I am expected to come back and paint a park scene!"

Glenn Scobie ("Pop") Warner takes his painting less seriously. One of the oldest football coaches in the industry, he is credited with the invention of the crouching start for linesmen. He gained his greatest fame in 1911 as coach of the Carlisle Indians when the great Thorpe used to tear down the field snorting through his noseguard. Pop's only art in struction came from a village sign painter. Fond also of carpentry, he manufactures all his golf clubs. Said he last week : "Bob Zuppke, they tell me, wears a smock or a duster or something like that, but artist." not for me. I'm a painter, not an

Photograph Gallery

For many years critics have realized that Journalism's hard-worked handmaiden, Photography, is a fine art in its own right. Art galleries have exhibited photographers' prints between painting shows. For the first time last week an art gallery opened in New York to make the exhibition and sale of photographs its main object.

First presentation of the Julien Levy Gallery was entitled "A Retrospective Exhibition of American Photography." Actually about half of the show was devoted to the prints of a group of modern photographers, now famed and successful, who more than 25 years ago self-consciously called themselves the Photosecessionists and started the magazine Camera Work under amazing, pugnacious Alfred Stieglitz. Beside Photographer Stieglitz, they were: Edward Steichen (now photogra-pher-in-chief to the Conde Nast publica-tions), Gertrude Kasebier and the late Clarence White. Also included in last week's exhibition were prints by the younger Paul Strand, Charles Sheeler, Ed- ward Weston. The work of these photographers has often been shown, always been praised. Prints on view last week were admirable, priced at from $20 for the work of modest Edward Weston to the $1.000 which didactic Alfred Stieglitz thought his prints were worth. Many critics paused longer in the first part of the exhibition which really at tempted to show the development of photography in the U. S. Here were some stiff and dingy daguerreotypes, some stereopticon pictures from old Bowery peep prints," and shows, in old particular a theatrical few prints by "cabinet a man who could hold his head up with any Photosecessionist, whose prints were not only of considerable artistic merit but invaluable historic documents: Brady, the Civil War photographer. Mathew B. Brady (he did not know what the B. stood for) was born in upper New York in about 1823. As a young man he met Samuel Finley Breese Morse, an able painter best known as the in ventor of the telegraph. Through him Brady became interested in Louis Jacques Mande Daguerre's invention-- and in the photographic experiments which Morse and Professor J. W. Draper were making. About 1842 Mathew Brady opened a studio at Broadway & Fulton Street to take the likenesses of the Quality. He was immediately successful, made numerous improvements in the process. Tinted Brady daguerreotypes on ivory won a gold medal at the London World's Fair of 1851. About 1855 successful Photographer Brady imported from Britain one Alexander Gardner, an expert in the wet plate process invented by Frederick Scott Archer, which used glass plates dipped in collodion, permitted almost instantaneous exposures. Brady & Gardner later opened another studio in Washington. Almost every eminent U. S. citizen felt it necessary to sit for Brady & Gardner.

At the beginning of the Civil War Mathew Brady, rich and famed, with luxuriant whiskers and curly black locks, went to Abraham Lincoln and Allan Pinkerton, head of the U. S. Secret Service, and begged to be allowed to accompany the Union Army, record its deeds in action. The first news photographer gave up his comfortable studio, built a little black wagon for a traveling .dark room (nicknamed the "What-is-it?'' by inquisitive soldiers), and took the field in his own uniform, a floppy straw hat and a long linen duster.

Photographers who admire the work of Dr. Erich ("Candid Camera") Salomon (TIME, Nov. 9), realize with what enormous handicaps silky-whiskered Mathew Brady had to contend. In his jolting little wagon, with his enormous chicken coop of a camera, he had to coat his plates with collodion, expose and develop them before they had time to dry. Minie balls crashed through his little developing wagon, his horses were killed, hundreds of plates were smashed, yet he took troops in action, dead soldiers sprawled in the breastworks. He took Lincoln, Grant, most of the Federal generals of the war, and made a collection of more than 7,000 pictures, 2,000 of which the Government was glad to buy for $25,000. Today they are one of the chief treasures of the War College.

--To make a daguerreotype, a silver-plated copper plate, scrupulously clean, was subjected to the vapor from iodine until it turned a golden orange color. With the subject's neck held rigidly in an iron clamp the plate was exposed in a camera for from three to 30 minutes, developed by holding it over a cup of hot mercury, fixed by dipping in a mixture of hyposulphite of soda and gold chloride. Finger marks and heat ruin the image of a daguerreotype.

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