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11666  THE STORY OF AN ARTIST'S LIFE

[[left margin]] Photo of Hartzell [[/left margin]]

[[left margin]] Picture of HOT on home bank Adirondack [[/left margin]]

that I established a very modest photograph gallery at Atlanta, Ga. The calculation that I should have some time was well made; the calculation that I should take some photos, a mistake. I had so much more leisure than I had calculated upon, and this so distressed me, that I could not work. So it turned out that I did nothing. I could nether make it go, nor dare let it go — because with "blood and tears" I got enough out of it to pay my board each week. 

It was at this most distressing period that it was my good fortune to meet Bishop and Mrs. Hartzell, and for the next few years they became my patron saints. 

The "gallery" was sold. I was back to life. What had, perhaps, helped to make the situation more tantalizing was the fact that a picture of mine had been sold in Philadelphia, at an auction sale, for two hundred and fifty dollars; true, I had received but fifteen, but the incident had given me hope, and made me more than ever dissatisfied with the four or five dollars a week I was making in that miserable gallery. 

But that passed, and I could now breathe freely. It did not mean that hard times were passed; for, perhaps my most trying experience — trying in relation to my physical existence — was yet to come. It was, however, only bodily discomfort, and caused me little or no sighing. I had gone to Highlands, N. C., with the thought that with my camera I could at least make my expenses. I should be able to study, and at the same time the mountains would be good for my health. As all my ventures had to be made with a small margin, after paying the rent of a small cabin (fragrant from the new pine logs used in its construction), I had not more than a dollar left. I found it most difficult to make a start, to get an entering wedge, and, during this time, a week or ten days, I was reduced to corn meal made in as many ways as I was ingenious enough to prepare it, with salt and water. My bill of fare read somewhat like this: 

Morning: corn bread and apple sauce (without sugar.)
Noon: apple sauce and corn bread.
Night: corn mush and apple sauce. 

I might change the order as I liked, or fry the mush if I wished, but at least I never had to be in a quandary as to what I should have for the next meal. It was to be corn meal until I got some work. There was one oasis in this "corn meal desert," when I was invited to dinner by my afterward, dear friends, the Cliffords. They, no doubt, thought the mountain air had a marvelous effect on my appetite, and did not, and do not to this day, I imagine, suspect that it was not only the mountains but the "benefits" of my "corn meal régime" that had so much added to my "appreciation." I at last secured an order to photograph a small cottage, and in twenty-four hours I had the money in my "inside pocket."

I made photos of the whole immediate region, a most lovely country, and, as no photographer, had never visited it before, they were a success, and my hard times — very hard times — vanished as the mountain mists before the sun. In the fall, I was back in Atlanta, and for two season taught drawing, mostly to the teachers in Clark University. Among my very first commissions was a portrait of Professor Crogman. As I look backward now, I am sure he gave it to me to "help." I have never seen it since finishing, but I fear that, when I do, I shall want to replace it with one of to-day. This running across old pictures is a very trying thing. It runs both ways — you are either ashamed you did not do better, or surprised and ashamed that you do not now do better — both ways it is painful. 

With some little money — a very little — laid by, I began again to think of Europe. I imparted this desire to Mrs. Hartzell, and it was arranged that I should have an exhibition of my picture in Cincinnati, and see what could be done. So it was that, in the fall of 1890, all my hopes were centred [[centered]] in an exhibition which lasted two or three weeks. All that human effort could do was done by these good friends, but the gods refused to be propitious, and no pictures were sold. I would have taken twenty-five dollars for the pictures. The only part seemed to have any value were the frames for which I had paid money. 

That I should not be completely disheartened, my benefactors gave me a sum of money for my "entire collection," the amount of which I had forgotten. With this sum and a commission of $75 from Mr. E———, of Philadelphia, I set sail for Rome, via Liverpool and Paris, on the City of Chester, January 4, 1891.

(Next month Mr. Tanner will give the steps in his career which have given him his present position among artists.)

Transcription Notes:
HOT = Henry Osawa Tanner