Radio Broadcast Transcript

[MUSIC PLAYING] In memorium, Paul Moses. On March 25, Paul Moses was the victim of a brutal and shocking murder. This man of such great spirit and life will be sorely missed by the university and the world at large, WUCB as is the entire university community is grieved and shocked by the sudden loss of a man easily considered one of the finest in the university's art department. In an attempt to pay homage to this man, WUCB presents the special program devoted to Paul Moses-- the instructor, the critic, and the man.

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When I left Chicago in 1950 to go to Haverford College, I found there a bright young student of Romance Languages who in everybody's view is one of the most promising students there. What was interesting about Paul then as a very young man was partly the air of expectancy and excitement that he carried with him. He'd made his way through rather adverse circumstances to study at one of the best small colleges in the country, and there had made some very close friends and some very devoted friends who were determined that he should fulfill his promise academically as well as a person.

Paul had the great good fortune to be taken up by the famous Dr. Barnes of the Barnes Foundation who had then and what is now generally recognized to be one of the best collections of modern art anywhere in the world and Paul was an instructor at the Barnes Foundation. And it was there that he got some of the early grounding in his art education of a kind I think in an intimate form that would be almost impossible to obtain anywhere else.

We would hear Paul talking about that collection and feel envious because the Barnes Foundation was pretty well shut off to the public at that time. And I learned through him to feel a kind of envy for paintings that I still haven't seen, and for those who can see such paintings. After I left Haverford, I sort of lost track of Paul Moses until we returned to Chicago in 1962 and found that he was returning at about the same time to teach art here, having in the meanwhile been to Harvard and been abroad. And of course matured a very great deal.

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He was an excellent teacher. I recall the talk, I recall the class last year I gave together with him at the Art Institute of Chicago, and I then learned to appreciate his immense gifts as a teacher.

I think Paul was one of the most sensitive and enthusiastic teachers that I can recall. He had a remarkable capacity to communicate to students, not just the sort of rational content of what he was saying or the logic of a particular work of art, but his own wonderful feeling for it. This quality of spirit and enthusiasm entered into his teaching, and his lectures, and into himself as a person.

I've seen very few instructors who took as much interest in their students as Paul did. He was always available to students, always ready to talk with them, and I think students responded. You would always see him walking down the halls surrounded by a group of students who carrying on a conversation that had been left over from the classroom.

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He's been actively engaged this year in a special new experimental version of humanities one, and there was several meetings in my office in which the six people who've been working on this experiment have reported on their hopes, and their successes, and their failures, and the enthusiasm that they have felt for this new effort has been, I must say very contagious. And along with the great sense of personal loss I feel at Paul's death, I must say, I feel a kind of selfish administrative loss knowing that he won't be available to us to teach that highly interesting and invaluable freshmen experience.

In many ways, Paul was a kind of ideal instructor in the college.

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I met Paul Moses a few years ago when he first came to Chicago. And we had long talks then about the work he was going to do and had already begun, that is the research on the graphic work of Edgar Degas. I was amazed at the many new things he has found out about that artist's work and the sensitivity and perception with which he pursued his studies.

He could say all sorts of things about a work of art. And he used to pride himself in discussions with-- is at least his attempt at objectivity at an objective evaluation. And yet, in a curious way when he talked objectively about a work of art. The thing that was most strongly conveyed to me was the passion which he approached it. The passionate love that he had for it. He was a man who was infatuated with art and he conveyed this whenever he discussed it.

If you talked with him about art, you felt that he was really thoroughly with it. A quality that was especially evident recently when he gave a very important lecture for the university down at the Art Institute, we gathered a several hundred alumni to participate in the opening of the Matisse exhibit and Paul Moses was asked to give the major lecture to these alumni about some of his own research into the work of Matisse.

And he held those several hundred people spellbound for about an hour and a half talking about the process of composition of some of Matisse's most important works. And during that hour and a half, I realized that I was learning a tremendous amount in a way that was very, very difficult to describe. It was, after all, a large lecture hall with no interchange between the audience and the man except what the man was saying and the slides. But even in that darkened room, one had the feeling that Paul was thoroughly engaged both with the paintings as they were flashed on the screen and with those of us in the audience.

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His intelligence, his knowledge of art, his knowledge of the current field, although, I believe he was a specialist in a more distant art field. But his knowledge and current knowledge of what is going on was amazing. He knew exactly what was happening. He had interesting ideas about it, we discussed these things over and over and over.

He tried hard not to take a stand for or against but rather to understand. And through understanding, he tried to create knowledge to those who read that which he wrote. In his writings, we noticed over and over again that even that which he didn't like, personally he tried to find something good about it. He tried to understand it and to present it in a way that people will know what is happening, and why the artists or any particular artist is doing what they're doing.

He was an educated looker. He was an educated writer. He observed the scene and he knew the history of it, and he took things in a historical context.

Paul Moses brought something very special to contemporary criticism, something that was sorely needed in the Midwest. He was a historian, a lively historian. And what is rarer, he was interested in contemporary art.

I remember the first pieces that Paul did, the first critical work that was published, it was kind of tentative, it was fairly academic. In the matter of a passage of a short time, the articles became steadily more and more lively. And Paul Moses very happily emerged on the scene here in Chicago.

He gave or he brought to his criticism a kind of historical insight that was particularly valuable. He would not view a painter alone in terms of his work at the moment, but in terms of his total development. Furthermore, he would view him relative to painters who had preceded him that particular painter.

In Paul's way of working then he was very influential. And I think significant in his contribution of making art seem as more of a national and historical preoccupation. This was in his personality too. I remember the first time I met Paul shortly after he'd done some writing about a Degas show at The Renaissance Society, we spent a good part of the evening, the first evening we met talking about Degas.

His sense of the liveliness of that great artist and his immediacy was incredible. I'd never seen anything or heard anything like that before, particularly in a critic of such sound academic background. Paul became very quickly a part of the whole Chicago scene. We were all involved with him, and will certainly treasure his memory and his work.

Following my decision in 1964 to take a year's leave of absence from the Daily News, Paul Moses was appointed to write art criticism for the panorama section of that newspaper during my absence. This appointment really constituted no problem for anyone at the Daily News. Herman Kogan who was then the editor of Panorama and myself had talked about Moses as a very likely candidate for that job. And when we asked him to take over, he very graciously agreed to.

The precipitating event, which caused us to consider Moses very, very seriously was the now very well-known exhibition of Degas' prints which Paul had staged at the University of Chicago, during I believe in 1963, 1964 season. I remember writing a review of that show and complimenting its organizers very highly above all, Paul, who himself had written an excellent catalog for the exhibition and delivered a talk in connection with its opening, which was likewise memorable.

When we looked for a critic at that time, we wanted someone who came from an art background as opposed to a journalistic background, and we hoped to find somebody whose scholarship was as considerable as his writing ability. On the basis of that day guy exhibition, Moses seemed to be the very likeliest man.

We certainly weren't disappointed during the year that he wrote criticism for the Daily News, he distinguished himself thoroughly. And we were all very proud to have known him. And I counted him among my most respected colleagues.

I often and with great joy read the articles by Paul Moses in the Daily News. I think he was not only a very perceptive writer but also a very kind man. Even when he had to be negative about an artist, he was never biting or acid. And I think this streak of kindness in him was a very important thing.

From the Daily News of May 1, 1965, a review entitled The 68th Annual, a tale of the unbelievable by Paul Moses. Once upon a time, there was a city by a lake in a land of make believe. Some say the city actually existed for they can cite facts and figures, they mention a handsome office building of glass and steel that rusts but never wears away. They tell of twin towers of concrete and glass that catch light at sunset and across it into gold, rubies, and amethysts.

There are others, though, who adamantly maintain that this was indeed a city of pure fantasy, for the most incredible things took place there in the spring of 65. Near the lake was a splendid stone building with bronze lions out front. This building was known throughout the land far and wide by royalty and commoner alike, as a treasure trove of great art.

As a part of its regional program, this institution had for 67 years invited artists of the urban area to exhibit their works in its hallowed halls. Since this event, the annual exhibition by artists of Chicago and vicinity brought together many painters and sculptors of diverse talents and styles. This annual was anxiously awaited by all.

In the 68th year-- 1965, the unbelievable took place. As usual, the Institute issued its proclamation. The artists of Chicago and vicinity, responding to the open invitation, submitted 1152 entries, a clear indication of widespread interest. Had they all been exhibited, they would certainly have been richly representative of all phases of art in the city.

For understandable reasons, such as lack of exhibition space and the need for maintaining standards of quality, it was necessary to weed out some of the entries. To ensure fairness in the selection, a jury was called, composed of four wise men, professionals in the art world, and all from out of town. They included three painters and a curator who originally had been a sculptor. Each man was eminent in his field, and the painters were numbered among the most progressive in the world.

To avoid selection by compromise, it was agreed that a vote by any one member of the jury sufficed to give a work of place in the exhibition. Despite these generous conditions, what ensued belongs to the wireless fantasy, out of 1,152 entries, only 59 were chosen-- 49 paintings, and 10 pieces of sculpture.

What then was the character of the work that was finally exhibited? With a few exceptions, the selections were meretricious and tawdry, such poor quality plus the fact that so few of the fine artists of this community were included, made a mockery of the city's art. Granted that some of the more serious, artists such as Schoenberg, Halkin, Green, Scarfe, Nicole, and Darla were admitted. The overall pattern of refusals seemed like a clear discrimination against the finer local talents.

Once this was recognized by the Chicago artists, they sought means of exhibiting their rejected works, thus completing the fantastic little drama. In this way, exhibition Chicago, which is a 1965 version of the Salon des Refuses came into being. However, praising the rebel show and damning the Art Institute fiasco, only acknowledges the basic problem that the Chicago arts scene is highly diverse. It is so richly varied both in styles and in quality that is almost meaningless to bid them all together.

For in any event, it is the creative individuals that interest sophisticated public, not the hacks or the also rans. The vicinity show should be dispensed with, for it is scarcely likely that it will ever prove satisfactory again. Not curate it, it is a waste of money and an imposition on the public. Juried by outsiders, it may either produce results such as we have experienced this year, or a selection that does not recognize the different emotional, intellectual, and cultural climate that Chicago has.

Juried by Chicagoans, it may result in favoritism. Let the universities and the arts centers that are eager to participate in the cultural life of the city, assume some of the burden for exhibiting Chicago talent-- new and old. Certainly, the representation will be no less equitable than it is now. Surely, it cannot be more fantastic, nor more ludicrous, nor more embarrassing than it has been this year.

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Early on, Paul Moses and I agreed that we had better things to talk about than our jobs. Colleagues, the department, the university itself, were on our list of unmentionables. There was more than enough debate about all that we thought, to be endured in the meetings formal and otherwise, the clutter of teachers life. We made exceptions from time to time when it came to undergraduates, but even then we tended to limit ourselves to trading stories about the funny students, the attractive students, or the odd students, rather than those who were solemn and promising.

Our conversation was casual, to the point of being frivolous. For the most part of it, it revolved around the places we had frequented in Europe. Both of us had lived in France, both of us in fantasy lived there still. We'd been students in Paris at the same time. Had probably been to the same parties and sat side by side at the same cafe terraces, or so it sometimes seemed when we compared notes about those days.

We knew some of the same people, and many of the same restaurants. And remembering all that we often talk shop, of course, talked at least about prints and drawings. But always for fun, in the same way that we recollected favorite promenades and good meals.

We played tennis together. He only a little less badly than I. It was health we were after we told ourselves when April came around. Pounds lost, lung strengthened, muscles toned, but more accurately we were after a gentle and convenient escape on those afternoons that we spent aimlessly fleeing the sooty Chicago atmosphere. Neither of us wanted the weight we'd put on since passing 30, and neither of us, I suspect completely wanted the pomposity and narrowness that seemed so often to accompany the academic slot.

We became very good friends. It was very easy to become good friends because Paul was a very, very wonderful and sweet person. This is a bit unusual to hear because in most cases, artists and myself being a composer, we really don't have anything to do with the critics. As a matter of fact, we sort of have our backs up a bit and we say, oh, no, we don't want to know you, or we do not want to be friends, or we can't be friends. Whether it comes from us the artist, or it comes from the critics themselves, nobody really knows but it's a kind of a situation that does exist.

Paul Moses was one person who we met who always went past that. We met him at this party and became very friendly. When he heard that my wife was a painter, the first words out of his mouth were, oh, I'd love to see your paintings. Well, we were quite shocked. A critic who wants to see someone's paintings and not in a gallery, that's a rather unusual thing. Shortly after, we invited both Paul and his lovely wife Alice to our home. And we had a lovely time. A very interesting time, a very congenial time.

And Paul, despite being a critic, looked at the paintings, spoke about the paintings. It's all happened very nicely and complimentary, of course, to my wife, he liked the paintings very much. And then he did something else that was much further than the critic usually does. He said to her, well, you have a New York gallery? She said, yes, I have a New York gallery. He says, what about a Chicago gallery?

Of course, being new, it was rather difficult to establish a Chicago gallery. And immediately he said, well, for heaven's sake, go see so-and-so so-and-so and so-and-so. And as a matter of fact, I will call them myself and tell them that they should see your painting because I think they're very good. This is a critic.

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We all felt that Paul was the greatest kind of colleague you could have working, especially with college students because of his tremendous warmth and his capacity to love in so many directions. His work-- the students he was working with, a total sense of a love of life. And everyone seemed to have responded to it, one was immediately attracted to that tremendous outgoing of response to people and objects and things-- his love of life.

And respected immediately, his enormous talents and multiple talents. He was a superb linguist fine critic. And was one that I felt was that rare kind of person who just speaking with at lunch learned from you because you were asking to learn from him. And you were constantly enriching yourself and responding to his warmth in the way he responded to you.

Even the way he chose wines, and the importance of the gesture of choosing the right wine was part of the whole thing. He could address as much passion to that. He was a magnificent chef. And he literally created art when he cooked for us.

I'll never forget the first dinner that my wife and I had with him, a dinner which was cooked entirely by him. All the wines, and flowers, and decor was arranged by him. And he was a tremendous cook. It's characteristic that he had many different talents and interests. All of them remarkably sensitive and sort of exciting.

The dinner was served with that-- he cooked, it was served with a flair. A kind of vitality that just made being with him and being around him, a wonderful experience.

He was one of the finest friends and most loyal friends anyone could have.

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Everything that was in life was approached with of learning and passion. And learning was a passion for him, studying and learning was a--

Great involvement in everything. Everything he did, he threw himself into.

Yeah.

And there was also this sense of constant sense of wonder, he was always truly receptive because he was always in a way truly surprised by how wondrous things were. I remember his reactions in this respect not only to works of art with which he was familiar, but with works in other areas-- to music, to poems. He'd be surprised and delighted that the thing was as good as that, as wonderful as that.

And he could be an object outside. He could be walking along in a building you passed a good number of times, he would make him stop and we'd have and we'd talk. Or looking out of Lexington at the arching of the trees with a new snowstorm, whatever you were working on stopped at the moment for his expression of his delight.

He would constantly be calling attention to life, wouldn't he?

Yes, and with humor of something we haven't mentioned. Tremendous not one of the clowns, but a broad acceptance and laugh, and his smile and laugh is something I know we all remember which is incorporated in that very bigness-- that he was a big man physically, he seemed part of it all.

It's the loss is manifold, but I think perhaps it is greatest in the realm of scholarship. And I think this is it's in this life that we are going to remember Paul most affirmatively.

He was for and never against. He made interesting comments to lead one into the different alleys, and byways, and streets of what is going on. He led us, he guided us, he had a deep interest for that which is happening today. I, for one, I'm going to miss Paul Moses.

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WUCB wishes to thank the many people who assisted with this program, and express its sincerest condolences to the colleagues, friends, and family of Mr. Moses. Participants on this program included-- Alice Benson, assistant professor of English and Humanities at the University of Chicago, Howard Bialosky, assistant professor of music and humanities. Wayne C. Booth, dean of the college in George Pullman Professor of English.

Harold Yorgan, curator of prints and drawings at the Art Institute and visiting professor of art. Harry Barris, artist. Ralph Shapey assistant professor in music and director of Contemporary Chamber Players. Franz Schulze, art critic for The Chicago Daily News, and professor of art at Lake Forrest College. Marvin Mirsky, chairman of the Fine Arts Program and instructor in the humanities. Virgil Burnett, instructor in art. John Quilty, associate professor of English and the humanities, chairman of the humanities staff.

This program was produced and directed by Charles Metallics and Tim James, with technical assistance by Greg Marlow, your announcer is George Rutkowski. This has been a WUCB special presentation.

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