Usually he worked from a photograph, drawing upon his experience as a sign painter, which provided the basic techniques that carried him through life. He did not use living models directly for several good reasons. They were expensive and, as we shall see, he would have required one during at least six different stages of each painting. In Tahiti no girl would commit herself to six days of work in advance, anyway. In fact, Leeteg would have been lucky if he could have talked the girl into coming back once. Nor were Tahitian girls apt to remain in a steady attitude. It was difficult even for photographers to catch them in repose. And finally, the problem of lighting, which is all-important in velvet work, would be impossibly difficult with a lively, capricious model. Even for his portraits of distinguished local citizens or rich travelers, he invariably used a photograph.
At the beginning of his career several witnesses saw him using the sign painter’s helper, a pounce pattern, for transferring the main outlines of a photograph to velvet. A pounce pattern is a thin sheet of paper on which the design is punched with little holes and which is then powdered with talcum. When laid over a velvet and tapped briskly, it produces an outline in powder from which the artist can work. For some reason, in the art world a man who uses a pounce pattern is looked down on as lacking in the basic skills of his trade, and Leeteg apparently shared this feeling, for in later life he sketched freehand in chalk, and the results were better.
His palette was described by one friend as “the brightest I have ever seen” but it contained only white and seven colors, which he used directly from the tubes without any kind of mixing.
There is argument as to whether Leeteg used an additive or a dryer. He told Erwin that he did not and in a well-known letter he denied using any. After his death a group of enterprising gentlemen wished to forge Leetegs, since they were bringing around $3,000. The artist they employed could draw like Leeteg; he understood Leeteg’s palette and on canvas could produce a fine Leeteg. But he was unable to master the velvet until a traveler who had known Leeteg in Mooréa suggested that the forger buy from France a secret preparation which he said accounted for Leeteg’s success with this medium. Accordingly, the cabal purchased quite a few bottles of Stoffine Wood, and when this was mixed with Leeteg’s palette, painting on velvet became relatively simple. Copies made with Stoffine Wood are now being widely distributed.
Leeteg sketched his pictures with extremely light brush strokes. Deftly he brushed a pure, basic color onto the velvet so that each pile caught its share. If he made errors, he could at this stage correct them with a solvent while the paint was still wet. But when the sketch was done, no further corrections were possible, and from then on he had to work with a sure hand. He could not thereafter indulge in the gesture which is so popular in movies about artists. He could not stand back and study his work, then slop a rag in turpentine and rub out the offending areas. If areas offended, he could either throw the velvet away or else adjust his entire concept and build a new picture around what he had. For that reason he became highly skilled in applying paint exactly where he wanted it.
After the sketch was done, the velvet was allowed to dry in the sun for several days. Since the entire painting process took at least two weeks, it is obvious that Leeteg, in order to fill the demand, would have to keep as many as half a dozen velvets in process at one time, and it was not unusual for passengers on the Mitiaro to see that many drying in the Mooréa sun as they passed Villa Velour.
When the sketch was dry, the next layer of paint was applied; and of this procedure, whereby as many as eight successive layers might be thinly applied, Leeteg wrote, “The purpose of my method of painting velvet in successive stages using black material is to mix my colors on the velvet, not on the palette.… It is really an offshoot of Impressionism somewhat on the manner of Childe Hassam.” It was also the style adopted by such diverse geniuses as Tintoretto and Cézanne, both of whom Leeteg liked. In fact, his knowledge of classical art was extensive, and through notebooks which he compiled he studied Matisse, Renoir, Picasso, and others.
After each subsequent application of thin paint, the velvet was allowed to dry thoroughly, and for this purpose only sunlight would do. Therefore he rarely worked indoors, but usually on the concrete veranda of his home.
He was often charged with having set up an assembly line whereby he did half a dozen copies of the same subject at the same time, but there is no record of this, for he approached every painting as a new adventure, and when he had done a particularly fine copy of a subject he would announce that fact gladly in his letters: “Finished ‘Hina Rapa’ today. A real super-duper.” Any version that turned out especially well was tagged a super-duper, and he realized that upon these his reputation would rest.
A minor controversy always raged in art circles concerning the technical facts about Leeteg’s work, but a greater one centered on his habit of duplicating the same painting over and over again. Of his most popular subjects he did upwards of twenty-four copies each. Of “Hina Rapa,” the boisterous portrait of a bare-breasted hoyden in a big yellow hat, he told Erwin, “I’ve done her twenty-seven times and I’m sick of her.”* It is therefore rather difficult to define what an original Leeteg is, because later versions of a subject were often better than the first.
Leeteg never concerned himself with this problem. He said, “I’m here to paint what the public wants.” Barney Davis established a numbering system in which all subjects were listed, and if the public wanted six more copies of Number 118—“Hina Rapa”—they were ordered by cable and in due time provided. He would also alter a basic design to please a special customer, so that when Mary Morton, a Honolulu friend from the old days, wanted a copy of popular Number 115, she specified that she wanted the girl to look as if she were about to cry. Leeteg added tears and produced one of his very finest velvets. On another occasion a gentleman wanted a “Hina Rapa” for his den but insisted that the girl appear with an oversize bosom, for the delectation of his guests. Leeteg charged extra for this version of 118 and always referred to it as his “Girl with the Four Gallon Tits.”
Many critics feel that Leeteg’s willingness to paint whatever was required disbars him from serious consideration as an artist. The present authors are quite willing to discuss the possibility of Leeteg’s being thrown out of the fellowship, but not on that score. After all, Hiroshige did dozens of versions of a single subject in his wood blocks. Veronese was told what colors and what subjects must appear in his massive religious paintings. Since we live far removed from the time when the great Renaissance artists lived, we forget that they were ordered to provide Crucifixions in which Jesus was clearly bleeding, Virgin Marys where the breast did not show, and donors’ portraits which were to look ten years younger. And as Admiral du Saint Front pointed out, “Admittedly, Cézanne painted two dozen canvases or more of the Montague Sainte Victoire.” Throughout the history of art, some artists have had a fiery integrity which permitted them to do only what they felt inspired to do. Others, including Van Dyck, Rubens and Rembrandt, often painted what they were told to paint. And equal merit has always rested in both schools. One cannot imagine Albert Ryder painting anything to order. One can imagine Rubens doing so, for some of his orders have been saved. Therefore one can question Leeteg’s judgment in modifying his subjects to suit his customers, but one cannot for this reason disbar him from the rank of artist.
He might, however, be disbarred for a more substantial failing. Let us consider eight of his finest subjects; we find that every one was copied from other men’s work.
Of his two greatest popular successes he wrote: “The photos of ‘Hina Rapa’ [Number 118] and the ‘Old Chief’ [Number 112] were taken some nineteen years ago. Both subjects are now dead. ‘Hina Rapa’ photo I bought from Bowers originally who ran a photo finishing shop and probably snitched it from some brought in for processing by a French naval officer. Anyway, Bowers is dead, too. So far as I know this photo has never been published excepting in our ads. The ‘Old Chief??
? was photo’d by Simpson who is alive and in Papeete. I’ll get the rest of the dope from him when I again see him in town and relay it to you. To the best of my knowledge, neither has been copyrighted anywhere.”
With his next three big successes he ran into trouble. They were lifted bodily from a book by William S. Stone, a neighbor of his, called Tahiti Landfall, published in New York in 1946. This book was illustrated with photographs taken by a Tahiti photographer, Igor Allan. The photographs were hailed by many critics as being the best to come out of Polynesia for many years and three in particular were praised: a portrait of a native adzeman, a picture of a frenzied drummer boy, and a shot of a girl drinking from a coconut. The composition and lighting were superb and shortly they appeared for sale as Leeteg velvets: “Native Adze Man” (Number 136), “Drummer Boy” (Number 137), “Coco Drinker” (Number 127). Allan was astounded and when he could obtain no satisfaction from the artist was goaded by several Tahiti residents, who were tired of Leeteg’s antics, into sending a bitter letter to the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, in which he charged Leeteg with plagiarism and added:
“I have received an illustrated clipping from your paper dated November 4, 1950, headed ‘Edgar Leeteg of Tahiti Is Hailed as Worthy Successor to Gauguin.’ …
“Much has been written about Leeteg by a group of individuals who are interested in collecting commissions from the sale of his velvets. I, personally, know Leeteg well, for he has approached me continuously to take photographs for him.…
“The accurate fact is that Leeteg took a course on how to paint signs and was employed as a sign painter. Essentially, his work has remained sign painting to the present day.”
Leeteg’s reply in its original version was unprintable and attacked Allan savagely for having raised the question of plagiarism. It was always Leeteg’s contention, acquired from the opinion of a lawyer, that if an artist changed even one item of a photograph, he was free to use it at will, without payment, for then no copyright existed, but that when the work was done, he, the artist, was free to copyright the painting. He felt that photographers who wanted payment for subjects which were later used to earn him up to $10,000 were chiselers and blackmailers.
His published reply to Allan read in part:
“In fairness to hundreds of Honolulans who hang my velvet paintings in their homes, kindly print this reply to the attack made upon these velvets by Russian-born Igor Allan and printed (Why?) in your letter column of March 13.
“While it is true that the painting reproduced for the late Col. L. G. Blackman’s article of November 3 was ‘copied’ from one of the splendid photographs of Allan’s appearing in Tahiti Landfall, the balance of his assertions are false.…
“Copying from a photograph requires more skill than working from a model because the painter must recognize and corrrect distortions and poor values as well as add coloring and detail from his knowledge and imagination.
“When this is done properly, the painting is not a copied photograph but a work of art embodying the artistic skill, perception, and feeling of the painter.”
Later he circulated private blasts at Allan which show a blasphemous man willing to stoop to any level to destroy a rival.
Leeteg’s “Beach Boy” (Number 156) was an instantaneous and riotous success, for it showed a happy kid in a coconut hat. Copies were ordered in batches and people in Honolulu photographed the velvet to send snapshots of it to their friends. Unfortunately some of these negatives were sent to a Honolulu photographer to develop, and in this way short, quick little K. K. Tagawa first discovered that one of his prize shots was being sold as a velvet. He had taken the picture one day on the beach at Maui and had known, even before he developed the negative, that he had captured a prize-winner. Consequently, he paid the boy a model’s fee and found that his judgment was right. His print won first prize in Australia, other prizes elsewhere, and many mentions. It appeared on page 97 of Paradise of the Pacific’s 1950 holiday issue, and on page 249 of the 1952 edition of Photography Annual.
From one of these sources Leeteg had copied the print without asking permission, without giving credit, without offering any fee and without acknowledgment of any kind. When Tagawa protested, Leeteg exploded: “As for my friend Mr. K. T. Kagawa [sic], to hell with him and his precious photo as it certainly is not worth $100 (the price of my cheapest velvet) for me to paint just two velvets from it However, I usually pay photographers here about $1.50—100 francs—for the use of their pictures for each velvet painted. At this rate I owe Kagawa $3 and debit it to my account. Offer him $3 as full payment for using his photo twice. Tell him I will not use his photo any more. If he wants to sell the reproduction-on-velvet rights to his net-thrower photo to send me a small contact print of it (I can only work from enlargement because of failing eyesight) and if it is usable for my work I’ll buy an enlargement from him at my usual rates. But I won’t be shook down for a free velvet by anyone—not even a governor.”
Later Leeteg’s agent offered compensation to Tagawa—whose name Leeteg always misspelled—but Tagawa did not accept it. Today, looking back on the incident, the photographer says, “I understand fully that in law I cannot complain if an artist copies my photograph in oils, but my photographs have caught the spirit of the islands so well that many artists want to copy them and all except Leeteg had the decency to make some kind of deal with me first. I always tried to be cooperative and almost invariably gave permission. For example, when Bill Erwin, whom I didn’t even know, wanted to use my photos as a basis for his velvets he came to me directly and offered a deal. He was willing to pay money but I suggested that he paint a portrait of my mother, which he did. I think it’s worth about $200.”
Tagawa feels sure that Leeteg pinched “Beach Boy” from Paradise of the Pacific because in that same issue was a handsome photograph by another Honolulu photographer, Herbert Bauer. It showed a Hawaiian cowboy, an elderly man with handsome face, peering into the sun. Around his neck he wore a kerchief and it was this that attracted Bauer’s father when the latter saw a Leeteg velvet, “Hawaiian Cowboy” (Number 117), in the window of Hawaiian Things, a curio store, sometime later. He called his son about the plagiarism and young Bauer recalls, “I stopped in to see Leeteg’s agent, who was very excited about a new batch of velvets he had just received from Tahiti. He was saying that this man Leeteg was the American Gaugin and gave me a powerful sales talk, but I reached into the velvets and said, ‘You can’t call a man a real artist who steals his ideas from another man’s photos.’ Later we reached a settlement and I got $15 for my photo. The only thing I’m ashamed of now about this whole deal is that I took the money. I should have said that Leeteg needed it more than I did if he was too careless even to ask for permission to use my work.” Bauer also points out that other artists have used his photos as the basis for their work, but that they usually ask his permission and pay him for the privilege.
Leeteg’s most famous single subject, his portrait of Christ (Number 154), was a different story. From Hawaii a friend sent Leeteg’s children a plaque to remind them to pray before bed, and on this plaque was a miniature head of Christ taken from the phenomenally popular series of religious paintings done in this century by the living American artist Warner Sallman. It was about the size of a postage stamp. Later, when a Mormon missionary visited Leeteg and asked if he had any religious subjects, Leeteg offered to reproduce Sallman’s head on velvet. The result was a sublime representation of Jesus in a style which preserved the sickly sweet quality of Sallman while infusing it with an honest strength.
From the moment this velvet was completed all who saw it recognized it as a gem of popular religious art, and four more times Leeteg copied from the minute original. The five copies—Davis says there are only four—are not identical, and each has its peculiar quality. For a popular vision of how people like to think Jesus looked, there could be no finer interpretation than Leeteg’s, and in artistic competence it goes far beyond Warner Sallman’s original. Unfortunately,
this time he had copied a work that was itself copyrighted, and he found that if he persisted in doing so he was going to get in trouble. So his greatest velvet, which he could have reproduced endlessly and at substantial profit, was proscribed, and in a letter to his agent he acknowledges this: “Just completed the ‘Beach Boy’ and you won’t have any trouble unloading this one. Will start a second one soon. Hope it will be as good. Also have a Sallman Christ head started—without background. Don’t invite trouble by displaying it in your window. Actually I always feel like a thief when I copy another man’s painting and do it only from hunger.”
We are not here concerned with the ethics of Leeteg’s behavior. The facts are available for anyone’s conclusions. Nor are we involved in the question of using photographs as a basis for art. Utrillo did so with superb results and so did Leeteg. But we are concerned over the fact that Leeteg’s finest work was usually copied from other men on whom he relied for precisely those details of light and shade and composition and design which have traditionally been held to be an artist’s main accomplishments. It would seem that Leeteg was markedly deficient in his capacity to conceive a subject, to organize it and to see it through to the finished painting. “Beach Boy” is a delightful velvet primarily because K. K. Tagawa posed the child properly and caught his abandoned joy in a splendid design. The reason Leeteg’s “Adzeman” is truly dignified and grand is that Igor Allan posed him so as to bring out these qualities, and one feels quite certain that Leeteg himself would have been unable to conceive the universal style of his portrait of Christ had not Sallman first done his sentimental version. A deficiency of such magnitude is serious when one wants to advance the claims of an artist, and it is this deficiency which prevents Leeteg from occupying the place that his adherents want to give him.