| When I was a child learning to talk, I could
not pronounce my name, Gladys. Instead I said, "Lally." The
family and firends shortened it any my nickname became Lal. Lolly-Pop
was also used: was this because I was so sweet?
The suggestion was made to me that I write a biography of my father, Carl R. Krafft. The only experience I had was writing letters to my children and friends. Research was made at libraries and museums. I did not realize that there were so many books which contained so little information on him. The place and year of his birth, he was a landscape artist, the places he exhibited, and the awards he received are noted. These books noted just the cold facts and nothing about the man, his ambitions and personal life. As dad passed away over forty years ago, most of the reference books are no longer available or are hidden in archives. A few newspaper clippins and magazine articles I personally saved over the years, and my teen-age diary, photographs of some of his paintings and his card file of canvasses aided me in writing this book. Many of his paintings have been resold by original owners, passed on to the next generation, given to museums, destroyed by fire, or hidden away and forgotten. A few years ago, a newspaper clipping was sent to me about the discovery of a painting in the janitor's room of a school. The Krafft snow scene was donated to the school by the Mother's Club in 1922. Thee was no idea how long the picture was in the basement. A large portrait of me, which was exhibited at the Sesquicentennial Exposition in Philadelphia, was hanging in a home on approval. The fmily moved from the town and I was unable to get a forwarding address. An interior decorator had a few canvasses in his store on consignment. He went bankrupt and everything was confiscated. It would take money to hire a lawyer to recoveer them, so dad forgot them. A large snow scene was purchased by our church, Unity Temple, Frank Lloy Wright's famous historical church in Oak Park. It was hanging over the fireplace and somehow caught fire. The congregation had purchased it a short time before dad's death to financially assist him. At my mother's request after she died in 1955, my sister and I officially donated to our village three of my father's paintings which had been on loan and hung on the walls in the building for a few years. One day my late sister noticed that the large one was not in its usual place and inquired bout it. Someone told her that it was dirty and that the town did not have fifty dollars to have it cleaned. My sister was so shocked that the painting was in a storeroom and that the town could not afford the price of cleaning that she asked of and was given the painting. I do not know if the village board officials ever missed it. In the 1920s a few school systems in Indiana started a great art collection. The student saved their nickels and pennies and gave to a fund at school. Once a year artists in the Chicago area were invited to submit a painting for a certain purchase price. These works were exhibited at school for a period of time and then the students voted on which they preferred the school board to purchase. The collection alternated among the schools. It should be a very valuable collection now after fifty years. I have enjoyed searching for Krafft paintings in hopes of bringing the card file up to date. It is almost like looking for adopted children. Two years ago, when I was in Los Angeles, I tried to locate a painting that was in the Harrison Collection. The records I have differ. One place noted Los Angeles Art Museum and the other, the Los Angeles County Museum. The county museum located the painting in the private office of a county judge. Rather than have collections in a storeroom, the paintings are hung in public buildings for all to enjoy. I was not able to view the canvas as the judges' chambers were not open when I was able to visit the building. My ability to recognize my father's work surprises me. A dealer had an unframed canvas on the floor of the showroom. I knew immediately it was a Krafft, however something was not quite right. The dealer had restored it and transferred it onlto new canvas, which gave it an unusaul texture. Somewhere in California there is a group of pictures I would like to locate. Mr. A. Nelson, dad's "angel" for a few yers, had a collection of his works, including three or four very large ones. Mr. Nelson died about forty years ago and his nephew was his only living heir. I am inquisitive as to their location. Mr. L.(Louis) L. Valentine of Chicago purchased the Logal Medal Painting Banks of the Gasconade in 1920. His collection was presented to the boys' club. In a letter to my mother in 1939 he wrote, "We have just finished a large boys' club building as a memorial for Mrs. Valentine. it is my intention to hand the Banks of the Gasconade in the library of the club." Occasionally dad had nice surprises. One was the reproduction of a painting Christmas Party on the cover page of the Rotogravure section of the Chicago Tribune. During an exhibition at the Chicago Galleries, the Tribune phoned him for permission to print it. Every Sunday we awaited the paper. After seven or eight months, when we had given up, it was printed in the Christmas edition, Dec. 21, 1930. Today, the art world has changed as has music and other forms of art. The fads come and go, but true art survives. Even the Chicago Art Institute has changed since the days I roamed through the galleries. The grand central staircase, with the worn footsteps in the marble leading from the main entrance to the second floor galleries, is gone. The huge statue with a big black toe, due to people touching and rubbing it, is not visible. The two-story tall gallery containing Egyptian artifcts has under-gone moderization. To me, personally, it has lost its charm of bygone days. Through the decades, dad's technique and color under-went changes, too. In his early career he paid more attention to detail in his landscapes. Deep purples, blues and the other darker ones gave the paintings a mystical quality. Gradually they became lighter in color, more fre in feeling. Brush strokes were wider and bolder. However, the composition and style of portraying his ideas on canvas make it possible to identify his work. Hopefully this book will give future generations an insight into the life and times of an artist whose works will adorn the walls of homes, schools, museums, and public buildings for many years. Reprinted from exhibition catalogue, Chicago Art Institute, Summer Exhibitions,
July to October, 1939
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