Embracing Art Deco: Pegasus Takes Flight at Carnegie
By Lee Michael Katz
Paul Manship enjoyed a hugely successful career — and even designed a handsome ashtray for Carnegie Corporation
Grab a visitors’ guide at the Smithsonian American Art Museum in Washington, D.C., this spring and you will see a Paul Manship statue gracing the cover. Inside, another reference (“from medals to Paul Manship”) points out Carnegie Corporation-commissioned designs and other works by the American sculptor in the museum, the nation’s first collection of American art.

Born in Saint Paul, Minnesota, Manship (1885–1966) is considered the greatest American exponent of the Art Deco style, rising to prominence in the 1920s and ’30s. A sculptor as well as an outstanding medalist, he designed two works for Carnegie Corporation of New York — a bronze “Pegasus” medallion and a bronze ashtray also featuring Pegasus. These works are held by the Smithsonian and other prominent museums (a “Pegasus” medal is part of the collections of the Victoria & Albert Museum in London). Manship’s Pegasus design has become so iconic at Carnegie that it was chosen as the seal — featuring the mythical winged horse and an inscription (“Knowledge & Understanding”) highlighting the foundation’s core values — for the Corporation’s 2011 Centennial celebrations.
I like to express movement in my figures. It’s a fascinating problem which I’m always trying to solve. I’m not especially interested in anatomy, though naturally I’ve studied it. And, although I approve generally of normally correct proportions, what matters is the spirit which the artist puts into his creations — the vitality, the rhythm, the emotional effect.
— Paul Manship
But in researching Manship’s life, yet another Carnegie connection stands out. Although the artist built his fortune in creative work quite different from that of industrialist Andrew Carnegie, both men shared similar values — values that have preserved their legacies and guaranteed their lasting renown.
“They believed in the power of the arts to inspire and transform and lift people up,” explains art historian Rebecca Reynolds, who leads a program to preserve Manship’s legacy. “That was true of Carnegie. It was also true of Manship.”
Vitality, Rhythm, Emotion
Like Andrew Carnegie, Paul Manship rose from rather humble beginnings to great prominence in his field. He was so esteemed in the art world that the important French-born American sculptor Gaston Lachaise settled in New York to work as Manship’s assistant. In his heyday “he was one of the best-known international artists in the early 20th century,” declares Reynolds. “I mean really comparable to Picasso. Everyone knew him. He had studios in Paris, London, Naples, Milan, Tuscany, and New York.”
Manship became known for his elegantly expressive figures and sleekly detailed forms. “I like to express movement in my figures. It’s a fascinating problem which I’m always trying to solve,” he said. However, Manship was not particularly interested in anatomy. He studied it, of course, but explained that “although I approve generally of normally correct proportions, what matters is the spirit which the artist puts into his creation — the vitality, the rhythm, the emotional effect.”
Manship won high-profile commissions from the early 1900s through the Art Deco era and well into the 1960s.

Today, Manship’s graceful sculptures can be found in museums and public spaces throughout the world, from the stylishly Art Deco bronzes, executed in 1923, of Diana and Actaeon held by the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to the monumental celestial sphere created as a memorial to Woodrow Wilson, which was installed in the park of the Palais des Nations in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1939.
Manship’s artistry is on view in museum galleries and the entrance halls of grand buildings and private residences. “He was prolific. He is all over New York and around the country,” notes Reynolds. Manship’s public work ranges from the ornate bronze gates of the Bronx Zoo to the signature sculpture on Theodore Roosevelt Island, a “living memorial” to America’s 29th president situated in the Potomac River just outside of Washington, D.C. Interestingly, Manship’s original proposal of an enormous armillary sphere as a central feature of the Roosevelt Island memorial plaza was not popular with critics or the public, so he reworked it to a large statue of the president. The larger-than-life-sized statue of Roosevelt with one arm raised in “characteristic speaking pose” was approved and forms part of the architectural memorial surrounded by restored natural landscape — a fitting tribute to the man known as the “Great Conservationist.”

Manship is also the creator of one of the world’s most famous outdoor sculpture installations — happily only a brief stroll from Carnegie Corporation’s headquarters in New York City. Throughout the year, throngs of visitors from all over the world admire the famous Rockefeller Center fountain featuring Manship’s Prometheus statue (in the winter season they ice skate beneath the glittering god’s outstretched arms). One of many Manship works inspired by Greek mythology, the golden form of Prometheus is instantly recognizable. Manship’s masterpiece is said to be the most-photographed monumental sculpture in all of New York City. The artist’s theme is carved in the red granite wall behind Prometheus, taken from the ancient Greek dramatist Aeschylus: “Prometheus, Teacher in Every Art, Brought the Fire That Hath Proved to Mortals a Means to Mighty Ends.”

“He’s the kind of artist where you don’t know his name, but you know his work,” notes Thayer Tolles, Marica F. Vilcek Curator of American Paintings and Sculpture at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, where more than a dozen works by Manship are currently on display in the American Wing.
His influence extends well beyond the Metropolitan or Smithsonian museums, with expert Tolles “pretty sure Manship is represented in almost every major collection of American art.”
Art Deco Meets Ancient Mythology
For many, the term Art Deco might conjure up pictures of historic buildings in Miami’s colorful South Beach, and it often comes up in reference to Manship’s work. However, Susan Rather, author of Archaism, Modernism, and the Art of Paul Manship, views him as a “precursor” to Art Deco. Manship’s special genius? Adding a modern twist to ancient forms.
Manship’s interest in mythology was fueled by his studies at the American Academy in Rome and also by an extended field trip to Greece. Rather explains: “What made Manship’s sculpture stand out at the start of his professional career, after his return from the Academy in 1913, was the way he invigorated classical figurative traditions by drawing on the stylizations of archaic (pre-classical) Greek sculpture and vase painting.”
According to Rebecca Reynolds, early in his career Manship submitted a proposal for a statue to the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. He was turned down, but still his work was considered impressive — so much so that he was sent $100 and was encouraged to try again.

In 1927 Manship designed a bronze ashtray for Carnegie Corporation of New York, not that unusual a commission for an accomplished sculptor in a period when smoking was often depicted in popular culture as the height of sophistication. The dangers of smoking were not then well known; this handsome example of utilitarian metalwork — Pegasus rearing in relief — bears the inscription: “For the Advancement and Diffusion of Knowledge and Understanding.”
Pegasus, the winged horse of Greek mythology, was an important inspiration for Manship, as it has been for many modern artists, especially those steeped in the classical tradition, and it is central to the artist’s work for Carnegie Corporation. For Manship expert Reynolds, “the basic message really has to do with imagination, inspiration, and fame. That’s really what it is all about.” With Pegasus, Manship’s imagination took flight.
Art historians cite Manship’s attention to detail in the Carnegie pieces. Even the treatment of the ashtray’s inscription is distinctive in its hand lettering, according to Karen Lemmey, curator of sculpture at the Smithsonian American Art Museum. “In the word Corporation, the C embraces the o,” Lemmey says. “That’s his mastery.” She elaborates: “What is remarkable is that Manship was able to hold himself to a standard of design no matter what he was making, whether it was something enormous,” or something as small as a medal “designed to be held in your hand.”
Seven years later, Corporation records reveal that Manship was paid an honorarium of $1,500 for work on the bronze “Pegasus” medallion, a tidy sum during the Depression. Manship’s commission was well earned; he utilized virtually the entire surface of the medal. Says Lemmey, “I just love the way the composition comes to the very edge of the field of the medal, the tips of the wings of Pegasus.” This “compressed sculpture” almost seems to burst the boundaries of the medal itself.

While Manship’s technical skills are manifest in the Carnegie pieces, a further message might be read into the Corporation medallion, which depicts the mastering of Pegasus by the Greek hero Bellerophon. “If you think just about Carnegie himself,” says Rebecca Reynolds, “he was really somebody who achieved greatness and mastered so many things. I think the medal represents achievement and deserved fame.” Both Carnegie and Manship enjoyed happier fates than did Bellerophon, the slayer of the Chimera, the mythical fire-eating monster. As Corporation records note, Bellerophon “later perished in an attempt to scale heaven on Pegasus.”
The Carnegie medallion was to be given “to individuals making significant contributions to the work of the Corporation outside their own principal fields of interest.” The dies for the medallions were cut by the Medallic Art Company, 210 East 51st Street, New York, at a cost of $375.00. On May 20, 1936, approval was given for distribution of medals to 47 individuals, including Elihu Root, the distinguished American statesman, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize (1912), and second president of Carnegie Corporation of New York (1919–20). The best-selling author and pioneering social activist Dorothy Canfield Fisher was one the very few women honored with an example of Manship’s superb medallic art.
Manship’s Pegasus design lives on in the American Library Association’s Andrew Carnegie Medals for Excellence in Fiction and Nonfiction, established in 2012 and supported by the Corporation. “It seems to fit thematically as well as being a striking medal,” explains Bill Ott, an editor and publisher for the ALA. And even in the age of new media, Manship’s craftsmanship remains relevant. “It looks great in digital form,” notes Ott of Manship’s dynamic composition.
Lasting Legacies
Both hailing from modest backgrounds, Andrew Carnegie and Paul Manship shared a number of traits, including a dedication to entrepreneurship, a solid work ethic, a sense of committed citizenship, and a devotion to philanthropic endeavors.
Like Carnegie (obviously), Manship had a head for business. Even when out of favor with the critics and as abstract art began to take hold, he won commissions. “Not only was he a good artist. He was a good businessman. Most of them are not,” notes art historian Reynolds. And while Carnegie would have admired Manship the shrewd businessman, he would have been even more pleased that such a highly regarded artist was chosen to design the Pegasus medal. “Carnegie would have cared very much for the cause for which the medal was awarded and he would have wanted the best artist to design it,” says Louise Lippincott, curator of fine arts at the Carnegie Museum of Art. “He did make it clear that American art was important.”
And like Carnegie, although on a much smaller scale, Manship gave back, donating both his time and his works. For one, he served as president of the National Sculpture Society, whose current executive director, Gwen Pier, terms Manship “a remarkable human being. He was so involved. It was a total immersion in the arts community.” Among his many other public efforts, Manship served on the board of the Smithsonian Institution’s Fine Arts Commission.

“There’s a certain part of him invested in service to public institutions, public life, protecting the arts,” notes the Smithsonian’s Lemmey. After the artist’s death, his estate donated large collections of his work to the Smithsonian American Art Museum and the Minnesota Museum of American Art in his home state (the Smithsonian alone holds nearly 500 objects related to Manship). “He had a different capacity to give than Carnegie, to be sure,” Lemmey observes. But “there is a shared sensibility. What is most valuable to an artist is his art work.” And Manship bequeathed his work to institutions that are open to the public.
The last major exhibition of Manship’s work at The Metropolitan Museum of Art was in 1991. Yet “there’s an enormous appetite for his work,” says Met curator Thayer Tolles. In fact, she believes that another Manship exhibition is a real possibility. “I certainly think his time is due.”
At Pittsburgh’s Carnegie museum, Manship’s work remains popular today. “People just love it,” reports Lippincott. But Manship’s public appeal can make a curator nervous. “Of course that means that they want to touch it a lot — because the surfaces are so lovely,” she points out. “We try to discourage that.”

In Gloucester, Massachusetts, Rebecca Reynolds is keeping the sculptor’s legacy alive with the Manship Artists Residency and Studios program, working with his heirs to bring promising artists to Cape Ann, where Manship had developed his own summer artist retreat on the 15-acre site of two former granite quarries.
The son of a clerk, Manship neglected his studies to practice his art, turning to sculpture upon discovering that he was colorblind. He landed in Italy after winning the prestigious Prix de Rome in his mid-20s, and would eventually rise to create inaugural medals for Franklin D. Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy. While Manship’s early years were by far more comfortable than Carnegie’s, both men soared to heights that could hardly have been imagined at their births.
“They’re both examples of the American dream, that’s for sure,” declares Reynolds.

