Painting the Town -- Museum of the City of New York

Before assuming its Dutch name, the Bowery, which runs east of Broadway from Chatham Square to St. Mark's Place, is thought to have been a trail used by the local Native Americans. It subsequently acquired a name descriptive of the access it provided to Dutch governor Peter Stuyvesant's seventeenth-century farm, or bouwerji. Over the next century, as the farms that lined it gave way to commercial establishments for shopping and entertainment, the Bowery gradually lost its rural aspect. Following a period of fashion and elegance from around 1860 to 1875, the Bowery emerged as New York's theater center. Many theatrical "firsts" -the first New York performance of a blackface minstrel group, the first stage version of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and the birth of Yiddish theater in New York -occurred here.¹ A portion of the famous facade of the last Bowery Theatre, four times destroyed by fire and rebuilt at the corner of the Bowery and Canal Street, is visible at the painting's extreme left.

As the end of the nineteenth century neared, the Bowery experienced a period of decline as an array of saloons, dives, scandalous museums, and cheap auctions contributed to an image of depravity captured in a line from a period song: "The Bowery, the Bowery . . . I'll never go there any more!"²Cheap tenements built to accommodate the masses of immigrants pouring into the city rapidly sprang up in the area. The construction in 1878 of the Third Avenue Elevated, known familiarly as the "El," further precipitated the decline of this famous thoroughfare. The noise and shadows of the elevated trains eroded real estate values wherever they were built.

This lively nocturne, however, belies the Bowery's shoddy image at the end of the nineteenth century. The bright lights from the open shops and the overhead train illuminate sidewalks thronged with pedestrians, while the roadway itself bustles with an inventory of urban conveyances, from pushcarts and horse-drawn carriages to early motor cars and electric-powered trolleys. Sonntag, employing a wide-angle view of the street, created a theatrical setting in which the energetic thrust of the train emphasizes the drama of the scene. The vibrant nighttime street scene disguises any evidence of underlying tawdriness.

According to his widow, Louis Sonntag, the son of a prominent artist, was an untrained artist, although he no doubt observed his father at work.³ He frequently depicted the city at night, when artificial light imparts a sense of glamour and excitement to the cityscape and the evening conceals harsher aspects of urban life. Sonntag's work was considered good enough to be accepted for three exhibitions at the National Academy of Design. His premature death at age twenty-nine terminated a promising artistic career.

Notes:

1 The WPA Guide to New York City (1939; reprint, New York: Pantheon, 1982), p. 119.

2 Ibid., p. 120.

3 Letter dated August 26, 1948, from the artist's widow, Mrs. Frederick A. Moore, Museum Archives.


The Bowery at Night c. 1895 William Louis Sonntag, Jr. (1869 -1898) Watercolor, 13 X 17 Signed lower right: W. Louis Sonntag Jr. Gift of Mrs. William B. Miles, 32.275.2
Before assuming its Dutch name, the Bowery, which runs east of Broadway from Chatham Square to St. Mark's Place, is thought to have been a trail used by the local Native Americans. It subsequently acquired a name descriptive of the access it provided to Dutch governor Peter Stuyvesant's seventeenth-century farm, or bouwerji. Over the next century, as the farms that lined it gave way to commercial establishments for shopping and entertainment, the Bowery gradually lost its rural aspect. Following a period of fashion and elegance from around 1860 to 1875, the Bowery emerged as New York's theater center. Many theatrical "firsts" -the first New York performance of a blackface minstrel group, the first stage version of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and the birth of Yiddish theater in New York -occurred here.¹ A portion of the famous facade of the last Bowery Theatre, four times destroyed by fire and rebuilt at the corner of the Bowery and Canal Street, is visible at the painting's extreme left. As the end of the nineteenth century neared, the Bowery experienced a period of decline as an array of saloons, dives, scandalous museums, and cheap auctions contributed to an image of depravity captured in a line from a period song: "The Bowery, the Bowery . . . I'll never go there any more!"²Cheap tenements built to accommodate the masses of immigrants pouring into the city rapidly sprang up in the area. The construction in 1878 of the Third Avenue Elevated, known familiarly as the "El," further precipitated the decline of this famous thoroughfare. The noise and shadows of the elevated trains eroded real estate values wherever they were built. This lively nocturne, however, belies the Bowery's shoddy image at the end of the nineteenth century. The bright lights from the open shops and the overhead train illuminate sidewalks thronged with pedestrians, while the roadway itself bustles with an inventory of urban conveyances, from pushcarts and horse-drawn carriages to early motor cars and electric-powered trolleys. Sonntag, employing a wide-angle view of the street, created a theatrical setting in which the energetic thrust of the train emphasizes the drama of the scene. The vibrant nighttime street scene disguises any evidence of underlying tawdriness. According to his widow, Louis Sonntag, the son of a prominent artist, was an untrained artist, although he no doubt observed his father at work.³ He frequently depicted the city at night, when artificial light imparts a sense of glamour and excitement to the cityscape and the evening conceals harsher aspects of urban life. Sonntag's work was considered good enough to be accepted for three exhibitions at the National Academy of Design. His premature death at age twenty-nine terminated a promising artistic career. Notes: 1 The WPA Guide to New York City (1939; reprint, New York: Pantheon, 1982), p. 119. 2 Ibid., p. 120. 3 Letter dated August 26, 1948, from the artist's widow, Mrs. Frederick A. Moore, Museum Archives.