by Ansel Adams
When the Popes completed their assignment and departed, they recommended that the Spencers be retained by YPCCO as architectural and design consultants. This was a fortunate decision for Yosemite; the architecture and planning were in Ted’s most excellent hands for several decades. He designed the Ahwahnee bungalows and a new dining pavilion for Camp Curry, as well as many other structures throughout the park. Jeannette did the interiors. Together they brought fine artists to Yosemite, among them Robert Boardman Howard, who did the peint-toile in the writing room of the hotel, the stylized prehistoric painting on the rock fireplace in the Camp Curry dining pavilion, and the sculptured metal fireplace hood at the Badger Pass Ski Center. No other national park, before or since, presented such fine examples of art and architecture.
The winter season was always slow for the concessionaires; tourists were almost nonexistent. To increase visitation Don Tresidder, the president of YPCCO, began a program of winter sports, opening a ski area and providing opportunities for skating, sleighing, and dog sledding. He also suggested a theatrical Christmas dinner at the Ahwahnee as a key focus for family winter vacations. In 1927, Jeannette worked on the settings and costumes, and Tresidder’s Bohemian Club friends put on a pageant-dinner performance with a chorus, processions, and presentations of the conventional courses of an English Yuletide.
By 1928 I was a definite character about Yosemite, reasonably appreciated for my music and early efforts in photography. The Christmas dinner’s director asked me to play the Jester, to which I agreed. I arrived before the performance and was jovially entertained at the singers’ party with bourbon and water, chilled by icicles from the shingled roofs of the Camp Curry bungalows. I recall the definite turpentine taste this ice imparted to the drinks. We were transported in a state of convivial bliss to the hotel, where we were put in costume. The singers had had one rehearsal; I had had none. I was simply told, “Go in there and act like a jester; I don’t have to tell you what to do! Just keep quiet when you hear singing.” After a few more drinks we began the performance. It was imprecise, but lively and entertaining from the start. I do not recall all I did but I certainly made a prime fool of myself in the Ahwahnee’s huge main dining room. Apparently, I climbed the forty-foot-tall stone pillars with abandon, to the gasps and cheers of the diners below. My exploits were discussed for years afterwards.
In 1929 Tresidder asked Jeannette and me if we would direct the Christmas dinner and we said we would, provided we could make it professional in concept and performance. Tresidder agreed, and Jeannette and I plowed energetically into a new field. I was always amazed by both the research and ingenuity Jeannette applied to such events. With her very scholarly mind she chose to base the affair on Christmas Dinner at Bracebridge Hall by Washington Irving, an account of an English squire’s Christmas entertainment.
My task was to arrange the music and organize the choir and soloists, as well as write the lines the characters would speak. I conceived of everything in a four-beat rhythm. The lines were to be rendered with stylistic severity, relating them to the music of the processionals. I was careful to include only fine music, avoiding the soupy and the banal. Among those I included were “The Coventry Carol,” “O Jesu So Sweet,” “O Holy Night,” “Joy to the World,” and “Green Groweth the Holly,” a lovely song attributed to King Henry the Eighth. Don Tresidder performed quite well as the Squire; Virginia, who was in fine singing form, was the Housekeeper; Herman Hoss as the Parson was exceptional; and I directed the flow in my part as the Majordomo.
Our staging was constructed of simplest illusionary material, with a minimum budget and unlimited imagination. With appropriate artistic freedom Jeannette designed a handsome stained-glass window in parchment that was hung at the end of the dining hall above the large and handsomely decorated buffet. Before this was set the Squire’s table: a glorious display of candelabra, pewter trays and goblets, and cornucopias of vegetables and luscious fruits. Stained-glass (again parchment) rondels were set at the window tops, and large banners hung out from both sides of the hall. It was an impressive setting for the colorful action during the dinner. Jeannette was wonderful to work with, holding everything together with great competence.
Horns throughout the hotel called the hundreds of dinner guests to the feast. And then, as written in my script, The Bracebridge Dinner:
The Parson then proceeds to the pulpit and says,
O welcome all!
Our honored Squire
Begs ye fulfill his high desire
That Lord and Lady, Youth and Maid
Give rein to mirth and let not fade
The tumult of unceasing joy.
Nourish laughter. Gloom destroy.
Bright pleasure to this feast is bidden
He with frown best keep it hidden.
Course after course of grand foods, introduced through song and verse, were served to the guests: relishes, soup, fish, peacock pie, boar’s head, baron of beef, salad, and finally the pudding and wassail.
The Squire places holly on the pudding, pours spirits thereupon and lights it with a four-beat motion, while he says,
Fragrant Pudding, crowned with Holly
Wreathed with flame—thou the jolly
King of Confects, Hail we all!
O thou regal spicy sphere
Most easily thou shalt endear
Every heart in Bracebridge Hall!
The Spencers and Adamses collaborated on the Bracebridge Dinner from 1929 to 1975. I always enjoyed these extroverted experiences, but arthritis takes its toll and the twelve long processionals became too much for me to lead, especially when it had become so popular that three performances had to be given in two days. The Bracebridge continues, more popular than ever, with tickets distributed through a lottery system. Virginia and I have since visited as guests and we were pleased to note that the quality of the affair has been maintained at a high level by YPCCO. I feel a certain pride about the Bracebridge; its aesthetics and style directly relate to the emotional potential of the natural scene. In Yosemite there is that certain grandeur and beauty which fine art and music enhance and inferior human endeavors denigrate.
Because of strict adherence to prohibition in Yosemite in those early years, the rather righteous National Park Service suggested we do something for New Year’s Eve to divert the guests’ attention from illegal liquid celebrations in their rooms. Jeannette and I put on several “Earth’s Birthday Party” events that were rather spectacular; we once included the Adolf Boehm Ballet performing to a fine recording of Stravinsky’s La Noce. These were enjoyed by the guests, although it did not diminish the drinking before, after, or under the table.
In San Francisco, Ted and Jeannette staged another remarkable event, the Parilia (artists’ ball), as a benefit for the San Francisco Art Association. Three huge areas of the Palace Hotel were involved: fanciful, exotic sets, elaborate processions, performing artists and dancers, considerable flow of spirits, and a pervading euphoria.
I was asked to compose the music for three “orchestras” of five percussionists each. The scores were difficult rhythmically, and in fact, there were only two tympanists in San Francisco who could handle them. I now admit I went a bit wild in what I expected any tympanist could do. These two had to move from group to group to take charge of the more complex parts. One of the frazzled musicians said to me, “Adams, I think you know what you are doing, but I don’t!” It was a great imaginative success.
After the enthusiastic reception of the Bracebridge in 1929, Tresidder recognized I was also a photographer and asked if I would make some photographs of the outdoor winter activities in Yosemite that YPCCO could use for publicity purposes. I began photographing the winter sports, but also traveled into the High Sierra above the valley to show other more isolated areas of the park that could be enjoyed year-round.
My first trip for YPCCO was made in 1929 and a second in 1930. The second trip had purposes beyond my photographing; my traveling companions and I packed sn
ow into the double-walled log cabins sprinkled about the Sierra, which could then be used as cool storage for food during the summer. As we skied we were also on the lookout for potential winter sports areas.
In 1931 I wrote about this trip for the Sierra Club Bulletin in an article profusely illustrated with photographs from the same trip.
The familiar and intimate aspects of the Sierra that one has learned to love during the long summer days are not obscured by winter snows. Rather the grand contours and profiles of the range are clarified and embellished under the white splendor; the mountains are possessed of a new majesty and peace. There is no sound of streams in the valleys; in place of the far-off sigh of waters is heard the thunder-roar of avalanches, and the wind makes only faint and brittle whisper through the snowy forests.…
Fritsch (the Yosemite ski instructor) whips his skis on the snow and leaps down the long billowy slope; a cloud of powdery snow gleams in his wake. We follow; long spacious curves and direct plunges into the depths that take our breath with sheer speed and joy. Down and down through the crisp singing air, riding the white snow as birds ride on the wind, conscious of only my free unhampered motion. Soon we are at the borders of icy Tenaya Lake—two thousand feet of altitude have vanished in a few moments of thrilling delight.
… At Tuolumne Pass we find true alpine conditions—supremely fine snow, swift and dry; grand open areas above the last timber, undulating for miles under cobalt skies; peaks and crags flaunting long banners of wind-driven snow. A world of surpassing beauty, so perfect and intense that we cannot imagine the return of summer and the fading of the crystalline splendor encompassing our gaze.
YPCCO became my most important client for many years. I was paid expenses plus ten dollars per day, which was reduced to five dollars per day during the Depression. Considering the times, my minimal reputation, and the opportunity to photograph in Yosemite, I could not complain. My photographs adorned the covers of Ahwahnee dining room menus and beckoned from pages of magazines extolling the virtues of Yosemite through every season. A typical communication from YPCCO’S advertising department would be:
October 3, 1934
Dear Ansel:
Enclosed display has dignity and class but it needs one thing to make it follow-through on a selling job—it needs a brief message to get the idea into people’s minds: “Enjoy the glory of Autumn in Yosemite. There’s a paved highway all the way. Rates to suit every purse.”
Without something of this nature, it’s just a couple of lovely pictures without any prompting toward action. (After they say, “Isn’t that beautiful!” we’ve got to ask ’em whatthahell they’re going to do about it?)
It was difficult for me to observe the mental processes of the advertising world in relation to Yosemite; their work was directed toward only one objective: bringing people to Yosemite, rather than Yosemite to the people. The Yosemite ideals were cosmeticized to a conventional standard of use and enjoyment. From the beginnings of my active association with both the National Park people and the YPCCO staff, few really understood anything beyond their narrow borders of taste and awareness. I am not saying they did not react to Yosemite in some visceral way—its immensity and majesty are powerful. But very few added anything to its interpretation or its protection; they were simply there, tended their jobs, church and social functions, raised their children, and were perfectly content with postcard imagery, popular music, and the paternal leadership of government and corporate establishment.
Several advertising executives came and went before a man, whom I will refer to as Mr. Smith, took over advertising and sales for YPCCO. He was helpful in many ways and expanded my field of activity.
Our Mr. Smith would lead trips into the High Sierra, chiefly for publicity photographs. I found him to be reasonable, cordial, all business, and without a trace of conservation interest. His principal pleasure in the mountains came from the “simple life”—a passion for fishing and a bourbon before dinner. Nothing wrong with these dedications, but the essential ingredient was lacking: the love and understanding of wilderness and its importance to society. Keep it pretty, see that people enjoy fishing, riding, and the amenities, and be sure to make money in the process. Smith once asked for some pictures of the Sequoias, but gently admonished me, “Do not make them too ektetik.” To the majority of business people of the time the term aesthetic was a foreign word. Fortunately, Tresidder, who later became the president of Stanford University, was sensitive to the natural scene and the need for quality in Yosemite.
In 1935, YPCCO commissioned me to make large murals (prints up to forty by sixty inches) for display at the upcoming San Diego Fair. I was fascinated with the challenge of making a photographic print in grand scale; many of my large-format Yosemite negatives took on a new resonance in mural-sized proportions. Soon after this project, Ted Spencer designed YPCCO’S new San Francisco offices and specified a very large mural, twelve feet long by nine feet high. The subject I chose was a Yosemite winter landscape: Half Dome showing over the snow-laden orchard near Camp Curry. The mural was formed of eight panels, carefully matched and separated by a quarter-inch gray molding. The effect was of a delicate screen, and I was very proud of it. In later years, when the office was moved, it was carelessly ripped from the wall by the demolition contractor. I had made a duplicate mural print that was sent around to various travel conventions on behalf of YPCCO until it finally died from dents and tatters.
The large screenlike mural had been so visually successful that I went one step further to apply a mural to a folding screen. When I had a solo show in 1936 at the Katherine Kuh Gallery in Chicago, as an experiment I included a 73×77½-inch three-panel screen of a detail, Leaves, Mills College, 1932. That screen was sold to Secretary of the Interior Ickes and it resided in his office for many years. I have made only a few other screens, some for good friends, one as an aesthetic shield hiding the stairs at Best’s Studio.
I wrestled with the technical and creative problems of very large prints for many years, writing this in 1940 for U.S. Camera:
Photo-murals… enlargements with a vengeance.…
Apart from optical and technical considerations, the size of the photograph has an expressive relationship with the subject—no matter under what conditions of display it is seen. The subject itself is not an important factor in the determination of the best size of print, although we usually think of small objects requiring more intimate treatment than large, inclusive subjects would demand. It is, rather, the textural and compositional aspects of the photograph that determine the scale of the finished print.
Another highly functional form of the big enlargement is the screen. Perhaps the most satisfactory form is the three-panel; this combines interesting design possibilities and is self-supporting and adaptable to various spaces. Herein we have an augmented problem of pattern and design; the photograph is seen not as a flat surface, but as a combination of surfaces, each set at a different angle to the others. This produces effects not only of altered perspective and scale, but, on account of reflective properties of the panels, of light intensity as well. Obviously, the more abstract the subject, the better the result. A literal subject can suffer severely when broken up into two or more sections placed at various angles, but an all-over pattern, or a semi-abstract arrangement, can be most favorably accented thereby.
I know I was a source of annoyance to some of the executives of YPCCO because of my ardor for nature and conservation. I have a strong feeling that the Spencers often interceded for me with assurances that I had something important to offer if I were given relatively free rein to express it. My quasi-idyllic relations with YPCCO came to an end over a most unfortunate situation, one that altered my sense of trust but opened my eyes to the realities of life in the world of business. The same Mr. Smith asked me to put together a brochure that would present Yosemite as a year-round place to visit. My formal work agreement with YPCCO applied to such a project, but if anything I worked on was to be a retail sale, a s
eparate royalty arrangement was to be made. This was clearly stated in an exchange of letters between Tresidder, Smith, and me. The prints for reproduction were assembled and delivered; after several months I saw a copy of the Four Seasons in Yosemite Valley with photographs by yours truly, for sale in gift shops. Shocked, I approached Tresidder and reminded him of our agreement.
He said, “That’s Smith’s department.”
I protested to Smith and he said, “Talk to Tresidder about it.”
I went to Tresidder yet once more and he simply said, “That’s Smith’s department.”
“But Don, we signed a letter about any of my work to be published for sale.”
The reply was, “Sorry, talk to Smith.”
I was astounded and distressed. What could I do? If I let it pass, a precedent would be established and, just as importantly, I needed the money. Although my attorney friends advised me to do so, I was financially unable to press suit. I called on YPCCO’S legal vice president and demanded something be done.
He said, “Come see me tomorrow.”
I did and I quickly observed his great nervousness. He gave me a document with one hand which I signed while he held a check at a safe distance in his other hand. The document was severely composed and stated that I, Ansel Adams, for the sum of seven hundred and fifty dollars, release YPCCO of all obligations “from the beginning of the world” in reference to the use of my photographs in that book. In other words I was paid off on their terms. Actually, the amount of money was much less than the probable royalties from the sale of a popular book of this type.