This new art movement and the currents of art in general totally disgusted Paul Shya Rosenfeld, who refused to make the transition from his classical training. It was then that he began to have second thoughts about pursuing an art career, realizing that his own outlook was so far out of step with what was fast becoming the mainstream. Now in his twenties, the artist went to Dresden, and for three days he sat, pencil in hand, before Raphael's Sistine Madonna, and pondered what the future might hold for him. After drawing numerous studies of Raphael's work, Paul's desire to create in the classical form was rejuvinated. "I decided to be rather insane with Rafael than sane with the rest of the world," he would later tell a reporter in an interview.*
Returning to Berlin with a new sense of purpose, Paul turned out several portraits, which led to commissions by some of the country's wealthier families in Silesia, among which he has named the von Humboldts, the von Wiedners, and Count Rotkirch-Trach. He describes himself as a house guest in each home while painting portraits, and after one was finished, another commission would be waiting. He was thus able to craft a comfortable living in Silesia. But the mood in Germany was threatening to the Jewish community. Paul's mother and father and his two siblings had already left Europe by steamer to settle in America, undoubtedly shaken after losing their home in the war. Paul's desire to be near them might have influenced his decision to leave Europe for America, but on their part, they may have exerted as much pressure as possible on him to join them.
The German economy was not exactly thriving after the war. Many segments of the population suffered extreme privation. But besides the economic and political factors were the philosophical ones. Paul was not comfortable with the limitations that his background imposed on him. America seemed to provide a way to break with his past. The stories he had heard about the great land of freedom and prosperity must have excited his imagination. His mind was made up. He would leave Europe behind, and start anew in a nation already well known for its embrace of immigrant populations, and the attractive political philosophy of personal freedom that seemed to pervade its very name.
It must have been an exciting journey for Paul and the other voyagers, particularly those traveling to America for the first time. The Orbita was a well-known ship that had made many trips back and forth between America and the European continent. Steamer was the fastest way to travel at that time, the airplane not having yet been developed to the point of making possible transatlantic flight. Still, some were quite accustomed to the journey over the Atlantic by steamer, and made it often. We can imagine that during his journey on the sea, Paul must have had numerous conversations with fellow passengers, and likely took out his pad and pencil to record some of the scenes on the ship. He might even have ventured to do a portrait or two, an activity likely to attract attention among the passengers and certainly a good way to meet people.
One couple was particularly friendly, and they exchanged addresses with Paul. They would later assist him in his application for American citizenship. But a young man had more than married couples on his mind. It is likely that he met up with some of the young women aboard, and at least flirted with them or tried otherwise to woo them with his fine artistic talents. These brief flirtations, however, did not end in any lasting romantic relationships if they did occur.
Paul's parents and sister and brother had settled in a small multi-family home in Brooklyn bordering the immense Greenwood Cemetery. It was one of a multitude of humble apartment-style buildings then only recently built to accommodate the influx of foreigners. The city itself had become over the last quarter century a powerhouse of economic activity. It required for its sustenance a widely varied workforce ranging from porters to assemblers to restaurant and hotel staff to stock brokers and bankers. People seemed to be flush with cash, and in this period of expansion, the economy could surely absorb another artist, although many had already come, and many more would make the journey, particularly from Eastern Europe and Russia.
On the last day of the voyage, the Eighth of October, Paul celebrated his 26th birthday. It was a doubly memorable event - a birthday, and then a landing. On the 9th he disembarked, passed through customs, perhaps with a few of his paintings and sentimental belongings in a big trunk. His parents, no doubt, tracked the arrival of the ship, and very likely met him on the dock. His brother and sister, who must have missed Paul, would have accompanied them. This would have constituted a heart-felt reunion, with Paul's parents no doubt thanking heaven for their son's safe arrival and his rescue from what was becoming an even more unstable Europe inevitably headed toward war, if not immediately, then in the long-term.
Paul's sights were set not on a brief sojourn to America, but rather on immigration and assimilation. He would tackle the new environment as he had other places he had visited and conquered. While the language barrier would be an impediment, Paul was resourceful and would be sure to meet that challenge, even if it was to take him several months.
If he felt ignored or slighted during his first days in this city of teeming energy and movement, it was not because of any form of snobbery that might be evident in other cities. People slighted each other in the normal course of business, because they were in a hurry, because everybody was expected to be at their business, and because people had to put bread on the table for their families. There was no time for propriety, for civility, for manners. It would not take long for someone who had managed to survive the privations and ravages of war to be part of this new environment. Still, Paul was determined to hold on to his European character, to be the gentleman, to treat others a bit better than he could be expected to be treated by them.
When they arrived at the crowded apartment dwelling at 1 Chester Avenue, Paul must have unloaded his luggage as soon as he entered the door, including the very heavy trunk that it took all hands available to haul up the stairs, and threw himself in a chair. His mother quickly prepared dinner, and they all sat down for their first meal. It was more likely than not Mazo ball soup, Kasha, or perhaps some beef stew or similar American fare adopted to Polish Jewish appetites.
After settling down, Paul's sister, now 14, was probably anxious to show him the new sites of America. By then, she must have mastered English, and would probably be a great help to Paul in having him acclimate to the city of eight million people.
As many an immigrant had, Paul would be willing to forgo his roots in order to gain access to all levels of society. But his artistic sentiments and traditional attitude might have already drawn him closer to Christianity as he toured Europe and studied the art of the continent. These changes were at first subtle, but gradually may have acted to loosen his traditional ties to Judaism. There is no doubt that he must have known well the sting of antisemitism in Europe, and tried at all costs to avoid confrontation. He certainly did not have his father or mother nearby during his sojourns on the Continent to see that he observed Jewish customs. Now that he had come to America, he was anxious to meet people outside his circle, people who would introduce him to the more prosperous segment of society that his family was accustomed to dealing with in Europe. Perhaps his parents were shocked by his secular behavior.
Three months after his arrival, Paul applied for U.S. citizenship. He already liked the energy he found in America, and had no intention of returning to Europe. Naturally, his priority would be in establishing a portraiture practice, but he had no letters of recommendation he could use. It was then that it occurred to him that a name change would be beneficial to his ambitions. How he chose his name must remain a mystery, as there is nobody living who seems to be able to light on it, and he never admitted, even to his friends, of having done so. But Stanislav Rembski is what, with minor variations, he would be known as for the rest of his life.
With his new name and his Old World charm, he would start almost immediately to woo his portraiture customers. He was at home among the upper levels of society. And he was truly in love with his art, and with the people he painted.
This impelled him to bring a drawing pad wherever he went. He took it with him on the subway or on the way to art school in Manhattan. He took it to Central Park, to Wall Street. Perhaps he tried to sell a few portraits by gaining customers on the street. These small efforts not being his final goal, he finally established a studio in Manhattan where his potential customers could visit and see the type of work he was capable of doing. This he managed by teaming up with Aleth Bjorn, an artist and inventor with an erratic if talented history who was Rembski's senior by three or four decades.
Bjorn, a tall, lean, bespectacled man sporting a bushy a goatee and mustache, was born in 1859 in Denmark, but left his homeland in the late 1890s to settle in the United States. His creative mind was probably the chief obstacle preventing him from obtaining what most people would consider gainful employment, although he did manage to find work at the American Museum of Natural History through the years and establish some useful contacts there.
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