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Charles A.A. Dellschau
In the fall of 1899, Charles A.A. Dellschau (1830-1923), a retired butcher from Houston, embarked on a project that would occupy him for more than 20 years. What began as an illustrated manuscript recounting his experiences in the California Gold Rush became an obsessive project resulting in 12 large, hand-bound books with more than 2,500 drawings related to airships and the development of flight. Dellschau's designs resemble traditional hot air balloons augmented with fantastic visual details, collage and text. The hand-drawn "Aeros" were interspersed with collaged pages called "Press Blooms," featuring thousands of newspaper clippings related to the political events and technological advances of the period.
After the artist's death in 1923, the books were stored in the attic of the family home in Houston. In the aftermath of a fire in the 1960s, they were dumped on the sidewalk and salvaged by a junk dealer. Eight made their way into the collections of the San Antonio Museum of Art, the Witte Museum and the Menil Collection; the remainder were sold to a private collector. Dellschau's works have since been collected by numerous other museums including the American Folk Art Museum, the High Museum, the John Michael Kohler Arts Center and the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Like the eccentric outpourings of Adolf Wolfli, Henry Darger and Achilles Rizzoli, these private works were not created for the art world, but to satisfy a driving internal creative force. Dreamer, optimist and visionary, Charles Dellschau is one of the earliest documented outsider artists known in America. This first monograph on Dellschau includes an essay by art critic Thomas McEvilley, an essay by critic Roger Cardinal of the University of Kent, a text by James Brett of the Museum of Everything in London, an essay by Tom Crouch of the Smithsonian Institution's Museum of Air and Space, an essay by Barbara Safarova and a biographical overview by artist and independent curator Tracy Baker-White.
After the artist's death in 1923, the books were stored in the attic of the family home in Houston. In the aftermath of a fire in the 1960s, they were dumped on the sidewalk and salvaged by a junk dealer. Eight made their way into the collections of the San Antonio Museum of Art, the Witte Museum and the Menil Collection; the remainder were sold to a private collector. Dellschau's works have since been collected by numerous other museums including the American Folk Art Museum, the High Museum, the John Michael Kohler Arts Center and the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Like the eccentric outpourings of Adolf Wolfli, Henry Darger and Achilles Rizzoli, these private works were not created for the art world, but to satisfy a driving internal creative force. Dreamer, optimist and visionary, Charles Dellschau is one of the earliest documented outsider artists known in America. This first monograph on Dellschau includes an essay by art critic Thomas McEvilley, an essay by critic Roger Cardinal of the University of Kent, a text by James Brett of the Museum of Everything in London, an essay by Tom Crouch of the Smithsonian Institution's Museum of Air and Space, an essay by Barbara Safarova and a biographical overview by artist and independent curator Tracy Baker-White.
- GenresArt
332 pages, Hardcover
First published October 31, 2012
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February 6, 2025
Despite his canonical status in the Outsider Art world, Charles A. A. Dellschau is a remarkably difficult artist to find work about. Every reasonably good book on him -- and there's only a handful -- is out of print and sells for exorbitant prices on the resale market. After years of looking, I finally managed to locate a copy at a price that was still stiff, but not quite as bad as usual, and picked it up knowing that I might never be able to get my hands on this book otherwise.
And it's a very good book! The essays are thoughtful and well-written, and their authors include several leading scholars in the field. The photography is crisp and clear; my only note would be that in the smaller plates, it's difficult to read the newspaper articles that Dellschau sometimes collaged onto his work, and in the handful of thumbnail images, it's impossible to do so. However, that doesn't really detract from the appreciation of the artist's work.
As is so often the case, I wished there was a full reprint of Dellschau's oeuvre that was obtainable, but I can't imagine a market for the thousands of pages that such a reprint would include. This book itself is kind of a doorstop, and includes selections from his entire career, enabling the reader to trace the development of the man's art. The essays try to make the case for the late work -- I think the art pretty clearly deteriorates towards the end, although that's not so much evident in the designs or ideas as it is in the increasingly shaky line and color work. (He was over 90 by the time he made the last of these, so he'd certainly earned a bit of shakiness.)
This is one of those reviews that I'm not even sure will be useful to anyone, because the book itself is so difficult to obtain, but if you're interested in outsider art, the history of aviation, or questionably historical narratives, I can promise you that the destination is worth the journey.
And it's a very good book! The essays are thoughtful and well-written, and their authors include several leading scholars in the field. The photography is crisp and clear; my only note would be that in the smaller plates, it's difficult to read the newspaper articles that Dellschau sometimes collaged onto his work, and in the handful of thumbnail images, it's impossible to do so. However, that doesn't really detract from the appreciation of the artist's work.
As is so often the case, I wished there was a full reprint of Dellschau's oeuvre that was obtainable, but I can't imagine a market for the thousands of pages that such a reprint would include. This book itself is kind of a doorstop, and includes selections from his entire career, enabling the reader to trace the development of the man's art. The essays try to make the case for the late work -- I think the art pretty clearly deteriorates towards the end, although that's not so much evident in the designs or ideas as it is in the increasingly shaky line and color work. (He was over 90 by the time he made the last of these, so he'd certainly earned a bit of shakiness.)
This is one of those reviews that I'm not even sure will be useful to anyone, because the book itself is so difficult to obtain, but if you're interested in outsider art, the history of aviation, or questionably historical narratives, I can promise you that the destination is worth the journey.
Displaying 1 of 1 review