The November, 1930, issue of The Etude opens up an interesting "mystery", that is if mysteries truly exist in our time. The cover image is titled "Rubinstein Playing in Stassov's Home" and it was, according to the credit underneath the image, "Painted expressly for The Etude by Ossip de Perelma de Bisserie."
Ossip de Perelma (also known as "Ossip di Perelma", "Ossip Perelman", and other variations) was an established Russian painter known for his portraits of that country's czars. He left Russia in 1917. In this painting the artist returns to Russian subject matter, depicting the great pianist Anton Rubinstein playing at the home of Vladimir Stassov (also spelled Stasov). Stassov, seen lounging at the far right of the painting, was a highly influential music critic in Russia during the 19th and early 20th centuries. The painting adorns the November, 1930, cover of The Etude, and depicts a soireé which would likely have taken place in the 1880s or 1890s. No additional information about this painting is included in the magazine.
Of less interest than the painting, however, is the painter's ultimate fate as recounted in an interesting story at SimplySarasota.com. Under the "Mysteries of Sarasota" heading is a story called Where did the Russian Count's Relatives Go?, which contains a brief summary of the artist's life followed by the strange absence of any relatives or friends to claim his body after his death. Six years after Perelma's death the funeral home finally located the artist's wife, and arrangements were made for a proper funeral service.
A minor historical footnote, perhaps, but a staid reminder that a measure of fame in one's public life is no guarantee of lasting public renown or memory.
It reminded me of an interesting project I read about at DesignObserver.com. In a story called Death's Bloom I read of an Oregon hospital which stored in its basement a number of metal canisters containing cremains of its patients. Documented by photographer David Maisel in Library of Dust, the canisters evolved over the years into mordantly colorful works of erosive art. The Etude cover artist for November, 1930, ultimately suffered no such ignominy, but had he been left in the lurch long enough he might have been buried as an unknown.
Similarly (and more relevant to piano music) one is reminded of the burial site of Scott Joplin, who died a pauper and was buried in a mass grave at St. Michael's Cemetery in Astoria. In the 1970s, when Joplin's reputation rose up from obscurity and he was given the credit he was due, the burial site was located and a formal plaque honoring Joplin's burial site was placed. Today it is common to see tokens of respect placed at the site, which draws a number of admirers and famous-grave-seekers to St. Michael's Cemetery.
