Sydney Engelberg (1912-1997) was a painter and illustrator who primarily worked within the American Scene tradition during the first half of the 20th century. He blended aspects of Regionalism, Social Realism, and occasionally Magic Realism to create uniquely American narratives. Active during the peak of American Scene painting, Engelberg was a contemporary—and at times a student—of the movement’s key artist, Thomas Hart Benton (1889–1975). Engelberg combined the more conservative Regionalism with elements of the left-leaning Social Realism, while also occasionally incorporating the surreal, dreamlike qualities of Magic Realism. Most of Engelberg’s work was created during his active service in WWII and through his illustrations for The New Yorker magazine, both before and after the war. However, like the mischievous harlequins that appear and disappear throughout his oeuvre, Engelberg hid a secret: he was a closeted gay man until he met his lifelong partner in the early 1950s. His hidden identity would influence how he experienced and depicted the "American Scene," both at home and at war.
In the early 1930s, Engelberg trained under Thomas Hart Benton at the Art Students League in New York. By this time, Benton and his brand of American Regionalism were at their height, with Benton gracing the cover of Time magazine just two years later. Benton emphasized drawing and painting from life, stressing the importance of technique and the human figure to his students. He rejected abstract modernism and advocated for a direct engagement with the world around them. Benton believed American artists should depict the everyday triumphs and struggles of the working class, creating art that resonated with ordinary people. His visual storytelling utilized exaggerated human features, giving his subjects a poetic, heroic quality while maintaining a focus on anatomy, expression and the dynamism of the overall scene. Engelberg absorbed this approach, excelling in the foundations of draftsmanship in everyday storytelling. He also studied traditional lithography with Charles Locke (1899–1983) at the Art Students League, where he first introduced harlequins in his work, flanking a female figure at the center while facing each other.
Social Realism, a competing and sometimes complementary voice of the time, was another major influence. Artists like Reginald Marsh (1898–1954) and Ben Shahn (1898-1969), luminaries of the genre, critiqued the unfair conditions faced by the working class and poor. As a freelance artist living gig-to-gig in New York, Engelberg likely related to the leftist political leanings of Marsh and Shahn, whose work generated social dialogue.
Throughout the 1930s, Engelberg found work as a muralist, book illustrator, and freelance illustrator for The New Yorker. His genre scenes of American life—dock workers, ice haulers, pit miners, chorus girls, and more—were rendered in sharp pen and ink. However, something mischievous and different often emerged in his depictions of men. His portrayals were idealized in a distinctly erotic manner, with the artist’s same-sex gaze subtly drawn between the lines. A playfully queer-coded example appears in his illustration of an household junk hauler, where a hunky working-class man lounges on a sofa at the top of the wagon heap in the pose of a classical odalisque—one eye covered by his cap, the other gazing directly at the viewer. The side of the wagon reads “junk.”
In 1940, Engelberg was drafted into the U.S. Army for active service in WWII. With no client assignments, Engelberg had the freedom to draw and paint what compelled him. Though not an official war artist, he documented his experience in a style blending realism, expressionism, and symbolism. His experiences as a closeted gay man in the army offered a necessary and overlooked lens through which to interpret the war, as the brotherhood of men and their shared experiences took on a deeper significance. Engelberg’s drawings and paintings depict human tenderness, playfulness, and empathy amidst the horrors of war. The longing for connection is palpable in images of soldiers lounging, playing cards, or crammed into foxholes. His portrayals of male beauty and closeness are reminiscent of the works of Paul Cadmus (1904–1999) and Jared French (1905–1988), though Engelberg also depicted moments of isolation and terror, such as a soldier floating like a dead child in a womb-like foxhole or a lonely mule left behind by its owners—symbols of his own emotional isolation. In Tunisia, Algeria and Italy Engelberg also painted the locals with a distinct expressionist sensibility. Calling on his familiarity with art history, one can see the influence of Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890) and Jean-Franois Millet (1814-1875) who painted scenes of farmers performing the “dance” of throwing seed or gleaning stalks. With these subjects, Engleberg’s palette is saturated with bright color and the tableaux has a rhythmic quality.
After the war, Engelberg moved to Los Angeles, where he met his future partner, fellow artist, Charles Gresham (1921-2019). The two eventually settled in the North Beach neighborhood of San Francisco, where Engelberg continued working for The New Yorker and occasionally showing his art. While Abstract Expressionism and the Bay Area Figurative movement flourished at the nearby San Francisco Art Institute, Engelberg maintained his established style, producing less work over time. The one exception was his annual holiday cards, drawn in a style reminiscent of Jean Cocteau (1889–1963). It is here that the harlequin reappears, now with angel wings. Engelberg’s harlequins, which had traditionally symbolized comedy, tragedy, and desire, seem to serve as his personal avatar. The "Engel" in Engelberg—meaning "angel" in German—suggests that these figures reflect his own transformation and longings. Throughout art history, the harlequin often symbolized a servant figure, quick-witted and romantic, who subverts authority and pursues his desires. In Engelberg’s work, this figure may have been a playful cover for his hidden identity and desires.