AEL budgeted a generous sum of $106,930—approximately $1,376,895 per vessel in 2024 dollars—for each ship’s art.5 The purchases fell into one of three categories: authentic antiques borrowed or acquired for display; commissioned reproductions; and contemporary art commissions. Dreyfuss, working alongside his team, personally chose all works of art, visiting numerous galleries and studios to select a variety of critically acclaimed artists and emerging talent. He was careful, however, to avoid the extremes of modernity while also eschewing clichés of tradition.6 He negotiated commissions from late 1949 into the early 1950s, and the works were approved and installed in 1951 shortly before the Independence’s maiden voyage in February, and the Constitution’s in July. The interior decor, and even much of the art found on board, was identical across both ships, with the exception of a few antique pieces and specific items relating to the name and historic precedents of each vessel. As the first ship of the pair, the Independence was the better-documented liner, and most surviving interior photographs are of that vessel. However, the Constitution received greater publicity during its career thanks to the ship’s numerous appearances on television and film, including enthusiastic press coverage of Grace Kelly’s 1956 crossing to marry Prince Rainier of Monaco.

No ocean liner before or since has rivaled the Independence and Constitution for the number and variety of historic objects on board. This distinction was achieved thanks to an arrangement unique in the history of transatlantic passenger shipping, and certainly in the museum world: a long-term loan from the American Wing of New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. A loan between a museum and a commercial enterprise is rare, and in fact, the Met’s board formally resolved to refrain from such scenarios as early as 1941.7 However, Vincent Andrus, curator of the American Wing, became a major proponent of this loan, not only in securing board approval for an exception to the bylaws, but also by navigating the extensive paperwork and arrangements related to the objects’ security on display, mainly through specially constructed braces.8 The loan was renewable on an annual basis by mutual agreement between the Met’s board and AEL, and was renewed a total of fourteen times until February 1966. At that point, changing leadership within the Met, combined with AEL’s increasing financial difficulties, precipitated a decision to recall the objects.9 The length of the loan was extraordinary, but toward the end of his career, Andrus stated that he viewed the exception to museum policy to have been wisely made.10

For the first fifteen years of their seafaring lives, the Independence and Constitution hosted an unprecedented display of historic treasures that proved quite popular with passengers.11 Forty-eight objects were loaned to the Independence, and forty-five to the Constitution, all either made for the American market or manufactured in American workshops between the mid-eighteenth and late nineteenth centuries. Chief among the loans were two silver objects made by Paul Revere: a cann (listed as a mug) was selected for the Independence and a porringer for the Constitution (fig. 3). The inclusion of these objects was an impressive accomplishment for Dreyfuss, as Revere had been a major figure among American folk heroes since the 1870s, helped by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s 1860 poem. His name alone caught the attention of audiences, even if they had little familiarity with decorative arts.12 Although Revere was the most recognizable name among the craftspersons exhibited on board, other represented silversmiths included William Cowell, John Hasiter, Myer Myers, Joseph Richardson, Samuel Vernon, and Daniel Van Voorhis.13 Ceramics accounted for over half of the loan objects. Each item was chosen either for its patriotic decoration or for its unusual form. Most of the objects were manufactured in Staffordshire or Liverpool for the US market—with a few examples of Chinese export porcelain included for good measure. The rest of the ceramic objects originated from North America. The variety of objects displayed on each vessel was largely similar, although the Independence exclusively received several figurines of animals and people, while the Constitution displayed several examples of Pennsylvania slipware. Likewise, the glassware loaned for the displays consisted of representative examples of various antique forms, including whale oil lamps, molded-glass flasks displaying patriotic iconography, and various glasses and drinking vessels.14

The two known photographs documenting the display of the Met’s loan on board the Independence show a large, glass-doored breakfront in the first-class lounge, where the objects were exhibited (fig. 4). Fifteen objects can be definitively identified by comparing them with the list of accessioned objects in the Met’s Loan Granted records in the Thomas J. Watson Library. The display extended across three levels of shelving in the upper cupboards. The central bay displayed the most precious objects available to eighteenth-century consumers: silver and porcelain. The silver tankards made by Paul Revere and George Fielding took pride of place, one on the bottom shelf and one on the top. The middle shelf housed a sample of eighteenth-century Chinese export porcelain made for the American market: a covered vase, a teapot, and a toddy jug (fig. 5). Although the forms were different, they were united by their decor—three versions of an eagle armorial crest, a patriotic motif that was incorporated into the Great Seal of the United States in 1782. The left-hand bay of the breakfront displayed numerous examples of English transferware created or adapted for the American market. The bottom shelf featured a large Staffordshire platter depicting the Massachusetts State House, flanked by two smaller plates, one of which shows Mount Vernon, and a pressed glass decanter (fig. 6). On the middle shelf was a display of Staffordshire earthenware made for the American market. Of particular interest was a platter from the workshop of James and Ralph Clews (fig. 7). The pattern, today referred to by collectors as “The States Border Series,” featured personifications of Justice (holding a portrait of George Washington) and Independence, while the names of fifteen states joined in a banner around the outer rim. The central scene, however, is not American at all, but rather a picturesque view of Trematon Castle across Forder Lake from the Lynher River.15 An additional Staffordshire pitcher and more glassware filled out the rest of the middle and top shelves. The breakfront’s right-hand bay displayed unusual and amusing forms of ceramics, most originating from the pottery works of Bennington, Vermont. On the top shelf stood a jug with a press-molded scene of a deer hunt, a plain brown goblet, and a figurine of a lion, likely designed by Daniel Greatbatch, resting his paw on a small globe (fig. 8). The middle shelf featured a pottery statue of a poodle holding a basket of flowers in its mouth, and an odd jug in the shape of a man cozily swathed in a large coat, carrying a hot beverage, and wearing a top hat (fig. 9). Several other objects can be seen on the shelves but cannot be identified.

To house the Met’s display, Dreyfuss turned to the venerable gallery French & Company for an appropriate case.16 Founded in 1840 as a furniture seller, by the mid-twentieth century the firm had become a fixture in the American antiques trade, encompassing fine and decorative art sales, as well as decorating services for the ultra-wealthy across the nation. As was common in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the firm not only sourced all the required fixtures for custom interiors, from art and furniture to historic paneling, but also rebuilt them as necessary to fit a client’s rooms.17 For the Independence and Constitution, French & Company constructed two large breakfronts, with cabinets below and glass doors concealing shelves for the display of the Met’s loan (see fig. 4). Unlike authentic eighteenth-century examples, these breakfronts were built from pine, with the wood grain left prominent. The gallery also supplied two antique gilt eagle pedestals, which were assembled into marble-topped console tables and assumed pride of place under framed replicas of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution for their respective ships (fig. 10).18

To decorate the walls of the public rooms, Dreyfuss purchased twenty antique prints, ten for each vessel, from the Old Print Shop and Kennedy Galleries in New York (fig. 11; see also fig. 2). The two most significant prints of the lot were displayed in the Commodore’s Terrace, an extension of the first-class cocktail lounge included on each liner. Appropriately, they were nineteenth-century prints after the portraits of the commodores of each namesake vessel, William Bainbridge for the Independence and Isaac Hull for the Constitution.19 Costing $35 a piece, these two portraits were the least expensive artworks purchased for the ships. Each ship’s eight remaining prints, destined for the first- and cabin-class lounges, were not individually listed in the ship’s art inventory, but photographs of the Independence’s public rooms show several nineteenth-century naval scenes, of which four can be definitively identified. The first-class lounge featured at least three framed prints on either side of the breakfront containing the Met’s loan of decorative arts: Thomas Sully and Francis Kearny’s depiction of the Battle of Lake Erie, Benjamin Tanner’s print of Hugh Reinagle’s painting of Macdonough’s victory on Lake Champlain, and Alexander Lawson’s print of Thomas Birch’s scene of Commodore Perry transferring from the Lawrence to the Niagara. The cabin-class lounge featured another print, by Cornelius Tiebout, of a Thomas Birch painting depicting the battle between the USS Constitution and the HMS Guerriere (fig. 12). The total cost of the prints purchased for the Independence came to $730, and those acquired for the Constitution cost $1,760; the latter figure was perhaps higher due to the USS Constitution’s greater name recognition and historic career.

Dreyfuss purchased an additional 325 works of framed art for each liner—prints, watercolors, engravings, and screen prints—to decorate the first-class staterooms. These were acquired through the furniture budget rather than the art budget and were not chosen based on artist or style. A comprehensive list of prints has not survived, but brochure images show that the selections ranged from large facsimiles of John James Audubon’s Birds of America to abstract twentieth-century compositions (fig. 13). Ralph Pierson of Art Digest surmised they were all chosen for their subject matter, rather than on the merit of any one artist.20

Although the use of authentic historic objects was a significant moment in shipboard design, their use was limited by availability as well as the inherent risks of sea travel and hard use from hundreds of passengers every day. Thus, in some cases Dreyfuss used high-quality reproductions, including game-table chairs in the first-class lounge and modernized reproduction Windsor chairs in the cabin-class smoking room. The most prominent replicas were decorative objects, the largest of which was ordered for the first-class foyer. Replicas of the original 1790s figureheads of the USS Independence and USS Constitution were displayed against the aft bulkhead: an Indigenous man commonly identified as Patuxet Chief Massasoit on the Independence, and Hercules on the Constitution (figs. 14, 15). Sculptor Bruno Mankowski (1902–1990) based his designs on extant drawings of the original figureheads—found in the collections of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania—sketched by Joshua Humphries (1751–1838), a famed Philadelphia shipwright and naval architect.21 They were cast at life size by Alfred Wolkenberg of Alva Studios, which had previously received acclaim for its licensed reproductions of museum objects.22 Although the original figureheads would have been painted white or polychrome, the modern casts were finished to resemble unpainted varnished wood to harmonize with the foyer’s walls of Texas shell stone and marble-patterned rubber floors.

Replica objects could also be found in the first-class cocktail bar and nightclub, called the Boat and Bottle Bar (fig. 16). The decor evoked the crafts developed by sailors, both naval and civilian, over the course of the nineteenth century. On each liner, forty small ship models in large, hand-blown glass bottles were mounted on the walls throughout the room. On board the Independence, the specially commissioned models by Polk’s Model Craft, Inc., displayed the chronological development of sailing vessels, from an ancient raft with bamboo sails to Robert Fulton’s North River Steamboat.23 On board the Constitution, the models portrayed significant US Navy vessels from the age of sail, also supplied by Polk’s.24 An additional model was displayed at the forward end of the room in a glass case: a large, 3/16-scale model of the liner’s respective namesake naval vessel specially constructed by the naval architecture firm Gibbs and Cox, Inc. (fig. 17). The scale meant that the models were enormous. That of the USS Independence measured 61 inches, and that of the USS Constitution 57 inches. The details of both were such that viewers could appreciate the intricacies of the rigging, deck fittings, and guns, and even glimpses of the interior through the windows of the stern galleries.25 Those two models required hundreds of hours by specialized builders over the course of eight months, making them the most expensive works of art on board, at a staggering $13,000 for the model of the USS Independence and $10,000 for the USS Constitution.26

The final, and most extensive, category of Americana found on board consisted of contemporary art commissions specifically designed for the liners’ public rooms. Many of these works were in part utilitarian, such as mosaics surrounding the outdoor pools, murals of maps to show the progress of the voyage, and an abstract decorative screen by Xenia Cage (1913–1995), erstwhile wife of composer John Cage, in the cabin-class lounge. The more significant commissions, which received greater critical attention, were directly inspired by Americana and in some cases continued folk craft traditions established by previous generations.

Most notable in this category were a series of twenty seamen’s knot boards designed by Lars Thorsen (1876–1952) and arranged by Ruth Vollmer (1903–1982) (fig. 18).27 Ten went to each vessel, with six displayed in the first-class cocktail bar and four in the cabin-class smoking room and bar, called the Barbary Tavern. Although made of modern plywood and nylon rope, these knot boards were a continuation of the sailor art practices that had existed from the mid-nineteenth century.28 Thorsen was a craftsman who bridged the gap between folk and fine art over the course of his career. These panels, each unique and displaying a different variety of knotwork, directly stemmed from his early life experiences as a sailmaker and rigger.29

The art of the first-class private dining room in each ship incorporated references to expanding boundaries of folk art and Americana. Each was named the Tattoo Room, thanks to the large murals by John Jacoby (1921–2012) that depicted nineteenth-century sailor tattoo designs (fig. 19).30 Although the status of tattooing as an art form was still controversial across American society at this time, the history of American tattoos was particularly well recorded.31 By World War II, an identifiable American style of naval tattooing had developed, which possessed strong roots in the nineteenth-century aesthetic and symbolic precedents. Tattooing’s importance to American maritime culture became so ingrained that in 1946 the Met acquired an entire series of standard tattoo designs, called flashes, by the tattoo firm of Clark and Sellers. Jacoby’s designs were stated to be direct copies of historic precedents, although his sources were not specified and his designs are distinct from those at the Met.32

Unique among the artists working on projects for the Independence and Constitution, Jacoby received multiple commissions. Aside from his tattoo murals, he was tasked with designing several custom fabrics for the vessels, as textile design was his primary line of work. Two Jacoby fabrics could be found in the passenger spaces. The first, printed by Jud Williams, Inc., were the floor-length curtains of the cabin-class smoking room and bar (figs. 20, 21). The pattern featured a range of antique designs for a compass rose in varying sizes and complexity, in shades of brown, blue, coral, and tan, placed across a solid gray background, colors that had been selected to harmonize with the other finishes of the room. Jacoby also designed textiles for the first-class lounge. Loosely based on Audubon’s Birds of America, Jacoby’s design was considerably less accurate, instead portraying a simplified mid-century interpretation of several birds against foliage and branches (see fig. 2).33 The colorway of deep-green, blue, and brown figures contrasted with the off-white ground and warm colors used elsewhere in the space. The final design was printed on natural linen by Morely-Fletcher, Ltd., and used for the room’s curtains as well as for three of the large central sofas.

Most remaining artworks for the Independence and Constitution were large murals (fig. 22). Several cabin-class public rooms provided a modern interpretation of Americana. For the Barbary Tavern, which doubled as a smoking room and cocktail bar, Dreyfuss turned to Edmund Lewandowksi (1914–1998).34 The room was decorated to resemble a sailor’s tavern at the turn of the nineteenth century, complete with contemporary adaptations of Windsor chairs, a linoleum floor designed to mimic terracotta tile, and several of Thorsen’s knot panels. Lewandowski’s mural, installed behind the room’s central bar, sought to extend the theme by depicting a busy maritime port filled with merchant sailing vessels. The unusual composition—a panoramic harbor seen through a forest of masts, spars, and rigging—suggested a viewpoint from an upper-story window or hillside.35 Lewandowski’s initial sketches for the murals indicate he originally painted one continuous panorama in his studio, which was then cut into two parts for installation on the Independence and Constitution.36 The composition’s strict geometry created a nearly abstract tone that was characteristic of Lewandowski’s approach as a precisionist. Although his early work reflected the socially conscious American Scene tendencies of Works Progress Administration murals (of which he created two), by this point in his career he was painting scenes of American built environments, ranging from farm silos and factory towers to roadside gas stations. His work frequently included contemporary steam vessels and small sailboats, making this mural depicting historic tall ships something of an outlier within his catalog.37

In the Pioneer Restaurant, the dining room for cabin-class passengers, a mural by Anton Refregier (1905–1979) further illustrated America’s seafaring heritage (figs. 23, 24).38 The fourteen-foot canvas illustrated vignettes of eighteenth-century shipbuilding, including sail making, wood turning, hewing planks, preparing the ship’s anchor, testing a cannon, and consulting with a naval architect.39 The two murals depicted the same theme but featured several touches unique to each ship, including changes to the composition of the vignettes. Although painted in an identifiably mid-twentieth-century style, Refregier’s proclivities for Social Realism and his stylistic preference for a flatter, two-dimensional style gave the murals a forthright appearance that could easily remind viewers of some of the more “primitive” paintings of American folk art as well as a modern aesthetic.

Happily, the entire correspondence between Refregier, Dreyfuss’s office, and I. Stein and Sons, a marine furniture and fixtures company, survives in the Anton Refregier Papers at the Archives of American Art and shows that Dreyfuss personally negotiated with the artists and ultimately approved the final designs.40 The actual contracts and payments, however, were handled by I. Stein and Sons, which manufactured all of the ships’ furnishings based on Dreyfuss’s designs and installed all the interiors and artwork.41 Refregier’s commission is especially significant, as he was embroiled in ongoing controversy over his epic mural series History of San Francisco, which would culminate in Congressional hearings spearheaded by California Congressmen Hubert Scudder and Richard Nixon.42 Publicity materials for the liners made no mention of the ongoing political furor, and Refregier’s murals were featured as a major artistic highlight of the ship’s interiors. Nothing in the preserved correspondence indicates there was any consideration of dropping Refregier from the project. This appears to be in keeping with Dreyfuss’s practice of hiring artists who were in the public eye, with any attendant controversy largely disregarded. Three years previously, he had commissioned a set of four identical murals depicting maps of the Mediterranean for the AEL’s “Four Aces” from Miné Okubo, best known for her 1946 graphic memoir Citizen 13660, depicting the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II.43

The contrast between the passenger interiors of the Independence and Constitution and those of competing European liners was profound. For example, the first-class lounge on the US liners did not look all that different from the average suburban living room, with low ceilings, neutral colors, and casual furniture—although the loaned objects from the Met lent a rarified touch. Even as early as the mid-nineteenth century, ocean liner decor had famously mimicked the palaces and grand houses of the European elite, and the shift to modernism had not dulled the taste for luxury at sea.

A striking comparison between the Independence and Constitution could be made to the French ocean liner Liberté (fig. 25).44 Its first-class salon was monumental: over 130 feet long and 65 feet wide, with ceilings nearly 20 feet high. Designer Baptistin Spade (1891–1969) created a space of conspicuous luxury: enormous artworks, shimmering gold-leaf columns, exquisite blonde-wood paneling, and stylish walnut furniture covered with brilliant Aubusson tapestry.45 It was a space designed for the ultra-wealthy and intended to overwhelm by sheer volume and sensory experience, while showing the best of France’s rarified crafts, recalling the previous generation of grand Art Deco ocean liners of the 1930s.

The chief rival to the Independence and Constitution on the Mediterranean run was the Andrea Doria, which debuted in 1953. The Italian vessel was almost identical to the US liners in size, speed, and passenger capacity. The main feature of the first-class lounge, designed by architects Gio Ponti (1891–1979) and Nino Zoncada (1898–1988), was a panoramic mural by Salvatore Fiume titled Legends of Italy.46 Instead of using actual historic objects as on the US liners, Fiume painstakingly reproduced masterworks of the Italian Renaissance and Baroque eras, and displayed an imagined piazza peopled with figures in Renaissance clothing. Observant passengers could identify works by Perugino, Donatello, Titian, Leonardo da Vinci, and Michelangelo, reminding them of Italy’s centuries of rich artistic heritage (fig. 26).47 The lounge was a design showcase, mixing the best contemporary design that Italy could offer with cultural highlights.

It would be easy to dismiss the interiors of the Independence and Constitution as evidence of a state of anemia within mid-century American design. However, the choices made by Dreyfuss and his design team speak to a concerted effort by the leadership of AEL to appeal to a new demographic: the “average American.” Just before World War II, American travelers had accounted for 60 to 70 percent of annual transatlantic passenger traffic, a figure that would be surpassed by 1950.48 This supermajority of US passengers meant that they did not suffer for travel options. To capture as large a market share of that traffic as possible, AEL sought to streamline operating costs, provide an accessible experience for passengers, and, most importantly, create a familiar and comfortable environment.49 At the same time, Dreyfuss’s artistic selections for the Independence and Constitution centralized the creative talent of the historic American craftsperson within the nation’s mid-century identity. Concurrently, this was a period of rapid developments in scholarly understanding of and popular attitudes toward Americana, folk art, and material culture—a development in which Dreyfuss himself took part.

In popular perceptions of the day, folk art and Americana originated from talented amateurs, who had received no formal academic training in the arts and who produced their body of work on top of the responsibilities of their daily lives.50 Dreyfuss’s low-key persona and self-made reputation aligned with this line of thinking.51 However, he was also a keen student of history and realized that Americana had greater impact than just as a popular decorating fad. American scholarly interest and collecting trends developed at the same time as Dreyfuss’s career matured and his design firm grew. Folk art quickly became a frequent topic of curatorial interest at the Museum of Modern Art, under the leadership of Holger Cahill, and of popular collecting at Edith Gregor Halpert’s Downtown Gallery in New York City. Dreyfuss—who moved in the same circles as museum curators, artists, art dealers, and other art enthusiasts—knew how stylistic choices could be interpreted philosophically as well as aesthetically.52 Indeed, as a designer for world’s fair and trade exhibits, including the centerpiece for the 1939 New York World’s Fair, he could stand toe to toe with many museum professionals in terms of his ability to leverage the narrative potential inherent in objects and art. The first scholarly conference on antiques took place at Colonial Williamsburg in 1948, and by 1951 the study of Americana and folk art was rapidly becoming more formalized. A host of museums and accredited programs dedicated to Americana, folk art, and material culture would be created throughout the 1950s and 1960s, including at Winterthur in 1951 and its curatorial program the following year.

Response within the art press to the Independence and Constitution was largely favorable. No critic felt that the artistic choices were in any way regressive or inappropriate for a modern liner. From November 15 through 17, 1950, the art commissioned for the vessels was publicly exhibited in the ballroom of the original Park Lane Hotel in New York City. In the opening essay for the exhibition catalog, John Slater, president of AEL, stated the company’s wish that “these ships . . . acting constantly as ambassadors at large for our country, will be the medium of thus bringing outstanding examples of American cultural achievement to various parts of the globe.”53 Alfred Frankenfurter, editor of Art News, also contributed an essay to the catalog, stating that the historical subject matter had largely been successfully translated into contemporary artistic vernacular: “the story told in visual forms as simple and attractive as the pure lines of a skyscraper or a big fast ship. . . . This is art that speaks for us, for our lives and how we live them—by spokesmen who are among the most poetic of our time.”54 Competing art periodicals were no less complimentary, if more nuanced. Ralph Pearson of Art Digest found that the commissions for the ships were evidence of a maturity in the evolution of American contemporary art, although he criticized a mural of Boston Harbor by Joe Jones (1909–1963) in the first-class dining room, saying it was nothing more than a forty-foot easel painting.55 In its November 1950 issue, Art News declared that the artistic choices were a welcome break from the traditional choices of shipboard decor, one that neatly avoided the trap of re-creating period rooms while also dodging the wholesale embrace of modernity and its outright rejection of tradition.56

Popular interest in Colonial Revival styles had begun in the 1930s and lasted until well into the 1970s. Several factors played into this longstanding trend. In general, the first waves of Art Deco modernism arriving from France had not gained much traction with individual US consumers, although it was quickly embraced for public buildings. The original preference within Art Deco for luxurious materials and sinuous forms priced out most of the market and made it difficult for mass production. The abrupt economic cataclysm of the Great Depression and its lingering effects created a preference in the 1930s for “timeless” and thrifty designs that either directed consumers to Colonial Revival styles or to a simplified and more achievable modernity.57 The global crisis of World War II, and the societal adjustments in its immediate aftermath, likewise prolonged the preference for “traditional American design” as a choice for home furnishings. Folk art in particular appealed to adherents of both traditional design and modernism, thanks to its origins in the nation’s past and the widely held view among collectors, art dealers, and scholars that it was a precedent for modernist American art. Projects such as the Index of American Design in the 1930s, as well as developments in the antiques trade, helped formalize traditional folk art forms within the popular consciousness, and their humble origins meant that some original examples (and reproductions) were well within the means of the average household budget.

This preference for melding tradition with a more approachable, simplified school of modernism began to find a unique outlet within US shipbuilding during the 1930s. At the beginning of the decade, AEL was one of the earliest proponents of this approach. The design of their passenger quarters rejected the excess of Art Deco found elsewhere at sea. Instead, the company chose a style they described as “home-like and colonial”—what passengers would expect to find in a suburban home or local country club, with reproduction Colonial Revival–style paneling and reproduction furniture (fig. 27). Notably, photographs of passenger spaces do not show art of any sort.

Nationalism, too, played a role. Throughout the 1930s, brochures for these ships adapted a series of classic Americana images on their covers, including Archibald Willard’s painting The Spirit of ’76, Henry Mosler’s print of Betsy Ross sewing the American flag, and Thomas Addis Emmet’s depiction of “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” (fig. 28).58

By the end of the decade, with the rise of federally funded programs, art became a much larger part of the decorative agenda of new US-built ships. In 1940, for example, the American President Lines, run by the Federal Maritime Commission, used a public competition to select artwork for passenger spaces. The contest was run by the commission’s Section of Fine Arts with rules identical to those used to select mural artists for public buildings, such as post offices and administrative centers.59 Although the rules of the competition suggested it was for commissions for a single cargo liner, the SS President Jackson, in the end submissions were evaluated and commissioned for all the vessels of the President Jackson class finished before the United States entered World War II in December 1941. The subject of the art to be commissioned was not specified, but artists were encouraged to depict “one of the ports of call of the cruise ship. . . . The harbors of New York City or of San Francisco have been suggested.”60 All of the entrants ignored this suggestion. The winning commissions ranged from ultramodern to traditional. Adelaide Brigg’s (1916–1990) bas-relief mural for the passenger lounge of the President Jackson fully embraced Social Realism in depicting trade relations between the United States and the Philippines by ship and airplane, with blocky figures and simplified, Art Deco shapes.61 Willem de Kooning (1904–1997) submitted an example of his early Surrealist art: a mural for the ship’s library displaying fragmented elements from a sailing ship, including a figurehead and anchor, arranged on a deserted beach.62 Hildreth Meière (1892–1961) provided a full-length portrait of President James Monroe (fig. 29).63 Although an original composition, it could have passed for a copy of an authentic nineteenth-century state portrait. Edmund Lewandowski also painted murals of harbor and fishing scenes for the SS President Van Buren and SS President Garfield, foreshadowing his work for AEL a decade later.64 Although the President Jackson–class liners remain fairly obscure within the canon of maritime history, they were precedent-setting vessels for American art. Artists received commissions as a central part of the interior design process, rather than as an afterthought selected to harmonize with each room. The Independence and Constitution were natural extensions of these antecedents and arguably the zenith of American art found shipboard.

For Henry Dreyfuss, art played an essential role in establishing the mission of the ship, not just as a commercial enterprise or as an example of engineering, but as an extension of national identity. The scope of the artworks on board the Independence and Constitution, particularly those that either authentically originated from or were directly inspired by traditions of an earlier age, directly connected these modern vessels to the nation’s complex and rich history. The goal was to point out that the same pioneers and craftspersons who created these and similar works of art as expressions of joy and delight, rather than through academic training or artistic patronage, laid the foundations upon which the modern United States stood. The past remained relevant to the present, and indeed helped broaden access to the modern project, both practically and philosophically.