“Save Even a Single Member”: American‑Armenian Artist Hovsep Pushman’s 1915 Statement on the Armenian Genocide
Hovsep Pushman (1877–1966) occupies a distinctive position in the history of twentieth‑century art as an American painter of Armenian birth whose contemplative still lifes and sensitive portraits consistently integrated Asian—particularly Chinese—antiquities. His compositions frequently feature figurines of Buddha, bodhisattvas, Guanyin, Tang dynasty horses, and equestrian or polo player figures arranged in mystical, allegorical settings, executed with an exceptional command of color and technique that earned sustained acclaim from both French and American critics. Pushman’s artistic principles emphasized three core components: color, modeling, and imagination, with color often regarded as the most important element. His paintings were illuminated by a mysterious, dusk‑like glow reminiscent of candlelight, and he intended them to function symbolically, sometimes pairing them with mystical or spiritual readings.
Yet behind the refined surfaces of Pushman’s work lay a deeply held political consciousness—one that the artist did not hesitate to articulate publicly. Such a consciousness became explicit in a November 1915 interview with the Milwaukee Leader, a newspaper published during the period of the Armenian Genocide. According to the Milwaukee Leader’s November 1, 1915 issue, an exhibition of twenty paintings by Pushman was then being held at the studio of the Milwaukee Art Society, where the artist had recently arrived after fleeing Paris at the outbreak of war in 1914 and subsequently settling in Chicago. The newspaper reported that Pushman’s works, characterized by vivid coloring and already distinguished in Paris, were “of more than ordinary interest.” In the interview, Pushman stated: “I am glad to have my picture praised by critics, not for my own sake, but because I’m an Armenian, a representative of a race that for years has suffered under Turkish oppression. My ambition is to show what a member of my nation can accomplish.” He then rendered an indictment that warrants careful scrutiny: “In 500 years, the Turks have not produced a man of distinction in any line, yet during that time they have slaughtered millions of my nationality. If I can show what the Armenian nation can do and thus help to save even a single member of it from persecution and slaughter by the Turks, I am satisfied.”
These declarations must be read within the specific historical and rhetorical framework of the genocide. The quantifier “millions” reflects the scale of Ottoman atrocities, while the pairing of “persecution and slaughter” mirrors the dual structure of the genocidal process: systematic dispossession and forced marches followed by mass killing. More critically, Pushman redefined artistic success as a strategic act of collective survival when he asserted that his ambition was to save “even a single member” of his nation. By framing critical praise not as personal achievement but as a mechanism for intervening on behalf of an entire population, Pushman transformed the conventional aesthetic value of art into a form of protection.
Before Pushman confronted the American public with these declarations, however, his work had already drawn the attention of Armenian cultural critics. It is worth noting that during an earlier exposition, his exhibited piece titled The Flower of Armenia received a meticulous description and approval from Arshak Chobanian (1872–1954), the influential Armenian literary critic, journalist, and political activist who condemned the genocidal policies of the Ottoman government during World War I. Chobanian observed that the bashful Armenian girl with large, black eyes, wrapping herself in a Digranakerd shawl, encompassed the elegance, charm, and character of Armenian women. Pushman later applied this metaphorical linkage between a floral motif and the character of an Armenian girl to create one of his emblematic figurative works, L’Esperance—a painting that would carry political meaning of an even more direct order.
L’Esperance (ca. 1916) is a portrait of Pushman’s fourteen‑year‑old niece, Dora, depicted in traditional Armenian costume and holding a white mountain snowdrop. The painting is a formal, three‑quarter‑length composition: the young girl is set against a darkened, unarticulated background that directs attention entirely to her figure and the single flower. Dora’s expression is one of quiet melancholy: her gaze is directed slightly downward and away from the viewer, a compositional choice that evokes introspection rather than direct appeal. This introspective quality aligns with Pushman’s broader artistic practice, in which objects and figures are often suffused with a sense of contemplative intimacy. The mountain snowdrop that Dora holds is rich in cultural symbolism: in Near Eastern traditions, it is regarded as a bearer of good luck and protection from evil, and its appearance in Armenia signals the end of winter and the arrival of spring—an omen of hope for better times. Thus, Dora and the flower together constitute an allegory of resilience and renewal, with the girl’s sorrowful composure acting as a counterpart to the flower’s promise of brighter days.
The political meaning of L’Esperance was realized most fully on November 27, 1917, when Pushman’s wife, Julia, led an Armenian delegation to the White House to meet President Woodrow Wilson. The youngest member of the group, Miss Alidz Kurkjian, presented the painting to Wilson and delivered a short speech expressing the Armenian people’s appreciation for the United States’ efforts to assist them in their time of need. The inscription on the frame reads: “Given as an expression of thanks for the hope and gratitude his efforts to help suffering Armenia have inspired in the hearts of all Armenian women.” Kurkjian later recalled that she saw President Wilson wipe tears from his eyes during her presentation, so deeply moved was he by the painting’s symbolism. L’Esperance remained in the White House through the remainder of Wilson’s term and, after the Wilsons moved to their private residence on S Street in Washington, D.C., the president chose to hang it over the fireplace in the drawing room, where it remains on public display to this day.
Taken together, Pushman’s artistic and political activities between 1915 and 1917 constitute a coordinated response to the Armenian Genocide: one that moved from figuration to direct speech, from gallery walls to the halls of diplomatic power. His career thus exemplifies how aesthetic production, under conditions of mass atrocity, can function simultaneously as documentation, as advocacy, and as memorial. On the 111th anniversary of the genocide, Pushman’s words and images retain their capacity to confront audiences with the moral demands of historical witness.
