One Less Woman Artist
For three years I was privileged to act as an “art companion” to my friend Dorothy. She was ninety-four years old when we met. We’d spend an hour or two together at her retirement home each week. I always sketched or painted and, on good days, she would sketch as well. We looked at art books and magazines and talked about paintings. We found inspiration in flowers and trinkets I brought to her, photo books of dogs and cats as well as from Shadow, the home's resident cat who sometimes came around to see what we were up to. Dorothy was always happy to see me (whether or not she remembered me) and appreciative of whatever I did. “That’s really watercolor”, she would say. "That’s beautiful!” This spring Dorothy became very tired and was ready to move on. She died at the age of ninety-eight. A week or so before her death, she’d sketched horses with me and reached out to catch a pencil that rolled off the table before it hit the floor. Once, when she was too sleepy to do art with me, I told her she was in "dream-time" like the Australian Aborigines talk about. “Is it nice? I asked her. “It’s wonderful,” she answered.
Above, Drawing of Dorothy Drawing at age 97
Selfishly, I will miss her bright spirit and kind words. Since my own mother died in 1990, there will be no women of that generation who think I’m so wonderful.
Dorothy was an excellent artist who showed talent early in life. Work she created when twelve years old already had a professional look. Her loving, supportive parents sent her to Cornish College of the Arts. After graduation she moved to San Francisco and obtained a commercial art job, but she found the production work unfulfilling and was not happy.
Her life path took an n important turn when, home for the holidays; she accepted a proposal of marriage. Family responsibilities dominated the rest of her life. Dorothy was fortunate because her husband’s concept of success included a smooth running home and a happy wife. As long as he was well fed and the house and children cared for, her time was her own. So, Dorothy continued to make art. She tried sculpture, painted in many styles and illustrated two children’s books, one of which was published: The Big Lonely Dog, written by Leonore Harris and published by Houghton Miifflin Co. in 1943.
Dorothy’s time was busy caring for a home, animals, including horses, a cabin, her son and other children and a husband who she sometimes helped with business. The crisis of aging and ill parents forced her to neglect her art for several years, but after her parents’ deaths her art flowered again. She studied sumi-e with a Japanese instructor. The fellowship and discipline of that class helped her be productive. Dorothy became very accomplished in the art and her sumi-e paintings were exhibited in Japan. She created art all her life. Dorothy couldn’t not make art. She was an artist. Dorothy was a modest and self-effacing person, both by nature and upbringing. She never marketed her paintings seriously and only a few were ever sold. She might have been uncomfortable under the pressures of publicity or fame. Her art was personal. Most of her paintings reflect her personality: quiet, undemanding, beautiful and easy to live with. Her art also reveal her keen observation of animals and plants. The joy she found in nature lights up her artwork. Her compositions are graceful and active. The color work is subtle and lovely. Quiet Dorothy had a dry and intelligent sense of humor, which sometimes is delightful when reflected in her painting.
Most of Dorothy’s oeuvre will remain treasured within in her family circle. The few pieces given away or sold are also likely to be passed down as heirlooms. One would be lucky to find a painting of hers that strays into the wide world.
At an exhibit of women impressionists at the San Francisco art museum last summer, I pondered the difficulty of women’s lives as artists. These were women born one or two generations before Dorothy. Among them, Eva Gonzales died at the age of thirty-four. After showing paintings in three Impressionist exhibitions, Marie Bracquemond gave up her career due to her husband Felix’s (also an artist) disapproval, Mary Cassatt never married and managed to have a successful career Her subject was domestic life: mostly common household activities, mothers and children. Independent and clever as Mary was, she could not follow her friend Degas to the cafés, the theater or the ballet without a chaperon.
Even today it is difficult for a woman to have a full family life and a career as an artist. We joke of the need for a wife to take up the slack. Success usually means travel. Traveling moms are hard on families. The more she surrenders to the passion for art, the less energy there is to give to the family. Homemaking can easily be a full time job. What time and energy is left over? Women artists learn to be consummate balancers of the demands placed upon them: but usually the side of the scale we remove from to restore balance is the side containing our personal dreams and ambition.
What if the balance had been tipped for Dorothy? What if she never married? What if she had made a living by her art or had been part of an active circle of working artists? The story would be different, of course. Better? Who could judge? The artist’s life experience is integral to her output. We are blessed to have the beauty that Dorothy left for us.
There is an interesting website related to the movie Who Does She Think She is? at www.whodoesshethinksheis.org. It’s a refreshing place to visit if you’ve ever wondered why it is still so hard to be a woman with a family life and an artist.
Juggling as fast as I can,
