Tag: art

Plautilla Nelli is the first known female artist to have worked in Florence.

I only recently learned about Plautilla Nelli, a nun and painter who lived in Florence during the 16th century. Although she did not receive formal training as an artist, she taught other nuns to paint and led a workshop in her convent. I ran across her name when reading a public radio story about Advancing Women Artists, a nonprofit dedicated to uncovering and restoring the forgotten works of Florence’s female painters. Intrigued by this groundbreaking artist I’d never heard of, I starting reading about her and looking at pictures of her known works. Only 17 of her paintings and sketches have been identified, although one of her contemporaries claimed that “there were so many of her paintings in the houses of gentlemen in Florence, it would be tedious to mention them all” (source: the AWA article on Nelli).

The work we do have is remarkable, particularly considering her lack of formal training and the fact that she was not allowed to study anatomy.

Nelli’s Last Supper is impressive.

Nelli’s Last Supper is the only known painting on the subject by a woman during the Italian Renaissance (see “Renaissance woman Plautilla Nelli’s Last Supper unveiled after restoration in Florence”). The painting is approximately 21 feet wide and six-and-a-half feet tall. Her attention to detail in this large-scale work is evident everywhere, from the elaborate table setting to the emotions expressed by Jesus’ disciples. The painting compares favorably with many other Last Supper paintings from the Italian Renaissance. (For some reason, the article I’ve linked to with examples of these paintings gives the wrong dates for Nelli’s painting.) If I ever have the good fortune to be in Florence, I definitely want to visit the Santa Maria Novella Museum to see this painting in person.

The women in Nelli’s Lamentation With Saints really look like they’ve been crying.

Take a look at the women surrounding Jesus after he has been removed from the cross. Their eyes and noses are red, as if they actually have been crying. Just like the Last Supper painting, this Lamentation demonstrates Nelli’s attention to detail and concern with portraying emotion in her painting.

Nelli wasn’t shy about including women in her Pentecost painting.

Many paintings of the Pentecost from Nelli’s time feature Mary, the mother of Jesus, at the center of the artwork. In Moretto da Brescia’s painting, Mary is the only woman present. Titian places Mary and two other women at the center of his painting. Girolamo Muziano also includes only three women in his painting. But Nelli puts five women at the center of Jesus’ followers as they receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. In my eyes, this seems like a radical statement. How I wish I could meet Nelli and talk with her about her decision to give women such a prominent place in the birth of the Christian church.

There is so little we know about this talented and apparently prolific painter. Perhaps we will never learn much or recover many of her works. But from the little we have, it’s clear that Nelli is another female artist worth knowing about.

When I wrote my first post on a female artist, Artemisia Gentileschi, I knew I would write more like it. I even made a list of women I wanted to cover. Among them was Berthe Morisot, but I kept putting off writing about her. I felt like I had little to say beyond: “Here’s another female artist you might not know about.”

Julian Barnes’ piece about her in the September 12, 2019, issue of The London Review of Books showed me how to approach her work. He gave me my thesis by opening with this statement:

Many artists live with a shadow version of themselves: an awareness of how things might have been if they had done this and not that, if life had made this choice for them rather than that. The road not taken remains at the back of the mind. For some their shadow is an external presence, for others an inner haunting. Few can have experienced it more precisely, with more emotional complexity, than Berthe Morisot.

“The Necessary Talent,” Julian Barnes

While “The Necessary Talent” is the most informative piece I’ve read about her, I think Barnes failed to prove his statement. Most of us, artists or not, live with a shadow version of ourselves. I’m sure that Berthe questioned some of her choices. But I think it was her sister Edma — the artist who might have been — who was particularly haunted by her shadow self. And, perhaps, Edma’s shadow self haunted Berthe, too.

Two talented sisters

Berthe was one of three sisters, all of whom pursued painting, but one of whom, Yves, never went far. Edma, however, was quite talented, perhaps more so than Berthe. But Edma married and, as so many married women did, set her work aside.

Here’s where Barnes’ argument falls apart: Berthe continued to paint, but she, too, eventually married and had a child. Surely Berthe must have engaged in the very human reflection on how her life might have turned out if she had made different choices, but as far as her art went, Berthe did not have to sacrifice marriage and motherhood to continue her career. I would guess she was more likely to have wrestled with questions such as “What would life had been like if Edma and I had been able to continue painting together? If she’d been able to continue to develop her work, would I be living in her shadow now?”

“I know I am worth as much as they”

That doesn’t mean that Berthe didn’t struggle with her choice, as a woman, to pursue a career in art. Although her fellow Impressionists recognized her talent — Degas asked for her contribution to the First Impressionist Exhibition — she still faced discrimination based on her gender. She once wrote, “I don’t think there has ever been a man who treated a woman as an equal, and that’s all I would have asked, for I know I am worth as much as they.” Of her hundreds of paintings, she sold fewer than 50. This despite the fact that one art critic said that Berthe was the only true Impressionist at the Third Impressionist Exhibition.

Despite her lack of success relative to her male peers, we are fortunate to have Berthe’s work, which can be found in many museums around the world (see the list of her works at the end of this Wikipedia article). But the story of Berthe and Edma gives us plenty to ponder. How many women have abandoned a promising career because they had to choose between pursuing their talent or marrying and having children? How many women today still must wrestle with their choices, perhaps holding back their potential because of the assumption that they would do most of the housework and child-raising, whether or not they worked outside the home?

I encourage you to search out more of Berthe’s work and think about what other beautiful paintings we might have today had Edma also chosen to continue to develop her artistic talent.

 

Eulabee Dix is not the only female artist I became aware of through the National Museum of Women in the Arts. The museum also introduced me to American Impressionist Lilla Cabot Perry. Given her lengthy career and prominence, its a shame I hadn’t heard of her before.

Perry came to painting relatively late in life. She started pursuing formal study when she was 36, although her first known painting was made when she was 29 or 30 years old. She began her studies under a portrait painter; within a few years she was receiving instruction from a number of other artists in the United States and Europe. While in Europe, she became friends with artists such as Mary Cassatt and Claude Monet. The latter was particularly influential in helping her develop her own Impressionist style.

When Perry returned to the United States in the early 1890s, she worked hard to promote Impressionism. By the time she was 49, she was on the move again, this time moving with her husband to Japan, where they lived for a few years. Her exposure to art in Japan also helped influence her developing style.

 

By the time Perry was in her late 50s, she was helping to support her family through her paintings, largely due to financial losses they had suffered. Because they sold better than landscape paintings, most of her work at this time was focused on portraits, such as Lady With a Bowl of Violets.

Perry continued to paint until her death at the age of 85. There have been a few retrospectives of her work since 1969, thirty-six years after her death, and her work has also appeared in exhibits focused on female artists. You can find her art in several museums scattered across the United States, including the National Museum of Women in the Arts and the Smithsonian American Art Museum, both in Washington, D.C.; the Hirshl & Adler Galleries in New York City; Harvard’s Fogg Art Museum in Cambridge, Massachusetts; the Terra Foundation for American Art in Chicago; and Los Angeles County Museum of Art. The Louvre also owns at least one of her paintings. (Note: Since museums rotate their art and loan paintings to other museums, her art may not be on display at any of the above museums if and when you visit.)

What female artists do you feel are underappreciated?

 

Do you love illustrations but hesitate to call them art, because aside from the occasional painting by Maxfield Parrish or Howard Pyle, you usually don’t find such work in major art museums? Do you ignore the work of illustrators because you don’t believe they are “real” artists?

Too often we treat illustrators like we treat genre writers: We view them as hacks or see their work as “lesser” because it appears in books (usually children’s books) instead of museums. But a good illustrator is an artist in their own right.

If you don’t pay much attention to illustrators, I’d like to encourage you to start doing so. Here is a list of some of my favorites. I know I’ve left some great illustrators out, and I apologize for that; I simply couldn’t include everybody. But hopefully — whether you have been interested in illustrators in the past or not — you will discover new illustrators to enjoy.

Ernest Shepard (1879-1976)

Best known for: His illustrations for the Winnie-the-Pooh books and The Wind in the Willows

I will not be parted from my copy of The Wind in the Willows with color plates by Ernest Shephard. Although other artists (particularly Michael Hague) have created excellent illustrations for this book, Shephard captured characters such as Rat, Mole, and Toad like no one else.

Clare Turlay Newberry (1903-1970)

Best known for: Her illustrations of animals, particularly cats

A few facts: 

• Claire Turlay Newberry wrote as well as illustrated.
• You can still easily find several of her picture books, including Mittens, Marshmallow, and April’s Kittens.

Unfortunately T-Bone the Babysitter, my favorite of her books, is out of print. I highly recommend it if you can get your hands on a copy. The wild-eyed T-Bone above says everything.

Pauline Baynes (1922-2008)

Best known for: Illustrating The Chronicles of Narnia

Pauline Baynes also illustrated several of Tolkien’s books, including Smith of Wootton Major and Farmer Giles of Ham. (The book cover that illustrates my blog post about Smith of Wootton Major is not by Baynes. It’s by the Brothers Hildebrandt, featured later in this post.)

Margaret Evans Price (1888-1973)

Best known for: Being one of the co-founders of Fisher-Price.

Margaret Evans Price created designs for several Fisher-Price toys, but she was a very prolific artist outside of her design work, creating illustrations, murals, portraits, and still lifes.

Trina Schart Hyman (1939-2004)

Best known for: Her illustrations for the Caldecott-winning book, Saint George and the Dragon by Margaret Hodges

A few facts: 

• She was nominated for the Caldecott an additional three times.
• She served as art director for Cricket magazine.

Trina Schart Hyman may well be my favorite illustrator on this list, simply because her illustrations infused my childhood reading. The world lost her too soon, but she accomplished an amazing amount during her lifetime.

Gustaf Tenggren (1896-1970)

Best known for: Serving as chief illustrator for Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, as well as working on Bambi, Pinocchio, and other Disney productions.

Gustaf Tenggren is also well-known for several Little Golden Books, including The Poky Little Puppy, The Shy Little Kitten, The Saggy Baggy Elephant, and The Tawny Scrawny Lion.

Richard Scarry (1919-1994)

Best known for: His many books about Busytown, featuring characters such as Huckle Cat and Lowly Worm

Although Richard Scarry could certainly draw a better bear than I can, I love him more for the details in his drawing rather than the quality of his art. I’m sure I spent hours as a child getting lost in Busytown.

Garth Williams (1912-1996)

Best known for: His illustrations for children’s classics such as the original eight Little House books, Charlotte’s Web, The Cricket in Times Square, and many other books

Like all of the best illustrators, Garth Williams’ illustrations have become an essential part of the books they appear in. I can’t imagine Little House in the Big Woods without them.

 Arthur Rackham (1867-1939)

Best known for: Being one of the key figures in the Golden Age of Illustration

Arthur Rackham’s illustrations are classics. Along with Sir John Tenniel, Rackham created some of the best known illustrations for Alice in Wonderland. He also illustrated several fairy tales and books.

Elenore Abbott (1875-1935)

Best known for: Her illustrations for Grimm’s Fairy Tales

A few facts: 

• Elenore Abbott studied under famous illustrator Howard Pyle.
• She was an early member of The Plastic Club, originally an arts organization for women.

Tasha Tudor (1915-2008)

Best known for: The books she wrote and illustrated, including Corgiville Fair

A few facts:

• Tasha Tudor illustrated children’s classics such as A Child’s Garden of Verses, The Secret Garden, and Little Women.
• She was also well-known for having adopted an old-fashioned way of living on a New England farm.

Whatever you might think of her way of life (one of her estranged children claimed she lived in a “fantasy world”), Tudor was definitely true to herself.

Ezra Jack Keats (1916-1983)

Best known for: His Caldecott-winning book, The Snowy Day

A few facts: 

• Ezra Jack Keats is one of two white illustrators in this list who embraced diversity in their illustrations, because they believed it was the right thing to do (the other is Trina Schart Hyman).
• He frequently used collage to create his illustrations.

My earliest library memory is of paging through some of Keats’ books in my first elementary school’s library. I loved the bright pictures in The Snowy Day, Whistle for Willie, and Peter’s Chair.

Ingri (1904-1980) and Edgar Parin D’Aulaire (1898-1986)

Best known for: Their Caldecott-winning book, Abraham Lincoln

Ingri and Edgar Parin D’Aulaire were a Caldecott-winning couple who wrote and illustrated several books together, including Abraham Lincoln, Norse Gods and Giants, and d’Aulaire’s Book of Greek Myths. The latter two books are two of my favorite books of mythology.

Maxfield Parrish (1870-1966)

Best known for: His color-saturated art

Among the books Maxfield Parrish illustrated are A Child’s Garden of Verses, Arabian Nights, and A Wonder Book and Tanglewood Tales. You’ll find lots of references to his work in pop culture, including the video for Enya’s “Caribbean Blue.”

Beatrix Potter (1866-1943)

Best known for: Her children’s books about anthropomorphic animals

Never read any of Beatrix Potter’s work beyond The Tale of Peter Rabbit? I highly recommend The Tale of Two Bad Mice.

Edmund Dulac (1882-1953)

Best known for: His fairy tale illustrations, including “Sleeping Beauty” and “The Little Mermaid”

A few facts:

• Besides his fairy tale illustrations, Edmund Dulac illustrated several books, including Jane Eyre and The Tempest. 
• Dulac also designed British postage stamps.

Greg (b. 1939) and Tim Hildebrandt (1939-2006)

Best known for: The Lord of the Rings calendar illustrations

A few facts:

• Known as the Brothers Hildebrandt.
• Like the d’Aulaires, the Hildebrandts did most of their work collaboratively.

My favorite moment related to the art of the Brothers Hildebrandt was when I brought my mom’s original copy of The Sword of Shannara, with one color plate and several black-and-white illustrations by the brothers, to a book-signing by Terry Brooks. The author flipped straight to the color plate and raised his eyebrows.

Jerry Pinkney (b. 1939)

Best known for: His Caldecott-winning book, The Lion and the Mouse

Jerry Pinkney has illustrated more than 100 books, including several folk and fairy tales as well as classics like Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry; Gulliver’s Travels; and The Jungle Book.

 

Even if you don’t know the name of the photographer, you almost certainly recognize the photo above.

If you’re familiar with the name “Dorothea Lange,” you probably think of her photos of the Great Depression. Prior to 1933, she worked in a portrait studio. But she made a name for herself when she began capturing the Depression on film.

While Lange is best known for her work during the 1930s, her career didn’t end after the Depression. The U.S. government hired her to take photos of the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. Unfortunately, her pictures clearly show her opposition to the internment, so the U.S. Army suppressed them. Among these pictures are photos of Japanese American children saying the Pledge of Allegiance, a shot of a Japanese American soldier helping his mother prepare for internment, a photo of a ranch house with the note “This was the home of eight children who were born in this country,” and several pictures of horse stalls converted into living quarters for families.

Like all great artists, Lange was able to convey something of her subjects’ humanity through her work. As you view the world through her camera lens, you get the sense that she respected the human dignity of the people whose lives she captured on film. Lange was a visual storyteller; her photos are the embodiment of the saying “a picture is worth a thousand words.”

When I wrote about Artemisia Gentileschi, I challenged readers to think of five or more female artists. I hope Lange will be one of the women you mention on such a list. Spend some time with her photos. You’ll come away with a better understanding of history and a desire to truly see the worth of each person you encounter.

 

I’m a little puzzled by the story of how Maria Poveka Martinez began her journey toward becoming one of the most celebrated 20th-century potters. The story starts with anthropologist Edgar Lee Hewett, who discovered shards of black-on-black pottery in New Mexico. Wanting to recreate it, he approached Maria, who was known within her pueblo, San Ildefonso, for the quality of her pottery. What confuses me? Members of the nearby Santa Clara Pueblo were still making black-on-black pottery. Why didn’t Hewett approach one of the Santa Clara potters?

According to some of the information I found on the Martinezes, Maria and her husband, Julian, supported Hewett’s excavation team. Perhaps Maria volunteered for the work, or maybe Hewett asked for assistance because he already knew her. Whatever the reason, Maria began experimenting with ways to create the pottery Hewett wanted. This included learning from the Tafoya family of Santa Clara Pueblo.

Within the Santa Clara Pueblo, designs are engraved on blackware pottery. Julian decided to try to find a way to paint Maria’s pots. After trying different techniques, he developed a way to apply a matte paint to a polished background.

Although they worked as a team, Maria is better known than her husband. Pottery was considered women’s work, so she didn’t add Julian’s name to signed pieces until 1925. She also continued making pottery long after his death in 1943. Following his death, she received help from other family members, including her daughter-in-law Santana Martinez and son Popovi Da. Her pottery carries several different signatures on it, depending on when the pot was made and who assisted her.

It didn’t take long for Maria to be recognized for her innovative work. During her lifetime, she was invited to the White House, awarded two honorary doctorates, and featured in an exhibit in the Smithsonian’s Renwick Gallery two years before her death. And because Maria and Julian shared their discoveries and knowledge with their pueblo, San Ildefonso has become well known for continuing the tradition of the beautiful blackware the Martinez family created.

You can find Maria’s work in the Millicent Rogers Museum (Taos, New Mexico), the National Museum of the American Indian and the Smithsonian American Art Museum (Washington, D.C.), the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, among other locations.

 

I spent my teen years in the Washington, D.C., area. During that time, I picked up the habit of reading the newspaper — specifically, The Washington Post. I don’t know how many political cartoonists I was exposed to through The Post, but two names stuck with me: Herblock (Herbert Block) and Oliphant (Pat Oliphant).

Reading Jackie Ormes‘ biography reminded me of Herblock and made me want to learn more about him. I ended up borrowing Herblock: The Life and Works of the Great Political Cartoonist. By the time I returned the book, I’d developed a new appreciation for him as one of the most significant political cartoonists in history.

Let’s start with one of the things Herblock is best known for: the word “McCarthyism.” With one cartoon, he defined an era. But years before McCarthy became a household name, Herblock had been commenting on the government’s communist witch hunt. Many of his cartoons from the 1940s and ’50s expressed his concerns about the House Un-American Activities Committee as well as Senator Joseph McCarthy and his cronies (including Richard Nixon).

Of course, Herblock was no friend of communism. One of his most powerful cartoons (awarded a Pulitzer Prize) depicts Joseph Stalin walking away with the Grim Reaper. Stalin carries a sickle dripping with blood. The caption reads, “You were always a great friend of mine, Joseph.”

Herblock’s career spanned a little over seven decades. Although he definitely leaned to the left on most issues, he freely criticized both Republicans and Democrats. In one cartoon, Eisenhauer and Uncle Sam stand in front of a window facing a burning house labelled “Civil Rights Crisis.” Eisenhauer is wearing a fire chief’s uniform. “Tsk tsk,” he says, “somebody should do something about that.” A little over two decades later, Herblock drew Jimmy Carter standing in front of his Oval Office desk, pounding on it and yelling, “Who’s in charge here?”

Many of his cartoons were masterpieces. Herblock won two other Pulitzer Prizes in addition to the one I mentioned above. (He also shared a prize with his Washington Post colleagues for their work on Watergate.) Another of my favorites, from 1956, shows two white men standing at a Montgomery bus stop. They stare at a black family labelled “Passive Resistance.” The caption reads, “Somebody From Outside Must Have Influenced Them.” The family’s destination? A church.

Sadly, some of Herblock’s cartoons are still relevant. His 1950 get-out-the-vote cartoon shows two men yoked to a cart labelled “Totalitarianism.” One man gapes at the other and says, “You mean some can and don’t do it?” In the distance are billboards reminding readers to vote.

Still more heartbreaking is Herblock’s 1964 cartoon reflecting on Barry Goldwater’s presidential campaign. The cartoon is simply titled “An American Tragedy.” It features a man labelled “Extremism” leaning over a boat, pushing GOP moderates under the water. The boat reads, “We’re in the mainstream of Republican thinking.” I wish I didn’t feel that the cartoon accurately reflects the state of the GOP today.

You can find several books that feature Herblock’s work. In addition, many of his cartoons can be found on the website for the Library of Congress.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve wanted to write about Pop Chalee for a while, but I’ve struggled to find images I could include here. I finally decided to write about her anyway. Some of the links below will take you to pictures of her work.

Pop Chalee, born Merina Lujan, was given the Tiwa name that she preferred by her paternal grandmother. I’ve usually seen her name translated as “Blue Flower.” During her childhood, her parents divorced. She spent some of her childhood raised by paternal relatives at Taos Pueblo in New Mexico and attending the U.S. Indian School in Santa Fe. During her teen years, she went to live with her European mother in Salt Lake City; however, she was treated so poorly that she ran away and got married. She didn’t begin studying art until she was well into her adulthood, but once she began painting, she quickly achieved success. There are even suggestions that her deer influenced Disney’s Bambi, because Walt Disney purchased one or more of her paintings before the movie’s animation work started.

I don’t remember a time when I did not know Pop Chalee’s art. I spent part of my childhood in the southwestern United States and had many relatives in New Mexico. Running across her art was almost natural. Several of her paintings, commissioned by Howard Hughes, are in the Albuquerque Airport (or “Sunport,” as they call it), including her prominently displayed horse mural. I must have seen her art other places, too; her unforgettable horses and forest scenes are engraved in my mind.

Pop Chalee is probably best known for horses that stepped straight out of a fantasy world and deer leaping through magical forests, but she also painted several works featuring Native American dancers and hunters. Her paintings are colorful and have a sense of motion.

Pop Chalee also worked as a dorm matron for young scientists working on the Manhattan Project. I was excited to find a video of her while I was doing research for this post; unfortunately, the interview is about her memories of Los Alamos, not her work as an artist. (There’s a wonderful bit toward the end where the interviewer asks about the son of potter Maria Martinez, and Pop Chalee is far more interested in talking about Martinez than about her son.)

You can view Pop Chalee’s art in her biography, at the Albuquerque Sunport, and in various museums, particularly the Millicent Rogers Museum in Taos, New Mexico, and the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona.

When I first started posting about women artists, I asked readers if they could name five or more of them. What would happen if I changed the challenge to “name five or more women sculptors off the top of your head”?

Until some time after college, I wouldn’t have been able to list a single one. My first introduction to a female sculptor was the through the 1988 film Camille Claudel — a movie that is somewhat difficult to find now, though it can be purchased on Amazon.

After that, I started paying attention to female sculptors and their work. I’d open an issue of Victoria magazine and read an article on Bessie Potter Vonnoh. I’d go to the Como Conservatory and notice that it contained not one but two sculptures by Harriet Frishmuth. I’d run across Frishmuth again on visit to the Met… and also encounter two statues of jaguars by Anna Hyatt Huntington.

I recently decided to write about Frishmuth, but as I started my research, I found I wanted to include other female sculptors. In the end, I picked eight women to feature in this post.

Edmonia Lewis

Edmonia Lewis was an American sculptor of African-American and Native American descent. Her mother’s Ojibwe family adopted her after her parents died. She attended Oberlin College, where she faced accusations of crimes. Both times she was acquitted, but the second time she was prevented from continued enrollment. In connection with one of the accusations, a crowd of vigilantes beat her and left her for dead. After leaving Oberlin, Lewis sought instruction in sculpting. She was rejected by three instructors before finding someone who would teach her. A couple of years later she moved to Rome, Italy, where she spent most of the rest of her life. She’s known for neoclassical work, which she did mostly alone (unusual at the time). You can find Lewis’ work at various U.S. museums, including the Smithsonian.

Vinnie Ream

Vinnie Ream was the first woman to receive a commission from the U.S. government for a statue. Her subject matter was a big deal. In 1866, at the age of 18, she won a commission to produce a statue of Abraham Lincoln. This statue, displayed in the Capitol Rotunda, is her best-known work, but it’s hardly the only prominent sculpture by Ream that you can find in the D.C. area. Her statue of Admiral David G. Farragut sits in Farragut Square; her statue of Sequoyah is in Statuary Hall at the Capitol; and her grave in Arlington Cemetery is marked by a copy of her statue of Sappho. You can also find the Sappho sculpture in the Smithsonian’s American Art Museum.

Camille Claudel

Between her affair with Auguste Rodin and her confinement to a mental hospital, Camille Claudel is almost better known for her tragic life than for her art. She destroyed much of her work in 1905. What’s left is good stuff — beautiful and powerful. Your best bets for seeing her sculptures are in France, including a museum dedicated to her work. Otherwise, unless you’re lucky enough to stumble across a special exhibit featuring Claudel, you’ll have to settle for an odd piece here or there. In the United States, the Met has The Implorer, and the National Museum of Women in the Arts has Young Girl With a Sheaf.  The latter is not on display right now. As far as I know, those are the only two of her works in permanent collections in the U.S.

Bessie Potter Vonnoh

Bessie Potter Vonnoh is best known for her “Secret Garden” statue in Central Park, but much of her work was smaller than that. She created many accessible table-top statues that often featured domestic subjects. You can find her sculptures in museums like the Met and the National Gallery of Art.

Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney

Yes, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney was one of the famous Vanderbilt family. Yes, she founded the Whitney Museum in New York. But she wasn’t just a wealthy art collector. Whitney was also a successful sculptor who created several large public pieces, which can be found in New York City, Washington, D.C., and a few other places. She also made smaller sculptures. Some of her work, such as her statues of World War I soldiers, has a style that feels deliberately unfinished — more modern than the work of the other women I mention in this post.

Anna Hyatt Huntington

Apparently, just as you find Ream’s sculptures all over the D.C. area, you can find lots of Anna Hyatt Huntington’s work throughout New York City. Huntington specialized in animals, especially, though not exclusively, horses. Her statue of Joan of Arc is the first public monument in New York City to be created by a woman and the first public monument there to honor a real woman. Her work extends far beyond New York, to places like Spain, Argentina, California, South Carolina, and Connecticut.

Harriet Whitney Frishmuth

Step into one of my favorite rooms at the Met, and you’ll find Harriet Frishmuth’s sculpture The Vine. But long before I had the opportunity to see that, I had fallen in love with her graceful Crest of the Wave, which is on display in the Como Park Conservatory along with her work Play Days. I love the sense of graceful movement that’s present in so many of her sculptures. You can find her work here and there across the United States.

Augusta Savage

Augusta Savage was an artist who pursued her passion in the face of great opposition. Her father beat her for making clay figures. As she grew and continued to sculpt, she sometimes found encouragement — a high school principal who believed in her, financial aid that enabled her to attend Cooper Union. But she also faced discrimination and financial difficulties. In 1932, she opened a studio in Harlem, where she taught art. Unfortunately, after a career high point in 1939, when she was commissioned to create a sculpture for the World’s Fair, she largely withdrew from an active career in art, possibly discouraged after years of struggle. Very little of her work has survived her. You can find her bust Gamin at both the Smithsonian’s American Art Museum and at the Cleveland Museum of Art.