Confusion has seized us, and all things go wrong,
The women have leaped from "their spheres,"
And instead of fixed stars, shoot as comets along,
And are setting the world by the ears.
Maria Weston Chapman
The above photo was taken at Yosemite National Park, California, ca. 1895. The caption reads, "'In a Spirit of freedom,' -- posed daringly in an improbable setting, these two women symbolize the spirit of the "new woman," free to explore all of life's opportunities."
All of life's opportunities ca. 1895, that is.
I love this photo and quote. They come from another one of my favorite books:
"Artists in Aprons", C. Kurt Dewhurst, Betty MacDowell, Marsha MacDowellI purchased it some years ago at a second-hand shop.
On the inside cover, it says:
The women . . . this book illustrates had to wrest their art from a workaday life that gave them little or no relief from life-sustaining chores, or leisure for reflection. . . . It shows conclusively the importance placed by American women on the creation of art not for fame and fortune, but art created to bring aesthetic and spiritual sustenance to themselves, their families, and friends."
And isn't that why, in 2009,
we continue to create?
I've long collected vintage household linens (embroidered dishtowels and such) because they hold tremendous fascination for me.
In fact, I have quite a few in frames on my walls.
Aside from being cute and colorful, there is something so wistful about many of them -- it's almost as if their creators were embroidering themselves (the things they couldn't do or say, a longing for creative fulfillment or for beauty) on the only acceptable or available canvas:
the textiles of domesticity.
I believe this also explains part of my attraction to old magazines. Sure they're kitschy and fun, but they also provide a window to a world so foreign -- yet so recent -- that I continually shake my head in wonder.
It seems to me that for many, many years, necessity (and social norms) dictated that a woman's "sphere" was about the size of a silverware drawer --
she was:
indispensable at mealtime,
polished up only for company,
and when not busy cooking or feeding or serving . . .
up to her armpits in hot soapy water.
See? Silverware.
I'm thankful every single day I have the freedom to vote and own property and big things like that, but I'm equally thankful I have the freedom (from life-sustaining chores and social stigma)
to create!
And my work doesn't have to keep anyone from freezing or even decorate the parlor -- the things I make can just BE.
My mom and dad recently purchased a large painting for their kitchen -- it's about 4 feet by 6 feet I guess -- the bulk of it painted almost entirely in greys. It's a neighborhood scene in an English milltown. A woman is standing behind a clothesline that zig-zags across the painting, and fluttering from the clothesline are . . .
bright white doilies and colorful embroidered linens!
The artist told my mom that the woman in the painting was her mother, who had a somewhat bleak life working in the textile mills, but that each of the linens depicted is a specific one that she remembers her mother making for their home.
Exactly what I'm talking about.
That's why when I opened this birthday present from my mother, I was so delighted:
Days-of-the-Week Dishtowels!
Embroidered by my own mother!
For me!
I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to use them. My mom insists she intended them to be used, but --
for now, I guess I'm just savoring them.
Somehow I feel like there's a lot in those stitches.
But there always is.
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