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James Whistler (1834-1903), “Reading by Lamplight” (1858)

Women cannot be expected to devote themselves to the emancipation of women, until men in considerable number are prepared to join with them in the undertaking — John Stuart Mill, On the Subjection of Women

Dear friends and readers,

Another set of texts we covered in my 19th Century Women of Letters course this term included George Eliot’s ground-breaking depiction of wife abuse in her “Janet’s Repentance” (one of her three Scenes from Clerical Life), which I preceded with Caroline Norton’s English Laws for Women and the contextualized with Lisa Sturridge’s chapter on the novella in her Bleak House: Marital Violence in Victorian Fiction, an on-line Master’s Thesis by Renee Wingert, Battered, Bruised and Abused Women: Domestic Violence in 19th century Fiction, to which I am indebted in what I write below. We also read a fine essay by E. S. Gruner, “Plotting the Mother” about Ann Bronte’s Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Ellen Wood’s East Lynn and Caroline Norton’s Lost and Saved (Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature, 16:2, 1997). Although until recently (when it is discussed) “Janet’s Repentance” has been treated as centrally depicting alcoholism, its real center is wife abuse. Given the set-back women’s causes have received in the recent US election, I’d like to right this misapprehension and urge those who love 19th century novels, especially by women, to read it.

It is striking and original study even today. It places the multiple acts of of physical violence (seen on Janet’s body and the whole of her depressed behavior as a result) not in a private house away from everyone, as a hidden private act, but in the community, showing us how it’s known and occurs as part of everyday life that everyone knows – like the reality everyone also sees (highlighted in Chapter One) that Janet’s husband, Dempster, is an awful bully. Most of the time until today when these things are talked about or dramatized in stories and film, it’s assumed or said no one knew. The woman colludes by not telling explicitly in the cases of sexual harassment. In modern stories, she fears she’ll lose her job, her children, her husband will get back to her and kill her. In fact people live utterly interdependent lives, and a build up of a community of hypocrisy is essential to the husband getting away with it (from schools where the children attend to doctor’s offices). When she leaves she leaves into a community of people, that is what is so striking and to this day unusual. Eliot shows how she is blamed in all sorts of ways by the very woman living in the house with her, how legally she has to break the law to leave him. And yet Janet is isolated – who more without someone to turn to for help than she? her mother doesn’t move on her behalf; only after she flees for her life do the others admit they know, help her to hide and determine to act o her behalf. In Oliver Twist Nancy is a street prostitute; Helen Huntington in her Wildfell Hall is this reclusive person, the whole point of Sherlock Holmes stories which include as inset pieces stories of abuse – the best known is the “Adventure of the Abbey Grange” – is to protect the aristocratic family from shame. (“Abbey Grange” is well-known because the husband spitefully murders her dog and it was done superbly well in the 1980s Jeremy Brett series). The other books mentioned by Wingert or Sturridge do not bring out this everyday reality. “Janet’s Repentance” was serialized by Blackwood and it made him far more uncomfortable than most of the books he ever published.

Equally still mostly verboten is the man is upper middle class. A middle class milieu is usual for stories by women because it’s what they know. But most accounts in the 19th century and until today are of working class men and women, often desperately poor; in the 19th century in parliament an elsewhere it was repeated ad nauseam this was not a middle to upper class problem: it was the drunken working class man presented as unemployed often (as in Dickens, e.g., Bleak House, A Tale of Two Cities). And there was legislation in Parliament proposed (it didn’t pass) to flog such men. John Stuart Mill supported flogging such men. Because of course then it’s not them. Didn’t pass.

It’s a movingly done, utterly believable, persuasive story. Wingert’s chapter brings out how the violence is multifaceted violence: emotional, mental, physical, social (the man demands absolute obedience) — he becomes incensed when she finally on impulse in small way refuses him (she will not pick up the clothes he has thrown on the floor) and he kicks her out. The first time we see her it’s as a silence woman waiting for him to come up the stairs, and yes she’d drunk, how else could she endure this but find indifference and oblivion this way. You can see what’s emphasized by noticing it’s serialized and where each installment begins and ends (Part 1, chs 1-4, Part 2; Chs 5-9, Part 3; Chs 10-14, Part 4, Chs 15-21, Part 5, Chs 21-28).

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Another 19th century illustration of a woman with a book

As the story opens (1-4), there is an emphasis on the nature of social life and community in Milby. We see how bullying, competition, domination is what wins out and is respected. Everyone sees how horrible Dempster is but they don’t care; they are afraid of him themselves. This environment fosters violence – to a clergyman seeking a post, in public and in private. There is much witty satire on professions (like the medical establishment, though not as funny as Trollope in Dr Thorne), women’s vanities in church. the curate and teacher at this point reads nothing at all. It’s a first attempt at ethnography.

At first we hear of Janet through ominous gossip of unnamed or minor characters or Janet’s mother. “to see her daughter leading such a life …. For my part I never thought well of marriage … Janet had nothing to look to but being a governess … I certainly did consider Janet Raynor the most promising yong woman of my acquaintance … Or: “I’ve never been to the house since Dempster broke out on me in one of his drunken fits. She comes to me, sometimes, poor thing, looking so strange, anybody passing her in the street may see plain enough what’s the matter” (Mrs Perrifer). It ends on her waiting for him to come up. We hear ““O Robert! Pity! Pity!” and are told her mother not far off in her house is imagining this: Janet’s mother’s complicity is thus begun. Two more conflicts are laid out: the established church type versus the dissenters and evangelicals within the citadel; the sensitive, Tryan who wants to effect moral change in the community and those who want an older acceptance of rough coarse ways to remain dominant (why Dempster and his ilk want to pillory him). Tryanites versus anti-Tryanites.

The second part (5-9) opens with switch of mood, morning, people cheerful, a fortnight has passed and Janet is looking better. We move from

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we know them when they are gone” … [to]

When our life is a continuous trial, the moments of respite seem only to substitute the heaviness of dread for the heaviness of actual suffering … Janet looked glad and tender now — but what scene of misery was coming next? …. When the sun had sunk, and the twilight was deepening, Janet might be sitting there, heated, madened, sobbing ot her griefs with selfish passion, and wildly wishing herself dead (5)

We see Tryan again, this time with a firm constituency and friends. They are anti-high church (one man says we could do without all these bishops) and we see his courage withstanding ridicule to be stubbornly the way he is. we hear the local clergy: they discuss carelessly who is kept out of the workhouse and who not. Alas, Janet is delighted to collaborate with her husband on placards; she claps her hands so pleased is she to be valued. We have this scene of the mother-in-law and Janet and her husband: she has little love for Janet, much jealousy, angry that Janet is childless (as are all Eliot’s heroines insofar as we see them). Then we meet the middle range of church leaders, the vicar, his wife, a tea party, and Tryan comes off very well: he is a decent average man who wants to be among people. We have the scene of stigmatizing Tryan gets through with his friends nearby. Eliot seems anxious for us to know that Janet will change here too: the next time we will see him, he will come as Janet’s beloved friend to help her.

In the central chapters (10-14) we see Tryan making his way into minds and hearts and (among them) Janet responds despite the “thickening miseries of her life.” Dempster’s business is not prospering – and he takes it out on the person nearest to him whom he can. We are told about “these suspicious points:” it would seem this is a corrupt man (who wouldn’t reveal his tax returns if there were such things). He’s not liked, not trusted, and is drinking more, he becomes more violent inwardly too. The word “cruelty” is used of him repeatedly (13 — “a woman he can call his own to torment … the keen retort which whets the edge of hatred”), and then the crashing close where a dinner is supposed to take place and she refuses to pick up his clothes – an impulse of defiance, maybe the first. Alcoholism is central in these chapters too, though not overtly dramatized until the end of the story. Janet does say to her friend (who will help her) Mrs Pettifer; “Kindness is my religion.” She does tell her mother finally how cruel this mother and everyone else is to. These are complex persuasive pictures of the man becoming more drunk, more inwardly violent – reviewers likened this story to a biography. Reviewers recognized that here was a new unusual author. Then the dreadful scene where he says I”ll kill you,” with a “devilish look of hatred.” But instead on impulse, he thrusts her in in her nightgown, barefooted on a freezing old night. She stands there so relieved she is not dead. It takes a while for her to realize she is cold and feel her strong instinct against suicide. This is the story’s climax.

The denouement (15-21) shows us Janet out in the world now, parted from her husband. she has a strong instinct against suicide and saves herself by going to Mrs Pettifer’s house to whom she was kind and is her rescuer. Is told stay, remain calm. We enter her mind, her memories and there many deeply felt about a woman’s life, its stages and phases (15); she was when young “a pet fawn” given over to the “clutches of a panther.” She thinks over her situation: he owns everything; we are told she felt she had not strength to be independent (much less go to court).

Life might mean anguish,might mean despair; but — o, she must clutch it, though with bleeding fingers, her feet must cling to the firm earth that the sunlight would revisit, not slip into the untried abyss, where she might long even for familiar pains (15)

Eliot muses how all of us are hidden from one another (“full of unspoken evil and unacted good”). Janet fears “being dragged bck again to her old life of terror, and stupor, and fevered despair” (16). She has to determine something. In modern terms we’d say Janet needs to “work” on several areas of psychological damage, needs to talk and find understanding (where Tyran comes in). The difficulty of breaking the habit of drinking for calm (in her case) and indifference to what is happening around her, and the hardest of all what to do about her husband. Now others are with her, among the first thing to be said is, how to protect her from further violence. Today people get a court order and police are alerted – they are supposed to be on the side of the abused person. How is she to live? Her lack of property or income. Mostly dramatized is how she must consult with someone. Over in her house the household and Dempster begin to realize she is not coming home. He has no Janet to bully so he goes after his coachman. Here finally is someone who won’t serve him if insulted: the man says will have the law on the lawyer. A little later therefore Dempster is too proud to call for this man, and half drunk (as usual) gets up to drive his coach himself.

There is a kind of waiting and finally one evening Tryan comes to Janet as her mutual confessor-psychiatrist. In a deeply inward colloquy he tells Janet of an attachment he had with a girl who he left because she was in slower station than him (they were lovers); his cousin said to go out to missionary. He does not but finds life is empty without her, and he hears she had become a prostitute subject to a brothel madam, and is now dead. Here is the core of his conversion experience. (As with Gaskell’s Mary Barton we have the story of a broken prostitute at the hidden core of the tale.) Those who’ve read Daniel Deronda (or seen Andrew Davies’s film adaptation) will recall that Gwendoleth Harleth ends up in just such a relationship with Daniel Deronda.”Janet’s Repentance” has been called “evangelical gothic:” we have a slow conversion of Janet not to the doctrines of evangelicalism but to an emotional cleansing. The others are practical; Something must be done to secure her from violence. Then the community feeling: turning in her favor: her servants who saw it all say they would not stand being mauled. (They never helped her, did they?) As she grows stronger, her mother rightly fears she might go back. But news comes Dempster has had a bad accident (overturned the coach), no one knows if he is alive or dead. As a reader the first time round I hoped he was dead.

And then the ending or fifth part (22-28). We get this exemplary wife, and then he dies with her still looking for some sign of forgiveness (!?); there is none. He is Dempster to the end. No final moment which Janet dreams of even comes. And an incipient romance between her and Tyran cut off. This ending reconciled Blackwood to the story (though he no longer wanted a fourth clerical tale). Janet can be seen as repentant, and I have to admit not only repentant for having been alcoholic but for somehow being at fault. There is a punitive pattern asserted here too.

Although her friends try to keep from her Dempster’s state, she has been trained to submit, and wants actually to go back. They try to stop her, and hide at first that he has been in this accident, but she’s a free body, no one is imprisoning her. Can’t hold her back and she is there to listen to his nightmares – maybe such a man feels remorse. Good lines include Eliot on the community’s “inherent imbecility of feeling:” Most people simply do not enter into one another’s cases at all, Mr Pilgrim (who is close to the scene) is a case in point. Tryan talks of how she doesn’t want particulars known to protect her. Day after day, the community again becomes divided about her – she is to blame, some cant about widows helps. We begin to get religious talk and Janet manifests nervousness. She is so used to her old life; she is at sea, scared. Real psychological feeling. she yearns for “purity, strength, peace” (221). Finally Dempster dies in a delirium tremens fit. Then we see her efforst with others to secure the now consumptive (over-worked) Tryan a place to at least maintain what health he has. Her mood is likened to that of a prisoner galled long after bars go away; you are feeling the memories of the abuse – Eliot would know what is it like to be an ex-prisoner from American prisons. Still she is freed from “haunting anxietya about the future,” “dread of anger and cruelty,” can find repose (23) Again Mrs Pettifer is our dea ex machina; she moves so she will need a boarder. Another good woman in the story, Miss Linnet (a sweet bird name) helps furnish the new place. But he dies.

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Elizabeth Nourse (1859-1938), The Closed Window

As in Eliot’s Mill on the Floss and other stories, Eliot’s heroine submits herself to duty; violates natural feelings of revenge, fear, hatred. She does this throughout her career. Gwendoleth’s husband falls over boat, and she hesitates a moment before she throws him the rope; he cannot reach it and the water carries him off; had he not drowned she would have submitted. I wrote in an essay on Eliot published in Studies in the Novel some years ago, “Taking Sides:”

It is the great merit of Eliot’s imaginative work that she poses questions of serious and large import with which we are today only beginning to deal frankly. It is its great defect that she repeatedly opts for dramatic resolutions which cruelly deprive her exemplary characters of some natural fulfillment or worthy goal on the grounds that it is right for them to violate their natural instincts and obey conventions, conventions she herself ignored and disobeyed in order to become George Eliot the great novelist. Her characters immolate themselves, behave even semi-suicidally and we are to admire them for this. What she most often offers is consolation.

In this story we will have Janet left to do good deeds and sit near Mr Tynan’s grave and be admired and liked by all especially her mother. I should say I see in the incipient romance, an underlying autobiographical paradigm (Janet: “alone, she was powerless”): in the second half of Eliot and Lewes’s marriage, he was often ill, very thin; he lies behind Ladislaw, Daniel Deronda — and Tryan too. Tryan is cut off by his consumption.

From the reviewers at the time: some were shocked, women were to write uplifting fiction, all three very unpleasant stories said one critic. Some attacked the exposure of clerical politics: clerical and religious papers paid attention to all three stories. Mostly they were offended but dissenters not as. Many preferred the portrait of Tryan to Trollope’s Mr Slope (from Barchester Towers); a positive not satirical image. Famously Dickens said the author was a woman. Among the best were those that praised the story for the strong depiction of Janet – the interior character of Janet. But I think also the community life is central to the story’s effect. It was agreed moral impact of book was well-meant and there you have the beginning of the immense respect she would get.

I’ll end by suggesting the use of the pseudonym in this particular case was the result of more than Eliot’s being a woman and wanting to hide that. Her matter is deeply subversive. She was known to be an atheist or at least agnostic, living with a man outside of marriage. How could she deal with issues like these and get the respect needed for her story to function morally.

Janet’s Repentance is a deeply felt, passionate and intelligent text, often satiric too. I hope I have roused my readers’ curiosity and interest to get hold of and read “Janet’s Repentance.”

Ellen

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Joanna Boyce, Heathgatherer (1859)

A passionate desire and an unwearied will can perform impossibilities of what seem such to the cold and feeble. If we do but go on some unseen path will open among the hills. We must not allow ourselves to be discouraged by the apparent disproportion between the result of simple efforts and the magnitude of the obstacles to be encountered. Nothing good and great is to be obtained without courage and industry — from Joanna’s notebooks, quoted by Pamela Gerrish Nunn, Victorian Women Artists, 151)

Dear friends and readers,

Between my last woman artist, in 18th century studies and women’s art, a well-known figure, Angelica Kauffman (1741-1807) and my choice for this evening, a return to obscure women artists, overlooked by most, their pictures not printed nor place with the school they belong to, Joanna Boyce (for short), I found myself composing “a life in nature” artist’s biography about the far more famous Beatrix Potter (1866-1943) out of my own memories of my husband’s fondness for her unique original art, and a lecture I heard and my reading about her achievement as a conservationist and farmer, carer for animals (and people too) in the Lake District. I urge anyone who comes over here for my woman artist series, to peruse my sketch. Unlike Kauffman and Potter, but like too many other women artists and writers, Joanna Boyce did not have time to fulfill and develop her genius as she died shortly after her third childbirth aged 30.

I draw attention first to her Heathgatherer (just above — the strong teal blue is perfect, Boyce has captured the thick linen shirt, the pale sky, the bristly heather), with its pale earthly feel, a painting even the few sources I found on her tend to overlook: according to Bridget Hill’s Women Alone: Spinsters in England, 1660-1850, gathering heath was a primary way women in agriculture made a hard and poverty-stricken existence if this was their only source of income through gleaning fields and selling what could be picked (21-27).

Boyce paints from a woman’s point of view and experience. She pictures young babies and women in ways a man might be embarrassed to paint:

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Bo-peep (1861) — it’s earnest and alive with feeling (and in color)

Like her brother, George Price Boyce (1826-1897), her art also fits into that terrain of Pre-Raphaelitism which rigorously tries for precise landscapes to achieve a kind of photographic truth to nature:

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Shanklin in the Isle of Wight (1859).

Christopher Newell describes this as a “delicious landscape sketch, with its beautiful effect of light through trees on the right and focus on the large block of rock standing in the foreground (in Pre-Raphaelite Vision: Truth to Nature, 69)

Newell has an entry for a painting of Holmbury Hill (in Surrey, where there is an iron-age fort), about which Joanna wrote she and her brother were

“‘hard at work sketching …. I have accomplished very little as yet but have three good subjects (landscape) commenced.’ The North Downs landscape was untouched, she thought, by the modern world, for there were ‘no visitors or tourists and very few human beings at all within the mile or two of us, but plenty of other beings. numerous from their being so seldom disturbed”

but Newell reprints no image. This anonymous impressionist image of the quiet countryside around the hill is not by her:

On Holmbury Hill

I include it to offer a Victorian painting of the area around Holmbury Hill. Numbers of paintings by her brother have survived which combines precision with atmospheric impression:

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George Boyce, Black Poplars at Pangbourne (1868)

Joanna’s unfinished Sybil (1860) is not a witch (brother Pre-Raphaelites favor sorceresses as a theme) nor semi-pornographic with the same face so typical of the male Pre-Raphaelites. The delicacy of mood and apprehension of the woman’s face, and the absorption of the figure in choosing from sheets of paper she will work on makes it my favorite of all her work I’ve seen. She had been working on it when she died:

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It’s just not true that there are no great, distinctive, and strong women Pre-Raphaelite artists. I’ve written of Rosa Brett (1829-82), included various images from the work of Evelyn de Morgan (1855-1919), Eleanor Fortesque Brickdale as book illustrator), e.g.,

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1901

Elizabeth Siddal (1829-62), listed them and others, and mean to add a number more from Jan Marsh’s Pre-Raphaelite Women Artists, including eventually Marie Spartali Stillman (1824-1927)’s strange melanges:

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Love’s Messenger (1885).

What is noteworthy about Boyce is how she does not rely on the spectacular, bizarre, or preciously antique, but more in the vein of Brett, leaves us with quiet exquisitely rendered presences and precise naturalism.

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Joanna Mary Boyce (possibly made from a death mask)

Joanna Boyce’s life follows a pattern for women artists seen in the Renaissance family workshops, and in the 19th century as necessary promotion, connection, instruction and support (Deborah Cherry, Painting Women: visual art as the “Family Business,” 19-44). Her brother was George Boyce, a Pre-Raphaelite artist well-trained in schools, continually active in several different Pre-Raphaelite circles and a successful architect, who painted buildings too.

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George Boyce, Tomb of Mastino della Scala (1854)

George Boyce’s diary is an important source of information for Pre-Raphaelitism today

Joyce’s father, George John Boyce, a wine merchant and pawnbroker (they functioned as bankers) encouraged her talent from a young age, took her to exhibitions, lectures (to J. M. W. Turner’s funeral), allowed her to enroll at Cary’s School of art, and traveled with her to Paris (1852) so she could study contemporary French painting. They stayed at Betws-y-coed in Wales where her brother came under the influence of David Cox. Her father’s death in 1853 was a significant loss because her mother discouraged her from being an artist. Joyce was taken to Torquay during her early grief, and wrote:

I began painting my sketch — unsatisfactory — idle — Have a sense of something wanting to give me energy — the dear encouraging eyes of my darling father, to whom alone I was sure of giving pleasure (Nunn, from Joanna’s notebooks 150)

She met the man who was to become her husband by 1849, Henry Tanworth Wells (1828-1903) and true to form, he was an artist too, a friend of her brother, an established and conventional portraitist and miniaturist who did not appreciate her unusual approaches. Joanna reminds me of a later Victorian woman artist Elizabeth Armstrong Forbes (1859-1912) because for a few years she resisted Well’s pressure to commit to him. Joanna used stronger words than have come down frmo Forbes, like “slavery,” “dependence” and “degraded” in explaining why she was reluctant. They first became engaged in 1855.

In the meantime she had attended various schools (1853, Leigh’s school of art, 1854 Government school of design), traveled to Belgium and the Netherlands (it’s possible she was hoping to train in Dusseldorf or Munich); she had wanted to study with Rosa Bonheur (1822-99) in France, but was instead enrolled in Thomas Couture’s atelier where there was a life class. We’re told of works that have disappeared (not saved?), a portrait of her pension landlady, a “Rowena offering the Wassail cup to Voltigern” (according to her brother “painted from a handsome Polish girl in Paris”). As she had loved Bonheur’s natural studies (scroll down for Bonheur’s Sheep Reclining by the Sea<), so she admired Delacroix’s use of color.

Again we have her words at least. She wrote a column, “Remarks on some French Pictures at the late Exposition in Paris” (1855), a five-installment review of an academy show (1856). Her remarks fit into what John Barrell in a recent review of David Solkin’s new survey, Art in Britain, 1660-1815 (LRB, 38:11, 2 June 2016) suggested was occurring slowly over the later 18th century: English art was freeing itself from a cultural cringe to a false hierarchical vision of the classics, European history painting, and imitations of minor Italian Renaissance paintings. Like Anthony Trollope in his essays on his trips to galleries, Joanna praises the Englishness of recent English art: she defends the Pre-Raphaelites, naming Ruskin and an important painting:

The Pre- Raphaelite movement has done some good, and will do more; and the extravagances that its leaders fell into in some of their first pictures, such as Millais’s Carpenter’s Shop, were but the necessary results of a great change … they have taught us by their pictures, aided by Ruskin’s words, that an artist’s strength lies in a child-like sincerity, and in the shunning of pride, which is always allied to servility. If Frost and Pickersgill, and two or three other young men who were talked of as ‘rising artists’ some years ago, had learnt the lesson, we should not find them sinking deeper and deeper into the slough into which indolence and pride have led them … The ridicule and the narrow-minded criticisms that have abounded in the press against the Pre-Raphaelites and their champion have fallen harmless – so far, at least, as the principles for which they have fought are concerned. The great men in the group have walked calmly onward, heedless of the strife of trivial tongues, and the walls of the Academy during these last few years have been but the theatre of their triumph.

There is a touching aspiration, refreshing idealism, and she adheres Ruskin’s vision of ethical understanding through an aesthetics drawn from nature

Six picture exhibitions are now open in London, containing all that our artists have been able to accomplish for 1856. Have they worked that we may be mentally and morally the better for their labours, or merely that our purses may be lighter, and our rooms furnished with pleasing pictures? Money, we know, with artists as with other men [sic], is unavoidably, and not always prejudicially, a main incentive to sustained exertion; but let us hope that a simple love of nature and art, an earnest striving after excellence, and, with some at least, impatience to give forcible utterance to the multitude of thoughts within, have had their place too.

Her unfinished Gretchen (1861) suggests she would have taken themes from romantic poetry of the previous era

Gretchen 1861 Joanna Mary Wells 1831-1861 Presented by the artist's daughters 1923 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N03814

From Vigue (Great Women Masters of Art 217): She adapted the languid expression of the model to a narkedly dramatic scene. The woman stands, observing the viewer frontally while she protects a frightened boy who takes refuge in her arms. Though the artist uses a cldearly Pre-Raphaelite aesthetic, the influence of rmantic painting is evident in the woman’s expressive stance. In the formal conception of the painting lies a compositional simplicity that enhances the Romantic vision and emphasizes the maternal expression of the whole. The artist composed the work based on the expressiveness of gesture and emphasized the ephemeral instant of the embrace through tenuous illumination.

Joanne lists as works she means to do “Undine,” “Autumn, from Keats,” “King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid,” “Lady of the Castle” and “Charlotte Ridley as “Catherine Sforza” (Nunn 155).

She set out with friends for Italy in 1857. She learnt Italian, her notebooks are filled with sketches of passing people she saw, places visited, portraits. By the end of the year (December 7th) she had married Wells

Returning to England, they set up house in 1859 in Upper Phillimore Gardens, and had built a country house at Holmbury Hill in Surrey. Joanna had two children while continuing to paint and exhibit. From among other paintings, the forefulness of her La Veneziana was praised in the Saturday Review and Athenaeum:

joaanaboyceveneziana

A few months later an obituary notice appeared. After another baby (named Joanna Margaret) she succumbed to gastroenteric fever, July 15, 1861. Immediately after she was (naturally) highly praised but the terms used suggest her work: “remarkable for warm, deep colouring and a true feeling for pigment.” But it was the sense of a powerful presence in her figures that impressed people (Nunn 158).

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Joanna’s Head of Mrs Eaton is her most frequently reproduced image, and perhaps the most familiar one by Victorian woman artists to readers and viewers today:

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Head of a Mulatto Woman by Joanna M. Wells” (inscription on back of frame)

Critics today are attracted to the sitter’s identity as a woman of colour. She worked for D.G. Rossetti, Rebecca Solomon, Simeon Solomen, Albert Moore. In Beyond the Frame, Cherry describes it:

This delicately modeled and finely pointed oil study of a head in profile facing left portrays a woman with a calm, meditative expression, set before a deep green ground. Threaded through her hair are strands of turquoise beads, pearls decorate her ears, and over her shoulders are draped swathes of a shimmering fabric striped with white and dull gold (Cherry 140)

Compare Vigue (217): Mrs. Eaton’s face appears with a rigid expression that transmits strength and character. The painting represents the model in profile and perfectly renders the stylized form of her neck and the details of her coiffure. In the center of the image is an earring that centers the composition … On the basis of this small point of light, the artist designed a balanced and homogenous composition. The attention of the viewer is gained through a studied distribution of light. In the foreground, the light colors of the dress prevail and the eye ascends along the neck until it reaches the tenuous clarity of the face … this combination of different grounds of light … produc[es] a very structured visual path through the pictorial space. The same is true of the quality of the brushstroke: … fluid … in the dress … the face … much clearer

The most highly praised in her era (by Ruskin among others) is this delicate fresco-like Elgivra (1855), who, while facing right with head tilted towards the viewer, also like almost all of Joanna’s statuesque images of women does not make eye-contact with us:

joannamaryboyceelgivra

Vigue: the artist used color as a medium of expression. The woman, with a dark blue dress that covers her to the head, is located in the center of the painting, inclined toward the right. The contrast between the blue of the dress and the grayish color of the background is serene.

While face is central (she is the heroine of the story), it’s “more brightly illuminated than the rest of the painting,” the ” woman has a downcast air, with a meditative, slightly sad expression (216).

There’s a subtle psychological moment to be read in all Joanna’s figures. I am intrigued by their quiet and meditative expressions which convey Joanna’s proud sense of women’s intelligence and fortitude (a favored word in the 18th century).

Ellen

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Picture by Joanna Mary, Head of Mrs Eaton

Dear friends and readers,

My project to call attention to women artists ignored, neglected, marginalized, erased in modern museums, exhibits and survey books includes reviews of books on such women. I reviewed Deborah Cherry’s ground-breaking and creatively original, Painting Women: Victorian Women Artists, in 2007. Cherry’s most important (of many) insights in that book is a demonstration that women in the 19th century did not attempt to fit into (now famous and respected) male aesthetic schools, but evolved genres of painting, technical emphases and moods quite apart from male pictures. The continued attempt to fit them into pre-conceived male schools, impressionism for example, ends up finding them producing inferior or odd versions of impression (or the school in question), with only one or two sufficiently conforming. In Painting Women Cherry identified several types and modes of painting coming out of women’s gender-constructed circumstances and values (what they were permitted to see and to paint) which go far to re-frame the 19th century woman artist.

Beyond the Frame fills in the social and economic worlds of women, especially as manifested in public writing and media about women artists, their schooling, their careers, their leisure activities, their politicking. She looks at the images of women they were surrounded by and tried to push back against (not very successfully), and the images of women and the world around them they created, many of which have been marginalized, vanished, and misunderstood. She answers the question how how did women as a group acting to be treated as paid professionals shape them as people and what they then did in their lives. If a few women became professional artists without their families in the later 18th century, they were anomalies. This is indeed a book about what happens outside a frame and how that is part of what is said about or appears inside the frame. An aspect of this book which makes it so different from Germaine Greer’s The Obstacle Race is there is little about the woman’s private lives, their affairs with men, how that affected them, their families. This helps bring out different women’s individual agency.

Her introduction sets her subject in the present state of feminist theories about visual art and women because it’s through images that women have been used (abused, exploited), framed, understood, made models for other women to imitate. She pays attention to how visual culture was used by ruthless colonizers and imperialists. She focuses on individuals when she can. Throughout she shows how the world of women artists intersected with the hard necessary work of increasing women’s rights to work, to make and keep their money, to have real access to liberty and use it for self-fulfillment and social good.

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Her first and second chapters, “Artists and Militants, 1850-66” and “In/between the colonial theater: visuality, visibility, and modernity” focus on specific years: a time when the first employment office and agency on behalf of women for professional work was begun in London, and when the first feminist press (a press run by women) and women’s journals were published. She names a few names since change in the high cultured arts is top down. The women who mattered were Barbara Bodichon, Eliza Fox, Emily Faithful (who Trollope published with), Harriet Martineau, the usual suspects – as well as a growing group of women artists and their biographers, the artists themselves painting pictures which showed the real lives of women or parodied and burlesqued the conventional pious pictures (like Florence Claxton, Emily Jane Osborne). She then suggests why women wanted to travel: emigration to a colony or moving about offered liberty not available in any other way.

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Florence Claxton, The Choice of Paris

The portrait of Florence Claxton, and the parodic nature of her art is splendid. I am tempted to make Caxton one of my forgotten women precisely because I’ve never heard her mentioned in any Pre-Raphaelite exhibit, and unlike the few women mentioned (muses, sex objects, occasionally painting in a woman’s version of the male aesthetic here), she sends up the male pictures. How refreshing and what attention it would catch if a few of her sketches were included – she did paintings too.

I never saw some of these pictures before: funny sendups of the male Pre-raphaelites. The woman artists conceived of themselves as militants for women’s rights. They struggled to get and mount exhibitions of their work as a whole and some to make sure only work of high quality was included; that they entered prestigious shows. They didn’t want extravagant praise, for that does not take them seriously.  To stop the production of pious images was impossible but you could introduce satire. Of course some women journalists stopped short of endorsing anything not determinedly pro-marriage, children as the center of women’s lives (Elizabeth Ellet). The first histories of women’s visual art were written. These are lives told in terms of obstacles overcome – just like Germaine Greer.

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Barbara Bodichon, Sisters Working in Our Field (1858-60)

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Near Algeria (1860s)

Her third chapter, “The Worlding of Algeria” is problematic:  she investigates the particular case of Algeria as a place Bodichon went to live in when she married a French husband. Cherry takes it as a given we will disapprove of Bodichon’s horror at the nature of Muslim women’s lives –- I don’t. This chapter reveals the great gap and fault-line between what privileged elite, white upper class women experienced and want for themselves and their lack of knowledge of non-western and working class women. The visual imagery of the colonized and subaltern woman influences how the elite woman will be treated too. The elite women wanted to to go an imperialist colony like Algeria it was unlike settler colonialism where the aim of the Europeans was to create a new version of the old society (after “removing” the native people).

She then launches into a revealing critique of such pictures that we are many of us familiar with. Citing Spivack, Bhabha, and Linda Nochlin, Cherry demonstrates the familiar alluring pictures of landscape and buildings of Africa, India and others are all false constructs: they omit much that was actually there, in the way they frame what they see they follow the Claude Lorraine scheme, the celebration of harmony is of power; the figures of “natives” either are not there, or are tiny and we never see them doing anything commercial. Linda Nochlin describes such pictures in her essay on the “imaginary orient.” She brings out the ambiguity of women’s painting in the era: how when they achieve some freedom, it is not available on “innocent” terms. And that a number of the women painters who are better known painted this kind of landscape or “oriental” people inside it.

One detail sticks in my mind: one of these elite women inspired a powerful French woman to wear silks and it was argued this was kindness to provide jobs for these oriental girls: the jobs were 12 hours a day to spin silk at age 13-21 whereupon she’d be married off. European women wanted to go to places like Algeria because there was no settler colonialism there: no one was attempting to recreate a little England or France, but only occupy gov’t and business positions; the European imperialists were fiercely militaristic, destroying native attempts to stop them taking the natural resources and thus made a safe space for women not married to travel in and “be free.” Only a few such women noticed the natives, even fewer respected and saw them as human beings. To be fair, the only women white women came across were veiled, spoke a different language.

The chapter is relevant to us today: when something is shown of native type it’s a ruin, or desolate and obviously needs to be torn down except that it is so picturesque. Painters did not know how to show the civilization they were seeing. Islam when shown is depicted as fanatic, desecrating Christian and ancient Roman and Greek sites. Cherry talks about the literal frames put around such pictures; buyers expected a frame as if they want to distance themselves. I’ve seen similar pictures of 19th to 20th century Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and Egypt.

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Harriet Hosmer’s Zenobia (1862)

As her first book taught generally so this one begins with a detail or person and moves out “beyond the frame.” Chapter 4 begins with Harriet Hosmer’s Zenobia to bring out how in order to make money the artist who made sculptures had to make copies and when she did she had to use the services of other people. Large statues often required workman skilled in the material the statue was made of. This reality was used to accuse women of not doing their own statues, but hiring others. Again we see these Greek/Roman images were an aristocratic European ideal: people who never looked like that; the artists are imitating the figures of the early Renaissance. Cherry discusses Hawthorne’s Marble Faun, which has an ideal woman painter, pure virginal copying masterpieces, and the daughter of a Jewish banker who paints stories of blood and revenge (Jael, Judith).

The Art Journal defended these women sculptors in Rome, including Edmonia Lewis (accused of poisoning her fellow students – Lisa Moore’s Sister Arts explained that false charger). Tellingly though feminists of the era pushed for masculine qualities in the art; Francis Cobbe liked statues of strong figures; these are high art, so Angelica Kauffmann’s pictures (which I admit I often do not like) are feeble and about prettiness. Women must create what they admire, and they admire power, force, grandeur, says Cobbe. (I don’t.) but Cobbe goes on to doubt if such qualities are found in women to the same extent as men. (As if men are all strong … ) all this is written in connection with Hosmer’s Zenobia and others statues. Cherry includes the strong influence of Americans in Rome, perhaps overstated, how they interacted with English and Canadian people. Now Hosmer was judged on how she looked, her private life; happily neither were found wanting: she was leading a “real life – a life “carried out for herself.” Frances Cobbe met her long-time partner in Rome, Mary Lloyd, a Welsh sculptor who worked with Rosa Bonheur.

About this time in 19th century culture that an author’s life began to “authorize” the art work (or writing or music). So, after showing that attempts were made to say the women did not sculpt their own heroic statures, she brings in Foucault to argue that respect for an author and the perceived presence of the author in the art work gave a work respect. An author authorized the text — I’ll add that we see in the 19th century the growing worship of authors as celebrities. When it was argued that Homer never existed, the value of the Iliad went down; when it was argued that several authors could or would have been involved, the Iliad became almost not worthwhile any close study. There was nothing to study it for.

(Films have this problem today and those who want to elevate the status of film often resort to some form of auteur theory to make people regard the work as art and enabled them to analyze its vision. And if the auteur is famous  respected then you are in business as a critic to be listened to. And it’s true we (or I) look for the “signature” of the author by looking at the script writer or director’s other films and comparing and showing likeness. We see the importance of the author’s life come in here; how viewers want to judge it. The hard truth is no matter how dominant one or more personalities are in the final product of a film, it is the product of intricate collaboration on every level.)

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Hosmer’s Beatrice Cenci

Some women sculptors presented these heroic figures with large gravitas (Edmonia Lewis’s Death of Cleopatra) which influenced other depictions — or they were all following a similar paradigm. Joanna Mary Boyce depicted a Cumean sybil as a figure of learning and prophecy — she painted the famous often reprinted Head of Mrs Eaton (a model in 19th century London often referred to “a woman of color”). The Zenobia by Hosmer is then a watershed and achievement for women artists, but not as strong a one as has been made out.

She then covers the kind of postures for women in art that were popular, allowed or just circulated widely: heroic women who were nonetheless enslaved, seen in chains — like Zenobia; we were to admire their passive fortitude. It was objected by some at the time why do we never see Zenobia when she is successful and a warrior, only in her downfall? Other images — such as enslaved Greek by Hiram Power (a male) are voyeuristic; you are invited to imagine something sadistic about to happen. Chains around female figures were everywhere in these sculptures, also a focus on the woman’s private parts, one breast bared (the traditional sign of the prostitute). If we look at how Victoria was represented there was a problem of showing her heroic and strong and yet not aggressive and loving mother; there was severe disapproval of her continual retirement from public life and her love for Brown was known and had to be hushed up. 

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Gwen John, a self-portrait (1899)

The last and fifth chapter, “Tactics and allegories, 1866-1900” is overlong and meanders; it takes different turns. My experience of writing for publication makes me suspect it is comprised of material meant to be part of later chapters, but she was forced to cut down her book and condensed these further chapters in this last fifth one. In it she analyzes Gwen John’s self-depiction. It’s a single image condensing many themes of independence, self-confidence making her stand for the “new woman” – personal freedom, individualism, making of independent life organized around work, socializing unchaperoned in mixed company, living in rented accommodation rather than family home. The problem is most novels are about sexual non-conformity, not about politically active, or neurotic and idealistic women.

What the whole book shows and especially this chapter was the kind of social abilities a woman needed to be a professional painter or the kind of family, background and connections she needed to come from and have help through made many of the women artists political activists. While a few famous ones, were adamantly publicly opposed to women getting the vote (of course they would be made famous), most worked for women’s causes of various sorts, and strongly for this. So women artists and suffragettes converged. Her point is that women artists were politically active because in order to have a career they had to be economically and socially active within elite groups.

She prints portrait by Sophia Beale of herself as a taxpayer, a person who worked as teacher, painter, landlady has no vote and the drone male in her house has one. Bodichon pointed out women were eligible for public offices too. It’s the paying taxes that is the clincher each time. Only a few resisted paying taxes and their goods were seized. Women artists embodied social responsibility, professional and properties status. People have called the group elite: list of important women in public life as all for suffrage. Women for the vote spoke lectures, there was attention to public works. Petitioners, Bodichon presented demand for vote to John Stuart Mill. Scottish women painters active. Several women artists took active roles in organizations. Cherry offers a list of active women which includes several familiar and not-so-familiar artists.

Cherry then moves into traditions of radical thought, social reform, professional work for women. Emily Ford came from prosperous Quakers, who trained both sexes for independent lives, social responsibility and active intervention. Each placed herself in some central functioning area; worked against Contagious Diseases Act which criminalized women rather than those who exploited them. Emily Fox a committee member for Leeds Educational society. The women attended one another’s meetings and become involved with labor politicians. Emily Fox joined Leeds Social League; and with her sisters and Alice Scatcherd helped series of strikes which included women weavers and tailors. The organization provided education, practical help, money. Emily Ford became Anglican but at the same time worked for protective regulation on behalf of women and children. Now she provides a list of names who were variously active –it’s striking what they did. It was a broad moral critique: against domestic violence, child abuse, animal rights too, antivivisectionist, for women’s unions. Not all women artists had the time to act as suffragettes, a couple still demurred too. They all had to be careful not to let these activities affect a positive reputation; they would contribute in ways that kept their name quiet; artistry with less elite status could be more public. Then she cites famous women artists who did not involve themselves, e.g., Gwen John, Vanessa Bell. The very definition of femininity was now challenged.

There were of course upper class women who were anti-suffrage; the pro-suffrage women saw these people as elitist; people wanted to be part of what was stylish too, so issue was complicated as they say. Little mention was made of women’s rights in magazine aimed at them, and yet they signed petitions in huge numbers, a few allowing the use of their famous name as a spearhead. When prominent British politicians asserted there was no evidence women wanted the vote, the Women’s Social and Political Union (the major organization begun by the Pankhurts) brought out thousands in the streets and petitions galore – the latter are weak instruments at best.
A convergence had occurred on public platforms, theaters, book buying too. Cherry produce a long list of women artists who were known to be suffragettes.

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Rachel Weisz as Hypatia in the 2009 film Agora (see my review of the movie which presents Hypatia as a tragically silenced teacher)

She has the great insight to remark that the male Pre-Raphaelites who painted the beautiful women they kept as mistresses often painted them as powerful sorceresses, and that early on when women wanted power or lived alone they were equated with witches, burnt or somehow punished (guillotined in the French revolution). And she says the most famous of the sorceress paintings emerge just before and during the time of the “new woman” in fiction and suffragette campaign. Susan Casteras has argued that “women endowed with great creativity” in Pre-raphaelite imagery become witches, sorceresses;” then Beverly Taylor sees these as also fearful, projections of male anxieties (they have these dark narrow eyes). So the re-emergence of imagery of women as witches, sorceresses – in male Pre-Raphaelite paintings!  Women art critics who like the male Pre-Raphaelite painting are concerned to counter this: Jan Marsh wants to see this as “idealized beautiful” women, enchantresses (159).

These images coincide with first organized woman’s movement for vote, rights on a national scale. Women wreaking havoc and destruction in tales too. Morgan LeFaye a murderess, incestuous with son, a Medea type. Casteras: they are defying the rhetoric of masculine control. Elizabeth Barrett Browning does all she can to distance herself and heroines from this kind of book. Mary Boyce Wells has a sympathetic sibyl, but the issues were property laws, Contagious Diseases Acts, professional opportunities, paid work, medical knowledge. In 1872 the first public schools and colleges including or for women with high academic standards emerge. No more independent scholars, bluestockings, visibility in public life and suffrage petitions was what was needed and sought. At the same time the formation of a distinctly homosexual-social culture was forming. To this belongs Eliza Lynn’s attack on the “new girl of the period.” then there was increasing disquiet about race as world shrunk.

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Joanna Boyce Wells, Elgiva

The pictures of Joanna Mary Boyce Wells come closest to painting sibyls in ways that are deeply sympathetic. She is one underrated painter – very good. Her Head of Mrs Eaton (found on the Internet easily) is only one of her paintings that are very good. About to have her first exhibit, she died in childbirth. Without a husband, women were not respectable and they also had a hard time making a living. The next time my reader goes to a Pre-Raphaelite show with no women painters (or the obligatory Mary Cassatt or Berthe Morison) have a real look at how the males are painting these “gorgeous” females. Like Julia Cameron’s photographs (who follows Michelangelo’s depiction of sibyl turning pages of volume with putti holding a light), Boyce does not follow Virgil to show a possessed woman; not gloomy, not about to commit crimes (Burnes-Jones’s sibyl is); she is poised, calm, contemplative. Cameron’s work required costumes, furniture, tableaux vivants, Marie Spartalli works with her “performing” beauty, maternity, spirituality; Cameron’s picture recalls a painting of Isabella d’Este.

Hypatia became a focus for women artists – she is made fun of in Punch as Miss Hypatia Jones, Spinster of arts – we can trace the complex of ideas and emotions attached to Hypatia in several women artists: Marie Spartali Sillman (imagery from Spenser’s Faerie Queen – Britomart), identified with Sophia and also Antigone (think of George Eliot! – and recent play with Juliette Binoche, not to omit Rachel Weisz in Agora, figures of resistance to patriarchal authority). 

Meanwhile discourses about art’s moral function were under pressure. It’s in this context Cherry brings up Pre-Raphaelite women artists too; Rossetti was attacked so you needed to be moral and yet art for art’s sake the mode. Spivack sees an interplay between a portrait of the self and using the self to represent a constituency – you stage yourself to represent an idea and blend all these female archetypes (Dido is very far from this I see.

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Laura Hertford, Elizabeth Armstrong Garrett (1866 — a photograph of a portrait)

She turns to what was happening in women’s professions. Elizabeth Garrett Armstrong gets a license from society of apothecaries and sets up practice as a physician; in magazines we find comic drawings of sweetly pretty doctor, useless, hired for sex appeal; or a harridan disrupts family life. Visual language recalls women campaigning for voting rights. So how can women artists counter this? Around the time of her license, Laura Herford painted Garrett, stayed within family looks grave, high neck dark dress, hair pulled back with middle part, gaze alert serious steady. She declined openly to support suffragettes; cartoons showing women professionals neglecting husband, children, women barristers presented as the next absurdity, ridiculous jargon ridden papers. She did not dress like Langham place group.
 
Debates occurred on what is appropriate curriculum for women, appropriate areas of practice. Mary Macarthur an early 20thcentury unionist declared “Knowledge is power” and “knowledge and organisation mean the opening of the cage door.”

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1890s is a period of conflicting groups and tendencies. A time of discussions about marriage, motherhood, compatibility with women’s desire for self-fulfillment. One problem is people rarely discussed content of pictures.

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Susan Isabel Dacre, Linda Becker (1886)

Fashioning an image for professional woman and vote is not easy: Osborne mad Jane Cobden Unwin into a woman silvered in satin (!), class based; Susan Isabel Dacre painted Lydia Becker insombre sober dress– nearly 60, another very heavy woman, direct gaze through her spectacles, not prettied up like Millais’s depiction of Louise Jopling, but drab, isolated thoughtful weary; she became target of satiric depictions.

Towards the end of Chapter 5 Cherry quotes Susan Casteras to the effect that with few exceptions women did not challenge canons of taste, imagery, citing Margaret Isabel Dicksee’s Miss Angel – we see Angelicak Kauffmann introduced by Lady Wentworth, visiting Mr Reyndols 1892 – elegantly dressed lady. The image reminds me of Kauffmann’s pictures (and Angharad Rees in the 1976 Poldark as Demelza), which reinforced story of Kauffmann’s life how she missed out on marrying Reynolds, chose badly so led blighted life. (Kauffmann’s work is a problem – if only we would admit it – soft unreal nymphs. I have not done a blog because in all conscience I find so many of her ideal forms vapid or insipid. Only when she does a portrait of a real person is the picture valuable as aesthetic and philosophical art. The stories of the 18th century musical Linleys are made to fit.

Dicksee took up mantle of Henrietta Ward. Exhibiting a major historical painting with lengthy explanation; another cited Jessie Macgregor’s In the Reign of Terror which depicted a mother’s courage; Louise Jopling did an Elaine of Astolat drowned for love but also Salome (a contested figure) and like other women painting the figure was criticized for conception (head on tray), Jopling said her Queen Vashti refusing to show herself to the People was “an originator and victim of women’s rights.”

A campaign which used the words “purity” and took a stance of moral vigilance attacked these sorts of paintings, of nudity in public, “obscenity” in postcards, posters; women trained to produce degrading images of their own sex; 1890s saw passing of Criminal Law Amendment Act raised age of consent for girls to 16, powers to the police to prosecute street walkers, brothel keepers, indecent acts between adults are made illegal.

Artists and critics inveighed against women artists studying nudes, even if “hampered from competition for highest prizes in art.” Florence Fenwick Miller takes Lawrence Alma-Tadema for exerting himself against admission of women’s paintings but not the “languorous dreamy women” of his paintings. Political Lady Cricketeers seen in a drawing are rare for not being made misshapen harridans. Cherry wonders if these images had a “multivalency” for women at the time (meaning maybe women then liked these sexy pictures of women.) Fenwick Miller and Emilia Dike upheld women’s rights to study and depict the nude as necessary for career. There was fairly consistent agitation to obtain permission to attend life classes at the Royal Academy.

Such campaigns gave women opportunity to speak out about sex, morality. In 1899 Louisa Starr defended nude depiction; not improper, indecent, offensive – much was at stake here. Henrietta Rae’s Psyche before the Throne of Venus with its numerous nudes and semi-draped women was attacked; Starr’s defense is as long as done in classical tradition, showing sports, as long as nude is “robust, mellowed, healthy … “ No corset of course, the “purity of spirit” would shine through 186. There is a problem here. This is classic vigilance argument, no lasciviousness here, implicit racism (whites painted). Elizabeth Forbes’s School is Out does break with stereotypes to show teacher satisfied, in charge; using rural background assures respectability.

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At the close of her book Cherry moves to justify 1890s women artists who went in for spiritualism as a form of feminism and the art they created using these. It won’t do. It does seem as if her woman artists were mostly elitist types and could not get themselves to avail themselves of socialist allegories of the type Walter Crane and Morris used. Nor can Cherry stomach the work of the Newlyn school as led by Stanhope Forbes. (Like others, she holds against him his elitism, that he squashed parts of his wife’s career, that the women accepted in the Newlyn school had to conform to domestic ideals.) I prefer the Newlyn School with its deeply respectful realism.

Another aspect of the 1880s and 90s is men’s institutions refuse to accept women’s work, portraits of important women. I know that Anne Barbauld’s papers were destroyed many of them because the British Library would not take them and in the 1940 the house they were kept in was destroyed by bombs.

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Suffragette meeting, from The Graphic, 25 May 1872 — includes Millicent Garret Fawcett, Frances Strong Pattison [aka Emilia Dilke], Ernestine Rose, Lydia Becker, Rhoda Garrett

We can study the period as suffragette and women artists saw it to some extent by looking at saved cuttings from newspapers – compiled extracts which they often found mean and cruel: rare not to have political women “as a red nosed, misshapen republisve looking harridan.” National Portrait Gallery refused to accept Dacre’s portrait of Becker on the grounds she had not been dead 10 years as yet – this excludes women from “imagined national community” 195; they collected their own material but what was publicly shown was A Dream of Fair Women” in Lonoon 1894: women in grand manner, uncomplicated beauty. Women’s Suffrage Society presented their collection to University College, Bristol.

New womens’ colleges often had bare walls; Bodichon provided furniture money for Girton decoration. Emily Mary Osborne exhibited a picture of Bodichon calling her “instrumental” in founding Girton after Emily Davies had claimed herself the exclusive founder; Bodichon wanted the painting there to be sure that she was credited 197. Picture of Davies makes her look like heritage family portrait demure, white cap, hands folder; Bodichon painting. These women fought over this.

Then the resort to allegory: Emily Ford’s Rising Dawn has disappeared but a photograph of it survives – on the occasion of Philippa Fawcett achieving highest place in Math Tripos exam at Newnham College Cambridge 198. Resembles Soul Finding the Light (see below). Using Owens’s theory, Cherry defines allegory is one text read through another; you add a layer of meaning – we can re-see them with a different allegory: allegory is unmotivated in the sense that symbolism is particular to, grows out of a work itself. So to many today (to me) Watts’ Hope (a woman) looks hopeless. Leighton’s Arts of Industry shows well born women showing off jewels; women sew with servants all around; while men make and deliver luxury goods – indolent self-regarding women; Golden Stairs thought to have no content or story.

Cherry suspects that Emily Ford’s pictures had political meanings that she does not tell. Cherry points to – she descriptions of Ford’s works not now extant: The Weary Way had wild winds of Yorkshire (it seemed) hindering steps of old woman who struggles under a load. How do you create a new visual culture for socialism?; wee see attempts in Walter Crane, Walter Langley in Newlyn school – she seems oddly dismissive of these males because she wants to include women whose art is elitist even if they are trying to celebrate women.

So Cherry moves to the use of spiritualism imagery: the imagery of seances, spiritualism, Society for Psychical Research is what some women artists appear to have used for hopeful allegory .I see a great irony here – she cites historians who say this kind of thing has a particular appeal for women – (after all they had the many children who died I put it) so we get suffragettes joining this group: Agnes Garrett, Anna Swanick, Elizabeth Blackwell, Charlotte Despard – they would investigate table-rapping, mediums, automatic writing

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Evelyn de Morgan — note both figures are female

Evelyn de Morgan not a member but interested in this kind of psychical research and she expressed ideas of women’s spiritual evolution through the imagery as in her Soul’s Prison House, Aurora Triumphans; Cherry finds the same spiritual journey in Emily Ford’s painting – she sees Morgan’s paintings as “resplendent” – Night flees and the female figures move into the light; central to Judeo-Christian imagery from Pilgrim’s progress to Swedenbourg to Quakers. Paul de Man comes in useful here. She wants us to begin to see this sort of thing as feminist. Marina Warner has said this kind of allegory is declamatory.

She turns to look at banner and visual images used in campaigns. In 1884 there was one to extend suffrage to include almost all men – to include women too– a huge demonstration-meeting in Sheffield and elsewhere, in London, in Edinburgh – banners used (“Women Claim Equal Justice with Men”), eye-catching spectacle of flags (Westminster and London Tailoresses said to have participated), use of singing, of processions. She means to give a sense of the full visual culture of women’s suffrage in the 1880s – this pageantry connected to temperance, mother’s union, church groups, labor protests, socialist groups, miners’ galas … Later on it became narrower and larger middle class in imagery. These were images of women at meetings, of well-dressed women in groups, looking semi-professional.

Most of the suffrage visual art has been lost, not collected, not valued, no one had the resources to save these. But collections of family paintings have been dispersed and women’s paintings ended up there; marble statues (!) by women have been lost (Edmonia Lewis’s Death of Cleopatra lately found); endowments, insecure donations, lack of continuity and gifts are lost.

She suggests we are uneasy with women’s pasts. Allegory is uncertain and slippery and becomes barely discernible. That’s why the use of these spiritualist allegories is lost to us today says Cherry. It’s more than that. Seance and spiritualist movements were and are a dead end. Women did die in great numbers in childbirth; their children died in great numbers. All tragic but the technological solution of better childbirth procedures and what we have of scientific medicine was what was needed.

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The coda

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Emily Ford, The Soul Finding the Light (1888-89)

Cherry lifts her book again to the important and profound about women’s movements and art. After saying that allegory (and I’ll add irony thinking of Austen and Trollope) is treacherous, that it can be erased or misread, she quotes Owen again who remarked most of such works are not preserved or preserved in odd ways. A large number of the works Cherry has discusses are misread or lost or known only through photographs. Hosmer’s statue is disappeared; so too paintings by Howitt of Boadicea, Tekushch of The wife and Rebecca Levinson of Hypatia. In order to get the Girton authorities to put Becker’s picture up, Osborne had to cut it down; the original once in the Manchester Art Gallery is now preserved only in a photograph. We have cursory reviews. Ford’s Towards the Dawn gone missing.

Cixous says that the gift is a dangerous because it is not given with the aim of getting something in return. The gift which is part of potlatch is “proper” (like Christmas). She says gifts arouse suspicion and are associated with women. The gift is donated and thus out of the system and constitutes a threat to the system which has refused to pay for it or reciprocate. So it is insecure and is not preserved, is not put anywhere that recognition works to make permanent (e.g., blogs on the Net, postings on listservs, participation in networks online, volunteer work … women’s work at home when unpaid).

When such works are gone, they are misrecollected or dismissed when mentioned. Cherry ends on Walter Benjamin’s Illuminations where he says “every image of the past that is not recognized by the present as one of its own … is threatened by irretrievable disappearance.” Here we see the important of awards as well as money.

So unless you coopt and obey the system to some extent, you are lost. Often women did not in order to speak of themselves truthfully, and much of their work has been systematically as well as with indifference lost. It is courageous of Cherry to end on this note.

Ellen

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Philip Glenister as Wm Stafford curtly asking Mary Boleyn to be his wife (The Other Boleyn Girl, 2003)

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Jim Sturgess as George Boleyn, in the tower, awaiting beheading (The Other Boleyn Girl 2008)

Dear friends and readers,

This week I’ve been listening to Simon Vance read Hilary Mantel’s Bring up the Bodies so effectively that I returned to re-watching the 2008 Other Boleyn Girl film and part of the 2015 mini-series Wolf Hall. And now after several Tudor films this year I’d not watched before, and a number of non-fiction as well as fiction books on the actors and/or milieus of this area, how the Renaissance era is seen from contemporary documents. I’ve also come up with with an fresh idea that might help explain the popularity of this era. For why after all should the murderous and sexually insecure impulses of a half-mad King Henry VIII deserve a moment’s attention.

It’s this: the appeal of this Tudor Matter comes from its unacknowledged freedom to present masculinity in ways that undermine norms for men either in costume, manners or sexual behavior since the later 19th century, and tell real truths about fluid sexual desire and what worldly ambition may necessitate. hese “Elizabethan” or “Renaissance dream-themes,” screenplays and films expose men caught up in situations where their masculine pride is directly hit. They kneel to strong women, and their swords are rendered irrelevant when it comes to the power of money, religion and the king. The origin of this is in the period: men were flamboyantly dressed, the poetry and plays of the era demonstrate how they defied sexual taboos by enacting enthrallment, abjection, and sensitivity; when aristocrats or courtiers or businessmen (lending money) or soldiers, they were at direct risk from monarchs with the power to execute them with impunity. There were a number of women who came to power and used it effectively: Catherine de Medici in France, Elizabeth I in England are only among the most famous and powerful; there are many minor levels of power and victimage. Historical fiction and gothics picked up on this strain beginning with later 18th century gothics (Sophia Lee’s The Recess, 1783) and Walter Scott (Kenilworth and The Abbot among many others), and have not let up since; films took this over in both the US and UK from The Prisoner of Zenda on, and especially in the Errol Flynn and Gainsborough movies. Stewart Grainger is with us still in Ross Poldark.

Gregory’s The Other Boleyn Girl (2001) has been credited with putting new characters into the familiar mapped territory: George and Mary Boleyn. In Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel has for a wider public transformed the character of Thomas Cromwell (it began in the scholarship of Geoffrey Elton and Marilyn Robertson, 1970s-89) from the monster of Bolt’s A Man for All Seasons into another kind of empathetic hero-monster, a fixer and businessman and intellectual coerced into cooperation, co-opted like many today feel they are. for myself I bond intensely with Mary Boleyn, and have ever wanted to read more about the so-called “minor” women of the court, from the French Jeanne d’Albret (mother of Henry IV who said Paris was worth a mass) to Katherine Parr. It’s the first age where we find numbers of women educated and writing letters and poetry and drama.

Beyond this I am just fascinated by bringing Elizabethan-set movies together, and looking to see what is their dramaturgy; what new did this movie contribute to the Tudor Matter, what new techniques did it use. I want to watch the older Elizabethan movies and trace the changes in movies about Elizabeth I, Mary Stuart, from Scott. I get the impression the 18th century was more stuck in frozen gender types than the age before or ours since. I find myself looking at the paintings of the Renaissance era to see where ideas and images came from for each decade of the 20th and 21st.

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Ana Torrent as Katharine of Aragon (Other Boleyn Girl, 2008)

The 2003 film is peculiarly fascinating for the way it also defies dramaturgical norms: Andrew Davies is credited as adviser and this script has the characters speak directly to us; the focus of the story is inward shattering of participants. Who are these: Anne and Mary Boleyn, with George around the edges of their talk .The 2008 film was a commercially successful costume extravaganza, whose historical adviser was Gregory herself, whose characters in this film strongly feminist film: beyond the Boleyn Girls, the remarkable Ana Torrent for Katherine of Aragon, Kristin Scott Thomas for Elizabeth Boleyn, the mother of the two beheaded children. The agonies of childbirth are presented repeatedly. I found these two women writhing under their lack of power yet so strong. The makers of Wolf Hall have had the daring to give us a new Elizabethan revenge play, with Anne Boleyn as a cool and transgressive stealth tragic heroine, and Cromwell a driven Hamlet.

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Clare Foy as Anne Boleyn, aggressively keen archer, POV Cromwell (2015 Wolf Hall)

Ellen

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Ring-a-Ring-o’Roses (charcoal, watercolor, click to enlarge)

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Woodland scene (1886, click to enlarge)

Dear friends and readers,

Forbes is the third woman I’ve chosen from this later Victorian into Edwardian/modern period (the other too Paula Modersohn-Becker and Helen Allingham) from out of eight thus far.

This is the first era of the impressionists, and Forbes came under the influence of James McNeill Whistler.

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From her earlier French period: La Seine pres de la Caumont

Like his her landscapes are psychological projections. In her case her landscapes represent them as a child would see them, or suggestive of a particular story (Great Women Masters of Art, Vigue, 299). The use of children has another origin: like Allingham Forbes was an illustrator and had to come up with a solution to the repressive mores of the era which demanded she have a chaperon: she painted children.

I first came across her work at the National Museum of Women’s Art in DC where she seemed to fit into the Pre-Raphaelite mode: at the time her mural, Will-o’-the Wisp, was on a balcony, next to an ascending stairway:

forbesmural
(click to enlarge)

The painting connects her to Helen Allingham as Forbes is illustrating his symbolic poem, The Faeries, and

depicts the story of Bridget, who was stolen by the ‘wee’ folk and bought up to the mountain for seven years. When Bridget returned to her village, she found that her friends were all gone.
Set in autumn with bare trees silhouetted against a moonlit sky, the triptych’s dark rocks, swirling mist, and eerie glow in the sky convey a mystical quality to this scene featuring Bridge, the ‘stolen child … dead with sorrow … on a bed of flat leaves.’ In the left panel of the painting, little forest denizens, who in Irish legends often entice young girls with sensory pleasures, troop through the forest.
Will-o-the-Wisp displays the tenets of the Newlyn Art School in its meticulous portrayal of natural detail … the elaborately hand-wrought oak frame that incorporates sheets of copper embossed with intertwined branches imitat[e] the painted tree limbs … Lines from Allingham’s poem inscribed along the sides and bottom of the frame allude to the centuries old philosophical dialogue between the relative artistic merits of painting versus poetry (JP, Women Artists, Works from the National Museum, p 66)

Like Modersohn-Becker she was influenced by the avante-garde; for Forbes it was the work of Walter Sickert, a print-maker, that struck her.

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Brighton Pierrots by Sickert (click to enlarge)

Julian Treuherz (Victorian Painting, pp 187-96) valuably reprints a number of late Victorian landscape and country painters unfamiliar to many people today, Jules Bastien-Lepage, Frank Bramley, Elizabeth’s husband, Stanhope Forbes, Clausen, Wm McTaggart, Atkinson Grimshaw), but she assimilates to these only in the naturalistic and seeming social-criticism phases of her work.

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Jules Bastien-Lepage, Pauvre Fauvette (1881)

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William McTaggart, The Storm (1890)

And of course her husband’s work influenced hers as hers did his:

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A characteristic fisherman’s wife scene (click to enlarge)

Martin Hopkinson’s review of a recent biography of Forbes, Singing from the Walls: The Life and Art of Elizabeth Forbes by Judith Cook, Melissa Hardie and Christina Paine, suggests the wide range of influences and center of art Forbes attended (see The British Art Journal 2:3 (Spring/Summer 2001):108. It’s true that what’s depicted may seem insular English as in The Edge of the Wood (1894), a “love tryst” (Christopher Wood’s term, from Paradise Lost: Paintings of English Country Life and Landscape, 1850-1914, p 199) something from a Hardy novel

sforbesedgeofwood

or ideas for a new BBC film adaptation of elegant rich Edwardians

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The Minuet (1892)

but note the rich coloration of her Forbes’s art, her use of animals, the leaves, the wood; the second picture’s center is the child’s yellow dress, with triangular shades of light and three women watching over her while a fourth works near a window.

She is included in a few of my surveys of women painters, mentioned in others. Greer places her alongside Mary Cassatt and Laura Knight because she worked in “the fragile” (and demanding) “medium of watercolor, leaving grander genre and history compositions in oils to her better-known husband. Often the simplicity of her work seems slack and spurious, but occasionally, as in her pastel, The Kiss, some greater intensity swells the small statement” (Obstacle Race, p 113). What a put-down.

Those women who write about her art sympathetically say forget the fashionable masculine schools of the era (impressionism, Pre-Raphaelitism); to align Forbes with these or the anecdotal Victorian naturalistic depictions gets you nowhere. You have to stake out a terrain of femininity for her as much as her you do for Allingham and Modersohn-Becker. This seems to me right: like the woman authors of the 1930s who are marginalized (see Alison Light, Forever England) in favor of say Graham Greene or George Orwell because these women don’t fit in the political movements of the day, the marginalization of Allingham and Forbes is the result of looking for what the women don’t want to be there.

Her art is so varied: suggestive, wonderful use of space and line, decorative bright colors, the picturesque and the plain and real, movement within a picture and stylization, so many influences too, from book illustrators and Millet to costumes and Art Nouveau. For myself I am deeply attracted to women artists of this era, and in Forbes’s case the melancholy and in her illustrations overt poetic feel. As a girl I learned to love Arthurian stories because of the illustrations that accompanied them in Edwardian books.

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Elizabeth in 1882 by her husband, Stanhope Forbes

Born December 29, 1859, in Kingston, a suburb of Ottawa, Canada, daughter of a government official. At age 16, 1875, she went to the South Kensington School of Art to study; she returned home when her father died (presumably she lack funds to stay on). Two years later we find her in NYC under American influence while studying at the Art Students League, and then going on Munich (encouraged by William Merrit Chase). In 1882 she moved to Pont Aven (France) where she met leading “plein-air” painters, people working in smocks out-of-doors. Decisive, though. was the autumn she spent in Newlyn, Cornwall, with her mother, both for choice of subject and execution:

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A Zandvoort Fishergirl (1884) (click to enlarge)

and because she met her husband, Stanford Alexander Forbes there. A yet stronger luminous quality and use color and light, respect for a humble occupation, and expressiveness has lead to critics regarding her Boy with the Hoe as one of her outstanding paintings:

Elizabeth Adela Forbes - Boy with a Hoe
(click to enlarge)

The couple married in 1891; she had a son in 1892. She wrote and illustrated a children’s book, King Arthur’s Wood, and edited a magazine called The Paper Chase. She had been doing etchings from a time in St Ives, but gave this form up. She also could no longer keep up the French connections directly. To support themselves she and her husband opened a school of art in Newlyn (1899), but her predilection for presenting her modernity as the working teacher began before that, as seen in her fine School is Out(1889):

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(click to enlarge)

Deborah Cherry (Painting Women, pp 183-6) argues that Forbes’s images take issue with masculine definitions of what is modern art, she (in effect) refuses to imitate paintings focusing on “the commodification of [sexually available] women’s bodies.”

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Blackberry gatherers

Pleasure has other sources too, like in this Christmas Scene

Elizabeth Adela Stanhope Forbes (Canadian artist, 1859–1912) Christmas Tree

Here is her husband reading a very thick book:

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Stanhope Alexander Forbes

Using just lines and shades an umbrella:

forbesstanhopewithumbrella

Her first individual exhibit was held in 1900 at the Fine Arts Society of London; she was elected a member of the watercolor society; 1904 she had another individual exhibit at Leicester Gallery in London. She died at the relatively young age of 53 in 1912.

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Goodnight

She is known for her depiction of children. Alone:

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A street in Brittany

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Mignon

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The Half-Holiday

Grouped in scenes:

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Looking over a wall

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In a wood

But there is equal adept depth and individual use of different painting techniques for adults:

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A Fisherman (she seems usually to avoid the stereotype Cornish fishing and fishing equipment scenes

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An Old Man

She did many and varied illustrations: Another Arthurian:

EForbesArthurian2

Some consciously sexy:

From-King-Arthurs-Wood-by-Elizabeth-A-Forbes

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Take oh take those lips away (!)

She did sheer fairy tale:

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The Pied Piper

Probably today she would be more admired for landscapes and simpler expressionism:

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Across Mount Bay

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A Holland scene: Volendam, from the Zuicende

[A] balanced, typically Dutch landscape … The spatial conceptions lends he work a homogeneous image constructed around the strong verticality of the canal and its banks… striking for its sense of depth, and the harmony of light and color, with a strong colorist atmosphere far removed from somber English landscapes. The force of light increases through the use of color, with luminous effects concentrated on the water in he canal, represented as a mirror reflecting the sky .. Vigue, p 304)

But she could be very Henry-Jamesian:

ForbesNotsure

And some of her compositions defy allegoresis or ready comparisons as this of a country girl stroking a goat who is eating wildflowers from her flower-laden wheel barrow

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Jean, Jeanne, Jeannette (1880) (click to enlarge)

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She seems to love water-imagery and when not painting working women and children at play, she is a poet of painterly reverie.

Two self-portraits

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In her studio, from the early phase of her career with her husband

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Later in life

Ellen

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Cover

Dear friends and readers,

I want again to report on, share part of a review of a book, this time because I suspect its title, Sentimental Memorials, as well as the marmoreal cover illustration, will put potential readers off. Norma Clarke’s own books are uniformly insightful and informative, and her description of Sodeman’s book is to be trusted (appeared in TLS, July 31, 2015, but not on-line). Clarke suggests that Sodeman shows a direct line from 18th century novels by women to those of women writers of the later 20th and early 21st century. Sodeman discovers

in the novels of Sophia Lee, Ann Radcliffe, Charlotte Smith and Mary Robinson a concern with the status of their own writings at a time when literature was becoming professionalized and when the novel, increasingly popular, became downgraded as genre. Women established the new genre of historical fiction, and left to friends the task of including them in their histories, while in fact the participation of women in popular genres was then and still is seen as an embarrassment.

But the most popular works offered debased forms of excessive emotionalism or action-adventure. By contrast, says Clarke,

Sodeman imagines the generation of women writing and publishing in the 1780s and 90s as sharing “a vibrant memory of elite women’s literary accomplishments … while becoming aware that their own efforts were culturally devalued, and that history-writing and and canon-formation were leaving women out. Frances Brooke in 1785 complained that “the road of literary fame” was closed to most women. They were not included in the multi-volume collections; they were not being memorialized. Sentimental Memorials rescues each of its subjects not from obscurity, for they are now much studied, but from negative characterization.

More profoundly, she argues that the establishment of the literary canon itself depended on a sentimental reading of the past shaped by illusions of historical recovery. Historians like Hume and Robertson used the devices of sentimental fiction to fill gaps, inviting readers to imagine what Mary Queen of Scots felt, for example, as she left France. Antiquarians found or forged manuscripts and built invented pasts on these “authentic” fragments. The “found” manuscript was already part of gothic convention when Ann Radcliffe made powerful use of it in The Romance of the Forest (1791). Jane Austen gets a little slap for missing the point in Northanger Abbey: Radcliffe was critiquing a device, not simple-mindedly deploying it to create terror.

Sodeman asks us to consider her subjects as women who possessed a heightened awareness of the historicity of forms, and of the likely obsolescence of their own fictions. It is an ingenious way of reclaiming elements — such as Radcliffe’s use of interpolated lyrics, Smith’s repeated appeals to her readers to sympathize with her as a victim of the legal system — that have dissatisfied stem critics. It leads to a subtle blend of textual criticism with literary history and single-author study.

Sentimental Memorials … takes the ephemerality of sentimental fiction and discovers in it a concern for enduring reputation. It examines the uses of autobiographical detail in imaginative prose that depicts national and international concerns while at the same time conveying personal truths that have public meanings … Sodeman is steeped in the critical literature about realist fiction and its relation to facts or history

There are some flaws:

[Sodeman] has little to say about the longer history of women’s writers; and although she quotes Clifford Siskin’s formulation, the “Great Forgetting,” she manages when discussing Mary Robinson as “the English Sappho” to make no mention of Aphra Behn, the most famous “Sappho” in the English tradition… Similarly, Sodeman explains Ann Radcliffe’s interpolated lyrics as a strategy to accentuate artifice and intensify feeling without indicating that many readers would already have associated the device with the sentimental figure of an oppressed woman: Radcliffe was following a model set in the mid-century by Laetitia Pilkington in her Memoirs. In the “Great Forgetting”, it was the so-called scandalous women who were most forgotten. Their works tended not to be realist fictions but memoirs, stories of lived lives that were compelling because they were real.

Clarke concludes:

Writers such as Smith and Robinson owed as much to this tradition as they did to realist fiction. Questions about fictionality, truth, the status of individual experience and the forms in which it was received and believed were crucial to memoir. So, too, for readers, was the mingling of wonder and scepticism. The vibrant memory” of women writers in the ’80s and 90s operated on literary materials that have yet to receive the attention that has been paid to realist fiction and forms which, as seller lists demonstrate …

are far from obsolete.

Ellen

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Wybrand Hendriks (Dutch painter, 1744-1831) Old Woman Reading
Wybrand Hendriks, Old Woman Reading (Dutch, 1744-1831)

Dear friends and readers,

I almost made a Freudian slip and typed as the the title of Goodman’s bok, Becoming a Woman of Letters in the 18th century, for that is what this book is about. It’s just the book I needed to put together a paper on Anne Grant, Elizabeth Grant Smith and if not Anne Home Hunter, Anne Radcliffe — who also wrote a journal book and left a journal-diary whose entries are letter-like. I may substitute Radcliffe for Anne Home Hunter if my emphasis moves from Scots women to women forging connections as such. Naturally,I recommend it.

The cover picture of Goodman’s book is the same tired image I’ve seen on so many 18th century books about French women, Adelaide Labille-Guiard‘s Portrait of a Woman, so despite its appropriateness and lovely colors,

PortraitofaWoman

I led with a much less familiar image of a woman avidly reading — as if her life depended upon this.

A review of Goodman’s book appeared in the latest issue of Eighteenth-Century Studies, 48:4 (546-47). I want to emphasize from Aurora Wolfgang’s brief account, that writing was for women of the 18th into 19th century “a transformational practice,” where they both developed a consciousness for themselves (an identity we might say) and spoke to both private and public worlds out of their own private world (writing self) and public knowledge. Goodman debunks the stereotype of women as reading and writing love letters primarily; she developed her role as a teacher, mother and legitimized active participation and autonomy. The writing desk, her closet, the learning what are one’s innermost thoughts through the use of language, using reason, knowledge (her reading), and sensibility. Sensibility is only one part of this even if this is a “gendered sense of subjectivity.”

Goodman covers the manufacture of supply too: pens, paper, furniture for the modern person (like a desk), books of illustrations to study.

The writer and reader reached out to embed themselves in social networks of friends and family and book illustrations too.

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Elizabeth Shippen Green (1871-1954) — and woman illustrator

Goodman analyzes over a 100 such illustrations; her central women writers are Genevieve de Malboissiére, Manon Phlipon, Catherine de Saint-Pierre, and Sophie Silvestre.

Other reviews: Maire Fedelma Cross, French History 24:2 (2010):292-93; from Cornell’s website.

A small connection which may seem foolish but is a defense of good historical. In Graham’s Poldark novels when Demelza learns to write and uses her skill to connect Verity to Blamey, to communicate with others, to be herself, she is enacting what Goodman claims for women of this era. I regret to say I’ve not been able to locate any snaps or stills of Eleanor Tomlinson teaching herself to read (they are probably fleeting). These are taken from Graham’s book. What is emphasized in both historical films is Demelza teaching herself to play the piano. Reading is still a suspect activity?

I’ve bought the book used from Amazon, and await its arrival eagerly.

Ellen

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