WORKING
AGAINST THE GRAIN: WOMEN SCULPTORS IN BRITAIN c.1885-1950
By Pauline Rose
Liverpool University Press. 300 pages. £30. ISBN 978-78962-156-3
Reviewed by Jim Burns
In
1901 a leading critic, Marion Harry Spielmann, referred to “a bevy
of fair sculptresses” when writing about the growing number of
female artists making their presence felt in Britain. Spielmann
would probably have been described as a sympathetic observer of the
scene, but there was something of a patronising tone in his choice
of words. It was generally felt that women were mostly just dabbling
when it came to the arts. And with regard to sculpture, there was
often an expression of surprise that an activity supposedly
involving carving and chiselling, and large lumps of wood or stone,
should attract members of the “fair” sex.
Even when it was accepted that some women were determined to make
themselves known as sculptors, it was often assumed that they would
be best occupied with decorative rather than any kind of monumental
work. They neither thought imaginatively enough in big terms, nor
had the physical strength and stamina to carry out any projects
beyond the modestly planned. Or so it was suggested. Pauline Rose
says that “where their sculpture was praised this was often hedged
about with hints of substantial input from male assistants”.
Rose refers to the practical problems faced by women: “Sculpture is
an expensive practice. For work in marble or bronze the artist would
need access to workshop facilities where clay models could be cast
in plaster to produce a template for a stone or bronze sculpture”.
But she also stresses that many female sculptors were “sensibly
pragmatic in the pursuit of their careers. Few of them were in a
financial or social position to deliberately make work that might
not find a buyer or was not part of a paid commission”. They
sculpted statuettes which could be editioned, “thus generating a
reasonably reliable income with which to make more individual
pieces”. And they sometimes had “a flexible attitude towards
operating as an assistant or as a ‘professional’, and moving between
the ‘fine’ and ‘decorative’ arts as opportunities presented
themselves and as financial concerns demanded”.
It is probably true to say that, compared to women painters, little
attention has been paid to women sculptors in art-history projects.
According to Rose, there is a bias in much art-historical writing
“towards work that is seen as innovative”. Barbara Hepworth has been
extensively written about and is probably the best-known British
sculptor in Working
Against the Grain. But she is not typical of the majority of
the women that Rose focuses on. They could not usually afford to
experiment, or stray too far stylistically, and so had to “recognise
the preferences of patrons as opposed to those of art critics”.
Patrons mostly meant buyers and not subsidies from arts associations
and the like.
It was probably also a fact that many of Rose’s subjects were born,
brought up, and were trained in art techniques in a period when
Pre-Raphaelite and late-nineteenth century representational painting
and sculpture generally dominated thinking and practice. Having said
that, it seems obvious that not all women sculptors were oblivious
to influences from abroad. Some had studied in Paris and elsewhere,
and although extreme-innovations and abstraction were never likely
to seize the imagination of a wide audience, various modernist ideas
about figuration did creep in. Things
are never as clear-cut as some commentators like to suggest, and
movements towards change, and the incorporation of new ideas into
existing frameworks, are an ongoing process and not really a matter
of totally divisive breaks in continuity.
The examples of individuals who were prominent among women sculptors
are instructive to consider. Kathleen Scott is a key figure in
Rose's book, and there is little doubt that in her day she was an
active and important sculptor. She had broken away from the
“restrictions of the British art school system” and had studied at
the Académie Colorossi in Paris.
It’s said that Rodin admired her work. She came from a
reasonably well-to-do background and was married, until his death in
1912, to Captain Scott, famous for his doomed attempt to reach the
South Pole. She appears to have been well-established within a
social and artistic community that afforded her access to
commissions. Her skills as a sculptor are not in doubt, though as
Rose comments, quoting David Getsy, her work was noted for “its
commitment to the definitions of professional sculpture and for its
continued efforts to work within these parameters in the face of a
vibrant and burgeoning modernism”. Her “The Kingdom is Within”, is a
striking, blindfolded male nude, and is, in Rose’s opinion, “an
impressive work by any standard” and “bears comparison with the work
of Auguste Rodin”.
An important point is raised in connection with this sculpture in
that it appears to have “vanished” from its place at Hestmonceux
Castle in Sussex, though a statuette version without a blindfold is
in a museum in Northern Ireland. It’s not unlike some other works
that Rose looks at in that a record of it now exists only in a
photograph. And, as she discusses in her book, photographs of
sculptures, while useful in their way, can never be totally
satisfactory. Sculpture is three-dimensional.
A painting can be photographed in full and, while it may lose
some definition in terms of colour and tone, it does at least offer
a complete view of its subject, if not on the same scale as the
original. Not so with a sculpture, a photograph of which provides a
“partial and selective” view of the subject. It is possible that
seeing art of any kind through photography can affect the writing of
art-history.
Kathleen Scott was accorded a fair amount of media attention,
possibly because her social position (she re-married and became Lady
Hilton Young), and her activities as a sculptor, made good copy for
journalists. But it’s unfair to suggest that it was the sole reason
for her being noticed, She was talented. Still, newspapers and
magazines do like to have a peg on which to hang a story, and when
Elizabeth Muntz was featured in
The Illustrated London
News, photographs showed her dressed in a duffle-coat and
gumboots and riding a pony to a place where she was carving an
in-situ memorial to novelist Llewelyn Powys. Looking at the examples
of Munt’s work in Rose’s book, I was struck by the way she had
incorporated modernist ideas into “Arms and Baby”, “Child with a
Fawn”, and especially the 1927 “Valentine with Bird (Seagull)”.
Muntz, a Canadian by birth, had studied in Europe before arriving in
England. Rose says that her work was widely reviewed, and that she
taught at Bryanston School, but that she’s now “hardly known”.
A third sculptor worth mentioning because she might illustrate how
women found ways to make their mark in a world largely dominated by
men, is Violet Pinwill. She is quite an intriguing figure. She was
the fifth of the seven daughters of the Reverend Edmund Pinwill, and
from an early age had an aptitude for wood carving. With two of her
sisters she formed a company to specialise in church woodwork, and
in 1911 Violet became sole proprietor of the business: “The bulk of
the work for an individual church would be hewn and carved in the
company’s workshop, while the final assembly was carried out on
site”.
Rose says that Violet ran the company for around fifty years, and
that examples of her work can be found in over two hundred churches
in Devon and Cornwall. She employed a team of workmen and reference
is made to their loyalty “given their unusual position working for a
woman”. Rose does also add that questions can be asked about “to
what extent were the carvings from her own or from architects’
designs, and how much work did she produce by her own hand?” None of
this detracts from her achievements, in my view, and she is to be
admired for both her skills as a carver (there are examples of her
work in the book), and for running a successful business for many
years. There is an affectionate memoir by her great-nephew in which
he recalls seeing “a little old lady, by then well into her
seventies and not five feet tall, carving great pieces of wood,
always oak, with the facility of a man”.
There was a boom in public sculptures following the First World War
when what Rose refers to as “the largest public art project ever
seen in Britain” got underway in the shape of war memorials. I
suspect that many of us may have only ever come across examples of
sculptures by women in this form, and we probably didn’t know who’d
created them unless we were specifically looking for the name of the
sculptor. Most war memorials were conventional in their design and
structure. And as they were usually commissioned, often by local
bodies, it was inevitable that largely traditional values would
dominate when it came to questions of taste and what was considered
suitable for a memorial
of this kind. Patriotism, religion, noble sacrifice, and similar
matters, had to be represented, on the whole. It was permissible to
show a certain amount of suffering, the war having brought it home
with a vengeance, but not the actual horrors of combat. But some of
the examples Rose uses do push a little beyond the ordinary.
Kathleen Scott’s Huntingdon War Memorial, with its soldier in a
“pensive stance”, had an element of ambiguity in that, as one
reviewer noted, it showed the soldier “not so much as the fighter,
but as the thinker and watcher”.
Gertrude Alice Meredith Williams’ “Spirit of the Crusaders”, with a
mounted knight in armour leading soldiers in the battledress of the
Great War, might have been what some people wanted to see, but a
somewhat starker image occurred in Rosamund Praeger’s Omagh war
memorial which admittedly has an angel hovering over two soldiers,
but they are clearly about to die. The basic style in all these
memorials is overwhelmingly figurative. I doubt that many of them
now appeal on aesthetic grounds, but as Rose insists, “they are a
real reflection of contemporary life, as historically rooted
artefacts and symbols expressive of the national mood and values”.
There is little discussion of sculpture being used for political
comment, perhaps because so much political matter is ephemeral and
the time taken to produce a sculpture might mean that anything but
the broadest of statements could be outdated when it appeared in
public. But there are two excellent examples of social commentary in
Ruby Levick’s “Boy’s Fishing/Fishermen hauling in a net” (the latter
title is more apt), and “Joyce Bidder’s “Labour”. They both seem to
emphasise the fact of what hard physical work can be like. Was
Levick’s sculpture typical of her style? A critic writing in the
Studio seemed to
suggest that she was mostly concerned with “the small circumstances
of life”.
With regard to Joyce Bidder, Rose says: “Her sculptural groups
express a sense of empathy with the working man and are also aligned
to a clear understanding of the international language of
conservative modernism”. The works referred to both date from before
the First World War, but in the context of social commentary it’s
worth taking note of Betty Rea, who was active in the left-wing
Artists’ International Association in the 1930s, and who thought
that “the artist had a responsibility to address contemporary
issues”. Her “Mother and Child” is not directly political but does
incorporate modernist ideas into its structure.
Rose admits that locating information about some of the sculptors
she discusses was not easy. Unlike many male artists they were not
always interviewed or reviewed to any great extent. Nor did they
tend to write memoirs which were designed to establish places for
themselves in art-history. Women were also less likely to be able to
exploit unconventional behaviour as an element of their artistic
role in society. Was
there ever a female Augustus John? Think of the reticence of his
sister, Gwen. Any interviews that were conducted with them were as
likely to focus on their domestic arrangements as on the quality of
their work. A tone of surprise that someone who ran a home and had
children might additionally be capable of turning out valid works of
art seemed to dominate. And it was a sad fact that too often the
domestic responsibilities frustrated efforts to produce anything of
quality on a sustained basis. The drop-out rates in the arts for
both men and women are always high, but I suspect that it has often
been women who have been most affected.
Working Against the Grain
is a thoroughly fascinating and informative book. Pauline Rose
writes in clear, direct prose, avoids art-history jargon, and her
research is impressive. There are ample notes and a good
bibliography.
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