Author. Artist.
NOTE: This post is in honor of Maria Sibylla Merian (1647-1717), whose work I discovered as I researched women pioneers in the field of nature art and writing. From the first paintings I saw of her flowers and butterflies, I knew my MSM odyssey had […]
Part Three: Emily I’m sure it has happened to you: You just know you and your favorite author or historical figure would have been “besties”. That’s just how I feel about Emily Brontë. She loved to walk and felt walking benefitted both her body and […]
Above print from the original image “Country Scene with Cattle” by Anne Brontë, 1836. Pencil. Original art courtesy of the Brontë Parsonage and Museum.
Note: This is part two of a three part series on the Brontë sisters. Part one found my husband and I in West Yorkshire, England, following in the footsteps of the Brontës on the moors near Haworth.
“My sister had a particular love for them, and there is not a knoll of heather, not a branch of fern, not a young bilberry leaf, not a fluttering lark or linnet, but reminds me of her.”
Gaskell, Elizabeth, The Life of Charlotte Brontë. New York: Oxford University Press, USA.
After my walk out over the moors last year, I felt the power that the wild landscape can have on one’s soul, and that was after just one day. The Brontës experienced the moors – the weather, flora and faun, – for decades, beginning in 1820. The scenery played a significant part in the creative endeavors of the talented sisters – Charlotte, Emily, and Anne – and their brother, Branwell.
Patrick Brontë, curate for Haworth and vicinity, took a keen interest in his children’s education and development, encouraging reading, discussion, and imagination. The family owned many books, including Thomas Bewick’s The History of British Birds and The Gardens and Menagerie of the Zoological Society Delineated, embellished by young Anne’s margin sketches. The children also had access to books from the lending library in Keighley, and the Keighley Mechanics’ Institute Library, where their father was a member. Both would have had popular books on natural history and birds, subjects their father loved and shared with them.
The Brontë siblings received some instruction from art tutors, but the young artists also studied and copied from drawing manuals and botanical illustrations. These drawings appeared in the first plays and writings, tales of Glass Town and Angria, begun in 1829, and was just the beginning of nature’s influence in each of the Brontë sisters’ body of work.
Charlotte
In Jane Eyre, published in 1847, Charlotte uses over 100 bird references, including the metaphore of Jane as a dove, linnet, and skylark, and Rochester as a royal eagle. In chapter one, a young Jane expresses how Charlotte may have felt about one of her own favorite books, The History of British Birds: “With Bewick upon my knee, I was then happy. . .” Jane refers often to passages and engravings in the book that provided a means of mental escape from her mean cousins and aunt. Later, while living at Lowood School, she again uses nature as a distraction for her difficult life there:
“. . . that bright May shone unclouded over the bold hills and beautiful woodland ou-of-doors. It’s garden, too, glowed with flowers; hollyhocks had sprung up tall as trees; lilies had opened; dahlias and roses were in bloom; the borders of the little beds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double-daisies; the sweet-briers gave out, morning and evening, their scent of spice and apples. . .”
Bronte, Charlotte, Jane Eyre. New York: Barnes & Noble Books, 2005. First published 1847.
Charlotte enjoyed drawing and painting, often from nature – sometimes sketching out on the moors or at the waterfall nearby. As mentioned earlier, she also drew from books, like her favorite Bewick’s. Here is one such sketch, that I have printed onto a hosta leaf.
Anne
Anne Bronte saw the beauty in the details of nature. Her poem, “The Bluebell”, describes the Harebell, or Scottish bluebell, found in northern England and Scotland. Here is the first verse:
A fine and subtle spirit dwells In every little flower, Each one its own sweet feeling breathes With more or less of power. There is a silent eloquence In every wild bluebell That fills my softened heart with bliss That words could never tell.
“The Bluebell” by Anne Brontë. Stanza 1
Anne’s love of trees and the sea, often subjects of her drawing and painting, are also favorites of Helen Huntingdon, heroine of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne’s second novel. Helen’s art gives insight into her character. A passage in chapter 6 describes Helen as she sketches trees and in chapter 8, she speaks about capturing the light and colors of the trees on canvas.
One of Anne’s own drawings, “Country Scene with Cattle” is the image in our featured art this week. Original image courtesy of the Brontë Parsonage Museum.
Coming next: Part Three – Nature in Emily Brontë’s work AND a bit about the Brontë Parsonage Museum in Haworth.
My thanks to the Brontë Parsonage Museum in Haworth, England, for their assistance with images.
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This week’s art: One of my favorite art techniques ever – Chlorophyll Printing! I learned this process last summer in a class taught by Robert Schultz, at the Center for the Book in Charlottesville, Virginia. I feel the Brontë drawings really lend themselves to this technique. See the two leaf images above. The hot summer sun does most of the work, transferring the image directly onto the surface of the leaf. The challenges are preparing the image properly and getting the “sun exposure” time right. More leaf images under Art and Journals drop down box.
Part 1: Walking the Brontë Way I know as Clay and I step off the bus, that I want to remember everything about this early October day, starting with breakfast in the bakery (hot chocolate and pastries). We will need this energy for our long […]
Amos and Mary Janney, Quakers from Bucks County, Pennsylvania , moved south to the Catoctin Valley of Virginia about 1733. The community grew as more Quakers followed the Janneys to build mills, plant farmlands, and build houses and shops. The area, then part of Fairfax […]
Lyman and Ruth Strong sent their thoughts and love (along with the apple butter) to their son, Arthur, on Christmas Day 1862, from Seville, Ohio. Arthur had enlisted in November, 1861, at age 16, one of thousands of young men who would receive letters from home and reply with their own.
In researching my latest book on the Civil War in Northern Virginia, I have been fortunate to read many wartime letters and diaries – words of ordinary people caught up in extraordinary circumstances. Hundreds of volumes have been written about the war, but perhaps the most poignant record lies in the correspondence between home and battlefield.
Sometimes I feel like an intruder as I read these personal documents. Words come to mind to describe these precious messages: sweet, tender, and caring. Other times they were informative, instructional (see below), and sad.
Ruth Maria Strong, in a letter to Arthur, dated February 17, 1862 wrote:
“I sent you one pair of socks, which Mother knit for her soldier boy, may he live to need more. . .”
Later in the same letter, Ruth gives Arthur advice on how to stay healthy, as she has heard about typhoid outbreaks. Then, with a mother’s concern, she warns Arthur about forming bad habits while he is gone, praying that he returns to them as he left, “free from the vices that surround him.” His father gave advice on keeping dry. “Purchase a rubber blanket lined with flannel.” Clean clothes were on their way so that Arthur could have his photo taken in “civilian dress”.
Arthur did not return to his parents. He died of dysentery later in February, in a Union hospital in Ashland, Kentucky.
Capt. James Sayles wrote many letters to his sweetheart, Florence Lee. In a letter from June 11, 1864, he wrote
“I wonder how you are passing away the long pleasant summer days! I hope you are enjoying yourself.”
And, in closing of the same letter,
“I am getting tired and sleepy after my ride of about 35 miles today. . . wishing you pleasant dreams, I will retire to dream of my darling Florence.”
Capt. Sayles of the 8th New York cavalry, died in battle on June 23, 1864.
Other soldiers did return home and went on to live long, productive lives. Hazard Stevens, of the 79th New York Infantry Volunteers, went on to win the Medal of Honor for his actions in the war. And, in 1870, was part of the first documented ascent of Mt. Rainier. He wrote to his mother, Margaret, in September, 1864, from Clifton, Virginia, describing the camp location
“We have a most beautiful little camp for Headquarters, and are quite comfortable. . . We have plenty of grapes, peaches and apples and I found some sweet cider a few days ago. So you see we are very well off as far as physical comfort goes.”
This must have brought relief to Margaret. Many other soldiers, including Samuel D. Lougheed, wrote instead of the horrors of war and the dead and dying without anyone near “to speak a word of comfort.” Lougheed, a Union Army chaplain lived until 1893.
Wartime correspondence took on a more intense and expressive tone, as dictated by the circumstances the writers found themselves in. A letter might be the final words received or written. Words had immediacy. Writers and recipients shard the same incentives for writing – loneliness, worry, fear, love, and the need to share the story of the moment – from their minds and hearts.
Letters also provided news of the war. But wartime presented delivery problems and correspondents wrote not knowing if letters would get through. To sustain hope, the writer needed to believe their words were not in vain, and would bring comfort across the miles.
Time spent with these letters brought sadness, but also gave me a greater understanding of individual stories. That, to me, is where history resides.
This week’s art brings words from Civil War letters together in a little handmade book. I wanted to evoke the feeling of letters, brown-edged and delicate with age, like a sweet treasure discovered in an old trunk.
To give papers, fabric, and trims an aged look, I stained them with tea and coffee. I used various papers, varying the sizes to add more texture and interest. I stamped the dyed muslin and paper pages using distress ink and a text rubber stamp. Individual words were selected from letter text and stamped or written with sepia ink. I sewed dried rose petals inside tulle pockets and added buttons on other pages. On the last page, “Good night, my dear”, I added a bit of an aged handkerchief to make the words even more personal.
Finally, I wanted to protect the delicate pages, so I sewed in ribbon tabs. To bind the pages together, I hand-stitched down the center,using embroidery floss. This wee little book took time, but it was a labor of love. Please send me a comment if you have questions. I would love to hear from you.
Sometimes, in the throes of research, when one is least expecting it, comes a moment when a particular kind of light shines on a word or phrase, and in that moment one’s purpose becomes clear. One experiences an epiphany of sorts. Just such a moment […]
Last week, my husband, Clay, and I kayaked with friends on two historic rivers. On Monday, we paddled a stretch of the Potomac in Maryland, and on Wednesday, we paddled (and carried, due to low water) our boats down the Shenandoah. For our Potomac trip, […]
Countless stories began and ended during the Civil War – stories told in letters home to mothers, sweethearts, brothers and sisters; experiences put to paper by lamp or firelight in diaries and journals; words shed like tears on the pages of survivors’ memoirs. But other stories were written in full view, archived on plaster walls of private homes and churches turned hospitals and headquarters. I visited two such places recently – Blenheim, in Fairfax, Virginia and Ben Lomond, in Manassas, Virginia, where soldiers left a bit of their stories.
In March 1862, Union soldiers moved into Fairfax Court House, Virginia, very near Blenheim, and maintained control of the area for the duration of the war. Between September 1862 and January 1863, Blenheim served as part of the Reserve Hospital system for the 11th Army Corps. Many young men suffering from wounds and disease were treated here, including several from the 136th New York State Volunteers. Bruce Luther signed a wall in the Blenheim attic in December 1862, survived the war, returned to his hometown and married, but died in 1869 of tuberculosis. M. H. Coats, another New Yorker, gave clues to his time at Blenheim in his pension deposition. His signature, from December 1862, is easily recognizable on the attic walls.
Some wall signatures – when decipherable – give enough information to track a particular soldier through regimental histories, hospital records, and/or pension applications. (Their stories continue!) Pension files may also yield other treasures, such as Addison Muse’s small diary from 1863, detailing his story some months after signing the attic wall in March 1862.
Though through the years, the Willcoxon family painted and wallpapered over many of the signatures on the first and second levels of their home, the attic wall gallery remained pristine through four generations.
Benjamin Tasker Chinn built Ben Lomond and its outbuildings in 1832. The city of Manassas now surrounds the historic home, once part of the extensive Robert “King” Carter land grant.
The home, constructed of local red sandstone, served as a field hospital during the Civil War. Visible on its walls – names, dates, and military units – graffiti tells a bit about the who of the story, though not the what or why. However, as with some of the names at Blenheim, research has allowed historians to “get to know” some of the signers.
William Wallace Cranston, an Ohio farmer before enlisting near the beginning of the war, autographed the upstairs wall in 1862. His unit, the 66th Ohio Infantry Regiment was in Northern Virginia from August 18 through September 2 as part of Pope’s campaign and also took part in guarding army trains during the second battle of Bull Run. Cranston reenlisted twice and served until the end of the war. He won the Congressional Medal of Honor for his courageous actions at the May 1863 Battle of Chancellorsville. Later Cranston moved to Parsons, Kansas, where he was elected to the Kansas House of Representatives.
As I continue my Civil War research and visit historic sites, I find the names I come across, such as Wallace Cranston, take on a certain energy, propelling me forward to learn and share their stories. Why did these soldiers write on walls? Perhaps for several reasons. But certainly for some, it was a way to express to those who would later read their words, “I was here. I had a name, a home, a family, and a story.”
For this week’s art, I wanted to represent some of the graffiti that I had seen at Blenheim and Ben Lomond. I recreated the plaster walls using modeling paste on canvas, then reproduced many of the signatures and some of the drawings that I found so captivating.
. . . Let us be up and doing – old and young – we have no time to idle; every quickly flitting moment is to be improved, every space filled up. Words to inspire. These lines graced the third edition of The Waterford News, a […]
