The Scattered Papers of Women at the Archives of American Art

Recently, I completed a project that focused on processing women’s collections that are small in size. In a quick anecdote, I was told by deputy director emerita Dr. Liza Kirwin that in the 1970s, collector Ivor Avellino would go to lunch with women artists and come back to the office with small bits of their papers which ultimately would create their collection at the Archives. Many of the papers of these women, which were collected by Avellino—and many more that were not—are included in this project.  Thanks to the support of the Smithsonian American Women’s History Initiative, now the papers of 271 women arts administrators, art historians, designers, educators, painters, sculptors, and writers are processed with finding aids available online.

While is it difficult to summarize the lives of almost three hundred women, many were white, middle class, and lived in large cities in the United States. Some women started their careers in the art world after their children were grown or after a divorce, while others abandoned their artistic pursuits to raise a family. Many were fortunate to receive support and encouragement by their families from a young age.  

The papers I worked on are considered by the Archives to be “small” collections, all measuring less than a linear foot (or a banker’s box).  Many of the papers were only 0.2 or 0.4 linear feet (the small document boxes that hold them would fit in a tote bag). In archival terms, these collections are scattered. Sometimes, I found two letters, a resume, and twelve photos of works of art (not the best representation of material to describe the full life of a woman). My biggest frustration about working with small collections was that I didn’t get to know more details about these fascinating artists. While the papers of these women were small and fragmented, many jumped out. I want to share some of the more memorable stories I discovered in these papers—and it is important to note that there are so many more.  

Before she went to Europe to study painting, Ohio-born Louise Medbery von Brockdorff studied at Vassar and worked as a secretary for a manufacturing company to pay for art courses. She went overseas in 1910 and married a Count. She survived World War I by being a card shark, winning money off the nobility at parties to make enough money to eat. She moved back to the US (without the Count) and supported herself through the Depression by providing mail-order astrology charts and teaching art classes with the WPA.

Nineteen-year-old Theresa van Raalte kept a diary when she went to Europe to study painting with Fritz Mondrian (Piet’s nephew). In July of 1905 she writes as her very first entry "This is the most memorable day of my life. I am going to Europe to stay three years; I shall become an artist, or perish (more or less) in the attempt." While it is all fine that she studied with a famous artist’s nephew, I would have loved to know more about Theresa’s determination and drive.  The papers were donated to the Archives in 1983 but it took another two years to learn Theresa’s first name. Before, she was referred to as “my mother” or “her mother.”

Donated recently, the papers of painter Louise Marianetti included her art school notebooks, supply lists, and stunning illustrated letters. Writing to her brother while he was in the army during World War II, Marianetti includes self-portraits and news of everyday family life.  Seemingly full of mundane news, Louise gives her brother a sense of daily life that he likely found comforting while serving his country.

Among the papers of Edna Boies Hopkins, a printmaker and applied arts teacher, is her scrapbook that contains designs of household items like lamps and spoons. Notably, the designs are signed by her students who created them: Beth Averell, Rebecca Foulke, Lillian Link, Constance Knowles, Rosine Raoul, and Harriet Townsend. One wonders if they pursued their own careers as designers or if they found more joy in painting or a totally different path.  

Louisa Robins studied at Gutzon Borglum’s studio in Connecticut in 1918. During her time there, Robins wrote long letters to her husband Thomas Robins Jr. detailing the progress of her pregnancy and studio gossip. Later in the 1950s, Robins became a freelance travel writer and illustrated the sites of Europe. In a travel diary, she kept records of clothing she expensed while in Paris, such as Hermes scarves and Dior suits.

In [1975], May Stevens submitted a formal complaint to the City of New York, Commission on Human Rights against the Frick Museum Library for denying her admittance because she was wearing pants. Another gem appeared in these papers: with a letter from her friend Leon Golub with a note from his wife Nancy Spero decrying, “DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES!” and an illustration of a sword.