I give you several women who have been seen as remarkable; they stand for a multitude of others who through timing, luck or geography are never given the accolades they deserve.
Blog Posts on Art
These staring female saints, these progressing pilgrims, are as far as can be imagined from the images in European churches—or even in the “white” churches of the northeast.
Elemental, terrifying, and beautifully rendered—often in tender pastels—these images of women in the throes of labor and birth speak to the power we, as a gender, are often afraid to claim.
I am devoutly grateful for the lives of Will’s two older brothers who have mourned him with me and yet managed to go on.
When a great woman dies, we need to think about her again and again.
Several decades ago, I became aware of the work and life of Enid Yandell, a Kentucky-born, Paris educated sculptor whose statues I used to see at various ceremonial points in Louisville. This early twentieth-century woman artist, although acclaimed in her time, seemed to be forgotten. Yandell was one of a group of talented women artists
I immediately recognized the originality and daring of a kindred spirit.
Rose Simpson’s warrior women become women of flesh and blood… this is a fearsome prospect for some, maybe many, women.
Sometimes I’m grateful for the old Roman Catholic doctrine of Original Sin that held there is no innocent being, even a newborn, since Eve’s fall.
Patricia Douglas was “Girl 27” on a long list of young extras who were invited to an MGM party in Hollywood, in 1937, under the guise of a casting shoot for a movie.