An Unexpected Family Reunion

As I stood on the platform at Red Bank station at 6:40 AM, I was beginning to think this DC adventure was not such a great idea after all. To start out, I had just realized that my cell phone was still in the charger on the hall table at home. Not the end of the world but it would be more difficult to get information around town and to keep in touch with folks back home--like letting them know I got there in one piece. Was also having second thoughts about spending the money--the consumer unconfidence wrought by the recession.

Later, the walk from Union Station to the hotel over on 14th street turned out to be a lot longer than anticipate--not a biggie on a normal day but it was at least 95 and humid. By the time I got to the hotel, my face was fire red and the perspiration was running in rivulets down my face. The check-in attendant gave me a free bottle of ice water--probably afraid I would die on my way up to the room.

When I got to my icy cold room on the 7th floor, I doused my head with cold water and changed into fresh clothes. It was already 3 PM--should I just chill for the rest of the day? Or check out the National Museum of Women in the Arts which was literally just around the corner? Since the museum was founded nearly 20 years ago, it had been on my list of places to visit. I am even listed in their archive of American Women Artists--not sure how that happened but I am there--under my married name.


I decided to go. Two and a half hours later, I had been through all of the permanent collection and the special exhibits. I found a bench in a private corner (not very crowded on a Friday afternoon in July) and had a little cry for here, all under one roof, was all of the by women I had "discovered" bit by bit during my formative years as an artist in a world dominated by men. These were not discovered by Google or even by Alte Vista--the internet was still a secret information highway then. I (and other women) tracked these artists down like detectives--a little review in a magazine, writing to get on the gallery's mailing list to hear about the next show--waiting for the next show--going to the library to find out about other women making art about things that were important to me and other women I knew--no matter what medium, genre, or style. Cutting images out of art magazines or paying for copies (or sneaking them in the office where I happened to be "temping" that week)and pasting them in notebooks.

Now here they were all in one beautiful space. It was like attending a family reunion after decades of being separated--with the added bonus of meeting some new relatives previously unknown to me.

Even if represented by only a single small work--they were there. My heart beat faster when I turned a corner and came face-to-face with the little Eva Hesse study for a sulpture. I nodded in recognition when confronted by a small "flower" painting by Judy Chicago. It was hard to believe that when I was 23, I was in an exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum next to the very first installation of The Dinner Party. Years later, I was introduced to her at a book signing and exhibition at a Chelsea Gallery. I was newly divorced and trying to find a way to keep making art--she wrote a personal encouragement in my book. There were works by Frida Kahlo, Remedios Varo (how frustrated was I when I learned that the musuem had mounted a restrospective of her work that was closed before I learned of it) and women of centuries past--Vigee le Brun, Mary Cassatt.

I was struck dumb by the amazing collaborative installations by Ju Yeon Kim called "The In-Between". I'm sorry, words can't do this piece justice and the museum site has no photos that can even approximate the experience so here is the link. Try to see it. http://www.nmwa.org/exhibition/detail.asp?exhibitid=208

If you are under the age of 50 or so, you may not understand what I mean. When I went to art school (73 - 77) things were different. In the fine art department at Pratt, even though more than half of the class were women, there were no women instructors--with a few notable exceptions like the gifted printmaker and teacher Clare Romano. It was still considered a compliment to be told you paint "like a man". Who was there who thought like us or had the same experiences? The women's movement was happening all around us--but it hadn't hit the art schools yet. The most telling thing is, that I never realized the disparity myself until after I had graduated and came upon Linda Nochlin's telling and provacative essay, "Why Have There Been No Great Female Artists?"

Needless to say, I was glad I braved the heat again and left the hotel that afternoon. I joined the museum on the spot. I was exhausted. When I got back to the hotel, I rifled through all of my things to find something to write down these impressions--nothing. I used those little hotel pads and pens. The next morning I stopped at a CVS and bought a little spiral bound notebook to capture my impressions of the rest of the trip. I needed this trip. I didn't miss my cell phone. And the room service was great. Kudos to the Hilton Garden Inn.