EDMONIA LEWIS.
Miss Lewis, the colored American artist, is of mingled Indian and African descent. Her mother was one of the Chippewa tribe, and her father a full-blooded African. Both her parents died young, leaving the orphan girl and her only brother to be brought up by the Indians. Here, as may well be imagined, her opportunities for education were meagre enough.
Edmonia Lewis is below the medium height; her complexion and features betray her African origin; her hair is more of the Indian type, black, straight, and abundant. Her head is well balanced, exhibiting a large and well-developed brain. Although brought up in the wilderness, she spent some time at Oberlin College, and has a good education.
Her manners are childlike and simple, and most winning and pleasing. She has the proud spirit of her Indian ancestor, and if she has more of the African in her personal appearance, she has more of the Indian in her character. On her first visit to Boston, she saw a statue of Benjamin Franklin. It filled her with amazement and delight. She did not know by what name to call “the stone image,” but she felt within her the stir of new powers.
“I, too, can make a stone man,” she said to herself; and at once she went to visit William Lloyd Garrison, and told him what she knew she could do, and asked him how she should set about doing it.
Struck by her enthusiasm, Garrison gave her a note of introduction to Brackett, the Boston sculptor, and after a little talk with her, Mr. Brackett gave her a piece of clay and a mould of a human foot, as a study.
“Go home and make that,” said he; “if there is anything in you, it will come out.”
Alone in her own room, the young girl toiled over her clay, and when she had done her best, carried the result to her master. He looked at her model, broke it up, and said, “Try again.” She did try again, modelled feet and hands, and at last undertook a medallion of the head of John Brown, which was pronounced excellent.
The next essay was the bust of a young hero, Colonel Shaw, the first man who took the command of a colored regiment, and whose untimely and glorious death, and the epitaph spoken by the South, “Bury him with his niggers,” have made him an immortal name in the history of our civil war.
The family of this young hero heard of the bust which the colored girl was making as a labor of love, and came to see it, and were delighted with the portrait which she had taken from a few poor photographs. Of this bust she sold one hundred copies, and with that money she set out for Europe, full of hope and courage.
Arriving at Rome, Miss Lewis took a studio, and devoted herself to hard study and hard work, and here she made her first statue—a figure of Hagar in her despair in the wilderness. It is a work full of feeling, for, as she says, “I have a strong sympathy for all women who have struggled and suffered. For this reason the Virgin Mary is very dear to me.”
The first copy of Hagar was purchased by a gentleman from Chicago. A fine group of the Madonna with the infant Christ in her arms, and two adoring angels at her feet, attests the sincerity of her admiration for the Jewish maiden. This last group has been purchased by the young Marquis of Bute, Disraeli’s Lothair, for an altar-piece.
Among Miss Lewis’s other works are two small groups, illustrating Longfellow’s poem of Hiawatha. Her first, “Hiawatha’s Wooing,” represents Minnehaha seated, making a pair of moccasins, and Hiawatha by her side, with a world of love-longing in his eyes. In the marriage, they stand side by side with clasped hands. In both, the Indian type of features is carefully preserved, and every detail of dress, etc., is true to nature. The sentiment is equal to the execution. They are charming hits, poetic, simple, and natural; and no happier illustrations of Longfellow’s most original poem were ever made than these by the Indian sculptor.
A fine bust, also, of this same poet, is about to be put in marble, which has been ordered by Harvard College; and in this instance, at least, Harvard has done itself honor. If it will not yet open its doors to women who ask education at its hands, it will admit the work of a woman who has educated herself in her chosen department.
Miss Lewis has a fine medallion portrait of Wendell Phillips, a charming group of sleeping babies, and some other minor works, in her studio. At Rome, she is visited by strangers from all nations, who happen in the great city, and every one admires the genius of the artist.
The highest art is that which rises above the slavish copying of nature, without sinking back again into a more slavish conventionalism. All the forms of such art are intensely simple and natural, but through the natural, the spiritual speaks. The saintly glory shines through the features of its saints, and does not gather in a ring around their heads. It speaks a language all can understand, and has no jargon of its own. It needs no initiation before we can understand its mysteries, excepting that of the pure heart and the awakened mind. It represents nature, but in representing, it interprets her. It shows us nothing but reality, but in the real, it mirrors the invisible ideal.
A statue is a realized emotion, or a thought in stone—not an embodied dream. A picture is a painted poem—not a romance in oil. Working together with nature, such art rises to something higher than nature is, becomes the priestess of her temple, and represents to more prosaic souls that which only the poet sees. The truly poetical mind of Edmonia Lewis shows itself in all her works, and exhibits to the critic the genius of the artist.