Women artists in all ages and countries

by E. F. Ellet

As the different processes of sculpture are but little known, it may not be out of place here to throw some light upon them. The artist himself models the figure, bust, or group, whatever it may be, in clay, spending all his skill, time, and labor on this first stage. When complete—and many months, sometimes even years of unwearied study are given to the task—a plaster cast is taken from the clay figure, from which cast the workmen put the subject into marble, the artist superintending it, and reserving to himself the more delicate task of finishing. Thorwaldsen, speaking of these processes, says, “that the clay model may be called creation, the plaster cast death, and the marble resurrection.” Certain it is that the clay model and the marble statue, when each has received the finishing stroke, are more closely allied, more nearly identical, one with the other, than either is with the plaster cast. So alive are sculptors to the fact of the injury done to their works by being seen in plaster casts, that they bestow great pains in working them over by hand to restore something of the fineness and sharpness which the process of modeling has destroyed. So impressed with this is Powers, the American sculptor, that, with the ingenuity and inventive skill of his country, he has succeeded in making a plaster hard almost as marble, and which bears with equal impunity the file, chisel, and polisher.

There are in Rome workmen devoted to the production of certain portions of the figure, draped or undraped; for instance, one man is distinguished for his ability in working the hair, and confines himself to this specialty; while another is famous for his method of rendering the quality of flesh, and a third is unequaled in drapery. Very rarely does it happen that the artist is lucky enough to find all these qualities combined in one man, but it does occasionally happen; and Mr. Gibson is himself fortunate in the possession of a workman whose skill and manipulative power, in all departments, are of the highest order. A Roman by birth, the handsome and highly organized Camillo, with his slight figure, and delicate, almost effeminate hands, is a master of the mallet and chisel, and, from the head to the foot, renders and interprets his model with artistic power and feeling. The man loves his work, and the work repays his love, as when does it not, from the sublime labors of genius to the humblest vocation of street or alley?

To return from our digression; leaving the workroom, we cross one side of the small garden, and by just such another rough door as the two we have already passed through in the first studio, we enter another capacious, barn-like apartment, the centre of which is occupied by the colored Venus, so dear to Mr. Gibson’s heart that, though executed to order, year after year passes on, and he can not make up his mind to part with it. Ranged around the walls of this capacious studio are casts of the Hunter, one of the earliest and most vigorous of Mr. Gibson’s works; of the Queen, of the colossal group in the House of Lords, and sundry others. Having inspected these at our leisure, and viewed the Venus from the most approved point, probably under the eye of the master, who never tires of expatiating on the great knowledge of the ancients in coloring their statues, a curtain across the left-hand corner of the studio is lifted, and the attendant inquires if “la signorina” will receive visitors. The permission given, we ascend a steep flight of stairs, and find ourselves in a small upper studio, face to face with a compact little figure, five feet two in height, in cap and blouse, whose short, sunny brown curls, broad brow, frank and resolute expression of countenance, give one at the first glance the impression of a handsome boy. It is the first glance only, however, which misleads one. The trim waist and well-developed bust belong unmistakably to a woman, and the deep, earnest eyes, firm-set mouth, and modest dignity of deportment show that woman to be one of no ordinary character and ability.

Thus, reader, we Have brought you face to face with the subject of this sketch, Harriet Hosmer, the American sculptress.

Born at Watertown, Mass., in the year 1831, Harriet Hosmer is the only surviving daughter of a physician, who, having lost wife and child by consumption, and fearing a like fate for the survivor, gave her horse, dog, gun, and boat, and insisted upon an out-doors life as indispensable to health. A fearless horsewoman, a good shot, an adept in rowing, swimming, diving, and skating, Harriet Hosmer is a signal instance of what judicious physical training will effect in conquering even hereditary taint of constitution. Willingly as the active, energetic child acquiesced in her father’s wishes, she contrived, at the same time, to gratify and develop her own peculiar tastes; and many a time and oft, when the worthy doctor may have flattered himself that his darling was in active exercise, she might have been found in a certain clay-pit, not very far from the paternal residence, making early attempts at modeling horses, dogs, sheep, men and women, or any object which attracted her attention. Both here, and subsequently at Lenox, she made good use of her time by studying natural history, and of her gun by securing specimens for herself of the wild creatures of the woods, feathered and furred; dissecting some, and with her own hands preparing and stuffing others. The walls of the room devoted to her special use in “the old house at home,” are covered with birds, bats, butterflies and beetles, snakes and toads, while sundry bottles of spirits contain subjects carefully dissected and prepared by herself.

Ingenuity and taste were shown in the use to which the young girl applied the eggs and feathers of the nests and birds she had pilfered. One inkstand, a very early production, evinces mechanical genius and artistic taste. Taking the head, throat, wings, and side feathers of a bluebird, she blew the contents from a hen’s egg, and set it on end, forming the breast of the bird by the oval surface of the egg, while through the open beak and extended neck entrance was gained to the cavity of the egg containing the ink.

No one could look round this apartment, occupied by the child and young girl, without at once recognizing the force and individuality of character which have since distinguished her.

Full of fun and frolic, numerous anecdotes are told of practical jokes perpetrated to such an excess that Dr. Hosmer was satisfied with the progress toward health and strength his child had made; and having endeavored, without success, to place her under tuition in daily and weekly schools near home, he determined to commit her to the care of Mrs. Sedgwick, of Lenox, Massachusetts. Thither the young lady, having been expelled from one school, and given over as incorrigible at another, was accordingly sent, with strict injunctions that health should still be a paramount consideration, and that the new pupil should have liberty to ride and walk, shoot and swim to her heart’s content. In wiser or kinder hands the young girl could not have been placed. Here, too, she met with Mrs. Fanny Kemble, whose influence tended to strengthen and develop her already decided tastes and predilections. To Mrs. Kemble we have heard the young artist gratefully attribute the encouragement which decided her to follow sculpture as a profession, and to devote herself and her life to the pursuit of art.

Miss Hosmer’s school-fellows remember many pranks and exploits that showed her daring spirit and love of frolic. One of these was capturing a hawk’s nest from the top of a very high forest-tree, to which she climbed at the risk of her life. Her room was decorated, as at home, with grotesque preserved specimens, among which was a variety of reptiles, usually the horror of young ladies.

An anonymous squib upon Boston and Bostonians was about this time attributed to Miss Hosmer. A practical joke upon a physician of Boston had been the immediate cause of her being sent to Lenox. Her health having given her father some uneasiness, the gentleman in question, a physician in large practice, was called in to attend her. The rather uncertain visits of this physician proved a source of great annoyance and some real inconvenience to his patient, inasmuch as they interfered with her rides and drives, shooting, and boating excursions. Having borne with the inconvenience some time, she requested the gentleman, as a great favor, to name an hour for his call, that she might make her arrangements accordingly. The physician agreed, but punctuality is not always at the command of professional men. Matters were as bad as ever. Sometimes the twelve o’clock appointment did not come off till three in the afternoon. One day, in particular, Dr. ———— was some hours after the time. A playful quarrel took place between physician and patient; and, as he rose to take his leave, and offered another appointment, Miss Hosmer insisted upon his giving his word to keep it.