Maurine St. Gaudens is the granddaughter of San Francisco jeweler Maurice Saint Gaudens and the third cousin of American sculptor Augustus Saint Gaudens. With backgrounds in philosophy, anthropology and fine art, Maurine has pursued her interest in uncovering and telling the backgrounds of worthy artists whose stories have yet to be told. She is known for including lesser-known artists in exhibitions.

Among her notable exhibitions were "Nature's Palette: Garden Views, Vistas and Fantasies 1880-2005" at the Pasadena Museum of History. She was co-curator of "A Cultural Legacy, Pasadena Society of Artists" at the Pasadena Museum of History. In 1993, she curated "Legacy of the Arroyo Secco" featuring works by Elmer and Marion Wachtel and Jean Mannheim. And recently she curated "Who Was Sam? Sam Hyde Harris 1889-1977" at the Pasadena Museum of History.

For the most part, artists are great at their art, but when it comes to keeping records, they are not so adept. Most artists are not good at "blowing their own horn." Oftentimes, details of particular paintings get lost, and sometimes, and as the years, decades and centuries pass, the artists themselves get lost. Not all exceptionally talented artists are well known. Thanks to Maurine for dedicating her efforts to uncover the stories behind these artists and for her help in setting the record straight.

The working title for Maurine's new book is "Emerging from the Shadows; A Survey of Women Artists in California, 1860-1960." Maurine is being assisted in the project by researcher Joseph Morsman, and Maurine wants Joseph's contributions, time and energy given its full due. The book will include nearly 320 artists, most not well known or totally undiscovered. It includes 2,000 images of artist's work not yet seen or published. All the bios have been researched and rewritten anew, often with previously unpublished information.

Maurine's writing efforts are being documented. A film crew has been present for some of the work, and Maurine and Joseph have had to grow accustomed to working some days with a camera looking over their shoulders. Stay tuned to our newsletter. We'll announce when the book becomes available, and with some luck, we will either post the documentary film or tell you when and where it can be seen.

One is Mrs. Bender. She handles roses and grapes as no one else does. She makes them her own; she stamps her work with her own individuality. Miss Evelyn McCormick is another. She knows Monterey all through, and she handles her scenes there in her own way. Mrs. Whelan, Mrs. Chittenden, Mrs. Clara Curtis, Miss Froelich and Mrs. Richardson are all to be named as women who have worked long enough to prove that their work is worth while. Some of the younger ones I am watching with the greatest interest. Miss Annie Briggs, Miss Rixford, Miss Boyle, Miss Ackerman and Miss Vesaris are all doing work that indicates a bright future. Miss Rixford has produced some striking pictures, and her style is very much her own.

Some of these talented women have had the good fortune to be poor. Nothing brings out ability like the need to exercise it. Their struggles have been hard, but they owe much of their accomplishment to their so-called misfortunes.

One warning that is needed by all young artists applies particularly to women, who are more imitative, more easily influenced than men. They must avoid following the style of any master. This is the day of all days when individuality tells. Only when the artist paints honestly, seeing his subjects through no eyes but his own, shall he paint with authority. In studying the paintings of the great masters, learn from them your own faults, but beware of the danger of falling into their manners. Imitation is often unconscious, but none the less ruinous to personality. Be yourself, paint in your own way.

To the Californian I say, stay here. Go abroad to study if you can and will, but return to your birthplace to do your life work. You can never feel any other inspiration like that of home. If the redwoods or the beach or the plains are yours by right of birth, go back to them and you will paint with a deeper feeling than in any other spot.

Paint what you see: paint it as you see it; and remember always, whoever you are, that you have more to learn.
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Time was when the studios of our city were inhabited by men. They were the “art circle,” that mysterious circle of whom the uninitiated heard and whom they dimly associated with all that was fascinating and esthetic. But little by little women began to creep into the charmed “circle,” and now our women artists occupy many of the most interesting and widely sought studios in town.

Over in the Latin quarter is where you will find some of them. They have taken possession of some of the old attics that have by long years of tradition been given over to the makers of pictures. Clay Street and Sacramento and Montgomery and all the district that was once San Francisco's center is full of art treasures that you would never suspect the presence of if you merely glanced up at the dingy outside of the buildings. They are gray and gloomy enough from without. But within these, clever – in some cases more than clever – women are working away with palette, easel and canvas, working toward the goal of fame that they have chosen.

Perhaps the most outre and picturesque of all these studios is the one where Mrs. Gertrude O'Brien serves tea to the wayfarer and shows him some gems of her portrait work. It is perched high among the roofs of Clay Street, in the top of a ramshackle building. Going up the first flight of stairs you think you must have made a mistake – that surely nothing of the beautiful is to be found in this place. But if you know the ways of the true artists you are hopeful. You have learned that nothing pleases the genuine painter so well as this sort of an aerie.

At the bottom of the second narrow flight you are stopped by a quaintly wrought iron gate. A bell beside it announces your coming and Mrs. O'Brien descends to admit you.

Along the walls of this second narrow stairway hang rare tapa cloths, for the owner of the studio has lived in those wonderful parts of the world where tapa cloths and odd carvings come from. Her studio is a wealth of teak wood and odd china, oriental embroideries and rugs. Either tea or chocolate will be served to you from precious old Canton which she has spent many years in collecting. A dim light shines down from the sky window, to which a tiny flight of stairs ascend and beneath which is a dainty window garden. Deep couches and cushions welcome you. The reserved cat eyes study you critically from behind some piece of ebony, whither he has retreated upon your arrival. He is not a cordial host, but Mrs. O'Brien herself will make up for his reserve.

She is the wife of a newspaper man who is known here and in Honolulu. Lately he has been sojourning in China, leaving her to art for a short time. As a rule, they enjoy art together. They have traveled so much that they have been

enabled to pick up many curios. Mrs. O'Brien has been devoting herself to painting very diligently during the absence of her husband. Her portrait studies have thrived under her busy brush.

A Sacramento Street building is the headquarters of some of the hardest workers among our women artists. Miss Maren Froelich occupies one sunny room along with her famous company of ballet girls—or as many of them as the public will leave with her. The gay throng has been scattering of late, having gone to new homes all the way from here to New York. They are too popular to remain at home. But there are other froufrouned and bewitching maidens to take their places on the walls of the little studio and on the easel.

A near neighbor of Miss Froelich is Gertrude Boyle, the young sculptress who did the well known busts of John Swett, Le Conte, Jack London and John Muir. Muir posed for her while she was in the country.

Roses are scattered everywhere. There is a time of the year when she seeks the vineyards and works outdoors among the vines. She says she lives in an atmosphere of grapes for those two golden weeks. The rest of the time she must buy them in our markets and take them to her upstairs studio.

The popular building at 424 Pine Street has long been a headquarters for the tribe of artists, and Miss Annie Briggs and Mrs. O'Ryan, the miniature painter, have held a studio there together. Miss Briggs' landscapes adorn the walls.

There is a cozy corner where they hang above a couch. The charm of the place is enough to inspire anybody to happy work. Miss Briggs is now working in the country and has given up her city nook for a time.

Miss Kalisher is farther up the hall. She is doing some daring portrait work in her little place, where a skylight is the only window. Miss Caroline Rixford has an altogether unique studio. She will lead you from her house back through a green little garden that looks like an exquisite bit of the country plucked and set

down in the midst of our rushing city. At the far end of the garden stands an old building and therein hang the paintings that are her dearest work. “But the garden is my favorite studio, after all,” she says. Mrs. Clara Curtis lives in one of those northwestern homes that have a big sweep of bay view, and she has taken possession of the highest corn of all, an attic where fascinating little windows peep saucily in unexpected places at the bay and the hills beyond; Mrs. Curtis could hardly help painting pictures in such a place.

Miss Evelyn McCormick makes all outdoors her studio and she works under the most rigorous self-discipline. She is so stern with herself that she permits her brush only half an hour's work in a given light. She is not to be caught napping while lights change. The most subtle changes are important to her. They are a happy lot, these busy, ambitious women. And perhaps those very adjectives account for the fact.

John W. Hilton wrote this article seventy-two years ago when he was just beginning his own remarkable career as a painter and desert enthusiast.

One of the ways he expressed his enthusiasm was writing for "Desert Magazine." In this article from July of 1941, the thirty-seven year old Hilton interviews the sixty-six year old James Swinnerton. He begins by asking Jimmy how he came to create his comic characters, the "Canyon Kiddies." Later on, he asks Swinnerton a broader question, "What is art?" -- Daniel Rohlfing

But at the age of 16, after a year of art schooling, Jimmy got a job doing political cartoons on the San Francisco Examiner and dropped painting. Keith never spoke to him again.

Here he started Little Jimmy, one of the first four comic strips in America. He moved to New York with the idea, and continued to draw comics and do political and sport cartoons until overwork and city life nearly killed him.

He decided to return to his first love, the west, and settled on the desert to die in peace. But strangely enough he surprised both his friends and doctors by regaining his heath, thanks to the good advice and help of Nellie Coffman, who operated a small sanitarium in the new community of Palm Springs.

The history of Jimmy Swinnerton's fight for health in the desert, and the friendships with such men as Zane Grey and Carl Eytel would fill a very interesting book. He became intensely interested in the desert, and being an artist saw its great potentialities for paintings. As his health returned he did more and more serious work, and eventually began to find himself. Today, even with health no longer a serious consideration in his life, he spends a great part of his time out in the desert he loves, painting the things he likes.

"Mr. Swinnerton," I asked, "I know that this is a tough question, and covers a lot of ground, but how do you feel about art?"

Jimmy lit his pipe, settled back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling.

"Johnny," he said, "art is a mighty elusive thing. There is entirely too much written and talked about art and not enough about painting and looking. A true artist must distrust what he reads and hears, and believe only the beauty he sees. Painting is an individual effort, and no real artist can follow the pattern of another."

"Nature is the only true teacher. An art school can teach one to observe and to master the ability of drawing and painting, but no mere technical skill is sufficient to bring out the fine things in nature. First an artist must love and humbly study nature, remembering all the while that man with all his skill and scientific knowledge cannot so much as create a blade of grass or a grain of sand. My favorite Bible verse is 'Blessed are the humble in spirit.'"

"The best way to approach nature in a humble mood is to go out into the desert alone. No one can become bigoted or narrow in the midst of broad desert vistas and great canyon walls. The duty of the artist is to experience these things, and then reconstruct his experiences on canvas."

"The painter who works entirely in the studio on abstract nothings conjured up by his own feverish brain has very little to give the world. His paintings may find favor in the eyes of a few other neurotics who have had similar nightmares, and if his stuff follows the mechanical rules of color, balance and composition it may furnish fine material for the writings of sensation-seeking art critics and their pseudo-sophistocated followers. But art that does not find its inspiration in nature has little to recommend itself to future generations, and will be remembered principally as a curiosity."

"To me, landscape painting is a shortcut to faith. The artist cannot hope to recreate nature. The finest artist in the world cannot paint a perfect flower. The real purpose of a painting is to call attention to the beauty in nature. A successful painting is a sign post reading, 'Yonder is beauty! Go see for yourself.'"

"I prefer painting the desert, because it is not so well posted as other types of landscape. There is no end to the beauty of sand and rocks and sage-brush, but few persons see it when they pass through the desert. All of the serious work I have done has been on the desert, and there is enough there to occupy me the rest of my life."