My husband and I were invited to some friends’ house on
Sunday to view paintings by the prominent Texas artist, Dorothy Hood. My
husband has long been an admirer of her work and informed his art collector
friends when he learned a significant number of important large paintings were
coming up for sale.
Along with the gallery owner, there was a woman present,
Susie Kalil, who has made it her mission to “give Dorothy her due” as an
important American artist. Susie knew Dorothy and now has access to all of her
personal affects which she is using to research a book not only on Dorothy’s
art but also her colorful life in preparation for a major exhibition at the
South Texas Institute for the Arts. And this is the part that struck me—those personal
effects include journals chronicling her entire adult life in detail, letters
to and from some of the most prominent artists and writers of the 20th
century (she kept carbon copies of the letters she wrote), poems, photographs
and sketches that tell the story of the woman behind the art.
As Susie talked about Dorothy’s time in Mexico City in the 1940s which
was an intellectual and cultural center not unlike Paris in 1920, I wanted to
read the journals and letters for myself to see through Dorothy’s eyes her
circle of friends which included Spanish novelist Luis Buñuel, Mexican painters Miguel Covarrubias and Rufino Tamayo, American playwright Sophie Tredwell, German-born artist Mathias Goeritz, Spanish surrealist Remedios Varo and English-born surrealist Leonora Carrington a good friend. On occasion, she stayed at
the house of Mexican muralist Diego Rivera and painter Frida Kahlo—who wouldn’t read her accounts of those flamboyant
figures?
Later she married to Bolivian composer, Velasco Maidana, and
together they moved to Houston where she became a prominent figure in the art
scene with work in museum collections all over the world. And through it all
she recorded her travels and the people she met and maintained her friendships
through long, personal letters.
I have to feel a little sad that journals, hand written
letters, printed photos and other tangible items are being replaced these days
with blog posts, email, telephone calls and digital photos that may be lost as
software changes and technology advances. We’re told nothing is ever lost on
the internet, but can it be found, examined, assembled to recreate a picture of
a vibrant, creative life? Are we losing personal connections now that email and
texts have replaced phone calls? Has television replaced conversation and
interactive activities?
Don’t get me wrong—I love technology as a convenience in my
business and personal life but I also mourn the fast pace that allows us to
shortcut the thoughtful communication and introspection for personal journals
and handwritten correspondence. I wonder what record will be left behind of our
lives in fifty or a hundred years. Maybe this is the question every generation
asks.
Do you still write letters or keep a journal? To you call or
email?
