Ten years ago today, I decided
to try something new.
I had written three books and
was working on a fourth. Every morning,
I would sit down at my computer, look at what I had written the previous day,
and attempt to pick up where I left off.
In doing so, I often wasted an hour or more because my ‘creative juices’
wouldn’t flow on command.
On the morning of June 24, 2009,
I was thinking about a garden I had visited that weekend. It was opened to Master Gardeners (Betty) and
their ‘significant others’ (me). It was
also a party that lasted long into the evening, and it was the conversations around
me that were the most intriguing. The
gardeners – mostly but not entirely women – spoke excitedly about all things
horticultural while the significant others drank wine and beer and listened
with varying levels of interest and comprehension.
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| Sargent's portrait |
Accompanying my memory of that
evening was another image. A week earlier,
Betty and I had made one of our periodic forays to New York. Such visits always entail a stop at the Metropolitan
Museum of Art and, on this visit, we focused on the American Wing. We have been members of the Museum since the
1970s and have come to have favorites within the permanent collection. On that trip, I chose to spend time with two
old friends: Mr. and Mrs. I.N. Phelps Stokes.
It’s a wonderful, 1897 painting by John Singer Sargent with a fascinating
history.
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| Edith and I.N. in 1895, the year of their marriage |
As a wedding present two years
earlier, a friend ‘gave’ I.N. (he hated his given names, Isaac Newton) and
Edith a sitting for Edith with Sargent; in the 1890s still the unquestioned master
of ‘society’ portraiture. Edith Minturn
was a radical – a champion of women’s suffrage and housing for the poor. The Phelps
Stokes were in Vienna as was Sargent. An
appropriate gown was selected by Sargent, and Edith was to appear in the portrait
with a Great Dane at her side. Then, two
things happened: either Sargent or Edith decided sporty daywear was more appropriate
attire, and the Great Dane became ‘unavailable’. I.N. volunteered in to step in, and the
result was a stunning double portrait with an unmistakable message: the radiant,
30-year-old Edith quite literally overshadows her husband.
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| I.N. did some writing... |
At that party I felt like I.N. (who,
by the way, went on to write the definitive, six-volume history of New York). We were overshadowed by our partners, yet we didn’t
mind. We are enablers. We encourage them to keep learning and to
practice the art and science of whatever they love.
And so, instead of struggling with
chapter 17, I wrote about that garden party.
I polished it to a high sheen, struggling over every sentence until it conveyed
exactly what I wanted it to. Over the next two days, I mastered Blogspot design and editing, and chose the perfect name: ‘The Principal Undergardener’. I decided each essay would be about some
aspect of horticulture and the tone would be light – no lectures and no soapbox
diatribes. That first post went live on June 26, 2009.
In addition to being the tenth
anniversary of the blog, this is also my 300th post to it. That’s an average of 30 posts a year (duh) or
one every 12 days. These essays – I strive
for 900 words – have become my ‘etude’ – the mental equivalent of the
finger-stretching exercises used by musicians.
A few have been dashed off in an hour.
Most take several hours (plus additional time to find just the right
illustrations) and then are allowed to ‘cool’ overnight before a final review
and posting.
The remarkable thing is, people
read my blog. Google provides readership
stats, and I’m invariably amazed by the number who drop in to see what is on my
mind. Here is that first post:
* * * * *
There are a handful of paintings that bring an instant
smile to my face when I see them. They’re the kinds of painting where the
artist has recognized some deeper truth about the objects before him (or her)
and managed to convey that ‘something’ onto the canvas. One such painting is
John Singer Sargent’s “Mrs. and Mrs. I.N. Phelps Stokes”, which hangs in the
Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
Edith
Minturn and Isaac Newton Phelps Stokes were married in 1895, and one of the
couple’s weddings gifts was of a portrait to be painted by Sargent. Sargent's
first intention was to paint a single portrait of Edith during the summer of 1897
in Venice. After numerous posing and preparatory sessions, the artist decided
to paint her as if she were just returning from a brisk walk outdoors, with a Great
Dane at her side. After Edith’s part of the portrait was finished, however, the
Great Dane was no longer available and I. N. Phelps Stokes suggested that he
take its place. Sargent agreed, and the single portrait became a double
portrait.
But,
if it is a double portrait, it is one of the most lopsided ever done. Edith is
radiant and forthright. It would not be an overstatement to say that she glows.
Her husband, by contrast, is consigned to the shadows. Yes, he’s there, but
he’s a stand-in for the greyhound. In another fifty years, I have no doubt that
he will fade and the pentimento of a dog will take his place.
But
the painting, in turn, captures the reality of the two. Both were from wealthy
‘reformist’ families. Edith threw herself into women’s suffrage and housing
reform, among other noble causes. I.N. (he hated ‘Isaac Newton’) turned his
attention to writing the definitive history of the City of New York – six
volumes and over 7,000 pages. She was the spark plug in the family, his role was
to be supportive and to write large checks. Sargent saw it and captured it on
canvas. (Fun facts: Edith’s uncle was Robert Gould Shaw’ her
great-granddaughter is Kyra Sedgwick.)
I
was reminded of that portrait Sunday afternoon and evening as I attended a
Master Gardener Open Garden. There are several hundred people in the Boston
area who have gone through the Master Gardener program at the Massachusetts
Horticultural Society. Several times each summer, a Master Gardener will open
his or her garden to other Master Gardeners. These tend to be spectacular
gardens, all them designed and tended by the homeowner rather than by some
‘name’ landscape designer.
Most
Master Gardeners are women. Until this year, the courses were given all day,
one day a week, which makes it difficult for anyone who worked full time to
gain the accreditation. People who go through the same class tend to become
friends.
There
were probably thirty people at the garden in Quincy on Sunday afternoon and
evening. Many Master Gardeners brought spouses. And, throughout that afternoon
and evening, I could not help but be reminded of the Sargent portrait. The
women – the Master Gardeners – were in charge. They talked of gardens and of
plants. They dissected plant diseases and growing problems and evaluated
landscaping choices. Their talks were animated and full of energy. They spoke
for hours about their own plans for new beds and rare and unusual cultivars.
Master Gardeners also get a heavy dose of environmental awareness as part of
their studies and these women discussed organic and pesticide-free lawn care
and composting as though it were second nature.
The
men… drank beer and ate guacamole. They were appendages in the spirit of Isaac
Newton Phelps Stokes. They acknowledged readily that their responsibility is to
dig holes and move plants when requested, and to be supportive, including the
occasional writing of a large check.
The
garden is stunning. It’s a quarter-acre lot with a 1930s-era house in the
middle, but packed into that lot is enough landscaping for an estate. The lot
slopes steeply making it possible to build multiple garden ‘rooms’ that are
functionally invisible from one another. The owner - one of the rare male Master
Gardeners - is a pharmacist by training who managed to become a Master Gardener
in the same class as Betty by working extra shifts. Paul is also married and,
in the true spirit of I. N. Phelps Stokes, his partner, John, says his
contribution to the garden is to ‘suggest accessories’.
I
never thought of myself as an I.N. Phelps Stokes but, being around those Master
Gardeners and listening to them talk about plants and ecosystems as fervently
as Edith Phelps Stokes surely talked about housing and universal suffrage, I
knew how he felt. The best thing you can do is be supportive. Who knows, I may
even write the next definitive history of something.
