She was the first in a long line of celebrities to suffer from an eating disorder during an era when the vastly misunderstood phenomenon brought shame and public humiliation.

For the first time, we hear Karen Carpenter’s personal struggle in her own voice through never-before-released recordings—and through the legendary voices of those who knew her and were inspired by her music.

As the #1 American musical act of the 1970s, the Carpenters were on “Top of the World,” producing a string of pop masterpieces, including “Close to You,” “We’ve Only Just Begun,” and “Rainy Days and Mondays.” But behind closed doors, Karen’s quest for perfection resulted in low self-esteem, a disheartening love life, and a public battle with anorexia nervosa, which resulted in her untimely death at the age of only 32.

The Spy talked to producer Randy Schmidt about his film a few weeks ago.

The LIVE Festival kicks off on September 30 at the historic Avalon Theatre, followed by a second day at The Ebenezer Theater on October 1. The festival will also feature a 7-day Virtual Festival from October 2 to October 8, showcasing 37 outstanding documentaries, narrative films, and animations. Plan your visit and buy tickets today at www.chesapeakefilmfestival.com  

This video is approximately five minutes in length. To attend the world premiere please find tickets and more information here.

 

“Just because I’m coming from a human-rights perspective doesn’t mean we don’t have fun in concert.” So says Leyla McCalla (her first name is pronounced like the Derek and the Dominos title song from their 1970 mega-hit double album “Layla.”) This Leyla and her band play the main stage at Avalon Theatre Saturday night.

While “Layla” and its “Other Assorted Love Songs” were short on issues of social justice, Leyla McCalla, born in New York to Haitian immigrant parents and an American citizen by birthright, is immersed in her heritage and Haiti’s historic struggle with democracy and basic survival from one catastrophe after another.

“Haiti’s always seemed like this faraway place,” McCalla says, “but we’re far more connected as Americans than we realize. Haiti was the first independent black nation in the Western Hemisphere. Its very existence,” she says, “is and remains a threat to colonial power.” (Slavery was abolished in Haiti decades before Abraham Lincoln’s Civil War Emancipation Proclamation.) “When we talk about ‘Black Lives Matter,’ Haiti is a huge part of that.” 

The largest population of Haitian immigrants in Maryland is located in Salisbury, with more than 2,300, doubling the population of Haitians living in Baltimore. Most are drawn to Salisbury for work in the poultry industry. About 200 or so live in the Mid-Shore area triangle of Easton, Cambridge, and Federalsburg. “About 20 percent of our clients are Haitian immigrants,” says Matthew Peters, executive director of the Easton-based Chesapeake Multicultural Resource Center. 

Earthquakes, hurricanes, attendant floods, plus the 30-year Duvalier dictatorship following an American occupation of Haiti, left the country bereft of leadership. It culminated in the 2021 assassination of its democratically elected president, Jovenel Moise. 

In 1995, at age 10, McCalla spent months visiting her grandmother in Haiti, exploring her roots and learning first-hand about the nation’s daunting challenges. She cannot visit Haiti now because it is ungovernable, ruled by gangs who raise “taxes” by kidnapping people of means and holding them hostage for ransom.

A multi-disciplinary arts project commissioned by Duke University based on Radio Haiti archives it acquired inspired McCalla’s most recent album, “Breaking the Thermometer,” released in 2022. The title is a recognition of the demise of a free press, or in this case, a free voice of a radio network spreading the truth across Haiti. 

The comparison of lost democracy in Haiti and the threat of authoritarianism overtaking American one-person/one-vote is hardly lost on McCalla. Her latest project is a four-song cycle called “Freedom Series,” of which two songs have been released so far.  

But while the concert on Saturday will call attention to injustice, it will not be a gospel or political sermon. Leyla McCalla and her band – drummer Shawn Myers, bassist Pete Olynciw, and guitarist Nhum Zdybel – know how to make “a big and joyous sound,” says McCalla. Check her out on YouTube, especially her banjo and vocal riffs with the Grammy-winning Carolina Chocolate Drops on a foot-stomping number called “Cornbread and Butterbeans.” 

I don’t know if that song is on her playlist, but it’s a good-time, makin’-love celebration of just being alive, which is itself a fundamental human right.

Leyla McCalla and Band in Concert
8 p.m. Saturday, Sept. 23, Avalon Theatre, 40 E. Dover St., Easton; avalonfoundation.org

Steve Parks is a retired New York arts writer and editor now living in Easton.

 

The deep, rich colors and textures of Grace Mitchell’s oil paintings will draw you in, but it’s often the title that sets you thinking. Interweaving layers of color glow through the marsh grasses in her newest series “Watershed Assessment.” You could get lost in the sheer beauty of these paintings with their glints of tidal water and shadowy mountains looming in the distance, all saturated with a moist, misty atmosphere that seems to glow with fecundity.

But the title gives pause. These lush, luminous landscapes are meant to be “assessed,” and careful observation finds them full of scars and flaws. Their layers of luscious colors have been scraped raw and sanded almost to nothingness, drips and coagulations of paint stain the surface like rain on a window, everything seems in a state of flux. This marsh that Mitchell has chosen to paint is a transitional place where life is born of water and each element is held in an ever-changing fragile balance.

“Watershed” is an inspired title for this show and carries a double meaning. Every mountain, forest, marsh and sea that Grace Mitchell paints is part of a watershed. Most of us don’t tend to think of that when we look at a landscape, but these paintings make it clear that water connects all things in nature, from the massive clouds Mitchell paints towering over verdant plains and forests to the mists and rain that feed her flowing streams, brooding marshes and restless seas. Time after time, she traces the cycling of water from earth to sky and back again and in so doing, conjures a potent analogy for the complex interconnections that make life on earth possible.

Here, the other meaning of “watershed” comes to the fore. As temperatures warm, wildfires rage and massive storms sweep across the land, there’s no denying we are in a watershed moment. There is no longer any doubt that climate change is happening and happening fast thanks to our continuing use of fossil fuels. Where we go from here is our collective choice.

An art gallery may seem an unlikely place to be confronted with this issue, but Mitchell’s show inspires its consideration. Heart-wrenchingly beautiful, her paintings invite you into a haunting mixture of darkness and luminosity that permeates these scenes so deeply that the vitality of the living land is palpable. Mountains both soar and crumble before your eyes as light filters through the mists swirling around them. Trees simultaneously form and dematerialize in strokes and smears of paint while the marsh grasses surrounding them dissolve into drips of paint that melt into the water of a tidal pool. All is in flux and every detail is related to what’s happening around it.

The artist’s hand is everywhere in evidence in her sweeping gestures, daubs and broken strokes of paint, yet these paintings are smooth as glass and have an inner radiance akin to polished marble. Borrowing her technique from traditional landscape painters, Mitchell repeatedly applies thin layers of paint, sanding each one back then painting again. Fields of color and fascinating details are exposed, then half hidden, then exposed again so that the paintings reveal their own history of making, much as landscapes reveal the effects of weather and geological time.

There is no doubt about the aliveness of every aspect of these landscapes and the seamlessness of the interdependence of each element. With a bracing sense of awe, each of these paintings tells a story of earth and its predicament. They pull on your heartstrings and make you long for the vitality of the ecosystems that form our landscapes to survive and flourish.

Recalling the atmospheric depth and majesty of traditional landscape paintings, particularly of 19th-century Romanticism, as well as the deeply spiritual qualities of Chinese mountain and water tradition, Mitchell makes geological time palpable, yet there’s also a sense of the momentary, a feeling that you are witnessing something in the process of continual change.

Art is always at the forefront of cultural change. From Goya to the Impressionists, and from Picasso to Rauschenberg to Keith Haring, artists have opened our eyes to new ways of seeing and understanding. Perhaps because artists must develop keen skills of observation and awareness in order to do their work, they are more attuned to sensing change long before others do. Certainly, with her flair for capturing both the beauty and distress of the earth, Mitchell falls into this category.

In August, she and I carried on an almost daily email conversation about her work, our shared concerns about environmental degradation and climate change and how art might function to stimulate creative ways of adapting. Here are some excerpts:

MM: From the start I want you to know how glad I am for this opportunity to focus on your work. For some time now, I’ve been struggling with the role of art in reawakening people to a sense of awe and wonder, and how to kindle curiosity about what creative possibilities may be available for healing our relationship with the earth. These are ideas I see you developing in your paintings.

GM: Most of my work has an implied message, that of interdependence in the natural world and threats to that and to the future of life on earth. The future prospects of sustainability depend, in part at least, upon comprehending these relationships and adapting human behavior to them.  Recently, I did several paintings of gardens, an idea that was inspired by the work of entomologist Doug Tallamy, so the gardens I choose are the gardens of the wild with their mix of native plants and trees, rather than our standard suburban flower patches. 

MM: Tallamy’s warnings that wildlife populations are in decline largely because the native plants they depend on are disappearing are something I first learned about from Adkins Arboretum here on the Eastern Shore. Many of my garden plants came from its native plants sales, and it seems there’s a surge in people working to restore habitats by gardening with native plants.

GM: Yes, many people are practicing a form of home gardening which endeavors to replicate native conditions and incorporate some ancient wisdom into the practice of gardening to encourage, rather than kill vital insect, bird and animal populations which are rapidly declining due to agribusiness, development pressures and yes, even suburban gardens.

MM: You’ve written that you see the garden as a source of hope and regeneration. I think that’s so true, both in terms of grassroots conservation and for individual gardeners like you and me. Last winter, I had a bout of Covid with fatigue and inflammation that went on and on. It only let up when I started to work in the garden for at least a little while every day. That felt to me like a direct experience of the healing power of earth.

GM: I certainly agree that gardening helps, but I must admit that the increasing heat and humidity of our summers added to the rampant increase in invasive plants, as well as the ongoing problem with tick-borne diseases have made it harder to enjoy! But even all of that does help put things into some perspective, right? One is forced to confront serious issues even whilst pulling the weeds!

MM: It’s a paradox! On one side, gardening always lifts my spirits but on the other, I’m constantly noticing worrying changes. We used to have swarms of butterflies and bees in our garden rather than the few we see now. The huge decreases in bird and insect populations scientists are warning of are obvious right in our garden beds. These are all issues stemming from the effects of climate change. 

GM: A great many origin stories tell of folks once living happily in a primordial paradise, a lush garden of peace and plenty where toil, want and conflict were unknown. But, as with the Garden of Eden, the stories often report the end of this paradisal existence due to human folly.

MM: The great beauty of your paintings does conjure a sense of paradise, even a sense of the sacred. 

GM: How beauty is defined has changed with time and place, but the elusive concept has been with us, and closely associated with ideas of art, for thousands of years. The artist/activist Theaster Gates has written that “At every level of the human experience, we are looking for the beautiful, something that gives priority to our souls…. We drink in nature, we yearn to commune with the beautiful, we crave the sublime….” He feels that being around beautiful things can actually alter the way humans act.

MM: It seems to me that a great part of beauty’s power is to give people joy and a sense of harmony and well-being. In your paintings, it offers an enticing invitation to look more and more closely and discover the surprising colors, textures and plays of opacity and translucence. Looking closely reveals all this evidence of time and change, injury and adaptation that shows through the many layers of paint.

GM: I think that visual art, or at least what I do, aims to create objects of beauty that enrich human lives in some way, that when successful perhaps enlighten, inspire, uplift, or otherwise point to something “beyond” the quotidian cares of the world.

MM: Years ago, I reviewed Ellen Dissanayake’s book What Is Art For? for an art magazine. Her premise is that art denotes particular things as special, as socially important and thus serves an important cultural and evolutionary function. I think that the intense beauty of the landscapes in your paintings denotes them as special.

GM: The beauty of nature/land has inspired so much art through the ages, up to and including some of the modern abstract painters who still claimed nature as their muse. I grew up with that love of the land and continue to cherish its beauty and hope to be able to share the feeling with others. So many today are separated from the natural world to the point that they can lose touch with it. The paintings ask people to stop, look and reconnect—and hopefully to really see and feel.

MM: That’s so important! We’re usually too busy (or at least think we are) to look around, to be aware of the environment we’re living in. It’s a cultural failing, and I think it’s part of why young people are experiencing so much depression and desperation. Between the rigid schedules of activities kids are required to keep and the fear of allowing them to go outside unsupervised, they rarely get a chance to connect directly with nature.

GM: I think the lack of contact with the natural world is bound to have an impact on the minds of kids today, especially since it comes together with increased exposure to virtual media. Certainly that close contact with the sights, sounds, feeling of being in the natural world in the early years can be formative—the brain programmed in a certain way that stays with you as you wander on through life!

MM: Although I wouldn’t categorize you as a “climate artist” in the sense of creating activist art, I think that experiencing art such as yours encourages people to pay attention to the natural world, maybe even with a sense of reverence, and to develop a deeper understanding of the environmental crisis and hopefully, a stronger commitment to addressing it.

GM: Right, we need to open both hearts and minds. And actually, I also see both as interconnected parts of the same system which can be touched by art.

MM: You brought my attention to another book, Conversations Before the End of Time, in which the art critic and teacher Suzi Gablik has a conversation with Dissanayake about the function of art in these times of ecological and spiritual crisis. They discuss Dissanayake’s theory about art as a behavior that helps define us as human, a biological urge that actually contributes to survival. At least in traditional societies, it’s a way of defining what’s special, what people need to care about. Defining and affirming those values helps to make a strong, resilient culture. She sees that as antithetical to the contemporary Western understanding of art as a kind of luxury item subject to capitalist values.

GM: Although our culture has thought of art as a “frill,” or as just another commodity, I hope there’s still space for art as a means of communication, inspiration and enhancement of human life.

MM: I see your work as being full of hope, even while it’s saturated with pathos and sorrow both for humanity and the earth. It seems to me that each of your paintings is a call to focus on what we need to care about, just as Dissanayake says. Your mountains may be weathering away but they still soar and inspire, and your waterfalls, pools and streams run with life-giving water. There’s a feeling of the sacred that tempers the pathos. So, facing both cultural malaise and ecological disaster, how do we maintain hope? You and I are both being confronted with the reality of rising sea level. I’m seeing it here on Maryland’s Eastern Shore and you’re it seeing around your home in a Hudson River village adjacent to the large estuarine Piermont Marsh and the source of inspiration for many of your paintings.

GM;  Well, in terms of hope, I think we choose. And in so many ways, our marsh provides a metaphor for the times. It is a liminal space, a place in constant flux between land and water, fertile, full of life and potential, the breeding ground for many species and vital to the life of river and ocean. There’s a beauty and a mysterious quality here, but also somehow a sense of portent.  For ages, people considered marshes to be wasteland and a great many of our marshes have been destroyed, lost to landfill and development. Science has since shown us the error in those ways and is taking positive steps to mitigate the damage. The Hudson River National Estuarine Research Reserve was formed to help protect and preserve remaining marshes of significance, including Piermont Marsh, and reserve them for research as well, finally recognizing their importance to the environment. Today, of course, the whole area is under a new threat from human-induced sea level rise, and we actually can’t be sure it will even survive. But a state-funded pilot project is now underway to stabilize the eroding shoreline and help preserve the marsh, so we hope for the best!

MM: That’s a great project, though as you say, sea level rise is already a given. The side of our yard here on the Chester River is bordered by a marsh that’s creeping slowly into our lawn as the river is getting higher. Our house, like many close to the water, was flooded by Hurricane Isabel 20 years ago. Ever since, my husband and I have talked about elevating the house above the floodplain. We just went through a long process of conferring with architects, contractors and county officials about the possibility, only to find out the cost is prohibitive.

GM: On the face of it, that’s very bad news about the house. But it might turn out to be for the best. That process is complicated and obviously horrendously expensive, and who’s to say what level of protection it ultimately offers. If current science is correct and the rate of warming and sea level rise  is accelerating, then all the estimates of what the levels will be and when are going to have to be looked at yet again.

MM: One of the paintings in the show is called “Solastalgia,” which is a term coined by the Australian philosopher, Glenn Albrecht that refers to an increasingly common psychological distress suffered by those whose familiar environment has been dramatically changed, all too often by our changing climate. That’s the kind of distress I’m feeling as we see flood tides coming closer and closer to our house.

GM: This has been the hottest summer on record, and people are more widely acknowledging that climate change is real, but still we have no real solutions in the works. My daughter and I have had this conversation about Homo sapiens as a flawed/failed species—one that has irreversibly fouled its own nest and is destined for extinction. 

MM: This is something that Gablik and Dissanayake discuss, and it both shocked me and made so much sense when Dissanayake talked about how we’ve created an unnatural “supermechanistic” environment that we simply can’t adapt to. We know in our hearts that our ways of living are unsustainable both in terms of our own psychological wellbeing and for the earth. When I fall into despair about the crisis that is already unfolding, I think of a stone I found along the river. It has tiny fossils of scallop shells and must date back to a time when the land where I live was part of the ocean floor. It comforts me to think that the earth is always changing and adapting, and that even if humans disappear, it will ultimately survive us, as it has survived countless cataclysms in the distant past.

GM: Homo sapiens have been around for the tiniest blink of the eye in terms of the existence of life on earth. The fossils you found convey a sense of the deep time of that existence and do help put things into perspective, don’t they? I have a slab of stone about a foot square I pulled out of a woodland stream in the Catskills that’s full of fossilized shells. I love looking at it and thinking about the time involved with the formation of that stone, the shells, the mountains.

MM: You sent me an article about Piermont Marsh titled “Why a Marsh” from the journal Places. It details the vital functions of the marsh for a host of species and gives a wonderful chronology of how it was formed and continues to change both through natural processes and human activity. What’s fascinating is how it’s all about interconnection. It reminds me so much of your paintings, that sense of being able to trace the many stages of creation both in the marsh and the painting process. And although it posits that the marsh may eventually be swallowed by the water again, it closes with the thought that that will change, too, and at in some distant time, green plants will again sprout from its mudflats. Of course, there’s no knowing whether humans will still be around by then.

GM: It is almost beyond our capacity to imagine, but it is possible that the species will become extinct if unable to evolve quickly enough to correct its ways. I think my paintings look at that underlying world which supports us and will quite possibly survive us and continue to exist for whatever follows us. So in that there is some hope.

MM: Yes, the thought that earth will continue to evolve is heartening, but it’s human nature to hope for more and I can’t help hoping that a collective survival mechanism will kick in and the sooner the better! And maybe art can be part of that. The biological urge to make art that Dissanayake talks about is something you and I have both felt from childhood. Being artists, it’s our way to explore the world and make sense of it. The more art shows us what we need to care about and the more it pulls on our heartstrings, the more chance there is that we’ll make the necessary changes to allow humanity and all the other threatened species to survive.

GM: Living here at Piermont, though I never do plein air painting and almost never even sketch, I do store up something from frequent walks around the village, including the changing effects of light, and carry it back to the studio. I guess it all goes into some kind of big stew that I access via a mysterious process that I’m not sure anyone can really explain! But the main thing is that at times it can be accessed and shared. And if and when that succeeds, perhaps there is passed along something of the enormous importance of that sense of being in nature that contemporary people have lost and must regain if we are to make it to the next level! I found a quote from William James that I’m going with for now: “I will act as if what I do makes a difference.” I think that answers the question about maintaining hope in these difficult times!!

“Watershed” will be on exhibit in the 203 High Street gallery.  Hours at both the High Street and Cross Street galleries are Thursday, Friday – 11-4; Saturday 10-5. In addition, the Cross Street gallery is open Sunday 12-3. Private appointments may be scheduled at any time by contacting Carla Massoni. 410-708-4512 

Mary McCoy is an artist and writer who has the good fortune to live beside an old steamboat wharf on the Chester River. She is a former art critic for the Washington Post and several art publications. She enjoys kayaking the river and walking her family farm where she collects ideas and materials for her writing and for the environmental art she creates, often in collaboration with her husband Howard. They have exhibited their work in the U.S., Ireland, Wales and New Zealand.

For additional information please visit www.massoniart.com.

 

 

By his own count, Emmy-nominated producer and director Harold Jackson has done 12 full feature films or shorts since he fell in love with cinema while growing up in Los Angeles. After growing up in an extended family of film consumers and serving his time in the U.S. Marine Corps, Jackson immediately doubled down on his love of film with an undergraduate degree in television and a master’s in film from American University. 

Since those school days, Harold has produced, written, and directed multiple films, series, and documentaries and is a critically acclaimed writer, director, and filmmaker. Some of his award-winning productions include “Last Night” (ABFF BEST SCREENPLAY/AUDIENCE CHOICE Winner) and HBO Best Film winning “Unarmed Man.” Harold received an EMMY Nomination for his guest-producing work on the series “Anacostia.” Harold’s recent projects include “The Forgettable Life of Liam White,” with a cast of Jasmine Guy, TC Carson, and singer Brave Williams, “GASLIGHT,” and his latest creation, “Once Upon A Time In The District.”

The secret sauce for his successful film career is a commitment to tell different stories to different audiences. A case in point is Harold’s most recent film, Million to One, which will open this month in theaters. Unapologetically a family film with traditional comedy and warm-hearted characters, Jackson doesn’t hesitate to use tried and true traditional storytelling when he connects with a good plot. 

But unlike other filmmakers who stay within a specific genre, Harold equally embraces pushing the envelope. Immediately after finishing Million to One, Jackson moved to the other extreme with his production of Iceman: Chapter One, which will have his world premiere at the Chesapeake Film Festival on September 30th. 

In Iceman, Jackson turns his camera to the world of organized crime and the tale of a newly retired organized crime fixer pulled back deeper into the underground than he’s ever been before. 

The Spy chatted briefly with Harold last week via Zoom to hear about his career and why he selects such diverse projects for his passion for storytelling.

This video is approximately three minutes in length. For tickets and information about the Chesapeake Film Festival, please go here.

 

 

 

 

 

Shore Lit recently marked its first-year anniversary, and founder/director Kerry Folan couldn’t be happier with their progress. The organization has successfully hosted eight community author events, creating a vibrant space for literature and conversation on the Eastern Shore.

But what sets Shore Lit apart is the quality of its literary events and the sense of community it fosters.

Folan, a professor of writing and literature at George Mason University in Virginia and a six-year resident of Easton, took the initiative to create the authors’ reading series to bridge the gap between art and culture and foster a greater sense of community.

“I feel like one of the reasons I moved here to the Eastern Shore is because, despite us having a very small, tight-knit community, we have incredible cultural resources,” Folan says. “That was really exciting to me but one piece I found to be missing was adult literary programming.” 

To that end, Shore Lit partners with the Easton Academy Art Museum, the Talbot County Free Library, Adkins Arboretum, Washington College’s Literary House, and more. These partnerships allow for diverse events that combine literature with other cultural elements, like Shore Lit’s Pride Pop-Up Bookshop during Easton’s Delmarva Pride Festival in June.

 “Gathering is how we actualize as a community. Community is a concept until you actually come together and sit in a room with somebody who may have different ideas or a different experience from you and listen.”

Upcoming events will include author readings by Tania James on September 15 and CJ Hauser on October 13, both at the Academy Art Museum. 

The Spy recently connected with Kerry via Zoom to talk about Shore Lit’s first year and her vision for the future.

To stay updated on Shore Lit’s events and literary happenings on the Eastern Shore and to register for upcoming readings, go here.

 This video is approximately nine minutes in length.

 

Over the course of her career, Sandy Cannon-Brown has been known for a quite a few achievements. Perhaps the most notable locally is her ongoing collaboration with conservation writer Tom Horton and photographer David Harp in the production of a number of award-winning environmental documentaries on the Chesapeake Bay as well as her work ase associate director for the Center for Environmental Filmmaking at American University.

But Sandy has also played a leadership role with the Chesapeake Film Festival for many years as its long-serving Vice President and in that capacity, the Spy sat down with her via Zoom to hear about the CFF schedule this year, including her latest documentary with David Harp entitled A Passion for Oysters.

The LIVE Festival kicks off on September 30 at the historic Avalon Theatre, followed by a second day at The Ebenezer Theater on October 1. The festival will also feature a 7-day Virtual Festival from October 2 to October 8, showcasing 37 outstanding documentaries, narrative films, and animations. Plan your visit and buy tickets today at www.chesapeakefilmfestival.com  

This video is approximately five minutes in length.

Born into a prosperous peasant family, Jean Francois Millet (1814-1870) had a good education, and because of his artistic talent he was admitted to the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris. He began his career as a portrait painter. His early paintings were accepted by the Paris Salon, but his work was rejected in 1843. He moved with his wife to Le Havre, a harbor town at the mouth of the Seine. They had nine children. He became friends with the painters Theodore Rousseau, Constant Troyon, and Honore Daumier, among others. By 1849, the group had moved to the village of Barbizon in the Fontainebleau Forest.

France was experiencing two revolutions: the Industrial Revolution and a political revolution. Inventions included sewing machines, mechanized looms, and mechanical reapers. Production of wool and cotton cloth for clothing was a major source of income for the rural peasant beyond the production of food. The faster production of cloth caused numerous factories to be built on the outskirts of Paris, resulting in a mass migration from the farm to the city. The 1848 political revolution created chaos and fighting in the streets killed tens of thousands.

Smoke from trains and factories began to fill the Paris air. Barbizon was an undisturbed rural village where artists could paint unpolluted nature. “The Sower” (1850) (40’’x33’’) (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston) is one of Millet’s first paintings made in Barbizon. His farm upbringing, discussions with Daumier and others about the poor conditions of laborers in France, and his earnest concern for his hardworking Barbizon neighbors influenced his choice of subject matter. While other Barbizon painters concentrated on the unspoiled landscape, Millet focused on the people: “The human side of art is what touches me most.” Millet’s Sower is monumental in scale. He walks vigorously under the twilight sky sowing winter wheat. His legs are wrapped in straw for warmth, his hat is pulled down across his face, hiding his face. He clutches the sack of seeds in his left hand, and he uses his right hand to fling the wheat seeds onto the plowed earth. In the distance a farmer driving two oxen that pull the harrow to cover the sown seeds.

“The Sower” was immediately a source of criticism at the 1850 Salon. To the majority of Parisiens, the painting was ugly and crass, and it depicted the part of society to which they felt superior, the rural poor who offended and disgusted them. Art critic Theophile Gautier said the paint looked like “trowel scrapping.” Few recognized “The Sower” as a work that depicted the dignity of hard work. Millet wanted to show the heroism of the common man. He presented the Academy, the government, and the upper and middle classes of France with a radical social realism that had not been seen before.

 

Millet continued to paint male and female laborers: shepherds tending their flocks and peasants pushing wheelbarrows, cutting timber, haymaking, carding wool, digging potatoes, knitting, mending, and occasionally resting from their labor. “Woman Baking Bread” (1854) (22”x18’’) depicts a sturdy peasant woman putting a loaf of bread into the oven. The house is made of stone with wide wood plank floors. Dark timber beams support the ceiling. Several handwoven baskets are stacked along the wall. Earlier genre paintings, scenes of ordinary life, depicted clean and tidy houses with simple but comfortable furniture and clean people engaged in less strenuous activity. In “Woman Baking Bread,” the woman is hard at work, her clothes are rough, the house is dark, the floor is messy, stacks of empty baskets are scattered about, and next to the oven are a rake and pitchfork used for work in the field.

Fortunately, Alfred Sensier, a government bureaucrat admired Millet’s peasant paintings, and he offered in 1850 to provide Millet with materials and money in return for some of his drawings and paintings. Sensier’s support allowed Millet to continue his chosen theme. He also could sell work to other buyers. “The Gleaners” (1857) (33”x44”) was exhibited in the Salon of 1857. Gleaners were the poorest of peasants, and by law they were allowed to glean the leftovers after crops had been harvested. Critics at the time considered this painting to be subversive, an affront to the middle and upper classes, and the cause of extremely discomfort to the general public. French art critic Paul de Saint Victor wrote, “His three gleaners have gigantic pretensions; they pose as the Three Fates of Poverty…their ugliness and vulgarity have no relief.” The public agreed with Adam Smith’s laissez-faire economics; these people were responsible for their own misery.

The subject of “The Gleaners” are three poor women of undetermined age, doing grueling work in order to feed themselves and their families. Central to the composition, the farthest figure reaches down as she spots some grain, the middle gathers a handful of grain from the ground, and the closest is about to bend over, a motion repeated again and again. In the distance, several tall stacks of newly harvested wheat provide contrast to the poor pickings left for the gleaners. The rider on a brown horse likely is the overseer for the estate owner. He watches the gleaners to make sure they obey the rules and take only what is allotted to them.

Millet was accused of preaching radical political ideas and of exaggerating the social and economic hardships of the peasants. At the time, the socialist movement was taking hold. Engels’s and Marx’s The Communist Manifesto was published in 1848. In a review, Charles Baudelaire, French poet, and literary and art critic wrote, “His peasants are pedants who think too highly of themselves. Instead of simply extracting the natural poetry from his subject, M. Millet is desperate to add something to it.”‍

 

The 1860’s saw a change in Millet’s popularity. He was commissioned to paint 25 works and given a monthly stipend for the next three years. Emile Gavet, an art dealer and collector, commissioned Millet to make pastel drawings in 1865. They eventually numbered 90 works. Gavet also introduced Millet’s paintings to American buyers. “Shepherdess with her Flock” (1864) (32”x40”) had been an idea Millet had for a painting since 1862. His patron and friend Sensier recalled that the idea “had taken hold of him.” When it was shown in the Salon of 1864, it was called “an exquisite painting” and “a masterpiece.” The painting was awarded a Salon medal, and the government wanted to purchase it. However, it already was promised to a collector.

“Shepherdess with her Flock” depicts a young shepherdess quietly praying in a peaceful evening landscape. She is not a giant figure, nor is she dressed in rags. Her dress in thick and heavy enough for the weather. Her shawl with a fur collar has a decorative pattern, and her red woolen scarf fits snugly over her hair and wraps around her neck. She appears to be saying the rosary. Her flock of sheep is large, gathered together peacefully eating grass. Her loyal dog watches from the right. The sun is beginning to set across the panoramic landscape, and its rays cast a golden glow through the opening in the clouds. Millet’s strong Christian faith is evident. Quietly grazing sheep have long been a reference to the Good Shepherd watching over His flock. The general public preferred this pastoral painting over those of Millet’s rough, grubby peasants. Millet thought of this painting as true to life, depicting the dignity of the hard-working peasant class.

French sentiment was changing. Millet was given a major showing of his paintings in the 1867 Exposition Universelle. In 1869, he was named a Chevalier de Legion d’ Honneur, and in 1870, he was elected to be a member of the Salon jury. A posthumous retrospective at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts honored Millet. His work was considered part of the French national heritage. All past criticism of his radical work was done. His influence on future artists was significant. Van Gogh considered him an “essential modern painter who opened the horizons to many.” In 1890, in a letter to his sister, Van Gogh wrote; “Millet! Millet! How that fellow painted humanity and the ‘something on high,’ familiar and yet solemn. To think that that fellow wept as he started painting.”

“I was born as a peasant and shall die as a peasant.” (J.F. Millet)

Beverly Hall Smith was a professor of art history for 40 years.  Since retiring with her husband Kurt to Chestertown in 2014, she has taught art history classes at WC-ALL. She is also an artist whose work is sometimes in exhibitions at Chestertown RiverArts and she paints sets for the Garfield Center for the Arts.

Since its release in June, Tania James’s novel Loot has been at the top of “must read” lists everywhere, from NPR to O, The Oprah Magazine to the New York Times. Though generally classified as historical fiction, the novel is also a coming-of-age tale and a love story:

Seventeen-year-old Abbas is conscripted to help build a life-sized mechanical tiger for Sultan Tipu. Though he leaves his family reluctantly, at the palace he finds both a mentor who hones his gifts as a woodcarver and the girl who will capture his heart. The novel is full of delight, adventure, and charm. 

But Loot also challenges readers to consider colonialism’s bloody history and its current claims of ownership. Tippoo’s Tiger is an actual object in the permanent collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, made by an anonymous Indian artist during the 18th century and looted by British soldiers after the Siege of Seringapatam in 1799. 

“I’d never seen a work of art—mechanized or otherwise—that was so bold in its contempt of British power, so irreverent and anti-colonialist,” Tania told me about the object that inspired her story. 

It’s a rare book that can hold charm and subversion in equal tension, and I can’t wait to hear what else she has to say about this exceptional novel. Register here to attend the book talk at the Academy Art Museum on September 15! 

What I’m Reading:

Maybe it’s the start of the fall semester that has me feeling decidedly group-discussion oriented. This month, I’m reading books I want to discuss in community:

There, There by Tommy Orange. This novel, which focuses on the interconnected lives of  “urban Indians” in Oakland, California, earned a million awards when it came out in 2018, including a Pulitzer nomination. It’s the One Maryland, One Book selection this year, and it’s also this month’s Easton Book Group pick. All are welcome to join the conversation at TCFL’s Easton branch on 9/18. 

The Floating Opera by John Barth. People tend to love or hate Barth, and this novel is no exception. It follows Todd Andrews, “the best lawyer on the Eastern Shore of Maryland and the most determinedly eccentric citizen of Cambridge,” on the day he decides to commit suicide. Local lit nerd Sam Van Nest is leading a discussion group on the novel at Chesapeake Forum this November.

True Biz by Sara Nović. Born deaf, fifteen-year-old Charlie never learned ASL. Now thrown into a boarding school for deaf teenagers and immersed in a vibrant and functional deaf world, Charlie grapples with her feelings of isolation from both the hearing and non-hearing communities. The novel was selected as a 2022 “Best Book of the Year” by NPR, the Washington Post, Publisher’s Weekly, and Book List. Join the Talbot Equity Diversity Inclusion Book Club for a discussion on 10/12. 

What Else I’m Looking Forward to on the Shore this Month: 

There’s an abundance of great local festivals this month, including the 31st Annual Native American Festival, Frederick Douglass Day, and the Chesapeake Film Festival, as well as the inaugural event in the Spy’s new Spy Nights reading series, featuring poet Sue Ellen Thompson. I’m also planning to check out the events below:

Theater: Much Ado About Nothing @ Adkins Arboretum, Ridgely

2:00 Saturday & Sunday, September 2 & 3

$10

Shore Shakespeare’s 2023 production brings the Bard’s wittiest rom-com to a plein air venue near you: In addition to the Arboretum dates, it will be playing at the Oxford Community Center 9/8-10 and Wilmer Park in Chestertown 9/15-17.

Film: Love & Friendship @ Norman James Theater, Washington College, Chestertown

7:00 Monday, September 18  

Free

Whit Stillman, Academy Award–nominated screenwriter and beloved chronicler of the urban haute bourgeois, will be at Washington College’s Rose O’Neil Literary House as a visiting writer this month, offering a post-screening Q&A and a craft talk the following day. 

Community Conversation: Read the Room @ Talbot County Free Library, Easton

5:30 Wednesday, September 20

Free

The Needle’s Eye Academy aims to create interdisciplinary literacy programming and empowerment for the Black and Brown youth of Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Co-founder Jaelon Moaney will lead a community-based discussion on the critical topic of access and equity of literary experiences on the Shore.

Book Talk: James McBride @ Cape Henlopen High School Theater, Lewes

1:00 Sunday, October 1

$28 

Perennial award-winner James McBride—whose latest novel, Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, is one of the biggest books of the summer—will close out this year’s History Book Festival, a true gem of an event featuring 20+ author presentations in a range of genres. Tickets are required for McBride’s talk and include a copy of the book; the rest of the events are free.

Shore Lit aims to enhance cultural offerings on the Eastern Shore with free community author events. This newsletter is written by Shore Lit Founder and Director Kerry Folan. If you see her walking her greyhound Pilot around town, stop and tell her what you’re reading!