The Starry Night

A Visit to Hull-House

I stood in front of Hull-House, both nervous and excited. I was to take part in a reception celebrating the news that the First National Bank of Chicago was to fund construction of a new Hull-House community complex. Usually these engagements were my father's to make, but he had an unexpected meeting, and the responsibility, for the first time, fell to me. I also suspect he did not support the grant, being a business-minded man.

Father had spoken bitingly of Jane Addams and her reformatory activity, but I saw it differently. Seeing that I am seventeen, he had begun to introduce me to his colleagues and their sons, perhaps hoping I would show interest in one of them. Secretly, I did not want to be simply married off to a banker, like my mother. What I loved most was drawing, anything and everything, but especially I loved drawing people. There is a certain beauty to every human face that I yearned to capture on paper, and their carriage shows much about their character. The eyes- oh, I cannot even begin to describe the human eye! Such depth, such brilliance, like a window into one's very soul!

I longed to go to art school, but it was mostly for men. My own sketches were kept in a locked drawer in my room, for fear of my father finding and confiscating them.

The heavy brick manor was quite formidable. It towered over the others in the neighborhood, though the surrounding tenements (hovels, in truth) were frankly not much to admire. The streets were rank and dirty, with roaming animals and an oppressive atmosphere. People had stared at me as I passed, wondering what a girl from the newly-built Jackson Boulevard would be doing in a neighborhood of poor foreigners like Halsted Street.

But the atmosphere at Hull-House, I found, was much different. A kind, plump woman had whisked me in, and in an instant I was immersed in a deluge of cheerful sounds. There were many children of various ages, and adults. A majority seemed to be of Irish or Italian descent. My guide led me into a large foyer converted into a theater, where a large mass of people were seated.

My reserved seat was at the front, next to a young woman who looked to be around twenty. She had pale skin, dark eyes and black curls, but rosy cheeks and a warm smile. The air about her was practically quivering with positive energy.

"My name is Carol Brooks MacNeil," she immediately said, offering her hand. "You must be here on behalf of Paul McCormick, the co-founder of the First National Bank."

"Victoria McCormick," I replied. "Mr. McCormick is my father."

"He did grant a large sum to the Art Institute, where I study, so it would have a new structure for the World's Fair. Everyone is so grateful for his kindness and love for community."

Kindness? Love for community? My father most definitely was not the type. "He is always eager to see our city grow," I answered graciously. "But- did you mention you study at the Art Institute? What do you do there?" I was intrigued. Here was a woman artist, like whom I have always longed to become.

"I study under Lorado Taft, a most agreeable man. We work mostly with sculpture, and I have started making my own, of bronze. Lorado says I have talent, and I am presently working with him to finish creations for the Chicago World's Fair next year. It is all immensely exciting."

"I had wanted to study art as well," I professed. "However, my father would disapprove, so I gave it up. He is not a supporter of the women's movement. You are very brave to object to the naysayers. I could never do that, but I do love art so! Art is different. It does not simply express feeling, it creates it, within both the artist and the beholder. I love how it suggests movement when it remains stationary, how it is intricate, and simple, at the same time, and how it is not just an image, it is, well, something so much more," I finished lamely.

Carol seemed pensive. "You sound like an artist to me. Do not be afraid of making art, because it is such a vital part of who we are as artists. Jane Addams is right, you know, about women's rights. Being afraid of your art is like being afraid of your soul. Do not let it happen, no matter what Paul McCormick, or anyone, says." Her eyes burned with passion as she uttered this.