Note: The image above is of an etching
made from Loretta Pettway's quilt.
In
May 2012 a new exhibition of quilts from Gee’s Bend, Alabama
will open in Nashville. William Arnett, with his companies
that all have “Tinwood” in their names, has won recognition
as art for patchwork from this African American hamlet.
But there has been criticism. A remark, made in an interview
on Alabama Public Television in 2005, when museum-goers
were tremendously excited by these gorgeous textiles, indicates
part of the problem. Bill Arnett said, “The people, their
ideals, the culture itself, and the quilts have not changed
a great deal in the past 150 years.”
In
the 1960s and 1970s Gee’s Bend was known for the Freedom
Quilting Bee, a cooperative that emerged from the Civil
Rights Movement. At the end of 2008 at the Philadelphia
Museum of Art, in front of a large audience, Bill Arnett
was asked about the relationship between the work from Gee’s
Bend that he bought and was showing and the patchwork that
the Bee had produced. I heard him bellow, “The best thing
the Freedom Quilting Bee ever did for Gee’s Bend was fail.”
I
knew this was wrong because in 1968 as a civil rights worker
I lived in the Bend (officially, Boykin). In 2009, I made
a return visit to find out about what the Arnetts had done
there. After talking to those involved with the Bee long
ago, interviewing current residents, and doing research
on Gee’s Bend’s past, the motives for Bill Arnett’s attitude
toward the Quilting Bee and the Bend became clear to me.
The Arnetts are not the community’s benefactors, though
the place and the quilts have become famous (again) through
them. To understand what happened there since Bill Arnett
came, it is important to examine, in the context of its
experience after slavery, the history of Gee’s Bend and
its environs with an eye for the ramifications of a conflict
between versions of the American Dream. What has happened
there shows the hollowness of the Dream for many Americans.
Individual effort, so fundamental to the ideal, is useless
when it comes up against powerful people whose version of
the American success myth is domination on the basis of
unmodulated self-interest.
Back
in 1968 I first became aware of Nettie Young, the co-manager
at the Freedom Quilting Bee, when I heard someone ask her
if the last landowner her family rented from, had been mean.
Her reply: “Sometimes. You know if blacks was over whites
instead of how it was, we be as bad.” (It took me about
thirty years to recognize how wise she was: any group, depending
on circumstances, can be a victim or a victimizer.) Nettie’s
life shows something that is not a surprise, especially
now that questions are being raised about how the bottom
99% of the American population fares. It illustrates how
even an American with spectacular personal gifts may not
find it possible to sustain the reasonable relationship
between work and fair compensation that is the basis of
even a modest version of the vaunted Dream.
Her
experience - and that of her family - contrasts with the
enterprising zealotry of the Arnetts, who have used the
art produced by poor rural blacks as a basis for the family
business, a career that it almost seems Matt Arnett, Bill’s
third eldest son, was preparing for when he majored in African
American Studies at Emory University. It is through profiting
from their sponsorship of rural black outsider artists like
the quilters of Gee’s Bend that the Arnetts have pursued
a version of the American Dream that centers on money, power,
and the willingness to manipulate others.
One
technique was sentimental capitalism, an ostentatious show
of affection for people they regarded as commodities. Lovett
Bennett was only one of the people from the Bend in 2009
that said, “They treat us like family.” The Arnetts understood
that sentiment for the hamlet’s people and their history
would appeal to the public even as they distorted and fabricated
the identity of both. They endowed the local people with
the qualities of simplicity, self-abnegating humility, relentless
good nature, unreflective religiosity, timeless values and
habits, and a penchant for bursting into gospel songs, giving
them a dubious “authenticity” that makes them folk characters,
When
I lived in the Bend there were high hopes that things were
changing for the better in large part because of the Freedom
Quilting Bee. There was high excitement about communal self-help.
For me, the decent living conditions alone made the community
seem safe and attractive, especially in contrast to the
state and state of mind of the tenant farmers in the rest
of Wilcox County. Crammed into flimsy, unpainted shacks,
often with cotton growing right up to their doors, those
tenants often were not even allowed to plant a garden -
sometimes not even one tomato plant - on the owner’s land.
The
Benders traversed dirt roads on foot or in mule-driven wagons.
But, in contrast, they owned their neat little four - or
five- room houses and the land they tilled. They had held
title to their land for over two decades, and though poor
by the standard of annual income, consumer goods, and modern
amenities, they appeared comfortable and healthy. The older
adults told us about their own past as tenants: brutalizing
work from which they often earned nothing; cold, drafty
log-and-mortar cabins and pine board shacks that were no
better; inadequate clothing; pellagra (a niacin deficiency
disease); and schools that were not publicly-provided and
met only when there was no field work (with attendance only
when students had adequate shoes and clothes).
After
lifetimes, separately and together, of sharecropping and
tenancy in adjacent Rehobeth, Nettie and Clint Young bought
a house and farm in Gee’s Bend in 1955, improving their
lot immeasurably. Clint had to leave for months at a time,
taking jobs for the money they needed to buy the property
while Nettie and the children did the farm work. By 1965
Nettie somehow found time to be an activist for voting rights
and to be jailed for it in Camden, the county seat. In 1966
when the Quilting Bee got underway, she became, with almost
no formal education, its modestly paid co-manager. About
her sharecropper childhood, she told me, “There was sixteen
head of chillen in our two-room shack - we have bunk beds
all around the walls. We all work in the fields, and sometimes
we be hungry. A hard life, but our mama and daddy was good
to us.”
Susan
Youngblood Ashmore’s Carry It On, The War on Poverty
and the Civil Rights Movement in Alabama (2008)
opens with a critique of the 2006 Gee’s Bend quilt
show at the Atlanta Museum of Art, targeting its failure
to explain what followed Reconstruction in the South: “Issues
of power, dominance, and politics were hidden. The
curators assumed that the audience naturally carried
enough knowledge about . . . tenant farming and sharecropping.”
In the Bend, like elsewhere, the plantation owners got a
work force that was nearly without cost, and the farm workers
became a caste based on race that had working conditions
hardly better than before Emancipation. In Bob Adelman’s
Down
home, Camden, Alabama
(1972), an African American interviewee from Camden says
that blacks were “un-free slaves before the Civil War and
free slaves after.”
Millions
of Southern blacks had already migrated North when tenancy
ended in the early 1970s, but it was over sooner in Gee’s
Bend. The plantation, owned from 1845 to 1895 by white Pettways,
had absentee owners in 1932 when the price of cotton dropped.
Unable to pay their debts, the Benders had all of their
property seized and nearly starved. In 1935 the federal
government bought the land, creating an agricultural cooperative
and helping residents to build what continue to be called
“project” (or “Roosevelt”) houses. Congress ended Gee’s
Bend Farms in 1945, and the Farm Security Administration
(FSA) began to sell the land cheaply, with low interest
rates, to those with roots there. The people were glad to
be landowners, but one hundred acres is too small for truly
profitable cotton farming.
Olive
Stone, a white anthropologist who lived in Gee’s Bend in
the early forties and in 1961, prepared notes for a book
she never wrote (archived at the University of North Carolina,
Chapel Hill). About being tenants, a man told her, “We done
sucked some hard bones till the Project started.” Writing
of this period in 1932, Stone makes a judgment: “They could
not lick the system of exorbitant interest rates and profits,”
and so “when they were cleaned out completely . . . it was
as much of a relief to have a halt called to the system
of secret bookkeeping and exploitation as it was a calamity.”
The
Arnetts (and their publicist) until recently have been reluctant
to mention the New Deal transformations that occurred in
the 1930s and 40s, probably because these connected the
Bend to the larger world. These are noted in their
catalogs, where the Arnetts give, in addition to images
of quilts, much accurate information, along with many untruths
and considerable nonsense. (Often the nonsense is, in my
view, in the art criticism, which I will not examine, but
the untruths can be about the Bend’s history, some of which
I will note).
The
“facts” on the Internet, many from newspaper articles, reviews
of shows, and even advertisements for products related to
the quilts are far more problematic. After Bill put his
third eldest son Matt at the helm of the Gee’s Bend project,
the Internet accounts became closer to honest, but even
now, if one knows enough, it is impossible to read the new
Wikipedia entry without seeing the distortions of the Arnett
vantage point, e.g., the insistence, against the facts,
that many residents “now have real incomes for the first
time.”
Bill
Arnett’s versions of the Gee’s Bend fable focus on changelessness
and unity. In his interview, Bill said, “For the most part
. . . people stay in one place, and they marry within the
community.” Painting all of its people as descendants of
slaves on the plantation, he gave life in the Bend organic
coherence. This narrative became the Arnetts’ “brand,” the
image of purity that prompted a white-owned corporation
to put the name “Gee’s Bend” on their water, bottled across
the river in the county seat, Camden.
Paul
Arnett is executive editor of Tinwood Books. In The Quilts
of Gee’s Bend, in an essay Bill and Paul wrote together,
they describe the hamlet as a place that “still is, amazingly,
an isolated black community with little influence from Western
Art traditions.” Because the river surrounds the Bend on
three sides, it was hard to reach, but the Arnetts overstate
the case for remoteness. Before the 1970s when automobiles
became common, the Benders were relatively isolated,
but they were never totally cut off. There was always some
contact with others and with Western art (conventions trickle
down into popular iconography.) The women got their ideas
for quilts from the marriage of disparate conventions intrinsic
to all art.
After
slavery ended, some people from the plantation earned money
off-season working on the roads or in white homes. They
brought back the magazine and newspaper pages they used
as insulation, and these may have influenced their sense
of design. And from early on some residents came and left.
The Census data from 1860 and 1870 shows this two-way flow,
as do stories in the catalogs and other accounts. One instances
among a great many: Nettie’s father, much older than her
mother, was sold as a slave to the owners of Gee’s Bend
as a child, but after Emancipation moved to the Young plantation
nearby to be a sharecropper.
Gee’s
Bend Farms, the New Deal agricultural cooperative, was the
catalyst for a 1937 article in the New York Times.
The co-op had a sizable staff, health workers and teachers,
who may have had an impact on the quilters’ sensibility.
In the sixties, long after the Benders were small landowners
and the Bee was founded, outsiders came to live in the Bend.
Its hired professional manager, a white art student, left
the position but stayed on with her own family for seventeen
years. VISTA workers came in numbers, and one famous artist
(Lee Krasner). When progeny moved to cities, visits became
routine. In the seventies Benders drove to jobs in textile
factories, and that experience with fabrics must have again
stretched their visual imaginations.
The
remoteness of home may have given them a sense of safety
from white predation that threatened most African Americans
during the Jim Crow years, and their relative isolation
may have encouraged them to enjoy themselves and one another
when they could. Stone, the anthropologist, says, “It would
be difficult to imagine a more thoroughly relaxed group
of people than the heads of households gathered around the
community store on a Saturday afternoon, after knocking
off work in the fields and getting into clean overalls .
. . lounging and joshing.” The women had some fun too. A
resident told me, “In the old days the women go ‘round to
each other’s houses at night in the fall after picking cotton,
to do the quilting part. We didn’t have no telephones, so
there was joy in being together.”
The
Benders could enjoy social relations only when they were
not brutalized by their work. Isabel Wilkerson, in The
Warmth of Other Suns (2011), explains that picking a
hundred pounds of cotton by hand, a goal on most plantations,
was “one of the most backbreaking forms of stoop labor ever
known.” It required “pulling a soft lock of cotton” from
the flower “seven thousand times . . . turning around and
doing the same thing the next day and the next.”
After
seeing “The Quilts of Gee’s Bend” at the Whitney in 2002,
the New York Times’s reviewer Michael Kimmelman described
the quilts those former cotton farmers made as “some of
the most miraculous works of modernist art America has produced,”
comparing them to the paintings of Frank Stella and Barnett
Newman. They have been compared to a plethora of other modern
artists since.
In
December 2007 quilters Annie May Young and Loretta Pettway
sued Bill, son Matt, son Paul, and some corporations that
had bought the designs (son Harrison was not named). The
plaintiffs rejected the Arnetts’ claim that they owned the
intellectual property for all quilts made before 1984, Annie
Mae charged that she was not paid for the Tinwood’s use
of images of her quilts, and she and Loretta charged that
they were paid only a “pittance” for the sale of their artistic
ideas to corporate entities.
In
the Seattle Times that July Sheila Farr examines
the legal briefs, noting that in compensation for the use
of quilt designs on items sold by Kathy Ireland World Marketing,
money was to be paid into a foundation. (The Foundation,
however, did not yet, exist.) She continues, “The Seattle
Art Museum purchased one of the quilts. . . . When museum
officials learned of the lawsuit they contacted Burke [lawyer
for the plaintiffs]. . . .They wanted to make sure that
the artist had been paid her share of the quilt's $20, 000
price tag. . . . “ Burke replies, “She has received some
sums from the Arnetts but not anything that states what
the payments are for and how much they take as a commission.”
Loretta
Pettway’s legal brief includes her charge that Matt Arnett
dropped by her house to offer her $2,000 if she signed a
document stating that the money was “full compensation”
for copyright to all images of her art. Illiterate,
she wanted to make a copy. Told that if she did, she’d lose
the money, she signed what her attorney called “Exhibit
A.” In August 2008 the cases were settled out of court.
In
Crafted
Lives: Stories and Studies of African American Quilters
(2009), Patricia Turner observes that after the news
of the lawsuits, “Journalists tended to privilege Tinwood’s
position” and that the December 2008 issue of Quilter’s
Newsletter “used only materials from the Arnetts’ side
of the case, offering a story on the lawsuits with no perspective
from any of the Gee’s Bend quilters or their attorneys.”
Shaila Dewan’s wrote in the New York Times (July
29, 2007) that the critics of the Arnetts picked
on them as “city slickers” and that the quilters are mostly
“satisfied.” Turner (who tried to be neutral about the lawsuits
because she believed when her book was published that the
case would be settled fairly by a jury trial) told me that
some black collectors, fans since Quilting Bee days, worry
about the Arnetts’ ethics.
While
the Tinwood impresarios value the improvisational kind of
patchwork, historically Benders made both types. Turner
says that in the 1970s and later, scholars such as Maude
Wahlman “proclaimed . . . the beautiful Africanness of Alabama
quilts” often by selecting improvised quilts “from communities
like Gee’s Bend.” Not being one to leave to chance the dissemination
of scholarly ideas that could serve his purposes, Bill Arnett
had Tinwood Books bring out a second edition of Wahlman’s
study in 2001.
Turner
maintains that not all black-made quilts in the United States
adhere to the same aesthetic, that some poor whites did
similar work, and that impoverished women often had to take
what cloth they could get, often poor in quality. From this
kind of work we learn that while such quilts can be homely,
beauty can also come out of the constraints of poverty.
The Quilting Bee let quilters use better cloth and also
borrow scissors, thimbles, and other sewing tools in good
condition. Inspired creatively by working there, many worked
on a one-of-a-kind quilt at night at home.
Returning
in 2009 after forty years, I found that Gee’s Bend remains
a pretty place, with its fir trees, winding and hilly roads,
and, these days, the river easily accessible to view at
the ferry dock and roads made bright with painted wooden
murals of some of the quilts. But the Bend did not exist
outside of time. It had shrunk to about 750 residents from
twice that number in 1968. Present were cars, paved roads,
and cell phones, and gone was the buzz of young males -
local youths and a few VISTA workers - hanging out together
in front of the general store. No one farms for profit in
Gee’s Bend anymore. Congress built a dam on the river just
below Gee’s Bend, in 1968 a third of the rich bottomland
was flooded. Soon the state took half of what was left for
a park, paying $200 an acre.
I
talked with Tinnie (pronounced Tiny) Pettway, from what
had long been the Bend’s most entrepreneurial family. She
spent decades in Bridgeport, Connecticut, the hub of the
Gee’s Bend diaspora. Home now, she owns “That’s ‘Sew’ Gee’s
Bend,” and sells quilted items on line, in her daughter’s
store in Birmingham, and to tourists that now come to shop,
in what had been the Bend’s general store owned by her family.
Tinnie had belonged to the Arnett-organized Quilters Collective,
and she had traveled to exhibits until Bill threw her out
when she began her own quilt-making business.
In
her living room cluttered with copies of her first self-published
book of verse, The Gee’s Bend Experience (others
have followed), Tinnie said in her emphatic, candid manner,
“Bill want us to seem as if we don’t go nowhere and don’t
know nothin’. At museums he has us go in front of audiences
an’ talk. But he tell us how to dress when we do! Almost
everybody my age - I was born in ‘38 - move to cities and
only a few, like me, come back. He act like people who stay
here was trapped in the Bend when the ferry was stopped
for forty-four years ‘cause of our activity for civil rights.
You never know there is a back road out! It even got paved.
In 2006 we get the new ferry, but we still takes the road
a lot though it take an hour to get to Camden.”
I
read aloud to her a piece about the San Francisco exhibit
in the on-line Shotgun Review: “The humble
women take little credit for the impact that their quilts
have on a viewer.” She responded: “They always say we humble.
But we got some pushy women too.” (In her field notes, Stone
says that the ideal in 1941, even for women, was “one of
quiet dignity. They were not to be too ‘humblish’ when there’s
no call for humbling oneself.”)
Rennie
Young Miller returned to the Bend after graduating from
college in Rochester, New York and having a career as a
hospital administrator. Before changing her mind about the
Arnetts, she was the first manager of the Collective. Next
she tried to revive the Freedom Quilting Bee instead, which,
despite slowing down, had sold patchwork into the 1990s.
Seated in the spacious workshop that a New York architect
designed for the Bee in 1969, Rennie said, in her quiet
way, “Bill came grabbing quilts in 1997, paying only very
little for them. I thought he would do right at first, and
the Quilting Bee seemed finished. Only three people have
benefited financially in a big way, and they are closely
related. Bill’s favorite is Mary Lee Bendolph, and everyone
still involved now is from her family. Right away Bill thought
of us as his goldmine. If he’d mentioned museums, people
might’ve held out for more money. The quilts are still in
his warehouse, and he takes some out for each exhibit.
When my mother told him I was going to start the Bee up
again after hurricane damage closed it, he snapped, ‘She
is not going to do that!’”
Qunnie
Pettway, a Collective member, nevertheless complained to
me that those who now come to shop usually buy only quilted
potholders or bags because the quilts are priced too high.
She (like others) tried to sell improvisational work to
me privately. Knowing her work, I noted that her “Housetop”
quilt from 1975, made after work at the Bee, shows how appealing
patterned Gee’s Bend patchwork can be, how original
in the subtle ways it deviates from its paradigm and in
its offbeat use of color. She defended the Arnett: “Bill
took a chance. No one knew if the project would take off
when he laid out money to buy the quilts.”
Arnett’s
catalogs dwell on the stories of Arlonzia Pettway, then
eighty-three (now deceased). Her anecdotes about Dinah Miller,
Arlonzia’s great-grandmother, purportedly brought from Africa
when she was thirteen, are retold, with legend hardening
into supposed fact. We read that Dinah probably arrived
in 1859, on the last (illegal) slave ship. Qunnie, also
one of Dinah’s great-granddaughters, mumbled that she didn’t
“know about her” when she was a girl. “Only she was my grandmother
mother.” Rennie Miller commented, ”I never talked to anyone
who had ever heard of Dinah before it came out in the
book,” and then quipped, “The slave traders said, “We’re
taking you to America. Go gather up your things, and don’t
forget your quilts.”
Back
in Philadelphia, I saw Elyzabeth Gregory Wilder’s feel-good
play titled “Gee’s Bend.” It starts in 1939. In 2009, when
I saw it, there was no mention of the New Deal programs,
and nothing about how a government agency ultimately created
affordable independent farms. There was no mention of the
back road nor of the Freedom Quilting Bee. It’s hard not
to feel that Wilder was influenced by the Arnetts’ “script,”
which usually has the same omissions.
The
Arnetts have attacked the Quilting Bee directly and by proxy.
In Patricia McKissack’s picture book Stitchin’ and ‘Pullin’:
A Gee’s Bend Quilt (2008), a child asks “Great-Gran”
if she had belonged to the Bee. Referring to its “rules,”
the old woman says, “more money./Less freedom./I chose to
stay free.” The introduction, by Matt Arnett, says, predictably,
“Gee’s Bend has remained unchanged over the years.” But
the Quilting Bee itself brought changes. Members sent children
to college with the money they earned there. They acquired
indoor plumbing, refrigerators, washing machines, and added
rooms to their homes. Many today have Social Security
only because of employment at the Bee.
For
sheer mendacity nothing beats remarks that appeared in 2006
on a United States Postal Service Website about Gee’s Bend
commemorative stamps: “Many quilters from Gee’s Bend felt
constricted by the standardization of their improvisational
techniques, however, and soon left the Freedom Quilting
Bee. Most preferred to give up the minimal monetary benefits
the cooperative gave them rather than lose the unique aesthetic
practices that the community had long nurtured.” Subsequent
sites about the stamps omit these two sentences, probably
because the USPS Webmaster became aware the information
was false.
Once
the cooperative began to sell to stores such as Bloomingdale’s,
it had to make quilts to specifications, with many women
turning out each kind. Designed in Gee’s Bend, the quilts
sold were patterned, using some traditional templates and
some new ones. The attention the Quilting Bee got in the
sixties and seventies exposes the falsity of Arnett’s claim
that he is the “discoverer,” and this may explain his animus
toward it. His narrative involves Roland Freeman’s A
Communion of the Spirits (1993), where the discussion
of Gee’s Bend and nearby Alberta (Rehobeth is the old name)
makes it clear that for Freeman quilts from that area were
still asssociated with the Bee. A photo of a quilt made
by Annie Mae Young bowled Arnett over, and says he went
looking for the artist - and discovered Gee’s Bend.
The
place was hardly unknown. First the Bend got attention for
the New Deal programs. In the 1930s there were articles
about it in the New York Times Magazine and The Christian
Century and photos that became famous taken by Arthur
Rothstein and Marion Post Wolcott; in 1941 Robert
Sonkin recorded its spiritual music. (In 1968 Roman Pettway,
Jr., one of Tinnie’s uncles, made a hilarious story out
of going to the Smithsonian on the way back from military
service after WWII: “I come from a quiet country place,
but on the wall was a big old photograph of my Aunt Sally
stirring some greens in a huge pot!”)
In
1965 Martin Luther King made a speech in the Bend. Toward
the end of the sixties the Quilting Bee exhibited its
work at a folk art show run by the Smithsonian. The abstract
expressionist Krasner returned to New York City to talk
about the quilts to the art world (failing to get the quilts
shown at the Metropolitan Museum of Art). The Quilting Bee prompted
articles in the New Yorker and in the Times
in 1969, and quilts from the cooperative were in high-end
New York stores. Vogue ran photos of items made by
the Bee. Even in the 1980s and ’90s there was Nancy
Callahan’s 1987 Freedom Quilting Bee, a 1995 documentary
film “From Fields of Promises” (narrated by Ossie Davis),
and J.R. Moehringer’s 1999 “Crossing Over" in
the Los Angeles Times Magazine.
A
white civil rights worker, Father Francis X. Walter, an
Episcopal priest from an Alabama Gulf town, was the outsider
who truly did something for Gee’s Bend and parts of Wilcox
County nearby. (Then and now, many “Gee’s Bend” quilters
lived in the other hamlets, usually on or near the
back road.) Francis always mentions the crucial role of
able local women. Of his co-founder, the co-op’s primary
manager Estelle Witherspoon, from Rehobeth, he said, “With
more education Estelle could have run a state.”
Lost
in Wilcox County while working for the Movement in 1965,
he realized that local women could become involved with
the civil rights movement through creating a patchwork
cooperative that would bring in some cash. In a year or
so, working with Mrs. Witherspoon and others, the Bee began
work. In 2008 Francis wrote to Times reporter Shaila
Dewan that while he had known many of the quilts had value
as art, the Bee didn’t try to sell them that way
because it “lacked the financial resources and connections”
and that the members wanted mainly “to provide an income”
to the impoverished women of the county. He added that “the
1960 census recorded that Wilcox County families made less
than $1, 550 a year.”
Starting
around 2002, the Internet made it easier to circulate the
Tinwood perspective. An example (from the Gadsden Times):
“Gee’s Bend was barely a blip on the map when the handmade
quilts were discovered by Bill Arnett.” Yet, thirty-two
years earlier Francis almost certainly had slept under
Gee’s Bend quilts when he spent nights at Estelle and Eugene
Witherspoon’s house. In June of 2007 in the Atlanta Journal
and Constitution, Matt said, “For forty years
a lot of people came . . . and never did anything.
We cared enough to do what had to be done.” The Arnetts
claimed to put a million dollars into the community and
said they’d put in another million, but they did neither.
Residents
have told me that only three women - Mary Lee Bendolph;
Loretta Bennett (Mary Lee’s niece), who designs at home
in Huntsville; and Louisiana Bendolph (Mary Lee’s daughter-in-law),
who designs at home in Mobile - have made any real money.
Asking why this family is favored, I was told that these
chosen artists are gifted, but it is not irrelevant
that Mary Lee is agreeable to the point of docility, and,
with one exception, her close relatives know not to make
trouble.
Because
Loretta Pettway is Mary Lee’s first cousin and was one of
the plaintiffs, she became almost a pariah in her extended
family. In 2007 the two Lorettas and Louisiana Bendolph
had been invited to work at Paulson Press in Berkeley to
learn how to translate their quilts into prints (etchings).
After the lawsuits the followng year, the dealers did not
want more legal challenges. Focusing increasingly on Mary
Lee’s other kin, the Arnetts called their next exhibit “Mary
Lee Bendolph, Gee’s Bend Quilts, and Beyond.” These close
relatives have facilitated Tinwood’s “mission,” stated on
its Website, which is to increase “public awareness and
appreciation of the vernacular visual arts of the American
South.”
Arnett
casts himself as the one to whom these people owe all. In
The Last Folk Hero (2006), Andrew Dietz
quotes Bill: “They feed themselves with welfare checks.
Gee’s Bend was a welfare state forever until we got there,
and [we] made it more or less self-sufficient.” (Angered
by this, Rennie said, “Not many ever got welfare here. Benders
did such hard work from dawn to sundown. That man ought
to be made to plow and pick cotton!”) Bill and Matt made
countless visits, one Easter bringing Jane Fonda, dressed
as a bunny. (She owns 50% of the quilts bought initially,
and her daughter has two children by Matt.)
At
the end of 2007, after the economic downturn and the lawsuits,
the quilts stopped selling in galleries. Usually made by
the two women that sued and the favored three, they went
for hefty sums. (At the peak the quilts in Seattle were
for sale for $11,000 to $35,000 each.) I believe that gallery
sales were meant to be the big sources of profit
for the Arnetts. Lovett Bennett told me that until the gallery
sales stopped, the checks with payment were not sent directly
to the quilter or to the Collective. They were made out
to and sent to Tinwood, rewritten at its office in Atlanta,
and sent on to Gee’s Bend. No one knows if “costs” were
deducted in the process or in some cases if any money at
all went to the artists. In 2009 Bennett, who headed the
Gee’s Bend the Foundation, said that it had no money at
all. He “had words” with Matt Arnett on whether the Collective
should sell on the Internet (still not possible), and some
time after that Lovett resigned as President. (In 2011,
his wife Loretta broke with Tinwood to sell her work independently.)
The
affectionate Arnetts are tough businessmen. In 1997 Mensie
Lee Pettway, who was given her house and land by the Freedom
Quilting Bee, sold her quilts to him, and several made by
her mother, for $100 each, trying and failing to receive
a better price. Mensie Lee’s daughter, a single mother,
who lives in the Bend has a grueling, low-paying job filleting
catfish at a plant in Uniontown. There are others too who
feel they exchanged a birthright for a handful of dollars,
with two women claiming they were never paid for theirs.
As
tenants the Benders were used to knowing that they had been
cheated. Stone records that former renters told her about
how they had fared economically each year,which, since few
had had schooling, they had memorized in detail. She was
struck “by the remarkable grasp for figures, the memory
for details of operation, credit, production, profits and
indebtedness. . . . [They] could tell with accuracy what
the state of affairs was currently and for as far back as
the 1890’s, in some instances.” While renting they broke
even only 40% of the time and often lost money. Things got
considerably better with land ownership. But, she wrote,
“It rankled . . . that all roads in the country [were] hard
surfaced except their own.” And not all racism was local.
The Gee’s Bend farmers, once independent, had a harder time
than their white counterparts because the U.S. Department
of Agriculture was reluctant to extend credit and subsidies
to blacks.
Museums
ought to be especially responsible about what they tell
the public about outsider art, and art professionals critical
of what they are told by entrepreneurs. A review of a show in Florida, about social workers discovering
the quilts, is totally made up. The reporter told me that
the curator of the exhibit had given her the (mis)information
at Media Day. Instead of repeating uncritically what they
are told, the staff should explain the history of
exploitation in the tenant system, the role of the Department
of Agriculture, and the the concept of intellectual property.
Many
art professionals continue to believe in the Arnetts, with
whom they have been or become chummy. Bernard Herman, in
Gee’s Bend, The Architecture of the Quilt, refers
to the “many conversations” he had with Bill and “time spent
in Gee’s Bend with Matt.” In the March 2009 issue of The
Journal of Modern Craftsmanship Herman says that in
regard to the lawsuits the entrepreneurs and art itself
are the losers. Yet accusations about Arnett’s treatment
of the black folk artists under his sway are not new.
Among
other things, in 1993 Morley Safer on “60 Minutes” charged
him with shady practices in his dealings with outsider artists,
and in 2006 Dietz’s The Last Folk Hero reveals similar
behavior.
The
profiteering continues. The Arnetts are still selling the
Gee’s Bend name and quilt designs to corporations for the
manufacture of housewares such as rugs, lamps, and quilt-making
kits. Most of these are now only generally reminiscent of
the Bend’s artwork, and the artists are unnamed. But some
are exact copies. Mary Ann Pettway, the Collective’s manager
(Mary Lee’s niece), says, “No royalties. I don’t know of
any checks.”
The
Pottery Barn is selling replicas of Gee’s Bend quilts, and
Barbara Barran has rugs and mats made in India. Once more
I haven’t heard of a quilter getting paid for the use of
her original design. I don’t see much art in most
of Barran’s Classic Rug Collection nor in some of the commodities
sold earlier. Images on the rugs and other items bear only
a vague or grotesque relationship to a beautiful original.
This works against the Arnetts’ expressed goal that vernacular
art “be recognized as simply ‘art’” in that they have helped
turn the crafted designs of the Bend’s artists into, at
best, ordinary household objects. Tinwood was administratively
dissolved as a nonprofit in Georgia in 2005, but got nonprofit
status in Delaware, a “corporate haven.” If the Arnetts’
companies are not for profit, why sell designs to home decorating
corporations?
Today
even those quilters that are outraged by the Arnetts are
unwilling to sue. Some seem to feel, like the Benders that
Stone wrote about in 1943, “the futility of arguing . .
. in an unevenly matched situation.” Knowing that almost
all of the incomes are meager at best, they’d have been
surprised to read in the Hartford Stage playbill that Wilder’s
play is "the story of the women of Gee's Bend, who
quilted their way to economic freedom.” No one living
in the community is better off as the result of Tinwood,
other than Mary Lee Bendolph. Some in the extended Bendolph
clan still enjoy traveling to exhibits and various events,
but most receive no benefit except that they are proud of
its international fame - it’s mentioned in almost every
reference to quilts as art and has even inspired a symphony
for guitar and orchestra that has been performed by philharmonics
in several cities.
The
Benders as a group have little money, but most of the older
folk can live without acute deprivation because they own
house and land (used for growing vegetables that can be
preserved). Many have grandchildren with them. Sometimes
now their adult children even live, with their kids, in
trailers on their land. Today they worry about progeny who
went to cities for a better life and often sent money home.
These descendants may be anxious about holding on to jobs
and homes, and some have lost both. The real unemployment
rate for blacks is at least 25 percent, and African Americans
were targeted for loans that led to foreclosure.
Some
younger people who care about the Bend are doing well, however,
in spite of having moved away. Tinnie’s daughter,
Claudia Pettway Charley, owner of a store in Birmingham
that sells the items made by her mother’s quilt business,
described, what she and some others hope to do in the Bend:
“Our goals . . . include a gift shop, restaurant and lodging.”
Then she mentioned projects that would bring tourism, improve
public services, provide jobs, training, and other opportunities
(Birmingham News, March 10, 2011). Tinnie,
who recently hired two more quilters, calls these plans
“Taking Back Gee’s Bend,” but she admits to concern about
what will happen.
Some
residents are concerned about the repeated stories that
the Benders burned old quilts to keep away mosquitos. Mensie
Lee Pettway said, “Arnett makes us look stupid. We only
burned old raggly quilts, Maybe we didn’t know they was
art, but we knowed what was beautiful.” Rennie addressed
the heart of the problem: “We’re not all alike. My friends
and I couldn’t wait to get out of the Bend. I never learned
to quilt as a girl. It was part of everything we wanted
to get away from. I wasn’t humble then, and, while I’ve
changed about quilting and the Bend, I’m still not humble!”
My aim has been to provide a glimpse of a few Benders as
people, not as simple, “natural” folk. The unevenness of
the match between the powerful and disempowered is heightened
by the erroneous assumption that the poor and uneducated
are essentially different from the advantaged.
Uncomfortable
with the Arnetts’ methods, Greg Kucera, gallery owner in
Seattle, told Matt in conversation that they should use
bills of sale when they buy items and that they should have
started off by taking quilts on consignment instead of grabbing
on the cheap nearly everybody’s patchwork. Loretta Pettway
had a solo show in early fall, 2011 at the Kucera gallery
- a few etchings and a quilt made in 1987. Greg got the
quilt on consignment from Loretta’s family. He considers
her “the singularly most gifted living artist of her generation
from the Gee’s Bend group,” and admires that she “binds
herself to her anger” about the history of Gee’s Bend, especially
after slavery and again after the Arnetts came.
It
seems likely that if there had been a jury trial the lawsuits
would have been decided in favor of the artists (when cases
are settled out of court, the plaintiffs are not allowed
to talk about the resolution). Wouldn’t a jury have wondered
why Tinwood would have needed the signature of Loretta Pettway
if the Arnetts, as they claimed in their legal defense,
already owned the intellectual property of all quilts made
before 1984? If the Arnetts had won, royalties would
have meant that the women had quilted their way to more
of life’s little comforts.
What
Tinwood has done amounts to a heist of the Bend’s heritage.
Quilts should at least have been bought for a fair price.
Marketing ploys that exploit cultural fantasies by people
and places may be business as usual, but they undermine
our sense of them as varied and competent. It would seem,
given their history of exploitation, that the Benders would
have been suspicious of Tinwood, but it is likely that the
Arnetts put them off guard by tactics such as calling the
quilters’ group a “collective” (hardly part of the rhetoric
of 2003). Were they were trying to create the sense that
they were in some sense creating another cooperative, with
which the Bend had had such good experiences? Bill Arnett
denies the truth about the value of the Quilting Bee, yet
anyone old enough to remember its hey-day in Wilcox County
could tell you that it bettered conditions, raised morale,
was fun, and heightened confidence in the civil rights comes
movement.
The
humane behavior that the Arnetts can choose to demonstrate
at times is less significant for most of the quilters than
the dealers’ predatory attitude towards those they are hoping
to profit from. When Mary Lee Bendolph had a stroke, Bill
moved her to a better hospital. The episodic kindness of
Tinwood’s entrepreneurs is “paternalistic,” reminiscent
of the old-time landowners under the caste system. In Plantation
County (1955) Morton Rubin, a sociologist studying Wilcox
County in the late forties, quotes a planter: “You have
to give an old woman a cabin and some garden space, else
the others will think you don’t care for them and . . .
and wouldn’t work so well.” Today educated “worldly” men
like the Arnetts are unlikely to feel blacks are innately
inferior, as Rubin’s planter in the forties probably did.
Economic class can trump race.
A
hostile on-line comment in response to a forum on poverty
in the Nation expresses this bromide: “If someone
is wealthy that ‘wealth’ has been created by their own efforts
and not taken from someone else.” Nettie Young - capable,
good-natured, wise and funny, willing to fight for her rights,
with a firm belief in God’s love
and justice - had reason to think otherwise. As the child
of sharecroppers, Nettie worked in fields owned by the white,
well-to-do Youngs and owned by the white and wealthy Wilkinsons,
contributing to their affluence. Rearing her brood of eleven
in shacks, she toiled on until age 38 - having almost nothing
materially - when it became possible to purchase Gee’s
Bend property. Then, as an old woman, Nettie was again bilked
out of compensation for her labor. Tinwood sold the design
of a quilt she made in 1971, and different versions of a
rug inspired by it are still being sold by corporate Kathy
Ireland.
The
attempt to revive the Freedom Quilting Bee has run out of
steam, and Tinwood’s Collective members earn little from
what tourists buy. They work in their own homes, and the
half of the price that was distributed among its members
when a quilt is sold is no longer shared. The Arnetts would
seem to be moving on to other enterprises, yet the new exhibit
is starting in May, organized by their own foundation, Souls
Grown Deep, and the Frist Center for the Visual Arts.
Descriptions
of the show say it will highlight the parallels between
the quilts and the work of Thornton Dial (a self-taught
black assemblage artist) and the “African American aesthetic
traditions,” the most relevant being the “yard art of the
rural south.” The term is murky, but can refer to art made
from what is found in the yard (old tires, a bottle) or
what can be seen from the yard that generates aesthetic
representation, the small houses, outbuildings, fences,
and so on. The Arnetts are seeking control over the definition
of African American vernacular art.
To
disseminate their theories, those that are right and those
that are wrong, the Arnett family by now has the support
of the tangle of foundations and publishing resources they
own, the art historians they influence, and the art centers
with which they are connected. Tinwood has been able to
succeed because of this. Also, as this paper has shown,
the ease of manipulating public relations in the age of
the Internet; the attitudes, practices, and alliances in
the art community; bias in the media; and, not least, its
way of doing business solely in Tinwood’s interests is part
of the mix.
Nettie,
however, despite severe economic trials early on and injustice
near the end, held on to her property and had a responsible
position at the Bee, helping herself and others to benefit
from cooperative endeavor. She and her children exemplify
the disparity in what is meant by the American Dream in
that she rose from abject poverty by an extraordinary work
ethic, personal qualities, and good fortune, and she saw
her children rise from what most Americans would consider
near-poverty, through study or training to success as salaried
professionals and skilled workers.
This
form of the archetypal American success story does not depend
on an untoward impact on others. But those who strive to
succeed, always wanting more - no matter what their reaching
higher and higher does to others - may win praise, fame,
wealth - and they may impede the efforts of the first group
to benefit from their own struggles.
It’s
well-known that more urbane talent seekers and dealers have
frequently been unscrupulous with less sophisticated folk-artists
of all races, and they have - mythologized and cheated -
them. Indeed, this has been standard procedure (that musicians
have been exploited hardly shocks people who know about
the experience of blues, jazz, rock n’roll, or country music
performers and composers). It is an old story, but certain
aspects of what happened in Gee’s Bend stand out.
First,
the hypocrisy of the family that owns Tinwood and the lengths
it has gone to convince the public: the Arnetts represent
themselves not just as businessmen in the arts, but as persons
deeply interested in advancing African American culture
in the South (and they see to it that others depict them
that way). Eugene Metcalf, an academic in American Studies,
have edited and contributed to Arnett’s catalogs and is
part of the pack of professors Tinwood always draws on.
He argues in Raw Vision, Volume 55, an on-line
publication (Summer 2006), that Arnett is a heroic fighter
against exclusionary cultural homogeneity in the field of
vernacular art.
Second,
the Gee’s Bend story raises questions about the implications
of the supposedly unique opportunity that exists in America
to advance up the class ladder. We need to face the fact
that it is harder now for those at the bottom in the USA
to achieve upward mobility than in many other countries
- and that the success to which some aspire can get in the
way of the kind of prosperity most people pursue. Should
these two approaches to rising even have the same name?
When
Nettie Young died in 2010 at ninety-two, Matt Arnett had
possession of two of her quilts. Her daughter asked him
to bring these to the funeral, and she told me that Matt
came and made an almost fulsome speech about her mother.
In keeping with the Arnetts’ usual veneer of intense feeling,
he wept, but didn’t bring the quilts.
BlackCommentator.com Guest Commentator Linda Hunt Beckman is Professor Emerita
at Ohio University and has taught at the university of Massachsuetts
in Boston and Arcadia University in Philadelphia. Her publications
include A Woman’s Portion: Ideology, Culture, and the Female
Novel Tradition; Amy
Levy: Her Life & Letters,
and the entry on Amy Levy for the new Oxford Dictionary
of National Biography that Oxford University Press published
in 2004. At Ohio University, in addition to being Professor
of English, she was Director of Women’s Studies for ten
years. She participated in the Civil Rights Movement
in 1968, interviewing tenant farmers about hunger and malnutrition
and, with Gary Hunt and Nancy Scheper-Hughes, writing an
article that appeared in Ramparts magazine in
November, 1969. Click here
to contact Ms. Beckman.
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