Critic and Catalyst: Pauline Gibling Schindler (1893–1977)
2019; University of Chicago Press; Volume: 11; Linguagem: Inglês
10.1086/702748
ISSN2329-1249
Autores Tópico(s)French Historical and Cultural Studies
ResumoPrevious articleNext article FreeCritic and Catalyst: Pauline Gibling Schindler (1893–1977)Thomas S. HinesThomas S. HinesPDFPDF PLUSFull Text Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinked InRedditEmailQR Code SectionsMoreAlthough she was chiefly, and somewhat patronizingly, known for being the wife of the renowned architect Rudolph Michael Schindler (1887–1953), and for being a “muse” to a long list of famous people, Pauline Gibling Schindler (1893–1977) was, in her own right, a significant and underrecognized writer and political activist. She was an especially perspicacious critic of architecture and the related arts. In 1927, for example, she wrote the first major article to be published in an East Coast newspaper on the early work of the architect Richard Neutra (1892–1970). In 1930, she mounted an exhibition at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), on a group of modernist architects in Southern California, featuring Neutra, Schindler, Frank Lloyd Wright (1867–1959) and his son, Lloyd (1890–1978), and other figures who were then less well known, such as J. R. Davidson (1889–1977), Kem Weber (1889–1963), and Jock Peters (1889–1934). This show preceded by two years the epochal Modern Architecture exhibition at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (1932) that included several of the same figures. Throughout the 1930s and 1940s, Pauline would reprise the essence of her 1930 show with articles in national magazines, on two of which she served as the issue’s guest editor. In the early 1930s, she also edited a left-wing weekly paper in Carmel, California, the Carmelite, and was associate editor of Dune Forum, a West Coast journal of opinion. Through all of this, she remained a left-of-center social and political activist, which led in the mid-1940s to her joining the American Communist Party [Communist Party USA]. In addition to politics, the arts, and architecture, Nature and the natural landscape constituted the sustaining force in her life.In 1933, the fledgling young composer John Cage (1912–92) wrote to Pauline,1 his senior by nearly twenty years, that, until their recent affair had begun, he had not realized that she was so “wild and intoxicating …. And your hair is some kind of promise. I don’t know of what, perhaps that it will reach your shoulders and that I may bury myself in it.”2 Though their intimate romantic relationship would continue for just over a year, the two would remain close lifelong friends.Cage exemplified the famous, or soon-to-be famous, figures whom Pauline would know throughout her life in the roles of friend, lover, muse, and critic. From her earliest years to the end of her life, she would attract, inspire, and occasionally exasperate a consequential array of creative figures, including, among others, the biologist Alfred Kinsey (1884–1956), the photographer Edward Weston (1886–1958), the art patrons Galka Scheyer (1889–1945) and Walter and Louise Arensberg (1878–1954; 1879–1953), the writers Lincoln Steffens (1866–1936), Ella Winter (1989–1980) and Maxwell Anderson (1888–1959), and especially the architects Schindler, Wright, Neutra, and Gregory Ain (1908–88).She was born Sophie Pauline Gibling on 19 March 1893 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the daughter of Sophie Schlarbaum Gibling, of German descent, and the English-born businessman Edmund James Gibling—a comfortably established couple with high cultural and intellectual ambitions for Pauline and her sister, Dorothy. Sophie Schlarbaum Gibling was a liberal political activist, and Edmund was an insurance executive who, largely for business reasons, moved their family in Pauline’s early years to South Orange, New Jersey, within the New York metropolitan orbit. There she attended Columbia High School in the Maplewood district of South Orange, where a favorite classmate turned out to be Kinsey, who would later become the distinguished biologist and sexologist. The young Kinsey was also a budding pianist, specializing in Beethoven’s music, which was another source of affinity between him and Pauline.3One of her earliest writings, describing their school life, already displayed her talent for evoking atmosphere: “The two hundred pupils arrived soon after eight o’clock, their lunches in collapsible metal boxes, and gathered for assembly in the main study hall … whereupon one of us—Alfred … or I—would march up to the grand piano in the front, and all would rise to sing the national anthem.”4 Though it was a public school, the general aura was religiously conservative, and Pauline and Alfred felt especially “daring” in taking the “radical stance” of openly discussing Darwinian evolution, a path of increasing importance to Kinsey’s pursuits in biology and psychology.5 After graduation, the two would remain friendly and would continue to correspond.Following high school in 1912, Pauline enrolled as a music major at the socially and academically prominent Smith College, in Northampton, Massachusetts, where her academic transcript revealed a surprisingly uneven performance. Though virtually everyone who later left a record of their friendship with her would describe Pauline as “brilliant,” she received the grades of A or B only in English, German, Philosophy and Music classes, while garnering a C in History and Ds in Mathematics, Physics, and Greek. Her extracurricular pursuits included the coauthorship and production, with several classmates, of an original opera based on Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, the score of which is preserved in the Smith College archives. Surviving photographs of student parties also reveal that she also enjoyed an active social life (fig. 1).6Fig. 1. Sophie Pauline Gibling, ca. 1915. Photographer unknown. Courtesy of Mark Schindler.In her entry for the class of 1915’s “25th Reunion Report,” Pauline mused that “Smith College had given us wholesome attitudes of goodwill, and a fundament of integrity. Equipped with these, and grateful, we left the elm-shaded campus to enter a world at war.” Only later, she confessed, while working and studying in Chicago, would she become “gradually aware of the real pattern of society. Smith had given us little clue to this! We had heard and made music; had known the loveliness of things; had laughed and enjoyed companionship.”7A major event, however, occurred during her last year at Smith, when she was greatly moved by a visit and lecture by Jane Addams (1860–1935), the noted social worker, peace advocate, and founder of Hull House, the Chicago settlement house that ministered chiefly to poor immigrant families. When Addams asked Pauline what she planned to do when she graduated, she answered spontaneously that she hoped to come to Chicago and work at Hull House! Addams responded that she would be welcomed, and Pauline moved to Chicago in late 1915, where she joined Addams’s staff to teach music to immigrant children. It was especially poignant, she later recalled, to hear the children, including those of differing religious backgrounds, robustly singing Christmas carols. During those years, Pauline also became a research fellow in the Chicago School of Civics and Philanthropy, later to become the Graduate School of Social Service Administration at the University of Chicago. There, combined with her practical experiences at Hull House, she confirmed and quickened her liberal/radical social and political views in ways that would guide her for the rest of her life. In this state of mind, she vigorously supported a 1915 garment workers strike and joined a picket line, during which she was briefly arrested.8At this early stage of her adulthood, her father made perceptive observations about her recent behavioral patterns that would predict the same recurring habits later in life:It is unfortunate that you should have repeated at Hull House the mistake you made at Smith of attempting too many things, as a result of which you seem to be continually rushing from one thing to another and apparently have little time for reflection … you jump into active work … concerning which you cannot really be well posted … you seem anxious to delve into the darkest and unclear things of social life … you identify yourself in an official way with a collection of “Hoboes” on the impulse of the moment.9In 1918, another major turning point in her life occurred when she met and later married the gifted young architect Rudolph Michael Schindler, born and raised in a prosperous middle-class family in the rich cultural ferment of turn-of-the-century Vienna. There, he had studied at the Imperial Academy of Art with the great architect Otto Wagner (1841–1918) and in the more informal salon of the maverick architect Adolf Loos (1870–1933), where he had encountered the younger student Richard Neutra (see fig. 7). Both young men had been introduced to Frank Lloyd Wright via the recent German Wasmuth portfolio of his work, which Loos had championed.10 After immigrating to Chicago in early 1914, Schindler had first worked for a solid but nondescript firm before landing a job with Wright himself, and moving ultimately to Taliesin, Wright’s home/studio in southern Wisconsin.The way in which Pauline and Rudolph met epitomized their fervent quest for modernism in art and in life. The meeting took place on 6 December 1918 in Chicago’s Orchestra Hall at the American premier of Sergei Prokofiev’s Scythian Suite (1915), whose radical new sounds, Pauline recalled, so stunned and delighted her that she could not bear to sit through the second half of the program, which featured the “ancient” music of the early nineteenth-century composer Carl Maria von Weber. Leaving the hall at intermission, she met a friend with a gentleman acquaintance, both of whom were equally dazzled by the new music and were also leaving the concert before von Weber could break the spell. The other gentleman turned out to be Schindler, and his courtship of Pauline, an obvious kindred spirit, followed. They married in August 1919, after which she joined her husband in Wisconsin.11Her first impressions of Taliesin would stay with her always (fig. 2). Near the end of her life, over half a century later, she summoned vivid memories in her perceptive prose of Wright and his studio in the late 1910s. It was a rich evocation of a remarkable architectural office, set in its natural and designed environment. After a train trip from Chicago to Spring Green, she was driven “three or four miles along country farm roads to the rounded curve up the hill where Taliesin stood. Or perhaps not so much ‘stood’ as ‘nestled,’ as fittingly ensconced in its landscape as a cat curled in a basket … the low roofs with their gentle angle giving horizontality a sense of rest.”12 She felt that the buildings “spoke repose, a harmonious consonance with the earth. In the drafting room, where in autumn a huge log fire burned, one felt at once its atmosphere of creative intensity. There would be first the long quiet contemplation of the idea before entrusting it to paper with square and pencil. After that, the form itself somehow taking over. A solemn joy.” At Taliesin, “there was everywhere an interrelationship of forms, so the life of the studio moved within a sort of visual music, among constant spatial harmonies.”Fig. 2. Frank Lloyd Wright (American, 1867–1959). Taliesin, Spring Green, Wisconsin, built 1912 and later. Photo by Thomas S. Hines, 1960s.About ten in the morning, when Wright would come from his apartment to the studio,the draftsmen would gather about him as he quietly contemplated the work at hand. Perhaps a long silence, and then a pencil picked up to suggest a change of line or proportion; or a long discussion as to the how and what and why of alternative solutions to a problem…. Clearly the sound of that voice comes back in memory—the resonance, the timbre, the low-pitched music of speech. (Yet not always gentle: for there could sound forth sometimes a sardonic tone, a bitterness. The Chicago press might have pounced. There were hostilities out there….)13Despite the master’s personal worries and the magnitude of the projects in progress,the mood at Taliesin was unhurried…. Mr. Wright might suggest a ride through the countryside in the ancient surrey. Then the picturesquely historic equipage would be filled with delighted participants, its fringes dancing, a picnic basket stowed under the seat, with Wright driving perhaps over to the other side of the valley to the hillside school of his early years. Sometimes, the two Schindlers went horseback riding, he on Kaiser, dark, wicked-eyed, and fond of a gallop; she on Silver, who was heavyset and preferred an unhurried ramble. In the apartment of Wright there was a Steinway. In that of the Schindlers another. On the roof above, a set of Japanese temple gongs, of a timbre so lovely that to touch one ever so softly was to send a tone of indescribable beauty throughout the whole valley. Just off the studio in a weather-controlled room were the Japanese prints, rare and valuable, fastidiously chosen by Wright over a number of years.14Wright’s appearance had “both informality and natural grace. Shirts of soft ivory china silk, full sleeved to the cuff. A suit of soft brown corduroy…. And then, of course, the hat. Like a Quaker’s, and somehow just right.”15For both of the Schindlers, another significant Taliesin experience was getting to know Wright’s visiting mentor, Louis H. Sullivan (1856–1924). “He was no longer active in architecture,” Pauline recalled,but living [in Chicago] in diminished fashion, sitting for hours in melancholy contemplation at the Cliff Dwellers Club in the Fine Arts Building, his membership provided by grateful friends. Now here among the rolling farmlands of Wisconsin, the voice of his early pupil and co-worker Frank addressed the Lieber Meister in such tones of deference and affection that the spirits of Sullivan revived a bit. Sitting there in his blue serge suit, shiny at the elbow, he came out of his somber silence and knew himself to be once more loved, revered.16During the Schindlers’ stay at Taliesin, Wright was away for almost a year, working in Tokyo on the Imperial Hotel and in Los Angeles for his demanding client, the oil heiress Aline Barnsdall (1882–1946), for whom he was designing a great house and studio complex in Hollywood (fig. 3). In mid-1919, when he stopped, en route from Japan, to inspect the Hollywood work, Wright wrote to Schindler, “I hope to find you sane and safe and willing, unspoiled by the year of ‘freedom’ if that is what it has been.”17 Two years after the Russian Revolution, Wright suggested that Schindler’s turn of mind was “good soil for Bolshevism,” and concluded his letter with a jocular reference to his and Pauline’s leftist tendencies. “I trust the Bolshevik meetings continue. My regards to the Aide Bolshevik. She is happy and reasonably contented I hope.”18Fig. 3. Frank Lloyd Wright (American, 1867–1959). Hollyhock House, Los Angeles, built 1919–20. Photo by Thomas S. Hines, 1970s.To supervise the building of the Barnsdall complex, Wright had earlier sent out his talented but volatile son, Lloyd, who continued to have unresolvable conflicts with the contractor. Because of this and his own long absences in Japan, Wright asked the steadier Schindler to move to Los Angeles in early December 1920 and take over supervision. When that task was finished, Schindler acknowledged, he still planned ultimately to return to Vienna, probably to work with Loos, but during 1921, both of the Schindlers admitted that they were becoming attached to California, an affinity accentuated by a generative camping trip to Yosemite National Park: “one of the most marvelous places in America,” Schindler wrote Neutra, where one could “sleep on a bed of spruce needles under a free sky and bathe in the ice-cold waterfall.”19The decision to stay in California prompted the Schindlers to build their own house. As the young architect’s first independently designed building and “our first work together,” as Pauline wrote her father, who helped finance it, the studio-dwelling was to be “a background for ourselves.”20 Sited on shady, unpaved Kings Road in a largely undeveloped part of Los Angeles County, later incorporated as West Hollywood, the Schindlers’ two-hundred-by-three-hundred-foot lot was two blocks south of Irving Gill’s great Dodge House (1914–16) and was in fact part of Dodge’s original tract. Conceived as a semicooperative structure for housing two families, the Schindlers shared the dwelling with the artist Marian Da Camera Chace (1897–1980), Pauline’s Smith College classmate and Hull House roommate, and her husband, the contractor Clyde Chace (1891–1991), who helped Schindler build it. The occupants agreed that the structure’s commonly shared space would be the kitchen and service area, which connected the two main apartments with garages and a guest apartment in an interlocking arrangement of L-shaped wings. Rather than conventional designations of “living room” or “bedroom,” each of the four residents would have his-and-her “studios” labeled on the plan with the initials of each: RMS, SPG, CBC, and MDC. It was a brilliant resolution of the often-conflicting human desire for both privacy and community (figs. 4–6).Fig. 4. Rudolph Michael Schindler (American, 1887–1953). Schindler House, Kings Road, West Hollywood, California, built 1921–22, photographed before the installation of the rooftop sleeping baskets. Photographer unknown. R. M. Schindler papers, Architecture and Design Collection, University of California, Santa Barbara.Fig. 5. Rudolph Michael Schindler (American, 1887–1953). Schindler House, studio originally assigned to Pauline Gibling Schindler. Photo by Julius Shulman, 1980s. Los Angeles, Getty Research Institute.Fig. 6. Rudolph Michael Schindler (American, 1887–1953). Schindler House, Floor Plan. R. M. Schindler papers, Architecture and Design Collection, University of California, Santa Barbara.As admirers of Irving Gill (1870–1936), the Schindlers and the Chaces were pleased to build their own house so near his Dodge House. It was significant and more than merely coincidental that two of the world’s acclaimed masterworks of twentieth-century modernism were among the first buildings on an almost empty street, located within blocks of each other. In building their own house, Chace and Schindler borrowed aspects of Gill’s tilt-slab construction technique, in which concrete slabs were poured to harden in molds on the ground, then tilted upright and linked with narrow, glazed interstices to form part of the structure’s outside walls. In other areas, sliding canvas door-walls open onto patio gardens flush with the structure’s concrete floor slab. Subtly positioned clerestory windows provide gentle and unexpected sources of light. Two small upstairs “sleeping baskets” reached by narrow stairs from the two main apartments greet each other across the flat roof planes. Defined originally by gradations in level and by hedges and canebrakes, the patios and gardens assume the character of outside rooms. Fireplaces warmed not only interior spaces but outdoor patios as well.Schindler had conceived aspects of the design while camping at Yosemite and averred that it provided “the basic requirements of a camper’s shelter: a protected back, an open front, a fireplace and a roof.”21 Thus, he explained, “the ordinary arrangement providing rooms for specialized purposes has been abandoned. Instead, each person receives a large private studio, each couple a common entrance hall and bath. Open porches on the roof are used for sleeping.” These unorthodox “studios” were minimally furnished with what would become Schindler’s usual combination of freestanding chairs and tables and built-in desks and cabinets. Both types of furniture were characterized by cantilevered projections and plain surfaces and textiles, the latter frequently of roughly textured canvas.Indeed, in most ways, the Chace-Schindler house epitomized modernity. The major exception, rationalized by the temperate Southern California climate, was the building’s lack of what by then had become a readily available modernist amenity, a central heating system. While believing themselves to be exemplars of the modern in architecture and life, the Schindlers and the Chaces retained vestiges of the romantic nineteenth-century consanguinity with Nature, which conditioned them to minimize the discomforts of the perennially cool Los Angeles evenings, not only in the open rooftop sleeping baskets but also in the unheated studios after the fires had died. Other features, such as the various untreated wooden surfaces, made the building hard to maintain. This was also true of the thin slits of glass fixed between the slabs of concrete that made cracking frequent and replacement difficult. Yet the Schindlers were drawn to the spiritual essences of the house rather than to the practicalities of such details. In a typically idealistic letter to her mother, Pauline expressed her concern for the “absoluteness” of the whole building, including “even the texture and color of its unseen parts.” Anticipating the later, more famous dictum of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe that, in architecture, God was “in the details,” she argued that the details “are as sacred to us as the presence of God…. In fact they ARE the presence of God.”22The major references for the house were not so much Otto Wagner’s Vienna as Wright’s Prairie School, the Southwest Indian pueblo, the modular Japanese vernacular, and the inside-outside possibilities of California living. Composed with Schindler’s inventive originality, it became over the years, despite its flaws, an instructive model for subsequent modernist architecture in California and beyond. In 1952, the year before his death, Schindler reflected on the origins of the house and his determination that “it should be as Californian as the Parthenon is Greek and the forum is Roman.”23Over the years, the Kings Road house became, as Pauline phrased it, “a background for ourselves.”24 Her mother observed that “when company drops in, she is a most fascinating hostess,” marveling at how much uniqueness and charm there is about her parties, and what interesting people she collects.25 The house, her mother believed, “looks its most artistic when dressed for entertaining; in the half light, there is a glamour about it.”26 A more caustic view came from Maurice Browne (1881–1955), one of the founders of the Chicago Little Theater, who lectured at Kings Road. Pauline, whom he observed to be “brilliant, warm-hearted, bitter-tongued,” was “trying to create a salon amid Hollywood’s cultural slagheap.” Yet, as the Schindlers made their way into Southern California’s cultural and political avant-garde, Pauline was certain that Los Angeles offered “a much better time than I [would] have found possible in Chicago.”27In 1922, the Schindlers became parents when their son, Mark, was born, and they naturally became involved with his development. Progressive education, in fact, would continue to be one of their major interests. In the mid-1920s, Pauline and Leah Lovell directed a progressive kindergarten at Aline Barnsdall’s Hollyhock House, attended by Mark Schindler, Betty Barnsdall, and the children of architecture patrons Philip and Leah Lovell. Pauline also became an ardent advocate for the Walt Whitman School, a left-of-center institution in the Boyle Heights district of east Los Angeles that had initially been organized for the children of Los Angeles workers and supported by those “who rejected the idiotic slavery of the public school system.” She informed her mother that “my Comrade [Rudolph] and I have recently plunged into their activities, exulting that the school gave each child complete freedom for there are no formal classes! No assigned lessons, no rewards, no punishment, and no [need for] discipline!”28 The school epitomized the Schindlers’ radical, and sometimes naive, social commitments and continued over the years to enlist their support. It was the kind of education they continued to seek for Mark, who would attend a succession of such avant-garde schools, including Black Mountain College in North Carolina. He graduated from Reed College in Oregon and attained a master’s degree in electrical engineering from the University of Southern California, followed by a distinguished career in the U.S. space program.29Both Schindlers also worked for such causes as the Hollywood Art Association and its programs of progressive lectures and exhibitions. Since the arts were one of their primary passions, they took special pleasure in being part of the salon of Walter and Louise Arensberg and seemed strangely unbothered by the apparent contradiction between their own commitment to socialist politics and their association with the immensely wealthy Arensberg circle. In fact, Pauline later admitted that as fascinated as she was by the friends of the Arensbergs, her attention kept wandering to the couple’s spectacular collection of modern art when she attended parties in their home. The paintings were so strong, she recalled, that she could hardly hear what people were saying. It was a special pleasure, she remembered, to traverse the central stairway, over which hung Marcel Duchamp’s painting Nude Descending a Staircase (1912). “As you were going up,” she mused, “you met the Nude coming down.”30Meanwhile, at Kings Road, the Schindlers continued to enjoy their house and their ever-widening circle of avant-garde friends. As early as 1916, before moving to Los Angeles, while living at Hull House, Pauline had voiced her aspirations for a bona fide salon: “One of my dreams, Mother, is to have someday a little joy of a bungalow, on the edge of woods and mountains and near a crowded city, which shall be open just as some people’s hearts are open, to friends of all classes and types. I should like it to be as democratic a meeting place as Hull House, where millionaires and laborers, professors and illiterates, splendid and ignoble meet.”31Though it was hardly the “little bungalow” of her youthful imaginings, the Kings Road house did welcome members of the cultural and political avant-garde, though few, if any, were “illiterate” or “ignoble.” The number of these guests would proliferate over the years and would include such figures as the socialist writer Upton Sinclair (1878–1968), the economist Scott Nearing (1883–1983), the photographer Edward Weston, dancers John Bovingdon (1890–1973) and Martha Graham (1894–1991), composers Igor Stravinsky (1882–1971) and John Cage, art patrons Galka Scheyer and the Arensbergs, and writers Max Eastman (1883–1969), Lincoln Steffens, Aldous Huxley (1894–1963), Clifford Odets (1906–63), Anaïs Nin (1903–77), and Theodore Dreiser (1871–1945).In a letter to her parents in 1922, Pauline confirmed her enthusiasm for such a life by describing an evening with Weston:On Sunday we stole time for a lark—and went off to call on Mr. Weston, an artist of whom we had heard much, and whose personality we liked through having heard him lecture, and seen his work. He was exceedingly interesting … and when the evening was ripe, took us over to the house of a brilliant [unnamed] pianist … said to be the finest player of modern French literature on the Pacific coast…. Shortly before midnight, I suggested we all motor over to our house, to try our Steinway.32Weston was, “of course, much excited about the house, and wanting to see it by daylight. All of it a fearfully stimulating evening … R.M.S. and I couldn’t sleep, with the stimulus of the music and Mr. Weston’s pictures.”33The poet, actor, and art historian Sadakichi Hartmann (1867–1944) would later typify both the cultural seriousness and the zany playfulness of Kings Road life, advertising himself as “a mad, bad, sad, and slightly red poet,” as he used the house for his various performances. For “A Poe Evening” in January 1928, the program announced he would read “A Tell-Tale Heart” and other stories “provided he does not change his mind” and that in doing so he would attempt to look like Edgar Allan Poe. A more straightforward evening featured Hartmann’s “Short Intimate Talk about Whitman’s personality” on the 110th anniversary of Walt Whitman’s birth, with Hartmann billed as “the only literary man left who knew the good gray poet intimately.” Another Hartmann announcement promised “the most amusing art talk of the season; miss it if you can.”34After the Chaces left California in the mid-1920s, several impressive figures occupied their apartment as well as the small guest unit, including the art promoter and collector Galka Scheyer, who covered her walls with the “Blue Four” paintings of Vassily Kandinsky (1866–1944), Alexei Jawlensky (1864–1941), Paul Klee (1879–1940), and Lyonel Feininger (1871–1956). Impressed with Schindler’s architectural brilliance, she made him an “honorary fifth” member of the group and enjoyed addressing him as “Five.”35 Scheyer’s complaints about the building’s often-noted physical inconveniences evoked a wry rejoinder from Schindler. “You seem not to understand,” he wrote, “that renting an apartment is different from renting a hotel room. Your rent does not entitle you to any services and I do not intend to act as your janitor.”36 Still, Scheyer loved the house. “The local summer is beautiful, not too hot,” she wrote Jawlensky. “I run around in the nude all day and feel very much at ease.”37 Though she did not live at Kings Road for most of the time that Scheyer was there, Pauline knew her and stayed in touch with her in other locales, especially Carmel, and had an ambivalent on-and-off relationship with her. She found Scheyer’s voice and manner to be harsh and grating, but she admired her taste and judgments on art and her generally philanthropic spirit. In the long run, however, Scheyer was probably closer to
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