On the Vanderbilt heiress whose seemingly stereotypical life belies a far
more individual identity.
Just in case Gertrude
Vanderbilt (1875-1942), eldest surviving daughter of Cornelius Vanderbilt
II and his wife Alice Gwynne Vanderbilt, didn’t seem to have enough of an elite
American legacy on which to live, she went ahead and married Harry
Payne Whitney (1872-1930), son of a famous attorney, grandson of a Standard
Oil executive, and heir to a sizeable fortune in his own right. Together the
two expanded upon those impressive starting points, inhabiting a New
York mansion of their own, becoming prominent racehorse breeders, world
travelers, and art patrons, and, in a Gospel
of Wealth moment for Depression-era America, endowing the New York Whitney Museum of American Art just before Harry’s
death in 1930.
If we see that latter act as simply the kind of thing super-rich people do
with their money toward the ends of their lives, however, we miss a far more
intimate and lifelong factor. Gertrude apparently had a strong affinity and passion
for the arts from a young age, but the Vanderbilts’ society in New York and
Newport did not seem to present her with opportunities to act upon those
perspectives. After her 1901 marriage, both because of the greater degree of
independence it afforded her and because (it seems) Harry supported her
efforts, she finally found such opportunities: organizing
and promoting women artists, individually and in exhibitions; and studying art and sculpture
in her own right. She went on to achieve a career as a public sculptor,
creating for example a
fountain in the famous patio of the Pan American building in Washington,
DC. One of her works is even housed
in the Whitney Museum—not because of her last name, but because it merits
inclusion in such a space.
Rebecca Harding Davis’ novella Life
in the Iron-Mills (1861) focuses on the tragic life and death of Hugh
Wolfe, a factory worker whose talent for sculpture goes unappreciated and
unrewarded in his grimly realistic environment. While Hugh is a fictional
character, the point is real and important: that whatever limitations Gertrude
Vanderbilt faced on her way to a successful artistic career, her family and
status also certainly provided possibilities that the Hugh Wolfes of the world
are far less likely to find. But on the other hand, Gertrude also represented a
new, modern American woman—one who not only pursued and achieved her own
artistic career, but who at the same time supported the careers and art of her
peers and her nation. That her money helped her to do so is an unquestionable
truth for which all who visit the Whitney should give thanks.
Next Breakers
story tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think?
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