I just found out that the artist-illustrator Tasha Tudor died June 18, last summer (2008). She was a great influence on me while I was homeschooling my children. The sweetness and innocence of her country lifestyle and the cute books for kids she drew appeal greatly to folks who search for immaculate role models, and her property is now newly log jammed with Japanese tourists, who were rather quicker to discover her than other Americans have. She has a cult following, and her property could well become a shrine. Since she has recently died, there is that rush to define and polish her image, so she is presented as the fairy-grandmother from a dreamy rural world of perfect harmony with nature; yet the saltier aspects about her life are even more interesting.
I’m intrigued by people who appear not to belong to our time, but who steadfastly hold an idea of their perfect life in their mind’s eyes, and advance confidently toward it. She was such a figure. She seems somewhat morally ambiguous, and had a great many fairy-like qualities—fairy in the old, traditional witch-sense, that is. While Tasha Tudor was no shamanic artist, I consider her pursuit of her ideal lifestyle to be deliberately enchanted, and inspiring.I confess I’ve watched the films about her, “Take Joy,” and “Take Peace” very closely. Both are effusive, lovely, and dignified, narrated by a deep roots-conferring female British voice, but neither were willing to reveal her complicated qualities. These somehow seep through, anyway, if you watch and listen carefully. I like the witch side of Tasha Tudor that snarls out from her shadow every now and again.
She was born Starling Burgess on August 28th, 1915 in Boston, Massachusetts, to an artsy couple; both parents were distant, self-absorbed figures: her dashing father was an early pilot and boat designer whom she worshipped from afar. Her mother seems to have been elegant, stern, and resistant to domestication. Her parents divorced when she was nine, after which she changed her name, and, so her mother could privately pursue her art career in Greenwich Village, Tasha was sent away with her brother Fredric to live with a wealthy, chaotic, bohemian, rural Connecticut family in the 1920’s, ("I was dumped into the most unconventional atmosphere you can imagine") which greatly influenced both her later independence and her attraction to the interior culture of large families.
This experience was seminal, and gave her a lifelong love of farm life. The careful moulding of her own family life was in direct reaction to the liberal yet fragmented experiences of her childhood, during which she appears to not only have gathered remnants of family traditions which she would later practice with her own children, (which I personally suspect were activities that she only got to experience second-hand, once or twice but not regularly) and she invented the same: many of these have the rare, palpable quality of ritual or ceremonial enchantment.
(Some details, from her New York Times Obit: Sparrow Post, a postal service for dolls with delivery by birds. Birthday parties featuring flotillas of cakes with lighted candles. Mouse Mills catalogs, for ordering dolls clothes made by mice, who take buttons for pay.)
She briefly attended art school in Boston, but dropped out. She was a self-taught artist, and this is clear from her work, which has a presence and numinous quality that is often more powerful than her skill in rendering. Sometimes her work was uneven in quality, but when she really hits it, her work is delightful.
It seems Tasha only ever wanted to live as if it was the 1830’s, and she wore 19th century clothing daily. Beginning in her childhood, she amassed one of the most important vernacular clothing collections of that era, many pieces of which she wore on a daily basis before the collection was partially auctioned off, and partially bestowed to the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation shortly before her death.
It seems Tasha only ever wanted to live as if it was the 1830’s, and she wore 19th century clothing daily. Beginning in her childhood, she amassed one of the most important vernacular clothing collections of that era, many pieces of which she wore on a daily basis before the collection was partially auctioned off, and partially bestowed to the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation shortly before her death.
In 1938, she married Thomas McCready Jr., a real estate trader who encouraged her to take her illustrations to publishers, and who himself wrote five of the children’s books she illustrated during the 1950’s. It was McCready’s inherited dolls which formed the cornerstone of Tudor’s legendary collection. She moved with him to a huge Hew Hampshire house on 450 acres sans indoor plumbing or electricity, bearing and raising four children (2 girls, 2 boys) during the 40s-50s. There: “Tudor washed clothes by hand, became proficient in spinning and weaving flax, made bread from scratch, sewed much of her children's clothing, and planted a vast garden of flowers and vegetables.”
The two divorced in 1961, after which the children’s last names were changed to match her own. Unfortunately, very little is known about the man with whom she shared 23 years of her life, who died five years after their divorce. Tasha later married briefly and divorced a second time. Because she deliberately refused to include any unpleasant details in the vision of the life which she had created with such intense focus, very little has ever been shared about Tudor’s loves.
As a mother of four children, she began to rely on her illustrations to bring in money—there are hints that McCready’s work was not adequate to provide for their immense farm. Her first published book, Pumpkin Moonshine, (1938) is still in print. Her reaction in later years to people supposing that it was a charming vocation for her to have taken up was greeted with a snap: she only turned to illustration as a means of support. Nevertheless, her tender stories and sweet illustrations weave their spell—they are filtered through a soft-focus lens, displaying almost no traces of 20th century, modern popular culture, nor trendy metaphors or themes. They too exist outside of time, relying on faithful observance of animals and small children, of family traditions and seasonal rituals.
Tasha Tudor and her family lived off the grid and were surrounded by rambunctious nature during the decades when a streamlined faith in the future, and the drive toward betterment and control defined modernity. (In 1972 she moved to her cabin in Vermont, which was built and roofed by sons Seth and Tom, using only hand tools.) She stepped out of time long before there was a back-to-the-land movement, and she lit her world with candlelight and cooked her food with 19th century appliances because she liked it better that way, and because the romance and atmosphere of that life was so important to her. I am astounded by her inviolate adherence to her dream.
Those of her children who speak about Tudor outside of her public perfect-granny image say that the chaos she experienced as a child was the rule during their childhoods too; there were no boundaries or predictable meal times, or even set meals. But Tudor’s children had to conform to her vision of the perfect childhood: the girls couldn’t cut their hair, had to wear 19th century clothing, weren’t allowed to play with neighbor kids—likewise, they took part in the authentically charming puppet shows and ephemeral doll weddings (also filmed for Life Magazine in the 1950’s) that she devised.
In Drawn From New England, her oldest daughter Bethany wrote, "My mother often said she wanted to live a life similar to that of New Englanders in the past century, so that is what our family did, in a way, for many a year. It was not easy, but the rewards were most satisfying,” and, “"We felt as if we were actually living some of the wonderful old fairy tales and stories my mother read to us so constantly."
Two of Tudor’s books were chosen for the Caldecott Honor in 1944 and 1956. Throughout the 1960’s to the 80’s, Tudor continued to write and illustrate books and travel in connection with their publicity. During the 80’s and 90’s she was featured in magazines, and had a series of books written about her and her distinctive lifestyle.
Watching the films about her, one sees that she did create unforgettable experiences for herself and her children—they seemed set on recapturing a childhood that remained just out of her own grasp. Yet despite the family-ethos so central to her image, most of her children are nowhere to be seen in these films. Their lack is uncomfortable, discordant; the extant scenes of today's family togetherness feel contrived. What is certain, however, is that her work influenced and inspired many, many other families who sought to recreate the magic that she illustrated.
As a mother of four children, she began to rely on her illustrations to bring in money—there are hints that McCready’s work was not adequate to provide for their immense farm. Her first published book, Pumpkin Moonshine, (1938) is still in print. Her reaction in later years to people supposing that it was a charming vocation for her to have taken up was greeted with a snap: she only turned to illustration as a means of support. Nevertheless, her tender stories and sweet illustrations weave their spell—they are filtered through a soft-focus lens, displaying almost no traces of 20th century, modern popular culture, nor trendy metaphors or themes. They too exist outside of time, relying on faithful observance of animals and small children, of family traditions and seasonal rituals.
Tasha Tudor and her family lived off the grid and were surrounded by rambunctious nature during the decades when a streamlined faith in the future, and the drive toward betterment and control defined modernity. (In 1972 she moved to her cabin in Vermont, which was built and roofed by sons Seth and Tom, using only hand tools.) She stepped out of time long before there was a back-to-the-land movement, and she lit her world with candlelight and cooked her food with 19th century appliances because she liked it better that way, and because the romance and atmosphere of that life was so important to her. I am astounded by her inviolate adherence to her dream.
Those of her children who speak about Tudor outside of her public perfect-granny image say that the chaos she experienced as a child was the rule during their childhoods too; there were no boundaries or predictable meal times, or even set meals. But Tudor’s children had to conform to her vision of the perfect childhood: the girls couldn’t cut their hair, had to wear 19th century clothing, weren’t allowed to play with neighbor kids—likewise, they took part in the authentically charming puppet shows and ephemeral doll weddings (also filmed for Life Magazine in the 1950’s) that she devised.
In Drawn From New England, her oldest daughter Bethany wrote, "My mother often said she wanted to live a life similar to that of New Englanders in the past century, so that is what our family did, in a way, for many a year. It was not easy, but the rewards were most satisfying,” and, “"We felt as if we were actually living some of the wonderful old fairy tales and stories my mother read to us so constantly."
Two of Tudor’s books were chosen for the Caldecott Honor in 1944 and 1956. Throughout the 1960’s to the 80’s, Tudor continued to write and illustrate books and travel in connection with their publicity. During the 80’s and 90’s she was featured in magazines, and had a series of books written about her and her distinctive lifestyle.
Watching the films about her, one sees that she did create unforgettable experiences for herself and her children—they seemed set on recapturing a childhood that remained just out of her own grasp. Yet despite the family-ethos so central to her image, most of her children are nowhere to be seen in these films. Their lack is uncomfortable, discordant; the extant scenes of today's family togetherness feel contrived. What is certain, however, is that her work influenced and inspired many, many other families who sought to recreate the magic that she illustrated.
One son and his wife, and two of their grown children (one couple plans to start a museum) carry on tours of her property and sales of her books from the Tasha Tudor website, which constantly stresses its familyness. But three other children were uninvolved with her business, the youngest daughter was utterly estranged, and Tudor bestowed token gestures to two birth children, while cutting six grandchildren out of her will entirely. In an comment for an online guest book from March 2009, her son Tom wrote: “As the second son of Tasha Tudor, I want to thank all of you for your very touching and kind comments forwarded to this website. You should also know that neither my sisters nor I are associated in any way with Tasha Tudor and Family, a company run exclusively by my brother Seth and his family.”
The Tasha Tudor that I most enjoy is a solitary figure, who, in the films about her, says offbeat and slightly cruel and eccentric things which are scattered among the many joyful and meaningful things she says. She exemplified a depth of connection to nature and the turning of the seasons, and love of animals and a facility with observing them (and she kept dead animals in her freezer as aids to illustration). She had a remarkably clever, intact sense of imagination with her dolls and her self-costuming. She was fierce and she liked to gently shock, saying that death “must be quite exciting.” She appeared admirably hard-working and inventive, doing the chores to maintain her remote and old-fashioned home and property.
In a 1996 interview, she said: "It's wonderful to grow old. You can get away with murder. Everyone takes great care of you. And they're afraid of offending you. You can say the most outrageous things and get away with it. I fully believe old age is one of the most delightful periods of my life."
In a 1996 interview, she said: "It's wonderful to grow old. You can get away with murder. Everyone takes great care of you. And they're afraid of offending you. You can say the most outrageous things and get away with it. I fully believe old age is one of the most delightful periods of my life."
I will miss her, and I look forward to one day reading her real biography, the one in which her cackling shadow may appear lurking behind her kindly facade. (The final line of a report about the legal challenges to her estate confirmed my suspicions about her. ) Tasha liked to quote Mark Twain by saying:
“Everyone is like the moon and has a dark side, which he never shows anybody:”
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