Maud Gatewood
Southern Modernist?

Martha R. Severens

We recognized individuals born in the South but embraced the many artists who specifically chose to come to the region to experience it or to teach here, thus leaving their own legacy. As noted art historian William H. Gerdts said in the introduction to my volume Greenville County Museum of Art: the Southern Collection: “I suspect the solution for a truly Southern Collection is perceptive inclusivity. That is, when in doubt, include rather than exclude.”

People derive comfort in labeling others: liberal/conservative, baby boomer/millennial, southern/northern. In the field of art, this habit is especially prevalent: impressionist/post-impressionist, realist/abstractionist. In all instances, we think we have a clear idea of what these labels mean, but when it comes to defining modernism or modernist, we find there are a variety of opinions. One camp thinks of the early twentieth-century European artists Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, and Marcel Duchamp as “modernists,” though each in turn wears another mantle, namely and respectively, Fauvist, Cubist, and Dadaist. A different group, led by critic Clement Greenberg, maintains that it is only such mid-century figures as Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, and Franz Kline who deserve the moniker of “modernist.” They too have their own particular designation: Abstract Expressionist, which has been heralded as the first definitively American art movement, one that was responsible for reorienting the center of art away from Europe to New York.

Both points of view share one thing: art no longer needed to represent something; art can, and maybe should, be about the component parts of art itself: color, line, shape, texture, material, etc. It did not have to be mimetic. Sometimes an image can be categorized because of its subject matter: “still life,” “portrait,” or “landscape,” but of equal or possibly greater importance are such things as the fundamentals of art making. When it came to defining “modern,” once again, the organizers of Southern/Modern had differing opinions. I tended to take the more formalistic point of view—one that was concerned more for the style of the work. Others, and specifically Jon Stuhlman, wanted to include artists who reflected the fading of the Old South and its agrarian tradition and those who depicted the New South represented by steel and textile industries—namely the New South.

So what does all this have to do with Maud Gatewood? It is intended to serve as background and to demonstrate that definitions—labels—are porous and imperfect. Was Gatewood a southern artist? The answer is an emphatic affirmative because of her nativity: she was born in the region and was educated at the Woman’s College of the University of North Carolina (now the University of North Carolina at Greensboro). She also lived the majority of her life in North Carolina. Post-graduate study took her further afield: to Ohio, to Harvard, and then Vienna and Salzburg. From time to time, she left North Carolina yet significantly remained in the South, teaching in Alabama, Texas, and Virginia. However, throughout her career, Gatewood was also an inveterate traveler. Before 1994, she had visited over twenty countries, ranging from western Europe, South America, and the Far East. It is as if she worked to transcend her ties to the region: “I’m sure that other people would call me a southern painter. I don’t think in those terms. I tend to think of me as me. I just paint what I see and know.” Of course, there is a latent admission in that last sentence: she “knew” the South and was used to “seeing” it.

And you might ask: was Maud Gatewood included in Southern/Modern and if not, why not? Alas, she was not, and although she is a fine example of what we were looking for, she did not make the cut because she was too young. The date parameters we selected were: 1913 because of the Armory Show and the introduction of European modernism on a large scale to American audiences, and 1955, the full-blown acceptance of Abstract Expressionism as the dominant art form. In 1955, Gatewood was just twenty-one; she had graduated from college the year before and the next year she completed her master’s degree from Ohio State University. In her thesis, she articulated her raison d’être: “This is the fundamental goal: to become a painter through the production of significant paintings.”

As co-curator of Southern/Modern, an exhibition and publication undertaken by The Mint Museum in Charlotte, I participated in many discussions about what “southern” and “modern” meant. Together with my cohort Jon Stuhlman, curator at The Mint, and a team of curatorial types, we met several times and debated the meaning of those terms. For southern, we focused on the states below the Mason-Dixon Line, ignored Texas and Florida, but could not resist including Washington, D.C. and one artist from Baltimore. These decisions were based less on geography and more on whether there was a critical mass of quality artists.

Despite not being selected for Southern/Modern, Gatewood can be described as a southern modernist and makes a fascinating case study as she transitioned from expressionism as exemplified by Three Sisters (1957–1958) to her own particular kind of modernism. In this group portrait of her mother and two aunts, there is a moodiness as each woman appears wrapped in her own thoughts and their body language suggests boredom. Even more emphatically abstract expressionist is Haymow (1955 or before), which was the first reproduction in her master’s thesis although it may have been inserted upside down. As the title implies, this canvas purports to be a landscape, one that is laden with heavy brushwork. Looking at these paintings, one can easily appreciate Gatewood’s decision to use her Fulbright Scholarship to take a course on Francisco Goya in Vienna and to study in Salzburg with Oskar Kokoschka. The former satirized Spanish society while the latter was a paradigm of European expressionism who created sensitive portraits set in visually active compositions and rendered with loaded brushes.

By the early 1970s, Gatewood had significantly changed her approach: outlines became firmer, colors brighter, and compositions more streamlined. She also experimented with a variety of techniques, which included “cut-outs” of plywood or Masonite applied to supports of the same material. Landscapes such as Snowing (1974) and Hyco Lake Sunset (1971–1972) exude a tranquil sensibility and employ foreground framing devices like a proscenium in a theater. Figures and the potential for a narrative returned in the 1980s, in particular with her large-scale series of six canvases Early Morning Early June (1982–1987). While the paintings are linked by the bands of rosy pink and turquoise, the figures (except for the pairs that bracket the mural at either end) are isolated from one another. The chairs in panel three are empty and hence a bit mysterious: will they be occupied soon? Will the tall woman in pink sit down near the man under the umbrella? Gatewood explained her approach to figurative work: “I deliberately turn their faces or blank them out so that the viewer is not distracted by a portrait.” This tactic of hers adds to the mystery.

Three Sisters, 1957-1958, oil on canvas, 44 x 36 in. (111.76 x 91.44 cm.).

Gift of Karen Lang Johnston in memory of her husband, Hon. Eugene Johnston. BRAHM Permanent Collection, 2022.003.001

Early Morning Early June (Six-Panel Polyptych), 1988, acrylic on canvas. 60 x 307 in. (152.4 x 779.78 cm.). Gift of art from GSK. BRAHM Permanent Collection 2024.002.001

Throughout her career, Gatewood was interested in the effects of weather, times of day, and seasons. In a 1993 interview, she stated: “You deal with the here and now and every so often you say. ‘Well let’s just deal with the seasonal and millennial.’” Prevailing Wind (1991) reveals some of the compositional devices seen before: foreground trees enhancing a slightly flattened composition. In the large Straw Field Spring (2001), the trees have been multiplied, creating a more emphatic screen (enhanced by the Cézanne-like branches of green foliage) through which the viewer sees the clay-red furrows of a newly plowed field. In Night Looming (1990), a rhythmic pattern of fluffy clouds dominates the scene where the presence of humans is alluded to by the trash receptacle and the row of telephone poles. Once again, all is quiet and a bit enigmatic. She subscribed to the following belief: “I think you learn that life isn’t always straightforward. I think it is in the nature of the species to be a little evasive and covered. Ambiguity might be at the heart of life as well as art.”

Martha R. Severens has served as curator at the Gibbes Museum of Art in Charleston, South Carolina; the Portland Museum of Art in Maine; and the Greenville County Museum of Art in South Carolina. She has written and contributed to a number of exhibition catalogs and art historical publications including Alice Ravenel Huger Smith: An Artist, a Place and a Time (1993, Carolina Art Association), Andrew Wyeth: America’s Painter (1996, Hudson Hills Press), The Charleston Renaissance (1998, Saraland Press), More Than a Likeness: The Enduring Art of Mary Whyte (2013, University of South Carolina Press), Reynolda: Her Muses, Her Story (2017, University of North Carolina Press), Central to Their Lives: Southern Women Artists in the Johnson Collection (2018, University of South Carolina Press), and Southern/Modern: Rediscovering Southern Art from the First Half of the Twentieth Century (2023, University of North Carolina Press).