AMERICAN GOTHIC - a totally untrue story

‘Do we have to do it again this year?’ Martha had asked. Yes, Abe replied. They’d argued for weeks about the upcoming Tidiest Street Competition. It only happened every two years, so it wasn’t as if they had to scrub, weed, sweep, gutter-clean and paint more often than that. It was worth doing, he insisted.

Besides, Ma Speedy from three doors down would have got right ornery if they’d not rolled up their sleeves and joined in. Local folks were a house-proud crowd. They all knew they’d have to sell up eventually. Kids inevitably sprouted and took off and so older residents had to move on (or were moved on by God). It was best if regular maintenance happened, as it was good for property values. No-one could argue with that. Winning streets even got a roadside sign boasting that this was the area’s smartest neighbourhood. That was also mighty desirable.

But Martha hated how steamed up their neighbours got before each contest rolled around. People had cheekily circulated leaflets about work required months before this year’s judging committee hit the sidewalks with their official pens and clipboards.

Ma Speedy had even knocked on their door weeks earlier to insist they spray their front hedge to get rid of signs of myrtle rust. Al McMaster from number ten had declared their red shed needed a fresh lick of paint. Becky Lewis had made Martha mad by saying it was unseemly to have a mother-in-law’s tongue plant in a pot on the front stoop. ‘Mother in law’s tongue?’ Martha growled. ‘How dare she, with that acid tongue of hers!’

After church, Violet Simpson had dared to suggest Martha’s lace bedroom curtains could benefit from a fresh laundering. ‘A good soaking in water with plenty of lemon juice works wonders,’ she’d confided.

‘What?’ snapped Martha. ‘They couldn’t be newer. We only just got them from Sears.’

She also loathed having to stand outside the house at the appointed hour to confirm to the committee that yes, this was their home. It meant they had to be as smart and clean as their frontage. His chin must be shaved, her brows should be plucked, their hair smooth and combed, garments crisp and ironed.

‘It’s humiliating,’ she bitched to Abe as she pinned on her great aunt’s cameo brooch.  

‘Well, we’re doin’ it,’ he said.  ‘Step in behind me and look willin’, why don’t you.’ 

‘Always behind,’ she muttered. ‘Why is it different in photographs? It’s man at the back then, woman at the front.’

‘It’s because I’m the man of the house. You’re just the missus.’

‘Just the missus?’ she spluttered. ‘And what’s your explanation going to be this time?’

‘For what?’

‘The damn fork. Are you pretending we got three acres of corn behind the house and not just your whisky still? You could at least have put on a decent pair of trousers instead of your old dungarees.’ 

‘Hush up!’ said Abe. ‘They’re almost here.’

Martha peered over his shoulder at the approaching delegation. Abe had told her to look willing but she could tell he had on his usual stony face. She wanted to grab his fork and plunge it, quivering, at the feet of the judging committee. At which point she would declare this was the very last time she would subject herself to the tidy-street campaign with its nit-picking rules, rampant jealousies and unreasonable demands.

In future, she planned to allow her hedge to grow ragged, let her hair flow loose, and grow the most offensive plants possible in her front-porch pots.  –  Lindsey Dawson

American Gothic – the true story

American Gothic, by Grant Wood, was painted in 1930 as the Great Depression loomed.

The solemn pair serving as the artist’s models were real people, his dentist and his sister, Nan. The house is real too. Wood saw it in Iowa on a trip away from home, and took a sketch of it back to his studio in Grand Rapids. He wanted to paint the kind of people he thought might live inside.

The churchy-looking upper window makes some viewers think of religious connotations, but this kind of window was large and hinged to make it easier to move big furniture in and out (the stairs inside being steep and cramped).

The painting won a bronze medal and a $300 prize when it was first exhibited and became famous when Time magazine ran it on a full page in 1934. It is now one of America’s most celebrated artworks.

Some rural Iowans disliked how it made them look like pinched puritans, but Wood created it as an ‘affectionate’ portrait of hardworking mid-Westerners.

The three-tined hayfork itself became famous, with some seeing it as a ‘no entry’ barrier protecting the house – others thinking of it as referring to the idea of the devil’s pitchfork. Wood, who died in 1942, did not explain its meaning.

The painting is owned by the Art Institute of Chicago. The house, in Eldon, Iowa, was built in a style sometimes known as ‘Carpenter Gothic’. It still stands and is open to the public a few days a week, with a modest $5 entry free.

Grant Wood, American Gothic, 1930, Art Institute of Chicago, IL, USA.