The Protégé: A Shining Symbol of Gifted Youth
Part 5 of 5: Time Is Running Out
The Protégé: A Shining Symbol of Gifted Youth, is the final of five essay’s that complete the series of chronological posts this month that break down the writing I did for the booklet published on the occasion of my exhibition, Time is Running Out. It’s a long one. The essay is about a side obsession, Helen Hoppin, who I desperately tried to not get distracted with during my research. One of the many positive things the exhibition did for me, at the top instilling a sense of renewed interest in making work to live in space, was that it allowed me to share a bit about her life. It will likely culminate in another self published project at some point, so put a pin in that. To wrap things up, the essay is followed by the Conclusion of the booklet, this gives you the full scope of the printed piece with a few missing gems, like the colors and design and layout.
Time Is Running Out always felt fitting, a multifaceted exhibition title, but seemed perfectly named and inspired me for an end of the year scramble for sharing. Since the publication was only printed in an edition of 100 and may not be accessible for that and the cost, it seemed like a good idea to post the writing here along with some expanded explanation of the show contents itself.
So, Hoppin herself manifested in three ways in the gallery: a loan of an original painting from the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design (see above), and a photo of her along with first year of faculty from the Layton School of Art next to a series of selected letters transcribed and printed out so visitors can sift through if curious. The letters were collected posthumously and saved in Charlotte and Miriam’s papers, exemplifying their deep feelings for her.
I’ll leave it at that and encourage you to reach out with questions, corrections and comments. Thanks for reading along and I look forward to 2026 bringing writing about my 101 other interests outside of Charlotte and Miriam’s papers, but they will likely show up forever since they have forever changed the trajectory of my own practice and way I think about archival work and exhibitions.
This writing is an expansion of archival research around life partners, Charlotte Partridge and Miriam Frink that resulted my book As Ever, Miriam. The booklet is small and comfortable to hold, Risograph printed by Bearbear on a navy blue cardstock cover that folds out in the back, with yellow interior paper. It was printed in an edition 100, available for purchase in the gallery and as of this week, online [scroll down the page for purchase] until sold out. The exhibition runs through March 14, 2026.
The Protégé: A Shining Symbol of Gifted Youth
In musical Comedies, an artist always wears a velvet coat, a Windsor tie and looks as if he needed nothing so badly as a haircut. Girl artists on the stage are strange creatures who wear berets and live in Greenwich Village. Perhaps the carefree life which these stage artists apparently lead has made some folks think of art as a vocation which has more than its share of good times. But you can be sure that it is every bit as serious a job as stenography to the girl who expects and does earn her living with brush and pencil. –Charlotte Partridge, 19301
Charlotte Partridge and Miriam Frink had a wide circle of talented students and friends, but one in particular shines brighter than the rest: Helen Ione Hoppin. Just two years before her death, Frink noted to her assistant that Hoppin was the most talented student she and Partridge ever had, “brilliant in every way,” and that she would be forgotten if the book they were working on—endlessly—about the Layton School of Art wasn’t published. Although Frink wasn’t entirely wrong, thanks to Partridge, ten pieces of Hoppin’s artwork remain in the collection of the Milwaukee Art Museum, and a few more were inherited by the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design.
Born in 1899 to Carrie and Richard Hoppin in Waukesha, Wisconsin, Hoppin was recognized from an early age as a successful artist, illustrator, and poet. Her poetry appeared in numerous publications and local newspapers, and she received several awards for her artwork. She attended Milwaukee-Downer College and received her BFA, graduating with honors. It was there she met Partridge and Frink. She followed them to the Layton School of Art, becoming a student-faculty member and a part of the first graduating class in 1921.
Hoppin’s impact on Frink and Partridge is evinced by her place within their archive. This is where I first learned about her and became familiar with her work. She has her own robust archival folders saved within their papers, filled with a plethora of artworks and illustrations, numerous newspaper clippings about her accolades, and papers and poems written by Hoppin while she was a student. What caught my attention was a separate file of whimsical and humorous letters, written by Hoppin to Frink and Partridge and also to her friends and family, that were seemingly collected posthumously, along with her poetry and artwork, for an exhibition. Many of these letters were written when Hoppin was living in Provincetown, Massachusetts, where she was a member of the artist colony studying under the Lithuanian artist William Zorach. It was in Provincetown that she met her collaborator Emily Edwards, a graduate of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and the principal of the Provincetown Puppeteers. Hoppin went on to assist Edwards, touring with the puppet show in the Northeast.
On December 10, 1922, Hoppin wrote to Frink and Partridge, on Provincetown Puppeteers stationery, catching them up on these performances and providing general updates in her unique voice:
Yesterday we were walking past the Boson Opera House, where the Russian Opera is playing, and stopped to look at the posters. I saw Clara Pasvolsky’s picture among the cast, so we went around to the stage door and asked for her, and although she was just rushing on to the stage, she came out to see us, and sent her love to you. It was a fleeting glimpse, but she looked as sweet as ever.
Hoppin signs off the letter, “Much love to you. You might write -- but then again, you mightn’t, and probably won’t, she said bitterly. I do want to hear how you like your new home, and what’s doing at school. Yourn, H.I.H”
Many of Hoppin’s letters included nonsensical wordplay, inside jokes, pet names, and rhymes. Read together, they give a particular insight into Hoppin’s imagination and magical way of thinking. Aside from the H.I.H. she often used to sign her artwork, here are a few of the humorous ways she signed her letters: Ioncula, Iccia, Ionibus Irridentta, Icci, Ionia Hellenibus, Hops, Hoppy, Hopskinibus, Knockneedi and, perhaps my favorite, Goomblegootsploogs. Needless to say, she was a fantastical, creative weirdo of the imaginative kind who likely found solace in the 1920s in creative spaces like the Layton School of Art and with the artists living in Provincetown.
I was also thrilled to verify my hunch that Hoppin was responsible for writing Palette Scrapings, the Layton School of Art newsletter. (The newsletters are another gem I had found in the Layton School of Art records, which are housed within the Frink and Partridge papers.) The early issues were written, in a tone similar to Hoppin’s letters, from the vantage point of a “thumb tack.” Each issue is filled with quippy, humorous commentary reporting on school news, local art exhibitions, and student gossip. Hoppin’s enjoyment of this task is articulated in a 1921 letter to her sister: “One thing I do with satisfaction and delight is write the Palette Scrapings…I don’t get paid. That’s the way with the things I like to do.”
Hoppin and Edwards had plans to continue making puppets and to perform in the Midwest, but in February 1923, the twenty-four-year-old Hoppin was hit and killed by a train while crossing the tracks in Winnetka, Illinois. Her death deeply shocked the Milwaukee art community. Frink and Partridge saved dozens of newspaper clippings from Wisconsin and Illinois reporting on her early and sudden death and the memorial service that followed. After she died, there continued to be news coverage speculating, in the dark way reflection pieces often do, about how famous she might have become, given her many talents, and encouraging people to visit an exhibition, curated by Partridge, at the Layton Gallery. The following year, in 1925, the students of the Layton School of Art formed the Helen Hoppin Memorial Fund with the goal of raising $500,000 to endow a scholarship in Hoppin’s name. Although there is a flyer for an art sale and auction hosted by the Layton School of Art faculty and staff to raise funds for the Helen I. Hoppin Student Loan Fund, there is, unfortunately, no evidence that it ever came to fruition.
An emotional memorial written by Frink captures her adoration for Hoppin and the energy, light, and inspiration she brought to others:
To the many who knew and loved her, Helen Hoppin will always live in memory as a shining symbol of gifted youth, meeting life joyously and fully. Rightly gifted she was without doubt. By a kind of conscious divine right of the spirit she commanded of all who came in contact with her immediate recognition of her radiating power. She was an individual, in the highest sense of the word. A true scholar, without a trace of pedantry, she delighted in the clear, keen play of the intellect. This brilliancy and the gay and puckish spirit which was hers made her a happy favorite in school and college. At the same time, her intense search for beauty in life beyond the vision of most set her apart and gave her something of the aloofness of genius. She could have been a great writer; she chose to be a painter, and that she would have achieved fame, no one who knows her work can doubt. Of all Milwaukee artists, she gave the greatest promise. She was too clear-sighted, however, not to have seen fame for what it is. A free, full life, rich, many-sided, and culminating in a true expression of the beauty she felt and saw- that was her aim, and that she has attained. Her very gropings were achievements impossible to lesser souls.
There was no shortage of talent that went through the school during the thirty-four years that Partridge and Frink were at the helm. But the archive can skew one’s perspective based on what is saved, and Hoppin has an unfair (archival) advantage, albeit a deserved one due to her varied talents, disposition, and sudden death. That death deeply impacted Partridge and Frink, as if they lost their own child. I am grateful they kept what they did, and to have learned about Hoppin’s eccentric side, and not just the artwork that has been preserved in institutions. Hoppin held a special place. She was the archetype of the Layton School of Art protégée because she united Partridge’s visual output and Frink’s love for literature,
Conclusion
Throughout my years of research in the Partridge and Frink papers, I have compiled a list of people who piqued my interest: students, faculty, and friends. Worlds collided as names began to show up in letters across generations. Next, people came out of the woodwork. I began to meet Miriam Frink’s descendants, like Wenda Habenicht, the daughter of Susie Habenicht, Miriam’s niece and researcher. Another example is Robin Leenhouts, daughter of Lillian Leenhouts, who had studied at the Layton School of Art between 1929 and 1932, where she discovered the work of Frank Lloyd Wright and had gone on to become Wisconsin’s first licensed female architect in 1942. Leenhouts worked with Partridge on her legacy project, Zonta Manor. Both Wenda and Robin have invited me into their homes to share personal memories and in turn I’ve been able to share some of the things I have learned. The epitome of these overlapping worlds and reach of the expanded networks I have been exploring happened recently when Alex Gartelmann, the steward of Mary Nohl’s house and scholar of her papers, sent me a 1987 letter from Nohl’s archive. It was from Lillian Leenhouts, writing to Mary Nohl at 1:15 am, and begins, “Dear Mary, I can’t sleep for thinking about it, so I decided to get up and write you a note. After talking to you recently I began wondering about your drawings, paintings, diaries, trips and yard sculptures. And then about your brothers’ experiments in diving.” She goes on to connect some large ideas about an art memorial to specific names: artist and Layton graduate Richard Lippold, architect Harry Bogner (whose firm Leenhouts works for), and then Charlotte Partridge and Miriam Frink themselves. She ends her letter enthusiastically, in all capitals, with “WHAT A SUPER IDEA!!!” and adds, “My grandfather was the first director of arts in the Milwaukee Public Schools and was always ready to push art and music. At times I’m also guilty. Best, Lillian L.”
Partridge had a clear vision around the power of collaboration within creative community. In April 1939, she delivered a speech in Washington, DC, entitled Art in the Community:
I would like to see an institute that has become an art center, preferably for all the arts. A combination theater and concert hall, opportunities for dancing and for marionette plays, for lectures and demonstrations. Exhibitions for adults and for children, with the children’s room for study and creative work. But at the core of the whole institute should be the workshops, for only through some participation can we get real understanding.
For me, the archives are a place of endless possibilities. By interpreting this material through a personal lens, I’ve been able to connect myself to a long lineage of creative and powerful women, determined to shape their own lives, while thinking about the future I want to inhabit. As Partridge concluded her lecture:
If in all our work with art in the community we can ourselves live with art instead of with empty records of attendance, if we can live with our communities instead of with dreams of other cultures and other times, if we can live with our own situations, making the most of each opportunity instead of wishing for the golden opportunities we are sure abound elsewhere, and if we are willing to watch slow, deep growth instead of sensational records, we have a chance to build community art in America.
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The previous posts that are a part of this series are: Part 1: Introduction here, Part 2: The Fox Point Studio here, Part 3: The Sketchbook here, and Part 4: The Metal Object.
The epigraph is from Charlotte Russell Partridge, “The Girl and the Job, Art as a Vocation,” Milwaukee Journal, June 23, 1930. All Helen Hoppin quotations come from her letters, housed within the Charlotte Russell Partridge and Miriam Frink Papers, 1862-1980, at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee Libraries’ Archives Department. See Hoppin Helen - Papers, Letters, etc., 1917-1925, box 34, folder 6.
The archival detective work here is incredible. That bit about Hoppin's letters being collected posthumously and discovering she wrote Palette Scrapings makes the whole research process feel alive insted of just cataloging old papers. I've dug through archives before and there's always that one person whose voice just leaps off the page, Hoppin sounds like she was one of those. The connections you drew between different generations and how names kept reappearing across letters is exactly what makes archival work addictive.