Quaker Aesthetics
by Leesa Whitson
Past lives notwithstanding,
I’d have been a lousy
Quaker 300 years ago.
From what I gleaned from
Quaker Aesthetics, I thought
I’d do OK moderating my
tastes. But as I stood in the
craft store button aisle, I
realized I was fooling
myself.
Oh, I might have been prim
and proper on the outside,
but I bet my petticoats
would have been
embroidered and maybe
even —gasp! — colored.
And my button box would
not have contained black
and gray only. Shiny metal
buttons would have graced
along with the bone and
carved ivory ones of the
time.
Clearly I’d have flunked the
propriety standards leading
to any number of eldering
visits, clearness committees
and probably, alas, harsher
punishments.
The Bad Girl of the
Meeting. That would be me.
I’d would sneak out to view
any spectacles that came
through town or resided in
the cities. Museums would
draw me like a lodestone.
Fiction would be stuffed
under my mattress or
stashed in the chicken coop.
In short, this cheetah
couldn’t have changed her
spots to fit the early ideals of
Quakerism.
Where would that leave the
folks like me? Sitting and
reading novels in the crotch
of a distant tree, I guess.
My belief is that the answer
lies in our history of Quaker
change and/or dissension.
We’d struggle with our
creative, artistic demons on
the quiet, or we’d have left
the Meetings, shamed our
families and friends,
creating breaches that
wouldn’t heal. I suspect
often, we’d suffer in Silence.
On a positive note, the
Quakers didn’t remain so
restrictive. Women formally
retained more equality from
the beginning. In general,
our society evolved in slow
but steady ways. I’d like to
think that I’d have been part
of that change.
The evolution from Plain to
Simple was one that allowed
many artists to follow their
leadings and use their gifts.
I need to remain ever
thankful that strong people
came before me -- people who
were sturdy enough to honor
their leadings in spite of
pressure.
I’d like to think 300 years
ago I’d have been one of
them. I wonder how much
contraband you could stash
in one of those bonnets?
— Leesa Whitson
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