For several years I have been researching and writing about late-19th-century and early-20th-century California art, architecture, museums and patronage. My major long-term project is a dual biography tentatively titled Kissing Cousins, AMB and AMB: The Artistic Lives of San Francisco’s Albert M. Bender and Anne M. Bremer. Meanwhile, I would like to introduce you to these two remarkable people who had a major impact on the Bay Area cultural landscape.

Anne Bremer (1868-1923) was a highly regarded San Francisco-based artist, noteworthy for her interest in modernism and experimentation, especially after she studied in New York and Paris in 1910-1911. She held a number of leadership roles in the Bay Area art community. Her career was cut tragically short by leukemia. Albert Bender (1866-1941) was her cousin and beloved life partner. A successful insurance broker, he became a major patron of artists, museums, libraries, and performing arts organizations. Through Anne’s influence, he was particularly open to modernism, and he helped establish what are now the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and Mills College Art Museum.

To read more, click on “About Albert Bender” and “About Anne Bremer” at the top of this page.

The Fascinating Bertha Clark Pope Damon

Bertha Pope, Witter Bynner and Albert Bender in 1927

As I explored the Albert Bender Papers at Mills College Library, I became very curious about a woman who had a complicated relationship with Bender. I soon learned that she once lived just a block from where I live now in Kensington, California, had earlier lived in a house featured in walking tours of the Berkeley Woods neighborhood, and had a shop in what is now the location of a business celebrating its centennial in 2022. She traveled to Santa Fe, New Mexico with Albert Bender and Ansel Adams and later became a best-selling memoir author and popular public speaker. Bertha was a woman with pizzazz.

So I wrote a Wikipedia article about her, ten years ago this month. I’ll expand on it a bit here and in my manuscript for the dual biography of Albert Bender and Anne Bremer.

Bertha came to Berkeley in 1910 when her new husband, Arthur Upham Pope, was hired to teach at the University of California. After the 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition, they had a Tudor-style building from the fair shipped across the bay and up the hill to Woodmont Avenue, and, with an addition, turned it into a home. Arthur was a brilliant and fascinating man in his own right, but an affair with one of his graduate students, Phyllis Ackerman, brought an end to both his marriage and his teaching career. (Arthur and Phyllis remained lifelong friends of Albert Bender.)

Bertha kept the house and became quite the hostess and social butterfly. As one author wrote, “The so-called Roaring Twenties had broken out prematurely in the San Francisco Bay area, at least in Bertha’s set.” She met Albert Bender around 1917, and by 1920 he had arranged for her to become the part-time secretary of the Book Club of California. They had a close, teasing relationship. Bertha somehow started referring to herself as the “Queen of Shedonia” (probably referring to hedonism). Her “court” included Oscar Lewis, the “valiant knight Primo”; Albert Bender, the “Chancellor”; and a female “Comic Poet”—possibly Maude Fellows, who served as the Book Club secretary between Bertha and Oscar. In the summer of 1922, Bertha, Oscar and the “comic poet” went to Europe. Albert wrote, and Edwin and Robert Grabhorn printed, a booklet about their trip, presented to them as a welcome-back gift: “How the Queen of Shedonia, her valiant knight Primo & the comic poet Lady Tomato Hood acquired a trans-Atlantic touch.” Here is a sample passage:

They were so busy scrapping over Bills, looking up Time Tables, paying Excess Baggage and sending Illustrated Postal Cards that they had very little Time for Sights. Still, they managed to look into 400 Cathedrals that seemed just alike and had the same damp Odor and they stood in front of several thousand faded Masterpieces and let on to Admire them. After a while all Scenery looked alike to them and when a Guide tried to pull them into a Gallery they resisted. This was the Time when the Queen took a Drink of Bender’s Port.

In the Bender Papers is another spoof by Albert, dated 14 September 1922, purporting to advertise “The Royal Ford for Sale.” It ends with claiming the Ford’s great historical significance as having belonged to the “Queen of Shedonia, Conqueror of Mens’ Hearts and Lightning Calculator of the Revenues of Disordered and Decrepit Buildings.”

Bertha evidently created two scrapbooks about the Court of Shedonia as Christmas gifts to Albert. One mentions her giving him a puppy named Albertha and him giving her one named Duke Mickey. Both scrapbooks refer to fires destroying her shop and an apartment house she owned, with the insurance proceeds making it possible to buy the Kensington lot, but I have found no evidence that these fires actually took place, and the chronology makes no sense. As of January 1925 her Old World Shop at 2998 College Avenue in Berkeley was still in business but she was liquidating its inventory. Soon thereafter the building became the home of Tulanian Rugs, still operating in the same location.

Whatever the truth may be, Bertha had the Spanish-style house at the top of Eagle Hill custom designed by architect Roland Stringham and built in 1925. She named the house Mar y Ciel and hosted recitals and other gatherings there.

In the early spring of 1927, Bertha and Albert went by car, with Ansel Adams driving, to Santa Fe, New Mexico—“twelve hundred long miles, mostly on washboard roads,” according to Ansel. There they visited with Witter (“Hal”) Bynner and Mary Austin, and Bertha bought numerous Native American souvenirs. On the way home, Bertha sat in the front. Ansel recounted in his autobiography:

I shall never forget Albert, squeezed in the back, draped with rugs and adorned with pots, literally covered with Bertha’s collection. There was no air conditioning, of course, and if the backseat windows were opened, the blast of air would damage the feathers of the Hopi Kachina dolls. Red as a beet and dripping with perspiration, Albert manfully endured the three-day ordeal of the hot return trip. Bertha and I thought the trip had been wonderful. Albert was less impressed with the wild west but enjoyed the human contacts and the sophisticated life of Santa Fe.

After that, Albert and Bertha were no longer close friends, as various letters written by or to mutual friends testify. She wrote to Marie Welch in April 1927, “I went with Albert on a semi-reconciliation trip to Santa Fe. Had a glorious time with Hal, wished you were there. Offended A. by said glorious time and he is off again. No use, my dear. As we novelists say ‘This is the End.’” How close they had been between Anne’s death in 1923 and Bertha’s marriage to Lindsay Damon in March 1928 is up for speculation. She typed a letter in the style of Don Marquis’s “archy the cockroach” that implies the end of a romance with Albert wanting to remain friends. It ends “goo bye i love you.”

More Berkeley history

For the past few months I’ve been working on an exhibit for the Berkeley Historical Society, “Berkeley’s Fascination with Food.” I’m pleased to let you know that a team of us have created an online exhibit you can view here. I hope it’s the first of many, although my BHS activities do draw me away from working on the Bremer/Bender book.

Painting is “Berkeley Cuisine,” © by Madeline Rohner
(painted for the Berkeley Historical Society, 2020).

Have you discovered this book?

Cannon book spineIf you’re interested in the art and artists of Northern California in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, you need to be aware of a magnum opus by a fellow alumnus of U.C. Berkeley , Robert W. Edwards. It’s called Jennie V. Cannon: The Untold History of the Carmel and Berkeley Art Colonies, Vol. 1. (Oakland, Calif.: East Bay Heritage Project, 2012).  At my suggestion, the author has posted an online facsimile of the entire text on the Traditional Fine Arts Organization website, http://www.tfaoi.com/aa/10aa/10aa557.htm. It’s about much more than Jennie Cannon, although he’s done a great service in bringing out the story of this prominent artist who faded into undeserved obscurity. In almost 400 pages of fine print, he has compiled detailed biographies of more than 200 artists who worked in Berkeley or Carmel (with more to come in volume 2). In the introduction he writes:

From these histories we can draw some startling conclusions. For example, from the mid to late 1920s, a period when many consider that the Carmel art colony had reached its apogee, eight artists, who are recognized today as outstanding figures, can be confirmed as preeminent based on the frequency of exhibitions outside the Monterey Peninsula and the degree of critical acclaim during their lifetimes: E. Charlton Fortune, Arthur Hill Gilbert, Armin Hansen, Joseph Mora, Mary DeNeale Morgan, John O’Shea, William Ritschel and William Silva. However, the same contemporary sources indicate that ten other Carmel exhibitors were quite exceptional and given equal if not more attention in the press: Roberta Balfour, Margaret Bruton, Ferdinand Burgdorff, Jennie V. Cannon, Gene Kloss, Edith Maguire, Clayton S. Price, J. Blanding Sloan, William C. Watts and Stanley H. Wood.

Likewise, in the first Berkeley art colony Edwin Deakin, William Keith and Xavier Martinez are today viewed as “the celebrities,” but critics and the public between 1906 and 1911 held in the greatest esteem nine other Berkeley artists: Henry J. Breuer, Louise Carpenter, Charles M. Crocker, Carl Dahlgren, Jules Mersfelder, Perham Nahl, Charles P. Neilson, Eda Smitten and Elizabeth Strong.

For my own research on Anne Bremer, this book has provided references to specific articles in sources like the Carmel Pine Cone and Berkeley Courier that I might never have tracked down. So if you want to learn in depth about any artist of Carmel or Berkeley prior to about 1950, be sure to check this resource!

More on Berkeley Art Museums and Galleries

There are just two more weekends left of my exhibit at the Berkeley Historical Society. The official closing day is Saturday, April 2, but it will also be open on Sunday, the 3rd, 2-4 p.m., for a talk by Aleta George about her biography of poet Ina Coolbrith (who, by the way, was one of Albert Bender’s many friends; the Bender Papers at Mills College contain 85 letters she wrote him beginning in 1917).

An exciting and serendipitous discovery during my research for the exhibit was a 1929 Sanborn map of the Cal campus, with the building that was the University Art Gallery from 1934 to 1970 labeled “Bender Art Museum.” I think the map was tweeted by someone at the Bancroft Library. According to the Centennial Record of the University of California (1967) list of buildings, it was in 1931 that the power and steam plant operations moved out of John Galen Howard’s 1904 brick building, but this map shows that its future use as an art gallery was already contemplated in 1929, and that the university was proposing to name it the Bender Art Museum. Art professor Eugen Neuhaus is credited with the idea of converting the building to an art gallery. At the building dedication, Provost Monroe Deutsch gave Albert Bender most of the credit for making it happen:

. . . though the University of California had no art gallery, with faith in the future and an eagerness to provide the material for a great art gallery, which he saw one day coming, he gave us paintings, marbles, and other works of art, even though he realized that for a time some would have to be stored and others serve merely to embellish the previously austere offices of the President and myself.

The Class of 1933 made a monetary gift that covered part of the cost of the renovation, and Albert “proceeded at once in characteristic fashion to go out and tell his friends how important the enterprise was and to secure the necessary additional funds to supplement the gift of the class. But he did not stop with this. He threw himself into the whole process of converting the Power House into a suitable place for works of art.”

Deutsch wrote in a letter to Albert,

I feel confident we are now laying the foundations of what will some day be a magnificent art gallery, something of which the State will have a right to be proud. Neither you nor I will be here to see it but in spirit at least we can frequent its halls and rejoice in the accomplishment of a dream. And when that day comes I shall pat you on your immaterial back and say, “Albert, you see what you have accomplished.”

The latest incarnation of that dream opened as the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive where the campus meets downtown Berkeley on January 31, 2016.

Ann’s Latest Research Project: Berkeley Art Museums and Galleries

I’m curating an exhibit for the Berkeley Historical Society, to run October 11, 2015–April 2, 2016, called “Art Capital of the West”: Real and Imagined Art Museums and Galleries in Berkeley. It was Jennie V. Cannon, an artist, who visited Berkeley in 1907 and wrote in her daybook, “I could not believe my eyes—there were artist groups and displays everywhere—so many fine artists that this place surpasses San Francisco as the art capital of the West.” As Berkeley town and gown look forward to the opening of the new Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive this winter, the exhibit will look back over more than 130 years of hopes, dreams, successes and setbacks.

Old Art Gallery UC

Old Art Gallery, UC Berkeley, with WPA mosaics

Who knew that there was a Berkeley Art Museum back in the 1920s? That UC Berkeley’s third building, after North and South Halls, was built as an art gallery as well as the campus library? You may know about the “Old Art Gallery” at Cal, a brick building behind Sproul Hall that had been a power and steam plant before it became a gallery in 1934 with the help of art professor Eugen Neuhaus and art patron Albert Bender. The exhibit will feature the rocky history of the dream for a major university art museum that dates back to the generosity of Phoebe Apperson Hearst in the 1890s and early 1900s but took a long time to come to fruition.

I’ll also try to cover private and non-profit galleries, including the ACCI Gallery, Ames Gallery, Berkeley Art Center, Judah Magnes Museum, Kala Art Institute Gallery, and any others that come to my attention as having existed up to 25 years ago. Please let me know if you have relevant material to lend, other ideas, or would like to receive an invitation to the show.

Albert Bender and the PPIE

400px-Postcard_from_the_Panama-Pacific_ExpositionThere will be much talk in the coming year about the centennial of the Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915. This world’s fair was a spectacular and significant event for San Francisco, less than a decade after much of the city was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire.

Albert Bender, an insurance broker, played a key role in arranging for fire insurance coverage for the exposition, although it seems he kept a pretty low profile (he often preferred anonymity). In October 1913, the San Francisco Insurance Brokers’ Exchange had established a committee, including Albert, to propose “a plan whereby the insurance of the Exposition Company would be handled in the simplest and most economical manner . . . and which at the same time would secure the hearty co-operation of the members of the Brokers’ Exchange.”1 A dispute arose, in which a “syndicate” of just a few of the hundreds of local brokers appealed to the Exposition Company to contract exclusively with them, but it seems the larger group prevailed, agreeing to arrange for the complexities of insuring the exposition with no profit to individual brokers. A few letters from Albert to officers of the exposition during 1914 and 1915 attest to his continued involvement. Two plaques in the Bender Papers at Mills College express gratitude to him in relation to the exposition. A letter written by George Sterling in February 1915 refers to Albert as having “overworked himself on the P.P.I.E.” But I have not found his name in any of the published records of the fair or in newspaper accounts of such events as “Insurance Day.”

In late 1914 and early 1915 Albert was in frequent contact with the poet George Sterling, who, separated from his wife Carrie, had moved to New York and was struggling financially as he tried to sell his poetry or find work at a magazine or newspaper. In October Sterling wrote, “Can you tell me if the Exposition is really to be opened in Feb.? I hear all sorts of rumors, pro and con. I intend to write (unofficially) an ode for the occasion, and know it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever done. But I don’t want to begin it if there’s to be no Exposition till God-knows-when!” Albert reassured him it was on schedule and did his best to influence the exposition board to commission the poet to write an official ode. Sterling said he wouldn’t expect much payment—“a hundred dollars is enough. Probably I could get that much from even a newspaper. So I’ll take as much more as the P.P.I.E. would give, provided they’ll give anything at all.” But when Sterling heard that Ina Coolbrith might be receiving this commission, he wrote to Albert, “I want to thank you most heartily for all the trouble you’ve gone to in my behalf, and assure you that I appreciate it immensely. But I can’t keep any laurels or emoluments from so unfortunate and gifted a singer as Miss Coolbrith.”2

Ina Coolbrith, who was now in her seventies, had been a highly regarded but impecunious Bay Area poet and an honorary member of the Bohemian Club since the 1870s. In 1892 she had been dismissed after nineteen years as librarian for the Oakland public library, where she had been paid meagerly but was fondly remembered for mentoring Jack London and Isadora Duncan, among others. In 1893 she had been commissioned to write a poem for a California event at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago. But it seems the Panama Pacific Exposition Board did not come up with funds for a commissioned ode, so Sterling went ahead and wrote and submitted to the San Francisco Examinerover 250 lines. I hope to Gawd they accept it! It’s rather Socialistic: but Hearst shouldn’t be particular along lines!”3 The Examiner paid him $125 and published the poem on the exposition’s opening day, February 20, 1915. Before that, Sterling was surviving in New York largely through the charity of Albert and other friends.

Although New York hadn’t given Sterling much recognition, he was greatly revered at this time in San Francisco, and a quote from one of his poems was inscribed over a prominent gateway at the exposition. But it was Ina Coolbrith who was honored as California’s first Poet Laureate by the International Congress of Authors and Journalists at the Exposition.5 Sterling is referred to often as “San Francisco’s unofficial poet laureate.” His “Ode on the Opening of the Panama Pacific Exposition” appeared later in 1915 as a limited-edition book published by Alexander M. Robertson of San Francisco, who had produced a book of Sterling poems the previous year. The book is dedicated “To Albert M. Bender” and may have been underwritten by Albert and others Albert persuaded to pre-order it.6

1 George Newhall to Charles Moore, 11 October 1913, PPIE Archives, Bancroft library, UC Berkeley, box 66, folder 41.

2 George Sterling to Bender, 24 November 1914, BP. This letter was published in facsimile in 1935 (years after Sterling’s death) by the Book Club of California with an introduction by Robinson Jeffers about Sterling’s generosity: “The Letters of Western Authors–Number One,” 1935, sponsored by Albert.

3 Sterling to Bender, 1 February 1915.

4 Sterling to Bender, 17 December 1914.

5 San Francisco Chronicle, 1 July 1915, p. 7.

Some Quotes About Albert and Anne

Albert Bender

“He is that rare patron, a man who is one of those he helps, modest and generous always in the presence of another’s achievement.” (George West, 1931)

“Bender was a man small in stature but big in his enthusiastic support of the arts.” (James Hart)

“Albert Bender, that adored, elf-happy, Maecenas-hearted San Francisco character” (Julia Cooley Altrocchi in The Spectacular San Franciscans, 1949)

“If I am entitled to half a page in the Chronicle, the whole issue would be too little for you.” (Walter A. Haas in a letter to Bender, August 17, 1938)

“Everyone in that place [Temple Emanu-El, Bender memorial service attended by 3,000 people] felt that he or she was Albert’s closest friend. . . . I don’t think anyone like that will ever exist again.” (Elise Stern Haas)

Anne Bremer

“I think his cousin was the one who had the knowledge. Anne Bremer was a very brilliant woman.” (Elsie Martinez)

“Miss Anne Bremer, who stands among the first women artists of the West . . .” (Anna Pratt Simpson, 1907)

“Miss Bremer is distinctly a pioneer.” (Michael Williams, 1914)

“She was one of the most intelligent, one of the most independent, one of the most original of our painters. . . . With a small canvas and her magic brushes she could light up a room with immortal brilliance, and at the same time strike a spark in the brain . . . . Anne Bremer’s paintings will be valued more and more as the years pass. She painted out of her own rich nature, borrowed nothing, conceding nothing to the whims and fads that beset the painter’s art in this epoch of artistic unrest. Her genius burned strongly in a frail body . . . .” (Edward F. O’Day, Oakland Post-Enquirer, reprinted in the limited edition book Tributes to Anne Bremer)

“As far as a salon has existed in San Francisco Anne Bremer’s beautiful studio home was a salon where met and where one could meet the artists, the writers, the thinkers, the workers, the progressives, the personages of the hour in friendly informal association. From all the world and all fields of endeavor they gathered at her dinner table and around her studio fire . . . .” (Helen Dare, ibid.)

“Always she was original, as powerful personalities must be; never trifling, catchy, superficial: a colorist in painting, a philosopher in poetry; always serene.” (Charles Erskine Scott Wood, ibid.)

William Keith, California’s “Old Master”

Keith Sand Dunes

William Keith, Sand Dunes and Fog, San Francisco,
circa 1880s, Saint Mary’s College Collection

I spent 16 years working with the collection of paintings by William Keith (1838-1911) at Saint Mary’s College, Moraga, California. I created a William Keith Room to display works from the collection in what was then called the Hearst Art Gallery. With a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts and sponsorships from several individuals, we were able to publish a catalog of the collection in 1988. I was way too busy running the museum to do the necessary research and writing. One expert on historic California art, John Garzoli, recommended another, Alfred C. Harrison, Jr. When I first met Alfred he was a private collector and researcher. He agreed to write a monograph about William Keith for our publication, concurrent with taking over the North Point Gallery in San Francisco. Joseph Armstrong Baird, who had served as art curator for the California Historical Society in the 1960s and early 70s while also teaching art history at U.C. Davis, had founded the North Point Gallery in 1972. It still exists today, in its third location, with Alfred Harrison as president, and still focuses on historic California art.

The Keith Collection at Saint Mary’s was started by Brother Fidelis Cornelius, who taught at the college and published a 600-page biography of the artist, Keith, Old Master of California, in 1942, followed by a supplementary volume in 1957. The size of the collection, now more than 160 paintings, has made it possible for the Saint Mary’s College Museum of Art to repeatedly develop traveling exhibitions. For one of these, I wrote an article that draws heavily from Keith’s own words. With permission from American Art Review, I am attaching that illustrated article here. If it whets your appetite for more, you may want to acquire the 2011 book, The Comprehensive Keith, in which every painting in the collection is illustrated in color, Alfred’s essay is updated, and two conservators have written essays about the paintings and their frames.

To read more, download my article from American Art Review 6:6 (Dec 1994–Jan 1995): “William Keith: California’s Poet-Painter.”

Anne and Albert and Gertrude Stein

Gertrude Stein and her brother Leo are well known for being pioneering collectors and promoters of modern French art in the early 20th century while living in Paris. Another brother, Michael, and his wife Sarah also lived in Paris, became collectors, and brought paintings back home to San Francisco. Some of these paintings are now owned by the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (SFMOMA). Michael was the eldest of five siblings, and it was his shrewd business management of the family’s assets that enabled the others to live comfortably and begin collecting art. Fellow San Francisco art aficionados Anne Bremer and Albert Bender knew the Stein family and were no doubt influenced by their adventurous attitudes toward modern art.

The Fauve (“wild beast”) movement got its name from a critic’s comment on some of the more radical, intensely colored paintings in the 1905 Salon d’Automne. One painting that was especially ridiculed by visitors and the press was Matisse’s Woman with a Hat, now in the SFMOMA collection.Matisse Woman with Hat One of the Steins (it’s not entirely clear who) bought the painting, and Leo and Gertrude each later bragged that they had been the first to recognize Matisse’s genius. But according to Matisse himself, “Mme. Michael Stein was the really intelligently sensitive member of the family.”[1] She certainly became one of his most ardent early supporters and patrons, as well as studying painting with him in the Académie Matisse, which she helped establish in 1908, and keeping detailed notes of his statements about art.[2]

An indirect result of the 1906 earthquake was the introduction of modern French art to San Francisco. Michael and Sarah Stein, who had been living in Paris and collecting art, returned to their home city that summer, bringing some paintings they had bought. Exactly what these paintings were is not entirely clear. Some accounts says there were three Matisses. According to Ray Boynton’s interview with Anne in 1922, “Her first introduction to the moderns came in the home of a friend here who had brought with her from Paris two small canvases, a Cezanne and a Matisse.”[3] This friend had to be Sarah Stein, who wrote to her sister-in-law Gertrude:

I have had a pretty hot time with some of the artists . . . . You see, Mikey [her husband] sprang the Matisses on one just for fun, and since the startling news that there was such stuff in town has been communicated, I have been a very popular lady; it has not always been what Albert Meyer used to call “pleasant.” Oh, Albert Bender has been our most faithful & devoted—as always—he runs in to see us every few days–but his devotion hardly stood the test of the “femme au nez vert.” Anne Bremer (his cousin) insisted upon his seeing it—she had told him of it, and he had said “if Sarah Stein says it’s great it must be—and Anne said “But just wait until you see it.” Upon his demand, I assured him that perhaps he’d better spare himself this test, as I knew his belief in my infallibility was something very dear to him. “No,” he said, “I shall never, never, never say, as others have, that you are crazy.” Well, he saw it—for two minutes he was speechless—then he meekly inquired, “But don’t you think you’re crazy?”[4]

Stein family

The Steins in the courtyard of 27 rue de Fleurus, ca. 1905. From left, Leo Stein, Allan Stein, Gertrude Stein, Theresa Ehrman, Sarah Stein, and Michael Stein.
Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley

During their stay in San Francisco Sarah (“Sally”) Stein

resumed her pivotal role in the lives of her California women friends, a group of unmarried, artistic, German-Jewish women of at least middle-class status. These women had long envied Sally her marriage and motherhood; now their friend was also privy to glamorous Parisian ways. She urged them to visit France. Among her frequent visitors was Harriet Levy, now an aspiring writer and the drama critic for The Wave, a local weekly; Annette Rosenshine, an art student; and Alice B. Toklas, Annette’s cousin and Harriet’s O’Farrell Street neighbor.[5]

All three went to Paris not long afterward, and Alice famously stayed, moving in with Gertrude and Leo. Anne Bremer—also unmarried, artistic, German-Jewish, and so on—joined the rush to Paris a few years later. Before settling in Paris she visited Florence, Italy, early in the summer of 1910, while Gertrude and Alice were vacationing at a villa in nearby Fiesole. Anne wrote to Alice, who served as Gertrude’s secretary:

I am so very sorry, my dear Miss Toklas that I can not have the pleasure of lunching with you, but I leave on Saturday, or if I fail to get done, on Sunday, for Venice. In about a week I go on to Paris where I hope to see you a little later. My address will be care of Cook and Son, and for the first I expect to go to the American Art Students Club.
Hoping you will have a very pleasant summer, with kind greetings believe me
Cordially yours, Anne M. Bremer[6]

Also surviving in the Gertrude Stein papers is a note from Anne after their return to Paris inviting “Miss Toklas” and “Miss Stein” to tea at her apartment, 115 rue Notre Dame de Champs.[7] Anne must have made at least one pilgrimage to the rue de Fleurus apartment occupied by Gertrude, Leo and Alice, as did so many other American artists in the pre-war years. Anne was, of course, better acquainted with Sarah and Michael Stein, whom she may have seen soon after arriving in Paris. But Sarah’s father was seriously ill, and on July 16 they left for San Francisco, and they did not return to Paris until about the time Anne left in September 1911.

Visitors to the Gertrude Stein home, often dropping in during Saturday night salons, came away with a variety of impressions. Artist Anne Goldthwaite described her first visit there, in 1906: after walking past a concierge’s “cage” and “across a little pebbled court we went into a beautiful large studio filled with antique Italian furniture. The walls were covered with the most remarkable pictures I had ever seen. I knew that they must be pictures because they were framed and hanging on the wall.” She found Gertrude “a brilliant talker,” witty, and saying she knew nothing about painting: “I only quote my brothers, Mike and Leo.” On the other hand, she never again saw Gertrude in quite such a cheerful, talkative mood.[8]

Agnes Meyer (who was distantly related to Anne and Albert) wrote:

During my Paris year I came to feel a real sympathy for Leo Stein and genuine respect for his artistic judgment. But I was hampered in my relations with Leo because I conceived an immediate antipathy for his sister Gertrude. . . . Most of the visitors to the Stein apartment in 1909 paid little attention to Gertrude. The center of attraction was Leo’s brilliant conversation on modern French art and the remarkable collection mostly of contemporary paintings which he made at little cost with the aid of his independent and exacting judgment. Leo was cruelly shut off from easy communication with others by his inner conflicts. But his extreme sensitivity, introspection and overly severe self-criticism aroused sympathy rather than aversion. When we looked at his collection together, he spoke little, but his occasional words and the intensity of his feeling revealed the modern paintings one saw with him in their highest significance.[9]

Edward Fisk, an American artist who visited in 1912, wrote that Gertrude

was shaped and draped like a Hindu idol. She was not the sphinx I expected but a very gracious and charming hostess and had a tinkling, humorous laugh that one would never forget. . . . I had not come, as most people had, to meet Miss Stein but to see their collection of modern painting. Painters who were at that time considered the wild men of Paris (Fauves) lined the walls of her studio: Matisse, Picasso and others. Cezanne, Renoir, and El Greco hung with these present day wild men. . . The room was filled with Americans drinking in Gertrude’s charm and modern French art. The young man who brought me there was a Stein enthusiast . . . He invited me, a few evenings later, to see a collection of Matisse that was housed in the residence of Michael Stein.[10]

Sarah wrote to Gertrude from San Francisco on October 15, 1910, “Mr. Bender has been very nice to us. He leaves in a few weeks to join Anne Bremer. Do your best for him.”[11] There is no proof of his visiting rue de Fleurus, but he and Anne probably did so together. During this visit he may have even bought some of the modern French prints that he later donated to SFMOMA.

Albert would have had another chance to encounter Gertrude Stein when she visited San Francisco for eleven days in 1935, her first return to the U.S. after many years abroad. They had many literary friends and acquaintances in common, and if nothing else he would probably have attended her lecture at Mills College, where he was a Trustee. He would not have been pleased to hear that she had declined to meet Robinson Jeffers while she was in Carmel enroute to San Francisco, because he was a great friend and patron of Jeffers. But at the same time Gertrude and Alice were in San Francisco, Albert was immersed in the opening of the city’s museum of primarily modern art, featuring art he had donated. So the seeds planted by the Stein family’s early enthusiasm for modern art had germinated in San Francisco for close to three decades, nurtured by Anne Bremer, Albert Bender, and a handful of others, and finally blossomed under museum director Grace McCann Morley.


1. “Matisse’s American Patrons,” Time, 30 March 1962 (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,895984-1,00.html)

2. Sadly, Sarah Stein sold most of her pioneering modern art collection during the Depression to fuel her grandson Daniel’s passion for racehorses.  Through the efforts of Elise Haas and others, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art now owns twelve works by Matisse and Picasso from the Stein collection, and reassembled many more of the hundreds of works collected by the Stein family for an exhibition in 2011.

3. San Francisco Chronicle, 17 September 1922, p. D4.

4. Sarah Stein to Gertrude Stein, 8 October 1906, Gertrude Stein Papers, Beinecke Library, Yale University.  The “woman with the green nose” was probably The Green Line, now in the Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen.

5. Linda Wagner-Martin, “Favored Strangers”: Gertrude Stein and Her Family (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1995), p. 81.

6. Anne Bremer to Alice Toklas, undated, Gertrude Stein Papers, Beinecke Library, Yale University, box 97, folder 1830.

7.. Anne Bremer to Alice Toklas, undated, Gertrude Stein Papers, loc. cit.

8. Adelyn Dohme Breeskin, Anne Goldthwaite (Montgomery, Ala.: Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts, 1982), pp. 23-24.

9. Agnes E. Meyer, Out of These Roots (New York: Arno Press, 1980), p. 81.

10. Letter from Edward Fisk, circa 1931, to his sister-in-law Spalding Young, quoted in Rachael Sadinsky, “Edward Fisk: A Modern Life,” from Edward Fisk: American Modernist (Lexington: University of Kentucky Art Museum, 1998).

11. Sarah Stein to Gertrude Stein, 15 October 1910, Gertrude Stein Papers, box 126, folder 2730.

Poems by Anne Bremer


Buried deep it lies,
A metal bell with a hollow sound,
Deep down in the ground.

Scanning the skies
For stars to wear
As moondust in our hair,
We walk around.
With simulated glee each goes,
Peering for tiny flowers of rose
Spangled on the ground.

So carefully covered, hidden it lies,
This metal bell of hollow sound;
With finger on lips, we move around;
For no one dares, oh, no one dares—
See the smiling mask that each one wears.


On days when I remember
The days I would forget,
I walk among the flowers
Of the garden I have made;
Flowers of clearest azure
Grow, I find, in shade.


Unwearied the seasons come and go,
Unfailing recur bud, leaf, fruit, snow.
The vast blue solitude abides,
Each walks alone below—
Two seldom walk abreast.

When the circle is rounded by the tides
And the journey ends—who would not rest?


I had not hoped last year
To look on budding cheer.
Mauve heather spray-drops bloom
Like pale nuns, wrapped austere;
And on my window sill
Two sappy leaf-blades, slim,
Enfold a daffodil.

Slowly I climb the hill,
The tangled web nearer, each day;
One furtive, wistful glance
I cast—the other way.


In city crowds, in whirls of sound and motion,
In remote lands, under far sky,
Though years together, we have been strangers,
My soul and I.

Aged walls of apathy close in upon us,
The pleasant social smile has ceased to satisfy;
We are alone together, . . . no longer strangers,
My soul and I.


Waves majestic,
Rising, seething,
Foaming, crashing;
Pools of molten gold
Poured upon fluid chrysoprase.

A bird, solitary,
Speeding darkly, dips the curling crests;
Rising, seething,
Foaming, crashing;
Vast silences beyond.

Expand oh! soul, hold infinitude!
Spacious tranquility
Calmly silvering into night.


Shadows of lilac echo the form
Of my arched shoe,
Where the bare, untrammeled toe
Of an agile Indian may have pressed,
Long years ago.

When Serra’s thonged and sandaled feet
Marred the smoothness of tawny sand,
Wistful memory followed birds
Flying in quest
Of genial land.

The tide for her shining lover will reach
When moonlight silvers dunes and beach;
Many feet have passed on your silent plain,—
Unchanging, changing—you remain.


Slender lily smooth and white
whose perfume floats upon the air
like opalescent gossamer;

Butterfly poised, shimmering wings in light,
gold damascene: black, pure-yellow and jade;

Magic music, in its flight
softly winging aloft the soul;

If only a day, of spiritual height
calmly silvering to its goal.


Anne Bremer, Still Life, ca. 1921, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Anne Bremer, Still Life, ca. 1921, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Aubergin and yellow glazes,
Satsuma and rare old vases,
In the studio on the hilltop;
Silken curtains filter daylight,
Where the mellow shade falls softly
On a lacquered jar of rouge.

Golden glints of prisoned sunlight
Gleam within a wide-necked milk-jug,
Downy folds of scarlet velvet
Mirrored view their ruddy beauty,
And the frisking flames of firelight
Dance upon its polished surface.

On a wooden cart it rattled
In the quaint old town of Bruges;
Over stones and bumpy pavements,
Over crooked narrow streets.
Once it humbly served the many
Chubby, placid, Belgian babies.

Toddling babies cooed and prattled
While their mothers friendly gossiped.
Sun-rays skipped across its surface
In a wooden cart with others,
Ample-bellied shining brothers.

Golden glints of prisoned sunlight
Gleam within its bright brass surface;
Idle now, it lolls at ease.


Anne Bremer, The Highlands, ca. 1920, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Anne Bremer, The Highlands, ca. 1920, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Crooked gnarled cedars fringe grey sea;
Still falls a ghostly pall of haze
Lowering chill on rocky shore.

Savage waves, boisterous, lash grim crags;
Hungry waves, clamorous, pound and roar:
More, more, more!

These were all written in the last two years or so of Anne Bremer’s life, after she developed leukemia.  Shall I post some more?