A nun in her 40s wrote a letter to the French cleric Bernard of Clairvaux in 1146. Hildegard of Bingen was, for the very first time, disclosing the religious experiences she had had since childhood: “Father, I am greatly disturbed by a vision which has appeared to me through divine revelation …” Swiftly responding with words of encouragement, Bernard wrote back: “We rejoice in the grace of God which is in you.”
A few years later, Hildegard, now with support from the pope, moved from her native Disibodenberg in Germany and established a new abbey in the region of Eibingen. An author, artist, composer and visionary, Hildegard went on to complete – no doubt aided by her cloistered sisters – three major theological volumes (including the bejewelled illuminated manuscript Scivias filled with records of her visions), two scientific treatises (with texts specifically targeting the needs for women, such as the plants used for an abortion), and invented her own language (the “Lingua Ignota” – a glossary of 1,000 words). By the time of her death in 1179, aged 81, she had penned 77 sublime liturgical songs that are still regularly performed today.
Bingen is not alone in her late achievements. Mary Delany was 72 when she innovated the technique of collage. Having been struck by the similarities between a piece of red paper and a geranium, she started splicing her first “paper mosaick”. A decade later, the British artist had produced nearly 1,000 extraordinarily lifelike, delicate and stringy paper flowers that, set against dark backgrounds, appear to bloom in the night. It was only when her eyesight weakened, towards the end of her life in 1788, that she stopped producing them in such vast quantities.
At Christmas in 1863, the British photographer Julia Margaret Cameron first got her hands on a camera, a present from her daughter and son-in-law. At the age of 48, she went on to pioneer a new aesthetic for photography that chimed with her pre-Raphaelite contemporaries: dreamy, sepia pictures of diaphanously dressed girls and women sporting long willowy hair, often posing as mythological subjects. At a time when Victorian society deemed a woman’s place to be the home, Cameron broke free, forging a path for this new medium that was not yet steeped in patriarchal attitudes. This year, Cameron will be honoured with a big exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London, alongside Francesca Woodman.
Then there are those who are still working today, such as 65-year-old Claudette Johnson, who returned to the studio only a decade ago. In the 1980s Johnson was at the forefront of the British Black arts movement, but struggled to find places to exhibit. This, Dorothy Price of the Courtauld in London tells me, was due to various factors including “the advent of the YBAs and the eclipse of all the political radicalism of the 1980s, towards the consumerism of the 1990s”.
With Johnson’s attention focused on teaching – “I was working in literacy support in a school, which gave me long evenings and holidays” – and family commitments, it was only after her children were grownup that she could consider returning to the studio. Before, she had found it difficult to motivate herself after years of seeing her drawings languish in storage, a friend’s cellar, her hallway, or spare bedroom.
Then, in 2012, Johnson was invited to take part in a symposium celebrating the 30th anniversary of the First National Black Art Convention, which encouraged her to “review my practice”. Two years later, her friend and fellow British Black arts movement pioneer Lubaina Himid invited her to show at London’s Hollybush Gardens. She felt ready to take the leap: “What was pivotal was Lubaina’s commitment to getting me back in the studio. I was really moved that anyone cared enough about my work to facilitate my returning to it.” Johnson is now the subject of an acclaimed solo exhibition, Presence, at the Courtauld, which showcases her large-scale, sensitively drawn figures from the 1980s to the present day.
As we enter the new year, we should remember that it’s never too late to pick up something new, or return to something you once did – from delighting in a Christmas present, having an epiphany after seeing a flower, or taking encouragement from a good friend. Similarly, if someone you know needs a change, tell them it’s possible. Not that it’s without challenges, but as Johnson told me on her return to the studio: “It felt like coming home.”
