In the month of Our Lady, May 5th, 1988, the world lost one of its greatest Catholic artists. SISTER MARY JEAN DORCY, the famous Dominican nun, died after a twenty-year struggle with acute arthritis and lung ailments. Bedridden ten of those years, she never lost the desire to create and share beauty with the world.
As I thumb through the enormous files I have gathered over our twenty-year friendship and partnership, I feel an inner emptiness. Part of my own career has perished with my beloved mentor and friend. I think it is only proper to share some of my thoughts with you - her faithful followers.
Frances Emma Dorcy was born in Anacordes, Washington, on March 10th, 1914; the last of nine children.
Her love for scissors emerged at an early age. She wanted her own pair when she was two-and-a-half. Her stern mother explained that she'd have to wait until she was five, just like her older brothers and sisters. All the Dorcy children were taught to entertain themselves with scissors at age five. This hobby held their attention in those days, the way TV holds the attention of today's youth.
Strong willed even at two-and-a-half, she stole her mother's button-hole scissors and began to cut pictures out of the Sears' catalog; with each venture she'd be spanked. By the age of three she had been spanked flat. And by age four she simply had to revolt.
On the eve of the day when her clan was to gather for a family portrait, Frances took the buttonhole scissors, shut herself into a closet, and proceeded to cut off her hair. That is, all the hair her little arms could reach. This event was recorded in the portrait taken the following day.
This simple tale proves her devotion to the tool which seldom would even be considered in the field of fine arts. But in 1933, she changed all that. She resurrected the art of paper-cutting, and put the United States on the map. Before this date, European paper-cuttings were known as the most intricate.
There were four pairs of scissors that molded Sister's history: the button-hole scissors, the Buster Shears, the black-handled scissors, and the WISS scissors, which were used for 36 years-without a single sharpening. Of these four, the black handled pair carries the fondest memories. They paved the road which led to the nunnery.
When Frances graduated from high school at the very pit of the depression, her sisters and brothers decided that if it killed them, they were going to send her to the University of Washington.
It was a great surprise to everyone (including herself), when, at the end of the first year, she decided to enter the convent. She had been staying at the Dominican school in Seattle, working for her board, and was very much impressed with the Sisters.
The day before she was to leave her family and home, she sat on the floor packing a suitcase, when a brother and sister came into her room to dissuade her. Unsubtly, her brother said, "My God!, are they THAT hard up for nuns?"
Her sister, Margie, was crying. "You never did have a lick of sense, and you'll never develop there. You'll get in, and they'll never let you back out." Still packing, the young Dorcy replied, "If I want to come home, I'll walk out the same door I went in."
Protectively, her sister insisted that a code word be given so that if she was unhappy and wanted to come home, her family could come after her immediately. Frances was amused. But Margie insisted. Francie picked up her mother's sewing basket and said, "O.K., if I say 'black-handled scissors,' you come after me."
"That's silly," Margie said. "What could you ever possibly find to say about scissors?"
When Frances took the habit she was given the name Sister Mary Jean. And during her time as a novice, she felt that her chances were pretty slim for the voting. She had been tried at all the practical details of convent life and, one after the other, had fallen flat on her face. She couldn't cook. Couldn't keep discipline in the classroom. Fainted at the sight of blood. And knew absolutely nothing about bookkeeping. She accused herself, tearfully, that she couldn't even grow dandelions.
One day the Mistress of Novices called her in and asked if she'd ever cut a silhouette. "No," she replied, "l don't know how." The following day the Mistress sent for her again and handed her a framed silhouette from Austria. "Here is a paper-cutting. And here is some paper. I presume you have your own scissors. Now go make one just like it."
Sister Jean stood outside the office looking at the paper and the Austrian cutting and thought, "Well, people said that they'd tell me to do something impossible, and when I couldn't do it, they'd send me home." She didn't want to get sent home, even though she suspected that her chances were way up in the top ten. So, she went and "made one just like it!"
The Mistress of Novices was stunned, which Sister Mary Jean thought was odd of her; she had told her to make it hadn't she? And on Sunday the proud scissorist started a letter to her mother: "You'll never believe what the old black-handled sciss-"
No, she didn't dare use the words, "black-handled scissors;" her family would be right there at the convent door, ready to break it down if necessary.
From the beginning of her artistic career, Sister received letters from all parts of the world: Japan, Sweden, China, Ireland, France, Holland, Italy, and Bangkok to name just a few. Her fans could not believe that with simple scissors and paper, she could create the masterpieces she has left behind.
The art of paper-cutting has been around for two thousand years. But it was Sister Jean who birthed the style which has become so well loved. Her designs appeared in newspapers, magazines, books and as card illustrations for over fifty years.
Sister Jean's reputation continued to grow, and by the late Fifties she was considered in her field, top religious artist, USA. By the Sixties, her fame was noted world-wide. And not only was her artwork noted, but her literary talents, as well. She published 26 books during her life; many of them dedicated to her favorite beings: children. Most were illustrated with her cuts.
She spent the last years of the Sixties in Mexico, where she and her community assisted Father William Wasson, OFM, in staffing his enormous orphanage, a haven for 1,000 children. Her final cuttings were a set of six Mexican children's designs, published exclusively for the use of the orphanage. Those years left a warm spot in her heart. She loved the people and the work in Mexico. She often spoke of those days.
The early Seventies brought Sister's soaring career to a sudden halt. No longer was she able to produce her exquisite artistry. Crippled severely with arthritis, she simply could no longer hold her scissors. But her hands were young and strong when she did the cuttings, and the pictures belong to her prime years. She smiled with great fondness when remembering those days of old.
She worried that her creations and style would be lost forever, so she pleaded that I start "rehearsing" for the future. She sent me sketches which I still have and told me exactly what to cut, and what to leave. For the first 10 years I refused to cut. I painted the silhouettes, exactly as she dictated. But when the commissions started to come in, I realized I had to "obey" her wishes, and I began to cut, which would assuredly take less time. She always wrote back to me, stating the good and bad points. Even up to the end, she always offered her opinions, which I always held sacred.
From QUEEN Magazine Nov-Dec '88
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