1. The Museum has refused to allow residents of Harlem to have any meaningful input or participation in the planning of the Harlem on My Mind exhibition.
2. The Harlem on My Mind exhibition does not accurately, or adequately, represent the work of Harlem artists. Furthermore, the exhibit includes only photographs. Painters and artists of other visual media are completely overlooked and excluded.
“ ‘We demand that the museum take immediate steps to incorporate the voices of the Harlem community, or halt all planning and production of this exhibit. Signed, the Invisible 7,’ ” Jin finished reading.
“So what happened next?” Alex asked.
“Not too much.” Rad shook his head. “The museum went ahead with the exhibit as planned. But here’s where it gets interesting. The night before the exhibit opened, there was some kind of fancy party at the Met. At some point during the event, somebody vandalized some of the other paintings in the museum’s collection by scratching the letter H into the canvases. They even got one by that famous painter dude, Rembrandt. Talk about tagging.” Rad winked at Elvin before continuing.
“The paintings weren’t seriously damaged, but, still, it was a pretty major deal. There were loads of protestors outside the museum during the event, but folks suspected someone on the inside,” he explained.
Alex flipped through the papers in Rad’s file, pausing to read one of them. “It says here that Henriette was one of a select group of painters who’d been invited to participate in some kind of fellowship program that the Met was sponsoring for promising young artists,” she reported.
“Exactly!” Rad clapped his hands. “Most of the people in the Harlem arts community, including the Invisible 7, thought that Henriette vandalized those paintings. She had the motive and the opportunity. And get this, she never denied doing it.”
“But why? Why would she throw away such a prestigious opportunity? I bet most artists would kill to have a fellowship at the Metropolitan Museum.” Jin raised her voice. She couldn’t help but feel outraged by what she saw as a frivolous act on Henriette’s part.
“Prestige isn’t everything,” Alex argued.
“That’s kinda what Henriette said. Read this,” Rad held out another article.
“Though not formally charged, artist Henriette Drummond is a person of interest in the egregious act of vandalism that damaged ten paintings from the Metropolitan Museum’s collection,” Alex read aloud. “The crime is believed to have occurred during a gala at the Met, celebrating the opening of the controversial Harlem on My Mind exhibition.
“When asked for comment, museum staff member, Verta Mae Sneed, a key researcher and advisor for the exhibition, had this to say: ‘This horrendous event has damaged not only great works of art, but also the relationship between some members of the Harlem art community and the Metropolitan Museum. The museum has asked Miss Drummond to leave our fellowship program and declines to pursue further action at this time. We want to move forward and heal from this tragedy.’ ”
“Speaking on her own behalf, Miss Drummond said simply, ‘When you take art away from the people, you also take away their ability to tell their own stories, to shape their own destinies.’ ”
Rad closed his folder. “And that’s it. There weren’t any new murals after that. I think the Invisible 7 just kind of broke up. Total bummer, dudes.”
“I can’t believe that Verta Mae Sneed was at the center of all this. Sure, Henriette was wrong, but what Verta Mae did was even worse. She was a member of the Invisible 7, and she worked on an exhibit that, according to them, literally rendered them invisible as artists.” Alex jumped out of her seat. “I knew from the moment we met her that we couldn’t trust her.”
Jin wasn’t sure. She left the Schomburg feeling more confused than ever. Everything kept shifting, the threads of this increasingly complicated story slipping out of her grasp.
Later that night, an official announcement on the evening news reported that the recently discovered painting, the one she’d illegally photographed earlier, had conclusively been determined to be the work of Henriette Drummond. That must’ve been why Markum and all the reporters were at the hospital, Jin thought. The camera cut to a woman with stringy hair, who was a professor of art at some university. “The discovery of this painting may certainly have a significant impact on the cultural and economic future of Harlem,” the woman said.
The future. The words jumped out at her. She thought about the murals and about the controversy over the Harlem on My Mind exhibit, and suddenly she understood why the paintings were so important. This whole mess was not about fine art at all, it was about control. Whoever controlled the paintings controlled not the only the story, but potentially, the future of Harlem.
Rose called Jin on Saturday, a few days after the visit to the hospital and the Schomburg Center. She had information about the vintage hat they’d found in Elvin’s grandfather’s apartment. Jin had already agreed to meet Elvin and Alex that afternoon, so she invited Rose to come along.
“Going to study with Rose!” Jin called to Halmoni before leaving the bodega.
Halmoni stopped her and handed her a bag of groceries. “For the boy,” she said. “And don’t forget, we have big kimchi order to fill tonight. You come home early.”
Jin blushed as she headed out the door, embarrassed that Halmoni had caught her in a lie. Well, half a lie. Technically, she was helping Rose with her schoolwork. They’d agreed that Rose could use whatever she found out about the hat in her research project. Take that, Halmoni! Jin thought with a satisfied nod.
Rose was already sitting on the front stoop of her building, the hatbox balanced carefully on her knees, when Jin turned onto her block. As Jin got closer, she could see that the box had been wrapped in several layers of Bubble Wrap and packing tape. “Was that really necessary?” She pointed at the box. “We’re only going a few blocks.”
Rose looked appalled. “Of course it’s necessary. This is haute couture. If I could afford it, I would have hired an armored car to transport something this beautiful and rare.” Rose was very serious about fashion.
“Suit yourself.” Jin shrugged as Rose bounced along beside her, gingerly cradling the box. After she’d broken the news that Noodles’ prospective new home had been partially demolished, Rose had been pretty down. Jin was happy to see that she seemed to be in a good mood today. “How’s your history project going?” Jin asked her.
“Fabulously, thanks to this hat. You have no idea what a great find this is. It’s perfect for my fashion timeline. Do you think I could take it to school for the final presentation?”
“I’ll have to ask Elvin about that.”
“I would just love to be able to show an actual item by a famous Harlem designer, who—”
“Stop! Don’t tell me anymore. I want us all to hear about the hat at the same time.” Jin covered her ears.
“Fine, but the suspense is killing me!” Rose groaned. “Let’s talk about something else. How about your history project? How’re things with Mystery Girl?”
“Very mysterious,” Jin joked. “Seriously, though we’ve been working on our project, we just haven’t done a lot of work, if that makes sense. I mean, we’ve gathered a lot of good information, but we haven’t organized it yet.”
“You’d better hurry. Ms. Weir wants an outline and summary of our projects by Monday.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Jin said, surprised at how calm she felt. Normally, she was obsessive about assignment due dates. The thought of turning something in late could bring on an instant panic attack. Of course, this could still happen if, come Sunday night, she hadn’t finished her assignment, but, for now, at least, she wasn’t worried. Weird.
Alex was already at Elvin’s when they arrived. After letting them in, Alex plopped back down in the armchair where she’d been sitting and put her feet up on the ottoman. Elvin was bent over a pile of papers on the coffee table, frowning with concentration.
“What’s he
doing?” Jin asked.
“Homework,” Alex answered nonchalantly.
Elvin grinned up at them. “I’m doing Alex’s homework.”
“Alex! How could you?” Jin gasped.
“It was his idea,” Alex said.
“It’s true. I asked her if she had any homework. I was kind of missing school for some strange reason,” Elvin explained.
“Don’t you worry, my friend. There’s plenty more where that came from.” Alex stretched back into the chair, folding her arms behind her head.
“Elvin, this is my friend Rose O’Malley. She has some stuff to tell us about the hat we found at your grandfather’s apartment,” Jin said.
Elvin put his work aside and Alex drifted over to the couch so they could all gather around the coffee table. Rose placed the box in the center.
“First of all, I want to thank you for the honor and the privilege to research this hat. It’s not every day that I encounter an Isabel Drummond-Hernandez original,” Rose began.
“Were you able to find out if this Drummond is related to our Henriette Drummond?” Elvin asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but it could be,” Rose said. “Isabel Drummond-Hernandez was very active in the Harlem art scene, and a very well-known designer back in the sixties. She was famous for her hats, women’s dresses, and men’s tailored suits. She was also big in the theater. She did costumes for large Broadway productions, even a few movies. Isabel never followed trends. Her style was unique but still classic and timeless, like the feathered hat. It was probably made in the sixties, but looks like it’s from the 1920s, and I would totally wear it today. See? Timeless. By the way, can I wear the hat?”
“No way! Hat’s evidence,” Alex said firmly.
“Anyway,” Rose snapped. “Isabel had a pretty short career. She dropped out of the fashion scene in the seventies. That’s why her stuff is so valuable because it’s rare. But she’s still alive, and she lives right here in Harlem. I would give anything to meet her.”
“Let’s do it!” Alex jumped out of her seat. “Let’s go find Isabel. And bring the hat!”
Rose rushed ahead as they neared the building. “This is it!” she called, waving her arms in the air with excitement. Alex marched up to her and dragged her off to one side.
“This is an investigation, not a parade,” she admonished. “We’re not trying to let the whole neighborhood know what we’re up to.”
“Sorry.” Rose wrenched her arm away from Alex. “I’m just excited. We’re about to meet a fashion icon. It’s not my fault if you can’t appreciate that.”
“Can we please just go in?” Jin brushed past Rose and Alex to get to the building’s entrance. She ran her finger down the list of names beside the buzzers until she found one marked IDH. “This must be it.”
“Oh, please let me!” Rose nudged her aside to push the buzzer.
“Who’s there?” a frail-sounding woman’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“Mrs. Hernandez, my friends and I would like to talk to you about an important matter,” Alex spoke up in a professional-sounding manner before Rose could answer.
“Please leave me alone. I don’t have what you’re looking for,” the voice quivered.
“Actually, we have something that might be of interest to you.” Rose elbowed her way back to the speaker. “I’m holding in my hands a white 1920s-style feather hat. There are jewels around the rim, I’m guessing emeralds, with a short veil on the front. We just want to ask you a few questions about it. ”
“We’re all in seventh grade, by the way,” Jin added. There was a long pause, before a buzzer sounded to let them in. Rose led the way up the stairs to Isabel’s apartment and knocked firmly on the door. A woman opened it, just a crack. Rose held the hat up, and once the woman had gotten a good look at it, she opened the door the rest of the way.
“Do come in.” A tall, thin, elderly woman ushered them inside. She wore a stylish black wrap dress and a pair of very large black eyeglasses. Her gray hair was pulled into a neat bun, emphasizing her gleaming, and still youthful-looking olive skin.
“Mrs. Hernandez, I just want to say it is such an honor to meet you. I just feel compelled to hug you,” Rose gushed after the introductions had been made.
“Thank you, dear. And please call me Isabel.” She led the small group into a large, elegant living room, with a sparkling chandelier and gleaming wood floors. “Please have a seat.”
Jin, Alex, Elvin, and Rose all sat on a long, modern-looking couch with a low back.
“Is this an Eames couch?” Rose asked.
“Good eye,” the woman said as she sat across from them near the window in an old-fashioned rocking chair that seemed out of place amid the rest of the modern furniture in the room. “I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” she sighed. “It’s just that I thought you might’ve been working with him.”
“With who?” Jin pulled out her notebook.
“I don’t know exactly. A young man with big hair has been coming around harassing me. He rings my bell, or bangs on my door, always yelling for me to give back what belongs to him.”
“Do you have any idea what he wants?” Jin asked.
“No, but let’s not talk about that.” Isabel waved her hand. “Please, may I take a closer look at the hat?”
Rose carefully removed it from the box. Isabel’s hands flew to her chest.
“I don’t believe it. Where did you get this?” She reached for the hat, fingers trembling.
“It was in my grandfather’s apartment. His name is Jacob Morrow,” Elvin said.
“He kept it.” Tears began to streak down Isabel’s face as she stroked the hat.
“Do you know my grandfather, Miss Isabel?” Elvin asked, a hopeful look on his face.
Isabel nodded. “I knew him very well. This hat, I made it for your grandmother Theresa to wear on their wedding day. She died so young, too young.” She shook her head.
“I know, my mom told me,” Elvin said sadly. Jin and Alex shot him a questioning look.
“What’s this about a grandmother?” Alex asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” Elvin said, and turned back to Isabel. He told her the story of his mother being sick, his grandfather’s attack, and how they were now on the hunt for valuable missing paintings by an artist named Henriette Drummond. “We think whoever did this to my grandfather wants those paintings.”
Isabel studied Elvin for several minutes before speaking. “Henriette Drummond was my sister,” she sighed heavily. “No matter how I try to forget, I always feel those days nipping at my heels. I knew that they would catch up with me at some point, and I guess that moment is now. What do you want to know?” She looked at the children expectantly, but they stared back at her with blank expressions. They had anticipated having to pry information out of her, and weren’t prepared for the door to the past that she had just flung wide-open.
Jin was the first to speak. “We’ve, uh, done some research about Henriette, but we still don’t understand why she would have destroyed, or possibly hidden her work.” Jin swallowed, working up the nerve to ask the next question. “What really happened at the Metropolitan Museum of Art? With the vandalized paintings?”
Isabel sighed again. “She did it. She confessed to me in what was to be our last conversation before she disappeared, though I didn’t know it then.”
“But why would she do something like that? Didn’t she think that vandalizing paintings belonging to one of the most respected museums in the world would ruin her career?” Jin exploded.
Isabel patted her hand and smiled. “I think Henriette honestly felt that it was the right thing to do. She hated the idea of an elite institution choosing to depict Harlem and its residents without allowing those people any say in how they would be represented. She considered it a crime to steal someone’s story. Maybe vandalizing the paintings was her idea of payback.
“My sister was always a passionate person. Art was how she expressed that pa
ssion, and she was brilliant at it. She could’ve had scholarships to any art school she wanted, but she helped to found the Invisible 7 instead. You see, Henriette never believed in creating art for art’s sake. She wanted her art to change people’s lives. The six other members of the Invisible 7 were kindred spirits. Together they found the perfect balance between art and service to the community.”
Isabel paused then and excused herself to get a drink of water. Once she’d left, Rose stood up to wander around the room. “There’s so much cool stuff in here,” she said as she inspected framed pictures and knickknacks, books, and even furniture. “Look at this ancient stereo console. Do they even make these anymore?” she asked as she ran her hand along the heavy wooden frame, which housed an old-school record player and speakers.
“Will you stop touching stuff?” Alex snapped at her.
“Jin, look!” Rose pointed, ignoring Alex. From the couch, Jin craned her neck to look where Rose was pointing. Two, small pink dog bowls sat on a plastic mat on the floor next to the console. “She has a dog!” Rose squealed.
At that moment, Isabel returned to the room, carrying a tray with five glasses of water.
“What kind of dog do you have?” Rose asked as Isabel handed each of them a glass.
“My GiGi was a Yorkshire Terrier. She died a month ago,” Isabel said sadly. Jin and Rose exchanged a knowing glance as Isabel smoothed down her skirt and cleared her throat. “You asked why Henriette would ruin such a promising career.” Isabel looked at Jin. “My personal opinion is that she was looking for a way out. It seemed like after she got the fellowship at the Met, her relationship with her work changed. She told me that she didn’t feel that her art could have the same meaning or impact caged up in a museum.”
“So you think she vandalized the paintings so that she would get kicked out of the program?” Alex asked.
“I would like to believe that Henriette was not that selfish a person, that she could not have intended the disastrous consequences that resulted from her decision.”
The Harlem Charade Page 13