WOMAN IN ART
Barnett prize in 1910 by the Academy of Design, New York; the figure of the veiled "Salome" was bought by an Italian Art Society in Venice; and she is one of the ten women members of the National Sculpture Society.
Miss Eberle believes that the artist may rightfully hold the mirror up that humanity may see itself as others see it. And yet she loves art and the beauty in art; but more does she love the beauty of soul that she recognizes often in the garb of poverty and walking often the blind alley of disappointment.
She also studied at the Art Students' League in New York during three winters; the summers were spent in Porto Rico, where the picturesque natives gave her abundant inspiration. From her teacher and the Art League she gained technique, but only discovered the real line of her interest when her family located in New York. Then it was that she did intimate living portraits, modeling women and the exuberant, life-loving children of the East Side of New York. Like every true artist, Miss Eberle is in love with her art and her work.
After "The Windy Doorstep" gained the Helen Barnett prize in 1910, Miss Eberle was in Italy seeking new motives. She did not have to search for them. She was in Naples, where every American may be sure of a train of motives to choose from, or escape from. The sculptor made her clay models, then came the casting.
She said, "I had never been in Italy before, when fate suddenly sent me to a bronze foundry to have some work done which would necessitate my constant presence there for two months." Her experiences were unique. The penny bus took her up the long hill toward Capo di Monte and the foundry. She found the right number but in the open doorway a white-haired old lady was shelling peas. Thinking herself mistaken, she was about to turn away when the domestic woman answered her inquiry by screaming aloud, 'Antonio! Antonio!' and her son came and invited me into what proved to be the foundry after all." "He had had the plasters some days, and the waxes were ready for me to retouch. There were eight or ten men in the room, all working on bronzes, cleaning, chasing, filing at them or retouching the waxes from which the bronzes are made. I worked from nine o'clock till five for six weeks in that room. The passersby could never get over the sight of a woman, and an American woman at that, working at what they consider a man's trade. Some would exclaim in surprise, 'Dio Mio! A woman? Una Americana!' and the padrone would
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