No wonder that it's Mary that we love
a brief tribute to Mary Blair and the power of dreaming in daylight
Alice in Wonderland (1951) is one of my favorite films. It was not one of Walt Disney’s. He thought Alice was too prim, but she is a Victorian era child after all. If the popular legend is true, Walt’s favorite heroine was Cinderella. Maybe it’s because she overcame much adversity.
“She believed in dreams, all right, but she believed in doing something about them. When Prince Charming didn’t come along, she went over to the palace and got him.” Alice is a child, so there’s no romance in her story. Unlike Cinderella, she isn’t a victim who triumphs over her abusers. There’s nothing tragic about her story either, which I like. In a perfect world, all children would live carefree lives.
I’m very fond of Alice though. She’s so funny because she’s so prim. No matter the time period or country, she represents all little girls who make believe. Alice dreams up a nonsense world but Wonderland never conforms to her desires. It’s so true to life. How many of us experience things that don’t quite measure up to our daydreams?
Someone who did love Alice was Mary Blair - born today in 1911 - Walt’s favorite artist and a visionary of the animation world. In The Art and Flair of Mary Blair, John Canemaker writes that Mary had empathy for Alice.
A lot of the stunning artwork Mary produced for Wonderland and other Disney films never made it to the screen. They would be rendered flat, completely stripped of their vibrancy. Ward Kimball was much more blunt, saying they were bastardized. Mary’s art radiated childlike innocence (probably why she endeared herself to Walt, who was similar to her in that way). According to Frank Thomas, “Mary was the first artist I knew of to have different shades of red next to each other. You just didn’t do that! But Mary made it work.” She was, like a child, totally free of limitations. It calls to mind something Anita Loos said about Audrey Hepburn:
“She seemed to have a line drawn about her, as only children have. Whatever she did, she stood out.”
Canemaker also wrote that Mary envisioned Wonderland as a “dark psychological dreamscape.” Despite the bright colors and silly characters, Alice is besieged by animals, objects, even a murderous human queen. The film actually reminds me of Maya Deren’s seminal Meshes of the Afternoon (1943). Alice and the woman in Meshes are plunged into surreal dreamworlds in the day. Terror does not only belong to nightfall.
In Meshes, a woman (Deren) doesn’t fall down a rabbit hole, but dreams inside a world she already knows: her apartment. A single white flower descends into the frame, where a hand places it on the sidewalk. The telephone on the stairs is left off the hook. The table is set with a loaf of bread and a knife that moves of its own accord.
A figure cloaked in black with a mirror hiding its face appears, whom the woman pursues in vain. The woman becomes three different versions of herself. (“I’m afraid I can’t explain myself. Because I’m not myself you know.”). One of her selves attempts to stab her, but she transforms into her lover. No longer a knife, but a kiss. The film seems to say that both are violent. The brilliance of this film is that it’s just as fragmented and confused as a dream. A few weeks ago I awoke disoriented after a noonday nap, sunlight pouring through my window. “This is so like Meshes in the Afternoon,” I thought.
In Wonderland, Alice undergoes physical changes that cause her to doubt who she really is. She encounters rude flowers who are probably similar to highly critical women she knows in the real world. She imagines that her cat Dinah would talk and address her politely. Instead, the talking Cheshire Cat delights in almost getting her killed. Afternoon tea becomes a chaotic ordeal. All alone in Wonderland, she weeps, regretting her impulses.
Meshes is arguably about the domestic life. Women tend to feel confined by household drudgery. The home is not a refuge, but takes the shape of something far more sinister. It’s like a garden of flowers turning hostile in their beauty and fragrance. Deren wrote that Meshes “is concerned with the inner realities of the individual and the way in which the subconscious will develop, interpret and elaborate an apparently simple and casual occurrence into a critical emotional experience.”
Wonderland is a riot of colors and noise. It’s the Disney film with the most number of songs. Meshes is silent: moving shadows, keys and knives falling without sound, a record spins on a phonograph but no music is heard.
I like to think Mary was inspired by Meshes in the Afternoon. It seems as if she and Deren were cut from the same cloth: two unusual women artists with bold visions ahead of their time. There’s also something about each of their faces that’s so fascinating and magical. They might be called “unconventionally beautiful.” Their work was the same.
Like her mother who made a living as a seamstress, Mary sewed her own clothes. Disney artist James Brodero had a daughter named Lydia who adored Mary. She recalled that Mary’s designs weren’t found anywhere else. Maya Deren wore several hats in addition to film-maker: dancer, choreographer, poet, and photographer.
As Marc Davis once said of Mary:
“This woman was an extraordinary artist who spent most of her life being misunderstood.”
Mary Blair is highly regarded now, with her legacy reaching even beyond Disney. Her art lives on, something I am immensely grateful for. But the woman behind the art shone just as brilliantly as all her favorite colors.
This might be one of the most beautiful articles I have read on this site. Your love for Mary and Alice is incredible. As someone who adores that wonderfully strange little movie called Alice in Wonderland, I will never cease to be amazed at the tid-bits I learn from it and the incredible soul behind it.
I am also very glad you enjoyed the book I got you, there was no hesitation in me that you had to have it.