The life and art of Mary Tuthill Lindheim as told through her credo

"I have a thousand more ideas which I long to put into shape." —Mary Tuthill Lindheim

I am now offering monthly creative writing mentorship. Schedule an intro call and let’s talk! Also: register now for a sliding-scale workshop called Writing Church on December 8 and 15.

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Mary Lindheim trimming a bowl, Forest Knolls, 1949. Photo credit Herb Kratovil

To greet each day as a gift.

Born February 14, 1912 to Episcopalian minister Ernest Tuthill and Laura (née Carr) Tuthill, also the daughter of a minister. 1n 1922, her father was appointed rector at Grace Church in Tucson, Arizona. The family lived on a 642-acre property outside town, The Ranch. At age 10, Mary rode her horse from Santa Fe to Tucson with a family friend:

“We had made camp on a high ledge overlooking a long valley. It was a warm night with gentle winds. Above the comfortable sound of the hobbled horses cropping grass, a faint, eerie, rhythmic sound rose out of the far-below valley. We could see a line of figures on horseback riding in the moonlight. They were singing in a gentle, relaxed way. This was the unique falsetto of Navajo men, Uncle Lewis told me, “probably going home from a ceremony.” We could hear the soft thud of their horses’ hooves in the clear quiet of the night—the haunting falsetto voices as they rode closer, passing and then disappearing out of the valley, leaving us with a sense of another world and something beautiful.”

To find richness in a simple way of living.

Mary Tuthill Lindheim, Bowl with Carnelians, ca. 1950s, Stoneware, dipped in two glazes inset with carnelians from Californian beaches, 3 1/2 × 9 3/4 in

Mary loved the desert; its palette would influence her work throughout her life. In one of her most enchanting pieces, carnelians gathered on the beach in California scatter across the bottom of a turquoise bowl. Is it the ocean floor or a night of red stars?

“The desert enchanted me. The space, the silence so alive with rustlings and slitherings and bird calls, the weird and stately saguaro cactus, the palo verde and mesquite, the endless variety of small flowers. The hot sand and rocks. The great mountain ranges in the distance and the wild and flaming sunsets. The nights were magic—the stars so huge and so close in their immense multitude in that clear desert air, the sky a deep inky blue, scattered with twinkling gold. The sound of the soft night wind through the cactus needles and brush. The eerie, piercing cries and yapping of the coyotes. I loved being alone in this immensity.”

To fight for the rights of people to be free of terror, [of] exploitation, of racism; of starvation, of war. To take part in this responsibility even when I feel afraid, or inadequate or in jeopardy.

One early example, in a lifetime of activism for social justice: In 1926, 14-year old Mary saw a newspaper photograph of a lynching. It could have been Henry Patterson or Raymond Byrd. She joined the NAACP and was a member for the rest of her life.  In 1939, at age 27, Mary made several trips to Washington to lobby Senators for the anti-lynching bill then before Congress.

“[The NAACP] thought it might jolt some of the senators if a young white woman would talk with them urging passage of the bill. I was terrified at the idea. I was extremely shy, the result of having been so alone as a child. I couldn’t see how I could possibly do it. My father said to me, ‘Mary, if you really believe in something you can do it. You will find the power to go beyond your own fears.’ I went to Washington. I talked with most of the senators including six of the most rabid racist Southerners. I told each senator that while I was not his constituent I was an American ashamed of my country’s refusal to outlaw lynching. The bill did not pass. But I learned that I could take a stand for what I believed in no matter how frightening it was for me.”