Anna Lea Merritt seemed intent to outdo herself.

She zigzagged from painting to writing and back again in the frenzied dance unique to artistic geniuses and stressed out college students. She learned from books to paint better than plenty of geezers in the Louvre (don’t you wish all our library visits were that productive?) and published articles in her spare hours.

The accomplished artiste du jour could be brutal. In a 1900 writing, she addressed the work of her less than talented fans: “Alas for the trash which has been proudly showed me!” Good thing Merritt never taught a kindergarten class— pretending to like all those paint-by-numbers would probably give her a hernia.

Even Merritt’s passion for gardening was opinionated. Ever the overachiever, she wrote a book on the subject in which she bemoaned the “cheap” appearance of lilies planted by hedges. Merritt was also quite real estate savvy. Born in Philadelphia, she later moved to London’s Tite Street along with painter James Whistler, writer Oscar Wilde, and portraitist John Singer Sargent. Even amid this star-studded assemblage, Merritt’s Pre-Raphaelite inspired tableaus made her stand out.

Anna Lea fell in love with her teacher, critic Henry Merritt. Although his proposal, “Little pupil, we shall be married” is a bit off-putting considering their twenty-two year age gap, the two cared immensely for each other. Henry passed away just three months after their marriage and left Anna a widow.

Unfortunately, despite an abolitionist upbringing, Merritt was extremely racist. She was upset by the 1850s influx of European immigrants and believed that America had gifted morality to African Americans. What makes this attitude even more atrocious? Merritt’s beliefs were standard for white Americans of her era. Being featured in the Tate Britain doesn’t disqualify you from holding some despicable views. Anna Lea Merritt is proof that good art can hide a mean heart.