Sibling Rivalry: The Art of Competition

Barbara and Patricia Leidl were born into a large family of nine siblings with two sets of twins. Barbara has a twin sister, while Patricia lost her twin brother in 2006. Barbara and Patricia were born five years apart and Barbara is the elder.

Barbara Leidl

“In any family”, Barbara notes, “one takes on different roles. Mine was that of the artist and from an early age, endlessly drew. My speciality was horses—often flying complete with bridles and with stick legs, sometimes five or six rather than four”.

“I was never completely happy with these early drawings. I wanted to make them better,  so I began pushing them to be more realistic.  When my sister Patricia was born, and began drawing too,  I realized I had competition.   I did not feel that way about any other sibling, including my twin.  I actually began hiding my drawings from Patricia, as I suspected that she was also looking carefully at mine, and picking things up.  Very precociously, and I think it funny now, but I didn't like it at the time.”

We are having this exhibition together,  flying in the face perhaps, of what normally competitive siblings do, which is to stay as far apart as possible and not to engage.  But here we are,  and it is to celebrate what we share rather than to compare.  We could have called this exhibition 'Sibling Revelry' just as easily.

Patricia Leidl

I’ve been drawing since I can remember,” Patricia says. “Scrawling on walls, drawing in the sand, scribbling on pavement. I believe I was drawing before I could even walk—ever in wonder of the power inherent in a simple line; the ability to mimic creation and to reinterpret it with something new.

Because I was the runt of nine, I grew up in awe of my elder siblings—all of whom are highly creative, but equally competitive. the result I believe, of the sudden death of our father and the resultant infighting for scarce attention.

So talented were my siblings—and particularly Barbara—that I ditched art altogether in order to carve out a niche for myself—first in journalism and then  in international development. I turned my back on art making until 2021, when the sudden onset of a chronic disease yanked me screaming and shrieking exactly where I need to be.

My sister has been integral to picking up the threads of my former life. I post a blonde mermaid on Facebook and as it turns out, she’s been working on her own blonde mermaid unknown to either of us. I start experimenting with pinks and oranges and lo, “Flora” suddenly appears unbidden, complete with head dress and exposed breasts—as if some psychic umbilical cord connects us through time and space.

Rivalry still exists but it has become a loving challenge to grow and to burnish our unique visual styles. Mounting this show has not been without its bumps, and tremulous fears (on my part) of inviting negative comparisons, but we have challenged the family narrative of division and envy and here we are. The art of competition is also an exercise in the art of love.