The HeadOn my recent trip to Germany, I had hoped to discover the location of some of my dad's paintings.
One in particular had stayed in my memory, as he'd set up his easel on a meadow next to the river where we'd played, on this hot summer day.
We got to my first cousins house, there in the entry hangs a painting of a village church. I didn't remember it at all, but his signature (=his initials) is unmistakable, '45. I was, after all, just a little girl then, and he had to sell them as fast as he could.
I was thrilled to see the painting, photographed it, and I steered the conversation to the meadow painting. Double luck, as his wife appears holding the meadow painting in her hands. Is this the one? Oh, my goodness! If it can't be in my house, it's in safe hands there.
It, too, has been photographed and the folks at PIPs will soon get to play with the images and make copies for me.
Mission accomplished, I thought.
A few days later we arrived at my other cousins house. Her apartment is filled with the treasures she's collected over a lifetime of traveling and living. In her living room sits "The Head". Yet another surprise for me. The head was made by a potter friend of my parents. (I have a couple of his pieces here. ) I think she was made in the early '50s. She sat in a corner of our living room for a time. Eventually she was abandoned in dad's atelier, where she was rescued and restored, by my cousin, to her lovely old self. Yes, I touched her, felt her smooth cheeks again.
I loved her, as she was everything I wasn't. Elegant, delicate, quiet, pretty with that wrap over her head, and the coiffed, curly hair. No wild gypsy girl, she. So now I have "The Head" back in my life as well.
This treasure hunt was truly won by me.
By the way, my dad's initials were: A zi, and that, as one word, become his moniker about town.
One in particular had stayed in my memory, as he'd set up his easel on a meadow next to the river where we'd played, on this hot summer day.
We got to my first cousins house, there in the entry hangs a painting of a village church. I didn't remember it at all, but his signature (=his initials) is unmistakable, '45. I was, after all, just a little girl then, and he had to sell them as fast as he could.
I was thrilled to see the painting, photographed it, and I steered the conversation to the meadow painting. Double luck, as his wife appears holding the meadow painting in her hands. Is this the one? Oh, my goodness! If it can't be in my house, it's in safe hands there.
It, too, has been photographed and the folks at PIPs will soon get to play with the images and make copies for me.
Mission accomplished, I thought.
A few days later we arrived at my other cousins house. Her apartment is filled with the treasures she's collected over a lifetime of traveling and living. In her living room sits "The Head". Yet another surprise for me. The head was made by a potter friend of my parents. (I have a couple of his pieces here. ) I think she was made in the early '50s. She sat in a corner of our living room for a time. Eventually she was abandoned in dad's atelier, where she was rescued and restored, by my cousin, to her lovely old self. Yes, I touched her, felt her smooth cheeks again.
I loved her, as she was everything I wasn't. Elegant, delicate, quiet, pretty with that wrap over her head, and the coiffed, curly hair. No wild gypsy girl, she. So now I have "The Head" back in my life as well.
This treasure hunt was truly won by me.
By the way, my dad's initials were: A zi, and that, as one word, become his moniker about town.
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