The Passing of One of My Favorite Artists

The Homemaker

18x18 oil on canvas

A remarkable thing happened Tuesday – we lost two beloved family members. Mr. Right’s treasured great-uncle passed away about lunchtime and, by the following morning, we lost Mr. Right’s mother. These two were always very close. She was the daughter her uncle never had. When talking to other people, they referred to each other as Jean and John but when they were together it was Unk and Little Girl. She was only 67. He was 103.

From the time she and I met twentysomething years ago, we clicked. We had a lot in common, over and above loving her son. She was an exceptional combination of mother and friend – a twisted sister of the highest sort. There was never more than a pinch of the stereotypical mother-in-law-ness. She and I always had a pile of something – books, magazine articles, projects – we were saving for the other one. I loved it when she visited for a weekend – even better when she stayed a week.

She was an artist with a rare, natural sense of color and design that cannot be taught or learned. She sewed – everything from quilts to Christmas dresses to diaper bags to altar cloths. She could make lace. She was a talented mosaic artist and she painted anything and everything that didn’t paint her first.

What fun she and I had painting a set of bar stools together – they’re good-looking: Oriental rug colors with leopard skin seats and corded tassels draped on the backs. And the week we decoupaged the bookcases onto the door of Mr. Right’s “secret room.” And the days we spent setting up nurseries.

She was an artist in her home as well. A 1964 home economics graduate, she was the definitive resource on recipes, holiday décor, laundry, etiquette, the proper pairing of shoes and bags, and what one should and should not wear before Labor Day. She advised countless nervous brides for her church. She made Unk a batch of his favorite ginger Christmas cookies and packaged them in the same treasured box every year since…well… forever. I can’t dream how many of our phone calls began with me saying, “Now, how do I make….?” A visit to her home was always warm, comforting, and inspirational.

She was the family historian. She tracked the genealogy of every piece of furniture, war relic, cup and saucer. She was the type who could put her hands on the fabric scraps left over from Mr. Right’s 3-year-old Tigger costume. Give her 24 hours and she’d have them sewn into a quilt. She framed family photos and wrote the names and dates on the back. And so, it was no challenge this week to find the photo of her with baby Mr. Right shown in the painting. Nor the photo (left) of her, at 1 year old, with her beloved uncle – circa 1943. Via con Dios, sweet friends.