"I Am Now A Part Of The Hospital"

There is a recurring post on Facebook these days asking: "If you could go back and spend 10 minutes with anyone, who would it be?"

Today my youngest daughter Emily and I had a reunion of sorts with my mother, Linda L. Wills.  It was just 10 minutes or so, and it was three weeks in the making, and it came almost exactly 34 years after her death.

We were fortunate to see and feel, and yes even smell, her greatest art work -- a large oil painting at St. Joseph Warren Hospital.

Of course these emotional minutes brought back memories from my teenage years. Emily, who had never met her grandmother, also was touched. I was glad she was there with me.

I remember the paints she used were Grumbacher oils in metal tubes with white, screw-off lids.  The more the tubes were used, the more the tubes would crinkle. The lids would go on crooked from the accumulated dried paint, and take on the paint color.

All of these many tubes were kept in a big wooden box (she had stained it dark brown) with many paint brushes of various sizes, all made of horse hair.
I could never find that box or the paints and brushes. But I have her art table.

I know that she would "erase" and work over parts she didn't like, using turpentine or linseed oil or some concoction, wiping off the oil paints -- which took time to dry -- and trying again.

I loved the smell of that unused back bedroom that became her studio. It had one window but it was never opened, as if the magic would escape.

This particular painting was her grand statement and greatest gesture. She had worked at St. Joes in the Pastoral Care department, ironically a Methodist working for a crew of Catholic nuns.

We found out she had breast cancer, and then lung cancer, when I was in high school, 1977. She worked, and fought the illness through surgeries and chemotherapy and radiation, at St. Joes -- and she died there, at the old location on Tod Avenue Northwest, Room 275, 12:45 a.m., Jan. 28, 1981.

This painting was requested of her by the hospital's administrator at the time. She worked on this painting, and many more, with great determination throughout her lengthy ordeal. It was as if she knew those bright colors would be permanent. It is not dated but signed with a painter's knife, like all of them, LINDA. Most of the painting was done with a painter's knife, but the water was brushed. 

She kept a journal throughout her fight and wrote of this painting:

"My painting is 3/4 done. ... Have the sky and the mountain in my painting ...  I'm making nice headway. Still not feeling as I should." -- March 26, 1978

"Finished my painting for St. Joes dining room. I'm pleased. I feel stronger today." -- April 5

Photo courtesy St. Joseph Warren Hospital

"The painting was delivered last Wednesday and hung the same day. Everyone liked it.  Sister Marie called me twice to voice her approval. She said I am now a part of the hospital." -- May 17

"Dr. (John) Grima (her surgeon) complimented my painting in St. Joes dining room." -- June 27

She was active in the hospital women's auxiliary and produced the painting through that organization, rather than the hospital foundation, which somewhat held up pinpointing its whereabouts this month. I learned only today, from her diary, that she was paid for it by the hospital system itself.  She didn't say how much.

I knew that the painting made the move in the 1990s from the old St. Joes on Tod Avenue to the former Warren General hospital building on Eastland Avenue Northeast. I'd seen it there once during some outpatient adventure.
But I could not find it in late December, when my grandson visited the emergency room.  I skulked around the first and second floors until a security person asked what I was up to.  So I asked the hospital system for an update.


"It was my mother's wish that the hospital keep the painting, and I hope that it has done so. But if it's warehoused somewhere, I would like to get custody of it. If it's gone, I need to know that, too." -- TW


Some Mercy Health staff put in some time locating the painting, finding that indeed it was still on display in a prominent area -- hiding in plain sight.

"It took us a while to locate your mother's artwork, it as it was not registered with the artwork donated through the Foundation.  We were able to  locate the piece and it is on display in the mezzanine area of the hospital which overlooks the main lobby.  If you come in the front/main lobby entrance, take elevator C to the 2nd floor, walk straight ahead through the glass doors past the vending/eating area and into the open mezzanine area you will see the beautiful piece on the left wall.  On behalf of Administration, we were very happy to locate it and hope you and your family will enjoy viewing it. This area is scheduled to be remodeled in the next year. If you would like to take possession of the artwork later this year we would be happy to arrange that for you." -- Gail Beilan, St. Joseph Warren Hospital

I had also worked at St. Joes through my senior year of high school and two years of college.  I would eat my lunches and dinners under that painting, when one of those tables was available.  It was a confort knowing it was there, during and after her life.

Today, it is smaller than I had remembered. It's tucked into a quiet alcove, all by itself. Now that I know where it is, I can spy it from the main lobby. Look up to the second floor, then right. 

It was just as comforting today to see how vibrant the colors have remained, how sharp the dimples of dried oil paint remain, how alive it remains.
Permanence.
I touched her signature and teared up.
It felt like a release.

My grandfather, on the hospital donors' wall.

It was wonderful.

"I think you will find much comfort in seeing your mom’s piece.  I know personally, I love it (call me old fashion, but I’m not into the new/contemporary/abstract) and I’m sure the sentimental value for you and your family is priceless.  Please keep in touch and we will keep you apprised of any changes on its placement." -- Gail Beilan, St. Joseph Warren Hospital

Perhaps the best part of the morning, however, was accompanying Emily afterward to her art internship for Kent State University at the Trumbull Art Gallery in downtown Warren.  It was at TAG, after all, where mom learned to paint.
  
Nothing in life is a coincidence.

"We are very grateful to your family for sharing your mother's talent with us and enabling us to share it with the community.
It's wonderful you can share that with your daughter." -- Tina Creighton, Mercy Health


"I cannot thank ...  the St. Joseph staff enough for hunting down this painting, and I am very glad and relieved to know that it remains on display.  … It was my mother's wish for the hospital to keep and display the painting. She loved working there and made many lasting friends who, to this day, remember her and speak highly of her talents.  I have made an effort to find and catalog all of her many paintings and this piece is her most substantial and important work.
If the area is remodeled and the piece does not fit the new design, then, yes, I am most interested in reclaiming the painting for myself, for my daughters and for the next generation."  -- TW

More about Linda Wills' paintings can be found here: http://tomwillsproductions.blogspot.com/2014/05/my-mothers-paintings.html


  

The Memory Box (No. 278, "Reflection")

"Reflection" No. 278, by Tom Wills, New Year's Day 2015.

The Sabre Jet one man-all weather interceptor delivered to me last fall 93 old family photos, mostly black and white; three or four in color.
My uncle, Chick Peters, had kept them in the box of a jet fighter model he'd won as a kid, part of some adventure that sent him on a visit to Washington, D.C.
The box held memories on both the outside and inside.

The box was labeled "Linda," his sister. My mother.
Inside was a trove of great pictures of great-grandparents, aunts, uncles and places far away and long ago.
The family, I don't believe, had a whole lot, yet managed to travel, gather and grow with each other. The smiles are wonderful.

There was one particular photo in the box of my mother making herself up in a mirror. It's one of the few that is dated -- February 1956.  The image is unique in that you can get the whole of her, front in the mirror and back to the camera. Unfortunately half of it is over-exposed. It's imperfect yet still beautiful.

I posted many of the old photos on Facebook and a couple friends suggested that the mirror photo was one that I had to draw. Of course they were right on a couple of levels: I could preserve the image, and in doing so further connect to her life before marriage, kids and passage from this earth.
But it became so much more that that.

I scanned the photo and tried to pull out the details: Wallpaper, items on the vanity table, ruffles in the dress, doll on the dresser. The composition of the photo is perfect. In fact all of the photos in the box are well-composed by those who snapped them decades ago.

Amazingly, one of the few color photos shows my mother in the dress with her prom date. I think Chick said his name was Eddie, and that there's a story there, too. This was before my father came into the Peters household and into later pictures.

The venue looks like the front of W.D. Packard Music Hall in Warren, Ohio, but it might be the old Warren G. Harding High School.
I can imagine that dress set her mom and step-dad back quite a bit, for the time.

I began the drawing shortly before Christmas vacation 2014 and tried to take my time, working to capture the lighting and details while imagining how to best restore the left side of that faded photo. I drew the face in the mirror first, and re-drew that face five or six times. It's not perfect but it's very close, and the paper was starting to give way to the eraser.

I did not use the computer this time to magnify the image. I eyeballed it, held in hand, choosing to make the process the most manual effort possible. This one went straight through me to the paper.

I would imagine that it took her a couple of hours to prep for that dance. You can see various lotions and potions laid out on the vanity table, as she runs the brush through her hair. Sure hope Eddie thought she was worth the effort.

"Reflection" was supposed to be No, 300 but I could not contain it any longer, so it's No. 278. But it's still a milestone of sorts for me, as this is my 150th blog on this web site.
I completed the drawing on New Year's Day, early in the morning, far ahead of schedule. It was the perfect start to a new year for me, as the preceding 365 days had been a little rough.

I'm not going to elaborate here, but you have seen this frame before, and can choose on your own to go back or not.

http://tomwillsproductions.blogspot.com/2014/05/no-243-father-of-bride.html

The sleight of hand that I've pulled with this frame, and its new purpose, makes me feel some better about things.

On the airplane box, crossed out, you can see the names Julie and Pam, my cousins.
I promised my cousin Pam Peters Swager that the drawing is for her dad, Uncle Chick, and I'd sent pictures  to her as it progressed.
As for my uncle, he remarried some years ago and moved from Warren to a villa just five minutes from me. I had offered to draw the house he'd built and sold after 40-some years on the West Side but he said the strangest thing: "I don't want a picture of the house. I want to leave those memories here."
That threw me at the time, but I understand it now.

In the alternative I think he will like this picture of his youthful and marvelous sister, who left him too young, too.
It'll wait for him to return from Florida in the spring. And if he doesn't want to haul it around then I know Pam will keep care of it. Maybe she can tell her boys any Aunt Linda stories that she can remember.

I love the drawing. But if I kept it, it would have to be placed into another frame. That big white wedding frame, yeah, I want to leave those memories too.
I'm just satisfied to have preserved the image, which was fading. And I think this is the best way to close a couple of chapters all at once.
The real value to me is in the original photos, which I am keeping all together in that little box.