Painting as a Spiritual Practice
ART SHOW RECOLLECTIONS
Guest Writer: Dr. Ken Fellows
I retired to live in Kittery Point, Maine, in 2000. Kristin and I soon joined the Kittery Art Association (KAA), a group of artists and art admirers existing since 1958. At the start, we helped rebuild a burned-out KAA Gallery, an early 1900s firehouse and finished the restoration in 2001. That early work allowed me to brag over 20 years that “I’m one of few artists who has a permanent collection on view at the gallery …” I painted the ceiling, the walls, and the baseboards.” I even served many years as a custodian. I preferred the term ‘art preservationist,’ which means cleaning bathrooms and sweeping out. Over the years, I was a ‘featured artist’ in 3 exhibits. Two of those are memorable, and one is indelible in mind.
For one July 2014 show, the promotion for its 5 pm Sunday KAA Opening Reception advertised that my watercolor paintings would cover one entire gallery wall and that I would provide a 20-minute talk on my artistic motivations, techniques, and pleasures. That very Sunday morning, I was at a Portsmouth trampoline emporium watching my young granddaughter Ella running helter-skelter among a mob of kids. Suddenly, I noticed a father convulsing on the floor nearby. I rushed to his side, minutes later to be joined by his wife, who confirmed he suffered grand mal seizures. We did what was needed to attend him until an ambulance crew arrived.
At 5 pm that afternoon, I was conversing with a group of new friends at the KAA Opening Reception when a pregnant young woman next to me swooned and collapsed to the floor. It was, oh my, here we go again. After rendering necessary medical support, she revived and was stable 20 minutes later. Just as the ambulance arrived to take her to York Hospital, I was summoned to begin my gallery talk. I recall no compliments on the talk, although someone mentioned that my shift in gears was “impressive.” I didn’t explain that I already had some practice just that morning. Fortunately, no one was hurt by either my medical interventions or my blathering on about watercolors that day --gratification enough.
Some years later, my local artist friend Bill Paarlberg and I were invited to prepare a 2-man KAA show. That exhibit is memorable for the great fun it was to plan and the appreciative crowd that came. The public was alerted to the lightness of the event by the show’s
title -–“Some Pretty Good Watercolors.” Also, the advertising postcards and posters depicted us as Van Gogh and Cezanne in a ‘2 Stooges’ pose.
Attendees were greeted on the gallery porch by an African drumming group and tables of edibles and drinks, creating a festive atmosphere. Inside, on the galleries’ second floor, Bill had set up a wide table where viewers were invited to try painting with watercolors. Chairs accommodated all those wishing to dabble with the paints, water, brushes, and paper provided. An accomplished art teacher, Bill led folks in fun exercises and in copying simple scenes he sketched for them. Many gallery viewers participated, and about half of them were kids. Our own paintings adorned the gallery walls and received the usual compliments but seemed somewhat incidental to the entertainment. Our watercolor extravaganza was later voted “Best Show” of the year by the KAA membership, so perhaps our watercolors were considered “good enough.”
A joint show in 2006 … wife Kristin and I with Polly and Peter Moak … is most ingrained in my memory. The show’s opening evening is seared in my mind by the elation of the event and by its sad aftermath. A KAA exhibit comprising only two couples was unique. Kristin was an art major in college and has been a lifelong, active, successful multimedia artist and craftsperson. Polly is recognized locally as an innovative painter, and Peter, a retired art professor, paints creatively in gouache. The turnout that opening evening was large, attracting many personal friends, patrons, and KAA members. The atmosphere was electric, and the praise profuse. Kristin and I left the gallery that evening happy, even euphoric, over the show’s success.
Upon arriving home at about 7 pm, the phone was ringing. It was my daughter Hannah calling from nearby Portsmouth, NH. She was crying but managed to stammer that our son Ian, 37, had been found dead on the floor of his apartment, his dog lying beside him. My brother John, who like Ian, lived in Grand Rapids, Michigan, had gone to do a well-being check on his nephew.
I recall becoming completely numb and voiceless. Everything went dark. My mind was blank. I called brother John, who confirmed the crushing news. I had gone from the heights of joy to the depths of despair in minutes. The only reaction I could muster was to step outside into the humid summer air to issue a long, loud, primal scream into that black night. There’s no graceful way to react to the sudden death of a loved one.
Later, we learned from an autopsy that Ian’s unexpected death was from a cardiomyopathy, an inflammation of heart muscle. That all happened 15 years ago, but for me –and even more for Kristin –the date remains the saddest, most devastating recollection of our life together.
“… Losing a child is simply not supposed to happen. The brain goes numb. God’s way of offering mercy. If we were fully cognizant, it would be unbearable.”—Garrison Keillor
Ken Fellows
Joanna Seibert joannaseibert.com
