JUNE 15, 2023 – (Cont.) Spanning Mother’s many projects and even preceding and outlasting her piano study was her love for painting. For a time, she took oil painting lessons, and if she didn’t produce great art, she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious about letting us see it. A good number of pieces went on display throughout the house, and each of my sisters, except for Jenny perhaps, who herself took up painting in tandem with Mother, had to admit that Mother’s art was a far fetch better than what any of the rest of us could come up with. She later switched to watercolors and up at the lake, especially, she drew inspiration from the trees, sky and water.
By far, Mother’s biggest art project was at the Minneapolis Institute of Art, where she plunged into the docent program, a graduate level two-year course in the elements of art and the history of art. She became an expert par excellence, and led many tours through one of the premiere art museums in North America. I got to see her in action when she served as a guide for Cory’s Cub Scout den. I had predicted that she would be different from all the other guides, and I was correct. She had come up with all kinds of illustrative devices—sample materials, drawings—to pass around, and she drew the kids in with many questions, which she magically made open-ended. “What do you think the artist was thinking when he put the smile on the woman?” Mother asked, directing the kids’ attention to the work of a late seventeenth-century master.
“She was smiling at a joke the man next to her told,” said one eager scout.
“Yes, of course!” Mother said. “I like that answer. Is it possible the artist was thinking anything else?”
Another hand shot up, and Mother pointed at him and smiled eagerly in anticipation of his answer. “The artist is making her smile because he’s having fun painting the picture,” said the scout.
“Ah, yes! What a perfect reason to put a smile on someone!” said Mother.
* * *
When Mother herself wasn’t engaged in an organized activity or with other people, her mind was always—and well into advanced age—actively engaged. She loved to read Scientific American, listen to interviews with Charlie Rose, and plunge into the latest book selected for the next meeting of her book club.
Sometimes, though, Mother’s mind was a little too active. One of the more entertaining examples occurred during the height of the summer in 1979. I had just arrived at the cabin for the Fourth of July, and after hauling in my duffle bag and settling in, I plopped myself down on the sofa in the living room to catch up with Mother and Dad. On one of the built-in benches next to the fireplace, I saw what looked like a crash helmet, something wholly incongruous with any likely activity of this couple in their late 50s, who liked to read, listen to music, and go for walks along the shore. (Cont.)
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
