My artistic days

My niece from Kansas City, Jana Roehrkasse Thomas, is in Laramie helping her mother finish going through the treasures of 58 years living in the same house, deciding what to give to family, what to give to friends, to goodwill ... in other words, how to get her 58 years of living in the same house down to what she can take to Kansas with her, and what she has to leave behind. 

I got a call Wednesday night from Jana (Lucille was in on the three-way call), saying that in looking through the closets, they found a box containing a picture of a waterfall, painted by MG.  Now the only "MG" they knew was me.

 Jana called Scott (I was out of town) to ask him if he knew if I had ever painted (pictures, not walls and rooms).

Scott said, "Yes, I think it was in the '70s that she took some painting lessons."

So, Jana said, "Marlys did you use watercolors or oils?"

"Only oils," I said, and no, I didn't remember painting a waterfall but I did remember the class I took, along with friends Carolyn Douglass Wright and Dorothy Molaskey and Gladys (Chot) Smith circa 1970, 1971, or both years. 

Ruth Meier taught the bi-monthly class for two hours, using the upstairs of the old Palace of Sweets (or you may remember it as the Helenary Shop or The Shack).

I told her about learning to mix a palette of colors, shadings, looking for the "light" or "highlights of each object.

 She started with having us paint an apple. Wow, what a great first painting.  Since all six or seven were scattered around the room, we had different points of light.  Needless to say, none of us got an A on that lesson; nor on the bouquet of flowers that followed, but we were learning.

We finally got to choose our own "subject", work on it for two hours, take it home, and, yes, all of us worked on our "masterpieces" at home.

 And yes, it was a wonderful time, great conversations, great critiques, wanted or unwanted, and we didn't worry about whether we got an A or B. We knew we couldn't fail the class.  I finally finished my first "real" photo — of a cabin on a hill, surrounded by aspens, etc. When I brought it home, John said, "Not bad." Huge compliment from him.  I went into town, bought a cheap frame (the picture wasn't worthy of an expensive one) and hung it on the living room wall.

A couple of years later my uncle and aunt from South Dakota came to visit.  Uncle Mick saw the picture, and said, "I like that. Who painted it?"

When I admitted I had, he was very complimentary, mentioned it several times, so the day they left, I asked him if he wanted it.

"Really?" He asked, sounding amazed that I would part with such a treasure.

Well, he took it home, where I was sure it rested in a box in a closet somewhere.

Imagine my surprise when Mother and I went back to visit a couple of years later, knocked on the front door, and the first thing I saw was my picture, in a beautiful frame, hanging on the dining room wall.  Yes — out in public. He actually did love that picture.

When he passed away, his daughter and her husband purchased the house, remodeled it, but my picture, beautifully framed, still hung on the dining room wall.

So, I had at least one "fan." Maybe two counting my cousin.

But try as I might, I cannot remember painting a waterfall, but the initial had to be mine, they said.

Jana said it was so pretty she wouldn't mind having it, but when I said, "Then take it," she quickly backed off.  "NO, one of your kids needs to have it."

The picture is on the way, so she says. I can't wait to see if a light bulb flashes when I see it.

Maybe the "signed MG" was made by a dyslexic Grandma Moses. Jana might be sending me a real treasure.

Or she might say, "Well, Mom, we took care of that and she'll never know how glad we are to have it gone."