My Grandfather retired right about the time I was born. It was his habit to take me for outings at least twice a week. The only catch was that he had a wooden leg, so wherever we went there had to be plenty of places to stop and rest. We went to the movies more often than not and to the National Zoo where we’d spend hours at a time sitting in front of the monkey house. My Grandfather had a way with animals and it was always great fun to watch him teach the monkeys new tricks.
One of our favorite places to visit was the Smithsonian. In particular, he liked to take me to the National Gallery to just sit and “listen” as he liked to say, to the works of art. We always ended the tour at a bench in front of my favorite painting by Renoir.
He’d sit patiently with me while I “listened” to the Girl with a Hoop tell me about her life and what she was doing. When we walked away my Grandfather would make up some silly story about what that mischievous little girl had done or was about to do. He always insisted that we not speak when in the gallery proper, but save our whispered conversations for the halls. Once when I pointed out some noisy tourists to him, he remarked that it was shame they’d come all the way to Washington and weren’t seeing anything.
Last Saturday my best friend K flew up from Houston and we went into Ft. Worth to see The Impressionists, a travelling exhibit from the Art Institute of Chicago. It was very crowded, expensive and noisy. Upon entrance they handed us audio tour guides that turned out to be a lot of empty chatter. Mostly the audio tour consisted of docent voices carrying on pretend conversations as if they were the people in the paintings. Think trumpets and the sound of hooves while viewing The Races at Longchamp. Alright for some, but I turned off the audio guide and tried to just “listen” to the paintings.
When I came to this painting, I heard something totally unexpected.
I heard my Grandfather’s voice. I felt his hand on my shoulder. I smelled his hair tonic and the roll of Lifesavers Butter Rum candies he always kept in his pocket for me. My grandfather was saying, “Follow the light. Do you see how every brushstroke is like a beam of light? Each brushstroke moves in the direction of the light hitting the widowframe, her shoulder, the edge of the glass. That is what makes Pissarro different. He doesn’t paint a girl. He paints the light touching a girl.”
In all my fond memories of afternoons with my grandfather, I had forgotten how in-tune he was with everything he saw. From the monkeys he exchanged funny faces with to the little monkey he took to the movies and museums, he really connected.
I looked around at the crush of visitors, hurrying to see all the famous paintings and hustling past the not so famous ones. They chattered, “What was the name of that movie about Van Gogh?”, “Was that Spartacus guy in it?” and “Why do those dance hall girls have green faces?”. But I’d like to think that they each found a painting like I did that broke through their chatter and spoke to them. I even hope their painting spoke in an unexpected and well loved voice, too.
21 responses so far ↓
1
Nancy
// Aug 2, 2008 at 7:44 am
=)
This gave me the best kind of chills.
I had to put in my sidebar shared.
2
computerangel
// Aug 2, 2008 at 7:48 am
Mmmmm - what a fabulous and warm anecdote. I have some fond memories of my grandfather in Colombia, but our visits were to few & far between to build the same richness you captured. I do however have memories of my grandmother that sometimes move through me when least expected. Thank you! (I couldn’t post with Firefox)
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3
daysgoby
// Aug 2, 2008 at 8:51 am
Thanks for this, J, it gave me chills.
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4
monstergirlee
// Aug 2, 2008 at 3:49 pm
What a neat post. What a rare and wonderful Grandfather to have in your life. Thanks for this post, it really put a smile on my face. (And I love his perspective on the paintings - how cool is that?!?!?)
monstergirlees last blog post..Hydrangea - Day 2
5
Jenny, Bloggess
// Aug 2, 2008 at 4:37 pm
Beautiful….just beautiful.
Jenny, Bloggesss last blog post..UPDATED: This is a whole post explaining why this post is not funny at all
6
Anglophile Football Fanatic
// Aug 3, 2008 at 9:40 pm
I love Impressionism in all its forms. I did the Renoir exhibit at the DMA a few years back. Did you go? It was stunning.
7
Fannie
// Aug 4, 2008 at 8:46 am
Beautiful. What a great mentor your gandfather was! I have favorite paintings in museums all over the world. Every time I go to a particular museum I find that painting, sit down, and just “visit”.
8
Janine
// Aug 4, 2008 at 12:50 pm
What an insightful man your grandad was. Loved this post.
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9
Nichole
// Aug 4, 2008 at 1:50 pm
What a wonderful grandfather!
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10
Nothing But Bonfires
// Aug 4, 2008 at 2:07 pm
Oh, lovely! I often find myself “hearing” my grandmother’s voice when it comes to situations like this. So beautiful that we preserve these things.
11
Tracy
// Aug 4, 2008 at 2:38 pm
Awesome. Your grandfather sounds so wise. What a gift that he helped you to see!
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12
kris
// Aug 4, 2008 at 3:18 pm
Beautiful. A lesson in all of life. If we’d only all stop once in awhile, at least, and listen. I think it’s the reason I visit a monastery 3 times a year. 4 days with no TV, phone, or “entertainment”- just me, nature, deer, blooms, chanting, prayer. The world is a masterpiece. We’re just too caught up in the clutter and noise of our own distractions sometimes to stop and notice.
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13
Velma
// Aug 4, 2008 at 5:24 pm
What a nice post to read - I’m sure many of us will spend today thinking of all the things our own grandparents taught us.
Velmas last blog post..The Funny
14
Maria
// Aug 4, 2008 at 7:25 pm
Wow. That was gorgeous.
Marias last blog post..No one wants the lil’ black kid.
15
Sylvia
// Aug 5, 2008 at 3:53 am
This is beautiful. You were lucky to have him.
16
Free Directory List
// Aug 5, 2008 at 5:04 am
what have you done?it was amazing.i like to read more like this.your grandpa was an scholar.really like the post.
17
FishyGirl
// Aug 5, 2008 at 1:19 pm
Your grandfather sounds wonderful. Thanks for sharing your memory of him with us.
18
Lisse
// Aug 6, 2008 at 2:48 pm
Here via Joy Unexpected.
My grandfather was one of my favorite people in the world. Thanks for reminding me of him. You were very lucky indeed, both back then and upon your return.
19
bessie.viola
// Aug 18, 2008 at 10:35 am
This touched me. I have moments like that: a vivid sensation of my grandpa being right there, hearing his voice, smelling him. They are such treasures… I am watching my daughter create those moments with my dad and I treasure them.
bessie.violas last blog post..Monday bullety goodness - bite size!
20
sarhk
// Aug 18, 2008 at 1:51 pm
i was there.at the fw muzeum.i was one of those people walking around with all the chatter.until i came upon Gustave Caillebotte’s, Paris Street, A Rainy Day.there. it all stopped for me. i was in the room by myself, surounded by others.not sure why that picture and not any number of others.and i dont even like paris.
21
GwenPD34
// Feb 13, 2010 at 9:12 am
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