If you just happen to pass by in a hurry: this is a painting showing myself, based on a picture taken when I was 2 yo [please click to enlarge]
The details are less pleasing that this first glance ‘you looked so cute’ impression: I discovered this almost forgotten artwork last weekend on a pile of building rubble in the house that used to be inhabited by my grandparents. Most of us had multiple pictures taken when we were 1-2yo, pictures that have a tendency to end up all over the place: be it in neatly labeled albums, framed as a treasured memory by our relatives or even virtually forgotten in the proverbial shoebox. But no matter who we are, most of us have a visual memory dating back to the time when the world was new and full of promises.
Watching this particular artwork being treated like a disposable hamburger wrapper emotionally messed up my warm, sunny Antwerp weekend, as the events leading up to recovering this painting put me on an unexpected trip down memory lane.
My late grandmother adored me. Being the “mater familias”, she was a well educated woman with outspoken values and a heart of gold. I can no longer recollect the moment this portrait was painted, but I do remember the long warm summers we spent together, listening to her stories about how she traveled to the south of France, in an era most woman stayed at home and cooked their husband’s diner. She was frank and unreserved when she spotted social injustice, actually saving several people from being deported to Nazi Germany during the war. My grandfather confided in me how he just couldn’t imagine life without her, although his job often entailed they were separated for longer periods. But way before I started to realize how amazing she really was, she had my portrait painted, a portrait that she kept for decades above her favorite chair, surrounded by numerous memorabilia collected from (former Belgian colony) Congo.
Her death marked the end of an era. My grandfather’s health deteriorated, forcing him to move to a nursing facility, although each time I visit he still vividly recollects memories of my grandmother and stories that put a smile on my face.
Last year my brother felt he could use my grandparents large country house and its surrounding gardens, as his young children needed more space in a safer environment away from the big city. Well, so could I, but I could accept the emotional need of my parents to have their grandchildren within driving distance. My brother rents the property for only a symbolic payment, causing rather predictable family friction.
When I finally visited the house that had been the guardian of countless childhood memories, I was truly shocked. Not only the priceless antique pieces from Congo had already been replaced by more contemporary items, the entire house was being stripped and rebuild with little or no respect for my childhood memories. Every personal item had been removed, with frames and pictures casually tossed on a pile of building rubble. And that’s exactly where I found myself, two yo while holding on to my favorite bear: on a dusty pile of building rubble
This blog is not affiliated with or endorsed by the city of Antwerp, Belgium.
Oh Peter, that’s so, so sad. My father physically built the houses I lived in growing up, and as a young teen I actually helped build the last one. My mother was a homemaker and took great pride in keeping a spotless house and a welcoming kitchen. Their deaths were preceded by long illnesses and they died within weeks of each other. As emotionally traumatic as that last year was, I can tell you nothing hurt me more than cleaning out their house, selling the contents, selling the house. I felt I was erasing their life’s work, my family history, my own childhood. It was soul crushing. For at least ten years afterwards, I couldn’t bear to even drive by the house.
It’s only fairly recently that I no longer feel a passionate attachment to things that belonged to them or are from my childhood. Almost sixteen years after their deaths, I’ve been able to detach from the physical evidence of their love and just remember them.
Let me tell you Belgie Boy, I love the sight of your smiling face and the photos Di took and if I could, I’d share them with the world because they’re precious to me.
Big American hugs to you and your adorable dimple, from one curly top to another. : ) XO
[Blog author comment: "Thanks for the emphatic comment Veronica, from one curly top to another
Much like you experienced, it all felt like erasing my own childhood, especially since my dearest family threw my only childhood painting on a pile of rubble.. Although they still smile and behave ever so polite, they showed their true colors. Like they say, you can't choose your own relatives. As for my painting: I wish I would have talked about it with my grandmother when she was still alive, as I wonder who painted it - I have no recollection of my own.
Btw: thanks for calling me today. I was trying to enjoy the 70-80°F sunny weather when my voice mail greeted you in Dutch. I enjoyed hearing your voice! "]
Comment by V-Grrrl — May 5, 2008 @ 1:28 pm
OMG!!!!!!! Peter! You’re like Shirley Temple with those ringlets!!! OMG! Adorable, adorable…adorable. I want to squeeze your cheeks and put ribbons in your hair. What a gorgeous painting. Far more valuable than a picture!!!! You’re so cute!
[Blog author comment:"Thank you Claudia! Especially the Shirley Temple comparison made my day. You know, I had a very proud mother when I was this young: she even got me into one of those local beauty pageants for toddlers. I won :-)"]
Comment by Claudia — May 5, 2008 @ 2:11 pm
I’m going through a lot of this now. My mother and I spent Saturday morning and afternoon cleaning out our sail boat, getting it ready to sell. I have the ship’s clock in my living room now. It’s a nice reminder of my father’s love of the water.
[Blog author comment:" Holding on to items that meant so much to your father is a wise decision Van. I gave my grandfather's clarinet a prominent place in my living room."]
Comment by furiousball — May 5, 2008 @ 3:29 pm
Peter, I clicked on the painting to enlarge it expecting to see the artist’s or subject’s flaws (per your comments), but I didn’t see any. It’ an amazing, beautiful portrait and it captures your young, radiant spirit, too (the spirit is so often lacking in portraits, of those of any age). Finding your portrait cast aside like that is understandbly very, very upsetting. I don’t understand why they didn’t just offer it to you before discarding it. I do understand updating a home after family passes, but usually enough items or architecture are kept that it’s a comfortable enough transition. And, again, those pictures and personal items should be offered to family members.
Your grandparents sound remarkable. Saving people from being deported to Nazi Germany … wow, if we all could make that kind of difference in the world. There is nothing quite like the adoration and love of a grandmother like that I think. I was lucky to have one who loved me very much like that. She always made me feel like I’d made her day by just walking through the door and that the world revolved around me. My other grandmother was not cut of the same cloth. After bearing 10 children, maybe she was just tired from the moment she made my acquaintance. After she died though (at the age of 90), my mother found all my old school and wedding pictures carefully put away in her dresser. (With many grandchildren/great grandchildren and even a great, great grandchild, she could only display the most current photos in her small apartment.) We were never close, but that stash of photos made me feel a bit better about our relationship and I am grateful to have those photos, even though my parents still have copies of them all.
I am very sorry about all of it, Peter, but I am really glad you were able to save this painting. I hope it will take you back to the very best times with your grandparents and their magical country home.
[Blog author comment:"Thank you for your kind and personal comment Shirley. I'm so glad you were also able to enjoy a grandmother who adored you. And yes, I'm really glad having been able to save my painting, while realizing that my siblings just don't care about my childhood memories. I'll get over it
"]
Comment by Shirley — May 5, 2008 @ 11:48 pm