My grandmother grew up in a household that encouraged, or perhaps expected that every child would take on an artistic pursuit, and the girls in particular were raised to engage in the fine arts. One of her sisters played the piano beautifully. Grandma also learned some piano, but her true talent was oil painting. She studied under a well-known local artist in our home state; his name was Manuel Puchi Fonseca (1871-1947).
Grandma used to tell me stories about her learning under the strict artist’s instruction when she was still a child, and how she was what we’d call today the “teacher’s pet.” In my vivid imagination, I would guess he saw something in her and recognized her great potential. She also used to tell me that he often corrected her habits, as she’d carelessly smear paint all over herself, eventually getting it on her eyes. He’d admonish her that it could damage her vision forever and she’d have to stop and clean herself up. I always loved hearing grandma’s stories about her childhood, and grew up both captivated by her memories and surrounded by her works of art. In her mind, she was good at painting, yet she embraced it as a regular practice rather than as something she was especially gifted at. She never boasted about it, taking pride only in the opportunity she had to work with the artist, whose name still emblazons local schools in our country after so many years. If she was alive today, I would definitely ask her how she viewed herself as an artist.
When grandma married my grandfather and started having children, my grandfather discouraged her from painting professionally. She had a full household to look after, so her craft became a hobby rather than a profession. This was very typical in the 1920s and ‘30s when many women were “homemakers” and any occupation outside the home was not considered proper. She continued to paint through the years, usually copying images from other paintings to make her own, like the one you see here on the right (my personal favorite).
One day, a woman knocked on her door and asked Grandma if she had any money she could give to help her, since she was very poor. Grandma instead asked her if she would pose for her as the subject for a portrait, hiring her on the spot for her next composition. The woman agreed. She was part of the indigenous community that lives in our state, a group often marginalized as it happens in different parts of the world. After grandma completed the portrait, the small canvas was stored in a closet, unframed, and sat there indefinitely. A few years passed and my father, newly minted as a dentist, opened his own dental clinic. He happened to stumble upon the forgotten portrait still sitting in the closet, never making it to prime time on any wall in the family’s house. He asked grandma if he could have it, then framed it and hung it in the reception area of his clinic. Then one day, as dad came into his office he found a group of people lined up outside and excitedly speaking with each other, laughing, crying, and pointing at the portrait. Puzzled by the commotion, he asked the unexpected visitors what was happening. They responded that the woman in the painting was part of their family. Someone visiting the clinic had recognized her in the portrait and called the rest of the family to come and see it. They told my father that she had since passed away, and were excited to see her captured in that painting.
A few years later, my father convinced my grandmother to enter the painting into a local contest. She reluctantly allowed it, feeling a bit like a fish out of water. It ended up winning first place, to her surprise and my dad’s delight. This story has become family lore, and what started as a funny anecdote of coincidence and serendipity has turned into admiration for the special human Grandma was. For me, it’s also about the magic that happens when someone advocates for someone else and becomes their champion, like both the artist and my father did for my grandma. As for my grandpa, please hold back judgment; I’ll share his inspiring story one of these days. He had his fair share of challenges and triumphs in those old-fashioned times.
I was lucky to grow up admiring that storied painting and several of grandma’s works as they each had a special place in our home and a story behind them. Not only that, in her older years she moved into our family home and I would often find her in her room, easel and palette in hand, painting maritime scenes and landscapes as her past time, well into her 80s.
There are two things that stand out for me in this story. First, the unlikely connections we can make sometimes, even with strangers, when we show up. Dad was resourceful in reusing a forgotten painting to fill an empty wall, and unexpectedly created a moving experience for the relatives of the woman in the portrait. Second, I can’t help but think of the shifting value that something can have depending on the context and the eye of the beholder. What was merely the result of a hobby at first became part of a special moment for a group of people just passing by. It then earned artistic recognition when it won the contest, finally becoming a point of pride and a special story for our own family. And I can’t ignore the serendipity of it all, from the moment the woman knocked on that front door asking for help to the presence of her family at the right place and time.
While I could say much more about how grandma’s art brought my family so much joy and how big a supporter my father was of her work, the point I want to make with this story is about the incredible reach that our talent can have, even when we least expect it. The painting sitting in the closet is a great analogy for how much our gifts have the potential to bring joy, satisfaction, and even hope to others. In many cases, we don’t even know it! We tend to think that what we create or do may not be useful or add value. We often let our talents and gifts go unappreciated or unused because for us they feel natural, effortless. If something comes easy to us or we truly enjoy doing or creating something, we tend to minimize its value. For that reason, we allow it to sit idle or even hide it from others. If we look closely, we can realize that as human beings we are both unique and connected, and that our decisions and actions often have ripple effects that extend to people – sometimes even in unexpected places. We have the capacity to give to others by sharing an idea, a message, a resource, or our attention. This gift we share doesn’t have to be big or costly to be meaningful. Whatever your skills are, if you have a desire to use them, grow them, and put them out in the world, you may be surprised by the impact you can make for yourself and for others. You may have a messy start and get paint in your eyes, but the end result is well worth it.
Dedicated to my dad, with all the love my heart can hold ♥
