July 14, 1999
Katrina,
Photographs, Sister, have stories to tell, details spoken by lines in the faces and clarity coming from shadows and light. How I love looking through old photograph albums, images returning memories to the mind with the power to invoke emotion. Here on this desk, near this paper, with the light of the morning sun coming through the window to illuminate the image, faces become real in this tangible memory of our family.
A painting of our family had been commissioned, and Mother and Father knew that they wished the painting to be lifelike and bright, reflecting the brightness of this house. After locating and hiring the best painter in the country, the artist, along with Mother and Father, began communicating through telegram about how everyone would stand and the clothing that would be worn. It was decided that Mother, in her hat and elegant dress of white, would stand beside Father in his military dress as two seven-year-old girls, dressed alike in dresses of a pale shade of blue like a summer sky, would sit on short stools in front of the adults in such a manner as so the dresses would hide the stools. And, behind us all, standing proudly, strong and protective, would be the grand staircase.
It was the painter who brought the camera, photographing the image to assist him should we have grown tired over the hours required for him to paint the family portrait. However, when Mother and Father saw the image, they wished to have the painting, a small copy of the photograph, and a copy of the photograph that was enlarged to the same size of the painting. So, all versions of the images of our family were kept, and are still upon the walls of this house to this day.
When the painter arrived at The Oak, staying in The Oak until the painting was completed, he was quite impressed with the house, talking often of its artistic beauty and size, of how the house hugged the light and comforted those who entered. It was his idea to include the grand staircase in the background of the portrait, saying that the staircase was the best example of the grandeur of this house and how, when looking at the staircase, it felt as though the arms were outstretched and welcoming, a good reflection of our family.
And, so it began. We sat for hours until hours turned into days, you being told repeatedly not to fall asleep and I being repeatedly told to sit still. The artist would look at us and then return his glance to the canvas with an intensity in his eyes that I never quite understood. Each morning, we would have breakfast and then prepare ourselves as we were to be in the portrait. We would break for lunch, but were only allowed to eat after changing out of our portrait dresses. After lunch, again we would sit for a while until it was time to stop for the day.
Sitting for the portrait was almost painful, the dreaded hours of being still, but the artist brought an enjoyment of his work and appreciation of art with him to The Oak that was mesmerizing. Over dinner, he fancied us with stories of landscapes and famous people that he had painted, telling us of his travels and the people that he had met along the way. Sometimes, while breakfast was being prepared or after a day of sitting was over, he would pull out a smaller canvas and show us the details that truly make a painting spectacular, like a candle glowing in the window or water trickling down a mountainside. And, when our parents allowed, he would let us use his brushes and paints, teaching us about mixing colors and smoothing a line. And, when he wasn’t looking, we would giggle and attempt to mimic the intensity in his eyes and the seriousness to his brush strokes as he painted. After his visit, though, the trips to the museums meant so much more as we began to realize the talent and the effort and the knowledge that went in to each piece, and we began to learn that the intensity in his eyes was a respectful desire to find justice between the subject and the portrait.
It took almost a week before the artist had the portrait the way that he thought it should be, the light in the appropriate places, the shadows where they belonged. We held our breath as Mother and Father reviewed the portrait, breathing a sigh of relief when it met with their approval. Then, there were the four of us, immortalized on canvas in color and oil so that all who looked upon the painting could see the light in your eyes, Father’s brave posture with his sword by his side, and Mother’s elegant and feminine tastes. All of us, of course, in front of the strength of that grand staircase.
The same artist returned the following year to create both a pencil sketch and a painting of The Oak, both of the same size as the family portrait. Even more breathtaking than our portrait, the artist’s painting caught The Oak at sunrise, the gentle hues of morning about the sky cradling the house as if the delicate hands of God were protecting The Oak, wrapping the house in a beautiful warmth of color as gently as a feather.
Yet, of all the photographs and paintings and sketches that exist in The Oak, the grandest has yet to be the small sketches first drawn by Father as he began to design and plan this house for Mother. Within those marks of lead, is something that no professional artist has ever been able to capture.
Sisters,
Christina
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