“It’s ugly,” one of Husband’s siblings said. “You can have it.”
Excitement exploded my day. The oil painting lived in the front closet at my in-laws’ house, next to the vacuum cleaner, in my memory, and behind the winter coats. Once the possession of Great-aunt Lala, who passed away in the fall of 2005 at the age of 101, the work of art became Husband’s and mine.
I peered at the back of the large piece. On it, the artist, Gertrude Doederlein, had fastened a card, now yellowed by age. The Art Institute of Chicago, it said, and “Sixty-fourth Annual Exhibition by Artists of Chicago and Vicinity, 1961.” She had penned its title there too: Winter Nacht. Captivated by the vibrant work, I moved the painting from wall to wall over fifteen years in our North Minneapolis home. And without any plan on my part, my décor always matched the colors on the canvas, no matter how errant my selections.
Our acquisition made me grin. Winter night. Sure, I could see it. A swirl of snow in the dark, obscuring city lights and blotting out the landscape. The cold scene warmed me. I raised my little ones around it and sipped endless cups of coffee over countless days in its presence.
But in July of 2020, a new idea struck me.
I looked at the card on the back of the painting again and emailed the Art Institute of Chicago. Two months later, Aaron Rutt, the assistant director of the Ryerson & Burnham Libraries Research Center at the museum, sent me a response. In it, he provided links to the artist’s file in the Chicago Artists Archive and The Doederlein Gallery at Saint Luke Academy on West Belmont Avenue in Chicago.
The final link in the email was to Gertrude Doederlein’s obituary in the Chicago Tribune. The former kindergarten teacher and artist died in 1993 at age 89, her life as vivid as her paintings. She introduced a looser style of teaching she called child-centered, not curriculum-centered. She wore fishnet stockings in her sixties and pants long before it was acceptable for women to do so. She studied painting in Italy and took classes at Salzburg Academy too.
Oh, and her submission of our very own Winter Nacht to the exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago in 1961? It wasn’t selected.
We have a new house now, but Gertrude’s brushstrokes still spice up our lives, welcoming us daily as we climb the stairs to our living room. As for Great-aunt Lala’s connection? The two women were friends, and the painting was a gift. Simple as that. And now it’s a gift to us, along with the “ugly” pieces of Lala’s jewelry I wear on the regular.
But maybe that’s a different story for another time.
No, it’s not an isosceles trapezoid in shape— just hung up high, and this was the best shot I could get. Winter Nacht, oil on canvas, 29” x 43”
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.