More Art and Adoption…

Imagine my surprise when I mentioned to B.’s sister my recent trip to the Museum of Fine Arts and the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum and she told me that my maternal grandfather loved the Gardner museum. As a chauffeur, he would drive his employer down to Boston often and she enjoyed shopping, concerts and visiting museums so he had a chance to visit all these places.

I mentioned this to B. the other night. She mentioned that he came down while she was at the maternity home and took her over to visit the Gardner Museum. I don’t know why I was so flabbergasted by this revelation but I couldn’t believe it. I blurted out something about how my Saturday visit wasn’t actually my first visit and she laughed.

Later, I thought about it and decided it was an interesting choice to take your young pregnant daughter who is about to give up her child to the Gardner museum. Isabella seemed to have a preference for art that featured the Madonna and Child. As she lost her only child at 18 months and suffered a great depression over his death, it seems natural that her selections would lean in this direction. I also read that she created this collection so she could leave something behind that would “live on” forever.

I am certainly not religious and no art expert but when I saw the painting (below) I couldn’t help being transfixed by her face. There is a gentle sadness in her face and it is interesting that the child’s face is less distinct. Almost fading. Lost.

Since visiting the ISG museum, I have become mini-obsessed with learning as much as I could. I bought several books and the movie “Stolen” about the 1990 robbery. At first, I thought it was exciting reading all about the heist and thought it was cool that the frames of the stolen works stand empty following Isabella’s will instructions.

Lately, I find that the robbery was a terrible insult and tragedy. This museum was created in essence to honor a lost child. Maybe not lost to adoption but lost the same. A young mother’s staggering grief, her energies and her wealth all turned toward creating a timeless tribute.

I wonder if the young pregnant girl who wandered through the rooms and gardens in 1962 felt any of those same thoughts…

Nature and Nurture?

One thing I have noticed since reunion is that I don’t fantasizeabout my bmother or bfather anymore. I think the last time was standing on my patio one night having a silent conversation with as yet unknown B… I had just recieved and read the non-identifying information and it was a highly emotional time.

Now I find I play “what if” game. What if things had been different? What if I had been raised by B. and R.? How much of me is nature and how much is nurture? So on that note, here are some thoughts:

1. Does my interest in cooking and food come from my maternal grandmother?
2. Does my interest in music and the arts come from my maternal grandfather?

On both counts, I would say yes. So we have nature. But in that line of thought, some things don’t fit…

1. My bfather was an incredible athlete. I am not! If I had been raised by him would that have been different? We have the same stature and build and if I had started young…
2. My bfather and his family were largely uneducated but worked hard and played hard. In my younger days, I had a hard playing streak in me that could have been a problem if I hadn’t outgrown(?) it…I also seem to have lost my taste for alcohol since I discovered he died from booze and cigarettes…

I just have touble trying to picture me in that world. I don’t seem to fit at all.

I sometimes feel more connected to B.’s husband. I love his farming and self sufficiency. The hunting I can do without though!

Sorry for the rambling post. I started on a very organized note but…