Return To Sender | Kaija Savinainen Mountain
This post is not entirely as the title implies. I just like that old Elvis tune and there is an element of truth to it, though as the story below, recounts.
Over time I’ve experienced the mixed emotions of my artworks leaving home. Never at ease with the “business of art” I have had to come to terms with the notion that these things that emanate from my paintbrush, once created may become someone else’s. And so they travel - from Japan to Finland and places in between, they are out there somewhere in the world, hopefully in good places bringing joy to their recipients. But then again time has a way of moving works around.
By some kinds of mixed fate, some have come back to me, and others are been donated to institutions, regifted or been laid claim to by next-generation family members. Whatever their journeys it is always interesting when people connect back to me as the original artist. In their doing so, I immediately meet a piece of my own past. There it is looking at me, face to face, saying “I am here; see me, hear me”. Recollections rush back from when I painted the piece and I question - does it still inspire, does it arouse any emotions, is there a dialogue?
Regardless, the reaction is visceral from my gut. What does one say, how does one respond? I suppose it depends on my mood or demeanor as to the reaction I have. On a face to face encounter; I stop, pause, and memories then begin to flood in, reawakening’s to its initial inspiration, recalling the creative process that followed. Was it a struggle, was it a fast and furious process straight ahead? How is the composition holding, do the colors work, does it make a statement and does it still feel fresh and alive?
For some work it is a crystal-clear path, for others a deeply buried memory in time, the echo is hazy. And then there are a few that have totally left me. They take me by surprise. There is a familiarity to the piece, something pulls me closer, makes me stop and reflect. Hey, I like this one, or gosh who did this? Only on a rare occasion have I not recognized my own work. Yep, a friend confessed to pulling stuff out of my recycle pile. A portfolio had been due to be submitted and I had pared down its contents. I do have the tendency to clean/to purge works like a hurricane, toss things out and begin afresh. Does not every artist do this? But I digress. Here is one lovely, funny story of the return of a work as described by a dear friend.
I received the following email from a dear friend. Jeanie had brought someone to my studio to see my work. Her friend purchased a painting I had done of the old log horse barn here. The work was of a dark, cold wintery night. An open back door to my barn casts a glow across a wintery landscape. I can still remember the day I painted it; it was the light and the mood it evoked that I hoped to capture. The painting has now returned to Eastern Ontario after spending several decades in the southern USA. Here is the email of its return:
Hi Kaija,
Many moons ago, I introduced a friend Verna to you. She loved your paintings and bought two or three. Verna left this earth last year.
This year her daughter, Francie, who lives in Espanola New Mexico decided it was time to sell Verna’s wonderful house. She contacted me, saying that it would be nice if I could go there for a visit before the house was sold. I arranged with my daughter, B.J. who lives in Kelowna, to meet me in New Mexico for a Mother/Daughter holiday. We met in Albuquerque, then drove up to Espanola, via Santa Fe.
Seeing Verna’s house for the last time, was sad for me. We have visited back and forth many times over the last two decades. Verna was a good friend. Then, a surprise. Francie said that she wanted me to have one of your paintings to take back to Canada. She has decided to move up to British Columbia for many reasons, one being hating the way American politics have changed so dramatically since you know who took over. Francie used to live in B.C. and now has grandchildren there, so she wants to be closer to them.
So, a week later, we had packaged the painting. Francie’s husband is an artist, so did a superb job. My daughter fashioned a handle out of duct tape, so I could manage my luggage, back pack and the painting on my own. Her plane left early in the morning, mine at noon. Got on the plane at Albuquerque. Had put the painting in extra luggage mode. Was assured all would be fine.
The plane trip from Albuquerque to Chicago was wild to say the least. Literally lifted off my seat at one time. A panel fell from the ceiling at one point. People were yelling, etc. A hell of a ride. Finally got to Chicago in a thunder and lightning storm.
Inside the airport I noticed that the flight from Chicago to Ottawa had been delayed. The gate had been also changed. Found the new one after a long, long walk. Began to read a book. My phone buzzed. Flight to Ottawa delayed and yet another gate change. Off to another gate. Another delay to Ottawa. I thought to hell with this and went to a restaurant and ordered a Chicago frankfurter with all the trimmings. It was fantastic. Another buzz on the phone. Another gate change. This went on for close to 6 hours. All I could think about was the painting. How would it ever get to Ottawa. To heck with my luggage, I wanted that painting.
Finally, after midnight I got on a flight to Ottawa. Later, there was a heck of a crowd going through customs. I was a total wreck. Down to the luggage carousel. Off came my luggage. No painting. I waited and waited. Then a man asked me what the problem was. I told him about the large painting. He said that he saw a package like that over in the rack and pointed to a corner.
There it was. Your painting! The border people had opened it, but did it very gently and resealed it.
I danced around like a wild woman. Then out the door and there was my smiling dear Nic.
So, the painting is now featured in our guest room. It will be Francie’s room when she comes to visit.
And that is the end of the story.
Come and visit anytime.
Cheers, Jeanie
I love this story; it brings a smile to me each time I read it. It also gives renewed inspiration to keep going.
No details of the title or size of work…