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Posts Tagged ‘gifts’

This too is a story about gifts.

watercolor by ludwig a. joutz

Ludwig Aloysius Joutz (1910 – 1998) was an architect noted for his work with religious and educational institutions primarily in the Washington, DC area.  I learned of this gentleman while researching Joseph Anthony Horne as part of my Interlude Series.

By the time Horne meets Joutz, Joutz had already earned his doctorate. His 1936 thesis is still referenced with regard to medieval church architecture.  In 1939/40 he was awarded a travel grant from the German Archaeological Institute but was perhaps unable to use it because of the outbreak of World War II.   He would be drafted into the German army and become a prisoner of war.

Exactly how he and Horne originally met is unclear.  It might have been as early as the Invasion of Italy where Joutz was captured but certainly by the end of the war they were fast friends.  The earliest document that I’ve been able to find so far is dated May 1947.  In that year, Horne was working with the Monuments, Fine Arts & Archives unit.

As the Monuments Men continued their efforts to find, catalog and restitute items looted by the Nazis and others during the war, Joutz would become a valuable resource.  German-born, he was fluent in English and several other languages and knowledgeable about the art and literary worlds. Horne, American-born and fluent in German thanks to his immigrant parents, was culturally sensitive and knowledgeable about the arts. They apparently worked well as a team.

LJConfirmation

Between June 1, 1947 and March 1948, Joutz would serve as an operations specialist on books and archives at the Offenbach Archival Depot.  During that period, he and Horne, by then director of the Depot, would become great friends. Horne would aid Joutz in resettling in the U.S. where he would establish himself as architect. They would become godparents to each other’s children and remain friends until the end of their days.

familyceremony

joseph and elsie horne and ludwig and lucy joutz

Throughout out his personal and professional life, Joutz would travel around the world.   As part of those travels, whether for work or for pleasure, he would view his surroundings with an artist’s eye and try to capture what he saw.  Yes, with a camera like his friend Horne, but Joutz would also explore many different forms and techniques of art. He experimented with pen and ink, pastels, watercolor, woodblock prints, papercutting and more.  How do I know this? By a gift he painstakingly assembled for his son.

When visiting Joutz’s son, Frederick, a noted economist, I noticed a stack of suitcases tucked in a corner. Now these suitcases were the old-school, at least 1950’s if not earlier, kind of suitcases that are deep enough to curl up and go to sleep in and strong enough to, well, last a lifetime.  Frederick explained that they contained his father’s artwork. Now at first I thought he meant prints related to his father’s architectural practice, photos of completed projects, etc.  But that was not so.

artwork by ludwig joutz

artwork by ludwig joutz

artwork by ludwig joutz

Inside the suitcases was artwork spanning nearly five decades. Joutz had carefully organized his artwork, everything from sketches on the back of used envelopes to sweeping washes of color applied to delicate Japanese papers.  It was all layered in stacks in these deep suitcases.  The son remembered his father engaged in the process and how he culled items along the way. One can only imagine what the father may have considered not worth saving.

artwork by ludwig joutz

What I managed to see, the content of only two of the many suitcases, was breathtaking in its scope, in the diversity of imagery, and the range of techniques attempted. Each image suggested a story. On some of the pages were notes. What did they mean?

artwork by ludwig joutz

artwork by ludwig joutz

Some of the works were clearly copies of masterpieces, as done by any art student spending a day in an art gallery might do, but many images appeared to be of ordinary people.  Perhaps seen in European town squares or along desert routes when he traveled in Egypt?

artwork by ludwig joutz

artwork by ludwig joutz

artwork by ludwig joutz?

Then there are the images that are ecclesiastical in nature … were they the early concepts or cartoons for church murals? Did the murals still exist or had they become lost and all that remains are these vestiges?

Those are stories that others may choose to research and tell one day. I am grateful that his son allowed me to see just a fraction of what is contained in those suitcases.  And a salute to Mr. Joutz for preserving his own artwork as he helped to preserve the works of others throughout his career.

artwork by ludwig joutz

 

Sources and Additional Readings …

Fold3.com Holocaust Collection

 

 

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A friend traveled to Turkey and returned with a gift, a hand-painted bowl. The bowl inspired me to change my tablecloth from paisley to red to accent the bowl and then the colors of the bowl inspired me to buy clementines. Cherries came to mind as well except I don’t really like cherries. This morning, with light filling the bowl, I was able to reach for the fruit. As I ate the fruit and the air filled with the scent of oranges, I thought of gifts. My aunt told stories of post-Depression Virginia where her Christmas present was an orange and peppermint candies. Of late I’ve been on the cusp of worrying about all the Christmas cards not mailed, the presents not bought but as I held the fruit in my hand I let go of a bit of the guilt.

I’ve received lots of gifts this late autumn edging into winter. A shell from a young man as I walked along Revere Beach. He saw me stopping to collect and inspect and occasionally photograph, and so he came over to me and held out a speciman and simply said, “This one is beautiful.” I agreed. He kept standing there, shell in hand.  “Is this for me?” I finally asked. He nodded. I took it. We separated and spoke no more.

A woman I’ve met on occasion, who can come across as rather brusque, she stopped to talk with me. As I helped her make a purchase, I admired a bracelet she wore. “It’s tiger agate,” she said, sliding it off of her wrist. I held it and then tried to give it back. She refused. “It is yours, “she snapped. “See? It does not match any of the other jewelry I wore. Clearly God made me wear this today for you. You are a tiger.” I must say, I’ve been called many things, but that may have been the first time I’ve been called a tiger.

Gifts come in many forms. I will treasure the bracelet but mostly because of the memory it will evoke. I will treasure the shell, and all the shells given.  And, of course, the bowl and the oranges and other fruits it will hold, and the memories that rise with their fragrance.

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Lin A. Nulman is an Adjunct Professor of English at Bunker Hill Community College.  Her poetry has appeared in Black Water Review, Tanka Splendor, and the anthology Regrets Only: Contemporary Poets on the Theme of Regret, among others. Lin puts her heart and soul into teaching and while I’ve yet to take a formal class, I have felt a student. In her own unique ways, she has challenged me to both appreciate and expand upon the work that I do as writer and photographer. It’s with pleasure I share Lin’s words and images about her grandmother, a great influence in her life.

photo by Lin A. Nulman

“Oh, you see one tree, you’ve seen them all,” a woman once said to my grandmother, who had just remarked on a tree she found beautiful. Gram repeated the comment throughout my childhood as “the saddest thing I ever heard anyone say.” I think so, too, and I’m thankful for the gift of knowing why.

We took walks when I was a little girl, and even not so little, in our neighborhoods and on the beach. Often Gram would stop to look at something commonplace, such as weeds in a patch by the side of the road. Isn’t it amazing, she would say, how Nature creates so many shapes of leaves in just this one place?

photo by Lin A. Nulman

photo by Lin A. Nulman

Eventually I reached the age of impatience with what grown-ups noticed that wasn’t rare blue beach glass or a good climbing tree. But even when I felt impatient, I knew I could see what she was talking about. I don’t know if Gram believed in God, certainly not in a kindly God, but she did deeply believe in Nature, wonderful and endlessly giving. If you looked at it that way. And I do, and I have to, despite all the other ways my eyes still need to open. Her view was one of my starting places, creatively and spiritually.

photo by Lin A. Nulman

Recently a latent love for bohemian style has sprouted in me, thanks in part to author and blogger Justina Blakeney. I stay up too late turning pages of her new book and feeling out of breath. Justina defines bohemian style as the product of “a creative life and an active engagement in the search for alternative ideals of beauty…Our worldly collections are as eclectic as we are…Decorating is about feeling free, having fun, rejecting traditional notions about what goes with what…and getting a little bit wild.” [I’m quoting from her introduction to The New Bohemians: Cool & Collected Homes. UNputdownable.]

photo by Lin A. Nulman

photo by Lin A. Nulman

Even my 1906 copy of Putnam’s Handbook of Etiquette warns New York High Society about the habits of “Bohemia”, over there in Greenwich Village, beyond “the borders of wise convention”, definitely over the edge and unacceptably wild.

photo by Lin A. Nulman

photo by Lin A. Nulman

Her book was in my mind recently on a walk through the Fens, one jewel in the Emerald Necklace of green spaces that loops through Boston. It has a wide area of community gardens, where dozens of people fulfill their own visions with flowers, trees, bushes, berries, vegetables, bamboo, grasses, and leafy plants. It is a wonderful place to open my grandmother’s eyes, to see the shades and shapes Nature creates in just one corner of a park, sometimes helped along by a little human artistry: a painted gate, a statue, a purple disco ball. On this walk, my looking as I was taught to look revealed Nature, to my joy, as The First and Ultimate Bohemian. Everything goes with everything, so feel free and always be a little bit wild.

photo by Lin A. Nulman

photo by Lin A. Nulman

I challenged myself to photograph the gardens in December, without most of the flowers to help, and still found colors and forms running madly, beautifully together, eye-catching contrasts of silhouette, especially as I lost the light, and small places full of texture and depth. Thanks, Gram.

photo by Lin A. Nulman

photo by Lin A. Nulman

Please look for my blog, The Creative Part-Timer, in early 2016.

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It has become tradition. After visiting Dublin I produce a small book chronicling my travels. The 2015 edition is now available for purchase in print or for immediate download: http://www.blurb.com/b/6648069-dublin-green

p.s. Of course, there’s a cybersale in effect. Save 40% until December 1st with the code: CREATIVE40

http://www.blurb.com/b/6648069-dublin-green

 

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I recently ordered some seeds.  At first, it felt like an extravagance.  Not a lot of money was spent but there were certainly other things I could have put that money towards.  Immediate needs. But I bought the seeds thinking long-term for when the winter settles in, and all the leaves are gone from the oak tree and the sunlight shines through the many windows of the house.  Even in the bitter cold, when on the one hand I am able to photograph ice on the inside of the windows, there are sunlit nooks just warm enough for sprouts to grow and even on occasion my bucket of little potatoes.

The sprouts grow in little dishes so I’m not working with much dirt but whether a few inches of soil or a foot, it brings me joy sometimes and calm always.  I feel grounded.  Of late I’ve been interacting with friends, family and even strangers for whom the winter is a tough time. I’m tempted to send them all seeds so that they can create winter gardens and perhaps find calm and maybe even joy.  But I’m not sure that gardening works that way for everyone.  I may do it anyway, out of selfishness, because the act would make me feel good.

I did this past summer mail a young friend a package of edible flower seeds.  Someone who can be a little down and get stuck inside her head.  I thought working with her hands might be good.  She texted me back a picture of the unopened colorful seed packet sealed in a beautiful glass jar.  What else could I do but applaud her on the composition of the picture.  I mean, who am I to dictate how someone gardens.  Later when she came to visit in person I let her taste some of the sprouts I had growing, some mild mixture of greens.  I happened to have an unopened package of the seeds tucked away.  I gave them to her … along with a little bag of dirt.  The next text I received was of a bowl of growing greens.

Just some random thoughts this Sunday morning as I stare at empty vessels waiting for their seeds. The pictures are images of dried flowers from the Belle Isle Reservation.

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Many things have caught my eyes in the fading autumn light. Shadows on the ground. Angels in stained glass windows. Parsley fading in my indoor garden.  I have snapped shots of them all and yet it is the detail from two leaves given by a friend that I choose to share this day.

She handed them to me as she raced out the door, baby in one hand, and two leaves in the other. She said she thought of me as she saw them, and as she’s done in the past, she added with a smile, “Now, see what you can do with these.” Encouragement is always good. 😉

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A very young friend to whom I send postcards recently gave me a gift in return.

Flowers from her first garden.

A beautiful sight in the morning light.

Thanks, Vanessa. 😉

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The last of a delicious gift of homegrown tomatoes.

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Send a single packet of seeds through the mail enclosed in an envelope not much bigger than the seed packet.  Include a single slip of paper with words, to the effect of, I can’t wait to see how you photograph these.  That’s what my cousin did.  A simple gift of great encouragement.

It took me a while, I must admit, to plant the seeds in a cereal bowl.  I was lazy on occasion, not watering the dark earth and letting the top get so dry it seemed an errant breath would blow everything away.  But I did water, pouring on cups at a time and then walking away.

If you follow my blog, you know I grew impatient. I moved the bowl from room to room trying to follow the sun. But then, as happens often in nature, sprouts did appear and then stems and leaves and soon blooms.  Beautiful blooms.

I could have eaten them, you know. Violas are edible but now I too wanted to see what would happen over time.  The blooms made people who were visiting, who were perhaps not in a happy space, smile as they walked past the bowl.  And even I, who can on occasion not find the bright side, they too made me smile as the sun struck the purple and gold.

Then one day as I was sitting in a room staring at the white curtain lit by the sun, and thinking perhaps that curtain was a bit too sheer for that particular room, I was then struck by a new thought:  what a wonderful backdrop for Lorraine’s flowers. And that’s how this series of pictures was taken.

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The sunflower seeds that I sent to one of my brothers are doing well.  During the most recent heat wave in Virginia, he described diligently watering their stalwart green stems along with his green pepper plants.  I asked him this morning if they have yet to bloom and he replied, “No.  They just keep growing taller!  They are already taller than the porch.  The landlord worries they might overgrow the house. The stems are so thick and the leaves so broad, you can’t see anything. They are creating a natural wall.  The landlord may want to cut them down.” I encouraged him not to allow that to happen.  While they are not beanstalks for Jack to climb, who knows what’s to be found at the top of those flowers once they pierce the clouds?

As for these sunflowers, they were to be found in Boston’s Copley Square as I dashed through the Farmers Market this past Friday.  A delightful sight, living up to their name, like the sun come down to the ground.

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