The Texas Connection

A friend of mine in Texas is an artist, a painter, and a rather good one at that. We accidentally met on Face Book, and are sharing experiences with literature and art. He recently expressed concern about the need for a larger studio space, for a series of larger canvases he is doing. That triggered memories of my father who helped a number of struggling artists with consistent resources. Sometimes it was exhibit space, sometimes rent during a trying stretch between showings, sometimes house rent. I remember how supportive he was of one artist, Raul Vanden Heede, who was struggling with a whiskey addiction that was severe enough to be threatening his eyesight. It was so interesting as a 10 year old , spending time at Raul's tiny house and studio, listening to him sharing stories about his other favorite addiction, prostitutes, as the pungent air of turpentine and oil paints filled my nose and eyes. It is no wonder I developed a taste for the novels of Heinrich Boll by the time I was 16. For all the isolation of the last eight years, I am glad the fire of art is being passed on to my son, and how I enjoy watching him draw, as his skills blossom and develop. My father passed away from complications of Alzheimer's disease 5 years ago. The circumstances were so tragic, as he languished alone in an Alzheimer's center in Oostende, Belgium, abandoned, kicked out by our crazed alcoholic mother when he was already ill, having lost me because I could not see over the mountain of lies and intrigue that separated us in time and space. By the time I was able to reach out to him, write to him, send him warm sweaters and pajamas, he no longer knew who I was. He was a good man, addicted to a spoiled woman, our mother, who proved as lethal as cyanide, destroying any semblance of a family, one poisonous drop at a time. I am glad my son is an artist, and to have an artist friend in Texas, a place that I will always remember as a second home. There is a saying my father was fond of repeating, "Bredero zei : Het kan verkeren", which translated from the Flemish means: "Bredero said : things have been known to change." Yep, they sure did for our family, and yet in all the destruction, there is , a Texas connection to a good painter, and the joy of watching my son follow his artist skill and heart. Oh, by the way, Bredero was a 17 th century Dutchman, connected via the Royal Dutch Navy to the House of Orange.