Recently my cousin sent around this picture of a Mother and Child sculpture by George de Forest Brush (1855-1941), now at Brock & Co, in Concord, MA. This gallery specializes in 19th and 20th century works of art. Perhaps it would be good to make a summer pilgrimage for one last glimpse of this piece of family history.Brush's Mother and Child was sculpted in 1894 and cast twice in bronze at the Gorham Foundry in 1913 (34 x 14 x 15 inches). In my lifetime, the sculpture in the photograph above was owned by my grandmother's sister, Jane, who lived in Oyster Bay. Seeing this photograph in the gallery notice brought back a flood of memories.
My grandparents lived at Brush Farm in Dublin, NH, where a mother and child sculpture stood in a small walled garden off of what we always called "the Big Room" -- the epicenter of that universe. Somehow, even despite so much societal and economic change, my grandparents managed to cling to the Gilded Age sensibilities they themselves grew up with in a timeless world that they passed on to their grandchildren.
Another piece of family lore went up for auction recently: a Family Group painting in a large ornate frame that lived for many years in the Big Room at Brush Farm. It had been heavily worked on (a restoration nightmare, really) and was probably never a good example of Brush's work, but we all loved it because it was part of our own family group. There's a photograph of the painting at this site which I can't seem to load here.
The auction took place in Pennsylvania and I am curious where the painting may be now; the frame itself is spectacular. But who will love those cunning Brush family faces? The head of Gerome painted in as an after-thought? I remember when the painting was taken out of the frame, perhaps to be assessed for whether it could be restored and exhibited. There is a note in the corner about remembering to wear spectacles. I suspect this was either an artist's note to himself or perhaps one from my great-grandmother warning him not to overwork the painting.
In the summer, my grandparents would move to another family house, Pompelia, an Italianate villa that burned down in 1979. Pompelia was spectacular and filled with wonderful artwork. I have amazing detail etched in memory and look forward to writing more about that magical place. But despite the grandeur and magic of those summers, the suspension in time, it was always Brush Farm that felt the most like my grandparents' real home.
My grandmother was the youngest of the Brush children and family gatherings, formal and informal, were a feature of my childhood. In total I spent 28 Christmases in front of what will always be my favorite fireplace. When my grandfather died I moved from Annapolis to live with my grandmother in her little apartment at the Farm; we had such fun in those years. After she died I lived there on my own for a time, and then with Jeff. We were married at Brush Farm under the old apple trees where my grandparents also said their vows.
There's something strange about private works of art in the public realm -- seeing artwork out in world that was once such a part of our daily lives. In a way, of course, it's wonderful to have these pieces displayed in museums and galleries where we can all go visit them. And it's good to have sculpture in out of the rain and paintings that are lit well and preserved for posterity. But seeing this sculpture makes me miss my grandparents and those childhood times when the art was just there all around us.
