Bob Wittersheim

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Responders are ready to support you, no matter what you're going through.

Responders are ready to support you, no matter what you're going through.

Take a slow breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it again. Breathe in. And out.

Take a slow breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it again. Breathe in. And out.

Take a slow breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it again. Breathe in. And out.

It had started with the painting in the hall. one that had been handed down through the generations of our family. It had hung for most of my young life in the living room of a great uncle, above his fireplace, in fact, which accounted for all the soot that clouded its surface.

It had started with the painting in the hall. one that had been handed down through the generations of our family. It had hung for most of my young life in the living room of a great uncle, above his fireplace, in fact, which accounted for all the soot that clouded its surface.

It had started with the painting in the hall. one that had been handed down through the generations of our family. It had hung for most of my young life in the living room of a great uncle, above his fireplace, in fact, which accounted for all the soot that clouded its surface.

When it had come to me, I'd carried it from one room to another, trying to find the right spot for it, where the light would show the details that had been painted into place a hundred-plus years before. Finally, I settled for a spot in the hallway that led from the kitchen to the stairs. Its hanging wire was still strong and sturdy, and there it had stayed for ten years or so.

When it had come to me, I'd carried it from one room to another, trying to find the right spot for it, where the light would show the details that had been painted into place a hundred-plus years before. Finally, I settled for a spot in the hallway that led from the kitchen to the stairs. Its hanging wire was still strong and sturdy, and there it had stayed for ten years or so.

When it had come to me, I'd carried it from one room to another, trying to find the right spot for it, where the light would show the details that had been painted into place a hundred-plus years before. Finally, I settled for a spot in the hallway that led from the kitchen to the stairs. Its hanging wire was still strong and sturdy, and there it had stayed for ten years or so.

Then, at the end of a summer, when kids were going back to school, and the sunlight was just beginning to take on that golden autumn overlay, I'd found a class in the community education brochure for art restoration, step by step, and thought of the painting. In it, a woman in simple clothes looked over her shoulder, out a window, behind her to a green landscape.

Then, at the end of a summer, when kids were going back to school, and the sunlight was just beginning to take on that golden autumn overlay, I'd found a class in the community education brochure for art restoration, step by step, and thought of the painting. In it, a woman in simple clothes looked over her shoulder, out a window, behind her to a green landscape.

Then, at the end of a summer, when kids were going back to school, and the sunlight was just beginning to take on that golden autumn overlay, I'd found a class in the community education brochure for art restoration, step by step, and thought of the painting. In it, a woman in simple clothes looked over her shoulder, out a window, behind her to a green landscape.

She held a book in one hand, and the room she sat in was paneled in wood, with a shelf full of jars and bottles above her head. There was a dark smudge in one corner that we'd always thought might be a signature. I'd taken her down from her nail and signed up for class. she and I had spent the next few months at the community center, where we'd gotten to know each other a lot better.

She held a book in one hand, and the room she sat in was paneled in wood, with a shelf full of jars and bottles above her head. There was a dark smudge in one corner that we'd always thought might be a signature. I'd taken her down from her nail and signed up for class. she and I had spent the next few months at the community center, where we'd gotten to know each other a lot better.

She held a book in one hand, and the room she sat in was paneled in wood, with a shelf full of jars and bottles above her head. There was a dark smudge in one corner that we'd always thought might be a signature. I'd taken her down from her nail and signed up for class. she and I had spent the next few months at the community center, where we'd gotten to know each other a lot better.

It is a strange thing to spend so much time with your attention centered on one face. It felt like a kind of communion, not just with the subject, but with the painter, whoever they were. And finding out had been the most intriguing part of the process. We'd started, the half dozen of us in the class, plus the teacher, by carefully freeing our paintings from their frames.