Bob Wittersheim

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.

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.

It had taken patience and a bit of hard work to take out the tacks that had been in place so long. But once it was done, we'd each laid our canvases or boards on clean workspaces and looked at their backs. One of my fellow students had a painting found at a garage sale.

It had taken patience and a bit of hard work to take out the tacks that had been in place so long. But once it was done, we'd each laid our canvases or boards on clean workspaces and looked at their backs. One of my fellow students had a painting found at a garage sale.

It had taken patience and a bit of hard work to take out the tacks that had been in place so long. But once it was done, we'd each laid our canvases or boards on clean workspaces and looked at their backs. One of my fellow students had a painting found at a garage sale.

And though any work of art has value, his piece, a simple vase of flowers, was being restored more for the experience of working on it than the piece itself. The flowers had been painted on a piece of board, and on its back, we found a signature, an ink pen with a date. It had sent us all into a fever of curiosity. Who was the woman who'd painted the flowers? And what was her life like?

And though any work of art has value, his piece, a simple vase of flowers, was being restored more for the experience of working on it than the piece itself. The flowers had been painted on a piece of board, and on its back, we found a signature, an ink pen with a date. It had sent us all into a fever of curiosity. Who was the woman who'd painted the flowers? And what was her life like?

And though any work of art has value, his piece, a simple vase of flowers, was being restored more for the experience of working on it than the piece itself. The flowers had been painted on a piece of board, and on its back, we found a signature, an ink pen with a date. It had sent us all into a fever of curiosity. Who was the woman who'd painted the flowers? And what was her life like?

Her restorer had eventually found her in a yearbook at the high school, and he'd brought it in for us to have a look at. We'd crowded around his table and peered down at her picture, taken almost 50 years before. She had a big, 70s collar and natural hair in a high puff.

Her restorer had eventually found her in a yearbook at the high school, and he'd brought it in for us to have a look at. We'd crowded around his table and peered down at her picture, taken almost 50 years before. She had a big, 70s collar and natural hair in a high puff.

Her restorer had eventually found her in a yearbook at the high school, and he'd brought it in for us to have a look at. We'd crowded around his table and peered down at her picture, taken almost 50 years before. She had a big, 70s collar and natural hair in a high puff.

She'd been in the winter drama that year and played volleyball, and at least according to the date on the back of the board, painted those flowers. I'd sighed with satisfaction when I'd seen her. It felt like reading the last chapter in a good book. I found I appreciated her painting even more. It meant more to me, knowing something about her.

She'd been in the winter drama that year and played volleyball, and at least according to the date on the back of the board, painted those flowers. I'd sighed with satisfaction when I'd seen her. It felt like reading the last chapter in a good book. I found I appreciated her painting even more. It meant more to me, knowing something about her.

She'd been in the winter drama that year and played volleyball, and at least according to the date on the back of the board, painted those flowers. I'd sighed with satisfaction when I'd seen her. It felt like reading the last chapter in a good book. I found I appreciated her painting even more. It meant more to me, knowing something about her.

And it made me even more curious about my painting, the woman seated in that room, and whoever it was who painted her. When I'd first opened the back of the frame, I'd hoped there would be a label, a tag, something to send me in a clearer direction. But all I'd found was a scrap of paper that had a few words on it, and most of them had been cut in half.

And it made me even more curious about my painting, the woman seated in that room, and whoever it was who painted her. When I'd first opened the back of the frame, I'd hoped there would be a label, a tag, something to send me in a clearer direction. But all I'd found was a scrap of paper that had a few words on it, and most of them had been cut in half.

And it made me even more curious about my painting, the woman seated in that room, and whoever it was who painted her. When I'd first opened the back of the frame, I'd hoped there would be a label, a tag, something to send me in a clearer direction. But all I'd found was a scrap of paper that had a few words on it, and most of them had been cut in half.

when the scrap was torn from a larger sheet. There was what I suspected was half of a name, a surname that might have been the painter's. There was also a city and a bit of a date. I thought about those scraps of information while I worked on the surface of the painting.

when the scrap was torn from a larger sheet. There was what I suspected was half of a name, a surname that might have been the painter's. There was also a city and a bit of a date. I thought about those scraps of information while I worked on the surface of the painting.

when the scrap was torn from a larger sheet. There was what I suspected was half of a name, a surname that might have been the painter's. There was also a city and a bit of a date. I thought about those scraps of information while I worked on the surface of the painting.