Bob Wittersheim

My teacher reached out to stop my wrist and leaned in closer, adjusting the glasses on her nose. I know that name, she said. The painting itself had become clearer, richer, And now, the story of the lady in it would too. To be continued for now. The Lady in the Painting She'd been watching over me for years. From her bench in the painting. Hung for a long time in my uncle's living room.

And then, for the last ten years or so, from the front hall of my own house, I'd see her, lit with daylight, as I took my keys from the bowl on the entryway table, on my way out for the day. And then... lit with the low light of the hallway lamp on my way up to bed at the end of the night. She sat with a book in her hand, looking over her shoulder through the window behind her.

And then, for the last ten years or so, from the front hall of my own house, I'd see her, lit with daylight, as I took my keys from the bowl on the entryway table, on my way out for the day. And then... lit with the low light of the hallway lamp on my way up to bed at the end of the night. She sat with a book in her hand, looking over her shoulder through the window behind her.

And then, for the last ten years or so, from the front hall of my own house, I'd see her, lit with daylight, as I took my keys from the bowl on the entryway table, on my way out for the day. And then... lit with the low light of the hallway lamp on my way up to bed at the end of the night. She sat with a book in her hand, looking over her shoulder through the window behind her.

She had one finger tucked into the pages to hold her place. And I wondered what had called her attention, away from what she'd been reading, to look outside. Was a child calling? Or an animal eating from the plants in the garden? her friends coming to have a cup of tea and chat, a neighbor needing to borrow a tool from the barn.

She had one finger tucked into the pages to hold her place. And I wondered what had called her attention, away from what she'd been reading, to look outside. Was a child calling? Or an animal eating from the plants in the garden? her friends coming to have a cup of tea and chat, a neighbor needing to borrow a tool from the barn.

She had one finger tucked into the pages to hold her place. And I wondered what had called her attention, away from what she'd been reading, to look outside. Was a child calling? Or an animal eating from the plants in the garden? her friends coming to have a cup of tea and chat, a neighbor needing to borrow a tool from the barn.

Had she just fallen into a daydream and turned her face to the light? I knew that feeling of being pulled into the broad sea of what-if. and forgetting where you were or what you'd planned. I found myself floating through it a lot as I worked to restore her. In the studio classroom of the community center, I'd spent weeks carefully freeing her from her frames,

Had she just fallen into a daydream and turned her face to the light? I knew that feeling of being pulled into the broad sea of what-if. and forgetting where you were or what you'd planned. I found myself floating through it a lot as I worked to restore her. In the studio classroom of the community center, I'd spent weeks carefully freeing her from her frames,

Had she just fallen into a daydream and turned her face to the light? I knew that feeling of being pulled into the broad sea of what-if. and forgetting where you were or what you'd planned. I found myself floating through it a lot as I worked to restore her. In the studio classroom of the community center, I'd spent weeks carefully freeing her from her frames,

cleaning the surface of the canvas and securing any loose paint so that not a chip was lost. We'd found a small tear in the surface near the bottom of the painting. The fibers of the canvas were split and in danger of fraying. My teacher had helped me to apply a patch to the back of the piece, a sort of bandage that would hold the fibers in place.

cleaning the surface of the canvas and securing any loose paint so that not a chip was lost. We'd found a small tear in the surface near the bottom of the painting. The fibers of the canvas were split and in danger of fraying. My teacher had helped me to apply a patch to the back of the piece, a sort of bandage that would hold the fibers in place.

cleaning the surface of the canvas and securing any loose paint so that not a chip was lost. We'd found a small tear in the surface near the bottom of the painting. The fibers of the canvas were split and in danger of fraying. My teacher had helped me to apply a patch to the back of the piece, a sort of bandage that would hold the fibers in place.

And then we had worked to match the colors and dab them on gently. Just color matching could be a life's long work, it seemed. And the small repair had taken me a solid week. But now you could barely make out where the fix had been done. Something I was very proud of. Some might think that a whole week spent on a small spot the size of a silver dollar would be tedious. But I found it thrilling.

And then we had worked to match the colors and dab them on gently. Just color matching could be a life's long work, it seemed. And the small repair had taken me a solid week. But now you could barely make out where the fix had been done. Something I was very proud of. Some might think that a whole week spent on a small spot the size of a silver dollar would be tedious. But I found it thrilling.

And then we had worked to match the colors and dab them on gently. Just color matching could be a life's long work, it seemed. And the small repair had taken me a solid week. But now you could barely make out where the fix had been done. Something I was very proud of. Some might think that a whole week spent on a small spot the size of a silver dollar would be tedious. But I found it thrilling.

It was like a puzzle that I knew could be solved if only I stayed at my bench. And I found myself thinking of it when I woke up each morning about what the next step would be and what tools I'd use in the process. In the studio, we had a collection of brushes and swabs, bottles of purified water, and mild olive oil-based soaps.

It was like a puzzle that I knew could be solved if only I stayed at my bench. And I found myself thinking of it when I woke up each morning about what the next step would be and what tools I'd use in the process. In the studio, we had a collection of brushes and swabs, bottles of purified water, and mild olive oil-based soaps.

It was like a puzzle that I knew could be solved if only I stayed at my bench. And I found myself thinking of it when I woke up each morning about what the next step would be and what tools I'd use in the process. In the studio, we had a collection of brushes and swabs, bottles of purified water, and mild olive oil-based soaps.

There were small hammers to put tacks back into place, cans of varnish and strips of gentle adhesive, paints and magnifiers, something like a jeweler's loop that would be worn right on your head. and focused in front of your eyes. I liked those a lot, and marveled at the small things I'd spot in the painting when I had them on, that I'd never have otherwise known about.