Bob Wittersheim

And the real clue to who the painter and subjects were lay in the work itself. This was a person who admired simple aspects of living. A meal, a day in the sun, a connection to the world, a hope for a colorful spring. I could relate to that when it was enough. So who was this woman? I guess I'd never know her exact details. But I felt a kinship with her.

And the real clue to who the painter and subjects were lay in the work itself. This was a person who admired simple aspects of living. A meal, a day in the sun, a connection to the world, a hope for a colorful spring. I could relate to that when it was enough. So who was this woman? I guess I'd never know her exact details. But I felt a kinship with her.

And the real clue to who the painter and subjects were lay in the work itself. This was a person who admired simple aspects of living. A meal, a day in the sun, a connection to the world, a hope for a colorful spring. I could relate to that when it was enough. So who was this woman? I guess I'd never know her exact details. But I felt a kinship with her.

She read books, and so did I. She had a cluttered kitchen, and so did I. She looked off into the distance and wondered or called out to visiting friends or watched her children play. And I understood all of that. People are not so different, no matter what century they live in. When the painting was dry and ready to be rehung, I set it back in its original frame.

She read books, and so did I. She had a cluttered kitchen, and so did I. She looked off into the distance and wondered or called out to visiting friends or watched her children play. And I understood all of that. People are not so different, no matter what century they live in. When the painting was dry and ready to be rehung, I set it back in its original frame.

She read books, and so did I. She had a cluttered kitchen, and so did I. She looked off into the distance and wondered or called out to visiting friends or watched her children play. And I understood all of that. People are not so different, no matter what century they live in. When the painting was dry and ready to be rehung, I set it back in its original frame.

I'd even kept the tacks and hammered them into place. The canvas itself had become a little stretched out with gravity and time, and one step in my process had been to mist some hot water onto the back of the painting and set it out in the sunlight. As it dried, the fibers shrank back into their original shape. and the surface became taut again.

I'd even kept the tacks and hammered them into place. The canvas itself had become a little stretched out with gravity and time, and one step in my process had been to mist some hot water onto the back of the painting and set it out in the sunlight. As it dried, the fibers shrank back into their original shape. and the surface became taut again.

I'd even kept the tacks and hammered them into place. The canvas itself had become a little stretched out with gravity and time, and one step in my process had been to mist some hot water onto the back of the painting and set it out in the sunlight. As it dried, the fibers shrank back into their original shape. and the surface became taut again.

I'd learned so much over the semester, not just about the process of restoration and conservation, but about what it might be like to capture a moment and save it for another generation. I was proud as I looped the hanging wire over the hook in my wall to have saved this moment, which I would pass down again when the time was right. I stood back a few paces and looked at the scene I knew so well.

I'd learned so much over the semester, not just about the process of restoration and conservation, but about what it might be like to capture a moment and save it for another generation. I was proud as I looped the hanging wire over the hook in my wall to have saved this moment, which I would pass down again when the time was right. I stood back a few paces and looked at the scene I knew so well.

I'd learned so much over the semester, not just about the process of restoration and conservation, but about what it might be like to capture a moment and save it for another generation. I was proud as I looped the hanging wire over the hook in my wall to have saved this moment, which I would pass down again when the time was right. I stood back a few paces and looked at the scene I knew so well.

A woman, a book, a window. Ordinary magic. Restoration. It had started with a 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,

A woman, a book, a window. Ordinary magic. Restoration. It had started with a 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,

A woman, a book, a window. Ordinary magic. Restoration. It had started with a 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. Then,

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,

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 I thought of the painting. In it, a woman in simple clothes looked over her shoulder, out of a window, behind her to a green landscape.

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 I thought of the painting. In it, a woman in simple clothes looked over her shoulder, out of a window, behind her to a green landscape.