EVB

I have to tell you this story, even though it's not really mine to tell.

A long time ago, before Eric was born, my grandfather-in-law, Danny, was a policeman in West Allis, WI.  One day while he was working his beat...and there are a few different versions of this story...he came upon a man mixing concrete on his driveway with his bare hands.  Scared the man would burn his hands, and more than a little intrigued by the state of the vibrantly painted house, Danny went up to the man and introduced himself. The man was Eugene Von Bruenchenhein (EVB), self-described "Freelance Artist, Poet and Sculptor, Innovator, Arrow maker and Plant man, Bone artifacts constructor, Photographer and Architect, Philosopher." ← He kept that list on a sign in his kitchen.↓

The house was in shambles, filled to the brim with EVB's art, which overflowed outside too.  Since I have no right to talk about art with any authority,  I will tell you to look here to get a sense of his work: http://vonbruenchenhein.com.  EVB yearned to be recognized for his art while he was alive, but like many great artists, appreciation and esteem came a little too late. He died in 1983, but caught on in the art world after his death, and now, more than 30 years later, he's become something of a major player in the folk art world.  His is an incredible story that none of us would know about if it weren't for the kindness and compassion of Danny the policeman.

Danny and Joan, Eric's grandpa and grandma, were full of life and wild stories from their days as dirt poor newlyweds. They both had an appreciation for animals, nature, and the arts.  I enjoyed hearing their stories about Von Bruenchenhein and his wife, Marie; how they would check on their eccentric, starving-artist friends, bringing meals, groceries, and other goods, not just to be neighborly, but because the Von Bruenchenhein's very survival depended on it.  I learned that the Von Breunchenhein's foyer was filled with KFC takeout boxes, salvaged from the restaurant's garbage cans for their chicken bones, which Eugene would use to create art (most notably, his incredible bone thrones↓).  He and Marie were too poor to eat there themselves.

A "bone throne."

When Von Bruenchenhein passed away, it was Danny who, when stopping to check in on his friends, discovered Eugene had passed and was not just napping, as his shell-shocked wife believed.  It was Danny and Joan who saved his art from skeptical family members cleaning out his home, hauling pieces into their car as fast as Marie's family was leaving them on the street corner.  It was Danny who took pieces of EVB's art to the Milwaukee Art museum saying, This is worth something, you've got to see it!, in hopes of saving a friend's legacy, and providing for his widowed wife.  I've always thought it was a great story, reflective of a simpler time, something to tell my kids about their great grandma and grandpa someday.

This sort of creeped me out, but its worth noting that because he was so poor, EVB saved his wife's hair and made his own paintbrushes with them.  Note the straws-as-handles in the lower left corner.  😳

A few weeks ago, Eric and I were invited to attend the opening of a Eugene Von Bruenchenhein exhibit at the John Michael Kohler Arts Center.  We were returning from a weekend away and arrived a few minutes late, sort of frazzled like we always are since having two little kids, my swirling, frenetic aura in direct juxtaposition with the clean, formulaic gallery space.  We meandered around, reading the historical data, talking about which things Danny and Joan may have helped save, which things they might have donated from their personal collection, enjoying our time together, when one of the gallery's employees introduced herself and asked us who we were.  Upon hearing Eric's last name, she said, "Oh my goodness!  You're here!" in a way that made the whole space immediately hush and then pay laser focused attention to the completely unsuspecting couple in the middle of the gallery.  Eric is rarely one to shy away from the spotlight, but even he was slightly dumbfounded...neither of us thought anyone would notice us non-art-world plebeians, much less want to talk to us, but as conversations played out, it struck me that Eric, by proxy, was the only connection to Von Bruenchenhein's personal life in a museum full of his artistic life.  We were the experts in the room on the artist as a person, since young Eric was the only one to have ever met the man.

We were ushered over to meet the museum's owner, and she told us stories we had never heard about EVB, Eric's grandparents, and how incredibly grateful she is to Eric's grandparents for showing such compassion to Eugene and Marie, and their art.  When dinner was served, after the museum's owner and the exhibit curator spoke, they handed the microphone to Eric.  Eric was third in line to give remarks.  THIRD IN LINE!  This room was filled with people from all over the COUNTRY and ERIC was THIRD IN LINE??!  He had no idea he was going to be asked to speak.  My favorite moment was when Eric confessed to playing G.I. Joe's with the bone thrones as a child, saying he couldn't remember how many thrones he broke during his adventures, and the collective groan that came from the audience made us both feel a little guilty and amused about how we had taken all of this art stuff for granted.   My mind was blown.  It still is.

Others spoke after Eric, of course.  One person discussed EVB's influence in Germany.  Another in the UK. There were professors who discussed how they teach EVB to students.  Some spoke of the early years and how they came upon EVB's work after Danny had taken it to the Milwaukee Art Museum.  One person directly asked Eric if he would send him a photo of Danny.  After dinner, a few people approached and explained how a group of six art world players call each other and toast Danny each year on the anniversary AND SPECIFIC TIME OF DAY that the USS Princeton was sunk during WWII.  Because Danny was on that ship and survived, and if he hadn't survived, EVB's work doesn't survive.  Because Danny showed up for his neighbor.

When we left I said, "that was, hands down, the best night of the year so far."  I was just looking forward to an evening in air conditioning, plus wine, minus children, and I got that and so much more.  I learned that people I loved, through their curiosity and compassion, saved the lives of two vulnerable, artistic souls, who went on to change the art world forever.  We were told repeatedly, without your grandparents, none of us would be here tonight. It's so fascinating to me, how, as life unfolds moment to moment, we don't know how our actions will affect the future, our own or someone else's. But those moments add up, and they matter, don't they? All Grandpa did was choose fascination over fear, and to show up in love instead of judgement, and he changed the course of the art world.

I keep hearing stories about how we are so divided, our country has never been more divided, our world is a mess.  And the stories aren't wrong.  I get worked up thinking about that stuff, now that I have skin in the game, beautiful skin named Grace and Eleanor.  But I just want to say: I know what works!  I HAVE PROOF!  Bans and walls and cuts are not the things that keep us safe. These are not the things that change the world!  It sounds so trite, but honestly-- compassion, fascination, generosity.  These are the things that work.  These are the things that make a life worth living, for everybody.  Get to know your neighbor.  The Muslim one.  The gay one.  The one who mixes concrete with his bare hands outside his pastel-painted house filled with chicken bones from food he didn't eat.  The guy that made less money in his lifetime than what one of his paintings currently sells for.  Do that.  Support that.  Align your interests with that.  Teach that.  And preach that.  You might just change the world.