When you look over Margit’s long list of paintings, you’ll notice she had types of paintings that she would do over and over — churches, farmsteads, winter sunsets, and so on. But there’s one painting that’s unique — at least in its name

When developing this website by grouping paintings for comparison and discussion, this one didn’t seem to fit anywhere—despite the conventional aspect of the first part of its name, “fall stream”. It was the second part of its name, “left over paint”, that’s problematic. … And here is that story.

A personal story of choice and imperfection

In the spring of 1971, my family and I were visiting Margit—who I always referred to as Grandma. I am the youngest child of her youngest child, Frieda. My mom (Frieda) loved to tell me she would always be the baby of her family and

I was faced with a range of choice. Like I’ve seen later in

It was the spring of 1971. I was standing in my grandma’s living, facing a big decision. She had propped up on her couch a selection of paintings. I could have any one of them. It was a birthday present that I could pick out myself.

When I indicated my selection, I remember being asked if I was sure about it. I could have any one I wanted, remember? Maybe that was my first sense of doubt, recieved from others.

There was something about this one that I didn’t understand. I’d grown up with her paintings. My parents had a handful of her paintings on their walls before I was even born. So I was familiar with her style and several of her themes. Those with a religious saying on them, trees and rivers. Today, so many years later, I would love to know what other paintings I could have chosen. But this is the painting I did choose.

It reminds me. No, it wasn’t grandma’s best. She knew that. Did I feel sorry for it? Did I just not understand exactly why it bothered me? Maybe it looked like the cheesy staging for a scene from GIlligan’s Island. that looks so corny now but must have been convincing to a 1960s audience.