The following essay was written in 2002 by Jim Kincaid and was originally published in the book titled "Anna's Eyes - The Story of Theo the Artist." The publisher is L'Art de Theo, Ltd., 990 Sulphur Spring Road, Prospect, VA 23960. The essay is rekeyed and reprinted, without illustrations, with permission of L'Art de Theo, Ltd., ISBN 0-9742541-0-X. If you have questions or comments regarding the essay, or if you would like to obtain a copy of the book, please contact L'Art de Theo, Ltd. directly through either this phone number or web address:
Chapter Eleven
Marge and Rick Swayne were to be the first of a large number of Theo "groupies" over the next few years.
My position as an anchorman in Hampton Roads included the right to make a personal comment, when I felt so moved, at the close of each broadcast. As it happened, I felt so moved on a daily basis, commenting on stories in the news, and when there was nothing much to talk about in that regard, stories about Elam. The trials and tribulations of modern living in a house dating from the seventeen hundreds, conflicts with the ghost of Lodowick Elam, a pioneer who had built the house and given the community its name, and tales of the exploits of "Murphy", a large Irish setter Catherine and I had obtained from the SPCA shelter in Virginia Beach.
Murphy had been an inmate at the shelter on two previous occasions, when his owners had found it impossible to keep him out of trouble. He was now considered a "three-time loser". That is to say, he would probably have to be destroyed. Not that efforts to make an honest dog of him had been wanting. He had been sent, at one point, to an obedience school, but graduated somewhat below the cum laude level. He had, in fact, eaten his diploma before it could be presented.
In spite of his moral shortcomings, Catherine and I had fallen in love with this beautiful creature and determined to take him to Elam and reform him.
The first of these goals we accomplished in short order, the second remained "a work in progress" for the remainder of Murphy's life.
Murphy moved in with Theo. The two became great friends and shared the same philosophy that life was for living to the full, and authority was to be ignored whenever possible. Rules that Catherine and I attempted to enact on weekends were repealed during the week when we had to be in Norfolk. Theo lived by his motto, "In art, as in dreams, all things are permitted". Murphy held the same opinion as regarded "Irish setterdom".
Outrages perpetrated by this magnificent animal soon became fodder for my daily commentary and Murphy's home at Elam became a matter of interest to thousands of my viewers. "How is Murphy?" and "Where is Elam anyway?" were inevitable questions whenever I was spotted in public. Many viewers took the trouble to find Elam and drive by in hopes of spotting the infamous and beloved Murphy. Those who stopped to meet him met Theo as well, and a good many went home with originals to remember the occasion by.
It was the would be visitors who were less certain of the exact location of Murphy's house that led to one of Theo's most enduring friendships.
Anderson Coleman and his wife Evelyn lived in the house just where a small sign identified Elam on Highway 460. So, it was at their house these semi-lost tourists would stop to inquire. Anderson always steered them a mile down the side road where our house is located. He wondered, as the frequency of these requests increased, just why so many folks wanted such information.
Finally, unable to reason it out alone, Anderson drove down to what he had always known as "the old Elam place" and spotted me out doing yard work. He pulled into the driveway, was immediately surrounded by Murphy and several other dogs, and introduced himself.
We talked for awhile. About weather, and dogs, and such, and finally Anderson inquired, "Just what is it that you do Mister Kincaid?"
I told him I was in television in Hampton Roads, forgetting for the moment that Elam was well out of the range of any of Hampton Road's stations.
"Well," he said, "do you fix 'em or something?"
Once I had explained what an anchorman does, and the commentaries that had caught the imagination of my viewers, he was somewhat more understanding of the situation that had turned him into a tourist information bureau.
On that same occasion, Anderson met Theo and, though Theo was unable to understand much of Anderson's thick Virginia accent, he immediately liked Anderson's looks and manners, much like his own "Old World" courtliness. Before the first visit ended, Anderson had invited Theo to come to church with him the following Sunday, offering to pick him up as well. Theo consented, with some reservations because of his basic distrust for organized religion, and his first participation in a worship service since the Latin mass of his earlier years took place at the Olive Branch Methodist church.
The services at Olive Branch bore no similarity to the Latin mass whatsoever, but that Sunday, and every Sunday thereafter for years, Theo accompanied Anderson and Evelyn to "mass". The ministers, a succession of them, each became friends and fans of Theo's as well, and owners of at least one Theo original. Anderson and Evelyn eventually acquired the upper limit of six in their collection, a number Catherine and I raised by one after Theo's death. We found, among Theo's things, a Christmas card that Evelyn had sent Theo some years before and which Theo had subsequently adorned with a small painting. We had it framed and presented it to Evelyn in Theo's memory. This probably amounted to a breach of Theo's hard and fast rule that "You hef zix, und zat iss enough". But we reasoned that Theo probably would have done it himself in this special case.
A number of Theo's friends qualified for the full six paintings. The Swaynes, the Colemans, Luther Lewis, who came to Elam regularly to help with woodcutting in the winter and grass cutting in the summer, Mrs. Louise Scott, who came to help with housekeeping. All of them have charming Theo stories to tell and treasure their Theo collections highly. It is highly doubtful that any among them would even consider selling the pieces Theo gave them over the course of years long friendships.
Unfortunately, there were those who used short-term proximity to Theo to acquire collections far in excess of his six-piece limit. More about that later.
As Theo's circle of friends was growing, so was the fame of "the Baron of Elam", at least regionally. Citizens of Hampton Roads, who had come originally to meet Murphy, or their favorite anchorman, instead became owners of Theo originals and spread the news among their friends about this charming old man whose paintings were so beautiful.
With the freedom of life at Elam, a growing and enthusiastic audience, Theo's worries were few, mainly about the state of the ratings on my television news broadcast. Thankfully, the ratings were good, and growing better, and Theo took advantage of the resultant security to paint with ever growing enthusiasm. It seemed that he had a long lifetime of images to record, yet knew that the time in which to record them was quite limited. Just how limited, we didn't know.
Chapter Twelve
As he approached his eighty-second birthday, Theo's enthusiasm for painting was undiminished but his strength began to fade, slowly at first, then at a visible rate.
Always unwilling to admit sickness, Theo attributed his weakness to old age alone and resisted our efforts to get him to see a doctor.
Theo, in fact, held just about the same opinions regarding the medical profession that he held toward politicians, and insisted that he would be better in no time without their assistance toward the grave.
He began retiring earlier at night and sleeping later in the morning, and abandoned his daily habit of long walks with the dogs. His appetite waned as rapidly as his strength and within a few weeks it was obvious that we would have to take him in hand and seek medical treatment whether he liked it or not.
The diagnosis was even worse that we had feared. Multiple myeloma.
Theo's prospects were not good. He was far too weak to survive aggressive treatment of the disease, but with proper diet and medication his life might be extended for a few short years.
It was decided over his strong objections that he would have to leave his solitary life at Elam and move into the Weyanoke Inn, then a retirement home in Farmville.
A few days later, Catherine and I took a very frail and immensely depressed Theo the few miles from Elam to Farmville and into the lobby of the charming old hotel. And there, a sort of miracle happened.
A goodly number of the residents of the Weyanoke Inn happened to be women, widows mostly, and ladies every one. When Theo cast his eyes on all this potential audience for his Old World charm, he strengthened and straitened visibly, and immediately sent me on an urgent mission to Elam. It seems he had forgotten his dentures and didn't feel properly dressed without them.
Before the first day was ended, Theo had decided that moving to the Weyanoke was his idea in the first place and had already established himself as the "star boarder". In weeks to come, his conquest was complete, with a number of rivalries among the ladies for seats at Theo's table in the dining room. Theo handled the situation with true democracy, allowing them all to admire him in equal measure.
He won, as well, the hearts of the management and staff of the Weynaoke. Among them too, rivalries bloomed as to who would provide for Theo's daily needs. In addition to supervising his daily medications, these needs included frequent trips to the stationery store nearby for paints and other supplies he needed for a new and vigorous period of painting. Dr. Bluford, the owner of the Weyanoke, was keenly aware of the fact that Theo was using his room as a studio, and that the carpets and furniture were suffering as a result. No matter, Dr. Bluford was becoming a Theo collector as well, and carpets and furniture could be replaced. Besides, the lobby of the Weyanoke was gradually becoming a gallery for Theo originals, to the delight of staff, residents, and visitors.
The stationery store I mentioned above was owned by the mayor of Farmville, Thomas Crute, who had been a fan of Theo's work for some years, and who had entertained a dream of his own of establishing a Theo Museum in Farmville. But for the moment Mayor Crute's patronage consisted of seeing to it that Theo got the supplies he needed quickly, and at a very favorable price. Since his stationery store did mainly local business in Farmville, where professional oil painters were few, Mayor Crute found himself searching out and ordering paints that he had rarely, if ever, sold before. He did it gladly.
Theo, it seemed, had come to grips with the fact that his life was coming to an end, and he had only a short time to record the images he had stored through a long and eventful lifetime. Sketchpads and notebooks were filled rapidly, again, with the energy of his earlier years, but an increase in speed that belied his steadily deteriorating physical condition.
When he wasn't actively painting, he was talking about paintings to come. The residents and staff of the Weyanoke took a lively interest in Theo and his art, and not a few of them gladly became members of his exclusive club, that is to say, those who would be given one or more paintings, perhaps even the limit of six.
Unfortunately, Theo's obsessive attention to turning out new work, caused him to neglect those many pieces already finished, and at least one "friend" took advantage. Dozens of paintings simply disappeared, turning out later to have been sold for fractions of their true worth.
The remained unaware of these thefts, and happily trusted just about everyone he knew. His obvious happiness with his situation at the Weyanoke caused Catherine and me to trust as well, so we too remained unaware of the exploitation that was taking place.
A goodly number of the residents of the Weyanoke Inn happened to be women, widows mostly, and ladies every one. When Theo cast his eyes on all this potential audience for his Old World charm, he strengthened and straitened visibly. He immediately sent me on an urgent mission to Elam. It seems he had forgotten his dentures and didn't feel properly dressed without them.
Before the first day was ended, Theo had decided that moving to the Weyanoke was his idea in the first place and had already established himself as the "star boarder". In weeks to come, his conquest was complete, with a number of rivalries among the ladies for seats at Theo's table in the dining room. Theo handled the situation with true democracy, allowing them all to admire him in equal measure.
He won as well the hearts of the management and staff of the Weyanoke. Among them, too, rivalries bloomed as to who would provide for Theo's daily needs. In addition to supervising his daily medications, these needs included frequent trips to the stationery store nearby for paints and other supplies he needed for a new and vigorous period of painting. Dr. Bluford, the owner of the Weyanoke, was keenly aware of the fact that Theo was using his room as a studio, and that the carpets and furniture were suffering as a result. No matter, Dr. Bluford was becoming a Theo collector as well, and carpets and furniture could be replaced. Besides, the lobby of the Weyanoke was gradually becoming a gallery for Theo originals, to the delight of staff, residents, and visitors.
The stationery store I mentioned above was owned by the mayor of Farmville, Thomas Crute, who had been a fan of Theo's work for some years, and who had entertained a dream of his own of establishing a Theo Museum in Farmville. But for the moment Mayor Crute's patronage consisted of seeing to it that Theo got the supplies he needed quickly, and at a very favorable price. Since his stationery store did mainly local business in Farmville, where professional oil painters were few, Mayor Crute found himself searching out, and ordering paints that he had rarely, if ever, sold before. He did it gladly.
Theo, it seemed, had come to grips with the fact that his life was coming to an end, and he had only a short time to record the images he had stored through a long and eventful lifetime. Sketchpads and notebooks were filled rapidly, again, with the energy of his earlier years, but an increase in speed that belied his steadily deteriorating physical condition.
When he wasn't actively painting, he was talking about paintings to come. The residents and staff of the Weynaoke took a lively interest in Theo and his art, and not a few of them gladly became members of his exclusive club, that is to say, those who would be given one or more paintings, perhaps even the limit of six.
Unfortunately, Theo's obsessive attention to turning out new work caused him to neglect those many pieces already finished, and at least one "friend" took advantage. Dozens of paintings simply disappeared, turning out later to have been sold for fractions of their true worth.
Theo remained unaware of these thefts, and happily trusted just about everyone he knew. His obvious happiness with his situation at the Weyanoke caused Catherine and me to trust as well, so we too remained unaware of the exploitation that was taking place.
The one thing Theo did not trust was his longevity on this planet, so he pushed himself mercilessly, painting furiously for long hours. Admonitions from his doctors and from his family went unheeded, and twice he suffered heart attacks that should, considering the advance of his disease, have killed him. The will to finish his work is the only explanation that makes any medical sense. No sooner would Theo be taken to a nearby hospital and stabilized to some degree than he began agitating to get out, and back to his painting.
Finally, the doctors decided that the only way to prolong his life would be to perform balloon angioplasty, and unclog the arteries around his weakening heart. For this procedure he was transported by ambulance to Norfolk, where Sentara Hospital provided doctors and facilities that were among the best in the country.
Catherine, whose daily habit had been a long telephone conversation with her father, now devoted full time to keeping him company in the hospital, and trying to assuage his fears of the coming operation and his anxiety to get back to his work.
When I visited him in his hospital room shortly before the procedure was to take place, he declared me (dressed as I was for a coming evening news broadcast) to be a "very gentleman" and inquired, as he often did, 'How go ze raiting?"
I assured him that I was still number one in the ratings, and reminded him that I had undergone a similar procedure some weeks before, and there was nothing to fear. He smiled. I left and went back to work believing I would celebrate with him the following morning.
When I finished my eleven o'clock broadcast it was beyond a civilized hour to visit with a hospital patient, so I went home and went to bed, knowing full well that Catherine was with Theo and would call if anything were wrong. So, when my bedside phone rang early the following morning, I knew it was news about Theo, and the news would not be good. I was right, Theo had met the enemy fiercely, and lost his final battle.
Each of us either has, or will, experience such a loss. But none among us really believes that such things can happen. A permanent fixture in our lives simply cannot be any longer there. It happens to others, not to us.
No plans whatsoever had been made for such impossibility. But it was clear immediately that there was no reasonable course other than to return the "Baron of Elam" to his realm at Elam. And there we took his ashes.
There was a formal memorial, in a proper church. But the one that Theo would have approved of came later on the forested site at Elam where I scattered those ashes. There, his best friends gathered. Marge and Rick Swayne, who shared his love of art and the multi-breed mutt Fifi. Evelyn and Anderson Coleman, who accompanied Theo "zu Mass" so many times at the Olive Branch Methodist Church. Dr. Bluford and many of his friends from the Weyanoke. Luther Lewis, groundskeeper at Elam and fellow football fan. There was Arnold, of course, another football fan who became owner of a Theo original in spite of the fact that he rooted for the Dallas Cowboys (normal people rooted for the Redskins). Catherine and myself, and of course Caroline and Rob, and all the dogs of Elam. It was not your ordinary funeral. But in its wake, Theo pushed up some of the most beautiful azalea and rhododendron bushes on the planet. Theo just never could stop when it came to flowers.
I chose Theo's burial site, or, more properly, scattering site, based on one of his favorite routes with the dogs on his daily walks in healthier days. I had buried "FiFi" there some months earlier. She was run over and killed on the day following Theo's admission to the Weyanoke.
Catherine and I decided that a stone tablet would not suffice as a memorial marker, and so commissioned a talented sculptor, Lindsey Jones, to create a bust of Theo. Since Lindsey had never met Theo in life, we furnished him with pictures taken by an equally talented photographer, Frank Jones, and Lindsey created what is surely his masterpiece. The bust, mounted on a stone tablet in Theo's beloved woods, seems to exhibit moods. When good things are happening, one who loves Theo can discern a smile, and when things are bad, a sadness is there. Catherine and I are not the only ones who find ourselves in conversation with this likeness, and taking the advice Theo was always willing to give.
Theo's work on this earth was done, and done very well. The message, however, was left to me and to Catherine, to transmit to a greater audience. There, my friends, is a tall order.
The art world is much like the business world. It's simple, give us the record of a success, and we'll recognize you. Of course, one can't establish a record of success until somebody in authority declares something a success. How does one go about accomplishing that? If you need five years of experience to get this job, how do you go about getting this job at the outset? The catches, it seems, far outnumber the applications of the rule that quality will tell in the long run. Theo didn't have the advantage of long training at some university that would, at the end of his training period, give him a certificate that declared him to be a master of his trade, whether he was or not. Such certificates, we all know, are dependent mainly on one's ability and willingness to pay the tuition. That little piece of paper declares an ability to perform that may, or may not, actually be there.
The mountain climber who gets to the top of Everest has no problem having him declared a mountain climber.
Likewise, the runner who fetches up at the finish line ahead of the field is the winner, no question.
Sir Edmund Hillary and Roger Bannister can attest to that. Achieve, and win, and gain enormous notoriety in the process. Nothing need be proved, you've done it, and that's that.
You have to have a track record in art, and you can't get on the track until you do. You see the problem? You can't get in the water until you prove you know how to swim.
Catherine and I knew we were dealing with a Gertrude Ederle of painting, but unable to get the lifeguards of the art world to allow Theo to wade in even ankle deep, much less to swim the depths of their exclusive seas.
Fortunately, Theo's art speaks so eloquently for itself, that once a lover of great art comes into even casual contact, love for it blooms, suddenly, like Anna's eyes captured Theo at that village dance in Grevenmacher.
For those of us entrusted with the mission of enshrine Theo where he belongs, among the greats, the process is frustratingly slow. Like a saint in a hurry, we pray for patience, and want it now!
How will Theo's story end?
For Catherine and me, and for his cherished granddaughter Caroline, it is inevitable that Theo's legacy will live and grow until his well-deserved place in art history is established beyond any doubt. We just don't know exactly when that will be. Perhaps in our lifetime, perhaps not. But Theo helped in no small measure to insure the longevity of his promoters and heirs.
It was through the sale of a small group of Theo's paintings to an enthusiastic patron that Caroline and her husband Rob were able to arrange for the adoption of a Vietnamese orphan. A long, and quite expensive, process.
Thus, in June of 2002, Catherine and Caroline journeyed halfway around the world to the little village of Lang Son, near the Chinese border, and brought home "Tra My", a tiny girl who is, we all agree, the most beautiful and perfect child on the planet. She will be raised among the beauty created by her adopted great grandfather. She too, we are sure, will fall under the spell of Anna's eyes.
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