Immeasurably Brave

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Immeasurably Brave
June 12, 2003

She leaned forward. “They say I’m crazy.”

I gazed into her soft eyes. “Are you?”

“I think so.”

“How do you know?”

“I see pictures right here in my forehead. I see them in the middle of the night. Then I have to wake up to paint them. I can’t sleep till I get them right.” She smiled. “It takes me a few hours to get it right, but when I do, it feels so good.”

“What do you paint?”

“I started doing this when I turned sixty nine. People have been calling me crazy ever since. All of my paintings are about God.” She explained.

“If all of your paintings are religious based, how can you be crazy?” I asked.

We were sitting in the house of Gladwyn K. Bush, locally known as Miss Lassie. Darlin-man’s friend, Billy, had introduced us. Her house was very small, with a main living room with small bedrooms off of it. The living room was decorated with small original artwork that Miss Lassie had done.

She was considered to be a national treasure of the Cayman Islands, which is a territory of England and a part of the British West Indies. She had been awarded a metal of honour from the Queen of England.

“Does the Queen think you’re crazy?” I asked.

“Everybody thinks I’m crazy. Because I draw the pictures that I see in my head.” She said.

Ok. Why does everyone think it’s acceptable that this eighty nine year old woman thinks she’s crazy? She’s very sweet. She’s very cute. But. I wouldn’t want my grandmother walking around thinking that she was crazy. Why were people letting her think that it was crazy to have visions? And crazy to get artistic impressions as pictures in her head and then painting them? That’s the artist’s way.

“Would you like to hear me play the organ?” She asked.

“Yes!” Darlin-man, Billy and I agreed.

She sat at her electric organ and started playing hymns slowly and methodically. It was very relaxing. She played two or three as she rocked slowly back and forth. She pointed to a painting on the wall.

“That is one I made several years ago. The last supper. I have been offered fifty thousand dollars for it.”

I looked at it. It was a very crude painting. Most people would call it folk art, but I knew that the correct term was outsider art, or visionary art. Miss Lassie had painted on her walls and ceilings. Many of her pieces of pottery had been painted on. Her chair was painted. Her pillows were painted with strong, bold shapes of religious figures.

“You don’t want to sell The Last Supper?”

“No. I like that one. It makes me happy to look at it.”

“Good. Then I think that you should keep it.” I said.

Darlin-man and Billy went outside to get some air, which gave the two of us time to talk. Good. Because. That label was bothering me.

“Miss Lassie. Are you sure that you’re crazy?” I asked, slowly.

“Yes.” She laughed. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“But. Maybe you aren’t crazy.”

She looked at me.

I continued. “Maybe God is putting those pictures in your head for you to paint.”

“Yes. He puts them there.” She nodded her head.

“And maybe you’re a very brave woman. For painting every day, even though people think that you’re crazy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most people do what they are ‘supposed to’ do. They don’t do what they want to do, or what God wants them to do.”

She looked at me.

“When God told Noah to build the ark, he did it, even though people thought that he was crazy. But. In the end, he wasn’t so crazy, was he?”

“No. He was just listening to God.”

“I think that you are a lot like Noah.” I said. “I think that you’re listening to God, even if people think that you’re crazy.”

“Do you think so?” She smiled.

“Yes. And that makes you very brave.”

“I’m not crazy?”

“Well. Not in a bad way. Only crazy in a good way.”

“I like that.” She sat back in her rocker and looked out over her paintings. “I like that.”

We were quiet for a time. I myself have a very strong intuition. Man. If every time I acted on my intuition someone told me I was crazy, I can’t imagine what my life would be like.

“There are many mysteries in this world.” She said.

I waited. I had no idea what she was talking about. She was lost in thought.

She looked at me. “I was asking a lot of questions before you came today.”

I waited. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Darlin-man and Billy returned.

“I’m ready to go.” I announced. They were surprised, figuring I would want to spend the afternoon with Miss Lassie.

No. She had some thinking to do.

“May I have one more photograph of you?” I asked.

“Yes. Mysterious woman. You may.” She answered.

She stood up and posed at the half front door to her home. The shutters and doors were painted blue with bold, white symbols on them.

“No. Not crazy.” I mumbled to myself as I snapped the last photo. If she were crazy I wouldn’t wish that I had enough money for her to come and paint my house, or my front door or my sofa pillows. She painted a hand made violin and the craftsman was able to double his prices for future violins. Each of her current paintings were selling for about ten thousand dollars each. The Cayman National Cultural Foundation had recently paid her extremely well for 200 of her paintings.

“No. Not crazy.” I thought as I waved to the solitary, confused woman standing in the doorway. “Talented. Very, very talented. And immeasurably brave.”

(For more information on Miss Lassie, where to view her work in the states, or her book called, My Markings: The Art of Gladwyn K Bush, you may contact the Cayman National Cultural Foundation through their website at www.artscayman.org)

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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