My sister Cheryl was born an artist, a passion that began when our mother caught her scribbling with red lipstick on her crib sheet. Watercolor became her ultimate medium. Early photographs show her with a sketchbook, her far-seeing eye considering the vanishing point between sea and sky.
Art sustained her through a challenging life. A graduate of Burnley School of Art, she worked as a demonstration artist for Daniel Smith watercolors and taught generations of students in Ellensburg, Washington.
Recently, I found myself standing in the wreckage of the present. With Cheryl and her husband both gone, I joined a small group of family to deconstruct their neglected home. My specific crusade was to salvage her life’s work.
Masked and gloved, I dove into a dark, hidden stairwell to drag out framed art that still sparkled with her characteristic verve. But the house held one more secret. In an attic corner, we discovered flat files overflowing with unseen original art—hundreds of sheets glimmering with moody, rainy skies, a snowy owl in flight, and the fierce amber gaze of a golden eagle. Here was her absolute passion for beauty.
Overwhelmed by what to do with this cornucopia, a moment of grace saved the collection. Marlena Capes, a former student, stepped forward to house and distribute the remaining art to the local community who loved her. What a profound lifting of a weight from our hearts.
Mary Oliver asked: “Tell me, what are you going to do with your one wild and precious life?” A wild and precious life leaves an enduring electricity behind. When we go, the art remains as a living testament to how deeply we saw the world.
