I am writing a book about my mother, Wilkie, who died two years ago three weeks shy of 99. Above is a photo of her hands I took when she was 97.
One of my chapters finds mother at age 75, entertaining a family of Jehovah's Witnesses who had come to the door. My father, the artist Robert G. Stevens, being a friendly sort, had invited them in. My mother offered them coffee, and asked them if they liked art. They did. "Do you collect?" she asked. "No" they said. "Well perhaps we can change that." mother said. "My husband is a landscape painter!" She waved her arm towards his watercolors. "Here...let me show you some of his work."
The Jehovah's Witnesses became enthralled with my mother's description of my father's process. They forgot all about their original reason for visiting. By
the time they left my mother had sold them two prints and three paintings.
In a little over an hour, they became Wilkie's converts to the fine art of art collecting.
(Alas, my parents never did become Jehovah's Witnesses.)
And so on Mother's Day, I wish you happy memories of your mother and all of her many converts.
- Margaret Danielak