Thirty years ago, I wandered into a storefront down the street and met a woman who would become a friend for life. Kay Smith. She had a small studio where she held watercolor classes. Seven or eight of us would meet weekly to struggle through trying to capture the shape of a lily or the shadow of a fruit bowl.
I had art classes in college, but I never had an instructor who pored over each and every composition we attempted, or saved a painting from the trash with a quick stroke of her brush.
It was an intense group – we talked while we worked. We all disclosed details of our lives. The age range was huge – 25 to 85. Until then, I’d never met women in their eighties who used the f-word so effectively!
I had to drop my watercolor class to start design school, which was all-consuming. But Kay and I never lost touch. We would meet for lunch or tea in her garden, and she hired me for decorating the minute I got established.
Kay is a historic painter. She captures moments in history like no other. But her paintings reflect only a small sliver of her understanding of history. A longtime George Washington scholar, she calls him “my beloved.” Her subjects have taken her far beyond the Delaware, though. She toured the entire theater of the American Revolution, followed Columbus’ path in Spain, traveled the Lewis and Clark trail, studied John Adams’ ancestral home in England, met each of the Triple Crown winners in retirement, and followed Hemingway into old age.
