My father gave me a painting after I stayed with him during his second open heart surgery and recovery. Usually, most people would think, “that’s very nice” and hence the end of the story. Well, yes, but it’s my father so it doesn’t end there. There’s a story behind the painting. There’s always a story behind whatever my father did in his life.
When my father gave me this valuable painting in June 2010 he said I earned it. I truly didn’t feel like I earned anything. My father had just turned 80 and recovered so quickly. The doctor said it was his generation. They were tough and determined. My father was a bull. I only stayed with my father four weeks and I was confident with his recovery before I left. I told him I didn’t want to take the painting. He let me use his credit card and drive his Cadillac. And, I loved driving his Cadillac. I never told him but I smoked cigarettes out the window. I had a bottle of Febreeze with me at all times. He probably knew.
The painting. It’s a Franz von Lenbach. Exactly. So what do I know about art? My father had that painting since I was a very young child. He brought it to the United States from his hometown in Germany in the early 1960’s. He told me the customs inspector asked him what it was worth. My father said, “For you, ten bucks. For me, priceless.” Have a nice day is what the customs inspector told him and sent my father and the painting on through.
I never particularly cared for the painting. It’s pleasant to look at but not impressive. The story of how my father got it, now that’s what is impressive. It started during WWII Germany. My grandfather was a carpenter and my father’s older brother was to deliver furniture and receive payment. He came back with this painting. It was the war, people didn’t have money, and my grandfather was a Master Carpenter but not business savvy.
My father and his older sister started teasing their older brother about payment in form of a painting. None of the three liked the painting. They called the woman in the painting “Josefina.” They started hanging the painting in one another’s room as a joke. “Josefina” moved from room to room a few times. On the last round, “Josefina” ended up in my father’s room.
A few years later during Fasching (Mardi Gras), a friend of my father’s stopped by to continue celebrating. His friend, a student of art history, stopped mid drink and asked my father how he managed to get that painting. My father laughed as he recalled the story. His friend asked him if he knew it was an original Lenbach. My father listened as his friend explained the artist and the painting. Many years later, my father said the joke was that he never shifted “Josefina” again nor did he tell anyone what he had learned.
So that’s the story. I find it additionally interesting that the painting survived the war since my family’s hometown, Karlsruhe, was heavily bombed at the end of WWII. I have the painting in my parlor now where I write in my journal. I look at it frequently and grin because it belonged to my father. Then, I laugh at the story behind it. “Josefina” has grown on me. She seems to fit well in her last move.
I only recently researched the painting and the artist. “Josefina” is listed as “Romerin.” Lenbach must have been an important artist. Most of his works are in the UK now. Among the collection is a Lenbach painting of Otto von Bismarck. Now that would be nice to have but I like my “Josefina.” I’m sticking with that name. It’s one of many of my father’s stories.
(Henry Alfred Rudolph. Born April 2, 1930. Died March 2, 2015.)
Column by Linda R. Jones
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