Living with an Artist in the Family: Mom Horning Story #1
This month, in honor of our mother's approaching 96th birthday, Noah's Boys is featuring some of her favorite stories. The stories were written for a Memoirs class about twenty years ago, and they will be of special interest to the Hornings and to our Hajny cousins; but I love her style and sense of humor. These simple stories offer keen insights of an America that is fast slipping away.
Our yard, with flower
and vegetable beds, fountains, and fish pond, was always on the tour for school
children in our area. “Pop” had a green
thumb, and much to our embarrassment, the huge blooms and produce were due to
his seeking the best possible enrichment for them. Sunday drives into the country were
occasionally punctuated with unexpected and brake-slamming stops when horses
were seen, or we came upon a herd of Holsteins quietly chewing their cuds. Then the burlap bags and shovel were taken
from the trunk and Pop crawled under or over fences to retrieve their “bounty.” How my sister and I hoped none of our friends
would view this spectacle.
The next major
project was to be a fountain for the pool.
Pop drew the plan, complete with plantings. The full-sized statue was to show me in
overalls, hands on knees, water from pursed lips
“fountaining” into a fish filled reflecting pool. I was almost seven, small for my age, and a
bit of a “tomboy.” He made a wood and
wire armature, bought a hundred pounds of modeling clay, and every time he
could catch me sitting idly, I posed for him.
A picture showing the finished project and accompanying article was
published in the Better Homes and Gardens Magazine.
Thinking back, mine was probably
not a typical childhood. Mother was
business minded, a disciplinarian, socially acute, a marvelous cook and
housekeeper. Father was an Artist, meaning
he was none of the above, with exception of occasional clever, beautiful, tasty
desserts. His paintings were all over
our house; many others were in taverns or even in a church or two. There were few blank spaces on our walls,
even in the bathrooms, which at times had the most fanciful, attractive, and
surprising art of all. Sitting in the
tub could be an adventure, like being under a Midwestern lake. Sunfish, bluegills, colorful rock bass and
perch swam amidst waving fronds of ‘lake’ weed.
In other panoramas, birds, butterflies, trees, or flowers formed a
peaceful bower for the bather. Once,
very, very briefly, nubile nymphs gamboled on a hillside. Mother had them painted out.
During the Depression, with no
office to go to, Pop did taxidermy.
Birds, fish, deer, and some more exotic beasts were brought limply into
the house, and exited in their best forms, to be hung on walls, displayed on
shelves, to pose unclad babies on, or to stand menacingly in entryways. Because of the nature of the craft, I never
knew what was cooking on the stove—and sometimes neither did Mother. (It could be a delightful soup for dinner, or
Pop’s bucket of bones.)
The modeling needed in Taxidermy
led inevitably to other three dimensional fields. One of Pop’s interests was making plaster
casts of his clay models, and sometimes of living ones—mostly me. I was the littlest, most curious, and I
embraced some of his experimental ideas.
He made molds of my hands and feet.
The foot forms eventually were displayed in shoe stores to explain how
shoes should be fitted. I was less
enthused with the Face Mask idea. When
Pop vaselined my face so the plaster would not stick, and got ready to insert
straws for breathing into my nostrils, I yelled for Mom and ran from the
house.
The statue, eroded by time, now
stands in our backyard. The head was
knocked off once in the original move from Wisconsin, and again by mean little
kids trying to tip it into the pond on Halloween Eve. The water channel had been crimped, and birds
have stained the cast stone, but little Libby in her bib-overalls stays posed
as she did so many years ago, seemingly to watch the gold fish swimming
silently in the quiet waters.
Note: Paintings by Alois Marshalek
G.M. Horning
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