Walter Bock, Artist. 85
Last night, I attended a memorial service for Walter Bock, a prolific artist who passed away in October at the age of 85. I met Walt when he was younger--maybe 20 years ago--at my first grown-up dinner party. He was there with a much younger woman, Chris, and I didn't quite get their relationship. Nonetheless, I enjoyed their company and remembered them. About a decade later, I read an article about Chris, who was the principle violist for two symphony orchestras, and learned that she and Walter were husband and wife. A few years ago, I had a daughter in need of viola lessons, and ran into Chris and Walter at a coffee shop. I re-introduced myself and found Walt and Chris to be every bit as warm and cordial as I remembered them. We arranged for my daughter to take lessons at Chris' home studio, and I got to know Chris and Walt, and their much-loved kitties, as I sat in their living room, reading or writing during lessons.
Walt seemed a little frail when Olivia first started lessons, but he still had a studio and would get out for walks by himself. When he passed through the living room, he'd always stop to chat, offering to turn on a light or wonder if I'd be more comfortable on the couch. Mostly we'd chat about the weather or the cats, and Walt never made me feel like I was intruding. I truly enjoyed these quiet little moments with Walt, brief though they were, and had no idea about the rich 80 + years held inside this quiet, gentle man.
In the past year, it became apparent that Walt's health was in serious decline. I recognized symptoms of dementia, and Chris was fiercly protective of his health. Any sniffle was enough for us to postpone a lesson. Walt developed what was likely aspiration pneumonia a couple months ago and spent his final days in a nursing facility. Chris put her professional life on hold and was with Walt as much as possible, talking to him, washing his face, and playing the concert of her life, as she worked through a repetoire of Walt's favorite music, even as he appeared to be unaware.
Last night, I got a much fuller picture of Walt's life: as a young man who body surfed off the coast of St. Augustine, as a competent leader of a Navy crew in World War II, as a professor of art, as a friend, as a father and as Chris' partner. One by one, friends pieced together Walt's life last night. Each knew him in slightly different way, but it was clear that everyone cherished his presence in their lives. One of the last people to speak was Walt's son, John, who knew his father mostly through thousands of letters, and through his art. I talked to John later, wondering if it was hard for him to hear stories from other people who had a more immediate knowledge of his father. Although John did not spend a great deal of time with Walt, he didn't appear to feel cheated by this physical absence and spoke with great love and respect for his father.
I was most struck by comments made by a professional colleague of Walt's, Doug Hartley, who taught with Walt at Illinois State. He talked about Walt's utter lack of pretension, and how he had to be strong-armed into doing a one-man show. It seems that Walt didn't have much, if any, ego tied up in his considerable body of work. Hartley talked about the thousands of canvases that Walt amassed, rolled up and tucked away. It seems that Walt didn't create art so that he would have a finished product to show the world. He was just so full of life and experiences, that his canvases served as a drip cloth for all that spilled out.
I wouldn't call the Walt I knew a shadow, exactly. He was faded, certainly, but with flashes of outline and color that gave me a glimpse of what he once had been. Last night, the canvas was unfurled and restored. We all stood back and admired it.
Shortly before he died, Chris began to organize and collect his work for presentation on the web. You can learn more about Walt and see his work at Waltbock.com
If anyone is wondering what to get me for Christmas, Hurricane # 5 is my personal favorite. No need to gift wrap it.
Posted by: rochelle | 2004.11.15 at 05:49 PM