A Painter's Musings on the Visual World

Several years ago I took what was primarily an art trip to France with a side tour of Normandy. It was a one day excursion in which we walked the beaches including Omaha and Utah, paused among the gravestones at the cemetery overlooking the beaches and visited the famous church and town at Sainte-Mere-Eglise and Angoville-au-Plain. 

 Angoville-Au-Plain Church window

With the 75^thanniversary of D-Day this week, I have been thinking about that trip and how those solemn places are etched in my memory. I remember the small town where I never felt so welcome just by virtue of being an American. I remember a small church that had been used as a triage, the blood stains still visible on the pews and a stained glass church window that depicted paratroopers coming down from the heavens. More than the museums of Paris, the halls of Versailles, the silence on the expanse of Omaha Beach stuck with me. I remember the wind. 

94 year old Harry Read parachuted this week to commemorate that day, except 75 years ago he jumped alone in the dead of night with the enemy shooting at him. Also returning to Normandy, 98 year old medic Ray Lambert was one of the 10 percent who survived the first wave of the beach invasion on a landing craft. He had suffered a broken back when he was hit by another landing craft while rescuing a fallen soldier. Yet there he was this week standing tall at 98 years, seemingly invincible.

 Jane Chapin, "Quai de Montebello"  8 x 10 (Archives)

Those of us painters lucky enough to visit France who are now in our late 60s are the last children raised by what has been called the “Greatest Generation”, so called because of the enormity of what they dared and their unwillingness to fail.  My own Dad disliked that title although I am not sure if it was because he didn’t like being packaged for the onslaught of books written or because like many of his generation, he just didn’t think he should make a big deal about it.  But we know how remarkable they were because we knew them. We are the beneficiaries of their direct stories and a reverence and connection to another culture through them. They gave us history and the ideal of a purpose larger than self. And yet that generation asked for nothing in return but for us to live free and to pass that freedom on. Hopefully the simple act of painting the culture in those streets and hamlets they helped save is enough to honor that freedom. Hopefully it is enough that we have the ability to follow our own path. 

Jane Chapin "Sainte Michele" 14 x 11 (Archives)

Europe in general, and France in particular, is the spiritual home to American Impressionist painters. We take trips to the great museums, walk in the steps of Cezanne and Van Gogh, sit in Monet’s garden and become inspired. So many of our reference points are there. What if it had ended differently? Would we still be traveling to Provence and Tuscany on painting trips?  We will never know the alternative but as one painter who has been free to experience that culturally rich and beautiful part of the world, I am grateful for those who fought for it. I think every American should go to Normandy if they can – not necessarily on a D-Day Anniversary when it is crowded – maybe on a day when it is quiet enough to stand on the beach and hear the wind.

Jane Chapin, " St Remy Lavender" 6 x 8 (Archives)

My Dad who was a Navy pilot on a carrier in the Pacific a year after D-Day, passed away 7 years before this 75^thanniversary. Barely tall enough to qualify, he beat the odds and became a Navy carrier pilot. I consider myself lucky to have had his influence.  He encouraged me to paint and simply told me I could do anything I set my mind to. His motto for his own life and advice to his children was “Go for it.” Even beyond courage and selflessness, that is what his generation taught us.