I was doing career counseling in a business office back in the 1980s and starting my practice as a psychotherapist at the same time. The office had three salesmen and three consultants. I was one of the consultants who did the client work from the contracts that the salesmen sold. The support staff for the organization consisted of two receptionists and one typist.
The typist occupied the office next to mine, and during slow periods we became close friends. As a result, whenever I needed typing to be done she would place my documents at the top of the pile. Special relationships are good to cultivate in an office.
Bev, the typist, lived with her family out in the farm country of Chadds Ford in the Brandywine Valley of Chester County, Pennsylvania. She lived next door to two famous neighbors, Andrew Wyeth and Karl Kuerner Sr. Andrew Wyeth was then and still is considered one of the greatest American artists, and Karl Kuerner, Sr. owned the farm next across from Wyeth’s. Some of Andrew Wyeth’s most important works were painted or drawn at Kuerner’s Farm.
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Bev knew both of them since she was a child. They were both much older than she, but nearer her own age were Andrew’s son, Jamie and Karl Sr.’s son Karl. The Wyeths were artists for generations beginning with famed illustrator, N.C. Wyeth, Andrew’s father and Jamie’s grandfather. The Wyeths’ work defined the Brandywine Tradition that began with Howard Pyle and later included many relatives and associates of the Wyeth family.
One day at the office, Bev and I discussed my love of antiques and art, and when I learned about her home in Chadds Ford, I asked her if she knew Andrew Wyeth and Kuerner’s farm. She laughed.
“Of course. They’re my neighbors. I know both families well. I’m not an art lover, but I’m close friends with Karl Junior and his wife, Louise. They just built a cool house and studio on the property and I visit them often.
If you want, some Friday I’ll get a ride into work and you can drive me home. We can get together with Karl and Louise for wine and cheese. He’s an artist too. Nobody I know can afford Wyeth paintings, but Karl is just starting. You should take a look at his work. It’s very much Wyeth-like but different as you’ll see, just like Karl.”
A couple of weeks later, I bought a bottle of wine, ready to drive to Chadds Ford. I had looked up paintings by Andrew Wyeth. There were many of Kuerner’s farm, where Karl’s father lived. When we drove through Chadds Ford, we turned on Ring Road, passing the Kuerner farm so often painted by Wyeth. Not far from there stood a new home with a studio where Karl and Louise lived and where Karl created his art.
When we arrived, Karl and Louise showed us around and we sat together with glasses of wine, as all of them introduced me to the life and work of the Brandywine artists from Howard Pyle to Karl himself.
“Michael, take a look around at my paintings, hanging and stacked against the wall over there. Everything is for sale.”
“I don’t think I can afford any of your work, but it doesn’t cost anything to look.”
Fortunately, all the paintings had price tags. I liked many, but all of them were beyond my price range. We continued to drink, and I continued to look. There was one large water color of a stone tunnel in the winter. I said I really liked that one, then saw that the price was $1200.
“I don’t think I can afford this one, but it’s the one I like best.”
“That’s the Heyburn Tunnel, a short distance away, just off of the highway. There’s plenty of snow right now. On your way home take a look at the real thing. You can commission me to do a painting you can afford. What can you spend?”
I thought for a few moments about the antiques and art I had bought at auctions and antique stores over the years, and came up with an offer.
“OK, I have a price in mind, but considering your Heyburn Tunnel painting and the others, I don’t think you’ll go along with it.”
“Go ahead. Tell me anyway. I might say yes.”
“I’m embarrassed, but here goes. I can spend $350. Including a frame.”
We all laughed. To my surprise Karl stopped laughing.
“OK, It’s a deal. Get your camera and take some photos while there is still snow, and I’ll make some sketches for you to choose from.”
“For that price, is my painting going to be two by three inches?”
“No of course not! I’ll paint a normal sized painting like some that you see on my walls.”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll drive back with my camera tomorrow and take some photos. When I have them developed. I’ll pick out the best views and send them to you.”
“Great. Let’s drink on that. I’m serious. I look forward to painting the tunnel for you, and framing it perfectly, of course.”
I drove back on Saturday and took photographs on both sides of the tunnel. When I received the prints, I sent them to Karl, through Bev.
A week later Bev delivered a rolled-up sheet of drawings with suggestions from Karl. He had sketched both sides of the tunnel and since both sketches had interesting aspects, I asked him to combine the best of the two views.
A few weeks later, Bev arrived at the office carrying a wrapped package. She stood silently at my office door, until I noticed her.
“Good Morning Michael. Here’s your painting. Let’s unwrap it. I haven’t seen it yet either.”
I placed it on my desk and ripped off the brown paper as quickly as possible. I leaned the painting against the wall and we stepped back to get a good look.
Bev was excited.
“That is a wonderful painting! I love the snow, and the frame. Don’t you love it?”
“I like it but something is not working for me. I’m not sure what though.”
Are you serious? Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell Karl that.
“I’ll have to think about it. I’ll call Karl later today when I figure it out.”
Bev shook her head in disbelief, and walked out to her office.
I continued to stare at the painting. I did like it. I loved the frame. Just something was missing. The snow through the tunnel was pristine with little flakes falling all around the scene. Then I knew what was off for me.
“Got it.”
I walked out to Bev’s office.
“I figured it out. I’m going to call Karl.”
Bev looked up at me, annoyed by what I said.
“You do that. You call Karl. I hate for him to be disappointed.”
“I won’t disappoint him. I do like his painting.”
I returned to my office and dialed Karl’s phone number.
Karl answered energetically.
“Hi Michael. Well, what do you think? I like it better than the one you liked at my studio.
“Karl, first of all thank you so much for this painting. I hope you won’t be insulted when I tell you that it needs something. Right now, it’s a dead painting. There’s no life in the scene.”
Karl didn’t react angrily, and I was relieved at that.
“OK, I’m curious when you say it’s dead. What do you mean by that? Do you want people in the paining or animals?”
“No, by life, I mean evidence of life. I know just what you can add to complete it and make it perfect. I hope you understand that my suggestion has nothing to do with your skill or talent. Would you be willing to add tire tracks through the tunnel. I know that would add great depth to the scene.”
After a few moments of silence, Karl answered.
“Tire tracks…hmm. I’ll add them. Send the painting back with Bev, and I’ll paint tire tracks through the tunnel if that’s what you want. You’ll have the completed work in a few days.”
Bev took the rewrapped painting back to Karl, and a few days later she returned with the package.
“I hope this meets your expectations now, Michael.”
She watched as I unwrapped it again.
There was the Heyburn Tunnel in Winter, the road going through covered with fresh snow, just after a single car had driven. It was worthy of a Robert Frost poem, My Heyburn Tunnel by Karl Kuerner was now perfect.
“I must call Karl right now.”
Bev beamed and breathed a sigh of relief.
I called Karl, who must have been sitting by the phone expectantly.
“Hello Michael. How’s the painting now?”
“Thank you so much Karl, for putting up with my presumptuous and unrequested criticism. I love this painting. I’m sorry if I insulted you.”
“No Michael. I’m glad I changed it. The tracks do add something that brings the scene to life as you thought. Let’s get together again for drinks this Friday to celebrate.”
On Friday Bev and I went out to Karl’s and drank wine again. I walked over to the stack of paintings against the studio wall and there in front was the large painting of the Heyburn Tunnel that I had seen before.
There through the tunnel were tire tracks, that appeared newly painted to me. I commented that they were not there before.
Karl smiled,
“Of course, they were there before.”
I smiled back. I wasn’t going to argue my point. I just shook my head.
“I guess tire tracks work in both paintings.”
Almost thirty years later, Andrew Wyeth died and there was a huge article in the newspaper. Among the lifetime photos of Wyeth and many of his paintings were photos of Andrew with his friend and fellow painter, Karl Kuerner.
A few years after that The Brandywine River Museum was sponsoring art classes with Karl at the Kuerner family farm, now part of the Brandywine Conservancy. I had not drawn or painted in many years, and now that I was retiring as a psychologist, I decided to renew my own art talent, if any, by formally enrolling in classes with Karl.
The first day I drove out to Chadds Ford, I drove past Heyburn Road, and after a few blocks turned left at Ring Road. After about a quarter mile on the left a rugged rutted driveway led to the Kuerner farm. I was excited to see the subject of so many of Andrew Wyeth’s paintings, and to reconnect with Karl Kuerner thirty-five years after meeting that first time.
I turned into the driveway, wondering if Karl would recognize me and I him. As I drove up to the barn situated to the left of the empty white farm house, I saw Karl, still with a mustache, now white haired. I glanced into my rearview mirror at myself. I too was gray now, but without the beard that I had when we met.
He leaned down and squinted to see who was driving toward him and started to laugh.
“Hey! Tire Tracks!”
