Inspired by Maryhill Museum of Art

The Real Queens of Maryhill

Jerry Fenter conducted a painting class on the Maryhill Museum grounds this summer, and was inspired to paint workshop participants in the museum's sculpture garden.

Says Jerry Fenter:

"I was so inspired by the museum and the sculpture garden on the day I took my watercolor class to work 'in plein aire' at Maryhill that the trip inspired a series of watercolors featuring the real 'Queens of Romania', my students. Thanks to all of my models who posed for me near the "Queen For a Day" sculpture and thanks to Queen Marie who has been one of my idols since I was a small child and first visited the museum. I think I know all of her belongings and regalia by heart."

Photos of Maryhill’s Collections…

In 2006 Mary Harrsch spent time at Maryhill taking photographs of its many beautiful works of art on exhibit and posted them under her Museums of the World Collection on Flickr. Many of her images are used throughout our website, but to explore more check out her page on Flickr. Elsewhere on Flickr you will find other images of Maryhill and Stonehenge…www.flickr.com

 

Janet Scoubes was inspired to write this poem as she finished the 2009 Summer Art Institute and headed home in eastern Oregon.

Leaving Maryhill
by Janet Scoubes

Hot winds blew over ochre hills
And down, skimming across the Columbia—
Relentless in their mission to be somewhere.

I crossed the bridge from Washington into Oregon
Stopping at the Biggs commercial cluster
To take one long look across the river
at Sam Hill’s dream perched
in its majestic aerie, oblivious to the weather.

Then I turned my car east and headed home.

A scattering of basalt gave way
To an endless landscape of alluvial folds
rolling down to blue water.
I imagined Loie Fuller dancing
along the horizon —
a way for me to accept the white towers
channeling winds relentless to be somewhere.

A sense of place is a funny thing.
Sometimes, like Ansel Adams, it is about the place—
tangible. A literal landscape.
But sometimes place is about people—
I think it is what Sam Hill wanted,
But who am I to know.

I do know that more than anything—this week
Was about people.
Maryhill became a place
for people
To come to terms with their own sense of place.
If our heart beats in rhythm with our soul
we are all relentless to be somewhere.

It has been a long time since I have crawled around
On the floor with a bunch of adults…
Or heard dignified women say words that
surprised me…
A long time since I have laughed very hard at my own ineptness,
Or been terrified of remarkable talents and perceptions
surrounding me on all sides.
And for the very first time, I found out what Charlie heard.

I thought about this as I drove towards home,
alternately listening to
Mozart, Willie Nelson, and Garrison Keillor.
At Boardman, I turned away from the Columbia,
And headed toward the mountains.
In just three hours, Maryhill was geographically distant.

The Grande Ronde Valley was welcoming
in its familiarity,
even to the potholes that need to be avoided
in the highway
between Alicel and Imbler

I pulled in my driveway and just sat for awhile
thinking about three days in a place
that has claimed a part of me.
But then—before I got in that totally maudlin
state of mind—
I started unloading the car,
stopping to whistle at the horses
who came to the fence nickering,
hoping for a carrot, or something besides
just a foretop tousleing.

The clematis at the back door
grew independent during my absence
and a couple of violet tendrils
reached out and touched my arm—
their beauty relentless to be somewhere.

(Miss you all! We are on our way to rodeo in about thirty minutes. Who was it that wanted to trade me places? I accept the offer………..)