My late great-grandmother, Frances Welsh Wright My great grandmother was an artist. She was the third and final wife of John Lloyd Wright (son of Frank Lloyd Wright) and the two of them lived and died in a home he built, a place I grew up Easter-Egg hunting with my cousins in the thick brick of the facade. My mother grew up next door to her grandparents, also in a John Lloyd Wright house where my Nana still lives to this day.
I grew up surrounded by priceless architectural artifacts (John invented Lincoln Logs, originally called Wright Blocks and as children we played with them oblivious to their value) and stories of the dinner guests my grandparents and great grandparents welcomed into their home. Hollywood directors and famous thinkers, actors including my Grandfather's step-cousin, Anne Baxter, writers and philosophers, children of dictators seeking asylum, poets and painters and designers... Oh my.
I listened wide-eyed to such stories, imagining even as a child, the collective embodiment of so many brilliant and fascinating people, jealous that I wasn't alive to participate in such affairs. The dinner conversations! The after-dinner cigarettes out on the patio on balmy summer nights! The history! I dream of such things! What a life!
Years ago, after my grandfather's passing, my Nana sat with me in the thick of family memorabilia, collecting books and handing them to me. My Nana, also an author of books had decided it was time to pass along extinguished torches, books that hadn't been touched or opened for years. "Books that should be enjoyed and appreciated," she said. She knew that I would treasure them. And I do.
The books she gave me were mainly the collected first-editions of my great grandmother (Frances) who was also an author of many books. Frances was a true artist, born from gypsies in Hungary, dressed to the nines through her adult-years in Pucci gowns and Chanel suits. A beautiful writer and metaphysical philosopher, her ideas were profound and fierce and revolutionary and I was lucky to inherit many of her writing journals and books of quotations jotted down over the years. Besides being a fine writer and fashionable nymph, Frances was a beautiful painter whose work often sold with the homes her husband built and designed.
Frances lived a fiery, uncensored life and in many ways has always been my hero even though she died the year before I was born-- a sort of spiritual soul-mate I always felt I knew.
My favorite of the three FW paintings I inherited.
Frances lived a fiery, uncensored life and in many ways has always been my hero even though she died the year before I was born-- a sort of spiritual soul-mate I always felt I knew.
She also ghost co-wrote the Frank Lloyd Wright biography, My Father Who is On Earth. A real-life muse and literary inspiration, she spent years working with her husband on this:
(Unfortunately it isn't in the FINEST of form.)
1st Authors edition, inscribed by John to my Great Grandmother, Frances:
(click to enlarge).
I guess this was kind of a long-winded answer to this week's Friday prompt... But nevertheless, behold! A few of my most prized possessions, items rich with eccentricities and the kind of fascinating stories one must memorize so she can retell them and pass them on with her souvenirs.
Of course eventually the books will disintegrate. The paintings will fade. But the stories, if told well, are always the last to go.
I guess this was kind of a long-winded answer to this week's Friday prompt... But nevertheless, behold! A few of my most prized possessions, items rich with eccentricities and the kind of fascinating stories one must memorize so she can retell them and pass them on with her souvenirs.
Of course eventually the books will disintegrate. The paintings will fade. But the stories, if told well, are always the last to go.
GGC
Other Flashback Friday Posts (if you feel inspired by this week's prompt, send me your links and I'll add you to the list):
