Wiseman Capstone

My visit to the National Veterans Art Museum: the personal field trip I’ll never forget The world is at our fingertips. Yet Google doesn’t have all of the answers. I took a trip to the National Veterans Art Museum in Chicago to witness firsthand the power of art. Along the way, I was reminded of the importance of the human connection.

By Stacey Wiseman July 2015

The young cab driver told me this neighborhood

of Chicago was a pretty good one. “Mostly Hispanic and Polish, which is good, they are the kind of people that go to church,” he said with a thick Russian accent. That was my introduction to Portage Park, as we drove down a large street, lined with modest looking unfamiliar storefronts. He turned off a side street and announced that we were getting close. Every house on the street was the same yellow-colored brick, with the same facade, circa 1930. While I was wondering how people identified their own homes, the cab stopped.

“Here,” he said. I paid him in cash, because he mentioned they prefer that – and

because I didn’t know that you can swipe your credit card right in the backseat. I stumbled out and collected my bags as he drove away. Oh, yes. The Urban Farmhouse.

There among the yellow brick lined road was a patch of green garden and a little red wooden house. I was traveling alone for the first time in a long time, using AirBnB, renting a room here. At the door a very tall man with a very red beard greeted me; this was Jimmy. He gave me a quick tour of the place and introduced me to his wife, Kelli. She was making a gorgeous salad and offered me a large bowl as well. We sat down and had a late dinner together, chatting for hours.

When I awoke the next morning, I gathered my shower things and headed to the

bathroom. In the living room stood another tall but lanky man, stretching and rubbing sleep from his eyes. I quickly surmised that this was the Brazilian who rented the hammock in the sunroom. He didn’t speak English well, but he did agree to let me use the shower first. As I was leaving the house later, I saw him pouring over a map of Chicago that spread across the dining room table. We chatted. He was an artist; he was headed to Nebraska next. He had a friend to visit there, he explained. I wished him luck as I headed out for my two-mile commute on foot.

The house-lined streets of Portage Park were quiet, respectful of my reflective

mood. I was so busy with travel, I was able to conveniently ignore my pressing fear: could I handle this? Could I handle seeing the art in person that I had trouble looking at online?

And if this is how I felt, how did the veterans feel? Or their loved ones? The irony of trying to muster the courage to look at art about and by those who display the ultimate in courage hit me … I could absolutely handle this, it was the least I could do.

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The National Veterans Art Museum

in their rooms, sharing their stories. They

is nestled into the historic shopping district

wanted us to know their story, because it is

known as Six Corners of Portage Park. I

also the story of their brothers and sisters in

spotted the small sign above the doorway

the armed forces. These are sketches of

of an old department store building.

pain, horror, resilience, beauty, and

strength. It wasn’t at all as I expected.

As I entered the building and walked

up the steps to the second floor, I felt the

There was so much dignity and strength in

space opening up and was pleasantly

each image, I didn’t feel sorry for them; I felt

surprised at the bright natural light of the

grateful, deeply respectful, and in awe

gallery space. Equally bright was the smile

of them.

that greeted me at the front desk, the

well-spoken Milan Johnson. A recent high

couldn’t help but notice two tall, very fit

school graduate and a product of the mu-

young men, maybe in their early 30s,

seum’s Teen Council Program, Milan is now

quietly looking at these works. They agreed

a part-time gallery assistant. He explained

to answer a few questions. I asked them

what I would see in the gallery.

what brought them here … “We’re veterans,

I guess.” When I asked them what they

I knew that my visit would coincide

As I moved through the gallery, I

with the exhibition of The Joe Bonham

thought of what they had seen one said:

Project, a collection of sketches and

“It’s humbling. In a society that seems to

paintings by 16 artists documenting

just cast veterans aside, to see a place like

wounded soldiers in VA hospitals. This is

this. And to know this could have been one

what I was bracing myself for: seeing these

of us on the wall here. It’s all very humbling.”

young, fit bodies forever changed and

While they were very calculated with their

some reduced to only torsos. Some were

words, you could visibly see the emotional

only a week or two into recovery when they

response they were having. It was such a

agreed to be sketched, allowing artists

moving moment for me.

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Robert Bates (2011) LCPL Kyle Carpenter, USMC National Veterans Art Museum

Among these faces, I saw a familiar one: Lieutenant Corporal Kyle Carpenter,

the youngest living Medal of Honor recipient. He has become well-known and inspiring to so many. His Instagram account “chiksdigscars� has over 366k followers to date. His feed proves he is living life to the fullest and traveling the world. Did his participation in the Joe Bonham Project affect his recovery, or does he even remember it? I learned that his mother came to Chicago to see the works just weeks before my trip. I wondered what it meant to family members during those initial days of recovery five years ago.

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Fred Harper (2012) SPC Derek McConnell National Veterans Art Museum

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One painting by Fred Harper

Derek and Krystina were to be mar-

haunted me long after my visit. I wanted to

ried on January 18, 2014. Derek had been

know more about SPC Derek McConnell.

awarded a service dog, Gabriel, and he was

As I searched, I learned more of his coura-

almost finished with the Med Board. I was

geous fight to recover. He was engaged to

heartbroken to learn that he passed away

his high school sweetheart, Krystina.

on March 18, 2013.

He battled serious infections and pneumo-

nia for over three months, spent 53 days in

she graciously answered my questions. I

the ICU, and 7 months as an inpatient. He

asked what it was like,having artists from

almost lost his battle a few times due

the Joe Bonham Project there, and if she

to sepsis.

even remembered it. She wrote:

I was able to reach his mother, and

I am glad that the images continue to inspire. One of Derek’s doctors has a reprint of the one with Sgt Archie (German Shepard) in his office.

I remember that day well.

Derek was asked if he minded being a model for them. In Derek’s own words, he said he would love to if it would help bring to the American public some idea of what veterans have to endure when they are injured. He ripped his shirt off and told the artists not to spare any detail. He was proud of every scar, stretch mark, burn, etc.

He went septic on August 8, 2011, and his body inflated. As a result, he was riddled with stretch marks on his arms and torso. When I offered to rub them with Vitamin E to try to fade them, he said that chicks dig scars and then winked at Krystina. He wanted the artists to capture every scar and stretch mark, because, as he said, he worked for each and every one of them and wore them like a badge of honor.

I was extremely proud of his attitude and outlook. He didn’t let it get him down. He constantly tried to better himself and to reach his highest potential.

At first, I wondered if he wanted to show it all, not just the scars, but the colostomy, as well.

He said he didn’t care. He wanted the American public to see just what soldiers like him had to endure. He was constantly trying to help everyone around him. He visited with other soldiers who were newly injured, and tried to help them cope.

God bless,

Siobhan 7

I’ve heard the phrase “finding your

has been fearlessly forging relationships,

tribe” but I never felt like I’d found mine

collaborative workshops, changing the lives

before. However, sitting down and talking

of youth, and growing the museum from a

with the staff members of the museum, I felt

gallery into a thriving community.

like I was among kindred spirits.

talked about the function of the museum,

I spoke with Christine Bespalec-

Brendan Foster, Executive Director,

Davis, Education Coordinator. I wish every

“A veteran has experienced something that

art educator could know Christine. She has

we (civilians) will never experience. There is

built amazing programs for the museum in

a clear line between what they have experi-

the past 2 and a half years she has been

enced and what we have experienced. And

there. Her passion as an artist and art

that line really divides our understanding

educator is about the narrative; it’s about

of what is in their mind and heart and soul,

helping to tell our individual stories. She

and it’s a line that we will never cross … this

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museum helps us to at least get closer to

what was at the bottom. Piles of bodies

that line”

and bones, where the enemy had dumped

masses to hide the killings. He said

Patrick Putze, Web Developer and

Multimedia Coordinator, spoke about the

creating this wall (which is huge – it took a

importance of allowing those who have

crane and forklifts to hoist it in the building)

been in combat to share their experience

finally emancipated him from the nightmares

through art. “In different ways, telling differ-

and the skulls that were always in his art.

ent stories, and using different mediums, art

Art freed him.

gives us a glimpse that you don’t get from

the news or anywhere else. It’s from the

“The making of that wall, and the skull head, emancipated me from my dreams and I never had a bad dream after that. I did not enjoy doing anything with skulls after that. It was surrealism and emancipation from fear and horror.”

– Jim Leedy

people who experienced it firsthand.”

I asked each of them what encoun-

ters they have had at the museum that were the most profound or something they will always remember. Two of the staff members spoke about the work of Jim Leedy. They told me the story and showed me the images of the work; it is something I will never forget.

Leedy is a veteran of the Korean

War. He created “The Earth Lies Screaming”

his story alone captures the power of art –

in 1999, about 45 years after his combat

to communicate and heal. Seeing this work

experience. One day, during a brief cease

allows us to understand the horror of what

fire, he and some other soldiers went

Leedy saw that day, and why the night-

swimming in a pond. They were for a

mares persisted all that time.

moment getting clean, feeling free, and

maybe just remembering what it is like to

this massive wall of bones and remains in

feel human again.

the mire and the muck. The length of time

he had to dwell in this imagery; his final act

Leedy began noticing the clouds

Then, to imagine him constructing

reflected on the surface of the water as he

of letting go.

was swimming. He looked down to view the

reflection of his own face. As he did, he saw

the tools of art for their own emancipation?

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How many other veterans could use

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I left the museum with a heavy but full heart. It had turned cold outside, a surpris-

ingly chilly June evening for my walk back to The Urban Farmhouse. This time I strolled along the busiest streets, making note of the restaurants and small businesses. Kelli and Jimmy invited me to a classic old neighborhood sports bar to watch the hockey game with their friends. When we returned, I met the new hammock renter, an Italian girl who works as an au pair in California. Before I retired to my room, she asked me to be sure to wake her before I left, so that she could say goodbye. I insisted that she sleep instead.

As I watched for my cab the next morning, the Italian awoke. I noticed she was

putting on her shoes as I grabbed my bags. She followed me to the cab and hugged me goodbye. I was touched by her kindness, as well as all of those I had met on my trip to Chicago. As I rode to O’Hare, I listened to the warm, deep laugh of the cab driver, a young man from Africa. He told me his only concern about moving to the United States was the food. And then he discovered that he could buy plantains here, too. That’s when he knew,

everything would be okay.

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