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. 5
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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