"Art is not a mirror held up to reality, but a hammer with which to shape it."
Julia used to say “Class is all in your mind and behavior.”
In the 1970’s Julia sang in the Baltimore Symphony Chorus. Evening rehearsals were at Peabody Conservatory and the Joseph Myerhoff Symphony Hall. She dragged her kids with her while dreaming of going to college, becoming an artist, proving her mother wrong. Singing would have to do for now, it was the creative escape she needed. When entertaining she served lavish trays filled with little bowls of nuts, chutneys, jams and pickles. She served flatbreads and cheeses, salads made with foraged herbs, grains and nuts. Foods like this were exotic and a little scandalous. To Julia, American or Scottish food was "brown food" and she refused to serve it.
Locally Seasoned's Pickled Raisins is inspired by Julia's story. Our story is everything. It’s at the heart of our meaning.
At that time very little was known about depression, anxiety and personality disorders. What medications were available stigmatized you as an outcast, a failure, less than. Mental illness was shameful; reserved for lazy selfish people who didn’t want to “get over it.” Julia struggled with cavernous depression, flatlining ambivalence and fantastical highs. It was her highs that allowed her to create beautiful, magical things. She was diagnosed as manic depressive by her doctors. She quickly realized her medications stripped her of joy and her ability to create. She opted, instead, to go without. She didn’t need medication to numb her personality. She loved the arts and wouldn’t give them up that easily. She needed a battle buddy. Someone who understood her moods and encouraged her creativities. She found him. His name was Daniel. He came from a wealthy family with a pedigree. He loved art and history as much as she did. She wore Birkenstocks and a white hippie dress in her wedding. The families were horrified. She delighted in the shock value. He was disowned. They were married for almost 30 years.
Julia would swing between hyper-religiosity and wild infidelity. Between pristine house-wife and raging artist. Sometimes she felt she was a reincarnated Nepalese Princess with the gift of prophecy. Sometimes she didn’t want to live. Julia was beautiful on the outside. Hurt and vengeful on the inside. She wondered why? Her dad used to rage. Her mom, from the prudish hills of rural Scotland, was riddled with anxiety. Julia was raised wearing dresses and white gloves most days. Nothing Julia did was good enough. Could she have inherited this? She wondered. But then again, she had been molested between the ages of 9 and 11 by a neighbor. She tried to tell her parents, no one believed her. She felt dirty, damaged, unworthy. A feeling all too familiar to too many women.
What she really wanted was to go to college but her parents forbade it. Women didn’t go to college except to find a husband. She already had one of those. So she attended lectures and read books about psychology, art, religion and history. She never wanted to stop learning. With her kids in tow, she spent countless hours in art museums, cathedrals, libraries, symphony and recital halls. She filled herself with the attention of men outside of her marriage. She hosted study groups to discuss religion, history, philosophy and politics. She served steaming hot-pot, sticky red bean buns, stir-fry and sautéed tofu. Everything drizzled with a variety of freshly prepared pickles and dipping sauces.
In time, her children became less burdensome, and she turned her attention to college. She summoned all her courage. She fought every doubtful thought, every painful memory and applied to the Maryland Institute College of Art. She was accepted. This was her time, her life, her choice. No one could tell her she wasn’t good enough, smart enough, talented enough.
In her second year of college, her husband, Daniel, was killed by a drunk driver while riding his bicycle. Nothing could keep Julia from finishing school. She picked right up with her classes the following semester.
Her health was declining. She was diagnosed with kidney failure and began home dialysis. The more life threw at her, the harder she focused. Hours turned into days, turned into weeks in the studio. She graduated MICA summa cum laude and went on to receive her Masters in Fine Arts from Towson State University. She found friends who enjoyed her quirky cooking. She served fried smelts with spicy pickled garlic. Tempura herbs doused in a sweet and tangy prune sauce. Hummus piled with nuts, peppers, flowers, seeds and chutney. Foraged milkweed sautéed with butter and sprinkled with salt.
Her health continued to decline. After 2 weeks in the hospital with peritonitis, she was set up for hemodialysis three times a week. Julia was a very prolific artist. She worked in any medium she could afford. She stretched her own canvases, built her own frames. She buried roadkill bones in her yard for earthworms to clean. After a year, the bones adorned her home. She stitched fabric bits from used clothing for wall hangings or appliquéd vests. She layered old rugs in a haphazard way to create the illusion of Turkish opulence. Her garden boasted edible flowers, herbs and beans. Her kitchen smelled of soup and garlic.
Julia died of complications from her kidney disease after 13 years on dialysis. She never wanted a transplant because the anti-rejection drugs would make her look fat. She never wanted to take bipolar medications because they destroyed her ability to create. She made a soul-lifting bouillabaisse.
Through her rage and her pain, Julia waited her entire life to become what she had been all along. Her tombstone reads “I am an artist.”
real stories of resilience and courage that reveal the power of the human spirit. Some details have been altered for ANONYMITY.
