Student Reflections on the Collection: Home by the Sea, Part 2

This academic year, the Addison education department has been fortunate to host three Phillips Academy students as they complete their Work Duty assignments. This past term, we asked the students to choose a work of art from the Addison’s permanent collection and to reflect on its personal and academic significance to the student. This is Part 2 of senior Lauren Kim's reflection on Thomas Worthington Whittredge's Home by the Sea. Part 1 was posted last week.

Just beyond the homestead in the painting, there’s a bank of trees, which opens up to wide, free-spirited plains. The expansive land is similar to a blank canvas in the way that both spaces are open for creation or imagination to fill them—I feel a connection to these open spaces because they represent the expansion of my own horizons—the life that I’ve already experienced and also what’s to come. The homestead in the foreground comes off as more cozy and tight-knit than the distant land and water. Meanwhile, the land and water are free, boundless, and they hint at the idea of what lies outside the framed perspective of the canvas and the familiarity of home. I feel that the small farm identifies with my house, a place whose bounds I’ve grown up within, and the expansive pasture is a natural representation of experiencing the world for the first time: traveling to different countries, maturing intellectually and personality-wise, learning through personal struggle and victories. Whittredge is able to connect the different tiers of environment seamlessly by painting intricate, careful, and specific strokes and using a palette of soft, natural colors. The plains, the sea, and the sky fade from one to the next in a way that emanates a calming and comforting harmony.


Thomas Worthington Whittredge, Home by the Sea, 1872

The atmosphere of the painting is uncluttered and expansive, but instead of leaving the land completely cleared, Whittredge includes fieldworkers and ships. Although they are a small part of the painting, I find it interesting that he chose to include them. The focus could have been just entirely on the shifting of different aspects of nature (the water, the land, the sky) from one into another, but with the people, I thought about what part they play in the painting. I wondered what kind of backstories the workers on the field or on the ships had. Just spending time looking and reacting to it through my thoughts, I also thought about the correlation between the people and the landscape of the piece. I asked myself “how does the location of the people affect themselves or their roles?” Perhaps the ships and the people in the field represent one’s venturing outside familiar grounds: a departure.

People often grow up in a home like my own, but eventually they have to venture out into the world to discover new experiences and expose themselves to different outlooks on life in order to grow. These life opportunities let us open ourselves to diversity of all kinds—whether religious, cultural, or socioeconomic. If I never left home, I wouldn’t be able to fully realize who I could be—I would be held back by a constant feeling of closeness and familiarity. I found this painting in the Addison Gallery, on a campus that is so incredibly far from my home and everything I’ve come to associate with it. Now, I am someone completely different. I’m not the shy, youngest cousin who feels intimidated by her twenty-something cousins at family gatherings, or the daughter who needs my mom to pick me up from the ballet lessons and art classes that I attended against my will. I’ve changed, and I’m no longer restricted to the world of my home.

When I arrived at Andover as a 14 year-old, wide-eyed freshman, my past experiences leading up to that moment had been within the bounds of all things related to home. Now that I’ve been at Andover for almost four years, I’ve been able to develop this deeper sense of home, not limited by physical boundaries, and the underlying meanings a simple word like that could have for an individual. I think that in many ways, Andover has become a new home for me. Through countless meals in the cafeteria around the grey table with friends who I see and spend time with everyday, early mornings during Winter term shoveling paths outside Johnson Hall, and the enriched discussions that saturate the atmosphere in Bullfinch Hall as fully as my mind. So many aspects of Andover will be cherished after I leave, both the bad and the good times. Through reflecting on this painting, I’ve realized that you can’t experience something twice, or that sometimes you don’t truly know how significant something is to you until you don’t have it anymore. Of course, I haven’t lost my home; when I go back to Bannockburn during school breaks, everything often feels the same as the last time I was there, and yes, my parents, my friends, my room are still there. However, being away at Andover and stretching and growing through the challenging, fast-paced atmosphere at Phillips Academy has highlighted the true invaluable and irreplaceable quality of home.

My home will always give me a warming comfort through my pure memories of my childhood spent there.  When I spend time looking at Whittredge’s piece, I can just for a time forget about the uncertainties of my upcoming transition to college (or even my future at large)—the black canvas that lies before me—and remember my home. I feel that the painting depicts a beautiful scene of my life—how far I’ve come and how much further I will go. Home by the Sea reminds me of the future ahead of me. Symbolically like the open, clear sea in the painting—the same waters that have led countless explorers and expeditions to new, unknown destinations—I have my life ahead of me. Time is coming for me to find myself and establish my identity as a person and whichever roles I will take on.

--Lauren Kim, Phillips Academy Class of 2013

Student Reflections on the Collection: Home by the Sea, Part 1

This academic year, the Addison education department has been fortunate to host three Phillips Academy students as they complete their Work Duty assignments. This past term, we asked the students to choose a work of art from the Addison’s permanent collection and to reflect on its personal and academic significance to the student. Each student interpreted this assignment differently and we are excited to present the first part of the second essay in the series by Lauren Kim, Class of 2013.

Thomas Worthington Whittredge’s 1872 painting, Home by the Sea, tells a story that dissects the different paths we go through during life—the different terrains and surroundings that we move through to get to a destination that we choose in order to live out our lives to a fulfilling end. This painting has four levels of scenery: the farmhouse, the plains, the sea, and the sky. Each component adds a level of depth to the piece that engages me and challenges me to make my own connections to the painting. Not only are these different levels physically represented in the painting, but I also found the elements to symbolize greater themes in one’s personal journey.



Thomas Worthington Whittredge, Home by the Sea, 1872

In the foreground, a woman tends to her animals on the setting of a small homestead. The woman is calm, going through the pleasant routine of feeding the animals. The cozy, homey scene with the woman and her animals is an elegant touch of detail in Home by the Sea. The bright color of the woman’s clothing, the small flowers that adorn the surrounding bushes, the birds on the roof and around the fenced area bring brightness to the mostly green, golden yellow, and brown color palette of the farmhouse setting. Even though this woman and I have no relation, as I thought more about what the farmhouse and the woman’s presence may represent, I gravitated toward the idea of home because of the quaint and comfortable feel of the woman’s scene. I automatically recognized that this woman belonged to this scene: her home shaped her, as she had also shaped the home. For me, instead of being confined to describing just a house, the term home is a collection of physical, mental, and emotional memories from the place and the people that have shaped my foundation as a being. I interpreted the woman in the painting to have been the homemaker of this small farm. Being outside, tending to the animals suggests that she contributes to the household and may be the maternal figure of this family. Just like me, this woman has her own home—a place to call her own, a place as familiar as the back of her hand.

The author's home in Bannockburn, Illinois

During the Fall term of Senior year—a period of time that’s notorious for being the toughest part of a Phillips Academy career, filled with vast mountains of homework, college applications to be written, and non-academic responsibilities to be taken care of—I often reminisce about my home, and nostalgia settles in as I remember easier times: the good ol’ days. I can talk for hours on end about the memories I’ve collected as a kid born and raised in Bannockburn, a small village of the North Shore region of Chicago. Although my house looks like just another plain brick house in Midwestern suburbia, to me, my house feels like no other place in this world, and I grew up in the company of a family that’s one of a kind. From the kitchen that was ruled by my mother’s culinary prowess to the high ceilings in the living room that we added on during the first grade. In my mind, there are specific experiences and events pocketed in each aspect of my house, whether inside or out. The dining room reminds me of family Thanksgiving dinners that, in addition to the traditional American holiday menu, always featured a pot of rice and a bowl of kimchi. The tennis court that had a basketball hoop in our backyard reminds me of the glowing evenings when my dad would come home from work and use the short time of sunlight left to teach my sister how to play basketball, while I stood aside, watching them in admiration. I would walk around the tennis court, while I observed my sister trying to copy my dad’s shots and heard my dad’s strong but warm voice instructing her. Looking back on evenings like these, I laugh a little, remembering being grumpy because I was hungry and eagerly waiting for my mom to call us in for dinner. As these moments play in my head, I realize how far I am from these memories of home and how these special capsules of time are now only behind me; they are my past. I can remember the special moments, but I will never experience them in the exact same way.

A native of Springfield, Ohio, Whittredge was a self-taught painter. His journey of self-discovery and global exploration created an admiration for his home. Originally a house painter, Whittredge traveled to Europe in 1849 with a desire to become a better painter and to learn the European painting traditions. He combined his passion for art with his longing to experience different cultures. Whittredge was not alone. He was part of a movement of American painters who traveled and studied throughout Europe for cultural immersion during the 18th and 19th centuries. Whittredge’s extensive travels also include three trips to the American West in 1866, 1870, and 1871. As a result of the combination of international influence and his personal journey, he established and developed his special identity as a landscape painter, becoming known for painting pastoral scenes with wide, open spaces and natural light. After Whittredge went out into the world and soaked himself in other cultures that helped further shape his identity as a painter and an individual, he created Home by the Sea, the symbolism of which reminds me of his journey and a reminiscence of home.

“I think I can say that I was not the first or by any means the only painter of our country who has returned from a long visit abroad and not encountered the same difficulties in tackling home subjects.” Whittredge knew that his experiences and expanded knowledge from Europe changed him and his identity as a painter. Perhaps he felt a difficulty in painting home subjects because he felt that his depiction would be tainted by European influence instead of staying true to his original view of home prior to his travels. The different scenes within Whittredge’s painting reflect his mindfulness of the extended idea of home and how thoughts similar to the ones that run through my mind right now could have confronted him when he was painting.

For more on Whittredge and his work, see Faxon, Susan C., Avis Berman, and Jock Reynolds. Addison Gallery of American Art: 65 Years : A Selective Catalogue. Andover, MA: Addison Gallery of American Art, 1996; and Point Of View: Landscapes From The Addison Collection. Andover, MA: Addison Gallery  of American Art, 1992.

Part 2 of this essay will appear next week.

Student Reflections on the Collection: RFK Funeral Train Rediscovered

This academic year, the Addison education department has been fortunate to host three Phillips Academy students as they complete their Work Duty assignments. This past term, we asked the students to choose a work of art from the Addison’s permanent collection and to reflect on its personal and academic significance to the student. Each student interpreted this assignment differently and we are excited to present the first essay in the series by Lucy Frey, Class of 2013.


“Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation”
– Robert Francis Kennedy

Last fall I walked through the upstairs gallery at the Addison. Photographs from Paul Fusco’s RFK Funeral Train Rediscovered lined the walls. The images pulled me in and entranced me as I dizzied myself walking around the room multiple times. The emotions that it provoked were unforgettable. In the cool, yet muggy air of the gallery I can still hear the cheering of the crowds and his voice echoing, “Some men see things as they are and say why. I dream things that never were and say why not.” Just a year later I am reunited with one of the pieces. It is just one photo hanging on the wall in a different gallery and a different exhibition, almost unfamiliar to me at first. As I step towards the piece, I gasp quietly, I feel my heart beat quicken in excitement, like I have found missing treasure. The single photo is one piece of the puzzle, one cart on a train passing by, and one picture from a collection, but it puts me back in the upstairs gallery, to the moment when I fell in love with the hazy images of a time decades before I was born.

Paul Fusco, Untitled from RFK Funeral Train Undiscovered

Flocks of people were drawn to Bobby, even in his death. He inspired all of America, black men and women, white men and women, soldiers, business men, Latinos, adolescents, and people of all religions. They were the people that made up this country and he believed in them as much as they believed in him. A river of working class people passed his coffin at his wake and millions lined the train tracks on June 8, 1968, the day of his casket’s ride from New York to Washington. They stood, they knelt, they saluted one of the greatest politicians of all time. They wept, they screamed out, and they sat in silence as he graced their presence for the last time. Even years after his political life and public death Robert Kennedy inspires the youth of today: reading about him in history textbooks or learning of his legacy through television programs; pictures of him, his brothers, and other family members are everywhere. The Kennedy family members are political royalty, celebrities, and role models for America. But it is what he did that affects people still. The words he spoke throughout his lifetime were strong and passionate, just as the funeral train montage. His sweet words of advice inspire me to be patient and kind, but also inspire me to think about the world in a larger scale and not just what affects me personally.

Seeing the singular photo reminds me of when I saw the exhibit for the first time. As I walked through the gallery, these photos were aligned across the walls. I walked along the perimeter and I saw a snapshot of each moment, feeling as if I was on the train myself, looking out on the millions of people who RFK supported and loved. The blur of the photograph made me feel like I was on a moving train moving through time, and at each picture I picked up one or two things, but never everything. Facial expressions, the latest fashions, and different types of people, but what was constant were the appearance of hands. Clothes may have changed, from women’s dress to a man’s. Landscapes may change from country to city. And expressions may change person to person, but the hands always seemed to tell the true story, through expression and movement.

A cartoon image from elementary school pops into my head. The image of different hands coming together, interlocking fingers with one another, lining up around the world holding hands, people of all different races, standing together, smiling, working with one another to make the world a better place. My eyes wander back to the photographs, to the people standing together, holding hands, and together honoring a fallen brother, politician, and friend. At this point I look down at my own hands, small and dainty, slightly callused, reminiscent of work over the summer, and tough from taking notes and writing in school. They are my hands and they tell my own story. Although they are personal and mine, as I look back at the photograph I see the hands of others and I wonder how my own hands could fit in with those. I begin to notice people in a new and different tone, staring intensely at the creases on the palms, the dirt under the fingernails, or the curling of the fingers. I am peering into a private moment. A nun praying, a man reaching out, a woman wiping her tears or a row of children, stick straight, hands by their sides while their father salutes to passing train. Hands hold signs, capturing the image of thoughts and prayers in the hearts of the people, “God Bless the Kennedys,” “God Bless Bobby,” “We will miss you,” “Who will be the next one,” “Pray for us Bobby,” “We have lost our last hope.”

The hands tell the story of the American people, the family that Bobby represented and fought for. The hands come together, all different colors, black, white, tan, and of all different classes smooth, rough, or soiled, and the hands speak to us through the pictures, through the glass, and into the gallery. We see a story of confidence, recognition, and devotion, a story that is unforgettable just as his life was, and a story that will never be forgotten. And from the wise words of RFK himself we learn, “Tragedy is a toll for the living to gain wisdom, not a guide by which to live.”

--Lucy Frey, Phillips Academy Class of 2013