Art That Lives with Us
ARTWORK BY JON BURRIS
By Susan McCalmonT
Sorting through a dear friend’s home after his passing was one of the most emotional experiences I’ve had recently. He spent over seventy years collecting art. He didn’t do it in a grand or boastful way, but with quiet devotion. Every corner of his home held something he had chosen to live with. It wasn’t a museum but something far greater and more personal. His home was a reflection of his values, spirit, and way of life.
As I moved through the rooms, I wasn’t just cataloging artwork. I was getting to know him again. The objects spoke louder than ever in his absence. The paintings hinted at his humor. The sculptures reflected his taste for precision and form. Even the simplest pieces of furniture revealed his appreciation for craftsmanship and comfort. I’ve always believed that art carries meaning, but this experience deepened that belief unexpectedly.
Objects That Hold Our Stories
From the moment we’re born, we are surrounded by objects. Some are beautiful and handmade, while others are functional and mass-produced. No matter how they are made or where they come from, they all tell a story. Over time, some objects gain even deeper meaning: they become memory keepers. For me, I think of a painting gifted by an uncle, a ceramic pot passed down from a grandmother, or a watercolor made by a child. These aren’t just things we keep; they’re things that hold onto us and our memories.
Anthropologists refer to this as “material culture”: the idea that the objects we live with are not just passive decorations but active participants in shaping how we understand identity, memory, and belonging. In many cultures, personal collections—ranging from cabinets of curiosity to everyday heirlooms—have long been seen as expressions of identity and records of life experiences. This idea is also evident in the art world. The 19th-century salon-style gallery walls, the artist’s studio, and even interior paintings from the Dutch Golden Age all reflect an understanding that our surroundings influence who we are.
Living with art influences how we perceive and feel in our spaces. It not only shapes our aesthetic sense but also directs our attention. When we pause to appreciate the curve of a form or the texture of a brushstroke, we slow down and create space for beauty. In turn, that beauty influences the rhythms of our lives and becomes part of our emotional structure.
Grief as a Lens for Meaning
Organizing my friend’s collection while mourning his passing helped me understand him more deeply. He especially valued realism, like detailed portraiture, classical techniques, and strong figurative work. It reflected his appreciation for nuance and the complexity of people and their expressions. Observing what he chose to surround himself with gave me a richer understanding of who he was and what he found beautiful.
In grief, we reach for what’s tangible. We hold onto what we can. Often, it’s the everyday objects – the chair they always sat in, the mug they used every morning, the painting they loved dearly – that bring the greatest comfort. Psychologists have studied this phenomenon thoroughly. One well-established theory is known as “continuing bonds,” the idea that we stay emotionally connected to those we’ve lost by maintaining relationships with the objects that represent them. These connections aren’t a refusal to let go. On the contrary, they’re a way to remember and carry forward what mattered.
The art we live with is more than just decoration for our homes or lives. It becomes part of the language we use to remember, and it continues to speak long after we’re gone.
The Emotional Legacy of Collecting
I started my own art-collecting journey while still in college. I had no budget, but a generous artist let me buy a painting on a $10-per-month payment plan. I was instinctively drawn to the work, not knowing at the time that the artist had studied under Henry Hensche, a renowned colorist. That piece became the foundation of my personal collection. It also became a symbol of something bigger: that collecting is not about wealth or prestige. It’s about emotional connection.
Most collectors I know are motivated by emotion. There’s a resonance in color, form, subject, or spirit that makes someone want to live with an art piece. And when that feeling is shared between collector and artist, the spirit of creation continues through care. We surround ourselves with these works not just because they’re beautiful, but because they’re alive with intention.
Beauty as a Way of Being
Not all art is made solely for beauty, but when it is, that beauty endures beyond the lifetime of its creator. My friend understood this. Wherever he sat and looked, he was taking in beauty. He had curated a world for himself where he could feel grounded and inspired, and now it’s inspiring me.
My friend’s underlying intention for collecting art is something I aim for in my own life and at 1515 Lincoln Gallery. Whether it’s a painting on the wall, a sculptural piece, or even the furniture we choose for the space, I want our gallery to feel like a place where people can rest in beauty, observe deeply, and connect with something meaningful and lasting.
In a world that often feels chaotic and fast-paced, creating those spaces is important. We need places (and objects) that slow us down and ground us. A life surrounded by art isn’t about filling walls, but rather about choosing to live in harmony with beauty each day. It’s about designing environments where memory, comfort, and presence coexist and can be shared with others long after we’re gone.
