A funny thing happened on my way to my weekly column. I stopped to see the Ruth Starr Rose exhibit, much covered in recent weeks in the The Talbot Spy, at the old Maryland National Guard Armory in Easton.
I then changed my mind after a week of mental planning. I quickly decided to write about this captivating exhibit—created to be inviting, to open the window into a lifestyle known and understood by few of us.
For the past few weeks, I have listened to the Spy’s videos and seen the banners on lampposts on Harrison Street. When I walked into the armory to see the artwork the past Friday afternoon, I thought I would be in and out rather quickly. I was wrong.
What I discovered was that viewing and appreciating Ruth Starr Rose’s poignant paintings of Copperville’s and Unionville’s African-American residents on a rainy Friday afternoon was an interactive experience. Not because of any gadgets that produced a tactile experience. Visitors, mostly white, wanted to talk.
I spoke—mostly listened—as one couple whom I’ve known, but not well, for nearly 40 years described growing up in a segregated Talbot County. The man told me stories of working on farms with his grandfather—and alongside black workers. Come time to eat, this man and his grandfather inevitably sat in the home of the white farm owner, while the African-Americans sat outside. He also told me about serving in the U.S. Air Force with a southerner who formerly belonged to the Ku Klux Klan; this airman was undone by the fact he had to wait in line for his pay, which a black officer dispensed.
My friend’s wife told me about serving in the Navy with an African-American woman. They had lost touch until my friend, unbeknownst to his wife, found his wife’s Navy buddy in New Jersey and helped reconnect the two women. My friend’s wife was elated.
What I discovered during maybe an hour surrounded by the moving Ruth Starr Rose exhibit of oil paintings, prints and photographs was a shared desire by white attendees to talk freely about race relations, on a personal level. No other art exhibit that I have ever visited has prompted the reaction I experienced in a simple, but touching display of people living their lives in a segregated, often biased community.
I looked at the proud faces of men and women captured by the artist’s keen eye and acute sensitivity. I looked with wonder at the illustrations of traditional spirituals. I marveled at artwork depicting black soldiers during World War, often portrayed in an allegorical fashion. I felt particularly moved by soldiers serving a country that treated them as second-class citizens—yet expected them to die for our prejudice-ridden country.
It was these World War II art pieces that prompted the conversation with my friend and his wife about their military service, their relationships with fellow black service-members and their lives in Talbot County. They understood the unfair, demeaning conditions that overhung life in Copperville and Unionville, which still are black enclaves.
I suspect that those who originated and designed the Ruth Starr Rose exhibit in the Easton Guard Armory hoped to stir some soul-searching. As I learned last Friday afternoon, they succeeded famously, if my conversations were any indication.
Perhaps the word “catharsis” is barely applicable. However, the exhibit tinges your soul and compels you to face your prejudice and beliefs.
A funny thing has happened on the way to the end of this column. I like the subject better than what I envisioned. I hope you sense my deep appreciation of the aesthetic and heartrending aspects of the Ruth Starr Rose exhibit.
A brief walkthrough would have been insufficient.
Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.
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