I first remember seeing the rusty brown wool coat from a distance. The high school art teacher, Mrs. Weed, would sit in the choir loft of the Catholic church where I was an altar boy. I could see her from my seat on the altar, usually to the left of the priest if you were looking up from the pews. If I recall correctly, she sat in the choir loft because she was married to a man who was not a Catholic. I don’t remember if she came down for communion, which I would likely recall as I was tasked with extending the flat gold-handled plate that was supposed to catch the fallen wafers.
I then remember seeing the same wool coat hanging in the large supply closet (and Mrs. Weed’s office) when I started taking art classes as a freshman in high school. The class was filled with students from upper grades. I found this strange, as I believe I was the only freshman in the class. There were many talented artists in this class. Jeff could draw really well, as could Betty, and Verna was sort of a hippie and could make anything out of clay.
The art room was part of the new “middle school” and was next to the home economics room (separated only by a partition wall). It was on the ground floor of a two-story addition and had windows that looked onto a central courtyard where we could see across into other classrooms.
Mrs. Weed taught many things. Drawing (pencil, Conté crayon, pastel), painting (acrylic, oil, and watercolor), pottery (on the one kick wheel or the two electric ones), batik, cloisonné, collage, and photography (though this was discontinued as I started high school). There was a sewing machine, easels, desks with surfaces that would lift up to create easels, and buckets of things and boxes of materials.
Still lifes were set up with items from “The Big House” (the Weed family house in downtown Deer Isle, Maine): old wooden doors with chipping paint, chairs, porcelain pitchers, dried grasses and flowers, fabric fragments, lamps, and living geraniums. One day she brought in her duck Jake for us to draw. He rested on some hay in a small wire cage in the middle of an arrangement of desks. Down East magazines also littered the room. They not only provided reference for paintings and drawings but also my very early investigations into Maine real estate. There was a radio in the room that Mrs. Weed let us play during class until a song like “Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll” would come on and she was quick to change the channel to classical music.
Mrs. Weed and I lived near one another in the small town of Upton, MA. After high school graduation, and four years with Mrs. Weed, we kept in touch and would make gelatin prints or baskets and visit the local flea market.
When I moved to Phippsburg, Maine, in 2001 she still insisted that town I moved to “wasn’t Maine” (it wasn’t far enough north).
I would visit her in Upton or on occasion at “The Big House” in Deer Isle. She was always interested to hear about what I was creating and where I was exhibiting and what I had found at the transfer station in Phippsburg.
Dan Dowd, Mrs. Weed, gifted apron and wool jacket fragments, 33 x 19 in., 5 November 2019.
When she passed away I attended the funeral at her church in Stonington. There was a large photo of her with her big smile which captured the woman and friend I had grown to admire and respect so much. After the burial at the cemetery just up the street from the “Big House,” I was talking to her daughter Nancy about all of the good memories that we shared with her mom.
Dan Dowd, Untitled, gifted apron, blazer, and wool jacket fragments, 17 x 10 in., 18 November 2019.
I asked her if she might have some clothing or material that was her mom’s and said that I was interested in making an assemblage with it. She said she would save some things for me throughout the cleaning-out process. There was a lot to go through as Mrs. Weed was also a rag rug maker and had amassed a huge collection of material for future rug projects.
Dan Dowd, Mrs. Weed Apron, gifted apron fragment, 13 x 8 in., 28 January 2020.
A few months later Nancy called me and let me know that she had a bag for me. The next time we saw each other she presented me with a large trash bag full of clothes. Two of the items were particularly special. The first was one of her handmade denim aprons that she wore in the art room, and the other was the rusty brown wool coat. Nancy told me that her mother had made the coat by hand, which made it even more special. It was still in good shape, and as I took it apart I marveled at the work involved to create such a piece. The silk lining appeared to be partially handsewn and up close I could see that the rusty brown was actually an amalgamation of colors.
Dan Dowd, Mrs. Weed 3, gifted apron and blazer fragments, 15 x 18 in., 28 January 2020.
I made numerous pieces with these sacred fabrics and they hold a special place in my heart. I created a piece for Nancy and enjoy the pieces most when high school friends recognize the fabrics. These pieces feel like portraits to me. To use a piece of clothing once worn by a loved one, friend, or loved one of a friend is very personal to me. The first cut into the fabric is always the most difficult. I strive to utilize as much of the piece of clothing as possible and to present the most interesting features as a way to honor the person and the connection they had to that piece of clothing.
Dan Dowd, Mrs. Weed 4, gifted apron and blazer fragments, 30 x 19 in., 28 January 2020.
Dan Dowd, Russ. This piece, named for my maternal uncle, is made from used shop rags that Russ kept (to keep using) and a found well-worn, patched, and rusty truck tire inner tube.
Dan Dowd, Agnes, gifted hat and drapery fragments, 18 x 8 in., 24 August 2022.
Dan Dowd, Surf Point 14, found fabric, leather, and bait trap fragments, 8 x 8 in., 24 February 2024.
Dan Dowd, Joe, gifted jacket and denim fragments, 10 x 6 in., 18 January 2024, private collection, MA.
Image at top: Dan Dowd, Mrs. R. Mrs. Wing Mrs. Weed, found and gifted fabric fragments, 20 x 12 in., 18 March 2020. Collection of the Danforth Art Museum, Framingham, MA.