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The Minnesota state photograph "Grace" by Eric Enstrom depicts traveling salesman Charles Wilden in Bovey, Minnesota.

One of the most popular pieces of 20th-century American art is a painting of an old devout man praying over a bowl of gruel and a loaf of bread in front of a Bible. The piece is called “Grace,” and it can be found in homes, churches, and even restaurants.

I clearly remember a copy hanging on the wall at my corner burger joint, Mack’s Burgers, in Torrance, California, in the ’80s. Sadly, it’s been torn down and is now a Jack in the Box. However ubiquitous the photo may be, a new video by pop culture YouTube user Austin McConnell shows that “Grace” isn’t really what it seems.

“Grace” was originally a photograph taken in 1918, during World War I, by Eric Enstrom, a Swedish American from Bovey, Minnesota. Enstrom was preparing some photographs to take with him to a convention when Charles Wilden, a salesman selling boot scrapers, came to his door, and he know he had to take his photo.

“There was something about the old gentleman’s face that immediately impressed me. I saw that he had a kind face… there weren’t any harsh lines in it,” Enstrom said. “I wanted to take a picture that would show people that even though they had to do without many things because of the war they still had much to be thankful for,” he added.

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“There was something about the old gentleman’s face that immediately impressed me. I saw that he had a kind face… there weren’t any harsh lines in it,” Enstrom said. “I wanted to take a picture that would show people that even though they had to do without many things because of the war they still had much to be thankful for,” he added.

Enstrom posed Wilden in front of a loaf of bread, a bowl—which may have been empty—and a large book that many assume to be the Bible. But, as McConnell notes, the book is far too large to be the good book, as most people assume. The Grand Forks Herald claims that a receipt for payment from Enstrom to Wilden reveals that the book is a dictionary.

The photograph went on to be a huge hit at the convention, and Enstrom began selling copies about town. After many requested copies of the photo in color, Enstrom’s daughter, Rhoda Nyberg, began hand-painting them in oils and added a streak of light on the left side of the painting. This is the version that people have come to love.



"The intent of the photo is fairly obvious,” McConnell says in the video. “Enstrom wanted an image that conveyed to people that even though they had to do without many provisions because of the ongoing war, there was still much to be thankful for. A picture that seemed to say 'this man doesn't have much of earthly goods, but he has more than most people because he has a thankful heart.'"

Enstrom convinced Wilden to sign over his rights for $5, which gave him the sole copyright. He then licensed the image to the Lutheran-affiliated Augsburg publishing house, which distributed the image across the country. According to McConnell “thousands and thousands” of copies of the photo were sold. The image entered the public domain in 1995.



Although not much is known about Wilden, it is believed that he lived a hard life. "He was living in a very primitive sod hut near Grand Rapids, eking out a very precarious living," retired history professor Don Boese told the Grand Forks Herald. It’s also likely that he wasn’t the devout man we imagine in the photo. "The stories about him centered more around drinking and not accomplishing very much,” Boese said.

So the painting was actually a photo. The Bible, a dictionary, and the subject was more likely to be the town drunk than a saint. But, in the end, does it matter? McConnell believes that its meaning rests in the eye of the beholder.

"If you found out today that everything you thought you knew about this iconic image was actually wrong, would you take it off your wall?” McConnell asks at the end of the video. “Or would you accept that the value in a piece of art isn't merely derived from the knowledge of how it was made? Or who made it?”

Come to think of it, the fact that the man in the painting is an alcoholic may make the painting even more profound. For a person who is down on their luck and may have turned their back on religion, having a moment to be grateful for the small things in life is a wonderful sentiment. It goes to show that anyone can turn their life around. When someone down on their luck is given a second chance, it's one of the most powerful examples of grace.

This article originally appeared three years ago.

Pop Culture

A composer died in 2021, but a lab-grown version of his brain is still making new 'music'

Are the haunting tones proof of consciousness after death, or just a beautiful sentiment?

Guy Ben-Ary/YouTube & By Non Event - Alvin Lucier, CC BY-SA 2.0

Alvin Lucier''s "brain" is still composing music 3 years after his death.

I love the gag from Futurama where, when people die, their heads and brains are kept alive in a jar, allowed to carry on forever. Their body may have failed, but in a sense they can live on and on and on (as long as someone's there to lug them around). It's a fascinating idea, and one that's definitely being explored in various ways here in the real world.

For example, did you know that you can upload photos, videos, and audio clips of a deceased loved one and create an incredibly lifelike AI version of them? This may or may not be considered a good thing depending on how you view it, and though it's not true consciousness per se, it can be a frighteningly accurate blurring of the lines. Furthermore, some scientists insist that consciousness does not exist solely in the brain, and that one day we may be able to harness it when the living organs of the body have died. Heavy stuff!


futurama, brain, consciousness, immortality, longevity, scienceMaybe one day our heads will be able to live on in a jar!Giphy

A composer who passed away several years ago was also fascinated by the idea of his consciousness and art living on without him. So he devised a bizarre experiment.

The musician, composer Alvin Lucier, was not content to only make music for the duration of his natural lifetime. So he recruited a team from Harvard Medical School to harvest his stem cells after he passed away

From there, the stem cells were used to grow something resembling a clump of human brain matter. It's not a fully functioning brain, not even close, but it is living tissue derived from the DNA of the late musician. The experiment, then, was to determine just how much of Lucier really existed in this sample.

alvin lucier, composer, musician, music, orchestra, science, brain, immortality, deathAlvin Lucier passed away in 2021 at the age of 90By Non Event - Alvin Lucier, CC BY-SA 2.0

"The central question we want people to ask is: could there be a filament of memory that persists through this biological transformation? Can Lucier's creative essence persist beyond his death?" the team said, per the Art Newspaper.

Neuroscientists and artists teamed up to create an installation — part art, part science — called "Revivification." They connected the "in-vitro brain" to electrodes that would then transmit the electrical impulses generation by the brain matter to twenty humongous brass plates hung around, thus creating music. Or, at least, tones.

You can see the art installation and the behind the scenes in this video. If you want to hear the haunting tones that seem to originate from beyond the grave, you can get a listen at about 3:53.

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Not only does the "organoid" generate signals that become sound through the brass panels, it also responds to the environment around it. Sound from the art gallery is captured by a microphone and fed back to the little mini-brain, which affects its electrode activity.

That makes the sounds generated inside the experiment totally unique and dynamic. If Lucier really "composing" this music, in a sense? Not really, but the bizarre sounds are being generated, in part, by his genetic material. That makes Revivification an absolutely fascinating blend of art, science, and maybe even a little spiritualism.

Revivification is probably not proof of consciousness after death, and it doesn't claim to be. But it asks interesting questions about the nature of memory, and where our creativity or spirit or soul or whatever you want to call it is really stored.

Perhaps the most touching aspect of the story is Lucier's unwillingness to ever stop creating new art, even after his death at the age of 90. You'd think that would be enough years to fully satisfy his need for self-expression! But not so.

When Lucien's daughter was told about the project, she laughed and said, "This is so my dad. Just before he died he arranged for himself to play for ever. He just can't go. He needs to keep playing."

"I am still a dancer made of song."

Humans have been writing poetry for thousands of years, communicating feelings and ideas in beautiful, powerful ways that prose just can't quite reach. Poetry can be hard to define, but you know it when you see it—or rather, when you feel it.

Emily Dickinson once wrote, “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” A poem hits you somewhere—your brain, your heart, your gut. And one poem that packs an incredibly moving punch has come from an unlikely source—an elderly woman with dementia.

elderly woman, dementia, caregiver, poetry, former dancerA woman with dementia wrote a poem with one of her children and it's bringing people to tears.Photo credit: Canva

Poet Joseph Fasano shared a message from a fan who shared that they had brought his book, "The Magic Words: Simple Poetry Prompts That Unlock the Creativity in Everyone," to their mother, a 92-year-old former ballet dancer living with dementia. The mother was excited to write a poem, and they slowly worked through a prompt from the book together aloud.

This poem was the result:

"Let the days be warm

Let the fall be long.

Let every child inside me find her shoes

and dance wildly, softly, toward the world.

I have a story I have never told

Once, when I was small,

I looked up at the sky and saw the wind

and knew I was a dancer made of song.

I am still a dancer made of song."

Wow. What a testament to the power of poetry to reach beyond our usual modes of communication, which dementia so cruelly disrupts. In a few simple lines, we're able to see this woman as she might see herself, as the human living under the veils of age and disease: "I am still a dancer made of song."

Poetry prompts can help people express themselves

The person who shared the poem thanked Fasano for "helping people find their voices," which is exactly what his book of poetry prompts was meant to do.

The Magic Words book by Joseph Fasano, poetry prompts"The Magic Words" is a book of poetry prompts from Joseph Fasano.Amazon


In the book's introduction, Fasano shares that he'd been invited to speak to a class of second graders in New Jersey in 2022 to share "the craft and magic of poetry." As part of his efforts, he came up with a poetry prompt that could "help guide their imaginations" and "unlock the images, thoughts and feelings inside them, without asking them to worry about how to structure a poem." He called the results "astonishing." When he shared one of the students' poems on social media, it and the prompt took off like wildfire, as people who never thought of themselves as poets felt empowered to share their imaginations within that framework.

From 7-year-olds to 92-year-olds, anyone can benefit from the self-expression that poetry facilitates, but many people feel hesitant or intimidated by the idea of writing a poem. Fasano writes, "Poetry is what happens when we let ourselves be," and this idea seems so clear than in the former dancer's poem above. Dementia can create roadblocks, but poetry provides a different avenue of communication.

Caregivers try many different ways to communicate with people living with dementia.Photo credit: Canva

The arts can be a powerful tool for people with dementia

Using poetry to help dementia patients communicate and express themselves isn't just wishful thinking. Studies have demonstrated that cultural arts interventions, including poetry specifically, can be beneficial for people with dementia. In fact, the Alzheimer's Poetry Project (APP) aims to use poetry as a means of improving the quality of life of people living with dementia by facilitating creative expression. "We do not set boundaries in our beliefs in what possible for people with memory impairment to create," the APP website states. "By saying to people with dementia, we value you and your creativity; we are saying we value all members of our community."

Fasano has shared that a team of doctors has begun using his poetry prompts to "give people with dementia a voice again."

Poet Gary Glazner, who founded APP, shared a story with WXPR radio about how he came up with the idea while studying poetry at Sonoma State University:

“I applied for a grant and got a grant to work at an adult care program. The moment I love to share with people is there was a guy in the group, head down, not participating and I said the Longfellow poem. ‘I shot an arrow into the air’ and his eyes popped open and he said, ‘It fell to earth I know not where.’ And suddenly he was with us and participating. It was just this powerful moment to see how poetry could be of use to elders but specifically with people with dementia."

Whether we read it, write it, speak it or hear it, poetry has the power to reach people of all ages in all kinds of mysterious ways.

You can follow Joseph Fasano on Twitter and Instagram, and find his books on Amazon.

This article originally appeared last year.


Adam Trunell

The Goodbye Line project

There are times when we want to say goodbye to a person, a concept, a city, an inner child, or even just an idea, but, for whatever reason, that opportunity has passed. Maybe the recipient is unavailable and what's left is a void that leaves our well-wishes with no real place to land.

Documentary filmmaker Adam Trunell and his partner Alexis Wood wanted to help fill that void by not only giving a creative outlet to help people bid adieu, but to create a sense of community by sharing it with people online. We all experience loss, heartbreak, grief—and this seemed like a way to strip down to our most vulnerable memories, perhaps the ones that got snagged somewhere, in order to process them so that we can let them go.

One of the reels on The Goodbye Line TikTok page (@thegoodbyeline) simply states: "The void calls. We answer." And that's exactly how it works. From any payphone (or cell phone, if one wishes), a person can call a toll-free number. A recording answers to welcome them to "The Goodbye Line," explaining, "This payphone, like us, is here now but won't be forever." From there, one is encouraged to leave a goodbye, fleeting thought, or poem—whatever they need to get off their hearts. If they want to opt out of having their stories shared on social media, they just have to say so in the call.

@thegoodbyeline

The void calls. We answer.


Upworthy spoke with Adam and Alexis about how this unique art/social project sparked. Adam shares, "It came out of a rainy day conversation about loss and community, and we sort of walked backwards into an idea. We designed a sticker, put it up on some of the remaining payphones around LA, and couldn’t say whether we’d get a single call. They come in now all day, every day, and run the full spectrum of goodbyes. There’s no single type of goodbye, but every message is an attempt to pin something down before it disappears completely. And a reminder that loss, in all its forms, connects us."

The line doesn't speak back, he tells us. "The line just listens. It doesn’t judge, doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to make things OK. It just takes what you give it, without question, and holds it. And sometimes that’s enough.”

What's even more impactful is the community of people who listen to these goodbyes. "The fact people show up and listen, and follow, and comment and share, tells us that grief isn’t just about loss. It’s about connection. And mourning isn’t just something we do in private — it’s also deeply communal. So that even if we aren’t the ones speaking, we can hear ourselves in other people's messages.”

Alexis adds that because there are so many different versions of "loss," the calls range in tone. "A lot of the calls are about losing someone who’s passed, but there are just as many about losing relationships or friendships with people who are still alive. And honestly, I don’t think we talk about that kind of loss enough.”

She explains how the payphones themselves have become a character in the art piece. "There’s something raw and immediate about stumbling on a payphone out in the world—it catches people off guard, and that moment feels different than someone who finds us through Instagram and comes in with a bit more context. What’s even more fascinating is how each payphone seems to absorb the energy of its neighborhood. They take on their own personalities—what gets said, who picks up the phone—it all shifts depending on where they are. The calls start to reflect the place, and that’s been one of the most powerful parts of this whole thing.”

payphone, phone, landline, the goodbye line, phone calls, closureThe Goodbye Line Payphone project Photo credited to Adam Trunell

Adam acknowledges how complex letting go can be. "There are some things we never get to say, and that doesn’t just disappear. Loss doesn’t have an expiration date. Some goodbyes take years to find a voice. And when they do, for a moment, even saying a name can restore a presence. You hear it in the messages; sometimes people pick up the phone and don’t know what they’re holding onto until they say it out loud.”