Catherine Rynkiewicz, 1931-2024
Every so often, Mom asked when I would start painting again. I had studied art through my freshman year in college, which convinced me that writing was an easier mess to clean up than drafting or painting. But Catie Rynkiewicz adopted art late in life like her mother, Ethyl van Hercke, who was known for watercolors documenting suburban Milwaukee's vanishing farmscape. So Catie reasonably could expect me to come back around to art.
Her apartment's art studio overlooked a big expanse of windows with a view of the county zoo. The space seemed too big for one person, especially as her vision failed and she moved in pain. But I've watched the sunrise from her couch, and I know why she wouldn't settle for less.
She did not always have so much space. By the time I turned 10, six of us were bursting out of a Cape Cod on 80th Street in Wauwatosa. Catie always had a sewing nook crammed full of projects, like my man-cave closet of an office. Cousin Peg Lazarchic called Mom days ago, sharing a memory of how much she loved the fancy dresses Mom sewed, altered and remade for her. My brother Bob remembered the cowboy outfits she made for the two of us one Halloween. She had a costume too as our Indian guide.
Catie sewed costumes for Suburban Woman’s Club of Wauwatosa children's theater productions, and acted in them as well. She ran her lines with me at age 11 when she played the lead as King Midas—in one scene, peel-me-a-grape orders to a servant. She'd bark her line imperiously, "Don't ask questions, just cut." I'd just giggle.
Catie also was on the Milwaukee Rep auxiliary board, publicizing events and attending costume workshops at regional theater conventions. She chaired the auxiliary one year, hosting one of those conventions and serving on the Rep's board of directors. She missed the backstage drama for all their fundraising focus.
She had been involved in theater since high school; granddaaughter Evie found one of her costumes in storage at Wauwatosa East. At Marquette, her roles included Lavinia in T.S. Eliot's "The Cocktail Party." (The Milwaukee Journal noted her "unusual stage presence for an amateur.") Catie remembered all her roles, so when she said she was trying to remember a play, I assumed she was recalling a dream. Dad's friend Bob Gorske was with us at her bedside, and said he fell for her in "Minna von Barnhelm," an 18th century comedy. As the maid, Catie delivered the most memorable lines, but she found the 1952 production forgettable. Marquette Players casts included debater Walter Rynkiewicz.
Marquette's speech students were wrapped up in both drama and new media, meaning television, and she appreciated when I latched onto this novel internet thing, another exploit with one foot in writing and one in design. And when I was cast in the odd church musical, she was in the audience.
These past days, our family has been reliving scenes like these. We are blessed to have you with us, helping us, as we think about Catie's artistic legacy, left for us to pursue. For my part, I still have painting ahead of me.
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