Rene and I often happened to travel on the same train from New Haven to New York. In between correcting student papers we would talk of many things. He was full of joy about finally owning a house in the country, with a pond and a barn that was to be his studio. I never saw the house until the funeral, when, as I gazed past the Christmas Tree into the falling snow, I saw a vision of Rene standing in his beloved pond. In the painting as is as if he is walking on water, because much of Rene was always true spirit. I'm not sure where the wreath came from -- maybe Christmas, maybe to give form to the whole, maybe a crown of thorns?

Martha Haeseler