Beyond grief, what’s left behind — paintings and memories

April 8, 2025 — My brother Ken was the first-born child in our family of four children. Two more boys followed, spaced about two years apart, Derek and David (Davey). “The little girl” (that’s me) arrived on the scene some four years later. My Mom called me “the pleasant surprise.”

That’s a short introduction to my nuclear birth family, but this post is about the paintings by Kenneth Wolfe Rodman. I always thought his middle name was exceptionally cool. Ken was always artistic and creative. I recall the comics he drew when he was young, featuring three delinquent friends, who always found trouble. I believe the comic was called “Punky and his Pals.” They’re probably in the boxes stacked in our son’s former bedroom. I came from a family who saved certain things for the long haul. Going through the boxes never seems to be my priority, even though I have the intention to do so, little by little. Sadly, we had several family deaths relatively close together (Mom, Ken, Dad), so I’d barely started and the boxes multiplied. Fair to say, I’m moving at a glacial pace. And that’s okay.

I’m not sure when Ken, or Kenny as we called him, started painting, but the dates on the back of his art start around 2012. He used acrylic paints on stretched canvas, working at an easel in the basement. A stack of paintings (that weren’t hanging), was one of the things left behind. I can’t believe he passed nearly five years ago. Ever since COVID, something about the measure of time has gone wonky. Sometimes, happenings seem so much longer ago, and other times, dates seem like they were just the other day, right? I’ve heard many others agree, but I wonder why? Maybe those days were so far out of our normal lives that it threw everything off balance?

Each of us has at least one of Ken’s paintings. He gave me a painting called Jimmy, the Irish Pony, who I fell in love with on my trip with Tim to Ireland. He based it off a photo of mine. This was such a sweet gesture when I think about it because I’d told him the story of Jimmy: how I cried when I said goodbye to the small gray pony, who always trotted over to the wooden fence (even when he was all the way at the back of his lot) when we stopped by on our walks around Ballynahinch, the castle turned hotel. The pony probably did this for everyone, but I like to think we had a special connection. I think my sadness was partly saying goodbye to this idyllic trip in a fairytale land of castles, verdant hills and no responsibilities. I kept Butterfly Revolution, featuring our backyard arbor leading to the woods, with dozens of red butterflies soaring through.

He gave Trevor a smaller and slightly different version of Zen Tiger (see below). Davey has the largest canvas, the cover Ken painted for Mom’s book, Olas Grandes (big waves), of a looming cliff overlooking the ocean, waves lapping the shore. A previous blog is a repost of an interview about the book and our son’s dedication that brought Olas Grandes to fruition just before she passed, a dream of hers come true. (A beautiful read if you haven’t!) Davey hung Scarlet Ibis Over Coroni, in his office. Coroni is the longest river in Trinidad. I remember seeing scarlet ibises when we visited Trinidad one year when we took a boat tour of the mangroves. 

Ken gifted Tim two of Che Guevarra, a larger canvas (titled Che) and a smaller one with cigars bordering a smoking Che (Cuban Cigars, for his cigar lounge/office). Tim recently hung Metal Rain in one of the boy’s former bedrooms. We were thinking about keeping this piece but listed it for sale, along with nine others, on Facebook Marketplace. Last week, I received a message from someone saying “Great abstract. Sorry about your loss.” 

I replied to him with thanks and asked if he’s interested. He has too many paintings already, but he wrote “Yeah…I was you I (sic) keep it…it’s got moxy….sorta like iron man from the seventies…if you where (sic) from that time..you would know what I mean.” It sort of threw me, because he mentioned moxy and iron man. I have a meaningful story about a former (and notable) professor telling me I had moxy when I approached him with my resume, looking for my first job before graduating college. This meant a lot to me. (He actually was behind my first job!) Ken had an tattoo of Iron Man on his forearm. He got it after surviving a difficult situation and liked to think of himself that way. So, it sort of felt like I had received a message from my brother. We decided to keep it and Tim hung it in his music room that’s under development.

Stories about the connections the buyers of Ken’s other paintings had with his art, follow. I really like to think of his art making its way into the world. As someone else messaged me, every time someone sees the paintings, it’s keeping his memory alive. Yes, exactly. I think he is happy to know that his work is finding interested people who appreciate his talent.

I included the following with the listings for the paintings: My brother Ken Rodman, the artist, sadly took his life in 2020. He’d suffered from mental health issues, primarily depression, chronic pain and drug addiction for most of his life. He loved painting, it was one of his favorite pastimes. I think he’d like knowing that we’re seeking homes for his paintings where they will be enjoyed.

Chris Sandon purchased Zen Tiger, the first of Ken’s paintings that sold. I decided to ask the buyers a couple of questions, if they were willing, to write about. 

“The vibrant color and strong graphic style attracted me initially,” said Chris. “Upon further consideration, thematically here was this fierce beast with frozen ice clinging to its chin, shoulder deep in snow. I realized that this was the juxtaposition that kept me coming back to it repeatedly.

“My music studio is covered in original artwork that inspires me as I practice and record and I’m excited to have your brother’s piece to add to the collection. I can see this image as a future poster or even album cover for my band Modern Lady Fitness.

“As a person in recovery, I was also touched by the mention of Ken’s struggle with mental illness and addiction. I hope to honor his loss by celebrating his creative work with as many people as possible.”

When I met Chris for the sale, he asked permission to use the artwork for promotion of his band. I said that Ken would like that. I asked what kind of band, and when he said rock, I said that Ken would love that. Zen Tiger used to hang in their kitchen. Mom sat at the kitchen table with her coffee throughout the day and loved having the tiger’s reassuring presence.

I heard from Susan Carpenter, Trevor’s preschool teacher, who bought Forsythia. “The first thing that caught my eye was the color! So bright and deep at the same time. I instantly knew I would hang it at my kitchen entrance, an already cozy spot. I love it.”

It was great to catch up with Susan over coffee when we met. She’s a truly gifted teacher of young children. Now, she offers story times and baking lessons for young children, which sounds totally delightful. Trevor attended Gretchen’s House a couple of mornings a week the year before kindergarten, to help ease his transition.

Mom’s home in Troy has hedges of forsythia bushes that grew wild (in between pruning) and flowered profusely in early spring. Mom liked to go outside and stand amongst the yellow blooms.

Amanda Krugliak, Arts Curator at the University of Michigan Institute for the Humanities Gallery,  is the new owner of Lady in Red. I was delighted that an art curator appreciated Ken’s style.

“I thought the painting was so expressive and really appreciate the composition,” she said. “And then read the story, which also moved me. I have worked with artists with disabilities and mental health differences, and the work is often so expressive with great sensitivity to detail and color.” Amanda’s 23-year-old son has been challenged over the past year. “It felt like an affirmation of the incredible creativity and ideas he has, and others like him. In a way, having it on a wall amongst other works is also a reminder how important each artist is and each painter is, and each person, that our differences are what makes things interesting and rich in the bigger picture.”

Ken painted Lady in Red of our Mom. Humorously (and classically), she disliked the painting. Mom often wore red, mostly in her younger days.

Of course for me, there’s an aspect of grief attached to Ken’s paintings, along with a good feeling that these pieces of him live on. All of this reminds me of the podcast I’ve been listening to, Anderson Cooper’s “All There Is.” It’s about grief and grieving. The interviews are insightful, sad, helpful, hopeful and create a sense of community around grief. Some episodes have been about Anderson’s own grief over his father’s, brother’s and mother’s deaths. His father died when he was young and his brother died by suicide. His mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, passed away in 2019.

I often listen to the podcast at the gym, tears occasionally streaming down my cheeks, but more often, I listen to good workout music. For anyone dealing with grief of any stage (and who isn’t?), I highly recommend Cooper’s podcast. I’ve heard ideas and learned strategies that are helpful. It’s comforting to know we’re not alone in these universal, deep and difficult feelings, even though it can feel that way. It’s not something people talk about much of the time. But clearly, there’s a need, at times, to share our grief and it can be cathartic.

If you’re interested, Ken’s paintings can be found on Facebook Marketplace. There’s a “search Marketplace” field in the upper left corner and if you put my name in, the listings will appear. Feel free to contact me through the contact page on this website if you’d like me to send you direct links.