Letter: Deja vu about lost art
When I rented an apartment in West Stockbridge years ago, my landlady was a little spitfire who was into anything to do with the arts. She knew Sandy Calder, Aaron Copland, Ted Shawn — you name it.
She had a few of Calder's paintings and a couple of small toys he had given her. She always said they were going to Calder's niece when she passed. Her will was not organized when she died, and her closest relative sent everything off to a gallery to auction.
I felt terrible about what happened. I feel a little that way about Pittsfield.
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