E-Mail This | Print This
Woman creates bonds with anguished families
By Holly KurtzDenver Rocky Mountain News Staff Writer
Her painting might be a symbol of the Columbine tragedy. But in the past year, artist Linda Arnold's life has become a record of the school's recovery. Her daughters attended Sheridan High, not Columbine, and she lost no relatives in the tragedy. But just talking about the tragic day paints her face with tears. Nearly deaf since childhood, she uses hearing aids. But since April 20 she has lent an ear to dozens of family members of slain and injured Columbine High students. "I let them talk," she said. "Pour out their feelings. I just treated them like they were my friends, like I would all my friends. I asked about their children. Let them talk about their children." For most of her 47 years, she has loved to make things. Her home has more homemade stuffed bunnies, Raggedy Ann dolls and pillows than a gift shop. Some she sells, others she keeps or shows to the students who take art lessons in her basement studio. Two days after the shootings, Arnold disappeared into the studio. She hardly saw her husband. She forgot about housework. She emerged two weeks later with a watercolor — 12 small columbines representing April 20's 12 student victims. The big columbine watching over them is for slain teacher Dave Sanders. She made prints of her painting and pledged to give 20 percent of the $25 price to a Columbine-related cause. The sales were inseparable from the sentiment that inspired the art. Arnold would come home to find buyers at her doorstep. A number she invited in and sat with at her kitchen table. "I have heard wonderful stories, and I have heard horrible stories," she said. "Some of it's a wake-up call for people. They started becoming closer to their families, started spending time with their children. It has brought so many people to God." At some point, Arnold suddenly realized how small the world of suburban Denver really was. She had met injured student Sean Graves' mother at a preschool group their children shared. Her Avon representative was related to injured students Mark Taylor's mom and Lance Kirklin's dad. Her sister-in-law dug up an old yearbook and realized she had graduated from Ranum High School with Columbine principal Frank DeAngelis. One day Misty Bernall, whose daughter, Cassie, was one of Columbine's highest-profile victims, showed up at Arnold's door. Patty DePooter, whose son, Corey, died April 20, came knocking, too. She fell in love with Arnold's dog, a relatively rare breed called a Basenji. The family owned one before Corey's death, but they had to get rid of it because it didn't get along with their other dog. Arnold found the DePooters a Basenji of their own, then took Patty DePooter and the new pet over to the Bernalls'. "I just stood back," Arnold recalled. "They had a lot to talk about." Soon Arnold was organizing lunches to bring other Columbine victims' families together. She painted a portrait of Cassie for the Bernalls. She's working on a picture of Corey DePooter that says "gone fishing." She is leading a life she never imagined one year ago. All because of 13 watercolor columbines. April 19, 2000
Her painting might be a symbol of the Columbine tragedy.
But in the past year, artist Linda Arnold's life has become a record of the school's recovery.
Her daughters attended Sheridan High, not Columbine, and she lost no relatives in the tragedy. But just talking about the tragic day paints her face with tears.
Nearly deaf since childhood, she uses hearing aids. But since April 20 she has lent an ear to dozens of family members of slain and injured Columbine High students.
"I let them talk," she said. "Pour out their feelings. I just treated them like they were my friends, like I would all my friends. I asked about their children. Let them talk about their children."
For most of her 47 years, she has loved to make things. Her home has more homemade stuffed bunnies, Raggedy Ann dolls and pillows than a gift shop. Some she sells, others she keeps or shows to the students who take art lessons in her basement studio.
Two days after the shootings, Arnold disappeared into the studio. She hardly saw her husband. She forgot about housework.
She emerged two weeks later with a watercolor — 12 small columbines representing April 20's 12 student victims. The big columbine watching over them is for slain teacher Dave Sanders.
She made prints of her painting and pledged to give 20 percent of the $25 price to a Columbine-related cause.
The sales were inseparable from the sentiment that inspired the art.
Arnold would come home to find buyers at her doorstep. A number she invited in and sat with at her kitchen table.
"I have heard wonderful stories, and I have heard horrible stories," she said. "Some of it's a wake-up call for people. They started becoming closer to their families, started spending time with their children. It has brought so many people to God."
At some point, Arnold suddenly realized how small the world of suburban Denver really was.
She had met injured student Sean Graves' mother at a preschool group their children shared. Her Avon representative was related to injured students Mark Taylor's mom and Lance Kirklin's dad. Her sister-in-law dug up an old yearbook and realized she had graduated from Ranum High School with Columbine principal Frank DeAngelis.
One day Misty Bernall, whose daughter, Cassie, was one of Columbine's highest-profile victims, showed up at Arnold's door.
Patty DePooter, whose son, Corey, died April 20, came knocking, too. She fell in love with Arnold's dog, a relatively rare breed called a Basenji. The family owned one before Corey's death, but they had to get rid of it because it didn't get along with their other dog.
Arnold found the DePooters a Basenji of their own, then took Patty DePooter and the new pet over to the Bernalls'.
"I just stood back," Arnold recalled. "They had a lot to talk about."
Soon Arnold was organizing lunches to bring other Columbine victims' families together.
She painted a portrait of Cassie for the Bernalls. She's working on a picture of Corey DePooter that says "gone fishing."
She is leading a life she never imagined one year ago. All because of 13 watercolor columbines.
April 19, 2000