100-Year-Old Woman Explains Mischievous 'Art' of Living Well

NORTH CANAAN — There is something about Marjorie Bethke’s eyes. Macular degeneration is slowly robbing her of her sight. But her blue eyes sparkle from within. One can imagine her mind reeling with creative thought.

When she talks about her "wonderful" life and career as an artist, it is not in the past tense. It’s certainly not what one would expect from someone who turned 100 on Dec. 12.

Dozens of birthday cards cover a dresser and table in her Geer Village apartment. Bethke granted a lively and interesting interview to The Journal there, before heading down to the dining room for a celebration with family and friends.

The former Millerton resident doesn’t actually use her bedroom as a bedroom. She sleeps on a recliner in her living room and uses the bedroom as an office. She has a computer and a device that enlarges print. Failing vision and physical limitations are met with an enthusiasm for life and learning, and an assurance that she will surely overcome any obstacles. Ars Longa, Vita Longa

After studying at the National Academy of Design in New York City, the former Marjorie Quinlin began a career in a field that, in the early 1930s, few people knew existed. She became a medical illustrator. In its simplest description, she made artistic renderings of the inner workings of the human eyeball. She began with sketches done during surgeries or intense light examinations at the Eye Institute of the Columbia-Presbyterian Medical Center in New York City.

She had no medical training, but an artist was what doctors needed.

"All they had were black-and-white cameras. The photographs didn’t show enough detail to be useful for study, so we made very exact color drawings. They were mostly with watercolor and airbrush, which wasn‘t considered part of art back then. I used a plaster surface that could be carved to add more detail. It was a beautiful medium."

Soon, Emil "Gus" Bethke was hired to head the art department at Columbia-Presbyterian.

"I was told not to be jealous and to learn all I could from him," Bethke recalled, adding with a sly look, "So I married him."

That was in 1936. The couple lived in Montvale, New Jersey and raised two children, Steven and Paula, who joined her for her 100th birthday.

"It was a wonderful life, working together and raising a family."

Her sketches will be on the Internet next June, as part of The Collection of Medical Illustrations of the Edward S. Harkness Eye Institute at Columbia-Presbyterian. Bethke’s work is in the John M. Wheeler Library at the institute. Wheeler was the head of ophthalmology at the hospital when the Bethkes worked there.

"He once treated the King of Siam," Bethke recalled, adding indifferently, "They want to put pictures of Gus and I on the Web site." She shrugged off any notion of celebrity for herself or her late husband.

Marking what may have been her biggest artistic milestone was the submission of two paintings in the style of her medical artwork to a judged show of the National Association of Woman Painters and Sculptors. It was held at a 57th Street gallery, and Bethke shared her images of corn, cut down the middle and diagonally, athe same way she painted eyes.

"I was afraid they would think they were too technical for women’s paintings. But I won first prize." An Active Mind Seeking Outlets

While her children were growing up, Bethke would listen in on the "grand conversation" in the family room she overheard from the kitchen. It left her itching for an intellectual outlet.

"I wanted so much to be a part of it. When the kids were grown, I gave myself three challenges: I would address in paintings the ecumenical movement, the atom bomb and man’s inhumanity to man."

The result was a triptych of "Eternal Trinity," "Ceramist’s Choice" and "Ecumenical Rorschach." The last is her version of DaVinci’s "The Last Supper." All have deep spiritual connotations. Bethke also wrote extensive notes explaining each piece.

"I always write what I was thinking. It always drove me crazy when the artist refused to tell the public what their work was about. I’d see people come out of galleries with blank looks on their faces."

With her eyesight going and her mind still whirling with creative thoughts, what is Bethke’s outlet? Poetry. It’s actually a renewed endeavor. When she moved to Millerton before coming to Geer Village, her children found poems in her New Jersey home that were written some 80 years ago. She picked up where she left off, and memorizes works by her favorite poets, including A.A. Milne and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, as "mental therapy."

"Sometimes I recite them at gatherings we have here. I practice out loud in my room. Sometimes an aide will come by and hear me. I think they think I’m nuts," she said, with her mischievous smile.

She is much admired by residents and staff at Geer Village, and not just because of her age. She, in turn, has nothing but praise for the facility and everyone in it. At the party, as she cut into a cake in the shape of the number 100, Bethke shared these words of wisdom; "The first 100 years were a piece of cake. The second hundred will be a piece of cake á la mode."